Cet été je ferai un jardin

Some years back my s-i-l took the plastic swimming pool her grandkids played in before they became gigantic male things (one of whom trimmed my hedge for me on the holiday weekend-- gigantic maleness has its uses though I think I may actually be at least as tall as he is), filled it with earth and planted lettuce. This was cool. These last years she's been gardening at the cottage, not here, so no more lettuce. But I thought 'Hey, *I* could do it' (non-gardening non-outdoor me with the iffy neck and shoulder nerves, yes?) Nothing ventured...
( When Adam delved )

(no subject)

I thought I was good at tagging my entries, but under 'verse' I can't find that Sherlock Holmes poem I ganked from incandescens. Hence I must post it here, under cut.
( 221B )

This is by way of noting that I've read one and a third of the Mary Russell series. Was desperately relieved that The Beekeeper's Apprentice didn't do the horribly obvious thing it looked like it might do. (Well, with all the ret-conning of the canon, anything might be possible.) But I grow just a little irked by King's dismissal of Watson, good-hearted generous Watson who is so not Holmes' equal while Mary so obviously is. So I shall remind me of canon and fanon in this respect, to say nothing of Yotsuya Simone's flat-out BL take, which otherwise I might want to forget.