On Apologies, Garden Massacres, Spring Dreams

First, I would like to apologize.  No, not for any reason.  Just because I’m practicing.  You know that old saying, “I thought I made a mistake once but I was wrong”?  That apparently was woven into my genetic structure in the womb;  It is an inheritance from my father.  I am, perhaps, a bit more flexible than my father was–being a woman, I think, lends one to being able to say “I’m sorry” about some things.  But when I think I’ve done nothing wrong and someone thinks I should apologize, look out for the fireworks.  My husband thinks that I have some sort of gap in my brain so that I just don’t get it.  He may be right.  But there are other people like me out there!  I know this because I searched The Wisdom Of The Interwebs and typed “How to apologize when you haven’t done anything wrong” or something to that effect.  It was explained to me that I may, in fact, have done nothing wrong.  Regardless, someone is upset.  So even though I am entirely blameless and it is their own silly fault for being upset, I can say, “I’m sorry you are upset”, which sounds rather snarky to me, or “I’m sorry I have upset you”, which is a nice way of acknowledging their distress without admitting fault.  Yes,  I like that.

My chickens, however, have upset me and not apologized.  Their little chicken brains got so excited yesterday when The Person Whose Heart Meds Cause Them To Forget Everything (hint, hint) left a gate open and there was broccoli on the other side.  Operative word:  was.  Yes, they ate it all.  Mrs. Duck added insult to injury by using her bill to dig up the roots and toss them around.  I immediately decided that I was going to never garden again and all chickens must die!

I went to the dump, a tremendously cathartic, symbolic act for me, and threw out the trash and the stinky mood.  When I came back I decided that instead of a tit-for-tat massacre I would downsize my girls.  Since my produce man went out of business I have been trying to decide if I want to sell eggs right from the farm or find another middle-man.  Greedy Hens had pushed me into an entirely different direction and I easily composed an ad for their sale.

(As a side note:  I have only lately learned that while selling stuff at a low price will get rid of it quickly, you really undercut the market and hurt yourself in the long run.  So, as a favor to others, research what other people are selling identical/similar items for and price accordingly.  It’s just being a good neighbor.)

Mr. Red Pick Up came and picked up four Golden Comets this afternoon and three Tetra Tints are still hanging out in the lobby of craigslist looking for a ride.

I may replant the garden.  Maybe tomorrow.   You see, tomorrow is always hopeful.  Tomorrow is always slightly better than today.  It is sunny instead of rainy.  It is healthy instead of ill.  It is a garden full of fat heads of broccoli, of curling vines of peas, of juicy orbs of red tomatoes, or rippled leaves of lettuce.

Tomorrow is full of Spring Dreams.

 

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