Raise Our Food, Like the Man.

Since I'm bringing this blog out of the cold, I should point out that I'm going to curse a lot. Well, maybe not a lot, but effortlessly. I will brook no lip re: my cursing. I've always wanted to say that. I know fuck all about growing shit. I could keep fish alive, sometimes. My cat was a bit of an asshole, but I liked him. Never had plants. My sister, I think mostly, and maybe some brothers had a garden out back the parent's place. I had little to do with it. Might have eaten some cucumber. Michelle's brother flat out said to me that the family saying was, "Give it to Michelle and it will die." At some point, somehow, this changed when Jen and Chuck gave her Police Constable Danny Butterman.

Who is a peace lily. He did very well and so did the rest of her plants. I bought her Police Constable Doris Thatcher, our only policewomanofficer shortly thereafter. She's an Anthurium, which looks like a peace lily with pink flowers.

Also. I tend to give things names. Like some people name cars or boats. I once named a bass "spike" because it followed me along the shore like a dog would follow a person. This is important because all of my garden plants will have names, and I don't want you to be alarmed. But the point is, I stayed hands off with the indoor plants. I gave them names and sometimes spoke to them sternly. But Michelle watered them, took care of them. It was a very 50's style of parenting. The garden is a different thing. I've decided to step up and be hands on. Only the Germans could have a word for "Finally I have decided to be a strong black male father figure, just like Bill Cosby said, just as Bill Cosby is totally discredited and I am neither black nor a father, and they're plants--fercrissake" I don't actually know the word. I learned some German 20 years ago and that was it. (das ist alles). Yup.