Saturday dawned cool and cloudy and I had plans. Big plans. To get that front garden whipped into shape and the grass cut! Breakfast at the Steveston Hotel – usual “deckhand” omelet, of which I bring half of it home. Huge Omelet! Finally the sun burned off the clouds and I was all set.
Here it is, the ornamental weeping cherry tree with a few wild branches sticking out the top.
I digress – I have all the tools and then some to rid the garden of the chick weed, the thistle (where did THAT weed from hell come from), the “forget me not” which flys in on the wind every year, and any other plant I decide should no longer be a part of the garden. Every year the garden grows according to my whims.
The tools .. there are more in the shed. These are my favourites. See the red rubber gloves on the bench. Remember those gloves.
So…. having all the tools, boots, gloves, and hat to ward off the “wrinkle rays” still, STILL, I finished the gardening with more scratches than two cat fighting over territory.
Yes, there was really a cat fight and my left arm barely survived the attack of the rosebushes.
Remember the red gloves, those are a very special pair of gloves I found at Lee Valley Tools. (THE BEST GARDEN & WOODWORKING TOOL PLACE IN THE WHOLE OF NORTH AMERICA – ACCORDING TO ME!) Gloves for those gardeners with an abundance of rosebushes.
Sadly, in my wisdom and pride.. did I put them on? NO. In my logical world I was only going to do some weeding. Right. Were you weeding around the rosebushes? Yes. Were you digging out the sneaking little weeds between the rosebushes? Yes. And, were you trimming off just a few suckers on the rosebushes. Yes. I rest my case. You are a crazed woman. I hang my head in defeat. The roses won. Maybe. The garden is weed free, the soil is turned, and seven (7), count them, 7 of the thorny things await their demise. They did not survive the winter very well and they probably will not survive my temper.
The cat fight? Yes, there really was a cat fight. We have adopted or rather she gets to stay as there were not a lot of people wanting a cat during the Christmas holiday. My sister – you know the one who went into a LT residence and then passed away, well, it is her cat. A big tuxedo tabby, (thank you Barb for the heads up) who could probably still lose a pound or two. And.. she has no claws. What is up with that? Poor Sweetie Jan (I know), was watching the world go by when little Cleo, our neighbour’s cat wandered onto the driveway. Fighting cats make a sound akin to the mortally wounded about to die in a pool of blood. My heart dropped. Cleo had just survived a major battle with a raccoon last year. They proceeded to duke it out under the car to my yells, “to stop” and praying Cleo would not get too traumatized again. They finally retreated to their own corners. Actually, Cleo ran home. She is not a very big cat. The big tabby stopped at the edge of the curb in satisfied victory. This is an inside cat, has not seen very many cats and lived in a dark, cramped, dirty apartment. She is probably in cat paradise now, lots of light, lots of room, a clean house and birds to watch from the windows. Scared the whack out of me.
I am a dog person. I loved my dogs. Cats were not really on the radar of the pet to have. My apologies to all the cat lovers. I am now seeing the light as it were, especially the clean up detail. A lot less mess. And, Cleo, she still came over last night when the big scary tabby was safely inside, oblivious to her visit.
Mama – doing well. Her hair is now beautifully coifed and she is ready for her “close up.” The stylist was able to trim my little “oops” and I have taken notes on the fine points of shaping. Poor Mom! Will she survive her daughter’s novice attempts? Perhaps. Will I survive? Maybe! Bad hair ruins the whole day!!
Lyn in Tassie – well, let us hope your fall and winter is not as harsh as ours was. Enjoy your granbabies!