I say to Laura, “We must leave at quarter after.” Her digital mind stops to recalc, and she says “OK, three fifteen.”
“People glow at night,” I was recently informed. “It’s faint, but that’s when it can be seen.”
“Their aura?” I asked.
“No! That’s spiritual! This is scientific!”
“And its scientific name is?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not ‘aura’!”
I teased her one night this week about the weeds she won’t pull because they may be milkweed. “People think we know what we’re doing,” I was shortly informed, “so what difference does it make.”
“Well let’s at least get several more purple flowers to plant along the skirting, so we really look like we know what we’re doing.”
The flower out front I now think is loosestrife. After supper Laura said we could have gone today, and she might have driven. The nursery is two hundred feet down the road. A deprived teenager. I put the keys in her hands and we went across the street. Her first trip outside the seven “safe roads” here in the park. I could only have criticized coming to a full stop on a two lane highway, in the face of no visible traffic, before turning left into the nursery.
We took a cart and looked for tall purple stuff. We put Perovskia atriplicifolia Peek-A-Blue (I’m not kidding), Hybrid Delphinium, Purple Loosestrife, and larkspur on the shelves, checked out, together with a bag of dirt. No one was there who cared to tell us it is soil! The queen of the road made a right and a left and got us home.
Home in time to plant the above, plus move the cranky sedum to a more shady spot, before it might begin to rain. Then a run to Richfield for ice cream from Country Maid, and we called it a wrap.
Neighborhood. The neighborhood cat.