BLAZE

Pirates are plying the peanut butter sea of my mind.

I am concentrating on yoga and meditation lately. And I had a long massage this morning. Why do most people not understand that studying buddhism is not the same as becoming a buddhist? I suppose that posing such a question is a poor example of tonglen, and so I will let it go. But don't ask me again! :-)

Went to the library today, as if the tower of book by my bed (and in the closet, and on the bookcase downstairs) weren't sufficiently decadent. But I found Martin Sloane — yay! — and Angle of Repose — lots of long O's in tonight's blog — and am already devouring them. On the pick list for next week are Jane Urquhart, Roddy Doyle, and Bill Bryson, but if you have a recommendation please let me know. In the meantime I have lots to keep me busy. I could get used to summers like this, although I believe the bank is hoping that I won't.

We showed the yard to some neighbours yesterday, and the lovely Mrs couldn't get over two features: the size and the vegetables. The Mr neighbour was apparently more taken with all the blooming things, especially the mass of the 'Adelaide Hoodless' roses (which are truly impressive right now, with literally hundreds of blooms on them). I was only slightly taken aback by the assumption that I was the "foreman" on the front-yard renovation project. :-( Perhaps planting trees in a skirt isn't such a good idea.

Oh, but I picked the first Evans cherries of the season today — still a bit tart! The raspberries are almost finished, which timing I find strange. There are more than a hundred flowers or young fruits on the strawberries and we've been harvesting a small bowl a day since the beginning of July. Of course the blueberries and saskatoon didn't flower this year, but I am hopeful for next summer. I am also still lobbying for a Nanking cherry to complement the raspberry patch and lead into the fruit trees. Maybe next year?

Something beautiful to do is to sit on the deck and enjoy the flowers. The scent of the sweetpeas is strong in the late afternoon, and after supper the perfume of the evening-scented stock starts to rise. It's quite intoxicating actually — perhaps that explains a few things!

Anyway, it's late. The i-Tunes (like i-ching, but different) says: "When the silence starts to haunt you, just scream: let the voices out ..." My mother's holistic chart says that pain in the shoulders signals sadness and repressed fear. Arrgh, where's my irony shovel?

(with slight bow and modest praying hands)

laVermeer, the marxist buddhist wanna-be-hippie-chick