![I Believe... [Weed Your Mom's Garden]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1694960240941-QPJJCBBSNJWDZ2F1RT10/IMG_0079.PNG)
I Believe... [Weed Your Mom's Garden]
...that spending a morning helping my mom clean up her extensive gardens, pulling weeds and trimming back overgrowth, and then organizing the garage as my dad sits in his chair supervising his need for order in one of his few places left is worth more than most things I do on any other given day. My mom singing nonsense songs in her pleasure at her garden and my dad’s satisfied grin as the garage comes together is gold.
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.