When I was a kid I had a couple of lovely single aunts who lived in a big porch-wrapped victorian. They taught me gardening: flowers, vegtables, fruit trees and bushes, and roses! As a child I'd buzz around them as they'd take their seeds from planting to the kitchen to the table or vase. I loved them dearly. But I never understood when they would comment about Arthur. Arthur had "arrived", or he was "kicking up", or he was giving them "a stitch", etc.
Well I hadn't thought about it in years, until this spring when working in my garden, and Arthur joined me.
Anyone want to take a guess?
Arthur has arrived!
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