(no subject)
My mother could well be an earth goddess judging from the amount of vegetable life that prospers on her balcony, my grandmother's flowers bloom extravagantly as soon as she looks at them, but these gifts lie dormant in my genes and I am the Anti-Gardener.
As a rule of thumb I'm clueless as to how to have potted things Survive, but the exception to this are my kitchen plants, which are grateful lovely green things who due to pressures of natural selection appeared to have evolved to the point where they need no nurture whatsoever.
On the other hand my boss's plants [which I am have been placed in charge of watering despite my objections that I'm not so much green-fingered as black-fingered with plant death] are a perverse and needy species which are wilting in her absence despite my dutifully going over after work to water them every other day.
The most capricious of all is the bonsai, which is dead. And I think when my boss comes back so will I be.
And while I am pondering what may well be the last of my days on earth, to distract myself from undue gloom I think of fondness of my old dog and the many loveable quirks in his character.
We all respond differently to challenge and to danger and Jimmy's approach tended to be to throw himself against adversity, regardless of whether they were Ennemy Dogs or Forces of Nature. Such as storms for instance. I remember that he objected to storms as ferociously as he objected to postmen.
And in our summer house while gales rattled tree, or lightning split the sky he'd be a lone little figure, standing on the balcony getting soaked to the skin and barking furiously at the thunder, at the wind.
As a rule of thumb I'm clueless as to how to have potted things Survive, but the exception to this are my kitchen plants, which are grateful lovely green things who due to pressures of natural selection appeared to have evolved to the point where they need no nurture whatsoever.
On the other hand my boss's plants [which I am have been placed in charge of watering despite my objections that I'm not so much green-fingered as black-fingered with plant death] are a perverse and needy species which are wilting in her absence despite my dutifully going over after work to water them every other day.
The most capricious of all is the bonsai, which is dead. And I think when my boss comes back so will I be.
And while I am pondering what may well be the last of my days on earth, to distract myself from undue gloom I think of fondness of my old dog and the many loveable quirks in his character.
We all respond differently to challenge and to danger and Jimmy's approach tended to be to throw himself against adversity, regardless of whether they were Ennemy Dogs or Forces of Nature. Such as storms for instance. I remember that he objected to storms as ferociously as he objected to postmen.
And in our summer house while gales rattled tree, or lightning split the sky he'd be a lone little figure, standing on the balcony getting soaked to the skin and barking furiously at the thunder, at the wind.