Why I Prefer Gardening (somtimes)

    While I clipped off white calla lilies that had browned around the edges and turned wrinkled and also cleansed the gorgeous purple irises of the shriveled spent ones, a new thought occurred: I prefer gardening to writing. Both involve creating growing and beauty, but with gardening, when you're done pruning off the dead matter, it's certain that the garden is better off.  With writing, it's not so clear.

    I have a twenty-four page story to edit. Yesterday I marked phrases and sentences for deletion, maybe. Today I'll look again and see if I still think so. I was in a dark mood yesterday afternoon and may have been too critical and ruthless.

    With gardening. the rose's white blooms climbing my fence, the orange-sunrise calendulas in pots, and the pink flowers on my crab tree are undisputably beautiful. I can know if I water and fertilize and prune, I and others will enjoy the beauty. (At least in California's mild climate, this is a 90% probability). With writing not so. Tastes vary so. Perhaps people would rather watch a movie than read what I write.  Writing has no certainty. 

    So though I'd planned to edit my story this morning, instead I gardened along with a team of paid gardeners. And I feel much more happy and confident as a result. I'll tackle the ambiguity of words this afternoon.