Thankful for helper

It is clear that I will not follow in the footsteps of my niece and become a motivational speaker. In fact, I highly doubt that any kind of public speaking will be in my future.
When I signed up for a class in gardening with the local extension office a couple of years ago, I thought it was going to be fun. I thought I would learn a lot, make a friend or two and maybe even get a nifty certificate to stuff in a drawer somewhere, never to be seen again.
I did not bargain for all the volunteer hours it would take to become a “real” master gardener. They eased me into it gradually. Some of us from the class manned the Master Gardener booth at the fair. Simple enough. There were a few other events we attended and eventually some of us earned enough volunteer hours to be issued badges - not certificates to be stuffed into a drawer.
That should have been my first hint that I was wrong. I have been wrong about many things before, and I’m almost always wrong when I assume I know what I’m getting into. In truth, I and my fellow classmates learned a lot. We even made friends with each other. Some of us disappeared after the class but some of us persevered and are determined to keep our new certifications active and maybe even earn advanced status.
Those of us who attended that first local class receive e-mails whenever there is an opportunity for us to earn either educational hours (more training) or volunteer hours (help with whatever project is afloat). Usually several people volunteer for each event.
So when the notice came out that the Indiana Extension Homemakers wanted a Master Gardener to speak at one of their events, I e-mailed back that I would be willing to do it.
Little did I know that I was the only one gullible enough to say yes. Thank goodness for the local extension agent! He let me know the general subject matter, and I began studying everything I could get my hands on about planting seeds, tending weeds and pruning everything in sight.
The morning of the presentation, I printed out my spiel, but not until after I wrestled with the printer and threatened to strangle it with its own power cord. It retaliated by omitting the first paragraph on each page and printing a word or two of gibberish on extra pages. It snickered when it realized I didn’t have any more paper to feed it.
An hour before I expected to leave, the phone rang telling me that they were expecting me — now. Yipes. I gathered my stuff, forgetting half of what I intended to take, threw on less comfortable clothes and flew out the door.
The original e-mail gave one location, but when I got there, the place was empty. I flew back to the extension office and got directions to the real location. Needless to say, I was in a bit of a panic.
Thankfully the homemakers had opted to take care of other business while they were waiting. I used the time to compare notes with the extension agent.
Again, thank goodness he was there.
When it was my turn I had trouble remembering to hold the microphone in front of my face. As I have written before, my mom is very hard of hearing and reads lips.
Therefore, I have always considered it to be the height of rudeness to obscure my mouth when I talk. Plus, as she reads body language as well as lips, I tend to talk with my hands a lot. That is also a mistake when using a microphone.
Then my hand started in shaking. Last year I developed a minor tremor, nothing serious, but it is made worse by stress. As I found out, panic makes my hand behave like a demented dervish or some other possessed thing. I wanted to grab my hand and tell it to stop waving in the air. I finally gave it something to hold and that seemed to settle it down.
The extension agent provided slides and answered questions as well as handling part of the presentation. His hands didn’t shake.
All in all, it was an experience I won’t soon forget. In spite of the problems, I enjoyed sharing knowledge about gardening. And I have a new respect for my niece and gratitude for the extension agent.[[In-content Ad]]