Black Spot

The roses in my backyard struggle.

When I selected the bushes five years ago, my criteria, in descending order of importance, were: climbing, disease resistant, fragrance, then color. The first two years, I thought I'd done well - they got established, started growing, and produced a beautiful array of fragrant peach-colored blossoms.

Then, the disease gods struck, and I went out one day to find the leaves covered in black spots. The first year, I used some commercial fungal treatment with some degree of success. But then, to my dismay, I was told the product made the flowers toxic for the bees. The bees are important to me, so off the list that stuff went.

Well, if you're not going to use the anti-fungal stuff, the only remedy recommended by the internet is to pick off the diseased leaves, and then hope for the best, which is what I've done the last two summers. 

It's kind of hard to watch. The bushes are hardy, and as long as I'm diligent about pulling off the diseased leaves, they've been right behind me, shooting out new leaves. But after a short time, the fungus affects those new leaves, and the whole process repeats.

This year, the bushes started out with vigor, covered with healthy green leaves and beautiful flowers. Then, the rain and the heat came in together, and (I think) reactivated the fungus, and I've been back out there this week, my heart breaking just a little, beginning the process of pulling off leaves for a third year.

My landscape architect friend has watched all this with some dismay. She's one of the best plant people I know, and even she just shook her head when she stopped by one day. She recommended I just give the plants a shovel-upgrade. (i.e. Let nature do what it's gonna do, and just dig them up and replace them.)

I've given her suggestion a lot of thought, she does know of which she speaks, but I haven't had the heart to follow through, at least not yet.

The bushes have become a physical metaphor for me; they represent my fears surrounding all the hard stuff in the news. Wars are looming, disease is still rampant, we've missed the window (I fear) on climate control - and those are just the top three. It's bleak, but I'm not ready to give up yet.

Where there's life, there's hope. As long as my bushes are willing to fight the good fight, I'll do all I can to help them along. As long as there are people in the world willing to fight back against fear, I'm on their side. Unfortunately for my peace of mind, it's a lot harder to know what to do for the latter.  

The bushes are easy. As long as they have enough oomph to produce new leaves, I will pull off the diseased ones. And should they run out of oomph, I will be able to hold tight to the memory of the beauty they brought to my little corner of the world while they were here.

Knowing what bit I can do to save the world is harder. But I'll keep working, in the small ways I work, to help Good as best I can, because I can.

Bedbugs - Maybe Gone? For Real This Time!

I started my latest outwit-the-bedbugs campaign back in January, this is June. In between, I’ve gone over to Kevin’s place every week that I could (that’s all but about three of them), and vacuumed the floor and washed down the walls around his bed (to clean up the bits of blood; i.e. bug poop). I've inspected the bed and surrounding area for signs of activity, killing all the bugs I could find. I made him wash his sheets and keep the area around the bed clear of stuff.

I wanted to make him do the work, but every time I talked to him about it, I could tell he wouldn’t do it. Maybe it was too complicated? Physically, he is no longer agile, and doesn’t bend well, and there isn’t a lot of space to move stuff around, so the cleaning is difficult. He also couldn't quite comprehend why I was doing what I was doing. He didn’t believe it would make any difference, and doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to do; things that don't make sense to him. (I hate to say this, but I really think he'd have let himself get put back on the street rather than do the weekly cleanings - brain injuries are weird...)

The first week I cleaned, I found a LOT of bugs. Ignoring his protestations, I made him get rid of all the cardboard boxes in the bedroom, along with all but the most vital of contents, which I thoroughly inspected and encased in plastic before setting aside. I was encouraged when, the following week, I found fewer bugs. The next, even fewer, until the last three weekly trips, when I found bug tracks, but no actual bugs in the traps or on his bed. Progress!

As time ground on, my fear of the bugs has lessened. It turns out they’re not like wood ticks or fleas. They don’t try to get to you as long as you’re awake and moving. They really just want to eat, then be left alone to digest their meal. And they don't want to travel far to eat - they prefer to live within a few feet of the restaurant. As I was cleaning and would find them, they'd never come at me. They’d either try to walk away, or sit there in one spot, hoping to be overlooked. (I did my best not to overlook any…) 

My peace of mind was helped along by the cooperation of the building manager. She gave me access to her private bathroom, so I could change clothes and towel down when I'd finished each day. After I changed, I put the clothes I'd been wearing into ziplock bags, so I was able to greatly reduce the risk of carrying hitchhikers home.

And, each week, when I was done cleaning, I’d stop down and talk to her. I'd report what I'd found, and see if she'd scheduled a new heat treatment yet. Each week, I was able to tell her I’d been able to lower the bug population with what I was doing, but also told her I would not be able to eliminate them without professional assistance. 

After the first month, when I kept coming back, she sorta listened to me, and scheduled in another chemical treatment. (I think I wore her down.) She’d hired a new bug treatment company at the start of the year, and it's a vast improvement - the new people actually try to track down and actually treat the bugs, as opposed to just spraying some goop around the middle of the room, the way the other company did. They went so far as to pull the baseboard off the walls so they could better treat behind them, once it was clear that was one of the places the bedbugs were nesting.

The chemical treatment helped, but I still found evidence of the infestation week after week. I'd go on over, clean the place up, report what I'd found, repeat. I gotta admit, I got tired of the routine long before she got tired of me stopping by every Tuesday morning with my weekly report. But, once it became clear I wasn't going to go away, she finally relented and got approval to get the company to do another heat treatment.

A couple of weeks ago, after the treatment, I gave the place one more cleaning, hoping that maybe, finally, I could close this chapter of my Kevin story. (It’s not one of my favorite chapters. It's too long, and is repetitive and tedious.) 

I went back this last week to find…. NO evidence of active bedbugs! No bugs in the traps around the legs of the bed. No new bug poop spots on the walls. No shed skins, no sign of eggs. First time ever.

This time, I’m going to give it a month before I go back. I really, really, really (that’s three reallys) hope, when I return, I will again find no evidence of bugs. If I do, I will continue to do what I’ve been doing. It’s working, and sooner or later, I am determined to win this war. I refuse to be bested by a bunch of shy bugs.

Senior Moment

I gotta admit, I never really thought it would happen to me.

I was in the doctor's office the other day, getting a bit of skin cancer cut out (PSA: Wear your sunscreen!), and the nurse was running down a standard list of dos and don'ts for the next couple of weeks, and then she said, "I'll call you tomorrow to make sure you're doing OK."

I was a bit surprised, so asked, "You make those calls on Saturdays?"

She gave me one of ...those... looks. "Tomorrow is Tuesday."

Hmph. I know between retirement and COVID time I may occasionally get a bit fuzzy on the day of the week, but this is the first time I've been flat wrong.

I knew it was Monday when I woke up that day. I knew it was Monday when I got my butt moving and to the doctor's office on time for the procedure. I have no frickin' clue why it was Friday in my head by the time I had that conversation. 

I'm not actually concerned for my memory (yet), and if one looks such things up on the internet, one quickly finds out things like this are a normal part of aging. But, still. At that moment, until she looked at me like I had two heads, I'd have sworn it was Friday. It's a lot disconcerting.

I suppose I could/should take it as a sign I'm finally settling into retired life. I mean, for the 40-ish years I was gainfully employed, I can promise you I NEVER ONCE confused a Monday with a Friday.

And, I gotta admit, I kind of miss it. Not the working part. But the part where I'd leave work on Friday savoring the coming two days of freedom; knowing I got to be the boss of me for the next two days.

*sigh* It's just not as fun when I'm my full-time boss.

At least I'm not alone in my dang-this-retirement-stuff-takes-practice boat. I was talking to someone this morning, and he is also finding it a challenge to transition from a life of doing to a life of being. (As he put it. I like his phrasing.)

I'll keep working on it. Whichever day of the week it happens to be.

Spring Gardening

It's spring and the earth calls to my soul.

It's time to be outside and tend to the garden. I'd been traveling for the last several weeks, so mine got a jump on the season without me. When I left, the shoots in the butterfly garden had just begun to sprout. 

By the time I got back last week, the spring blooms were in full flower. White, pink, purple and blue Bachelor Buttons and tiny red flowers for which I have no name. Chives and sage in purple, peonies in pink. Orange roses and pink Weigelia blossoms. You'd think the colors might clash, but that's not how nature works.

This last week we got a break from the unseasonably hot weather (which is why all the above are blooming at the same time), and I was able to get out in the yard and start to rein in the weeds. The sun was warm without being hot, the breeze cool, the ground pliable beneath my hands, the smells amazing. As I worked, I unearthed a good measure of peace for my soul. *I pause for a moment to appreciate all of the above*

The weeds weren't TOO bad, so I even had time to get to the plant store and pick up some perennials to fill some blank spaces in the beds. Someday, I may actually do some research before I go, but this time I went back to my tried-and-true method of going to the proper section of the nursery (partial shade, native perennials) and picking hummingbird and butterfly friendly plants that I like the look of.

Fortunately, I took time to run the flowers past Google when I got them home, to make sure they'd work in the beds I had in mind for them, before I planted them. Turns out the innocent looking, kind of frail, traily ones I thought would be perfect next to my porch swing put down a 12' tap root over time. Probably not the best choice for my raised bed.

But there are plenty of empty spots in my garden, and I had a lovely time yesterday figuring out what to put where (this is the part many people do BEFORE buying the plants, but hey. I often do things different from many people), and setting the plants in the ground.

This morning, I noticed one of the yard bunnies nosing about several of the new garden additions. I went out there and chased her away, but I'm afraid I may lose this battle. She spends WAY more time out in the yard than I do. Oh, well. All God's children gotta eat.

Spring! Ahhhhh.....

Forever in Blue Jeans

One of the projects we tackled together when I was out in California this last visit was to sort through my granddaughter's clothes closet. It's never a fun task, but it often goes better with someone around to offer opinions on what needs to stay, and what needs to go.

As we were sorting through the assorted items - this is good, this is outgrown (the biggest pile), this she never wears - we came across a brand new pair of blue jeans; they'd never been worn.

My granddaughter promptly put them into the go-away pile. I couldn't figure out why, and pulled them back out. They were blue jean blue jeans - nothing special about them, neither ugly nor fashionable, and they looked like they'd still fit.

She begrudgingly tried them on, and sure enough, they fit just fine, but she still wanted them to go because she has no use for them.

No use for blue jeans?

My brain couldn't compute.

I am a child of the seventies. We wore blue jeans everywhere for everything. I still wear them more days than not, especially in the wintertime.

Her mother tried to explain.

She lives in California. While winter there is chilly, it rarely dips below freezing, so she doesn't need a good pair to block the wind on the coldest days. They have a housekeeper, so she doesn't need them to do the deep cleaning. They have no yard, so she doesn't need them to avoid getting her skin irritated by weeds or covered in bug bites while caring for the plants. When she goes hiking, she just lets the assorted sticker-plants snag up her leg coverings of choice, or wears shorts. And, blue jeans aren't cool, the other kids at school don't wear them, so she doesn't want to wear them either.

My head eventually got it, but my gut still just can't go there. Not cool?  Blue jeans?

A life where blue jeans are superfluous???

A life where one NEVER plays in the mud? A life devoid of home repairs and projects in the shop? A life where you never need to block the north wind as you trek around the park in the cold of winter? A life where you don't worry about poison ivy or bug bites? Where you're not getting down on your hands and knees to scrub the floor? Where you don't wear them just because they're sturdy and comfortable?

As I write, it occurs to me that she probably has a LOT of company; that there are a lot of people whose lives don't include blue-jeans-type tasks. Ah, well. Good for them. I'm sure they live happy and fulfilled lives, don't even notice the gap in their wardrobes, and wouldn't care if they did.

I'm just glad I don't count myself in their number.

E for Effort

I am visiting my daughter in California, and while the beach was too windy and cold to go with Plan A, which was to spend the day there, the weather where she lives, inland just a bit, is just what the doctor ordered. Temps in the low sixties, a light breeze, a bright blue sky - perfect hiking weather for my last day here.

I've been walking her dog, Sylvester, most days while I've been in town. There are trailheads for a gorgeous state park about a half mile down the road, and I like to wander in just a ways when I'm out and about, but the SillyDog, as I call him, will have nothing to do with it when he's along for the walk.

He willingly walks to the park gate, but when I try to go beyond it, he stops. Balks, makes me drag him along before reluctantly trotting a few steps, or, just lies down and refuses to go any further. When I give up and turn for home, he gets up and trots ahead happily. *sigh*

Kate and I have talked over possible reasons for his behavior, because he usually LOVES to go out for walks. The most plausible theory was that he gets thirsty by the time we get that far, and just wants to go home and get some water.

This morning, I decided to take a chance and test the theory. I gathered a few hiking essentials and the SillyDog and set out for a midmorning hike. He trotted willingly ahead of me until we got to the park, then sat down right on schedule. I was prepared, got out the portable bowl and extra water I'd brought with me for just this event, and was pleasantly surprised to have my theory pan out. He lapped up the water, then happily trotted ahead on down the trail. 

All went well for the first couple of turns, then he began balking and pulling back on the leash. I stopped to check his feet, and found both a few of the burrs I'd suspected would be present, and a LOT of grass seeds - those long, skinny things with little hooks on the end. I'd come prepared with a set of scissors to cut out the burrs as we found them, so was able to clear the fur around his paws.

We set out once again, and I found out that SillyDog is not a great master of the concept of cause and effect. The trail itself was fine, but he insisted on jumping off time and again to check out the fascinating smells to the side (can I really blame him?), and the minute he did so, his feet were once again full of pricklies.

After the fourth time he sat down, I gave up. I gave him another drink, re-cleared the stickers, and reluctantly turned to head for home. We'd given it a good shot; I'll give us an E for Effort.

As we trekked back, I was grateful that even if it hadn't been the hike I'd hoped for, it was way better than nothing. It was only a 45 minute break from reality, but for that short time, I was able to look around and see nothing but nature. Wildflowers in abundance, some of the plants taller than I. Lizards and butterflies. Thin, wispy, clouds and brilliant blue sky.

For that short time, I was able to forget about all that is wrong in the world, and to see only what is right. 

*happy sigh*. Good (still) Is.

Financial Fiction

In the midst of the brouhaha around Elon Musk's offer to buy Twitter, I saw one comment that said, "for that amount, he could give $1,000,000 to each of the 330,000,000 people in the US, and still have 9 billion left over". Now, this person is clearly math-challenged (what are four zeros, give or take, between friends?), but the statement got me to thinking. 

At first I was all for it. I mean, if a $2000 stimulus payment was enough to help people through the pandemic, a cool mil in each person's pocket would... irreversibly upend our entire financial system, expose for once and for all the fiction that money equates to value, and cause complete and utter chaos. Wait. That's not where I wanted to go with that. But, it's true.

Our economic system only works if some of the people have to work. Without a money-carrot to hold out in front of people, how would you be able to convince anyone to do our essential but thankless jobs? Restaurant servers, shelf stockers, strawberry harvesters, garbage picker-uppers - I know if I were in their shoes, I'd have my notice turned in about three microseconds after the money landed in my account.

The money would change the common denominator in our calculations of wealth. Narrowing my focus to the current housing bubble - a year ago the house down the street rented for $2000/month. The tenant is moving out at the end of the month, and the owner put it up for rent at $3000/month - and had it rented within the day. Now, if everyone and their brother had access to a million dollars, what would that do to the rent? The number of available housing units vs the number of people seeking dwellings doesn't change in this equation, nor does the instinct to extract maximum value from one's investments. I'm pretty sure, in this case, the rent would skyrocket to account for the new minimum bank account balances in very short order. 

The value of money is a fiction, but a useful one. Take apples. I like apples, but have no wish to get my next one by taking a seed from one of the apples in the fridge, planting it in the back yard, and hoping I'm still around and able to pick apples when the tree gets large enough to bear fruit. (Yes, the first glaring assumption here is that the seeds of the apple in my house are viable. That's a topic for another time.) But if I have a dollar, I know I can take my dollar to the store and buy an apple. We've all agreed to pay the people who have the land and the climate and the oomph to successfully nurture apples a dollar each for their priceless harvest. What's the true value of the apple? That depends. How hungry am I?

Money only works because we all believe in it. It has value only because you and I agree that it does.

Here's hoping we keep believing. Life has been interesting enough these past few years without adding total societal breakdown to the mix.

Spring Traffic

Spring is making up for lost time hereabouts.

Out driving today, I was struck by the brilliant green of the newly unfurled leaves; a green I didn't see just a few days ago when driving the same route.

The birds and yard bunnies have taken to hanging out in my front yard when they're hungry in the mornings and late evenings. I like to watch as the cardinals, robins, sparrows, the occasional woodpecker, and the other birds I don't recognize on sight, take off and land, stopping to get their fill. 

The items  offered for their dining delight are a freewheeling mixture of clover, wild violets, wild strawberries and grass, along with the assorted bugs who like to hang around the salad bar. (I have given into peer pressure, and while I still cheer for the dandelions in my heart, I do pull them out of the yard so as to not incur glares from the neighbors who don't appreciate their flagrant beauty. I need no feedback from the neighbors to pull the crabgrass when its season arrives - that stuff doesn't share well, and is ugly to boot.) 

I find it interesting that while my avian friends do pass through my back yard, which is about fifty square feet of pristine grass (manually weeded to protect the bees), they haven't been lingering there. I'm guessing all those people who write articles in the eco-magazines are correct - the mono-culture of the grass just doesn't taste very good. I do know, from past experience, once the flowers start blooming in their beds, the birds will be visiting - but this is the first year I've noticed the way they shun the space until the blooms arrive. Food for thought.

These sights and the fresh aromas that accompany them have been helping to ground and center my soul. They help me to know all is not lost. Truth be told, I need the reminder.

I don't find much to like in the news from the outside world these days. I am glad I have a place brimming with positive proof the cycle of life is not completely broken to balance the bleakness portrayed there.

Here's to Spring. Here's to its life-giving new growth; its healing energy; the way it embodies hope fulfilled.

Good Is.

Growing

It's been two years since I got a starter from one of my daughter-in-law's succulents. I brought the bit of green home, stuck it in some dirt, and there it's been, ever since.

I've watered it faithfully, and it never turned brown, but it never grew, either. It sat quietly in its pot, neither growing nor dying, but just waiting. I can relate.

This past week, when I went to water it, I noticed something new about my quiet friend - there was a swelling at the top! After all this time, the plant has decided conditions are right to take a chance and to grow.

It still doesn't look like much, just a little bump of fresh green growth perched on top of the branch in the dirt, but it's there. Again, I can relate.

With the coming of spring, something inside has eased, and I have left the liminal space where I'd been lingering for the last two years.

I must admit, I'm a bit puzzled. My life doesn't look any different. I still haven't figured out what I want to do when I grow up. The difference is that this year, with the coming of spring, I no longer care that I don't know. Why the change, I'm not sure.

I've been waking up a little earlier, as I've wanted to do since retiring. Better, when I wake up, I don't have to have a 45 minute argument with myself about why I need to get out of bed. (I was beyond tired of arguing with me every morning...) There are no more foot-dragging I-don't-wanna-you-can't-make-me discussions. Rather, I open my eyes, spend a few minutes shaking off my dreams and orienting myself to the waking world, and get out of bed. I was beginning to think the concept was beyond me!

I no longer consistently run out of energy just before dinner. Turns out I can get a lot more done in a day if I can do some of it after 6 PM, so I've started to make progress on some projects. I have more interest in moving on; in figuring out options for things to do beyond my four walls. I've been reaching out to friends, reconnecting over lunch or dinner or coffee. 

Things are still messy as ever in the larger world. COVID has started its surge-of-the-month, and the drumbeats of war sound loud on the horizon. But within, something has healed, and I am beginning to grow anyways.

I feel a little - is guilty the right word? - for finding a sense of peace when there is so much upset in the larger world, but at the same time, I feel relief. 

Tomorrow will bring what it will, but I am able to enjoy today anyways.

It's a nice feeling. 

Alpaca Show

 

When you just KNOW
 the best bits are hidden
 at the very bottom of the bowl!

This past weekend, I took a couple of hours and went down to the Kansas City Alpaca Show with some friends.

Yes, the newspaper headlines still scream of the latest atrocities of war. Too many people were shot, and too many more are still struggling with the effects of long covid. Politics have settled down not one bit, and it doesn't look like the series of climate change crises sweeping across the earth will abate anytime soon.

But, here in Kansas City, people came in from Colorado, Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, and Arkansas. They loaded up their shampoo and their blow-dryers and their alpacas, and came to town for the big show. 

There were show rings and ribbons galore for the best and prettiest and spittiest and whatever-est animals. (I am clearly of absolutely no use when it's time to declare one soft, beautiful, fluffy or dreadlock-bedecked, animal better than another.) 

There were a few women spinning fluff into yarn, one making a sort of rope from her hanging spools. There were alpaca socks and soft animals and yarn and garments. There were dryer balls and a few books and a booth where you could buy a new leash for your alpaca.

There were several aisles of cages, most filled with animals waiting for their turn in the ring. I was honored to be there with several small children, so I took a three year-old by the hand, and we wandered off to whichever cage caught her eye to admire the wonders within. It was fun to watch - she was careful to look only with her eyes, but would put her face right up to the cage bars. Once, the animals inside were curious enough to walk up and peer back at her in return - she jumped back with a squeal; not sure exactly what they would do. (They just looked...)

It was a lovely spot of normal. So often these days, I feel like the entire world has spun off balance. I needed to be reminded there are people who live in a world that includes alpacas on a daily basis. It was good for me to see they are keeping on keeping on, caring for and loving their animals as they always have. 

Life, normal life, goes on. *whew!*