Weak in the head is more like it. I was not going to weed anything yesterday. I'd had it with weeding. I concentrated on doing some much-needed housework. I never got around to making that birthday pie, so decided to try making curd with the lemons. Finally found a recipe in a Scottish Highlands cookbook and man, is that stuff good (and easy)! I've got some special company coming later this week and the curd should go well with an angel food cake.
Like an itch that needed scratching, those darned weeds kept niggling at me until I could stand it no longer and we all went outide. Frank and Pearl took turns ambushing each other in the tall stuff when they weren't plaguing me. I felt I'd deprived the children of their playground as I stripped away their hiding places.
That mountain of weeds behind Bessie is the result of the afternoon's efforts. It could be my imagination, but I think she's asking, "Are we done yet?" Even Frank is yawning with boredom and Pearl has left the scene. Oh crum. Now that those weeds are gone, I can see the leaves that will need to be raked. Will it never end? Will my back hold out until it does?