I've been racking my brain over what I should post about. Shall I do a follow up on the post I did about critiques? I've been neglecting The Bookette's British Book Challenge despite having read: Stoneheart by Charlie Fletcher, The Demon Collector by Jon Mayhew and Firebrand by Gillian Phillip, but I'm not in the mood to write a book review (sorry) and besides the whole Greek Seaman affair has had me rethinking my book review format. At the moment I seem to be spending all my time thinking about my WIP, which is also woefully neglected and my balcony.
Unlike my blog, WIP and the BBC, the balcony has not been neglected and it's been a bit of a reawakening for me. I don't think that it ever actually dawned on me that I 'missed' having a balcony. When I was at university I began growing this little colony of fern, spider plants, money plants and a fiscus called Matilda who by the time I left England was this enormous, well, tree. All my plants had names and I used to talk to them while I was clickety clacking away on my little portable green typewriter. They were all moved lovingly from flat to flat and then carefully distributed to loving homes when I left the country. I've never quite replicated my little indoor garden again.
Mexico was always temporary so plants didn't feature. Spain had that same kind of temporary feel, so we resuscitated some geraniums, but didn't really lovingly grow anything. Paris always felt a bit more permanent so out came the window boxes again and for a while there I dallied with growing vegetables and grew the world's smallest beetroots. It could have gone into the Guinness book of records if I had contacted them. Apart from 'Grateful' a palm we found abandoned at the end of the road one night, plants sort of petered out of my life for a while there and 'Grateful' even gave up the ghost when my first cat arrived.
Grateful was replaced by another palm and a baby and yet again plants didn't feature too much in my life, but as soon as we put an offer on this apartment I started planning the balcony (not getting a mortgage or anything like that). While the Frog pulled out some ancient architecture software he had and planned where every last bit of furniture was going to go, I planned greenery and geraniums and what not.
We've now got some herbs, lots of cherry tomatoes (I didn't choose those, what with being ALLERGIC to them), some mint (for the mojitos), some cactuses (I figured the bubba couldn't kill them), some roses, geraniums, jasmine and some purple plants beginning with c. I got a fork, trowel and gloves too, but you know, last Sunday I opened a new bag of soil and the smell hit me. My hands sank into the soil and it just felt so warm and cosy and... That was the moment, that was when I thought: mmm, I've missed this. I've missed soil under my fingernails, the smell, the peace of watering and although I didn't have a bubba before it was kind of cool watching her sow her seeds. She had a certain method that I wasn't too sure about, but what do you know? We've got some parsley sprouts that have survived the cats helpful sowing. Cool.
I've been racking my brain over what I should post about. Shall I do a follow up on the post I did about critiques? I've been neglecting The Bookette's British Book Challenge despite having read: Stoneheart by Charlie Fletcher, The Demon Collector by Jon Mayhew and Firebrand by Gillian Phillip, but I'm not in the mood to write a book review (sorry) and besides the whole Greek Seaman affair has had me rethinking my book review format. At the moment I seem to be spending all my time thinking about my WIP, which is also woefully neglected and my balcony.
Unlike my blog, WIP and the BBC, the balcony has not been neglected and it's been a bit of a reawakening for me. I don't think that it ever actually dawned on me that I 'missed' having a balcony. When I was at university I began growing this little colony of fern, spider plants, money plants and a fiscus called Matilda who by the time I left England was this enormous, well, tree. All my plants had names and I used to talk to them while I was clickety clacking away on my little portable green typewriter. They were all moved lovingly from flat to flat and then carefully distributed to loving homes when I left the country. I've never quite replicated my little indoor garden again.
Mexico was always temporary so plants didn't feature. Spain had that same kind of temporary feel, so we resuscitated some geraniums, but didn't really lovingly grow anything. Paris always felt a bit more permanent so out came the window boxes again and for a while there I dallied with growing vegetables and grew the world's smallest beetroots. It could have gone into the Guinness book of records if I had contacted them. Apart from 'Grateful' a palm we found abandoned at the end of the road one night, plants sort of petered out of my life for a while there and 'Grateful' even gave up the ghost when my first cat arrived.
Grateful was replaced by another palm and a baby and yet again plants didn't feature too much in my life, but as soon as we put an offer on this apartment I started planning the balcony (not getting a mortgage or anything like that). While the Frog pulled out some ancient architecture software he had and planned where every last bit of furniture was going to go, I planned greenery and geraniums and what not.
We've now got some herbs, lots of cherry tomatoes (I didn't choose those, what with being ALLERGIC to them), some mint (for the mojitos), some cactuses (I figured the bubba couldn't kill them), some roses, geraniums, jasmine and some purple plants beginning with c. I got a fork, trowel and gloves too, but you know, last Sunday I opened a new bag of soil and the smell hit me. My hands sank into the soil and it just felt so warm and cosy and... That was the moment, that was when I thought: mmm, I've missed this. I've missed soil under my fingernails, the smell, the peace of watering and although I didn't have a bubba before it was kind of cool watching her sow her seeds. She had a certain method that I wasn't too sure about, but what do you know? We've got some parsley sprouts that have survived the cats helpful sowing. Cool.
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