Clert

A warm day, getting up to 90˚F in the late afternoon, a pleasant wind. Found a juniper, a small one, so not expensive, as the larger ones are too much. Thought I would have to dig quite a bit, in that dead spot by the front steps. But once I cleared the thick layer of leaves and dug a hole, the earth proved rich and wet with lots of worms. So, I planted. If it takes, it'll be lovely.

Visited the garden department again, and came across a catmint hybrid, 'Purple Haze' that got a home in the verge raised bed, where the california poppies aren't coming up. A good spreading perennial, drought tolerant, hardy. With pretty purple flowers. The verge is clert with buckwheat flowers like an improbable snow.

Moby wanted to be out a long, long, long time this morning, finding various places to settle and watch the world. At one point, hunkered under sunflower and buckwheat where I could not get close, and sitting on the lead connector, so I had to stand waiting until he moved and I could untether him. Two runners and a skateboarder passed before he felt the need to shift. Relished the unmown grass in our neighbor's yard. Meandered two houses the other way, and sat by their flowers watching birds, while I stood on the sidewalk trying not to look weird. It's a ridiculous thing, walking a cat on a leash, but he's an old guy with no proper fear of dogs, cars or people. And he doesn't seem to mind as long as I keep up. And don't make him come in too soon. I can ask him to come in, and herding a single, generally cooperative cat, is not an impossible task.

Took Eleanor out later, she rolls on the sidewalk, in various places, sometimes nestles in among the lemon balm or the thyme. Woman walking by with her dog in a lampshade, dog notices me in the chair very suddenly among the foliage, and barked loudly, startled. Woman very apologetic, I reassured her it was no big deal. Eleanor looking very worried and ready to bolt, but I talked her calm, and she rolled belly up again.

Neighbor brought her baby out yesterday, and baby Pen reaches out her arms to me. I hold her a little while, until she wants mom again. She's not an outgoing child, but she knows me, and knows I will take her, or not, all up to her. I talk to her directly, although the conversation is a bit one-sided. Mom amazed that at seven months, she seems to understand waving as an intentional greeting. Like with my demented, or drugged, patients, I always assume children understand, even if they don't respond. Cats, too, of course.

Cats do understand, they just usually don't care.

Moby was out in the back porch this afternoon, I asked him if he'd prefer a sunbeam, he stood a bit, and I picked him up gently, brought him to where the sun streamed over the chair in the front. His whole attitude was one of "well, I dunno, but you sometimes have good ideas, let's see what you are doing." Then, "OH, sunbeam, right, yeah, this is good." He's definitely gotten a bit frail, compared to the muscular bruiser he once was. We pamper him, and treasure every moment, asleep or awake. He seems happy and healthy, just elderly, nesh.

Estate

All the yardsales were listed as Huge, Enormous, and Epic. There certainly were a lot of 'em, on this first dry, warm weekend of spring, and so close to the end of the month. We got out early, which didn't work against us as much as I thought it would for a while. Most of them were decent garage sales, too. Stuff out, not all clothes, low prices. We only drove right past a couple, which is an amazing ratio. Got some very nice finds, nothing expected, but useful. Including a small phillips screwdriver, and a rug that Moby likes.



"Mine. Thanks."


The last few, we realized our luck for the day had been exhausted, so we called it, picked up groceries and sand, and came home for an early lunch.

There is an area of the city, uphill, high rent district, older neighborhood, where we have gone to a number of estate sales. The former residents lives laid out on tables, and we diagnose, sift as much for clues as for potential treasures. How religious, and of what flavor? What did they do, how many grandchildren, how old were they? These are fairly easy questions to answer from the display.

D says since we've been doing this, he's seen inside a lot more very expensive houses than he'd ever expected to see. And we are struck by how much of the same tat shows up in all of them. That, although they are larger houses, they are not any more livable than a lot of apartments we've rented, and nowhere near as pleasant as our own house.

In many cultures, grave goods are what that person owned, buried and not for further use, which seems a bit wasteful for rare and valuable objects. But the idea of buying someone else's clothes, especially underwear, toiletries, bedding, is distasteful, even a bit revolting. So, there has to be something about close personal objects that most cultures draw lines around, to return to the dead. Not to hold - too intimate. Or maybe just too disgusting to transfer. Haunted, tainted, or sacred, all mixed together.

I thought about what will be left when we are gone, someone picking through our belongings, hoping for something interesting for a few dollars. I'm good with this.

Snail disruption path established. Bricks put to creative display.



As I sat out with Moby earlier, and again reading on the porch, a tiny preying mantis crawled onto my knee. Expressive little creature, and I welcomed it, inviting the eating of as many aphids as it liked. Eventually walked it over to a plant, explaining it would have better hunting there. It seemed to agree, and vanished into the marigolds. It looked immature, just hatched and finding it's way around. I do hope it stays.

Cheery

Two large cases cancelled today, so I got home very early. To a warm, dry, early summer's day. More digging, cleared a large bag of vegetation, prepared the swath by the hedge for a large anti-snail process of sand, a bit of copper, and plantings. D had Moby out to sit among the greenery, which was good company for me as I dug. After I'd done all I could, Eleanor mewed to be taken out as well. She rolled on the sidewalk, then relaxed among the clover.

The community gardens sponsor a garden tour every year. I applied to be on the tour this June. No idea if they will consider it a good fit, but we shall see. I think I'd have been much cheered, that first year, to see a garden like mine, and talk to a gardener like me. A bit of a mess, a work in progress, but so alive and cheerful.

A bunch of us last evening having a bit of a rant about the (hopefully) soon to be gone manager. Not the sort of thing that is helpful, not really, but we are all a bit disheartened and frightened. On the other hand, I really am not the only one. No one is holding out much hope about the replacement, we are like abused children waiting for the next punch. I figure just having an OR nurse in charge will be a significant improvement, but this is an minority opinion.

The EAP counselor was also exasperated that managers so often send people to them, instead of being managers and solving issues themselves. He gave me some concrete methods of dealing with difficult people and situations, mental toughness exercises. He sympathized with my situation, and did not feel I needed more than a few more tools in my bag.

1. Goal setting. Immediate, very short term. As in, the next five minutes, or even seconds. A 3 foot world, very simple.

2. Self talk. Simple, positive, and in my case, calming. Not slow, but deliberate and attentive. I have been doing this, but a refresher is always good.

3. Mental rehearsal. For the specific situation that routinely trips me up. In my case, not being able to find words when I am working through a mental list and get badly and unexpectedly interrupted. I'm going for excess cuteness, since it is usually younger women who trigger this. "Sweetie-pie!" Hard to object to, given the target, and it may give me time to think and act with attention.

4. Arousal Control. Breathing rhythmically apparently works very well. A dance, 1 2 3 4 in, 5 6 7 8 out.

For me, keeping my sense of humor is going to be key. Like imagining Penguins in sweaters.

Other

Various. Thanks to gentleeye and Susan.

Scarlet

First!



Of many scarlet flax.





Excavated bricks from the bottom of the hedge.


Still considering what, exactly, to do with the cleared ground. Sand and gravel to deter further snails, but beyond that? Dunno.


Not sure what to do about the dead spot by the porch, either. More digging, both literal and in terms of researching a good plant.



Still looking at it, waiting for a concept to form. Lots of cleaning up, another weekend digging.

Limes

A rare bit of blue yesterday, in this month of rain. So far, every single day this month the rain has kept the garden well watered. Neighbor Mike and I speculating on the chance of it going the whole month, but it looks like the rain will stop this weekend.

Plucked parsley to get rooted. Use what I have, that I expect will live. Pretty stuff, too. Brilliant green, and tough.



Moby obviously achy with unaccustomed damp, poor old guy. But felt good enough to climb to the top of the tree this evening for a nice bath.



Thawed the key lime pie this evening. The last one appeared at tjs on my birthday one year in Boston. Never seen one since then. And I've watched for it, oh, yes. This time, there it was. I stopped, tapped D, who didn't see immediately, but once he did, we smiled at each other in full agreed memory.

This is the sort of deep joy in a long relationship, shared jokes, conversations continued after many years. I'm very fortunate to have found such a kindred humour. We hold up two fingers, and lay a finger from the other side atop.


π

Proportion

"Verifiable knowledge makes it's way slowly, and only under cultivations. but fable has burrs and feet and claws and wings and an indestructible sheath like weed-seed, and can be carried almost anywhere and take root without benefit of soil or water."

- Wallace Stegner


Cleared more weedy, but intentionally planted stuff from around the hedge. Got quite a pile of bricks from under there. Daunted by the remaining clean-up work. Not sure what I will plant there to fill in. Perhaps I'll take cuttings of my parsley and start it there. Do snails like parsley? I find the whole garden a sort of miracle. Much as I put a ton of work in, the results seem far out of proportion to my efforts.

Estate

Found a rather nice mirror at an estate sale for a few dollars. Brightens the room.



Working on clearing the sick but persistent plants around the base of the hedge. Going pretty well.


The hedge war continues, of course. Found a number of bricks and rocks, which I will do something with.



Once I'm done, I'll lay down sand. Found a mass of snails, which all got a vinegar bath, which did them no good at all. As I intended. As well as a nest of ants. Did no harm at all to a number of bill bugs (crustaceans) and woodlouse spiders, daring jumping spiders, centipedes. Getting this area cleared of mulch may help the sick side of the garden just by keeping the bugges numbers down a bit. Lots of roots, too, which may be keeping other vegetation weak. Kept remembering the beech park in Boston, nothing grew beneath them.

A couple of recent favorites from Hilary Price over at Rhymes with Orange.


Spent a lot of time in the dirt, among the herbs and flowers. Feeling much better. That ten solid hours of sleep last night helped as well.

Grasses

Every day this May may well have rain. So far, certainly. Not usual.


Standing out with Eleanor, noting a variety of grasses. Two sorts planted intentionally, the rest on their own initiative.




The Turkish Veronica still flowering, spreading well.



Buckwheat, young strawberry, lettuce, leeks.




Watched a woman walk by with a rose petal dangling from her mouth. Another guy standing in front of our house for a good ten minutes, reading a paper. Yeah, not a bad bet to assume iris was plucked by someone with mental health issues.



Really, who does this?

Cage

Creative fantasy was never my strong point, weirdly, since I loved reading it. And the therappy for ptsd is all about that, imagining a different situation to halt the whirly thoughts. Giving myself permission to fictionalize reality, especially once I've exhausted the problem solving.

After waking before 0400, unable to quiet the endless explanations and potential strategies, I finally saw, imagined, manager taken away* in handcuffs.

What did she do? Cops tell me, "Ongoing investigation, we can't talk about it. Don't worry, we got this." One of them winks at me, comfortingly.

That strange little scene has kept me from skidding into the wall all day. Still in a rather dark and subdued mood, D thinks my unaccustomed four straight days at work is part of that. Difficulty forming words, listlessly avoiding work, abandoning what tasks I manage to begin.

But then the book came, and I'm reading Ngaio March's Clutch of Constables - although it took several tries before I could stick through a sentence.

The black irises were snapped off sometime last night. All the buds as well. Very sad, I'm rationalizing that they were taken by a kid, or a local looney. Removing malice makes it easier for me to deal with. If it was a damn thief, even then, they have to live with their own sorry selves, and I'll plant more in the fall, and next year put up a cage. Got a cage in the works for the catnip. If I could get some established, it would withstand feline druggies, but right now it's chewed to bits. I certainly don't mind dealing for the local cats, but if they kill the plant, it's just gone, dude.

Monday holiday a comfort. The rest of next week will likely be very full. Soon, the new residents will appear, and our times will stretch out soon after.




*I'd imagined her murdered before that, which didn't help somehow. Blame that scenario on reading too many murder mysteries lately.

Sermon

Response to a sermon, four letters. Took me a while to figure out the answer was not YAWN. Which made the most sense to me.

Sent for The Juniper Tree and Other Tales from Grimm, illustrated by Maurice Sendak, arrived today. Reading a couple, but such tales are not meant to make a meal of. They are concentrated little pills, poems in horror, not to be taken lightly.

Anxiety very high this afternoon, for various reasons. The urge to hide is strong, and I want it all to just go away. All I can do to stay active and functional. That I still can, however much effort, means I'll be ok. Just doesn't feel like it right now.

Moby sat on me several times, even when Eleanor came up to sniff noses, he stayed cool and stayed on me. She did not bop him on the head, which is also an improvement.

Farmgal generously stopped by, going far out of her way on another errand, to bring eggs last evening. She says my garden is very peaceful and zen. From her, this is especially treasured praise.

Late evening sun pouring gold through the windows.

Working four days in a row, which at ten hours per can be exhausting. But with a slack schedule, so the first two days were short, the next two may be as well. Planning ahead with lunches helps.

Ate eggs for dinner, then made a small batch of crepes with strawberry preserves for dessert. Just realized I'd forgotten the salt, but neither of us missed it.


YIELDS
7 crepes
UNITS
US
1 cup flour
1 1⁄2cups milk
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
1⁄4teaspoon salt
DIRECTIONS

Combine flour, milk, eggs, and oil.
Add salt.
Heat a lightly greased 6 inch skillet; remove from heat.
Spoon in 2 Tbsp batter; lift and tilt skillet to spread evenly.
Return to heat; brown on one side only.
To remove, invert pan over paper toweling.

Glory

Alright

Rain, rain, rain. Gorgeous, welcome rain. Garden is just delighted. Drought tolerant as it is, still glad of rain. Iris starting to unfurl. Everything tall and happy. I love this garden, all the different layers and textures. A delight to behold.

Felt like some chocolate babka last evening, which I take as an excellent sign. Not quite at full flow yet, but substantially better. Going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.

Whipping

Waved D off this morning, and noticed the poppy had shed the spiky outer coat and bloomed overnight.



Not much changed for the iris, worth the update though.

Still woozy and repelling chocolate, so taking it gently.

Determined to do the trivia event tomorrow.

Wind whipping up, hoping for rain.

Queasy

I love the leeks, my favorite of the greenery growing. The yellow onions are flowering now as well, and a good 4' tall. The iris wrapped in black purple is starting to unfurl.

The eye exercises are working, at least short term. Once I do a set, it is appreciably easier to focus for a while, so I have high hopes. Noticed how difficult it is for me to follow a panning shot on screen, and I wonder if this is because of my eye's weakness. The right eye scans, the left shudders along, and my stomach churns. Maybe this is the reason for my lifelong tendency to motion sickness. There's a subject for study.

Still queasy, although I can eat if I'm moderate. The thought of chocolate is sickening, which is a huge symptom for me. Yes, I sound like I'm in early pregnancy, which is not the case*, but certainly due to some of the same chemicals.






*Don't even think of asking me if I'm sure. Sarcasm will follow.