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Category: Garden

Saturday afternoon

Everything is dry and I am putting the house back to rights today. The shelf on the basement may still get wet or damp, at least until the gutter people get back here to fix the issue, but I am not worried. I am extremely fortunate. There was little actual damage, mostly just annoyance, and I can accept that other jobs have higher priority.

Of course, being me, I cannot simply put everything back where it belongs without also taking the opportunity to sort through things, eliminating the unnecessary, and perhaps noting any lacks that need to be filled. Winnowing, curating, refining, organizing — these seem to be lifelong habits. I suspect the job will take me the bulk of the weekend.

The yard also needs some curating and eliminating of weeds, but my patience with internal chaos has reached the tipping point, and the flowers are enough to distract me in the yard. For now.

Have a lovely weekend, and whatever you are doing, please take time to enjoy any small outcroppings of beauty as you find them.

June 2, 2018
Self Sufficiency

There are days when being an independent self-sufficient adult is really annoying, days when you just want to roll over and say "Go away world."

(dried fruit for mostarda)

Monday was one of those days although the weekend had started off really well.

I had decided to do some cooking, and although I often make simple meals for myself during the week, I find cooking for one to be far more tedious than I found cooking for two. I love it when I have an excuse to spend a day or two in the kitchen, and this weekend was one such occasion. I needed to make vegetarian chili (yay! feeding people!) , and since I was in the kitchen anyway, I decided to work on several things: a few pantry staples and a few more time-consuming things for myself.

Friday and Saturday were shopping days. Saturday morning is farmer's market time anyway, and what I see in the stands tends to inspire and inform a lot of what happens in the kitchen. Saturday night, inspired to clean out the freezer, I started a batch of chicken stock in the slow cooker and shredded up some leftover cooked chicken to make a Burmese dish, Kyethar Ngayakethee Kyaw, or shredded crispy chicken.

chili paste, frozen in 2 tablespoon portions

I had several projects in mind for Sunday: I toasted whole chiles, simmered them briefly, and left them to soak while I went to church. When I returned home I made chili paste, reserving some for the vegetarian chili and freezing the remainder in 2 tablespoon portions. Then I started on a Mostarda. I had a pile of dried fruit left over from earlier in the month, so I cut that up and simmered it in sweet vermouth, which may not be traditional but was already in the pantry, while I cut up the fresh fruit. After that was out of the way, I started the vegetarian chili, and once everything was in the pot, I boned out a lovely pork shoulder I had found at the farmer's market, salting the meat and putting it in the refrigerator overnight, with the intention of making carnitas on Monday.

Monday's plan was to deliver the chili (I had my share for breakfast with an egg), make the carnitas, make a simple ground beef chili, for those days I was too rushed or tired to cook, and to make a chilled cucumber soup. Hopefully I would also take a bicycle ride.

But then everything fell apart.

It poured Sunday night. I didn't think much about it except that Tikka refused to go outside. I continued working in the kitchen, finding the sound of the rain outside the windows soothing somehow. It proved to be a false sense of peace. I strained the chicken stock and put it in the refrigerator so I could let it sit overnight before removing the fat and packaging it for the freezer, then I went upstairs, thinking I had time to read before bed. I saw a puddle in the doorway to the bedroom, and initially I was annoyed with Tikka, who had refused to go out in the rain. I quickly realized that the puddle extended around half of my bedroom and was far too big for Tikka to have made it. I ran downstairs to the laundry room for extra towels. While I was downstairs I looked in the unfinished half of the basement, where a flooding problem arose over the winter, and which the contractor has not yet come back to fix. Admittedly this is at least partially because we were unsure of the cause, and since there has been little rain, I have had no reason to push. That scenario has now changed.

I had more water in the basement than I have had before, although the there was very little water in the laundry room itself. At least one leak had been fixed. Back upstairs. After soaking 10 towels and hauling them back down to the laundry, I noticed that there was water at the bedroom windowsill, but it didn't look soaked. My bedroom floor was soaked however, including the carpet and the pad. I hauled a drying rack upstairs to get the curtains off the floor so they could dry, and went back downstairs, where I saw that I also had a flood in the dining room. Luckily there is no carpet there yet, and the floor is polyurethaned. I took towels from the dryer, mopping up that water, put the second load of towels in the dryer, and the third load in the wash. Then I looked around at the basement walls.

The basement is below grade and I noticed that in both rooms, the finished laundry rooms and the unfinished area, the water was not coming in at the windows. They were perfectly dry. It seemed like it was seeping through the cinder block. I had an awful lot of water, but it was contained on a painted cinder block shelf that circumnavigates the perimeter. There was nothing more that could be done right then and I was about to collapse with exhaustion, so I went to bed. It was 2 AM.

Monday morning I awoke at my normal time, still exhausted, and would have much rather stayed in bed, but I couldn't. I realized that although I had mopped up as much water as I could the night before, the floors still felt wet, and the carpet was sodden around the fringes of nearly half the room. It is my house, my choice, and there is no one to fix things except me.

The upstairs floors have not yet been refinished, and the old wood felt like it had just absorbed some of the water. I packed up my sewing project so I could use the cutting table for clothes storage, emptied my dresser, stacking everything on the cuttiing table, and tried to move the dresser out of the corner. It is an incredibly heavy piece, but it was holding the carpet down and the area all around it was heavy with water. I was struggling to get enough purchase to get sliding disks under the legs so I could move it, but it was too close to the corner, the carpet was thick and swollen, and I didn't seem to have the strength. Just as I was about to give up, just as I called a friend to come help me move the dresser, I figured out how to do it, and I got the dresser across the room. I was inordinately proud of myself. It didn't look like there was any water on the bottom of the dresser itself, or underneath it, the water had just spread through the rug with capillary action. I hadn't thought of it previously, but of course a wool rug will hold a tremendous amount of water.

After turning back all the carpets, I went to Target to buy oscillating fans. And then the next stage of my adventure occurred. I was on the road, heading home, when I heard "thwack, thwack, crash, bang, rumble bumble, thud thud and my windshield wiper went flying across the road and hit a car going the opposite direction. Bye-bye windshield wiper. It was raining again, and of course, the flying wiper was from the driver's side of the car.

I assembled three fans and set them up in the bedroom to help dry out the carpet and floor. I also turned the A/C down to 65 upstairs, mostly because I thought the extra air flow could help, and because I wanted to discourage any mold or mildew growth. Tikka seems to think I've made this special place just for her. You can't tell in the picture above, but she is in the sweet spot between two oscillating fans. She looks like she is in pomsky heaven, in a cold room with cold air blowing on her.

Then I went downstairs to start moving stuff and mopping up water from the basement. Or at least that was my intention. When I got to the dryer I saw a snake in the corner. Not a big snake, just a rat snake, but not a tiny snake either, about 1 1/2 times the length of my foot. My foot is 10 inches long, in shoes. Back upstairs, out to the garage for a hoe and perhaps a pitchfork. I didn't want to hurt the snake, but I did want to get him out of the corner and out of the house, and I didn't want to be all that friendly. I'm really not frightened of snakes, but still, sometimes I do have to battle my own princess instincts. Perhaps I was just really tired. None of this is tragic stuff, just annoying. Seeing no prince on the horizon, I coaxed the snake onto my fork and happily settled him outside.

A daylily that decided to bloom on Monday. I don't remember its name.

By that time the rain appeared to have stopped and I needed to deliver the chili. While I drove it started to drizzle again, but luckily my drive was short, only 3 miles or so. I had to stop every couple of blocks to get out and wipe my windshield so I could see, but the rain finally did stop on my way back home, at least temporarily. I am now carless, at least as long as it rains, at least until I can safely get to a shop and get a new windshield wiper.

I tried to take a nap, but couldn't settle down. It made more sense to do something, so I packaged chicken stock and took it to the freezer, then drained the liquid from the fruit, boiled it down to a syrup and returned it to the bowl to macerate for another 24 hours. I went upstairs, but couldn't read. I puttered at my desk, and as I looked up and out, through the condensation filled panes (remember the upstairs is cold) I was somehow captured by the magic of that contrast. The silvery panes of condensation looked like little doorways, some promised reward hidden behind each one. I noticed in the perimeters that the rain had stopped and the sky was beginning to clear. I realized that this is just a hiccup.

I think I know what the problem was. It was just a conflagration of events. We had over 2 inches of rain in a couple of hours, at least according to my trusty 5-inch rain gauge. I think the gutter on that side of the house was overwhelmed. There is obviously a drainage issue, and it may well be underground. I do have the gutters cleaned regularly, but there is a problem in that area of the yard, probably with the buried portion of the drainpipe. The basement walls in that area were wet. Everything that touched them was wet. The rooms are all stacked in a line above that area of wet walls and sodden soil, of a drain pipe that perhaps doesn't drain properly and may well back up. I don't know if something went wrong the last time the gutters were cleaned and cleared, or if there was something happening that just finally gave way recently. I suspect the latter, I suspect there was an issue there before I bought the house, but it was more minor. It is no longer minor. And yet understanding a problem, even just the beginnings of understanding, as I may be wrong, offers hope. With hope comes determination, and with determination a renewal of resolve and energy.

Refreshed and energized, I started cooking the carnitas. I hauled stuff around the basement yet again. I sopped up water and washed towels and sopped up more water. I assembled the last fan and started it running in the basement. I didn't put away my clean clothes. I have no place to put them. I am tired of stuff piled up everywhere. I want to put stuff away and have it stay there. I want everything to work the way I want it to work. But don't we all?

This too will pass. Such a cliché, such yet such truth. Would life be happier and more rewarding if nothing ever went wrong? Well, I'd certainly like to imagine it, but I suspect not. I'd grow bored, complacent even; unhappiness would creep in anyway. Happiness grows out of meaningful work, out of connection to others and to the physicalness of life itself. What if life is really like those little fogged-over panes of glass? What if what we think is reality is really just obscured, a story we tell ourselves in order to survive, and the truth is around the edges, mostly unnoticed. What if we only see when we are outside of ourselves, outside of our routines, outside of our perfect little rituals and habits?

I would, however, like to sleep tomorrow.

May 29, 2018
Trees of Life

As I look out my office window I see the "hairy tree" as I affectionately refer to it. The tree, actually a pair of trees, was heavily girdled with ivy when I moved in. I have no excuse for thinking of them as a singular it, but I do. I cut back as much of the ivy as I could, and had to employ help as some of the ivy vines were as thick as my arms. The grounds crew used chain saws and also did make a few cuts into the bark, about which I worried. Most of the ivy was left in the tree to die and much of it is still there, dead and brown, from my window making the tree appear chewbacca-like in its corner.

Mostly what I have noticed this spring however is the new growth. Previously the trunks of this tree were mostly bare, with only a swath of leaves at the very top of the canopy. This spring there is new growth everywhere, leafy islands of green that fill my imagination, dancing in the breeze, reminders of fortitude, rebirth, survival. The old is still there, the vines, I can't pull them all out, but we never fully escape our pasts anyway. The presence of a past, no matter how traumatic, no matter how touchy we may be about the memory, doesn't mean the death of beauty, of growth, of life.

But the ivy branches, and the bare bases also remind me not only of setbacks and growth, but of arrogance and mistakes and how life still endures, constantly moving forward. The bare bases of the trees remind me of Tikka's bare bottom, where the vet shaved her undercoat because the fur was badly matted. I know now that we could have probably trimmed out the longer hairs and saved that hair, that the vet knew it wouldn't grow back, that there was another alternative. Just as I probably could have found a better way to cut the ivy, a way that did not harm the tree, although I doubt I could have gotten all the vines pulled down. My own arrogance played into the arrogance of the workmen, and all of our efforts built on the arrogance of that which came before, of letting the ivy take root and grow to the point of almost overwhelming the tree in the first place. The cut lines are there to remind me of human folly, just as the vines remain, dead but reminding us of adversity, adversity overcome. I often think we need to be reminded of both, of the beauty and the growth, but also of the costs and the perils of life. Let us only hope that our mistakes can be overcome, not forgotten, but reimagined.

May 22, 2018
Random Post on Thursday Morning

I started writing a blog post last night but I was tired and I tore it up. I decided to knit instead. Now that was a far more calming use of my time even though I am still knitting the same red sweater. I am past the half-way point on the front, moving up the sides, and almost done with the sequined yarn. Before long I'll start the neckline shaping. I stopped knitting for a while, but now I'm back. Sometimes lately however, I am already too tired before I begin, and I end up unknitting as much as I knit. Somehow I find even that to be soothing, a way to let my mind purl with the stitches, putting the day to rest.

That reminds me that yesterday started and ended in the sewing room. I wanted to wear a skort I had purchased in Florida two summers ago. I wore it heavily that first summer, and not at all last year because it needed mending and some minor alterations. I failed to get the sewing room unpacked so the skort sat, unworn, until now. The inner portion was partially disassembled, so I traced it off before reassembly. I wanted to trace the entire skort so that I can make a pattern and reproduce it, but I could't find my tracing wheels and the day was moving on. Instead I dressed and took Tikka for a walk.

That makes the second garment I've worked on in the new sewing room. It took me a year, which is pretty bad, considering I will probably have to pack back up soon enough while we go through the remodel phase. I am not however, going to stop sewing, stop making, and this time I have a plan for how I can continue working, whatever else is going on. I've done enough of putting my heart aside. No more of that.

But all I've done so far is mending, although I have pulled fabrics and patterns. The first thing I worked on were my favorite black shorts. They needed taking in, in fact this is the second time I have taken them in and I still love them, even after 5 years and two major alterations. I suppose when they finally fail, which may well be at the end of this season, they too will have to become a pattern. But working on them was difficult. Black thread on black fabric in a room with no light is not how I define fun. I have not yet unpacked my task light that I used in the old sewing room, where the light was also very good.

Are you seeing a theme here? Things unfound? The lamp was not in any of the boxes labeled "sewing room", all of which have been unpacked. That meant it had to be in one of the boxes still in the basement, the boxes labeled quilting, needlework, or dying. Perhaps my tracing wheels could be located down there as well. But initially , at least before the skort, I wasn't eager to go down to the basement and haul those boxes out. Instead I went to Target and bought two small, inexpensive task lamps, six-month lamps, lamps I will be happy to use until the new sewing room is done, hopefully in early 2019, and then, if I no longer need them, will be happy to set free. Those lamps made using the sewing machine and the serger possible, navy on navy this time, for a navy skort.

Then the day got in the way. Tikka and I walked. I rode my bike. Sheets went in the wash while I went out in the garden to plant small dwarf sedums and Meditteranean iris, iris ungularis, in the sunny rock garden near the roses. After working in the heat and the sun, I went down into the laundry room and chilled, ironing sheets and drinking coffee. The laundry room stays about 62 – 64 year round, and I keep a sweater by the door, but yesterday, hot from the sun, the chill felt wonderfully refreshing. I looked at the last two winter sweaters drying on a rack, ready to be stored until next year, thinking about the large alpaca blanket I need to disassemble, wash, repair, and reassemble in a slightly new form, thinking about how much I love that space and how I should really hang photos on the wall, make the space more cozy.

Just as I finished the sheets, Varmint Busters showed up to take a look at the bat problem in the attic. Apparently not much can be done abut the bats until they leave for the season, meaning the end of November or early December. The previous owners had apparently tried to fix the bat problem before they put the house on the market, but rather than putting up the kind of screening and one-way gate system that prevents the bats from reentering, they have some other kind of ad-hoc screening system, which gives the bats a way in and a protected space in which to stay should they so desire. Apparently it also allows squirrels in, and the squirrels have already chewed through the screening, which I suppose the means I have had squirrels in the attic as well. Trying to get the bats out now will be a major headache, if it is even possible, and it probably isn't. In December the whole mess will have to be torn out and done properly. Oh well. Welcome to my old house.

Lunch, more work in the yard, some time spent starting to clean and clean-out the garage, errands, another walk with Tikka, dinner. So goes a day.

I decided that I would try to find the tracing wheels and the lamp, so I hauled the three large boxes out of the basement storage area and into the laundry room. Needless to say I found my lamp, in a box labeled "dye stuff — store". That was a mistake. I also found the tracing wheel and a stash of other miscellaneous tools, some of which will prove to be useful. I found a bolt of muslin, a plus for summer sewing plans. I also left a pile of stuff on the laundry room floor, stuff I have to go back and sort through and put away.

It is time to finish sorting and unpacking anyway. I've been here too long, I hate the weight of things undone, things pulling me backwards, boxes of things that are never opened. Some things are waiting for the remodel, such as books waiting for library shelves, but generally I want it all unpacked and sorted, which is strange because in a couple of months I'll be embarking on the remodel and things will get packed up again. But I am different than when I moved here. Decisions I could not make a year ago come more easily now. I no longer want to drag the past along with wherever I go.

I went back upstairs and traced my skirt. I didn't take the tracing and make the actual pattern pieces. I was already too tired for that. As I mentioned above I tried writing a blog post, but I was too tired for that as well. Instead I knit 8 rows in my red sweater and went to bed. All in all a successful day. Today there is more planting to be done, and I have to water all the new plantings, take a walk, and deal with the chaos in the laundry room. It is enough.

May 17, 2018
Five Things on a Beautiful May Friday

This week has gotten away from me a bit, and the challenge for today is to see if I can get this "five things" post written and posted before the day is done, and maybe still get a post up tomorrow. It may be wishful thinking, but I've always liked a challenge.

1. I bought a bike. I spent last Saturday trying to ride my old bike and keep air in the tires, neither very successfully. I fell repeatedly and at one point wondered if should even be trying, but I also realized three things: 1). The bike was old and probably not rideable. 2). The gears were stuck somewhere around 8th or 9th gear and I couldn't unstick them enough to get myself up the hill in my driveway. 3). My old, circa 1980 racing style touring bike was probably not the best bike for me to be riding at this particular point in my relearning process. I took the old bike into a shop to see if it could be repaired and came out with a new bike. I realized that my insistence on riding the old bike was actually hampering my progress. The new bike is exactly what I need right now. I've been riding it. At first, I didn't even make it around the block. Apparently riding a bike uses muscles I've neglected for a decade or two. I was terrified of speed because I was still terrified of falling, I couldn't quite figure out the gears so that I was in control of the bike instead of the bike being in control of me, and I wobbled all over the place. At the same time, I was exhilarated and thrilled. I can't remember being so excited about any new project in such a long time. I was out on the bike twice a day every day at the beginning of the week. I didn't go far, but I came home exhausted and happy. As I'd stagger up the steps into my house I was already dreaming of my next ride. Each morning I would go for my normal walk of a couple of miles in length, then get on the bike, mostly because I learned I couldn't walk after riding the bike. This morning however, I went for a whole loop, roughly 2 miles, my first real excursion that I can actually call a ride. I had to get off a couple of time when my legs refused to go further up a hill, and I had to walk the bike up the final stretch of one steeper hill (but still not very steep) after I misjudged my gear shift, lost my footing, and fell into a forced dismount. But I did it. I was terrified coming down the steep hill after the final turn toward my house and I had to fight the urge to ride the breaks, terrified I would have to stop and not be able to, terrified I would kill myself. I can happily report I returned home safely. I climbed the stairs to my office and this computer. I can't wait to ride again tomorrow.

I want to keep riding. I want to fix the old bike and when I get steadier see if I can ride it, see if I want to tackle longer rides. When I was young I thought nothing of going 20 or 30 miles on my bike. I may or may not ever be there again, but I am looking forward to the adventure. Oh, and now that I know I can actually ride even a short loop, perhaps it is time to start alternating walking and riding days.

2. The pink camellia behind the house is doing beautifully since I had the river birch taken down. It bloomed but looked rather sad and I suspected that it was in too much shade. This spring, with the long period of cool weather and the increased sun it has filled out and grown phenomenally. You can see it behind the irises in the photo above. Unfortunately it is right next to the deck, meaning it is right in the middle of the proposed construction site. Finding it a new home, either permanent or temporary, for any plants in this area I want to save (irises and camellias etc) is now becoming a priority.

3. I posted a photo of the Cora Louise peony on Instagram earlier this week. I took another photo this morning, where I thought I captured the color just a little more clearly.

4. Breakfast this morning, or brunch I suppose since it was after 11 by the time I stopped to eat. Avocado, and egg salad topped with hot-smoked salmon on a small, salad sized plate.

5. I went to see the musical Beautiful: The Carole King Story, with a friend last Sunday afternoon and I had an absolutely marvelous time. I love the sets, the colors, the acting, the music, absolutely everything. It was a happy event that made me want to sing and dance and smile for the rest of the day. The show was like sping, something joyous and hopeful and inspiring, just what I needed on a Sunday afternoon. Carole King's album Tapestry came out just before I entered high school, but I didn't really discover her until I was in college, where many of my friends had all her albums. It was a period of great musical discovery for me: Carole King, bluegrass, rock, Talking Heads, King Crimson, early punk, jazz, swing dances, Hindemith and Phillip Glass, and although the musical was about King and her music, not my other explorations, it still reminded me of that time, of that sense of the joy of song of music and the idea that music itself could change the world.

But I also admit that I also struggled afterwards with the fact that I enjoyed Beautiful more than I enjoyed Aida, and in simply writing the above paragraph I have written more about the musical than I did about the opera. I recognize that this struggle reflects some kind of acquired parental, societal, and cultural bias that I don't actually believe has any basis in reality, but which still occasionally raises its ugly head in my consciousness. I did enjoy Aida, but I admittedly didn't love it. I'm not convinced that is the fault of the performance. As I said, the Choral Society gave the best performance I have heard, and the soloists were good as well, but they occasionally were quashed by the poor acoustics of the hall, well all of them except the baritone perhaps. In retrospect it was that problem with acoustics that hampered my experience. I understand why the performance was held in the Civic Auditorium — they needed the space on stage. And I'm not certain my experience of the sound was shared by those around me, as many of my near neighbors seemed very happy with the performance. I felt the performance often sounded muddied, which is more the fault of the venue than the artists themselves, enough so that I am not eager to go to another opera performance in that particular venue. I'd rather hear sparkling sound at the Tennessee Theater than muddied sound waves at the Civic Auditorium. But then again, I know this is my own bias, the same bias that showed up in the early days of my marriage when I was the one that was constantly turning off the radio when static would invade the airwaves. It never bothered George, but it ruined the sound for me, rendering the musical completely unlistenable. Mea culpa

I have no music scheduled this weekend, but the sun is shining and I shall see friends, spend time in the garden and on my bicycle. Grand adventure always awaits. What delights will your weekend bring?

May 11, 2018
Saturday Morning Musings

Contentment: sitting still in the early morning, cup of coffee in hand, looking out over the yard. This morning I am just looking at lawn, lawn and the line of woods at the back of the yard, two tall trees that shade the neighbor's yard. I managed to cut back much of the ivy that was choking them last year, but needed help with some of the bigger vines. The ivy was removed at the base but I didn't get all the long vines pulled out o the tree, now, from this window the tree looks almost hairy with the dead vines traversing its trunk. Cardinals and robin and bluebirds are cavorting in the early morning light, and yes, I do imagine the border I will eventually plant between the woods and the lawn. The garden of my dreams is always present but actually the yard in and of itself is enough. What more is needed?

People are needed of course. We all need other people, need to love and be loved. I don't work a day job where I am surrounded with people during the day. Many of my pursuits are solitary: writing, gardening, playing with needle, thread, fabric. I am past the days when empty time alone seemed overbearingly depressing. I can be content with myself, and perhaps that is primarily because I have a choice, to find balance between time spent alone and time with friends.

It has been a good week, filled with music, time with friends, and creative pursuits as well. There was a lovely performance of Haydn's Creation at the beginning of the week. Last night I went to see Aida, which was also beautifully done. Aida was the first opera I ever saw live and seeing it again reminds me of my youthful self. The choral society outdid themselves, the soloists were excellent. I am continually amazed at the dedication of local musicians and the quality of local efforts. Here we are, in Knoxville, a relatively small city, with two major choral productions in one week, and many people putting in long hours in rehearsal. Granted the musicians come from the greater metropolitan area (in government speak) which is actually a rather large geographic space, and this actually impresses me all the more. We are blessed to have people who are willing to spend time and effort to share something they love with the rest of us.

I see that music and art, fill my heart, but I also see that I sometimes overindulge. I want to go to everything, and I often try. Music fills and soothes my heart, and yet, I wonder. I always have been inclined toward too-muchness, but how much of my indulgences are running toward something, and how much is running away? I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss those evenings watching tv or movie with my beloved, companionable silence, the palpable peace of shared space. But space and time are not something to be filled. The trees remind me of that. And you can't be companionable with others if you can't be companionable with yourself; or so it seems to me. That is not to say I don't enjoy evenings at home — they are no longer a black hole — but do I run too much? Try to fill too much? I am not looking for a substitute for just being present.

There, I think I found the answer.

Which brings me back to what do I need? What do we need? A safe place to sleep. Food. These are basic necessities. People we care about, people who care about us. Our passions, the things we care about, including ourselves. The earth around us, our own little space on this planet, wherever it is, whatever it is, to know that this space that is our lives, that our very selves, is enough. My view through this tiny window, watching the squirrel that is running across the yard right this moment. Beauty, perfection, love, heaven — it is all right here every day, ready to touch each of us, if only we open our eyes and our hearts.

None of the flowers shown here are visible from my window this morning. The flowers in the front yard are not visible from most of the windows in the house, and yet they greet me every day, a welcoming beacon.

May 5, 2018
Garden Progress

Looking out my front window on a gray day, last weekend I believe. This is the part of the yard I have been working on this spring, it is the eastern side of the front yard, to the right as I walk out the door.

I have to admit the view makes me happy. Well, my whole yard makes me happy, even the parts that are rougher and need more work, they are just fertile grounds for my imagination. But for now I am happy to be working here, in this stretch of earth. I've been out every day this week, digging, planting, trimming, weeding, coaxing, and just generally revelling with my hands in the dirt.

It feels like I have done a lot, and I have, and of course now I just have to sit back, tend, and hope. Of course that is sometimes the hardest part, hoping that the things I plant adapt, hoping that they thrive over their first summer, hoping that they survive the winter, hoping that they come back next year, when, even though I shall hopefully anticipate them with bated breath, I shall also be thrilled and amazed when they finally arrive, a new parent all over again. In the photo above I am sitting in the grass after planting some iris cristata. This photo was taken earlier this past week, eyeing the hakonechloa and black mondo grass (ophiopogon) that I had planted before easter. They seem to have settled in, and are sending up new leaves, the first good sign, a small milestone that warms my heart.

Yesterday I noticed that the new iris cristata are blooming. These are the "Tennessee white" iris that I went up to Sunlight Gardens with my friend Anna to buy. While I was there I also saw some blue iris crostata, I do not know the specific name, and they are blooming as well. (below)

Right now these are teeny isolated specs of color, but if I have chosen well, in terms of positioning, and they thrive, I will eventually have mats of greenery and waves of tiny blossoms. The anticipation is almost as pleasant as the flowers themselves. Ahh, hopes and dreams.

I also noticed that the new Celestial Dogwood is blooming. I had not expected that, the tree overwintered somewhere in a pot, and was just planted, so I really only hoped for leaves. Perhaps I should have known better.

The first rose is opening. There are buds, but so far only a single blossom. It seems terribly early, but the roses have been exploding in leaves and growth since the first initial warm spell, subsequent frosts seemingly not slowing them down all that much. I would usually cut them back in early to mid February before growth started, but they were already green, reaching for the sun when I cut them back. I was struggling with fear of cold damage on fresh wounds, whereas they were simply reaching for the sun.

Otherwise much of the rest of my yard, is much the same. Above is the walkway from the garage, around the eastern side of the house. I Love the lush informality. The Japanese maple at the end of the walk is the same one seen in the photos above, in the front of the house.

Hellebores everywhere, lush and beautiful, with scattered bits of colors and emerging plants. I'm not sure I will have much else to show you, garden wise, this year. We will just have to see how things evolve.

The pink azaleas I see (and posted previously) from my sunroom window.

And then the other side of the front yard, the less finished side (west). Hopefully this will be next year's project, but I may be distracted with other things. There is little point in sprucing it up now, as this is the side that the trucks will be coming in and out, and there has already been plant damage on that side. They will never match, there is far more sun on the east, shade on the west. But I see that the small tree near the mailbox is another dogwood, and I like the symmetry offered by a dogwood on each side of the yard, and there is a crape myrtle hidden in there, almost being choked out by some other small trees which crowd around it and are far less appealing to me. The offenders will be removed, but otherwise, for now at least, there will be this uneasy balance, the more intentional east garden, the untended western wooded area, and the lawn in between. Perfect setting for a world of dreams and imaginings.

April 14, 2018
On frivolous novels and an overdose of pink

Two week ago, or nearly two weeks ago, I picked up a book. I was at the Salt Spa and I had brought something with me to read, but I didn't feel like reading it. This book was on the shelf, so I picked it up. It was pure, unadulterated mindless entertainment, really perfect for a period where I was supposed to be resting and breathing. At the end of my session, about an hour later, I was half-way through the novel and I took it home with me, not because I planned to finish it at home, but because I wanted to be certain it would be there at my next appointment.

That was the day I realized I was retired. That day I realized I could sit in a sunny chair and read a frivolous book if I wanted, that my time was mine to fritter away as I pleased without repercussion. When I hit a slump, rather than turning on the TV or turning to the internet, I picked up my book and finished it that afternoon. There was no blood and guts, just a well-told story, with characters broadly drawn but engaging so that the reader could fill them out in their own imagination (as is the point in popular fiction). In short, I enjoyed my brief foray.

Over the following week I read two more books in the series, one when my back was sore, another when I found myself unable to focus on knitting while watching TV and therefore growing restless. Like eating a bowl of ice cream, or sorbet in my case, these novels have proved to be enjoyable little pleasures, not necessarily memorable, but no less enjoyed for their lack of nutritional value.

I have the fourth book in the series, but haven't started it yet. The days since my return from Texas have been full, and full of fun as well as the requisite chores of life. A friend and I went to the opening of the Knoxville Symphony Leagues annual decorator's show house, and I perhaps liked this year's foray more than usual. I think this was due to the format more than anything else. This year the "show-house" was actually three residences in a new luxury residence tower downtown, and each of the two-bedroom residences had a unified point of view and style, as well as spectacular views of the city, and I appreciated that sense of consistency.

Friday I went to Sunlight Gardens up in Andersonville, ostensibly to pick up some Iris cristata Tennessee White, a form of Iris I had been seeking for some time. Of course I bought other plants as well, perhaps a few too many. It is hard to resist plants, almost as hard as it is to resist books. And I am only now noticing, as I add photos to this post, how much pink there is in my garden, not that I have anything against pink.

I did not plant yesterday as it was raining and a bit on the chill side. Instead I tossed a new cloth over the table and played with china and place settings. This Indian mandala print came home with me Friday as well. Actually I was initially wondering if I could make a dress out of it but quickly realized it was large enough to be used as a bedspread or a tablecloth, and perhaps better suited for either. It came home with me because I love it, even though I wasn't 100% certain it would work in my blue dining room, with the blues and greens of my china, and because I knew it would find its place. Of course I shouldn't have worried. Already it has brought me hours of joy, playing with color and pattern and texture on a rainy Saturday.

I spent part of the afternoon, after putting everything away and between other chores, yes they do interfere at times, reading in the sun room. It wasn't sunny, but the beautiful pink azaleas outside my window seemed to glow in the soft gray light. I didn't remember them from last spring, but then I was still in my old house, packing and moving when they would have bloomed.

My current book is Neil deGrasse Tyson's Astrophysics for People in a Hurry. It too is fun, although it requires more thought and attention than Mary Higgins Clark's mysteries.. Even though Tyson is writing about the world beyond my small corner of the earth, he reminds me that these azaleas and I share a certain commonality in the very basis of our existence, and, paraphrasing some theology read and discussed earlier in the spring, we are all just combinations of little bubbles that come together and drift apart, smashing into each other, perhaps joining together, perhaps bursting apart and making something new, but still connected, all of a piece.

April 8, 2018
Of Marathons and Music and Miscellanea

Sunday, the last morning of Big Ears, Tikka and I both slept late, at least as compared to our normal schedule. When we went downstairs the street was already filled with people. We were 20 minutes from the starting bell for the Knoxville Marathon, and the starting gate was right outside our hotel. Tikka was a little excited but she happily walked over to the little garden where she normally took her morning piddle stop and hoped up over the short wall. There were several runners in place, using the wall for their pre-run stretch. Tikka, never shy, jumped between them and took care of business. I apologized, half heartedly, because really I was just laughing at the image of Tikka and the runners all in a line taking care of their various morning necessaries. A little absurdity to start the day.

Then we went back upstairs and I had coffee and breakfast in the bar/restaurant, where I could watch the start of the marathon. As Tikka and I took our morning walk, a little later, we would occasionally cross the marathon route, encountering pockets of runners or bicyclists, and it made for an exciting variation on our downtown morning walk.

And then it was back to the music. My notes on Sunday are a little sketchier as I didn't really write my thoughts down, grateful to simply being there, enjoying the music. Whereas Saturday I had stayed mostly in the southern tier of the concert venues, Sunday I primarily stuck to the northern portion of Gay Street, attending concerts at the Standard and the Mill and Mine.

Anyway, I started the day with the Tyshawn Storey Trio at the Mill and Mine. The Mill and Mine is kind of a good sized, cavernous room, and the group really managed to play with the dynamics of the room well, creating a flowing sense of movement in the space, alternating between power and a sensitive quietude, from the piano and the bass, but also from the drums. The group were really beautifully in tune with each other and the space, and it was a marvelous concert.

Next I wandered over to the Standard, but I took the long way around, rather than over the Bridge, which was a gentler walk. There I heard a young musician named Rostam, whom I knew only because he used to be a part of the band Vampire Weekend. The concert was fun and infectious, making me smile and want to sing and dance.

Then it was back over the bridge to Suuns. I was walking very slowly, and I stopped to take this photo along the way. And somehow I just realized I didn't even try to take photos of musicians on Sunday, and that is also fine. I still enjoyed the music and I enjoyed Suuns, but it was loud, and perhaps not as fascinating as the previous two concerts, or I was just beginning to feel antsy. I thought that if I left early I could perhaps slowly make my way south to the Bijou for Abigail Washburn and Wu Fei, so I very slowly made my way up the hill.

But by the time I got to Chivo, a taqueria just over the top of the hill, I was wondering if I would indeed be able to make it to the Bijou, so I stopped and had lunch. I enjoyed my tacos, and thought about what I could do next. I figured my best option was to head back toward the Standard and catch Julie Byrne, which I enjoyed, before leaving early and heading back to the Mill and Mine for Kieran Hedban and Mats Gustafsson. Although I loved that concert, I also realized that I was no longer comfortable and was fast approaching my limit, so I ubered back to my hotel for a rest.

The break was good, and afterward, perhaps just because I had finally figured out what was going on, walking became much easier. I could walk and stand all I wanted, although sitting would became problematic, not at all unusual for a disc-related scenario. I went to the Tennessee Theater to hear Nief Norf perform Steve Reich's 'Quartet', which was short, but also electrifying, and for which I stood. Then I actually had time to stop at Nama for some sushi before heading up and over the hill to hear the Craig Taborn Quartet for a fabulous concert that seemed to blend and push genres, mixing electronica and jazz and classical ideas into something that seemed perfectly itself and a perfect way to end a fabulous weekend. I made my back to my hotel and collapsed in contentment.

Last week was intentionally quiet and low-key, and as a result my back has continued to improve. I am by now pretty close to back to normal. I did walk, and I also did a little gardening on Wednesday. My goal was simply to get something in the planters out front as I am on the Dogwood Trail and although the beds and yard were all clean, the planters were still empty. I picked up some ferns for the planters by the front door. They are probably too large, but the selection in the nurseries was still slim, and once they start to grow they may have to move elsewhere. But they look pretty from the street now, and I have a good spot to put them later in the season so I am content.

I also managed to find some plants for the smaller planters. I don't quite know how these will work out yet, but it is a good attempt, soft grayed-greens to offset the rosemary in the round planters, and a variety of coleus plants in the tower, mixing upright and prostrate varieties. At least the front looks intentional. While I was at the nursery I also found some grasses and plants I had been hoping to put in a bed that I cleaned out last fall, a small bed filled with weeds, or more exactly, perennials that were too large for the space, and obscured the shrubs and Japanese maple that were there, and which I wanted to save. My own theory is that a weed is just a perennial in the wrong spot, (and vice versa). It felt good to have my hands in the dirt, to spend a couple of hours in the garden, and to be upright and pain-free afterward. Hopefully I've got things in the right spots, my ideas are good, and the garden will thrive. I always feel it is a guessing game, but one worth pursuing, and this reminds me that I need to start a garden journal. I had one in Hyde Park, where I had drawings and diagrams and planting information, and I could see the evolution of the yard, what worked and what failed.

I can't help myself. I have another project.

April 3, 2018
Saturday Afternoon

Look! Look! New flowers!

The shrubs outside the front door are also getting ready to bloom. I have been asked if they bloomed, but I hadn't seen the blooms, or didn't notice them while the construction crew was here last spring. I think the shrubs are too big, but nothing is going to be done about them in the near future. I can only change so much at a time. But I like the way the top of the hedge looks like a see of buds.

I managed to walk up the steep hill toward the end of the street today, for the first time in over a week. There were days I walked around the neighborhood, except for that block, but not the last two days. Luckily most of the way home was downhill. I started uphill again just before I could finish one block and turn back down to my house, and I could feel my hip beginning to rebel, so I cam home. While I rested I've been playing with thread.

Mostly needlepoint, but some knitting too. I finally started the front of the Lazy Days tunic, and I also finally updated the knitting blog with the status of that project. Believe me, not much has been happening around here, and yet everything has been happening. New flowers arrived right before my eyes. The front of the sweater is going more easily than the back, but that is simply because my fingers finally have the feel for what they are doing. And the new peonies out front are poking up their heads, but they aren't very photogenic yet. Most of us eschew photographs immediately upon waking in the morning.

I'd like to add something about last night's symphony performance of Orff's Carmina Burana, but I really can't right now. It was fabulous and I enjoyed it immensely. But it is also getting caught up in all kinds of other random thoughts, thoughts that don't seem to have anything to do with Carmina Burana, but maybe they do. When I find a thread I'll let you know.

March 17, 2018