Laurel

It’s difficult for me this time of year.  I tire easily as the light nights start to swing in.  That is something to say, anyway, about why I find ‘early in the year’ so difficult.  It is tiring.

However, this year, I have eased my situation by getting out into the garden.  The weather has been spring-like the past week, and I have taken advantage of that to begin digging out last year’s – sprigs – of Michaelmas Daisy and Valerian.

My removal is careful.

I dig out a square foot to begin with.  I ache.  I go back into the house.

know.  How do I work in something about – ‘yes, I am tired; I exercise’?

I’m not a fitness-nut as such.

I have always been interested in good diet, and I do like to get out for a walk each day, even if just up the road to the shop.

I have a contradictory nature, sometimes, but I have always liked nature.  It was always me at the nature-table when I got a chance as a kid at school.  And I grew up in a small house with a big garden.

I’m old-fashioned in my choice of plants.  I am always trying to reproduce, in one way or another, I think, that garden of my youth.

I am becoming more like my father.  He would take cuttings from people’s gardens as he passed, and seeds.

The other day, I pulled a piece of laurel from a bush at the edge of someone’s garden.  It was – you know – that one near the bus stop.  I had been eyeing that laurel bush for many months.

It seems an odd choice of plant – laurel – what is so exciting about laurel?

It is variegated, and that (pulling – I didn’t cut it – now in a pot, where it will root if I wait long enough), doesn’t seem reason enough to like it, especially since there is a hedging-laurel, I noticed, at a front-garden fence that I pass up the road, and which I have already decided I will take my secateurs for next time I’m that way – and that laurel is very much one colour, but a light green from whose leaves the sun sparkles, when it is out.

No.  The reason I am so keen on laurel is because, even though we didn’t have it at home, I liked it – when I was a kid.

I found it then, also, in other people’s gardens.

As I passed, I would rub its leaves between my fingers.  They were so soft and thick.

And evergreen.

Forever there.

To start my garden interests now, in the growing light, increasing my activity as I do, will help me get over this deep tiredness, I hope.

 

 

 

 

 

Hair

“What’s with the long hair? – I mean – I like it – ”

“I got sick of battling with hairdressers.”

He looked perplexed.

“They’re all alike.  I haven’t found one yet who is on the same wavelength . . . ha! ha!”

He didn’t seem to think that was funny.  Not much.  Only a little quiver of his lips.

“I should be able to deal with them,” she said.  “I know I should!  Do this!  Do that!”

He lifted an eyebrow – sardonically, she thought, but how was she supposed to know what he was thinking?

“Look,” she said.  “This is more than making your hairdresser your servant, getting him to do as you ask, as you describe . . . they have set procedures.  They are all taught at the same school.”

She sniffed.

“They say things like, ‘Shall we do something about this dry mess?’, and ‘Don’t try to grow it past your nostril at your age, dear!’  Intimidating, they are!  And so,” she said, sniffing again as though it really didn’t matter, “I gave them up, every-single-one-of-them.”

He was staring at her.

“It’s about your vanity, you see,” she went on.  “They get you through your vanity.  Not even that!  There is more to your vanity than meets the I you know – oh yes – ”

She wondered if he was still following her.

“Your vanity is your self-esteem, no less,” she said.  “You look in the mirror as you are about to go out – the mirror in the hall, you know – and you think – ah, yes, I look okay – or you think, ah, yes, I look stunning with all this make-up I have put on!  What artifice!  From a distance I look a sight – to behold, that is – as long as you don’t get too close or espy me side on . . . ”

 

How can you add a title (it says ‘add a title’ in the part you, dear reader, can’t see) when you don’t know what you are going to write?

Okay – I’ve been writing a whole load of blart here because I was using the new block system and it wasn’t behaving the way I expected it to.  I wrote a whole blog post on how the title slot didn’t seem to be large enough for the title I had in mind. What I wanted to say was what I have here, now, for a title; how can you add a title when you don’t know, yet, what you are going to write?

And then I put: I know, I know – you can go back and add it later.

And then: But why not have the title space at the end rather than at the beginning? In my paper-based writings, I used to put titles at the end, sometimes.

So what do I do now?  Leave this doubled-up blog post that has, for a theme, what many of my blog posts have?

That is, the difficulty I have with WordPress –

But that is the problem with these pre-prescribed spaces – in blog-platforms, anyway (I did set myself up with a Twitter account long ago but I never got round to doing my first tweet – that is still there, but maybe I need more space – more characters – to play around with) –

There is an assumption that everyone writes the same – that people would want to put the title first, having come up with an idea –

I don’t know what I wrote before (in this blog). I’m not going to look back on it. I keep a copy of this blog, as I did the last blog – it was when I started to go back to look (with that one), that the – what were they? – the lice-like creatures – began to bite – in my comment section.

I was infested!

But that wasn’t the only reason I stopped that blog – I don’t know – I was too – pursued in it.

Oh – I’d better say – I have the odd residual from when this used to be my last blog.  And there are things that ought to be here (so I am told) that are not.  I can’t do everything all at once.

Residuals may disappear in future-dated versions of this blog, and missings may appear.  And, therefore, later readers of this blog may not have an idea of what I am talking about.