What I would give for 3 hot pink Gerber daisies to replace my now-dead 3 pink zinnias.
Flowers. Not cheap when you’re not growing them, but still, just as nice to have around the house.
I'm the book that beat the speed-reader, and I'm the card the dealers won't touch. And it's just not true I'm a man-eater; all the same, we should probably go dutch.
The things you pick up as you go.
Have to say, I’m not a big Rihanna fan— something about her has just always rubbed me the wrong way— but this music video is probably one of my favorites and the things my daydreams are made of. Great fashion, great setting, great colors, great filmography. Give me a day romping around fields of flowers, and I’m pretty sure I could be the happiest girl in the world, if not the only.
We’re supposed to get the first frost of the season tonight here in good ol’ chilly Verh-MONT (if you’re from around here, you’ve felt the edge in the air for the past few days already, so you know what THAT means), so I spent the afternoon harvesting the last of the vegetable crops from the garden and helping pull all the still-flowering plants in potters into the house. There’s now a monster geranium plant in the corner of my room, holding my cell phone’s charger off the ground, as well as a few zinnias on the top shelf of my bookcase, far enough out-of-reach of the cat, who loves to snack on their young, tender shoots and buds.
It’s turned into not only a jungle, but a menagerie in here.
The other day, I was trying to open a beer bottle (rather stupidly) with the end of my lighter, rather than the appropriate bottle opener. I was being lazy, and couldn’t be arsed to get up and walk across the room to get one. So, instead, my hand slipped, and my knuckles dragged across the sharp, jagged underside of the bottle cap, and I got some rather large chunks of flesh and skin ripped off from the back of two of my knuckles. Enter lots of bleeding, plenty of staring at said chunks of flesh.
I washed them off, wrapped them up in Band-Aids, and went on my way. But today, when I pulled the plastic strips off, a distinct “damp dead skin” smell rose from my mangled fingers. And, of course, this is the time where I cannot for the life of me find any Neosporine or other wound disinfectant in the house; not even rubbing alcohol, not even witch hazel.
So, this is where my belief system and lore-of-old featured interests come in.
Beat, but knowing my knuckles needed something if they weren’t to, like, turn black and fall off, I found the book I picked up at a town library book sale the other week called “Herbal Rituals” by Judith Berger, and looked up “wound healing” in the index. Then, I went to the kitchen windowsill, found two green, fresh, fat leaves from the best of the violet plants, and crushed them up in a bowl with a wooden spoon. The mucilage produced by this treatment results in a natural healing, cooling, relieving gel that can be applied to surface wounds like my punctures to kill off bad bacteria and promote cell-reconstruction.
I love the fact that in a WebMD and vaccine-happy world, what I’ve chosen to study and live my life in accordance with helps me help myself without being dependent on the modern, manic, medicated world.
Jamie Durie: “Born in Manly, Australia…” WOW. Someone just beat Chuck Norris in the Most Badass Man In The World competition, just with that birthplace name.
He’s the only man who could get me to watch a gardening program from beginning to end. Mostly, it’s to watch his biceps flex, but, you know, I now also know how to create a vertical element for climbing flowers to grow up, too.