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Fired to Emulation--not!
May. 6th, 2004 11:40 amIn the last few days, nlbarber's been busy all over the yard--horticulturally speaking, of course. ;) She's been doing stuff to, with, & for other stuff, & I'm sure the end result will be really cool. I'm not at all inclined that way, but admire other folks' efforts when I see them.
Sometimes things skip generations in families. My grandmother was strongly gifted with kids, crafts, & plants. If my life hadn't gone another way, I know I had at least embryonic talents with the kids & crafts, but never had or took much chance with the weeds. I sometimes wonder if I would've had that gift too. The point's moot now, of course, because time spent with those activities is time away from books, & the book addiction, the conqueror kudzu [see, Edgar Allan Poe had it all wrong :)], subsumes all.
Which is not altogether a bad thing--it's gotten me lots of cool friends off the Bujold list & is lots of fun during Himself's more gruesome activities [i.e., wrestling, baseball, & politics].
All of which is by way of a prelude to the probably rather anticlimactic description of a recent change hereabouts. I don't like change; I resist it & fight it, growling & spitting articulately [& vociferously, if not ferociously] all the way.
When we moved into our house, there was a tall cypress on each side of the driveway, at the entrance. We thought they were cool, all Vincent van Gogh. The problem was, over the next decade or so, they didn't grow up, so much as out. Since we tend to back out rather wide, there was potential peril to the paint job on the almost-matching his-&-hers antique Corollas. When we got the new car, the peril naturally became more real.
Most of the fixing-up that's been done around here in the last 12 years has been done by my dad; he's got a gift for that sort of thing & likes to show off to an appropriately appreciative audience. The problem is, he's like any other prima donna, only more temperamental than most, not to mention more capricious. He'll perform magnificently, but only when, like Lord Peter, his whimsy takes him [kind of inconvenient at times, but gift horses & all that].
When he showed up this week, we thought he was going to be putting up new gutters. Apparently, he decided to get busy in the yard instead. For the last couple of years I had been asking Himself to cut back the pregnant cypress [curving possessively towards the driveway]; he then mumbled & trundled off, doing nothing or something else.
I liked the cypresses, but not enough to cut them back myself, so there was really no room for complaint when Max [my dad] decided they had to go. To make things short, we wound up with a small bed on either side of the driveway. They're lined with that six-inch or so wide plastic black stuff you bury to line beds with & supposedly contain cabbage, pansies, & junipers. Max was particularly excited about the bark thereunder [look, ma! no weeds!].
Himself is very excited [which looks like mild interest in anyone else ;)], & even I'm pleased that there's more room at the entrance of the driveway for the cars to wallow at will. I'll get used to it fairly quickly & probably even like it pretty well. I will miss the whole poetic cypress imagery though [Theodore Sturgeon's story about the Witch of Endor, van Gogh, Italy, poetry, etc.], & it sure made a neat landmark when directing people to the house.
If anyone wants updated directions, just let me know. :)
Sometimes things skip generations in families. My grandmother was strongly gifted with kids, crafts, & plants. If my life hadn't gone another way, I know I had at least embryonic talents with the kids & crafts, but never had or took much chance with the weeds. I sometimes wonder if I would've had that gift too. The point's moot now, of course, because time spent with those activities is time away from books, & the book addiction, the conqueror kudzu [see, Edgar Allan Poe had it all wrong :)], subsumes all.
Which is not altogether a bad thing--it's gotten me lots of cool friends off the Bujold list & is lots of fun during Himself's more gruesome activities [i.e., wrestling, baseball, & politics].
All of which is by way of a prelude to the probably rather anticlimactic description of a recent change hereabouts. I don't like change; I resist it & fight it, growling & spitting articulately [& vociferously, if not ferociously] all the way.
When we moved into our house, there was a tall cypress on each side of the driveway, at the entrance. We thought they were cool, all Vincent van Gogh. The problem was, over the next decade or so, they didn't grow up, so much as out. Since we tend to back out rather wide, there was potential peril to the paint job on the almost-matching his-&-hers antique Corollas. When we got the new car, the peril naturally became more real.
Most of the fixing-up that's been done around here in the last 12 years has been done by my dad; he's got a gift for that sort of thing & likes to show off to an appropriately appreciative audience. The problem is, he's like any other prima donna, only more temperamental than most, not to mention more capricious. He'll perform magnificently, but only when, like Lord Peter, his whimsy takes him [kind of inconvenient at times, but gift horses & all that].
When he showed up this week, we thought he was going to be putting up new gutters. Apparently, he decided to get busy in the yard instead. For the last couple of years I had been asking Himself to cut back the pregnant cypress [curving possessively towards the driveway]; he then mumbled & trundled off, doing nothing or something else.
I liked the cypresses, but not enough to cut them back myself, so there was really no room for complaint when Max [my dad] decided they had to go. To make things short, we wound up with a small bed on either side of the driveway. They're lined with that six-inch or so wide plastic black stuff you bury to line beds with & supposedly contain cabbage, pansies, & junipers. Max was particularly excited about the bark thereunder [look, ma! no weeds!].
Himself is very excited [which looks like mild interest in anyone else ;)], & even I'm pleased that there's more room at the entrance of the driveway for the cars to wallow at will. I'll get used to it fairly quickly & probably even like it pretty well. I will miss the whole poetic cypress imagery though [Theodore Sturgeon's story about the Witch of Endor, van Gogh, Italy, poetry, etc.], & it sure made a neat landmark when directing people to the house.
If anyone wants updated directions, just let me know. :)
