Greetings and salutations, everyone; yes, once again it is I, your popular host, Mani the purebred border collie, here to bring you up to date on our isolated and distanced modern lifestyle. You may remember me from such posts as “Passing The Time”, among so many, many others.
Here I am in a characteristic pose.I was helping the guy I live with today. He was working out in the “way back” digging out some of the smooth brome (just to my left, there), to make that part of the garden look less awful. It’s a huge amount of work because the grass has roots that go everywhere. Everywhere except down.
He used his hori-hori for some of the digging. It’s a tool he’s used for a long time.
So in the evening this was what things looked like. He got quite a bit done even with the smell from next door. He always has a bandanna handy now. A box from Edelweiss Perennials arrived yesterday. That’s right, on Monday. It took an extra-long time to get here but everything was perfectly fine.
A bunch of epimediums and some anemones. Anemone nemorosa.
Maybe you remember the last time epimediums came to the garden, in the hilariously-titled post, “Epimedium Rare”; well, those were planted at kind of the wrong time of year, and the survival rate was not terrific. So more were ordered, and will be planted (eventually) at the right time of the year, which is now.
I’m going to digress here a bit. It’s May. The most painful month of all for the guy I live with. His wife died (very suddenly) on the twenty-fourth, and, also, he met her right about this time of year, too.
When they met, she had her own record collection (which he gave away, along with his own collection, after she died, as I said in my last post), and there are some records that remind him of that time. Naturally.
And that was the reason why he dragged out the turntable. He decided maybe he should try to find some of those records again. Ones that were never transferred to compact disk.
(If you didn’t know it already, the guy I live with is pretty sentimental.)
He found a place where he could get some of the records. Not a lot of money will be involved, which came as a relief to both of us.
I didn’t know anything at all about records, things which the guy I live with has always loved, and he explained that these were round flat things made of vinyl (sort of) that rotated at 33 1⁄3 revolutions per minute, or r.p.m., as they say. There were earlier records that were 78 r.p.m., made of shellac, and then also, later, 45 r.p.m. (There was a struggle between Columbia Records and RCA Records as to which speed, 33 1⁄3 or 45 r.p.m, respectively, was the best, after “the 78” became obsolete, and Columbia won, though ironically a lot of audiophile LPs are now pressed in 45 r.p.m. There was also 16 2⁄3 r.p.m.)
Well, whew, anyway, when the records start appearing here, I’ll show you what he got. I can pretty much guarantee these will be nothing like what you imagine.
Okay, now about the anemones. The guy I live with had a friend, Nina, who lived in New York. I’ve probably mentioned her before. They corresponded for over twenty years, but never met. She sent him his first Cyclamen coum, and also things like Anemone nemorosa. The blue one, ‘Robinsoniana’, flourished for a while but I think has died out. (New plants are in the flat pictured above.)
Like with the cyclamen, when he goes into the shade garden on the north side of the house, he thinks of his friend.
She was the third person he called when his wife died. His friend Nina went into surgery a few weeks later; there were complications I think, and she died the following January. At the same time that Slipper, a purebred border collie who lived here before me, was diagnosed with liver cancer.
The anemones sing their bittersweet song to the guy I live with. Here are a few:
I know I don’t show plants in the shade garden a lot. I don’t go in there because there’s a gate.
The guy I live with, who, like me, can be naughty sometimes, has planted a whole bunch of the dragon arum, Dracunculus vulgaris, in the garden, in hopes that the stench of the flowers will cancel out the stench of his neighbor’s laundry. It’s not likely because the latter smell is overpowering to the extent that it often makes him sick, but he says it’s funny to imagine a whole bunch of plants reeking of rotting flesh. He says he’s going to keep ordering the dragon arum until our whole garden reeks to high heaven. I can hardly wait.
Until next time, then.