Mama’s collection of gloves…in the tool shed, not on her hands!
Are there four pairs of gloves in her garden tool shed? Are there FIVE, SIX? And does she stuff them into a back corner and forget all about them except when she’s pruning roses? Can’t forget gloves when you do that or else you bleed all over the garden. Good for the compost but not for the hands and arms! I’ve crawled up in the tool shed and I’ve seen the gloves—long rose gloves, rubber gloves, cloth gloves, leather gloves, but does mama wear them after about two transplants of tomato seedlings into bigger pots where they can make strong roots? No way. She’s a touchy-feely sort of planter.
This morning we moved VF Romas and Steakhouses into larger pots and all the while, mama’s hands were deep in black dirt and fish fertilizer and vitamin B water and compost and she took one look at her just-manicured and cleaned nails and said, oh, boy, I have really messed up. Is there any hope for me at all? I’ll NEVER be one of those white-skinned, smooth-hands ladies who sit and eat bonbons, will I, Loulou?
And I took one look at those once-cared-for hands—the same hands that rub me and stroke my fur and scratch behind my ears where I can’t reach and give papa shoulder massages when he’s tired—and I said, well, yes, I have to agree with you. Those pinky-polished nails look as if most of the garden has decided to reside there. And mama said WHAT??? Loulou mind your manners, it can’t be all that bad, and I said, well, a little dirt never hurt anyone and as far as I’m concerned, you just keep those hands and don’t trade them in for any others because they serve you well (sometimes I get a little over the top philosophically), and mama said, well, Loulou, if they’re okay with you, they’re okay with me. Maybe a little extra scrubbing tonight would put them back on the map.
And I said, as long as you’re stroking me and doing a bit of Tragering and putting me right into dreamland as you do every night, those hands can stay right where they are for a long, long time, clean or not.
And then mama petted me. Her hands smelled like earth and rosemary, which grows next to the potting area, with a little a little fish fertilizer thrown in.
They smelled like mama and I’m fine with that. Especially the fish stuff…
Yeah, yeah, right THERE! (Papa’s pretty good at it, too, and his hands don’t have half the garden on them…)
Oh so many gauntlets to maul and savage! (er, that’s what I like doing to gardening gloves) – Loulou, perhaps you could take over the manicure duties for your Mama? Nothing as good as a cat’s tongue for that, as your lovely paws, tum and chops prove.
Luff Mungo xx