Best Laid Plants

This morning after carpool drop-off as I drove through my winding suburban neighborhood streets I noticed an annual sighting. Not annual because annual flowers were involved, but annual in that each and every spring since I have lived in this neighborhood, it happens.

The same well -intended neighbor goes hog wild at the nursery at the first promising sight of spring and covers her yard with gallon and half gallon containers of roses, geraniums and petunias – all placed precisely where she intends to plant them. If history serves, these poor plants will begin withering by late tomorrow and continue to yearn for a permanent home or some hydration at least – until their death by early July – when they will be baked to perfection – as crunchy as Lay’s potato chips.

They will then sit, posthumously, for another week or two until a neighbor, or possibly even the well intended would-be future planter of such plantings decides to throw in the towel, admitting that sometimes the best laid plants simply don’t happen.

Here we go, as Oprah says.

Months later, after much pondering over the idea for this blog, I’ve decided the common theme of this blog will be the wryness of it all – life as a normal person peering out from the boundaries of suburbia, life as a mother of teenagers, life as a freelance working writer, life with a Mother who has Alzheimer’s.