Keeping records of your life... What for? For whom? For yourself really. (Is Ocean for myself? In many ways it is, though it is also for the lot of you.) I wrote journals when I was younger. Age 11 through maybe 47. I threw away most of them -- certainly the ones that were written in my adult years. I embarrassed even myself at their content. I do wish I had been like my mother (in this one way!) and had kept a record of books I'd read. With notes on what, if anything, they meant to me. I'd reread that compilation, if only to remember ones that were fantastic, but now long forgotten. I read that? Really? I guess I did, but I surely don't remember!
Ocean jogs my memory on trips taken. And in the food department -- there I used to keep a very very fat notebook of favorite recipes. That was fun: a collection, with a rating system. A star with an exclamation mark for a particularly successful buche de Noel. I still reach for that notebook at Christmas time.
But how about my garden? Steffi's Garden.
Well, I've tried keeping gardening notes before -- lists of flowers purchased, of farmette flower beds, with directives on what to plant where, come spring. It was, however, a hopeless effort. The beds were huge, the flowers -- most of them purchased in years prior to my record book. And the encroachment of trees, invasives, the self sowing -- it was all out of control before I even got started.
Today, I stopped by the farmhouse to drop off some food for Ed and to pick up some freezer stuff and some odd dishes that I do not really want to get rid of. As I walked past the flower fields, I was horrified at how quickly the weeds had taken over. I suggested to Ed that he mow it all down. The place went from looking heavenly (last year) to looking ghastly. (He may not share my view -- I really don't know.)
I come back to the idea of a gardening notebook for Steffi's House. Now is the time to start. I know exactly what I planted where. I haven't forgotten. The tags have all stayed in place. But again, what for? For whom? Will it help me in any way? I'm thinking that like with the Labor Day rose purchase, I should do it and then worry about what purpose it serves (and where to plant the new roses). It's a now or never kind of thing.
And the most important component of this book of flowers is the rose chapter. Indeed, I think the roses deserve their own notebook. I started it today.
After the last five arrive (sometime next week maybe), I will have put in 55 new roses (plus one transplant from the farmette). Three have lost their tags. Meaning I have no idea what they are. They were the very first purchases (some while I was still at Sally's House). I had seen Millie chomp away at plants on the screened porch there and I decided on roses for her yard because (among other reasons like "exciting new project," beauty, fragrance, challenge!) you cant kill a dog with rose bushes. The big test will come in spring: will they survive? Will they thrive? What mistakes did I make? For now, I snitched one of the pretty notebooks I once purchased for one of the kids and got started.
All this after breakfast of course. Millie and I began our breakfast routine outside...
... but I got cold pretty quickly, sweatshirt notwithstanding, so we finished inside.
Imagine, it's in the 60s F (over 16 C) and I'm cold! My summer blood has turned me into a softie! I need to develop my winter coat!
Millie goes back to doggie daycare, I catch up on errands.
And then come the kids: Sandpiper...
then Sparrow... (why are you out so much later? My teacher is SO slow!! But you had a better day than last Friday? Yes! I learned that kids have very short memories!)
And from another school -- Snowdrop (she is all about friends now... as was I at her age; it passed!).
I still haven't developed a good routine with them. We stay at their house -- so that's a big change. We're not reading together, not any of us. I walk Goose with one of them, I water their new trees with two, I make sure their eating healthy snacks. And maybe routines aren't needed yet. Or ever. I mean, my pup loves routines. [ Final late night walk, then I say the magic words -- let's go upstairs, and she starts the trot up. I turn on the bedroom light, recharge my watch, my phone. She watches from her (otherwise unused) bed. I go to the bathroom to wash up, she follows and waits for me there. I come out, she hops on the bed knowing that I'll join her in a sec. I read, she leans against the second pillow and waits for her ear and chest rub. Five minutes, no more. Then like clockwork, she moves from the pillow to the foot of the bed. I tell her I love her, wish her a good night, and eventually turn off the light. Every single night -- same set of motions, same reactions.] Maybe kids are okay with the occasional chaos. Maybe that's when they grow most?
Home with Millie tonight. I return to filling out my Rose Book.
with so much love...
