Straight Eight

When I was a child my grandparents had a Magic Eight Ball sitting on the mantel in the living room of their green lake place. We, my brother and cousin and I, would ask to see it and Grandma would lift it down. It was a heavy glass thing with floating answers that showed up in the clear bottom when the ball was inverted. I'm a sucker for knowing the answers—in fact a psychic friend told me once that I wanted to know everything. And yes I do, mostly so I know how to plan my counter attack. I'm sure the spies went into enemy territory to gather info that was used for planning their next move. Anyway, knowing what will come next in the garden is tricky. Right now, my best guess is a few beans, a few Straight Eights, and a few tomatoes. I may or may not get many greens or much of anything else. But I haven't consulted the Magic Eight Ball. In fact, I don't have one—they still make them. They're smaller and plastic. Hardly the wonderful psychic ball we referenced as children.

I told you at the beginning that I'm a lazy gardener. And when I went to the garden today, I felt guilty that I didn't haul in chicken manure for those Straight Eights I planted. I just run out of steam, what can I say? I get so excited when it's spring and the weather shows promise. And then all those lovely seed packets filling the racks, how can anyone turn them down. Now I'm remembering the cute child's seed packet I bought for the grandbaby when I bought the rubber duck watering can. It's still in the car. So I'll take him next week to the garden and let him plant seeds. I won't see him this week, as he's out of town with his folks river rafting and generally raising a ruckus. Well, the baby isn't river rafting, I did clear that one up on the phone earlier today. Sheez, I worry about the plants and my child and my grandchild, and…

Gardening is like housecleaning, you just keep straightening and straightening, etc. My neighbor will water my garden for me while I'm out to town, also this week, raising a ruckus in Joseph, Oregon. I'll be with a friend who will be teaching a writing class at Fishtrap Lake. I'll be working on my novel, and getting some swims in and some hearty hikes. Which reminds me, I need to find my bathing suit. When I was a child, and we turned over that magic eight ball, I'm curious what my questions where. One might have been, "Will I ever see my father again?" And the answer would have been no. Or the question might have been, "Do we get to go swimming soon?" or "Do we get ice cream for dessert?" Now I might ask, "Will the tomatoes blight this summer?" Yes or no? No!

Ciao!