enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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I am a weed! I am definitely a weed!

I need to learn to put down the phone quickly after hearing that click that tells me it was computer dialled. I just can't say no to any worthy organization requesting funds. Sigh.

So I REALLY need to get a digital camera, since, among other things, the carpet of lily-of-the valley outside my window is exquisite. Actually, my whole backyard is excellent. It has partially gone wild. The flowering weeds are practically as big as trees. Have you ever noticed that many organisms seem to be unfairly designated weeds (at least from an aesthetic standpoint)?. I mean, like Bishop's W33d-- I rather like that one.

I suppose my sympathy arises from the sense that, in the human family, I am one who might often be designated a weed.

Related to weeds is the realization that I've reached as to why people live in this town. It is exquisite in summer! One has to wait through at least six months of misery but then...here it is...

But then I suppose that that should be on the application forms for immigration to this country: Trust us, the three glorious months of summer and two months of autumn will make up for the remaining seven months in which you feel you have been incarcerated in the ice house of doom.

Anyhow. So I was riding my bike home from school this morning and marveling at the stunning shade gardens that everyone seems to have planted under the 100+ year-old trees that line the streets and whose praises I've sung a million times. Some of these shade/part-shade gardens extend over entire lawns. It's quite amazing.

I must I must I must get a digital camera this week.

I'm running out of time but before I go I cannot fail to mention the purple irises down the street---so full and lush they look like--ahem--certain parts of the female anatomy. Down the street, too, there is a lawn dotted with giant orange poppies--so beautiful I almost doubted that they were real. It reminded me of taking the train from Rome to Florence a few years ago: utter exhaustion did not eclipse the feeling that the wild poppies there make even the shabbiest of buildings and walls framing the tracks look lovely.

That's it. I must eat lunch and return to school. When I return home tonight I will ride down one of these streets full of Victorian houses with beautiful gardens. In the darkness the perfumes rising from the ground will be at their most intense. There's a quiet civility to this place that almost--almost--makes up for its obvious shortcomings.

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I have hot water once more, which in a way is too bad because as I was ladling hot water over my hair from a pot the other night I was having strong Rob3rt R3dford in Out of Afr!ca fantasies and it was tres pleasant.

12:27 p.m. - 2006-05-30

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