This weekend we have worked real hard on our backyard. I use the term "we" in the loosest possible sense. I try hard to help but mostly am a glorified gopher/cheerleader while all the heavy labor gets accomplished by the man with the muscles. He huffs and puffs loading gravel in the wheelbarrow, pushing it around the house, and then unloading the rocks in the trenches he laboriously dug. I huff and puff picking up single rocks that try to go rogue in the lawn. I guess I did okay with one lung tied behind my back (thanks O2 backpack that likes to conk me in the back of the head when I bend over too far--not nice.)
It's been warm and sunny the past couple of days and with the long winter and cool spring we've had here in Colorado just being outside is wonderful. Last summer I spent most of my days in the hospital or in the house trying to recover from being in the hospital, so working out in the yard feels like an extra treat.
One thing I missed this Memorial Day however, is going to the cemeteries. As a kid I used to think it was an odd thing to do. But as an adult living away from family burial sites, I wish I could be there to pay my respects, tidy up the plots, and see the beautiful flowers and flags lovingly placed on the graves of those who still mean a great deal to me and my family. There is a feeling of reverence and respect which I feel when I visit on Memorial Day--a beautiful tender mercy.
Thank you to all those who have fought valiantly for the defense of freedom. I am so blessed to live in such wonderful country.