As I stroll through my garden, I hold a cup of coffee, the sweet kind with additives that are purported to transport one to exotic locations. It is early morning. I am still wearing my pajamas. My husband fusses at me for walking around that way, but who is to see? I am blessed with privacy. The atmosphere is warm and laden with moisture: 100% humidity. I move slowly through the thick air, like a vacationer drifting in a tube down one of those lazy river rides, breathing in the vapors of the surrounding waters.
The problem with this scenario is the coffee. What nut drinks coffee outside on such a muggy summer morning? Ice water would be more appropriate, but old habits, acquired in a cooler season, are hard to break. And there is another purpose for the coffee. It is difficult to pull weeds while carrying a mug of steaming coffee. Even with one hand free, the danger of spilling hot coffee is too great to be bending over and tugging at offenders near the ground. So the coffee is to keep me on task, which is to enjoy a morning stroll. I want to concentrate on the garden while the birds are active and before the glare of the white hot sun begins to scorch the skin and dazzle the eyes.
The coffee doesn't work. It never does, and I don't know why I retain the silly notion that it might. A weed right there demands my attention. If I wait till later, it will be two feet tall with offsprings of thousands. So I sit my coffee down on a nearby stump. It will only take a moment to yank the weed out of the ground. An hour later I return to the coffee. A pile of weeds, long snaky vines, and clippings from a shrub lay nearby. The coffee is cold, and an assortment of tiny twigs and dead gnats are floating in it. I sigh. I didn't need to drink the stuff anyway. What I do need is a bath. It is time to start the day.