bug sex & bird poop ...

It thrills me to know that I have created a space out back where bugs want to fool around. No, really! It’s a reminder that I also am participating in life, however feebly. In addition to insect intercourse, more birds are visiting the garden this year, more butterflies too. Things were much quieter, more drab last year. It’s a bit shocking that such a small patch of ground can invite so much beauty, offer such possibilities. (And, honestly, with only a small amount of labor on my part.)

Early returns from the dirt patch out back suggest that the Dumbfoundeds will be eating a lot of beets later on this year ... the thin little stalks are such a brilliant shade of red, even right at the beginning! ... but no green beans, at least not yet. A solitary corn plant has … just this morning! … poked its way out of the earth; sap that I am, I couldn’t be prouder if I’d won a prize. Sunflower sprouts are an inch tall already. Many infinitesimal Sweet Annie seedlings are fighting for space in their square inch of special seed starting soil. Such a lovely scent, I wish I could keep them all.

Breck’s cleverly sent me a catalogue which arrived today. It's the perfect time, really, to order big, lush bulbs for next spring: just after you’ve realized what poor performers the cheap, crappy bulbs you thought you could skimp on were. (I’ll be placing my order within the week for *scads* of new Dutch bulbs.) I think even C. agrees that there’s so much more room for bulbs in the naked winter landscape than either of us realized. Scads of new Dutch bulbs … yippee!

Just now I was climbing amongst the wisteria tangles, coaxing them up rather than out, when I came nose to nose with the Tibetan prayer flags strung along the very top of the pergola. Bird poop glistened on the blue “prosperity” flag. I guess we didn't win the lottery. Again.

Boy Child has been impossible lately. People keep telling me, “Well, he’s 16,” as if that would, should, could explain his behavior. I’m pissed off at him more because of the inconsistency of his actions … sometimes, occasionally, in the midst of the teenage terror, he still acts like a decent human being … than the actual ignorance & inconsiderateness of them. Inconsistency really throws me, despite the fact that it seems to be part of the human condition. It’s not a lack of empathy or imagination on my part; I well remember being 16. I was absolutely an asshole adolescent myself, but I was *always* an asshole for a few years there, and therefore consistent. I’m not exactly sure why consistency matters to me, but it does.

Having the Dumbfounded premises all to myself for a few hours, I’m listening to the incomparable Raising Sand at full volume, a CD which won the Grammy, after all. I confess that the “marriage” of Robert Plant & Alison Kraus intrigued me into buying the CD a number of months before the award. The fact that the album (I had to look up whether they’re still called “albums”) won the Grammy did vindicate my musical tastes, however. Sometimes, in this phase of my life, I feel alone in my fondness for bluegrass & banjo, Bruce & Bob Dylan.