by Nita Hill

I read an article in the Times that the purpose of sleep was to forget. We, or at least mice, crop synapses while we or they sleep. I had an image of our days being like comic books or graphic novels (if your life is more interesting than mine) and every night our brains only retain a few of the frames. We try to store those in albums but we eventually toss most of them as well.

In the spring, I am virtually and actually beginning a new garden. As an older person, whose body is fairly worn out, I realize I have forgotten how much work will be involved. How many hours have I dug grass out of borders? How many hours have I grown, moved, and trimmed plants? I need a tree moved and new ones planted. Have I forgotten how hard it is to dig those huge holes? What about hardscaping? Am I going to build pathways and haul gravel? I have always done all the work myself with my husband as chief sh*t hauler, is it too late for that?

Rather than rushing into this project as I normally would, is it OK to take my time as though I have loads of it? I know I hate housework and every time I throw myself into it, I resent it even as I love having a clean house. I know I love to garden but in the past by throwing myself into it as well have I diminished my enjoyment?

How does one live as though there is time enough? Anyone who has ever built a garden knows that a garden is never finished. Somehow, I have gotten on Pinterest. It shows me cool garden hacks. It amazes me how creative we all are. It also shows me gardens. Lush mature gardens that I know I shall never achieve in the few years I have left.