Someone asked me how I choose what to say every week. I usually say, “Deadlines.”

They always think I’m joking. I’m not.

The goal is to find a subject that people will find interesting or at least mildly amusing. This procedure involves typing nonsense, potential subjects and random words and phrases until something comes together. At that point I erase everything that doesn’t make sense and start typing for real.

Some columns write themselves. I like these best as they rarely have typos. I don’t have to rewrite them, add or subtract words and phrases or do anything else to get my point across. All I have to do is type.

This isn’t one of those easy ones. This is one of the columns where I am not sure what to write about. I sit here and leaf through any messages from or about the grandkids. I found out that middle grandson, Jacob, pitched a no-hitter last week. I know enough to realize that this is something to be celebrated. I don’t know enough about baseball to make an entire column about it.

Last week the weather was so nice that I let a half dozen or so of the house plants get some fresh air on the porch. I did bring them back in when the weather person said the overnight lows were going to be hovering around freezing for a few more days.

The ungrateful flora tried to kill me for bringing them back in the house. I usually check the screen door to make sure it is latched and the regular door to make sure it is locked. That evening neither of them were fastened so I locked them both and stepped back. My bare foot landed in a pot of what we call monkey cactus. And, yes, they have stickers.

At that point I was off balance and only the locked door offered something to hang on to. If it hadn’t been there I would have ended up on the floor. I threatened to leave the thugs outside the next time it got cold.

The outside plants are outdoing themselves. The cherry tree put on its best show ever. The little bulbs are done for the year. The daffodils are still in their prime; the tulips are just beginning to open. The grass has had its first mowing.

There is a part of me that wonders why I am interested in plants. When I was a kid I hated gardening. It was hot and dirty. Plus I hated almost everything we grew. Peas and beans? Yuck. Strawberries and corn? Much better. Wild black raspberries that grew along a fence line? The best of all.

The houseplants were always around. They lived their lives in the background. I ignored them and they ignored me.

Perhaps the whole point of this column is to demonstrate that things change. If you had a lousy childhood the rest of your life does not have to be lousy. Had to harvest vegetables you dislike? Don’t plant them. When the weather warms up and you put a few plants outside for a while, you don't have to step in a pot of cacti when you bring them back inside.