A Cat’s Thanksgiving

Posted on November 5, 2014 by janets123

It got cold last night in Texas. It has been a typical long, hot summer and the first few days of November came in right chilly like autumn is supposed to.

Dan trimmed the cypress tree yesterday, where it was getting dangerously close to the chimney. We checked out the heaters this morning and when the eastern sun finally hit the breakfast room windows, I opened all the shades to let in the solar warmth.

Mr. Tom was soaking up sun as well. I caught him rolling around on the wood deck, exposing his belly and looking as if it gave him great pleasure.

Hooray for the sun!

Hooray for the sun!

I’m amazed at how this little cat causes me to laugh as I take joy in his simple expression of contentment. Ah, to roll around in the warm sun! If only I could lay aside my tasks and join him on the deck.

I won’t. But I do take a minute to watch and participate by proxy and say a word of appreciation. I’m happy and content, thank you, Lord.

November is the month of the American traditional holiday called Thanksgiving. The first pilgrims gave thanks to the Creator for sparing their lives with a bountiful harvest. Thanks to the Wampanoag tribe, the hard-working English had learned to plant crops indigenous to the new land, so it was only fitting they be invited to the celebration.

Isn't this just the nicest thing ever?

Isn’t this just the nicest thing ever?

The Feast lasted a week and, since many of the natives lived a two-day walk away, they built their own temporary accommodations. I suppose the encampment looked a lot like the Jewish Feast of Booths (Succoth) which also coincides with fall harvest.

Based on all the hype I see on television, I wonder if Americans give thanks on Thanksgiving anymore. I suppose if they gather at the homes of grandparents, everyone bows their heads for a one-minute acknowledgment before chowing down on turkey and pumpkin pie, kicking back for beer and a football game.

Thanksgiving Day in the twenty-first century is a far cry from that week of gratitude and tears of joy over a harvest of winter squash and corn. Forty-five people died the first winter. With plenty to eat, maybe no more would perish from malnutrition and disease.

I suppose it takes a morning of clouds and cold wind to make us appreciate the sunshine on a warm wood deck.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

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But It Is Not Bamboo

Posted on October 21, 2014 by janets123

We bought our new house in the Spring when all sorts of plants were coming back to life in the thirty-year-old gardens.

Some Texas plants I have learned but this place has plenty of new ones. In the shade of the cypress tree, I found little green bamboo sprouts, Virginia creeper, some type of wild grape and the saddest hostas I’ve ever seen. Near the pond, I found kudzu and orange trumpet vine and honeysuckle. As the season matured and things bloomed, I identified more.

Equisetum-hyemale-2

But it’s not bamboo!

The bamboo, known for its tenacity and ability to dominate, had crept under the foundation wall and sprouted inside the atrium. I noticed it still didn’t have any leaves, though it was waist-high. How odd.

By mid-summer, there were still no leaves, it wasn’t over four feet tall and I was pretty sure it couldn’t be any sort of bamboo.

In places where the garden hose got dragged through, the “bamboo” sprouts broke. It was hollow and tough but it was not bamboo!

The bamboo I’ve planted and worked with is only soft until it reaches about 5 to 6 inches high. That’s when I could thin it out and eat the sprouts. After that, anything growing amiss took a saw blade to remove.

Bamboo also grows a couple of inches a day in the spring. A tiny two-inch sprout will be ready to eat that evening. Tomorrow will be too late.

The real McCoy

The real McCoy

Bamboo quickly grows into a strong, flexible cane, used for fishing poles in the American South* and as cheap, dependable scaffolding in China**.

This “bamboo” never reached more than 3/8 inch in diameter, which is smaller than any I’ve seen and too limber for a fishing pole.

The former owner, the gardener who planted all this, left behind a book on native Texas plants. Looking through the handy garden guide, I stumbled across a photo and description of our mystery plant.

It is Equisetum hyemale affine, also known as horsetail or scouring rush or bottle brush. Though it likes moisture and shade, it is resilient. Dragonflies like to lay their eggs on it. Dragonflies eat mosquito larvae. This is good.

Horsetail is a first-class source of silica, a mineral humans need and are often lacking. It is either ground into capsules or brewed into tea. It’s quite useful but it is not a vegetable; it is not bamboo.

I felt a little silly when I realized my mistake, wondering how many people I’d told we had bamboo in the flower beds.

Misjudging plants or people or situations makes a person leery, maybe timid to speak, perhaps even suspicious and cynical.

I’ve misjudged people before, trusted mostly, because that’s my nature. Mistakes and their consequences have led me to be a tad more cautious but I refuse to become jaded about character.

Like the plant in the garden, sometimes attributes and moral fiber take time to show, to develop, and to reveal their true colors.

Maybe next time I find “bamboo,” I will use more disclaimers.

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What’s Wrong with Google?

Posted on October 9, 2014 by janets123

My husband has a new smart phone that talks to him, tells him that to perform a web search he should touch the Google icon and say, “Okay, Google.”

A new toy!

A new toy!

It works! He can say, “Okay Google define munificence,” and the smart lady will tell him the definition, pronunciation, synonyms and more than anyone ever wanted to know about generosity.

The first few days with this new toy, he drove me to distraction. I would hear him talking in the other room and think he was addressing me.

“What, hon?”

“I’m talking to Google!”

He couldn’t leave the driveway without asking Google for a traffic report. First thing every morning, he would turn on his phone and ask Google about the weather. When he sat down for Bible study, he had to have the new gizmo nearby.

It seemed like Google was going to take the place of the local weather man, the Mapsco books we’ve relied on for years, the Strong’s Concordance of the Bible and my 1969 edition of Merriam Webster’s Encyclopedic Dictionary. Maybe we wouldn’t even need the TV anymore, or the computer. This new device does it all.

When he asked me if I knew where his wallet was, I was tempted to tell him to ask Google. I guess it was getting to me.

Phone in hand, "Okay, Google!"

Phone in hand, “Okay, Google!”

About a week into this obsession, driving down the road with phone in hand, Dan said, “Okay, Google. Okay, Google. Okay! Google!” and then inexplicably, “What’s wrong with Google?”

I glanced his way to see him still staring at the phone. He wasn’t asking me a question; he was asking the phone to diagnose itself. For some odd reason, this sent me into a fit of giggles.

Was I glad we had driven out of satellite range? Was I relieved he couldn’t talk to the smart lady? Was I encouraged my husband might start talking to me again? Perhaps.

In the days since, Dan has settled down with his gadget. The newness has worn off and he doesn’t play with his phone non-stop. It’s a valuable tool and we’re both glad he has it.

Every day he finds new uses for the smart aps. In the field, he can find out the proper readings for an air conditioner using a new type refrigerant or calculate the length of a pipe or convert liters to ounces. In a pinch, he can even ask Google how to answer a customer’s query, “¿Está roto?”

So is there anything wrong with Google? If you asked me when I wasn’t laughing so hard, I might give a few caveats but answer, “No; I think it’s a good thing.”

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A Sunrise

Posted on September 22, 2014 by janets123

My grandson’s wife captured a fantastic sunrise in Hawaii and shared it on digital media. I was enthralled. (See Header Photo by Samantha Talbert)

As I stared at this picture, I wondered what it is about the morning sky streaked with color that makes us ooh and aah? The sun rises every day, doesn’t it? Since I’m over fifty years of age, I’ve lived through about 18,000 or 19,000 morning suns, even been cognizant of maybe 14,000. That is a lot of repetition.

Perhaps that’s why we like the different ones—those that make us say, “Ooh, I’ve never seen a sunrise quite like that!”

Sunrise Dead Sea

Sunrise Over Dead Sea, copyright 2014 by J. Bradburn

Is it because of the exotic places we stop to take a picture or paint on canvas? I don’t think I’m prone to get so happy in my own backyard.

Maybe it is the promise held in a sunrise. “If last night was bad, I’m glad it’s over and I’m looking forward to a better day.”

The most exciting sunrises have lots of color: yellow, peach and rose fading into the purple of reluctant night. Water or snow underneath doubles the drama.

It could be we don’t see the sun come up so often these days. We might not waken that early or there might be a hill, trees or buildings in the way. So a sunrise has become an extra special treat.

Sunrise Long Lake

Sunrise Over Long Lake near Poteau, Oklahoma, by my daughter-in-law, Karrie Short

I believe one reason I am so fascinated by sunrises (sunsets too) is that they draw my thoughts heavenward. It seems as if when my eyes look up, my emotions do also.

What do you think? Do sunrises make you think lofty things about life? Do sunsets do the same for you?

I asked my husband what he thought. He immediately responded, “We get to look directly at the sun at sunrise (and sunset). It’s the only time it is filtered enough it doesn’t hurt our eyes.” This led to a discussion of the curve of Earth’s atmosphere.

How perfectly logical of him! Here’s one more reason to celebrate the differences in men and women and the varied ways we all process our life experiences, including the everyday arrival of the sun.

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The Demand

Posted on September 4, 2014 by janets123
Coyotes on alert

How did he know they were predators?

I heard coyotes howling this morning—a bunch of them. Running to the patio door, I saw four gray creatures boldly moving in the open area between our back fence and the copse of trees delineating the creek. Others were answering their howls from out of sight. On our deck, Mr. Tom stood on high alert, tail fluffed and ears perked.

I picked the cat up and held him so he could see across the little swale. He gave a deep-throated growl to let me know he saw and recognized danger.

I wondered how he knew these guys were predators and would eat him for lunch if they could? Had he encountered coyotes before or was it instinct? Perhaps it was the way they moved.

Predators don’t walk around with their noses on the ground like armadillos, oblivious to their surroundings. Neither do they look nervous, like bunny rabbits, twitching and jumping at every little sound.

Cats are predators also. Perhaps Mr. Tom simply recognized his own stance and behavior, only bigger and running in a pack.

Cats and coyotes can be sneaky. After they’ve spotted their prey, they go into stealth mode and almost look submissive, crawling on their bellies, inching forward.

There’s a subtle difference, though, in the submissive animal and one sneaking up on its prey: his ears are up when he’s stalking and his eyes are on the victim.

People can be predators too. Over the phone, on the Internet and in print, people use words in an aggressive and destructive fashion. Some that have been bandied about lately are, “I have a right,” and “I deserve.” In an attempt at subtlety or to gain more leverage, predatory people will sometimes substitute the pronoun “we” for “I”.

Words like these get my hackles up because they convey a brazen demand rather than a meek request.

If you live in the United States, you have some Constitutional Rights. Unless you are here illegally or unless you are a felon, in which case you have forfeited some but not all. Even so, what I hear and read “declared” by predatory people has nothing to do with those rights of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” protected by our Constitutional Laws.

 

The framers of the Declaration did not write their words lightly. They had attempted every avenue of appeal to the King and they had suffered long. They were not merely unhappy with the way things were going in the Colonies; people were dying, murderers were going free, jury trials were being denied.

Someone may come into my house at my invitation but he has no “right” to be there; he has a privilege which can be revoked if he misbehaves. I will give him cake and coffee and seat him in a comfortable chair. I will even tolerate his different opinion on politics, religion and the color of my curtains.

If that person sits too long, gets too comfortable and forgets he is a guest of mine, starts demanding to sit in my chair and eat my cake, insisting he has the right, he has become a coyote.

If only he had asked nicely.

United States Declaration of Independence

United States Constitution

 

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Something Worth Reblogging

Posted on August 13, 2014 by janets123

And I did not write it! Stumbled across this thought about being grateful for what we have…and maybe something more. She said it better than I could have, so here ya go! (Note: it is not just about kitchens.)

Give Me Liberty!

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Are We Rich Enough?

Posted on August 3, 2014 by janets123

“What, do you think we’re rich?” That was my husband’s reaction when I told him I wanted to hire a gardener to help me get the kudzu and other weedy vines under control.

“Yes,” I told him, “we are rich.” But then I laughed. The argument averted, we then talked about how rich most Americans are, relative to the majority of the world’s people.

We are not wealthy by our nation’s standards. We still work hard for a living, pay a lot of taxes and don’t have enough to retire on. We must prioritize and decide if we want to hire a lawn guy once a month or buy cable TV. We drive used cars.

Compared to some kids in Kenya, we live in the lap of luxury. We have a solid house, clean water, three meals a day, air conditioning and personal safety.

We live richly. We see the doctor if we need to; we take vacations; we eat steak; we buy flowers for our yard and curtains for our windows.

I think maybe once basic needs are met, wealth is a state of mind more than a state of the bank account. Americans’ state of mind is controlled in large part by advertising media trying to sell us something we don’t have. If we listen to them, we’ll never be satisfied!

When my mind is clear of all the ad-generated covetousness, I realize what a good life we live. We have sumptuous food (enough to make us chubby), a gym membership (to keep our chubbiness under control), electronic gizmos (enough to make your head spin), a winter vacation scheduled (in a warm place) and a spoiled cat (who will vacation in a kennel). We are indeed rich!

Having never hired a gardener, to us it seems like something only rich people do. But then, I reason, we have paid someone to cut the lawn on occasion, or help take out a dead tree.

Rich is relative. We’re still deciding if we’re rich enough for a weed guy.

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Taking Chances

Posted on July 20, 2014 by janets123

This weekend I met a woman who is afraid to fly because of recent Malaysian airline tragedies. Her husband said she won a trip to Cancun but wouldn’t go. She then exclaimed she is also unwilling to take a cruise because of all those luxury liner mishaps in the news last year.

How sad to miss out on opportunities for travel because of the fear of death, I thought.

I can’t swim and I’m terrified of sharks, yet I get on ships. I certainly can’t fly, still I get on airplanes. This is not because I don’t think about the dangers and it isn’t solely because I know the statistics are in my favor. Neither is it because I’m brave. (You should see me shaking at the top of an escalator.)

My way of overcoming fear is to face it by considering the worst case scenario. I have a vivid imagination. (Which is why I can’t get on escalators–they are going to chew me up!)

parachute open

Up, up and away!

This year for vacation, we are booking a cruise and one of the best parts is the excursions on shore. We are planning to try parasailing for the first time.

I was disappointed to discover our cruise line no longer offers parasailing adventures. That was my first choice because they know how to find the providers with the best equipment, insurance and a good safety record.

My husband did this once years ago, deciding on a whim when he saw a boat taking people directly from shore. One has to run toward the ocean and hope for a last-minute lift. I decided this is not best for uncoordinated people like me. I want a boat with a long deck where a guy with a winch can assist me with my awkward take-off and landing.

When I found out Dan had experience, I had questions. Do you sit in a chair or hang in a harness? What happens if you don’t run fast enough? How do you get back down? Can you unhook the parachute if you land in the water? Where do you land? Does it hurt your knees? Do you get wet? How high do you go? How much weight is allowed in a tandem flight?

He suggested I look at YouTube videos so I did. I found imaginative titles like, “Parasailing Gone Wrong,” and “What Happens When Your Boat Dies.” I watched a bunch.

I saw a kid get slammed into a hotel wall and decided for sure I don’t want to take off from the beach. It broke his nose and his ribs. I watched a man and his daughter riding in tandem when their rope broke. I was relieved they landed safely in the water; even the camera survived. I saw some young men getting sick up in the air and decided I would eat a light breakfast with no beer.

I was wondering about the boat dying and it went according to all I had imagined. The parachute fluttered and folded, the rider drifted gently into the sea where he was immediately assisted by a second boat. They got that immense chute up into the boat first, then they unhooked him, then they pulled him out of the water. He was wearing a life jacket. That was my last question. Life jackets? Yes!

Only for reinforcement of my decision, I watched a couple of people take off and land from shore. One poor fellow was dragged ten feet through the sand before lift off!

I watched a confused man who kept pulling the parachute ropes and causing the boat driver much frustration. The big American finally landed on a tiny Balinese assistant and knocked him flat. I couldn’t help laughing.

Now I know how to avoid some risky situations and what to look for when choosing a provider. I know quite a bit more about what to expect. I have considered that I might die. I am almost ready.

Check it out: Parasailing done RIGHT!

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A Turtle’s Point of View

Posted on July 14, 2014 by janets123

We are not gardeners, my husband nor I, so I don’t know what compelled us to buy a place encircled by gardens. Perhaps it was easier to miss the enormity of the task when we made the decision in early April, before all the vines got their green on.

We each have our own ideas about how to handle this mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. Dan’s is the weed whacker machine. Mine is to don gloves and pull. ‘Twixt the two of us, we’re making progress.

He whacks and I come back in three weeks and pull. I work four or five hours a week at it. His job takes an hour or two now and then. I have to keep at it continually and it is hard to see I’ve done much. When he gets tired of looking at it, he whacks.

The problem with whacking is that it’s so indiscriminate, taking out flowers and perennial plants along with tall grass and noxious weeds. The problem with pulling is that it’s so labor-intensive and slow.

The obvious advantage of weed whacking is that it is fast and when it’s done it immediately looks good. But when the weeds are pulled up by the root, they’re done. Forever. Kaput. Eventually, flowers intact, the garden will be beautiful.

It is hard to wait for eventuality. It is also difficult to make oneself get up before dawn, spray down with insect repelling oil, dress like a conservative ninja and go tackle the mess. One must be a tortoise and plod after the task, day after sweaty day.

I saw pull. It's permanent.

I saw pull. It’s permanent.

A tortoise must also be a visionary, inspired by pictures in her head of how the garden will be “next year.” Gardeners do that. We know because they plan their gardens in the snow, ordering seeds in February, cooking compost in sub zero temperatures and planting twigs that will be trees someday.

Tortoises are good at anything that requires patience: saving money is a good example. Ben Franklin is attributed with saying, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” One doesn’t get far with pennies nowadays, but I will go out of my way to save a dollar or even a quarter.

Dan laughs at me. “Why did you buy this? It’s not our brand.” Then it dawns on him. “Oh! It was on sale, wasn’t it?”

I am frugal. I buy used. I shop around online. I use up what we have. I buy on sale but I don’t overbuy because it hurts me to have to throw away something grown old or because we don’t like it any more.

I save nickels and dimes and dollars. It’s slow. I am a patient tortoise. Dan is the money rabbit and I’m so glad for that. He makes coins faster than I can sparingly spend them.

I’m also pleased when he speedily makes the garden look wonderful and gives me a day off from weed pulling. But I do wish he’d slow down and spare the flowers!

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Let’s Simply Wait

Posted on June 28, 2014 by janets123

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.~Carl Sagan

I have become heir to what once was a beautiful, professionally designed garden. Because it was neglected for a number of years, it has turned into a jungle, taken over by Queen Anne’s lace, trumpet vine, wild morning glories and other noxious weeds.

Chinese red paper lanterns

Chinese red paper lanterns

Here and there and now and then, I’ve pulled up some of the worst, the ugliest or the most in our way. The inside of our new house was to be cleaned and boxes unpacked and repairs made. We had guests for almost two weeks. The garden has had to wait.

Our first days here, my husband hired a man with a weed whacker. “Cut it down,” he told him, “but try to leave some of the flowers.” He left all the Queen Anne’s lace and it produced stickers for the cat’s coat and our shoe strings.

I’ve been giving the garden my all for the past week or so. Early mornings just after dawn but before the sun, I douse myself with natural bug repellent and then spray my clothes with DEET before doing battle with the pesky plants.

“Spray it with herbicide!” my husband advises when I complain about all the chigger bites and scratches and sweat.

I won’t of course, as I protest, “Some of them are flowers.”
Among the weeds, I’ve found a few surprises. Pulling catbrier and bindweed and other vines, I discovered passion flower blooming. Under the grape vines, I exposed a large fragrant patch of mint.

Not being a native Texan, I don’t know every weed that thrives in the South. Not ever having had a wetland or even dense shade, there are things planted out there I’ve never encountered, like swamp Jessamine and horsetail grass and miniature palms.

There were clumps of something getting terribly tall. It looked like a weed and grew like a weed but it was alien to me. “Let’s wait and see,” I persuaded. I am loath to pull up or cut down anything I’ve not identified.

We were rewarded with blooms: bright paper lanterns of Chinese red accompanied by insignificant green flowers. I still don’t know what it is but it’s pretty and worth the wait.

My husband continues to look at me with incredulity when I get between him and the weed whacking. “Wait!” I insist, “Just a few days,” I plead.

I remind him of how the fan in our new convection range rattled after the repairman fixed an unrelated part. He told me to leave it alone for a few days and maybe it would stop making that noise. Flowers

It did! And that’s almost as incredible as finding red lanterns in a weed patch.

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