I have a (almost) summer cold. When I woke up Friday morning with a sore throat, I wondered. And wouldn't you know it? The sore throat progressed quickly to sneezing and coughing and nose running. On my first day of summer break, I felt yucky and ended up taking a nap in the afternoon.
So. I didn't go to church this morning because I didn't sleep well* and because I didn't want to spread my germs everywhere. I am sad because John and Dan were team teaching the adult Sunday School class today.
I decided to spend some time in the cloud/sun in the courtyard. I repotted and fertilized the three tomato plants, the basil and the Temple Flame bouggainvillea. Then I moved the plants to the shady side of the courtyard in anticipation of being out of town for a wedding in a couple of weeks, to make it easier for someone to water and to keep the pots from drying out too much if that someone forgets to water. Then I watered everything and washed down the two courtyards. A lovely way to spend a pleasant convalescing Sunday morning. Except for...
the slugs. I hate slugs. I think that they must be on the very bottom of the food chain. I cannot see any reason for their existence except to annoy me. When I see a slug, I kill it. My usual method of disposal is as follows:
ME upon seeing the slug(s): Little Slug, do you want to see God?
Little Slug: Yes!
ME: OK, let me help you!
Then I either stomp on it or cut it in half with a stone or garden tool.
Tammy asked John the other day whether he is concerned that I talk to the slugs, but I figure if it's a problem I'll just have to go to therapy.
Today, however, I found so many slugs under the pots that stomping and cutting were too slow. So, against my better judgment (for humane reasons and for concern over my garden environment) I used the -- (scary music) -- salt shaker --(more scary music). I quit counting oozing slugs after 20. And, no, I don't feel like a guilty murderer. Because I hate slugs and refuse to coexist with them in my garden. They can have the wilds of Northern CA and the Pacific Northwest, but not my garden.
*I sort of fell asleep for a while to the sounds of the dueling bands in the neighborhood. Two groups with distinctly different music tastes (loud, bass thumping vs. mariachi) cranked up their speakers to see who could annoy the most people. It was a tie. But once I woke up from an extra loud series of songs sung off key by progressively more drunken soloists, I couldn't go back to sleep until after 3am when the partyers had all passed out. Noisy nights are among the most annoying parts of inner city living.