My, My Diva and Prima, are crying and fussing at me!

You should have heard her fussing about the dirt that I added to her this morning. Diva thought I had forgotten her. "I am not used to weeds being allowed to touch me!" she said. "I don't mind sharing the ground with lamb's ears and flowers, but I will not have weeds touching me!" I am so sorry, Diva, I replied. I meant no harm by it. In fact, I think a little humbling will do you good, keep your head out of the clouds, so much. "I will not stand it, she said they are messing up my groove." We love you just the same with or without your groove, I stated, right in her face.
Diva is very spoiled and I do hope she doesn't die, before she gets acclamated to the far less attention that she gets at our house, having to share her mommy with 6 children a husband a dog, 4 sisters etc. etc. etc... I love you, Diva, with 1/100th of my heart. I can only spend a little time with you. That is why I fuss at you, she said, you wouldn't notice me at all, if I didn't brown my leaves and act up. Well you better perk up, I said. I will not have these tantrums until I get my garden together, do you hear me.
My okra is the only, or onliest happy thing in the yard. They are so content to be left alone. Some of the plants simply grow straight and tall and them some of them coil around for some reason, I haven't figured out why, exactly. I added dirt to them and the little strawberry plant that they shade in the little okra patch that I am keeping. Ahhhhh! they sighed, just as happy as can be. How can you say ahhh cried the eggplants. She doesn't care diddly about us. I do too, I said as I pulled a few weeds and dropped some sweat on them for a kiss at attention to them. The birds care more about us, said the eggplants.
My dear old Father in law introduced me to okra. I had never even seen such a thing. He said the children never liked them, but I want some. Have you bought any? I said Grandpa, I called him Grandpa, in front of the children. The next time we go to the store together you will have to show me this stuff you call okra. I don't remember him showing them to me, when we went to the store.
When we went to the store I do remember realizing what a disrespectful culture that we have. People never talked to him in the stores that we went to. They talked to me, as though he was a child. I remember thinking, how sad that old people have to deal with this disrespect. Well, I tried to show him respect. And on his deathbed, like Dolcinea, from DonQuijote, he allowed me to bring him water, with all of his children doting and darting hither and yon, he didn't ignore me. He said Jayne get me some water with a straw. I took this to mean, "You shall not lose your reward." I did the best I could though not a chef or a baker, As a mommy and a daughter in law I took him in and I learned more than I gave. My okra patch is a loving reminder to me of the love that we shared and the change of my name, like Dolcinea.