That’s what my piles of seeded pots are asking as they begin to sprout under my hopeful tending.
I also have a little greenhouse set up next to that mass of pots. With all of the money I spent on seed starter mix, sphagnum moss, grow lights,seed starter pots, seeds, etc. etc., it would have been cheaper to wait and buy decent sized plants from the greenhouse down the road.
I seem always compelled to have new projects starting. That’s why my living space looks like it does right now, with various yarns and needles and fabrics and clothes-in-need-of-alteration scattered all over. And then, of course, there are those seedy things.
I’ve never been this bad, but I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I never have a sustained amount of time to really immerse myself in any one thing. I get these ideas that I begin to implement and then there’s my mom needing me.
These days, she has bouts of incoherence; bouts of ice cold hands, nose and feet; bouts of stubborness, of paranoia, of total despair. “I’m dying, I’m dying,” she pants. And then she has a bout of seeming just fine.
And I have bouts of despair as well. At least I’m getting out to exercise (even though, I have been told, Curves donates money to the Repubilican Party). The local Curves for Women place is close and do-able for me. OK. So, I’m compromising my integrity — or at least that what some might say. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just struggling to keep my sanity and my health.
And so I start projects. Like planting more seeds for more growing things than I will ever be able to replant outside. I’ve warned my daughter that in a month or so, I will arrive bearing budding gifts.
That is if there’s ever going to be another spring.