Fade to beauty

This first gardenia reminds me of Richard Roxborough In 'Uncle Vanya'. And of her Cate-ness in 'Streetcar named Desire' - but not in Vanya.

There is a lived in quality to a gardenia past its prime - as though the essence of its life has been absorbed into its walls. It is real. It demands our attention. And our affection. It has a depth, a third dimension. It is worthy of our time.

A youthful gardenia can still trade on its beauty, as though that is all it has to give, just yet. There is a flatness, a singular dimension, that only experience, wrought by time, can remedy.

Green thumb at large

The word is out: I can keep things alive that others can only kill!

I have offered my daughter an hour of gardening per week. It is going splendidly - aided, of course, by all the rain we have received. Next week, I shall set up an herb garden on her kitchen window sill (Basil, Coriander and Italian Parsley). I saved a bundle of self-seeded violets from the planter boxes on her window sill, and interspersed them with succulents which I struck for her. I have a little nursery here in pots, to use when necessary. Other than that, gardening is simply keeping the muck down.


Speaking of which, my son asked me over for some tips on his garden. I assumed he wanted elbow-grease, but no. No, he didn't. I suggested. I pointed. He moved. He pulled. We reorganised things according to the sun's transit and the type of plant. We pulled out old and dying. Trimmed and swept. We even worked out a good spot for a Hills Hoist. He now is charged with obtainng one - legally!