What we don't know...

... can't hurt us, or that's the theory at least. Personally, I think 'ignorance as bliss' is highly overrated, and I'm as much an ostrich as the next person. Still, there are things I'd rather be ignorant about.

Take spring, for instance. The days get longer, the tulips and daffodils blossom and then die, leaving browning leaves in their wake. You can't pull them without disturbing the "feeding" of the bulb for next year, but they're so ugly! That alone--not counting the warm weather and the perennials which are coming back--is enough to make me take myself off to the garden shop. Of course, I can't think of it all at once and besides it's not all available at one time. So over the period of a month or two or three, I trail flowers home. This year it's been superbells, zinnias (two times), hostas, petunias, salvia, Shasta daisies, dianthus (multiple times), tomatoes, cilantro, and lantana. Oh, and one hybiscus. Yellow. And caladium bulbs which still have not shown their noses and I'm beginning to think they've drowned in our one big downpour. In fact, they have about two weeks before I put some more in on top of them.

I've bought fertilizer, potting soil, and mulch. A new pair of snips. Big ones, so I doubt if they're called snips any more. I've dug and buried and watered and said bad things when the hose won't cooperate.

And I haven't a clue how much I've spent. I don't want to know, although I could dig out the receipts. But I won't do it because it might very well hinder all the other things I have need of. A big case of the guilts would put a real lid on my fun.

It's like being ignorant of how much the spouse spends on golf. Our personal don't-ask-don't-tell policy. It extends to Chico's for me and yard equipment for him.

Ignorance can be bliss.