April showers bring... trouble

Mom likes flowers. She has a very nice garden in front of the house, and a pretty one in back of the house too, and one over by the fence, and next to the driveway, and roses under her bedroom window, and hostes by the porch with stones around them. She knows about flowers, and sometimes reads about flowers, and takes good care of her flowers, and although Mom doesn't go away very often, when she does, a 'sitter' must be found.

I like flowers. I love "perusing the beautiful gardens of Mrs. Magoon". But unlike my mom, when it comes to knowing about, and reading about, and caring for flowers-- oh, how can I put this?-- I don't. I don't know, I don't read, I don't care.

Well, perhaps I'm exaggerating just a little bit.

Mom's away right now, and will be until Tuesday, so I feel it is my duty to 'sit'.
It was some time after her absence was made official that I realized I was indeed the proper, not to mention only, choice for the sitting job. This realization came to me quite suddenly, and in a somewhat unfavorable manner. After having been out, I returned to go in, and upon doing so I noticed a potted plant on the porch. Immediately my heart jumped into my throat which quickly became even drier than the despondent plant's leaves.

Again, I may be exaggerating just a little.

You wouldn't think that it would be possible to water plants incorrectly, but after having tried many times I know it's possible. Every columbine and holly bush seems to be saying, "She's got to be kidding!" or, "Here she comes again. I guess I'll humor her."

Actually, I'm beginning to enjoy this whole 'Keeper of the Garden' thing. It's sort of therapeutic, standing with watering can in hand, taking in the evening sun with the sound of swing sets in the background. Maybe I'll be a gardener some day. Or perhaps I'll just be a waterer.

Abby