So this is happening right now as I'm typing, but I feel the need to record it for posterity (should we ever have any of those)I have to write it down right away, while it's still fresh in my mind. Murphy said it best when she said "Your camera will never have battery life when incredible things are happening in your life." Okay, I know she didn't exactly say that... but you get the point ( it is just occuring to me that I have always pictured Murphy as a woman - and not only a woman, but always a hard-core, Rosie the Riveter-type of woman in a kelly green shirt, slaving away in some dark, musky, factory assembly line with her sleeves rolled up, hair in kind of a disheveled bun, and a rolled-up notebook and pen in the pocket of her pants for recording her sardonic humor - now I'm not sure if that is entirely accurate, but, there's time for Wikipedia later) ANYWAY, in order to tell you why what is happening now is so crazy incredible, I have to give you some background.
It all started back a few months ago when Scott first got interested in Hydroponic gardening. If you know my Scott at all, you can imagine this all with me a little bit more clearly than if you don't. If you don't - just try to stay with us - it'll be worth it in the end. His new interests always follow the same pattern: it starts with the pacing. Seriously, there's a flattened portion of carpet in our house that looks like Sasquatch followed a trail of ants from the computer desk into the kitchen back through the dining room into the living room and back to the computer desk for weeks. Then he starts his usual round of questioning his "contacts" (me, my mom, the guy that works the night shift at the desk at Paki Maui, etc.) for whatever information he can garner for himself. Then he goes to Barnes and Noble, and buys at least 2 books on the subject. All the while he is plotting how to build (that's a very important thing for him) whatever it is he is learning. Then he looks online to see how others have built it. And downloads YouTube videos. Then he spontaneously orders random stuff online (in this case tiny hoses, thingies that look like sprinklers for Barbie and Ken's lawn, bizarre varieties of soil, and seeds) and gets to work. All the while his thought process is dizzying. We'll be in the middle of dinner, and he's wondering whether, if you had hydroponic peas next to regular old peas like we were having, if he could tell the difference. While planning how to decorate our place for Christmas this year, I'm puzzling out where to put lights and Nativity scene - he's puzzling how to get a tomato growing fast enough that we can hang ornaments from it instead of buying a tree. While watching a movie together - I'll cut him some slack on this one, it was Wall-e, and there was, in fact partially, a plant/gardening theme - but I think he thinks it was about a plant! You get the picture. It's very simultaneously methodic and neurotic.
So after a few more weeks of this, plus the addition of a brand-new compost container in our kitchen (curse my hippie mother for encouraging him) we start growing our little babies. 6 rows of perfect little pots, with perfectly balanced soil ratios, in perfectly regulated lighting, and labeled with perfectly cutesy labels (I'll take credit for that, thank-you). 2 kinds of tomato, 2 kinds of basil, and 1 rosemary. We awaited the arrival of the first sprouts with more than what would be considered a normal amount of excitement (the pacing was doubled at this time). Then it happened. The moment the first shoot popped it's little head out of the ground, we were in love. Waking up in the morning had new meaning. We fussed like Jewish grandmothers, probably overwatering them. Our electric bill will be enormous this month, because we kept them excessively lit. Scott even brought a tomato sprout to church in a coffee cup to use as a sermon illustration.
As is with most new interests, after a while life starts to get in the way. You realize that you probably should do laundry instead of watching the plants... you start having thoughts like "well, Scott probably watered them earlier today, so I don't have to." Anyway, I came home from work yesterday, and noticed that they were a sorry lot, so I thought it would be a good idea to set them outside - to experience life outside our kitchen, and get a much-needed watering. It was pouring rain though, and I didn't want the little things to get squashed, so I set them under the eaves, thinking that they would get enough splash. Well today Scott found them, alone, and in the dark, and they were all dead.
So we thought...
We mourned together, and I suggested he water them and we could just wait and see if any would make it. It didn't look like they would.
He watered them, put them back under their lamp in the kitchen, and started to make dinner. I came in to get some sympathy/forgiveness for black-thumbing our babies, and was giving him a hug when the most incredible thing happened. One jumped! Literally Moved IN FRONT OF OUR EYES. Then we watched them, all at a watchable pace, unbend upward toward the light, their tiny leaves unfolding. It was the most miraculous thing I have ever seen. But the camera was out of batteries. I am sure there is a great analogy for life here. So far the only one Scott has come up with is that he feels that way when he drinks coffee. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
It all started back a few months ago when Scott first got interested in Hydroponic gardening. If you know my Scott at all, you can imagine this all with me a little bit more clearly than if you don't. If you don't - just try to stay with us - it'll be worth it in the end. His new interests always follow the same pattern: it starts with the pacing. Seriously, there's a flattened portion of carpet in our house that looks like Sasquatch followed a trail of ants from the computer desk into the kitchen back through the dining room into the living room and back to the computer desk for weeks. Then he starts his usual round of questioning his "contacts" (me, my mom, the guy that works the night shift at the desk at Paki Maui, etc.) for whatever information he can garner for himself. Then he goes to Barnes and Noble, and buys at least 2 books on the subject. All the while he is plotting how to build (that's a very important thing for him) whatever it is he is learning. Then he looks online to see how others have built it. And downloads YouTube videos. Then he spontaneously orders random stuff online (in this case tiny hoses, thingies that look like sprinklers for Barbie and Ken's lawn, bizarre varieties of soil, and seeds) and gets to work. All the while his thought process is dizzying. We'll be in the middle of dinner, and he's wondering whether, if you had hydroponic peas next to regular old peas like we were having, if he could tell the difference. While planning how to decorate our place for Christmas this year, I'm puzzling out where to put lights and Nativity scene - he's puzzling how to get a tomato growing fast enough that we can hang ornaments from it instead of buying a tree. While watching a movie together - I'll cut him some slack on this one, it was Wall-e, and there was, in fact partially, a plant/gardening theme - but I think he thinks it was about a plant! You get the picture. It's very simultaneously methodic and neurotic.
So after a few more weeks of this, plus the addition of a brand-new compost container in our kitchen (curse my hippie mother for encouraging him) we start growing our little babies. 6 rows of perfect little pots, with perfectly balanced soil ratios, in perfectly regulated lighting, and labeled with perfectly cutesy labels (I'll take credit for that, thank-you). 2 kinds of tomato, 2 kinds of basil, and 1 rosemary. We awaited the arrival of the first sprouts with more than what would be considered a normal amount of excitement (the pacing was doubled at this time). Then it happened. The moment the first shoot popped it's little head out of the ground, we were in love. Waking up in the morning had new meaning. We fussed like Jewish grandmothers, probably overwatering them. Our electric bill will be enormous this month, because we kept them excessively lit. Scott even brought a tomato sprout to church in a coffee cup to use as a sermon illustration.
As is with most new interests, after a while life starts to get in the way. You realize that you probably should do laundry instead of watching the plants... you start having thoughts like "well, Scott probably watered them earlier today, so I don't have to." Anyway, I came home from work yesterday, and noticed that they were a sorry lot, so I thought it would be a good idea to set them outside - to experience life outside our kitchen, and get a much-needed watering. It was pouring rain though, and I didn't want the little things to get squashed, so I set them under the eaves, thinking that they would get enough splash. Well today Scott found them, alone, and in the dark, and they were all dead.
So we thought...
We mourned together, and I suggested he water them and we could just wait and see if any would make it. It didn't look like they would.
He watered them, put them back under their lamp in the kitchen, and started to make dinner. I came in to get some sympathy/forgiveness for black-thumbing our babies, and was giving him a hug when the most incredible thing happened. One jumped! Literally Moved IN FRONT OF OUR EYES. Then we watched them, all at a watchable pace, unbend upward toward the light, their tiny leaves unfolding. It was the most miraculous thing I have ever seen. But the camera was out of batteries. I am sure there is a great analogy for life here. So far the only one Scott has come up with is that he feels that way when he drinks coffee. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
This is a riot!!!! And he's right about the coffee thing. Go, you guys! And yes, you are your parents.
I love your writing here, I can really see Scotty pacing.
Honey, what is wrong with growing up with a compost jar next to the sink? Even if, more than once, it wasn't put out before those pesky insects buzzed it? Or was it those ninety degree late afternoon temperatures creating aroma therapy before aroma therapy was "The Thing"? Notice I haven't even addressed the look, as I remember using a clear glass gallon jar;p