Petrea "Queen's Wreath"

Rebuilt the large arbor and one planter box with a friend's borrowed tools.  Couldn't wait for the landscapers to help me install new plantings around the outside (and the granite gravel they were supposed to lay for the drive). It's gettin' hot and the bugs are starting to bite.  Don't know what's happen with them guys, no return calls - not answering their phones. So, this late spring, early summer, it's been my choice to get hot, and extra dirty.

For the arbor area (what the kids used to call the "blue lounge"), I decided, this time around, on planting Petrea - a native of the West Indies that ranges from Mexico to Panama. "A fast growing, twining, woody vine that produces wisteria-like erect to drooping axillary foot-long racemes of star-like purple flowers, that flower profusely in southern Florida from late fall to early spring." Often referred to as the "Queen's Wreath".  Sounds good right?

Three days rebuilding and painting the arbor.

Rebuilding one of the planter boxes for the new Petrea

The major draw back with Petrea, is that it can easily get out of hand, take off on you - growing surly and wild, with a leafy feel of rough sandpaper (it's other common name - the "sandpaper vine").  Examples below; from newly planted, to a crescendo of old growth.

My effort this week - complete the arbor, the planter box, new soil, new dirt. Now planted, I can sit back and wait for her to flower, watch her grow. (taking the final photo, I forgot to tidy up and put back in the blue chairs and table). Once a favorite spot with my teenage boys (and their friends), and with much misbehavior, I'm sure there were many enjoyable late nights out in that Blue Lounge. Now that 'lounge' is back with me.

a big Holy Week (and a Seder)

Most of my life I've been more than curious, with cultures particularly. Well, this was my year to finally immerse into a cultural experience that always seemed at least two steps away.  Don't know why this became so suddenly related. Maybe from something that caught my interest, from something I recently had read, but it just came on, and full bore.

So as always, I reached out to my all-knowing, good friend Rebecca, who as a child was raised well immersed, and had grown up around the Jewish faith. I had questions. And she suggested that, definitely we should call-up her old friend, Sara (who had converted from Methodist, to Jew, to Catholic) - that she might have my answers. So, four days ago, calling from Rebecca's, we had a three-way, 45 minute phone conference with her friend - a deeply committed and knowledgeable Sara, still on Martha's Vineyard.

The following day, I drove over to our, one and only, local Jewish Deli restaurant to reserve a spot for Rebecca and I, for an offered holiday sit-down, (and possibly my first ever) Passover Seder. No luck - maybe too late, maybe too popular, maybe ....?  But, they did recommend the next best thing - arrive before the morning opening and get in line. At 7:30 am the next day, I was their first customer.

 




Two 'take-out' Brisket Platters;
(doesn't look very appealing, but I'll warm it all up later, make it fancy)

Beef Brisket
Matzo Ball Soup
Gelfilte Fish
Potato Pancakes
Carrot Tzimmes
and Macaroons

By 5:00 pm, Rebecca arrived with the "Manischewitz" and the makings for the traditional 'Seder Plate'. Sandy completed the ritual "house-cleaning", and I, being the youngest, had done my best by reading about the children's "four questions", while also researching the important biblical meaning behind the Great Exodus. 

traditional dipping using salted water from the Seder Plate

and All with a great ending and a newly appreciated significance for a very traditional, holiday meal.
Thanks Rebecca.
 

 

never decline an invite

Got a last minute call from my good friend Rebecca - to go out and about, for a night of possible laughs - and to try something newish. Wasn't much disappointed.

This was a paid, special event, but I get bored easily.  So I wandered instead, the event hallway where I found Ingeborg Angeli, waiting anxiously for her own presentation of her husband's latest designer art.

This was not the town I grew up in.  So luckily, I found the bar, ordered some 'menued' food - and instead, just listened to Erol Ozseyer's, happily played, classical guitar.