I put Richard through the ordeal of accompanying me to a garden centre to buy the bedding plants. Usually I go on my own because I like to take my time, picking stuff over to find the best available of each type of plant. Grab the nearest and run just doesn’t cut it when it comes to my precious flowers. But this time he came along as he needed some stuff for his part of the yard care routine. I suspect that I’ll be back to going on my own next year.
“Don’t you think you have enough now?”
“How many flower beds do you think you have?”
“Look, if you’re that bored, give me a hand and we’ll be out of here that much faster.”
“Here, are these what you want?”
“Yes, but they’re looking a bit wilted. Any others over there?”
“They look fine to me.”
“They’re not fine, they’re wilted.”
“Does it matter?”
“What about these?”
“Those are red, I want purple.”
“Does it matter?”
And on it went.
Next stop was what used to be one of our favourite places for a reasonably priced, decent bite to eat. Note I said used to be. I generally prefer it when the lettuce in my salad has been washed before finding its way onto my plate. Also, a Reuben sandwich is supposed to be corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and a generous smear of Thousand Island dressing, between two slices of rye bread, grilled, and served hot. Well, they were out of rye, so substituted whole wheat. They were also out of Swiss, so substituted a slice of processed something that sort of resembled cheese, but not really. Mayo took the place of the usual tangy dressing, a few skimpy shreds of sauerkraut were present, I think, and I’m pretty sure that it was pastrami, rather than corned beef. It was sort of hard to tell, though. Oh, and the whole mess was limp and lukewarm. As was my salad, since the server took a while to snatch the plate out from under the warming lamp. Mmm. Not. At least Richard’s burger and fries were okay, sort of.
The weather changed dramatically overnight, so it was too cold to plant the previous evening’s purchases. Thus, I spent a thoroughly exciting day doing laundry and housework. Be still my fluttering heart. Sat down in the evening to catch up on a week’s worth of Coronation Street, and fell asleep somewhere in the midst of Norris’ wittering at Rita and Emily. Which I’m sure is a common reaction to Norris’ wittering.
Same deal as Saturday with the weather. So, I spent the morning writing a letter, or rather finishing a letter that I had started a week or so earlier. Letter writing doesn’t work too well with can’t sit still jitters, you see. But it’s done now, Linda, and will be on its way to you tomorrow. Finally!
The afternoon was partially spent on the deck with Richard. Usually he’s the one who complains about being cold, but this time I was the one freezing my bits off while he sat there in comfort. Stephanie saved the day by inviting me inside to work on a jigsaw puzzle with her. Woot! At last! It had been sitting on the dining room table for a couple of weeks and was driving me mad as I wasn’t supposed to touch it. Sheer torture, I tell you. Twitch, twitch. The puzzle subject was The Birth of Venus, by the way. No standard ho hum scenery puzzles for us, you see. True art or nothing, dahlings.
A chunk of the evening was spent on the final episode of Jericho. Great stuff. I love a good whodunit, and this one was very, very good indeed. Reminiscent of the old detective shows that were so popular way back when, and full of plot twists and turns. I hate it when I can figure out who did what within the first half hour, as is often the case, but this one kept me guessing until the very end.
The weather improved tremendously overnight, so it was a five hour stint in the garden today. I had about a hundred and eighty plants to put in the ground, as well as some planters and pots to do up, after spending a fair chunk of time preparing the flower beds yet again. I had them all weed free and churned up, ready for planting, but they needed doing again. Sigh. A certain neighbour hasn’t quite grasped the concept of dandelions, thistles, etc., being weeds, and her crop gets thicker by the year. It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d at least mow them down before they go to seed, but of course she doesn’t, and the prevailing winds come from that direction. Oh, to have Mr. Obsessional back next door, who nearly had a stroke at the sight of a tiny weed in his pristine yard. We’re not nearly that obsessional, but we want the yard reasonably free of weeds, as most people do. The constant battle becomes quite disheartening as the season goes on.
Anyway, it’s now very, very colourful in our immediate vicinity, with the new petunias, pansies, violas, portulaca (the good kind, not the weed!), snapdragons, impatiens, marigolds, and so on. But the real joy will come when the perennials, roses, stuff grown from seed, and the new gladiola and lily bulbs I planted a couple of weeks ago all start blooming, too. Oh, and the flowering shrubs, some of which stay in bloom all summer.
Alrighty, that’s probably as much excitement as any of you can stand, so I’m going to call it a day here and take my sunburned, tired self off to bed. Usually I’m much more wary of the sun, since I burn in no time at all, as most with any shade of red hair do. But the coolish breeze was very deceptive today, and I totally lost track of how much time I had been out there. I did have sunscreen on, but it obviously lost its oomph as the afternoon went on.
All hail Queen Victoria, whose birthday still gives us an excuse for a long weekend in May. Huzzah!