I spent my Friday in the vincas.
My mother’s vincas.
Dozens and dozens of pink, white, purple, salmon-colored little flowers who needed to be repotted, fertilized, mulched, watered, lugged a country mile from backyard to front yard, only to then demand their new home be weeded of violets, nut grass and other sundry nasties.
Apparently, this wore my panicky bits out just enough to allow me to sleep again.
Blessed be the vincas!