Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now

Stuff gets done here

recent posts

  • The Ethan zone

    In 2009, my nephew Ethan helped me plant a Mexican orange. It was small and now it’s tripled in size and as you can see is blooming like crazy, the blossoms gently fragrant. There’s heather (which bloomed in the winter) in front and rock rose (which start to bloom in the next month) to one side. I doubt Ethan remembers this event or the visit to our house, because he was just four years old at the time, but I suspect that his grandma Irene remembers. She watched us dig the hole in the rocky soil, knock the plant out of its container, put it in the ground and gently fill in around the roots.

    We did it on a lovely Mother’s Day weekend with family from Canada to California gathered. Now I rarely look at this part of the garden without thinking fondly of my nephew and that visit.

    On Mother’s Day, I want to thank my mother for helping to orchestrate this memory. She is a woman with good instincts who understands the human need for connection.

  • The forgiving garden

    Winter was hard on the rue, which looks begraddled. The deer have munched away on the rugosa rose, which nevertheless is spreading on suckers and looks a little crazy. The artemesia was a knobbly mess till I cut it back. Sow bugs and slugs munched the rising shoots of the calla lilies. The weeds, of course, thrived.

    Still, my little spiral garden of mostly herbs and deer resistant perennials doesn’t look half bad on a sunny morning, despite my winter and early spring neglect.

    It’s a good reminder that a little bit of work (in this case, a couple hours of weeding and sweeping) can make a big difference.

    Here’s what’s blooming on the shady side: sweet woodruff (the plant in the banner picture at the top of my page) the corydalis in pots on the front step, the bleeding heart, the Mexican organge. Soon the rose campion will be blooming electric pink, and iris buds burst open.

    Part of gardening is knowing what can survive my sporadic ministrations.

  • Ashley Judd and the crime of aging

    Apparently, those who follow celebrities have been talking trash about actress Ashley Judd’s face. From what I recollect of her movies, she has a lovely face. Miffed by the ridiculous focus in the celebrity reporting realm on the apparent puffiness of her face and what it says about our culture, she wrote a little something for The Daily Beast to rant against this dangerous obsession with the perfect female figure.

    I think she’s a fine actress, a lovely woman and an OK writer (tip to Ms. Judd: never ever use the world “promulgate.” Even the people who know what it means really don’t like it that much), but she said something in her piece that I really liked. Here it is:

    “I do not, for example, read interviews I do with news outlets. I hold that it is none of my business what people think of me. I arrived at this belief after first, when I began working as an actor 18 years ago, reading everything. I evolved into selecting only the “good” pieces to read. Over time, I matured into the understanding that good and bad are equally fanciful interpretations. I do not want to give my power, my self-esteem, or my autonomy, to any person, place, or thing outside myself. I thus abstain from all media about myself.”

    I’m so on board with that. But it’s difficult to keep myself from being spun by other people’s opinions. Believing in one’s own worth, appreciating but not embracing praise, hearing but letting go of criticism. That’s a worthy goal.

    Note to self: Try not to envy Judd for her face, puffy or otherwise.