So this weekend was clear and warm, a rarity in spring in the Pacific Northwest. So I spent it writing and playing games (Civ and Legos Star Wars), but mostly I spent it in the backyard, in hand-to-hand battle with dandelions.
Whenever anyone or anything really bothers me, to the point that I would say "I hate that!" I ask myself if I hate that person or thing as much as I hate dandelions. And the answer is usually no. I think I have a mania about them, a red-hot hate that burns deep within me. So I am out in the back yard, puncturing the mossy soil with my yard weasel (a cane-like device with a gripping ring of nails at the base), uprooting the evil plants and cackling, literally cackling, as I ripped them from the soil.
And I can't explain the hate. It's not the color, since in three weeks buttercups of the exact shade will come up and the lawn will look nice. And its not the invasive plant thing, since there are worse offenders in the lawn (but then, they're green). And its not just being a dandelion, since there is usually a later crop in high summer, when the grass stops growing, which are taller and have woodier stems. Them, I do not hate. But these dandelions? With their hollow, milky stems and bright yellow heads? Them, I hate.
And I have paid for that hatred, in the form of a small blister on my thumb from uprooting the plants all day. But still, its a good pain, to be cherished and nourished as a reminder of the hate - which will last until the next sunny day, where I will be confronted with another crop of them.
UPDATE: Apparently, my plight has moved Colin to thoughts of vivid political imagery and revenge.
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