Tag: flowers

O, booger

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 2 Comments
Snot funny. …

April’s knocking on the door with a jumbo box of Kleenex in one hand.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything. Gesundheit.”

Swear to Dog, everything’s springing to desperate life at once. Lawn, maple, lilacs, wisteria, ornamental plum, Chinese pistache, a few of the bulbs we assumed the landscapers had done for last summer. Not even a layer of gravel over weed fabric can keep those hardy little bastards buried.

Have you noticed that no one puts flowers on a flower’s grave?

With a red-flag warning posted I thought it prudent to give everything a good soaking yesterday. It was like handing Hunter S. Thompson an entire sheet of blotter acid and a quart of Wild Turkey to wash it down, then watching him fire up the Great Red Shark with the notion of driving the pace car at the fabulous Mint 400. Stand back!, etc.

Should I have been surprised to wake up honking my horn? No. Happily, Herself recently made a Kleenex run so I probably won’t have to resort to sleeves or dish towels for a day or two.

Bloomin’ marvelous

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

The daffodils and tulips have come and gone, and now it’s the irises’ turn.

The plant life hereabouts doesn’t seem to have gotten the word about our record heat and drought.

The roses on the back patio are doing as well as ever, and maybe better.

Roses are exploding on their trellis, the irises are going full tilt, and the lawn — well, it actually looks kind of like a lawn.

And those little green apples that God didn’t make? Well, somebody did. We’re gonna have a metric shit-ton of those inedible sonsabitches to contend with here directly.

Good thing we don’t have a Triffid. Judging by the way everything else is coming along, our little cinder-block wall sure wouldn’t restrict its movements any.

Nossir, that sucker would be striding around and about the Greater Comanche Foothills Yacht & Cricket Club, snatching up the neighbors and their pets, lowering property values, and making Republicans of the survivors.

Two wheels good, four wheels bad

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

Some people call this "morning." They are misinformed.
Some people call this “morning.” They are misinformed.

It was four wheels this morning. Bad.

Herself is off to Tennessee for a combo business/pleasure trip (a lab-librarians’ powwow in tandem with a visit to Herself the Elder), and then she’s zigzagging home via Colorado and Utah (running a half-marathon and maybe camping with a gal pal).

The leaves may be falling, but the roses are hanging on.
The leaves may be falling, but the roses are hanging on.

Thus Your Humble Narrator was required to rise at dark-thirty to chauffeur ‘Er Ladyship to the Duke City airport.

I dislike driving anymore. I particularly dislike driving before the second cup of coffee, in the dark, surrounded by deranged ‘Burqueños who thought “the “Fast & Furious” flicks were drivers’ ed.

Still, we got there, and I got back, and there was this lovely rose waiting for me just outside the kitchen window.

It ain’t all bad, this early-morning stuff.

 

Footloose

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 22 Comments

You'd never know it from this pic, but there's a suburban neighborhood just a few feet to the left of that tree.
You’d never know it from this pic, but there’s a suburban neighborhood just a few feet to the left of that tree.

I should’ve ridden the bike today, but for some reason I felt like hoofing it, so I did.

Not running — I took a break from that nonsense back in mid-May — just walking. Walking is a nice change from cycling, the same way that cycling is a nice change from driving.

Lots of color out there. None of it neon.
Lots of color out there. None of it neon.

You … just … plain … slow … down.

With trails just two blocks in either direction, I can enjoy what feels like country life in fairly short order. The rains have sprinkled flowers all over the place, and it’s relaxing to spend a little time wandering around among them after a few days of watching the Hilldebeast try to lose this campaign while assembling journalism kit for medium-heavy duty at Interbike.

The idea (as usual) is to strive for some sort of multimedia extravaganza, an electronic bouillabaisse of words, pix, audio and video documenting The Experience. As long-suffering readers are all too aware, the reality, once I hit Sin City, is likely to be entirely different.

So, too, with the walking. Instead of sand, sun and flowers I will be navigating concrete, smoke and bad noise.

Thus I’m gathering my rosebuds while I may.

Flowers, child

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments

Maybe it's Woodstock. Did I take the brown acid again?
Maybe it’s Woodstock. Did I take the brown acid again?

Goddamn acid flashbacks. Where the hell am I now? Xanadu? Hobbiton? Oz? Oh, whew, just the back yard. I was afeared I’d stumble across Ann Coulter with a house on top of her.