Do you need Dr.Quinn?

Remember watching those old "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman" re-runs?  (As I recall, this was a phase in my life that came just after the "Little House on the Prairie" re-runs and just before my "A-Team" days.  Or was it "Magnum P.I."?)  That plucky city gal always seemed to find a cure for what ailed the townsfolk on the frontier.  Now how badly do I need a garden version of this character?

Dr. Quinn can save the day!

I can see it now: dress swishing and held high to avoid dirtying the lavender hem, she tramps single-minded through the entrance and pauses a moment.  "Oh dear, did you know your Veronica has a terrible case of mildew?"  This would be said in a most kind and regretful manner, for Dr. Q is nothing if not classy and compassionate.  And I would bow my head in acknowledgement and a bit of shame.  If I was feeling bold I might add, "And it's been mildewed for two years in a row."  Then she would spontaneously convey that my lilac is very unhappy in it's current place (no flowering) and the grasses are getting crowded and dying out in the middle.

The funny part about this scenario is that I know exactly which plants are not thrilled with their place in my yard, as evidenced by disease, pests, or poor growth.  I don't need "Dr. Quinn" to sashay through and point out what is to me obvious.  What I need is the guts to do something about it.  Some guts and some initiative.  But sometimes the thought of the work involved in removal or transplanting seems nothing short of colossal and I find it too intimidating to start.  "I'll just wait 'til next year."

Woman, divide us, please!

I have five specimens of Calamagrostis x acutiflora 'Karl Foerster' that have been needing division now for two or three years. By procrastinating I have just made the job more enormous. So my thought process goes something like: Let's see, last time I dug and divided a Calamagrostis it took about an hour (just the "lift, divide, and avoid tramping other plants" part) for one large plant, not counting the re-planting of divisions. Applying some fuzzy math, that would be a months' worth of free time in the garden down the drain. Oh joy, when do I start!?

Martha says: Get motivated...it's a good thing.

This procrastination thing might need more of a Martha Stewart approach (sorry, Dr. Quinn).  No doubt there is a special notepad adorned with scrolls and ribbon that would help me find the desire and the time to do the deed.  Hmm, maybe not.  I'm sure that her calendar has a day blocked out for transplanting tasks.  Someday I'll be that organized.  Today is not that day.   

I do find fearless authority figures to be very motivating: labor and delivery nurses are especially good.  They might make the best of what I like to call, in a highly specialized (and entirely made-up) niche of garden professional: the garden sergeant.  "It's six a.m., stop being lazy and get moving!  Dig, dig, you little nitwit!!  And none of that lip or you'll drop and give me twenty!"  I'm losing weight just thinking of it.  Just what I need to get me going...unfortunately, I haven't seen any listed in my area. 

In our consumer culture, it's too bad I can't find guts/motivation/initiative on the shelf at Target: I'd drop by and pick some up.  (I'd even settle for the generic brand.)  This reflection is rather ironic because some of my plants are moved so often they never get comfortable.  I guess it's those others that I'm thinking of, the too large or the unwieldy, those that cannot be pried out by one or two scoops of the trowel.  I have a few months to think of a solution to my mental inertia/physical reluctance on the subject.  It may crumble if spring is long coming. 

What does it take to overcome dividing and transplanting resistance?  And where can I get some?