So I finished that book, “Folly.” Very good. Crazy woman builds a house, solves many things. (I don’t like telling you what the book is about, because I hate book reviews that don’t let you wander in and look around. I liked this book. It has a happy ending. I miss the people in it. Is that enough?)

I got up not so early, about six-ish. I found myself lying in bed getting angry about not knowing how to re-arrange the furniture in the living room. I decided that was stupid, that this is one of those things I’m going to have to let go of and let the answer show up in my head. I decided it was a beautiful morning, and that I should go down by the lake and see the water. I understand what they mean when they say the sea is running, I think. The constant movement; I’d find I was absently staring half-way across the harbor, the waves gently pulling my eyes to the right.

I came home, maybe not so tizzified, and pulled a couple of weeds in the “garden” before I sat down with my coffee. I decided a few weeds wasn’t enough, and decided to actually get all those funky spiky frothy looking things out. Before I knew it, I had my sweater off and the trowel out, planting the things that have been languishing in packs for a month or more. The weeds are out (mostly), the plants are in, there are branches for the morning glories to climb up (should they ever get that ambitious) and branches to hold up the tomatoes (green, just before that moment when they’re perfect for frying). I re-arranged the pots, tipping empty things over so some could stand higher, have room to trail. Imagine my surprise when those buggy things crawled out from the bottoms of pots! I’d forgotten. Under the Martha Washington, a huge fat earthworm. When I was done, I sat and paid attention to the insects, bees and mud-daubers and flies, a white moth stopping and starting.

Somebody has left a kalanchoe in the lounge of one of the buildings I clean. I turned it, and found a branch that was shriveled, almost snapped off. It was growing air roots, and the plant itself hadn’t been watered in weeks. I got some water for the plant, and wrapped the branch in wet paper towel and brought it home. And forgot about it till the next day. I stuck it in some dirt, put it in a plastic bag, and forgot about it again. When I checked it two days later, the shriveled branch had plumped up and stood up.

One of the gists of that book is that whenever the heroine gets upset, off-balance, she goes back to things her body/mind knows how to do. This is that sort of thing, I suspect. Plant, water, weed.

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And photoshop.

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