Buckwheat

Buckwheat seeds.

Went to bed last night thinking I needed to do something, and I had a list, certainly. Not until morning did I remember, the car inspection is due this month, and I do not wait until the last week. So, swallowing tea along with my disappointment, I threw on clothes and got there just as they opened. Sadly, one of my brakes is not working properly, probably just needs adjustment. Scheduled an appointment Saturday at the usual shop. At least emissions were fine.

Lightly sanded and thoroughly cleaned the wall, marked lines, hooked up the plumb, will mix paste and lay wallpaper maybe Friday, with help. Not about to do this alone.

Not getting to the compost today, left that for the weekend. Both cats got their outside time, Moby greeted and politely saw two dogs off his patch. An a woman from Cuba, apologizing for her English, petted Moby, and after a conversation about her dog and cat, got a big hug from me. Some people are fine to hug.

Thinned out the sunflowers, ruthlessly. California poppies starting to bloom. So much color. A tiny black spider making itself at home. And the perennial flower planted last year, that seemed to die, returned - looking lush and hardy.



And the hedge is taking shape. Looking thin, but it will green up in it's own time.

Politics

Have not met, but keep hearing very good news about the new manager. Evil Manager is not out of my chain of command quite yet, so I'm told, but she won't be directly involved, and is planning to retire (no, she's not old) in about a year. So, keeping my head down, but harboring a small amount of hope. Still imagining her getting arrested, it helps.


I was pretty sure, or I wouldn't have mentioned it here, but not entirely certain I was in the Garden Tour. So I sent an email, got a reply back, and yes, officially on display a week from Saturday. Sent photos and description as well as the haiku.

Anyone know about bitters? There is a local guy brewing bitters, going to be at the Downtown Farmer's Market which opens this weekend. We will, of course, be there.

Last Sunday was the local Pride Festival Parade. Very local, we walk over the few blocks to the parade. Much larger this year, and after the earlier desperation with underlying tension, followed by last year's elation and palpable and emotional relief, this year was more relaxed. Same preponderance of corporate sponsorship stepped up, with a fair amount of swag, coupons and beads and even bags. A Sikh group were handing out bananas. One young man took a small bunch with so much joy, and Minion-level exuberance, bouncily taking them to friends across the street. We politely declined, neither of us wanting, nor in need of, bananas, and felt any lesser response after that would be nearly an insult.

Our preferred mayoral candidate was shaking hands along the route with a rainbow feathered boa around his neck. He looked quite fetching. Not the one with the sign on our lawn, that is another candidate better-than-incumbent. She was in our state legislature, at the time the only openly gay woman on the hill, so she was marching with a group in her candidate colors. Well, we've been attending our Neighborhood Council meetings, getting involved. Last one we got to hear them all speak. Old incumbent looks like a slightly more alive version of Keith Richards. The sort to do stuff, then wonder why no one likes his brilliant surprize solution. Another candidate seems to be running mostly to support our Preferred Candidate, and to say "fuck that guy" to the incumbent.

The local guys who fought for the Marriage Equality issue, run a stand, and got married at, the Downtown Farmer's Market. There was a float from the DFM, rather nice one. A few creatively dressed bagpipers, which makes any parade worthwhile for us. A lovely clear, coolish day, so we saw more of the parade than formerly. I realized I should have brought the camera, old habits, though. I tend not to, out of not wanting to cause discomfort. Really have to get over that, no longer appropriate.


Moby and Eleanor have been sleeping on our bed, for the first time in a very, very long time. Together. Even at night, with both of us there as well.

Lassitude

Started out too early, with a deep lassitude that grew into post-problem anxiety. Didn't wanna do... any number of things. Kept trying, to disappointing effect. This is so typical of me, to get through the crisis, but once it's over, fall to crumbles. The Evil Manager seemed to have cleared her office yesterday, as I managed to avoid her all day long. Still not completely certain she is gone for good, with the new manager in complete authority, but it seems to be the end.

No good yard sales, and too few to bother with. The one two houses down was one of those where the people thought they would get a good portion of the original price back. Yard sales do not work this way. A used spa robe, however nice, will not go for $10 in this situation. For $3, maybe. Even then, more like $1. They did not understand the concept of Getting Rid of Stuff, and so they still have most of it. I did not educate them. Not my job. It's not getting what it's worth, it's getting what random people stopping by will give them for it.

We did make ourselves a good lunch, jalapeño burgers with guacamole. As the day wore on, my stammer worsened, and my energy drained completely. So, I made myself a very strong pot of tea, and got a single can of beer. By the time the first one took effect, I started to strip the door frames, in preparation for applying the grass cloth wall paper we scored in last week's yard sale extravaganza. Don't want to put the wall cover up, then scrape the paint right next to it.

Made amazing progress. D and I still puzzling over the choice of OD green paint with battleship grey trim.

"I diagnose a bad case of designers."

"Or design magazines."

"At any rate, way too much 'taste.'"

"And not good taste. Bad taste. Chewing on aspirin taste."

This got D laughing.



After most of the clean up, Eleanor came in to supervise.


Heard a power tool as we ate dinner. Neighbor of the Hedge had a friend with a power saw taking out the big trunks of the hedge. He's decided he wants it lower as well. So we can both keep it trimmed, without needing ladders. I lend a hand, and encourage his friend, and tenant, in the gutting of my Nemesis- the Hedge.

His cat, Sebastian, came out to watch the clean up.



Feeling so much better this evening. Quite back to even.

Gradual

Story this week about a family yelling at a high school graduation ceremony, cited for some version of disorderly conduct/disturbing the peace. Now, I don't know what actually happened, if the school officials overreacted, if they were actually making themselves obnoxious, or something between. My personal experience of ceremony makes me side with order over chaos. I'll completely buy that the family (for a niece, even) were making asses of themselves.

I'd been to my older brothers' HS graduations. Catholic schools, so the ceremony was in church. Not a mass, but with an intention of solemnity. I was small when Dave graduated, a bit older for Bill, it all seemed rather tedious, but I loved their dark purple gowns and the tassels. Seemed to take forever for their names to be called, in order of class ranking. Both wore National Honor Society* stoles.

My last year of hs, we had a new principal who bullied and harassed us, threatening to not let us "walk down the aisle" to attend graduation, if we didn't do what she wanted, or stop doing what she didn't. I went so far as to scribble out her name in my senior year book. My mother told me I'd regret it, which still hasn't happened. I didn't personally care that much, either way, about the ritual. I knew my parents valued that ceremony, as I appreciated the cost of my education, and felt they deserved that day. Not like I had any choice in the matter, among the many duties assigned by presumption.

My mother kept pressing me to let her buy some of the graduation tat, I held out against the embossed cards and announcements, but gave in on a small order of the photos and the cheapest of the rings, without engraving. When the class ring had a weird flaw, miscast and out of round, she wanted to send it back, but I refused, it made it unique. She hadn't made it through high school, my father only got to about 6th grade, so I sorta got that I was succeeding for them, but they wanted to waste money on something I'd taken for granted. Of course I would graduate high school.

I did keep my tassel, which I loved. Long lost now, in a car that was stolen.

The gowns, when we were allowed to see them, were not purple, but 'gold' - a shiny mustardy yellow. Hideous. Had to buy a dress for the occasion, although why is beyond me because it wasn't visible. My friends were pretty much in the same state of mind, rolling our eyes about the fuss, planning quiet, in-joke pranks. We processed in, sat down, and started passing notes to each other. We were in the first pews, eager to be done with it, but doing right by our families.

As the process continued, various photographers, probably not any professionals, more like family friends pretending to be, barged to the front. They were not subtle.

My name was missed for the NHS*. As our names were read out to receive our diploma, I watched the nine people in front of me pulled in for a hug from the detested principal. When I approached her, took diploma, shook her hand and said, "You missed my name for the National Honor Society" watched her eyes go wide, and walked back to my seat. To this day, I wonder that I was able to pull that off, but the part of my brain that can tell off a surgeon when he's wrong apparently existed even then. Still proud of that moment. I didn't really care for myself, but my parents listened for that honor, they set great store by it. Plus, kept me from having to hug the silly nun.

As we waited for the rest of the 136 people in our class to progress, the photographers and pushy families got worse, one even falling into the students in the front pew, crowding around the altar, families shouting over other kids names being called. We kept looking at each other, unable to respond, the principal and teachers doing nothing. Never wanted to attend any ceremony ever again, especially graduation.

No option was given when I 'graduated' basic training. Dress uniform, bad shoes, cold morning, standing to attention through excruciating ceremony, at least it was organized. Oh, my yes. Managed to skip any further military graduations. When it came to nursing school, I scheduled a working shift that day, to the aghast objections of many of my class, especially the younger ones. Especially the 'A' chasing students. Never even considered attending. Never regretted it for a moment. I had my knowledge, the paper, the license, what else did I need?

What I learned that day in 1980 is that large ceremonies leave me empty. And that my vaunted brothers were never the students I was, although I think I missed the significance back then.

Attending D's college graduation eleven years ago, was fine, though, because he wanted it, earned it, deserved the chance to be proud. Summa Cum Laude.

Perennial

So, community garden guy stopped by today, gave him the tour, he called it a great example of Permaculture. So, I guess I'm in? There will be further emails. I'll need to provide photos. Oh, my, how will I do that. And a short description, I'm thinking I'll do it in haiku. Sign some forms to remove liability. And provide a cooler for water they will supply. This is somewhat bothersome, since it will no doubt be plastic bottled water, but not much I can do. They will bring a sign a day or two before to indicate it as a Tour Garden. And I make myself available to chat from 10-1400. Oh, my, have to talk gardening with gardeners, how will I cope.

And yes, this is a largely perennial or self seeding garden, mostly drought tolerant and low water use. And as much as I sometimes wished for a bucketful of money to hire landscapers to just come in and make it so, I'm glad that was never an option. They would never have imagined anything like this. Rather like wanting a cleaning service to come in and make the house sparkle, but not really. I'm much more satisfied with my own work. The job really isn't all about the external result, but the change in myself, with every task, every little success.

Still, a truckload of good topsoil and strong young folks to spread it, doing what I can't, that would be wonderful. Still.



How's this?


Plastic netted dead
sod, weedy, pottery dirt,
Grown into garden.

Sunflowers healing,
Worms return, green onions bloom,
Buckwheat, flax and mints.

Thyme balm, lavender
Clover, grasses wild with joy,
Settling in for years.

Flaxen

Just the flax, ma'am.



Picked up a lovely pair of enameled, articulated fish earrings on Saturday at a yard sale. Can't get a decent photo of 'em. At work today, I realized one had vanished. After the case in the room where I likely lost it, I got down on the floor, eye level in the approved "finding the lost suture needle" posture. Didn't find it, but about to walk out, I spotted it near the door, rather flatter. I presume it got caught under a wheel. It's still pretty, if rather flat. Call it a haddock. Everyone got involved in my earring loss.

At that yardsale were 5 rolls of a sort of grasscloth wall covering, which is precisely what I was looking at for the bedroom. Should cover a lot of unevenness, and the OD green paint as well. Even if it only covers two walls, it makes a huge difference. Now, I just need to get a good carpet knife, wallpaper paste, and learn how to apply it. Still, $3 to cover the essential material, that's pretty good.

Locking

Poor bridge, I hope it feels better very soon. What a trashy and ill conceived fad, a lock as a love symbol. Vandalism, more like. Ownership, not love. At least the folks removing the mess are planning on recycling the metal. All 45 tons of it. Sheesh.

Getting anxious about the garden tour. No idea if what I have out there is as wonderful as it feels to me, looking at it with an objective eye, and I just don't know. Wondering if I'm wasting the poor garden guy's time, really.

But.

It really is lovely out there, and a sunflower is maybe a week or so from blooming. By the 20th, there should be more. The scarlet flax just keeps on spitting up flowers. Let it speak for itself, as I stand back.

Clert

A warm day, getting up to 90˚F in the late afternoon, a pleasant wind. Found a juniper, a small one, so not expensive, as the larger ones are too much. Thought I would have to dig quite a bit, in that dead spot by the front steps. But once I cleared the thick layer of leaves and dug a hole, the earth proved rich and wet with lots of worms. So, I planted. If it takes, it'll be lovely.

Visited the garden department again, and came across a catmint hybrid, 'Purple Haze' that got a home in the verge raised bed, where the california poppies aren't coming up. A good spreading perennial, drought tolerant, hardy. With pretty purple flowers. The verge is clert with buckwheat flowers like an improbable snow.

Moby wanted to be out a long, long, long time this morning, finding various places to settle and watch the world. At one point, hunkered under sunflower and buckwheat where I could not get close, and sitting on the lead connector, so I had to stand waiting until he moved and I could untether him. Two runners and a skateboarder passed before he felt the need to shift. Relished the unmown grass in our neighbor's yard. Meandered two houses the other way, and sat by their flowers watching birds, while I stood on the sidewalk trying not to look weird. It's a ridiculous thing, walking a cat on a leash, but he's an old guy with no proper fear of dogs, cars or people. And he doesn't seem to mind as long as I keep up. And don't make him come in too soon. I can ask him to come in, and herding a single, generally cooperative cat, is not an impossible task.

Took Eleanor out later, she rolls on the sidewalk, in various places, sometimes nestles in among the lemon balm or the thyme. Woman walking by with her dog in a lampshade, dog notices me in the chair very suddenly among the foliage, and barked loudly, startled. Woman very apologetic, I reassured her it was no big deal. Eleanor looking very worried and ready to bolt, but I talked her calm, and she rolled belly up again.

Neighbor brought her baby out yesterday, and baby Pen reaches out her arms to me. I hold her a little while, until she wants mom again. She's not an outgoing child, but she knows me, and knows I will take her, or not, all up to her. I talk to her directly, although the conversation is a bit one-sided. Mom amazed that at seven months, she seems to understand waving as an intentional greeting. Like with my demented, or drugged, patients, I always assume children understand, even if they don't respond. Cats, too, of course.

Cats do understand, they just usually don't care.

Moby was out in the back porch this afternoon, I asked him if he'd prefer a sunbeam, he stood a bit, and I picked him up gently, brought him to where the sun streamed over the chair in the front. His whole attitude was one of "well, I dunno, but you sometimes have good ideas, let's see what you are doing." Then, "OH, sunbeam, right, yeah, this is good." He's definitely gotten a bit frail, compared to the muscular bruiser he once was. We pamper him, and treasure every moment, asleep or awake. He seems happy and healthy, just elderly, nesh.

Estate

All the yardsales were listed as Huge, Enormous, and Epic. There certainly were a lot of 'em, on this first dry, warm weekend of spring, and so close to the end of the month. We got out early, which didn't work against us as much as I thought it would for a while. Most of them were decent garage sales, too. Stuff out, not all clothes, low prices. We only drove right past a couple, which is an amazing ratio. Got some very nice finds, nothing expected, but useful. Including a small phillips screwdriver, and a rug that Moby likes.



"Mine. Thanks."


The last few, we realized our luck for the day had been exhausted, so we called it, picked up groceries and sand, and came home for an early lunch.

There is an area of the city, uphill, high rent district, older neighborhood, where we have gone to a number of estate sales. The former residents lives laid out on tables, and we diagnose, sift as much for clues as for potential treasures. How religious, and of what flavor? What did they do, how many grandchildren, how old were they? These are fairly easy questions to answer from the display.

D says since we've been doing this, he's seen inside a lot more very expensive houses than he'd ever expected to see. And we are struck by how much of the same tat shows up in all of them. That, although they are larger houses, they are not any more livable than a lot of apartments we've rented, and nowhere near as pleasant as our own house.

In many cultures, grave goods are what that person owned, buried and not for further use, which seems a bit wasteful for rare and valuable objects. But the idea of buying someone else's clothes, especially underwear, toiletries, bedding, is distasteful, even a bit revolting. So, there has to be something about close personal objects that most cultures draw lines around, to return to the dead. Not to hold - too intimate. Or maybe just too disgusting to transfer. Haunted, tainted, or sacred, all mixed together.

I thought about what will be left when we are gone, someone picking through our belongings, hoping for something interesting for a few dollars. I'm good with this.

Snail disruption path established. Bricks put to creative display.



As I sat out with Moby earlier, and again reading on the porch, a tiny preying mantis crawled onto my knee. Expressive little creature, and I welcomed it, inviting the eating of as many aphids as it liked. Eventually walked it over to a plant, explaining it would have better hunting there. It seemed to agree, and vanished into the marigolds. It looked immature, just hatched and finding it's way around. I do hope it stays.

Cheery

Two large cases cancelled today, so I got home very early. To a warm, dry, early summer's day. More digging, cleared a large bag of vegetation, prepared the swath by the hedge for a large anti-snail process of sand, a bit of copper, and plantings. D had Moby out to sit among the greenery, which was good company for me as I dug. After I'd done all I could, Eleanor mewed to be taken out as well. She rolled on the sidewalk, then relaxed among the clover.

The community gardens sponsor a garden tour every year. I applied to be on the tour this June. No idea if they will consider it a good fit, but we shall see. I think I'd have been much cheered, that first year, to see a garden like mine, and talk to a gardener like me. A bit of a mess, a work in progress, but so alive and cheerful.

A bunch of us last evening having a bit of a rant about the (hopefully) soon to be gone manager. Not the sort of thing that is helpful, not really, but we are all a bit disheartened and frightened. On the other hand, I really am not the only one. No one is holding out much hope about the replacement, we are like abused children waiting for the next punch. I figure just having an OR nurse in charge will be a significant improvement, but this is an minority opinion.

The EAP counselor was also exasperated that managers so often send people to them, instead of being managers and solving issues themselves. He gave me some concrete methods of dealing with difficult people and situations, mental toughness exercises. He sympathized with my situation, and did not feel I needed more than a few more tools in my bag.

1. Goal setting. Immediate, very short term. As in, the next five minutes, or even seconds. A 3 foot world, very simple.

2. Self talk. Simple, positive, and in my case, calming. Not slow, but deliberate and attentive. I have been doing this, but a refresher is always good.

3. Mental rehearsal. For the specific situation that routinely trips me up. In my case, not being able to find words when I am working through a mental list and get badly and unexpectedly interrupted. I'm going for excess cuteness, since it is usually younger women who trigger this. "Sweetie-pie!" Hard to object to, given the target, and it may give me time to think and act with attention.

4. Arousal Control. Breathing rhythmically apparently works very well. A dance, 1 2 3 4 in, 5 6 7 8 out.

For me, keeping my sense of humor is going to be key. Like imagining Penguins in sweaters.

Other

Various. Thanks to gentleeye and Susan.

Scarlet

First!



Of many scarlet flax.





Excavated bricks from the bottom of the hedge.


Still considering what, exactly, to do with the cleared ground. Sand and gravel to deter further snails, but beyond that? Dunno.


Not sure what to do about the dead spot by the porch, either. More digging, both literal and in terms of researching a good plant.



Still looking at it, waiting for a concept to form. Lots of cleaning up, another weekend digging.

Limes

A rare bit of blue yesterday, in this month of rain. So far, every single day this month the rain has kept the garden well watered. Neighbor Mike and I speculating on the chance of it going the whole month, but it looks like the rain will stop this weekend.

Plucked parsley to get rooted. Use what I have, that I expect will live. Pretty stuff, too. Brilliant green, and tough.



Moby obviously achy with unaccustomed damp, poor old guy. But felt good enough to climb to the top of the tree this evening for a nice bath.



Thawed the key lime pie this evening. The last one appeared at tjs on my birthday one year in Boston. Never seen one since then. And I've watched for it, oh, yes. This time, there it was. I stopped, tapped D, who didn't see immediately, but once he did, we smiled at each other in full agreed memory.

This is the sort of deep joy in a long relationship, shared jokes, conversations continued after many years. I'm very fortunate to have found such a kindred humour. We hold up two fingers, and lay a finger from the other side atop.


π

Proportion

"Verifiable knowledge makes it's way slowly, and only under cultivations. but fable has burrs and feet and claws and wings and an indestructible sheath like weed-seed, and can be carried almost anywhere and take root without benefit of soil or water."

- Wallace Stegner


Cleared more weedy, but intentionally planted stuff from around the hedge. Got quite a pile of bricks from under there. Daunted by the remaining clean-up work. Not sure what I will plant there to fill in. Perhaps I'll take cuttings of my parsley and start it there. Do snails like parsley? I find the whole garden a sort of miracle. Much as I put a ton of work in, the results seem far out of proportion to my efforts.

Estate

Found a rather nice mirror at an estate sale for a few dollars. Brightens the room.



Working on clearing the sick but persistent plants around the base of the hedge. Going pretty well.


The hedge war continues, of course. Found a number of bricks and rocks, which I will do something with.



Once I'm done, I'll lay down sand. Found a mass of snails, which all got a vinegar bath, which did them no good at all. As I intended. As well as a nest of ants. Did no harm at all to a number of bill bugs (crustaceans) and woodlouse spiders, daring jumping spiders, centipedes. Getting this area cleared of mulch may help the sick side of the garden just by keeping the bugges numbers down a bit. Lots of roots, too, which may be keeping other vegetation weak. Kept remembering the beech park in Boston, nothing grew beneath them.

A couple of recent favorites from Hilary Price over at Rhymes with Orange.


Spent a lot of time in the dirt, among the herbs and flowers. Feeling much better. That ten solid hours of sleep last night helped as well.