The Constant Gardener
My wife keeps a great series of flower beds, hanging plants, and window plants. She tells me about them and I nod, as if I know what she's saying. "The hydrangeas look great, and my tulips and perennials are hardy. That plant will climb right up the fence; cool huh Joey!" I say, "yeah baby, looks really good!"
My part of this deal is, I like to water the plants when I get home from the docks; it's mindless, Zen-like non-doing, and I love it. The water is turned on and I go into non-doing. Watering stuff that grows is productive, so it is kind of doing something; however, it is just so mindless, it is a Zen thing; yet I feel like a guy, a real man, doing a chore. This is new terrain for me, because I never rolled this way.
I'd wash and scrub my sailboat; scrape barnacles off the slimy bottom. I loved this work. Now I wonder, am I becoming not a Geezer-in-training, but a full-on- Geezer? Heaven forbid! My wife says it's perfectly natural to want to water the gardens at dusk, and it's a guy thing, and that it's a cool thing for guys to do.
My wife has very low expectations of me, as she should. She led me to the watering drill, with little coaxing. She knows how to be a cup-half-full wife, and be happy that her guy will at least do this watering thing. Who knows, she might have me planting some stuff next season, maybe a Mum, or a Jack-in-the-Pulpit!
Now, off to bed, looooong day at the P J docks tomorrow. I'm already looking forward to hosing down the whole works around ten-thirty. I feel so, so, so housebroken, doing this domestic chore. But, I will man up, and do my duty.