Cats in the House...Spring in the Gardens

Broccoli Bolognese with Orecchiette will be dinner tonight.  It's a madhouse at the moment in the kitchen with my family of cats.  The moment they smell broccoli roasting in the oven all hell breaks loose.  It takes all the mustering up of patience I can eke out of myself to not scream bloody murder and run for the hills.

Lacey racing back and forth meowing a thousand times in one minute; Austin yowling at the top of his lungs rubbing in circles around my legs like Indians coming in for the kill; and even Charlotte, around the corner and down the hall in my studio, joins in when the aroma of roasting broccoli tantalizes her nose. 

Zoe yawns, moseys over to the hassock under the window sill and jumps up to dream of a dinner of fresh little cardinals, as she watches them pluck seeds from the hanging feeder.  She doesn't get it.  All this frenzy for some foul smelling green stuff.  What gives?

It's enough to drive anyone bonkers when in the presence of begging cats, but like the cool lady I really am :) my mind dreams of my happy place and leaves me only half bonkers.  They will be appeased when a small dish of those succulent roasted greens is placed on the floor to be gobbled up by furry little piranhas.  Who knew roasted broccoli would rival fried chicken in this household of kooky meowzers.

Blackhaw Viburnum

'My Mary' Azalea 

Native Honeysuckle

My gardens are a personal expression of what lies in the soul of my being.  Transforming Mother Nature into an artistic endeavor of personal pleasures is a road only the foolhardy travel, as it's a work grounded in everlasting heaven and hell.

Mother Nature is always redesigning my designs, winning out more often, as I lose out more often.  I'd like to say it's a compromise, but I'd be lying.  It's more like competing with a little bully with one hand tied behind my back.

I've found going with the flow works much better.  I give a little, she takes a lot.  She's happy with that arrangement.  I, on the other hand, moan and groan as I constantly cut off the heads of all those pesky weeds she seems to love with a passion.

Will it ever end?  I think only when I am no more.  Will my gardens live on?  They'll fade into oblivion, as one person's passion is rarely ever the next owner's desire.

Sad...happy?  It's all a matter of attitude.  I may bitch a little at times; but there's no place I'd rather be than in my gardens, where I can enjoy heaven and endure hell all at the same time :)