I love my mama. On my most stressed of days, she sent a big plate of vegetables from their garden and roasted chicken home with my sweet big Ben. Since he was there getting our car prepped for the big road trip tomorrow, I was home working like a crazy person to tie up the loose ends. What would I do without her? She sent me this week’s column about the garden from which that yummy dinner came. I laughed until I cried:
“It is the terminology he uses when referring to the gardening process that confounds me the most. Listening to him speak this lost language in the 21st Century, with phrases that often sound violent, mildly obscene, which contort the English language into an unrecognizable form, is mildly entertaining and a far cry from the familiar terminology of his profession… It was right after the arrest of Lawrence Taylor for his alleged dilly-dallying with a 16-year-old girl, when the most disturbing moment of the spring occurred. Phil came in the back door all sweaty and crimson-faced and confessed to his innocent daughter and me that he “needed to get some young whores” or he couldn’t physically keep up with his garden anymore. With a look of utter shock on her face, Erin exclaimed, “Dadeee! That’s disgusting!” She and I were relieved to remember that there is such a farm tool as a hoe and that a hoer is one who cuts down weeds so plants can grow unfettered. That’s just one example of how ancient gardening terminology can skew our modern interpretation of the English language. Just last week, he was in a huge hurry to get home from the beach so he could “dig his taters.” At once, I had a hilarious vision of him grooving up and down the spud rows, playing imaginary bongos over his starchy tubers like a beatnik from the ‘60s. A vision of Dr. Phil diggin’ them taters. Tell me that ain’t funny.”
I can’t wait to schedule our next girls’ night movie date. Soon and very soon.