Who knew I had so much to say -- or SHOULD say, for that matter?
Thank you all (that would be Bermtopia's 13 faithful followers -- two of whom are the same person).
And I especially thank Ms. Georgia Little Pea for pointing out this is a "boutique blog." I will continue to believe this is A Good Thing.
One way or the other -- it still feels good to write and take silly pictures.
So, tonight -- and maybe for the next decade or so -- it's my party and I'll cry, laugh or piss the neighbors off if I want to. But right now, I'm starting out with a (sort of) rave.
To be followed in a day or so with a (sort of) rant. A girl's got to work up a head of steam on these matters, you know.
Here goes the (sort of) rave:
Pardon my French, but so far, spring has been nothing but crap in Bermtopia. Aside from my bulbs, we're still pretty much on life support as far as the Nine-One-Four's gardens (and, well, When Pigs Fly Farm) are concerned.
That is, unless you get down on your hands and knees with a camera and root around in the gunk.
From the Hedgekiller's House to the east: Oh look, Reggie, that silly woman with the gray dog is laying down on her lawn. . . AGAIN.
Whatever, bee-atch. Don't get me going on your Stupid-ass Dog Shed.
But on hands and knees, it IS a whole new world.