Silver Bells and Cockleshells

Spring Outerwear from The Bag Lady Collection

Spring is totes here. YEA! Yesterday, while dressed in my smart spring outer garb (oh shut up — I'm tremendously chic!), I was actually over warm and had to shed layers. This means that it’s time to start thinking about planting. Of course. At this point, all I know is that there will be daisies, sunflowers and a coupla birch trees. Jen’s in charge of everything else — tomatoes, cukes and such.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockleshells,
And pretty maids all in a row.

Check out the origin of this sweet nursery rhyme at Cracked.

Disturbing, n'est-ce pas?

Our herd 'o' cat is def aware that the long winter of our freezing cold, mammothly frosty, fucked up discontent is over. If Richard III was written today that’s absolutely how our man Gloucester would have worded it. Amiright or what?!

Rocco has been spending more time in the privacy of his back cave as well as in the Summer Palace AKA our wee dilapidated kitchen porch. The afternoon’s are sunny back there and, best of all, he doesn’t have to put up with all of our fine weather comings and goings. We’re an active bunch in spring and, while our formally dressed tom is no longer the très gros, wary feral, he’s not exactly an extrovert either.

Having said that. he’s needing much more lovin’ up these days AND, significantly, he’s allowing me to pat him while he’s in residence at the Summer Palace. Up until a coupla days ago he was always extra special feral when there.

Gaston and Gus are less present of late. They're by just once, at most twice, a day — yesterday not at all. Possibly this has something to do with our man Rocco taking full ownership of every last corner of the porch shanty town. He does permit them to eat out his bowl as long as I'm not standing nearby to witness his *ahem* generosity *ahem*. He's got to keep up appearances don't ya know.

Then there’s our good Coco. Ever since we got the TV connection, she likes nothing better than to sit and watch these antique cowboy shows which The Amazing Bob favors. Serious. She sits on his lap, facing the screen and appears to be thoroughly engrossed in whatever the Cisco Kid or Ben Cartwright’s up to.

No accounting for taste, eh?