Loose Ends
Never going to weed again
Susan Nienow

I am a compulsive weeder. I even pull weeds in other people's yards. Just last week I pulled the weeds in the parking lot where I parked my car. I have great difficulty driving past those islands of daylilies and weeds that divide lanes along suburban roads. I can picture myself out there with a bucket, a weeder and a big floppy hat (to disguise my identity) weeding until that spot is perfect.

My self-esteem can't handle a moniker like "the weed lady" so that's why I would opt for the hat. Unfortunately, once I started I couldn't stop so it would become a fulltime job.

Six days ago, it was sunny and warm so I headed outside to work. I loaded up a bucket with clippers, trowels and garden gloves and headed out to my perennial/shrub/ tree nursery and plant hospital. Many are marked with stakes so they don't get stepped on. And, of course, I can't use weed killer here. It's where I put in tiny plants or even twigs in the hopes that with a little attention, they will become grown-ups, worthy of the front yard.

I put my bucket down, bent over to reach for the nearest weed and didn't stand up straight again until late afternoon. I forgot lunch, skipped the pruning, forgot to put on the gloves and had a glorious day - until I stood up. Then, despite the rather large clump of mouse-ear chickweed at my feet, I knew that if I bent over to get it, I wouldn't get back up. So with a wistful look at that green mass, I picked up my bucket and headed for the garage.

I took a hot shower and still felt those muscles along the back of my legs tightening up. So I took a few ibuprofen and sat down to look at the mail. That was a bad idea. Standing up again was painful. I knew I was in for a bad time.

Bedtime couldn't come too soon that night. By morning I felt rested and crippled. Another hot shower. More ibuprofen. I set off for the day. The first hurdle was the four steps down into the garage. I took them one at a time and then realized I couldn't just slide into the front seat of the car. It took work.

I cut my errands short and headed home. My other half had been mostly silent throughout my ordeal with occasional mutterings about using a hoe, kneeling to weed, pacing myself. As I hobbled up the stairs, he asked, "Want to go to the gym tomorrow?"