Randy, the guy with the truck (what guy here is not with a truck?) has been promising me for weeks that he would deliver my mulch. I finally texted him: “when?” and it arrived the next day. He apologized; he’d been out working on an island for 3 weeks.
So now it’s here. My mulch. Six yards of it. Do you know how much that is? I don’t either. But now that it’s here, I can tell you: it’s a pile.
And the reason for the mulch? I admit straight out. It’s for control.
It’s how I deal with this expanse of garden that would turn into ( had already turned into) a bed of weeds. Pull out the ***** weeds, pile on the mulch and then – get the summer to relax. Or – that’s the idea. Relax? I hope.
And it’s that idea of control that is so so so alluring. Don’t I want to control whatever I can? Don’t I?
I know. The Buddhist recipe for happiness is giving up control. Admitting life is all about ongoing change. Being okay with that.
But! I say. After mulching please.
(As if this was really, actually control.)