Flowers

 



More poppies bloomed today.  I went out to check on them and the cups of the petals were thick with purple pollen which, happily, didn't get on my white clothes.

The chives are blooming.  Did you ever eat a chive flower?  Well, only do that if you want the taste of super-chives to linger on your tongue for days.  I saw someone sprinkle the tiny florets on a salad on a cooking show once so I tried it.  That is some powerful flavor right there.  I only did that once.




I was looking at the iris that I picked yesterday and admiring the fuzzy strip on the lower petals and actually managed to take a semi-decent photo of it.  It looks like a multi-color caterpillar, doesn't it?  I wonder what purpose it serves.  I'll have to look it up.

 

They're not flowers but look at my ferns.  They come back every year and they're taking over the planting bed.  I should probably transplant one or two of them to give them room.  Hm, but to where?  I love the lime green color.






This morning I finished knitting the Slip Stitch Hat.  Now I need to make a big red pompom for the top.  I'm saving that to do at Friday knitting.

Here's the next dishcloth.  The yarn is a blend of cotton and linen and feels real nice.  I'll be interested to see how it stands up to being used as a washcloth.  It's too pretty to be a dishcloth.  I'll make another one for dish washing with different, all-cotton yarn.


03 June--Barbara Malcolm, Tropical Obsession. 

          Like a centurion guarding a Roman temple, the Tiger Grouper hovered over the orange barrel sponge. Many years had passed since the big fish had been afraid of anything. It hung there motionless barely sparing a glance for lesser fish as they passed. It fixed Santiago with a cold eye when he swam down from the surface, spear gun cocked and ready. The man hovered for a moment looking back and then, acknowledging the seniority of the large grouper, flicked a ragged fin and swam off looking for smaller prey.

        Climatologists swarmed to the island for their annual convention. Not that there was anything special about the data to be gathered from the exposed coral terraces on the north end of the island. It was the reputation of the island's reefs as prime dive sites and the agreeable resort accommodations that brought them in droves to stalk like bespectacled storks atop the exposed ancient reefs in Bise Morto collecting samples for their labs or to bob greenly in small boats at the base of the short cliffs while identifying and classifying sea life preserved in the limestone

         Major George Clemment and his wife Susan hosted a cocktail party for the most notable of the visiting scientists and the members of the local diving group. Jack Spencer was also invited as a major financial supporter of the island's reef preservation movement, but he never appeared and didn't even call to make an excuse. "I don't care how much money he has poured into the coffers of the organization," Susan said to George as she refilled the punch bowl, "the man is plain rude." George just grunted, as have wise husbands from the beginning of time.

My writing partner, ACJ, came over this afternoon to write.  I put all the leaves into the table and we sat at opposite ends, at least 6' apart, and had a nice, focused writing time.  She worked on one of her April poems and I pounded out a scene for Tropical Obsession.  In two weeks I'll go to her house and we'll either write on her deck or in her craft room where she has a lovely, long dining table all set up.  This pandemic is a pain and it sure has affected every facet of life.  Will we ever get back to what used to pass for normal?  I suspect that masks are here to stay.  I'd better make more.
--Barbara