Super duper hot out there. 98 degrees now. Real Feel 107. I watered at 7:30 this morning so that the stream didn’t evaporate. We walked Finn early.
Big tear day. I never know why exactly, although at this point the better question might be on the rare day that I don’t cry, why not?
A bit chaotic
I’d chop this one up if there were four sensible quadrants, but stuff would be sacrificed and I’m not willing, so chaotic it will remain!
We quilters love to show off the backs of our work, don’t we? MR — I hope that doesn’t make me a “braggy quilter”!
I had fun extending patterning across seam lines with appliqué and stitch (like the flowers and butterflies). I also took the liberty of outlining a house or two to make them more distinct. I’m gonna call this one done.
Will spring in all its heady flourishing from here on out remind me of this season of sorrow?
Next year when the peony buds unfist and open and droop under the weight of their beauty, will they force a count — another year without Danny?
My neighbor paused on her way out for a walk recently to tell me that this plaster figure reminds her of Danny. I had always thought of it as female, but now I see it. I see him.
Middle front
Speaking of the dead, take a look at the sweet little blue flowers of the forget-me-not. Like so many plants in the garden, they tell a story.
After my mother died, I dug up a couple of healthy clumps of forget-me-nots from her yard and planted them out front. With a name like theirs, I thought them a perfect memento — until they all disappeared, that is. They lasted two seasons, maybe.
My mother died in 1996 which means I counted the forget-me-nots as a loss in 1998. So imagine my surprise when this spring, some 28 years later, a brave and lovely forget-me-not showed up among the astilbe.
How does nature do things like this?
With a sense of wonder and gratitude, I moved the little clump to where it would have more room. It lives under the golden chain tree now.
Hi Mom.
Quilt by Lisa Eaton of Mom and Cary
We fly to California tomorrow. Since about February, I’ve often been waking between five and six a.m. It’s 5:31 as I type right now. You know what that means, don’t you? In Los Angeles I’ll be waking between 2:00 and 3:00 for at least for a handful of days.
No matter. I can’t wait to see Billy and Cary and the dog Lila and to dwell for a while in that beautiful California light.
I planted some of my morning glory seedlings under this planter. Two days ago, we discovered that the rabbits had eaten half of them. It’s not a loss I take lightly — hence the chicken wire.
Any morning glories that I planted in pots are now elevated. Others remain vulnerable.
Rabbits ate half of these seedlings
Sometimes the rabbits’ destruction doesn’t appear to have anything to do with eating. The strewn plant matter gives the feel of a murder scene.
Stupid me. I didn’t put this geranium up on a side table after noticing the decapitation of a big blossom yesterday and this morning all the flowers were gone. Scattered about on the stone as if by a psycho killer.
New bowl from Swap Shop
After last summer when not a single iris bloomed, I’m happy to report there are flowers this year! Over by the black walnut tree too.
A new slaw recipe went well with pork chops and mashed potatoes last night. Toasted walnuts and crisp apples for variety.
These were thick chops, but I still could have overcooked them. It happens more than I care to admit. The magic method? Searing each side for two minutes stovetop, then sticking skillet in a hot oven (400 degrees) for 12 minutes. They were perfect. (Notably, I cut my chop up right away — had I let it rest as recommended it might have lost some juicy tenderness).
One sultry afternoon driving past the lake this week, I was flooded with the felt sense of Danny as a toddler. The days when “excavators” were “ekabators” and “snacks” were “nacks.” It wasn’t a memory per se, but rather a sensory experience of sharing the muggy heat and slight fear that sometimes preceded a thunderstorm. Holding him close.
One woman in our Parent Suicide Loss support group has been writing letters to her son for seven years. She has twenty notebooks full of them. I thought I’d give it a go and this week penned three letters to Danny. In the first two, every sentence began, “I’m sorry…”
Newton’s town dump features a Swap Shop. You can find all manner of things there: cocktail glasses, lacrosse sticks, sweaters, baskets, small appliances. When we go to drop off items, the goal is to come away with less stuff than we give away. It can be a challenge.
This week we left behind: a stack of empty frames (all curb finds — easy); two big plastic bins (they were just hogging space in the garage — easy); a few duplicative kitchen tools (they were challenging the efficiency of drawers — good call); a butterfly house (we were never gonna hang it).
But! I came home with a 1,000 piece puzzle (saves me between $19 and $29 for the next fix), a beautiful glass bowl for the garden, a metal thing that I “planted” as structure for morning glories (see above), some vintage paper Santas mounted on wood (I know. I know), and a decorative wall candleholder.
The product below was the idea for the morning glories:
A portion of a dead tree provides support in another pot. That’s the root at top.
Immediately after writing the latest hand-wringing post, I got up to find that a framed picture of Danny had fallen over, taking with it the three puzzle pieces that had been leaning on it. One puzzle piece landed on the floor.
Hello Dan.
The piece that hit the deck was the lanky guy with a viewing device. A scout? A bird-watcher? Someone who can see farther than the naked eye for sure. Someone who can scan the horizon or examine distant treetops.
I took the sign to mean that Dan wants me to keep looking ahead, to enlarge the frame, to consider a wider perspective. This has a way of also meaning: go easy on yourself.
Thank you to everyone who liked that post or who left a comment (I did end up password protecting it, BTW). I didn’t offer replies, but I see and appreciate each and every one of you.
Variegated Solomon’s Seal taking off in back area where I transplanted a few clumps — two years ago?
A dozen spread to a crowd! Dwarf Solomon’s Seal.
Just because something looks dead doesn’t mean it is.
The variegated iris is gonna bloom (it didn’t last year). New grasses. New succulent ground cover.
Color in the shade garden coming from annuals.
Nest feeder: sphagnum moss, cloth strips, tufts of wool roving. I’ve been watching a few robins gather nest materials for at least nine days now. This morning I found out where one of the nests is — in one of my next door neighbor’s tall cypresses.
The place where I get my garden discount (25%) has upped their spend-threshold to maintain the deal. I might have to buy a few more things. Ha! Neighbors — need anything?
