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Yes, yes, ladies and gentlemen--you are reading the blog of a winner. Sorry, that should be A WINNER.
You see, I've just won something from a contest on Facebook--I know, Facebook, of all places! (But before you get too excited, no, it wasn't a Hover Car...)
Of course, this isn't the first thing I've ever won. I originally won these adorable, gay-pride-colored Grateful Dead-esque little guys in a raffle at a camp site far, far away from where I currently sit and impart my wisdom to you:
See, there's Squishy, and George, and Dixie, and... Ahem! Well, yes, where was I? Oh, the winning. Me = Winner.
I know, I know--the bears do bring to mind strawberry fields, pot heads, bad seventies-porn-type mustaches... But they're mine, and I won them, and I love them...
But today, folks--TODAY--I've won Preen! Preen, if you didn't know, is a weed killer. And I won because I submitted the winning caption on this photo:
My winning zinger of awesomeness:
This is your brain on gardening... Any questions?
The contest was put on by the National Gardening Club (of whom I am a proud Life Member) to see who could come up with the awesomest, zingiest, most creative caption for the picture above--and out of the (thus far) 212 comments, it is I, Jason Hughes, who was declared, and I do not quote, "Awesomest." (And the only reason I do not quote is because they actually forgot that part in the email letting me know I won, but I'm thinking it's because they knew it was implied... And it was...) I can't wait to start killing me some weeds!
Of course, I can't help but think if Karma is trying to tell me something: - Win Marijuana-type Bears
- Win Weed Killer
You think... Maybe...? Naaaah!
I'm just one of those people--you know?
A WINNER.
At least, that's what I tell you the next time you nonchalantly stop me tomorrow morning to say "Hi! How are you?"
I'm a WINNER. And don't you forget it!
(The husband is so not going to let me enter contests anymore... But I like to think it's so others can have a better shot at winning...)
Daffodils are in bloom, the Japanese cherry is busting at the seams with buds, hyacinths are spreading fragrance throughout the neighborhood...
No, I have no deep thoughts at this moment, no pearls of wisdom to pass on, no witty anecdotes to share... Just a photo, and a very big love for this moment, this exact present second, in my life...
Sappy, I know. I haven't gone off the deep end, no worries. But after the snow storms, the fights, the hospital visits, and... other... issues... At this very moment, everything is perfect. Peaceful, beautiful, calm, serene...
At this very moment, life is good.
If only it were always this considerate... :)
As I sip on my morning cup of coffee, I breathe in the fresh country air and watch the horses graze peacefully in the pasture behind my house. The frost lays heavy on the fields, and not a bird breaks the silence as the sun peaks above the Appalachian mountains--more foothills than mountains in this part of the state, if truth be told.
These are the mornings that should last an eternity. Alas, eternity isn't nearly as long as most people think it should be. As the steam rises from the mug and Hawthorne looks for that spot that's just right, I know these moments are numbered, and somehow it makes me appreciate them all the more.
When I used to dream of home ownership and adulthood, I pictured myself reading the paper on a sunny spring morning wearing nothing but a white terry cloth robe, sipping a mug of coffee at a bistro table on a flagstone patio surrounded by plants and flowers; a neighbor would wave cheerfully as he gardened in his own yard; children would be heard in the distance as they boarded the bus for school; a bird would sing happy little notes and tunes. I would reach my hand across to my husband, wearing a black terry cloth robe and drinking tea, his chest hair catching the morning light enticingly, and we would know what contentment truly was. It was sickeningly sweet, this daydream of what it would be like to be an adult living my life filled with Brim, Calgon, and Kodak moments...
The reality is even more beautiful, however, albeit in a by-way-of-Siberia type of way. As I lift the Folgers once again to my lips, I hear through the window the soft sounds of Rich's snoring. A crow caws loudly, sending Hawthorne on a quest to see if he's low enough to be worth chasing. Beaux claws at the screen door, making a paw-print mosaic on the storm windows recently installed to ward off the winter chill which comes regularly now. Having worked for the money that paid for this coffee, the mug it's in, the deck I'm standing on, the animals which depend on me for food and water, the food and water itself... It's not "peaceful," this moment of the morning, but I cherish it nonetheless. So much more alive than I ever dreamed, so much harder to attain than my childish mind could ever have imagined...
A song from my childhood drifts into my ears, something about this train of thought triggering a memory, and I find myself quietly singing, "Mamma's, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys... Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks... Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such!" And then the words of the song fade away from my lips. I know my parents had dreams of a better life for us kids, and while I can't presume to know exactly what those dreams entailed, I know the myriad of things we kids put them through--what we put ourselves through--were never in their wildest imaginations as they greeted each of us into the world one at a time. As I think of the current struggles we all face--uncertainty in where Mom and Dad will live, if I will still have a job in another month or two, if my sister will live long enough to see her daughter grow up and get married, if my brother will ever get back together with his wife, if my other brother will have his dream of fatherhood, if my other sister will find the peace she seems to constantly seek...
None of us grew up to be cowboys, but none of us quite made it to doctor and lawyer status either. Nothing seems certain these days, and I am past the times when I could dream without reservation, if only because I've lived enough years to know that reservations can sometimes make dreams more attainable--when its not crushing them out of existence, that is. Reality has a way of teaching you what works, what doesn't, and that ultimately there are just some things you can't control--you can only hope for the best while preparing for the worst.
And while there are certainly jobs I can think of that would be much worse than growing up to be a cowboy (how many kids you know want to grow up to be a barnacle-cleaning scrubber?), I still nurse quite a few dreams which I'll most likely never attain (not least of which would be sleeping with Keanu Reeves!), but there are a few as well on that "doable" list. I may have that bistro set on that flagstone patio yet! Have that perfect cup of coffee while wearing a white terry cloth robe. Heck, I still have time, if I so desire, to diversify my ab into abs! I'm not sure there'll be six of 'em down there when I finally get around to working on that one, but I can still dream...
I call the dog into the house, catch Beaux as he makes his routine morning escape dash through the open storm door, and finish up the last bit of coffee resting at the bottom of my mug. As I plant a soft kiss on Rich's cheek and leave for work, the song once more plays through my head and out my lips, but this time...
It seems a bit more optimistic...:
Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold,
They'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold,
Lonestar belt buckles and old faded Levi's,
And each night begins a new day,
If you don't understand him, and he don't die young
He'll probably just ride away
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys...
Some dreams can still be made reality... It'll just take a bit more work... And time... And holding on to those dreams...
Having Keanu Reeve's phone number probably couldn't hurt either...
I stared into the green-tinged blackness, and it stared back with vengeance and glee, certain in its imperviousness. Its foliage was its weapon of choice and it brandished silence like the veils of a belly dancer seducing a sheik. I hefted my shovel in my right hand, my shears in my left--if it could show off its weapons so brazenly, the least I could do was manage mine like a man.
As I stepped toward the jungle, thick with its glossy ivy's and dappled shade, the shears did their work, clearing away the debris of nature and failed gardening's of a generation past. Large roots from the Japanese cherry tried in vain to hinder my progress, strange alien-limbed bugs emerged from under leaves and rocks, and even though a salamander even stopped in for a guest appearance, eventually I found bare earth before me. Earth worms writhed in the sun light much like vampires and I started about the task of moving any I happened to spot. Eventually, however, I had to move on to the task at hand: create a decent and humane way of getting from the front yard to the side yard that didn't involve poison ivy, ticks, concrete chunks, or berry stains. Step one was now complete, and although I was very tempted to call it a day, a slightly chilly breeze and the yellowing leaves of the cherry warned of the impending deadline fast approaching.
Just to the left of the cherry I started a pile two years ago of various sized rocks and boulders (nothing Paul Bunyan would fret over, mind you, but boulders all the same...). I began to methodically move them to the right of the tree onto my patch of bare earth, separating flat ones from round, chunky from oblong. I then re-separated them by color, giving into my failed perfectionism with the reasoning that a randomly-placed look could only be achieved through non-random selection (like, duh!)
After arranging them to my satisfaction (not to mention OCDs proud delight), I pulled my leather gloves up tight, gripped my shovel with a determination Clint Eastwood would have swooned over, and slammed the tool down with such force Thor would have wept at its beauty...
Clunk! "Yeeeoooowwwwwch!!!"
There seemed to be a problem with my dirt, however. Ten minutes of waiting for my arms to stop shaking and a closer inspection of the area where I wished to start my project later, I realized that the failed gardenings of the past generation included a small cement patio under a half inch of soil roughly two and a half feet wide by six feet long... Flat as a pancake, hard as stone, it nevertheless managed to camouflage its presence under that half inch of soil with a profusion of weeds and grasses so healthy looking as to make my vitamin water seem shamefully inadequate.
Step two was going to be even rougher than I thought: either ignore this cement patio and move my staircase two feet to the left, or move the whole staircase I meant to build three feet to the right and use this as a landing--which also meant I would have to rebuild the end of the flower bed along the side of the house...
I moved it to the right and rebuilt the flower bed... Of course...
But after two Saturdays and several hours-long visits from the now-retired babysitter of Jesus who lives across the street from me and fancies himself a better mason then myself ("You should flip that one over," "You sure that you want that one there?", "That looks too large for that spot," and so on...), I am the proud new owner of a rock staircase wide enough to accommodate some well-placed flower pots and still have plenty of room to utilize for walking to and from the front and side yards... Since I've taken these photos, there are also now some small solar-powered lights adding ambient glow late into the evening, adding a serenity usually reserved for those who've seen the tunnel but came back to tell about it (i.e. Shirley McClaine) just in case we ever doubted serenity could exist without solar-powered garden lights...
As if...
It's like a slow moving death-knell... The sun sets just a little bit sooner; the trees are just a tad yellow around the edges; the air just a teeny bit cooler in the evening...
Can you feel it? The impending doom? Winter?
I grip my cup of coffee a bit tighter as I sit on the deck and look over my 3/4 of an acre. Hawthorne lays at my feet, tongue lolling, tail lazily wagging every time my eyes happen to drift his direction.
The deck needs a good staining. The vegetable gardening could use another weeding or two before the summer's end. Still need to move those rocks out from under the maple and place them in a more orderly fashion around a flower bed...
But the days are getting shorter. My knees have been sore for three days in a row now, feeling the subconscious signals from my brain to prepare for the cold... My hand drifts down to meet the soft tan-and-white fur of my friend. Beaux meows piteously from the kitchen window as a bird lands upon the feeder, the evening show beginning from his front-row screened-in seat.
A leaf falls from the mystery tree in the center of the yard to land on the grass/dandelion mixture that passes for a lawn. An owl hoots from the deeper shadows as the sun dips lower, spreading a fire-like glow behind the mountains. As the north star makes its nightly appearance directly overhead and the bats begin to pirouette on the evening breeze, I once again reflect that, probably sooner than I would like, the house will be for sale and we will begin the process of migrating south.
I wonder if the sun sets will be as spectacular without a mountain to fall behind? Will the nighttime sounds of my childhood (tree frogs; crickets) and nighttime sights (lightning bugs) also reside in the so-called Sunshine State? Will they sing their symphony in the same rhythms and harmonies? Will my knees ache less? Will I drink less coffee?
The sun disappears, although its glow remains a while longer, the long shadows covering the entire yard. The bats blend in almost seamlessly now, shadows riding shadows. Hawthorne stretches, yawns, and clicks over toward the screen door, ready to lay on the couch as is his nightly routine. I put out my cigarette and glance once more at the almost-black yard, glad for the chores being hidden, but unhappy that tomorrow's light will bring them to the fore of my mind once more and remind me again of how little time remains before the grave-blanket of snow covers the sins of a lazily-spent summer...
I awoke this morning to a note sitting on the computer desk:
Ja,
They can play with the guns.
Rich
I guess I should give some back story on this one, eh?
We took the nephews to see the new Star Trek movie last night, and between the four bags of popcorn, three sodas, and three bathroom breaks, we learned a lot as uncles taking young nephews to the movies, the first of which being "no soda!" Additionally, since Rich and I are selling things on eBay, there are various toys and such laying about the house, much to the joy of said nephews and fear of one certain uncle--after all, most of these toys are older than myself and worth a bunch of $$$...
So they were toy guns... Nonetheless, a strange note to wake up to, wouldn't you say?
When the parents of the nephew's came to collect their children, me and the sis-in-law took a tour of the yard to locate various plants to boost their flower beds back home. In the course of our travels, the neighbors... unfortunately were in full force. I swear to god, it's like they spot me and they come rushing out of the woodwork--it's HELL! Even Ann commented, "Dude, what's up with your neighbors?"
Well said, if I do say so myself... All this time I thought it was just me...
One of these hellish neighbors had the gall--no, the audacity!!!--to walk through my FLOWER BED! I nearly had a heart attack... Excuse me?! What the FUCK do you THINK you're DOING!! I wanted to scream. These people KNOW the pride I take, the care I put in, the immense work it requires to get these beds looking weed-free and blooming year-round! What the FUCK!!!
But being that I have various hang-ups of confrontation stemming from my childhood, I simply downplayed it with a simple, "You didn't step on anything, did you?" (As if that were the sole reason for my heart palpitations...)
"No, why would I do that?" came the reply.
Why the FUCK would you WALK through some one's fucking FLOWER BED!!!! "Just checking" and a friendly smile later (Where is my Grammy award, by the way?) we left her behind as we continued our circuitous route around the house. Two more neighbors later and the family was on their way to plant some great beauties in the yard while I was left contemplating how I would confront my stupid, unemployed, bored-out-of-her-mind neighbor about walking through the beds when they are just as easy to get around if one simply goes six feet to the LEFT. On the GRASS. In the fucking YARD!!!
It also crossed my mind what a shame it was that I did only have toy guns lying about the property. What is up with my neighbors indeed...
If I could afford it, a ten-foot-high privacy fence would enshroud my 3/4's of an acre. But until the blessed day when we sell this place and get a secluded neighborless piece of land on which to build my dream house...
Sometimes in the end, no one dies...
But they should...
Dear reader, I'm ecstatic! Granted, Rich would be the first one to tell you this is all too easy an emotion to elicit from me...
I've recently joined freecycle--you may have heard of it? Communities in local geographic areas join an email list, and whenever someone has something they want to get rid of--they spam everyone on the list! Brilliant! And over the last few weeks, spammed I've been, mostly with offers for baby clothing and such, but being spring time...
Yes, offers for dirt. Honestly, dirt is the first thing I've gotten from freecycle. (Go figure...) Being that freecycle has come with its fair share of vultures, it's rather hard to get anything for free, especially on freecycle. (Again, imagine that...) But be that as it may, one of my philosophies in life has almost always been "If it's free, I'll take two!" So when I was spammed with free dirt, well I simply hijacked my father's relaxing Sunday afternoon (as well as his truck) and before we knew it, we had unloaded a pick-up full of dirt into a rather rocky / sandy / jungly / stumpy / poison ivy area of the yard.
At this point, I was satisfied. Not ecstatic, but satisfied.
And then Monday came. An offer of thirteen bags of dirt in Lansford. After work, I hijacked Rich (and his car) and off we went to the hopping metropolis of Lansford (population 2) and grabbed the dirt. In the rain. In the dark. (Did I mention how thrilled Rich was with my newly found dirt-o-matic sniffer?) We made quick work of dumping this dirt on top of the old dirt and called it an evening.
Today, I go out with a rake to level out some of the dirt, remove some of the rocks, and...
Is that...? I dig a bit, shuffle some stuff...
It is!! Hosta's! A shitload of hostas! A smattering of daffodils, a little bit of snow on the mountain...
But hostas!! Bonus!!!! NOW I was ecstatic... Hosta heaven, freecycled into my yard with the dirt... (Oh, have I mentioned how Richard told me just two weeks ago he didn't understand my love of hosta's? He thinks they look "weedy"...)
I just spent the last few hours re-"weeding" my flower beds....
Simply ecstatic about the bonuses of life...
Don't get the wrong idea, dear reader... Time standing still isn't anything that happens around here--in fact, time flies just a bit too quickly for this country boy wanna-be. Has it really been that long since my last post? So many things have drifted through my mind the last few days (okay, okay, weeks!), the least of which is "Why does a giant hafta have a companion ox who's not only named Babe but has to be blue?" Such are the drifting ruminations when the mind has time to wander. Included among these were passing glimpses into the strange mind of Jason that I felt needed to written about (although the time to do so never seemed to materialize) are- Who decided "clockwise" was the correct direction for things to spin?
- Doesn't Tony Perkins ever get tired of lying about the so-called "gay agenda"? (I'm assuming he must not be a fan of top ten lists...)
- Why must you say every single M. Night Shyamalan movie title in a Haley Joel Osment whisper?
- Why would anyone--anyone--think that stretch pants look good on them?
Hmm... Perhaps some of these things are best left unexplored, yeah?
So, as I'm enjoying the first beautiful Saturday of the spring building the brick pathway on the right (the left hopefully to be done on the next beautiful spring Saturday...) contemplating the fact that on Friday we laid off four workers due to losing our second-biggest client on Monday, the bane of my existence (aka Luthor from across the street) decides he's going to yap my ear off for three hours... THREE MISERABLE HOURS!!! I'm all for lonely old men getting out of their homes every now and then to see what they're missing in life, but not on my time... But I deal with it, grunt an acknowledgement of his existence on this planet every now and again as I saw timber, lay sand and brick, measure distances and do higher math (aka anything more than two plus two...) to get things right and accurate until...
Man: Hi there!
Luthor: I'll see you later Jason. I haven't had breakfast yet.
Me: But it's 1:30 in the afternoon! What--? Oh...
Man: Is that your grandfather? I'd like to speak to him as well.
Me: No, and if you do find out we're related somehow, pull the plug. Who're you?
Man: Hi, I'm Stan, and I'm a member of the church just up the street, you may have heard of us? Din--
Me: Hi, Stan. Say, listen, can I ask you something?
Stan: Uh... Sure?
Me: Do people walk up to you when you're dirty, laying a brick sidewalk, listening to old men yammer endlessly?
Stan: Uh--
Me: Do I come knocking on your door to tell you the wonderful time my life is because I enter a building once a week?
Stan: I, uh....
Me: Do I look like I'm in any position to quit where I am on this project just so you can ask me if I've found the love of Jesus or some such other nonsense?
Stan: (extremely distressed look) Well, I...
Me: Fine, you don't waste my time, I won't waste any more of yours. Have a nice day.
Stan: But--
Me: I said have a nice day, Stan, now please go on about your business while not being on my property, okay?
Yes, I'm sure I took away his happy thought. In fact, I guarantee it! While I did happen to appreciate the irony of the bane of my existence being scared off by the less annoying bane of existence, really--would you walk up to someone who looked very busy, annoyed as hell at his "grandfather" (shudder shudder) while he's holding bricks, and expect him to listen to your spiel about fairy godfathers and such?
Hmm... Well, maybe you would. But I'm sick of wasting my happy garden time for yappy neighbors and holy rollers (believe it or not, Luthor's term!!). Luthor, of course, later came back to tell me that he was actually a "very nice" holy roller "for a Lutheran," but apparently didn't know "we were Baptists."
While my "baptist" status in the neighborhood came as a bit of a shock ("Who is 'we'?" I asked. "You know, real Christians, not these holy rollers!" was his reply), I asked how it was possible a man named Luthor wasn't a Lutheran? (He didn't get it--84 and addle brained!!) Thankfully, his "breakfast" was on the stove and he needed to get back. He just wanted me to know how nice the young man was...
Yeah I thought, he and his big blue ox...
At least the right half got done... Something tells me it'll be a while before I get around to the left, especially if the rest of this year follows today's pattern...
Winter holds me prisoner, dear reader. As I stare out at my (mostly) lifeless yard at the grave blanket someone gave the cutesy name of "snow" (it sounds so cuddly, doesn't it?) I dream of walking once again in lush grasses, smelling my flowers, mowing my lawn, watering my vegetables...
There isn't much I can do about those things. Spring is something you have to wait for, you know? It isn't like I can construct a giant bubble around my house (I wish!) and grow fresh tomatoes year round (my neighbor mentioned something about his property value living next to a bubble, but I was only half-paying attention...).
But I've started the steps to changing other things--you see, I had this weird and crazy idea of a "three year plan" (I tried thinking of a cutesy name for it, but for some reason, Rich didn't get what I meant when I said "Restructured Life Planning"...): in brief, to declutter and streamline our lives. Get rid of the hundreds of boxes of crap in the attic, junk in the garage, and the hundreds of other items in this house that we don't use, don't look at, don't need, and are cleverly hidden throughout the house. Dishes, candle holders, VHS video tapes, clothing, etc. Also included in this grand "3 Year Plan" is to reduce debt by using all proceeds from selling this crap for credit card debt only, to "use or lose" the precious weight equipment collecting dust, and (this is where I received some hesitancy) severely cut back on "collectibles" that we have moved with us through five residences and now reside in the attic (this portion of the 3 Year Plan may take 5 years... or 10...).
I'm tired of waiting, you know? I'm tired of the excuses, the "Next Saturday's" and the "On my next day offs" and the "This Springs" that we constantly tell ourselves when it comes to this stuff. This is Clutter. This is Junk. This needs to change.
And I think I finally got Richie on board with me on this. I've already started, personally. Tonight alone I listed three things on eBay that I was holding on to for no good reason whatsoever. A Fisher Price basketball net, a Fisher Price Circus Train, and two Fisher Price Ferris Wheels. These are things that gave me fuzzy-warms about my childhood, but the nieces and nephews could care less about when they come over to visit. Images of them playing with these used to run through my head, but I realize they have different toys, newer toys to play with.
And I'm out of excuses to keep these things. Yes, it's nice to have the memories, but that's what pictures are for. What getting together with the family is for. Not to sit on a shelf and collect dust. Someone out there will treasure these items as I did, and hopefully, will be placed into the hands of a child who will love them as much as I did.
And even if they don't? I won't have to move them, dust them, or worry about them in any way anymore. And my life will be just a tad bit simpler for it. A tad less cluttered, a tad less time-consuming, and just a touch easier to keep neat and clean. And hopefully, just a little bit closer to being debt-free.
I've wasted enough time living with these things and not using them as they were meant to be used. And while I'm sure there's a collector or two reading this and thinking, "He's getting rid of that stuff? What a fool!", then I request you go to eBay, look up the seller dragonkeeper25, and buy those items. After all, my newly-designated trash can be your new treasure.
No more waiting for dead dreams--I'm off to make new ones happen with the 3 (to 5) Year Plan.
Well, that, and a hope this will keep me busy enough in February not to notice the cold...
As I sat underneath the electric blanket this morning, Rich snoring softly by my side, I stared as a single snowflake drifted down from the sky past the window and disappeared into the grass...
Soon my yard will be covered in the beautiful grave blanket of winter. A beautiful shade of temporary death, but death nonetheless...
I turned the blanket up one more notch and pulled it tighter around my shoulders. I try to imagine what the butterfly bush looked like in the height of summer, with its conflicting purple and white flowers. The climbing, rambling, blood-red rose sneaking its way through its neighboring ferns.
The grave blanket of snow will be beautiful. Much like most of us imagine it will be at the end when we go to our own grave. Surrounded by friends and loved ones. Perhaps going in our sleep, painlessly, next to our spouse's gentle breathing as it soothes us from this earthly life. Maybe it will happen on that one adventure, the adventure we had waited our whole lives to undertake, and we will go doing something we love, high on life while death embraces us from the reality of earth...
As the first rays of light peak through the bare branches of the apple tree, I see a few chickadees flitting about, nipping at the last vestiges of rotted apples. Hawthorne leaps onto the bed and buries himself underneath the blanket with me while Mary contents herself with using her tail as a drumstick on the foot board. Rich rolls over, hair mussed, eyes sleepy and tired but happy, and smiles up at me.
"Good morning, baby."
"It is, isn't it?"
I kick Hawthorne back to the floor and lay back down for a few more minutes, arms around the one I love, and we stare together between the curtains as the frost begins to reflect back the suns beams.
"I have to get up to check the coal stove," Rich says, beginning to pull away.
"Wait," I said, pulling him tighter. "Just... wait. A few more minutes. Life can wait a few more minutes."
He lays back down and we just lie there, content with the sounds of our breathing, and the view of the morning sun through the branches gradually brightening the room...
Waiting for the snow. And loving every minute of it.
Rich: I'm just saying, everything you plant there, you end up moving. Why don't you just leave it empty? Or leave a plant there?
Me: This is my default plant zone. If in doubt where to put it, I put it here until another part of the yard screams to be filled by it.
It's a Zen thing.
Rich: But the last five things you had there looked good--why not just leave them there?
Me: I have a vision (tapping my head) and those weren't part of that vision.
Sort of like, "How many screaming banshees can dance on the head of a pin dominated by angels?"
Rich: Well, I don't see it.
Me: You don't have to. I know you'll end up seeing it when it's done...
And that's the only real test, isn't it? Seeing it there...
Rich: Aren't you ever going to leave anything in that spot?
Me: One day, when the right plant--or tree--comes along. Hmm.... A tree...
A big black horse AND a cheery tree! Nah--I'd have to move the horse eventually....
Rich: You're hopeless.
Me: I'm just not willing to settle is all. I know what I want my gardens to look like, and I also know when I see a plant I want, but don't yet know where it should go. Thus, it calls this home for a brief period of time until I find out where it actually belongs.
Back to that Zen thing... Or "Garden Fung Shui for Defeated Perfectionists"--great title for a novel--or perhaps an alternative rock punk band with goth influence, don't you think?
Rich: As I said, hopeless.
Me: Not hopeless, hopeful that one day it will look like it looks up here (tapping my head again)
Perhaps a statue of a big black horse? Sans cherry tree?
Me: I do believe they call persons such as myself "visionaries."
Rich: Not outside of an institution they don't.
"The Visionary Institutes of America." Sounds catchy, if a bit new-agey. What would I charge for tuition?
Me: Hey, that's my line.
Rich: You know I love you more than my luggage, right?
I could get Julia Roberts as professor of big beautiful smiles...
Me: And that's Olympia Dukakis's line.
Rich: I'm just saying...
Did you just call to say 'I love you'?
Me: What are you saying?
Rich: You're weird. And I love you. And leave a plant there for chrissake!
You did just--stop by on your way into the house--to say 'I love you'! How sweet!
Me: Find me the right plant and I will.
Rich: You have every gardening catalogue known to mankind! You can't find what belongs there out of hundreds of color photos?
Me: That's all I'm saying...
Rich: Hopeless...
Me: Love you too!
It's a Zen thing...
I broke down today and bought my new electric blanket on eBay. It couldn't be helped, really. Reality has a way of making sure of that...
I loathe winter. Of course, even in the middle of summer, my hands and feet are prone to being freezing cold, and once winter hits? There's no hope. It's permanent cold from November until late March, early April.
I need to move to Hawaii, that's all there is to it.
But you can't help but appreciate the beauty in Mother Nature. She certainly goes out with a bang... Most years. As I watch the silver maples turn gold and the Japanese cherry transform its leaves to the color of its spring fruit, I can't help but smile. It's beautiful, breathtaking, gorgeous...
But it means I should be living in Hawaii.
Sigh. It's almost time to start up the coal stove, make the most of Thanksgiving and Christmas, followed by New Years and my birthday, and then the long, lonely, dark days of winter. It's depressing.
Of course, I'm gardening right up until I can't anymore. I just planted a yellow butterfly bush, two apple trees, three Lombard poplars, some red milkweed (unsure of actual variety), and some blue thingy I can't remember the name of at the moment--but it's a show-stopper! (or it will be next spring anyway...)
So, dear reader--what do you do during winter to keep the doldrums away?
Ever have one of those days? You wake up with a song in your heart and a smile on your lips? There you are, yanking out weeds, evening out your mulch a bit, taking joy in the blooms and buds showering your landscape with color and beauty, and just as your getting ready to burst into some sappy song of happiness and joy, and...
A movement catches your eye. You pause, the words of Ewan McGregor from Moulin Rogue drifting silent into the now-eerie silence...
You cautiously poke your impatiens.
Nothing.
You begin to think it's your imagination, or maybe that dang floater in your eye is back again playing tricks. You hear a bird chirp, and the moment is past. You bust out, "We could be hero's, Forever and eeeeevvvvveeeeerrrrr!!!" look down...
And see this on your arm:
(Honestly? It took me about a half hour to find her again to take that shot... It was a very Steve Irwin-ish type of experience...)
I shrieked like most little girls only wish they could. Shrieked, stomped, slapped, shook, shimmied and screamed, flapping like a sea gull on 'roids! Rich comes racing out of the house, "What?! What's going on? What happened? Are you hurt?"
"Whereisitwhereisitwhereisitgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff!!"
"What? Were you bit by a snake? Where is it? Was it poisonous? Where's the gun?" Granted, he is shouting this at me while I continue my new mantra to bring peace and stability into my life. Eventually I settle down a bit and try to explain the MAMMOTH proportions of this obviously dangerous predator in my used-to-be Eden side yard.
"Come on, get real!" he says, brushing off the apparent danger we're in. I'm imagining nests of these giant black-and-yellow blood suckers in every nook and cranny, a huge hive in the attic just waiting for nightfall to descend and suck our bodies dry over a period of weeks as we're immobilized in a silken coffin. "They'd probably make us watch them eat Hawthorne first, to draw out the suspense and terror. Then they'll figure out which of us is weaker, and lacerate off our body parts one at a time and dangle them before us in their hairy mandibles..."
"I'm going back in the house. A spider..."
I stand there in the side yard, looking at my flowers in a whole new light. I decided to do some research...
Apparently, this is known as a Garden Spider, and is one of the best spiders you could possibly have in your garden! The females are about an inch-and-a-half long (just their bodies!! That doesn't count the head [white-ish] or legs!!), usually hang in the center of their nest in an "X" shape, face down, waiting for anything: beetles, wasps, bees, flies...
But they are not a danger to humans. Thank goodness! With this data in mind, I went out and hunted down that picture of her, with a new appreciation for my safety!
Never saw a spider like this in my life (and I'm sure if Mom had, she'd have died on the spot!), but I have to tell you, now that I know she's harmless to me, I think she's a lot prettier...
I'd also like to point out that, once I relocated her and showed Rich her enormous size, he was a little more understanding about my freak-out. So much so that he wouldn't even get close enough to take the picture!
Guess who had the last laugh?
After many long weeks of love, care, water, sunlight, and patience, we had our first taste tonight of what it's like to be a corn farmer...
It was freakin' delicious!
So it's been a rousing success, as the pictures can attest. Every ear of corn is developing silks (which means we'll be eating corn), the tomatoes are perfection (all three varieties), the peppers spicier than your average Latin lover, and the green beans? To die for!
On the whole, we've learned a lot this year, our cherry-popping virgin year of all-out vegetable growth. Never count your spinach before it's outside: One of the biggest disasters this year, as they all popped up on the dishwasher, but once they met the great outdoors? Not so much. Popeye would be disappointed. Apparently you need very sandy soil to grow spinach successfully (lesson number 1 for spinach), and even then it can be very finicky about soil moisture content (lesson number 2...)
Also, cucumbers suck. Or, at least, in my soil they do. I even bought the "Straight 8" variety, meant to withstand elephant stampedes and polar bear excursions. But where elephants and polar bears fear to tread, clay soil was the enemy it could not beat. I'll try again next year--after all, this fall I'll be getting bucket loads of cow poop from a local farmer who apparently is wallowing in the stuff in order to boost the "nitrogen content" of my soil (can't wait for fall! Who wants to help shovel some shit around?), and from what I hear, nothing beats cow shit when it comes to growing vegetables. Go circle of life!
Corn, however, I found almost too easy. I heard plenty of horror stories on the net about growing your own corn and I was wary, 
to say the least, about going this route in the vegetable world... ? Seems I should have worried more about the greens and less about the yellow... Who knew?
So come the great words of wisdom from my mother. Ironically, my sister was just blogging about some of Mom's more colorful colloquialisms (among which is "The only good snake is dead snake...on a boot..."), and tonight on the phone, Mom decided to grace me with one as well.
It was about my pine tree. I happen to have lost one tree recently (that's one, one tree--ah, ah, ah, ah, ah...) due to the democratic process that is now my side yard. For years I have successfully fended off a certain someone from destroying the one bit of natural evergreen between my living room window and the neighbors bedroom window... Until a certain someone got whiff of the fact that the neighbors also weren't fond of a certain evergreen... The rest, as you can guess, is history... (minus a voting booth...)
On a very small, very slight upside, we can now use the cobblestone sidewalk that runs down between our houses... I know, "Big whoop." I agree. I'd rather have the evergreen.
So now when I look out my window, it is not green I see, but a stump and my neighbor's bedroom windows. And that's when wisdom spewed from my mother's mouth:Mom: Well, that's why God made curtains!
Me: What?
Mom: That's why God made curtains! (She says this as if she's Ed McMahon handing me a check for three million dollars...)
Me: Was this before or after he created the light? Or--wait, is this how he separated the light from the dark...? I see, right there in Genesis, "And he separated the light from the dark with something in a floral print, not too gaudy, not too tacky, but juuuuuust riiiight...., and it was good. And the evening and the morning were the first day... Only he couldn't tell, because the material he picked was apparently 'Blackout' style, and thus woke up late on Day Two. This was not-so-good."
Mom: You are so bad!
Perhaps. But I'm still down one pine tree and a ton of privacy, even if that privacy was all in my head. I mean, let's face it, as far as barriers go, it was no Great Wall, but it was something, you know?
I just can't believe my tree, my beautiful pine tree, is gone...Rose: You know how it is when you can't believe something.
Dorothy: Yes, I can't believe Alan Thicke has a hit series, but that doesn't mean it isn't so.
It started last weekend. It was a sunny day, birds were chirping, the neighbors were out doing... Well, "suburbanite" things like walking the dogs, washing the cars...
I was declaring war.
I stepped out onto the deck, sun glinting off my sun-glasses. With shovel in one hand, pick-axe in the other, and Macho-Macho Man playing in my head, I walked down toward the garage in the back and surveyed Jungle Junior. (Jungle Senior exists in the front yard and is in process of "slash and burn" techniques meant to kill English ivy, poison ivy, and other nefarious ground covers...)
Having neglected to take a picture of Jungle Junior (I-I-I apologize... Rosy, get my hat...), you just have to take my word... I probably killed a few native species, ruined a few ecosystems, and was punished by having to engage in... Dare I say? Will you think less of me? Neighbor talk!!!! Ugh...
Two weekends, two nephews, two broken shovels (I see a theme developing... I blame it on the "Noah" effect...), and having given away approximately thirty lilacs (Ooops! Never mind...), this is what I have to show for it:
I know it doesn't look like much... And really, it isn't supposed to. After all, I removed everything but that freakin' fire bush stump, seen here:
The six sarsaparilla trees? Gone (but let me tell you--I've never wanted a sarsaparilla soda more than at that moment...). The forty lilacs? Gone. The two maples? Gone. The ten-foot-high, fifteen-foot-wide fire bush (obviously not of the dwarf variety...)? Now a two feet by three stump which will be graced with morning glories until feeling returns to my fingers and the blisters disappear...
It is a good feeling, though. Henry and Devin helped by hunting down worms and placing them in a bucket (not to worry--they were placed back in the dirt before sun down...) in the hopes they would become butterflies (not expecting any doctorates there...)
The reason? This is where the vegetable garden will be placed, owing to the 8 hours of sunlight this area of the yard receives each day in the summer. It'll all be worth it when I'm eating my home-grown salad with corn on the cob fresh off the grill...
Well, to me it'll be worth it. To Rich, it just means we need to replace two shovels (those things are never as strong as I think they should be...) and buy some fencing to keep the evil rabbits (with big nasty teeth!) from partaking in the salad bonanza about to occupy this space...
After all... This. Is. War...
And war never looked as if it was gonna taste so good...
Now where did I put that Tylenol...? (Thirty-one never felt so old...)
I like to keep a record and photo journal of plant progress, and this (as you may have guessed) is the Popeye tray ("What do you want me to name him: Baby Oyl?"). It's simply amazing how just a little light, some dirt, and a sprinkle every now and then brings forth such bountiful food!
Of course, as I was sorting through the photos I just took and filing them away (Oops! I've said too much! You now know I'm a nerd!), I came across this beauty from last year:
Ah, my pride and joy last year! I've never really had the "green thumb" (Ho! Ho! Ho! Green Giant!) when it came to roses... Anything high-maintenance, really (Hello, 90% of my ex-friends!), and when this beauty popped up with very little coaxing from myself-- Well, this is why I garden. Breath taking!
But, being as this is my first year doing vegetables in a serious way (it's usually just flirting on my end...), this will also lead to learning how to can, make homemade sauce and homemade pickles. Grandmom Hughes would be proud!
Speaking of grandmothers and flowers, the evil one (brief history here) has decided to take all her kids out of the will because none of them sent her Easter flowers... As if the receiving of flowers were the end-all, be-all of her existence... Hmm, I'm thinking some deadly nightshade may be in order ("That's twice this month you've slipped deadly nightshade into my tea and run off--")... It's just plain rotten how some people can ruin the holidays rightfully stolen by the Catholic church, you know?
Anyway, that's all for the next few days. I have to prepare the house for family game night (minus the evil one), so I'll be too busy bringing some semblance or order to the chaos that is my home ("You gotta room for renk?!!").
Hope you all have a great weekend! (Have I mentioned lately how much I love Netflix?)
I flick the switch back on. It is the life blood of the first round of seeds I am starting for our spring vegetable garden, the "herb" section. Rosemary, cilantro, oregano, chives, a few others. They are in the kitchen window, the south side of our home, so they only get about half a days worth of actual sun light... On a not-so-cloudy day, mind you. So the light over the kitchen sink makes up for those days and nights when nature isn't actually helping anything...
A few hours later, someone will have turned the light back to the "off" position. (Is he not a fan of chives?) I casually lean back over and flick the light back on. I inspect the seeds: of the sixteen cups, eight have now produced a few shoots. I sprinkle the cups with some more water (moisture is key, I might add...) and walk away.
It could be any day--I leave for work, on. I come home from work, off. I go to the bathroom, on. I come back out, off. (Is our electric bill that high this month?)
Neither of us say a word. No eye contact is made as we pass back and forth in front of each other in the hall, as we sit side-by-side on the couch, as a casual call from the kitchen queries, "Do you need anything?"
Of course, what I need is for the light to stay on: after all, like moisture, light is essential. Vegetables don't grow in dark places (unlike mold, mice, and three-eyed monsters).
I've already won the war over the spare bedroom door--it stays open. That is where the cacti and bamboo reside until spring graces us with warm days and nights and they can take their rightful place on the deck. I've also won the laundry war: we do separate whites from colors. On the other hand, I've never won the Christmas card war: we don't send those, even though he's the Jesus-believer and I am not...
Of course, the herb seeds will soon be joined by corn, radish, lettuce, spinach, beets, pumpkin, watermelon, cucumber, and squash--oh, and tomatoes. And the established herb seeds will be nestled between the cacti and bamboo while the vegetables take advantage of all day/all night light (whether sun or artificial), but only if I win this one.
Only if I win.
I know as soon as I hit "Publish This Post," I will have to go out to the kitchen and flick the light back on. After all, I've been in front of the computer for what... Fifteen minutes? In that time, Rich has come and gone from the kitchen in his nightly scavenge for chips and dip...
Yes, that's one more war I haven't won... Snacky stuff in the house...
That must be it, actually... I can't grow potato chips in a vegetable garden...
Well, at least not in "chip" form...
