I posted this on my gardening blog, but I thought I'd post it here too, since a) it puts to rest those rumors of my untimely death, and b) it explains why I'm not writing anything that requires thought.
Every year about this time, I get an entire day to work in the yard--the first full gardening day since about October. And every year on that day, I get very ambitious, hoeing everything in sight and completing some big project that involves shoveling and moving heavy objects. On that day, I get a bad case of Almost-Spring-Fever and forget that I'm not 20 anymore, with nearly limitless stamina and a nearly-invincible back. Today was that day.
I built a new bed to house what was formerly a crabgrass patch decorated with a few rosebushes, hoed out the crabgrass, shoveled out a whole pickup load of compost onto the new bed, dumped wheelbarrow loads of the (rather wet) compost, emptied a very large (and very heavy) terracotta pot, planted a bed of strawberries, carted a heavy planter uphill from one end of the yard to the other, pruned all my roses, and dragged a yard waste bin around. I'm basking in the warm glow of accomplishment, while my lower back is basking in... pain. What the !@#$% was I thinking? I'm a 40-year-old librarian! But the new bed looks really nice. I'd take a picture of it, but that would require getting up and walking.