Wednesday, June 25, 2008

I'm toast.

When the (Revolution, Zombie Acopalypse, Race War, Economic Collapse, Whatever) comes, I'm pretty much destroyed.

In our staff meeting this morning, somebody mentioned that the weeds were getting pretty high in the church's park. (Previously, one of our favorite neighbors, Mrs. Woodard, would come over and "steal our weeds." She recently passed away, though, so we're on our own with regard to caring for the park.) I asked our building superintendent how long it would take if all 11 of us went out immediately after the meeting and pulled a little bit of weeds. "Not long," his response.

So off we went. Except "we" was "I" and if you know anything about me -- or have inferred anything about me from the past 750 posts -- you know that weeding is neither a skill nor an interest with which I was especially blessed. So while the other ten folks attended to their actual jobs, I decided to make the most of the sunny day and pull some weeds.

Only I couldn't tell the weeds from the actual plants that were supposed to be there. So I did what seemed right -- I went to our obelisk-type thing and rooted around at its base, finding things that didn't look like they belonged. I did pretty well, and 20 or so minutes later, I was done.

But here's the thing -- I'm dirty, sweaty, and grass-stained now. And that was for, like two square feet of garden space.

So how on earth, when the (people revolt, zombies attack, races fight it out, economy collapses, whatever), am I supposed to live off the grid, tending my own vegetable garden and whatnot?

I. Am. Toast. (Unless they make a solar-powered AeroGarden, which except for the solar-powered part is on my Amazon Wishlist, which is located in the left-hand side bar for your July-birthday-gift-giving convenience.)

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