old honolulu, san francisco, ashtabula
My dad came up this weekend to help work on the house and yard. We planted a variety of bushes and trees in the backyard, fixed the fence (mostly) and were going to install an additional security plate to the front door–there have been a few break-ins in our neighborhood–but ran out of time before he had to head back to Chapel Hill.
We had a great time. Luke did too, especially–there’s little he likes more than to be around "big men doing important things with tools outside." It just presses all the right buttons for him. It also had the added benefit that there was dirt involved (well, mulch), and he took full advantage of its presence, making "mulch angels" and flinging it about with abandon.
We planted a bunch of dogwoods in the back and side yard, a few hydrangeas in the corner and some assorted azaleas. We moved the little oak tree, too, from the corner by the gate into the middle of the yard, where the old (ugly) oak used to be before we cut it down a few years ago. It was a productive day. The only downside–and this is a huge downside–was that I lost my wedding band. My hands contract with the cold and my band, which is already loose as it is, isn’t done any favors in terms of staying on my finger. Add to that repeated putting-on/removing of the gloves and you have a recipe for disaster. I scoured the yard for hours afterward unsuccessfully. I’m going to rent a metal detector tomorrow and see if that turns up anything. There are stories online of people having success with them, so I’m optimistic. If I didn’t find the ring just sitting on the ground, chances are it’s buried in one of the mulch areas around the plants, so that narrows the search radius considerably. So we’ll see.
That said, I find it difficult to express just how much I hate hate HATE not having a ring on my finger. I’ve been supremely self-conscious about it for the past day and a half, especially in public. I went to extradordinary lengths this morning at church to hold my left hand in such a way that it wouldn’t be obvious that I didn’t have it on. One ofPenelope’s favorite things to do when we "visit" her at night is to come to the side of her crib and play with my ring as I hold the top railing. And most significantly of all, it’s just the symbol that I belong to Diane, that I’m utterly taken by her. The fact that I can’t communicate that to the world tacitly at the moment is very, very disconcerting.