philadelphia flower show

Update: 8 march 2017

Sometimes my mind goes walkabout while my body languishes someplace forgotten.  The disconnect eats up my sense of time’s passage so that months or weeks elapse while the road seems still, making chronology seem a liar.

This isn’t, or wasn’t, one of those times.  I’m in pretty good shape this gone round.

I don’t recall when last I wrote regularly, and even if I were to look it up, the date would be meaningless.  Life is not an American high school history exam, the dates never matter so much as the ethos of their events.  As such, it’s pointless to dissect the calendar in a search for answers, because, without writing, my time is ephemeral, as my short term memory is rather shit.  I can tell you what life was like as a three year old, but I’m hard pressed to recall what yesterday’s breakfast contained.  My perception is built for the long game, for big ideas and long term recollection; for whatever reason the only minutiae that ever stick are spats of movie dialogue and biographies of fictional characters.

Having established my nature as something between Leonard Shelby and a cork at sea, the best course of action seems simply to move on, so on I shall move.

This weekend is the Philadelphia Flower Show, and while my business has been on something of a hiatus while I adapted to my new part time job, my interest in botany hasn’t abated in the slightest.  I’m excited for the show and look forward to the multitudinous displays and the many ideas they’ll give me.  I’d already planned to restart Thistlehammer Transmutational in the spring, and now is near enough.  I’ll take a few hundred pictures and a notebook full ideas home and into the studio, and with any diligence (the lack of which is my usual downfall, not luck; luck is like pneumonia, merely a description of a set of symptoms) I’ll rejoin that part of my life fully enthused.  At the very least, I’ll see some cool plants and have some good dumplings in Chinatown.

I’ve about hit the maximum word count for the internet’s mandated attention span, and as I’ve nothing specific to share I’ll end here.  My hope is to start posting more regularly, and I’ve some ideas for future posts that I think will be pretty cool.

I look forward to sharing them with you, soon.

-Alexander

PHS / PFS / The Philadelphia Flower Show

Sunday, Mary and I went to the Philadelphia Flower Show, something to which I haven’t been in twenty years.  The theme this year was cinema, specifically <DIZ-nee> and <PIKS-ahr> films*.  Not to my taste, me devoutly adhering to the belief that plants, not anthropomorphized rodentia, should remain the focus of a plant show, but no one asked me.

There were a great many interesting things to be seen, and quite a few of them actually plant-based. Some displays were dreadful and lackluster, a failing Mary and I agree the blame for which falls on the theme company’s double sponsorship of the event.  When one has so few plants in his plant display that one need search for them for several minutes until he’s discovered them then that first one has failed the second one mightily.  Despite the mixed bag of the day’s and all those confusing non-specific descriptors I feel enthused and inspired toward spring projects.

Mary and I looked for a Japanese maple to replace the one my mother murdered two decades ago, but we found no plants more arborious than Forsythia.  No new trees for me.  To think, had my mother not murdered my Japanese Maple some months after my having got it at my last trip to the PFS the tree would now be near its full dwarven height.  Purple-thumbed though she is, my mother’s grim vegetation reaping can’t quite cut across the 350 miles which now separate us.

I’m still processing what I saw and thinking of how I care to direct my sudden influx of planting energy.  I have many pictures to post, thoughts to think, and writings to write.  That and painting the bathroom is all I have planned for tomorrow, so forgive the feckless nature of tonight’s post by the promise of something more substantial in the week’s remaining days.

*Speak of the devil and the devil appears. While I'd like this blog to be more popular, Eisner's legal team is not the sort of attention I'd relish.