Walking The Dog

Daffodil as hairbrush. And daffodil as towel. Yes, I promise I haven't lost the plot. Nor have I dug myself a pit of delusion, dreams and madness and jumped in. No, really, I haven't. Not yet. The daffodil is a thing of beauty - a yellow, trumpety flower on a long, thin stem, that bounces as it nods in the garden breeze. No part of it is bristly. No part could separate hairs in a manner necessary to serve as a conventional hairbrush. It is altogether too bendy and soft. It also lacks the absorbancy generally expected of towels. So  daffodil as hairbrush and towel ? - two impossibles that together go nowhere close to making one sound less implausible than the other. But that is my title. And this is how implausible became plausible. It is all the fault of Four-legged-friend. Or of me. As I supplied both weapon and water. Shortly afterwards, one less-stinky, happy and very wet dog was in need of a towel. Towels don't grow in gardens.  But un-mo...

Isn't that an oxymoron? How can one be both positive and pessimistic? Here's how - as illustrated in three simple scenarios: gardening, children and dreams. Gardening When life throws you weeds, and the weeds grow more prolific with each despairing blink of your gardener's eye, and the gardener groans when hoisting upright after an afternoon spent, trowel in hand, bent-over in a choked flower bed, and the sun shines, burning the winter-tender skin at the back of the gardener's neck, and the gardener feels that inexorable train of at-first-creeping-then-later-racing resignation that the bloomin' weeds will win again - this year, like last year, like next year, then it is good to shove the pessimism down the nearest mole hole along with a fresh stinking emission from one of the dogs and stand back to reflect on what is positive. Things might look bad on the I-wish-I-had-a-garden-I-could-be-proud-of front and the there's-never-enough-time-in-the-day front ...

Birthday celebrations in Spring. Life is yellow. And the birthday boy is 245 years old. "My heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils." ... what me! Dancing? With flowers! I don't think so ... Like the 'ducks dabbling up-tials all', 'wandering lonely as a cloud' is a treasured verse from childhood. I wish I remembered more. Happy Birthday William Wordsworth. Apart from the flowers my favourite part of Spring is the light - crisp, clear, vastly distant. Casting low, long shadows and blinding you in the car at the beginning and end of the day (that bit I don't love, very definitely don't love.) Spring is also the one time of year when gardeners have the opportunity to beat back the rising tide of   emerging seeds, the first winding thready tendrils of bindweed, the low furry haze of nettle carpet and the first yellow heads of buttercup that scream catch-me-if-you-can. Lose the battle now and the weeds win...

Life moves on a pace, don't it? In just a few days, I have written down more words in more places than I have done in weeks, fulfilled the role of removal man, taught Littlest how to make cassoulet, eaten more mother's day chocolate than I care to admit, scoured lists of literary agents, reduced the list of agents, resolved to shrink it more, stopped procrastinating (although, arguably, this blog is procrastination - but writing while enjoying a coffee is better than staring blankly into space while enjoying a coffee) and watched the lives of those around me evolve, as they embark upon the changes that will define their next few years. An undoubted pleasure of growing older is observing the exciting and changing lives of our younger loved ones. I feel that their lives move faster than mine did at their age. They are bombarded with instant information. Instant answers. Instant maps. Instant suggestions about where to eat, which friend is nearby, what movie is showing right n...

Those end of the day, sun setting on the horizon, heat turned up in the car because shivering would use up too much energy, sleepy drives home from school are so often punctuated with sudden 'Oh, she's not asleep then' questions that are impossible for a tired, I've had a long day at work parent to answer. Recently, I've jousted with - Do boys pick their noses in front of girls on purpose? If you have food allergies does that mean you can't have babies? Why is it okay to shave under your arms - when you have hair to shave under your arms - but not okay to shave any 'southern' hairs? ... Yep! Southern is an exact quote. I couldn't have made that one up. Actually, in case you were wondering, I didn't make the others up either. Do you believe in heaven? The believing in heaven one was today's - we started with the usual what was good, what was bad about your day questions which usually elicit an answer where the long-ago-disca...

I love this time of year. All apart from the low lying sun that makes driving an eye-watering nightmare. The days are getting longer. The sun blissfully higher. And the garden is waking from its winter slumbers. Some shrubs are busily, early flowering, like this osmanthus, covered in tiny white trumpets - It's a season full of promise - the daffodils will soon burst yellow, their dancing heads heralding spring. And, annually, reminding me of my Scottish 'Gran' who - bucket in one hand, scissors in the other - would decapitate all the spent, crisply-browning blooms. She was small and bent and dainty in her sensible shoes. This was her job. Even when slow and frail. And she did it every spring to ensure healthy blooms the following year. In a few weeks, I'll persuade Littlest (bribe her, probably) that it's a job perfect for her. I'll give her an old pair of gardening scissors and tell her about my Gran, whom she never met. Apart from the daffodils, t...

If there isn't already a collective noun for emoticons then I would like to propose one. Or since I am discussing emoticons why settle on just one - they seldom appear in the singular, so a crop of suggestions would seem vastly, indisputably, unarguably, undeniably, absolutely, unassailably, enormously, incredibly more appropriate (see what I did there ... excessive and ultimately pointless over-use of adverbs where a smiley face, a thumbs-up, a lightbulb and a clever-looking monkey could have created an identical emoticon-fueled mind-numbing effect). So here is my list - a  blizzard  of emoticons which, of course, is ironic as emoticons arrive suddenly en masse creating anything other than a white out. In fact, they are as much a blizzard as the dancing, singing participants in a flash-mob are a blizzard. Or as the friends who leap out from behind the furniture at a surprise party are a blizzard. Or as the wasps who sense there is a sticky platter of barbecued chick...