hope triumphs over experience
May 7, 2007
My wise friend Grace said this once.
She was talking about second marriages. But I find the wisdom applies to many many different situations– second marriages, voting for presidential candidates, buying generic diapers, and the purchase of plants.
I went to the nursery this weekend, and in a moment of hopeful optimism, bought many plants. Both to be planted outside and to be
ignored until they shrivel and die lovingly tended to inside the house.
When Rob saw the new houseplants I bought, and the wonderful pots I also bought to put the plants in, he said, “Please tell me these are fake.”
This past weekend I started weeding the flower border that lines our driveway. The problem is that I really have no idea what is a weed and what is a flower. So I just sort of pull things out of the ground that don’t look like they are doing anything. But at this point in the season nothing is really doing anything yet. I fear that next month when things really start to bloom I will have a wonderful border full of dandelions and crab grass. Although Rob probably fears it more.
My husband love to garden. He lovingly tends to the flowers and plants in our yard. It pains him greatly when I refer to plants as disposable decorations. I buy plants at the nursery based on their colorfulness, though in recent years I have learned to read the labels so I don’t buy a shade loving plant and plant it on the surface of the sun that is my front yard.
Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have the time to take care of all the flowers and plants the way that he would like. And so the bulk of the task has fallen to me. Saturday I let the children pick out some flowers they liked. Then I allowed them to plant the flowers in the front border by themselves.
Rob came home and stood there, biting his lip, literally. Finally, he could take it no longer. He began to wildly gesticulate and said, “What were you thinking here? What was your plan?”
“My plan was to plant the flowers in the dirt.” And here I thought it seemed so obvious.
I try to be understanding, I really do. As understanding as a person can be when a grown man is having a hissy fit over flowers, which is not very.
I imagine the pain he feels looking at our mismatched flowers sticking out of the ground all willy-nilly, is akin to the pain I felt when he brought home a serving platter in the shape of a fish. From the dump. And thought that it was the best thing ever.
And I said, “I hope you are joking. What do you plan to do with that?” I also might have had a few more choice words sprinkled in there like GARBAGE! Are you CRAZY? and Over my dead body! But we don’t need to discuss those.
He had looked at me like I was the crazy one and said, “I plan to use it as a serving platter. After I wash it of course.”
Oh, wash it! Yes that will certainly take the tacky right off.
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