Little things
Apr. 27th, 2015 04:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI have found my missing oven glove, or gauntlet. It was in the cutlery drawer. In the front of the cutlery drawer. where I must necessarily have seen it half a dozen times a day, for all the week that it was missing. Where I must almost certainly have moved it around, scrabbling for the spoons beneath. Hey-ho. Very well, then. Duly noted.
The World's Tinest Rose(tm) has all unexpectedly put out two of the World's Tiniest Buds. Seriously, people, this thing was the size of a matchstick when I planted it last year; it's still smaller than a coffee mug, despite growing gangbusters this season. And now it's planning to flower. Hee. (We have no idea what colour it will bloom, let alone what variety it is. And we seriously didn't think it was old enough to be interested in sex.)
It was eighty-four degrees around here, when I checked half an hour ago. Eighty-four! That's a lot, in old money. In April. I am planting chilli peppers in the shade. Also I was unaccountably depressed this morning - actually, it's not unaccountable at all: I have lost my writing-mojo almost entirely, an unaccountable loss that makes me accountably depressed - but then I walked out of the library and oh, it was nice. I know there's a drought and everything, and we are doing our fair amount of worrying, but I'm still not going to curse the sunshine.
Like my wrists are really sore today, and I'm fairly sure that's an RSI flare-up on account of cycling (it can't be on account of working: see above, under mojo, absence of), but I'm not going to curse the bike. Or avoid it; my hands will just have to get used to stiff tyres and no suspension on jolty-bad roads.
Dinner tonight will be shrimp and asparagus on linguine, with a cool spinach-and-tomato salad on the side. Both with the same lemon garlic dressing, and basil leaves strewn about.
The World's Tinest Rose(tm) has all unexpectedly put out two of the World's Tiniest Buds. Seriously, people, this thing was the size of a matchstick when I planted it last year; it's still smaller than a coffee mug, despite growing gangbusters this season. And now it's planning to flower. Hee. (We have no idea what colour it will bloom, let alone what variety it is. And we seriously didn't think it was old enough to be interested in sex.)
It was eighty-four degrees around here, when I checked half an hour ago. Eighty-four! That's a lot, in old money. In April. I am planting chilli peppers in the shade. Also I was unaccountably depressed this morning - actually, it's not unaccountable at all: I have lost my writing-mojo almost entirely, an unaccountable loss that makes me accountably depressed - but then I walked out of the library and oh, it was nice. I know there's a drought and everything, and we are doing our fair amount of worrying, but I'm still not going to curse the sunshine.
Like my wrists are really sore today, and I'm fairly sure that's an RSI flare-up on account of cycling (it can't be on account of working: see above, under mojo, absence of), but I'm not going to curse the bike. Or avoid it; my hands will just have to get used to stiff tyres and no suspension on jolty-bad roads.
Dinner tonight will be shrimp and asparagus on linguine, with a cool spinach-and-tomato salad on the side. Both with the same lemon garlic dressing, and basil leaves strewn about.