Well, hello again.  Somehow the frazzled nerves here at House of Pain are soothed by writing, SO:  onward.

One thing I have been meaning to write about and haven’t  is: MY PROPAGATION WENT SWIMMINGLY THIS YEAR.  I was actually, for the first time, able to propagate a rose bush.  I know it is supposed to be easy, and usually my entire paw is green, but up to now, no baby roses.  This is an especially wonderful one:  Large coral and rose colored, intensely fragrant flowers.  I dry them and use in a Persian style spice powder.  The other projects, the grape, onion, ginger stalk, succulents, elderberry and scented geraniums are well established and on their way to being Big Plants.  I am thrilled.  Propagation is one of the joys of my life and given the Challenging Nature of Things at Present……

Which, ha ha, reared their ugly head while I was writing this earlier.  So.  Also, I was going to report on two things that made me laugh last week.  Thing the first:  My client in the nursing facility has a prized object, shaped like a cat.  A pillow.  One day last week, in addition to everything else, the cat went AWOL.  I tore his room up, got lots of inarticulate hand gestures in response to my queries about what might have happened, finally got my homegirl up front to let me into the laundry room.  So I could go through the dirty laundry from his wing in case the cat was there.   Which I did. And, which, yes, is another little piece of hell on earth I got to tour last week.  Nonetheless.  The two laundry people were standing there goggling at me.  I say I’m looking for a pillow, shaped like a cat.  Black, round, yellow eyes with a tail.  The man there, bless his furry and demented little heart, no doubt just wanted to help.  So he said, OH, IS THAT IT? pointing excitedly.  Hope springs eternal so I turned and looked.  And saw, yes, a pillow.

 A pillow SHAPED LIKE TWEETY BIRD. A BRIGHT YELLOW, EIGHTEEN INCH TALL, BULBOUS TWEETY BIRD.  Well, no, I said, barely holding it together.  Excellent try but I’m looking for Sylvester.  (Who, eventually, I did find.) (But not there.)

Thing the second was on dooce.  She printed an email comment from a headless, Germanic, anti-vaccination pioneer which…well.  I felt like I might have found my long lost sister.  I also wondered if all this hasn’t driven me just the teensiest bit crazy.  Just. The. Teensiest. Bit.

Meanwhile, watching a program on tv while The Partner lay in quiet misery, (since, of course, there’s no doctor we can see for him because…oh, well) we see that there is no water in Fresno, they’re mowing down almond trees before they die, and the ground is empty, unemployment there is at 40%, and the food lines are so long people can’t even get…..anything.  Which, since the San Joaquin Valley produces an awful lot of food? And it isn’t producing it now?  What do you think?

I heard a very intelligent person, who is on the grid (unlike me), has a brain and a heart, give an opinion about what she thought was happening, worst case scenario.  It really made my blood run cold because it makes a horrible kind of sense.  The fine folks who have brought us to this situation AND I’M SORRY YOU KNOW DAMNED WELL WHO YOU ARE, GRAND OLD PARTY , BIG AND MULTI-NATIONAL CORPORATIONS OF ALL STRIPES AND THOSE LUCKY FOLKS WHO ACTUALLY HAVE ALL THE MONEY, (sorry about the yelling) are just waiting for everything to collapse, undermining everything President Obama is working potentially toward.  Then they can rebuild, again, in their own image, pointing to the failure of the Democrats and of Obama.  Endless supply of immigrant labor, check.  The supermax prisons they said they didn’t build but did? Ready for occupancy.   These days are a real test of my faith, of my convictions about non-violent action.  About everything.  Thank God for gardening, is all I can say.

6 responses to this post.

  1. A good friend of mine is a horticulturist by hobby and taught me the basics. But for the life of me, I can’t seem to keep a single potted plant alive for more than a week.

    I either water it too much, too little or I didn’t talk to it enough.
    That’s right, my friend thinks I should talk to my plants. Great! As if the neighbors don’t already think I’m nuts.

    Incidentally, my friend is fascinated by the migration of knowledge from alchemy to science from centuries past. He even has an old collection of books on witchcraft! It really is remarkable to see the seeds of modern biology and chemistry in those books.

    Incidentally, your pillow didn’t look like this, did it?


    • Once again you have made us break down and laugh riotously here at House of You Know Where. And I want THAT pillow. If that HAD been it, I might have been tempted….but that would have been very wrong. And sadly that wasn’t the pillow, as it happens. I perhaps took Sylvester’s name a bit in vain, just to reinforce the Cat Concept. The actual pillow in question is a round, flattish dark brown number that has major Jheri Curl from being washed, and an expression of world weariness mixed with puckish humor. I don’t think he likes the washing machine. I often find him staring at the map of the world next to the bed, directly at Easter Island. Often, I stare along. Frightening to understand a stuffed cat pillow.

      I agree about the talking to plants. Altho actually it may be even more important to LISTEN to them. Which ties into the alchemical stuff as well. Does your friend have the book ALCHEMY & MYSTICISM, The Hermetic Museum? Alexander Roos. Taschen. It’s wonderful. ( Some people DO refer to me as Dr. Bear, after all. Some.) And, of course, alchemy has incredible…I would say resonance but I am almost sick of that word…connections with personal psychology and development.

      And lastly? Who cares what your neighbors think? Bwahhahahahahahahaha……well, within reason of course.


      • I’ll have to ask him. I don’t think even he knows what books he’s got since he goes to a lot of tag sales, garage sales and such to get these. And every trip is evidently horticulturally fruitful because his car is always packed with old books.

        I need to ease this question in, since the last conversation we had went a bit like :
        That’s not a mushroom! It’s a fungus, you nincompoop!!

        Although a mushroom is a type of fungus, I let it slide for the moment. I was too busy learning that there are different varieties of sunshine.
        I.E. Some plants don’t like the noon day Sun, apparently.
        Plants are like construction workers… Who knew?

        As for my neighbors…

        Honey, come quick! The next door boy is in his boxers talking to a cactus!

        Yeah, after that little episode, I keep a post-it note on the door as a reminder.

        How about this one? Not quite Sylvester, but Cheshire cat.

  2. Well, fungus among us, you know. Still it seems a bit nit picky. Like saying, that’s a TREE not a MAPLE. Sort of. I think we all, at least I do, try to kind of tone down the fungal aspect of mushrooms. A bit creepy. However, it IS fascinating because they can grow from huge “plates” (sort of) under the top of the earth and….well. Ahem.

    Clearly you have insight having sent not one but TWO absolutely fabulous pillow pictures….I suppose they appeal to my…twisted inner interior decorator. A client told me I was weird simply because I have a looooong soft rabbit (which is actually an aromatherapy neck wrap thankyou very much) draped on the back of my couch. I can just picture this cat……

    And yes, plants like different times of sun. And moon. We’re all quite similar, really. Construction workers and clematis. Etc. And then there’s the Genus Neighbor. See, that would’ve made me just do it more. Bad. Very bad. Naughty. In any event, you don’t have to talk to them out loud. Food for thought, as it were.


    • “A client told me I was weird simply because I have a looooong soft rabbit…”
      Ooh, should indeed get a cat version of one of those.

      Somehow, I don’t see myself being the Uri Geller of the plant kingdom. 😦
      Though the concept itself is quite intriguing. One life form affecting another through unknown means, I suppose.


  3. Well. Uri Geller was a bit, perhaps, more Extreme? Not a Plant Whisperer. And, the means are unknown, I think, only to US. The plants know exactly what time it is. Or at least it seems like they do. I was just watering our 300+ family members in pots outside & they seem, indeed, to as usual know More than Boozilla does.
    (Meanwhile, I do know someone who would love that pillow. This is getting ridiculous. Pillow Resource! I salute you. Clearly I have been LOST up to now.)


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