Catchall Catchup
Jul. 7th, 2004 05:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pameladeanThe lawn mower -- David and I went out yesterday in the pouring rain, and after ascertaining that Menard's didn't have the mower I really wanted, we went over to Home Depot and found exactly the one I wanted, for about thirty dollars less than the online prices I'd found. I've put it together. (Dear Black and Decker -- "Assemble clip to frame as shown in Figure 3" is not an adequate set of instructions when what you mean is, "Half sprain thumbs in the process of forcing semi-soft rubber tunnels far enough open to cram a metal frame into them."). I haven't used it yet, but it's certainly lighter than the old one.
Finances -- We couldn't afford it, but in a different sense we really couldn't afford to let the grass grow much more. Which leads me to finances. We have not heard back yet on our application for refinancing and a home equity loan, despite the cheerful assertion of the mortgage counsellor that we might be able to close this week. I don't have my check yet. David's primary employer still owes him thousands of dollars and is still very whiny. HCMC, which is the soul of patience, really, is getting very shirty about my medical bills.
Writing -- I'm still creeping along on Going North. The Liavek novel is being pesky, like a mosquito, and so I'll probably do something with it next time GN gets sticky.
Phenology -- The back yard, unmown for about three weeks now, is really beautiful. In the unmown grass are Shasta daisies, tradescantia, and black-eyed Susans, in addition to the previously mentioned yellow and white clover, yellow sorrel, and daisy fleabane. In the also-overgrown garden beds all the orange daylilies are flaming away, with the red and pink lilies still going at it happily, and a few late fresh blooms on the Henry Kelsey rosebush. I saw a Red Admiral butterfly sunning itself on the sidewalk today, the first butterfly I've seen in my own yard. We also have a widow skimmer and a selection of damselflies, as well as a serious oversupply of mosquitoes. The baby birds are making a ceaseless crooning almost like crickets or cicadas, seeeee, seeeee, eeeee, peeeeep, feeeeed meeeee, while their parents fly madly around grasping at mulberries and random insects. At the side of the house the coreopsis and the yellow-flowered yarrow are making a nice contrast to the orange daylilies and the vast hordes of hairy bellflower. I must say that for a weed it is very floriferous. The fancier daylilies have grudgingly put up flower stalks and might bloom if coaxed and cossetted. In front the gigantic hosta and the pink-and-white lilies and the sundrops and the threadleaf coreopsis are blooming, along with more hordes of hairy bellflower.
Emma says that she always liked the hairy bellflower because it made neglected spots look as if she had planted something there.
Books --- Having reread my very motley set of Georgette Heyer, I suddenly find myself in the midst of rereading my equally motley set of Diana Wynne Jones. Well, all right. I think, though I am not perfectly certain, that the last new (to me) book that I read was Henry James's The Bostonians. Good heavens. The reading was much enlivened by the utter cluelessness of the critical apparatus. The person doing this bit of scholarship solemnly informs us that we cannot, of course, hope for Olive to win out. The person who lent me the book had scribbled, in the margin, "The hell you say!" and that is certainly my reaction as well.
Pamela
Finances -- We couldn't afford it, but in a different sense we really couldn't afford to let the grass grow much more. Which leads me to finances. We have not heard back yet on our application for refinancing and a home equity loan, despite the cheerful assertion of the mortgage counsellor that we might be able to close this week. I don't have my check yet. David's primary employer still owes him thousands of dollars and is still very whiny. HCMC, which is the soul of patience, really, is getting very shirty about my medical bills.
Writing -- I'm still creeping along on Going North. The Liavek novel is being pesky, like a mosquito, and so I'll probably do something with it next time GN gets sticky.
Phenology -- The back yard, unmown for about three weeks now, is really beautiful. In the unmown grass are Shasta daisies, tradescantia, and black-eyed Susans, in addition to the previously mentioned yellow and white clover, yellow sorrel, and daisy fleabane. In the also-overgrown garden beds all the orange daylilies are flaming away, with the red and pink lilies still going at it happily, and a few late fresh blooms on the Henry Kelsey rosebush. I saw a Red Admiral butterfly sunning itself on the sidewalk today, the first butterfly I've seen in my own yard. We also have a widow skimmer and a selection of damselflies, as well as a serious oversupply of mosquitoes. The baby birds are making a ceaseless crooning almost like crickets or cicadas, seeeee, seeeee, eeeee, peeeeep, feeeeed meeeee, while their parents fly madly around grasping at mulberries and random insects. At the side of the house the coreopsis and the yellow-flowered yarrow are making a nice contrast to the orange daylilies and the vast hordes of hairy bellflower. I must say that for a weed it is very floriferous. The fancier daylilies have grudgingly put up flower stalks and might bloom if coaxed and cossetted. In front the gigantic hosta and the pink-and-white lilies and the sundrops and the threadleaf coreopsis are blooming, along with more hordes of hairy bellflower.
Emma says that she always liked the hairy bellflower because it made neglected spots look as if she had planted something there.
Books --- Having reread my very motley set of Georgette Heyer, I suddenly find myself in the midst of rereading my equally motley set of Diana Wynne Jones. Well, all right. I think, though I am not perfectly certain, that the last new (to me) book that I read was Henry James's The Bostonians. Good heavens. The reading was much enlivened by the utter cluelessness of the critical apparatus. The person doing this bit of scholarship solemnly informs us that we cannot, of course, hope for Olive to win out. The person who lent me the book had scribbled, in the margin, "The hell you say!" and that is certainly my reaction as well.
Pamela
