Just out in the garden with the secateurs, chopping off the old dead stuff from last year, trying not to harm the new buds, the green new growth just below it. Another perfect day, and I’m enjoying it despite still-stuffed up head and general droopiness from 3 sleepless, stuffed up nights. Last night at 4 a.m. I wondered if I was being punished for my holiday. I’m way behind in house chores – my 9-foot high oleander is so afflicted with sticky scale that I spend a great deal of time hovering beneath it, scraping the stuff off with my fingernails. If I hadn’t gone away for a month, I’d have kept it healthy. All my fault. As usual.
Especially out in the garden, I think of my mother. She was a great gardener – in her healthy days, she’d leap out into my garden on her visits, pruning and adjusting. Sometimes the hole in my life that was filled by my mother hurts. Most of the time, though, I’m just glad she’s not deteriorating any more. Auntie Do, at 93, is going strong.
John and John came today to consult about the deck – because of the on-going threat of termites, they’d proposed the replacement deck be made of plastic wood; though practical, undoubtedly, the stuff has one great drawback – it looks like plastic wood. So now my guys have figured out how to put in a solid concrete base so there can be real cedar on top. After my time in B.C., the thought of anything but cedar is out of the question. And Richard the roofer will appear this evening and start tomorrow. So there will be many men hammering madly for the next week or so.
And then, perhaps, peace. No more big projects, house? Please?
Today, my daughter is 32. Her party is tomorrow; she has invited close friends over to help her transform the industrial wasteland behind her rented apartment into a garden, and then she’ll provide a barbecue. I’m going early with rented car to help buy soil and plants. I’m sure there will be a miniature plot for Booboo. She is spending today just with her boy, told me he took her to lunch at her favourite little café. Not bad for a son who’s not quite one.
Ran into an old friend on the street nearby. She opened her arms to hug me. “Beware, I have a cold,” I said.
“Oh I know,” she said, “and what a wonderful trip you’ve just had!”
A blog saves so much time.
P.S. Two quotes for you: on YouTube yesterday, I watched Colbert interview President Clinton. At one point, Colbert said, I’m younger than you and I’m exhausted just reading the list of what you’re doing right now. How do you do it?
And Clinton replied, “When you get older, you have more time to work.”
YAY.
And David Steinberg the comedian on Jian this morning, talking about comedians: It doesn’t matter if they’re African-American, Asian, gay, he said, the more personal and honest they are, the more the audience will connect with them.
That’s how it is with memoir too. As my classes at Ryerson and U of T will begin to learn next Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday evening. Looking forward to meeting you all.
