At this stage, I am bound and determined to rekindle my ability to talk endlessly about absolutely nothing. As a southerner, it is my birthright. With that in mind, I will proceed.
Spring is in the air, and we are certainly among those anxiously watching to see which plants have survived the winter storm here in Texas. (I am deliberately skipping over the 125 deaths that occurred as that might be interpreted as talking about something.) Leaves are coming out on the pecan trees out back, and most of the rose bushes seem to have made it through.
The potted gardenia trained to stand tall like a topiary, however, is a casualty. But then, that particular plant always resisted blooming anyway, probably in protest of the unnatural posture it was forced to take.
My greatest concern was for the Asian jasmine, which for years has been so thick and glossy but took a beating with the storm. With origins in Japan and Korea, I believe that calling it “Asian” is acceptable and not pejorative in any way. It’s coming back, even being invasive enough to set its sights on taking over where the roses are planted. And they’re not even Chinese roses. Dammit, did I just make a reference to something?
One thing for sure is the hedge between us and the Tudor house next door is dead, at least the Chinese ligustrum part. I think we’ll probably replace it with red leaf photinia, which is the other part of that hedge that did survive. That photinia may or may not be Japanese in origin, but I’m not falling down that rabbit hole again.
That house was built by an English guy, which may explain the Tudor styling of its façade. The activity next door may indicate it’s about to go on the market, and I’m not talking about the resurfacing of the pool. The neighbors were known to get into rows that were decidedly not veddy British, with the most ungentlemanly accusations of the wife behaving in a most unladylike manner. I’ll just leave that right there, unless any potential buyers are interested in discussing the plumbing.
Well, that’s it for gardening. How about cooking? I can’t get into much trouble there, since I know practically nothing about it. Although it has never been clear to me when to use condensed versus evaporated milk, I at least know that no well stocked kitchen south of the Mason-Dixon line is without both. Although I probably shouldn’t have referenced that particular demarcation lest unpleasant associations be made.
Travel should be a safe nothing to talk about, so let’s go there. Personally, I’d like to put America first (oh, I shouldn’t have said that) and maybe revisit what I consider to be one of the most beautiful of our cities. And the one I’ve visited only once should be at the top of the list. So Savannah, Georgia, it is!
Oh, wait. Georgia? Right now? Is there a boycott? Didn’t the whole state just go from being the darling of the Democrats to a pariah in record time? To stay out of trouble, I better talk about going somewhere without all that controversy.
San Francisco is certainly beautiful, and there’s lots to do there. But that San Francisco Board of Education decision this week about renaming schools (or not renaming them) might blow up, plus Nancy Pelosi—need I say more.
So I’ll go with New Orleans. I’ve been there lots of times, and who doesn’t love New Orleans? I think that’s the safest bet, as long as the Carousel is the only bar one admits to visiting, leaving to the imagination the more dubious and less reputable ones.
Needless to say, current events are almost completely off-limits in the quest for talking about absolutely nothing. We’re can’t bring up any murder trial, voting suppression, or anything about the movement of legislation through the Congress. Not even going to talk about Piers Morgan, Tucker Carlson, or anything to do with that Duchess.
The only safe nothing in current events to talk about is Matt Gaetz, at least until such time as an actual indictment may be executed. And it really is nothing, if one thinks about it. Even if the scandal causes him to be drummed out of the Congress, Matty should be able to get Jack Nicholson’s old job as caretaker at the Overlook Hotel.
So how ‘bout them Cowboys?