Veilchenblau was introduced in 1909 with claims that here, at last, was the blue rose. Alas, it is not blue: rather, the flowers open purple and pass through shades of lilac and mauve and then to pale lilac grey – but, in that last stage, it is as close to blue as any rose gets. I am assured you can, sometimes, see the odd old flower that could be described as blue without bending the truth too far. I am yet to see it.
What about me? It isn’t fair
I’ve had enough, now I want my share
Can’t you see, I want to live
But you just take more than you give
Garry Frost and Frances Swan
On the night President-elect Trump was elected, I wrote a post about the David Austin rose, Sharifa Asma. It took all my strength not to comment on the outcome of the election because, along with many, many people, I was devastated. But, I reasoned, this blog is about food and gardens. A safe haven from political comment.
I was going through my emails the other day, deleting like mad. In this household, we get five of every email, we have two computers, an iPad, and two iPhones. That is a lot of deleting. To make matters worse, when we arrive at either Bridgetown or Perth, the in-box is chockers after not being open for up to two weeks. On the night of arrival, I delete like crazy and, again, on the night before departure. Sometimes, I get carried away and delete an important email or one I had saved to read – que sera, sera.
We also have more avocados and asparagus than we can eat. And soon it will be broccoli with this and broccoli with that.
It seem like ages since I wrote a post and it is ages since I wrote one of my Rose of the Week posts. I was very slack last year. I dropped the ball. I got it into my head that no one was interested in my rose posts so I lost interest in them. This is notwithstanding every day a number (and some days a large number) of my rose photos are copied and the posts are regularly visited.
This photo is for Robyn. She asked for a photo of our baby.
Although this post is going to sound like a rant, I want to say at the outset, “I like my mower”. We could have bought a nice car with what this guy has cost us but we bought a mower and would again. Why? Because this mower and the woes it presents are part of the life we have chosen. Continue reading
It started innocuously enough. Maus had to go to Manjimup, 40 kilometres away, to pick up our ride-on mower and I was going to make a cake.
As anyone who has a ride-on knows, they have a lot in common with ink jet printers – both send you broke. In one instance, it is replacement ink cartridges and in the other, ongoing repairs. The situation has been made worse of late as the only guy in town who seemed to know what he was doing retired, so we were trying out a repair man from the next town. Maus had arranged to borrow a trailer but, as luck would have it, it wasn’t available. That meant we had to hire one. Continue reading