my closet

(what you want I should publish a photo of my closet instead?)

I am still doing the same thing, now on day 3.
I have certainly bitten off more than I can chew, it is not so much the closet, but of course I am not just doing the closet, the closet is 99% done, no it is the drawers, and my son's room, and the game room, and the basement, stressing me. For some reason I decided everything needed a shift, and now I stand here mid-shift and wonder, what the H was I thinking? I have boxes of stuff from son's room in the hallway, that we will go through and stuff will be set up in the game room, I have started carrying stuff from the game room down to the basement (took bunch of board games, and puzzles, and old toys down yesterday), but I also have to clean and organize the basement for this to work. I should have just stuck to the closet, I am having a most unsummery feeling. ( and I may perhaps be...well I know I am, spreading my unsummer disease to those around me. Though Cheese and I did take a break yesterday to make coffee cake, and made quite a mess doing so).

Anyway I have not popped in to talk of that, no.
It is the closet, and the drawers that are talking to me
in a most unexpected way
you see now that I've tucked into boxes all that is too small, or wintery
and into bags, what is to be given away, or to go to recycle fabric place
I get to look at what is left
not that much, and nothing much in the way of anything I wish to wear
(except for those odd little golf shorts and skorts I was unable to talk myself out of buying at TJ Maxx)
On the shelf I have many a nicely folded pile of t-shirts that Bob has bought me, on sale, all in colors and styles not me
I expected to meet that reality
the surprise is my pajamas, as I go through the drawers, I find I have bought all the pj bottoms, in funny little prints, and girlie colors, but as I fold the tops, and the tanks, one after the other, I find I bought none of them, Bob bought them all, top after top in neon colors, and bizarre prints, the entire contents of a drawer.
It is a small thing on the one hand, but I find something lurking in it...a surrender, of not being responsible or present.
When did I decide this was okay? That this was how it was going to be? Why are any of my drawers and shelves filled with clothes I don't like? In colors that hurt my eyes? Why did I give him this power? He asked for it, or rather took it, telling me not to shop, bringing home whatever colors and styles he found on extreme sale.
I would like to trade in all my 99 cent tops for just three in the right colors. Three that I liked. And we are talking t-shirts (long and short sleeved) and tank tops here, not anything that costs big bucks. And we are not poverty stricken. Part of me just wants to dump the lot of it right now, and go buy three short sleeved t-shirts for day, (the long t's can wait till fall) and three tank tops for sleeping, in colors and styles that make me smile. Soft pink, pale purple...

It is sort of weird how you just go along not noticing/attending things, and then one day, you are suddenly faced with it, and finally see it. It is not a big deal certainly, but still I am struck by it, oddly, the when and the why of it. Time for me to attend to that which matters to me, no matter that it is a small thing, the beauty of it being a small thing, is it should be easier to shift it.

no post, well you know, except for this no post post.

busy busy busy with housework.
why oh why did I start sorting through everything in the clothes closet?
Because it needed to be done.
Oh right.
But now it all seems messier than when I started, stuff piled here, and stuff piled there.
Depressing too, taking all my clothes that I have gotten too chunky to fit into (otherwise known as all my favorite clothes) and sticking them in some great plastic crate, so I can see what is left that I can wear.
Also getting rid of the worn out, and the never worn.
And putting the sweaters and winter stuff away.

Dishes, laundry, mopping, and other such activities are rounding out the day's fun.
Oh and I actually made two real meals. (got lots of pots and pans dirty)
I like things clean, but I do not like to clean, so I am the opposite of cheerful today.
But I am grateful for all that I have, well not exactly grateful for the 10 or so extra pounds that I have, but pleased that so far I can afford to buy and eat food.
Now where was I? Oh yes, I was striving for gratitude...
Yeah, right, okay, better do the self, mental pep talk while I am actually Doing stuff.

sigh

Japanese Beetles

the war is starting
in the summer
beetle battlefield
of my yard
they lost three today
I will stand my ground, I will not surrender
I will be diligent in trying to protect my roses
but I will lose

if this year is anything like last year
soon each morning will great me with a hundred beetles covering the plants,
I will do my best to capture them all
but by the time I finish my first circle of the beds, another round of beetles will have descended
over and over, all day long, day after day.
It doesn't matter how many I kill, for reasons I can not fathom, God has made an unending supply.

So here I am. DAY 1.
I wish I had a good plan

The beetle traps do trap beetles, but they also call beetles to my yard, It seems an equal amount get trapped, as fly past the trap onto my flowers. (by my rough estimate, a trillion)

Milky spore is of great interest to me, but it would only work if everybody in the neighborhood used it, otherwise, beetles born in other's yards, would just fly over to my rosiest yard of all.

Seven, or however it is spelled, insecticide of some sort. Oh yeah, I would totally do that, except...I worry about the lady bugs, and the bees, et. cetera. Still I can't help thinking about it.

Just let them go. Surrender the plants, till about mid-August, when they naturally slow down for the year, and expect to have a lovely bloom by the end of August to enjoy. I can see the value in this, much more peaceful, acceptance, I however seem unable to feel anything less than rage, when I see the dainty blossom petals, transformed into a hard backed beetle orgy. I am amazed by the flowers though, blossom after blossom, bud after bud, are consumed, and still she makes more and more, forever trying, reaching, for that full bloom, and she will have it, eventually. She will be consumed in parts for a time, but in the end, she still stands, and will have time and space, to bloom freely and beautifully.

The last option, the one that I do, is the old bucket of soapy water thing, you knock the beetles off into a bucket or jar (though I do often forget to add the soap). This is why it is a battle, because every day it must be done, and every day I count their losses, and mine. And I hate having to kill things, or deciding to kill something, making each day, also, a moral dilemma.

I wonder if it would work, and if it is legal, and if there are any negative consequences to establishing winsome flies in my yard? I wish these beetles would just go back to Japan, where they are naturally controlled by those flies.

a fine pink mess

Bee asked me for some photos of my pink roses, but this did not turn out well at all. Sideways shots, and blurry ones, and ones I am not sure who they are, and others who seem to be missing. Garden party isn't blooming at the moment, but I know I took photos of both Tiffany and Bliss, et. cetera, so where are...oh well anyway.

glamis castle - sometimes center leans toward pink, but not so in this photo

I don't know the name, also not sure which of my roses it is, it is one of 4, either one of two groundcover ones, or one of two teas.

shropshire lad (for a small peach bed, newly started this year/not yet matted or mulched, but it seems to be leaning to the pink) bedmates, include The shepherdess, Mary Magdalene, and St. Cecilia.)

some climber I bought for breast cancer (she needs something to climb on. Plus I think the photo is sideways :) )

memorial day

janet

Geoff Hamilton ( I think, one is, the other should be Sharifa Asma) Both are still just wee lads, about a foot high.


Peace

Heritage ( I assume. I know them in their beds, but in photos get them mixed up)

Tiffany (or perhaps this photo is of Bliss)

whisper- white rose, sometimes pink in center, and splattered pink as time wears on)

eglantine (sideways photo)

Sceptre d' Isle and Queen of Sweden are not yet in bloom, as I just planted them this year, one from own root, the other bare root.
Oh and my flower garden is not big, mostly just planted in and around the landscaping (though I did gain a little more space last year when the juniper groundcover died). I'll see if I can find (take) a pleasing shot of the scope to show.

**must be Bliss, some Tiffany is blooming today, and they are quite vibrantly hued.

Father's Day

Went to Ocean City, NJ for Father's Day (actually we went on Saturday, as Bob had to work Sunday night).
In honor of the occasion, we let Bob, fill the car up with gas, drive us there, haul around much sand, and buy us pizza.
He also had to deal with much pleading from Cheese for french fries, which he did give in to, and one sad plea from me for a book about swans, which he did not. ( I admit $20 seems a bit high for a small paperback). And then we let him drive us back home again, paying several tolls along the way. We arrived about 12:30 AM. And being a sandy us we all had to shower before bed.
A good time was had by all.

just recalled other book I read, (not just started) this year
Tuck Everlasting

whispering

whispering, whispering, I am searching for sleep, but there is all this whispering,
I am walking in the garden
surrounded by whispering, whispering
all this whispering,
it goes on and on till I grab my pen, pulling part of it down to page,
thus lightened the rest floats away,
but then
again,
another line of whispering begins.

over and over
I must capture part of it, to release it, to release me
We must fully touch, before we can part

I haven't been working on writing Echo, well not directly, indirectly I most definitely have been, every sight and sound in the garden clamours to be put in, and everything leads to something else, or means something else, so my notebook and I have gotten quite chummy once more. So while I am not working on the part I feel I should be working on in the draft (the Letters), still I am sneaking up on all parts of it, surely closing in on it, though making quite a large circle around it first.

Thursday night.....I read a post by Vesper, about blooming lilacs
and off my mind went happily floating along in a dream of wearing a lilac gown, but then some swans swam by, got out of the water, and pushed their beaks through the center of the lilac bushes and as they did, the swans transformed into maidens, and the lilacs lifted up and settled down around them as lovely white ballgowns.

Then I decided to visit Minx just for a moment (because I've scarcely visited her in months), but I was so tired I could barely make out the post, there was a beautiful sad sculpture, and words about love, and loss, and the importance of love ( at least I think so). And then I went to bed. Only I didn't go to sleep, because of all the whispering, on and on the whimsical idea morphed, turning into a story, and soon revealing itself to have tones of sadness, an unexpected fairytale, a love story with a sad but loving and hopeful ever-after. Friday night when I went to bed, I bid my surroundings to be quiet and let me fall asleep and they did, but I woke up very early, and though fully intending to roll over and sleep more, the whispering started again, spinning its web on and on, I got my notebook out and started writing stuff down, and when the flow stopped, I put it down and rolled over to go to sleep, but then more would come, and I would get the notebook again. On and on this scenario went on, till finally I said, I am not getting that notebook again, I'll remember and put stuff in later, if a whisper could roll its eyes and tap its foot at me, this whispering surely did, it would have none of that, "Oh no. I know you, you'll forget. You'll do it now". So I never fell back to sleep. I have a page and a half typed from first night. And from second night/morning, counting each side of page, handwritten, I now have added 15 and half pages, (so 17) where several days ago there were none, there was no hint, no idea, no searching for an idea, and then two blog visits, and now I know this story that didn't exist Friday before 10 PM. I know how it starts, I know what happens in the middle, I know how it ends, I know characters, and meanings, and some stretches of dialogue, and scenes.
I have title-Fountain of Swans
I have age group-I know it is a young adult story ( that is a big deal for me, for usually I am unclear on the age group)
But quite honestly I am not at all sure what to do about it. I don't know why it came and plunked itself right down in the middle of my working on Echo's draft. (or more precisely my working on my garden and thinking about working on Echo's draft)

Still I like the whispering. This winter was quite silent. I didn't like the silence, the emptiness, the nothingness. I like the company of the whispering. And...it helps me to believe, in me, in the idea of a writer me, in the idea of me as a writer. Because the whispering comes from elsewhere and requires listening, which is quite different (for me) from daydreaming (which I believe everyone can and does do), there is of course much work with writing, but that comes later, in the beginning, and tucked here and there through-out the writing, it is about listening. And I like to believe people who don't write are not tuned in to this whispering, can't hear it. That they aren't told stories, floating in, through the air of an open window, to land like a shower of cherry blossom petals before them on their desks. I like to believe this, because it helps me to believe that I hear the whispering for a reason, and that the reason is because I am meant to write them down, that I am meant to write.

Whether or not that is true, it seems to me, it must be true that they come to me for some reason, and if it isn't to share with others, well then at least they are meant to be shared with me (Or told to me, or discovered by me, from whence they came) , so I look to the meanings behind the stories, and find it interesting, Echo, Fresh Oranges, Fountain of Swans, the stories are different but the themes over-lap. What am I being told over and over? What am I telling me?