The front flower beds flanking the drive are now trim and neat. The cactus is gone, twist leaf yuccas, sotol, and Sage have the stage all to themselves. Later today I will spray the beds with corn gluten to deter weeds, and that bit of work will be done. For another season, to be undone by weeds, wind, and weather. But I’ve made a private vow to keep these beds closer in hand, so they never fall into another state of disrepair similar to the one I just encountered. I plan to stand by it. The vow.

Now, it’s on to the roses. I’m trimming deadwood. They made nice recoveries from the winter storm, and they’re getting ready to bloom, but down low several branches gave up the ghost. The roses opted to reward those living in sunlight. Wise move in my book. I’ll clean out the old wood, and then when the blooms flower and fall, I’ll trim the top, too. Shape the bushes a bit. Previously, my wife handled that chore. Now its mine. I know what she liked, however, and I’ll do it, even though when she was alive, we disagreed. In retrospect, I believe I was simply being lazy.

I think that’s the nice thing about marriage. You learn things. See the other’s point of view and realize how the world looks different from that angle, and it’s not all together unpleasant. Then you adapt to that view and sometimes they to yours and suddenly you’re both looking at the world in a totally different manner. And I don’t mean to claim it’s an always idyllic process. At times, it can involve a bit of pain because you have to surrender some of yourself, and that’s difficult. But it worked out for me, and in the end, I suppose that’s good, because I’m the only one responsible for me, and I feel as though I made some good choices along the way.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale