As I look over this list, I wonder if some of the items can be counted as cheating, seeing as I’ve already done them. Call me an overachiever, but the reality is I’m a victim of immediacy anxiety, always paranoid that I could be hit by a bus at any time, and what if I die without knowing how to juggle? That could be the test to get into heaven. Actually, I hope it is, because if it’s math, I’m screwed.

Smallwood front garden - Summer 2010

5. Plant a garden

I am not a fosterer of growth. My sister’s dog does not like to be alone with me. Any plants I bring into the house die within a month. Not because I neglect plants or animals—I plant/feed according to the directions they came with. It’s just, for some reason, they give up. Any insight into this makes me depressed, and delving into the symbolic ramifications isn’t fun for me. I’d like to think my children would make it to 8 with all their fingers, but as the Magic 8-ball next to the dead cactus on my desk says, “Outlook Not Good.” So I would never have imagined anything I planted outside the house would fare any better than the ones inside living on borrowed time.

My humble garden started from two lone chrysanthemums planted in the middle of my mother’s yard. After an interminable time turning over sod, marking borders and low fence installation, the garden slowly began to take shape. A new plant this year, a filled space the next, and I’m now at the point where I can call it… well, not “done,” exactly, but good. Note to any aspiring gardeners: you cannot go wrong with hardy perennials. Begonias are beautiful, but hostas, mums, Echinacea, black-eyed Susans and sedum are forever, and will not disappoint you.

6. Fire a gun

Let me state for the record: I am afraid of guns. Any sane person should be. But I am also a firm believer in facing your fears, as this helps you to understand them—and therefore let some of that fear go. With great trepidation (and four other girls), I attended Ladies’ Night at the Firing Line range in Westland for an evening of girl power, firepower and scary acronyms.

I found it amazing—astonishing, rather—that a roomful of women would be let into a room together, each with a loaded pistol of her choosing, after no more experience than an hourlong lecture. Perhaps people are not as paranoid as I am, but when each woman is literally holding death in her hand, I can only pray they are also not as stupid as I am. Fortunately, everyone followed her instructions and no injuries were sustained. There was much fun, and even catharsis, within the group—but not for me. I was way too keyed up, way too into the ‘what if’s and ‘suppose that’ and ‘is my trigger finger up?’s to even contemplate having a good time. I safety-mom-ed it back to the car with the whooping and laughter with a deep exhale, glad we had all our fingers and toes.

7. Launch a podcast

It was a know-nothing three-fer: no radio experience, no Web design experience, no idea what to say. I like to think that what Stuff with Things lacks in technical advances is made up in pure personality (or at least cursing informative and well-considered cursing), as well as timely topics and our take on everything, from the nutty to the mundane. If this sounds like your thing, give us a listen via streaming or iTunes—or if video’s more your speed, check out the new YouTube channel. It will grow even more riveting, we promise you.

Sarah Smallwood is a freelance writer living and working in Ann Arbor. She is currently rewriting her first novel and keeps a daily blog at The Other Shoe. She can be reached at heybeedoo at gmail dot com.