There is a line in the book Anne of Green Gables that often plays in my head. She has been scolded yet again for speaking her mind and she retorts Marilla.

"If you knew how many things I want to say, and don't,  you'd give me some credit."

Marilla sniffs, unimpressed. 

The couple I am gardening with comes home soon. They have been gone for awhile and the weeds have taken the opportunity to embarrass me. I wish I could welcome my friends back with smartly tended beds, but they will be, well, imperfect. Often in the last few days as I yanked up weeds, I remembered Anne.

"If you knew how many weeds there were that I did pull you would give me some credit," I think in my defense of an accusation that has never been delivered. 

In a relationship that is growing, like a garden, and messy, hey also like a garden, it is hard to notice what has already been yanked. Because it is whisked away before it is spoken, or acted upon, most of us blather along in the land of ignorance. 

"Oh, were you tempted to do your laundry and leave mine in the basket? And you changed your mind? Thanks!"

"That only slightly impatient comment was the edited version of a much more abrasive tirade? Much obliged."

One time I asked a man who has been married a long time what his advice was.

"Your tongue should have a well worn groove."