“To the illumined man or woman, a clod of dirt, a stone, and gold are the same.”
The sun is out, but this time of year it’s not yet strong enough to dispel the evening chill. The days get only as high as the 50’s and hover there. I have a window open in my bedroom, and it’s chilly at night, but I snuggle under the covers, and every morning I wake to the songs of birds.
The front lawn got cut the morning. It was tall and thick and deep green. Afterwards, I could smell cut grass from the deck where I was standing. I think it one of the best of all smells. It conjures memories. It brings to mind summer and warmth and rolling down grassy hills. I remember the click clack of the hand mower as my father cut his lawn and the feel of soft grass between my toes when I ran through the sprinkler. If the lawn needs mowing, summer can’t be so far away.
I think the amount of dirt you can tolerate is in direct proportion to your age. The dirtier you are, the younger you must be. When I was really little, a mud puddle was about the best place to play. My hands and clothes always got filthy, and I still remember the stiffness of my fingers covered in dried mud. It was fun. When I was older and riding my bike, I never cared about scuffs on my sneakers or grease from the chain on my pant legs. It was the joy of the ride which was all important.
Puberty brought a keen awareness of looks and clothes. I’d rather have thrown away a stained blouse than wear it. Sweaters back then were sometimes less a fashion statement than a cover-up. My white sneakers had to be pearly. The standard was high.
I still maintain a pristine look in public, but it’s getting harder, and I’m starting to care less. I travel nowhere without my Tide pen. It is in my bag and a back-up is in the car. My Tide pen has saved blouses and shirts from the rag pile. It makes me look good. I don’t need to bring a sweater. The stains miraculously disappear.
At home, though, it’s a different story. I wear sweatshirts with stains and even a few ratty holes. Who cares? It’s just me.
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keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
April 24, 2010 at 12:17 pm
Stains are one thing: a good wash can handle those. But ‘ratty holes’? That just goes too far! Next you’ll espouse mousy hair.
Cheers
April 24, 2010 at 12:25 pm
Minicapt,
They’re only small holes! It seems the cuffs go first so I just roll them up. I hate to throw away a perfectly good wear around the house when I’m cleaning sweatshirt.
April 24, 2010 at 12:57 pm
I´m always dirty from spring to late autumn 🙂 But that´s what happens when one digs in the garden 🙂 (I was about to write I´m a man I´m dirty, but it sounded a bit strange even in my ears and could be rather misunderstood I think 🙂 🙂 ).
I was looking at the lawn today and I think I have to mowe it sometime next week. That is the only thing I don´t like to do in the garden.
Sunny over here today. The forest stops the winds from west so it has been rather nice being in the garden today. We reached 54F as best and tomorrow it´ll be even warmer. It´s always a bit colder here than in the rest of the village during winter, but when warm weather comes it gets a bit warmer instead 🙂
Have a great day now!
Christer.
April 24, 2010 at 9:57 pm
Christer,
I wear gloves when I garden. The knees of my pants get dirty, but I can’t take dirty hands or nails.
I don’t mow but rather pay someone to move. It had always been my allergies which went haywire when I mowed, but lately that hasn’t happened, but I still don’t do it myself.
It got chillier as the day got older.
April 24, 2010 at 2:31 pm
a poem, we , and our kids, love … entitled Mud.
I like mud.
I like it on my clothes.
I like it on my fingers.
I like it in my toes.
Dirt’s pretty ordinary
And dust’s a dud.
For a really good mess-up
I like mud.
John Smith
April 24, 2010 at 9:58 pm
brian,
I so love this poem I think I might just to memorize it.
April 24, 2010 at 4:23 pm
My lawn got mowed over a week ago. It needed it. It needs it again in some spots. That’s the trouble with lawns.
When you are young dirt is almost a badge of honor. Look how proud little kids are at their muddiness. They positively glow. Well, they would be glowing if you could see under all the dirt.
April 24, 2010 at 10:00 pm
caryn,
I used to have a dirt hole in front of the house-one dog had totaled the lawn. With Gracie locked in the back, I had a new lawn planted. I have to say it looks good and is so much better than dirt.
I used to love mud. There was just something so wonderful about running your hands into mud.
April 24, 2010 at 6:04 pm
Kat, we both chose Dinah Shore songs for our blogs today. That has to be psychic or dumb luck. I couldn’t believe my eyeballs. Different songs but still who would choose Dinah at the same time?
The human animal was born to be grubby. I think it must have warned off bugs or something in our evolution. Most of us just feel more comfortable in jeans, sweatshirt, whatever. But YAY to the teen years when we were watched by girls and watching them too. I’ll never forget. I turn red in the face just thinking how stupid I was back then.
April 24, 2010 at 10:02 pm
Z&Me,
Odd it is that we chose Dinah. Of all the possibilities, I never would have guessed Dinah Shore.
Nothing beats my cozies.
I love being grubby but I don’t love being dirty.
April 25, 2010 at 12:17 pm
One of my most treasured boyhood photos is of me and Mark M at around 3, standing in a garden and clutching muddy smarties.
April 25, 2010 at 2:02 pm
My Dear Hedley,
Mud was almost magical. It had the power to makes us laugh and giggle and not care how dirty we got.
April 25, 2010 at 12:23 pm
I enjoy your blog as always on Sunday morning. It has replaced the Sunday papers in my reading and I no longer have to dispose of them. Your blogs are MUCH better than the news. I still get the news but mostly from the internet and my local subscription allows for that too. One of the few smart things they have done.
Many things come to mind when mud is spoken of. Marbles are, of course, the predominate. Digging the hole in the ‘oh so cold ground’ with the heal of your mud boots. Kneeling down in the cold wet mud to get the very best angle, and fingers turning stiff from the near ice water. Oh the good times! Mud was never a problem for me, except for my mother. She advised me more than once that she was NOT a washer woman and that I had better start mending my ways!
Fun stuff memories. I’m making new ones every day now, or perhaps I’m hoping I live long enough for these to be the good old days. Really, it doesn’t matter, I’m enjoying making them.
Have a good week, Katry.
Carl
MT C
April 25, 2010 at 2:01 pm
Happy Sunday Carl,
Thank you for making Coffee the start of your day. I am highly complimented by that!
I remember the feel of fingers stiff from the cold. They never seemed to get warm.
Marbles were never very popular where I lived. They were around for a while then just faded away. I had several and thought them prettier than useful.
I love the memories of my childhood.