I have to start thinking about autumn jobs, dahlia jobs (it’s its own category), and garden finance jobs. I overspent last spring and I really do not want a repeat of that. I’m hoping it proves to be a limitation that inspires creativity as well as honesty in terms of what I have capacity to grow.
A skipper feeding on verbena bonariensis nectar. I love this plant – it’s proving popular with the blue banded bees too.

🌱🌸 Dahlia ‘Jeanette Thompson’ 🌸🌱

A bucket of blooms for friends and teachers 🌸🌱

Something about raindrops on flowers.
Dahlia ‘Christie Leader’ 🌸

Today, I sold my first ever bucket of homegrown, kind to earth flowers (dahlias and celosias) to a local florist 🥳
I’m feeling giddy and like an imposter at the same time. Why are inner critics such spoil sports.
I really want to paint again. So many internal dialogue but’s already.
Finished reading: The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman 📚
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
So very delightful. I laughed out loud many, many times (to the concern of my family).
The local grocery now has some pre-cooked paella I’m very happy* with. Lunch sorted for the rest of my life.
*The fried rice is a no. My taste buds won’t allow it.
A timely read for me as I contemplate writing something for my kids. Maybe a mental note to burn my diaries at some point.
We don’t need to set them in stone for all to read, because probably by the next day the thoughts or feeling will have changed anyway, on to something else. The purpose of a journal for many is for self expression, for working through what plagues the heart or mind. It’s not written for the public at all.
Is it right to publish Joan Didion’s diary posthumously, without her consent?