Above, a portrait of Her Highness—dirty lady beard and all. And then my beauties: Fred is closest to the camera; he is our lover. He has his arm on his “sister,” Ethel. (They’re not biological sibings.)
“God is in the details.” I love that expression.
When I finish the Fern Garden, my next big task will be finishing the boardwalk from where I stopped last year, to the gate in my back fence that leads into the forest (Crown Land). When those jobs are done, all major work on my yard will be done—finished; once they are done, all work will be the maintenance of past projects.
I’ll be attending to details such as edging. I’ve miles of edges to clip, where the grass grows tall in defiance of my broken lawnmower. The only additional planting I want to do, is some yellow ground cover. Other than that, I am done planting except for the spaces where I grow annuals each summer.
Then, my summer lifestyle henceforth will be mowing, edging, watering and weeding—especially weeding in my miles of cracks between the courtyard paving stones.
Yesterday the air outside my window was full of little flying bugs. I could really see them shimmer in the sunshine. Their wings kind of glowed in the light; they move so quickly I could only see a blur around their bodies. I’ve never noticed them before. They are tiny; every time I look out the window, I see about thirty of them. They have no interest in me when I go outside.
When I got home, Daryl pulled in behind me. He came and helped me get my lawn mower going again. And he would not accept payment. So, I’m going to bake something for him and Elaine.
It was nice in the park yesterday afternoon—no Anna or Gunther, though. But just as you see in news media, the wild animals are “taking over” parks and recreation land since the closure of the amenities. We have an infestation of native teenagers in Rollo Park. At first there were one or two, but now there is often a small group of them—and they make a lot of noise. Their mating rituals are noisy and disruptive.
In the evening, I watched Official Barber Shop Chronicles by The National. It was looking through a window of neighbours’ suites. I felt, very much the outsider, in this play about black culture, but I laughed, I cried, I loved it. It was inventive and compelling; the performers were incredible, and it felt wonderfully intimate to watch.
At the end, I realized Black culture means something to me. All my life it’s been in the music I listen to, in movies and on television; it’s part of my life.
Not long into it, however, the power went off. It went off at ten past six and didn’t come back on again until ten. Someone broke a wire near the village. I used my generator to finish watching the play.
Today is a beauty and it looks like we’re in for a long period of sunshine and warmth (except for tomorrow), so the Fern Garden will soon be done and work will start on finishing the boardwalk.