There was a time in my life when the thought of being grounded, as in being held against one's childish will, would have been sheer torture. Of course, the point of being restricted for some misdeed was actually an effort by our parents to keep us grounded, or balanced by the strong foundation provided by this tough love. At some point during my adult years, I eventually discovered that staying home really wasn't such a bad thing. (Could that ever be more true than the week after the holiday season has ended?)
Though any good Libra will tell you that there's always an occasion to celebrate, it was a little bit of a relief to finally return to my own home turf, a much needed rest with no social engagements except with the ones I'd been neglecting around the house. First visits would be with my barely living plants which had been struggling to survive on little water or care these past beautifully warm and dry weeks.
After spending a good part of two marathon days of this self imposed "torture" of hanging out in the backyard in shorts, my feet barely nestled in flip flops, the low winter sun bore down, almost challenging me to a sunburn. As the plants and dry soil in the pots gasped, I comfortably sipped on a cool glass of water. My hands in the dirt and my semi-sadistic gardening skills being exercised, I was feeling the smug satisfaction of having almost pushed these plants to the brink of the green waste facility, but not completely. Like all good parents whose child rearing skills were seemingly modeled by prison guards from the "Cool Hand Luke" school of discipline, there was a spark of conscience and eventually a limit to the amount of abuse I could inflict. Swooping back to rescue them with fresh potting soil, a sprinkling of bone meal and water, the growth cycle would be put back in balance. Besides, when spring finally comes around, they'll be stronger for the experience!
