time for bed

Today wasn't too bad, to dip into my midwestern lingo. The thing I'm most satisfied with is planting my tomato seedlings in bright orange Home Depot buckets with holes drilled in the bottom. Nine in all: three cherry, three slicers, and three Brandywine pinks. I also transplanted the basil and parsley seedlings, and planted forget-me-nots in a shady corner. Hopefully the forget-me-nots will mix friendly-like with the volunteer violets that have sprung up there and create a nice perennial spread of dark green with blue and purple flowers. There's already a nice carpet of moss in that space so I'm hoping it will look all woodsy and pretty, and, most importantly, be gorgeous with very little maintenance.

I had to go to a memorial today and so dropped Liam off with the Wieman family at the Hockessin baseball fields near the library. I'm always glad when he spends time with them because their family has three children and it gives him a taste of a more free-wheeling, kid-centered sort of lifestyle. To find the Wiemans, however, we had to tromp through the labyrinth of tee ball and baseball fields filled with suburban youth and their parents. There was just so much yelling. I can deal with cheering most of the time, but the ceaseless barking of commands, gym coach-style, unnerved me completely, just as it always has. "Jeff! Jeff!! Bring in the balls. Go! Go! Go! C'mon. Bring 'em in. Hustle!" I couldn't wait to get out of there. I hate hustling and people who hustle and people who think it's important to hustle. I even hate the word hustle itself. It reminds me of my loathsome gym teacher for seven long middle and high school years. I can still picture him yelling "Hustle!" with sprays of spit flying from his big old disgusting mouth as I tried to figure out how to connect my pale, gangly, teenage appendages with some form of ball. Now that I've officially graduated from multiple levels of formal education I feel I shouldn't have to listen to people who say "hustle" anymore. I've answered all the questions on all the tests, I've completed the courses--even math, I've turned in all my homework, and I have finally been set free from the firm institutional grasp of early life. I don't want to hear "hustle" anymore, especially on a Saturday morning.

The only place I intend on hustling right now is to my bed, and I'm going to do it at my own pace. It's after 11pm, I made a sincere, if weak, effort at ironing this evening, and I have to make a real effort at housework and cooking in the morning if I'm to have any chance at a good week. I've even washed my face already and put on my pajamas. My memory foam mattress pad,  NYT crossword puzzle book, and little bedside lamp are waiting, and everyone else is sound asleep. My favorite part of the day.