On Golden Mound

I hate to keep complaining, but it is still hotter than hell around here. Last night at bowling, one of the guys showed me his shoes that he had left in the car for a week. The soles had actually melted off and were flopping around like Tom Delay's wrists on Dancing With The Stars. Another victim of the heat are my new plantings. I recently planted something called 'Golden Mound' in the front yard, and although the nursery promised they could take direct sunlight and the extreme heat of Florida, they have started to droop and don't look much better than the weeds they replaced.

Mark is excited that I have been finally doing something with the area of the front yard that looked like shit. He is right, it looked like some kind of trailer park trash lived here. The weeds sprouting a foot tall combined with my rusting Studebaker, (since replaced by my tenants rusting Dodge) certainly gave it that ambiance. But Mark isn't excited so much by seeing me work out in the heat planting and digging, as he is at the prospect of shopping for things. It doesn't matter what Mark is shopping for, just as long as it involves some form of spending money, and bringing something home. So off we went to the nursery this afternoon. I was looking for the perfect flowering dwarf tree, while Mark was just spending. As it turned out, I did not find exactly what I wanted and was content to return home empty handed. Mark however, filled a box with all sorts of plants that he says he intends to plant in what he calls his garden. Since Mark never waters, nor maintains his garden, I have another name for it. I call it "Mark's Auschwitz for plants".