Wow. A whole week, and here I am, back at the keyboard.
What have I been up to? Knitting until my shoulder is aching. I mean it’s really sore and I actually have to stop to do stretching. But I can’t completely cease with the needles – it’s so quick and something to do while watching television, thus making me feel less guilty about my couch-potato-ness. Yes, knitting is enabling my laziness however, I’m making pretty things so it’s gotta make up for some of the evils of the boob tube. I’ve finished a scarf for my fantastic mom who is very supportive of this
addiction hobby. When I finished the scarf, I stretched it and rubbed it against my face, then put it on and did a little “ooh I’m so chilly” re-enactment in the living room. I think it’s really quite nice with satin-like yarn coupled with eyelash. Purty. I feel like a kindergarten student makin’ up macaroni art and hoping it gets placed in a position of honor. No pressure at all, Mom.
And I’ve been staring at our plants. In our home we have ivies stolen under the cover of night off the streets of Vancouver and some purchased spontaneously from various hardware stores throughout Canada. From friends and family have arrived weird viney plants, spiders, and jades. I even have an unnatural emotional connection to a ficus that I coaxed back from near death – oh, I have bonded since a lapse in memory had me warm inside and the poor ficus stuck in the drafty moving truck, parked out on a blizzardy night. I’ve made up for it in the years since, and it’s really coming along quite well against the poo-poos of others. I do come from a line of Plant People, and I truly believe I can grow just about anything. I can’t even passively kill a plant if I want to – I know from vengeful experience that a scratchy aspergillis will live for over two years even if it’s in the dark basement as long as I continue to swear at it when I pass by. That vengeful plant did not illustrate the Backster effect at all – the more hate I targeted, the bigger it got. Anywho, along the same lines, it’s been a fact I keep overlooking that, after five years of effort, it’s time to replace our yellowing palm. I found it on the street, a sign taped to it indicating “Take Me”, and I’m finally and officially throwing my hands into the air in disgust, and kicking it back to the curb. I cannot fix it. It is chronically ill in a way that no botanist can diagnose. I have talked to gardeners, researched online and in the library, repotted in new soils, soaped leaves, fertilized, changed light sources, misted, moved from hot to cold to warm areas of the house. I’ve trimmed, not trimmed and finally…
Ikea had a sale on ficus trees. Take that, palm!
In other news, here’s the view from The Husband’s new office. And by new office, I mean the place he hangs out for a few days before being ushered to another site: