Color!

In dreams, I occasionally dip my hands into a bucket filled with color to experience the sensation of pure color -- all manner of colors. Which is to say that I love red and I love purple and blue and yellow and green and pink and, Miss Kate of the Uintas, certainly orange. The more colors, the happier I am.

The dotter kept this in mind when she organized my new apartment. And then, as frosting on this particular cake, she -- never a tulip person -- persuaded a supermarket florist to sell her a mixed lot, not because of their form but because of the bright colors. This stunning bouquet was sitting on my new little dining table when I arrived at my new home. Isn't that orange rimmed with yellow a beauty?

After I finished with the flower photography, the Sson, who'd just arrived, couldn't resist further exploration of the tulips, above and below.

Those strips of color at the back of the futon are just some of the pillow cases in my collection. You should see them in combination with my red or the black bed sheets.

More from Her Maj: Now that I'm home with my very own, comfy computer to play with, I thought I should check back with S. Weasel, author of the wonderful "Her Maj is Watching" artwork. Lo and behold, I found this! No wonder I'm feeling better.

April bouquet

Our April has been on the cool side, which is A-OK by the pansies, who do not like Arizona hot, even the milder mountain version. So they continue to put out. I especially like the little purple and whites below, perhaps because of the goatee.

The California poppies are in full bloom -- and, for once, I managed to hit the button while a bee was visiting a flower. For some reason, my flower pictures seldom feature a bee or other insect, in great contrast to my LH's photos, which invariably included fauna. However, that's a neat seed pod.

I always scatter red flax seeds in my pot garden; this fellow overwintered and so is blooming early.

The one evening primrose managed to produce several blossoms before it was devoured by the voracious pigs. The flowers are open only through the early morning, at which point they wilt, turn pink, and look like abandoned Kleenex.

Ah, yes -- my favorite ferocious duo, the semi-red Calif. poppy and the man-eating red paintbrush. This is the best close-up I've managed of the paintbrush.

However, the prettiest flower of all is my bleeding heart. Too bad the plant blooms once and is done for the year.

Strolling the neighborhood

This week, it is April in March. Not that I object. The world is transformed with the first poppy or the first violets of spring.

Not to mention the daffodils here and there throughout the neighborhood. Javelina-proof, too. In case you weren't aware, bulbs of this classic early bloomer are highly cyanic, that is to say, very poisonous. To man as well as to the pigs. They don't touch the stuff.

I found this pretty painted gourd in shrubbery on Coronado and took advantage of the last chance to photograph sycamore seed balls, minus foliage (below) in front of Lincoln School.

Stopped to admire the stacked stonework above -- no mortar; wonder how long these courses will hold up. The wall below has been in place many, many years, and so it's no surprise that the hydraulic forces are pushing the brick walls awry.

I finally got a satisfactory shot of a rear dormer on the Victorian at Park and Gurley -- and wondered when the construction declared by the sign below would begin in earnest. No evidence of it the past couple of weeks. And so a house which has been gutted for remodelling sits there, open to the world.

I've been eyeing this insulator each time I passed by; on yesterday's stroll, I committed myself. It's almost as photogenic as the wooden crossbar. As for the smudges below, they represent an interesting development. This is the First Time Ever, in my experience, that civic graffiti have been painted over, just like outlaw graffiti. Interesting.

Flowering blues

After my plaintive note last night, it seems only fitting and proper to consider the question of blue. Blue blossoms. Not unheard of here, but not that common either. Probably the reason that every spring I wait for the arrival at the nursery of lobelia six-packs (above) to grace my pot garden. Not that my lobelia does all that well; I think it might prefer a little less sun. I also have a nice small stand of perennial plumbago (below), though it waits until the end of summer to flower.

It's only been late in my life that I've developed this hunger for true blue flowers. Maybe because I ODed on blue early in life; that's the color of my eyes and my mother dressed me in blue several times too often. The aversion has totally worn off at this time in my life and I look forward to the rains, when wild morning glories appear. Not quite as dramatic as the Heavenly Blues that I'm still awaiting from my seed smugglers, but satisfying nonetheless. The color of these flowers is a curious combination, what folk in the printing trades call reflex blue, meaning that a red underlies the blue effect. In convolvulaceae, blossoms open quite blue early in the day, gradually taking on a more purple hue.

In case you are out in the woods this week and next, you might see small bright blue jewels in moist shady areas. Pretty little day flowers, cousin to spiderworts and wandering jew. I'm blessed with a few up my hill and even more along the next street above me.

Finally, this is a wild plant whose seed I hope to plant this winter; it's a phacelia from the Mojave Desert with the common name of California bluebells. Very very pretty, covered with small blossoms. I often wonder why the paucity of blue flowers; is this a southwestern, an American or a worldwide phenomenon? Mind you, I am speaking of true blue, not lavenders or purples, which some people (especially guys) will call blue. Not me. I like the real thing. I really do.

Flowers for the sourdough

Perhaps my experience of cities is limited, but I've always associated hanging baskets of flowers with Victoria BC. If other cities encourage such a nice touch, bully for them. I didn't really expect such frills on the Last Frontier, however.

It was a grand surprise -- and you know how much I love those! I've seen gorgeous floral welcomes at places of business...

...as well as along city streets...

...and even out in the far boondocks, such as the pay-up-here, souvenir & T-shirt shop that was the first stop on our family outing to the drive-up glacier (described in great detail at OmegaMom's blog tonight.)

Not what you were expecting from Alaska? I promise something more suitable for the he-man in a forthcoming post. Bears, maybe. Or fish -- how about salmon?

Linkage: Warren, over at Touch Wind, happened into Prescott this weekend & was lucky enough to catch a bit of graffiti before Tombo got there...