Furney’s had tons of stuff they were trying to get rid of, including great stands of Tuscan Black Kale for 10 cents apiece. For someone trying to barricade the neighbors off the deck, it’s a steal–in full bloom and at least four feet tall.
And it’s an Italian heirloom kale too.
It always catches me unaware, and I always feel a little ripped off–as though I’ve somehow lost an hour of my life.
A rainy Sunday, and we are listening to Whiskeytown. The dog is sitting at my feet, chew toy in mouth, as I wait for Steve to get dressed. Then off to Furney’s for yet more plants and perhaps a watery stroll in Kubota Gardens.
The Library of Congress is slowly digitizing its collection and a wealth of materials can be found on their site. Lately, they’ve been grouping images into online displays. One that caught my eye was Edward S. Curtis’ The North American Indian. In their words: “…one of the most significant and controversial representations of traditional American Indian culture ever produced.” In mine: some incredibly haunting portraits.
It’s not that I haven’t been reading–it’s just that I’ve been reading a combination of mindless things and plant reference books.
Mary K. at work invited to me to join her book club, and for the second month in a row I didn’t make it. My excuse this time was that I was supremely uninterested in talking about The Lovely Bones. Talk about an overrated book; the momentum that carries the reader through the first couple of chapters dissipates with all the talk about heaven and such.