Because my back was still sore from having tweaked it last Saturday, I almost didn't go outside to work in the garden. I convinced myself by arguing that, since Wednesday is trash day, Tuesday is the deadline for anything that involves making trash.

As soon as I was outside, I was glad I had gone. It was the kind of day for which people move to California in the first place. Not just that it was sunny; the air also carried the scents of jasmine and lemon balm, and something that smelled like hope and happiness.

In three hours, I filled all three green barrels, and removed most of the overgrown bougainvillea and honeysuckle, along with the dead roses. No, I didn't remove any of the living roses, and left enough honeysuckle to keep attracting hummingbirds. I'd like to get rid of the bougainvillea, as it's a dull orange color I don't care for, but I lack the strength of will to destroy something so vigorous.

I should note that my apple trees are blooming, along with the climbing Cecile Brunner roses, and the white callas. There weren't many birds around; I'm trying to get the pruning and cleanup jobs finished before they start nesting.

And my back hurt less after the hard physical work than it had before.

I measured the blanket before putting it up last night: 7 feet, so far. I'm wondering whether, when finished, it will be too big to use. I'll find a use for it. It's wonderfully soft and squishy; I can hardly keep the cat off it. I'm coming into the home stretch, now. I'm trying to decide whether to keep in here, or take it to Oregon to live.

Speaking of which, I can't find a couple of my hand-knit sweaters. I wonder whether I left them in Oregon?