The 2024 Gardens: Part 3

What a difference a day can make! 

I had an email this morning from Amanda, a special friend who lives nearby, saying she would be glad to come over today (!!) and help me clear some of my garden (she reads my blog). I told her to come on over; the front door would be unlocked and I would be out back.

And she did.

As the goal is to remove as many weeds as possible before tilling, Amanda suggested that she yank and I whack the clumps against a bucket wall to remove as much dirt as possible before putting the weeds in the yard waste bag. Warren and I had drawn a rough plan of where things might go this year. Amanda knew that those areas were the top priority so that is where we focused our efforts.

After Amanda and I worked for 2 hours! 

Know this about Amanda. She is the age of my sons (35 this year). She has been in my life for almost 20 years (one of Sam's high school girlfriends). She has her own significant health issues, so it's not like either of us were starting from points of absolute health and vigor. But between the two of us, we cleared a significant chunk of the tomato bed and pepper bed. And even better, we spent two+ hours together talking about everything: classes, health, finances, families, gardening, meditation. In short, we talked about life. Just glorious. 

Before Amanda came over, I had an encounter with a nearby neighbor about one of his tenants who has been working hard to stay sober and put his life back together. R.C., the neighbor and landlord, has been in that tenant's corner in encouraging him, boosting him, and giving him maintenance/repair jobs at the building. "He has hit 20 months sober," R.C. said, smiling broadly. Having helped create adult treatment courts, I knew that hitting one month sobriety is a big deal; hitting 20 is a huge accomplishment and I said so. I looked at my neighbor and said, "R.C., you are a foundation for this person. Thank you for that. And thank you for telling me this story; it has made my morning and it is not even 8:30 yet."

So I already had that amazing moment with R.C., and then had an incredible morning with Amanda. As I told Warren before Amanda arrived, I was having an uplifted day already. And after Amanda, when he and I talked again, I used that phrase again, after saying to Warren that "uplifted" is not a phrase I tend to use. 

But it fits today. I have been uplifted by R.C. doing good things for someone who hit a low spot and is putting his life back together. I have been uplifted by Amanda saying, out of the blue, "hey, I will come help" and then sharing her love and energy with me. 

I have been focusing a lot on gratitude lately. We have (as I continually note) been running on overload for the last several weeks. I am still dealing with the fallout of my medical travails in the fall and winter. (R.C., who knows some of what I went through, did not hesitate this morning to eye me and say, "So, how are you doing?" and then nod and smile when I said it was a long road back but I am gaining strength and capacity.) So I try to end my days with thinking about what the day just ending gave me to be grateful for. 

What am I grateful for today? A chance neighborly encounter with a heartfelt story to share, a special friend who did not hesitate to jump into my gardening issues with both feet, and my deep appreciation for them both.  

The 2024 Gardens: Part 2

Yeah, not a pretty sight

As we move into late May, several things have become acutely obvious. In no particular order, because they are all important:

• If we don't get a move on it right now, then the plants I bought at Miller's a few weeks ago (peppers and tomatoes; more on that later) are not going to do well. 
• In part because I got to Miller's so relatively late in the planting season, the availability of the specific types of peppers and tomatoes I was looking for (some of the more popular ones, clearly) was less. If nothing else, this made me finally cut back on the number of plants I intend to grow. 
• Because all the gardening last year came to a screeching halt last August when I was hospitalized and did not pick up "early" this spring because I am still regaining strength and capacity, the gardens are a mess. A. Mess. We have an electric rototiller; Warren suggested that we try to clear as much of the kitchen garden as possible BEFORE we rototill it so that we make it a little harder for the weeds to spring back immediately. He is also concerned that I personally do not have the strength to rototill. I have begun clearing the kitchen garden by hand. What. A. Chore. For lots of reasons, we have to have those plants in the ground by the end of this Saturday and at some point I may say to heck with the whole garden right now; let's just clean out the area we need for those, and then finish cleaning up the rest as soon as possible after that for the basil bed and other things we will be sowing.
• The likelihood of our using the Hej Garden for any purpose this year is slim at best. Besides the issue of having to clear it, I don't know if I have the energy to plant it and care for it. So I have to rethink the layout of the kitchen garden in more than one way. That may mean buying more zucchinis at the Farmer's Markets around the county this summer. I can live with that. 
• Even the flower gardens in the backyard—the one that runs alongside the back of the house and the one further back in the yard against the pine trees—were left to weeds given the medical messes. I did a pretty rough clearing of the one in the back of the house: not pretty. 

Some of the debris from the flowerbed behind the house

I know there are more things, but that's a start! Between the time I started this post (late afternoon) and as I am finishing it (mid-evening), Warren and I sat down for supper and he acknowledged my let's-clear-the-bare-minimum-and-get-those-plants-in-the-ground-now approach may be for the best. So after he comes in from mowing the lawn, I will show him my layout from last year and see what his thoughts are about placement this year. He usually leaves all of that part of gardening up to me, but a few weeks ago suggested some changes that made sense. 

Because these plants really, really need to get into their garden home! 

Looking for their summer home

At some point soon, I will spell out what I bought (basil seeds, anyone?) and what ended up planted where. But not tonight and, with even the bare minimum plan in place, probably not for the next few nights. 

Change of Topic

Orlando is clearly ready for takeoff! 

I have been running different post themes through my head this week: compassion, gratitude, solitude, nature, the garden, books. I plan to return to those ideas soon.

But for the next few days, my time will be spent catching up and keeping up with the underage pilot in the photo. My son Ben and grandson Orlando are en route for a short visit as I type. They'll get to Columbus about 5:30 this evening, having started their morning hopping from Portland to Seattle.

I last saw Orlando in the flesh when he was two. TWO. He is now 5. FIVE! This will be his first trip to Ohio and, I think, his first flight ever. 

I can't wait. 

See you on the other side! 

Chasing Lights

Friday night's show locally; photo by Connie Skinner on Facebook

Back in 2010, our Symphony performed the Ohio debut of Chasing Light by composer Joseph Schwantner. That title played in my head early this morning as Warren and I found ourselves on a dark country road watching the sky.

Due to unusually strong solar storms this weekend, the Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis) were visible farther south than they typically are seen. Central Ohio was one of those places. I was not in good shape to try to see them Friday night, but many friends around here filled Facebook Saturday with stunning shots of the light show. (The photo above is one such shot; the Skinner families' farm is about 5 miles out of town.)

I have written before that I don't believe in bucket lists. That being said, seeing the Northern Lights has long been a dream of mine. So with that in mind, Warren encouraged me on Saturday with "let's go out and try to see them." We set our alarms for 11:50, got up, got dressed, headed to a dark country road, and...

Nothing.

Well, let me be more specific. No Aurora Borealis. But a light show in the sky? Absolutely.

The moon, a waxing crescent, was setting in the west. It was nearing the horizon, so was large. The crescent was dark orange and the part in the shadow, most of it, was glowing black. 

There were storms predicted last night up around Lake Erie, about 85 miles north of here. Just as Warren turned onto the road we were parking on, the horizon lit up with a brilliant flash. "Wow!," I shouted. For the time we were parked, the horizon flared a few more times with the distant lightning. I cheered every time. 

Overhead, the Big Dipper made itself known. I stared up in silence; how long since I had last looked at it? I mean, really looked at it?

After almost an hour of waiting, watching, and hoping, we agreed that it was time to head back to town (not far away) and back to bed. As we drove back, I talked about how unusual it was for me to be out so late. Forget "so late." Just how unusual it was for me to be out at night at all. 

I reflected that in earlier days, I used to accompany Warren when he had rehearsals and concerts in Mansfield, where he plays with that community's orchestra. Our rides home were always after 10:00 p.m., and because we took US 42 instead of the interstate back towards Delaware, we were often in the country with the night sky was spread out in front of us for viewing. The Dipper, Orion, all there for the taking. But I stopped accompanying Warren several years ago because my body could no longer take the long hours. And other than nights we tried too hard to drive home from Mayo to Delaware on the same day, I have not been out and about at night for a long time.

But my not going out goes beyond that. After the medical events of of this fall and winter, I have rarely stepped out at night, period. (The 4 a.m. drive to Riverside ER in Columbus back in August does not count.) I'm not talking about driving somewhere; I'm talking about just stepping out on the deck and looking up. I think I saw Orion, my favorite constellation, once this winter. Once. 

When we got home, I looked up again. The Dipper was still up overhead, possibly even brighter as the light clouds had moved away. I breathed deeply, grateful for the stars overhead.

I have not looked yet to see whether central Ohio is within the possible range of the Northern Lights tonight. If it is, we may (may) try again. I know Warren would love for me to see them and, yes, I would love to see them. (Warren has seen them, on a long ago trip to Canada with buddies when he graduated from high school.) So we may be chasing lights again. If it happens that we catch them, that would be wonderful. And if not, I still have Orion. And the moon. And the sky.

And I am still here.

Like Plucking Your Eyebrows

 

I recently had minor outpatient surgery that required external stitches. My doctor did a beautiful job sewing up the incision, telling me to come back in two weeks for them to be removed. (There are also internal stitches; those will dissolve over time.)

Yesterday was my return visit for the stitches to come out. The PA examined the incision site, asked me some questions, then gave the nod to the nurse to go ahead, telling me as she left the room to come back in three months. 

The nurse laid out the equipment: a pair of tweezers and a tiny pair of surgical snips. She asked me if I had any questions.

Only one. "How much is this likely to hurt?" 

She laughed and said that the doctor had recently been asked that same question by a young patient, an adolescent girl. The doctor asked her if she knew what it felt like to pluck a hair from her head? Yes. The doctor said that you don't feel that kind of pluck, but this is more like plucking your eyebrows and there is some sensation.

"Like plucking your eyebrows." I burst out laughing and then told the nurse my eyebrow plucking story.

Over 55 years ago, when I was hitting adolescence, my mother and my aunt Ginger sat me down in the kitchen to pluck my eyebrows for the very first time. No self-respecting girl would walk around with her eyebrows meeting up in the middle of her face and it was time to give me a beauty lesson. Ginger had her tweezers ready; Mom had a bowl with a few ice cubes. Mom applied the ice cube to my brow to numb it, Ginger leaned in, tweezed a hair, and...

I shot up and shouted, "STOP IT! DON'T EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!"

What the hell? Women did this to themselves? Voluntarily? 

Ginger and Mom tried to reason with me. I needed to "get used" to it. It didn't hurt "that much." It was just what one did.

I shook my head. Not me. Not then, not later, not ever.

And I never did pluck my eyebrows. I had a razor (this was back in the day when everyone shaved their legs and underarms, so girls got razors early in life—the kind with removable blades that, in retrospect, could be pretty lethal) and I took it to my brow and learned to shave instead of pluck. All these many years later, I still do that.

The nurse started laughing. "Well, if the pain gets too intense, we can call the PA back in and she can give you a local to numb it, but let's try it without so we can skip the needle. I'll take it easy."

And bit by bit, she snipped and carefully pulled the stitches out. There was one that stung, not unlike my distant recollection of my eyebrows episode, but the nurse eased the others out with only a few twinges here and there.

I thanked the nurse and told her she did a great job. She did. 

I walked out to my car, thinking back to that long-ago experience. And I smiled, thankful that I still have never plucked my eyebrows. 

The Justice Bus in Delaware 

Yesterday was a day I could not have foreseen under any circumstances. I won't call it a bad day: it wasn't. But it was certainly a challenging day.

Yesterday was the monthly Justice Bus downtown. The Justice Bus is a program of the Ohio Access to Justice Foundation and one that Andrews House, our local community gem, partners with (along with our County Law Library). Having been involved with the various legal clinics at Andrews House for the last 20 years, I am a huge supporter of the Bus and am the Bus attorney wrangler. That means I send out calls for attorneys to volunteer 45 minutes of their time advising low-income clients (household income has to be 300% or less than the Federal Poverty Guidelines). We run four sessions back to back once a month; our Bus focuses on family law issues running the spectrum from divorce questions to custody to child support and beyond. 

Our volunteers are fantastic, period. They give their time, in person or by Zoom; they commit to show up month after month; and you can see the change on clients' faces when they walk out of their sessions having been given some direction and advice on their problem.

I always double-check with the attorneys the Monday before the Bus to make sure they are still available. These are attorneys with active practices, some of them practicing solely in domestic relations, which is a very fluid arena. An emergency hearing may come up since the attorney committed to a Bus date, for example. Again, all part of my taking care of our volunteers.

We knew coming into the May Bus day that we were thin on attorneys as a few of our regulars had conflicts. Tuesday I got an email from one that he had to schedule a client meeting for Thursday. I totally understood. I emailed Shelly and Mel at Andrews House, who prescreen the clients and set the schedule (walk-ins are heavily discouraged because we cannot guarantee an attorney will be available), and asked them what the presenting issues were in that time slot. (I try not to advise, but can in a pinch. This was a pinch.) There was a matter I felt comfortable with, told Mel to slot me in, and we'd see each other Thursday. 

Thursday I arrived early at the Law Library to talk with my friend, boon companion, and, incidentally, the Law Librarian, Judy. The Bus, which comes from Columbus, had not yet arrived; it was running a little later than usual. Not a problem. When I saw it pull up,  I walked down to greet the team. Plural. Instead I saw the Program Manager, Meredith, all by herself. Singular. I knocked on the window and asked, "Uh, so where is Scott?" 

Scott, it turned out, had texted Meredith that morning to say he was sick and could not work. He is an attorney and we had slated him to meet with clients. Now we had a hole. A big hole. One that Meredith, who is not an attorney, could not fill. 

I swallowed hard, looked at Mel, who had just arrived and learned the news, and said, "Show me the clients and I will advise the ones I can."

Which is exactly what I did for the rest of the morning into early afternoon.  I ran on only 2 small bottles of water and no break and no food and....yeah. Don't get me wrong: I was so very grateful I could serve but dang, that was a huge hit on my energy. By the time the last client finished (my last client talked a lot. A. LOT.) and the paperwork was finished, it was 1:30 (we usually finish around 1:00). Both Mel and I said our goodbyes and thanks to Judy and Meredith, stumbled out of the Law Library, and walked together towards our respective homes. After she turned left to her house, I walked another very slow 2+ blocks to mine. 

Very. Slow. 

No surprise, I was pretty wiped out for the rest of the day and the evening. Our household has been on overload for weeks now on all fronts; yesterday's Bus was overload in a way I had not expected. But I read thoughts in two other blogs I follow that helped put my day in perspective.

The first was from Sam, who blogs at Sam Squared. In summing up her week's thriftiness, she spoke about a couple of things that were not frugal, but then said, "[b], everything spent was for good purpose, so I guess that meets my definition of thrift." 

"Spent for good purpose." I like that. I knowingly spent my energy past my limits yesterday, but it was for a very good purpose, and I can accept that. These clients are in circumstances that are rarely pleasant, and sometimes (and this was the case yesterday with one I met with) that make anything I am dealing with, including my health, feel like I have riches beyond riches. 

The other comment came from Chris, who blogs at Tahoe Girl. On Thursday, she posts a "Thankful Thursday" post and her most recent one contained this gem: "Having gratitude for the small things in life, I think, makes all the difference in the world."

That, too, applies to yesterday's Bus experience. Grateful because it was the first Bus I have been well enough to attend (except for a cameo appearance in December) since August 2023. Grateful that I was able to walk home, however slowly, afterwards. Grateful for my friends and colleagues. Okay, maybe those are not all small things in life, but given that this blog is titled "Small Moments of Great Reward," I totally agree about gratitude making all the difference in the world. 

And, for one such small moment of gratitude and great reward, the spiderwort is blooming. The first bloom was three days ago; today, there are several. 

The first spiderwort of 2024

I am grateful I am here to see them return.