And just like that, it's autumn.
The temperature was in the 50's this morning, and we slept for the first time with the French door in the bedroom shut and with the quilt and a blanket. When Mr. Pom came in from walking the dogs in the early morning, his cheek was as cold as winter when I kissed him good bye.
You only have to look to the garden to see time's passing. The hydrangeas have dried to lovely dusky shades of purple and rose. More dessicated than they appear, they defy my desire to clip them and bring them into the house to sit beautifully in a big glass bowl. Try I might, but all I manage to do is create a litter of brittle green that follows me up the porch steps, across the dining room rug, and onto the dirty, old kitchen linoleum. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
The black-eyed Susan and small, late summer sunflowers (volunteers that have taken over the north point of the garden in the last few years) are still hearty and perky. There are two small blossoms still in bloom on the magenta crepe myrtle that is growing a tall as the second floor, and, of course, the pearly white asters are just getting started.Somehow, in my zeal to thin out the perennials and add some shape to the front of the garden, I managed to dig out all the pink asters, my favorites. There is purple coneflower that needs to be cut down and a serious look has to be taken at the extraordinary oakleaf hydrageas, which have colonized the bed in front of the living room as vigorously as the Pilgrims taking over New England by trading blankets infused with smallpox.
I love when the garden is blooming but on the knife's edge of going to seed. I love the bushy shape of the lavender's second growth, the deepening blush of the hydrageas, the leathery, turning coral leaves of the oak leafs. The succulents are all wild and crazy, their shoots twisting and turning from the weight of the old blossoms. The Most Valuable Player in the garden this year has to be shared by the stalwart and indefatigable Russian Sage, which has been sending out purple blossoms since early May and has not flagged yet, and the hydrangeas, which grew as tall as I (both mop head and oak leaf) and from 5 to 20 feet across in our rainy, cool spring.
We, in turn, bear the marks of summer's excess. The skin of my forearms and shins are leathering and flakey, despite repeated applications of whatever unguents and oils I slather on them. When applying lipstick in the car this week, shrieking could be heard as I noticed in the bright sun a large brown patch above my upper lip that surely was not there in May. I ran to Lord & Taylor's this morning for YSL Touch Eclat base as I was out and I am too old to carry off the fading bronze look. Time to blend and conceal for tomorrow! It is also time for a post-vacation mani/pedi, but who has the time as work ramps up and art projects comes due and Mr. Pom is hell bent on house projects?
Also, seriously considering going gray. Have several inches of growth, which I am cleverly concealing whilst fooling with the idea of it. I do like my blonde highlights and am wondering if I can just let it go the brown go gray AND get blonde highlights? So far, my entire family is horrified, including Mr. Pom, who has quite a full head of gray himself. Comments? Suggestions?
Remember when I posted several times a week? With all sorts of fun links and sweet stories about the family and meals and recipes and inspiring art stories?
Where did that go? How has life changed so much in a few years?
Off to stir the eggplant/tomato dish that is supposed to be caramelizing into a rich, sweet, roasted mess that can be spread on bread or meat or eaten by the spoon.
See, I still cook on Sundays. Just no one but me and the Mister are here to eat it.
Sunday after at 4, these are my thoughts. Hope to see you later in the week with tales of a glorious wedding and some book discoveries.