Lulu

So I went to the pet store a week ago to pick up some of Lily’s favorite treats. Every weekend there are pet adoptions there and we walked over to where the puppies and dogs were. There, by herself in a crate was a little white dog with a black face. She looked so much like my little rescue dog Murphy I thought for a minute it was Murphy. But she was very sweet, so playful. I asked the lady if I could foster her for a week. She said to come back at the end of the day, if Lulu was still there I could foster her. I said I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be there if I left without her so the lady said I could take her right then.

Thank you.

The first thing Lulu did was confiscate all of Lily’s toys. She especially loved the squeaky ones. Now mind you, Lily has ignored her toys since the day I bought them. Every one of them. But now that Lulu wanted them they were precious to her. Well she had to get over that, and she did.

Next Lulu appropriated every bed in the house that belongs to Lily, which would be 6 beds. Lily was not happy at all but eventually once she saw that I found ways to encourage Lulu to sit on one while Lily could have another it all worked out.

I discovered that long walks in the woods or on trails is a good way to encourage camaraderie between dogs who are strangers. This works well, especially when one of the dogs is friendly, playful and wide open about life and all things new. Lulu is this dog. Lily loves life, but not when it encroaches on all she knows and loves. Still, she was open to this new friendly little dog.

So this week also was the week the Arboretum, where I’ve just finished the Master Gardener program is having their annual plant sale. They needed lots of help, and people to staff the plant clinic. I had signed on for this for a couple of shifts which put me out of the house for 3-hour stretches. Praying that I would not return home to blood spatters and wounded souls I managed to get through these as well as a tour of a local historic garden to find all quiet on the home front and 2 pair of beady eyes very happy to see me.

Today I returned to the pet store to properly adopt Lulu and was told by the very kind and friendly lady that 3 others had asked for Lulu after she, Lily and I had embarked upon our foster week. She added I was very lucky that she had agreed to allow me to foster her.

Yes, and I thank her.

 

Out of the ordinary

So this Master Gardener class was pretty much geared toward the average homeowner-gardener, people like me who enjoy perennials and shrubs, pretty flowers, and trees that frame a yard, give a little color and are low maintenance.

What I wish there had been a little more of in our classes were native wildflowers that are not often cultivated but seen on a woodland walk. Things like

mayapples

or Jack-in-the-pulpit…

or sassafras

or wild ginger–

These, although common are easily missed when enjoying a sun-speckled walk in spring when there is so much happening– new leaves on trees, birds singing their hearts out and rabbits coming out of their cozy warrens.

Even a new friend

for husky-mix rescue, Lily. Please meet “Lulu” a little one-and-a-half year old who-knows-what mix that we met at PetSmart this afternoon. We are only fostering her at the moment mind you, but we hope Lily and Lulu can come to some sort of understanding so the friendship can grow. They are both very sweet puppies, on their own, so time will tell if they can accept each other and live happily as friends.

We’ll see…

 

New friends, old places

My husky-mix rescue dog Lily and I have a favorite walking place just a few miles north of where we live. It is a huge nature preserve next to a farm-animal rescue. So as we begin our walk we are likely to hear any manner of farm sound– sheep bleating, goats arguing, donkeys braying, horses whinnying, ducks, geese, chickens, pigs… you name it. If it belongs on a farm likely they have them.

We used to visit here only a few times a week but now that dogs are no longer welcome on the beaches for the summer season we have been visiting out there more frequently. This afternoon we found dappled sun on the trails and new leaves sprouting on the cypress that circle a mill pond there. As we started across the bridge over the pond a small dark sheltie dog trotted out to greet us. You’d have thought we were long lost friends. He was so courteous, so cheery in his greeting. His person was sitting looking out over the pond and we struck up a little small talk, all the while his little dog prancing and stepping in and around as we chatted. We continued our conversation as we began walking the last part of one of the trails back to where the cars were parked, stopping now and then to encourage his little dog whose name was Riser I learned, to keep up.

He was having none of it. Happy to continue on at his own pace. He showed no concern for being left behind. At one point his person saw no trace of him looking back on the trails so we waved a farewell as he set out to find where his dog had got to.

That’s the way to enjoy a walk. Not a care about who is where, or are you within sight. Just meander. Look at this flower, sniff under this new leaf… wonder where this little pathway goes…

Being lost in the beauty and majesty of nature.

“Ms.” Gardener??

So this Master Gardener program began almost 9 weeks ago. My brains are so full of information on annuals, biennials, perennials, grasses, fruits, vegetables, fungal diseases, bacterial diseases, blights, beneficial and pest-y insects, fertilizers, herbicides, pesticides, you name it, in these 9 weeks of intensive classes of 6 hours per week I am in gardening overload.

I have always enjoyed gardening. If you had told me at the beginning of this herbal odyssey I would feel this way I’d have laughed myself silly. It’s like gorging at Thanksgiving. The feeling’s just the same except my head wants to explode, not my waistline.

No idea when or if I will ever use this information. Maybe it’s crammed in there in such a way as to come through as second nature. I’ll look at an azalea leaf and know it is a rust disease, not lacewing insects. Or see little raised tunnels in my yard and know they are not really tiny moles but mole crickets. I will know the small, round shiny-gray things are ground pearl, an insect for which there is no remedy except to dig up and completely replace the sod, no small (or inexpensive) feat.

There are more varieties of oak that I could ever have imagined, and most wasps are beneficial. (I don’t guess that applies to yellow jackets as well).

I won’t know, right off the bat, if you have your soil tested and it has a low ph of 4.7 what proportions of fertilizer it will need. Clemson University can tell you. I won’t likely be able to say if a camellia variety is a japonica or sasanqua, but I know they are both beautiful flowering shrubs. I know more than I did at the outset of this class, much more, I just have to integrate it into my current knowledge.

So it’s hard, if I even actually pass the course, thinking of myself as a master anything, much less a master gardener. Even so as with most everything else, I will not ever know it all, at least I certainly hope not.

What fun could that possibly be?

 

The end of things, a new beginning

My parents were pretty social when my brother and I were little. We often found ourselves at the mercy of some strange lady of a Friday or Saturday evening, having been tucked into bed by mom or dad before they left. But the best times were when they’d let us spend the night at our grandparents’ house. Lavishly doted on, read to for hours, innumerable card games of “Go Fish” or “Old Maid”. These nights were the best. There were rules of course, and bedtimes, but the thing of it was we simply felt adored. Not spoiled. Just loved, unrestrained.

I do not know how much furniture, books or other items Nana and Papa rid themselves of when they moved to Charlotte from New York to be near us. They moved into a tiny brick cottage: a living room, small kitchen, 2 bedrooms and a bathroom. There must have been cases of books, arm chairs, bureaus and other things that were given away or simply left when they moved from their apartment near Columbia University, but they did still have a few books, adult and some children’s, that my brother and I enjoyed when visiting them.

So when both my brother and I stayed there we shared a bedroom, but the most special times were when Jon was at basketball camp or at a friends’ house and I got our grandparents all to myself. There was one book which both my brother and I loved, a very small book of a “parable in pictures” (I suppose the first graphic novel) as the author himself, James Thurber, called it. The Last Flower, originally published in 1939 and so named because as the book opens during World War XII there is massive and unimaginable destruction. Afterward the people who were left had no idea what to do, how to begin again. A young girl happens upon what may be the last flower on the earth and it is dying. She tells people about it, no one listens except one boy. So they nurture this flower until it lives again, the earth flourishes and love returns to the world. Pretty soon there are merchants, and communities, and of course, soldiers. So the story cycles again to discontent. But what remains: a boy, a girl and one flower.

Somehow this little book of new beginnings and the truth of human nature told so simply and humbly attracted my brother and me. Today my rescue dog Lily and I were walking where the new development of homes has cleared many pines, scrub oaks and wild blueberry bushes. As we walked down a remaining trail I saw a small cluster of ovate, white flowers.

A tiny wild blueberry bush.

 

Losing time

Daylight saving time.

No, it isn’t. We skip forward over one whole hour. I never catch up. When I was little and time really did not make any difference because somebody else marked it for me, maybe. When school was out we could stay out later playing kick the can over at our friends’ but not much later.

My dad commuted to New York every Sunday, coming home on Friday evening. Spring summer and fall he’d adjust his watch when he got home. New York wasn’t on this time change then. So I asked my mother why we were. “Farmers,” she said. “They like the extra hour of daylight to work their fields.”

Oh.

My rescue dog Lily and I like to go out on the beach before sunrise to watch it come up over the ocean. Tomorrow when we set out and the clock reads 5:30 it is actually 4:30 so we have that much more time to get our act together without missing the sun. Another hour.

But we still lose that hour. I read somewhere that some countries stopped changing the clock because people became so anxious and tired from the loss of that hour that they were not only unproductive at work but some actually had to go to the hospital. I used to work with a company out in Arizona, a place where there are no real deciduous trees, no real trees at all actually, and a lot of hot, sunny days. I once asked why they did not have daylight saving time there.

She paused and said, “Honey, we don’t need anymore daylight.”

I will be happy when I get my hour of time back next November.

Plans

Vacation plans, career plans, family plans, college plans, wedding plans, dinner plans, weekend plans.

Landscape plans?

I took a good, long look at my house and yard today. Rectangular  depth, one story brick, just like every other house in the subdivision. With a very strict and binding homeowner’s association the backyard is really all I can play around with. To quote each officer in the HOA, “we wouldn’t want houses with pink shutters and orange polka-dots, would we?”

Why not??

So I can’t do anything, really to my front yard., not much more than I already have. But I can put a helipad in my backyard, or a scale model of the Eiffel tower, or basically anything I’d like as long as (per HOA) “it can’t be seen from the front”.

So that opens everything pretty wide for anything I can imagine. I have never liked lawn turf. Grasses are hard to maintain, they need a lot of water, feeding, this isn’t normal.

Ornamental grasses- purple fountain grass, pink muhly grass, millet, sea oats– these are basically weeds and take care of themselves. So I figure if I use all native flowers, shrubs, grasses after a few weeks of watering in they can pretty much manage well without a lot of feeding, watering and attention. I have always wanted something like a jungle around my house. Anything to block out any sign of civilization leaving only nature. The birds, squirrels and other little critters will enjoy it. My philodendron are climbing the walls in the master bath. They are draping themselves gracefully down the bookcases and desks through the house.

So I will find something I like that is natural and easy. Gravel and slate pathways, maybe a small pond with a fountain. Or not. Anyway it will keep me busy during the next several months.

And the HOA do not have to see a thing.

Letting Go

wisdom

When the worried mind takes over and its confusing to know what to do, the first steps are to untangle ones self from anxious thoughts.

An anxious mind is much like a choppy ocean. When we focus on the surface of the ocean, we see the waves rising and crashing. Below the surface, deep in the ocean, there is calm water.

So it is with anxiety provoking thoughts on the surface, everything is confusing. Conscious breathing can slow those anxious thoughts.  It can bring attention to the calmness that awaits below the choppy surface.

It may seem to be difficult to accomplish at first. However, with practice, the process of letting go and untangling from these anxiety ridden thoughts becomes manageable. All change requires action.  Bringing attention to ones breath is an action towards calming ones mind.

If a problem is fixable,

If a situation is such that you can…

View original post 27 more words

Labyrinths and paper bags

I have walked labyrinths before. These are not to be confused with a maze. A labyrinth does not have dead ends or blind alleys. They are not meant to confuse or frustrate but to clarify and create.

A labyrinth has one path, circuitous but it will eventually lead the traveler to the center, metaphorically following one’s own journey to the center of the mind, or heart, or creativity. Once there sit in silence, contemplative. When ready follow the pathway back out bringing new insight and a transformed spirit into the world. That’s the theory.

I could not find my way out of the produce section.

Honestly. It’s true. I picked up bananas, kiwi, bagged spinach (washed 3 times!) then got as far as the exotic fruits aisle and stopped. I kept looking back as if I’d meant to find something else but my mind was a complete blank. This never happened before.

I know I hit a new decade my last birthday. I know my schedule these days is busier than when I worked. But no one should get stuck in produce. I can normally find my way out of a paper bag. I suppose there are worse places to be mentally lost– a tire store, for example.

Finally a kind woman preparing and packaging chopped fruit looked out at me. “Do you need some help?”

Thinking fast I reply, “I’m having one of those days!” Then went on with some inane story about something else I’d forgotten or mixed up earlier in the day as some kind of validation, laughed it off like it was no big deal and rolled my cart onward.

Maybe that was all I needed. Somebody outside the ball of confusion that presently was my brain to jolt me out of it. Whatever. I managed to get through the rest of my shopping.

Carrying my totes out to the car I realized I’d forgotten eggs.

I remembered the turkey, though.

Things that matter

Not long after my divorce my mother determined I had availed myself of her good graces long enough and she and I set out to look for an apartment for my 2-year-old son and me. We’d been staying in her and Dad’s guestroom for about a month and a half. Mother was never one to enjoy the company of anyone younger than say 23 sadly, so  we quickly found a suitable place to go. A complication: none of my things– furniture, china, etc., had made it from Tennessee where I’d lived a less than blissful life to Charlotte where my parents were. So Mother made a gift of a lovely wrought iron glass-topped table and 6 chairs and a sofa bed to use until I could arrange for my own things to be moved. Dad feeling Mother’s generosity still coming up short decided to take me shopping for a few more things. He, always knowing where to find a bargain knew of a department store liquidation and we set out. At the time I loved bamboo and wicker. We found a small wicker bookcase, two bamboo “arm” chairs and a garish mustard-yellow ginger jar lamp. I was thrilled! Dad said I looked like someone living in a thatched hut.

Eventually my own things came, my son and I left the apartment after about a year and again, Mother found a 2 bed, 2 bath condo not too far away. We moved.

Over the years some of the furniture changed, but that singular ginger jar lamp made every move, including this one. A total of 8 moves over the course of 30-some years. This past week I decided I needed a new sofa. As I pulled the small love seat away from the end table I saw the poor ginger jar lamp tipping. I had looped an extension cord under an area rug so nobody would trip over it and around one of the legs of the love seat. Before I could register how to get around the furniture to save the lamp it crashed to the floor. Not liking loud noises because she might be at fault my rescue dog Lily disappeared. I stood alone in the silence, looking at the smashed little lamp, too many pieces to repair it.

Slowly I set the love seat down wishing I’d asked a neighbor to help me do all of this. I walked over to the remnants of this lamp and remembered the rose-colored bulb Dad had initially used to light the lamp. He knew I was then as broken as the lamp was now and wanted somehow to make life appear rosy, in some way. And now my life is (somewhat) repaired, still a work in progress but the lamp was now irreparably broken.

Maybe it had lasted as long as it needed to. Still, it was one of the few tangible memories I had of a rare time with Dad. I didn’t cry over it, not at first. But remembering all those years where he and Mom did so much to help me put my life back together, I think I might cry now.