I’m a little on edge this week, trying to finish the edits on Different Dream Parenting and get it back to the editor by the June 27 deadline. But today’s recycled post from last June reminds me that book angst is much easier to deal with than wedding angst. This time last year I was worried about the yard, the flowers, the weather, and a whole bunch of other stuff, as this post from June 14, 2010 shows.
Yard Angst – Recycled
These days, I’m worrying about the yard. First, the warm April weather fooled the summer flowers into blooming two weeks early even though May turned cold. Now, a week of heavy rain and predictions of more to come put the whole state under a flood watch. So I’m looking for someone or something to blame for my daughter’s unshakable decision to have her wedding in our yard on July 11.
You see, the wedding has become a constant source of yard angst for me. Will all the flowers be done blooming before the wedding? If the rains continue, will the yard be a yishy, squishy mess? Will the creeping Charlie be too noticeable? Will the weeds in the flower beds take over? Will the weather be too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, too windy, too still?
I found the perfect outlet for my yard angst. It’s the young red oak in our yard. We planted in during Anne’s childhood. She waited year after patient year for the sapling to get big enough to climb, which she did frequently once her dad declared it a tree. Since then, it’s gotten big enough to cast a respectable amount of shade on hot, summer days. And on cool fall afternoons, it glows red and glorious. Despite its usefulness and beauty, between now and the wedding, I plan to blame it for my yard angst every single day.
After all, it’s a perfect whipping post. When I start railing about the wedding, it can’t walk away. It can’t spout off a snappy comeback or argue with my logic. It’s too flexible for straight line winds to snap it, too deeply rooted for a flood to wash it away, and too far from the house to fall on it during a tornado.
Ahh, I’m beginning to understand why Anne fell in love with her tree. Not enough to climb the darn thing (no need for height angst to keep the yard angst company), but enough to go along with her romantic whim. At least until the next round of yard angst sets in.
How much longer until July 11?
