I try to convince myself, with a half-hearted smile, that weeds are simply flowers growing somewhere you’d rather not have them. But then I see the bindweed wrapping itself around my roses and strangling the life out of my daisies and I turn into Kali-Goddess of Destruction.

Last weekend my arms were flailing about ripping huge hunks of crabgrass out of my garden. It had arrived, no doubt, in the new birdseed. Feed the birds, grow some weeds.

I cleared out the mess and found two uprooted tulip bulbs. So, the squirrels have been rearranging the beds again! They don’t even eat the bulbs. They pull them up long enough to reject them . . . for the birdfeeder!

The neighbor’s cat won’t chase the squirrels out of the garden, but it will surely use my mulch for a litter box. I could smell the poop, but couldn’t dodge the wasps long enough to find and remove it.

The mosquitoes were biting me and I smacked one quickly enough to leave a smear of blood on my leg.

Ew!

Winter doesn’t sound so bad right now.