Zen and the art of dandelion maintenance

Between medical appointments (29 on my calendar so far not to mention the likely trip to Mayo and possibility of "chemo" days) I like to think about more pleasant springtime things like buds on trees and vines, sprouts, the reappearance of perennials.

And I love digging dandelions. Sometimes when driving in the country I see a field of dandelions and daydream about taking the day, just me and my digger, and cleaning up acres and acres of dandelions . . . to watch their delicate carcasses dry up in the sun after I've cleared the field.

Last weekend at my son's, I went after the dandelions in his lawn. The weather was perfect, sunny. Jake was nearby doing another yard project, and I was in my glory. It's likely I dug up a thousand plants over a two-hour time span, down on my knees. ...Quiet, birds singing, occasional dog barking, just me and my dandelion thoughts.

Greg's the one who taught me how to manage dandelions in the yard, so much of that afternoon at Jake's I was thinking about all the stuff I've learned from my husband over the years. (You can't link up with a Koerber without letting yourself in for A LOT of learning, as they all tend to know much about many things; I'm not kidding.) Greg taught me the zen of daily dandelion digging.

Each day when you return from work or errands (or medical appointments), take a few minutes to unwind with your dandy-digger. Do it before you even go into the house. Just drop your stuff on the front steps, take up your digger, and begin your rounds. (Greg's rounds include the extra enjoyment of a cigarette or two.)

If each day you go after only those dandelions that are proudly waving their little yellow blossoms as if announcing "here I am, here I am!" -- within a few weeks you will have gotten rid of the whole crop and not be bothered the rest of the summer. No chemicals, just a little mindful meditation.

I like to think that if those braggadocios yellow-flag-wavers hadn't been so haughty and proud, they might have spared their own lives. (Remember, each day I go after only the fresh bloomers.) But no, as time goes on, each and every dandelion plant in the yard will eventually raise its yellow flag and thereby meet its demise.

Might we take a lesson from the dandelion? Should we try not to call attention to ourselves for the sake of guarding our safety and security? Are we to hide our proud yellow blooms in an effort to avoid the potential for being knocked down by those who see us as self-centered and haughty?

Something to ponder. 'Kind of goes against the principles of blogging, doesn't it?

Bloggers are like dandelions. We can't resist popping up to wave our gaudy yellow flags to say "look at me, look at me!" at the risk of being judged and criticized. At least we're not literally destroyed and left to dry up in the sun . . .