Margaret & Me & A Cup Of Tea


Margaret Roach Garden

Margaret Roach.  For years it was just a name, one that I had seen in the masthead or the editorial pages of Martha Stewart Living.  Occasionally, it appeared at the bottom of the television as I watched Martha’s show, an identifier of the woman sitting next to the host.

Yes, Margaret Roach was just a name.

When I started this blog, I also learned of the top gardening blog in America, A Way to Garden — and once again, I was staring at that same name: Margaret Roach.  Maybe, I thought, there was a reason her name kept entering my world — and maybe, it was time to discover if there was more to Margaret than a name.

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Margaret Roach: My New BFF (If Only In My Mind)


Desk

When I was in high school and sitting in math class, I noticed that someone who had class in the same room during another period — most likely a girl because of the large rounded, bubbly print — had written two letters on the desk: Hi.  So I wrote back — and soon, our shared desktop was covered with a conversation.  Then, one day, she wrote her name: Kim.

My friends, adolescent testosterone and nerd-ness surging through their bodies, were jealous and full of fantastical ideas.  “What do you mean you don’t know who Kim is?” one of them asked — and he then proceeded to fill me in on the deeds, the actions, the beauty, and the popularity of the notorious Kim.

At the end of the school year, as I was unpacking my locker, Kim passed by and I said, “Um, Kim?  Hi.  I’m Kevin, the guy from the desk in math class.”

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Wish I Was There . . . Again (Part 1)


SicilyThere was a time when cameras used film, and that film had to be brought to a photo developing retail outlet, and that outlet would print your photos and supply a free second set.  One set for the photo album; another set for . . . well, I guess, a box.

That’s the box I recently came across while in the attic — for Joe and me, that’s 25 years of negatives and photos of vacations gone by, and so many “ahhhhh” moments captured — the sort of moments that begin with a single picture and then goes something like this, “Remember when we. . . and that’s when . . . and we saw . . . “

Soon, the moments are stitched together, like a verbal photo album.

In the photo above, Joe and I were driving through the heart of Sicily in search of the village from where my maternal great-grandfather began his journey to America.  At one point, there was a curve in the road and a view of the valley, orderly rows of olive trees caught in a game of hide-and-seek sunlight.

Join me as I take a walk down memory lane, or, rather, down the global garden path . . .

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Bloomin’ Update 37: Hazy Shade Of Winter


Rain Reflection

The forecasters have predicted all week about spring-like temperatures this weekend.  So when Saturday morning arrived, I jumped out of bed like a kid eager to hear news that school was closed for a snow day.  I know mild January temperatures are out of the ordinary — unless this is the new ordinary — but I had big plans for this weekend, even if it was just some basic tidying up of fallen twigs and leaves.

Imagine my surprise, though, when I looked outside and saw nothing but gray and wet.  I don’t know if the forecasters neglected to mention rain with the spring-like temps or if I just stopped listening to the forecast when I heard spring.

In any event, I decided to make the best of it — because when life gives you rain on your garden, grab a camera and take some pictures.

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Whiling Away A Winter’s Day


Oak Leaf In Snow

What to do?  It’s an early January day, one of those odd ones that’s wedged between cold fronts.  On Long Island, that means it sort of feels like March, and there is an urge to bundle up and start spring cleaning — while the inner voice says, “Don’t be too quick.  This is just a winter lull, and there will be icy temperatures at any moment.”

As if to serve as a reminder, there are the remnants of last night’s flurries (above) and autumn leaves encased in ice on top of the pool cover (below).

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“And the Liebster Blog Award Goes To . . .”


Liebster-Blog-AwardBlog awards come in all shapes and sizes — but few can bring a smile to my face like the Liebster Award.  It’s a funny — and a fun — word to say.  Go ahead, give it a try.  “Ah, my little Liebster, how are you today?”

See what I mean?  You have to smile when you say it.

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2012 In Review


This post, animation and all, comes courtesy of WordPress — and a good thing, too.  Joe and I arrived home last night after a 21-hour drive from Florida, stayed up even later to watch the ball drop in Times Square, and are now trying to organize our lives for the upcoming work week.  Words are definitely not at the top of the to-do list.  Nap, yes.  Words, no.

So my thanks and gratitude to all of you for making 2012 extra special.  Happy 2013!

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 39,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 9 Film Festivals

Click here to see the complete report.

Bloomin’ Update 36: Wish You Were Here


Joe, also known as “Joey Coconuts,” and I are spending Christmas week in South Florida.  When I tell that to people, their reactions usually fall into one of two categories.  First, there are those who would like to jump into my luggage.  Sure!  Then, there are those who wonder if a South Florida Christmas can even feel like Christmas.  It does, only it’s warmer.

The only moment when both groups are in agreement is when they stare, speechless, after I explain that Joe and I are going to Florida to do yard work.  Yes, that’s the perfect vacation — and since there isn’t too much time to write, I thought I would share some photos.

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And So This Is Christmas


Santa 2

This is not the post I planned for today.  I originally wanted to write something funny about one of my favorite holiday films, Christmas In Connecticut, or poke fun at myself for crying over Christmas carols, like Darlene Love’s “Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home).”

Today, though, I have a need to write a long post (my apologies) about a very different Christmas in Connecticut, a very different Christmas in America — and the idea that I, and I think most of us, cannot stop crying — with or without Christmas carols.   For me, the overwhelming sadness is just below the skin.  It doesn’t take much — the news, a moment of silence, an overheard conversation — to unleash a flood of tears.

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