I took the apple geranium out to spray it for aphids, and the sweet violets out to transplant into bigger pots and spray. Meanwhile, S.D., the cleaning lady, put the two pots of freesias where the plant with aphids was. She put several of the plants that had been on the dining room table on the east windowsill, which gets very little light, since the porch is there. She moved the three miniature roses, a fern, a couple of pothos and a couple of spider plants to that windowsill.
I asked Mom to give me the freesias, so I could spray them, too. "I don't know what a freezer is," she screamed.
"I didn't want them where the aphids were," I said.
"I didn't want them on the dining room table!" she yelled. I took them out and sprayed them, and washed the part of the window and wall by where the apple geranium was.
I transplanted the sweet violets, a pothos, a spider plant, a tuberous begonia, and I think a couple of other plants to larger pots. I sprayed them, a zonal geranium, and the jasmines. I put the sweet violets and smaller jasmines back on the windowsill and the bigger jasmine back on the plant stand. I put the freesias by the couch for now.
The cleaning lady sometimes gets unusually ambitious when my parents are home. She doesn't get ambitious when it's just me there, but she wants to show Mom she does extra. She said she'd take some of the plants home with her, so she took the lemon geranium, the spathe flower, and the little rosemary. I figured the rosemary and lemon geranium would just die over the winter at our house, so they might as well go where they might have a chance.
We went out to an open house where a cooking teacher holds classes. I guess probably most people had come around noon. There were just a mother and daughter there making dog biscuits for their viszla. The cooking teacher, A.R., was also making barley soup, and gave bowls of it to us. It was very good. He gave us recipes for simple hors d'ouvres, too.
We stopped at the library on the way home, then stopped to get dinner. Dad hadn't been there to have soup, after all, so I figured he'd be hungry.
Mom got mad when I said that it looked like along with my jewelry beads, she'd picked up a lot of dirt. She threw my bag of library books at me (when I was facing away from her) and called me a bitch. Her moods are fluctuating more than mine, except she flies into violent rages instead of getting depressed. Of course she says there's nothing wrong with her -- the rest of the family has all the problems.