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storm front a-rollin' in
I escaped campus and drove down to the infamous post office to try my luck again at obtaining my birthday present. Despite (or perhaps because of) carrying my bumbershoot around all day, the only evidence of rain was the crisp breeze sliding up the street and a swell of grey on the horizon. I tucked two quarters in the meter and walked towards the post office.
This time, no crazies or shouters. Just a lackadaisical pace and eventually, a smallish box was placed in the bullet-proof package trap. When she closed her door I opened mine, and tucked the light box under my arm. I meandered back to my car, saying hi to the beautiful malamute lolling at the end of a leash held by a tiny round pregnant girl.
I'd parked in front of Pulp and Garden District. My poor dragontree has been languishing in the same pot for the last four years. Abandoning the present in my car, I strolled into the patio of Garden District and considered my options. I didn't want to dwarf the poor guy with a huge new pot. But something sizeable was needed. I considered my options, and someone I recognized wandered out to assist me. I eventually elected one of the similar but different dark-blue glazed pots, and then went in to get some potting soil.
Where I ran into someone else I know. Apparently the owner of garden district. I can't for the life of me remember how it is that I know these people, however. I can see them, in different contexts, but the background is fuzzy and I cant picture the people around. And it seemed weird to ask after we both had the "Hey! How are you?" simultaneous jolt of recognition.
We tucked the pot into a bag, a package of organic potting soil used as temporary padding, and I swung up the street.
I parked, and watched the grey front advance up the Piedmont terrace as I walked into my building. I opened the blinds and the windows and let the storm breeze blow in.
As for Messire Dragontree, I washed and then filled the new pot half-way with damp potting soil. I then lifted him out of his pot and tried to gently unravel some of the root ball. Poor guy was all root; the soil had been pushed up and up on top.
He's survived almost 6 years of me. Amazing. I get the feeling he's going to grow out of the new pot sooner than I expected. I'm reminded of the laggard tulip poplar my parents planted right in the middle of one of my mowing paths. Five years of mowing around the scrawny thing- and then one day I forgot to swerve and nearly cut him down to the ground. Two years later, it was taller than the house. Whooosh!
This time, no crazies or shouters. Just a lackadaisical pace and eventually, a smallish box was placed in the bullet-proof package trap. When she closed her door I opened mine, and tucked the light box under my arm. I meandered back to my car, saying hi to the beautiful malamute lolling at the end of a leash held by a tiny round pregnant girl.
I'd parked in front of Pulp and Garden District. My poor dragontree has been languishing in the same pot for the last four years. Abandoning the present in my car, I strolled into the patio of Garden District and considered my options. I didn't want to dwarf the poor guy with a huge new pot. But something sizeable was needed. I considered my options, and someone I recognized wandered out to assist me. I eventually elected one of the similar but different dark-blue glazed pots, and then went in to get some potting soil.
Where I ran into someone else I know. Apparently the owner of garden district. I can't for the life of me remember how it is that I know these people, however. I can see them, in different contexts, but the background is fuzzy and I cant picture the people around. And it seemed weird to ask after we both had the "Hey! How are you?" simultaneous jolt of recognition.
We tucked the pot into a bag, a package of organic potting soil used as temporary padding, and I swung up the street.
I parked, and watched the grey front advance up the Piedmont terrace as I walked into my building. I opened the blinds and the windows and let the storm breeze blow in.
As for Messire Dragontree, I washed and then filled the new pot half-way with damp potting soil. I then lifted him out of his pot and tried to gently unravel some of the root ball. Poor guy was all root; the soil had been pushed up and up on top.
He's survived almost 6 years of me. Amazing. I get the feeling he's going to grow out of the new pot sooner than I expected. I'm reminded of the laggard tulip poplar my parents planted right in the middle of one of my mowing paths. Five years of mowing around the scrawny thing- and then one day I forgot to swerve and nearly cut him down to the ground. Two years later, it was taller than the house. Whooosh!
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I have the feeling her daughter helped pick it out- I can almost see her wearing it. It makes me look about 10 years younger when I wear it :p I do very much like it, more for what it represents than for what it is. But it's hard to express without sounding condescending, somehow. I've got to work that out.