Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Swords into Plowshares III

Let's re-revisit this sign post
and yes, there is a signpost under that explosion of vinery; a No Parking signpost that was last summer smothered in heavenly blue morning glories (which is what they're called as well as what they are), and a beautiful sight it was.

The theory (I imagine, because I've never tripped over whoever lives here, and sometimes that's what it takes to get me to talk, not type) was to hide a sign that created a blight upon the sidewalk in front of a delightful house.

I commiserated in my quiet, modest way. We too have a signpost outside of our house. It arrived one whimsical day when the city decided it was tired of our letters complaining about meter persons that were incorrectly ticketing our car for parking too close to the alley. Since we have measured and remeasured over the 20-some years that we've lived here we know to the tenth of an inch how close we can go -- but not so those in charge of parking enforcement.  So, because they apparently can't be trained, we have been visited with...ugliness. Damn sign doesn't even stand up straight. Bah.

Early this spring I passed by the morning glory house and noticed something new sprouting. It was leafy and viney but I hadn't a clue what it was...and then today I passed and KAPOW! It's a trumpet vine. How brilliant I thought, planting this second most invasive of vines -- the harder the city tries to kill it the stronger and more murderously it will grow. (I know because I made the stupid mistake of starting one in my minuscule backyard to give balance to the wisteria--the first most invasive of plants--that I stupidly planted beside the garage then "trained" (ha) along the opposite wall).

This is where rash behavior gets you."Oh! I love it! I'll plant it!"

And, "I hope it will grow fast!" 

Oh, fool.

Meanwhile, around the time that I noticed the neighbors' new sprout, I was working on replicating their triumph of last year, mixing the morning glories with moonflowers...and I soaked them (maybe a little too long, as I've previously noted) and planted them and watched and watched and watched and, nothing at all has emerged.  Sigh. sometimes I just despair of myself. Really.

And Diana seems to think that such vines will take root in anything. Well.

It is  a pretty house, isn't it. Whenever I pass it I think of that old fashioned term for such perfectly trimmed out neatness: Band Box.

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