Month: April 2011

Somebody outed Santa Claus and giving the stinkeye to anybody who gets in his way.

I was a late bloomer to the gardening phenomenon, so to speak.  I didn’t get it.  Not only did I not understand it, I was completely bored by the subject.  When I would get in the middle of two gardeners at a dinner party rattling on and on about compost and garden gloves, my eyes would glaze over and I’d repeatedly top off my glass of wine until my glazed eyes became had too much to drink eyes.

My friend pestered me for years to garden and I ignored her time after time.   When another spring was approaching, she firmly said, “You need to garden.”  I just as firmly replied no thanks but then she said,   “You have to do this because you’re creative, ”  It was too hard to argue with that so I gave in, dipped my hands into the soil and was thus baptized into the Kingdom of Gardening.

I was such a rookie at every aspect of gardening that I tested the limits of our friendship with every trip to the nursery.  It is not an exaggeration to say that I struggled for years trying to understand the difference between an annual and a perennial.  At an estate sale, I thought I was buying a spade when in fact I was buying a trowel.  It was only when I paid for it and the cashier asked me if I was laying a ceramic floor did I realize I had absolutely no business pursuing this endeavor. 

I persisted, however, and my first garden was modest and sweet.  I looked after it as if it were a newborn and like raising a child, made many mistakes before it took hold.  A few years and a lot more confidence later, we redid the landscaping around the house and moved my garden so it was steps from the front door and much larger.  Putting a garden in your front yard is either stupid or brilliant, but I took that leap of faith and and flowers became my drug of choice.   When my mom, who is not a gardener, went to a mega-garden center with my brother, I asked her to give me the scoop.  She said it was filled with everything you could possibly imagine but that, “some of those damn fool people were spending three and four hundred dollars on flowers.”  “Damn fools,” I repeated, but inside I envied those shoppers who could pile their plant wagons with all those flowers.

I wouldn’t know where to begin to explain what has happened to me since that initial introduction many years ago.  I study gardening books and growing zones and peer into strangers carts to see what they’re buying.   I long for delphiniums but they never do well in my garden so every year I pass them by and sigh deeply.  Very deeply.  I battle rabbits and when they chewed two flats of petunias, I thought about getting a hunting license.  I have bent over a weak, sickly plant and whispered, “come to Mama,” as if that would cure all its ills and make it bloom.  There is nothing I enjoy more than tending my garden.

This spring has been cold, overcast and often dismal, and my garden, which was knee-deep in leaves, seemed as sad as I was.  When the sun made an appearance, I spent the day cleaning up the remains from winter.  When all was finished, the heads of those dormant flowers were beginning to push their way upward and I was charmed once again.  My old friends had come back and I didn’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders any more.

Now I am the one at the cocktail party rattling on about flowers and if someone asked me to explain my passion, I would say that this little garden of mine calms my restless mind and awakens my senses.  It is the place I go to dream and plan and offers a winding path of surprises every year.  It knows my prayers and my problems and only answers with color and life.

Eventually, spring will come to stay so I will dig and plant and mulch, and at the end of those long, sunny days, it’s that garden of mine that will have tended me.

For those who seriously want to look more youthful without surgery……….

….and have orgasmic sensations while firming up those face and neck muscles.

The Adams Mortuary, located in Compton, California, has covered a 12 foot wide drive-through with a glass display window so that mourners can pay their respects to the deceased without leaving their car.  Yep, fat-ass Americans can grieve their dead without even getting out of the car and if they stop at McDonald’s first, can gnaw on some supersized fries while telling Grandma she meant so much to them that they can’t be bothered to come in for a look and a prayer card.

I’ll give you some thinking music to ponder this concept………….

Feel free to replay it if need be, but I’m gonna bet the house and say Alex, is the Final Jeopardy question WTF?  

This is BD’s new tub.  He thought it would spice things up a bit.  Har. Har. Har.

Actually, we saw it at a garage sale.  I wanted it for the house.  Oh, BD, a cast iron tub for the upstairs bathroom?  Be still my vintage heart.  BD had other plans – a koi pond and keep your mitts off it, Curly.  It sat for months on the side yard and the neighbors were like, “For krissssssakes, Fishers, keep your erectile dysfunction problems in the house.  This ain’t some commercial.”   To hell with them we said and left it out there until spring.

Last weekend the Cialis Tub got moved to its permanent location by the patio and isn’t she pretty?  The fish will be ready for their new home once BD runs the pump awhile to clean it out.  The power for the pump is coming from an outlet in the basement.

Like so……  BD, shouldn’t we do something about that window situation?  When the raccoons discover your pond, they’re going to come in the house thru the basement window to dry off after their surf and swim.  BD said I was crazy.  He said animals don’t come in houses.  He doesn’t watch Hoarders so he doesn’t know about the old lady who had a house full of chickens.  And I mean chickens everywhere.

Once upon a time, BD and the Boy Child came home from a scouting campout with a snake.  BD put it in a little aquarium with a screen on top.  Shouldn’t you put something heavier on top of that so it doesn’t escape?  Oh, Little Woman, he says, you slay me with your heebie jeebies.

Months later, I’m up and down the stairs on a Saturday morning doing laundry and BD is whistling and wandering around with a flashlight.  I ask him what he’s looking for and he says, oh nothing, just looking.  About the third time up the stairs. two neurons in my brain region make a love connection and that’s when I figured the whole thing out, looked at BD and said, “That fucking snake is missing, isn’t it?”  (No italics and an F-bomb cuz I was really pissed.)   It’s not missing he tells me, it’s lost and he goes back to whistling zippety-do-dah like it’s my, oh, my, a wonderful day with a snake on the loose. 

Not to anyone’s surprise, the snake was never found which is why I try not to keep my butt on the toilet seat too long.  BD says that’s why I’m uptight and constipated, but if it has grown to python size, I don’t want to be in a compromised position should it decide to check out our little Garden of Eden……….

………..because when that snake thinks the moment is right, plenty of trouble could be headed my way.

I’ve been a little overwhelmed this week which explains the lame posting.  I’m in charge of the Easter Vigil reception on Saturday nite for about 100-150 people.  On Sunday, we’re having 30 people over for Easter dinner.  Can you say AHHHHHH???  Today after I grocery shopped and made umpteen reminder calls to volunteers, I crafted.  For hours at the dining room table.  It’s how I handle stress.  I check out with scrapbooking paper and scissors.  I feel better and still have no idea how I’m going to fit this many people in my house, but how lucky are BD and I that we have so many friends?

In the meantime, have the loveliest of Easter seasons when all of life gets a do-over.  Thanks for supporting this writer these last few months.  I heart you all.  Big time…………

Love, love, love, love, crazy love

In the past few days, 60 Minutes and Jon Krakauer have called into question Greg Mortenson and his book, Three Cups of Tea.  I read the book several years ago and heard Mr. Mortenson speak just last year.  It was quite an evening.  He was dynamic, articulate and passionate about education in Pakistan and Afghanistan and upon entering the event, envelopes were passed out should you wish to make a donation to the Central Asia Institute to further the cause.  Whether he has experienced or accomplished all that he claims in his books is now under question as is the financial management of his nonprofit.  I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt and think that there are minor discrepancies to clear up, but when interviewed about the allegations he commented that he is not a journalist, did not take a lot of notes and places the blame on his coauthor. 

So now what? 

Somebody somewhere is teaching a kid to read and opening a door to an exciting world.  We’ll never know their name and hundreds of people aren’t likely to go out in the evening to hear their story.  That is grace and should they wobble or fall from it, nobody will even notice.

For several years, I was a volunteer at my church in the religious ed program.  Every Monday from 4:15 to 5:15, public school kids (like mine) would go to the Catholic school to learn about their faith.  For two of those years, I was a 4th grade teacher.   During Lent, each grade would be assigned a day to go to the church for confession.  Most kids are terrified of this and so we spent a lot of time practicing what to do and say until the day came for the 4th graders to confess their sins.

One by one, I watched those nervous, little kids go up on the altar, take a seat, make the sign of the cross and start talking.  When they were done, they’d come back to the pew.  One little girl came back, sat down next to me and whispered, “Mrs. Fisher that wasn’t hard at all.”  I’m happy to hear that.  “Mrs. Fisher, do you want to know why it wasn’t hard for me?”  Why, yes I do.  “Because I never do anything wrong.”

In the year those kids learned the Beattitudes, Ten Commandments and how to be good stewards of all God gave them, I was educated about self-esteem from a nine year old who sat down, looked the Company Rep for the Jesus Corp right in the eye and said, “Bless me Father for I have sinned………..well, actually, I haven’t so I’m gonna go sit with my friends and not waste your time or mine.”

When our Teacher Girl moved home for a year, she watched Wheel of Fortune every night.  I quickly got hooked since there’s nothing a wordie likes more than to solve word puzzles.  Between us, we were a one-two punch and if the contestants didn’t know the answer we’d shout at the t.v. until they paid attention to us. 

A few weeks ago, I was watching it and when the guy who solved the first puzzle had to introduce himself, he was nearly overcome with emotion.  He said that he’d been watching Pat and Vanna for 20 years and his lifelong goal was to make it onto the show.  Well, whaddya know?  He did that and made some money to boot.

By the end of the show he’d made it to The Final Spin and couldn’t believe his good fortune.  Sure enough, he solved the last puzzle and left with SEVENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS (insert dramatic voice over).  Oh, he had himself a good, ol’ cry then and all alone with my glass of wine, I dabbed my teary eyes for this man who kept spinning a wheel until he made his dream come true.