Dances With Dirt

Dances With Dirt requires appropriate shoes

While besotted with plants, it is good emotional therapy to engage in some outside interest(s) or activities. Your outward balance needs some exterior influences for variety. It is also a great camouflage tactic announcing that you do think about other things. To remain undercover, be sure to choose a left field object or activity completely alien to gardening.

Did you think today's photo was about that rich blue delphinium sets off the intense red of the monarda so nicely? No the image is really fixated on my smoke screen of choice. That gorgeous curvaceous creature you see glimmering in the background. Sex kitten strutting her stuff at the corner of Nothing and Nowhere coveted by testosterone on any road she bounced along. Silly farmer ... trucks are for girls!

"Randy, I need a set of 38" Mud Boggers. Call me when they come in, I want them put on before the weekend."

"Don't you think its time you grew up?" he inquired.

"I am grown up, but my truck isn't. She begs to wear high heels." I parried.

"Its your money, honey." The tractor tire king sighed. "I'll have them in by Wednesday at 10:00. Bring it in anytime after lunch and we'll' get you right in the shop."

"Great! See you then." I hung up the phone and went back to potting up plugs. Thrilled with my $900 accent to the freshly installed oogah horn. Life was good.

Wednesday dawned a sunny day without a cloud in the late June sky. I headed toward town an hour ahead of my spot in the tire shop bay. Determined to finish all errands before to have the afternoon to see the world. Missions accomplished, I pulled into Randy's lot and motored up to the back bay door. The automatic eyed kicked on and the panes of glass rumbled magically upward to allow our entrance.

The stood old Randy with a ear splittin' grin shaking his head and directing my stopping point with motions of the hand. As I cut the engine, he walked around to the driver's door and looked up through the window so high above his head.

"Well, you weren't crazy after all," came the voice from below. "She definitely begs to wear high heels."

I looked in the rear view mirror as I drove back out into the sunshine. Every man that was inside the shop stood crowded in the yawning big rig door. I blasted the horn and headed west toward miles of smooth pavement and rolling corn and soybean fields. Enjoying the thrill of being eye to eye with each passing semi-truck I met along the way. The circuitous route back to my out of control gardens peppered with thumbs up hand signals, air horn blasts and people waving from their yards. Aaaah, the power of possession found only in heavy metal, chrome shiny hormonal overload on wheels.

G.G.

Hey - great to see you here today!
While you're enjoying this unique blog read - help me buy a new set of floor mats.