For the Birds

The porker in the rear clearly can't read the bag which is distinctly marked as finch food.  It is not a finch.  It annoys me to no end that is parks its huge caboose in the middle of the bird food, intimidating many of the little twirpers I am trying to attract.  My yelling, "You are NOT a FINCH!" scares them off for a while (along with the finches, alas), but the porkers are back an hour later.  Wicked, wicked birds.

With the frequent extremes in weather changes, I've found myself spending whatever sunny time we get in the garden instead of the studio.  I maintain my rule as Queen Killer Thumb, evidently the worst gardener in the city limits.  The raised bed garden I had constructed last year has yielded a huge basil plant which is quickly being taken over by some sort of basil-killing disease or jungle rot or something.  The tarragon has about three pathetic leaves remaining, and the jalapeno pepper plant has a few anemic peppers and another three or four leaves.  Oh, the clover is growing like mad!  Sigh.  Two avocado trees sprouted in the middle of my irises in the other planting bed.  Good grief.  The raccoons are better gardeners.  Not one to give up entirely, I purchased a few packets of seeds to sow - purple tomatillas, cilantro, leeks and radishes.  If I can't grow radishes, I'm chopping up the frame of the garden for firewood!  Well, I'll at least say a few bad words and then hide the evidence of my likely failure.   I think I'm better off in the studio.

My poor husband is home, sick as can be.  Tomorrow will be a good day to spray him with disinfectant, run and hole up in the studio to whoop up some art.