We are under a veil of gray chill.
Softening sounds to murmurs and whispers.
No shine and no shadows.
Just a cold caress as the veil silently brushes past.
Hush and hide ’til it leaves us.
flower
Uncategorized
Preventing Dormancy
Winter is here in North Carolina. It’s hard for the plant people.
Outside is all browns and grays and cold.
To keep from going dormant myself, I have indoor gardens in pots.
I keep myself surrounded by green.
I coo and ooh over every new sprout or leaf.
Here are my upstairs gardens.
The downstairs gardens may be shared later, after a major clean-up.
For now, I keep myself alive by turning and tending these potted plants.
They reward me by continuing to grow, while everything outside is dormant.
FLOWER
My Brain and Pain
I am hobbling around again. Do not pity me. I have good insurance and a great doctor.
This is temporary. It will be fixed.
In the meantime, I chose to learn the lessons taught by experience.
I am noticing others hobbling and limping. I whisper a prayer for their healing.
I have been here before. I know the tole chronic pain takes on your mind.
It is like being punished for moving. I am a mover. This is frustrating.
My right knee gave out on another trip years ago. This time it was a tour of the Biltmore House with the eighth grade. Thousands of painful steps. Up, down all around. No sitting down.
I digress. This is what happens when there is always pain.
It reminds me of a Vonnegut story from Welcome to the Monkey House, Harrison Bergeron.
In the short story everyone is made equal by handicaps. The physically strong must wear weights, the beautiful wear masks and the smart people have noises blasting in their ears to disrupt their train of thought.
This is where pain comes in. I am only taking OTC medications, so I know it is the pain that is chopping up my thoughts into fragments.
For me this will end soon with an injection or a surgery. I just pray that all those other folks with canes and crutches can get some help.
The problem is in my knee, but it doesn’t stop there.
FLOWER
Deep and Wide
Your Dahlias have died. Dig deep and wide.
I use my shovel we call Bubba for jobs like this. Overzealous use of Bubba several years ago caused my plantar fasciitis.
Dahlia tubers should not freeze. NC people, low temperatures are headed this way.
This means it is time for your second phase of digging.
All your “BEFORE FROST” plants should be stored away by now.
Now is time to bring in your desiccated and dead looking “AFTER FROST” plants.
This group includes dahlias and Elephant ears. I bring in some “stock plants” of my different types, since I have too many to bring them all in.
I put a thick layer of mulch over the ones left outside.
ALWAYS keep the names of the tubers, bulbs or corms WITH the plant.
This year I punched holes in the plant markers and tied them to the tubers.
One year I wrote the names on the outside of the paper bags they were in. The bags rotted along with the names.
Dig up tubers. Cut back the stems. Clean off excess soil. I use a chopstick or skewer.
Put the tuber clusters in dry peat.
Plant again in the late spring.
FLOWER
The Wind Did It
Clouds moved in and caused darkness
Rain fell from the clouds
Trees swayed and twitched.
Leaves tumbled down and danced around
The water ruffled into one- way waves
Everything was moved
The wind did it all. I know ’cause I saw.
FLOW
Beauty By the Pot
I misplace things.
Especially plant tags. (‘Using Chopsticks’ post)
So here are my Schlumbergeras, by the pot.
After they finish blooming.
I will refer to these photos to take the requested cuttings of the different colors.
Without surprising anyone a year later.
No one complains, of course.
Notice they are all on the same tray for size comparison. Also, I put a colored dot on the pot with a Sharpie. This helps for a while, until the dots fade.
I make up names for color variations. White white has white buds and white blooms. White blush has white buds and blushing blooms, etc..
Happy Thanksgiving
FLOWER
Barren to Bountiful
There is a spot where nothing grows.
The soil is hard. The shade is deep. The slope is steep.
But we can fix that.
It’s a lovely spot on the hill, over-looking the water, under the fig tree.
Mr. Flower and I are working on it.
We have loaded in soil by the wagon loads and Bunny-fertilizer by the buckets full.
Now that the leaves are falling, they are being added into the mix.
There are plants that need that spot you see.
They are in the wrong place, they are crowded, not enough this or that
They cannot grow nor bloom where they are.
They need transportation and relocation.
So they can thrive instead of just survive.
That’s what we gardeners do. We give plants a chance to be their best.
We can’t grow and bloom for them.
But we can give them a place to do it and the right resources to help.
You wait until next spring. This spot will go from barren to bountiful.
It’s a beautiful feeling, this win-win. We all grow.
FLOW
The Write Words
Talking is easier than writing. You can supplement your words with gestures.
You can nuance them with volume and inflection.
Blogging is easy, too, because you can illustrate with photographs.
But real writing requires the right words.
Only the black ink on a white page.
These words must be the right words. The naked truth. No slant. No spin.
These words must be a light piercing through someone’s darkness.
A mother’s darkness.
I started a book as a journal for me. Tears and fears were hidden from view, veiled with smiles.
There were things I could not say, or would not say and should not say. I wrote them down instead.
Then the book morphed into a memoir for my child. She needed to know this story someday, when she was ready.
Now, it is for another mother. Somewhere out there feeling afraid, alone, cursed and damned
She needs to know that these moments of terror will end.
A breath will be taken by them both.
They will get up like it is the first morning of the first day, again.
With every fall, there will be a rising.
I must let her know this.
She needs my black and white hugs, pats, smiles, tears, hope, faith, strength and even laughs.
I need the write words.
Mama Flower
I Took my Crutch to Town
Well, actually I took them both. The shovel stayed home.
I don’t think the city folk would appreciate a dirty shovel in their fancy buildings.
I parked in a parking deck and swung myself about a quarter mile
through doors, up elevators and down corridors to find my destination.
I use the word swung instead of walk because I like to use my crutches like a personal swing set.
This gives both my legs a rest, the hurt one and the now over-worked one.
I have been here before you see. It is not my first Crippled Rodeo. I am a seasoned performer.
The lobby was full of pitiful patients. I was the perkiest person there. I was almost ashamed to be among all this obvious suffering.
I fidgeted feet, twittled thumbs, tapped knees and hummed.
I had to swing back up to the front desk twice for instructions.
Finally, it was my turn to go back. For my last trick, I held both crutches under my left arm for support and carried my purse and medical chart with my right hand.
These folks needed to see how it was done.
Dr. Beaver is like a breeze and sunshine. Some people just have a happy aura. ( Sorry, no photo ladies.)
We discussed my overzealousness in the Charleston gardens and my precious parents.
I got both my hurt, real knee and my artificial, expensive knee x-rayed.
He then took out a LONG needle and shot a miracle through and into my knee.
I carried out my crutches and swung my new orange purse.
This is not the end of the story. But for now, I am back in action.
Shovel only! Hooray.
floweralley 