I got the big bed weeded and planted, though I am running massively late in that regard and am not sure if anything will come up. I also accidentally pulled up a coneflower, which, ugh.
The dog stayed inside all morning, which concerned me, because if there’s anything she loves, it’s baking herself on the driveway. But her back leg is hurting her, the one we paid all the money to have them fix. I gave her some baby aspirin and a bath and that seems to have helped her mood.
Also, she ate an M&M that fell on the ground, which is apparently the weirdest, most awesome thing ever.
I drove around Robertson county trying to sooth my soul a little. It seemed to work.
I have a bunch of marigolds to get in. I thought it wasn’t quite hot enough for them yet, but I saw baby marigolds in the big bed, so it must be. Oh, and my astilbe has a bloom. Not quite the spires I expected but I’m wondering if it’s too crowded. I think I should put one at the end of the bed this fall. I think I’d also like to put some lilies of the valley in the big bed.
Anyway, gardening is just a constant fight to keep the ratio of things you like to things you don’t like in correct proportion.I easily pulled ten, fifteen pounds of weeds out of there over the past two days, but that’s much less than last year.
I also read this post, which I really liked. The only minor quibble I have is that I don’t think the spiritualist crazy was just a bunch of hooey until the end. I think at first the crushing weight of being silent and proper often made these women unaware of their own con, since they so desperately needed for it to be true in order to be allowed to speak and move freely. In that way, I’d say they were closer kin to Maud Gonne, selling herself to the Devil in order to have control over her own life.
Shoot, I want to read Yeats’ memoirs now.
Tiny Cat Pants 