Just One Question...WHY???
A while back I was visiting my granddaughter and she asked if we could watch a show called Hillbilly Handfishing. In case you've never watched that show, let me explain the premise.
City slickers go to some hideous place in Oklahoma, jump in muddy water and then feel through the muck for fish. They are forewarned that the water contains snapping turtles, snakes and fish that bite. Once they get into the water, they get on their knees and crawl through the muddy water feeling for fish, which, once they find, are caught with their hands. Then, they troll the edges of the muddy water searching for holes which are hiding places for fish (and God knows what else). When they find the holes, they stick their hands into them and, with any luck at all, pull out a fish.
My granddaughter is a bit of a country girl and I am 100% city so it's no surprise that she enjoyed this program much, much more than did I. After watching the hideous handfishing, that sweet little girl asked me to work in her garden with her. Of course, I said yes.
In her garden, she showed me what a woman she is. She picked up bugs and asked me to taste her mustard greens. I didn't join her in her bug activities, but I did gnaw on a bit of her mustard greens. That reminded me of why I don't eat weeds. In case you didn't know, mustard greens are some spicy plants so I wouldn't eat them if I were you. That's about as bold as I got that day...there was no way I was going to out-outdoor my granddaughter.
At one point I was sitting in the dirt and I looked down and saw tiny bugs crawling all over my legs. I jumped up, screeching like a proper girl should screech. My granddaughter asked me what was wrong and I responded, "There are tiny bugs on me!" She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Grandma, those are ants."
I knew they were ants, I just didn't care. A bug is a bug. I don't want a tiny ant on me anymore than I want a tarantula crawling on my person. As matter of fact, if a sweet puppy was smaller than a Tic-Tac, I would have to smack that sucker if it was crawling on me.
I have another dreadful fear, I also hate needles. When I was in the hospital, the nurses and blood sucker people always approached me with needles while they said, "It's OK, it's a small needle." That made no sense to me and it didn't help me one bit. A bug is a bug and a needle is a needle. AND...a slimy fish is a slimy fish. I wouldn't go looking for bugs, I wouldn't ask for medicine if it had to be given by a needle and I would NEVER, EVER walk, crawl or swim in muddy water looking for dinner. I'd rather starve to death in pain in a pile of snow without bugs.
City slickers go to some hideous place in Oklahoma, jump in muddy water and then feel through the muck for fish. They are forewarned that the water contains snapping turtles, snakes and fish that bite. Once they get into the water, they get on their knees and crawl through the muddy water feeling for fish, which, once they find, are caught with their hands. Then, they troll the edges of the muddy water searching for holes which are hiding places for fish (and God knows what else). When they find the holes, they stick their hands into them and, with any luck at all, pull out a fish.
My granddaughter is a bit of a country girl and I am 100% city so it's no surprise that she enjoyed this program much, much more than did I. After watching the hideous handfishing, that sweet little girl asked me to work in her garden with her. Of course, I said yes.
In her garden, she showed me what a woman she is. She picked up bugs and asked me to taste her mustard greens. I didn't join her in her bug activities, but I did gnaw on a bit of her mustard greens. That reminded me of why I don't eat weeds. In case you didn't know, mustard greens are some spicy plants so I wouldn't eat them if I were you. That's about as bold as I got that day...there was no way I was going to out-outdoor my granddaughter.
At one point I was sitting in the dirt and I looked down and saw tiny bugs crawling all over my legs. I jumped up, screeching like a proper girl should screech. My granddaughter asked me what was wrong and I responded, "There are tiny bugs on me!" She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Grandma, those are ants."
I knew they were ants, I just didn't care. A bug is a bug. I don't want a tiny ant on me anymore than I want a tarantula crawling on my person. As matter of fact, if a sweet puppy was smaller than a Tic-Tac, I would have to smack that sucker if it was crawling on me.
I have another dreadful fear, I also hate needles. When I was in the hospital, the nurses and blood sucker people always approached me with needles while they said, "It's OK, it's a small needle." That made no sense to me and it didn't help me one bit. A bug is a bug and a needle is a needle. AND...a slimy fish is a slimy fish. I wouldn't go looking for bugs, I wouldn't ask for medicine if it had to be given by a needle and I would NEVER, EVER walk, crawl or swim in muddy water looking for dinner. I'd rather starve to death in pain in a pile of snow without bugs.
posted by Meg Kelso | 5:59 AM
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