Yesterday morning, instead of going to church, Flannista decided to begin to tackle the yard of neighbor Sassley's mother, who a couple of weeks ago, was diagnosed with stage four metastastic gall bladder cancer. She has between two and eleven months to live. When the Sassistas! heard the dire diagnosis, we let out a collective, "WTF?" to God. Needless to say, after hurling that at the Almighty, Flann didn't feel like she could attend church, anyway. However, when she arrived at the yard, she knew that only prayer would get her through the next few hours.
Above is a photo of just one tiny section of the yard -- a huge briar bush that Sassley's mother had attempted to trim a couple of years ago. Its thorns were long and deadly (see photo, right), but Flannista was determined to get to the bottom of the prickly shrub, collect it's brambly branches and set it out for pickup. It was me against Mother Nature . . . or God, and by God (or Mother Nature), I was going to win.
Needless to say, I found myself bargaining ONCE AGAIN with God: "Okay, you! I get rid of this and Sassley's mother doesn't die, okay?" Or, "Listen up, O Heavenly Whatever, I keep whacking away at this and Matissta finds a job sooner rather than later." Or, "HELL-LO-O?! See this piece of sh!t shrub? I get rid of it and I can retire. Capiche?"
In my lowest moment, I pictured myself wearing a crown of brambly branches. Clearly, it was time to quit for the day. I bagged up what I could and headed home for a Stella Artois and a long sit to ponder my fury in the garden.
What was at stake for me? Why did I work for nearly four hours without taking a break? Why is Sassley's mother dying? Why can't I stop it?
Do you understand my fury?