Underwhelmed. Let’s look at photos.
Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you have a great day!
Eh…
Clematis in Bloom
No politics on my blog. My blog is a sanctuary for me. If I want controversy, I know where to find it.
🌸🌺🌼
Here’s a photo of one of my clematis blooming. It’s actually the only one blooming right now, and this tiny plant has never had such a large bloom. I think it might be its only bloom. I like to get artsy with the photos, so there are two close-ups.
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved
William in Spring
I wrote about William last fall. He has been doing his thing all winter, and he withstood a tornado. Although he did shed a few limbs, he seems unscathed overall.
This week William has decided to participate in the pollination of the entire neighborhood. The winds are a bit gusty, so William is trying to populate everything, basically. My next-door neighbor asked me today what kind of tree he is. I could tell she was annoyed by all of his spring activities – i.e. dropping seed pods. I told her he is a Willow Oak and many years ago, my mother thought her beloved Birch trees were dropping these pods, so she had them all cut down. It turns out, William was dropping the pods. My mother was upset about that for many years. She didn’t like William. William is a big boy, it would take a crane and many thousands of dollars to remove him. So William stays, and the bigger he gets, the more seeds drop. Everywhere. You can’t go outside without getting rained on by seed pods these days. They clog rain gutters, they form piles of tumbleweed looking things, and they get under your wiper blades. I think birds use them for their nests, though. But they can’t take a bath in the birdbath because it’s filled with William’s pods.
I was out front fussing with the clematis this morning when two (other) neighbors walked past and talked amongst themselves about these pods being everywhere. I didn’t say a word, except a good morning when the greeting was offered to me. I kept my eyes down and focused on my task. When I was done, I walked in my house and shook my hair. Twelve seed pods fell out. Thanks, William.
Oh – one more thing: for the past several years, there has been a toad living in my backyard. When I had all the English ivy eradicated last fall, I was worried that the toad might have been adversely affected. I am happy to report that Toady McToaderson is back and apparently in fine health. Today is the first day I have heard him singing his dulcet sounds to the lady toads. Welcome back, Toady.
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved
Waze, Usually
It’s a pretty decent app. Back in the day we had to use MapQuest, which was like being a modern pirate. Before that, there were maps, which was like being a regular pirate.
Have a great day, everyone! 
I saved a bumblebee today
It’s about 90° here now, which is unusual for April and early May. Everything is hot, including humans, animals and tiny creatures. I was on my usual excursion to my neighbor’s mailbox to retrieve her mail, and when I opened the mailbox, a bumblebee was inside. It seemed disoriented and probably was quite warm having been in a hot metal box with no escape. I had just gotten my own mail, so I had torn up junk mail in my hands which came in handy – no pun intended.
My neighbor had a package in her mailbox, but nothing else, so I ignored that for a moment and used the scraps of paper that I had just torn up to escort the bumblebee out of the mailbox. It was essentially a real Lyft. The bee climbed on and I carried it in front of me like a golden child, which bumblebees truly are. I tried to find flowers, but much of them are gone, and the new batch haven’t bloomed yet. I tried a Dianthus, but as soon as I perched him or her on there, I could see there was no pollen. I apologized and eventually convinced the bee that I would find a more suitable flower. We traveled in the same way (golden child real Lyft transport system) toward the backyard where I put the bee on some wild violet flowers. It seemed there was some pollen in these, but the bee was so heavy, the flower took a slow drop to the ground. I frowned. The bee was determined and more lively at this point, so after two attempts at the wild violet flowers, I convinced he or she to get back on the paper and I would find a flower. I walked over to the azaleas, but immediately knew there was no pollen. I was out of ideas. In that moment, the bee buzzed away – took flight and was completely recovered. Buzzy was no more silent bee. Then the bee found an appropriate weed and proceeded to feed. If you’ve been here a while, you know that I chase bumblebees for photo ops. I thought maybe the bee would let me get a quick snap in, but no. But that is ok. Their lifespan is short, after all, and they have to capture the pollen. After the bee buzzed away, I went back to my neighbor’s house, got her mail out of her mailbox and put it on her stoop.
I’ve been on insect saving duty the past three days – one of the hazards/joys (however you want to look at it) of spring. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
By A Poet
Although I do have many favorite quotes from Zora Neale Hurston, I’m going to try to follow the rules for this prompt. I know, you’re probably thinking, “Why start now?” It’s because I have a favorite quote that I really don’t think of that often but for this prompt, I thought of it.
Years ago, I bought this book:
I don’t recall why I purchased the book, but if I had to venture a guess, it would be because the book is pink, has a heart on it (your girl is obsessed with hearts and collects them – not anatomical hearts, dear reader), and it also has a pink bookmark built right in.
The book contains different chapters, which delve into the many different types of love – requited, unrequited, grief, love for pets, etc. I’m not much of a romantic, but I am sentimental. So I tend towards more eccentric quotes about not just love, but everything.
I nudged this book off my shelf for this prompt and opened it up to the page with the pink bookmark. I never take this bookmark out of this page because this is my favorite quote in the whole book, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish.
Without further adieu, Let me introduce you to my favorite quote:
When I read this the first time, I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. Then I realized there were many ways to interpret it. In fact, I have a new interpretation as I write this.
What is a superstition? (We all know, because we all remember the daily prompt from not that long ago.) Examples of superstitions include walking under a ladder is considered bad luck, opening an umbrella in the house is bad luck, breaking a mirror will give you seven years of bad luck, black cats are bad luck, knocking on wood so whatever you’ve just said comes true or stays safe (depends on the situation), and many more. Superstitions are misunderstood, mysterious, used as protection. In my mind, I always think about superstitions as hovering in the air in a cloud. Superstitions are not part of reality, but they are still given deference and respect. They are very real to the person who believes.
Having said that, I believe Monsieur Baudelaire is speaking here of unrequited love, a love that to him is so precious, he keeps it in the clouds just out of reach. The image of his love stays in his mind, and in his heart is where the cherishing blooms, but his love is so much more than that. He seems to be under a spell. To say you are more than an image I dream about and cherish, you are my superstition, means to me, that you are the very thing that I believe in, the idea of which makes no sense, but I love you more than I could ever love anyone else. And yet, there is a mystery about you. Are you bad for me? If my love were requited, would it be a mistake? Would it ruin everything? Superstition has to stay in the clouds, just out of reach, and so does the love. Dream of it, cherish it, hold it in the highest regard. Be also aware of its mystery and respect the unknowingness of it.
Monsieur Baudelaire was a controversial poet in Paris in the 19th century. He was part of the Decadent era. Knowing a bit about poets myself, I’ve been thinking: is the superstition the muse? Oui.
✨💫✨
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved
Christmas (Cactus)
I got Chris, my first cactus, shortly after starting my job at my former employer – around 2011. My Facebook Memories yesterday showed me Chris from a 2015 photo that I snapped in my office at the time. He was still a wee one, and I put a little note on him, because the housekeeping staff would come in overnight, water all the plants in an effort to help, but eventually they would drown them and the plants would die. Everyone knew if you had a plant you’d better stick a post it on it and write, “Please don’t water, thank you!”
Eventually – and most likely unbelievably by looking at the photo above – Chris outgrew his spot on the top of the bookshelf. I had to carefully carry him out to my car at the end of the workday, being careful not to tear any limbs off in the process. I put him on the floor of the passenger side of my car, where he proceeded to tip over three or four times on the thirty mile journey home.
Chris had a spot on my bookshelf at home for a while, then he outgrew that space as well as a few pots. I’ve read that cacti don’t like to be repotted. They like to be root bound, which I am all for, because trying to repot a cactus is not an easy task.
After Facebook showed me my memory yesterday, I decided to snap a photo of Chris present day. He ended up on a perch all by himself right next to a southwest facing window. You’ll understand why he’s by himself when I show you what he looks like now.
Chris has thrived at home, and he has cousins in another room who are not quite as large as he. They all usually start blooming in October, so I’ve taken to calling them Halloween cacti. Sometimes they bloom around Thanksgiving, so they become Thanksgiving cacti. They don’t really have a timeframe. They do what they want. That’s cool with me. I’m simply glad Chris likes his pot, because I am never going to be able to repot this lanky gentleman.
Yes
Here’s a picture of a squirrel I feed. She shows up every day on my porch, like my other outside children do, so I grab the jar of peanuts and instruct her to follow me to my mom’s cherry tree. She follows and I toss some peanuts under the canopy, where she dines with a meditating cat statue and a fake stone that reads, “Make Your Mama Proud.” The squirrel is going to have babies soon, and she will tell them to come here for food. She will drop them off one day and that will be it – I will be happily feeding all of them.
As The Crow Flies
To go as the crow flies is to take the most direct route somewhere. Going as the crow flies is the shortest path between two points.
This expression has to do with traveling—in a very specific way. If you travel as the crow flies, you've gone somewhere as quickly and directly as possible. A shortcut is a good way to go as the crow flies. A direct airplane flight with no transfers is another way to go as the crow flies. When you think of this term, imagine a bird flying in a straight line from point A to point B.
I moved to the state I live in now when I was just turning seven. For reasons, Mom and I were graciously taken in by family members who lived one state away from our previous home. It wasn’t terribly far, but to a six-year-old, an hour-long car ride seems like a great distance to travel.
From there, Mom and I moved across a two-lane highway – which is now a four-lane highway – to an apartment complex. We lived there for seven years.
Mom found her final home in a neighborhood she admired for years and would drive through on her way to pick me up from my friend’s house.
I just realized the other day, that if you plot all three of these points of residence on a map, the triangle is very small. In fact, I determined that the distance from Point A to Point B to Point C forms a very small triangle, with each arm of the triangle being about 300m. 300m translates to 0.186 miles.
Some people may think this is incredibly isolating and not very worldly, but it was entirely coincidental and not planned, as far as I know. And since I didn’t even realize it until a few days ago, I guess it could be a statement about how much I like my neighborhood and my surroundings.
You guys know Jerome, right? He’s my crow. Well, it’s more true to form to say that he is my nemesis. He is the crow that’s mad at me for eternity because I wouldn’t let him put his dirty bagels and french fries in the birdbath. He and his friends and family caw at me as I’m walking in the neighborhood. If I’m at the local pharmacy and strip mall, they’ll do it there, too. They somehow know when to show up. If I walk out of my house and Jerome starts cawing from somewhere far enough away that I can’t see him, but close enough that I can hear him, I know I’m in for quite a mouthful. Other people have crows bring them money and shiny objects. Jerome has given me intergenerational hatred. I would prefer money or shiny objects, at the very least.
“I hear you, Jerome! Good morning to you, too!” I say loudly. I’m sure my neighbors think I’m crazy, but that crow and I have beef. I wonder how old Jerome is, and how long he’s been watching me. Maybe his great-grandfather, grandfather and father saw me at Points A and B. Point C is Jerome’s territory now, as the crows fly.
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved 
When I’ve Worked Outside
The physicality combined with the stress relieving exertion usually leads to a good night’s sleep. Whether I am up to my elbows in dirt sowing seeds, planting plants, putting cages around my perennials, or digging up old bricks from a long ago fire pit, working outside is not only beneficial exercise, but it is a sort of meditative state for me. I don’t have to think about what I’m doing, so my mind can wander. Using my strength and feeling the ground underneath helps to center me when I am feeling shaky. Sweating and feeling the ache in my muscles at the end of the day means that I got a lot done, even though sometimes it doesn’t look like it.
“It's Amy,” I said. 