A non-gardening journal?
Michelangelo Roses
Aargh! What am I doing, claiming to keep a gardening journal? A non-gardening journal, more like. Mind you, there's still plenty of flower colour to enjoy. The borders are relatively weed-free, the paths are relatively clear.
Monday 5th February
Yet another gardening-free March day. But I've been busy swimming, sushi-ing, coffee-ing, and charity shopping. I returned home with many exciting things. First of all, I have a mirror to put on a pine tree in the Wattle Woods. It's an artistic plan to redirect the gaze away from my rubbish heap to the path corner, hee hee, far cheaper (and less pretentious) than a statue.
I also rescued a shabby garden gnome - all lumps and bumps, since his paint has peeled off. And I've brought a teddy-bear for Pond Cottage. No, I am not becoming silly-senile. I'm saving that for when my collective children are more wealthy, hee hee.
Couch World Trip Map
Couch-Trekking
I also have books to read, and a big notice board upon which I've pinned my map of the world. Daughter of Moosey is in Kathmandu, at the start of her Big Trek in Scary Places world trip. Armed with map and pins, I'm coming too. Couch-trekking, I call it, and I suspect the high Nepalese passes are my first challenge.
Tuesday 6th March
This morning I'm playing chamber music, and then rain is forecast. And my first midnight March mouse in the cottage - thank you so much, young Minimus, supreme hunting cat. Isn't it funny - cats all make a certain sound when they've been successful at the hunt and have a trophy to show their humans. Even a squeaky, chirpy cat like Minimus has a subtly different squeak and chirp.
Rusty the Moosey dog is in disgrace. Yesterday when we were on THE most exciting walk he zoomed off to seriously chase a cyclist. When he did return (five seconds later, far too long), I was so cross.
- 'Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing?'
- -Moosey Telling Off Her Dog.
So I whacked him over and over again on his rump with a floppy cordyline leaf, bellowing (at least fifty times) in my deepest contralto tones that he was naughty. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing? Oh yes, oh yes... Then I locked him dramatically in his kennel and went for a sulky walk on my own. That'll teach him.
Later, Lunchtime...
Please bear with me - I seem to be in a super-analytical introspective mood. After another brilliant chamber music session I've made some March-For-Me resolutions.
March-For-Me
- Don't be so fierce.
- Do everything that I love doing every day.
- Stop measuring things by the clock.
- When in doubt, give thanks for what I haven't got.
To explain the fourth one, it refers to things like the following: no rabbits digging up the roses, no wriggling trophy-mice at 3am, hands and fingers not really too sore, no-one bombing or shelling the garden, and so on. It's fairly wide ranging, as you can see!
Cornflowers :- The annuals have blue or purple-blue flowers - mainly Salvia horminum and Cornflowers. But they were sparsely planted. Too few, therefore too floppy?
So to celebrate my new resolutions I'm off to sort out Pond Cottage's wee garden. It hasn't been a total success this summer - all the pretty, fluffy annuals I planted in gaps have just flopped over, and the roses have been a little disinterested, it being their first summer here. My watering system has been fairly rough, too, consisting of slopping fairly hefty buckets of water through the flower stems. No wonder the cottage garden look has been a bit of a flop.
Rusty is not totally forgiven, but it's really bad form to be in a sulk and refuse to speak to one's dog. He can come with me and splosh in the pond.
Sunny Cottage, Over-Exposed Dog.
Little Mac is more interested in playing with a mouse (deceased) on the patio than coming gardening with me. A kitten has to learn, I guess. And I have a new cricket radio to try out before tomorrow's first test match (New Zealand versus South Africa). Here follows a subdued 'eek'.
Little Mac the Kitten
Later...
And another thing. This business of logging back in with phrases such as 'three and a half hours later' has to stop. It doesn't matter how long the gardening session has been. What matters is that I'm proud and happy and I've enjoyed myself. Boasting about details is OK, though. For example, this afternoon I've cleared the cottage garden as planned, even cutting off the old Agapanthus flowers. I've collected purple cornflower seeds, raked the paths in the Wattle Woods, lightly weeded, and collected a bucket of Red Doris (?) plums. Or is her name Black Doris?
Now I'm having a cup of tea, reading my book, and chomping on a large nectarine. You see, life is good when one enjoys the little things. I hope I haven't been sounding too fierce...
Wednesday 7th March
We have a scheduled power outage all day, so I'm off to pick up a carload of miniature Agapanthus. Then a swim and sushi lunch. By then the rain will have set in properly, so I can come home and test out my carefully prepared thermos of hot coffee. The cricket radio runs on batteries, and guess what? My grand piano doesn't need to be plugged in and switched on, though it does help if the pianist is, in the musical mental sense.