Update time on The Year of Buying Nothing. (Technically, the kids have only agreed to six months. I hope to stretch it.) If you don’t know what I’m talking about and you’d like to, see the January 12 archive.
This is when it gets daunting. I could handle not buying new clothes. I toughed it out with old pens. Until Easter, when I made several subtle-as-a-Dick-Cheney-firearm hints that I’d better find some serious roller-gel power in my basket. I do, after all, still write longhand, not on the computer.
In truth, this not buying anything new has not been that difficult. That, in itself, should give me some pause, because it sounds suspiciously like we had way too much “stuff” to begin with if we have not missed getting new stuff. So far, it has been far less hardship and far more freeing to not have to shop or say “no” to pleading eyes (the kids’, not the dog’s).
But now, it’s spring. Spring, to me, means one thing. Trips galore to my favorite nurseries. Ecstatic visions of the perfect flower bed while I peruse the plant catalogs. I will go through serious withdrawal if I cannot at least drive by The Growing Place and take a long breath. What shoes and purses are to other women, plants are to me. I am just not sure if I will make it through spring without buying plants.
Anyone want to be my partner in accountability? I can call you up if the sudden urge to use those coupons for ten percent off your total perennial purchase becomes too much? If the car suddenly takes over and heads off toward Spring Bluff Nursery completely of its own volition? Is there any way I can find a loophole here? Mental health exception? I fear not. I just hope the detox doesn’t get too ugly for my poor family.