Growing up, I had absolutely no desire to do any sort of gardening.  Or planting.  Or weeding.  Or pruning.  My parents would drag me to the Earl May greenhouse every Spring to buy annuals and perennials.  I dreaded it.  I would spend the entire hour trying desperately not to get wet or dirty – an impossible task in a muggy, muddy greenhouse.

The general public did not feel my sentiment, I guess.  The masses were there in earnest — pushing and shoving each other to get the last potted fern.   My mom, bless her heart, had a black thumb.  Every time she’d pick out a flower, a priest would magically appear at Earl May.  I think he rappelled down from the ceiling to give the plant last rights.

Ahhh, those were the days.  Simpler times.

Somewhere along the way, my mom became more proficient in plant care and I became fascinated with inserting seeds in the earth and watching them sprout.  Now my front yard is adorned in a colorful spray of flowers, which, mind you, I planted myself.

Heck, last weekend my friend Chris suggested we go to the Missouri Botanical Garden, smack dab in the middle of St. Louis.   The old me would have found any excuse not to go.  This time – despite temps being in the mid-90’s at 9am – I traipsed along for a new adventure.  Clearly, Chris had been to the Garden before.  He was my tour guide, of sorts.

Chris is an amateur photographer – something I love about him.  He sees things in a way I never bothered to look at … let alone through the lens of a camera.  His sharp eyes spy color schemes and odd angles.  I can’t tell you the amount of times I was walking along with Chris and suddenly found myself 500 feet ahead of him because he stopped to click some shots.

The Gardens have a huge backstory (far too much to go in to here), but I thoroughly enjoyed my day.  It was like a botany class combined with a history class … except WAY less lame.  Thanks Professor Chris.

Now if you could warn me the next time I wander off the beaten path and head directly in to a patch of poison sumac — that would be great!

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My assignment last Thursday was to go tackle people at Lilith Fair and find out what kind of sunglasses they were (or weren’t) sporting.  Here’s what I’ve noticed over they years … if you’re holding a mic and have a cameraman in tow, you’re a magnet for crazy people.  The sad part?  People who weren’t crazy before you stepped outside your news van suddenly become bi-polar lunatics when you walk up to them.

Case in point … I would ask a simple question.  “Hey – I’m doing a story on sunglasses.  What kind of sunglasses are you wearing?” or “Where did you get those shades and why did you pick ‘em?”  Instantly people would go on the defensive … like I was some sort of sunglass spy.  “Why do you want to know?” or “None of your business” were the main responses.  Little did I know there’s a secret society of sunglass conspiracy theorists.

Other people would run willy-nilly up to me and start asking me questions.  “Whatchoo’ doing?”, “Why is you all up in hurrr?” or my personal favorite, “Can I be on TV?”  (If you have to ask, the answer is an unequivocal no.)

Eventually, I got frustrated in the 110+ heat and just starting plucking people from the crowd.  The problem there is you have to interview 10 people before you get ONE usable answer.  Put a camera in people’s faces and one of two things happen:  1) they can no longer use English and begin babbling in an uncontrollable-conscious-stream-of-thought-that-makes-no-sense-whatsoever-but-sounds-like-it-does-when-it’s-spewing-forth-words-from-their-mouth-and-am-I-still-talking-wait-what-was-the-question-again-hi-mom!”  Or 2) folks try to become pithy and comical in their answers and end up answering a completely DIFFERENT question.  I had a woman tell me a bunch of useless information concerning the sunglasses featured in “Top Gun”.   Ma’am … that movie was 25 years ago.  I could not possibly care less and I’m poised to walk away from you.

The live shot – my first – went off without a hitch.  See the link below:

http://www.kctv5.com/video/24275993/index.html

The only nerve-wracking thing is I was walking around an outdoor amphitheater with $2,000 of merchandise on me.   I’ve been accosted for leftover pizza before.  But somehow, I managed to come out of it unscathed.  And I managed to make friends with several thousand lesbians.  I even got invited to a bonfire this fall – where I’ll wear my sunglasses at night.

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