I told you about my socks, but I didn’t tell you about my new gardening gloves…by far the coolest present I received this year.
They’re called Honey Badger gloves, and I absolutely love them.
First, I love digging in the dirt. A gardening friend of mine will remind me that there is a difference between “soil” and “dirt.” And she’s right, or course. But digging in the dirt has a greater connotation for me that digging in the soil.
I’ve planted seedlings often by digging holes in my garden with my bare hands instead of using a trowel. And my family can tell you that I often resemble the Peanut’s character Pigpen when I come in from the garden or from sifting compost.
There’s something about feeling the tilth of the soil, the warmth stored in it from the sun’s rays, dirt under my fingernails, and smudges on my face that not only bring back memories of my misspent youth, but also create new memories every day.
Before I wax too poetic, I need to tell you that I think these gloves are brilliant. I’ll still be digging in the dirt with my bare hands, but I’m also looking forward to using these gloves to do the same thing.
If I get tired of digging with them, I can always use them to frighten neighborhood children.
Christmas is always interesting at my house. My family has an…er…rather unique sense of humor. For some reason, it’s usually directed at me. To those of you who know me, you probably know that, in many things, I often lack circumspection (yes I know what circumspection means – look it up) and foresight.
Several weeks prior to Christmas, on the little chalk boards above the mantle, where we write down our Christmas “wants,” I naively wrote “Socks.” I thought it was a good idea, since my current ones were getting a little threadbare. It would also be an easy, inexpensive gift, and, since I would probably be paying for it anyway, it seemed a thrifty thing to do.
Christmas morning. I’m sitting in the living room, groggily drinking my morning coffee, when my daughter plops a very large, bulging stocking on my lap. I reached in and pulled out – yep, you guessed it, a pair of socks. But not just any old pair of socks, and certainly not the socks I am accustomed to wearing (black, conservative). These socks looked like something that a Dr. Suess character would have worn. (see photo).
But wait, that’s not all of the story. As I withdrew the socks from the stocking, a ribbon tied to the first pair pulled out a second pair. Then a third, then a fourth. All told – 24 pairs of the most outrageous socks I can imagine. (Again see photo for example – and that pair is one of the tamer ones.) I figure now I have enough socks to last several years…which is good, because I’m not going to ever ask for socks again – EVER!
It’s a good thing I wear boots most of the time.