Monday, August 9, 2010


It's Monday morning, with a high humidex already (we're at 30 degrees Centigrade and it's only 7.30 as I write) so I'm writing this, a short morning post, rather than heading out for a jog. Yesterday's run was long, for me, and I'm trying, as I've said before here, to pace myself and not wear out my joints too soon. Instead I'll use this early morning space to write here and then to tidy up the garden, suddenly looking ragged and unkempt.

But apart from that superficial messiness, the garden news continues great in this astonishingly wonderful summer. The cherry tomatoes have been producing ripe fruit for awhile, and so have the chile plants. But now I'm also eating larger tomatoes, an heirloom variety whose name I cannot remember. The tomatoes are dull red, slightly oval, with dull green shoulders. Perhaps I can find a tag out in the garden when I head there for my tidying session. The other good news is more amazing: the wisteria has bloomed. I don't understand it blooming this late, but I have seen other wisteria vines with blooms on recently, so perhaps there's a second season? Anyway, my wisteria is white-blooming, an Asian variety, and I've seen blooms on it only twice before in the fifteen or eighteen years I've had it. The flowers on this variety are sweetly aromatic, and very beautiful.

This year's small flowering may be because I have been regularly cutting it back all season. I was once given advice, on a gardening show in Sonoma, that to get wisteria to bloom it's a good idea to trim it back, and this year I finally was regular about the trimming. Though now I wonder, in that trimming, how many other bloom-bearing fronds I cut off!. Whatever the story, I am thrilled about this unexpected treat.

Another pleasure that's come to us recently is a mouser, a beautiful tabby named Silky. We are taking care of her while friends are out of town for a year. We knew we needed her as much as (more than!) she needed us, because we had mice and couldn't get rid of them. But we hadn't anticipated how much we'd enjoy her company. The mice have fled, and she patrols (that's how it feels) the back and front yards too, so we don't have the same losses to squirrels we usually do (they take bites out of tomatoes etc, and we really detest them). The only difficulty is that we have one close friend who, because of a long-time allergy to them, detests, abhors, whatever word you want to use will do, all cats. Hmmm... For now it's wonderful to be mouse-free and also to have Silky reminding us that there are worlds out there that we don't understand, mysterious life in the jungle that is our neighbourhood from her point of view! She also makes herself comfortable on Tashi's lap in the evenings as he's on his computer. They make a cosy pair.

In the losses column: A week ago, when I was up north, I finally lost my gold keeper, a little earring. I had only one, the other having strayed long ago, and the pair being from my long-dead mother. I don't know if you've had this experience of having something (usually it's jewellry of some kind, but other items can also be candidates) that you keep checking to make sure it isn't lost. That's been my pattern with the gold keeper. I would reach up to touch my right earlobe, just to make sure the fine gold loop of keeper was still there and closed securely.

Now I need no longer fear the loss. It's happened. And so, perversely, though there's regret, there's also a kind of relief. That small worry is over. I am freed from a concern, however small. All I need to do is shed the last vestiges of regret, and also let go of the small hope that it will turn up somewhere. This time it's gone for good, out in a field somewhere or by a road. Maybe someone will find it and enjoy it. I hope so. Nice to think that my small loss could be someone else's unexpected pleasure.


kerrdelune said...

This is a lovely post, thank you for it. There is indeed a kind of closure in actually losing something one has worried about losing for some time. In my case, it was a watch my father gave me when I graduated - it fell into a pond somewhere, never to be seen again.

This week, I am rereading "Beyond the Great Wall", and loving this reading as much as I did the last (perhaps even more. Revisiting the book is like being back in Asia.


naomi said...

thanks for the wisteria advice, Leviathon! I will prune the vine hard in September, around the equinox.
And thanks for the compliments kerrdelune! Always a treat to hear when a posting has resonated.