Cuttings

Well, I'm glad so many of you don't think I'm completely bonkers for rescuing clothes from the woods. Sometimes I wonder myself!

I forgot to tell you, during yesterday's tales of rubbish picking, that the ugly coffee table has been taken away -- presumably by the garbage collectors, but one never knows. Over the weekend, Olga and I walked up Gondar Gardens, the street where Doris Lessing used to live, and noticed that it was gone.

(Do you suppose it was Doris Lessing's table? Did I miss an incredible eBay opportunity here?)

The cuttings from my beloved bird's foot cactus are putting out tiny sprouts. So it looks like both it and the purple heart, which I reported on about a month ago, have successfully taken root. The purple heart, in fact, is looking downright prosperous, with three shoots and many leaves. Woo hoo!

(Top photo: Marylebone, after French class two weeks ago.)

Finding Clothes in the Woods

Last week, all I heard from people at work, from about Wednesday forward, was how horrible the weather was going to be over the weekend. I assume this came from the forecast, though I never looked it up myself. I'm happy to report that instead, it was sunny and beautiful both days!

The sun created some interesting patterns in our back garden, and it provided the perfect atmosphere for walking on the Heath with Olga. I took her back yesterday and we had a bit of excitement.

(Let me just say in advance that I realize this post will make me seem completely insane, but, well, it is what it is.)

When I walked Olga on Sandy Heath on Saturday, I found some discarded plastic bags that had been recently thrown from the roadside into the woods. You know how fascinated I am by rubbish, so of course the dog and I had a closer look.

They turned out to be mostly empty, but some had been torn open to reveal clothing -- two pairs of shoes, three shirts, some gloves, a winter coat and several sweaters (or "jumpers," as they say in England), among other things. The sweaters were still folded, as if they'd been taken straight from someone's drawer.

Well, I left everything there and kept walking the dog. But during the night on Saturday I kept thinking what a shame it was that those perfectly good clothes, which had obviously been there just a day or two, were left to rot in the woods. So yesterday, I took a bag with me, and Olga and I revisited the same spot. I decided to collect anything that seemed useful and take it to charity.

I didn't take everything, because some items really were trash -- old and worn, or stretched out. (And nobody wants used socks, after all -- ugh.) But I took two perfectly good dress shirts and a white printed t-shirt. I brought them home, washed and dried them, and I'll take them up to Oxfam later this week.

I also salvaged these very bizarre shoes -- Reeboks, as it turns out. Size 11 1/2. They've seen some wear but they're so unusual, they might be thrift store gold!

So yes, I'm crazy. I just can't stand waste, not to mention fly-tipping. If there were a public trash receptacle somewhere nearby I'd have picked up the rest, put it in a garbage bag and left it for collection. In fact, that might be a future project...

Forsythia

The forsythia bush outside our bedroom window has come into bloom. This bush had been severely pruned when we first moved in here, two years ago, and it barely bloomed last year. But this year it's looking much better.

When I'm lying in bed in the afternoon, reading, as I was yesterday, this is the view I have out the window. A bright yellow reminder of spring!

(We don't normally store a measuring cup on the windowsill -- it was sitting there because we'd used it to fill the squirrel feeder.)

I didn't get nearly as much reading done yesterday as I'd hoped. I spent the morning editing and archiving photos, which took a couple of hours. And then I took Olga to the Heath, where she had a long romp.

Last night, Dave and I went to Pollen Street Social, a restaurant we've wanted to try for a while. We've seen the chef on Saturday Kitchen, a popular BBC cooking show, and the food was fantastic.  (Tiny little cucumber cupcakes, and langoustine with fresh peas, and fresh spring lamb, and a goat cheese sorbet that danced between savory and sweet.) We were not disappointed. But after eight courses with wine pairings, it was all we could do to roll ourselves toward an open taxi and, a short time later, fall into bed!

A Boy and His Dog

As I was walking near Regents Park last weekend, I passed this kid and his dog. They were standing together outside a shop, and the boy began kissing and hugging the dog as I approached.

It was hard to tell who was protecting who!

We're having a rainy morning and I'm enjoying my brief break from French class. I think I'm going to lie around and read. I have several issues of The New Yorker to get through, as well as a few other magazines, a big biography of Jack London (which I'm not sure why I'm reading, since I've never been a fan) and my unending journal transcription project. Plenty to do!

The Polygraph Test

My outing to the doctor is turning out to be several outings. I have to go next Tuesday to a hospital in Ladbroke Grove to have blood drawn, and then the following week I have a follow-up visit with my doctor to get the results. I'm virtually certain that when I registered with my doctor four or five years ago, they drew blood right there in the office -- but my memory could be faulty. So anyway, I'm not sure why this extra trip is necessary, but I suppose it's a small price to pay for not paying.

In between all this, I'm going to get my teeth cleaned next Thursday. (Why not get everything done, after all?) I can't believe it's already time. In fact, looking back at the post about my last dental visit, I see that it's way past time. I had it in my head that the dentist told me to come back in two years, but according to that post, she said nine months. Oops! (See what I mean about a faulty memory?)

She's probably going to scold me for waiting so long.

Dave and I watched an episode of "The Good Wife" last night that involved an employee having to take a polygraph test. It reminded me of the one time I had to take one -- when I got hired as a cashier by Scotty's Hardware in Florida back in the mid-1980s. It was part of the hiring process. I was in college and just coming out at the time, and I remember being terrified that they were going to ask me if I was gay. Why I thought this would be of the least interest to Scotty's Hardware, I don't know, and of course all they cared about was whether I'd ever stolen anything from a previous employer.  Fortunately, I had not -- and thus began my illustrious yearlong (and theft-free) career as a hardware store cashier.

Oh, and thanks for your comments on my previous post. I'm glad to know I'm not the only one experiencing peculiarities with Blogger!

(Photo: A statue of railway engineer Robert Stephenson at Euston Station, London.)

Back Ups and Check Ups

Is it my imagination or has Blogger been acting weird lately? I'm having trouble uploading photos and for some reason, my cursor has disappeared entirely when I'm writing posts. I never know where I am on the page. I suppose it could have something to do with my browser (Safari) or my internet connection (bad, but better than it was before we moved the router into the living room).

Just the other day someone was telling me my pictures wouldn't load when they viewed my blog. Once again: Weird.

It's a bit disconcerting to think that all this time I spend blogging could be wiped out in one failure of Google's servers. Flickr, where I store my photos, has recently freaked out some members by locking them out of their accounts and assigning them new logins, where -- surprise! -- their pictures are all gone. (I'm sure the pictures are still out there somewhere, but still, what a shock!) Presumably there are redundancies built in to all these systems, but sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't get one of those blog books made to keep my posts the old-fashioned way. (Probably more than one blog book at this point.)

But no. I'm trying to get away from paper, after all.

I should at least back up the blog electronically, but the last time I did that, the "export" option was uncomfortably close to the "delete blog" option, and I was terrified I would mistakenly delete it. Maybe that's no longer true. I'll check it out.

Olga and I, once again, are still in bed. I don't have to go in to work until later because I have a doctor's appointment. I went through a spell last week where I wasn't feeling so hot, and although things seem to have improved slightly this week, I figured I should get checked out. I haven't been to the doctor in a while -- I think it's been four years since I've had any kind of blood test -- so it's time. At least it buys me an easy morning!

(Photos: Entertaining neighborhood rubbish bins.)

Another Floral Update

Our amaryllis have finally come into bloom. Looking good! We have two more flower stalks coming up, too. It looks like that second plant from the left may not bloom at all this year -- but as I said before, everyone needs a rest now and then.

The white daffodils in our garden are blooming now, too. They appear later than the yellow ones, for some reason.

And finally, the blue forget-me-nots are blooming around the roses. I think these are technically weeds, like the grape hyacinths, as we have them all over the garden and even growing between the cracks of our patio stones. But I like them all the same.

I did decide to sign up again for French. The next term is only ten more weeks, and it seemed a shame to stop now. I had to push myself and forge ahead. Although I make it sound like such work, it really is fun, too -- and after this term there's a summer break, so I can rest and synthesize (or maybe forget!) all I've learned.

Also, I learned that our old apartment in Notting Hill definitely never sold, despite the fact that we were asked to leave two years ago by the landlords so they could put it on the market. (Which they did, at least for a while.) I chatted with them on Facebook yesterday, and promised to put the word out among new teachers so perhaps they can gain a new tenant. Apparently the place has been empty since we left, except for periodic visits from their friends (which explains the forwarded mail). I didn't ask why the change of heart about selling -- not really my business. But curious!