Dirt for Christmas, a machete vs. mostly dead, and other indignities

I slightly recognized the holidays this year, which is unusual for me. But, in light of my new knee the relief has put me in a better frame of mind. What do I mean by “recognize”? Presents, gifts, bounty–whatever you want to call them–I bought everyone gifts.

When my roommate (RM) asked me what I wanted for Christmas I told her not to bother to get me anything. The legacy my mother left me is a deck of “guilt” cards that I can deal out when necessary. They’re not exactly Cards against Humanity, but pretty damn close. RM bought me  garden soil: dirt. I bought her an apple /peeler/corer/slicer gizmo and I  bought the Boy stuff he had on his Amazon wish list.  The dog bought me a big bottle of Tums and cans of air. Does anyone else think that there is something wrong with “buying” dirt and air?

RM bought her son tools. Your basic set of a gazillion wrenches, screw drivers, etc. The Boy confiscates our tools so now he has his own set as well as our stuff. If you kept some tool in a kitchen drawer and you can’t find it–he has it. Same goes for the peanut butter, cereal, and anything else he can cart off to his room. There’s nothing more confusing first thing in the morning than to find all the kitchen chairs are missing and you have no place to eat your cereal–but then you can’t find that either. We’re not sure what he does in there because we’re not allowed in. Now and then he brings out dishes and all the missing spoons and forks.

Now, RM, in her misguided gift-giving best, bought the Boy a machete, also. When I saw it I asked her why she didn’t spend a few bucks more and buy him a Samurai sword. Machetes come in a few sizes and this one is size I’ve-seen-bigger-but-it’ll-do-the-trick.  I told him he could use his machete on the Mother-in-law tongues (Sansevieria trifasciata) in the back yard that were systematically run over by the gentleman who mows our yards, with a monster riding mower. He’s reluctant to dismount from that thing long enough to break a sweat and trim around the edges of the yards so instead tries to do the trimming and edging with what I have called the Gila Monster. The above image is not that of the Boy’s machete.  It’s what I would have bought him.

Unfortunately, the tongues were not enough to curb any primitive urges the Boy had while holding a huge, sharp blade. His childhood friend was visiting so the Boy had to show off and tried to cut down Mostly Dead Tree with the machete. That qualified as stupid. Not to be bested by a mostly dead tree, he got my not-meant-for-cutting-down-a-tree trimming blade and cut down one of the tree’s two remaining live branches. A lot more fell off in the process. I just stood there and felt such sadness for that tree. There will be no more shade from her, now that she has been so horribly mutilated….

So much for my better frame of mind. Christmas dinner left the Boy and I rather sick. We each took to our beds for a few days. RM cooked the dinner. She was fine. She rented movies and had a jolly time by herself. We all know what that’s about. Her mother left her a deck of “passive-aggressive” cards.