Ants in the Pants

Pictured: Dutchmans' Breeches -- don't they look like starched linen? -- blossoming today behind the Divine garage. This spring flower has everything: it's toxic, rare, has a very short season, is fascinating and is perfectly nicknamed for its unique shape.

And. . . these perennials spread not by seeding or runners but ANTS. Ants spread the seeds for Dutchmans' Breeches, and that's God's truth. The slope behind the garage was maybe too wet this past year for ant colonies to flourish, because there's usually a drift of Dutchmans, and this year I count only three plants. Also I could have missed the main season and these are late ones. They are a weird little delight.

I don't touch 'em. These (Dicentra cucullaria) give some people dermatitis. And don't eat 'em. The bulb is poisonous.

Dear Diary (March 21)

Don't Make Me Kill Your Dog

Saw a dead calico housecat, run over, at the highway's edge. It hadn't been dead long. Its plumpness told me it'd been somebody's pet. Oh, when they find out; how terrible. Unless they are like some people and think the country is a place to dump their pets.

I'm seeing cats scattering into the field when I pull up into my road at night. They kill and eat mice but also bunnies and whippoorwills. Dogs chase everything. Six or seven times I've blasted the car horn at dogs trotting on Hwy F. They thought I was playin'. I fear that one day out walking or working I'll meet a pit bull the owner dumped because it was too expensive or loco to keep. When I see a dog barreling toward me I no longer assume it's a neighbor and friendly. I pick up a rock. Don't make me do that.

Let your pet out in the country and it won't be adopted. It won't become a barn cat, or go native and care for itself. It's used to your sofa. It'll get killed. Have mercy; please take it to a shelter. Better the needle than what I saw today with a crushed head and liver hanging out.

Neighbor Learns Me Some Manners Again

Phoned and asked neighbor Shelley, the forklift operator, to please look after my place while I was gone a few days. Why, she came right on down and said, "Don't you worry. I'll be watchin your house for you."

I was so grateful I nearly fell down. Because situation is such that there aint nobody else I could call on. That does happen in life.

Invited her in for a grand tour. The Divine cabin is quite a sight, esp with stuff flang all over, but that aint why I invited her. She just never been in before and I dint have the sense to invite her before I asked a favor. Ashamed of myself and God forgive me.

We got talking, as people do, about our crosses: grandpa dead, dad sick with prostate cancer, man trouble, legal trouble. That does happen in life. Both our eyes filled with tears and we held 'em back. Brave women!

Gonna buy Shelley a steak dinner, invite her over, and instead of darkness bring her some light somehow.

Prayer in Reverse

I practice prayer in reverse: God speaks to me. I have to go somewhere very quiet and ask if he has anything to tell me. I started this late in life and don’t do it often.

I sit still and listen. Sometimes there’s no message. Over the past 12 years I have received three messages:

“Your heart is full of hatred.” (At the time I was locked in a bitter, unspoken battle with two others. The statement was so unexpected and piercing that I burst into tears. Then I had some realizations and got the poison out of my life.)

“The mistakes are okay.” (That message was about four years ago.)

“Pleasure.” (This was last year. I had asked, “What is your will for me?” God continued, not in words, but in his other language, which circulates through the body like blood: “Look around you. Look up at the sun and trees. It’s all beautiful and green. I didn’t make all this for you people to cry and suffer in. I made it for your pleasure.”

Lighten Up

Like candles -- these light up my lawn. What are they? Oh, come on & guess. They're daffodils -- in bud! Still pretty tightly in there. About six inches high. All the same they'll be bustin out with those yellow and cream ruffly drapes and horns and petticoats in less'n two weeks. Then spring is really here. Oh drop to my knees and thank the Divine God it wasn't a bad winter weatherwise.

Don't you love this stuff? Perennials, that always come back, always come back.

The Eight-Year Garage Cleaning

It’s a 2-car garage and 2 cars will fit if I move the 50-lb. bags of potting soil and green sand. 106-lb. me did this by rolling them onto an old shower curtain and dragging the curtain. Tried to move the full-sized wheelbarrow. Couldn’t. And then the old barbell weights, the plastic ones filled with concrete: 350 lbs of those stacked against one wall. But I can’t get to the pile ‘cuz of the chest-high box of jumbled parts for a huge, useless computer table. Not to mention dust, dry leaves, mouse droppings, spiderwebs.

Interesting things I found: Box of short stories written by friend now passed away. A solar-powered calculator. Bag of pink sheets. Dutch door for porch. Brand-new reel still in packaging. That I can use; I got my ’09 Missouri fishing license just last week. Five-gallon leaky red gas can stuck solidly to the garage floor. Bags of concrete mix so old that they are now solid concrete. A hard hat. An inflatable raft. A bluebird house.

A house is about hopes, but a garage is about plans: Gonna. Will. Wanna. Ought to. I’m All Set.