This morning I was rewarded by the sight of three of the four Rudbeckia plants quite a bit more alive looking than they had been last night and by the time I went out to unplug the fountain just before dark tonight the fourth one was catching up. Seems they're going to live after all. Hooray!
I was pleased to see a red rosebud nodding at me from outside the
window. Dad's rose is blooming again. Welcome back, Dad. I don't know
the name of this rose, it's an old one I do know that much because it smells
like a rose is supposed to smell. One whiff of it takes me back to
Grandma's garden with its long rows of rose bushes. That woman could really
row of herbs have really been enjoying the increased heat and rain this
summer. I should take my snips out and cut off all the flowers and
trim them back so they bush out and don't get leggier than they already
of leggy, the tomato plants are going crazy making leaves and fruit. I took out that smaller bowl on the right this morning thinking it would
be enough to hold the tomatoes ready to be picked. Not even close. Not
counting the three tomatoes that the chipmunks have nibbled giant holes
in, look at how many were ready or almost ready to be picked. Durwood
and I have some catching up to do. We had tomato salads before
tonight's leftover chicken and rice and I suspect we'll have tomato
salads before tomorrow night's pizza. Can you eat too many fresh picked
tomatoes? I don't think so and Durwood certainly doesn't think so. He
had a banana and all of the split-skinned cherry tomatoes I picked for
breakfast this morning. The tomato plants are so lush that they're
falling over so I grabbed a couple more metal stakes (because the bamboo
ones just aren't up to the job) and propped up the heaviest branches.
I'd go out there and trim some of the leaves out to get some air
circulating through the plants to stave off molds and mildew but I'm afraid that branches would break and tomatoes would
be lost. Can't have that.
August 28--Louis Comfort Tiffany, Lamp.
On her walk home from her after-school job at the library, Lenore kept
track of things she could depend on. When she turned the corner from
Walnut St. to Vine St. she always saw Mr. Wineberg putting his gardening
tools into the shed. He'd catch sight of her, tip his straw hat with
the rip in the brim over his left ear, smile, and say, "Evening, Miss
Lenore." She smiled back and said, "Good evening, Mr. Wineberg sir." A
few houses up Vine St. she passed Mrs. Van Pelt's house with its wide
porch and swagged velvet curtains that framed the most beautiful lamp
she had ever seen. The shade was like an upside-down glass mosaic bowl
made up of tiny pieces of yellow and green glass arranged to look like
flowers and leaves. As the year faded and night came earlier she was
sometimes lucky enough to see the lamp lit, to watch it come to life and
glow with a richness she was sure only a special lightbulb could
had big plans to cut more clothes patterns out today but instead spent
the afternoon scanning in a 1994 dive trip album, then cropping them.
Now if I could only figure out how to convince the computer to copy them
from the hard drive to the CD I'd be in business. Maybe I'll google
it... yeah, that's what I'll do. I'm going to cut fabric tomorrow,
really I am.