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Of flowers and acquisition and libraries
1) My petunias will not grow. Next door's petunias bloom happily on the fence but mine wilt and fade wherever I put their planter. Too much sun, not enough sun, too much water, not enough water: I can never get it right, even with plant food. This makes me sad. I love the smell of petunias in the evening next only to nicotinea, which won't grow for me either. You can have fragrant flowers or you can have shade, and I have shade.
2) Yesterday, lovely warm day with cool breezes, I walked to Dufferin in spite of sore knee, sore shoulder, and internal wibbles; and was rewarded with an office chair for $20 from a yard sale round the corner (I walked it home), seven or eight Precious Ramotswes left out in a box (I took four, not to be greedy), and the Jill Paton Walsh mystery I was convinced I could not be happy without, from the Gladstone library. Gladstone also yielded its secret-- the various sections aren't labelled because every book has the section's name on the spine. Walk around long enough and you will indeed find MYS. I still think the system and the layout is completely idiotic: all the books are on the third floor, all the librarians on the second, and the amount of waste space is incredible. Never let an architect near a building that needs to function.
3) I collect office chairs: they support and cushion like nothing else. Some day my dining room will be furnished entirely in them.
4) Read Ballet Shoes for the first time in fifty years. Noel Streatfield isn't part of my active memory of childhood but I know I read her, and little bits have stuck with me, like Petrova having a stye in her eye for the audition and the whole WTF thing of putting money in the post office. But I know I read Streatfield when I was sick in bed with one of those childhood illnesses we didn't have shots for-- measles, possibly-- which may be why I don't remember her clearly.
5) My plum tree continues to drop unripe plums on my brother's side of the garden. I continue to pick them up. It's like looking for chicken eggs in the straw, only these are smooth green ovoids in the grass. I must have removed five dozen so far, which would make a huge amount of jam if only they were ripe.
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