Scenes from a "garden"

My sad, sad beans. I am not feeling great about these poor babies, but I am not giving up on them, either.

Some of my garlic. Ignore the dandelion leaf at the bottom of the photo. The other day, a good friend of ours stopped by to look at my beds, and he was blown away by how much better my garlic was doing than his. Turns out that he planted entire bulbs in each hole, he didn't realize you had to separate the bulb into cloves before planting them. Oh well, at least he realized his mistake early enough in the season to start over.

A slightly overhead view of my "Paul Peas" in most of the bed, along with my carrots at the bottom. Just trust me, the carrots are there. I swear.

The bed out front Husbandly one dug last weekend, and we planted today: it looks pathetic, I know, but we are dealing with perennials here, people, and I am not going to spend piles of money this year in order to accomplish what Mother Nature will in two or three. We planted four different hostas, some flowers, some ground cover. We'll see.

Not pictured?? Most of the garden. My tomatoes, the onions, the herbs, the asparagus peas, the annual flowers, the beds that I haven't planted yet, etc.

Even if I showed you photos of the whole thing, it would probably look small and pathetic to the casual observer. I don't care.

I am on a grand adventure.

Is this a sign of the apocalypse?

I just saw a TV commercial for a new prescription drug that will help the user grow thicker eyelashes.

What what what WHAT?????

Hey, Eyelash Scientist Man, way to go! Seriously, be proud of all those lush lash lines! You totally managed to make a pile of money off of the "fun" science, not the "depressing" science like working on cancer or multiple sclerosis or spinal cord injuries or even bloody DANDRUFF. No, you went ahead and created a miracle drug that will help vain, vacuous people everywhere! Don't let anyone tell you you wasted your God given gifts, because a full lash line is every bit as important as curing juvenile diabetes. Promise.

And you know what is funniest about all this? Because of bad chicken pox scarring from when I was a child, I actually AM missing about half of the eyelashes on my left eye. And yet somehow I have managed to lead a full life, I have had a successful career, I have known love, I have enjoyed my years as a mother. All without a complete set of eyelashes!

And when I eventually and inevitably hear that insurance companies are willing to pay for this miracle drug? I'll probably start pulling my own remaining lashes out, just so the pain can distract me from where our society is going....

Going hiking in the morning

Nine kilometres, or about 5 miles. Normally this wouldn't faze me in the least but, umm, my back. My stupid crummy back that keeps betraying me. Scared. And on this particular hike, we are being dropped off at point A with our personal cars waiting for us back at point B. So if I realize that, due to my current back issues, I can't do the hike? I pretty much have to do it anyway. No pressure.

There oughtta be a law

Well, before it became a law, it would have to be a bill. It would be called Irma's Bill, and it would receive media coverage. Pundits across this fair land would debate it on thoughtful news programs, but in the end, the Bill would be victorious, and Irma's Law would be just that: LAW.

If you empty the garbage can, you are required to actually place a new garbage BAG inside said can, before your Wifely One comes along and dumps half a bowl of soup in to the bagless receptacle.

Bad mood

My back is blown AGAIN. Have no ide why, but it is. Am terrified of walking across Spain this fall. Terrified.

Step Son was home alone all day. But apparently he only felt the need to spend quality time in the bathroom the very second I got home, that second when I wanted to pee. I have now been home for almost two hours, and everytime I walk past the bathroom, the taint wafting out of the bathroom is still so nasty that I don't dare go in. Seriously, whatever dude unloaded in there was EPIC. I am five minutes away from squatting in my bushes outside because there is No. Way. I am going in THERE.

One of my cats went all Garfield Meets Lasagna in my front flower bed. Needs to be replanted but with my blown back...you get the idea.

Big story on the news here tonight has me wild. My city is officially bilingual (French & English), has been for seven years (first officially bilingual city in the whole country). A "language watch dog" group has stirred up a frenzy because too many business signs in town are only in English, what are we going to do about it, this city is not friendly to the French, blah blah blah. First off, bite me. Bilingual means both languages are welcome and generally understood by the population, doesn't it? And I ASSURE you, the vast vast VAST majority of the French community here speaks English and can understand those English signs. Plus HELLO, who is going to pay for all these businesses to replace their signs??? I do agree that, when a sign NEEDS to be replaced, it's a good idea to replace it with a bilingual one, but to get rid of a perfectly good sign that almost everyone understands?? The next city over from us is officially French, and many signs in that city are ONLY in French, but because most people in my part of the world ARE bilingual, it doesn't stop us from shopping there or understanding what that particular budiness is about.

Sorry, I am ranting and not making sense....language issues here are just so overblown sometimes that it really makes me mad. I whole heartedly support my own pie-in-the-sky vision of bilingualism, which is both languages living together and being able to commmunicate and grow side by side, each appreciating the other. I do not react well to shrill hystrionics.

How NOT to start your day

Around 6:00 am this morning, I lay in my bed, in that magical land between asleep and awake. I was vaguely aware of the real world, but I was also still having a kickass dream, very difficult to explain. So while the Techoncolour drama unfolded in my head, I was also aware of how cool my bedroom was, and of how delicious it was to snuggle my cold butt in towards Hubandly One's body, how lovely to have him fling a warm arm around me.

Sigh. Perfect.

That's when I realized it was raining on me. Not kidding, RAINING. The wind outside had picked up so much that rain was falling on my face, a good five feet away from the open window. This particular phenomenon has never occurred in the six years I have lived here....but Husbandly One did live here before I did, and now I may understand why he was so enthusiastic all those years ago when I picked that side of the bed as my very own!

Looking down

If you spend any amount of time around me in the great outdoors, you will very quickly notice a trait I inherited from my father: I look down.

No, not because I am timid or trying to avoid eye contact, but because there are so many fascinating things at ground level that your average bear never even notices. Want some wild strawberries? I'll find them. An interesting rock? It's right over there. Beach glass? Sorry, there's none left because I already found it. Majestic mountains and stars? Ummm....huh?

Okay, I do notice the mountains and stars, but looking down is an under rated joy, and I am the undisputed queen of beach glass. On SUnday morning I announced to Son that we were packing up and heading for my favourite "glass beach" an hour away. At first he was reluctant because he knows how singlemindedly I pursue my glass-related goals, but, as I knew from experience would happen, as soon as we got there he assumed the exact same pose I had: slightly hunched, walking slowly at the water's edge, turning around periodically in case the different angle of the sun would reveal some treasure we had overlooked. "You know what, Amah? I forgot how much fun this is!" Yes, Son, I know. And I gave you have the same downward gene I got from my daddy. You're welcome.

After about two hours of this, we sat down on the warm sand and examined each piece we had found, selecting only the pieces that truly spoke to us to keep. Sometimes we keep a piece because it is rare (such as the large piece of ruby red glass I found) or because the shape of the piece speaks to us. For me, the main fun is in finding it, not necessarily in having it, and we already have so much beach glass at home that we literally can't keep everything we find....so after choosing our very favourites at one end of the beach, we walked the beach again, occasionally throwing our "rejects" back in to the sand so that other beach combers can find some treasure, too.

At work today, I casually mentioned to a co-worker what Son and I had been up to at the beach. Turns out that her parents live on the beach in another part of the province, and beach glass is her mother's passion. She makes jewellery out of the large pieces, and intricate mosaics out of the smaller ones. When I got home tonight, I sorted through all my jars of glass, keeping my favourites and put the rest aside for her mom. I have (gasp) the equivalent of about twenty cups of glass to take in to work tomorrow, and I only kept about a cup and a half, only my most prized pieces. (Other than rare colours, such as blue, red, and purple, the pieces I prize the most are the TINY ones, because it takes so much more attention to find them.)

Does it pain me to part with so much of my collection? Not in the least; here it just sits in jars, at least in their new home the pieces I have hoarded will go to use. Next time Son and I go glass hunting, I probably won't throw so much back either, I will probably keep some aside for this lady.

But I will always throw some of it back in to the sand so that other Down Lookers can squeal with delight, too.