Weeping Sore

About Me

I’m amazed at how many people attempt to sum up their real identity here when they could use the space to describe the person they wish they could be. Personally, since I blog in my secret identity as a mild-mannered gardener, I won’t describe my super powers here, or itemize my awards and citations (including the little-known Nobel Prize in Gardening). For the record, I assure you that I use my super-powers mostly for good, although I have been known to smite bad drivers, or people who pause with their grocery cart smack in the middle of the aisle, making me wait while they look for the canned asparagus soup with the highest amount of sodium. I garden in a desert, so I often weep. I am not getting any younger as I garden, so I’m often sore. My opposable thumbs are often more brown than green. My imaginary friends have all died gruesome deaths, most of them last seen running naked and screaming down the street toward town, much to everyone’s relief. I’m a grownup who harbors much resentment about being expected to stop growing. I think, therefore I garden.

Interests

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My Blogs

Team Members

grow this Ruby Martha in Michigan