Being A Mum . Frasier and Niles . The General
Mother’s Day – The Day After
On May 10, 2016 by Speranza
Mother’s Day was yesterday and basically, it was the perfect day.
I had already preemptively bought myself a plump globe of trailing flowers (all kinds of mauve, suitable for outside) and The General purchased some sumptuous tenderloin for a bbq, as well as ferrying me to a local Pottery show I get very excited about. When we got home, he presented me with a noodle bowl in that deeply glorious Marc Chagall blue I have talked about here before and a tiny scarlet mushroom suitable for a troll patio set.
So kind! So romantic! And best part? So ME. My heart was soaring.
Gardening . Nature . The General
Skunk-A-Rama!
On April 18, 2016 by Speranza
Today I got up especially early, almost dawn, poured myself a cup of steaming coffee and went outside to do some serious gardening; just picking up sticks and clearing away leaves and winter debris, (what my British father used to call “pottering”) but it’s very meditative, mind clearing, solitary work.
And I look forward to doing it.
I’ve never had good luck with Columbine planting although I try each year (I especially love the deep black ones and in this regard, my good friend Jinny is my dealer, since each spring she cheerfully provides me with a few more, judgement-free, from her own pristine garden).
I’m also not the most skilled at remembering exactly where I planted them either but last year I made a special effort to make a Columbine ‘grove’ near my back deck which would be hard to miss.
Cats . Spring . The General . Travel
Time’s Actually Not on my Side
On April 11, 2016 by Speranza
It’s nearly the middle of April and I am desperate, desperate for spring. I pace around the house looking at projects I want to get going on, corners I would like to scrub out with a toothbrush (yes, it’s come to this!) and the Pantry-of-Shame which is overflowing with partially full boxes of crackers, raisins from seven years ago and an unattractive waterfall of plastic bags. Every time I open the door I am ashamed and antsy to tackle it but when the weekend unfurls and time presents itself, I become strangely busy with other things and cannot bear the thought of committing an entire day to those little screws of paper with three pieces of macaroni in each one, gack …
I’m also watching the same pattern of promising myself, really hard, oath-taking promises here to do something (exercise; eat better; clean out the effing pantry) and then I watch myself not following-up.
This is not like me to procrastinate like this (or, is it) and I’ve become extremely frustrated with myself.
Darkness . The General
Stormy Weather
On April 4, 2016 by Speranza
I hate it when people blame the weather for feeling down. If you have ever lived in the UK you quickly realize that if you are not going to go out till it stops raining/blowing/raining you are basically not going out for a very, very long time.
Say, your next birthday.
That said, it’s very disappointing to go away somewhere warm as a smug strategy for hurrying spring along only to find that it’s not only still snowing upon your return but there are gusts of wind that are shaking the house till it moans like an old clipper ship.
I always imagine those antique maps with that chubby cloud dude with the big cheeks in the corner, cupping his hands and blowing as hard as he can; but this is just my own meteorological whimsy to mask the terror within.
I just paid for that roof …
Art for Art's Sake . The General . Travel
Zona Romantica
On March 14, 2016 by Speranza
I haven’t blogged for a bit because The General and I were enjoying a few days away in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. This is not a hugely original vacation I realize but we’ve been once before and really enjoyed the fact that you can opt for a sleepy, somewhat predictable winter getaway or, you can easily choose to peel back the tourist-driven veneer that first presents itself. We are very fortunate since The General’s hermosa hermana [sister] now lives in Mexico for a goodly chunk of the year so she can be relied upon for insider tips, off-the-beaten track suggestions and where best to catch a ride on the quirky, yet extremely stimulating public transit system which on any single trip may include a throbbing, tribal drummer, ardent guitarist, (not known to one another) a pizza purveyor and, finally, a smallish dapper man (think: Mexican Poirot) who got on the bus, addressed us all passionately in Spanish for at least ten minutes and then handed out Chicklets.
(Si, Chicklets).
Afterwards, there was a friendly yet solemn collection, easily circumvented with a return of the Chicklets and a “no gracias.”
I did have the very real sense that we had been in attendance at a strange yet exotic party before we had even reached our destination.
(A few times I emitted an involuntary girlish yip as I bounced up to meet the ceiling and The General suggested that our bus had been kitted out with four square wheels.)