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I am thoroughly lilacked: I took the bus(es) over to the NY Botanical Garden (that's the one in the Bronx), walked all the way through, past many azaleas, and sniffed all the lilac bushes. Some of them twice. Much purple and white and sweetness; many bees, a few butterflies, few humans. Also a very bright day; I kept having to stop on the nearest bit of shady lawn and recover, even though it wasn't actually hot, because of the glare.
While I was about it, I enjoyed flowering cherries, a few bulbs, all that stuff. No roses yet.
I got in free, but I don't know if Wednesdays are free, or if they just forgot to ask me to pay. Made me much more cheerful about buying an expensive grilled vegetable sandwich (with goat cheese) for lunch.
On the way out, we ran into a neighbor we hadn't met, in the lobby. She asked if we knew who lived on 6. That's us. She was the person I'd heard calling "Oliver!" as I dressed; Oliver is a grey kitten who had gotten out on the fire escape. We went back upstairs, and Andy rescued the cat. Heather (that's the neighbor) mentioned a job interview; I mentioned that I'm looking; and she said she knew someone who might know of an opening. Asked for my phone number, I gave her a business card. I have since heard from the friend in question, who gave me a contact for possible freelance work--and been invited to Shabbat dinner, somewhat diffidently, by Heather, when she saw my last name. Diffidently enough that I may even accept; she knows I'm not at all an observant Jew, but it might be nice to go downstairs, eat, talk, and think about my grandparents.
Or maybe not.
The cat is safely home, at least for the moment, and everyone is satisfied. Dinners, freelance work, all that would be pure bonus.
While I was about it, I enjoyed flowering cherries, a few bulbs, all that stuff. No roses yet.
I got in free, but I don't know if Wednesdays are free, or if they just forgot to ask me to pay. Made me much more cheerful about buying an expensive grilled vegetable sandwich (with goat cheese) for lunch.
On the way out, we ran into a neighbor we hadn't met, in the lobby. She asked if we knew who lived on 6. That's us. She was the person I'd heard calling "Oliver!" as I dressed; Oliver is a grey kitten who had gotten out on the fire escape. We went back upstairs, and Andy rescued the cat. Heather (that's the neighbor) mentioned a job interview; I mentioned that I'm looking; and she said she knew someone who might know of an opening. Asked for my phone number, I gave her a business card. I have since heard from the friend in question, who gave me a contact for possible freelance work--and been invited to Shabbat dinner, somewhat diffidently, by Heather, when she saw my last name. Diffidently enough that I may even accept; she knows I'm not at all an observant Jew, but it might be nice to go downstairs, eat, talk, and think about my grandparents.
Or maybe not.
The cat is safely home, at least for the moment, and everyone is satisfied. Dinners, freelance work, all that would be pure bonus.
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I talked to a beekeeper in the Netherlands a few days ago. He told me that the varoa mites can be controlled more or less by this method:
They prefer to live on the pupae of drone bees, not workers. The drones will all incubate in one section of the comb (I don't recall why this is so). Wait until you've got a good crop of those pupae, then take the comb, whack it on the ground, and let the chickens eat the infected pupae.
I suppose you can do it without chickens, if you haven't any handy.
K.