redshift

Before Christmas it occurred to me, as my special promotion with my cable company expired, out of the 155-plus channels I had I watched maybe four of them. So I called my cable company and we renegotiated the number of channels and price. I now receive 15 ‘premium’ channels —not movie channels— plus local and knocked over $50 off the bill.

I watched a documentary on the Webb telescope, primarily made famous because it discovered the expansion of the universe, influenced by ‘redshift’. I will use Gracie as an example to explain.

Gracie has determined her yard will expand to the neighbor’s yards when necessary, that is when a neighbor’s cat ventures into her yard, or she *thinks* a cat/ raccoon/ squirrel is or has been there she rockets out the driveway in hot pursuit. I call. She comes into view. I call again. She either abandons her search or I come after her, which is the less-optimal choice. She looks mildly abashed for a moment, then happily trots back to her yard. But I am trying to help her understand the neighbors’ yards are not an extension of her world, nor is it incumbent upon her to rid the area of these nuisance creatures.

Besides, I have learned cat persons are not quite as understanding or forgiving as dog persons, though there are exceptions on both sides. Precious FiFi, whether dog or cat, must be protected even to the exclusion of friendliness. So I try to make clear to my neighbors that reeling in Gracie’s idea of her area is important.

Yes I did spend a (relatively) large (for me) sum on an ‘invisible’ fence last spring, as well as dedicated time for several weeks training Gracie with it. The collar is cumbersome, not to mention the shock is scary. I tested the levels (there are 7) on myself before adjusting it for Gracie. We started at 1, moved up to 4, are back now at 3. So if my efforts at keeping her in her yard aren’t as effective as the fence we go back to the collar.

Gracie disagrees but fortunately what I think and want is beginning to matter.

love people, use things

My elderly across-the-street neighbor recently moved to her daughter’s house. She had gotten to where she could not manage stairs and did not trust herself to drive. I hope I will be so wise to concede to this if I get there.

I did not know this lady well since I have only lived here for three years, but she would call now and then to chat and I enjoyed her calls.

As she prepared for her move she called one afternoon to let me know there would be several trucks coming to her house to pick up various pieces of furniture. She sounded sad and I waited silently as she gathered her thoughts.

“You know, they are just things, but no one in my family wants them.” I could hear her hurt as she spoke and I could sympathize.

I have my mother’s dining room furniture. Neither my son nor my brother wants it. Well, my brother wants the fiddle-back chairs. Our mom had the seats upholstered with needlepointed patterns she had done years ago. But no one wants the side boards, the Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner china and casseroles or the silver. No one wants the very old china plates that my mother waited years for Dad to make plate rails for, and he never did. (You can buy them already made I learned)

So I could understand how my neighbor felt. I know these are things but they hold such memories. And they are beautiful pieces of furniture. And the silver no one makes like this anymore. But they are things. Everytime I get to the point where I think I will donate the lot someone (usually my brother) insists I keep it all, as though it is sacrilege to not want it. I am a practical-oriented person. If I don’t use something in, say over 15 years, it’s time to let it go.

I still have the memories. My mother is not a chair. My father is not in a table. Having the things we used when they were still living and we were a family together is not the same as having the people. And things, for me, do not extend to the person. I am grateful to have had such lovely things but, as with the piano that found a better home, wouldn’t it be preferable for a new family to enjoy them?

If I used these things it would make more sense to keep them. I do not entertain. My son especially since this virus, does not visit me and even when he did we never ate a formal meal.

If I were to leave this planet I cannot take these things with me. They will remain behind for someone to deal with. Everytime I move I occupy a small portion of a house that is mostly used to shelter the furniture I never enjoy. Just seems wasteful.

I have asked rescue dogs Lily and Lulu who have made it clear that they are only interested in being in whatever room I am in. If I am eating they are at my feet, wherever I am. They have their dog beds in every room, so they can rest on a comfy cushion wherever.

This should not be so difficult. I have books and clipped articles with tips on helping people declutter, downsize or minimize. Even one that I no longer have that was purported to be most authoritative, “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning”. Since (so far as I know) I am not on the brink of death this was a little too final. Even if my sister-in-law is Swedish.

minutia

My mother was organized, well-ordered and no frills. She could not be bothered with frivolity or trivia. When she planned something or ordered something by mail she expected it. And whatever it was generally complied.

Not so for me.

During this virus panic I have not changed much of my routine. Pretty much a homebody, I basically pattern my schedule around rescue dogs Lily and Lulu. I have a volunteer schedule that has been canceled so it’s just the dogs.

We have our walkies, mealtimes and cookies. Since they are nearing their golden years I add supplements to their diet to keep them limber. None of which is available here, I have to order them.

I never knew snake plant had a flower

Two orders I placed since March have gone missing. I can only attribute the losses to this pandemic crisis because in over 20 years of placing orders with Amazon.com I have never lost a single one. So today I am waiting. UPS is holding Lily and Lulu’s hyaluronic acid supplement hostage. It was scheduled for delivery yesterday. Now today. They even gave me a little map to track it. An hour ago the truck was one street away from me, in my neighborhood. Now it’s across town. I don’t get it. I should have walked over to where it was when it was so close. Who knows now when it will get here?

First orchid bloom of the summer

They still have enough supply here for a week or so but seriously? Why doesn’t the guy just bring us our supplement? It’s like waiting for a pot of water to boil. If it were for me I wouldn’t care but I am the only thing standing between my dogs and justice. I am their provider, defender. When someone makes a joke about little terrier-mix Lulu’s (slight) weight problem I take umbrage.

It’s those small things that you have to watch out for. Little fires. Put them out, quickly.

This may stem partly from an ‘encounter’ I had with a couple of neighbors a week ago. The upshot was, kind of like the Sesame Street song, “One of These Things Is Not Like the Others, One of These Things Doesn’t Belong”. So I was the ‘thing’, they said, in not so few words.

Cruel.

True, I’m not like many other people. None of us is. But I am realizing I live in something a friend of mine once described as a Stepford wives neighborhood and am politically incorrect besides.

Oh well. It’s true, I don’t have a husband, grandchildren or enjoy travel, shopping or gossip. So no, on those counts I am different. But I have a feeling it’s maybe a bit more than that.

I can’t be bothered with what others think of me.

But I really do want to know when this supplement will be delivered. Not why it isn’t. Just when. Even if it seems such a little thing.

 

bluescreen

Circuit overload. Maybe. I am neither a computer programmer nor can I assemble a computer. I used to change the oil and filter in my car before cars got computerized and too complicated.

I had a bluescreen moment this week.

Rescue dogs Lily, Lulu and I pretty much keep to ourselves. We are cordial, friendly and helpful, but do not interject or impose ourselves anywhere, on anyone. The most invasive I have been recently was taking a fresh-baked batch of yummy cookies to new next-door neighbors. (They loved them!) So we are basically invisible. People see us, we smile, wave, that’s about it. If someone stops to say hello or pass the time of day we are happy to accommodate but we rarely initiate anything.

So when we were on the homestretch after an early morning walkie and wished a neighbor a good morning, I was surprised when she asked when I was moving.

“Sorry?” I replied.

“Aren’t you moving?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “Well, did you just buy a lawnmower?”

“No ma’am.”

“Oh, well, glad to hear you are staying.”

How nice.

It’s weird to think no one has anything better to do than determine whether I am moving or not, or take an interest at all. I really do try not to be noticed. Kind of like Emily Dickinson’s little poem, “I’m Nobody, Who Are You?”

So far it’s worked. Glad that we’ve established, having only just moved to this house a little over two years ago I’m not going anywhere else. Yet.

 

ramblings

A park in a city where  I used to live had such a Canada goose problem they hired border collies to get them to fly away. They usually came back the next day, so it took many tries before the geese got too discouraged to bother going back. Recently I rode my bike to the library to get some books and saw a flock of these geese milling around, with a librarian gently shooing them away.

The point was, she said, to get them off the sidewalk. There are these sheet metal dog-shaped statues in the grass there that swivel and are supposed to frighten off the geese. But as you can see the geese ignore it.

I walk almost every day. Usually for an hour or more, now that the weather has (likely temporarily) cooled some. I don’t take rescue dogs Lily and Lulu now. Lily is still building her strength after her surgery and Lulu just doesn’t like to walk that far.   And generally not without her pal, Lily. So occasionally a neighbor sees me and asks after Lily. I am running out of things to say. No, she isn’t up to walking far, yet. Yes, she seems to be doing some better. But this recovery is incremental. So I am often surprised when I have this very conversation with a neighbor and just a few days later they are so surprised to see me without a dog. These are not particularly elderly people (which is relative, based on my own age. To a 20-year-old they’d be ancient.), so I wonder do they forget? Not hear me? Do I say it in such a way as to indicate recovery is imminent? So I explain, again.

I have a tiny backyard. Maybe 40 feet by 20 feet. I over planted. Three fig trees, a hedge of lemon grass that’s hard to get around, an elderberry that is very happy where it is. There are many plants that I like but I have to be practical. Even though they do well it makes no sense to have them choking each other out. When they begin to die back I’ll move some, though I have no idea where.

Same with house plants. This climate is almost tropical in summer so house plants and orchids love being outside. But some do so well they outgrow their pots and by end of summer I have to divide them into more plants. Philodendron and aloes are most, then Christmas cactus and arrowhead plants. These I divided into so many smaller plants I finally consolidated them into bigger pots.

But somehow when it truly does get colder (for about 3 months) I have to find places for all of these plants inside the house. Which means spraying them for bugs and not overwatering or drying them out.

After hurricane season.

Bees, bicycles and banalities

Sometimes the mundane takes precedence in life. Sometimes we are so sure seeking mountaintop experiences is the end-all and be-all we are struck dumb when we tumble back down to earth.

I am, anyway.

Not that I was on a spectacularly high mountain but at my age anything much above sea level is exciting.

Like finding fewer dust bunnies –a clear indicator that husky-mix rescue dog Lily isn’t shedding as much. Or mowing the lawn and not having to remow over those strips of lawn I missed when the sweat dripped into my eyes. Or actually getting the tomatoes before the phantom biter takes a chunk out of them overnight. Things like that.

So when the microwave repairman (who is actually a refrigerator repairman) tells me what’s wrong with the microwave, yes he can fix it but no, he doesn’t have the parts and it’s another week before it’s fixed, or the car behind me as I am riding my bicycle gets closer and finally runs me into a mailbox that breaks and I now have to pay for, or the plumber who tells me what is making the toilet run constantly and yes it can be fixed but (again) no he doesn’t have the part, things begin to frustrate me.

It could be worse. It could be the day I cut the grass and ran over the yellow-jacket nest by the driveway. I knew there was one only it was under the crape myrtle last year. Who would guess they would move to newer accommodations? So 2 cans of wasp spray, one at point-blank range took those out but I had no idea how those stings would itch!

I ordered my own parts for the toilet and replaced the problem part only to find it still leaking the next day. So I took it apart and reassembled it again. It isn’t leaking now. Let’s hope this one fixed it.

And my neighbor late on a Friday afternoon when nothing can be done lets me know that the dead limb on my pine tree that hangs over a corner of his yard and has done for many years finally bothers him and it’s time to do something about it. So I left a message with a tree service hoping to get on their schedule sometime in the not-so-distant future to take care of this.

I think now would be a good time for some chocolate.

 

Weeds

Half of my garden is weeds. Seriously.

I intentionally planted cornflowers which is chicory. Spiderwort, goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace, mullein, all of which can be pulled out of the roadside. Now I actually went out and paid money for cardoon.

Globe thistle.

I am going to have this all over the neighborhood if I am not careful. It’s like planting clover on purpose. Anybody who is proud of their lawn knows this nemesis. I didn’t plant any but before the weed/feed application a few weeks ago (right before flooding rains which thus rendered weed/feed useless) I am certain I saw the familiar creeping three-leafed formation in my front yard, of red clover. I also have some oxalis which cannot be eradicated, I don’t care how much you pull it out or use herbicide (which I will not use, only white vinegar).

I am not a weed hater. When you think about it most of the plants we love (especially natives) were once weeds until somebody liked something about them or found herbal healing properties and made it popular. So even dandelions if the leaves are large enough find their way into a salad of mine or wilted-greens casserole. My son has been known to caution acquaintances never to accept anything I pull from the ground. I do vaguely recall when he was very young on a walk one Saturday afternoon I spotted some wild lettuce and fed us each a bite of it. Upon returning home we slept the entire afternoon. Looking it up I discovered it has somnolent aspects.

But I digress. Many weeds have lovely flowers. St. John’s wort for instance has a bright sunburst flower that cheers even on the soggiest of days. It can’t help its invasiveness. Who wouldn’t want to share all that sunshine? I had a neighbor though who was terrified of snakes and certain every single one she saw was hiding in my blanket of shining golden stars. Nevermind that she still saw snakes even after I pulled out all those lovely healthy plants.

Most plants, when I first move to a new house I leave alone to see what they turn out to be. This proved disastrous in New Mexico one summer when I returned home after an extended time away to over-the-head weeds with unpleasant prickly stalks. It took about 6 hours to cut them all down, by hand each one, and then a healthy sum to have the piles carted away.

It’s alright. They were there first.

Dogs

So yesterday I was putzing around in my garden in the backyard, Lily, my husky-mix rescue supervising idly while the bees buzzed and the birds sang in the spring sunshine when behind me it sounded as if a kennel had opened its doors. I turned around to see a tripod pitbull tangling with Lily right behind me, and two atomic streaks going by just beyond them. So my first concern was to get Lily off the tripod, which I did only after he went up on the porch, had a drink from Lily’s water bowl and explored a moment. With Lily shut in the porch, frenzied barking, I turned to the task at hand.

It looked like dogs were everywhere. When my eyes and brain finally focused I could see 3 distinct dogs, tearing all over the place. The tripod went back into his yard easily next door, then a nondescript grizzled black dog followed and the last was what looked like a Benji-Yorkie mix busily peeing on the Shasta daisies I’d just planted.

He turned to see me about to start for him and, ears back dashed over to me as though he’d been looking for me his entire life and *finally!* found me. He stopped just at my feet and I slowly bent down to pick him up.

What a cuddle bug! He nuzzled into my shoulder and it was all I could do to put him in the yard with his buddies. I so wanted to keep this little dog!

His persons apparently were none the wiser. I resumed my digging and planting. Lily returned to her watch over her domain. About half an hour later the back door opened next door and the dogs were called inside.

Private drama.

Income taxes, influenza and pine trees

Really, none of these things has anything to do with another, nor are they related in any way. It just happens they each culminated for me at about the same time.

So not having had a flu bug in I have no idea how long, can’t remember, I really thought I was dying. I’d had a flu shot. Why would I have the flu? Because this year they forgot one, or a couple of strains. Whatever, if they did miss one or some I got it or them. I really don’t remember the past 10 days clearly. I do remember my lovely rescue Lily scratching at the bed clothes and whining, and my whichever arm was closest weakly waving her off. I vaguely recall taking my temperature positive I would suffocate before the thing beeped because my nose no longer drew air into my lungs. My son calling, when hearing how muffled I sounded yelling he thought I didn’t get sick as though this was all my fault, and my brother –a doctor– also calling to tell me he’d not played a particularly good afternoon at golf, did I know how terrible I sounded?

Such helpers, my family.

Just as the fog lifted my accountant called with the wonderful news that my taxes were ready (a record), and exactly how much I owed and why. Still being in a more or less ethereal state not really in this universe but the alternate one I’d been inhabiting this did not cause my blood pressure to change one iota. Thankfully.

So the pine trees. Well, I was speaking with some very nice neighbors about our yards, the landscapers and impending spring and they mentioned a wonderful tree man who takes trees out before you know it before your very eyes and did I know he was in the neighborhood? Today? No I didn’t, so he went to find him and ask him to come over and look at a bradford pear I wanted taken out. He did and this morphed into a conversation about the evils of pine trees. I’d always loved these trees. The way they whisper with the wind brushing through them, swaying in a gentle wind (I guess this is actually not a good thing), and my adored grandmother loved them. So now I will not only remove one, medium-small brittle, disease-prone and insect-ridden bradford pear but 8 (read: all) pine trees. I’m not sure I can bear that kind of sun shock. Suddenly my partially-shaded yard will be in the glaring summer sun.

I may need to think on this one a while.

Snake

I have this neighbor couple, elderly, who don’t speak a whole lot of English. Most foreign families here have that system where their children/grandchildren interpret or converse for them. Well this isn’t so easy when they live some distance from each other and maybe the elderly couple needs something. So my Mrs. neighbor and I have worked out a kind of communication with a few words that she knows and many gestures. Sometimes we look at each other blankly and shake our heads, but we begin again and usually get the point across.

For instance, this afternoon the phone rang and it was she. As I answered I wondered what sumptious delicacy she had for me as usually she calls when she is sharing some of their interesting foods. But no. Her voice was a little on the thin side as she said, “Please, come for garden” (trans.- come out to the backyard fence). This was followed with even thinner voice saying, “Snake”. So I said “Ok”, and went right out the door.

When I was very young, maybe 9 or 10, my mom and her Junior League friends were quite proud of a Nature Museum they’d raised money for and got built at a rather large neighborhood park. Each summer this place which was a combination sort of mini-zoo and exhibit hall with stuffed animals, raptors and other fowl, and a planetarium, would offer astronomy lectures and Saturday morning classes for young people. One of these classes was on snakes. I doubt my mother who was deathly afraid of snakes knew that this would include our being taught how to identify the local snakes, capture and handle the reptiles which I used to great advantage many years later, but I was dropped off at this class on that Saturday morning and thoroughly enjoyed it. So I have no natural fear of snakes. Respect, yes. Fear, no.

My neighbor was already standing by the fence when I went outside and as I walked over to her she pointed to the ground to the left of where I was. Being barefoot I immediately stopped walking and stood to look for the snake. My neighbor kept repeating, “Big, big,” and I did finally see it. A full 6-feet long, shining black with its head a good 4-5 inches off the ground. A beautiful black snake. So I told her, “Good snake, eat many bad snake, many mice,” and gave a thumbs-up which she may or may not know means ok. She looked doubtful so I repeated my accolade of this creature as it stayed still on my lawn, gleaming in the sun as though listening to somebody actually praising it. I told my neighbor it was ok, I was happy about the snake so, relieved, she said “Bye,” and went back to her house.

I walked over to the snake which eyed me cautiously as it slithered slowly toward a juniper bush, maybe 3 inches of its slender tail exposed which I leaned over and gently touched. With a loud rustle through the leaves it disappeared.

I hope and trust to clear my yard of the hundreds of moles that have aerated it this entire summer.