Last year my niece sent me the most wonderful gardening gloves. They're made of some space-age material, so thin I can feel the difference between a weed and a "plant," flexible, with a good grip. The problem is, I don't often set out to do weeding, it's an impromptu thing with me. After a drizzly start to the day yesterday, Bess and I went out in the afternoon for a walk and a breath of fresh air. My motivation usually comes after the fact. Before company comes and I'm rushing around, "good enough" seems the order of the day. After they leave, I look at the place through their eyes and think, "Oh, good grief, I should have done this, that, and the other thing!" I get used to seeing things a certain way, so it's not a problem for me. Stepping off the deck, I actually looked at clumps of tall dried weeds nearby. With damp soil, they were easy to pull out and didn't take much time. My girl and I walked on to the drive and into the front yard. It had gotten way too hot before I finished weeding the lavender bed this year. "Well, that looks like hell. What must my guests have thought?" And I started pulling weeds. I did think of those wonderful gloves sitting in the drawer, but knew if I broke the momentum, all would be lost. And so I kept on weeding. I like weeding. Who wouldn't like a worthwhile project outside on a warm afternoon, my companion close by and with a view like mine, heaven and earth right in front of my eyes?