Remember, Banned Books Not Only Come In All Shapes and Sizes, but Formats as well.

What's the last Banned Book you listened to?

{BANNED & CHALLENGED BOOKS}

Every year At This Time I Hear That Book Banning Is A Thing Of the Past . . .

The Top 10 Books that Americans tried to ban last year {LINKYPOO}



What I get from all these book  challenges is that learning about the real life issues and events that confront children and families is dangerous, and everyone should be kept as ignorant as possible.

For their own good, of course.

Sure. That makes sense.

Kilt Monday!

'Cause let's face it,

Mondays can be so rough, hard, difficult.

Banned Book Week Makes its Way Around Once Again.

American Library Association Dot Org

This feature, originally known as Saturday Farmer's Market, was created by Heather at Capricious Reader, and then hosted by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made on.

It has been a rough week. I've pushed myself past the point I should, and am paying the price.  (I know. Whine. Whine. Whine.)

We pulled up all the Lavender because it was beginning to smother itself and then replanted it. I had used the recommended spacing, but the plants grew bigger than they were supposed to. We also took the opportunity to lay down weed cloth. The bed looks severely ugly right now. Deformed plants that can't be pruned correctly until early spring with too much space between them, and exposed weed cloth looking raggedy. No garden prizes this year.

Eventually there will be inorganic mulch and the plants will be pruned properly and grow back in. Eventually.

Update on the neighbor's irrigation and our trees: Two weeks ago we told the renters. They told their landlords. Nothing happened. Our large Plum tree is looking worse. I finally called the water folks and they said that they will look into it and let me know what happens. For the sake of my trees, I hope they don't take too long.

I have some new pictures but I haven't gotten around to uploading and messing with them yet. Soon, I promise.

In the meantime . . .

here's a snap of some Pink Flamingos grazing among the Lantana.

Flamingo Watching
- Kay Ryan

Wherever the flamingo goes,

she brings a city’s worth

of furbelows. She seems

unnatural by nature—

too vivid and peculiar

a structure to be pretty,

and flexible to the point   

of oddity. Perched on

those legs, anything she does   

seems like an act. Descending   

on her egg or draping her head   

along her back, she’s

too exact and sinuous

to convince an audience

she’s serious. The natural elect,   

they think, would be less pink,   

less able to relax their necks,   

less flamboyant in general.

They privately expect that it’s some   

poorly jointed bland grey animal   

with mitts for hands

whom God protects.


from: Flamingo Watching. Copyright 1994.

Kilt Monday!

'Cause let's face it,

Mondays can be so rough, hard, difficult.

It's A Garden Party! - One Last Daisy!

This feature, originally known as Saturday Farmer's Market, was created by Heather at Capricious Reader, and then hosted by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made on.

I didn't get any more pictures this week, as I've been working and forgot all about the camera.

I managed to (with help, of course) lay weed cloth under the Fruit trees and mulch them. We had to take out my poor Pomegranate first though. The neighbor's sprinkler system had sprung a small leak and I didn't notice in time.

The tree was in serious distress and I had been checking for pests and disease when the problem was rotting roots. It was so far gone that my husband didn't even have to dig it up, he just rocked the trunk back and forth and it came up. Poms aren't just drought tolerant, they thrive on neglect and can't stand wet feet at all.  We will be replacing it, but it will be going in a different spot, away from possible sprinkler problems.

We also lost our small Pluot tree. I had hoped it would survive but there was just too much damage when the wind knocked the supports from under the heavily fruited branches. We haven't taken it out yet. That will happen after we finish on the front beds.

So, after we replace the Pomegranate and take out the Pluot there will be room for two more trees. We are considering a Sweet Almond. I would love an Olive tree but I think they grow too big for my space.

Any suggestions?

We also laid weed cloth between the Rose bed and the Herb bed, and mulched the whole area. No more grass. I didn't put the cloth in the beds themselves. The herbs are too close together for that, so I will still have to weed them by hand. And I still have work to do with the roses.

The next project is the Lavender bed. I'll let you know how that turns out and hopefully have some pictures of all this.

                                                        Daisy!

The Fact of the Garden

 - Minnie Bruce Pratt

 

With this rain I am satisfied we will be together

in the spring. Seeds of water on my window glass,

transparent sprouts and rootlets. In your backyard

steady rain through the heavy dirt we dug in,

our shovels excavating some history of the tiny garden.

Our blades cut through the design of a previous digger:

rotting boards, rocks, earthworms big as young snakes;

a tarnished spoon, pink champagne foil from a party;

a palmful of blue feathers from a dead jay.

We dug and planted. We intend to have a history here

behind this rented house. Despite the owner there is a secret

between us and the ground. In the wet dirt, our fleshy bulbs

and the pink cloves of garlic are making nests of roots.

The fact of the garden has satisfied me all morning:

that we worked side by side, your name round

when I spoke it: that my fingers worked in the dirt like rain,

the ground like a made bed with its mulch of leaves,

orderly, full of possibilities, acts of love

not yet performed.

                            Now the water’s slap on my window

has made me think of something else, suddenly,

what I don’t want to, the way I wake up in the night,

think I’ve heard a gun shot.

                                           The memory, news story

you told me a week ago: the farmers south,

far south, El Salvador, afraid to go into their fields.

What does their dirt look like? I don’t know.

Instead I see that some thing is being planted:

U.S. soldiers watching as others bury a dead

hand, arm, head, torso.

                                    To be afraid

to put your hand into the dirt. To be afraid to go

look at your ground: that it has been cut like skin,

will bulge out like cut muscle: that on a fair day

there will be subterranean thunder, then a loud, continuous

hiss of blood.

                      I wish I could see only the flowering

bulbs voluptuous in the spring.

                                                But what is planted is

what comes. In the fall, plant stones: in the winter,

the ground gapes with stones like teeth.

I hold to the plan we thought of: small: full of

possibilities against despair:

                                              us handing out

sheets of paper, thousands, the list of crimes:

sharp thin papers delving up something in people

in parking lots, shopping malls.

                                                 What will come of this?

Perhaps people to stand with us outside the buildings,

to say again: Not in my name. Words adamant as rock,

and actions, here, in the coldest months, before

soldiers move again in the fields to the south.

from: The Dirt She Ate: New and Selected Poems. Copyright 2003.

Finally, One I Can Identify With!