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Monday, April 30, 2012


Not the kind you get (or give) at a party or restaurant when someone you don’t care for—or who doesn’t care for you—walks in the door. Not the kind I used to give TLC, as a toddler and child (and, yes, sometimes as a teenager!), while we were in Church, or out in public, and she wasn’t acting appropriately. Daggers (aka "Mom Eyes") were my first “warning.” I must say they worked approximately 8 out of 10 times. Grazie for that, TLC. May you have such luck with Little Leighton. (I’ll be standing by for encouragement when they fail—because they will. No worries.)

I’m talkin’ Spanish Daggers. The cactus kind. At this point, let me respectfully request you NOT tell me the pictures you’re about to see are NOT Spanish Daggers. I haven’t Binged this term and don’t intend to. Because this is what I’ve called them all my life and especially the past twelve years—when we moved out to the country. If you try to tell me some other, possibly correct, name? I won’t remember it. You know this about moi by now. I’ll only remember what I’ve always known them as—terribly sorry. It is what it is.

The first couple of years we lived in the sticks, I was, admittedly, a bit oblivious to our cacti. Once I became deeply appreciative of the fact they make great “native” (and by “native” most of us mean “free” at least 65% of the time) landscaping plants, I started noticing the Daggers with genuine interest. This time of year especially. When they’re “blooming.”

There are places on the road to town where there are so many Daggers, the ranch pastures look like battlefields and the Daggers like soldiers. Lined up in their brigades. Standing guard. At night? As your headlights (or a full moon) shine on them? They literally shimmer. Like diamonds. Gives me chills just picturin’ this. These thoughts almost* make me want to drive to town tonight just to see this phenomenom. Since it doesn’t get dark until almost 9:00, the time I’m normally safely in my casa, sittin’ on my couch in my jammies, watching The Voice, this is unlikely to happen. I'll have to settle for looking outside our front door (or actually walking out on the porch) at our hill, when I get up to get my 100-calorie kettle corn snack around 8:45, and hope for a bright moon to cause our own Daggers to give me "goosies," as JLo calls them. (Yes. I know. She'd Idol.)

Beginning of a Dagger.
(Can you spot TBBB in the background?)
Taken 3 weeks ago.

Still growing tall!
Taken last week.

Up close. 3 days ago.

Looking up from our road.
On my walk with TBBB--this morning.

That's our neighbors' pretty tank in the background.

Headed back up the hill--breathtaking.

Spanish Daggers (or whatever their true name is!) ROCK

smooches for now, Dear Friends…


(BTW: Cacti babies are EVERYWHERE—it’s tres sweet and precious. TLC won’t allow me to include any more pictures of our tiny cacti babies. She thought that was a little "creepy" last year. Silly Little Mama.)


Autumn said...

They are just beautiful. And, not that I expect, or even want you to remember this: my grandmother called them 'Candles of Heaven'. So that's whey they will be, to me, forever. You understand.

The Leightons said...

Oh, Autumn! "Candles of Heaven:" GEEZ--that is so much prettier than Spanish Daggers. Maybe I can remember your grandmother's name for them? I'm going to be determined to try. (Hope YOU can remember what I'm talking about when I ask you--probably every year at this time--"What was it your grandmother called the blooming cactuses?"

Thank you, Sweet Friend, for stopping by and sending us your always appreciated comments. Truly!

Happy Thursday...