Wednesday, 4 May 2016
A cold and strong wind did not inspire me to want to go to work, and Allan agreed that he also wanted the day off. We could work Saturday instead of Wednesday if need be…even though days off IN A ROW are much more psychologically soothing to me.
I must admit that having Allan pick up volume 4 (Confusion) of Elizabeth Jane Howard’s Cazalet Chronicle from the library made a day off especially appealing.
Before I settled in, I got an email from the Port office asking if we could meet with Mark (boatyard manager) to talk about watering; I knew I could not enjoy getting stuck into my book and then interrupted, so I puttered around actually tidying a table (amazing!) and found several pieces of paperwork that had gotten buried. No overdue bills, fortunately!
At the port, the chilly wind roared.
Mark, used to working around boats in all weather, seemed impervious to the cold wind. He explained that it would cost a hookup fee and monthly meter cost for any water line run to the curbside gardens, so it was not to be. He was kind and sympathetic about the problem of having no water access for a couple of the gardens.
While we were there, I noticed that the plants in the port office and Time Enough curbside gardens had begun to droop from the drying wind. The day turned into a workday for half an hour while we watered them.
I dropped off our invoice at Time Enough Books and met two little chihuahas, adopted from our local shelter.
We drove down to the garden by Ilwaco pavilion and watered a few new plants with the big green, formerly cat little now water jug that we carry in the van. We did not have a hose with us for hooking up to the pavilion faucet.
After I went home to read, Allan returned to the Community Building garden to water.
Home again, Allan started painting lumber for the new arbor project.
I had work worries on the brain, making it hard to settle in to my book. After a break to watch Survivor, I finally finished it at 2:30 AM.
This passage, where two teenage girls talk about death after the mother of one died, affected me. If this is a subject especially painful to you, I implore you to stop reading now and skip ahead to daily installment from my mother’s garden diaries.
The older I get, the more I think about death, but I have always thought about it and have found it just as hard as this to picture “heaven”:
Later the same day…
I eagerly await the fulfillment of my interlibrary loan request for the next book, Casting Off.
1995 (age 71):
May 4: Went to Lacey to check out new tillers. Ended up at the Troy-bilt tillers. It will cost over $1000 but it is what I’ve always wanted. We will probably trade in the Mantis if we can get a decent price.
1998 (age 74):
May 4: 11:00 to 5:45 Gray skies and cool. All that time spent potting the recent Spring Hill and Bluestone orders. I have 2 or 3 days of work getting dahlias and glads planted so I decided I’d better get the mums and dianthus into pots. It’s a good thing I did. The Spring Hill dianthus were really rootbound. They probably appreciate more room.