MOOD UPDATE: Greatly Improved.
I turned right instead of left at the end of my street and headed for the garden center instead of the Corningware Outlet and it did my soul much good. I touched all the cobalt blue flower pots of every size and shape and finally settled on just the right one for the stoopscape. The stoopscape is becoming a bit crowded (in my head. Most of the stuff is not yet purchased or painted.) now and I might have to jettison some ideas to the deck in the back. But before I do, I must tell you what else I bought at the garden center.
As you know, I bought the talavera chicken for the express purpose of filling it with Hen and Chicks plants. Of which, isn’t that funny? YES. It’s funny because it’s a chicken filled with a hen and some bonus chicks and I have been waiting for years for just the right moment to display my gardening sense of humor via this arrangement. So I did buy a single little H&C plant and right next to is was a little pot of Creeping Thyme.
So of course I bought it for my talavera turtle. Do you get it? DO YOU? It’s a turtle. Like a tortoise. That won a race over time by steadily creeping along. Plus the little flower tips match the purple collar on the turtle. I am greatly pleased with myself.
Flower pot puns. It’s my new thing. I’m like the W.H. Auden of Mexican animal planters.
In re: the title of this post. My beautiful beloved freshly washed sparkly white Santa Fe was the only commoner car in the parking lot of the garden center. Everything else was a Mercedes, an Escalade or a Lexus. Coiffured women with Louis Vuitton bags hanging on their forearms were strolling ahead of carts pushed by garden center employees as they chose two of these and two of those. I have been to this garden center many times, usually on the weekend – in fact, it is the home of the déclassé meerkat family water fountain – and I have never seen this crowd here before.
Full disclosure: I did have a garden center employee help me get a giant flower pot down from a high shelf, but I had to shout across three aisles to get his attention. (I subsequently abandoned that pot for a smaller one that I could reach myself.) (I don’t know why I said that. It makes me look like a bad, inconsiderate customer. Which I am not. I’m just a Gemini.)
Oh, my. I see my method of buy plant, stick in pot of dirt, add water, ignore, needs to be reevaluated. Gardening puns. Oh, my (she repeats). Hey, you could probably write a book on this and start a new fad that the ladies who shop could latch onto.
How appropriate: hens and biddies for your hen. I had a pot of them in Idaho. No matter the weather, like the mailman, they always came thru with new biddies in the spring. I’m from the south where we say biddies instead of chicks. At least I do. I love the turtle and thyme too.
well obviously the women with the purses are just posers because you buy 1 or 3 or 5 but never ever 2!
I suspect the maids are out getting plants for the real owners of the cars.
I have no explanation for the hand bags. Clearly a conspiracy of some kind.
Well, a poetess surely, but maybe not W. H. Auden.
It was he, after all, who wrote: “You shall love your crooked neighbour With your crooked heart.”
Ahem.
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