Montreal is one of the most beautifully gardened cities I've ever seen. The city's plantings are not the safe geranium-begonia-petunia-impatiens sort of stuff that saps my will to live.
Nope, those big cement planters at metro stations, the medians between lanes of traffic, anywhere the city plants, it plants unusual stuff such as ornamental grasses, perennials and unique annuals.
(Imagine picture here--c'mon, you KNOW you can do it. My camera's software does NOT want to install on my kid's computer, so I can't download my pictures until I get home.)
For those of you keeping track, this makes the score Technology 1, Marn 0
The skies were heavy and gray all day yesterday, but it only sprinkled a few times for the hours we were at the Botannical Gardens, which is the holy land for someone like me.
It's just exquisite this time of year. The beds have filled out and are incredibly lush, it's as if the plants know that frost is just seconds away and by crikey they're gonna party.
The koi (exotic Japanese fish that come in a kazillion colours) in the big ponds are HUGE and completely tame. They come right up and lazily eyeball you in that "Hey, are you something I could eat?" way that makes fish so darned appealing.
There's a big Chinese lantern show installed now, and the only word for that is magical. (Insert Marn photos of everything from four massive water spouting illuminated silk dragons floating in one of the ponds at the Chinese pavillion to a live duck sitting with a big silk frog lantern floating in another pond.)
See, a picture really IS worth a thousand words!
Jess and I ended the visit in the greenhouses as we always do, cracking up over the cactii which all look like something out of Star Wars.
Yes, I KNOW how weird cactus humour is. There's no need to rub my nose in it, 'kay?
And there it was, the name of the mystery plant, in both latin AND English, no less. As you can imagine, small tears of gratitude pooled at the corners of my eyes. I felt a distinct lump forming in my throat because now, through a random act of senseless kindness, I know how to address the latest addition to my garden family.
You will note that I have not coughed up the name of the mystery plant. Why? BECAUSE YAHOO IS DOWN AS I WRITE THIS AND MY FREAKIN' YES YOU CAN GET YOUR E-MAIL ANYWHERE ACCOUNT IS NOT WORKING!
Which somewhat defeats the purpose of having a yes you can get your e-mail anywhere net mail account, don't you think?
For those of you keeping track, this bumps the score to Technology 2, Marn 0.
Anyhow, now that my ears have stopped ringing from the over-the-top decibels at Club Unity, the kids and I have decided to hit a movie. Some sensitive auteur type movie by an obscure foreign director playing at an art cinema?
I am dying to see Godzilla 2000, a movie Paul refused to attend on the grounds that it was Too Stupid. TOO STUPID? As any thinking person knows, ANY movie that involves Godzilla is by definition Too Stupid and you go for just that reason.
A rubber Japanese monster that squishes cars underfoot, walks around with a severe case of toe jam from all the people it's creamed AND said hunk of rubber wonderfulness can breathe fire?
Where do I sign up?
P.S.--When Yahoo resumed its e-mail service I found Ford identified The Mystery Plant as Houttuynia cordata variegata or chameleon plant. For you gardening types, it's a bog plant that's only hardy to Zone 6, which is much, much warmer than around here, so Cornelia must have mulched it well.
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.
This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine. Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.
©2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.