Community

Sammie 

When my longtime friend Katrina was here earlier this month, she commented more than once on the sense of community she felt in Delaware. Things like the older neighborhood homes with spacious front porches where people called out hellos from their swings and chairs. People walking by smiling and saying hello. The walkability.  The community-focused events we took her to: the 3rd birthday of our remarkable TreeHouse program (Young Adult Transitional Housing) created by our amazing, groundbreaking United Way of Delaware County, the June Justice Bus—these gave her a closer look at how some of us ("us" being both agencies and their staffers as well as volunteers) work to strengthen this community.

Community.

Another friend, Maike, made a similar comment about community in a recent letter. She marveled that an across-the-street neighbor walked over and offered to share tomato plants with us and our neighbors (Ryan grows his own from seed). I took one solely for its name: Pink Bumblebee. (I mean, how could I not take that one?) Maike wrote that she thinks she is the only person in their suburban neighborhood that even has a vegetable garden, calling herself an outlier. In replying, after offering sympathy for her situation, I noted that there are multiple vegetable gardens just in our block, let alone in our city, whether we are talking a plot like ours, raised beds like our neighbors on either side, or even a well-tended tomato in a pot on a front porch.

Community.

Yesterday, I took a morning walk while Warren worked, and the sense of community played out fully. Dog walkers nodding and smiling as we passed. A man clipping a shrub who waved as I walked by. About a block and a half from our home, I stopped to talk to Joe, who I've known for years and who recently turned his lightly sloped front yard from grass into all native plantings, inspired by Doug Tallamy and the Homegrown National Park movement and committing to taking the leap when he realized that Andrews House has a native plant garden on its sloped front yard. The sprinkler was going, the sky was blue, the sun was out, and we both celebrated the freshness of the morning, the joy of being retired, and his hopes for his native plants yard. "Tell Warren I said hi," Joe said as I walked away, waving goodbye. Closer to our home, Andy and another neighbor were on Andy's front porch; they both waved and called hello.

Community.

We spent a large part of yesterday afternoon exploring a nearby community, Newark, its downtown as well as the Earthworks nearby. We ate locally (Moe's BBQ; superb), I spent time reading with Mark Twain, toured the Earthworks (a UNESCO site), and, on the way home, stopped at a Whit's (a frozen custard chain) in a small town on our route, for a treat. (June 21 is a special day for us, and not because of the solstice.) A little boy, maybe 5, maybe slightly older, was there with his grandparents—running in and out (they were eating outside as were we), grabbing napkins, saying hello to everyone. They departed and three bikers (motorcycles, not bicycles) came out with their orders and reveled in the day, the friendships, and the treats. As we came back into town, we made a quick stop at Aldi for ONE item that I needed. Walking in (quickly), I passed a friend, Bennie, who was devouring a candy bar while he hustled his groceries to his car. I quipped about him not waiting until he got home or at least to his car, before digging in, and Bennie grinned, then said, ferociously,  "I EARNED this!"

Mark Twain reading to me

Community.

I am writing this out by pen at our local library while Warren uses the facility's laser cutter to make engraved end caps for a crotale stand order. We were here at 9:00 when it opens, after my going next door where I am cat-sitting Sammie while Mark and Mary are out of town. I reminded Warren we still had baked wonders in our refrigerator, sent over Saturday evening when Margaux next door had a birthday party.

Birthday delights! 

Cat-sitting. Cookies. 

Community.

Inch Twelve: On Writing, On Time

Why this photo (one of my own)? Just because I like it! 

There have recently been some changes in the online writing world with some bloggers stepping away. temporarily or otherwise, and some others changing platforms and formats. Writer John Patrick Weiss, whose works I have been reading for several years, recently announced that he was moving his blog off of Substack, which if memory serves me, he had moved to from Medium before that, because he now feels that Substack is "more like social media than a home" for his writing. There are other bloggers I have followed whose sites have become increasingly bogged down with ads, making it harder to scroll through their words. I get having ads to help garner some income; I regret how much it interferes with the real product: the writing. 

In recently rereading some of my older posts, I came across an entry from 2019, in which I noted that the writer of the blog Plough Monday, was closing it because he wanted to redirect his writing efforts to publication. I go on in my post, noting that I had been blogging since 2009, to wonder aloud about my own writing (or the lack thereof). And here I am seven years later, still not giving my "serious" writing enough time or focus. Heck, I wasn't even giving this blog that much time or focus. Although, as I write that, I think, defiantly, "hey, THIS is also serious writing!" 

I have written repeatedly about the time crunch around here, about feeling as if I am shortchanging myself because of other "things" (stretch that word as wide as you wish) that take time and attention. Last week, we had a rocket trip to Mayo, at which yet again Mayo Clinic staff demonstrated that the core vision of the Mayo brothers—"the needs of the patient come first"—is indeed woven into the fabric of that institution and not just words to be mouthed routinely. We saw longtime friends in Chicago, we traveled blue highways to reach a client of Warren's in Iowa, and our last day, encompassing my medical visit (I am stable) and the drive back home, was roughly 19 hours. Let's just say that it drove home (no pun intended) the point that I am indeed 70 and cross-country road trips are a lot harder now than even a decade ago. 

I will confess, however, that I have been sounding this note of not enough time, not enough taking care of my own needs, being on overload—whatever and however I phrase it—has also been a thread through this blog since, well, probably since the beginning. That tells me a lot right there about my own sometimes conscious, more often unconscious (or at least subconscious) tendency to heap far more on my plate than is good for me. (I know, something else to work on!) 

And now, to tie it back to where this started, I am trying to write more, starting with the weekly "Inch" post. (I posted one last Saturday, designating it a half inch. And yes, there is an update to that story. Stay tuned!) And I am trying to spend more time looking through the lens of a camera, be it my Canon or my phone. (I share my photography on Instagram; you can find me @tovadawn.) To quote my good friend and photography companion, Brandon, the "very best camera ever is the one you have with you. Every single time." He's right. (And if you want to see his stunning work, you can find him on Instagram @framesandgrainphotgraphy.) For me, photography is another way to write, to think through my life and my thoughts, and to try to capture them, written or otherwise.

We are on the cusp of summer. Gardening, writing, photography, the Justice Bus: let's see what summer holds. 

Some Things Come in Twos

Some things come in twos. You know: animals on Noah's Ark, twins, a pair of shoes or gloves. This Christmas week, I received my own unexpected but perfectly matched pair.

The first came in Wednesday from Mona, Orlando and Ramona's Nana out in Vancouver, Washington. That day, midday my time, morning out there, she texted me this:

That is one of my biscottis in her hand, a present I gladly send out there every Christmas.

The pair was unexpectedly completed an hour later, by my longtime friend Kevin, who lives about 30 miles away but has been a magistrate in our municipal court here for a number of years. Kevin had stopped by last week on his way home to pick up—what else?—some biscotti that I offered him. Early afternoon he texted me this:

I couldn't have planned those photos coming in the same day if I tried! 

Here's to warm holidays full of laughter and light and friends and family and love.

And, in this case, biscotti.

And at the End of One

As I have done for several years, and as many other blogger friends do, I track our grocery spending annually. "Grocery" means food bought for home preparation and consumption, and common household items such as toilet paper and laundry detergent. I do not track our eating out expenses. With very rare exception, we don't eat out, and "eating out" includes getting takeout meals or an ice cream cone. Those costs almost never exceed $50.00 a month, even when we head to Mayo, and in any year, we might eat out (except for the occasional ice cream cone) maybe, oh, four of the twelve months. 

So, looking at First Quarter 2025 grocery spending, the results are...

Eye opening. 

At the end of three months, our grocery expenditures were (drum roll, please) $436.10, or an average of $145.37 per  month. Of that amount, a whopping $13.65 was household: parchment paper and toilet paper. That is 3% of the overall spending.

3%. 

The rest was for food: perishables, some stock-up shopping. Okay, there was what I will call a "splurge" from our trip to Mayo in late February. Between the Kwik Trip cinnamon rolls, which have gone up in cost (what hasn't?) and hitting the Rochester Trader Joe's (the only Trader Joe's we shop at, period), we bought and brought home $31.94 of groceries on that trip. 

Okay, okay, we can live with that kind of splurge. As I go through the notes I make (yes, I keep a spreadsheet and make notes as to what the purchases are), I see I wrote "This is NOT about deprivation." We eat well. Probably the biggest change in our diets over recent months, as a result of aging (both of us) and as a result of my major hospitalization and the physical/medical fallout from it in 2023-2024, is that we simply do not eat as much as we used to. So food just lasts longer. 

How much less do we eat? Here is a recent rare meal out (it was a special Warren/April anniversary): we bought two lunch plates (and a tamale) at a local Mexican restaurant. We brought home what we did not eat and ate the leftovers later. From the whole event, in addition to the lunch at the restaurant, we got two more lunches and two more suppers at home. So that was five meals for two adults or ten meals total. To stretch it, we also had a small salad each on one supper, tortilla chips with the lunch, and a side of rice with the last supper (and there is still rice left to make another meal from). Small additions to the overall initial lunches, trust me. 

We are concentrating on "eating down" the food in our upright freezer (100 cubic feet) and that too keeps costs down. There are still frozen vegetables from 2024 (zucchini, sweet corn, pesto) that we hope to finish before the 2025 season starts. We have one turkey (Justice Bus!) and one ham still frozen. With Easter coming up, we hope ham prices drop enough that we can buy a few for the freezer. And I am wishful (but prepared to not have this one granted) that egg prices will drop even a little bit for Easter as well. 

Who knows? Who knows anything about grocery prices in these turbulent times?

First quarter is in the books; let's see what the next three months bring! 

At the End of Four: Wrapping Up Groceries in 2024

Homemade Kringle

Wrapping up and looking ahead to 2025, that is. 

Well, that was a wild prediction on my part. Back in November, summing up our grocery purchases for the third quarter of the year and using a goal of spending an average of $200.00/month, I optimistically (and myopically) wrote we could still hit that average for the year by holding our spending to $164.00 a month for the final quarter.

Non-spoiler alert: it didn't happen. 

Didn't begin to happen. Our combined grocery (food and basic household items such as detergent and toilet paper) was—wait for it—$802.55, or $267.52 average a month. Of that amount, a mere $46.83 was for household items; $755.72 was for food.

For the year, our total outlay for groceries (again, mostly food) came to $2709.96, making the monthly average $225.83. The only reason we came in that low was because the 2nd quarter expenditures were lower because of my father's changing circumstances and some of the items we reaped from his house. 

But, more to the point in my mind, why was 4th quarter, and especially December so high? (December spending was $371.66—ouch.)

There are several reasons. One, I bake a lot (a whole lot) in December for friends, family, volunteers and so on. As a result, we spent a lot of money on supplies. In the spirit of full disclosure, I did deduct $60.00 from the December total representing supplies for baked goods (including Kringle) that left this house directly to the recipients. But we also bought items (some of which were very pricy) that I did not end up using for holiday gifting so those costs are in our totals.

One Kringle left home; this one stayed. (Yes, I counted it in the total.)

Another reason is that December especially contained some "splurges." Let me put "splurges" into context. A friend recently told me that she and her husband always had lobster rolls (one each) on New Year's Day; that was a long-standing tradition. So they had just purchased two pounds of lobster at an eye-watering $40.00/pound. She said they would get several such meals out of that amount and it was cheaper than going to a restaurant and ordering lobster (true that), but I winced inwardly at the $80.00.

Our splurges were a tad more modest. 3.73 pounds of fresh salmon "loins" (when did salmons acquire loins?) marked down 50% to $7.49/pound at Kroger (that will make four meals for us), and a whopper of a fresh salmon slab marked 50% off at Aldi to come in at $4.60/pound (another meal or two). Yeah, the Kroger markdown was still a big splurge. It came first and, because I watch salmon prices (I love salmon) and knew that Aldi had not been below $9.00+ pound for weeks, I felt we did well. (We did great with the Aldi one.) I will enjoy every bite. 

Another splurge (in November) was for a quart of vanilla ice cream at Whit's: $9.00. We had dear friends coming to dinner and I wanted the ice cream to accompany the apple dessert I had made. Totally worth it for the pleasure of the vanilla and apples. 

So splurging is an issue, but we watch ourselves even in that area. The other main issue, frankly, is the cost of food. We are pretty darn conscientious about our shopping and I watch and compare prices. But food is higher. A pound of butter on sale, and there were several between mid-November and Christmas, was $2.99. Everywhere. Last year: $1.99. In mid-December, I ran out of eggs (having stocked up on them in November through sales). No one had a special and I paid, gasping, $3.99 for a dozen so I could finish my baking. And these are what is now known as "traditional" eggs: not organic, not cage-free, not brown. Just eggs. 

That all being said, there were some hilarious (to us) saving moments in December. We finished off a bag of tortilla chips (which we had just opened, not an old stale one we had opened and forgot about), a small cube (frozen) of veggie dip, and two York Peppermint Patties (also frozen) that were left behind after we hosted a small potluck-style gathering in July. And walking home together December 31, Warren and I spied a runaway onion on a tree lawn a few blocks from home. 

The runaway onion

Of course we picked it up. (Turns out there were three others in the curb gutter that neither of us noticed. Walking home yesterday, I saw them, but they had frozen into the matted leaves and were not salvageable. Just had to let those go.)

And while this falls in 2025 and not 2024, I picked two mini candy bars from the bowl at our auto repair shop yesterday that we will take to the movies tonight. 

Two mini bars

While writing this, having just now run the numbers for the year, I am vastly relieved that, even with a very expensive December, our average monthly outlay for the year was $226.00 and not closer to the $267.00 for this quarter. Thinking about the higher amount, Warren and I had discussed cutting our grocery purchases 10%, or $26.00 a month, to get started on reining in the costs. Using that $26.00 amount, which we thought we could meet, maybe $200.00/month for groceries is within reach. Or something close to that.

A lot of folks out there are having a "No Spend" January. We tend to lean towards a "no spend" lifestyle as it is, so we're already aligned with that mindset. But we both agreed that an "Only Buy Perishables" January (short of some stunning sale somewhere: salmon for $1.00/pound, say) might be a good way to start 2025.

Here's to a year of grocery adventures. 

Good, Better, Best

Jaime's pie

The holiday concert is upon us this weekend. I always ("always" as in Every. Single. Concert) bake an apple pie for our close friend and conductor, Jaime, a tradition I started years and years ago. And this being the holidays, I make sure that I bake double chocolate cookies to go home for his wife, Oriana, as well as biscotti.

So Saturday afternoon I set about baking Jaime's pie. I had cooked the apples earlier that morning, so in no time at all the pie was in the oven. It came out and was cooling on the coffee table in our study off the kitchen as I made ready to put the first tray of chocolate cookies in the oven.

In short, all was well.

The rim of the pie crust had a few spots where the sugar wash had darkened more than I liked. Piece of cake, I thought. I'll just carefully cut those little nibs off with a serrated knife. Which is exactly what I was doing when the pie flipped off the cooling rack and upside down on the coffee table.

Holy smokes.

Never in almost a HALF CENTURY of baking pies have I ever flipped one off the rack, upside down, and out of its pan.

One smashed pie

The good news is that not one crumb or splatter went on the carpet.

The better news is that I had just enough peeled, sliced apples in the freezer to make a second pie. (I also had another pie tin, plenty of mayo, the works.) So while I defrosted the apples and cooked them down, I also kept baking the chocolate cookies.

The chocolate cookies

The BEST news is that Jaime gets his pie (plus the other goodies; the first batch of biscotti is cooling while I type this), Warren and I get smashed apple pie dessert (yum!), and, most important of all, not one single crumb or splatter landed on the bass drum that Warren has just finished rebuilding for the Mansfield Symphony. Whew!

Proximity of bass drum to flipped pie; it also did not splatter on the hoops below to the left

Good, better, best—you betcha! 

The 2024 Gardens: Part 5

 I last wrote about our 2024 gardens on June 1, when the kitchen garden was just beginning to come together and the Hej garden was still only a remote (way remote) possibility. 

Let's just say things have changed. A lot.

So let's start with the Hej garden. Amanda, who is gardening alongside me this year, was game to tackle the Hej garden, which was lost under last year's debris and this spring's weeds. Warren suggested we try to do as much clearing as we could by hand, before he tilled. So after a couple of days of rugged work by Amanda and me (and realize that both of us face some health challenges so we're not setting any speed records here), the Hej garden looked like this:

Warren tilled and deposited a layer of leaves on it, and then tilled again:

Fencing followed and then Amanda and I planted the Hej garden, including four (!) additional tomato plants because her friend Andy promised to help weed and care for the garden in return for tomatoes, which he apparently loves. I bought them from a table in a front yard down the street, 4 for $5, honor system, and proudly walked them home:

The neighborhood tomatoes! 

Considering its rough start this year, the Hej garden is showing signs of promise: green beans, maybe a cucumber plant, definitely some zucchini sprouting. Plus, of course, the tomatoes. When I looked yesterday, I saw two of the four starting to put out blossoms.

In the kitchen garden, the changes have also been staggering. This was how it looked in mid-June:

Let's just say it has grown since then. The tomatoes are just starting to take on some color:

The Trail of Tears heritage black beans are reaching for the skies (and they have grown even higher since I took this photo). That's them coming up in the center of the towers:

I am especially proud of those beans. They were dried and saved from last year's bountiful crop and I just sowed them by hand, raked some dirt over them, reminding myself that the beans would know what to do. They did. Those beans are tough, which is why they survived historically. 

And here are the first peppers, picked yesterday:

First produce of the year! 

Considering how far behind the starting line this year's gardens began, I am pleased. I will have to wait a bit longer for the first tomato, but I know it is coming. 

"Grateful" doesn't begin to cover my feelings watching these gardens come to life, sharing the work with Warren and Amanda, and seeing the plants grow. 

The 2024 Gardens: Part 4

My seat earlier this morning

As I wrote just last Wednesday, what a difference a day could make. Three days later, there are even more differences. Thanks to heroic efforts by Amanda and Warren, and to my stretching myself beyond what I should do, the plants that absolutely, positively had to be in the ground by today made it into the ground!

There is still a section of the kitchen garden that needs to be weeded and tilled. That will be the basil bed. Maybe some lettuce too, although it is getting a little late in the season to try any lettuce until the weather starts to turn in the fall. We'll see.

The overgrown part is there in the middle back part. 

And Warren, after tilling the weeded part, even swept up afterwards. 

It doesn't get any better than that!

Warren cleaning up last night

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 Tale of Two Cakes

Yesterday was my 68th birthday. Warren and I tend to keep birthday celebrations low-key (although he is turning 70 next week and that might make for a bit more confetti than usual) and that was especially true this year because of professional commitments on his part. 

Low-key day that it was, there was cake. Several years ago, I figured out that the best way for me to have chocolate birthday cake (my personal favorite) was to make it myself. I love to bake, so that was never a hurdle.

Yesterday was no exception. The Non-Consumer Advocate, Katy Wolk-Stanley, recently posted about making a Depression-era cake. A chocolate cake. I recognized the recipe as one that also was called "Canadian War Cake" because it did not rely on scarce commodities such as butter. So in the spirit of the day and my mood, I had one ready for lunch!

After lunch

My life contains great friends, great neighbors, and great community. Our youngest neighbor, Margauxcat (her version of her name, which is Margaux), apparently wanted to make sure my birthday was well-noted. Mid-afternoon, I received a text from Maura (her mother) that "Margaux has a birthday surprise for you! It's rather precarious..." and we coordinated their dropping it off here. 

"Rather precarious." How great is that?

A few minutes later, Maura came across the front lawn bearing a small tray on which was indeed perched something "rather precarious." Margaux was dancing around close behind. They had made muffins and Margaux decided that I needed one with extra special attention. So she built a tower from two, cementing them with buttercream icing, which accounted for the "rather precarious."

The "rather precarious" treat from next door

But it didn't stop there. Margaux decorated the top tower with what I can only describe as a bejeweled pit filled with colorful sprinkles and golden coins:

The bejeweled pit! 

What a gift! What a birthday treat!

Warren and I shared the tower after dinner last night. I gave him the foundation and I took the top piece, scattering little gold and blue bits and pieces across my plate. It was an absolutely wonderful way to end the day, both in taste and in neighborly love. 

And I still have chocolate birthday cake left! 

The Last Pesto of 2023

 

On its way to completion. Note: the photographer—not the kitchen—was tilted.

This morning I made the very last batch of pesto for the year. 

The. Very. Last. Batch.

As I noted when I resumed writing again, my lengthy time away and the many demands on Warren (the Symphony, the house, me!) meant the garden was ignored and neglected in its final weeks. Tomatoes fell to the ground, peppers went unpicked (not that we had a particularly great crop this year), and everything in both gardens went to rack and ruin (well, everything except a few last handfuls of the Trail of Tears black beans, because those babies were survivors). 

So how did I make this last batch? No, I did not buy basil, although I am sure I could have found some little packages of overly aged and outrageous priced basil in local supermarkets. (Yes, I just looked. 1.5 ounces for $3.99 at one store.)

No, the basil was out of this year's garden. The same one that was in shreds when I finally returned home.

And the magician who made that happen? You have to ask? Warren, of course.

While I was, ahem, indisposed, Warren did some looking online about freezing basil and then making pesto from the frozen basil. He read enough to know what he didn't want to do, then proceeded with his own simplified version: pick it, wash it, chop it, freeze it. While I remember him telling me he had done that while I was still away, when I returned home and saw two half-gallon freezer bags full of dark green stuff, my first question was "What is that?" 

This morning, on a mission to clear out our refrigerator freezer (the basement freezer is another story), I saw the basil first thing and realized it was now or never. 

I chose to make it now. 

As it turns out, making pesto from frozen basil is the same as making it fresh, without the tedious and lengthy washing and cutting. (Thank you, again, dear Warren. You really are amazing.) 

Looking just right.

And that is how the very last pesto batch of 2023 came to be. Some went to neighbors on our right and neighbors on our left, and the rest went down into the aforementioned basement freezer for another time, another meal, another day.

A very nice and savory and satisfying note on which to bring this year to an end.

End product! 

This Year's Gardens, Part Three

Seeds from the trip last summer 

Here in central Ohio, the weather is messing around with us. A few weeks ago, we had temperatures in the 70s. Earlier this week was snow. Today is cloudy and mild; tomorrow it is supposed to be almost 80.

I have yet to start any outside gardening. Heck, I have yet to clean up the gardens, let alone till them! But all the same, I did get started today in this year's gardens. (I just realized I had been titling these posts "This Year's Garden," singular, when it clearly is "This Year's Gardens," plural.) 

Last year, I had to plant the zucchini three times, twice for the squirrels. They dug up every single seed and ate them all, sometimes leaving the empty shells to taunt me. We had zucchini finally only because Warren came up with a homemade seed starter and I got enough plants going to transplant them. This year, I am not even bothering to try the seeds outside. The peat pots starter from our neighbors was activated today and planted with zucchini and cantaloupe (which the squirrels also devoured in seed stage last year).

Loaded up and ready to go! 

As I was finally getting my mind and hands into the gardens, I decided to go ahead and try to sprout seeds from last summer's trip and from a large globe thistle patch in the neighborhood. I'd been saving small yogurt cups and ice cream containers over the winter just for this purpose. For these, I am taking the "they're plants, they know what to do" approach. We'll see.

Globe thistle seeds

When I finished, I slid all of the containers under my plant rack. They'll get some sun there and I can keep an eye on them, especially the zucchini. If it does get as warm tomorrow and rain holds off, I may even make it into the kitchen garden to clear away some of last year's debris. 

And then there is the redbud. We have a redbud tree out front that we planted a few years ago. In pruning it earlier this year, I took one branch inside to see if I could get the buds to open up, setting it in a jelly jar on the table. Yes, the buds did open up. And then leaves starting sprouting on the end of the branches. 

One morning, Warren looked and said, "It's growing roots."

And it was. 

They are only ("only") very fine filaments floating in the water. But I am intrigued. Can I get the redbud to root? Will we have another redbud to plant at some point later this year? 

Only time will tell.

This Year's Garden, Part One

 

Yesterday was really warm. Warm enough outside that a sweatshirt without a jacket over it was plenty. (Today, at least as I type this, is also warm, but the temperature will fall later today.) Warren did a fair amount of his shop work outside on the back patio, which his shop (the repurposed garage) opens directly onto. He had instrument parts to spray, and I could hear the telltale rattle of the spray paint can as he shook it walking back and forth.

Our next door neighbors were out in the far back part of their yard with a large measuring tape spread across the grass. Having baked sourdough crackers to share, I walked a container over to them and got to see what was going on. Warren joined me as well.

They had staked out a 10' x 20' area of grass, with a continuous string connecting three of the four stakes. "We're trying corn this year," said Maura, nodding at the plot.

Adam chimed in. "From what we read, you need at least a ten by ten plot so the corn gets fertilized, so we went slightly larger. We're planning on enclosing it with chicken wire to try to keep the critters out." He looked at the grassy plot. "Getting that turned over will take some time." 

Maura turned to me. "So have you ever grown corn?"

As a matter of fact, I have grown corn in town at the house I lived in when my children were younger, just a few blocks from where I live now. I thought back to that long ago experience and said, "Yes and the biggest issue was the squirrels." 

Eyebrows went up. 

"Squirrels would eat the shoots as they came up,"I explained. "I mean, they didn't get them all, or even most of them, but I learned to really dislike squirrels."

Alice, their young daughter, spoke up. "We could put a top over the garden to keep the squirrels out."

No, not a solution, said Adam.

We talked gardens for a while longer: what they planned (hoped) to grow, what I plan (hope) to grow. I blogged very little about last year's gardens, for many reasons, and am hoping this year will be more satisfying and more productive.

Adam mentioned they had ordered "a lot" of peat moss starter sets. "More than we thought." Would I like one? 

Absolutely.

They turned back to their corn-patch-to-be. Warren headed back to his shop. I talked to our neighbors on the other side, who were also out enjoying the sun and warmth, then headed inside. The afternoon rolled on.

Much later that day, Warren came into the kitchen with a tray in his hand and a quizzical look on his face.

"Peat pots? Are these for you?" He had missed Adam's offer outside.

Yes, peat pots! And a starter tray! 

Just a few days earlier, I had bought a bag of Seed Starting Mix. I don't start all the garden inside like I used to; I buy most of my major starts (tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli) at a local farm market. But after my pitched battle with squirrels over the zucchini last spring, I'm starting the zucchini inside and will use the peat pots for that. During our travels last summer, I picked a few flower heads gone to seed from ditches along the road. I have been saving small yogurt cups and larger ice cream containers through the winter and will use those filled with the starter mix to try to sprout the flowers.

Even with climate change, it is still too early in central Ohio to start planting a garden. The farm market I mentioned above, a family run one on the edge of Delaware, will not even open until April 1. I still have to put some thought into what and how much I am growing. I will talk with my dad to see if he wants me to plant anything for him; at almost 89, he may not be doing much gardening this year, but I also know what it means to him to have a few plants out in his back garden. A friend I just talked with mentioned she would be gone too much of the summer to try to keep tomato plants going; I reassured her tomatoes would not be a problem. 

So yes, there is still planning to do. But the warmth and the neighbors and the talk and the peat pots have lightened my heart and stirred my thoughts. 

Spring is coming. So is gardening. 

Small Moment: Washing The Loaf Pans

I made zucchini bread Friday night as I had a lot of zucchini that needed cooked, baked, or cut, bagged, and frozen. I ended up making a triple batch of bread: six loaves in all. When I turned them out onto the cooling racks (including yours, Katrina!), I just ran water into the pans and let them set overnight.

[Note: My zucchini-less status lasted until Saturday morning, when my dad brought by another grocery bag of them, possibly, maybe the last of the season. We just finished dealing with them this morning: freezer for some, supper tonight for the rest.]

Saturday morning I turned my attention to the loaf pans. All, even the non-stick ones, had been greased well so cleaning them was not an onerous task. I washed them in groups: the two smaller non-stick pans, the two larger aluminum pans, a small glass pan, and a large pottery one.

I ran warm, soapy water into the first two (while the others still held water from the night before) and started in. For the next 15 to 20 minutes, I cleaned them one by one, pouring the soapy water from one into the next one. There is a window overlooking the backyard at the sink and the sunlight played on the water as I washed.

I paid slow attention to each pan instead of my usual brisk, swipe and wipe pace. You heard of the Slow Food Movement? This was the Slow Washing Movement. As I washed, I thought about the pans. Warren remembered his mother making molded jello fruit salads ("all the time," per Warren) in the glass loaf pan. The two aluminum pans, standard size, were the remaining ones of the eight or ten I bought and used the summer I kept our household (my two sons and I) afloat baking and selling breads and pies at our downtown Farmers Market.

The heavy pottery loaf pan came from a long ago client, a young woman whose divorce I handled for free because she was having a hard enough time keeping her children and herself fed, let alone scrape together the money to pay an attorney. When the divorce was all over, she came into my office and presented me with the loaf pan filled with something delicious she had baked. My client explained that her mother had bought the pan to make her offering extra special. Then she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "Thank you. Thank you."

Just her "thank you" was enough. The baked dessert was more than enough. And the pan? Well, I still use it and I think of that long ago client every single time.

The whole washing episode was a peaceful, quiet start to my day. It was a small moment, a routine task. It was a way to be more mindful, more grateful, as I stood there just washing the pans.

A Decade Out And What's Next?

The blogger at Plough Monday, to which I subscribe, recently announced he was closing the blog. His notice was short and went right to the point:

Hello all. I am closing my blog, Plough Monday. I am doing so because I want to redirect my writing efforts towards publishing in literary journals and magazines.  And I have found that my writing here works to undercut this redirection.

My blog will be visible for a short while, and then it will close.

Thanks for reading.

I told Warren that the news gave me pause. The evening before the Plough Monday announcement, I was looking back at my older posts and I realized I have been blogging for over a decade. My first post was in March, 2009.

A decade.

That's a lot of words. That's a lot of posts, this being the 723rd.

And what about my writing? My other writing?

What does that even mean: my other writing?

There is the middle school novel, now about three-quarters done. I recently returned to it for the first time since—wait for it—September 2017.

Yeah, September 2017. But who's counting?

There is the poetry, with my averaging about three submissions a year for the last three years. I am garnering exactly one acceptance a year, the latest being in the Licking River Review.  (I don't know when publication will be.) If I were in the major leagues, that would give me a batting average of .333, which is nothing to sneeze at, but I'm not so sure those same stats hold true in the publication world.

If I spent more time writing poetry and sending it out, would I get more acceptances?

There is my almost monthly column for The Myeloma Beacon. I began writing that in early 2013, over six years ago.

The truth is I wasn't expecting that I would live long enough to see five years of columns, let along be well into my seventh year.

Do I hit reset? Do I redirect my efforts?

I'd like to finish that novel. (I have drafts of other novels, aimed for the adult reader, but this one is near and dear to my heart.)

I'd like to write more poetry. (I came home from Nashville with a poem roughed out, which I tore out of the notebook and stuck in the pile of other poems I have roughed out but not returned to in too many weeks and months.)

I'd like to figure out how to write more. But I also know myself well enough to know I hold other values dear into which I put my time and energy. My marriage. Family. Friends. This community. Reading. Our Symphony. My work at Court. Pies. My garden.

So for now, I am just thinking about the Plough Monday announcement, just thinking about my writing, and just thinking about...what's next.

Still Picking Up The Pieces

For the last few weeks, I have been sorting through the tangible personal property (to use a legal phrase) of Aunt Ginger's life. I had weeded out a lot of items ranging from knickknacks and furniture to kitchenware and linens when she moved from her apartment of almost 40 years to assisted living 18 months ago, and then downsized her belongings again when she moved from assisted living to memory care. All the same, there was a surprising number of items yet to move to our house and sort through.

Some items were easy to move to new homes. Ginger collected angels for many years and wanted friends and family to take one with them after her death. So we set them out at the gathering we held in her memory with this sign:

By the end of the evening, the last angel flew out the door.

Other items required more careful sorting. Ginger had a desk (which went to my brother per her wishes and her will, which will likely not be probated at any point), but I had to empty it out first. That proved to be fun. 50+ pencils, many of them promotional, many of them unsharpened: into the box of Goodwill items. 20+ small, blue, ancient rubber bands, all at the point of crumbling: trash. Mementos from family events: an article about my brother, my son Benjamin's high school graduation program: those will go to the individuals featured (sorry, Ben). Opened envelopes from cards sent years ago (without the cards): recycling.

And then there were the clothes.

Ginger owned lots of clothes. Lots and lots. She took excellent care of her clothes and so items often lasted for decades. But she also liked to shop for clothes. She was never a spendthrift or very extravagant, everything she owned was probably bought on sale or secondhand, but over the last few decades her wardrobe grew.

And grew.

And grew.

When I brought home the remaining clothes, the ones from the dresser and the ones from the closet, I had to use two beds in two separate bedrooms to accommodate them all. It was not unlike the scene in An Old-Fashioned Girl (one of Louisa May Alcott's books) in which Polly performs a thrifty makeover of Fan's wardrobe: Fanny brought out her "rags" and was astonished to see how many she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maude, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, "Here's another!" 

For the first few weeks, the clothes just sat in heaps and bundles. I had other matters demanding my attention and, honestly, my heart wasn't ready to deal with the clothing. But finally the disorder overcame my reluctance, and I started folding and sorting and washing (some pieces had dried food and other stains on them; I treated and washed those out, throwing away only the few that would not come clean). Garbage bags piling up on the floor of my study replaced the heaps of clothing.

We have a local community agency, Common Ground Free Store Ministries, which is exactly what it sounds like. It is a free store, free to all, open to all. It opened 12 years ago to serve our community with this mission: It's amazing how something as simple as providing clothing and household items to people in need can help open new doors in their lives. We provide a place to meet everyday needs for the people of Delaware. 

What better place to donate Ginger's clothes? And it was even more fitting because the store is located on the East side of our town (the "other" side of town) only three blocks from where Ginger (and all her siblings) grew up (as did I and my siblings until I was in high school) and where Ginger lived until she was almost 50.

This was my car back seat and trunk this morning before I left:

A half-full backseat...

...and a FULL trunk! 

(The red coat just visible in the back of the trunk was Ginger's favorite. It was a number of years old and in immaculate condition. I hope to see it again on someone else around town!)

It took me a good ten or more minutes to unload my car when I got to Common Ground. When I was through, my car looked like this:

My backseat is back again! 

And so is my trunk! 

 I spoke with one of the volunteers as I unloaded and told her the source of the clothing. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she said. "I am too," I said. "But trust me, my aunt would be thrilled to know her stuff will be going to others who can use it."

And she would have been.

And so am I.

Inch One Hundred Fifty: December Legal Clinic

We wrapped up the 2016 year at the Legal Clinic this past Tuesday. It was a quiet night; the weather or the holidays or both may have kept clients away. All the same, we had volunteers showing up to advise, to assist, and to just be there. At one point in the evening, we had one volunteer playing Christmas music on the piano, three lawyers sharing tips and suggestions, and a young mother and her little girl eating a late supper at a nearby table.

One of the things I do after every Clinic is send out a thank you email to the volunteers. We are a unique model in that we do not have a board, do not have funding, and rely solely on volunteers to make this thing work. I try hard to make sure I let those who serve know how much they are appreciated.

This is the email I sent out:

One and all:

We finished the year with 219 clients, not counting phone clients. I have not been tracking phone clients (ones that a volunteer talks to when there is a burning issue and no Clinic anytime soon). IF we had 10 phone clients in 2016, and we may well have, then we have served 2500 clients since starting in October 2003. (Given that some early records are missing, I think it is safe to say we have sailed past that benchmark.)

Well done, everyone. Your time and commitment make Delaware a richer, more inclusive community. I especially appreciate that we all come together--tired from work, from life, from chemo, from too much on our personal/professional plates--and willingly set it all aside to do this month after month. 

Some shoutouts for last night's Clinic: Erin and Colin, who accompanied their mother, Karen M. (FOOD), and kept two children of a client wonderfully entertained for almost two hours (including some rollicking rounds of hide-and-seek); Karen M. and Sue P. for a year's worth of hot and delicious meals, including desserts; Doug W. for the concerned, patient look on his face as he crossed the waiting area to grab a handful of tissues to take to a crying client; Kate S. for jumping into Intake (and talking to the aforementioned upset client); Dave H. for taking a seat at the piano and playing Christmas music for us all.

Last night there was a young woman with a little girl--not a client but someone who gets services from Andrews House--and she ended up staying while her little girl ate some of the delicious Karen/Sue offerings. Mom explained to me that her daughter is in daycare about 50 hours a week while mom works (and there are two other older children at home) so they really look for time they can spend together. Mom took home leftovers from Clinic and extras from the Mobile Market; her daughter was ecstatic because we tucked the extra Santa napkins in one of the take-home bags. It made me appreciate how much Andrews House shelters us all, and how our Clinic sometimes serves those who aren't even there for legal advice. 

Thank you for a wonderful 2016. I'm looking forward to working with you all in 2017. 

My email prompted this response from Dave, who was one of the founders of the Clinic as well as the piano player:

Thank you all!

April's email causes my eyes to well up when I think of all that Mel and the Andrews House do for our community and how much this clinic has grown over the years despite having no real, official organizational structure.

At the outset of this endeavor back in 2003, we hoped to see a few clients every month and perhaps give them some direction and advice.  The clinic has now served more than 2,500 clients and routinely more than 200 a year.  It has a grant to allow some outside legal work.  It received another grant to remodel the basement of Andrews House into meeting rooms.  It routinely provides not only legal advice, but also nourishment- of body and soul- to those who come.  And, I like to think that it provides some of that same nourishment to those of us who volunteer there (along with a little CLE credit too!)

I cannot speak for others who were involved in the early days, but I could not have possibly envisioned what the clinic has become through the hard work of you as volunteers and Mel (and Don before her) at Andrews House.  It warms my heart to see it every month.  It strikes me that the clinic works without a formal 'board' or governing structure because it has taken on a life blood of its own- fed by too many volunteers who care too much about it to let it slip in any way.

I'm getting sappy now- but thank you all for your involvement in this project and for improving the lives of people who would otherwise have nowhere to turn to.  

Dave

Dave's email prompted this response from Mel, who is the Executive Director of Andrews House, our home since the Clinic's inception in 2003:

Good Morning all,

I didn’t expect to be so emotional this early in the morning.  I can’t thank you all enough for what you continue to do at the Legal Clinic and for our community.  I ditto Dave & April, the nourishment people receive (for body & soul) at the Legal Clinic, in addition to the legal advice in the kind and generous way you all have, is a such soothing balm to our clients.  It warms my heart every month I witness it.  Thank you for continuing to volunteer and for bringing food and supporting the Legal Clinic.  Andrews House is honored & blessed to be part of it.

Very Merriest Holiday wishes to you!

Mel

And finally this response:

You good people share good words and kind thoughts. Thanks to all of you for sharing your valuable time and abundant talents with those in need. (Those in need include us lawyers, of course!) God bless you wonderful people!

We feel always the spiritual origin and part of the Clinic, but maybe more so at this time of the year. From its very humble beginnings, the Clinic at Andrews House has carried on and been guided by a very clear and simply-stated mission, to help people in need of legal services. The Clinic operated simply. (For example, there used to be no food served!) It still operates pretty simply, but with some nice additions and many more clients and volunteers. The Clinic has grown into an important and valuable community resource (one of many emanating from and nurtured in Andrews House). On Tuesday, I took a moment in the hustle and bustle of the evening to stop and take in what was going on. April captured much of it in her e-mail. Your donations of good food and good cheer, David’s pretty music, and your shared, warm camaraderie, coupled with the concerns, problems, anxieties, and tears presented by clients, made for a poignant time. Apparently, many of us felt that poignancy. You all are doing good work, with simple kindnesses, Andrews House hospitality, and wise legal counsel.

Doug

The world is often a cold, hard place. This Tuesday night, thanks to the open hearts of many, it was a little warmer and a little softer.