Lemon Balm

Lemon balm could easily take over the world yard.  I know because I have just been out there, pulling some up. Weeding out the tiny maple trees that have sprouted up in the flower bed. Re-mulching. Transplanting the celandine poppy from the Farmers Market. (I picked the right one, with buds not seedpods, and it is blooming now, that yellow poppy!)

Lemon balm is in the mint family and spreads itself and comes back. We had some actual spearmint in the back yard last summer, good for iced tea or mint juleps or mojitos, but where is it? Alas, only the lemon balm has returned.

A mojito is the Cuban highball. We like mojitos in our house due to specific and general attractions to 1) Cubans 2) James Bond movies 3) Halle Berry 4) lime and mint.

Later in June, I'll probably tell you about day lilies taking over the world yard.

After Memorial Day--love, family, remembrance--I am glad to enjoy this abundance of life after the rains, even if I pull some of it out.

And then smell like lemon Pledge.

Credits: Melissa officinalis (lemon balm)

& Franz Eugen Koehler (public domain)

And now today's wonderful random (reading) coincidence: After I pull up the lemon balm and smell like lemon polish, I read, in Unless, by Carol Shields, "I won't even mention the swift, transitory reward of lemon spray wax." The kind of sentence that defies itself, in a passage about the common experience of comforting oneself with housework. (Or gardening.)

And on the next page, the main character, a translator, tells the writer she is translating that she might want to use the word "brain" instead of the word "heart," because "heart" is fey and passé and not-very-enlightened in a feminist way.

"But this is where I feel pain," says the writer. "And tenderness."

And that is what I must tell anyone who tells me not to use the word "heart" in a poem or that taking up gardening, and writing about it, is clichéd or risks sentimentality. So what? I take the risk.

Even if I am writing in my own language. Not in a language of the heart, being translated, which generally allows the trendy American translator to say the old-fashioned, straight on, wonderful thing...and get away with it, because it was written by someone from another country.

Oops, I sound a little bitter. Or bittersweet. But that's a plant of a different color.

War is Hell

Imaginary playlist:

"The Scarlet Tide" sung by Alison Krauss

"You Will Be My Ain True Love" sung by Alison Krauss

from T. Bone Burnett's soundtrack to Cold Mountain

Yesterday's reflection in church reminded me that Memorial Day had its origins in Decoration Day, a day set aside for remembrance of the dead after the Civil War, and that William Tecumseh Sherman was the General who said, "War is hell."

Wikipedia reminds me that the day was created and first celebrated by black Americans, particularly former slaves honoring the dead Union soldiers.

After World War I, this day of remembrance in the United States began to extend to all Americans lost in war, and gradually it became a day to decorate the graves and remember all our dead.

Susan Ryder's reflection begins with "The Young Dead Soldiers," a poem by Archibald MacLeish, who was himself a veteran and also served the United States as Librarian of Congress and in the Secretary of State's office. Giving voice to the young dead soldiers, he says, "We leave you our deaths. Give them meaning."

Please read Susan's thoughtful piece, and be sure to click and read the article by Kevin Cullen, called "The fatal touch of war," which makes you keep asking whether particular military and civilian deaths during wartime had meaning or were for nothing. It clearly demonstrates that war is hell.

And I continue to be struck by what General Sherman said about the impulse to war: "Suppress it!"

I woke this morning to bright sunshine and the joy that family will gather today for this Memorial Day holiday, but also with the phrase "lost to me" floating in my consciousness like the ethereal voice of Alison Krauss.

I thank our veterans, whether they served in a "good" war or not. I remember the dead, particularly those lost to me.

Rozapoppin!

I have climbing roses just starting to pop open on a trellis on the south side of the house!

The other trellis remains bare, with a small rose bush at its base that is slowly resurrecting from a rabbit-induced nothingness some years ago. The trellis of abundance survived absolute hacking after a house fire in 2006 and dramatic repairs.

The roses on this nice, white picket fence come from South Texas Gardening with Bob Webster, where you can find great advice and information on rose gardening.

More great advice at Rose Gardening 101.

Hm, I should take some of this advice! But I imagine I will continue with my wild Edenic gardening, which produces erratic and glorious eruptions of whatever wants to grow here, my own private prairie restoration and honoring of beauty, bugs, butterflies, rabbit & squirrel (stew), and wildlife in general.

Speaking of which, what exactly is Hellzapoppin? Oh! A crazy musical comedy revue! Kind of like my garden if it could sing and tell jokes.

Farmers Market

I was not exactly a slattern on this Slattern Day in the blog, rising early and heading off to the Farmers Market with my mom. I got a celandine poppy to plant in the tree-shaded area of the front yard, hoping it will thrive and spread, and I have an under-a-tree spot for one in the back, too, once the seedpods mature. Must remember to wear gloves as celandine can stain like nicotine.

Also got some organic green onions and green onion cheese for the Memorial Day weekend, and a poppy for the veterans.

Reading: Unless by Carol Shields. At the perfect time.

Baked a vegan banana bread!

The Heat is On

Imaginary playlist:

"The Heat is On" recorded by Glenn Frey

(because the heat is on)

"Kaleidoscope Heart" by Sara Bareilles

(just because)

Yes, the heat is on in our house, because 1) we did not turn off the furnace for the season 2) we recently replaced the thermostat, and it is working fine, and 3) it is cold outside.  But the prediction is for a clearing off by Sunday, so we hope for a fine family wamily get together on Monday, Memorial Day.

And some baking in the meantime, and preparation of fruit salad.

Baking will warm up the house, too.  And to warm you up on the inside, go see the new poetry feature up at Escape Into Life:  Jessy Randall! Wonderful warm, short, love poems, some funny, in a natural voice & style + fabulous artwork by Anka Zuravleva.

Jessy Randall is a fiction writer, too, so click those Amazon links to learn more about that!  And a librarian!