Do you often see 11:11 on the clock? It is such a curiosity to me. It always reminds me of my junior high students in Granville, Iowa, who told me it was lucky. I never had paid attention before that. I thought it had something to do with Armistice Day, when the armistice ending World War I took effect on November 11 at 11 a.m. in 1918.
More than ever before, though, I am seeing 11:11 a.m. on my phone. (Never 11:11 p.m., for I am long in bed by then.) I’m spending way too much time on my phone in the mornings is the only explanation I can come up with. Is it a sign of being lucky that I’m retired that I see it so often?
And on a recent trip, at the bike shop while my husband talked to the owner, I stared at the clock throughout the 11:11 minute. Then as I thought to take a photo, I caught this one. Look at that time: 11:12:01. Just missed it.
On another note, my cactus garden is coming along. (By the way, Kim, I neglected to answer you about whether there was a saguaro cactus in there. It is not a saguaro, which is much bigger in diameter and not native to our desert. I’m not good with the names of the cacti. I do love saguaros too; one of my favorite places is Saguaro National Park.)
Here are some Ocotillo stems I planted this week. They look very dead now, but I hope they will take root. See the tiny green leaves on one of the stems?
This is what it should eventually look like:
This weekend my sister and I are going to Colorado to ask Governor Polis to do something sensible about guns.
Weeds
Our yard is choked with
foxtails and storkbills
Superbloom year
Dried out, they prick and poke
Our solution: weed the yard
Our nation is choked with
assault rifles and handguns
Superbloom of fear
Locked and loaded, they destroy and kill
#Here4theKidsAction‘s solution:
Weed the nation of guns
Let’s start in Denver on June 5
It’s an interesting wonder, 11:11. My youngest also seems to notice this, as well as other repetitive number partners like 3:33 and so on. We always consider the luck part, it’s fun.
Denise, I used to see 11:11 a lot more often, or at least notice it, when I had a digital clock at work. Now I have a traditional clockface, so it’s probably staring me square in the face and I’m not “seeing” it as much as I used to. My sister in law says these are angel numbers, these numbers that repeat. I’m mesmerized by all those bike baskets in the shop. I don’t even own a bike, but seeing those baskets makes me want a bikeless basket. I love that cactus garden you have. They are gorgeous, and I especially love the last picture with the orangeish blooms on the ends. The Saguaro Cactus are some of my favorites, too. I have one cactus here, and she is part of the plant I call Leafy Jean. I can’t recall what kind it is. I love your photos. They make me feel like I’m there, and I like the way you bring me to the moment with the pictures you share. I feel like I’m on the west coast when I read your posts and see the scenes.
Denise,
Gorgeous photos. Gorgeous poem and choking metaphor. I’m kicking my a$$ because I forgot about the gun march and made other plans. Ugh. I suppose this is my fried brain on grading. ðŸ˜! Kim really does need a desert educational excursion if she thought that stubby cactus might be a saguaro! 😜
Three seemingly disparate topics that come together so beautifully in the poem about civic responsibility, those blooms, those weeds. I especially appreciate the parallel structure and sound of, “Superbloom year…Superbloom of fear.” I’ll be thinking of you on June 5th as you sit in unity taking a stand #here4thekids.
My father was born on 11/11/33, so whenever I see 11:11, which like you said is more often than you would think, I say, “Hi, Dad.” He died on 4/22/22. He liked double digit numbers, what can I say?
I admire your desert garden. I have to say I prefer my green environment. We are currently in a drought which my succulents don’t mind at all. Good luck with your gardening.