Life is boring. At least most of the time. I do the same things over and over and sometimes am at a loss for content here. I get up and go to work (boring), come home either directly or via some other route (shopping, dentist, etc.), cook my dinner, watch TV while knitting or spinning or carding alpaca. Repeat. Now that I've got all my veggies planted, it's wait and watch them grow. We're in a patch of heat that is beastly late in the day. My rejuvenated weather station tells me it's been over 30C every day this week. I keep the house closed up and the drapes closed all day and turn on the a/c when I got home, just until the sun goes down and then open the house up again. One of the unfortunate features of the house is that it is surrounded on the north side by paving, plus a large area in the back (east). When all that surface gets heated up, it radiates heat back at the house for some time.
I've got all my plants in, the last being pumpkins (butternut). My yellow squash plants, loving raised from seed, have simply disappeared. Even left a hole behind. I planted some new seed but I may have to live without yellow crookneck this year. Aussies don't know them. My peas, the first planting at least, have pods. The second planting is blooming, and I'm running out of stakes for the third planting. I'm eating lots of asparagus. I should have some strawberries soon if I beat the snails to them. The bramble berry plants are in bloom, and my back fence neighbours have promised to cut their shrubs back, but not till December. My citrus is a fountain of scent and is surging with new growth.
Book report: Rebels of Babylon by Owen Parry, one of his Abel Jones Civil War mysteries. This one takes place in New Orleans where Mr Jones's nose is constantly out of joint about the laxness of the Union forces, the decadence of the natives, the plight of slaves, and practically everything else about New Orleans. But then, that city wouldn't be comfortable for our righteous Methodist Welshman in the best of times, much less during the Union blockade. I started reading these novels because the Bear did, and this one was left over after the big book clear out, since I hadn't read it. I enjoy them even if Abel's pious manner can be tiring. I know I need new reading matter like the proverbial hole in the cranium, but I had a gift voucher for Borders, so I got the new Janet Evanovich, Michael Connelly, and Kathy Reichs.
My MIL sent me a clipping of Maggie Alderson's column from the SMH about tails, as in cats' tails and their expressiveness, and her own desire for a tail. I also have thought that a tail would be a wonderful method of expressing one's emotions, altho the logistics of sitting on one always bothers me. If you follow the anatomy of a cat, you'd be OK. The Imp gets into moods when she gets what I call the "windscreen wiper mode" when the tail lashes back and forth with great emphasis. Since I don't know what's going on in that brain I don't know why these spells occur or what she is trying to express. Since they can come on when she's doing nothing but standing on the basin in the ensuite, having demanded a drink straight from the tap, I remain mystified. She is getting more vocal but I can't decode "Mao!"