Today I had time to go out to pickup all the trash blown in last week and be on stick patrol to gather up all the branches fallen from our maple tree. The poor tree is on its last limbs and flings twigs and branches to the ground in the lightest wind. I got a good-size bag of trash and a nice pile of sticks.
While picking things up I uncovered daylily sprouts, poppy sprouts, and swollen buds on the forsythia. The buds of the blueberries are swelling too but there's not enough contrast for them to show up on "film." Those blueberries are growing despite my laissez-faire method of cultivation. They're lucky to get a dose of fertilizer in the spring and I promise to go out later to trim off the dead branches. Cross my heart. (oh sure, now the sun comes out, now that I'm done being outside)
In yarn news, I finished crocheting blueberries and raspberries for the play kitchen, and got started, ripped out, and restarted the waffle. I had to watch YouTube videos to learn to do a back post double crochet and a front post double crochet. Turns out I got confused so I've done a front post one in the first two rows instead of a back post. Do I rip it out yet again and start over? Or do I trust that I'll remember to do the opposite when the direction comes up again? ...I'd better rip it out, don't want a schizophrenic waffle.
Even though it's two days past St. Paddy's Day today is the day I had the time and ingredients to make corned beef and cabbage. I got it into the slow cooker this morning to spend the day getting all tender and yummy. I even have the cabbage all chopped and ready to stir in for the last hour, although cabbage tends to soak up fat and I'd rather have my cabbage a little al dente and not soggy, so I might just steam it in the microwave when the time comes. I'm sorely tempted to whip up some Irish Soda Bread to have with it but have managed to resist--so far.
Paul Gauguin, Tahitian Idyll. The orange dog lay under the blue tree while girls in white sarongs play music to the red sea. Either the artist was painting in the grip of a fever dream or his latest paint order hadn't arrived. The painting lacks dept and perspective. It's flat, two-dimensional, without a vanishing point in sight.
There was more to that prompt writing, really there was, but it evidently got trapped in my head and never make it to the end of my pencil. I think I'll go prune the blueberries now that the sun came out. Happy Sunday.