Lou to Maia this morning: "Ah... did you decide to do some redecorating in the night?"
Maia: "I don't know what you're talking about. But if I had, it would be more innovative and aesthetic than anything you people come up with."
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Your garden-happy blogger got a bit of a sad shock this week when the dogwood tree—keep in mind that this is not a sweet little shrub, but a full-grown, bird-attracting shade tree—went from looking relatively healthy to showing itself entirely covered in anthracnose.
And I do mean entirely. Every branch from trunk to tip has affected leaves. Whether it's the comparatively mild spot anthracnose or the deadly dogwood anthracnose, I'm not sure. It may not matter, with this level of infection. "Cut off the affected areas, burn the leaves, and disinfect your pruning shears" is clearly not an option.
I fear the happiest possible ending I can get out of this is "Cut it down, have my little cry over it, and then plant a weeping willow."
In more cheerful gardening news, I splurged on a clematis vine this week.
Also, our little pink rose is absolutely loving not being choked out by whatever random bush-weed had it by the throat last year.
And I don't even know what to do with the potatoes. They're so healthy that I keep having to cut them back so they don't suffocate the blueberries.
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Writers' link of the week: An old Neil Gaiman response to a reader question about agents, mostly answered in thorough detail by Teresa Nielsen Hayden. Granted, this was seven years ago, but there's still plenty to be learned from it.
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Music of the week: A lovely Debussy violin sonata, which recommendation I'm shamelessly passing on from The Egotist's Club. Permit me also to recommend The Egotist's Club, one of my new favorite blogs to read. You'll find books, drinks, faith, linguistic flourishes—so many of the best things in life.
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Random amusement of the week: Better Book Titles (advisory: some of these are quite... adult.) Quality varies, but there are some real gems. Among my favorites are re-titled books by Edith Wharton, J.D. Salinger, and George R.R. Martin.
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It's four o'clock, and I'm off. The piano calls, and so does my book, which I am still happily and messily revising.