William Lobb Roses
I've got all caught up and distracted writing another arrangement for my jazz choir - a groovy bluesy song called 'Moanin'. I could rewrite the lyrics quite nicely to fit the garden, which I am yet again neglecting, if momentarily...
Every mornin' finds me moanin'
Cos of all my gardening needs
I'm so tired of pulling out weeds
Off to the Vet...
Right. The dogs and I are visiting the vet for routine check-ups (hopefully old man Rusty's will be routine). I will be thankful for this year's rose-buying restraint when I swish my visa to pay for Rusty's wildly expensive dog food and arthritis medication. I think I have enough roses. For now. And my goodness they are beautiful.
- Banksia lutea :
- What a beautiful rose this is! But beware - it needs lots and lots of room.
When we get home, I have a list, which is extremely vague. It includes items such as 'sewing' (what, exactly?) and 'gardening'. I think this might be short for 'cut down more of the Banksia rose'. Blast that robust monster rose, whose soft lemon-yellow flowers I absolutely adore. But I know it will regrow. Hopefully modestly...
Everyone behaved at the vet's. Rusty is having blood tests before he re-starts his medication. But Winnie is excessively chunky, and has to go on a serious dog diet.
Lady of Megginch Roses
I spent an hour weeding and another hour on the rose. But a rogue mosquito started biting my ankles, so I've come inside to rethink my leg attire. There is no escape from my garden obligations. Tiger is sitting on my list, purring, with just the final item visible - it clearly says 'burning'. OK, OK. I'll do what I'm told.
At the End of the Day...
so here's the next plan. One should always have a 'next plan', by the way. I have finished a jolly good day's work in the garden. I estimate that half of the Banksia rose has been cleared, chopped into pieces, and burnt. I have taken yet more garden photographs (the overcast light brings out the rose colour so wonderfully well).
I have even photographed the bonfire )see above) in smoky action. And now I am going to wash my hair and put on clean clothes. A white apres-gardening shirt, I think, and my favourite faded Levis. Yes. No alcohol - whitebait fritters and home green salad, with a cold glass of milk, for the evening meal. Heaven!
Thursday 8th December
We've already been in the pond - Rusty wet his dog bed and himself overnight. Old man dog! But of course the cover can be removed and washed, and it's waterproof. Not a problem, dear dog. And it's been very, very drizzly and wet at the dog park. Water is still dripping outside, so - surprise, surprise - I'm going through my rose photographs. This has been the best ever season for the roses.
Friday 9th December
Every three weeks, roughly, I seem to have a mooching day. I still do things, but my use of the daylight hours is totally unsatisfactory. Such was yesterday, where at one stage I reclined on the couch, realised my book was not quite within reach, but couldn't be bothered to walk five steps to get it. I shut my eyes for a minute, mind completely blank. This obviously alarmed Winnie, my young dog, who must have thought I was dead. Up she leapt (ouch) and licked my face vigorously. Are you still alive, mother?
Today I am made of sterner stuff. Am I? I'll just finish this journal entry, maybe peep at a few more photographs (Oh, those beautiful Iceberg roses!), take the dogs for a walk around the orchard, hang out the washing... Hmm. And then I'll cut down more of the Banksia. And I've finished Moanin, by the way. I mean the song arrangement, of course!