Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue

The Yard of Sisyphus continues to overwhelm us, but such is summer around here.

I went to the nursery yesterday and picked up some awesome new plants (and a couple of new containers), but by the time I got home it was approximately a thousand degrees outside with probably, like, 300% humidity. You might as well be breathing bathwater, so I said, "To hell with it - it'll wait."

But then a storm blew up, and took its own sweet time getting underway - so during the lull of windy, overcast weather, I got everything planted and sorted after all. I installed a couple of new container gardens, and shuffled around the existing containers, for starters - because the shade/sun issue in our backyard is kind of complicated, and some of the plants needed to find a different place to camp. Next, I planted a row of "mona lavender" in a back bed that was ruined by last year's harsh winter, weeded the original foundation plants against the house, pruned up the bird corner, added a new hummingbird feeder and filled it up, and replaced some of the failing annuals in the pots out front by the stairs.

And then the bottom dropped out, so, you know.

Today I nabbed some more annuals, to fill in the spots in the flower box which were destroyed by birds/bugs/whatever - but I'm waiting for it to cool off a bit before I install them.

When I do, I'll probably take half an hour or so and go around the corner to pull some vines. I think I mentioned it here: We cleared out a massive tangle of briars/pokeweed/vines to reveal three ancient rose bushes, which might actually be as old as the house itself (not that we could ever prove it). We took everything back to ground level, and stripped out all the bad stuff we could ... but vines are vines, and they don't just "go away." Not really.

They're creeping back up again, but I SHALL SLAY THEM. I must, for the roses are growing back - much to my glee. We figured they'd be all right if they could just get some breathing room, and we were correct, thank heavens. Little green and red sprouts are shooting up from the stumps like gangbusters, and I will protect them with my life.

Or with my loppers and weeding tools, anyway.

* * *

Much to my astonishment, Greyson let me trim up his raggedy-ass feet the other night. He was napping in the den, and I was sitting next to him...playing with his toes...and he didn't seem to care, so...I went and got the scissors. He's often unsettled by electronic equipment like clippers, so I figured the analog option would work out better; and I was right!

Before and after, below.






He let me snip his nails, too - though he was less mellow about it, partly because the cat was starting to get jealous of all the attention I was paying him. She kept sneaking up on him to sniff at his butt, and she managed to startle him at the precise moment I was trying to trim his tiniest nail (on one of his extra toes).

It wasn't exactly TORMENT, WOE, and BLOOD EVERYWHERE, but it wasn't his favorite part of the amateur grooming, either. Still, he let me finish up - and the too-close-cut nail didn't really seem to hurt him any. When we were done, he got up and followed me to the kitchen, where some cheese and peanut butter made everything cool again.

* * *

Yesterday it came to my attention that unscrupulous-type persons can purportedly download Maplecroft's audiobook already. But since the audio edition doesn't actually exist yet, I'd be wary of clicking that link, if I were you.

Or knock yourself out, whatever.

(Yes, there will be an audiobook - produced by this fine company, later this year.)