My father is a musician. He plays the violin. My mother is a musician. She plays the cello. My sister is a musician. She plays the clarinet.
My parents bought a piano for me because they wanted me to be a musician. But I just didn’t have the knack. The family’s musical gene wasn’t passed on to me.
In a fit of pique, my father moved the piano outside onto the sidewalk in front of the family music store, where it sat unused and rotting away.
Then I discovered my passion, my green thumb. I can make plants grow anywhere.
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Anshu Bhojnagarwala.
Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt this week calls for us to use the words “flower” and/or “flour” in our posts.
Sheesh. What I do know about those two words is that they are homophones, or words that sound the same but have different meanings and may also be spelled differently. What I don’t know about flower and flour could fill a book — or at least a post.
My wife likes flowers. She thinks colorful flowers brighten up our home. So I will periodically stop by a flower shop and bring home a bunch of flowers for her to put in a vase and to place it on our dining room table. That seems to make her happy. And, you know, happy wife, happy life.
As to flour, I know that we keep flour in the kitchen pantry because my wife occasionally needs flour for some meal she’s preparing. In addition, we have baking powder and baking soda in the pantry because she occasionally needs one or the other in her cooking.
To tell you the truth, though, I would not be able to tell you the difference between baking powder and baking soda, much less when to use one versus the other.
So there you have it, my treatise on flower and flour as presented by someone who possesses neither a green thumb nor a white thumb.
“We need to go to the plant shop and get some new flowers for the garden,” Liz told her husband.
“Didn’t we get a whole lot of new plants last year?” Larry asked.
“Yes,” Liz answered, “but those were annuals. They last only one year and need to be replanted each spring.”
“Don’t they have flowers that grow back each year?”
“Yes,” Liz said, “Perennials. But they bloom for just a few weeks each year, whereas annuals provide beautiful colors from spring through fall.”
“Who knew?” Larry said.
“At least one of us has a green thumb,” Liz said.
Written for this week’s 100 Word Wednesday prompt from Bikurgurl. Photo credit: Cathal Mac an Bheatha.