I was walking down the road this drizzly morning, when my elderly neighbor came up his driveway in his car -- from his house down the hill to his mailbox right near me at the road's edge. (This is always a little bit of a concern, as he sometimes ends up in the ditch across the road because he hits the gas instead of the brake when he tries to stop at the mailbox.) My husband and I were recently wondering if he's been okay, because we noticed someone else has been fetching the mail and there seem to be cars coming and going, as if maybe there are visiting nurses changing shifts or something.
When he stepped out of his car, I said to him, "Are you dodging the raindrops today to get the paper?" His answer: "No. I haven't got anything planted yet."
He then asked me if my husband is okay -- said he hasn't seen him in a while. I told him that my husband was doing pretty well, and that he was, in fact, right up there working at the top of the hill. The answer? "Oh, so he's just taking it easy, eh? Do you need a ride?"
"Oh, no. I'm just out taking my plants for a walk" (carrying the clump of irises I plan to deposit in the flower bed outside the quilting studio).
I guess everything is okay, after all. This is the kind of conversation we always have when we meet at the road's edge. I always walk away shaking my head, and can only wonder what he's thinking of our conversation?!?
Anyway, it's a great day for transplanting things -- so that's what I'm up to today.