nematode delivery.

On the phone earlier today:

Mom: Oh, hang on a sec, I have to check the other line in case it is the lady from Grouse Mountain calling me back.
Me: Okay.
-flash-
Mom: Hello.
Me: Was it the Grouse Mountain Lady?
Mom: Nope, my nematodes are in. They wanted to let me know.

Today when I left the Eye Care Centre, I noticed smoke coming out of the little garden at the entrance. Kind of weird. Is it really smoke? Is it just steam? It does smell suspiciously like camp fire out here, but no one seems to worked up. Upon closer investigation, it became apparent that there was indeed smoke. There was smoke because the bark mulch was smoldering, and the bark mulch was smoldering (my detective self thinks) because of the smoldering cigarette butt lying in the middle of it.

There was no one left at the receptionist station inside, so instead of being able to go back in and mention that someone might want to do something about the fact that the garden was on fire, I had to take matters into my own hands, and douse the blaze with not one, but TWO Nalgene bottles of water. The drama. I know, I know - with keen awareness and safety know-how like that - I just might find myself in the 'more-than-just-a-pretty-face' club.

And, if the rhododendron on Willow and 10th grows ovaries, we'll know this BPA stuff is for real.