A Splash of Orange with a Frog Thrown In

A Passion for Fragrance

Warm sweet clove fragrance of My Mary Azalea begs one to linger longer than usual to take in the beauty of her soft yellow flowers edged with just a whisper of burnt orange.  She's at her finest moment, the love of the gardens, and she demurely knows it.  No one person resists her.  This sultry temptress incognito, so subtly intoxicating, filling our senses with the faint passion of a longing for something more, like that of a caterpillar that has begun its journey to find that special place to fall into a deep sleep not really knowing why.

Sweet-shrub Athens begins to open her buds...one, two, ten, twenty, fifty, and two hundred.  Whiffs of freshly cut honeydew melon come and go day one, hang around day two, tantalize day three, cross over the line day four, overwhelm day five, and become quite vulgar by day six, morphing into an assault of a thousand rotting honeydews blasting one in the face. She's by the front door.  Catalog promised the scintillating aroma of luscious juicy red strawberries. They lied.  She's too hefty to relocate; she'd need a good blasting to kingdom come to remove her and all those tenacious baby suckers she keeps replenishing. She's at the first of many of her finest moments to come this season and next, so we comfort or agitate ourselves in knowing she's the finest of front door people repellents this side of heaven :(

Robed in a zillion tiny petals and hundreds of bees, China Girl Holly's fragrance remains evanescent; fluctuating with the gentle breezes or hiding in the soft stillness.  Up close...in her face is the only way to appreciate those delicate flowers and their evasive perfume.  There's no comparison, as the storms this morning stripped her of her petaled beauty, and all that can be said is that her scent reminds us of her, and let it remain your mystery for yet another year.

A Study in Lacey

Orphans in Rags and Other Wild Things

When plan A starts ripping apart at the seams, and the needle has run short of thread in a futile effort to bind it all back together, plan B starts looking mighty reasonable no matter how haywire it really is.  You're dropped off at work on a morning that should be as it appears - sunny and peaceful, but in your head it's morphed into cloudy and troubled cause your mode of transportation is in for repairs and you wonder just how long it's really gonna be before you'll be able to escape THE JOB that afternoon.

Time to think of "what ifs" has vaporized as the phone calls and walk ins are surrounding you like a swirling sea of quicksand sucking your sanity into the vortex of total chaos.  Since "patsy's" stamped in indelible ink on your forehead  and your wispy bangs are doing such a pitiful job of camouflage, it's just a matter of a very short time before the scenario of bad becomes worse...then it happens.

You've just been given a box of rags, and your curiosity instantly dies a short flaming death.  You know something's breathing in there, and what should have been another's problem is now yours.  You're told this is what's left of a possum verses four speeding tires, and you sigh.  Husband's called, then Walden's Puddle Wildlife Rehab, and you're wondering how to set up an appointment when the car could be ready anytime from an hour, or two or three from now.

A time is picked for the hour long drive after husband's hour long drive to pick you and your orphans up.  Husband calls, then Walden's Puddle's appointment is reneged and reassigned a later time after a lengthy discussion. Long story short...the four orphaned babies are now with another group of orphans, cuddled warmly together.  Speeding towards home you stop for a huge bottle of cool pepsi to pacify your defeated soul, cause you passed up a planned afternoon of weed pulling ecstasy in the gardens and the rains are moving in.  Ain't life grand?

Wild Things this April Afternoon

Andee's Day