Flowers and a Requiem

Gee - funny thing, I'm taking a breather from the quilt room. Just trying to decide what to do next. Cowboy boot quilt for 15 yr old horse-crazy granddaughter? Christmas something? Utility something for our king sized bed? So many choices!

Back in May, I started work on one little flower bed in my wreck of a backyard. You may recall I hauled 2 tons of gravel out of there with some much appreciated help from a young strong guy. Then I shoveled 6 yards of topsoil mix from the trailer to the bed, and finally planted it in June, I think. I was so desperate for some dirt to play in, some sweet flowers, and something besides weeds and dust to look at.


This is the BEFORE, although in reality it was already in progress. The stump there was a huge bush that completely covered that window, which is my DH's woodworking shop. The other bush on the laeft is a lilac that threatened to eat the whole garage, and I whacked it back by about 70%. And that gravel was a good 8 inches deep.



Here's what it looked like a couple of weeks ago: (but it looks fuller now!)


There are so many blooming flowers that smell terrific in this bed! The whole end of the yard smells sweet, and it even drifts into the house sometimes. Out of camera range are two butterfly bushes, which smell divine, and the alyssym really took over the edging. The crepe myrtle didn't grow that much in a few months, but it did put on a good 8 inches after I banged it out of it's plastic prison. The myrtle was a gift to us from Jerry's squad following Tim's death 2 years ago, and it had been in that pot ever since. Weekend before last I planted a few dozen daffodil bulbs and we fortunately got our first little rain after that. Beyond the mrytle is my rototiller, waiting patiently for me to stay home and work the yucky weed bed that's just behind it. <> another BIG job, but our oldest grandson from next door, Zach aged 14, is excited about helping, can you imagine? It will really be fun to work with him tho - he's a great kid. He's not filling the hole that Tim left, but he reminds me so much of the young Tim, before something soured in him, and he seems to be very happy hanging around Gramps and me, and jumping into any odd job big or small. Jerry and I are enjoying it immensely. I guess my thoughts are on Tim tonight because tomorrow is Tims birthday, he would be 22. We'll take fresh flowers and a balloon to the masoleum, and dinner is always meatloaf, mashed potatoes gravy and peas. Jerry is not yet to the point that he can talk about Tim without breaking down, but I persist. I want us to remember the good times, the funny things, the lame excuses he came up with. When he was just 8 years old, we were riding our horses on the top of a mountain, day after Christmas. I was watching the two of them ahead of me and not paying attention when my horse stumbled, then bucked me off. I sailed over the horses head and landed on my face, fracturing my neck in exactly the same place as Christopher Reeve did a few months later. While Jerry had to ride down 3 miles back downhill in a hurry for help, Tim sat with me and kept sun out of my face, wiped blood away from my eyes and mouth, kept talking to me as I drifted in and out, and kept some jerk who happened by on his horse from moving me. When he heard a helicopter coming, he rightly figured out the only place it could land, and he took his horse and mine a long ways away and tied them tight so they wouldn't run off. 8 years old. He wrote a paper in school later on telling how he saved my life, and we were so proud of him. That's the boy I remember and miss, not the sullen monster whose actions resulted in his own death.
Happy Birthday, Timmy.