Red, White and Roux

My nails were in terrible shape, and I was not the least bit upset. I spent the last glorious Saturday morning potting up my herbs - cilantro, oregano, thyme, mint, sage, and dill. I gave the old chives a little prod, some new soil, and said a little prayer. My lone Shasta daisy proudly issued forth with three red blooms that the yellow butterflies found irresistible. Three squirrels chased each other in the trees and scolded me for my presence.

Of course, I have perfect little green suede gardening gloves, but I couldn't bring myself to put them on. I wanted to feel the dirt and the plants with my hands. As I patted the soil down and straightened the drooping leaves, I said a few words of encouragement. I admired my plants and sat down for a moment of rest.

The sun beat down on the back of my neck. I rolled up the sleeves of my tee shirt so that my arms could feel the warmth. I tarried.

Folders full of essays and tests awaited me inside. The sink was full of dishes. I had calls to answer and emails begging a response.

Ah, calls to make.

I ran inside, grabbed my cell phone and my library files.

I settled back into the sunshine and proceeded down the usual list of Saturday morning conversations. All I got was voice mail. After duly leaving cheery messages I was faced with the next task. Duty calls. Once again, only voice mail. Okay, what else constructive could I do and still stay outside?

Of course, those new herbs needed some water. Then I had to wash off my feet with the hose and sit in the sun until they dried.

I thought, "Well, maybe I should check out that new Alice Hoffman novel, "Three Angels." I went inside and grabbed the book and settled in for a quick 20 pages or so. By the way, it portends to be fantastic.

My phone rang. One of the Saturday morning regulars had responded to my voice mail. We talked for about 30 minutes on topics ranging from children and teaching to the presidential race and local politics.

After we hung up I decided the novel deserved a few more pages, and, well, someone else might call. I read for a bit and noticed my arms turning pink. The back of my neck was also getting uncomfortably hot.

I grudgingly moved inside. The house was dim after the bright light outdoors. My eyes adjusted. The dishes were still piled in the sink. I unloaded the dishwasher and began the dreary process of rinsing, scrubbing, and loading. The stovetop and big pots beckoned. I knew I had to do it. I bit the bullet (our classroom idiom of the day on Friday), and dug in, knowing the end result would make me a happier person.

I thought, "What else?" My column. I went to the computer room and opened the windows. I could hear the birds outside. Writing for a couple of hours would be productive, and I could still enjoy the weather.

Writing finished, I went back outside with the novel and the phone. The student papers will still be there tomorrow. I can shop for my son's birthday package on Sunday.

Maybe fall in north Florida deserves a few moments of full and complete appreciation unencumbered by duty and responsibility.

My nails will recover.

            Denise Roux is a regular columnist for the Apalachicola and Carrabelle Times. To reach her, email her at rouxwhit@mchsi.com