Lhudly sing huzzah!!
Another beautiful morning, as the heat moderates and the days grow almost imperceptibly shorter. And lookee here! The wee Easter lily cactus that clings to life in the shade of the devil-pod tree expresses its joy:
It’s been in that pot for years and barely grown, even though it gets a great deal more water than it should. The burly fellow next to it is a golden barrel cactus, given to me a very long time ago by my friend KJG. It was a housewarming gift…so arrived here 12 years ago. Strangely, in all the years it and its companion in front have been here, I’ve never seen either of them bloom.
But Easter lily cacti in their various varieties bloom in wild profusion.
I am SO not in the mood to work today. Fortunately, except for my own book and for rehearsing tomorrow’s dog and pony show, there isn’t much to have to do, at least so far. But history tells us that every time the dust settles, a new shamal will blow in forthwith.
Still…fall is y-cumin’ in, and here in Arizona, fall is our second spring. Soon the plants will revive, flowers will bloom, vegetables will thrive.
So I’m thinking maybe instead of (ugh) working all day, I’ll disconnect from the computer and spend the day gardening: pull out the dead stuff, haul off the pots whose residents have fried, maybe even buy a new plant.
One of my favorite indoor plants has some sort of infestation or disease that seems to be killing it. This is probably the time to get rid of the thing.
It’s living in a fake terra-cotta pot. I’d like to buy a new talavera pot to take the place of the dying plant in its plastic pot. Maybe I’ll run over to Whitfill’s, buy one of their pots, and then move on to Home Depot in search of a tree-like houseplant to live there. That would kill some time and continue the job of murdering the budget.
Heh! I love those things. One like that would look SO PRETTY in that spot, and then maybe I would feel less crabby.
Then I could go so far as to refill the hummingbird feeders and the seed dispensers for the ordinary birds. That would be good.
It would’ve been good if I’d kept those filled for the poor little critters when it was hotter than the hubs of Hades and I was too lazy or too timorous to stick my nose out the door. But better late than never. I suppose.
What I’d really like to do is get a couple of those raised gardening bed kits and set them, side by side, in the sunny spot in the far northwest corner of the yard. The view of that space is blocked by the orange trees, so I wouldn’t have to look at a truck farm from the back patio and the pool. But if I had two long, narrow troughs set up with enough space for a pathway down the middle, I could reach all parts of the raised garden without putting my back out.
Probably could build something like that with a few two-by-sixes. It would be easy.
Still feeling more or less out of sorts today, though better than the past two days. Last night I refrained from dropping another melatonin pill — or half thereof — yet still slept seven hours. So presumably one of two things has happened:
• either a residual amount of the stuff remained in my system, which would explain a lot; or
• a couple doses somehow realigned my sleep cycle with the sunrise.
Whatever, I suspect the generally shitty way I’ve been feeling has something to do with this drug. Guess I’d rather feel shitty from not getting enough sleep than shitty from the side-effects of some chemical.
I’ve also been unduly affected by the death of my client and friend, the Mongolian Bank Magnate. It makes me feel terrible. And that’s unreasonable: he lived to 68, a decent enough age, and he had a great life.
But still…from the perspective of early old age, 68 seems pretty young. He was a vigorous man with a young wife and a little girl just ready to toddle off to preschool and a great deal more that he wanted to do in this world.
He died of pneumonia incident upon leukemia.
Damn! What awful luck.
Especially when you think of the legions out there who so richly deserve such a fate: rabid terrorists and child molesters and drug dealers and tobacco magnates and pharmaceutical company billionaires and clowns who would ride into the presidency on a tide of hatred and fear and all those who would take away from the world rather than contribute to it…
Oh, hell. What can one say?
I am going to cultivate my garden.
Funny…sorry to hear of your loss. The good truly do die young…Death troubles me, but especially troubles me when that person…”wasn’t done yet”….but is taken just the same. 2016 has been a tough year for us….A lot of deaths this year, some expected…some not….I could write a book about funeral homes. Your Banker Friend sounded like he was full of life and wasn’t done yet. I find it amazing how certain people passing have a profound impact on us whereas others’ passing….not so much…
I still think of a Dear Friend who was diagnosed with brain cancer, fought it valiantly and was gone within a year of being diagnosed…..he was 55. I often took him for treatment and helped him get some things in order before his passing…The ironic thing was that I had always told my wife if something happened to me to have him advise her on certain matters….and now he’s gone…It’s been 6 years….I miss him….
Well. We’ve got to keep in mind that nothing lasts forever. And if we’re gonna live to a ripe old age, we’re going to watch a lot of our friends drop off the tree before we do. All very philosophical, but it doesn’t make me or you feel any better about it.
It _is_ weird how some people’s passing will affect you more than others’ — especially when the “other” is closer to you, or should be. I barely knew Pete, really. He was more of a business acquaintance than a friend. Yet I really liked him and was enchanted by his family, by what he’d built and done in his life, and by what he still wanted to do. At 68, he was an energetic and gifted man: he had a LOT more to offer.
I suppose that’s the problem: it feels like it wasn’t time for him to go.
I am sorry about your friend, he sounds like he ate life up. People like that are so energizing and great to know.
The past couple of years have been very challenging, too many changes for one thing. I HATE change. Yes, I know it’s inevitable, still don’t like it.
Anyway, back in May I was googling my ex-stepdad and found out he’d already been dead for 4 years. The last time I spoke to him was nearly 30 years ago, so we weren’t in contact at all. We were close at one time, but when he divorced my mom he divorced me, too. I had a general idea of where he was and what he was doing, but respected his privacy. Also didn’t want to be a reminder of the past because mom made him miserable. She wasn’t that great to me either, but that’s another story.
I wasn’t exactly sad to learn he’d died, just kind of bemused and nostalgic for the good times. *sigh* Maybe I should have tried reaching out to him, especially after mom died. Oh, well.
Damn. Well…you can’t undo other people’s mistakes. I guess.
That’s the thing about divorce. You don’t just divorce each other. You divorce everyone. Sometimes I suspect if people knew that, they might choose to hang in there awhile longer. Or at least line up their friends and loved ones before the fact and TELL them they would still care.
But that’s probably too simple. Nothing is ever that easy.
That must have been a surrealistic moment, learning about the man’s death. Even though it’s a long time…NO one told you? Jeez.
WTF. You were the kid. He was the one who needed to do the reaching out. Don’t lose sight of that.
No, I’d lost touch with his relatives (couldn’t stand any of them), so no one told me. Thanks for the comforting words, I really appreciate them.