Fridays are the busiest day of my week. This one was no exception. The end of the day built to a crescendo of craziness, ranging from vague calls ("Where would you like to go?" "I don't know." "Okay, how much would you like to spend?" "Oh, not very much." "Let me give you Greyhound's number.") to frenzied last minute bookings via a rapidly degenerating cell phone from a woman in Paris ("WHAT?" "I SAID SEN... gzhkkkkkkkklllshk ... 3 PLACE DU ...gzhkkkkkkkklllshk... DOW SEATS, OK?") to long, rambling requests for information on Romania, or maybe Germany, no wait, Hungary, and they don't want to spend any money on hotels, and they'd like to hitchhike, and could I maybe give them some ideas on what to see for free? I was ready to tear my hair out by the time the train came at 6pm.
So it was lucky for me my stepmom Mary Lou was in town last night. John and I took her to our favorite diner, the Flames restaurant. It's a timeless place, or at least it appears to be mired in 1963. The waitresses all have teased mounds of hair, pink shirts, call you "hon," and look a thousand years old. The food's great, and the dessert is mind-blowing. We stuffed ourselves on enormous shrimp and avocado salads, and didn't have room for the 15 layer German Chocolate Cake or any of the other monstrosities in the dessert case. We talked about our upcoming trip to Wisconsin and John's genealogy research, the latest news on my brother, and other family trivia. It was a pleasant way to wind down. I find Mary Lou very peaceful and relaxing to be around. I think part of it is she's always dressed in quiet, calm colors. I was thoroughly decompressed by the time we took her back to her hotel. Before we left she gave me a loaf of my father's delicious chocolate chip nut banana bread.
Today was a perfect summer's Saturday. While the sun shone and the wind fluttered the leaves of the dicentra and the astilbe, I puttered around in the garden. The cats helped by frolicking among the marigolds or laying down just where I wanted to weed next. The neighbors' gardener came by and helped me trim back the unruly tree-like vine that had invaded their space, my upstairs neighbor's space, our own yard, and the magnolia tree on our property line. I gave him $10 to haul away the enormous pile of branches and leaves afterwards. As he cut the thick wood into manageable pieces he mentioned how pretty this particular vine was. "It is?" I said incredulously. "It's never blossomed the whole two years I've been here."
"Very pretty, very fragrant," he replied, and mimicked a long, dangling cluster. Well, what do you know? I think this vine that's been so intrusive and annoying is a wisteria. Maybe trimming it back like this will make it bloom next spring. I hope so. For now, I'm happy it's chopped down to size. There's more light in that part of the yard, the endless dropping of leaves is gone, and the patio looks delightfully tidy with the last of the Cthulhu vine detritus cleared away (the Cthulhu vine is not related to the maybe-wisteria, but it's never bloomed, either, so I've no idea what it is).
The corn lilies finally opened all the way:
After all that activity I think it's time to break into Dad's bread, and loaf (ho ho) for the rest of the day.
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