Summary

Sherry McGuinn reflects on her struggles with gardening and cooking, contrasting her own perceived shortcomings with her sister's talents, and ultimately decides to give gardening another try to overcome her self-doubt.

Abstract

Sherry McGuinn, a writer from the Chicago area, shares her personal reflections on her inability to grow tomatoes and her sister's natural talent for gardening and cooking. Despite her efforts, McGuinn feels she lacks the innate skills that her sister and late father possessed, particularly in nurturing plants and preparing gourmet meals. She humorously laments her kitchen mishaps and the daunting task of maintaining a garden. However, recognizing the therapeutic benefits of gardening, McGuinn resolves to overcome her aversion to "getting dirty" and to embrace the challenge of cultivating a thriving garden, seeking a sense of accomplishment and personal growth.

Opinions

McGuinn believes she lacks a green thumb and the culinary prowess that runs in her family, particularly when compared to her sister.
She views gardening as a zen-like, nurturing activity but acknowledges her own lack of success and patience with it.
McGuinn humorously criticizes the gender division of household chores, implying that women often bear the brunt of domestic tasks.
Despite past failures, she admires the skill and dedication of successful gardeners and cooks, aspiring to improve her own abilities.
She considers her writing as a strength and a form of creative expression, differentiating it from her struggles in the kitchen and garden.
McGuinn is self-aware of her limitations but is determined to challenge herself by attempting to grow tomatoes again, seeking personal fulfillment.

I’m Starting to Wonder if I Suck

How many things do we need to be good at?

I’m staring out the kitchen window at our backyard. My focus is the box that was built especially for planting tomatoes. The only thing sprouting from there right now is a preponderance of weeds. Admittedly, they’re kind of pretty, but a weed is not something you eat with fresh mozzarella and basil.

Do you have a green thumb? I don’t. Never have and never will. But I have tried on occasion to “grow things.” Because nurturing a plant from a teeny-tiny seed is a very zen thing to do.

I have never been zen. And probably never will be. With that said, I’m stubborn and it takes me a few fuckups before I give up on a task.

I have never been zen.

Back to tomatoes. A few years ago, I was gung-ho about having a thriving tomato garden because my sister always has one, and she possesses the ‘gene.” She got it from our late dad who loved growing vegetables in his garden and was an ace at it.

So, I had the box built because the soil on our lot is a kind of rocky clay, which is not at all forgiving to most gardening pursuits, and I bought a few plants at a local nursery. I mixed them up. Cherry tomatoes, “Early Girls,” and some big ass ones I don’t remember the name of.

For those of you who tend gardens, I’ll bet you’ll agree that this is a lot of work. You have to plant, feed, and pinch off the bad stuff and make sure the soil doesn’t dry out…it’s a serious gig.

For those of you who tend gardens, I’ll bet you’ll agree that this is a lot of work.

Regarding the “bad stuff.” I must have asked my sister at least a half dozen times to show me how and where to pinch. I never got it right.

However, I did manage to end the season with some fresh, juicy tomatoes, with “end” being the operative word as I haven’t planted tomatoes, since.

I suck. And I have that weed-filled box as confirmation every time I look out my kitchen window.

It may not be too late, though, for me to head over to that nursery and pick out a couple of tomato plants that may still thrive in the summer sun that hits our yard, head-on.

Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won’t. And if I don’t I’ll feel bad about it. Like I do, now. But, where do we find the time, people? Especially we women because let’s be honest — when it comes to “helping around the house,” most of you guys are about as helpful as tits on a bull.

I’m sorry, but it had to be said.

I write. I clean. I run errands. I pay bills. I wash our dirty clothes, although my husband has offered to do his own. I cook, sort of. And I make sure our kitties are hale and hearty.

Gardening for me would be one more chore. Yet, I think I need it, you know? I think I need to watch something grow, to stick my hands in the dirt and inhale the verdant…I don’t know…leaves. Or is it the soil that’s verdant? Shit, I don’t know. I suck.

I need this, damn it. As a way to calm myself down and get “centered” and “grounded” and all that crap other people seem to experience.

My little sister is great at stuff that I suck at . . .

My little sister is great at stuff that I suck at, like well, gardening, and crafts, and cooking. She can build things and take them apart. Now, I don’t know where she inherited that particular gene as neither of our parents was remotely “handy.”

My mom knew her way around the kitchen, though. An excellent cook, she would take Dad’s tomatoes and turn them into an ambrosial pasta sauce.

I have never replicated Mom’s rich, tangy, Italian “gravy,” nor have I tried. I know where I suck. My sister, on the other hand, has whipped up a huge pot-full from her own tomatoes. She’s even nailed Mom’s meatballs.

Now, I can cook, but my kitchen catastrophes are legendary. Just ask my husband, who's had to pretend to “like” many of my made-up recipes.

You see, I like making things up! I’m a writer, after all. But, “fabrication,” as fascinating as it can be on the page, doesn’t translate to gastronomy. At least, not for me. An “intuitive” cook, I’m not. If I stick to the basics, I’m okay, but recipes with multi-ingredients and lots of chopping and dicing, and peeling are a pain in the ass.

I need a Kathryn Dillon or a Jezebel Feast to guide me in the kitchen!

Also, I make way too much food. A few years back when I was still eating beef, I made a meatloaf that topped off at about four pounds and was the stuff of nightmares, visually. My husband was agog. We never did eat the thing, but we did take a picture. If I could find it, I’d share it with you, but then again, you might turn away in disgust and I can’t have that.

You see, I need you guys as a reminder that THIS is what I do. And I have to keep at it because what the hell else would I be spending precious time on? Hooking a rug? No. Hand-rolling gnocchi? No. Painting a wall? No. Learning hieroglyphics? No. Working part-time as an Uber driver? HELL to the no. I can’t find my way around to save my ass, even with a GPS.

“Interfere with myself,” as the Irish say? Sure!

I admire those of you, and I know you’re out there, who are multi-talented. Who can throw down a viral story and a five-star meal without a hitch.

For me, I’d best hold onto this writing thing for as long as I can. And, because I can’t stand to look at that weed-filled box, like a coffin waiting for its intended inhabitant, I think I’ll go pick up a couple of tomato plants and give this gardening thing another go. Because I don’t want to suck.

So what if I get a little dirty? It won’t be the first time.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s soon-to-be-ex-manager is currently NOT pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.