Perfect Sunday

This was the theme around here yesterday. Especially for Olga, who is still on enforced rest time. She's not begging for walks, so her leg must still bother her. She seems happy to lie around in the sun.

As for me, I stayed home all morning, pottering around in the garden and reading on our bench, and then I went to our coworker Colin's barbecue. He lives nearby so it was just a matter of walking over there. I couldn't talk Dave into going. Like Olga, he's in rest mode.

Our first campion of the season!

I'm pretty sure this is the Solomon's seal sawfly, which lays the eggs that turn into caterpillars that feast on the leaves of the Solomon's seal. So I guess we'll have those to contend with later in the summer!

I spent a while trying to get a shot of a hoverfly in flight. On the positive side, they hover, which means the camera can focus on them. On the minus, they tend to shift erratically every few moments, so you've got to be quick!

Our orange geums are blooming, which balances out all the blue and purple from the borage, the forget-me-nots and the bluebells. We've also got orange and yellow wallflower, which is going gangbusters.

Olga sat next to me on the bench, watching squirrels in the trees overhead.

Cultural Appropriation and Seedlings

I went to the laundromat yesterday to pick up our cleaning, and I saw this amazing bag sitting beneath one of the laundry tables. It immediately brought to mind my dad and my brother, Volkswagen enthusiasts extraordinaire. The attendant laughed when I knelt down to take a picture of it, but since I can't own the bag I at least want a photo!

Remember that post I wrote a few weeks ago about experimenting with Twitter? Yeah, forget that. I deleted my account. No one ever answered my (two) tweets and I realized I can read the local-news Twitter feeds without actually being on Twitter myself. (I deleted my Pinterest account too -- I've never really understood Pinterest and how it's supposed to be useful. I'm on the fence about Instagram, which I've never warmed to, preferring the old-school Flickr.)

I was ambivalent about Twitter but what killed it for me was the debate about the high school girl in Utah who wore the Chinese dress to her prom. She posted pictures, and a gaggle of outraged Tweeters piled onto her for "cultural appropriation," criticizing her for wearing a Chinese dress because she wasn't Chinese and thus couldn't fully understand the garment's cultural meaning.

I could write a whole post about what I don't understand about the notion of "cultural appropriation." To me, clothing, dance, food and other articles of any particular culture are there to be admired and enjoyed. I don't see what's wrong with others adapting them, as long as it's done in a respectful way, and this girl seemed to be wearing her dress respectfully. Madonna caught a load of heat back in the '90s for adapting clothing and dance styles from minority and gay communities, and I felt the same way about it then -- she's an artist, and that's what artists do. A culture is not just hairstyles, clothing and dance moves -- it's more than that, and when others adapt the superficial elements for their own use, the deeper culture, it seems to me, remains intact. (Asians were completely mystified about why some Asian-Americans were upset about the prom dress.)

Besides, and at the risk of sounding like a crotchety grandpa, should we not eat pizza? Chow mein? Are Nehru jackets off-limits? Bangle bracelets? Is it bad for me to go to a soul food restaurant? Where does it stop?

So, anyway, this discussion seemed so patently ridiculous, and so unreasonably angry, that I deleted Twitter. I  just don't need the negativity. (Of course, I speak from the secure standpoint of the economically privileged white male, though I think I gain diversity points for being a gay liberal.)

I transplanted some of my approximately two million cosmos and zinnia seedlings yesterday. Now I have about a dozen pots sitting around that look like this. Pathetic, but hopefully they'll soon be more filled in.

It was painstaking work, and I gotta say, I don't really see the point of starting seeds in seed trays and then moving the seedlings -- which is what many gardening shows advocate. Can't we just wait until the frosts are past and put the seeds straight into the ground? Or does that delay planting too long?

I gave one of the seed trays to Mrs. Kravitz so she could have some plants, too.

Then again, putting seeds straight into the ground hasn't really worked in the wildflower garden, which is virtually devoid of life (except for that spectacular explosion of wild borage in back). I'm pretty sure I saw tiny sprouts that then disappeared -- perhaps eaten by birds or our voracious slugs? Anyway, I'm giving it more time. Something is bound to grow there, especially now that the sun is out and the ground is warming up. I may try a third packet of seeds if I get inspired.

Olga's Ligament

There are two "bank holiday" 3-day weekends in May, and this is the first. So Dave and I are off Monday and we're looking forward to some springtime recreation.

Sadly, Olga will not be joining us, because she has injured her leg. Yesterday when I tried to take her for her morning walk, she firmly planted her feet and refused to go. I coaxed her out onto the street just long enough to do her business, but then she turned for home. This is very strange behavior for a dog that loves to walk as much as Olga.

Then, when the dog-walker came around 1 p.m., I watched on our live web cam as he pulled her off the couch. Again, she couldn't walk -- in fact, her back leg slipped out from beneath her -- and the walker left her behind. That's when I knew we really had a problem.

So I conferred with Dave and he took her to the vet in the afternoon, and the consensus is that Olga has injured her anterior cruciate ligament, which connects the knee joint, in one of her back legs. Apparently it's a common injury in dogs like her. She's on pain meds and 10 days of rest. So, no long walks.

She's going to hate this.

Meanwhile, since Dave was taking care of the dog, I kept my plans to visit the brutalist Lillie Langtry pub with some of my coworkers. None of us had ever been there and we were curious, so I organized an outing that eventually grew to about seven people. It's very much a no-frills local pub, with a pool table, basic beers like Foster's, Stella and Carling, and pithy quotations from the likes of Winston Churchill and Oscar Wilde written on the walls in chalk. (Nothing from Lillie Langtry, though, at least that I could see!) Someone had a cute brindle staffy puppy named Gucci that attracted a lot of attention -- probably the only Gucci that's ever been inside the Lillie Langtry!

(Photo: A shadowy parking lot near the Lillie Langtry, about ten days ago.)

The Snail

I just spent about 20 minutes, at 6 a.m., trying to get the ideal picture of a garden snail. It's surprisingly hard. You go out into the garden with your coffee on a chilly spring morning to have a look around, and you see a snail in just the right position. You have to put down the coffee, run and get the camera, attach the zoom lens, run back outside, figure out why the picture won't shoot (it's because you're standing about two inches too close to the snail for the zoom lens to focus) and then, by that time, the damn snail has moved.

Even A SNAIL is too fast for me.

Oh well. As you can see, he was having breakfast on our cardoon. I left him there. The cardoon is big enough and vigorous enough to handle it.

Last night I had to stop by Homebase again (I swear I am keeping that place in business) to buy a plastic box to lock up the dog food. The night before, I heard that nibbling sound on the dog food bag once again. The mouse was back! We still haven't seen him and he hasn't wandered into the kitchen trap. I would much rather simply discourage him by making food hard to come by than kill him outright, but if he gets into the kitchen, death awaits.

We watched "The Crown" again with Dave's parents, who spent yesterday exploring our neighborhood. There's a restaurant nearby that Dave's nieces enjoyed when they visited last year, so his parents tried it out too. They're flying back to Florida today.

I still haven't planted those seedlings.

Signs of the Times

Dave taught one class yesterday morning (not to babies) and then had a check-up with his gastroenterologist, which basically amounted to a big thumbs-up for his current state of health. Apparently his inflammation levels are low and his blood nutrients and whatnot look good. So that's a relief! I've been worried about whether he should see a dietitian because his largely vegan diet is so restrictive -- I want to be sure he's eating well enough -- but the signs so far indicate that he is and the doctor said a dietitian isn't needed.

Dave spent yesterday afternoon with his parents, watching British TV. I left them with the BBC's "Morning" show when I went to work, and apparently they watched "Eggheads" and some other stuff during the day. Last night we had tacos and watched "The Crown," because Dave's parents had never seen it and his mom, at least, is interested in the royal family. His dad tolerated it.

They've been to London before, so I don't think they see any great need to do sightseeing. They're happy just to rest at our house before catching the flight home. Olga appreciates the company.

In terms of pictures, here are a few odd signs I found on my way to work yesterday morning.

(Not really a sign -- just an oddly folded advertisement. When I first found it, I thought "I didn't know we had Dairy Queen in the UK." But I belatedly realized it's a PETA campaign against dairy farming, starring actor Alan Cumming.)

Another missing-cat poster, gone psychedelic in the rain. London cats often go missing, or are killed by cars or predators, because some people insist they should be allowed to wander outdoors rather than be kept inside. You already know that, as a former indoor cat owner, I feel differently. I suspect this is a loaded topic among cat people.

Finally, a reasonable spring weather forecast -- although chilly at the moment! I went to Homebase on the way home from work last night and bought some pots for my cosmos and zinnia seedlings, along with some more soil and a bag of bird seed, all of which I lugged home in my arms. I was sweating and groaning by the time I reached the front door. Gotta get those seedlings planted in the next few days, and out into the fresh air and sun!

A Parental Visit

Yesterday morning when I took the dog for her walk, it was 37º F outside! It felt like January. I was really annoyed.

Inspired by Mr. Pudding's recent post featuring photos taken from the top of a bus, I thought I'd give you this photo I shot on Sunday from the top of the 328 bus on the way to Notting Hill. I was fascinated by that swooping flock of pigeons as we rode along Kilburn High Road. It was really hard to get them all in a decent shot, but this one wasn't too bad. I like their reflections in the cars below.

Have I mentioned that Dave's parents are visiting? They arrived yesterday after a transatlantic cruise. They were supposed to dock in Le Havre and go to Paris on Monday, but that portion of the trip got cancelled by high seas and bad weather around the port. Instead they came straight to Southampton and docked early, and spent a restful day on the ship. Yesterday Dave had a car pick them up and bring them to London, where they'll stay with us until Friday.

Last night we went to the Goring Hotel for dinner. It's a beautiful building, with a butter-yellow garden room off the main bar where we had drinks while overlooking the lawn -- and I got to have a martini and wear the jacket! (One of the waiters complimented me on it, and when I said it came from Ted Baker, he said, "Ah yes, he does subtle flamboyance very well." Which I thought was an interesting way to describe it. Better than our friend Chris, who likened it to something worn by Liberace -- although I suppose that's not far off, either.) Anyway, for dinner I had the legendary Eggs Drumkilbo, a quail's egg nested on crabmeat (my minimalist description of a more complex dish), halibut with other seafood for the main course, and British cheeses for dessert.

And now, back to routine -- time to walk the dog! According to Weather.com, it's a balmy 49º F this morning -- downright tropical compared to yesterday.

Wooferendum

English local elections are scheduled for Thursday, and in the run-up to the vote these signs and photos have been appearing around West Hampstead.

They show dogs urging support for a "wooferendum" to stop Brexit.

There's nothing like pet-friendly humor to advance a political goal. As much as I'd like to put the brakes on Brexit, at first this seemed like too little too late. Isn't that decision already water under the bridge, or kibble down the gullet? If so many dogs are indeed Remainers, I wish they'd had their "wooferendum" back in the disastrous spring of 2016, along with the rest of Britain.

But specifically, the dogs want us to write our members of parliament and elect pro-E.U. candidates, as well as support "The People's Vote," a group pushing for a final public vote on the negotiated Brexit deal. (In effect, a second referendum.) I guess that's why they're stepping forward now. Better late than never, Fido.

(There are bound to be Leaver dogs, aren't there? English sheepdogs? Welsh terriers? I'd say Staffordshire terriers, but I'm pretty sure Olga is neutral on the Brexit question.)

There was an article about "wooferendum" in the newspaper, but puzzlingly, it didn't quote any human beings -- just a terrier named Lily. It's been a while since I've worked in journalism, but I'm pretty sure my editors would have pulled the plug on a story whose only named source was a dog.

But hey -- I like the pictures.