I AM A SERIAL KILLER
I have a confession to make. I was once a mass murderer, and now I am a serial killer.
The mass murder moniker was because of a bad habit – tardiness. In my wayward young adulthood, I was always running late. Getting two or three little girls ready to get out the door was a trial that I failed frequently until that fateful day.
I was running late and speeding down a back road. I drove over a little rise, and there before me were a mama duck and several little ducklings crossing the road. I didn’t even have time to slam on the brakes before I crushed a number of the precious darlings! I was sick and vowed to never be in such a hurry that I would cause another needless massacre.
These days, my killing is less traumatic. For instance today, I had to throw out another half a batch of kefir grains. I can’t keep up with drinking all the milk kefir, and the grains keep multiplying. Throwing them out seems wrong to me. Ronald says it’s better than making him drink the stuff. “Just pitch it!”
Tomorrow, I have to do something with all the pothos plants I have rooted. I have always been able to grow indoor plants with great success. I can never bring myself to dispose of the tendrils I cut from my potted plants. I love growing them, but there is no room in my house for any more plants.
Says Ronald.
Some things he says, I ignore. I won’t destroy another plant if I can help it! When a gal has a green thumb like mine, I will not renounce my gift!
There is one thing I am giving up on – fish. Mark (my son-in-law) and I had discussed aquaponics and my interest in an indoor tank. Low and behold, the boy bought me this wonderful Back to the Roots aquaponics tank. My grandkids and I went to Walmart and bought all the gadgets necessary and three neon tetras. Bless their hearts, they made it nearly a week before I found them floating at the top of the tank. The fish, not the kids.
Our next excursion was to a pet store. The young lady helped me pick out a beautiful, blue Betta, a snail, a water plant, and all the accouterments she deemed necessary for that lone fish. I added a variety of water treatments, water clarifiers, bacteria for the plants both above and in the water, and this bottle of stuff that was supposed to keep the fish healthy. Hmmm. Didn’t work.
As we spoke to a grandson in Kentucky, I asked what I should name the fish. Gideon suggested we name it after him, so we dubbed the little fellow, Gideon the Blue.
I tried my best, adding a little of this, and a little of that to keep the biota alive and well. Biota is my new word! It means flora and fauna collectively. Cool, huh?
My younger brother was concerned about me adding so much stuff to the water. As Kenneth adjusted his bifocals to read the small print on the sides of the bottles, he asked how much I was putting in. I told him, “I can’t read that crazy small print! If they wanted me to know exactly how much to put in, they’d write the instructions in font size of at least 16!” When he asked if I thought I should be putting all the stuff in at once, I shared with him my philosophy I use in cooking. If the recipe says a certain amount of spice, I use twice or three times that much and add what I deem to be complementary seasonings in reasonable abundance.
Bless his heart. Gideon the Blue lasted four months.
I now have the perfect fish. I named him Nemo like the Disney character. He is brightly colored like his namesake and stays happily ensconced on his ceramic bed of resin coral. His painted smile seems to say, “I am the only fish you’ll ever need!”
I agree. No more carnage on my watch!
So I am a total fail at Proverbs 12:10. “The righteous care for the needs of their animals.” Ooops!
Blessings
Kara Beth
