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The state of the Nea
May. 21st, 2005 03:08 pm...is conflicted.
Mrs. Palmer is home and I've spoken with her. S will be coming home soon.
And the morning started out beautifully - excellent hunting at the yardsales (baskets! Lots and lots of baskets!) and then off to my favorite Greek Festival. This is all Of The Good, particularly the metric ton of lokumades now waiting for me to devour them at home.
Then I get home and two more rosebushes - both on the verge of bursting into glorious spring bloom - have been destroyed by moles. Worse, they're both Noble Anthonys, the only roses with petals perfect for drying. (A sort of fuschia-colored bloom, the petals dry to a deep red. As opposed to red petals, which turn black, or white which go brown.) DamNATION and a fuckitty fuck fuck; not only am I now down by a third in my total # of roses - IMPORTED roses, thankyouverymuch - but I deeply wanted to use my own rose petals in my own rose soap this year.
This means the end of the Shakespeare garden, unfortunately. I'm going to not only repot everything in large ceramic mole-proof containers, I'm going to just do something different with that area; the roses elsewhere aren't taking such terrible hits. Moving the roses at this stage will shock them terribly, but it will beat them being murdered later.
When I've had a chance to regroup, I'll try to start a new bard garden, but for now I'm in rose survival mode.
On the soothing side, Lacy McBain's writing Justice League again, which is always Of The Good. G rated, faintest hints of slashy attraction but not an actual slash story. In the same universe as the stories I've recommended earlier:
“No!” Wally has a hand on his arm—well, a handful of cape, but there’s an arm under there somewhere—and it takes Wally a second to realize he’s squeezing Batman’s arm and pushing him back into his seat. This could possibly get him killed.
Mrs. Palmer is home and I've spoken with her. S will be coming home soon.
And the morning started out beautifully - excellent hunting at the yardsales (baskets! Lots and lots of baskets!) and then off to my favorite Greek Festival. This is all Of The Good, particularly the metric ton of lokumades now waiting for me to devour them at home.
Then I get home and two more rosebushes - both on the verge of bursting into glorious spring bloom - have been destroyed by moles. Worse, they're both Noble Anthonys, the only roses with petals perfect for drying. (A sort of fuschia-colored bloom, the petals dry to a deep red. As opposed to red petals, which turn black, or white which go brown.) DamNATION and a fuckitty fuck fuck; not only am I now down by a third in my total # of roses - IMPORTED roses, thankyouverymuch - but I deeply wanted to use my own rose petals in my own rose soap this year.
This means the end of the Shakespeare garden, unfortunately. I'm going to not only repot everything in large ceramic mole-proof containers, I'm going to just do something different with that area; the roses elsewhere aren't taking such terrible hits. Moving the roses at this stage will shock them terribly, but it will beat them being murdered later.
When I've had a chance to regroup, I'll try to start a new bard garden, but for now I'm in rose survival mode.
On the soothing side, Lacy McBain's writing Justice League again, which is always Of The Good. G rated, faintest hints of slashy attraction but not an actual slash story. In the same universe as the stories I've recommended earlier:
“No!” Wally has a hand on his arm—well, a handful of cape, but there’s an arm under there somewhere—and it takes Wally a second to realize he’s squeezing Batman’s arm and pushing him back into his seat. This could possibly get him killed.
