My life has more-or-less become an exercise in making the best out of a bad situation. Believe me, I know yours is probably the same and I am bemoaning the common condition of us all, but we do what we do and it doesn’t get easier just because we do it daily. So today’s post is about the flower wagon.
Last year, doing yard work, I had an inordinate amount of crushed live-oak acorns from the street near where we park our cars. Our oaks were excessively reproductive that year because, I guess they found the weather unusually sexy or something. So I had copious amounts of crushed acorn. In fact, before I got it all scooped up, a little bit of rain had turned it into the acorn-equivalent of peanut butter… goopy, sticky, and unpleasant to touch. Most of it went into the compost bin, but the last little-red-wagon load got left in the little red wagon to get snowed on, frozen solid, and snowed on again.
We love that little red wagon. When the kids were small, we used it to pull them around SeaWorld in San Antonio and AstroWorld in Houston. It went all over the country with us on summer vacation, and was the Princess’ personal coach and four (provided she allowed the cooler full of ice for water, soda, and fruit to share the ride).
So, the neglected little red wagon turned into a rust-bucket lawn ornament this spring, and it was busy growing a bumper crop of weeds in all that acorn peanut butter… fertile stuff, acorn peanut butter. So I decided to plant flowers. I got some Walmart zinnias and some wildflowers, spending about a dollar fifty all told, pulled the weeds by hand, and sprinkled flower seeds all over it. We are all sad to see the lonely little wagon deteriorating and being demoted to lawn ornament status, but it seemed like we had a possibility of new life within reach.
This spring, with the monsoon rains Texas apparently borrowed from Asia and the Philippines, I did not even have to bother myself with watering. If anything, there was too much water… flash-flood-warning-daily sort of too much water. So I have been patient… watching and weeding. And then…
The first blossom bloomed and turned color yesterday while we were picking up number one son from the airport. Old things can produce new things. Decay and age lead to blossoming new life. There has to be a balance between happy and sad. I am trying like heck to be a humorist, but I have learned the lesson that you can’t be laughing all the time. But here is proof that after the rains come the flowers. And I am laughing now.