There's a very nice lady at work who is the mothering type and makes sure all of us chickens are well taken care of--like making pumpkin name tags for our cubes and using her loud voice to really yell at someone about the broken Xerox. A couple of months after I first started my job, she brought in some kind of flower bulbs, and gave them to me promising that I would not be able to kill them. I scoffed. She gave me 3 of varying sizes; she wasn't even able to tell me what kind of flowers they were, just that the bush would get big and it would have very big showy flowers next spring. So I planted them around my mailbox, which is the most desolate spot in our yard. Our mailbox just yells to be pissed on by neighborhood dogs (we have a sudden flood of new families with babies and dogs around here). We just happen to have a small trowel--do not ask me where the heck we came by it, but i sat there for about 2 hours jabbing at the ground around the mailbox. It was exhausting work. What no one had ever included me in on before is that in this part of Texas, you are lucky if you can even get an inch in to the ground due to all the limestone. So I had to hack away for some time to make 3 sadly shallow holes, but I did it dammit! I made it happen and I dropped those bulbs in there, and then sat back through one of the worst droughts on record. I am NOT one to remember to water the plants--the cats, sure, but the plants are outside and aren't constantly tripping me until I notice what they heck they need from me. However, we (The Boy and I) usually remembered at least one of the two days we were allowed to water to take care of the plants. Then in September it started raining, and shit if it won't stop raining. Those little brown crispy thing by the mailbox that the dogs kept pissing on are finally looking quite nice. One of them is almost bordering on medium in size. Will they bloom in April? I have no idea but things look promising right now. This would be a total success story for me if that is the case. Because if any of you know me at all, you are still trying to get over the idea of me gardening, and you are wondering what happened to your good friend, Grumples. You are not wrong to think this.
But here's the thing, I like to dig in the dirt. It may be hard work but all that dirt under my nails and wiping the sweat off of my upper lip, that is some good times. It's all the after-the-fact stuff I have to do like watering and weeding. It seems so droll. Where's the fun in it. Actually digging in the dirt feels like I am getting somewhere, like, DUDE, can i really dig all the way to the middle of the earth with this trowel? What bugs will I find? Any weird crap that never disintegrated and couldn't be eaten by the worms and snails? I did find a spearhead in the creek behind an apartment once, so who knows what I can find digging in my front yard? Then of course it is nice something come out of those efforts. It's so much like when you're a kid and plant the bean in the Styrofoam cup, except I get to plant my beans where ever I want. Who needs a landscaper to tell me where to plants stuff--I just pick a spot and start to dig.
I truly started this experimenting with this crazy "gardening" thing a few years ago when a dear friend showed up to my birthday party with a small little square of lavender and another of rosemary. Without any thought to it, I just stuck them to the left of the front door. They actually thrived, and obviously I planted the damn things too close together because they are all up in each other's business now. This is orange lover's favorite place to stand when he goes outside, and he already smells delicious, but just think what he smells like when he gets out of the rosemary bush! So, I have those and the mysterious bulbs, and this summer I planted two different types of blue sage by the corner of the house that looked lonely. That's where the drain pipe comes down from the gutters. See, I'm such a genius, I said to myself, "well, at least there will be more of a source of water seeping in to the ground next to this drain pipe). I really can't see those plants when I enter the house, so yes, I'll admit it, I 100% forgot they existed until this rain decided to never go away. Now there a pale blue flowers peeping out from the side of the house. It was way easier digging those holes next to the house, which I guess kind of makes sense since some of that limestone would have had to been removed to lay the foundation. I also have a few succulents that live on a spare tire that lives on our concrete square in front of the door. We are nothing but class around here. The neighbors are so jealous of our creative landscaping.
Yesterday this same coworker came by my desk to see if I had any Scotch tape. She got distracted by this aloe plant giving birth to many aloe babies all over a desk. They used to belong to my supervisor whom I had for about 2 months before things went horribly wrong for her, some one must of have it out for her because she was a good person, and she was let go. Thus all her plants were left languishing in her office. It was good thing that she only had aloe and ivy, because I know I wasn't watering the damn things. Then ECL moved in to that office, and come out to my desk and said, "Does anyone want those plants?" in the same tone he used the first day of work to tell me the butterfly photo in his office was too feminine for him and needed to be moved. We're not talking a girly butterfly, but an actual beautiful photo of wildlife in action. I guess aloe and ivy offended his male sensibilities. I pretty much ignored his request to have the plants moved since he had hands and legs and all the other equipment one would need to move plants. Twit, always eager to help, moved the plants for him. Go figure.
Anyway, that's how the aloe ended up in a place where my dear mother-hen could find them. She just kept saying over and over again, "they're babies!" This of the most Texan country hick accent, and you'll get it. She took it upon herself to prune it down, while talking to it about having all these "BABIES!" She foisted some on to me, and tonight, after a great "modern Mexican" dinner and a $1 Shiner, I sat my ass in the grass and dug some more holes. This time was the easiest, thanks to all that rain making the soil moist like chocolate cake. Not so great was the damn mosquitoes. Seems the drought had some good points like no fucking insects eating every inch of me. I needed some netting. The devoured my right leg and my left foot's toes. Those aloe plant better thrive for what I am going through now. I came in and popped a Benadryl, and am now watching Pump Up the Volume with The Boy. This movie and Dogs in Space are the quintessential movies of my teenaged years. I think I have all the lines memorized. This has nothing to do with gardening, I realize, but I need to keep my fucking mind off of the mosquito bites. Oh, there's a third movie, True Stories. Shit, I had some good taste. I highly recommend all three, even here 15-20 years later.
If anyone knows how I can get Dogs in Space on DVD and get the soundtrack on CD, please let me know. I am prepared to pay good money.
Tomorrow I should make sure to shower so I get the dirt out of my eyebrows and ears.
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