If you want something done

You know that adage: If you want something done well, do it yourself? Well, it's not always true.

Especially when it comes to pruning bushes with a pruner that's almost as tall and heavy as you are.

Still, if I didn't know me, I'd have to give it to me. I'll tackle most any project I set my mind to without nary a second thought like: "Can I actually do this?"

I remember how, after taking indoor cycling classes at my gym in Puerto Rico for several months, I decided to join the gym's weekend cycling expedition with my very cheap, Sears-bought bike. They had said all levels were welcome, and I, foolish girl that I am, took them at their word.

We all met at the gym parking lot at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning and I set off with a large group of serious-minded, Tour de France-looking, cycling-attired cyclists. Pretty quickly, they had left me in the miles-behind dust and even the gym's SUV, with all the expedition's water, food, gear, etc., was ahead of me.

Soon enough, I had to give up, after riding more miles than I ever thought possible, but way short of the goal the others were on their way to meeting. They were riding about 30 miles to the coast. I gave up somewhere around the 10th mile, near the banking district.

Thank God for cell phones since I was able to call my husband and he came to pick me up, unsurprised at the outcome.

Strangely, I didn't feel defeated, although I was a bit sad. I had hoped I could accomplish the ride and I hadn't been able to do so. But the important thing, I reminded myself, was that I had believed in myself enough to give it -- even if the effort was beyond my capabilities -- my very best try.

I'm a hopeful person, my mom says. And she's absolutely right. Too hopeful, sometimes.

That's also why I won't let stupid redneck bullies in their huge black pick-up trucks push me out of my right of way in the highway, just because my car and me are less than a quarter their size.
It's almost instinctual, meaning I don't much think about it. Like a tiny chi-hua-hua that bites first, and asks questions later. Short and small as I am, I'm almost fearless (which I don't mean to say is always such a good thing) when it comes to standing my ground.

When I tell those road warrior stories to my husband, he reminds of the Ballad of John O'Day.

Here's lies the body of John O'Day
He died defending his right of way
He was in the right as the day is long
But he's just as dead as if he were wrong.

Well, Johnny was probably short and small, like me, and he died with some satisfaction, I think.

In that spirit, before the church bells had pealed 8 o'clock this morning, I was out there a duras penas trying to control said gigantic pruner, playing Edward Scissorhands with the two overgrown bushes in front of our small deck.

Those bushes are hideous, the result of some previous gardener's big mistake. They produce no fruit, no flowers and their leaves are sticky and raspy with a white dust that makes me sneeze uncontrollably. They're not even an attractive color of green. They're more like a sick-baby-poop green.

The bush, however, is a prolific and enthusiastic grower who likes to cover the entire back of the deck and reach onward toward its neighboring crab apple tree. If left to its own devices, it would take over the world. I have no doubt.

So I took on the project with my usual hopeful gusto, wielding the gigantic pruner like anything but a pro (or someone with a few more inches of height and upper-body strength). About 30 minutes later I was exhausted, covered in white dust and ugly green leaves, but the two offending bushes were nicely (well, perhaps that's an exaggeration) trimmed and you can now see down the back yard again.

The birds, of course, are wondering what happened to the bushes since they now don't have all those ugly branches to poop on or sit on and squabble with one another in comfort. But I figure I do a lot for those birds so giving myself the pleasure of cutting back The Ugly Bushes is not a bad compromise.

Once I had half of the bushes in pieces on the ground, I still had to fill up the large plastic garbage can we use for garden waste and then drag it to the front curb. But I did it and lived to tell the tale.

Yeah, I guess that even when I take on more than I can manage, or than I'm remotely good at, I still prefer to have the hope (nevermind how misguided) that I will prevail.

That's better than conceding defeat even before I've begun.