WON THE BATTLE, LOST THE WAR
Well, here it is a month later, and the parsley is damaged, but intact. Shortly after my last post, the furry legions managed to clear-cut the entire middle third of the patch before I could reapply the chemical weapons following a heavy rain.
However, as feared, Old Man Murphy (my constant nemesis, and part-time ally of the furred legions) promptly waded in with the heavy weapons and unconventional warfare tactics. First he stoked the embers of family disagreement, and then he undermined my fiscal support, and then he got mean and set in motion some other things that I don't even want to mention {shudder}.
The bottom line is that although the garden is intact and (to a degree) thriving, the property, and the old family house along with it, are now both up for sale. My efforts to keep it in the family ultimately came to naught.
In the end, nobody really wins when they go 1:1 with Old Man Murphy ... the best you can hope for is to earn his respect, and give a good accounting of yourself.
{ponders}
Actually, I take it back ... that's not entirely true. I can smugly report proof of one instance in which my parents dealt Murphy a stunning permanent defeat that left a good scar to remember us by: while going though more of my parent's effects this past weekend (re: they both passed away last fall, and I'm their executor), I recently found a sheet typed up by my Father, who (like me) was a proud Triskaidekaphile. Recall also that they were married on a Friday the 13th, back in June 1947. On that sheet was a progression of all the Friday 13ths my parents celebrated together, both past and future. My finger slid down the page to their dates of passing ... and as it turns out, they celebrated exactly ONE HUNDRED (100) happy Friday the 13ths together - and they passed only 6 weeks apart, unbowed and unconquered by old man murphy, after a long, happy, fruitful and successful marriage.
If that's not a world record in the realm of triskaidekaphiledom, it's gotta be close.
I hooted and flipped Old Man Murphy (who was lurking malevolently nearby) the mental equivalent of the double middle finger ... and I heard a very satisfying imaginary snarl of indignant disgust and outrage. Oh, he didn't like that. He didn't like it one damn bit. Good for you, Mom and Dad !!
I have little doubt that O.M.M. will find ways to shorten my life, and make me miserable for the permanent harm my parents inflicted on him ... but I'll do my best to keep up the good fight in the years ahead.
IN YER FACE, MURPH !
p.s. True story.