SORRY I'M DEPRESSED

 

          I had absolutely no idea what I was instigating when I posted the “I am Depressed” post on my blog with a link from Facebook. In some ways, it was very reassuring because so many people reached out and that included to my son who showed up at 6:30 pm on the day I posted because people had contacted him, worried about my mental health. That was not my intention when I made that blog post. I was merely, and thought I was merely, stating how I was feeling. I guess mental health has become of the utmost importance.

          First, let me say that while I’m depressed and feeling very sorry for myself, I would in no way do anything to harm myself unless: If you could guarantee me that I could sit in the corner and watch and listen to all my family and friends be so SORRY that I’d done myself in; then, of course, I’d take the gas pipe, swallow the pills or do whatever it would take to end my life. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on my current state of mind, there is no guarantee. For that reason, and the fact that ending my life would be exceedingly selfish when it comes to family and friends, I would never ever stop living on purpose.

          So, a very serious thank you to those of you who reached out telling me to seek professional help, encouraging me about the fact things will get better, etc. I do so appreciate your doing so, and it did, indeed, help me feel better. Still, I am at a place where I do feel depressed, am feeling sorry for myself, and am CHOOSING to wallow in those feelings for the time being. I’m sure it’s not the  permanent solution I will CHOOSE to have in the remainder of my life. Meanwhile, until I find a way that leads me forward to whatever my life may provide in the future, I’m going to be selfish and CHOOSE to simply feel bad, sorrowful and wallow.

I AM DEPRESSED

 

          I am depressed. It’s something I’ve fought against my entire life and even taken medication for at times. I don’t know if scientists have discovered a gene(s) responsible for depression, but I’m sure it’s genetic. My mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, all of whom were alive during my life, suffered from depression.

          I fight against being depressed, but today I am ready to put down any effort toward being not depressed. I’m extremely tired of putting on a “show” for family and friends. And, I feel I have to put on a “show” for them because they do not want to hear or see the negativity I’m feeling most days.

          Yes, I’ve been writing and posting about other things in my life, but beneath all those upbeat posts, the biggest part of me is actually thinking about how I really don’t give a flying fuck about the garden, fall, fingernails, writing, or really, anything at all. They’re all just efforts that I feel I have to make to remain on the periphery of my family’s and friend’s lives.

          Something else I’ve been doing, hate and want to just stop is exercise. Seriously, what’s the point of walking, raising my cardio level, or being physically active in anything? Significant portions of my body hurt whether or not I exercise; and it’s likely they’ll continue to cause me discomfort until I can no longer feel.

          Then, there’s eating, the only real physical pleasure left to me. Even that is accompanied by thoughts of how I should not be having that particular food. It’s full of fat or sugar or carbs. I shouldn’t have that drink every day at gin time because it’s not good for me either. Eating and drinking, my last pleasures, are always spoiled by those negative thoughts.

          As a young woman, I remember envisioning a future where I’d travel the world, see unbelievable things, do unbelievable things all while surrounded by or accompanied by family and friends. Still, even then, while it wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts and plans, I think I knew none of that would ever really come to pass. I knew I’d end up like my female antecedents, living alone, doing most everything alone and being depressed. I now wish I’d been more loving and supportive of my mother and grandmother. Guess it’s like they say or threaten, “What goes around comes around.”

          As a widow, I’m totally unimportant to absolutely anyone. My sons check in once a week to make sure I’m still alive and, perhaps to see if I need anything. There are a few folks I see regularly, one for exercise class, another for walks and the third for coffee, sometimes lunch. Other family and friends check in every now and then, but I’m definitely not at the top of their contact list and why should I be. I often wonder how long I’ll be dead before anyone realizes I’m gone.

          Yes, besides being depressed, I’m feeling sorry for myself…but if I don’t, who will? There’s absolutely nothing in my future that stands out as a huge event to which I can look forward. There’s no chance of meeting anyone, falling in love, becoming a new mother, finding a new and interesting job, or taking a trip to the moon. I’ve done all those things and am too old to do again; and as for trips, there are many reasons why I won’t be going to the moon or anyplace else.

          So, today as I sit here typing this, feeling depressed and sorry for myself, the only big event I foresee in my future is death. It’s not as though I’m going to seek it out, it’s just the only experience left. Today, right now, I think I’m going to simply withdraw from life, hunker down in my house like a snail and wait for the man (or woman) with the scythe to arrive.

FALL

 

          Today is the solstice or the beginning of Fall. I, however, jumped the gun and began my fall last Saturday. When it was time for a shower, the thermostat read 63 degrees and I was cold. So, I turned the heat back on. I usually try to wait until September 30^th, but I’m older now and apparently get cold sooner rather than later.

          Later that same day, I disconnected the air conditioner and rolled it into the back bedroom where it will reside until next spring, probably June, when the outside temperatures may require its use.

          To say these changes sadden me would be an understatement. I’m not ready for colder temps, rain and way shorter days. I realized last week that rather than the sun disappearing later in the evening, it’s now going down before 7:30 pm. And, when I get up at my normal potty time of 4:00 am, it’s dark, dark, dark. I’m just not ready and dread the days when the sun is with us barely eight hours a day.

          On the other hand, as the days pass, beauty will enrich my life as the trees turn colors and drop their leaves. I especially love the popular trees that carpet their surroundings with a beautiful golden yellow. True, my flowers will stop flowering and go dormant, but with a promise to return in the spring.

          Meanwhile, as the days go along, I’m working as hard as possible in my garden. As I think I’ve said before, I’m a fair-weather gardener, so I’m hoping to get a lot of fall preparation done before mid-October. I have to admit I’m happy with the progress I’ve made so far and hope it continues.

          In all the years I’ve lived in this house and gardened, I think that perhaps only once did I finish putting everything to bed in the fall and then worked to resurrect it in the spring so it looked gorgeous until it was time to put it to bed again. Most folks who visit think my garden is beautiful, but I live with it day-to-day, so am completely aware of what needs to be done and what hasn’t been done. Rather than haul them around and point out all the things I see wrong, I merely say, “Thank you.”

          So, here’s to fall, pumpkin spice (which I really don’t care for), colorful leaves, shorter days and longer nights, more sunny days before the rain sets in, and joy in being alive to experience all this brisk, vibrant season has to offer.

FAMILY TOGETHER AGAIN

 

          It’s very hard for me to believe, but my oldest son turned 52 last Friday. I know time passes and passes very quickly, but in my own youth, I never envisioned myself as the mother of a middle-aged man…assuming 52 is considered middle-aged these days. I know I have a wealth of memories from all those years, but somehow, it still seems as though he should be young and small enough to climb up into my lap for snuggles. At least I have those remembrances even though they make me wish for just one more snuggle…and I could probably get one, but I’d have to climb up into his lap.

          We celebrated his birthday on Saturday, and for the first time since the pandemic began, I made dinner for the whole family. Initially, AJ told me he was just going to throw a couple of chickens on the grill and I should go to his house. Then, Angie heard I’d offered to make Swedish Meatballs (which I did for his birthday for I don’t know how many years), and her response was, “Hell yeah.”

          Finally, I had a great reason to actually clean my house. Now, don’t get too excited about that because cleaning house at my current age is nothing like cleaning house was decades ago. For instance, I did not wash my windows in- and outside and I didn’t scrub any of my floors on my hands and knees. Back in the day, getting ready for an event took major preparation and lots of time. I mean, seriously, what would guests think if the windows didn’t sparkle and eating off the floor wasn’t a possibility?

          Still, I vacuumed extremely well all of the rugs throughout the house. I also used the Swiffer on the hardwoods and got up all the dust that had accumulated as well as any left-over dog hair I hadn’t sucked up in previous vacuuming. Then, I dusted every single thing in the living, dining, bathroom and bedroom. Some had been dusted in the not-too-distant past, but I think there were things in the living and dining rooms that hadn’t been dusted since May, maybe.

          Now, I have to admit I didn’t make Swedish Meatballs from scratch, although I have done it that way a couple of times. Instead, I went to Ikea and purchased bags of frozen meatballs. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any gravy packets, so I used brown gravy packets and added sour cream.

          Now, as an aside, I rarely go to Ikea, maybe once a year. This time, I walked through their entire showroom and found myself wishing and or even thinking I should sell my house and find something that was about 1,000 square feet and furnish it entirely from Ikea. I loved the way some of their displays looked and the idea of having everything absolutely new was very appealing and entirely possible if I sold my house.

          That experience was prior to my cleaning house. Now that everything is clean and sparkling, I’m more than happy to stay here surrounded by stuff that I’ve collected during my lifetime. The amazing thing about all my belongings is that for the most part, you can point to an item and I can tell you where it came from and/or who gave it to me. Sadly, once I’ve gone to the great beyond, I think the majority of my junk will end up in a garage sale or donated. Ah well, I’ve enjoyed having it.

          Only Arayli was missing from the dinner table and I wished she had been there to make the family complete. Angie brought a big yummy salad and there were enough meatballs, gravy, potatoes and biscuits for AJ to take home two containers for his lunch this coming week, plus I kept one for my Sunday dinner. I believe everyone had more than enough to eat.

Once we were done with dinner, no one seemed in a hurry to get up and clear the table. Instead, everyone talked, laughed, joked, remembered past events; and I loved sitting in my usual place (AJ as the birthday boy sat in what had been his father’s) and watching and listening to the most important people in my life.

When cupcake time came, Haley helped clear the table and I stacked dishes in the sink for later. She put I don’t know how many candles on one cupcake (more candles than cupcake) and lit them. I pulled out the little musical “Happy Birthday” box and Xander, as the youngest, wound the handle and led us in singing the birthday song. Then it was cupcake and ice cream time. Very yummy.

This was followed by presents. Most were cards with money inside. At the ripe old age of 52, what kind of a list can you actually compile. AJ can carry his special day forward as he considers what to buy with his birthday loot.

Sunday morning, I sent all six family members a text telling them how wonderful it was to have them all around the table once again and that my heart grew three sizes as a result. I am so blessed to have my family close once again and so very thankful. I’m looking forward to more family times like this in the coming months.

FINGERNAILS

 

          In my last post, I indicated I would consider getting my nails done my reward for finishing the deck. This led me to think about my fingernails and their history. You’re dying to hear the story aren’t you.

          When I was about 12 years old, I had a babysitter named Lynn. She had beautiful long red fingernails which I envied. She told me if I stopped biting my fingernails, she’d teach me how to do my nails so they could look as beautiful as hers.

          That was enough incentive for me to stop chewing on the ends of my fingers. I know there are other incentives out there, but I didn’t need to have my fingers covered with hot oil or any other nasty stuff. All I had to do was think about Lynn’s fingernails and the finger heading toward my mouth would stop and pull back.

          So began my long-term care for my fingernails. And, it wasn’t easy because to keep them looking nice, I had to go through the ritual every single Sunday night which took about two hours.

          First, off came the old nail polish. Then I pushed back the cuticles and filed the nails back. When that was complete and my hands were washed and dry, I applied a base coat of polish, followed by two coats of polish and lastly a top coat. I did this religiously and was proud of how my nails looked.

          In high school, I signed up for the secretarial course which included three semesters of typing instruction. Back then, there were no computers and you had to press the typewriter keys very hard to make them rise up and make an impression on the paper. At the end of the line, you had to raise your left hand and push the carriage back to the right in order to turn the paper and begin a new line.

          The first two semesters, I had a male instructor. He didn’t even look at my hands or nails and I did just fine in the classes. For my final semester, the instructor was an old woman with white hair. After a couple of weeks of class, she came by my desk on a Friday and told me, “If I can see your nails over the end of your fingers on Monday, you will automatically fail this class.”

          Oh. My. God. I was so pissed. I went home and wailed to my parents who supported the teacher. They’d never finished high school, so their opinions of teachers were very high. There was no way they were going to go see that teacher and tell her I didn’t have to cut my nails. So, I went to school on Monday without any fingernails.

          Amazingly, I failed every single typing test after that. I couldn’t type without my nails. To give that horrible woman credit, she did let me retake the typing tests, which I passed with flying colors, once my nails grew back.

          All through my life, marriage, children, gardening, cleaning, everything I had to do with my hands, I kept my Sunday night ritual of doing my nails. I always wore gloves no matter what the job was I was doing. The only time I didn’t don those attractive mitts, was to wash myself or my children.

          As my grew older, my body changed and I was probably in my mid-50s when my nails began to split and peel. I could do them Sunday night and by Tuesday have at least one, usually more, that needed care. I was just about ready to give up.

          That’s when my future daughter-in-law introduced me to acrylic nails. The first time I had a “full set” applied, my fingernails hurt so badly that night I figured if it was going to be that way every time, I wouldn’t do it. But, fortunately for me and my nail person, the pain happened only that first time.

          I really liked the acrylic nails. I only had to have them done every two weeks and they looked almost as good at the next appointment as they had at the previous one. I started out with a Vietnamese woman up on Aurora. She moved from there to another location and then to her final location. I followed her.

          Then, I went in for my scheduled appointment to find that she had sold or given her business to her nephew. I never did get that quite straight, but I liked the man who did my nails, his wife and their daughter who was always happy to talk to and entertain me while my nails dried.

          When I retired, I decided I would give up my fingernails, so I had them removed. It took a while for them to grow out and when they did, it was back to the splitting and peeling mode. In addition, I couldn’t do anything without my fingernails. Sewing, writing, anything that involved my hands was more difficult without fingernails. So, I returned to my nail guy and had acrylics replaced.

          I remained their client for thirteen years until they decided to close/sell the business. It was very sad because they had become like family. They talked of their lives and I talked of mine. I took Haley there for manicures and pedicures with me before we went to the Nutcracker.

I didn’t care for the folks who took over the business because I thought they didn’t do a very good job. So, I tried another place which is where I think I got a toenail fungus. Let me tell you, that stuff is horrible. I think it took three years before my big toes returned to normal. I stopped going there and found someone new, quite by chance.

The woman who does my nails now does the best job I’ve ever had. My nails are thin and do not look as though they are false. She went to visit relatives in Vietnam a few years ago and I had to try someone else. On a scale of one to ten, with my person being a ten, that person was maybe a three or four. I know she’ll visit again and I’m not looking forward to her being gone.

Now, I have my nails done every three weeks on the same day at the same time unless something happens and she or I need to reschedule for some reason. I imagine I’ll continue to have my nails done until I can no longer get to the nail salon. It’s an indulgence, but one I believe I more than deserve. I like looking at my hands and seeing the jewel colors on the ends of my fingers.

DECK

 

Whoa, my lower back is killing me. I so wish my masseuse hadn’t moved to Spokane because I’d do my darndest to get an appointment with her ASAP. I just wish I could find someone as good as she was. Anyway, I’m here letting my fingers dance over the keyboard while sitting up as straight as I possibly can to make my back feel better.

Why is her back so painful, I just know you’re wondering, so I’ll tell you, and you can help me celebrate because my lower back problem was rightfully and gainfully obtained. 

THE DECK IS FINISHED!!!!!!  Yes, finally, after months of work, the deck is completely renewed. In case you’ve forgotten, I had a new UV roof put on a portion of the deck in early spring. That, as so many projects do, led to additional projects, i.e., cleaning everything off the deck and pressure washing, followed by covering one section with two coats of sealant, then the second section; and finally, today, I applied one coat of clear waterproofing sealer to the wood beneath the roof.

I wish I could think of something nice I could do for myself…a massage would be divine…but at the moment, I cannot think of a food or drink that appeals as a reward. I am getting my nails done later this afternoon so I guess I’ll consider that my reward.

There was one other project I had to complete which was pressure wash and paint three boards on the north side of the house where I had a lean-to removed. That, too, is done. Now, if my garden were in its best shape, but it’s not, so onward tomorrow. At least gardening shouldn’t make my back too unhappy.

FOOD

 

          Don’t you just love to eat? Isn’t there a huge list of foods that you are always delighted to have on your plate? Don’t you sometimes wish you could have a magic plate that just refilled itself with something new and delicious every single meal? Maybe you don’t, but I sure do.

          Since I don’t have a magic plate, if I want something on it that means I have to prepare whatever I’m going to eat. That’s not a problem because I’m a fairly decent cook, but find that all too often whatever I’ve decided to make, the results could feed not only me, but a couple of the neighbors. It’s very difficult to cook for just one person.

          If I’m not cooking, then I’m either eating out or bringing a meal home. Again, depending on what it is I’m having, there are times when it would be good to share all that food with someone. There isn’t anyone, however, so there are times when I eat the leftovers for lunch and/or dinner the next day. There’s nothing wrong with that unless I make the mistake of eating more of it the same day.

          Briley’s makes the best ribs, mac n’ cheese and collard greens. Typing that out didn’t make my mouth water because the last time I brought this home, I ate it for a very late lunch and then finished off the remainder for a late dinner. My tummy wasn’t happy that night and it’s going to be a while before I order again.

          I think I ‘ve mentioned I read a lot and there are times when I read about a dish or food that sounds pretty good. Recently I’ve been reading books set in the south. Today for lunch I had a tomato sandwich, something that is apparently a southern thing. That’s two pieces of soft white bread spread with mayo, topped with sliced tomatoes sprinkled with salt and pepper. It was so yummy. I had it with a helping of coleslaw.

I’ve never made coleslaw in my life until this week. I found a recipe online that was supposedly the same coleslaw that you’d get at Kentucky Fried Chicken. I haven’t been to KFC in forever, so I crossed my fingers it would be good. It is so yummy, and I had it for dinner last night too. Initially, I thought I might have to share with a neighbor, but I think I just may finish it off at dinner today with the spicy grilled chicken breast I’m preparing.

          That’s something else I don’t do very often, grill. It seems a waste to turn the grill on for just a single burger or hotdog. About the only time I do use it is when I make teriyaki flank steak and teriyaki chicken breast. It will get used today because the spicy chicken breast kabobs wouldn’t be as good made in the oven.

          This morning I also made myself pancakes. I had buttermilk left over from the coleslaw and decided I’d use it to make thin pancakes. I used the cast iron skillet instead of the electric grill. They were okay, but I think if I’d used the grill, they would have been much better. A little butter and huckleberry jam…they were absolutely delicious.

          All too often, though, I find myself not wanting to bother with cooking or going out. I want something that’s easy and quick. That’s when grilled cheese sandwiches on brown bread come into play. Those with tomato soup for dipping makes a meal. I try to eat salad at least several times a week and wish there were a way to make more than one salad at a time. I suppose I could try making a big salad with all the veggies I include, i.e., radishes, green onions, celery, cucumber, carrots, avocado, feta cheese all mixed with a blend of greens. Sometimes, I’ll cook a small piece of sirloin or chicken breast, chop it up and add it to the salad…a full meal in a bowl. Yesterday, I took my own advice and made a big salad. I ate half with some salmon and will have the other half tonight with steak. I guess I can make more than one helping at a time. Wonder why it took me so long to think of that.

          There are also lots of choices in the frozen section at the grocery store. I like Marie Callander’s chicken pot pies and Stouffer’s lasagna, but haven’t tried many of the other meal choices. I also buy plain cheese pizzas to which I add my own veggies and extra cheese. One of those is good for dinner with leftovers for lunch or dinner the next day.

          Lately I’ve had a hankering for spaghetti and have been thinking how I can go about making that dish without having to put several meals into the freezer. I suppose I could ask Angie and AJ if they’d like to share. There have been times when I’ve made too much and take the surplus to Angie’s work. That way she pretty much has dinner ready when she gets home.

          Over my lifetime, I’ve pulled recipes out of magazines, printed them from online or copied one made by a friend or family member. Every time I get my folder out of the cupboard and begin looking for a particular recipe I’ve made before, I eliminate a few more recipes. There are ones in there that I’ll never ever make, so why am I hanging on to them? It’s not like some event is going to come up where I’ll go, “Oh, yes. I can make that recipe I’ve had for decades that serves 12.”

          Finally, I guess the reason I’m blogging about food is because it’s really the only physical gratification left to me at this stage of life. The tastes, textures, even sound can make me sigh with pleasure and contemplate second or even third helpings. It makes me wish I had my own personal chef to grocery shop and prepare me the best food ever. Were I to win the lottery (not much chance since I don’t buy tickets), the first thing I would do is hire a chef. Then, I’d sit on a fine cushion and gain enough weight to be the fat lady in the circus.

Anyway, I don’t know how many of you that read my blog have to cook for just one person. If you are one of those folks, I’d love to hear about your efforts and successes.

EXERCISE

 

          This topic may have been blogged about in the past, but it’s heavily on my mind these days, so I’m going to blog about it. As I’ve stated before (I think), I hate exercise, hate it, hate it, hate it. I also hate sweating, hate it, hate it, hate it. I was perfectly happy going about my business without exercising, walking, doing anything that demanded regular physical activity.

          It’s probably been close to 20 years ago now when I was FORCED to exercise five days a week for four hours. I hurt my shoulder at work and the MD looking at my chart said, “We’re not going to just fix your shoulder, we’re going to fix you.” I guess the L&I folks went along because I was SENTENCED to work for four hours at my job and have physical and occupational therapy and directed exercise the four afternoon hours.

          I’m not going to kid you, it was HELL!!! Unfortunately, or quite possibly, fortunately by the time the four-week sentence was completed, I felt better than I ever had in maybe my entire life, at least my life after the age of 50. I felt so good, I joined a gym and got up at 4:30 am to go work-out before it was time to go to work. Amazing, huh???

          Once I retired, I even hired a trainer for a while to encourage and teach me how to work out better. I loved that, and loved the trainer whom I haven’t seen for a very long time now. I hope he and his family are doing well. I continued to go to the gym for many years after that. It was 24-hour Fitness and I had a life-time membership. Somehow, they screwed me out of my membership and pissed me off, so I stopped going. I haven’t really been in a gym since then.

          That didn’t mean I stopped exercising because my neighbor walked her husband to the bus stop every morning and proceeded on a longer walk after that. I joined her and we spent early mornings, rain, shine, freezing, whatever Mother Nature threw at us, walking for an hour. We kept this up for years and then her husband retired too, so we didn’t need to walk at 7:30 am. Our walking times got later and later; and now, she pretty much walks without me or with her husband.

          I do have good reasons for my lack of walking however. For some of that time, I had two hip replacements, but was soon walking again after each one. Shoulder repair took a while before I was back in my walking shoes. Regrettably, I developed another physical problem which put walking very low on my want-to-do list. I have peripheral artery disease (PAD) in my calves. I can walk for about 2500 steps before the pain in my calves becomes excrutiating.  I then have to stop and rest for a few minutes and/or massage my calves before I can continue. Then, it’s another 2500 or so and the same again. Meanwhile, my walking partner can usually complete our hour-plus-long walk in half my time. She says she doesn’t mind, but I feel like she’s sacrificing her cardio workout to stay with me.

          There are the Enhanced Fitness Classes at the Senior Center. I do try to faithfully attend these three times a week. I’m not always successful, but I do try. These classes offer cardio, stretches and some weight work. I feel better when I attend and I really like the instructor and some of the other attendees are very nice folks. I’ve made a couple of new friends through this class.

          Finally, when I had hip and shoulder surgery, I was given physical therapy. From that and my fitness class, I’ve pulled exercises and stretches that I attempt to do every single morning. They don’t make my heart pump very hard, but they do stretch out all the muscles from my toes to the ends of my hair. They keep me feeling more or less fit.

          When I think of my mother or my grandmother and how they never walked all that much or did anything in the way of exercise, I find myself a bit envious of their lifestyles. At the same time, I have to acknowledge the fact neither woman would have been able to cart the various heavy pots, bags of dirt and other stuff around without some assistance. They would also not have been able to do the things I’ve done this year all by myself…okay, me and I helped too…like pressure wash the deck and house, stain the deck and this week, scrape and paint the north side of the house and apply paint.

          These thoughts make me wonder how they spent their time and whether they felt fulfilled. Were they lonely with days that passed far too slowly? Did they wish they had gardens or homes that required lots of care and maintenance? Would they have been able to do what I’ve been doing at the same age? I don’t know and cannot ask them because they are no longer available…wish I could though.

          As I said in the beginning, I do hate exercise and sweating, but how my life would be if I didn’t exercise and sweat keeps me at it. And, to be perfectly honest, when whatever chore, walk, exercise, or pretty much anything that leaves me tired and sweaty results in that HUGE feeling of accomplishment…well, I love that feeling, love it, love it, love it.

GARDENING

             

One would think, or at least I do, that having spent 53 years in this house, with at least half, probably more, of those years spent gardening, I would have a garden worthy of note. Not so, although my garden has gone through many iterations during all those years.

For at least a decade or more, I had a fenced off portion in the back yard that was my vegetable garden. I planted all sorts of stuff, but my biggest success were the green beans. I always had at three if not four teepees and harvested so much I ended up canning them every year. Not much luck with green onions or radishes, but lettuce did well. Squash and peas did well and I provided so much zucchini people took to avoiding me. I gave up this garden once the boys got older and no one wanted to help with the weeding and upkeep.

This year, though, I think my garden has been the worst in history. Even the garden I had while undergoing breast cancer treatment and John yelling every time he caught me mucking about in the dirt was better. The weather was a big factor because it rained for months with little warm sun and it was cold besides. I’m a fair-weather gardener and didn’t actually get out there to do much until at least June…months behind my usual schedule.

Last fall I dug up all my dahlias and stored them for the winter. I hadn’t done this before because the garage was stuffed full of John’s treasures. Now it’s just mine and boxes filled with shredded paper fit perfectly on half the work bench. Amazingly, the tubers survived the entire winter, but not necessarily the spring. I did finally get a bunch of them planted, but it was way later than it should have been. Some of them have yet to bloom and the ones that are blooming are fairly scrawny. I don’t think I’ll have a huge bouquet by the time it’s necessary to cut them back for the winter. Very disappointing.

In the past, I’ve just left the dahlia tubers in the ground and if I lost some, ah well. Those that survived, and most did, I would dig up in the spring and separate if the clump of tubers had grown too big. That always worked very satisfactorily, and that’s what I plan to do in the future.

In the spring of 2021, I had three huge fuchsia baskets which I took apart and planted into five baskets. They grew and were lovely. Last fall, I trimmed them back and put them into the shed for wintering over. This is what I had done with previous fuchsia baskets. It was either the cold snap in December (per a woman at Swanson’s Nursery) or me not making sure the soil remained damp, but I lost all five baskets. By mid-June, it was obvious there would be no new growth, so I emptied all the baskets and stored them away. The spring of 2023, I’ll make sure I go to Flowerworld or watch for Fred Meyer’s fuchsia planting weekend, buy small starts and begin anew.

I also lost the two begonia baskets I had cultivated for a couple of years. With them, I think it was the cold snap rather than lack of moisture that did them in. So, no hanging planters to beautify my deck or the front of the house.

The complaining or gardening bad luck continued with my tomatoes, zucchini and lemon cucumbers. For the first time in forever, my tomato plants look diseased or sad due to lack of or too much water, fertilizer or who knows what. Yes, I am getting enough tomatoes to share with family and friends, but not the bounty of years past. Plus, as I said, the plants themselves do not look happy. I had three zucchini plants and got three zucchinis before whatever happens that make the tiny zucchini rot took over. I finally chopped them back to bare dirt. The three lemon cucumber plants are now producing two cukes, but I think that will be it.

The plants that really produced were the snow peas. Usually by June, these plants are done and ready to be pulled. This year I got snow peas into July and they were very yummy, cooked or raw. When I pulled them, I sprinkled zinnia seeds all over the dirt and raked them in. By the end of September, I should have a barrel of blooming zinnias.

When it comes to growing veggies in containers, for the last however many years I always say I’m not going to do it again…and then I do. I’ve a feeling there’s some kind of fungus or problem with the dirt, especially for the tomatoes. Once they’re done producing, I’m going to take the pots and empty them first into the squares in the back lawn where I placed stepping stones. I’ll then add some grass seed. Once those areas are full, I’ll move to the side of the house and dump the dirt there.

Once the pots are all empty, I plan to hose them out, allow them to dry and then spray with a bleach solution to, hopefully, make them sterile in case I’d like to add dirt in spring 2023 and grow stuff again.

Meanwhile, I feel like the gardening I’m doing now is in preparation for a great garden next year. I’ve begun cleaning out flowerbeds and am about a quarter of the way around the back garden. I’m going to see about adding fertilizer and a product that supposed to prevent seeds from germinating without affecting established plants. This, of course, will be in areas where I don’t plan to drop seeds. It’s also allowing me time to yank out plants that have suddenly decided to take over not only their assigned area, but areas that other plants are using.

It always amazes me how a small plant or two can become so HUGE over time. It also amazes me how a plant I thought was yanked and gone for good will suddenly appear after more than a year or two. I eliminated all the loosetrife several years ago, but it popped up in two separate places this year. The same with St. John’s Wort. I planted one of those more than a decade ago, didn’t like it, dug it out and sent it away. Since then and even this year, I come across small plants that must be growing from seeds.

There were white calla lilies in the back yard when we moved in. I tried very hard to make them go away, but it took building a deck over the original patch to eliminate them there. Stupidly, I planted some in a couple of other places and now, I have at least three patches I keep digging up that keep returning. In the front flowerbed, Thor ran a garden tiller through, and it cut up bluebell, calla lily bulbs and lily-of-the-valley plants which I’ve been fighting ever since. They continue to come up and spread and I continue to hack and remove.

I don’t know how long ago I purchased a hummingbird vine via a catalog. The plant arrived and I remember wondering how long it would be before the hummers were able to use it. It grows up one section of the back fence and this year it was stunning. A huge mound of green with lots of vines that ended in red-orange tube like flowers. The hummers were very happy. Unfortunately, now that it’s really established, it thinks it should send runners into the flowerbed and even into the lawn. I keep cutting those back, but I fear it’s going to be another ongoing battle.

All-in-all, I’m happy with my garden and seriously hope I can maintain the work I’ve been doing. If so, I should have lots of photos next year to share. Now, enough dancing on the keys…I need to go dance, i.e., work in the garden.

LABOR DAY

 

          It’s Labor Day weekend and instead of a big barbeque with family, friends and neighbors, it’s just me, myself and I, and we’re not sure if we’ll barbeque. Actually, it’s been a number of years since a big event was held at this Karlberg household, but the memories of those past remain, some of them strongly.

          The memories include many who couldn’t join me today even if invited because they are no longer here. This list would, without doubt, begin with John, but there are so many others and their faces/smiles/laughter and love for me, for each other, and for the holiday event shine brightly in my mind. In that way, I suppose they continue to live, but, still, I miss them and would welcome any one, or all of them, through my front door in less than a heartbeat.

Those memories also include the laughter of children as they ran, played, ate and drank as well as the tears that came from being too tired or having had too much sugar. The tears never lasted long and they were soon back in the game having been comforted by mommy or daddy. Today, those children are grown and some even have grown children of their own. I feel blessed to have watched them grow up and become the individuals they are today.

When it comes to guests, there’s one in particular that has stood the test of time and this may be/sound cruel, but it’s the first memory that really pops. I’m sure if I were to say something to my sons about the guest who was rather large and wore extremely short shorts and panties, they’d know immediately exactly to whom I was referring. When she leaned over the food table to fill her plate (more than once), the sight was simultaneously riveting and appalling. Yes, we were quite shameless in our private critiques and laughter. It makes me a bit sad now to think of her and how she must have felt about herself to appear in such attire.

          And speaking of the food table, let’s not forget the food, some of which I’ll probably never have again. Yes, I could still barbeque a burger, hot dog or brat, but to turn on the grill for just one of those seems a huge waste. And, yes, I’ll probably have a Double-D hot dog today, but I’ll prepare it in my little counter-top oven. It’s not quite as good, but it’s still a “hot” hotdog. I remember all the pasta and potato salads, baked beans, chips and dips; and yes, I’ve had some of each this summer, but none tasted quite as good as I remember them from previous events here. Besides, it’s difficult to make any of these just for one person without sending more than I’d want to waste to the compost bin.

I’d love to have a Jello salad but not the one made with lime and shredded vegetables. The one I’m thinking of was called a White Cap Salad. You combined packages of lime and lemon Jello with half that mixture setting up in the bottom of a container. Then you whipped cream with some sugar, added cream cheese and minced pineapple. You spread this mixture over the bottom layer, stirred up the remaining Jello that hasn’t quite set up in the bowl and poured that over the mixture. Using a fork, you’d pull some of the cream mixture up through the top making white caps. So full of sugar and fat, but oh so good. My mouth waters just typing this out.

The desserts were always yummy too. I used to make a chocolate cream cheese cake. I still have the recipe and it tasted like one of those chocolate fudgesicles you’d get as a kid. Again, lots of fat and sugar, but I certainly didn’t worry about those ingredients in my diet back then. Guests would bring other desserts and we’d enjoy those too.

As for this Labor Day weekend, I’ve kept myself busy. It was National Cinema Day on Saturday with tickets at $3.00. I went to see Bullet Train which was horribly violent but also hysterical. Brat Pitt was terrific. Since I hadn’t seen the last Thor movie, I saw that as well. It was also fairly funny and the music, three songs by Guns n’ Roses, sent me back to the days when it blared from AJ’s room. I enjoyed that movie too.

Sunday was spent grocery shopping, getting a bag of dirt from Sky Nursery so I can finish transplanting some indoor plants, a visit with Will the paint guy at Home Depot for a clear sealant for the remainder of the deck that’s under cover plus a scraper for the north side of the house and paint brushes. The day ended with a couple glasses of wine up at the neighbors, followed by more episodes of Big Sky.

Today is the actual Labor Day. I saw a funny post on Facebook about being sure to thank the mothers who LABORED to bring children into the world. While that’s not the kind of labor being celebrated today, there’s no reason not to add it to the list of things for which to be thankful. AJ is coming to labor for me and cut a few things down or off. I did try to do it on my own, but my saw broke. He shouldn’t have to labor too terribly long and can then return to his holiday. A quick trip to Snohomish to say farewell to honorary grandson Kamron who is moving to Texas on Tuesday will finish off this holiday. Well, okay, additional episodes of Big Sky watched from my bed will be the actual finish.

I am very thankful to have so many mental snapshots of people who were woven into the tapestry of my life during previous Labor Day weekends as well as the ones who touched on it this weekend. They make me smile, bring a tear or two, provide comfort and make me glad I’m still alive to initiate new memories and enjoy those of Labor Days past.

THE TREES/SHRUBS OF MY LIFE

 

          As most of us know, when developers move into an area, the first things to disappear are the trees. I think that was pretty much the case with my little area when it was developed and my house built. The previous owners had attempted to rectify the lack of trees. During their year’s residence, they planted five Japanese plum and two Japanese cherry trees plus three apple trees, one grafted cherry tree that provided three different kinds of cherries (when the birds didn’t get there first), plus the Christmas tree from their last Christmas here.

I don’t know if they planted the six popular trees along the back fence, but I don’t think so. They were fairly tall when we moved in. Every time someone came into our back yard, they’d exclaim, “You need to get rid of those before one falls on your house.” So, we did and I now wonder if they would have ever fallen because the majority of other popular trees in the area are still standing. I loved the way the popular leaves littered my back yard in the fall.

Over time, the two Japanese cherry trees were the first to go. One Japanese plum followed to make room for the child slide off the deck. Another plum was overwhelmed by Grandma Ebba’s grape vine and the Chinese wisteria…both of which have now grown into the greenbelt behind the fence. The Christmas tree remains at the end of the driveway.

          When AJ was a baby and I was a stay-at-home wife/mother, I went out one morning to hang a fresh wash on the line. When I opened the back door, the largest apple tree of the three, had fallen over due to an over abundance of small apples. It’s branches prevented me from leaving the garage. When John came home from work, he and a neighbor used a chain-fall to hoist it back into place. Three four-by-four posts held it in place for many years while it continued to provide the best apples I think I’ve ever had. This tree survives to this day although I haven’t had any apples for years. AJ, Haley and I pruned it down to the stubs a few years ago. Perhaps a mistake because it takes up about one-third of my entire back garden now. The tree expert and his minions will prune it back next winter; and, hopefully, that may kick it into producing fruit again…provided it’s warm enough for the bees show up to do their job

          At some point during the years, the cherry tree died due to whatever tends to infect them. After John’s death, I had the delicious apple tree and the Jonathan apple trees cut down. Their apples, few and far between always had maggots, so why keep them.

          Over the years, I’ve added trees to the garden. The first was a red maple a former friend gave me. It had been planted in a five-gallon bucket by her mother and sat on my friend’s deck forever. I brought it home and planted it at the southwest corner of the property. No internet then, so how was I supposed to know it would become this huge giant that Seattle City Light’s tree pruners took great delight in pruning so that when they were done it was all lop-sided. I understand the importance of keeping tree branches out of the power lines; but really, would it have been that much more difficult to leave it with a pleasing shape?

          This spring I noticed this red maple seemed to be having a problem. I called in the tree experts and was told it was suffering from a fungal infection, probably due to the triple digit hot weather we had in 2021.  I love that tree and it shades almost the entire house so I paid to have it treated and the dead wood cut out. It will get another treatment this fall and my fingers are crossed that when it comes time to leaf out in the spring that it will unfurl nothing but huge happy leaves. If not, the tree folks may be back to cut it completely down. That will make me very sad.

          The second addition was a black walnut tree a neighbor gave me. I couldn’t believe how fast it grew and continued to grow no matter how much I cut it back. I could more than fill up the garden waste container in the spring and then have to do it a time or to more before winter arrived. It was horribly messy and we never used the walnuts, but the squirrels loved it and that included the bark they’d strip off the limbs. I finally had it cut down and the tall stump now supports a beautiful clematis every spring.

          When my mother passed away, I was gifted two trees, both of which I had wanated. The first was a magnolia which provides me with beautiful lilac cup-shaped flowers in the spring. The other was a pink dogwood which hasn’t ever done terribly well, but I keep hoping it will surprise me one spring with a huge cloud of pink blossoms and in the fall with its red cherry-like fruits.

          As I stated in the beginning, my house was only about six years old when we moved in…pretty bare except for the small trees I mentioned above. Besides the trees, I’ve also added some shrubs which I find very pleasing.

          Memory may not be serving me well here and John isn’t available to ask, but I think the double-lilacs in both the front and back gardens came from either his mother’s or grandmother’s yards. They’ve become huge even though over the years I’ve hacked away at them. There’s also a dark single purple lilac in the back which came from John’s sister’s yard. Now they’re so tall, it’s hard for me to reach any of the blossoms and create a bouquet to bring in the house. I love the way they smell and could breathe that fragrance in for days and days.

          Great Auntie Lola gave me a start of her fuchsia bush, again, decades ago. It has remained in the same place since then and returns every spring and delights me with it’s purple-red blossoms and the memories I have of this wonderful woman…the humming birds love it too.

          I already mentioned that John’s grandma gave us the grape vine that grows with abandon no matter how much I hack at it. Besides growing up the trees in the greenbelt, it has almost covered the old chicken coop and has wandered its way down more than half the back fence. It doesn’t provide big grapes, but hundreds of clusters of small purple ones are very tasty.  One year my granddaughter picked buckets of them and I made grape jelly…haven’t done it since. Still, the birds, squirrels and raccoons (I think) love them too.

          At some point John hauled home some raspberry plants because he loved the fruit. His raspberry patch remains and I usually pick enough berries to make a batch of jam for the family. Of course, I had to buy the fruit when John was alive because he’d go out each morning and pick ripe ones for his cereal until the vines stopped producing. The last few years, these plants have made a dedicated effort to move beyond their allotted patch. Again, I hack away only to have them return again and again.

          I wonder if my kids and grandkids will read this post and look about the garden and reflect on the trees that remain when my time to cross over the Rainbow Bridge (or is it only doggies that can go over the Rainbow Bridge?) comes. Hopefully, this little history will bring a smile, or even, the best yet, cause them to take a cutting or dig up a small portion for their own gardens.

WHERE/HOW HAVE I BEEN

Here it is, September 2^nd, the ninth month of the year and it’s hard to believe so much time has passed. Even harder for me to believe is the fact I haven’t written anything in almost all of that time. I just checked this blog and found I’ve only written five posts in 2022, with the last one on April 18^th.

          I have to be honest and tell you I’ve missed writing, but apparently not enough to kick my brain into gear and force my fingers to dance on the keyboard. But, if I’ve missed writing, why haven’t I done it? I have no answer to that question aside from the fact it is much easier to do other stuff, i.e., read other folks’ writing, garden, sleep, watch TV (although I don’t do much of that…books are my preferred procrastination method); really, pretty much anything but sit at the keyboard and create.

          So, I guess I’ll make time to keyboard even if the subject about which I write is boring. That’s a negative thought so I’m going to look at some of the positives I’ve managed to achieve in the last nine months.

          There’s a new UV cover on part of my deck. I found and hired a great handyman who not only removed the old leaky cover, but installed the new one which allows me to be on the deck without being in the sunshine. It’s not that I don’t like sunshine, it’s more the sun doesn’t like me, especially the parts of my skin that have vitiligo. The parts that aren’t dead-white do become quite tan even though I stay out of the sun and use sun screen. I love to lounge in my canvas swing, read, watch the birds in the garden and simply enjoy the peace and quiet of sunny days.

          The deck, both covered and uncovered needed to be pressure-washed and sealed/stained. I pressure-washed the entire thing and researched what would be the best product with which to paint/stain it. It also meant I needed to have the rocks in my adjacent water feature removed so I could clean the little pond. My grandson, Xander removed the rocks for me (with some assistance from his big sister, Arayli). Once clean, I returned the rocks and once again, there is the sound of clear water trickling into the little pond that show-cases beautiful stones.

          Once I completed the stain/paint research, I went to one of the big box hardware stores and requested the product I’d chosen only to be told, “I’ve never heard of that.” I brought it up on my phone, and was told, “Just because it appears on the web site doesn’t mean we carry it.” Long story short, I ended up purchasing a product that was the color indicated on the product they didn’t carry and sand which I would toss onto the wet stain. The color was called, Shadow Mist and looked fairly grey on the screen.

          I applied two coats, one of them on the evening of the hottest day of the year and used a tea strainer to shake the sand on the wet stain. I was astonished at the color. With the application of the sand which didn’t leave a smooth appearance, more of a blotchy one, the color looked like that on the screen. For the most part, however, it was WHITE. To quote my eldest granddaughter when she first saw it, “Fuck, Nana, I’m blind.” It took some time, but I finally finished both sections of the deck. Unfortunately, since it’s so WHITE, it shows every single piece of debris/dirt. I’ll probably wash away all the sand hosing it off and it will still be slicker than snot in the winter. That was why I went to all this trouble…the slickiness…don’t want to fall and break something. Ah well, live and learn and a huge pat on the back to me, myself and I.  

          The part of the deck that is under cover doesn’t get wet, so I haven’t done anything to it. I’m thinking perhaps I’ll get a clear sealant for it so the wood shows through. But it’s September and I’m not sure if I can manage to get it done while the weather remains nice. I’d also like to paint the surrounding wood. It hasn’t been painted since 1989 when John gussied up the deck for AJ’s graduation party. Since it’s held up so well, I wish I knew the product he used. Another maybe project for maybe next year.

          My handyman also removed the lean-to that has been on the north side of the house forever…probably since a year or so after we bought the house in 1969. I know that because the original color of the house was light green and it’s been more of a dark or forest green since the first time it was painted. Removal of this lean-to revealed a section that was light green and has signaled more work for me.

          Just recently I pressure-washed that side of the house. Oh. My. Goodness. It was a very nasty job. It didn’t take long, but the water pressure not only removed the moss and dirt, but some of the paint. I was a mess from head to toe and soaking wet by the time I finished. Now, I need to get on a ladder (my kids have forbidden my ladder usage, but too bad) and scrape the areas where the paint came loose but not off. Then, I have to look at the paint my painters left and see if it includes a primer. If not, then I need to prime those areas before I paint. This has to be accomplished this month so bare wood isn’t exposed to winter. Ah, the joys of home ownership.

          Those are my two biggest projects for 2022, and the first of the posts I hope/plan to make in the coming days/months. And, so I’m not writing erotica as I’ve done in the past, but perhaps just being at the keyboard will kickstart those kinds of thoughts…I do miss writing about my erotic fantasies.

          And, writing about erotica, I have to report that I sent an email and synopsis of SHE to several publishers. Eureka, one of them responded and asked for several pages. I was quite happy…no, make that ecstatic…to send those on. This was followed up with an email requesting the entire book, and returned the requested pages already edited as an example of what that company would like. Talk about being excited…whooeeeeee, yep I was indeed. I then asked two friends to wordsmith SHE. They did so and I incorporated their suggestions, as well as my own efforts, into the final work which I then submitted to the editor at the publisher.

          In return, I was asked to complete a Promo Form which had to do with my previous publications, social media, blog, etc. I completed that, pretty much assuring them I’d be willing to do whatever it took to be published and returned it. That was in late June. Just this morning, I received an email from the editor telling me s/he had suffered an eye injury so screen time is limited. S/he indicated I’d hear back in October.

          So, SHE isn’t dead yet. SHE may still become a published book; but, even if SHE doesn’t, I feel extremely talented and happy that my writing, something so close to my heart and imagination, ran the gamut and reached a publisher’s editor’s desk for consideration. Please think positive, cross your fingers, rub Buddha’s belly, light candles, do whatever you do to send me, actually SHE, your positivity…I’m forever grateful for your support and encouragement. Until tomorrow.