Friday, May 14, 2010

Right brain, left brain

The ice cream truck that runs through our neck of the 'burg plays the creepiest frigging music EVER.

I'm a little afraid of ice cream trucks anyhow, because they seem so.....weird now that mostly everyone has a little thing called a 'freezer' in their house. Who needs expensive whipped AIR from a truck? Also, I'm certain that in every ice cream truck there's a child-sized locked cabinet just waiting to be filled by the DRIVER, who of course is very likely a basement-dwelling Trog who only comes out at dusk to troll for young tender children so he (always, ALWAYS a 'he') can snatch one up, chuck it in the locker, drive it to the house he lives in with his deaf Mom, and make it fetch his Cheetos and Fanta so he doesn't have to take any breaks at all from playing online RPGs involving avatars that are so much more cool than he will ever be.

The music doesn't help this dark vision any. Piped at ear-splitting volumes through a speaker that is incapable of NOT distorting whatever is on-air, the music Dopplers around the neighborhood tunelessly beckoning the unaware and unsuspicious children from their front yards to come, COME! Like an electronic Pied Piper it plays its sultry tunes, the siren call of summer blaring a raucous accompaniment to the twisted aims of its driver.

So, no. No to the ice cream truck. Not then, not now, not ever. Please, just make it go away.


Oh! Hey! Something less sinister!

The butterfly bush in the front garden is about to take over. Last year when we bought it it was 18" tall and came in a cute little pot. This year it's 5 feet tall, at least that wide, and seems to grow visibly on a daily basis.

Thank goodness they can be pruned at any time of year, and come back well from a very severe pruning, because otherwise it might be time for a touch of herbicide to reign that sucker in. Continued growth like this would see the Tiny House swallowed up in a sea of sweet-smelling blooms this time next year if mitigation wasn't possible. This, friends, is the year to get that vigorous pup under control.

AFTER it's done blooming, naturally. I have visions of scads of butterflies flitting about it in a most picturesque manner. Also, in these visions, I'm wearing a large straw hat, am fashionably attired in some thing floaty and wondrous, and show no signs of perspiration even though it's North Carolina in the summer.


Clearly, if I'm not obsessing over Highly Dangerous Ice Cream Doods I'm busy populating my pretend life with goals so lofty as to be utterly unachievable.

Aim high, I guess is the lesson here.


Two years ago I wrote this. Still holds true. There. That's me being all archive-y and stuff.


That'll do for now. Tonight, if it gets below BLAST FURNACE TEMPS outside (it's 89 degrees at 6 pm y'all. That is hot), will find us raking out the front yard, putting in lawn edging, and possibly re-seeding the yard with what seems to be poppy seeds. I don't know, it sounds like an awful lot of work, doesn't it? And will almost certainly involve....sweating. Ew.

Y'all have a good one.

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