I told you I had some work to do. The good news is, the first wave of hanging baskets is planted and growing along nicely. It would help if we had some more sunshine--apparently, though, the universe is intent on continuing this little experiment called: How Pasty Can Y'all Get?, keeping all its golden glow for the beautiful people on the coasts. This is Middle America, and we here are resigned to suffer, ever stoic. And pasty.
This shot was taken on a rare, cloudless afternoon, though, and I confess, for a while there it became so warm I had to go all Scarlett O'Hara on everybody's A's, removing all superfluous clothing and fanning myself for dramatic effect. This strategy (I employ it often) also involves panting whenever my husband is within earshot in the hopes that he might send me home, ever-concerned for my physical state. Oddly, this did not go as well as I'd thought it might, even with my feigned fainting dead away on the stacks of packaged potting soil.
For a theatre director, there are times when he is utterly unappreciative of my stagecraft.
He is a good delegator, though, a quality I do not take for granted. Ever. His solution to my faux-heat-stroke? Cool off in the plastic-washing tank--perfect! We recycle a good bit of our used plastic containers by rinsing them in a very diluted disinfectant, then reusing them for this-year's plants. There are two "wet" cycles in this process; the wash and the rinse. And boy, did it ever feel nice to stick my entire arms in the wash tank. Sort of like running your wrists under water on a summer day, have you ever done that? Except I went in up to the shoulder and would have stuck in my whole head were it not for the flotilla of soil particles ready to attack at a moment's notice.
For a couple minutes during my "dip", I started to think that what if, during the retrieval of plastic containers from the tank, I encountered a non-plastic object, say, something furry? It was one of those times when you know you must, for everyone's well-being, strike the thought from your head and meditate on lollipops or Care Bears or something, lest you flat out lose your mind, but for the life of me, I was stricken. The only thing that distracted me even a little bit were daydreams of this hat, which I've tried on twice at Nordstrom but can't justify buying. I need it, though, don't you think? To keep the wrinkles and cancer-causing UV-rays at bay? Well, unless it goes on sale or somebody (anyone?) buys me a birthday present, I will have to settle for conjugal tryings-on whenever I'm in the Nordy's (a.k.a. Hat Prison) neighborhood. Maybe next time I'm there I'll wear a dress I've made from curtains, and see if I can get the hat to loan me some money. Ha!
**This might be the third or fourth Gone With The Wind reference in my blog history. What does it mean? I offer no explanations other than this: the first time I watched the movie, my mother was giving me a home-perm while I sat on a kitchen stool with my eyes glued to the television, in awe of the epic romance between Rhett and Scarlett. And, Oh, Ashley! I wonder if the chemicals played some role in permanently embedding GWTW references in the part of my brain that stores long-term memory? Do you think this theory could this be proven with a simple CT-Scan? Hmmm.