The lobelia are still beautiful

This is the first time I've had them in my garden. I first saw them in North Carolina. Here's a bit I wrote at the time:

The phone rang. It was Anne, the woman Patsy had told her about, the published writer, divorced, children in their twenties.

Anne invited Martha to dinner. Her house was wonderful. She had a wonderful porch. She was a wonderful cook and served an elegant meal of tomatoes, avocado, cucumbers, and corn fritters. There was bread. An elegant white kitchen, wonderful flowers outside her kitchen window - delicate feathery blue flowers called Lobelia. Martha looked at them sitting at the elegant little table under the window. There were flowers on the table, wicker chairs with cushions to sit on, a shelf under the table. Martha was overwhelmed with ‘wonderfuls.’

Shit, thought Martha. Makes me wish I'd painted my kitchen white.

Anne had rugs. Not Orientals, but good rugs, a charming bathroom. No shower, but great plumbing. Even the faucets were artistic. A great huge basket for toilet paper was on the floor in the bathroom, filled with rolls. Martha didn't have room for one that size, couldn't have it on the floor with Luke who would spread shredded toilet paper throughout the house.

"Did you see the quilts at the festival?" Anne asked.

"No, it was too hot to go."

"I have never seen such quilts," she said turning corn fritters in her stylish skillet.

Martha asked to borrow one of her books.

"Oh, no. I don't do that," she said. "I learned that a long time ago."

"What is it you don't do?" asked Martha in surprise. "Loan books, or let friends read your stuff?"

"I have found it's best not to let my writing interfere with my relationships, or enter into them."

They were upstairs in her office. Even her clutter was stylish. Martha asked to use the bathroom and it was then that she saw the plumbing and the basket of toilet paper. The wallpaper was coming loose at the seams.

Why am I being so hostile? Martha wondered. This woman, after all, invited me cold for supper after hearing my sad tale from Patsy. Patsy told everything to everyone.

Anne’s son called to ask her for money. Martha envied her her son and her money both, as her own supply was dwindling.

I am hostile and envy everyone right now, Martha thought. Be careful when you are nice to me. I might bite, like a wounded animal.