A delightful array of Zinnias in a parking strip garden last weekend.
The person I work with the closest on the League stuff is a civil engineer for the city and she shared a spot on our local public radio station recently talking about a study she had done with some others on stormwater management and the creative use of rainwater gardens locally.
Something currently becoming useful and good as the season changes. She doesn’t pick the plants that go into these things, but she interacts with the folks that do. It is hard to pick plants that can survive what is becoming a longer drier season as well as the rainy one with heavier rainfalls all at once. I was complimenting her team on adding the Camassia leichtlini that I love so much. That unusual purple blue flower.
Not that I am thinking about flowers or anything. Humph. I was looking at pictures I have taken in fall over the years the other days telling myself, autumn is beautiful too. It is the transition that rankles. I shall adapt. Right now, though the temperature is perfect.
A few days ago, would have been my 50th wedding anniversary if I had stayed married. Talk about the road not taken. It feels a little uncomfortable with my ex having not made it through the year. The little ping of remembrance takes on a different tone. I hope not to bring up disturbing thoughts for those of you who are widowed by mentioning this.
Another person from the League who I asked a practical question about payment for an upcoming event to, slipped into a sales pitch for said event, which is about legacy giving, and asked me if I was 70.
I had a moment in my head, of, of course I am not 70! and then oh yeah, I am 71 and things like 50th anniversaries are afoot. Eek. I don’t know what age I am in my head, but it is certainly not 71.
As I am finally able to eat normally again, or mostly normally, I kind of overindulged this last week. Hello toast! My old friend, so nice to experience you again. I am trying not to give myself a hard time about this and rein it in. Talk to myself as if I were a loving friend. Easier said than done.
Having a wider array of ages in my in-person class than in my online classes and having the post pandemic innovation of being able to bring them to the floor for a portion of the class I shared the bones of the core practice I do myself this last week. I figured out pretty soon it was being challenging for them, so I did modify and tone it down, but it was a good lesson for me. A bit of a scary one. I don’t know them as well as the folks I have been working with for years and I need to get to know their unique profiles before I go off into pushing them just that much.
I had an email exchange with one of them afterwards telling her that. Which set my mind at ease.
This is the end of tomato season. I have two quite productive cherry tomato plants, and I am swimming in them. I tried putting some out in the foyer but had few takers. A guy who had a morning podcast I listen to in Washington D.C. was talking about eating a bowl of them for breakfast towards the end of this week. I went by a bus shelter that is next to a big urban garden that supports a nearby upscale restaurant and on the sidewalk in chalk it said, “Cherry Tomatoes, $3 a bag”. I have been the recipient of two manageably sized zucchini’s this week as well by a fellow gardener who just appeared out of nowhere with that desperate look in her eye.
There is a reason this is called harvest season. Oh yeah.
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