back again, briefly

Life's been busy.

New work.

New house.

New name.

Trying to settle into all of that.

I remember reading once that moving, changing jobs, and beginning/ending a marriage rank right up there with among the most stressful things in life. All at once? Killer.

It helps that I love my work and am really excited about the new house. It helps that the weather is getting cooler. It helps that the dog is getting older, and is giving glimpses of the the lovely-behaviored boy he promises to be - when he gets a few more months [years?] under his collar. It helps that I've figured out that my name is [formally] Dr. Maiden Name plus Married Name or - if they can't handle both names - then Dr. Maiden Name. NOT Dr. Married Name. They still call me Dr. Not-Quite-Married Name. They can't even get that right. It's close, mind you, but not right.

sigh.

Anyway, looking forward to moving into our 'castle'.Wondering what I'd have to do to get the gardens to look like this.I may be shutting this site down. I think it might be time to stop speaking personally - but anonymously. It's something that bothered me from the first, but it was a good outlet during a tough time for me. We'll see how my thoughts go. I'm thinking about it.

Meanwhile - this weekend is all about packing up my studio and getting ready for the movers to arrive to start packing us up on Monday. Tuesday, we should spend at my folks house - they're out of town, and our bed will be on the moving truck - and Wednesday we should move in and spend our first night at our very own house.

whew. It's been a long, long, long, LONG road. The end of a long ending and the start of a new beginning.

I can hardly wait.

changing seasons - one sentence

No matter how hard I try to keep watch, at the beginning and end of summer I am always surprised to find that - without my having noticed exactly when - the leaves are finally out and that - at the end of summer - the bug sounds have imperceptibly changed from locusts to crickets.

Luther likes lavender

Go figure! I was doing this year's lavender harvest and spent almost as much time trying to fend Luther off the lavender as I did stripping the lavender off the stalks.

I finally handed him a couple of spent stalks, and he trotted over to his bed, layed down, and spent a good long time happily chowing down on them.

That's one wierd dog.

Who'd have thought I'd be fighting him for aromatic herbs?!

life goes on

Life goes on - but it's a bit boring these days.

I have packing to do and old accumulated possessions to go through and discard, give away, consider posting on ebay or craig's list. No, we don't move for at least another 3 months, but this will creep up on me, and I'm only good for about an hour's worth of going through old stuff before it overwhelms me and depression beckons!

So I'll work in just hour increments, and that should keep me sane.

The garden is a wreck - altho some silly lady stopped the other day and complimented me on it. I was sitting on the porch, not working on the garden - which is why it's a wreck - but the "gardeners" hired by the rental agent had showed up the day before and smothered the whole thing in mulch, which smells like sewage. I can only assume this woman is a fan of mulch. She took a picture.

The "gardeners" carefully left most of the weeds in place - carefully mulched - but managed to bury or uproot the perennial geranium I had just as carefully carried back from Ireland with me 3 years ago when I moved back to the States to get married.

Well, it survived their depredations - twice yearly - for 3 years, I guess that's as much as I can expect. . . . sigh.

Who knows? Maybe they just ripped the leaves off, and the tuber is buried underneath a mound of brown shit-smelling mulch. Maybe I'll see the geranium leaves burrowing their way out from under the shit before we leave here!

One can only hope.

work like an ant - reprise

I've written about this before: work like an ant.

One thing at a time, one little bit at a time, over and over again, over time, and it's amazing what you can accomplish.

I keep forgetting that, and trying to do everything all at once. I want to write the 'perfect' article, the perfect song, book, poem. . . . I want to knit the sweater at one go, in one sitting. I want the house all organized, right now, and I won't even bother starting because I know I can't get it done before the king comes home at 3 or 4 and chances are things are gong to look a whole lot worse before they start looking better.

I even put off washing clothes, because I know there are 3 sweaters to handwash, let's say, and I might only have time - really - to get one done.

The amazing thing? All this 'putting it off' doesn't help me focus on getting just one thing done, it somehow enables me to find myself - 4 hours later - with nothing done. Just a whole lot of stress over what still needs to be done, and guilty annoyance that I have somehow been tricked into wasting a whole lot of time doing God-knows nothing of much import.

So. Today: one sweater is handwashed and drying on top of the dryer, into which one load of laundry has been deposited. Two handbags have been emptied and put back into the handbag rotation pile next to the sweaters. One magazine I haven't read for almost a month has been filed in the garbage can. And this posting will be filed, sans picture, with no further ado. I have several scarves to put away, and then I have to walk up to the law library, so that I can get a complaint drafted and a release of lien form. I've been carrying those to-do items till they've practically poisoned my outlook.

Then, for some fun! I've also been putting off gardening excursions. Here's the decision to be made for today: green enamel pots, or blue?

A prophet's work is never done.

Perhaps you noticed I was gone?

Well, I'm back.

This is where we were.

Amazing, eh? I never tired of photographing it. Here's another shot, in sunlight.

In the morning sun, storm having passed.

Storm threatening; evening.

Flat light after afternoon walk - with guard-cat in middle ground.

Way sunny, through oaken fingers.

The side view is just as beautiful.

Especially when the sun shines on it of a morning. . . . the stern gray clouds notwithstanding.

And finally here: what I saw from my front bedroom window in the morning. That would be from the top two windows on the front right hand side, as you look at the other pictures.

It was a wonderful time away - but I won't have time to write more about it until later!

flowers for Lemon Stand

with best wishes. . . .

garden: gorgeous. . . .

What is it about nature - modified - that can be ever so satisfying?

Not that "raw" nature is not gorgeous. We've all seen enough of that to know the truth of it.

But there's something about the 'hidden' - but obvious - hand of man somewhere in the mix that can be incredibly appealing. A subtle shaping or encouraging or ordering that is so lovely, but yet can go so wrong. We've all seen enough of the 'so wrong' shapings as well: the one-putrid-purple-petunia-every-six-inches in a straight line manning a sidewalk. . . .

The untouched landscape is something we can observe, marvel at, be thankful for, perhaps plan changes in. The shaped landscape is one which we have responded to already - or someone has - and so it calls forth a different response to the visitor or viewer. We respond to the land and to the gardener.

Perhaps this is another aspect of the question I considered yesterday, with respect to headline questions. There is a vast difference between a 5-year-old's constant questions as her only means of gaining attention and the solitary question of an Einstein about whether time is constant. Likewise, the difference between petunia outlines in garish colours and Piet Oudolf's juxtaposition of sculpted hedges in waves behind the tangle of a deadened winter field, in front of ancient knobby trees - in a row.

It's the difference between a melancholy ache of longing and simple nausea, perhaps, but it's more than that.

It's the "more than that" that draws me.

elvas update

Thought I'd forgotten, eh?

Oh no. It's impossible to forget these guys. They dominate the living room! Let's start again at the beginning. Day one:Several days later, the ptero hatchlings:Oops! Trouble in paradise. . . .These two want to be together:I guess three's a crowd. Fine. I'll just go off on my own.I think he likes television.Check it out - football! My favorite.The playoffs! The 'Skins lost. . . .Meanwhile, the other two have split up. One insists on standing upright. The other is doing an imitation of a reading light. I like that in a flower.Here's the overall picture: reading lamp to left; mr. upright in the center; football-friend to the right.

It's hard to get a good shot of the blossom straight on. Here's friend-o-football in profile to the right.





And yes, they do rather look like the picture on the cover (below).














I just can't figure out how that photographer got his blossoms to stay in such close proximity to one another. Mine won't have anything to do with anyone else. And don't be talking to me about the sun - we've got guys facing in every direction here, so rotating them to 'follow' the sun is clearly not an option.

different drummer

I'm a little worried about my Amaryllis Elvas. They started out fine.
They've been growing. (you just saw this picture, below).
One guy is marching to the beat of a distant drummer - in the opposite direction from the others'. (but look how much they've grown!)
This is the blossom hoped for, but I don't know about our little rebel. He may wear a blossom of an entirely different colour!As might be expected, I'm drawn to the rebel - the guy heading in the opposite direction.

they're getting bigger!

Remember these guys?


They're my Hippeastrum Amaryllis Elvas that I wrote about in dirt/happiness)

Look at 'em now! Wow. I'm so proud of the little guys. . . .

and, finally. . . .

Further to the dirt & happiness correspondence I wrote about a little while ago, I wanted to introduce you to the latest inhabitants in our home. They look a lot like some sort of prehistoric dragon fledgling, don't you think?

They are the Hippeastrum amaryllis - the Elvas variety.

Wait'll you get a load of the blossoms! Now that'll cure what ails ya. . . .

dirt + bacteria = happiness

I kid thee not.

Garden Rant has posted a story about how the Mycobacterium vaccae bacteria which is found in gardening soil (i.e. "dirt") has been scientifically linked to the report of a greater feeling of happiness by means of an increase in the "quality of life."

The scientific explanation appears to involve seratonin, neurons, and the brain's "mood center."

The actual subjects interviewed were mice and cancer patients.

There you have it! My excuse for potting and puttering on the dining room table, now that there's snow on the ground. For today, the transplant of 3 individually pre-potted Hippeastrum amaryllis (on sale at the Giant, twofer something. . . .) into a big glass centrepiece-type bowl, hopefully in time to bloom by Christmas, but knowing my luck, to bloom sometime after the new year, when I am out of town.

But who cares? It's the dirt that counts.

Apparently.

But here's what I'll probably miss, and that would do a lot for my mental state, as well.

I don't care what they say. I like the flowers best.

Still - nice to know there a benefit to the mess!

toxic ginger

Man.

You know you're in trouble when ginger turns out to be toxic!

OK. Ginger from china. Not all ginger.

But who checks to see where the ginger's from?

Who knew 'they' were importing it from China?!

I've already turned down several 'amazing deals' upon seeing that the item in question came from China. Who wants to die of lead poisoning from a cute little banana loaf baked in a one-dollar clay/ceramic loaf pan that Michael's is selling? All perfectly safe, I'm sure. But after the ginger episode - how can we know anything for sure?

This is what we get, I guess, when we take over all the "important" things like: making money or bigger/faster cars, following the careers of nubile teenaged delinquents with millions of dollars and no sense [I mean "cents", of course. . . . cents. That's right.], and gearing up for a multi-billion dollar presidential popularity contest [I mean: election]; while we leave the "unimportant" things - like food production and cooking - to whoever wants to try and make money at it. . . .

Funny thing, though: you can't eat money.

herbes de prophète

There are as many recipes for herbes de Provence as there are herb growers, I think. Ultimately, I think it's about what herbs you grow and which you most prefer to use in your every day cooking.

The ones I use are thyme, summer savory, rosemary and sage - in approximately equal proportions. I also add lavender, but only a third of the other-herb measurement. So, for example, 1 tablespoon each of sage, rosemary, thyme and summer savory and 1 teaspoon of lavender.

Some people also add the smaller measurement of either mint or tarragon.

Wash fresh herbs and hang to dry. When they're dry, strip off the leaves & discard stems. Mix the dried herbs together in the proper proportions and store in an airtight container.

I've just harvested the dried lavender and I'll be mixing this year's batch of herbes de prophète soon. I didn't cut the lavender [oops! That's rosemary top left] or sage until just recently, so I have to wait till it's dry. I have enough of last year's blend to get me through Thanksgiving, though, so no worries.

aroma therapy

Guaranteed to make you feel better. BUT requires advance planning over several months:

1. Plant lavender plants

2. Harvest flowers at early bud stage

3. bunch and hang upside-down to dry

4. Dry for a minimum of 2 - 3 weeks - a month to be safe

5. On 'down' day, strip buds off stalks, breathing deeply. (discard stalks, save buds for sachets or include in yearly Herbes de Provence recipe - or tea)

Guaranteed to lift my spirits in 3 minutes or less. Every time. . . .

work like an ant

My brother gave me a book by some psychotherapist-type, who writes about successful [quote-unquote] living. Actually, this guy has helped me in the past. He helped me see that I had been working with no boundaries, that it is OK to say "No" and that I am not responsible for how another person feels.

I forget these lessons on a regular basis. Luckily, however, the king has splendid boundaries, and regularly models for me what "normal" people are supposed to act like. You know: ask a question that doesn't presuppose a positive response, and live unswayed by emotional blackmail attempts. I don't think he'd recognize a blackmail attempt if it hit him over the head, to tell you the truth. He'd just walk out of the trap as if it wasn't there.

And it isn't there, for him!

But that's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to get back to MoFo, the hummingbird, who flew the coop a couple weeks ago when - without notice - all hummingbirds suddenly disappeared. It's still hot as summer here, but no more hummingbirds. (My dad says that its not the temperature that controls, it's the big hummingbird-clock-in-the-sky).

So - there I was with a fresh batch of hummer nectar and no more hummers. Bummer!

We still kept an eye out, but 2 or 3 weeks have gone by with no appreciable dip in the nectar level. And no sign of MoFo on the overhead wire. Maybe Dad was right.

This weekend, however, there seemed to be a change.

"Wasn't the feeder nearly full?"

"Yeah! Look at that - it's down nearly an inch. . . ."

Over the weekend, it went down steadily. Now there's only an inch or so of nectar left. What in the world?! There's been no sign of hummingbirds. There's been the occasional wasp, granted, but not anything that would account for that kind of displacement. It must be leaking, I thought. I finally looked at it closely this morning. I didn't see anything. No leaking. OK - an ant at one of the portals. Wait a minute - two ants. No, three. One's leaving. Here comes another. OK. . . .

Focusing on the black wrought iron stand that suspends the feeder in the garden, I finally made out a line of ants. Black on black, you know, hard to see. Well now, two lines: one coming and one going. The perfect illustration for the lesson psycho-doctor advocates for successful living:

Work like an ant.

A little at a time. One swallow at a time. And they have managed the equivalent of draining a small lake. And storing up a whole lot of food for the winter! Over the weekend.

I didn't have the heart to interrupt them. But if they make a move towards my kitchen, they're history. And meanwhile, I gotta go make like an ant. Add another word.

1000 pictures

Today's is Elizabeth Perry's 1000th consequtive posting of sketches and musings over at Woolgathering and as part of her online celebration, I am posting my own sketch.

I lost my wedding band this spring. I was out in the garden, preparing urns for a new batch of annuals to be nestled in with the evergreen ivy. It wasn't until hours later - washing my hands - that I realized it was gone.

"Where were you?" he asked, when I came back in an hour later, still crying, still without it (meaning 'where had I been where I could have lost it'). I shrugged, helplessly. I'd been everywhere. We looked everywhere. We dug up everything I'd planted. We sieved the dirt. Over the next week we bought and read the manual for a metal detector and struggled manfully with said detector. We dug up the plants again. I cried some more.

I wrote about it; dreamed about it; prayed about it; pondered the why's and wherefore's of it. Not to mention the where-the-hell-is-it?!!'s. I couldn't find it and it didn't turn up. We still look for it, walking in the garden. My empty left ring finger was a mute accusation of my carelessness. How could I not have felt it slip off?! Strangely, I felt like I had failed as a wife. This was the symbol of our marriage - our treasure - and I had proven untrustworthy in guarding it. I lost it! Way to go. . . .

No, I didn't tell the king that. But neither did I press to get another one made. I started feeling unreliable with respect to my engagement ring and rarely put that on. . . . Fine. I didn't wear rings before I got married - just a few years ago - so what's the big deal? I won't wear rings now. Clearly, I'm not to be trusted with them.

Still, when I least expected it, a wave of loss would wash over me and I would finger my married ring finger, feeling the missing ring like I hear people who've lost limbs still feel them. How silly to feel such desolation over a ring. A piece of metal. OK - platinum metal, and have you checked the prices on platinum lately?! But still. I just missed my ring.

Last week, in the middle of dissertation hell, the king and I went out onto the porch for a happy hour glass of wine before dinner. The squirrels have been at work in my garden and urns, busily burying and unburying nuts and such. I scolded one of them who came within earshot: "I better not catch you in my urns! I'll whup your butt!" The king and I laughed. "Unless, of course, you find and return my ring," I added. "Then you can dig in the urns all you want!"

"You really think you're going to get it back, don't you?" the king asked.

"Well, I hope I will." I said. "I'd kind of lost hope there, for a while, but now I find myself looking again, quite expectantly. Almost as if it will be brought to me and left on the front steps. . . . But I haven't found it yet." I smiled. So did he. He went inside a moment and came back out.

"I didn't know when to give this to you." he said. "Now seems the best time." He placed a little box on the concrete bench we use as our coffee table on the porch. I started crying. (and I've started crying again, thinking about it. . . .)

I can't believe he had another ring made for me. Just like the first one. The one that's lost in our garden. The one that matches his.

This one is just a little different, though - I can't quite put my finger on it. But it's growing on me. Like a second chance.

patchouli

Yes. . . . I love it.

Then again, I love the smell of boxwood, too. It reminds me of mansions and arboretums and hot summer days punctuated by dark, moist shade under enormous trees. I was smaller then.

I found a plant marked "patchouli" at the local nursery this spring. "Tender herb", it said.

"Rather unprepossessing", I thought. I bought it anyway.

It has survived the summer, but remained unprepossessing. Kind of ratty, raggy leaves, no flowers. No aroma. I kept meaning to check online to figure out what it's supposed to do - where is the scent supposed to come from?! Is it expected to flower, or something?

Turns out it's the leaves that are fragrant. They're only mildly so in the garden, but you can dry them and put them in sachets. Distilling them into essential oil is apparently more trouble than it's worth, and would consume the entire plant. And still need more. For those who think it smells like bug spray, take heart: it repels destructive bugs from silks and woolens. The rest of us non-destructive types can be trusted around such treasures, and so love the aroma.

I'm looking at the plant with a bit more affection. I covet its leaves, which I'll be pinching back any day now. Not too much, now. . . . I understand it will flower - unspectacularly - in the fall.

Unprepossessing. But what an aroma! One people seem to either love - or hate.

I love it. I know. I said that already.