DIL asked for suggestions about flowers for a hanging basket near their front door.
When I replied that I thought a fuchsia would be pretty, she snortlaughed and said, “Ring-ring-ring, 1980s calling, Grandma!”
I had never before thought that a purple-pink fuchsia dated me as being OLD, haha. It was a great joke…UNTIL she saw mine, asked what it was, and I was able to identify this amazing creation as a…fuchsia!
So NOW who’s laughing?
How could anyone not love this delicate ballerina of a flower?
Fuchsia is a dancer Dancing on her toes, Clad in red and purple, By a cottage wall; Sometimes in a greenhouse, In frilly white and rose, Dressed in her best for the fairies’ evening ball!
Before it gets so hot and dry that everything dies a slow and painful death, here’s a few pics from the garden:
The raspberries aren’t ready to eat, but oh so pretty cherry red.
Still thriving; a decades old bottlebrush.
Flowers everywhere!
Photobombed by my resident Scott’s Oriole. What a show off! Look at how adept he is balancing on the tip of an agave.
And then he flew over to the bottlebrush in time to get his photo taken again.
I have pretty good luck propagating alstroemeria; now it’s blooming everywhere!
And indoors, it looks like all these plants are growing out of the fireplace, but this is where they get the perfect amount of diffused light. My Monstera looks bright and healthy living her best life with a fresh white orchid.
Lots of happy plants in and out. I hope you enjoyed this tour of Casa de Enchanted Seashells!
The Angels love to look through the photos on my phone, especially all the ones I’ve taken of them, of course.
When we clicked on this rose, I told them it was a selfie of ME cos I’m Princess Rosebud. They thought that was funny but being their dad’s kids, they just HAD to disagree…
“Grandma, you are so annoying! You aren’t a REAL princess!”
“Yes, I am.” I replied. “And you are Princess Charlotte and Prince Theodore.”
“Dad, Grandma’s being annoying again!”
OMG did they just tattle about me to my original Angel Boy? That’s too funny.
From the other room, I hear him say, “Mom, stop being annoying.”
I guess that’s going to be my legacy…however, we’re all royalty around here, so I thought I’d share this little joke to start the week.
This particular rose smells as good as she looks. Spicy and sweet, just like me.
I think a backstory needed to explain the origin of being called “annoying”, thanks to my new friend, wonderfully talented author Debbie Russell. I should have explained it in more detail and to be fair to the Angels.
I first began to reference myself that way when I bothered them as they were busy doing things (just to be funny) like standing in front of the TV during a show they were watching and I’d say, “Aren’t I the most annoying Grandma?” and they’d say “Yes, you are! Stop it!” And I’d stop, of course. Also for example, when I’d read a book to them, a book I’d literally read a thousand times before, to make it more interesting for ME, I’d change the names or spice up the story a bit differently, mainly to see if they were paying attention (which they were) and then they’d say, “Read the exact words, Grandma!” which I thought was pretty cute. And then I’d say, “Do you find it annoying when I do that?” The answer was always yes.
The Angels weren’t being disrespectful. Grandma was!
A May gray morning is the perfect weather for a walk.
My hydrangea is blooming and yes, I know I could turn the flowers blue with the correct fertilizer, but I decided to allow them to retain their natural hue without intervention.
At sundown, this is where I often see coyotes, but nothing right now.
Here’s the entrance to a lagoon path; how adorable is this community fairy village?
I’m not too sure what that big square thingy is on the shoreline, but I didn’t want to walk in the muck with my good walking shoes, so it’ll have to remain a mystery.
It’s rattlesnake season, so I diligently watched where I was going and spied a strange object. It’s not exactly a rock but feels heavy for its size and to me, it looks like a whale. Another treasure to bring home!
They’re back! Nothing says springtime like a visit from these guys.
Scott’s Orioles are so deliciously bright and vibrant and they very rarely sit still long enough to get a good photo. I was in the right place at the right time for sure!
Join me as I raise a very happy glass of champs to all moms and May birthday girls.
I’m grateful that I had a mom who not only taught me to appreciate Chanel, beautiful flowers and diamonds, how to bake the world’s best cinnamon rolls and apple pie, but also how to make a bed with hospital corners, debride a wound, and nurse a sick loved one back to health. It’s all about balance, teehee. Miss you, Mommy!
Last year I attended the first ever North County Monarch Butterfly Festival. I’m glad to learn that it’s coming back again this Mother’s Day weekend.
The Festival highlights all aspects of the Monarch universe, from monarch-inspired arts and crafts to jewelry, clothing, biology, pollinator gardening, milkweed and nectar plant propagation and cultivating. Join discussions and presentations on a wide range of subjects, such as conservation and butterfly migration, habitat restoration and creation; talks on diseases and predators to gardening with native plants. It’s a great event for families with children’s activities and seed exchanges. (Event link below.)
In my garden, I thought my milkweed plants had died, but they miraculously returned and are doing well.
Planting milkweed is one of the easiest ways that each of us can make a difference for the Monarch. There are more than one hundred species of this wildflower native to North America. Here are just a dozen:
SymphonyinYellow An omnibus across the bridge Crawls like a yellow butterfly And, here and there, a passer-by Shows like a little restless midge.
Big barges full of yellow hay Are moored against the shadowy wharf, And, like a yellow silken scarf, The thick fog hangs along the quay.
The yellow leaves begin to fade And flutter from the Temple elms, And at my feet the pale green Thames Lies like a rod of rippled jade. –Oscar Wilde
This Bush Poppy (Dendromecon rigida) is a California native shrub. It’s a tough and beautiful plant but only if planted in the right conditions. The Bush Poppy thrives on rocky clay slopes with excellent draining. If planted in sandier soils, it can handle supplementary water up to once a month. Prefers full sun. Flowers are beautiful, as are the long, thin, blue-green leaves.
Look at this lemony yellow azalea. I didn’t even know they came in yellow until I used the info app on my phone to identify this gorgeous girl. I think it’s actually called Rhododendron ‘Lemon Lights’.
This intense cosmic energy is not only messing with my sleep, but I was having strange battery issues with my laptop computer so I went back to the Apple store where I had once met Al Gore (yes, VICE PRESIDENT Al Gore) and asked the Genius Bar tech to perform a diagnostic check. The tech didn’t do much but it’s all better, so who really knew what caused the problem, whether it was a hardware glitch or a solar flare, or other planetary influences. The good thing is that it’s back to working perfectly.
There were lots of traffic accidents and horrible drivers everywhere yesterday. The freeway was completely shut down for hours because of an insane situation with a woman who allegedly vandalized a vehicle and carjacked a Lyft. She led the police on a short chase but finally, peacefully, surrendered to police after a prolonged standoff on Interstate 5. It looked like WW3 with all of the military-like Special Weapons and Tactics Team surrounding the vehicle. The woman was taken into custody on suspicion of felony vandalism, brandishing a weapon in a threatening manner, assault with a deadly weapon, carjacking, resisting arrest, and felony evasion of police.
That’s way too much negative energy for ME to deal with and I’m so glad I wasn’t stuck for hours on the freeway. I felt lucky that I had made a spontaneous last minute decision to take an alternate route home. I heard all the sirens though, but had assumed it was simply another accident.
Time to take a deep breath, stay home, work in the garden, listen to the birds, and read a poem or two while cultivating some zen as well as my veggies.
How I Go To The Woods by Mary Oliver
Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.
Enchanted Seashells by Princess Rosebud 