Sunday, March 11, 2012

Sunday night


The roasting chicken is singing to itself from the 450' oven. The high-pitched fat-whistle that means it is close to done. Every now and then the gasp of the gas reigniting the long burner beneath the stove. I sip from a tall flute - cold Georges Gardet, a lovely pink champagne, from Vince's birthday yesterday. He and I sip in different rooms, in front of different screens full of different pictures, both quite happy in our separation. I wonder if it is our cyberlives that allow us to live so genially in such a small space.

My back aches from roof gardening. Unhappily, I discovered that a cat has been using my pots as a toilet. Unacceptable. Not this big black cat. I shan't elaborate on my certainty. It's not him. Probably the neighbourcats. So I did a hell of  a lot of cleaning and installing of fresh soil. I wore gloves. I bought chicken wire this afternoon and then contrived to forget it at the hardware store. So that will have to wait till tomorrow. I transplanted the currant into a bigger home, the black raspberry into a smaller pot, sowed the spicy mesclun mix in two troughs, cleaned the roof of winter's debris. Neighbourboys two terraces down sat on the edge of their roof and smoked pot and watched. Pigeons wheeled, ferries crossed New York Harbour, planes sailed down to La Guardia. I planned new roof picnics. I transplanted the wild rocket that had overwintered, with impressive tap roots. It will not take kindly to the move, and may die, but it needed more space. We'll see. I say that a lot.

Because you never know. You do what you can do. And then you wait and see.

I must dress the watercress salad. Supper's ready.

5 comments:

  1. Supper sounds wonderful. SO sweet! Your blog is just lovely; I'm a new follower! ♥ (Have you tried moth balls to deter the kitties?)
    Anne

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  2. Hi Anne :-) the kitty problem is new. With ornamentals I might consider mothballs, but these pots are for edibles and mothballs are deeply poisonous :-(

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  3. Our college girl, Gretta, flew into La Guardia early last evening. Whenever we fly in or out, we look down in search of Don Estorbo...

    Such an odd and early spring, no? Our forecast this week is balmy. We are waiting for our hellebore to bloom here in SW CT. Later in the week we'll head to our place in VT, struggling up the dirt road mired in Mud Season.

    Hope the chicken wire helps...

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  4. Ha. Cats! Well I'm an expert. I've. Not. Succeeded. However you only pots. Hardware mesh cut to fit the pot , outside edge folded down (like tabs) in places to float it. Something to cover it if you don't like the looks.

    You know, then there's the hot pepper, garlic oil, blood meal, and urine. I've never given those much credo. Cat shit is a never ending battle. The best thing seems to be a physical barrier whether it be plant or material.

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    Replies
    1. I might add that we cannot grow herbs with the spraying cats, pigeons roosting, humans mating, and landlord's spraying. I've given up.

      Delete


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