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Three Thoughts for Thursday

Three Thoughts for Thursday

Call The Midwife

  1. How can we possibly give the remaining World War 2 vets who took part in the D-Day invasion proper thanks for what they did, for risking their lives to make our world a better place?
  2. Back in the 1950s and 60s, little girls watched westerns set in the olden days to learn how to boil water, to gather clean sheets, and to wring their hands while hardy pioneer women birthed their babies. In 2014, girls watch Call the Midwife set in the olden days of the 1950s and 60s to learn how to boil water, to gather clean sheets, and to coach women who are birthing their babies. I fervently hope that in the 2050s and 60s, little girls don’t learn how to boil water and gather clean sheets by watching grainy cell phone videos of their mothers giving birth to them. Talk about TMI!
  3. At the risk of tooting my own horn, I recently discovered my latent green thumb. Turns out I have particular talent for growing weeds.

What’s your greatest gardening talent? Leave a comment.

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Time for a Haircut

Time for a Haircut

This summer has not been kind to the flower beds along our bit of gravel road.

Blame it on Hiram’s back injury preventing yard work.
Blame it on the heat trapping us indoors after he recovered.
Blame it on the drought eating up my time watering.
Blame it on the Japanese beetles gnawing leaves and blossoms to shreds.
Blame it on my tendency to use any excuse to avoid weeding.
Blame it on whatever you want, but like I said…

This summer has not been kind to the flower beds along our bit of gravel road.

So Hiram and I were surprised when a Sunday morning peek outside showed the sweet potato vines were taking over the patio. The vines’ fingers, which three days ago were hanging close to their container pot homes, were inching up the trumpet vine pole, snaking across the grass, and twining around the patio furniture.

I blame their wild abandon on Saturday’s rain.

The downpour and the cool down that followed had a similar effect on me. I snaked my way around the house, twining my fingers around windows long shut and impatiently tugging them open, though rain was still falling. I understood the sweet potato vine’s over-the-top response to the rain. But if such behavior continued unchecked, the patio would disappear forever. The the patio furniture. And finally the house.

So I grabbed the plant clippers, and gave the vines a haircut.

They required some persuasion to relax their grip on the patio furniture. And they dragged their snaky little feet in the crispy, brown grass while I hauled them across the lawn to the refuse pile. Once the job was done, I put the clippers away. Heading toward the house, I noticed the pesto had grown about 6 inches since the rain.

Maybe cosmetology school would be a wise investment.