An image search for "dairy fresh milk" does not turn up my tent-pitching new pot:

The adjective I actually used in the above sentence was "fetching," but the voice recognition's choice of "tent-pitching" summons a certain enthusiasm, too.

This pot is so fresh (in a cheap, mass-produced way) that it's not even on the Bunnings website, nor the manufacturer's site. (The manufacturer is Tuscan Path. Eventually one realizes that all of the good pots at Bunnings are made by Tuscan Path. Even, perhaps, all of the pots. So don't be like me and whisper in awe, "Ooo! And it's by Tuscan Path!" like it's Franklin Mint and John Waters is standing behind the discounted bougainvillea, considering the cast for a musical version of Serial Mom.)

Maybe I could develop a gig as a pot blogger. I would not only keep my readers informed of the latest Tuscan Path designs, but I'd (ask Mike to) drive (because my license expired while I've been over here and now I'm no longer a resident of Nevada but not a resident here yet, not that I can drive at the moment anyway, what with my back, but it's a bit of a mess) to Perth every month so I could check out the pots at Masters (which despite usually being wherever Bunnings is, a la Home Depot/Lowes, isn't in my town, but alas I can't explain because I've reached my aside limit) as well as the other chains and independent scene.

And then I'd scour Pinterest for "how to make pots out of things that are not pots but are also not purses hanging off fashionably weathered doors because everyone has seen that pin and, frankly, I'm skeptical."

Oh, and I'd suggest pairings, like "always pair jonquils with earthenware" and "never display verbena in a trough taller than seven inches high" These aren't real rules, but I'd jazz them up Buzzfeed-style with stock photos and titles like "Eleven Ways You're Misarranging Your Tulips."

For token drama, I'd share a contemplative three-part series of posts discussing my dislike of glazed pots and how I've had to search my heart to overcome this prejudice. (Seriously, is it a coincidence that my impatiens - California Sunset in a reluctantly purchased glazed pot - is the only plant that is dying no matter what I do?)

Okay. Starting to get a little too into it.

Now that we know now much I dig (ha!) the right garden pot, and also that I'm a tiny bit crazy, and/or that pecking at and whispering to the iPad is all I've got going on this sleepless night, I'll share a photo of one corner of the kitchen and describe all the non-surprising things it reveals about me and my life.

  • I really like discount cut flowers. It's hard to justify buying flowers now that we grow so many of our own, but it's also hard to justify walking past a three-dollar lush bouquet. Even out of frame, you can tell that they're discount because one of the large roses has already fallen off, and so I decided to take it apart for pressing.
  • I am half-assed about all crafts, especially flower pressing. Note the lack of press.
  • I'm about to use the former vinaigrette bottles lying on the counter to make one of those ubiquitous "wrap a bottle with twine and call it festive" projects. Rest assured that it will also be half-assed.
  • Even though I'm using voice recognition to compose this post, I manually go back with my tablet-poking finger and make sure every instance of "half-assed" has a hyphen. Any other errors I just shrug off as typos and won't bother to fix them, not even when rereading a post five years later and visibly cringing. I need to know the Latin for "half-assed" so I can get some kind of family crest made.
  • That router sitting on top of the counter? I hate that it's there. And you should see it from the other side, with the cords tangling down. Grr. It went to the top of my fix list when I first saw the apartment. Alas, that exact spot on the counter is the best place the router can go. So, I put a ceramic box under it, one that came from some sort of truffle Christmas package the year we joined Sam's Club. Yay, now it's better! Not. But I'm used to it.
  • Caring about unsightly routers is something I used to do before this back business gave me what people like to call Perspective. I actually thought I already had perspective, but that I was still allowed to have opinions about decor, but apparently my brain is meant for more meaningful thoughts. Huh. Like asking Mike how many spoonfuls of poop he would eat if a genie came down and offered an end to my spinal malaise in return. (The genie is known to make Chuck Palahniuk wince.) Mike's answer: "A whole log." (Pretty sure he's confident that the genie is imaginary, but still. Que romantica.)
  • So-inevitable sidebar here-this post has been stalled out for a few days at this point because I've been trying to get by on aspirin now that the Naproxen course is done and see how that works before reporting back to the doc. Sometimes it works; often it just keeps me un-miserable. My clever brain found a loophole in the pain management process, though. My clever brain told me to eat a bunch of rice with margarine at midnight last night. "Brain, I know you're mad at Stomach for all the queasiness. I know you are hungry and worried about the effect of substantially decreased fuel on system operations. But midnight? And margarine? You never eat margarine. Brain? Brain, that sure is a lot of margarine. And it's pretty late to eat so mu... wow, Hand, you're really shoveling it in!" Next thing you know it's 6 AM and I'm waking up to a gallbladder attack. Except for the first hour I thought it was just the back problem, so I took aspirin, but by 7 AM poor, sleepless Mike decided that I ought to trick-or-treat from the emergency Tylenol+codeine stash. At 8 AM he reluctantly left for work and now look - it's 9 AM and I'm finally finishing this blog post. Clever brain! I'm still ouchy, and maybe I don't actually feel better than I do most mornings, but... perspective.
  • Oh yeah, the photo. You may think the photo proves that I don't refrigerate lemons. Instead, the photo demonstrates that our universally panned (but came with the apartment) fridge is still wonky, and therefore things that don't really require refrigeration are not allowed to take up the precious amount of space that isn't subject to freezing.
  • I know I'm old because I've started having detailed fantasies about refrigerator design. However, I am informed that I won't be really middle-aged until I start making plans for a second refrigerator.
  • I would put every bulk-ish food item in a canister if I could. You should see the row of Talenti jars we keep for spices and salad fixings and the odd grain. Maybe next time I'll take a picture from the other side so you can. (Oh boy!)

With great or even mild opiates comes great tiredness. Mostly I am tired of this post. I didn't even point out the five kinds of salt sitting on the microwave and how big of a sucker I am for pretty salt, but maybe that's not the sort of thing you mention if you expect any sympathy for a gallbladder attack. (I don't. Margarine at midnight?! Between that and the queasiness I'm getting an idea of how desperate some pregnant women must feel.)


(And no, not pregnant! Hey, do you know what's an even more unsettling rite of passage than not being carded when buying alcohol? Not being asked by medical professionals when your last period was before they run tests or dispense drugs. I may have a few free-range eggs left in me yet, people! Just for display purposes, though.)


19 December 2013 |






Carnival Elation (2009)
Carnival Splendor (2009)
Carnival Spirit (2010)
Carnival Spirit (2011)
Carnival Splendor (2011)
Norwegian Pearl to Alaska (2012)