Listen to the Plants Singing

Delaware is shrouded by navy blue clouds today; it's a thundering and lightening sky. Normally, when I don't have to cook or leave the house, I love this. My plants are getting watered and they're always happy when it rains. (Yes, plants can be happy.) I should be downstairs painting, but I keep thinking about returning the new vacuum cleaner to Boscov's and then going to Brian's in the pouring rain. I usually just pop my waterproof Oregon hat onto my head or wear my rain-jacket, but this weather calls for something more, like my body coated in plastic.
I need that little stick vacuum though. I vacuum up escaped kitty litter and Moon and Autumn's floating fur, which is everywhere, all the time. I forget where I put Moon's shaver thing that would shave off his knots. His mom was half-Persian, and while he looks like his Maine Coon daddy, his fur is Persian. It's more apt to form balls than Autumn's pure Maine Coon fur. Hers is all over her upstairs dominion resembling dust bunnies.
According to the receipt, I bought the new stick cordless vacuum a month ago and it worked well until last night when it simply stopped. It's maybe the fourth of this kind I've had and they do what other cordless vacs don't plus, they're very light, and the battery goes for about an hour. They're not perfect. The last one that's gone now but still ensconced in the sunroom, is held together by duct tape. The pieces of the thing eventually break off, but with a stick from one of the trees and some ingenuity, they can keep working. (Glad those sticks are good for something.)
I got those sticks earlier this week, between raindrops, cutting off the dead branches from the Butterfly Trees in the backyard. There was another tree actually climbing up the trunk of one of the Butterflies, hidden, but for it's leaves not matching the real occupants. I wasn't able to pull it out, but I cut it down. Having moved out to the suburbs from our whole life in Philly with virtually no yard, it's amazing how the garden grows. The best gardening eats up parts of every day, which most people can't afford, but when it's feasible, there's something wonderful there. Sitting in the midst of the garden, it's possible to feel the trees and plants. When they're cared for, they almost sing.

Spring

Getting ready to leave the house...again. This time, it's to the cardiologist for Harry and me, then to Home Depot, for soil and stuff. After a day of "out", I like to stay in the house, get my little jobs done, and paint. I can paint at night, no problem, but I feel as though I'm being dragged out. I'm not.
I have nine million weeds to pull, then spread the stuff that's supposed to prevent them returning. Good luck. Last year, they kept coming until I sprayed the weed killer that was supposed to kill only them. The plant guys at Home Depot said that stuff kills everything, so I didn't buy it this year. Time will tell, if the plants come back or not. Right now, it's those day lilies all over. More are coming. They're beautiful, but this year, I'm not enjoying them like I did. I'm looking, waiting, to see if the rest will come up too. My hostas haven't broken the surface yet. The Azaleas all seemed to come through the winter well, better than I ever expected. Some of them, I had to spray for death fungus over and over last summer. A lot of the Rhododendrons are limping, but they're alive. What the hell!? They're on crutches.