Potted Payback

A full moon is nothing compared to the first full day of sunshine after a winter full of sullen snowflakes to make people act crazy. The first day I looked to the heavens and felt the sunshine warm my face with magic fingers, I knew it was time to murder more houseplants.

If Christmastime is the season of Poinsettia Slaughter, then March brings Geranium Massacre Madness. Garden shops are teeming with folks loading up their carts with future victims. Satellites overhead are busy transmitting my picture to plant nurseries across the country: Armed and dangerous. Spotted with peat moss and a trowel. Before nightfall my mug shot will be hanging over the succulents at Home Depot stores everywhere.

I still have three house plant survivors from the Flora Trail of Tears that so many African Violets and Swedish Ivy cuttings have taken over the years, across my kitchen counter to the waste bin outside my back door. The road is difficult and tortuously long, but I have faith enough to keep widening the road and beginning beautification projects along its borders.

Just now I’m rubbing my hands together and gazing lovingly at two jade plants and an aloe, ripe for repotting. I think my neighbors phoned in a tip to CSI. Helicopters hover over my house. SWAT teams are rappelling down the chimney. Hostage negotiators are ringing my cell phone. “Back away from the potting soil and nobody will get hurt.”

With sunshine streaming in between the blinds, I lock the door and carefully spread newspapers across the table. Is it a bad omen that I have selected the obituary page for this project? I turn the paper over to government news. Somehow that seems more fitting for the spreading of manure.

My sons, both avid participants in Role Playing games, roll their dice to determine my luck. Hmm, Critical Fail. Yeah, but naysayers told Christopher Columbus to turn left at Nova Scotia, too. If he had listened, we wouldn’t be sucking the cream filling out of cannolis today. Sometimes you just have to stick to the North Star and make sure you have the right ratio of dirt to fertilizer.

Thirty minutes later the deed is done. I fling open the back door and announce, “The transplant was a success!”

Then I trip over the old pots on the back step and land with an overly large crash in the trash can by the door. Picking peat moss out of my hair and feeling a bruise the size of a dieffenbachia on my backside, I realize something important.

The Trail of Tears has claimed another victim.

Live Long and Pamper

I don’t always get much useful information from women’s magazines. If I could really Walk Myself Thin,” I would be decked out in Kate Moss’s cast off clothing and people would refer to me as “that poor woman with rickets” instead of “Tank.” I'll walk myself thin the day Richard Simmons sports a comb-over and wears Dickie's work pants instead of silk shorts.

So when I saw the article on how to live longer that suggested eating fruits and vegetables, I knew there had to be more to it. And since I am always trying to improve the quality of life for the man who promised to love, honor, and carry in the groceries, I came up with a quick list for hubby dearest to help him improve my quality of life.

1. Just Say No to the sarcastic comment. My new stretch jeans may make my behind look like two transfer trucks passing on the Interstate, but you won’t outlive the day old bread on the kitchen counter if you say so.

2. Refrain from asking the faux innocent question. It is not amusing to inquire if my mother was the star of Shark Week on the Discovery channel.

3. Never use the word “nice” in regards to my new outfit. Either it takes your breath away, or somebody at the Salvation Army is getting a leopard-print dress for Christmas.

4. Remember: “Refrigerate after opening” is not a suggestion. Neither is “Proceed with caution.” Come to think of it "Don't touch the roast on the second shelf" can be added to the list.

5. Three little words: No cat baths.

6. Use an old rag when checking your oil. Pass up any item of clothing that bears a "dry clean only" label or that looks as if it’s trimmed in lace that could be older than your grandmother.

7. Don’t eat any freshly baked item that you find in our kitchen. There are no such things as Pecan Pie Pixies or Double Chocolate Leprechauns who leave goodies sprinkled about the globe. If there is anything worth eating at our house, there’s been a death in the family. You know how refined sugar comforts the bereaved.

8. Stop putting Granny’s teeth in the dog’s mouth. He may look like he’s smiling, but the Purina sticks to his dentures. And Granny keeps getting choked on Pupcorn bits.

9. Back away from the cat. A kitty stretched out on his back may look like a cuddly ball of cotton, but he has a weapon of mass destruction on all four corners. A friendly game of Cootchy Cootchy Coo will result in a trip to see the nice folks at the all night trauma center. Luckily they do a great job with stitches. And I think you need just one more hole punched in your Frequent Flyer Blood card before you get a free pint.

10. It is now against Federal Law to feed hot dogs to the Dachshund. The last occurrence resulted in a chemical reaction that brought a swift penalty from OSHA for unsafe fueling procedures. It also set fire to the electric blanket and melted two pairs of house slippers and a Hello Kitty pillow sham, and took a team of Navy Seals and ten Boy Scouts wearing HazMat suits to secure the area.

Now that you're going to live longer, you may plan to use your extra time to improve my quality of life with clever surprises of sugary snacks.

Either that or we'll take a nap. Time with you passes too fast anyway.

Quirks and Quandaries

I’ve been tagged by Karen, aka Karen-Bob, over at Write Now. She said I should list six personal quirks. The problem is, there’s nothing about me that isn’t a quirk, so picking only six leaves me in a dilemma, much like having to choose one dessert over another. I mean, are you going to pick the cherry cheesecake and leave the six-layer Chocolate Sin untouched, or are you just going to Do the Right Thing and dive into the whole dessert tray with a decided Joie de Vivre which is a French term meaning "a fork in each hand"?

So as not to court obvious favoritism, I’ll just throw out six random Highly Interesting Fun Facts and you can decide for yourself the nature of their oddity. (One quirk is that I love words like oddity and use them in conversations. Well, whenever anyone will have a conversation with me. Which is usually in the fruits and vegetables section of the grocery store where I trap someone who doesn’t know me well enough to hide behind the clearance bananas into a discussion of the merits of mangos over kiwis.)

1. I will not be wearing a bikini this season. Oh, it’s not just because I’m worried about throwing Kate Moss and that whole “Cheekbones R US” set into a jealous rage. I’m saddened by their despair and lack of double-fudge brownies, but I’m not going to spend my lunch hour fretting about it. No, the thing is, I just don’t see the point in paying $150 for a swimsuit that no one will ever see the bottom half of. I’m to the stage in life where nothing worn above the thighs and below the belly button is visible to random passers by, and I don’t want to spend a week's wages for a triangle of stylishly designed cloth that will be covered by stretch marks.

2. I read children’s books at night to relax. With ADD brain cells hurling themselves against the insides of my skull with the same relaxing regularity of sixteen marbles and a wheat penny stuck in the dryer with a load of delicates, it’s reassuring to know that the ducklings are going to make it to the island in the public garden every single time.

3. I like geeks. They don’t go with anything, are ill-at-ease in every situation, and have no idea that you’ve just relayed the wittiest joke of the season. But if your computer throws out a fatal error, they can have you back on track in six minutes using only their hands and whatever software they have on their belt-holstered flash drive.

4. I am no longer afraid of circus clowns. After viewing them from behind a popcorn and cotton candy barrier as they cavort in their natural habitat, I am pleased and relieved to say that I am completely comfortable with them in a circus setting. But if I see anybody in a costume at the mall, go ahead and phone for Security. And a First Responder team. And the Jaws of Life.

5. I hate melodrama. If you can make me cry honestly, you get to wear the tiara, but if I have to hear the song “Christmas Shoes” one more time, I’ll puke glitter and rainbows. Luckily, I’ve calmed down since the last time I heard the song six months ago. They’ve almost finished the repairs and hope Santa’s castle will be in shape to grace Center Court at the mall again come Christmastime.

6. I tend to exaggerate.

I’m supposed to tell the rules and tag six people, but I’m feeling rebellious (free quirk; no purchase necessary). I’m just going to tag KODB over at The Doggerel King. That’s because he’s supposed to be working on a daring pirate novel that I really want to read, but instead he’s whiling away his time with selfish miscellaneous activities such as fixing computers for a living. Therefore, I’ll make him write for his blog, an activity which annoys him in a highly motivational way. So be sure to check him out in a month or two and see if he’s taught his new dog some old tricks.