Painting the exterior of our house...

June 4—on this beautiful sunny summer day, I started my day with a sense of heaven.  Blue, clear skies welcomed me to the new day, and by eight sharp the painters arrived.  I went out for my daily morning run and when I came back I was surprised to find them still there.  For some reason, I had this idea that I was not going to find them there upon my return, but they were already taping off windows and filling holes and such.  What a relieve!  We’re finally painting our home!

Later, I went out to do some errands while the painters worked on the house, then decided to stop at Lowes.  My beautiful Savannah rose had to be returned.  The poor thing had never prospered.  From the very first day I planted it, it started dying away.  This had never happened to me before, not even in my very firsts years of gardening.  I blame myself for not having watered the plant enough, right after it was planted, or maybe for not having make a deeper hole, or maybe it was the ants?  There’s a colony of them living right in front of where I’d planted this rose.  Whatever the reason may be, it died, and I didn’t want to wait a day longer waiting to see if it was going to get better.  I’m done with that. 

I didn’t see a specific rose that I liked for that space at Lowes, so instead of buying whatever they had out there, I bought a lovely Sweet William in deep brilliant red.  

I also came home with a new plant—a Kangaroo Paws plant.  That’s the name.  I felt in love with it from the very first time I saw it.  Like a lover I kept thinking about it, and I think I might had even dreamed about it… or maybe was it only those very first illusive thoughts right after waking up when you can’t tell if you were dreaming or just thinking or remembering something?  The thing is, I had to get it!  And thus, I did.  I already had the pot.  A beautiful ceramic pot for which I didn’t had a plant.  Perfect!  Just perfect!

My house in going to be bursting with potted plants this winter.  I am already considering this, for I already had so many of them last winter.  Now, I have doubled that amount, with all the new geraniums I have planted this spring. 

By mid-day a couldn’t see a single thing outside.  It was like being shut-in in some quiet cocoon of sorts… It was the painters putting painter’s plastic in every window.  It felt cozy, but somewhat claustrophobic.

At 3:00 I made a coladita (Cuban coffee because three of them painters are cubans) and called the guys in for a break. Coffee, cookies, cold bottled water and coke, in case some of them wanted some. 

June 5—the real job has started!  The ‘real’ painting day has come, the first dabs of paint have been dispensed, and now the front of the house is almost done.  This is going fast, the guys have been working since 8:00 this morning, and I’m loving every corner, every column every trim in the new colors!   I’ve been feeding these guys two or three times a day... watermelon, fruits, bread, coke, juices, cold water, cookies, and they are loving all this attention.  I don't have to do this, but I do.  They deserve it all—working so hard under the scorching sun so I can be happy! 

While the workers painted outside I decided to paint inside.  And thus, this plain Jane terracotta pot got a new look with acrylic paint.

I’m not an artist, and I’m very sloppy, but ideas are plenty, and this is what I came up with… something to match the overall décor of the house.  I’m loving it!

June 6—the first painters came quite early this morning, I saw them heading down the road as I was already out there jogging.  They waived and continued on towards the house.  This is going fast.  The preparation of the house, is what really takes more time.  Spraying is something of a second nature to these guys.  And everything is looking magnificent, all the columns already gleaming in extra white, just as I had envisioned.  People around here don’t go for that, and I cannot understand why.  They paint their houses in one or two colors, but the columns and garage doors are always painted in that same color of the body.  No contrast, no difference.  Not to mentioned those boring front doors.  Is, as if people don’t have eyes to fathom beauty ahead of time, or before things are done.  I’ve already foreseen my house just the way I wanted it long time ago.   And every corner and every color chosen perfect.

They will be working on the highest parts of the house today, including trims and front door.  Is 9:44am, and I have already feed them on coffee and croissants.  They are so appreciative.  And so am I. 

The gypsies of the North

Camping is so different here than camping in the south… those hot-hot-super-hot and humid camping summer days are over—so here we are now... camping on the top of the world!

This time, we chose a campground at an elevation of 3,900 feet on the south fork of a wild, icy river… in a place where it is always cold at all hours, where deers and bears roam the land as freely as they can be, and travelers only pass by on the way to somewhere else.

A place where fishermen are willing to lose their soul for a trout or two! 

For hours and hours waiting for the fish to bite… while I play... "or wait for wind to fly a kite. Or wait around for Friday night or wait perhaps for our Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance. Everyone is just waiting.” (Dr. Seuss)

If you want to live the gypsy life, then this is it.  No toilets no shower no electricity no computer no Ipod no phone!  You just do with what you have and what you don’t have.  You sit and listen to the wind tell stories, you put your feet in frigid river waters and wait until you think you are a mermaid of some undefinable realm.  You dream, you play, you hear the songs of the wild, and fancy yourself walking in the world of pixies and hobgoblins.  You walk under purple glowing sky, you eat potatoes you eat whatever you can find, and then, at night, you cuddle under warm blankets and snuggle tightly by that dear funny lover of all your life, as if tomorrow will never come… then you go to sleep believing everything will exceed the previous day... comes the following morning. 

...but of course, this is just me, or better yet, how I see the world, because in reality things could be very different when you're camping in places like that… I will spare you the incommodities, the cold, the dirt… and oh, the deer ticks!  Oh god oh god oh god--panic!  Yes, I almost went into a panic mode when we got home and the Fisherman confessed he had brought home with him one of those nasty little things on one of his legs!  Never in a life time I'd ever imagined something like that, although it can very well be something common, if you don’t take precautions.  Now I'm not too sure if I want to go back to our gypsy life again...  I'm terrified by ticks and Lyme disease!

Oh well, what can I say!  “In a well-ordered universe... camping would take place indoors.”  (Morgan Matson, Since You've Been Gone).

  

Life at that old house in the roses

May 31—on the last day of May the painters gave our house a pressure wash—everything got dusted off and cleaned.  Dirt, grime, insect nests, leaves, and big gunk were knocked down.  Then, it rained all day. 

I went to our local Goodwill and found this cute little fountain.  When the painting job is done it will go in the back porch among all my potted plants, or maybe I should put it on the front porch and entertain the passing world to the soothing sound of water?… but for now, it sits on top of the little orange dresser in my gypsy room.  It looks so cute there!

Withered roses look so pretty… I should had left them be for a little longer, but the room had that particular smell typical of old cemeteries from old forgotten villages in some remote Spanish countries… and, I liked it… I do like it, and I should have let the beauty of lifeless roses embellish the room a little longer, after all, their musty scent perfected the soothing sound of water from the small fountain, but I thought the room needed be more organic, or naturalistic for that purpose; like bursting with potted plants, tall plants such as Kentia palms and Philodendrons, and a few hanging baskets like a little oasis of sorts with the scent of old cemeteries lingering on... And thus, I tossed the dried flowers, unplugged the little fountain and left the room. 

Yesterday, everything in the back porch had to be moved onto the garden, away from walls. And furniture and flowerpots in the front porch are now sitting in the living room. We're all excitedly waiting for the painting job to start... but this disarray of things makes me feel a little edgy and I get a little anxious for order to return and for the normality of things again… but all is worth it.    

I was looking at some pictures of exactly one year ago today… to see how life was unfolding back then at the little white cottage… and oh, the pond—my soul hovered over that pond; my wings flapped above the Crepe Myrtles and Butterfly bushes (Buddleia davidii). How lovely, how sunny and flowery and lush and very lovely everything looked, and how my heart wishes for a pond here at this old house in the roses.

I think of mom constantly.  I miss her terribly.  But there are days that are worse than others, and I'd think of her the entire day, and cry for anything, and my little heart is soft under this great nostalgia.  I don’t know why this happens, or why my heart would seek her out so profoundly on certain days more than others.  The beginning of this week it was like that…  and then the entire week.   She lives forever in my broken heart that doesn’t seal back up... I guess I'm still mourning.   

Do people still read blogs anymore? I read a comment the other day where someone was asking that question; favoring Instagram over blogging. It got me thinking. Yes, blogging has certainly changed a lot from what it used to be ten years ago when I started blogging, but then again people who enjoy reading will always read blogs.  I certainly choose blogs over Instagram, which I think is the plateau for a very different generation than mine… so I guess I'll keep blogging, and hope you'll continue coming by to share my little life!  It is so rewarding.

The painters didn’t come by today.  They won’t come tomorrow, neither the following day.  They asked if they could start on Monday instead.  Of course, I was expecting something like that to happen.  Such a good deal, was too good to be perfect!

Roses and more...

May 28—today I finally found the courage to remove a few of the old roses from the garden.  The Charisma Rose, which I planted back in 2008 (one of the very first ones) was doing so poorly, that it was a pitiful thing to see; with only a pathetic little spray of orange and gold small bloom. Thus, it had to be eradicated from the garden.

I remember how beautiful this bush used to be, with its brilliant orange scarlet blooms blending beautifully against the colors of the landscape. The flowers were pure orange when they first opened, then quickly blushed to a vermilion shade, until finally fading into a toasted shade of scarlet, bordering on dark coral.  Now, they are no more, but the garden is beaming with lots of other roses, and more to come...

The two shrubs next to the Charisma Rose were not looking good either.  In fact, one of them had become completely wild and leggy, with not a single bloom in it whatsoever, so this one I removed without much contemplation.  The one right by it, was only saved because of the promise of its few small blooms in the most intense of reds.   Still wild, yet beautiful to me.

These two rose bushes were planted around the big fountain almost right before we left…  one was a Cinco de Mayo:  Gifted to me by the Fisherman on that summer of 2012, and the other was a Distant Drums shrub, also planted around that same time, and also beautiful beyond description.  I cannot tell now, however, which of these lovely roses I removed and which I left, for I can’t remember the exact location where I’d planted them. 

There is not a creature in all this part of the world who could in the least understand with what heart-beatings I’ve been looking forward to the flowering of these roses, but they were beyond hope and I have to accept the fact that I may need to remove the one left as well.

I am excited about the awesome new variety of roses available today; all new breeds, all beautiful beyond description to embellish this old-new garden of mine.  So, I am looking forward to this thought, or perhaps, I should just plant something else this time?  Something less pretentious and of a quieter nature, a lower, more mysterious type of a plant, like hostas, with the sublime sense they bring to mind of the deep woods and shady places. 

The mere thinking of them is always a joy.  To me these precious deep green creatures of the shade always bring to mind a wonderful and a mysterious place, where my castles in the air are always the strangest and most splendid adventures… A garden, after all, must combine the poetic and the mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy.  So alas, I may be planting something other than roses in that newly opened space.

May 29—I worked incessantly in the garden today.  From 7am to past noon, and then some more, I was out there pulling out and replanting peonies and overgrown lilies that were overcrowding the garden and taking away much needed space.   

The rotunda, or Golden Unicorn gardens where roses of the same name and climbers grow was overcrowded with plumped peonies that bloomed in one day and withered in just a week. So, I pruned with gusto, and collected masses of them to make enough bouquets to embellish each room of the house.   

 

Now, that they have started to put forth flowers, I discovered that many more of the old roses have gone wild. They were grafted roses that had died, or the graft failed while I was away. You could still see branches, but the growths were from the root stock; a much hardier, vigorous plant, but otherwise not garden worthy roses.  So, they needed be pulled out. Some, I only pruned to where the small scarce blooms were and let them be.  But they will need be pruned often, for they are a gangly bunch—long-limbed and awkward.    

I later sprayed all roses with Neem oil and freed some of them from those tall and widespread garden Phlox growing around them, preventing air circulation, which is a key component in growing roses.  Without it they are more prone to disease.

I'm exhausted, thorn pocked and sunburned, and there are moments when I wish I’d be Elizabeth in her German garden just instructing others what to do and what need be done there, but then again, this wouldn’t be my garden in the real sense; for to call a garden your own, one must bequeath a bit of your own soul to it every time you step in it… through perspiration, and hard work; which are the true indication of the gardener's passion and love.  

I love how our master room window gets covered by roses throughout the summer... the Sally Holmes climbing rose growing at its feet grows vigorously all year; with abundant spring and summer blooms.

I have two colors of irises growing in mom’s remembrance garden, which I didn’t know, because I only planted the blue variety, or so I thought, and now this lovely burgundy iris is showing up everywhere… I so love it!

One of my ever favorite... Chicago Peace

The climbing Don Juan gone wild.  It still have some small blooms in it, which I like, so I'm letting it be for now...

Some time ago, someone left me a message—a reader, an older woman who lives or lived somewhere in New Mexico, or perhaps Arizona?  She had a lovely small walled garden filled mainly with flowerpots and the typical Santa Fe stucco walls.  I’ve been trying to locate this blog so I can go visit again and enjoy seeing all her beautiful potted plants, but I cannot seem to find her blog.  I hope some of you may know who she is, or who’s blog I’m referring to, so that you can guide me there, or even come along with me?

Thank you for being here in this parts of the world with me... in spirit and thoughts.  I usually do the same, although many times silent.  Be blessed!