Sunday, February 24, 2019
Early Spring and Peter Tork
Olga is so happy to be back to her routine. We took our normal morning walk yesterday, through the housing estate -- where we checked out the graffitied basketball court -- and she sparred with the cat beneath the door and sniffed where she always sniffs. I could just tell she was finding great comfort in it all.
Or maybe it was me who was comforted.
I did a bunch of stuff around the house -- once again, I am perplexed at how a house can get dirty when no one is in it -- and then Olga and I resumed our weekend routine by going to the Heath. We found a fruit tree in bloom...
...and an abundance of crocuses at the entrance to Golders Hill Park. I never get sick of crocuses.
The weather was incredible -- sunny and mild.
Another sight -- two mistle thrushes, flitting about near a field on the West Heath.
Dave and I were so motivated by the spring weather that we got out and worked in the garden. Dave transplanted some things -- we moved the rescued acanthus from its place near the garden bench into the central bed, where the apple tree used to be. It will get more sun there and will hopefully give us some flowers. We also moved a plant we'd put in the front garden, where it was overshadowed by larger shrubs, and Dave moved some daylilies to spread them around a bit.
Then I got sucked into a black hole of ivy-clearing. The ivy has become incredibly thick and dense in some areas, and I was out there almost until sunset. I'm trying to remind myself that it's only February and we could still get wintry weather, so I don't want to clear too much and expose delicate buds to the elements. But it's hard to think like that when the sun is bright and relatively warm!
On the culture front, I was sorry to hear that Peter Tork of the Monkees died a few days ago. I used to watch Monkees reruns religiously as a kid -- I knew all the episodes and all the songs, which I recorded off the TV onto a cassette, a sort of Super Monkees Mix Tape. Peter was always my favorite Monkee. I coveted his hair. I remember telling my mom, "I want hair like Peter Tork." And my mom said, "Well, you're not going to have hair like Peter Tork, so you better get used to it." Or something along those lines. And she was right.