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I’m sitting here waiting for the tea to finish brewing. Mary, my mother-in-law, Trinity and I have just finished deadheading the roses in the back. They’re clipping some for bouquets now while I do tea, because we’re supposed to get a huge storm this afternoon and it will beat the roses to pieces. After tea, we’ll work on the roses in front. I finally embraced the whole, I love roses, this year, and just went a little crazy adding like ten new plants. But they are beautiful, but like many beautiful things they are also higher maintenance. But well, worth the trade, I think.
We’ve just come back from Trinity’s graduation. Good to have gone, but exhausting, they didn’t have enough chairs. We stood for over two hours. You can walk for that long, but just standing is harder work.
We did lunch all of us together, and now we’re gardening.
I realize that some of you guys expect me to be all Addam’s family in my daily life, and I have my moments, but when it comes to every day life and dealing with the kiddo I go for something a little more mundane. Besides, I love roses, and color in my garden. I love the few black flowers you can find, but I’m never quite willing to do a black and white garden when red exists in the world, and blue, and yellow, and purple.
Since I can’t concentrate on my own writing today, I’ve decided to do all the things I’ve been putting off like dead heading the roses. If you let them start making rose hips, then they stop making flowers. Late in the season we’ll stop clipping and let the rose hips form because deep in winter when there is very little food for the berry eaters, the rose hips have been frozen and thawed to the point where I think they must be sweeter, because that is when everything starts eating them. Or maybe the birds and squirrels and other small furries are just out of other options by then. But I prefer to think that the rose hips are saved like some special treat until frost and snow and winter’s cold has made them like ripe treats to be savored.
I had always believed that what made me unable to write was being on tour, but nope, apparently just having BLOOD NOIR hit the shelves and doing one event is enough to throw me. Interesting. I find it almost impossible to write on tour. I know writers that swear that they work every night in their hotel room. They must get in earlier from events than I do, or just need less sleep.
Well, tea is ready to be drunk. Then I’ll trim some more roses. Anything to keep moving, and not think too hard. To use a quote that I grew up hearing, “I’m as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
It was wonderful to finish the kick-off event and not have to get on a plane the next day, but I’m beginning to think that I might as well have gone on tour for all the good I’m doing myself. Except for the whole seeing Trinity do all her school stuff which is important, but I really thought that I’d be able to keep working this week, too. Live and learn, I guess.