Tuesday evening, I spent some time sorting saved marigold seeds. I had a jar full of dried “dead heads” and it was time to pull out the seeds. A few New England garden writers have suggested “it’s seed starting time” and I’ve been thinking about it myself. Fiddling with marigold seeds, which can’t be planted until frost danger has passed, is just procrastination. One writer I follow, Robin Follette, started pepper and tomato seeds this weekend and I couldn’t help but wish I had a “high tunnel” like the one she has on her farm. I’ve been wishing for a high tunnel or hoop house for a while now.
Robin is matter-of-fact about all outdoors things; she makes them sound easy. It probably is easy. I just like to over think things in the garden, so it’s helpful when Robin stops by every once in a while to straighten me out.
Thinking about starting seeds and how great it would be to have a high tunnel or a hoop house was exhausting. After I was certain the Celtics had won their basketball game, I trudged off to bed.
I know I’ve written about my sleep troubles before and kind people have written to me with wonderful suggestions. Other people have had some not so wonderful suggestions, and a few have even said “shut the BLEEP up.” When I’m sleeping in one of the childhood bedrooms at Motel Four, I think I sleep well until my father says to me at the breakfast table:
“Someone was chasing you last night. You were trying to shout in your sleep.”
Last night, I dreamed I was at a Pampered Chef conference except that it wasn’t a Pampered Chef conference. It was at a moderately priced hotel which just happened to be near a football stadium. There were lots of comings and goings in the dream and when the real world alarm went off I didn’t want to get up. I fished around my pillows and books for the alarm clock and what did I find? One of my shellac fingernails had fallen off.
Please don’t get the wrong idea; manicures aren’t my standard operating procedure, although the shellac holds up well for gardening, housecleaning, and other domestic pursuits. This particular manicure has held up for almost 3 weeks.
The dream, the nail, and pending morning blog anxiety drove me back under the covers and back to the Pampered Chef conference. In the second scene of the dream, one of my high school classmates was trying to console a tattooed woman who was crying out the lines from an 80’s song. It made me cry in my dream and if any of my sleeping was caught on a drone camera, I’m quite sure I will be told:
“Someone was chasing you last night”