It is fascinating to watch my pot plants evolve and to learn what’s going on from Darrell.
What you see here are the flowers growing. They look more like little leaves all knotted together with the threads of pistils shooting out. Darrell says to let the buds grow as tall as possible before harvesting and then drying them.
Marijuana sells in the local dispensary for about $230 or so per ounce I think, so my two plants should yield a crop of considerable value.
Next year I plan to seed four plants in my fenced-in vegetable garden—in the pathway so I don’t use up valuable produce beds.
|I love Ven Diagrams|
When it’s pouring rain outside even Sheba wants to be inside, so Saturday morning was dull, dull, dull here. It was wet but the swelling in my foot was down so when we did get out for a walk, it was much easier. And I felt good yesterday. (Friday I did not feel at all well.)
With the forest shrouded in milky blue cloud and with water dripping from every needle, I took Sheba for a walk on the trail nearby. Just as I had on Friday, I had to shed my coat. It looks so miserable outside but it’s still really lovely and warm.
I pulled all the books I haven’t read from my shelves and stacked them in the living room. Ol’ One Eye is going to get through them all. I’m starting with an anthology of award-winning short stories. Delicious!
I went into the village for lunch; I get sick of being at home all the time. And I did some shopping. I wonder when I will shop and not think about Grant dying in front of me and then coming back from the dead thanks to Robin’s CPR?
The rain was torrential in the afternoon. The sky was shitting rain like I’ve never seen before here and poor Sheba had cabin fever. We both did.
Today we go for the community dog walk under clouds that are supposed to disburse this afternoon to make way for at least a week of warm and sunny Indian Summer. I can hardly wait! It’s been raining since September 7th!
Okay. It’s time. I’m eighteen pounds over my normal weight and it’s time to do something about it.
When I started having seizures I stopped cooking and baking. I had to. It was too dangerous to do many things (including using the stove) and so I started eating out and snacking a lot. Then, when self-pity hit over my speech, I soothed my soul with sweets and when I moved here my mantra was pie every day.
If I can lose the weight, I’ll be my old self again—kind of. I’ll be my old self but still with issues. And speaking of issues….
I watched a short film about a community bus in Wales that serves isolated communities—particularly seniors. And in it, you meet many of the regular customers and one is a woman who was in a horrific car accident.
Helen takes the bus back and forth to therapy and she references having virtually the same type of seizures as I do. I still find it mysteriously satisfying to hear that I am not alone.