Oliver and I feed the birds every morning. He loves to watch them peck and chirp from his window perch. They are very messy eaters and often there are seeds on the ground near their feeder (we have a large landscaping boulder with a naturally occurring bowl).
This year their sloppy habits resulted in happy little plants that grew from the seeds , some were weeds that were quickly plucked, but fortunately, this year, we ended up with about a dozen sunflowers. A gift from Mother Nature. Over the past 6 weeks Oliver watched the birds while I watched the sunflowers grow taller and taller.
I watered the growing flowers with anticipation, and loved seeing them every morning when I fed the birds, and every evening when I came home. There’s something about sunflowers, don’t you think? They just seem like they sing… loud and on key.
Lets pause this story for a moment while I introduce you to my husband. A hard working, no-nonsense conservative that loves… gravel. He wants everything trimmed, bordered, curbed, and asphalted. His idea of gardening is washing off the concrete sidewalk and eating the produce someone else picks. He would not know the difference between a strawberry plant and a raspberry bush unless it had fruit on it – even then he may have to ‘phone a friend’.
So… this morning Brian was home and got up early to get a “head start” on “some long overdue projects”. I admit I could have asked him what those projects were but that would be uncommon. I don’t care about carburetors, bedliners, window wells or wheel bearings just like he doesn’t care about fabric, patterns or long arming. We do well together because we each have our own “thing”.
I finished getting ready and had my cup of birdseed in my hand, heading for the rock, then my car. As I turned the corner, I saw one lonely, solitary flower standing where there used to be twelve. I am not proud of the loud verbage that came out of my mouth just as I caught the murderous felon wielding a shovel going in for the kill for the last flower…. in fact, it wasn’t just one word. It was quite a few. None that can be repeated here.
I have no idea why he thought it was time to weed a flower bed. That is not his job. He can’t put his coffee cup in the sink, his dirty socks in the hamper or close a cupboard after he takes something out of it… but he can yank up a flower that he thinks is in the wrong spot. Nice. He even had to walk past real weeds to get to the flowers. Brilliant.
And notice the dead bush behind the lovely sunflower? Again… he’s not a gardener… I can only assume he spared the bush and went for the treacherous flower because he thought the bush was merely ‘sleeping’.
OK. You’re right. I’m being mean. Afterall it was just a flower, wait, just eleven flowers. But still, just plants. Not such a big deal. It has been 16 hours, why am I still so upset?
Maybe it’s just that I feel I work so hard for the basic things, so when something unexpectedly happy comes along… it is like a special gift. A treasure.
I know he was just trying to be nice. He thought those flowers were squatters and he finally noticed them after six weeks… or…. he thought he should weed the one little section of our 2 acres that didn’t need weeded… or… he was working his way to the other side of the house where the little yellow flowers in the grass needed some miracle grow.
Hell I don’t know what he was doing. But I do know that I can’t buy the premise that everything has it’s place… because this was our bathroom tonight. Those are my pants in the hamper…his on the floor.
Well, it’s off to bed for me. I have to shake this negative attitude because I have three classes tomorrow: Pincushion Club, Needle and Thread Society and Rainbow Garden.
Besides I have to get up early to fix Brian a lovely breakfast of eggshell-speckled scrambled eggs, burnt toast and salty coffee. Can anyone say “Oops?”