I got “the look” tonight. It was delivered by the lady who walks here somethingorother-poo and it’s given to all of us who have too many lilies in life. You know “the look.” It combines a stare of disbelief, a roll of the eyes, a covetous sigh, and the growl of sheer, unabashed envy (the[...]
My neighbor pulled beside me on my daily walk and rolled down her window. “Sorry,” she said apologetically, “but my lawn mower is on the fritz.” I ask you = Do I look like the type of person who loves a lawn? Do I strike you as the type who goes ballistic at the first[...]
It was a serious fumble. In bulb-planting terms, it was as close as I ever want to totter on the brink of disaster. Are we all in agreement that autumn bulb planting is akin to gambling? You continue ordering bulbs until suddenly the game shuts down. In a good year, the stakes aren’t shut down[...]
Just call me a relic. That’s right — rub it in — I’m obsolete. And guess what. Some of my best friends are equally archaic. And here comes the confession — my garden is a total museum. If something is old (the older, the better), I automatically yearn to grow it. It’s not hip, it’s[...]
Let us talk about lust. I’m speaking of the insidious longing that grips a girl who pretty much has it all — botanically speaking. I’m talking about the urge that makes someone yearn after her neighbor’s bulbs. It’s depraved. It’s desire run amok. It’s sick. And Debra Lee Baldwin — with her talk of hundreds[...]