Sometimes, Fate tires of determining the destinies of men. At such a time she might dabble with other beings. Hostas, for example.
At least, that seemed to be the case when my desperate search for hostas to plant up the shady, overgrown area beneath our deck was suddenly ended by one of my friends’ casual comments. Specifically, the comment was that her mother-in-law, in a fit of heartwarming but premature helpfulness, dug up several hostas that were growing alongside a freestanding garage that needed replacing.
My friend was a bit irritated because she hadn’t planned to move the hapless hostas until the last possible hour, so now they were sitting orphaned in her yard, roots exposed, waiting for this incredibly busy working mom to drop everything and plant them.
That was clearly not going to happen, so when she told me of her plight, I saw the hand of Fate. She had orphaned hostas; I NEEDED hostas. Destiny!
The hostas had weathered several days as orphans, but they’re tough little buggers. After some initial complaints on the part of a few, they’re settling in nicely now. My friend is happy; the hostas are happy; the deck’s underside looks less derelict.
Good job, Fate!