Random Thoughts 6/27/26: Asylum No More

Yesterday I was doing some 'weeding thinking' and mulling over the Supreme Court decision allowing the administration to keep asylum seekers out of the country. Effectively, the decision eliminates asylum as an option for immigrants, because our law requires them to 'arrive' in the US to begin the process.

Here's where my mind wandered:

The person who might figure out how to cure Alzheimer’s is waiting on the other side of the border; so, too might be the person who can end our reliance on things that generate all the bad crap we get in our food, water, and the air we breathe.

The person who might come up with a way to allow us to identify who's sending all those UAP/UFOs, and help us interact with lifeforms from other planets, could be standing right next to her, staring up at the stars.

Someone who could figure out how to effectively provide reliable energy for new and existing homes, businesses, schools, hospitals, the dreaded data centers, and vehicles, without putting the environment and people’s health at risk, could be there, too.

The person who can calculate how to reliably fund a responsive government without spending trillions of dollars it doesn't have, and without unfairly taking from those who have less while favoring those who have more, might be waiting in their shadows.

The team of people who can figure out how to better and/or more cost-effectively prepare our children for their future (and for protecting ours) while we navigate AI, environmental calamity, global economic and military threats, and challenges that are not yet fully understood could be there, waiting, too.

The young adult who might eventually write the next Great American Novel could be standing at our border, eager to come in and go through our lengthy, underfunded, understaffed, misunderstood, neglected, outdated, and almost incomprehensible immigration process, all to have a chance to experience their own American Dream, the one they’ve heard about all their life.

Now, those things - the cures and the science and the ideas, might not happen.

Now, that book might never get written.

Instead, the book could tell a story of a great divide, far wider than any of our actual borders, between who Americans think we are and how we are presented to the world, or between who the parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents of the author understood Americans to be, compared to today's Americans who slammed the door shut.

It could tell of an America that will send thousands of people back to the "shithole countries" they fled (the president's term, not mine), countries our government has declared totally unsafe - for Americans, anyway.

It could tell of an America only welcoming to wealthy white people fleeing a black majority country, or to Christians being 'persecuted' by religious majorities, while feigning ignorance of the promises we made to refugees from other countries, including those whose lives are at risk solely because they helped America during our wars against their country.

It could tell of a president who has said that America, once the beacon of hope to the entire world, was a ‘dead country’ until he got back into office, that only he can save us, and who has worked to strip America of the things that make us ‘America’ as he labors to cement his legacy, the country's legacy be damned.

It could tell any of those stories, and more, seen through the eyes of someone stuck on the outside looking in, rather than the story we love to read about us: that of an outsider, threatened where they lived, who was welcomed into our country’s embrace and offered the experience of a lifetime: a fresh start, here, in America.

This morning, sitting on the porch with my coffee and sleepy kitties, I'm still mulling this over, and thinking about what we stand to lose compared to what we stand to gain with this decision.

On the losing side? The interwebs gave me a list of notable asylees, which, if correct, includes Albert Einstein, Madeleine Albright, Henry Kissinger, Elie Wiesel, and Gloria Estefan. Four of the five are recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Einstein died before the honor was created, but he, Kissinger, and Wiesel were awarded Nobel Prizes. Two were Secretaries of State; one is a Kennedy Center honoree. Their collective other accomplishments would fill a page or two, I'm sure. Would we have been better off not letting these folks in?

Also on the losing side: any effort to address what I described above as our "lengthy, underfunded, understaffed, misunderstood, neglected, outdated, and almost incomprehensible immigration process." What would be the point of trying to fix it when the current administration's goal, and that of those on the successor shortlist, is simply to slam the door shut on anyone who doesn't meet a very narrow definition of an ideal American?

I can think of lots more that could fall on this side of the ledger, but what's on the other side, the 'winning' side?

It's been several minutes since I typed the sentence above, and I've not come up with much for the win column, other than financial benefits.

Oh, sure - we have better control of who's being let into the country through legal channels (because asylum-seeking *was* a legal channel) if we don't let anyone in.

More importantly, based on what I've read and heard? We may save money because we won't have to temporarily house and care for these folks until they get jobs and start paying taxes, including the critical contributions they make to Social Security. We won't have to pay to educate their children, and, at least in theory, there'll be more jobs for Americans, assuming Americans are willing to take the jobs these folks will be leaving behind.

And, we might be able to clear the backlog of pending asylum cases, assuming anyone wants to address the backlog in the first place, and assuming there are still folks here who've applied for asylum and haven't self-deported out of fear and frustration, or haven't been detained and deported as the administration rounded up "the worst of the worst," or whatever it was it claimed to be doing.

Do those 'wins' outweigh the losses? I'm not at all convinced they do, although I'm convinced I could name several people in my own circles who'd disagree with me.

That may be the most American thing about this whole mess.

One Last Phase of Goodbye

The ancient lockbox always sat under the old slant-top schoolmaster's desk. The desk was a Christmas gift from Mom to Dad. She was a teacher when they met, and a couple years after he became a teacher too, she gave it to him, the desk lovingly stripped and refinished by her patient hands.

I've spent so much time in that lockbox over the past 20 months, going through their papers - SO many papers! Pictures from their childhoods, family birth and death certificates, taxes, scribbled genealogy notes, pension papers, pay stubs from the 60s, homeowners' insurance, car insurance, investments, taxes, wills, medical stuff, assorted licenses - and the deed to a house I've never lived in, but have lived with, for over 40 years. 

That house became mine when Mom passed in March 2023, and it's now been three weeks since I finalized the sale of what was called, on the 1981 survey, "The Drummond Estate."

Built in 1824, it was a little farmhouse with an outbuilding or two, and perennial gardens which, if memory serves, were a huge selling point. Mom and Dad had always admired the flowers on their daily trips to and from the schools where they taught. 

Over the years, the gardens changed; bulbs gave up after many years of bloom; raised beds replaced ground-level ones; herbs replaced flowers; flowering trees and shrubs, roses, more perennials, and more bulbs were planted, expanding the garden from its original spot in the east lawn to vantage points from windows in almost every room. 

Over the years, the house expanded from its original footprint, just as the garden had, as family members' lives and needs changed. With none of us in a position to take it over, for a variety of reasons, I've sold it to someone who will bring it up to date, allowing a family to move in and enjoy the gifts the Estate has to offer.

For a long time, even before Mom passed last year, it's been hard for me to see and feel the memories I had of the house. There are many reasons for that, including me putting up a protective shield to purposefully keep them out, and later to keep them from getting in the way of handling the estate (the lower-case 'e' is intentional), and spare me the pain of her loss, and Dad's 18 years ago next month. 

But as I walked the buyer and his team through the house, those memories started to sneak back in:

• staying in the tiny room at the top of the steep and narrow original stairs, as I described where the original house ended and additions began;
• the dogs having to be collected from the old house and driven back home (more than once, the silly pups) as I walked him around the yard;
• standing in the dining room, remembering running my fingers over the indentations in the old dining room table, where Dad marked papers for years with a heavy hand;
• looking out where Dad's little pumpkin patch (a fun field trip for Mom's elementary school kids) used to be; before that, the asparagus patch, and at some point, the Christmas trees, only a couple of which were ever harvested;
• the half-removed sidewalk leading to where the chickens made their home in one of the long-since-gone outbuildings that appeared on the survey;
• the surprise 50th-anniversary shade garden My Sweet Baboo and I planted where they'd see it every morning at breakfast; 
• the hours spent in the living room, packing little bags of herbs and spices for the booth at the Jordan Fall Festival, and singing 'Oh-ree-gano' to the tune of Handel's 'Hallelujah', leaving us giggling the rest of the night; and more.

I was surprised how much the house, emptied of Mom and Dad's worldly possessions, spoke to me. Moreover, I felt encouraged for the first time in a long time. Obviously, getting the house sold and all of the associated 'stuff' settled was a huge relief that I'd been looking forward to for over a year and a half. But it was more than that. 

If I could smile, misty-eyed, as I walked through the empty rooms for the last time, remembering where Dad's blue recliner used to be, where the stairs used to rise, where the schoolmaster's desk sat, looking out the kitchen window where I could see the moon rise, spots in each room where specific pictures used to hang, where laughing grandchildren used to open presents... there's hope. 

If the empty house, primed walls hiding the familiar colors, could awaken my memories with more smiles than tears, then maybe I can finally start putting all of the sadness, anger, frustration, pain, and guilt that have taken up so much space in my head and my heart behind me.

And maybe I can tackle the boxes of 'stuff' that came here that I've been avoiding, and the rest of the 'stuff' sitting in a storage unit that I've been avoiding even more. And maybe I can empty out that darn lockbox for the last time. 

Dad's schoolmaster's desk, the gift from Mom back in 1966? Yeah, that's here, and it will stay here until it comes time for someone to figure out what to do with my stuff. I may just keep the empty lockbox under it, for old times' sake. 

Wondering on Wednesday 6/1/22

 

Ready... Set... Wonder!

Tonight's wondering begins one year ago today, when I published some Random Thoughts  on gardening, and politics. The post popped up in my social media 'memories', and honestly, I had forgotten all about this post, which came after a three-week-long spate of writer's block. When I finally got to putting thoughts into words, what flowed was a look at the difference between my garden and the garden that many Republicans are tending. 

Look at all the time they've spent - years, when you think about it - sowing seeds. Seeds of doubt. Seeds of hate. Seeds of fear. Seeds of anger. Seeds of rage. Seeds of control. Seeds of division. Seeds of conspiracy.

They're gardeners, carefully tending their crops, nurturing their harvest, and reaping the rewards.

They are passionate about ripping out plants that are the wrong color, the wrong zone, the wrong fill-in-the-blank. They are passionate about making sure they only nurture the right plants, the ones that will thrive under their particular care. Poor performers? Tossed. They cover their crops with manure, layers deep, and feed them a regular, stringent diet designed to achieve uniformity, nature be damned. And invasive species that dare set foot in the garden? The only method they know is a path of scorched-earth eradication. They've no patience with trying to understand, nurture or rehabilitate; no understanding that one man's weed is another man's flower.

They're gardeners. Just like me.

Well, not just like me; I tend different crops, as I describe in the post. 

What I wonder about, with this, is why things have changed so little in the last year. I feel like I'm in the same place I was then, in my garden, frustrated with the state of things, frustrated with being frustrated, and yet, not willing to turn away from the things that frustrate me. And they certainly seem even more entrenched in their garden than they were, and more gleefully entrenched, if that's possible. And I wonder, is there a master gardener with the skills to guide us out of this mess, and help us achieve a more suitable design? Or, worse - are we stuck here?

What else is on the wondering list?

• When will the last shoe drop in Uvalde? Every day, it seems, another bit of tragedy gets added on - or erased, as was the case with the latest about the teacher who "propped the door open," which it now seems didn't happen. My heart breaks each time the story changes, for the families, and for the entire Uvalde community, struggling with so much. There's a point at which everyone should just stop talking until they know - really know - the details. I'd say we've passed that point already, but I don't think anyone will stop.

• What are the chances we'll have a bipartisan agreement on any kind of legislation to help reduce the chances of another mass shooting like the one in Uvalde, or Buffalo? There's a framework, we're told, which is good, and they're still talking, which is good - but I wonder, in the end, if folks on the right have the stomach for change, and if folks on the left have the stomach for restraint and compromise. 

• Where do the Rs go next, now that the trial of Michael Sussman for allegedly lying to the FBI about working for Hillary Clinton's campaign in the 2016 presidential campaign has ended in an acquittal, where does the Durham investigation go next? There's one more trial set for this fall, but is that it? And will the Former Guy attack him, the way he has attacked everyone else who fails him?

What are you wondering about tonight?

Random Thoughts 6/1/21

This is the first post I've managed to write in over three weeks. It's not for a lack of trying - I've spent quite a bit of time researching, outlining, and then deleting posts, feeling little compulsion - and less ability - to put thoughts to screen in any useful way.

The news of late is disheartening, disconcerting, and discouraging. My frustration level with the goings-on in various red states and with Republicans politicians is through the roof, and not being able to dump all of that out of my head has been interfering with my mental health.

Fortunately, I've had ample time in my garden over the past several weeks, which has been my saving grace. Weeding, planting, transplanting, deadheading, mulching and the like - the simple tasks - keep me moving forward. Major transitions in the garden - moving and installing structures, paths, and edging, allow me to prove to myself that I can finish things, and that my writing paralysis is not an all-encompassing inability to function.

And while I do get help from My Sweet Baboo now and then, my garden is 'my' garden, and it's up to me to make it work. I know that it does, because people regularly stop to check it out. I see smiling people, looking closely at different plants, pointing at flowers and what not, and I hear them talking, to themselves or whoever might be with them, about the garden.

If' I'm outside working, they'll call to me, and tell me how much they like the flowers, all the different plants, and how it makes them happy. They'll call me over to tell me they make a point to walk by at least once a week, to see what's new.

They tell me about their gardens, their mom's garden, their grandmother's garden. They ask for help, what to do with such-and-such a weed, or what the purple plants are, or that big bush over there, can they grow one of those, too? I've even been asked, more times than I can count, if I live in the house, or if I'm 'the gardener.' I smile and say it's both. They don't mention the weeds, and they don't see the long list of tasks I have yet to start, and that helps me smile, too.

There's room for everything in my garden. Bulbs, perennials, and annuals. Ground covers and vines. Trees and shrubs. Colorful flowers and glorious foliage. Aromatics and unscented blooms. Plants for all seasons, from very early spring to the last breath of fall. Plants that thrive in full sun, in full shade, and somewhere in between, which is where I thrive, too.

With all the hours I've been spending in the garden, I've come to the realization that I've been looking at Republicans all wrong. They're not evil people from the dark side, from some bizzaro world, a parallel America. Well, maybe they're that, but they're also gardeners. It's true.

Look at all the time they've spent - years, when you think about it - sowing seeds. Seeds of doubt. Seeds of hate. Seeds of fear. Seeds of anger. Seeds of rage. Seeds of control. Seeds of division. Seeds of conspiracy.

They're gardeners, carefully tending their crops, nurturing their harvest, and reaping the rewards.

They are passionate about ripping out plants that are the wrong color, the wrong zone, the wrong fill-in-the-blank. They are passionate about making sure they only nurture the right plants, the ones that will thrive under their particular care. Poor performers? Tossed. They cover their crops with manure, layers deep, and feed them a regular, stringent diet designed to achieve uniformity, nature be damned. And invasive species that dare set foot in the garden? The only method they know is a path of scorched-earth eradication. They've no patience with trying to understand, nurture or rehabilitate; no understanding that one man's weed is another man's flower.

They're gardeners. Just like me.

Except I'm growing love, sharing joy, spreading happiness. I've got the garden that a man told me he walks an extra mile with his dogs just so he can stop and look. I've got the garden that a woman just had to tell me about some flowers she saw a couple of streets over, and gave me the name of them because she thought they'd be a great addition to my collection.

Now, before you get your trowels and hoes all up in arms, I'm not throwing every single Republican onto the woodpile. That would be unfair, and I don't want to label them; I'd rather let them label themselves. Think back to Hillary Clinton's 'deplorables' comment. We've heard it a million times, but people forget she said half of Former Guy's supporters were deplorables - so if someone chose the label, they probably owned the label.

The same is true here. Are all Republicans the kind of gardeners who sow divisive, hateful seeds? Of course not, any more than all Democrats or non-affiliated people (that's what I am, these days) garden the way I do - hopefully, impulsively, inclusively, imperfectly. But if you do choose the label, if you are one of those deplorable Republican gardeners, I feel sorry for you.

If you're a Republican and you walk around your party's garden, and you see the goals and the methods and practices used to try and achieve them, I really wish you would ask the folks tending the garden why they have chosen to plant so much darkness and fear, so much anger and bitterness.

At the very least, I hope you know that there are other seeds your party could be sowing.

The Metaphorical Garden

Rarely have I been more grateful for my garden than I have been in the past few weeks. 

No, the beds are not gorgeous and in full bloom – quite the opposite. After a long winter, there’s always much to do, and this year there’s a little more than usual as most of them seem in need of intensive rehabilitation. We're having the house painted this year, so I may have to move some of the foundation plants at least temporarily, and that's adding to the planning, even if not to the actual work. I’m dozens of hours into it, full weekends and some nights after work when the weather cooperates, with more to do.

My hands ache. My knees are sore, even with my fancy knee pads. My back is tired. I've worn almost through the fingertips on my new gloves, leading to frequent bouts of, well, let’s say somewhat colorful language when something gets in under my nail.  The pile of yard waste that will go to the city's compost program is about the size of a Fiat. I have allergies, I think. 

And I am grateful.

I’m grateful because, while I’m in my garden, I’m fighting to define the boundaries of yard and flower bed, and working to free the tender perennials from the grip of the weeds that so carefully and deviously surround them, or grow right on top of them, as happens with my irises. I try to remember where everything grew last year, where things thrived, so I can make sure they have a happy and healthy home this year. It's tricky; some of the late bloomers haven’t even begun to wake up from their winter’s rest. 

I contemplate the monarda, marching across the beds, and question whether I could possibly turn it into a cash crop. I look for the columbine, a vigorous self-sower which seems to be in short supply this year. And I check on the wisteria and the beauty bush, hoping they are strong enough to bounce back again. I struggle with what to do with the unruly and no longer ornamental grasses, some of which have already been relegated to the back garden.  Is that where the rest of them will spend their days, in Mikey's Meadow?

I worry about the woodchucks and bunnies that might (no, will inevitably) come to dinner in my urban front yard, and what will tickle their fancy this time, as it seems to change each year. Will they covet my coneflowers again? Or, will their palate yearn for poppies or blue flax, or maybe my phlox?  I've kept the fences on the hollyhocks, a perennial favorite, if you will, but there’s always so much for the little devils to pick from, so many tasty young plants that are so hard to resist. I need to have a plan.

And I wonder how I can possibly keep everything safe and not have the garden look like a war zone, how I can have it look the way it's supposed to, full of colors and textures, without its beauty being encumbered by fence and netting.

Even with all of that, I’m grateful. 

The hours I've spent in the garden are hours I've been able to work out my frustrations on why we have such a hard time getting our collective arms around the concept of equality and equal opportunity, and around the concept that all lives matter:  black and white and brown and yellow and red ones, and all of the colors in between.  Lives wearing police uniforms and lives wearing police jumpsuits, or hoodies, or even the god-awful hideous sagging pants. Lives wrapped in a rainbow flag, and lives of those who would chase rainbows looking for a pot of gold. Lives of ‘the believers’ and of those who believe something else entirely, or in nothing at all.  

What a mess we can make of things, and yet what an opportunity we have, I think while I’m out there in the fresh air, working on my garden melting pot.

And I've made progress, according to the guy riding by on his bike yesterday, who shouted an encouraging “keep up the good work, the garden’s coming along!” and the young woman giving a piggy-back ride to a child who made a point to remind me “I think I told you last year too, but I love your garden, it always makes me smile.”  Or one of the littlest who whispered “pretty flowers, Mommy!” as his family walked by, pointing shyly at the white and yellow daffodils, the grape hyacinths, and the miniature tulips in the bed closest to the sidewalk.

Yes, I’m surely grateful.  And it’s time to get back out there. 

Garden Notes, 6/17/11

Earlier this afternoon, I was sitting in the gazebo in the back garden, being entertained by a woodpecker hammering away on a locust tree a couple of yards up the street and by a houseful of baby wrens about twenty feet away from the gazebo.  When they’re awake, they keep up a constant chirping which turns into quite a clamor when their mom or dad comes by with food.  When I first went out to the gazebo, I was heckled by one of the parents, who eventually figured out I was not a threat. The parents remain very vigilant when they’re pestered by the cats that now call our garden home.  

Last December we lost our cat, Michael T.  Michael was a great garden cat.  He was no threat to the birds, or to our thriving woodchuck population either. We used to think MT and the chucks hung out, watching TV, drinking beers and sharing stories. And I was convinced that a bird could land on his head and he wouldn’t care. 

While he was a friend to most garden creatures, it was only on the very rarest of occasions that we’d see another cat hanging around.  Now that Michael’s gone, we have several. There’s a fluffy black and white one we’re pretty sure is Bubbles from next door. There’s a petite gray tiger (with a collar) who has a regular path she follows when she stops by, meandering through the garden closest to the house then down the shady walk leading to the rose garden, checking everything out along the way. 

We also have another larger (collarless) grey tiger, who stalks the area around the bird feeders, which is very troubling. There’s a Mutt and Jeff pair of white cats, liberally decorated with gray. The smaller one’s short haired and skittish; the larger one’s long-haired and grumpy, usually snarling at or actually fighting with his mini-me. And last, there’s a long-haired black cat; this one we also think might be a neighbor, as we’ve seen a similar one in the upstairs window next door.

My Sweet Baboo tells me that a garden needs a cat. I know it’s hard for him this year without Michael, who kept him company here for 14 summers. And I'm honestly trying to get comfortable with the idea of letting ours outside, free-range, instead of keeping them be in their kitty playpen.

But I think everyone would agree that having six that don’t belong to us is a bit much.

And now, back to our regular programming.

It’s been about two months since my last post. My overly long hiatus was in part accidental. For example, My Sweet Baboo developed a taste for reading his email more frequently than he used to. His time on the computer, which I welcome and encourage, takes away from my time on the computer. And of course, April and May are peak gardening times, as we move out of winter dormancy into the rebirth of spring. We’re both out in the yard, working through our separate lists of chores until we physically can’t do any more, or we run out of daylight. 

After a while, it got to be a sort of a game – how long could I stay out? Could I last until New York officially had a budget, for example? The budget was due on 4/1 by the way… and is still not done. Could I stay out until I had everything done in the garden? I think if I were done in the garden, I’d be pushing up daisies, instead of planting them. Could I enforce some kind of rule on who uses the computer when, so that MSB and I could happily co-exist in the techno-world? Ha! Neither of us is good at sticking to that type of schedule.  

In the end, I came back of my own accord, and without any new rules or constraints. What brought me back was simply that I missed writing, connecting, and venting. Before I go off on tangents (oil spills, politics, Helen Thomas, and the like) here’s the gist of what’s happened in my world in the past two months, in no particular order:

• We got a new kitten, Mookenzie Earl, who’s officially a boy and is now 10 weeks old. We discovered in a very scary way that our oldest cat Michael T suffers from congestive heart failure, which in cats is treated much like it is in humans – diuretics, blood thinners, heart medicine, and aspirin. He may not be with us a whole lot longer, but we’re going to make what time he has left as good as we can. 
• We visited our local Regional Market four times, seven local garden centers a total of 11 times, and made literally countless trips to Lowe’s and The Home Depot.  Fortunately, I'm getting 5% cash back on every purchase. 
• We removed and recycled five pine trees which were not expected to live when received, but eventually outgrew their area near the driveway, and replaced them with more manageable climbing vines.
• We moved two dogwoods from my garden in the front to MSB’s garden in the back after they too outgrew their original home.  
• We received seventeen plant shipments from our mail-order nurseries. With only two exceptions, everything we ordered lived to be planted – we each lost only one this year, which is really outstanding.  
• The gazebo is finished and landscaped (Michael T couldn’t be happier), the new fence is in, and the landscaping there will be done this weekend if all goes well.

Overall, we’re in really good shape for mid-June. We’re not sure whether we’ll still have anything blooming in August and September, since so much has come early, but we’ve done what we can to make a beautiful garden possible.

And now that we’ve got the gardens under control, I’ll be better able to keep the writing under control. The venting, well, that’s a story for another day.

 

Squirrel Appreciation Day?

I’m taking a break from the news of the day to focus on something a little closer to home. Very close to home, in fact: right in our garden, just off the patio.

We're talking squirrels. That there are only three in this picture is really a testament to my bad timing. Sometimes we'll have half a dozen or more lurking in, on, or around the feeders.

I had no idea there was such a thing as Squirrel Appreciation Day, which is celebrated (if that's the correct word) each January 21st. I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. After all, last year I learned there were two national societies focused on possums. So, nothing in the backyard creature world should really be a shock. (January 21st is also National Hugging Day although no one’s really recommending that anyone go out and hug a squirrel. I don't think).

Here in The Valley, every day is appreciation day for the little monsters. They appreciate My Sweet Baboo and the generous donations he makes to their good health and well being; they appreciate the birds who stay away, or get out of the way, until the squirrels are done eating; and they appreciate that Michael T, our only outside cat, is not at all interesting in getting himself a nice pair of squirrel mittens. They also appreciate the little maple, and the quince, that provide vantage points and launching pads up towards the feeders.

My Sweet Baboo, on the other hand, doesn’t appreciate the squirrels anywhere near as much as they appreciate him. They eat too much, they bother the birds, and they laugh at Michael T. We got some hot red pepper and MSB’s been adding it to the bird seed, but apparently it’s not hot enough to wean the squirrels off the feeders, or even to really slow them down.

The average squirrel needs to eat about a pound of food a week to maintain an active lifestyle. Our squirrels, all above average (think Lake Woebegon effect), are likely getting more than that...with a little kick to help keep them warm.

Take a look - I took these the other morning.

The Weekend Trifecta 10/04/09

A trifecta is generally described as a type of bet where, in order to win, the bettor must pick the top three finishers in the correct order. Here are the weekend’s top three:

• Pumpkins, cornstalks, and apple fritters (yes, we had them again). I was talking with a friend of mine in our Rochester office the other day. He and his family used to live a few minutes south of here, but sold their house and moved closer to the Mother Ship. One thing he misses since he moved is getting pumpkins at Hourigan’s Farm. They have the best selection, all different sizes and shapes and yes, colors – and all pumpkins are $2 or less. They also have gourds, and pie pumpkins, and corn stalks, and Indian corn, and seasonal squash for sale, and even hayrides. It looks right, it smells right, and it’s always on our list as well. Today we got several pumpkins and some corn stalks with great tassels for the porch and for the fences in the front garden,as well as gourds for inside. I got everything decorated, and we look pretty good. And, happily, the orchard with the great fritters I mentioned a couple of weeks ago is between the pumpkins and home, so we made a stop there as well.
  
• Fall in the garden. The black walnuts were all picked up, the lawn is mowed front and back, and we’re still getting quite a bit of blooming for this late. Roses, including the ones in My Sweet Baboo’s garden, a couple we have in pots, and my minis and Happy Chappys are all blooming, as are a few of my remaining Simplicity hedge roses. The mums are all coming along now, as are the asters, and we both still have blanket flowers blooming along side the several different varieties of sedum that are very pretty this time of year. And dandelions – sadly, I saw one of the bright yellow demons today when I was mowing - it just doesn’t seem fair! I got the first 50 bulbs in today – daffodils and most of the green tulips I ordered. We started getting the more tender of the houseplants back inside, and I’ve put some time into trying to figure out how they all came out of the house, since I can’t figure out where to put them all now…
  
• ...Which brings me to number three on the list – rearranging furniture. It’s not so much the rearranging that puts it on the top three, it’s the being done with rearranging that helps this one make the list. A couple times a year, I rearrange the plant room. Saturday I decided that this was the time to do it, since we were bringing some of the plants back in. In my family, rearranging furniture is always done by the women, and usually when it’s dark. My Mom and I never used to even start until dark, and typically didn’t finish until well past our bedtime. Today, I got an uncharacteristically early start – around 5 – and had most of the heavy lifting done before dinner. After that it was a piece of cake to at least get everything back in the room. I’ll do the final stuff tomorrow but at least I don’t have a coffee table in the dining room anymore.

Hope you were able to take advantage of this fantastic weekend!

The Update Desk

My Sweet Baboo and I returned Sunday night from a quick trip to the Lake Champlain area of New York, with side trips to Ausable Chasm, the connecting islands between New York and Vermont, and a long ride on Route 100, a beautiful trip on a perfect fall day. On both the way up and back, we avoided major highways and meandered through the Adirondacks instead. It takes longer, but it's worth it. We came home relaxed, refreshed and ready to head into the last quarter of the year.

I'm now hoping to find time to download and organize all of my pictures; this trip I went solely digital, while MSB brought along his regular camera and several lenses. I get the sense that, as usual, his pictures will be better than mine, but I had a few that I think are OK, and will be posting some up in the coming days. And, because of the trip, I’m a little out of touch with what's been going on in the world and behind on my reading, but I thought I’d provide some updates on some previous posts.

Regarding President Obama’s intervention into New York politics, most everyone in the state agreed with me that it’s our responsibility to vote folks out, not Washington’s responsibility to 'encourage' them out. In this poll, taken a few days after the news broke, 62% of New Yorkers indicated that Obama should stay out of the race.

After the shenanigans in Albany earlier this year, where Republicans adopted a couple of ethically challenged Democrats and ‘stole’ the Majority, only to have the Dems ultimately regain power through some very shady dealings of their own, I wrote to my State Senator asking for responses to some simple questions. I never did hear back from him; I’ll keep trying, though.

I did hear just a few days ago from NY’s Junior Senator, Kirsten Gillibrand, after I sent in a postcard to her asking that she not support the kind of health care reform that could theoretically put my regional, not for profit health insurance company out of business and me out of a job. She basically thanked me for writing, then proceeded to completely ignore my opinion but tell me hers, which was in support of a public option.

Today, the Senate Finance Committee failed to get approval for a couple different versions of public option. I hope they’ll keep trying to get real reform, in a thoughtful and fiscally sound way, just as my company will continue to support other significant health care reforms. Let the debate continue, sanely, until a solid solution can be realized.

Last, in this post from March, I talked about the trees that MSB and I started to care for after they were planted on an empty lot several blocks down the road. We had hoped to be able to tend to them throughout the spring and summer, but they were in the middle of a construction zone from April through last week. Now, it's too late for us to prune them. We’ll check back in with them in the spring, and hope for better luck next year.

The Weekend Trifecta 9/13/09

A trifecta is generally described as a type of bet where, in order to win, the bettor must pick the top three finishers in the correct order. Here are the weekend’s top three:

Alegria . We attended this Cirque du Soleil extravaganza which was in town for several shows over the past few days, featured tumblers, fire jugglers, clowns, contortionists, aerialists, a hand balancer, a guy who spun around in a ring so many times I got dizzy just watching him, and a few other characters which defy description, as well as a great band, a moving stage, and some really good-spirited audience members who ended up being in the show by virtue of having seats on the floor. One man was dragged away by the band, another was pulled up on stage to dance with one of the characters, and the last did a great set with the clowns. Cirque du Soleil has been on my list of things to see since I first became aware of it (them?) a few years back. I missed opportunities twice to see their shows in Las Vegas, but My Sweet Baboo and I had great seats on Saturday and really enjoyed the show.

Antiques and apple fritters on a Sunday afternoon. I received an unexpected email Saturday, from the proprietor of my favorite local antiques place, offering a one-day unadvertised sale. Frank is one of a kind, with a knack for making us smile whenever we visit. I’ve been going to his place for a good 10 years or more, with the ex and of course with MSB, and each time is a treat. We don’t always buy anything, but we always have a good time and a good conversation. After all, how can you not have fun with someone who places ads that include stuff like this:

“…Only here might you find Queen Anne's Lace ... the ceremonial shawl, woven by skilled pygmies, that she wore when assuming the English throne. Only here will you find Milton Berle's pajamas -- the top half, anyway. (You can still smell traces of lilac-in-winter talc.) ONLY the Granary brings you such wonders and many more. The antiques we've mentioned may well be gone when you arrive…”

We did manage to find a couple of things today, nothing major, but good purchases. On the way home, we stopped at one of the local orchards for apple fritters – hot, perfectly sweet, and delicious.

Bulbs, bulbs, and more bulbs. I’ve talked before about the process we follow leading into the spring flower planting season. In the fall, I typically go through a few catalogs, pick out a few bulbs, and get my order in usually by mid-August. I had been resisting getting any more bulbs this year, in part because I got so many last year (a couple hundred daffodils alone) and had decided that maybe I wouldn’t do any fall garden shopping this year. Then I started getting emails letting me know to watch for the fall catalogs…then the fall catalogs themselves…then emails letting me know about specials beyond the great deals in the catalogs. Today, however, I finally succumbed to the siren’s song and purchased more lilies, allium, and yes, daffodils, as well as some striking green tulips. So, now I have more work to do in the yard. I’ve got just the spot to put these new bulbs… Of course I do – I just have to dig out some rocks, pull some vines, move a few things around… you get the picture. Can’t wait to get started!

Speaking of pictures, here are some shots of the fall garden. Enjoy, and have a great week!

A Perfect Weekend

I'm not at all sure what they were doing in Albany yesterday and today - probably working on the Bipartisan Caucus For Our Future (BiCauFoF), or at least working on Hiram what's his name (the one with the slashing charge hanging over his head) to make sure he stays in the fold. Last seen, he was walking out of the Senate leaving the BiCauFoF behind and the new reform majority in doubt.

My Sweet Baboo and I, on the other hand, spent two days in the garden and while we are exhausted, the fruits of our labor are clearly visible. Pruning, transplanting, weeding, mulching, watering, fencing (more him than me) putting a few last perennials, and getting the lawn mowed were our priorities.

We have roses, poppies, grasses, dianthus, coleus, geum, guara, coral bells, coreopsis, geraniums, sedums, spirea, peonies, brooms, flax, butterfly weeds, lilies, alliums, lavender, coneflowers, lupines, irises, spiderwort, red hot pokers, yarrow, bee balm, potentilla, veronica, salvia, poppy mallow, evening primrose, ferns, hostas, clematis, artemesia, yarrow, hollyhock, daisies, and I don't know what all else either here, on the way, or just winding down.

Here are the latest photos -- enjoy!

Garden Therapy

My apologies - I've been neglecting you... and myself. My writing has taken a back seat for the past couple of weeks to my 'other therapy' - garden therapy.

As I mentioned back in February, both MSB and I spend the winter devouring catalogs from our favorite plant places, and then we separately place our orders for new perennials to fill in the gaps in our existing gardens, or to populate the new beds we simply must have. Then, spring comes, the boxes start arriving (much to the chagrin of the UPS and FedEx drivers). Typically we get the plants either while we're on vacation, or just when we return, and we have a flurry of activity trying to get everything sorted, watered and reconditioned after shipping, and then in the ground as quickly as reasonably possible.

Both of us had new beds to put in this year. I started mine on our last day of vacation, when it ended up being 92 degrees. That is not the best weather to dig a new garden, trust me - especially a bed for sun-loving perennials, and one that required removing roots the size of my arm and as long as my leg. By the time it was all dug, turned, and ready for planting, I was still waiting for plants. For almost two weeks, the garden sat there in anticipation, waiting for something to happen other than a constant bombardment with maple tree 'helicopters'. Eventually, everything arrived; we made a few side trips to local plant shops, and I had enough little ones in the garden to feel comfortable. Down went the mulch. And out came the sun. And more sun, and more sun.

Evenings when I would have been writing, or at least thinking about writing, were spent watering - carefully and conservatively, of course - so that all my hard work wouldn't go to waste. Fortunately, my new mini roses, scabiosa, dwarf delphiniums, geraniums, verbascum, and all the rest, are doing well - and of course we've just had several days of rain, so they're actually coming along nicely.

So are the other gardens. The new daffs were great this year, all 300+ of them; the tulips were pretty good considering they're a few years old and not as prolific as when they're new; and now the roses and lavender have buds, the salvia is blooming, and of course, it's iris season too. Seemed like as soon as I changed from the tulip porch flag to the iris one, I triggered the blooms.

Even with all the rain we've had, they're holding up pretty well. Hopefully you'll understand where I've been, and I'll be able to get back on track with the pastiche.

Sue

St Patrick's Day

Revisiting another post from 2009. No corned beef this year, and a little too early (and cold) for the garden to wake up, but I just know it's not far off...

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I was hard-pressed today to determine which I liked better, the house filled with the aroma of corned beef roasting slowly in the oven, or the smell of spring that greeted me as soon as My Sweet Baboo opened the bedroom window, put up the storm and pulled down the screen. Each could have stood independently as the sign of a great day, but taken together they were almost intoxicating.

It’s been a beautiful three or four days here in The Valley – I don’t remember for sure how many nice ones we’ve strung in a row, because I get a little lost in each of them, especially at this time of the year.

Our winters start early and end late, it seems – and we can generally count on about 120 inches of snow on average. This year we’re up around the 140-inch mark, I think. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like all of the snow is on the ground at the same time – it’s just a big number when the TV meteorologists start doing the math.

When we have days like this in March – and there were a couple even warmer earlier in the month - there’s a temptation to do too much. Too much raking, too much pruning, too much cleaning up around the perennials. We tend to focus on the fact that we can be outside in the garden, we can shake off some of our winter doldrums, we can try and take advantage of every minute of the day.

What we forget is that Mother Nature has to catch up to our exuberance. We forget that she’s got a plan (and I think at least part of the plan includes torture, by the way), and we have to remember the patience that we hung up with the hand tools last fall.

Today, I enjoyed a walk in the yard, and took a picture or two, mostly to send to my brother who still has several inches of snow on the ground in southwestern New Hampshire. I admired the progress that our daffodils, tulips, irises and lilacs have made in the past few days; I watched as sap dripped out of the sugar maple, and fell into the garden below. But then, I got closer to the house, and caught a whiff of the corned beef, and reminded myself that it’s still only the middle of March.

I’ll have hours and hours to enjoy being outside in the coming weeks and months, but the corned beef is a treat that we only have this week.

Today, the kitchen trumped the garden.

A Refreshing Snowfall

A short time ago, I posted some pictures I had taken of my garden in the snow. The photos were taken earlier in the winter, as at the time we had just experienced a February thaw and had a couple of days in the high forties or low fifties, which melted much of the snow. What was left was pretty dingy and very unattractive, and the garden was not looking her best.

I'm happy to say that's not an issue now, as we had a good seven or eight inches of nice fluffy snow and the garden again looks fresh and clean, and reminds me of why we don't cut everything down at the end of the gardening season. We were fortunate here in The Valley as far as snowfall goes - north of the city, some areas had two feet or more fall in 24 hours.

Last night, close to 11PM, My Sweet Baboo and I were taking night shots of his garden, which encompasses about two-thirds of our yard. This morning, I was out wandering around, the snow cresting the tops of my Dad's old boots, getting some shots in the daylight, and enjoying the beauty of the freshly fallen snow.

Here's some of the keepers - enjoy!

Sue

MSB's Garden at Night

MSB's Garden 2/21/09

Garden Sunday in The Valley

Today was 'Garden Sunday' for me, my annual exercise in front of the computer with my stack of garden catalogs, websites to visit and the new year's spreadsheet for tracking vendor, plant name, color, shipped size, mature size, sun requirements, bloom time, special features, and the all important price column.

This is actually the second phase of my gardening 'process'. The first step for me is spending weeknights in January wrapped up with comforters and cats, a mug of decaf close by, thumbing through the catalogs that seem to arrive almost daily. I bend page corners, or slap post-it notes on things that catch my eye, not really paying any attention to whether the plants will grow in our area or not - it's just a free-for-all, a smorgasbord, and I pretend that anything and everything is possible.

From that point, I end up where I was today, building my spreadsheet of zone-appropriate plants. The last step comes later this week. Sometime before the weekend, I'll have compared this year's spreadsheet to those of the past few years, comparing notes and trying not to purchase things I've already got growing, or ones that failed me in the past. My final list will be done and I'll get my orders placed.

In a few short weeks, I'll see the fruits of last fall's labor, where for the second year in a row I planted about 500 bulbs (don't ask). With any luck at all, most of them will come up and we'll have an explosion of daffodils, tulips, and who knows what else greeting us. The tender new perennials will begin arriving about then, and I'll be able to work them in among the bulbs and the existing perennials and then reap the rewards until late fall and on into winter. At least, that's the plan. I'll keep you posted on how it all works out.

Today, my garden didn't look that great. The snow's no longer fresh; actually it's pretty dirty and has started to melt. Overall it's pretty grey outside. Fortunately, I did get some pictures earlier in the winter, and they're here for your viewing pleasure.

Sue