I am delighted to report that my defunct fire-pit/barrel-planter landscaping project is flourishing despite an almost complete lack of enthusiasm, personal interest, concern or care on my part, except for the odd brief confused and frowning contemplation of it, and subsequent picture snapping. Because it’s pretty hard to describe this in mere words.
I catch a glimpse of it from my kitchen window and think, shit, I should do something about that. But then I can’t think what, except maybe to destroy it, and really, it’s not hurting anybody, is it?
If anyone would like any pointers on growing unidentifiable (to me) green things in big pots by accident, I am definitely your go-to person.
While you’re thinking about that and wondering which one of us needs the most help, here’s some advice on pillow shopping. If the plastic bag says “extra firm” you should take that seriously. The two new replacement pillows for my bed which I brought home yesterday were hard to force into cases, there was so little give to them. They took on the appearance of over inflated balloons with not a wrinkle to be seen. No punching was required to get myself propped up in a comfortable position to read, but it was also kind of like placing my head on a slightly squishy rock. This morning I wondered for a bit if my neck might be broken. But it was just at some weird angle it’s not used to dealing with and seems to be straightening out as the morning progresses.
It’s been a long time since I’ve said anything about my beautiful, intelligent, astonishingly amazing grandchildren. Here’s four of them and one large dog. They’re growing like weeds in their own backyard.
Don’t think because I put them here that they’re less important to me than actual weeds. Sometimes it’s just fun to save the best thing for last.