The VIEW from here 5-8-08

Maybe it’s the editor in me, but I like weeds. Well, maybe not the weeds, but I’ve slowly discovered I like the weeding.

I spent the bulk of the day Sunday with my knees in the dirt, pulling out all of those pesky plants that show up where they’re not needed.

Got the grass from out of the tulips and irises. Snaked the tendrils of the creeping Jenny (maybe it’s creeping Charlie) out of the sweet woodruff. Dandelions don’t go well with daisies.

Those weeds are my reminder that life isn’t perfect — that things about our lives need a little spiffing up on a regular basis. It’s like shaving or combing you hair. Getting the right look requires a bit of constant care.

I wasn’t always into weeds. It took my best friend more than 25 years to convince me of the value of this all-important task. That was on top of maybe 20 years that my dad spent prodding and cajoling — even bribing me — to enjoy getting a little dirt under my nails.

I likely avoided the joy of weeding because it offers no immediate rewards. Progress is slow, it’s hard on your back and once those weeds are gone, there aren’t any points on a scoreboard to record your victory.

Many of life’s lessons can come from a book, a pleasant chat or even a heated debate. But I’ve found nothing in my life that can temper my impatience any better than a day in the dirt picking weeds.