Friday, April 2, 2010

From Sissy to Stone

I used to be such a sissy pants. That's right. A total wimpy wimp. Once, at Lake Powell, my dad and brothers were fishing. Fishing and then throwing the fish back. That was all good and well, but then one fish got the hook stuck too badly in his mouth, and they had to kill it, and I cried and cried and can't remember who finally calmed me with talks of eternity and Heaven and no sparrow falling unnoticed. Then there was the time when my older brother took me, just me, with him hunting. "Just me" was a big deal in a family of 11 kids. Anyway, we were off in the mountains happy as could be when suddenly my brother recalled that I was a complete pansy and that if he did indeed shoot a bird and I then saw that bird, I would likely fall into a state of sobbing despair. So, he sadly (and nicely) suggested we just have a picnic of sorts with all the snacks we brought and call it good.

Luckily, this earth we live in has hardened my heart into pure stone. Whew. Pure stone is waaaay better. Sure, there was the time when I tried to save a chicken from our dog's jaws. The time when I only saved it . . . sort of. Sure I called Mike in tears with the mostly dead chicken at my feet. But, those other chickens -- the ones that our dog killed that I didn't actually have to see? Ha! Big deal. I could simply guffaw and say, "Tough break, chickens. That's the risk you run being a chicken! Hahahahha!" And remember how I laughed and laughed when our horse threw our dog with it's mouth? Stone I tell you. Pure stone.

Anywho, I planted some little seeds a week or so ago. CA giant Zinnia's to be exact. I was instructed to plant two seeds per little container and then, when they sprouted, I was to pluck the lesser sprout from each tiny cubicle. Piece of cake, right? Only, there they all were -- new and growing and green -- each one hoping to become its own lovely flower. Big deal. I pulled the first seedling out of cup number one. Then, I got a little sad for a minute when I saw its puny little roots that had just taken hold. So, I took a break. But that's totally natural. Anyone with a heart at all . . . even a rock for a heart . . . would do the same. It doesn't mean I'm still a sissy. I am going to kill off the rest of those tiny in the way seedlings first thing today . . . or maybe tomorrow. How dare they aspire to flowerhood? . . . Or, you know, if Mike feels like doing it himself, I'll let him. And then, when they are thrown away, and I can't see them, I will laugh and laugh at them. Easy.

3 comments:

Tia Juana said...

Perhaps I am turning to stone as well because the thought or sight of two yolks in one egg doesn't freak me out anymore.

Good luck to you, you cold, hard hearted flower killer.

Just wondering...have you ever killed a houseplant?

And also, I like all these chicken tales. They go so well with your new blog name.

Krista said...

I have to let you and Tia Juana that I have never killed a houseplant. They all commit suicide. Every single one of them. I think one actually crawled out of the pot, cause it was lying there root side up. True story.

Perla said...

one time when i was trying to grow some flowers and had to prune them down, i actually started crying to throw out those little sprouts. its very sad to kill something that is trying so hard to live, even though sometimes we have to do it. but thats good. our hearts are supposed to be like that.

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