I decided this morning that I needed some kind of a powerful antidote to counter the venom that oozes these days out of Washington. This thought passed through my head, as I was sitting at the table playing Free Cell and holding an ice pack on my sore, swollen jaw — yet more dental surgery. Then that familiar “ding” pulled me out of my game and into my email. My dings are usually to announce yet more sales at the Hudson Bay Company, wise words from a medium who sometimes gives just the right advice that I need (weird), alumni news, i.e., give us money, recipes from Yummly and my daily fix of Rachel Maddow.
As much as I swore I was not going to listen, read or breathe any news coming out of Washington for the next four years, I can’t resist Rachel. I like her no-nonsense, paper-straightening — is there even anything written on those papers — delivery on the latest ridiculousness coming out of the White House. She reminds me of Joe Friday when he would say: “Just the facts, ma’am” But Joe Friday never had to do the research that Rachel does — well maybe he did but he only had an half hour show so couldn’t tell us everything. Of course, it helps that her take on what’s happening is usually right in line with mine but really, how could anyone have a different one with all that’s happening? Of course, I felt the same way during the election and look what that got us.
Anyway, there I was this morning, sore jaw and all, reading the latest lies, tweets, greed and law breaking. With each new story my shoulders would slump forward and drop lower and lower until they were almost at the table top. Rose, lying in her usual place on the back of the almost-destroyed couch cushion, looked over and gave me that disgusted look she reserves for me when she believes I am taking something entirely too personally. Since she always takes everything personally, she knows of what she is speaking. Her general demeanour shouted, “Do Something!” Since it was her suggesting this, I knew it had to have something to do with food.
She was right, although I’d never tell her that, I had to do something that would move me away from the table. It had to be something physical, positive, hopeful and, why not, fun. Then I remembered all the seed packets I had spilled out on the kitchen counter. That was as far as my good intentions had gotten me to plant them so they’d be ready to put outside if the risk of frost is ever lifted. It was really too late to plant seeds but, what the hell, I thought, it would at least get me away from the News-of-the-Day. I pulled out instructions my sister, Peg, had posted on growing herbs in jars for a kitchen garden. Sweet, I thought, although the only herb seeds in my pile were dill and coriander which Margaret had given me. Both, I figured, grew too tall for jars and I hated cilantro but I
was not to be stopped.
That’s when I heard a strong meow coming my way from the back of the couch: “Cat Grass. Cat Grass. Cat Grass.” I looked her way as she lumbered her chubby body off the couch and led me out to the porch to show me the dried up pot of the last grass I
had planted a few months back. Rose is a master at dispensing guilt and shame especially when it comes to her comfort. I planted the cat grass.
I’m not sure anything will come up, but the planting did exactly what I needed it to do: it got me away from the table and alleviated, at least for a little while, the White House-induced blue funk I had been feeling.
Hmmm, maybe I should send Rachel some seeds in case she, too, needs an antidote to the nightly news.