Sculpin

Today we got some rufous hummingbirds in the crocosmia. One came and fed for several minutes before another one drove it off. I like hummingbirds because they’re tiny and aggressive; I suppose I can identify with that. They remind me of some tropical fish. And also like me, they live at the edge of their energy envelopes.

I’d like some more crocosmia. It’s a very handsome plant.

It’d be fun to plant a few things with just the bees and hummingbirds in mind. They like many of the same things I like, anyway — jasmine, honeysuckle, lavender…

I may not be getting many plums this year, but the plum tree seems to be growing bushtits instead. There were easily forty of them in the tree the other day. The whole tree seemed to be sparkling as the leaves quivered in the sunlight.

In out-and-about news, it was great to see Carol at Espresso Ulysses today. All you Seattle coffee-drinkers would do well to go there and try an Espresso Ambrosia. It is divine. It is also more caffeine than I’ve had at one go in a very long time, which was exciting. (”Whee!! Wow!! Whee!! Wow!! …ZZZzzzz.”)

How To Fold A Fitted Sheet, a photoessay.

One of these days I’ll get the hang of folding fitted sheets. Lately I’ve been solving the problem by owning only one set of sheets that fits the bed.

I bought a t-shirt yesterday: “Arkham Aquarium and Zoo: Come See the Giant Squids!” It’s an ideal t-shirt for yoga class. First because I got the fitted kind, which is convenient, and second because I love to wear my silliest t-shirts to yoga class.

There’s such a push to sell gear to yoga practitioners. Buy this om shirt! Can’t do yoga without an om shirt! And om earrings! And fancy yoga pants with a drawing of a lotus on the sacrum! Come on, get soulful!

I’m not quite comfortable buying or wearing that sort of thing. Other things, though, I have no problem making into a fashion statement — my fondness for giant squid, for instance, or for pro wrestling. Oh, and look, DC1020, they have prayer candles.

It’s a cool shirt, but not nearly as cool as Josh’s new shirt. On the other hand, I didn’t have to labor for an hour at a tedious stencil-cutting job.

It looks like we aren’t going to get nearly as many plums this year as we did last year. Apples, too, though with our geriatric apple tree that isn’t so surprising. (Heck, I’m surprised it’s still standing.) It may be that the trees aren’t getting enough water because of the sheet composting we’ve been doing underneath. Or it may be that the trees are underpollinated. Our neighbor David and I have seen hardly any honeybees this year, even though there are said to be some hives down the street in the P-Patch. Next year I’ll put up some mason bee blocks.

The bees I have seen have often looked very ill. I suspect that some stupid bastard in the neighborhood is poisoning them.

The little herb garden is coming together. Last weekend at the market I picked up some lemon verbena, epazote, rosemary and scented geraniums. (Citronella and ginger.) I’ve moved some neglected pansies from an old window box to a half-shaded spot under the wisteria, where they’ve perked up considerably. And I’ve started harvesting the mint for tea and tabouli; a combination of peppermint and eau de cologne mint makes great tea. The tomatoes are doing their thing, but I suspect I planted them too late for a good crop; I haven’t even seen flowers yet.

Those short blue flowers in the front yard — some kind of campanula, I’m told — are doing their usual thing: they look great for a week, and then they look like somebody’s sat on them. I really ought to move them out of the front of the garden. They bug me. The tall campanula are still pretty. Lupine season’s about over, and geranium season is in full swing. The lavender would like to take over the beds lining the front walkway, and I think that’s a fine thing.

Speaking of sitting on plants, it looks like somebody crashed into one of our rose bushes — suddenly there were lots of broken stems on part of the bush. Maybe it was one of the small dirty children visiting next door. They surely got a surprise, because that is one mighty thorny rosebush.

The heirloom Cupani sweet peas are doing well, given their rough beginning. I’m not totally convinced that they’ve got enough sun, but they seem pretty happy, if a bit short. I’ll probably try some more shade-tolerant vine in that spot next time, but there will be a spot somewhere for the sweet peas: their fragrance is lovely, surprisingly complex, vaguely reminiscent of Earl Grey tea. I’m letting them go to seed; I thought I’d try a little seed-saving this year.

[Edit: and, wow, do those Cupani sweet peas ever clash with the crocosmia. Oh, man. OW. It’s tooth-rattling.]

Cam: “Why is a hen on a fence like a penny?”
Josh: “Neither of them have teeth?”

Via Peter Pereira’s blog, a collection of antique cigarette cards with various conundrums.

And speaking of neat antique paper things scanned in on the web, des chapeaux is a collection of vintage advertisements for hats. Some of them are lovely. Others remind me of Peg Bracken’s admonishment about being photographed: “Don’t wear a hat, because no matter how smart the hat is now, posterity will snicker.”

One of the things given to me when my neighbor moved to Alaska was a bag of cookie cutters. One of these cutters baffles me.

What do you think it’s supposed to be?

No wonder Josh was shocked.

What I said: “Jake has kittens! Let’s go meet the box of kittens!”
What Josh heard: “Jake has kittens! Let’s go eat the box of kittens!”

No, no eating box of kittens.

I was vaguely hoping to get some breakfast with friends in West Seattle this weekend, go to a cocktail party, and a few other things, but maybe I’ll just hang around the neighborhood instead: “Expect nightmare weekend traffic: Gay pride fest, Lake Union concerts, I-5 lane closures will create perfect storm”, from the Seattle P-I. Aii.

A zillion tiny, active worms appeared on one of our garden beds yesterday. They’re roughly a millimeter long, they seem to be segmented, and they like to get together in clumps at locally high spots in the compost.

Josh took some photos. Then he went inside and scratched at himself all evening, sure that he’d gotten nearly-invisible worms all over himself.

I earned my merit badge in resisting temptation today.

Our elderly next-door neighbor’s memory has been failing her rather seriously, and she’s gone to Alaska to live with her daughter. Her friends were here day in and day out for months trying to get her stuff sorted and packed. Then a screeching pack of her awful relatives came by and stripped the place of pretty much anything saleable.

Our neighbor has been upset because she couldn’t remember where she put her family’s heirloom gold pocketwatch and engagement rings. She told her friends that she’d hidden it somewhere in the house or buried it in the backyard under a rock. They looked and looked. No doubt the screech brigade also looked and looked. It seemed like the heirlooms were destined to be sold with the house.

Josh and I were given a few things — all the canning jars we can shake a stick at, for one — and to express my thanks I volunteered to help get some stuff out of the attic and to the Sharehouse. While I was up there, I noticed an old wooden box.

“If I were hiding something,” I thought, “I’d put it under there.” And there was the cache: a beautiful old gold pocketwatch, a heavy wedding ring, engagement rings, all sorts of things. Apparently I have a knack for thinking like a worried, frazzle-witted old lady. Who would have imagined?

So, family heirlooms go to the family, and I feel smart and lucky.