andre jordan doodles

IT FEELS LONELY IN HERE, or at least it will by the end of the week when the last of the children (some larger than I am) are all outdoors at summer camp. You’re absolutely right, Andre Jordan; it’s a bit of a shock and will take some getting used to. (And by the way: Was that Jack’s voice you are invoking in the window-as-thought-bubble? To set the record straight: He never calls me darling; it sounds something like “Meow,” which I take to be short for “Margaret” or “Mommy,” not quite sure which.)

I HAD WORD FROM OUT SOUTH DAKOTA WAY today that my friend Andre Jordan, master doodler, is soon to become a beekeeper, too–that he’s thinking meadow more than manicured backyard, and yes, maybe even a hive someday. What’s the buzz from your corner of the garden world?

NEED I SAY MORE? (Oh wait, I already did.) Thanks, dear doodling Andre Jordan, for taking my calls lately. A girl needs a Complaint Dep’t. 24/7/365 these up-and-down days, it seems.

AS I HAVE MENTIONED: Forget about Angry Birds, my yard is full of Horny Birds this too-early spring. And when I told that to the Mad Doodler of South-Dakota-via-Britain, dear transplanted Andre Jordan, apparently I hit a chord. I know there are offcolor jokes in this vein involving words like woody and suffixes like -pecker, but I’m no dirty-minded trash mouth, you know. It’s the birds who have spring fever; not my fault, really. (Not buying the bird excuse? Then blame Andre that this woodpecker’s covering Salt-N-Pepa’s hit; he has adapted other hits into slightly “off” doodles in his “Songs for Ex-Lovers.” But me? I didn’t do it.)

SOME THINGS CAN’T BE COMPOSTED, I was explaining to Andre the Doodler the other day on a Skype call–you know, like meat and bone and fats, I said. “I see,” said Andre, as if he was taking it all in and making notes. “That would make a good doodle.” I am here to report that I never mentioned two of the four items in his handy “List of Things Suitable for Compost Heap.” You can try to guess which ones are Andre’s suggestions versus mine. Ah, the minds of men–or one British man turned South Dakotan, particularly!

UM, I GUESS OUR FRIEND Andre Jordan got a peek at the way we really order seeds, huh? Trouble is: I’m still stuck on Step 1, that “Bloody Brilliant Big List” thing.

JACK THE FORMER DEMON CAT has made it perfectly (purrfectly?) clear: He takes his vacation time in winter, without exceptions. And so his pitiful mother is charged with all the offseason hunting, which at the moment isn’t going so well–since nothing but Jack seems to be in hibernation this non-winter. Thanks, Andre Jordan, for outing my failures (e.g., two traps totally missing this morning when I went to check–missing!), and by the way: Jack prefers we call them thrones, not pedestals, and wants it made public that he currently has five to choose among, from which to look down on me. Nice.

JUST AS I FEARED: They’re all out there–from ticks to tomato hornworms-to-be–partying away and fattening up for the kill. Of my garden-to-be, that is. Thanks, Andre Jordan, for reminding me of the shape of things to come (<--shudders at the thought).

CLIMATOLOGIST ANDRE JORDAN (a.k.a. the Mad Garden Doodler of South Dakota) has proclaimed: It’s coming to get us! In his return to regular doodling activity after a holiday spent ramping up his booming junk business, he recaps the chaos I know I’m feeling over here, where “winter” apparently can mean just about anything (or nothing). How are you all faring?