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As a child & teenager, a few sprigs were often in a vintage jar on my nightstand (before the lilacs bloomed). Like any child, I'd pet them & pretend they were kittens. I spent an inordinate amount of my childhood accompanying my mother to all sorts of wild places with her "plant knife" (an old paring knife) & tiny pruning shears; she kept these in her purse always because, as she said, "you never know.'"Reeds, pussywillow, cattails. It sounds better than it was...lots of scraped bare legs (mine, not hers; she directed the action).
I almost brought some willow into the apartment this weekend but the temptation to Julie the Cat would be too great. Even with marbles in the vase, it wouldn't be enough to prevent upending & yelling (that would be me). We had an unfortunate forsythia situation last year; I tempted poor Julie not once, but twice with long fluffy branches. The predictable happened & I yelled. Then I hated myself; she was puzzled & full of hurt feelings. Until I have some sort of concrete urn on the floor, we shall admire branches in nature & in photographs. (The photograph is an especially elegant arrangement from a Domino Deco file & yes I hit the 'saturate' button in Picasa. I cannot help myself, it's a sickness). As usual, computer problems, so I hope to see you tomorrow.
PS: Working on cherry-blossom-in-DC-time but awaiting a photographer's permission for his beautiful on-the-spot pix. The festival officially began yesterday. The pink-blooming wild cherry outside my window is lovely & ethereal against the morning's fog.