I may have gone overboard again

(Note. I was able to resurrect yesterday’s post after deleting five thousand time stamps denoting every edit from 5 am until after 8 am, listed in sequence at the bottom, and copying the text out from the still rolling scroll. Don’t ask me. Substack said it was a bug. But at least it wasn’t completely lost, and I was able to piece it back together. After three hours yesterday, I lost patience.)

Another weird awakening at two. No more sleep. It was dark when I let the dogs out, but I finally poured my coffee around 3:30. Why postpone the inevitable, and anyway, coffee time is my favorite time.

There’s a chance of rain today, and I don’t mind. I left the sprinkler on all night for the baby willow tree. It’s recovering from the transplant shock—its rootball was like concrete—and lost some leaves, but there’s new growth, and I think it will be all right. I worry over it a bit, though.

Despite the rain forecasts, the sky is clear with pink and blue clouds before sunrise. I hear one of our chipmunk overlords chirping outside the window. I wore my new up-cycled silk pajamas last night. They are grey and gold paisley, not satiny at all, but very soft, and look like something Lauren Bacall would have worn. I like them because they are loose but stylish, and the dog hair slides right off. My usual pajamas are soft and comfortable, but collect so much dog hair that I have to change them every night to keep the bed clean. I found these at District Market in D.C. on a lunch adventure with our son and daughter-in-law, and now I love them so much that I want a second pair. My sweatpant pajamas may become a thing of the past. By the end of a morning of Eli snuggling and Auggie tummy-rubbing I usually look like a giant hairball. Now I need a matching bathrobe…although I do have a lovely gray wrap that my daughter-in-law gave me that may be nice on a winter morning.

I got many things done yesterday—none gardening related—unless you count the final bulb order I placed for fall from my favorite wholesaler. This year I will plant most of them myself, I think. I bought muscari, giant white and purple alium, a mixture of crocuses, hyacinthoides, pheasant-eye narcissi, and a dumptruck of four different kinds of pale yellow daffodils that have orange centers for naturalizing. By my rough count—and not counting any other stealth orders I am lying to myself about, I have 1000 daffodils coming. I semi-subconsciously buy them in separate orders so I can fool myself that I’m not buying as many as I actually am, and then the shipments arrive: enormous boxes delivered to the garage that are too heavy to lift and have to be opened where they land. Each year I vow “never again” when I have to start planting, and usually rope Gardening Soulmate, Joe, into it. But come spring I am joyful. The results are investments in the property, because, with the exception of the tulips, the rest will naturalize and spread every year, far beyond my lifetime. It’s my little legacy. So long as no one comes along and bulldozes the woods.

All my bulbs, and these lovely photos are credited to Van Engelen, Inc., Wholesale Flower Bulbs.

With the exception of the batch of white tulips I ordered in June, and some peonies, everything is deer resistant, and some are even deer repellent. Although I have never had any trouble with deer eating my peonies.

Our neighbors were taking their daughter’s new puppy for a walk, a boisterous, high energy, adorable little hound dog with springs in her feet. After she jumped on my legs a few times, I bossily took the lead, and began to show her how to heel, while she boinged along, all four feet off the ground. Now I’m embarrassed for being bossy, and I will have to apologize later. But I worry when a dog is being allowed to grow into a nuisance that she might lose her home. This little darling bounces off the ceiling, all springs and jet propulsion.

My coffee is cold. Time to warm it up and get to book work.

Happy Friday Saturday!

These posts are about finding the beauty in daily life, even amid the craziness, uncertainty, and anxiety. Reality is not going away, but these are the only days we get, so we have to relish their small beauties while we have them. If you are a paid subscriber, please know how deeply grateful I am for your support. The kindness and enthusiasm of your comments buoy me and keep me writing, but the paid subscriptions are an extra vote of confidence I truly appreciate. These posts will always be free, however, so if all you can do is share, that is helpful, too. Whatever you decide, I’m glad you’re here.