Brunhilda’s Garden

Under construction building man shovel wearing helmet and dig ground

I know I was in trouble when Brunhilda told me that WE should get the garden ready for planting. When I heard those words, my sphincter tightened up tighter than Joan Rivers face. Because I knew that WE meant me.

            She let it sink in and let me stew about it for a while – knowing that I knew it would be as reliable as sunup that she would soon say to me: “today’s the day.” (And I knew that it would be on a blessed weekend.)

            Every weekend that passed I grew more nervous than a weight – watchers group leader with chocolate on his breath. I couldn’t stand the strain anymore – so I took a potato fork and turned over every shovel full of Brunhilda’s garden. I groused about it a little bit but not too much when she shot me a look that would put a wart on a gravestone. I told her that people like her were the reason that people like me had to take medication and that when I finally snapped that she would be first to go.

            When I had every forkful turned over, I got on my hands and knees and picked every weed out of the garden. I worked for hours! I was out in the garden by eleven and didn’t turn my last forkful until about four-thirty.

            It was the hottest day of the year up to that point. I went out whiter than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and came in redder than Cochise. It was so hot that birds were falling out of the sky with their wings ablaze.

            When the job was done, I came in partially limping and crippled. I looked like the star of a hostage video. I was as haggard and red-eyed as a Shanghai Rat, and I smelled worse than a skunk getting a permanent. I could have qualified as the Advil poster child.

            My Mantra was: “Hard work must have killed SOMEBODY!

            I told the Brunhilda (I think it was through tears) that I wasn’t going to work anymore on a Sunday. I think she looked at me all dirty and stinky and felt sorry for me. She said in retrospect that, it was probably a mistake that I worked that hard in the sun all afternoon. In hindsight that was like Mary Todd Lincoln saying: “all in all, I wished we had stayed home and rented a movie.”

           

10 thoughts on “Brunhilda’s Garden

  1. I love this piece!. I was laughing out loud up to the end. Poor you! But it looks like your love for Brunhilda exceeds the sufferings you had and is experiencing ha ha

    Btw, in the Philippines, the word bruhilda (not Brunhilda) means ‘witch. I just thought that somehow it would give you something to be joyful of after that forced labor.

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    1. Thank you for those kind words. If you like that piece, there are more featuring Brunhilda, and her two daughters, Cleopatra and Bathsheba, (my stepchildren). I write with one purpose, to bring a smile or a laugh to my readers. So the fact that you laughed out loud, means a lot to me. Thanks for the Philippine connection.

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      1. YW, Doug! It’s like manna in heaven to have across your page. I hope it’s okay to have listed your blog in my Blogs to Visit & Follow page.

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      2. I read your blog about “easy ways so start and find a niche,” and I am going to read more of your blogs, I haven’t found my Niche, but with your help maybe I can find it.

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    1. I hope you didn’t get too much sun! I appreciate that you liked the piece. my sole purpose in writing is to bring a smile or a laugh to my readers. So the fact that you like it and thought it was funny, warms my hearts. There are plenty more on my website.

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    1. Jeanine, I am glad you liked it. There are many more on my website and the fact that you found it funny, warms my heart. My sole purpose in writing these stories is to make someone smile or laugh.

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