Some people are their own worst enemies. . .

. . .and I am starting to think I’m one of them

I went to town today for a regular writing engagement with a friend. My first poetry workshop leader, Jim Grabill, always made time during the workshop for us to just write from prompts. He said that he thought there was something wonderful that happened when people sat down in the same room writing, that some sort of cosmic energy descended from somewhere and everyone wrote better and wrote things they wouldn’t normally write. I think he’s correct, and Carla and I made a date to write each Tuesday afternoon for an hour or two together. We take turns generating prompts from other people’s poems and prose as a place to start. Lately I’ve been getting some rather good things from this, and I’m anxious to continue. I’d missed a couple of weeks because of all the chaos, but today, even though we ended up doing more talking than writing, I got a really good draft poem.

But that’s not where the “own worst enemy” stuff comes in. I got to town a little early and realized I had just time to run by Freddie’s and pick up a bag of sterile steer manure. I’ve still got those brassicas to plant, and they are heavy feeders, so they like the fertilizer boost. The steer manure was on sale for $2.99.

But of course, it’s April, so the plants were also on sale, and I bought three more rose bushes (they have to go in the fenced garden or they become a deer delicatessen) and some New Guinea impatiens for a shady area I’d been wanting something colorful for. Now I just have more planting to be done, and I haven’t even planted the day lilies, astilbes, and hostas that I bought on my way home Sunday. In fairness, we’ve had a lot of rain in the last few days, but I think tomorrow I’m going to just have to bite the bullet and do it, no matter what the weather. I once planted strawberries in a snow and hail storm because I was leaving town for a week and I was afraid they wouldn’t survive (my first and last experiment with mail order plants), and it can’t possibly be that bad. But it will undoubtedly wreck my body up again. At least I have a refrigerator full of leftovers so I could possibly escape the curse of cooking dinner when I can hardly walk.

The redbud trees are blooming, and they are very beautiful. Jenny, I haven’t forgotten about your request for pictures. If I could just have a few minutes of sun to really show them off. . .

Rabbit took me a bit to task for slacking off on my postings, and I’m going to attempt to do a little better. But I’ve got three manuscripts to prepare in the next couple of weeks, two for a juried workshop I’d really like to attend this summer and the big one for a book competition. So I need to be writing poems and editing prose, but I’ll do the best I can.


5 Responses to “Some people are their own worst enemies. . .”

  1. Lisa Hostick Says:

    LOL….very enjoyable!

  2. ombudsben Says:

    Ha, Marianne: you in a garden supply store is as self-dangerous as me in a bookstore if I don’t warn myself severely before walking in!

  3. mklekacz Says:

    Ben, I’m just as bad in bookstores, low impulse control or something. But the garden stores–the pictures on the packaging always look so beautiful that I can’t wait to see something blooming in my garden (if it hasn’t become obvious yet, I get far more excited about flowers than about vegetables, much to my husband’s disgust). But I buy without regard to where I might be able to plant this thing. Same thing is true in bookstores. I’m easily able to ignore how overflowing my bookcases are. . .

  4. OmbudsBen Says:

    “I buy without regard to where I might be able to plant this thing.”

    Omigod. Now you’re channeling conversation I have with my dear wife. She finds something she likes and I ask, “But Rob, were are you going to put it?”

  5. mklekacz Says:

    If she’s anything like me, it doesn’t matter. There’s always a place, even if you have to move five other things to make it fit. . .Same with books. . .

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