The Pottery FarmPosted: December 5, 2013
Bill loves the XHOSE. It really is light weight, easy to use, tangle free and it doesn’t kink. It performs the way regular hoses ‘say’ they will, but don’t. The only flaw he’s found is cactus. It seems that the hose has to merely whisper past a Golden Barrel or Cholla or Prickly Pear and the skin instantly begins weeping droplets from its length and the whole thing has to be thrown away. I know this because our front and back yards are landscaped in desert trees, flowers and cacti – lots and lots of cacti – and Bill has had several XHOSEs succumb to a quick and silent death by stabbing.
And why, you might ask, after the second or third fatality, did Bill get yet another? The answer can be found in the dictionary under insanity, which is when someone repeats the same thing over and over and expects a different result.
The final straw came in September when he tried to unwind our old hose in order to fill the birdbath. He started swearing and kicking the pile of looped and kinked rubber. I knew that another new XHOSE was in our not-too-distant future.
“You know,” I began, watching as he dumped out the old bird water and began refilling the birdbath. “If we pull out those two cactus in the border by the sun room, I think the XHOSE would be safe as long as you drag it across the patio and don’t go near the Golden Barrels.”
“You think?” he said, allowing hope to creep into his voice. “That would be great because I really hate this #%@$ hose!”
We decided to transplant the cactus from the sun room border into the yard so they would no long be along the path of destruction and fill the vacant area with an assortment of colorful Mexican pottery.
A few days later, we were carrying several small Mexican pots, a shovel and a bag of cactus soil from the garage through the Arizona room, on our way to the sun porch and out to the back yard when Mom called out from the living room. “Where are you going with all that stuff?”
Bill turned to look at me, shrugged, and continued on his way out of the house. I backed up so I could peek through the doorway from the Arizona room into the living room. “We’re going to transplant some cactus,” I said.
“What? I can’t hear you,” she yelled over the roar of the audience as ‘Come on down‘ was announced on The Price Is Right.
I moved a couple of steps into the room and shouted, “We’re planting stuff!”
She looked momentarily confused, than asked, “What stuff? In those pots?”
I glanced at the small, colorful pottery nestled in my arms, then back at Mom. “No, I’m transplanting cactus and then I’m putting the pots in the sun porch garden.”
“Why would you plant pots in a garden? Why not just put the cactus in the pots?”
“Because we can’t have picky stuff by the hose so I’m putting pottery there instead and moving the cactus out of the way,” I explained.
“But they won’t grow,” she argued. “It seems like a waste to me.”
“Waste? What’s a waste? What won’t grow? We’re not throwing the cactus away, we’re just moving it.”
“I mean planting empty pots,” she replied with a shrug. “It doesn’t make sense. In my day, we planted stuff inside the pots. We didn’t plant the pots.”
“I’m not planting the pots,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m just moving the cactus and putting the pots where the cactus used to be so there won’t be an empty plot of dirt and it’ll look pretty and it won’t have to be watered and it won’t poke holes in Bill’s hose!”
“Whatever you say. Let me know what sprouts,” she quipped as she refocused her attention on the television.