That Bud Made Me Blossom!

No...not that type of bud. Seriously, people, minds out of the gutter! I meant a tiny, early bud on one of the tomato plants in our little garden. I wasn't feeling the best yesterday. The pollen counts are skyrocketing which makes me feel like I've got the flu. I ache in every joint, my facial skeleton feels like it's being pulled apart from the inside out, my head throbs, and I'm in the negative on energy. Needless to say, those things tend to have the same soul-sucking technique as Dementors.

I hadn't been able to water the garden for a couple of days. A cold front had gone through and, had I watered the plants, they would have frozen. Yesterday the front broke. It was warm and there was a little sun, though storms were moving in. I looked out the patio door and the sight of my beautiful plants almost broke my heart. They just looked to droopy and sad! Jenn to the rescue!! I quickly armed myself with a watering can and large bucket of water, and out the door I went.

A return trip for another bucket of water later found my plants reaching for the heavens once again. While I'd been out watering our Boxer, Lucy, and her next-door pal (also a Boxer), Rose, had been running around me playing.  Dashing in and out of the house, yipping; basically, doing anything possible to entertain me during what they deemed a very boring job. It was far from boring. I absolutely love the feel of working with the earth. To grow and sustain life, then use it to feed my family. It's beauty in its truest form. At that moment I felt like nothing could make me any more peaceful, serene and relaxed than I was. Then? I noticed it. At the top of the largest tomato plant we had purchased, a Mr. Stripey Heirloom that the hubster fell in love with. A bud! Just over a week after placing the plant!!

That, gentle readers, is what life is all about. The explanation of the answer "42", for those of you bibliophile sci-fi geeks like me. To me, that is what we are all meant to do! Plant seeds, whatever type you like. If you want to write? Plant a writing seed. Dance? Plant a dancing seed! Tend to it. Weed out anything that threatens to steal its nutrients. Water it. Cultivate it to make sure that its roots are getting what they need. It won't take long and you'll have a tiny bud. A little while after that the bud will turn to a blossom. Keep at it and (yep...you guessed it!) that blossom will turn into the sweetest, most succulent fruit you could ever imagine.

T.A.R.D.I.S.

Time And Relative Dimension In Space, for those of you not completely obsessed by Doctor Who. I, on the other hand, am proudly obsessed. To the point that I am currently finishing up the first half of pair of T.A.R.D.I.S. socks. Yep, I'm that girl; however, I fully embrace my geek status and make no apologies for it.

The point of this blog entry, though, is to acknowledge the discovery of my own T.A.R.D.I.S. That's right...be jealous...I have my OWN! You see, last week I was standing at the kitchen sink preparing to wash dishes when I noticed that one of the males in the house had not tightened the lid on the dish wand properly and some of the Dawn had leaked out onto the surrounding area of the sink. I tend to be a bit frugal about things (i.e., I refuse to use lights during the day, turn bottles upside down to drain every drop of the goods that they hold, etc.), so decided to just scoop the spill up onto my sponge and rinse it into the filling sink. I mean, it was soap...and waste not, want not, right? I failed to realize just how much soap it was, though, and soon had a sink full of very sudsy dishwater.

BAZINGA! (If you get that reference, as well, you are my kind of person!) I found myself instantly transported back in time. The year was 1978, and I was five years old. I was standing in my grandparent's tiny kitchen, getting a lecture from my grandmother about how to be a lady. I was alternately stepping on my own toes in a strange little dance and hiding my sure to be filthy fingernails behind my back. You see, I hated being a girl. I refused to play with girls, choosing instead to build hot wheels tracks in the dirt with the boys. My parents couldn't even get me to wear a dress to church on Sunday mornings. The best that they could do was dark finish blue jeans and a ruffled plaid shirt. My grandmother is not fooled by my evasive tactics. With an eagle eye that only she possesses, she tells me to show her my hands. I do so, knowing what is going to happen next, but unable to deny this woman who both terrifies me and fascinates me, who I am positive that the Earth revolves around. Sure enough the next minute is filled up with me getting an apron tied around me, watching a chair being dragged over to in front of her kitchen sink, and her telling me that I'm going to wash the dishes. Then comes the moment that transported me to that particular time in the first place...my grandmother pulls out a box of Tide and dumps a scoopful in the sink. Yes, you heard me right. My grandmother used Tide for everything! From washing clothes, to doing dishes, it's usefulness knew no bounds...she even bathed my father and uncle in it when they were boys! I could already feel the slimy, sudsy water rinsing away the dirt that I had spent the better part of the afternoon embedding into my skin. The water would be hot, and after I had washed the dishes and loosened the dirt I knew a nail brush was waiting in the wings to make sure that the miracle soap had removed all traces of filth from me. Sighing, I step forward and take the plunge.

Now I'm back in 2010, standing at the kitchen sink in my own home, with my own dirty dishes, left behind by my own two sons. I've never bathed them in Tide, though surely they've been dirty enough from time to time in their lives. As I get ready to plunge my hands into the water I look down at my nails. They're clean now, no dirt to be seen. The nails are neat and trimmed, and I'm a perfect lady (Okay, this isn't technically true, I'd still rather play football than read gossip rags, so let's just say I look the part!) I glance over to my left, into my laundry room. There it is on the shelf above my washer...Tide. I smile a little smile and feel my heart break a little, yearning to be that five year old tomboy once again, just to feel my grandmothers hands again...to smell that smell that was hers alone; yet, honored beyond belief that I got to have that trip back in time to experience it....to experience her again.