We get weekly visits from a cardiac rehab nurse. Nurse Jane, affectionately known in our house as the heart gestapo, comes equipped with a portable ECG, blood pressure cuff and a wealth of knowledge. We bombard her with questions, can he do this, can he eat that… Today he asked if he could dig in the garden. She said no, with a helpful explanation about how he has to build a healthy scar on his heart by resting for four weeks, the only exception being the cardiac rehab walking program.
I caught him in the garden with a mysterious amount of dirt missing from the left side of a large tree planter he had built. I say "I thought you weren’t supposed to be digging." He replies, I wasn’t digging. I was only moving dirt with a shovel." What am I missing here? Is that the same as "I’m not knitting, I’m just wrapping string on sticks?" What I really wanted to say was "If you’re not careful, maybe you’ll move enough dirt for a grave."
I’m the guilty party, though, as he was building the planter for my early Mother’s Day gift. It’s a weeping Katsura tree that was a royal hassle to get, but was a real bargain. Apologies to Dave, our dear friend, who had to drive twice to Langley to pick up the correct tree for us, and his son, Jeff, who accompanied me on a wild goose chase to try to find a large enough planter. Silly me wanted to put it in a planter in case we ever move. I’ve see the price tag on mature versions of this tree and it’s going with me no matter what. It’s a good thing my daughter has a forklift operator’s license.
You know how Sandy is about skies? I’m that way about trees. I’ve noticed pretty tree pictures recently at Knitting Iris (May 2nd post) and over at Lynne’s (whose garden always looks like a Thomas Kinkaid painting). So, if you have any trees to show me, I’d love to see them.
Life's a Stitch 
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