The Ivy Wars

The day started soupy, the air it was moist.

The Tart woke up early, to blog was her choice.

Thing One, she was needy; it always is true.

And shopping was needed, the right thing to do.



Then mother and daughter, watched some vamps on TV.

True Blood had been borrowed, episodes four and three.

Dinner was uneventful, though Thing One had a date.

Then the Tart got to typing, because the Cozy is late.



Not long after dinner, Mr. Tart gave a shout:

“I chopped down the Ivy.” The Tart was put out.

There ensued strings of cursing, and a trip to buy rum.

He's lucky she's a pacifist, Or it would have been a gun.



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You see... Mr. Tart and I have a deep philosophical disparity where 'growing things' are concerned... He likes thing neat and tidy. Like this:  (note:  it remains unclear where the income for such a garden would come from as he seems to be unwilling to make up the difference between 'barely making it'--the Tart's contribution, and this high life.)

Where I like to let things GO a little and see what kind of magic might happen:







But this battle of the pruning shears is old. My first recollection of it was with the Arbivida in Portland. Our house, at each corner (and because of the shape of the house, there were several) had arbivida... He wasn't overly fond, but I liked having something to break up the lines that was always green. Then one day he gets this pruning wild hair and they all ended up looking like Q-tips. GRRRRRRRRR!

One does NOT treat a shrubbery like poodles!



Erm.... unless that's the look you are going for, but no arbivida in history has ever pulled this off...







That was not the ONLY other episode of assault on greenery... there have been endless greenery assaults over the years (the butterfly bush ambush... the wonky pine assault...)... BUT THIS IS WAR!



The north side of our house has been home to Ivy—completely covering all of it (including, usually, the windows) but it has personality and LIFE. My husband gripes that it is bad for the mortar. Mortar, schmortar, I say! If I planned on living here 50 years, I might worry more. But the fact is, in 10 years, I plan to be obscenely wealthy, so I will REPAIR the blasted mortar before we buy our tropical island. Erm... or not... but I DO hold strongly to the belief that LIFE is about beauty and comfort, not about the freaking mortar. (not to mention I don't believe this is the kind of Ivy that IS hard on the mortar—it is on every University building in town, and I really doubt they would be so cavalier.) My REAL issue, is not being consulted. AT ALL. About him tearing away the life and personality of a place because he likes things 'neat'.



So until further notice, Mr. Tart is in the dog house. So there.  And next year... to get even... I'm planting BLACKBERRIES!  BUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!