I couldn't deal with those frickin' violets any longer.
Besides, I really love that new header picture. When Lis was here she showed me her book of vintage postcards which she has collected over the years. They are stunning with fairies and mermaids and gnomes and all sorts of magic and she inspired me to go hunt for older images of this state which I do love so very much despite the snakes and the mosquitoes and the ants and the duck-and-chicken-killing varmints and the heat and the politicians.
I mean, you have to LOVE a place to get past all of that.
And I do. I have.
I've been bitchy today. I mean B.I.T.C.H.Y.
Ask my husband.
I used to be bitchy a lot but have calmed down and mellowed out in my senor years for the most part. But today it arose in me again, that evil spirit of bitchiness, that shadow of former PMS days, and I doubt my poor man has been able to open his mouth once without me snapping at him.
I don't know why. No idea. The reserve of heat left in me from yesterday's gardening?
Whatever. It's far more about me than it is about him, of that I am sure. He has done nothing that I should have been annoyed at and yet, I have been annoyed. If he had brought me a new diamond ring and a platter of fried seafood with hushpuppies, I would found something to be disdainful about. Trust me.
Ah well. It's doubtful that he'll leave me over a day of less-than-sweetness. I did, after all, make him biscuits for breakfast.
We went into town and bought a few things at a nursery. More seeds, three basil plants, some caladiums for me to plant in pots. When we got home he trimmed the wisteria back. It was threatening to take over the house and pull down a pecan tree which it had entwined itself in. I did some more weeding and planted some purple hull peas and pole beans and the basil plants. The guy at the nursery who helped us was so darling. A young man and I feel that surely I must know his mama because he has long hair and a little beard and he kept telling me, "We have cheaper plants than those." And he'd show me where the non-branded plants were and I would thank him and I didn't feel bitchy about him at all, just motherly and grateful.
And now I'm having a vodka and tonic and feel a bit less snappish. Mick is still alive and well and Foghorn Leghorn hasn't come back over to continue the battle. I don't have the energy or need to battle either at this point after sweating in the garden again for a few hours.
I really don't want to. I love that man so much it about kills me but as most of us know, when the mood comes over us we just have to use sharp tongues and we most often use them against the ones we love the most which is ridiculous. Perhaps it is not unlike what came over Mick and Foghorn this morning. They are the only two roosters around and the blood came up in them and they had to fight.
Well, whatever. This day will end soon enough.
I wish us all sweet dreams and that includes me because my dreams have become even messier and less pleasant than ever lately and I sure would welcome a break.
Greetings from Florida.