Thursday, June 28, 2018
Letterboxes, a Rose Tag, and an Elephant
These old letterboxes decorate doors on Mill Lane, not far from our flat. In fact, they're on either side of the minimalist antique store. (Which is now closed entirely, from what I can tell.)
Aren't they great?
Yesterday was another sunny day spent mostly in the garden. I planted our two oriental poppies, which you may remember bloomed so beautifully last year. This year they not only didn't bloom, but were looking quite sickly in their pots, so I put them in the ground back by the wildflower bed. I don't know whether they're going to survive -- in fact, one already seems pretty much dead. But here's hoping.
Remember how I found an old rose label when I dug in that corner of the garden several weeks ago? Well, I found another one!
This one's a mystery, because we don't have anything I would characterize as a "coral pink" miniature rose. I've tried Googling pictures of it, but none of the results look familiar to me. So maybe rose Eleanor was planted but didn't survive, or maybe my concept of "coral pink" isn't accurate.
I think the tag was singed by being thrown into the fire of the brick barbecue grill that stands in that part of the garden. We never use it, but some previous tenants clearly did, because the ground is full of charcoal and other barbecuing debris.
And now, I feel like I should address an elephant in the room. (Hello, elephant.)
You may be wondering, in the midst of all the chaos and ugliness going on in the world at the moment, why I haven't been blogging more about current events. I'm reading the newspapers, at least as much as I can stand.
But honestly, I don't have the heart to rehash it here. I believe this may be the scariest time I have lived through as an adult -- even scarier than the period after 9/11, when Western resolve was more united, and scarier than the run-up to the invasion of Iraq, a travesty of monumental proportions. George W. Bush's time in office was dark, but this feels darker. We in the West are turning not only on people from other parts of the world, but also on each other.
"Rats in a cage," my father would say.
I'd rather my blog not be the place where I wallow in it every day. And I'm sure you don't want to wallow, either.
So that's why I'm talking about Olga and gardening and finding weird stuff on the sidewalk. I don't mean to be in denial. But for all of our sanity, I think it's important to try to enjoy what we can of each day that passes.
And with that, back to our regularly scheduled programming.