Hyacinth has arrived.
My sister has inflicted a Hyacinth on us. I feel quite victimised, in a way. Why do people keep bringing me plants? I can't cope. I'm just hoping that this one will be impressive if I get it to live long enough to flower. The pictures of them I have found via Google look quite good. I will try not to obsess about this one.
Talking of plant obsession, here she is - let's hear it for Amy.
Still going strong, albeit in a leafy way now. We had quite a bit of winter sun this week which has cheered her up no end. Before the sun came, her leaves were flopping everywhere. Then I remembered that sunlight to leafy things is pretty much “dinner”. I haven't the heart to kill her. I just can't do it, although I feel much like a relative keeping a loved one alive on life support, long after they have finished life. I do hope that I don't live to regret my selfishness.
In the meantime, life is so very busy. I struggle to keep up with all the various demands being made of me. It's quite a challenge to juggle it all together, and to still remember to make money.
Along the way, I am enjoying the new series of “Look Around You” - Are you? No? Anyone? Dust? Anyone? No?
Amy lives on, in our hearts too. I found - (while I was looking for something much less interesting) - this little gem... and of course - I thought of you.
"Amaryllis
To say, 'Yes, I lied but consider my position', send three spiders in a matchbox. Rubies and juniper are apologies. Sign your name with blue ink if you want another chance, green for ambivalence, red if you've torn your mouth from its hinges. A bird's nest warns that desire obeys only itself. Twine says shame. You love her, but love yourself more? Wrap a magnet in a newspaper. Abalone means 'We must resign ourselves to fate'; paintbrushes 'There is much I cannot understand'. Cotton is astonishment. And if you know you must speak, but not how or where to begin? Amaryllis."
This is from a book of amazing poems called 'Centuries' by Joel Brouwer. Described below by Adam Zagajewski thus...
'Joel Brouwer's prose poems are like razor blades, sharp and flexible.'
And by Andrei Codrescu...
...'they work as missiles, pastires, of treasure chests.'
I wish I could post you a link to Amazon but I am bereft of technical expertise.
Posted by: Jac | February 19, 2005 at 08:43 AM
I am also bereft of typing skills.
I would hereby like to lie and say I deliberately mistyped 'They work as missiles, pastries or treasure chests. There. I lied. :-)
Posted by: Jac | February 19, 2005 at 08:59 PM
The hyacinth is a lovely plant, even without flower
Posted by: tom | February 19, 2005 at 09:43 PM
Jac - no, you didn't. :)
Tom - Thanks for dropping by, I must remember to visit your world of legal stuff and Kung-Fu sometime very soon.
Posted by: AndyC | February 19, 2005 at 10:33 PM