The Vision Thing

It is late to plant hyacinths (self thinks), but self spent several hours digging her hands into the yucky, clay-ey soil of the backyard, setting out hyacinth and watsonia bulbs.  Her neighbor around the corner, who has a very wee yard, smaller even than self’s, gives her bulbs every winter.  And self has been hoarding the bulbs (a few dozen grape hyacinths and watsonia), waiting for exactly the right time to plant.  Which, as it turns out, should have been two months ago.  Not only that, but why self has to wait until the coldest day of the California winter to plant is simply inexplicable.

But, let’s just say, self’s brain is just recently emerging from chaos, and she hasn’t managed to plant anything in over two months.

So, there she was, getting her fingernails grimy with black earth, and she went to get a trowel from the garage, and when she came back, Gracie, her younger beagle, who nearly died six months ago from an accidental ingestion of snail bait, who follows self everywhere (It’s true after all what Dearest Mum said: “Beagles will even lick the hand that beats them.” Self thinks she was trying to make a point about self’s personality, but anyhoo), had deposited a lovely pile of fresh turd in the exact spot where self had intended to plant. Contemplating this steaming gift, self had not the heart to smack the poor li’l crit, who was lolling on her back on the slimy brown grass, as if it were the warmest day on earth. So self moved elsewhere.

And then self remembered to build a little structure of protection around each of her planting holes, for hubby has the woeful propensity to blower, blower, blower, hating to see a single brown leaf on the ground (which means that he and self have diametrically opposed ideas of what a garden should be, because self wants her plants to look as if they were running wild, as if re-creating an original Eden), and many’s the time when she’s gone to check on her plants after one of hubby’s particularly manic afternoons, and she finds them all flattened, splat, as if stomped on by an angry giant.

Anyhoo, that was quite an exertion-filled afternoon! Not to mention the fact that self forgot she was wearing a white sweater!

In addition to which, self did finally buy a tree! She did, she did, she did! Even though hubby mandated that this Christmas there would be no presents and no tree! She bought just a little one, only a four-foot-high tree. But she’s got 150 tree ornaments, how sad not to at least put some of them out!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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