Spring Break! Time To Do Some Gardening

Barack and Gramps go organic

To Be Categorized As; LAME ATTEMPT AT HUMOR

If it seems that I've been a bit preoccupied and have been "phoning it in" as far as blog entries for the past week....well, you're absolutely right. Guilty as charged.

I fell way behind as far as getting the house landscaped and taking care of the gardening. And I'm finally starting to catch up. I've spent most of Saturday planting day lillies, cone flowers, cosmos, snapdragons, marigolds, impatiens, saliva, and those little white guys who's name I can't remember. And there's the usual tomato plants awaiting my attention, plus the bonus of having an oregano plant survive the harsh winter....no wonder Italians live so long.

So I raked, weeded, hoed, dug holes, planted, repeated....and felt really good about myself, finally knocking off at about 7 PM after starting work this morning. I owed myself a couple of beers, which I downed in record time, and put a smile on my face and served as a little anesthetic for my aching back.

So after listening to the first inning of the Mets-Marlins game, I went to pick up my trusty 1990 vintage boom box to move inside when I had a tragic encounter with nature. I felt something lumpy under my left sneaker....I picked my foot up...and there was a little squished toad laying there, with something that appeared to be his innards coming out of his mouth....and the little bugger was still alive! But just barely.

I mean, I'm a large guy, about 6 feet and 220 pounds.... Mr. Toad should have been deader than a doornail, but he wasn't quite ready for the Big Reptile and Amphibian Ranch in the Sky. What was I supposed to do? Take him to a vet? What to do? I needed a frame of reference....What would a Jersey Guy Do?


And then that Small Still Voice From Within told me what to do.

It asked me....

...."What would Joe Pesci do?"

Ya know....he is a Jersey Guy.....so I did what Nicky Santoro would have done in Casino. I dug a hole and planted Mr. Toad, even though he wasn't quite dead yet. No, not in the desert....next to the dead squirrel I found in the pool. Its a long story.

Poor little Mr. Toad....he had bulging eyes, a large mouth, and fat cheeks. He kind of reminded me of Rush Limbaugh. Maybe this was some kind of Freudian transference action....who the hell knows?

And now...its this Catholic thing, I feel so guilty....they have confessions before the 7:00am Mass tomorrow. Or.....

I have a better idea. I'll have another beer or two in honor of the late Mr. Toad....and maybe I'd better sleep in tomorrow.

I'm sure Mr. Toad would have wanted it that way.