Hanging in There, survivors

After a few frosts which have stopped most of the tender outside plants in their tracks, and enabled me to prune outdoors, no further growth to be expected on shrubs, I see there are still a few hardy survivors, hanging in there.



There's the last of the cornflowers, from my wildflower collection




and the last johnny jumpup, same collection





and the last sweet alyssum, same collection


and the perennial chrysanthemums


which seem to have liked the torrid summer and floods of this year, since they're doing better than they have for years. Go figure.

Tweeting and texting and the One Minute Manager and the Thirty Second Dressmaker (actually that only happens when you fire the first thirty-one, but oh well, I think it's funny. Like how long is the ninety-second psalm? um, a minute and a half?) anyway, as I was saying before I rudely interrupted my own train of thought, I've been thinking about those four word life tracks, as in Life is a Verb, you know the kind of thing.

Nutritious bitelets of thought or something. Or those six word autobiographies that are popular in geezer, I mean mature reader, magazines. I notice however that the ones I see are almost universally miserable and angry! hm, not much to show for a life well lived, or lived at all.

Anyway, I thought I'd give it a try myself, and would you like to join me? just post your versions, this will be fun.

Seventy-two. Not wise. Who cares??

Two cats. Play, sleep. Good life


And so on, take it away!