sueeeus

I say … and you think …

1. Voice :: of reason
2. Us :: and Them
3. Passionately :: crazy
4. Humbly :: softly
5. Love songs :: silly
6. Dim :: wit
7. Calendar :: girl, wish I looked like one
8. Careless :: whisper
9. Block :: point
10. Goal :: too many, what to do, what to do

Skin===   That’s what happens when the fingers are off a key on the keyboard.  Some become skin.  Anyhoooo, sometimes I’m not so good at this free association stuff, and just draw a blank.  Or think of tunes…

1. Voice :: Moody Blues.  Won’t you take me back to school…
2. Us :: Peter Gabriel.  …the blood of Eden, lies the woman and the man…
3. Passionately :: I need a hero… Bonnie Tyler   Dunno why, but it pops into my head, so that’s ‘free association’, right
4. Humbly :: Softly, gently, music will enfold you…  Music of the Night, Phantom of the Opera, Michael Crawford
5. Love songs :: Silly, like I said.  Paul McCartney
6. Dim :: and dimmer.  I can’t think of a dim song.  Just a dumb movie.
7. Calendar :: Freeze Frame.  Is that J. Giles Band   I have no idea how to spell that one.  Or maybe I’m thinking of that angel is a centerfold song.  Or maybe it’s the same song.  What do I know
8. Careless :: whisper of a good friend… George Michael
9. Block :: okay, this stopped being fun way too long ago for me to be still typing.
10. Goal :: finish this nonsense and go to bed.

from Lunanina

There has been a flurry of activity of late around these parts.  Family members have converged at chez moi, to my extreme pleasure.  But the shame of it.  Gardening is not my thing.  My fantasy, but not my reality.  “You have a nice home, Sissy, but your currrrrrb appeal…”  She drifted off with a tsk tsk tsk, for the shame of it.

To my defense, I have a full day from the time I rise, without enough sleep, I might add.  Ever.  I commute, I work, I collect my child from his able caregiver, whisk him home and prepare the evening meal, clean him up, get him ready for bed, play a little, take him to bed and stay with him until he’s sleeping.  At which point, it is me time.  Or, generally, my own bed time.  When do I have opportunity for gardening

I am remiss.

Today I tried something different.  I let my rambunctious child play outside while I surveyed the situation and attempted to do a little damage control.  It turned out to be too hot and too difficult to get anything accomplished besides keeping him from running away or falling off the steps and skinning his knees.  When Mr. Gadget finally returned from work, we fed the munchkin his dinner, got him ready for bed, and both went with him to settle him down.  Only I made my stealthy exit and got down to business.  Me, a shovel, and a spade. 

There are definite improvements.  I recycled the moustache fringe of whathaveyous and transplanted them in all the nice pots that were previously empty, or growing weeds.  I don’t know what they are, but they certainly proliferate, because I swear I dug them up last year after deciding I didn’t particularly like them after all.  They may well die, now that they are in pots, but I won’t be heartbroken if they do.  And if they survive   They look quite nice in pots.

Before and after.  There is much room for improvement, but I surprisingly enough had a very nice time doing what little I did.

Before.  The moustache.

After the shave.

It’s a sad state of affairs.

But a little more welcoming now.