Month: June 2021

Yes, a time to remember all fathers, be they biological, father figures, surrogates, and others that have played or continue to play a role.  I often think of my father, a man left without his own at age three and left him nothing but a name, and survived two stepfathers, one of whom he connected with for a short time, and one with whom he didn’t, and of consequence didn’t really have a model.  He was an only child, and thus didn’t have any siblings with whom to share the experience.  Considering that, he did remarkably well in the parent department, raising three of us.  He wasn’t a doting, demonstrably doting parent, but we knew that he loved and cared deeply about all of us.

Continue reading “Father’s Day Renewed”

Many of my faithful readers are well acquainted with our friend, Lady Peacock. She is endearing, yet colorful and just a bit quirky.  In her latest adventure, she was preparing for the warm weather with her front porch container garden, what would be her “showstopper” were this the Great British Baking Show.

Lady P. arrived at our house, fresh from a trip to a local nursery.  I should mention that I do business there quite frequently, so I make sure I never let them know that she’s a friend.  She breezed in late morning on a beautiful day, so it was crowded.  That meant that she couldn’t park in a close, handy location.  That further meant that she’d get dust on her sandals from the unpaved parking area. Strike One.  Arriving at the check-out station, she announced loudly that “she needed help.”  One needs to understand the nuanced language of Lady Peacock here.  That doesn’t mean, “could you direct me to . . . .”  It means, “set aside whatever you’re doing and guide me to whatever I wish to see.”

Next Scene – Lady Peacock is visiting every inch of the nursery with a very patient employee in tow.  She’s on the hunt.  It has to be a certain color combination.  She manages to find secondary plants in her preferred colors – purples, pinks and just a dash of white for drama.  So far so good, but she has her heart set on ranunculus, her favorite, which Lady P announces regularly, or, as a backup, dahlias.  No ranunculus available. The storm clouds gather.  There are, however, some dahlias. These cannot be just any shade – they must be pink.  Not just any pink, but a subdued and dignified pink, not a shocking, gaudy pink.  Subtlety is her middle name.  Well, actually, Jean is, but we digress.  Color themes play heavily into her world vision.  Hence her official residence, Teale Cottage. My readers can see where this is going. So, back at the nursery, nothing suits.  Strike Two. They’re all yellows, oranges, off-whites.  I suggest zinnias if we can’t find dahlias.  They’re first cousins and remarkably similar, but no, those won’t work. Lady P. hates orange – she’s made a point of telling me that on numerous occasions, most recently as she was given an orange begonia, and routinely when I’ve been coerced into thoroughly enjoyed helping her plan her container.  Mercifully, she only has the one in mind.  If she did more, blood would be spilled.

Up she goes to the cashier station with her purchases.  You would think that the line would open up immediately, other customers clearing a path and sensing her look of resolve, so Lady P. could complete her transactions and leave, but no.  Apparently, they failed to pick up on her cues.  Two or three customers had the impertinence to be in line ahead of her.  Not only that, but they weren’t very fast.  In that delicious line from Devil Wears Prada, they “moved at glacial speed.” They asked questions about different kinds of mulch and then chatted amiably among themselves for what must have been an eternity for Lady P.  Strike Three.  This garden center, previously a favored establishment, has now dipped precipitously.  Perhaps they’ve even lost a Peacock feather or two in their rating.

Here’s the fun part from my perspective.  Lady P. arrived on our doorstep, where she deposited her initial purchases – the partial container “in progress”.  She opened the back of the car for what I frivolously thought was a viewing of her finds. No, no, again. She brought them out and informed me that it was my responsibility to procure the required focal point for her container masterpiece.  This, she told me with a perfectly straight face, would be a real “win-win” because I’d have the joy of shopping for her favorite flowers.  I’d have the further joy of combining them all into a stunning container.  She brought them over now not only for me to put all together, but also to maintain and water it while she’s away later that week. 

I may have mentioned previously, that Lady Peacock returned some flowers that she’d purchased that were just budding.  She was then away, and upon her return found that the petunias or some such had burst in the bloom in the wrong color.  They were supposed to be pink to match the wreath on her front door, but they came out lavender.  Well, back they went to the store, and the people there (again, I surmising, long suffering) were told on no uncertain terms, that they were not at all the color their buds had led her to believe.  It’s just that type of “bait-and-switch” against which Lady Peacock is ever vigilant.  (You may want, for context, to review the blog, “The Art of Return”.  It pretty much explains Lady Peacock’s vision, and most of what she holds dear.)

For many gardeners, in fact I might venture to say most, searching out new plants, new color combinations, and new looks is part of the fun.  Visiting the nurseries at this time of year is an adventure that we’ve been looking forward to all winter.  We’ve flipped through gardening magazines to see what’s new for this year.  So, it’s a bit of a mystery to me that someone asks  to put together a container of same old.  And the funny part is that they ask me to assist them because my containers look so nice.  My dear sister-in-law has a similar view of plants.  They’re something to be endured rather than enjoyed.  In fairness, my brother-in-law absolutely hates gardening, and I get that. A few years ago, I did a window box for them for the lake that deviated from the norm.  It wasn’t red and white, didn’t have impatiens, etc., etc.  She gave me a look that said “What were you thinking?”, but put it out back anyway.  By way of vindication, the neighbors all told them how beautiful it was.  Rather like the year I took over the raised bed in front of the cottage, the turf of my late father-in-law.  As I brought in the plants, he stood in the front window with his cane, pointing.  “I put three geraniums in the back, then a row of marigolds in front.”  I calmly told him that I was “going in a different direction” that year, and not to worry.  I suspect he was sitting inside fuming until Roberta, a neighbor down the road told him, “That’s so pretty – you’ve done something different this year.”  Rather took the wind out of his sails.

Like the innocent query, “would you help me with my taxes”, the next yearly event is on. The hunt has begun for Lady Peacock’s ranunculus, and / or dahlias – soft pink, hold the zinnias.  Have struck out at the next two places I’ve tried.  Not the right colors, too big for the container.  I have a few more places to try, so Herself and I will have to branch out to a few more nurseries farther away.  We’ll make a day of it. Perhaps I should charge Lady Peacock mileage.  Anyone know what the going rate is?  I’m thinking, by the time I’ve factored in anxiety, about four bucks a mile might cover it.