ADVENTURING???

         Friday was an adventure day for me, myself and I. I got up showered, went on my daily walk for an hour, had breakfast and then got into my car for a 30-minute drive. I’d say two-thirds of the drive was on roads I used to traverse daily when I had a job. The second third I would use when Greenwood Avenue was too busy, either coming or going from home. Then, I used Third Avenue, which is what I used Friday.

          Not getting out and about very much certainly made me appreciate every single sight that came into my field of vision. There were special homes, yards and locations I hadn’t seen in a long while. I slowed down and looked especially hard at those as I passed. On Third Avenue, I was amazed at how many homes had been removed and replaced by new, more modern ones. When did that happen? I know it didn’t just happen since shelter-in-place became the norm, but not working didn’t provide many opportunities to drive that particular road.  

          My destination was Swanson’s Nursery in north Ballard. This nursery is allowing people to come shop on an appointment basis. You have to go on line and make an appointment. When you arrive, you have to be wearing a mask, as are all the employees in lime green shirts, and check in with the receptionist. After you are checked off, you take one of the clean shopping carts and are free to move about the nursery, but there are signs encouraging you to keep a six-foot distance from shoppers and staff.

          I could have spent most of the day there wandering around looking at stuff, but I believe you are expected to obtain what you want and be out of there within 30 minutes. So, I paid attention to my business. I selected a couple of squash plants, a pumpkin plant, and then sought out the tomato section. I’ve purchased my tomato starts at Swanson’s for the last five years at least and have always had very good luck.

          There are four pots on my driveway, so I chose four tomato plants that will get fairly large. Then I looked for the Tumbling Toms. I couldn’t find them and asked a staff person. She told me they were hiding from me, but directed me to where I found them. Initially, I thought there were only red ones, but I did find a yellow one too. The Toms will go in hanging baskets. I haven’t yet decided if I’ll move them out front to hang from the eves or if I’ll hang them in their usual spot in the backyard.

          In addition to the tomatoes, squash and pumpkin, I also bought Thai basil, regular basil and chives. I’ll plant those in smaller pots. I asked if Swanson’s carried potatoes, because I have two larger pots I’d like to plant with those. They did not, but I have some small red potatoes, so I think I’ll just plant a couple of those in each pot. They’ve worked just fine in the past.

          At checkout, I almost had to laugh. The young woman checking was wearing a mask. I was wearing a mask, but she was definitely into keeping six feet away from me. She told me to stay behind the stand that had the credit card machine. Then she took my cart, counted up the plants and rang them up. When I came around the table that held the credit card reader to get my cart, she backed further away than six feet. Better safe than sorry though, especially since I wasn’t the only shopper she was going to have to deal with that day.

          I took a different route home. I went back up Third and across 145^th to the freeway. I got on there and was amazed at how much work has been accomplished adjacent the freeway for the light rail. It wasn’t all that long ago I was making weekly trips with John, and the work seemed to progress at a snail’s pace. Miss a month…or two…and, wow, it’s coming right along.

          Instead of getting off at the Lake Forest Park exit, I went to the next one for Mountlake Terrace and east on whatever street that is. They’ve (whoever they is) have been working on that street forever, and they’re still not done. I drove carefully past all the orange drums, equipment and people. I believe they’re not just working on the street, but the light rail track as well. That led me to wonder if I’d be alive by the time it would be available for me to use.

A friend was going to come visit at 1:00 pm, but since I’d adhered to the 30 minutes at Swanson’s, I had time to grocery shop, so I did. I carefully parked in the south part of the lot because they had had only the south door open. When I got to the door, there was a sign informing me that door was closed…use the north door. Ah well, that was okay, just more steps toward my daily goal.

Shopping finished, I turned toward home. Not a lot new to see on that street because it’s the one I always use when I go to the grocery store.

This little adventure made me think about how reduced my travel area has become since I retired. When I worked, yes, I did travel the same route to and from most times, but those are routes I rarely use now. Plus, there were often events or errands that would take me out and about to Fremont, Ballard, the University District and other places. My life seemed to loom much larger then.

With the pandemic, my travel and my life have become even more limited. With the exception of Friday, I don’t think I’ve ventured further than 1.5 miles from my house most weeks. When I have to go to Costco, it’s probably three miles, but I only go there maybe once a month. Since some time in March, I’ve had two visitors, aside from my son, his wife and daughter. One yesterday and one the Friday before. I, myself, haven’t been out to visit anyone anyplace else.

Yes, I talk to people on the phone, stay in touch via email and/or Facebook, but it definitely seems as though my life is becoming more and more diminished. This is happening at a time when I seriously expected my life to be growing and expanding with new experiences, places, friends, family and abilities. That’s not happening for me or for the majority of people these days. It doesn’t look like the door to any novel happenings is going to open wide any time soon thanks to the novel coronavirus.

Getting out and traveling about on Friday really was an adventure and I was surprised just how excited and pleased I was to travel those roads and see those sights. I read something recently, or someone told me, about just getting in the car and taking a drive. You don’t need to wear a face mask for that. You don’t have to come in contact with any other people in the process. All you have to do is get in the car, turn it on, and choose a direction. I think in the coming days and weeks, while we’re still sheltering-in-place, I’m going to do just that…plan a little road trip for me, myself and I.

RYTHER, MARRIAGE COUNSELING, MOVING ON

         It’s funny how one post can lead to the next. Yesterday I mentioned Ryther Child Center and the counseling I received there. I didn’t have one-to-one counseling for very long and was then introduced into a group setting. The group was made up of mothers just like me who had been referred because of a tendency for some form of child abuse. The number of participants changed over time, but there was a core group of us.

          We all brought our children who participated in a play group across the hall. I assume they were monitoring the kids to make sure we weren’t abusing them, but I never asked and the counselors never said. I know AJ loved going there and playing with the friends he made.

          Fortunately, this counseling was on a sliding fee scale which was a good thing because I don’t think any of us could have afforded to participate otherwise. We had two counselors, Paul and Susan. Once I figured out that Paul was the counselor who ripped off your scab and Susan was the positive one providing succor and support, they pretty much kicked me out. I guess they figured they’d done as much for me as they could.

          I have to admit they did a good job. I never abused my children either physically or mentally. When I had to use the wooden spoon, it took like six smacks and when the crying ended, I’d go in and we’d talk about how I felt like such a bully and hated to hurt my son, but mommy had tried everything to get the child to do whatever it was…usually disappearing without telling me where to. As far as mental abuse. I was raised with guilt, and no matter how hard I try to guilt my boys into doing something…”Yeah, mom, that’s not gonna work.”

          We met once a week, on a Thursday, for an hour and a half. There were days I stayed in bed until it was almost time to go because I didn’t want to go. I knew it was my turn to have my scab(s) ripped off. I didn’t like that. I also didn’t like Paul telling me that crying so hard I couldn’t talk was a way to avoid dealing with whatever we were working on at that point in time. I persevered because I wanted to be a good mother.

          There are two women in particular I remember from these sessions. One of them had just had her fourth son. She was devastated. She was also Catholic and believed God was punishing her by giving her boys. In high school, she’d gotten pregnant and her parents had pretty much locked her in the attic and forced her to give up that child for adoption. She’d given up a daughter and that’s why God was giving her boys. She also didn’t have a very supportive husband…think he drank…and she was, as we say now, a hot mess. She was still in counseling when I left and I hope she eventually came to terms with herself.

          The other woman had one child and not much of a support group outside of our sessions. She was amazingly talented artistically. At Christmas time one year, she brought us each a cookie that she had baked and decorated. It was the most beautiful cookie I had ever seen. I simply couldn’t eat it and used it as an ornament on my tree until it finally fell apart one year. I wonder if she was ever able to go on and do something with her talent.

          Now, I’ve mentioned that John and I separated and then got back together. Well, things didn’t go well, so we were going to separate again. This time I was the one that was adamant. I told John, “I didn’t want to share the same air we breathed if that’s all we shared.” I gave him a hard date by which he had to move out of the house…I was making enough money by then to make the mortgage payment.

          It was John this time who worked hard to convince me we should not separate. He brought up marriage counseling and wanted to go. I was still involved with Ryther then, so he went to see someone there. He did not like the counselor he was seeing one little bit. So, I asked Paul if he could be neutral enough to counsel us both.

          At our first meeting with Paul, he told us he’d see us five times and on the fifth time, he’d tell us to either call it quits or what we needed to work on to stay married. On the fifth time, Paul told us there was a lot of glue holding our marriage together, but we didn’t know how to communicate with each other. For the next year, John and I went every other week to meet with Paul. Toward the end, we got to where we’d say, “Fine, don’t talk to me now. You can pay $40 to hear it next week.”

          John and I learned how to communicate and communicate well. I was a little worried because he went to Alaska to work for the summer as a carpenter for New England Fish fairly soon after we finished counseling. Since there weren’t any phones where he was, he wrote letters. If I have any of the ones he wrote to me, they’re probably in the trunk in the attic. AJ hadn’t yet learned to read well, so John wrote letters using pictographs. I saved those letters in AJ’s baby book and AJ still has them. They were fun and clever and certainly showed just how much he loved his boy. I think I’d like to read them again as a matter of fact.

          That was right around 1977. Move ahead to 1979. We had finally gotten pregnant…only took five years, but we had a great time getting there. We showed up for our childbirth classes at Group Health. There was a woman there alone. She said her husband was running late. Imagine our surprise when in walked our counselor, Paul. At least he learned from our presence his counseling provided positive results. 

          During childbirth, we found out Paul and his wife had a daughter and had lost another child. I don’t remember if it was at childbirth or later. In any case, their daughter had been an only child for a long time. It was so nice to see him again, but John took exception to Paul’s attitude toward the only child getting a sibling…she’ll need to just get over it.

          I gave birth to Thor on a Friday. I had to stay in the hospital longer than planned because I hemorrhaged after Thor was born. I think it was the day I went home, but suddenly, there was Paul in the hallway…his wife had just given birth to his son.

          A couple of years went by and I was in need of a counselor, or at least some advice. Paul was in private practice, so I made an appointment. I was in a lot of pain because an extremely good friend had a husband who was abusive. He had told her she could not see me again because John had threatened to break both his arms if he ever hurt her again.

          This was someone with whom I spent part of every single day for at least three years. Suddenly, she and her kids could no longer be a part of my life. It hurt and it hurt a lot. Paul’s advice, however, didn’t ease the hurt in any way. He had seen my friend and her husband for counseling (my recommendation) at least once, so he was aware. His advice to me was to stay in touch with her. I was to pretend she was on an island that didn’t have outgoing mail or phones. I should still call and send cards and letters.

          I never saw Paul again after that session. I felt a bit betrayed because his advice didn’t assuage my pain. Eventually, my friend did get a divorce, but moved much further away. I still see her on occasion and when I do, it’s like we just got together yesterday. She’s happy now and I’m happy she’s happy, but it would be absolutely super if she lived around the corner from me like she once did.

          Sitting here at the keyboard, I’m amazed by how my mind has traveled through some of those back years and memories. Pam, begonia; Susan, begonia; Ryther, Paul; childbirth class, Paul; my friend, Paul. I know exactly how Pam and my other friend are doing, but I have no idea about Susan or Paul. I sincerely hope they are having great lives…they added so much that was beneficial to mine.

DIABETIC DIET...UGH

         On Tuesday I had a phone visit with my doctor about a recent problem. It could be the result of Type II diabetes, so rather than put me back on Metformin, which I stopped taking last August, we agreed I would adjust my diet and see if I could get my blood glucose back down to a lower range. I hate getting the message, “High Pattern” on the glucose reader and I’ve been getting it a lot lately.

          Now, for those of you who may not know me well, I don’t, and haven’t ever looked as though I could have diabetes of any type. In fact, when I was first diagnosed, the day after Thanksgiving, thank you so much, I told them they had the wrong person. That’s because I didn’t eat a lot of junk and sugar and got up at 4:30 am every morning to go to the gym before I went to work.

          Nope, the nurse calling informed me, I was definitely a Type II diabetic. Like I said, this was the day after Thanksgiving, so I was given until the end of February to bring my A1c down to a non-diabetic level. I gave up every single bit of sugar I’d had in my live, mainly two raw sugars in my grande latte. I also gave up carbs…not a one passed my lips. I looked for and found a non-carb bread. I watched what I ate and drank like a hawk with a mouse in view.

          Come the end of February, my A1c hadn’t budged at all even though I’d lost 20 pounds. Bummer. So, it was on to Metformin. I worked with the Group Health pharmacist for a number of months to find the right dosage and keep track of my glucose. Eventually, he told me I didn’t need to check my glucose more than a few times a week, unless I changed my diet dramatically. He also told me it was okay to “binge” once in a while and have pizza or a hamburger, something that was really good, but not necessarily good for me. The research I did then led me to believe I am insulin intolerant.

          So, that’s what I’ve done for the last 12 years or so, until last summer. I had developed some intestinal problems. After much complaining, I went to see a gastroenterologist. He looked at my history, talked about this and that, what I could and could not try. At almost the end of the appointment, he brought up Metformin. That drug, he said, could actually cause my problem. He suggested I stop taking it for a couple of weeks and see what happened. I did and added Citrucel to my diet. Problem solved.

          I then emailed with my primary doctor and she agreed I should stop the Metformin. Then, in six months (March 2020), I would have my A1c done and decide whether to return to Metformin. Well, y’all know what happened. I managed to get my eyes checked (no big change, yeah!!!) and my ears tested (another no big change, yeah!!!), but before I could get to the lab or get to the doctor appointment I had for the end of March, everything was cancelled!!!

          So, here I am worried about my high glucose levels and no way to test aside from my little monitor. No way to get to a lab and have my A1c determined. If it remains under seven (7), then I don’t need a diabetes drug of any kind at my age. So, since I can’t visit the lab and as a result of that MD phone conversation, I’m changing my diet…boo, hiss, moan, cry.

          Starting today, once again, I’m going to be watching my sugar and carbs. I’ve pulled up the old spreadsheet I developed that will show absolutely everything I eat and drink as well as all the various nutritional values of whatever enters my big mouth. I love Safeway everything bagels. I toast them, put a slice of cheese on top, melt the cheese and top with sliced English cucumbers. The is my lunch most days…not anymore beginning today. Going forward, it’s going to be veggies, fruit, seafood, chicken, and a bit of meat.

          I already thought I was eating well, but apparently not. I’m going to have to concentrate on eating multiple times a day, but small amounts. And, I’m going to have to keep that spreadsheet pulled up and filled in. I haven’t looked to see how much in the way of sugar or carbs my daily allotment of gin contains, but I may have to stop that as well.

          There’s no way I can even look forward to having a “binge” meal since I can’t go to a restaurant. Yes, I could still get one of those meals to go, but why put out the extra effort if I cannot share it with a friend. At this horrible pandemic time, it seems like I should be able to just eat whatever I want since it’s just about the only physical pleasure available.

          You know, somehow old age is definitely not all it was cracked up to be. My old body has a variety of problems that can be or are addressed via prescription medications, i.e., levothyroxine (thank you radiation), Cymbalta (thank you chemotherapy), Gabapentin (thank you chemotherapy). These are supposed to be my “golden years?” Well, if they’re golden, it’s only a very thin coat over lead. I’m sure I’d feel a lot different if we weren’t in the midst of this pandemic. I guess you could say I’m feeling sorry for myself…sheesh, what a surprise.

I think of my grandma, and I should keep her memory at the forefront. She didn’t exercise, she wore housedresses and fixed and ate pretty much whatever she wanted. If memory serves, she didn’t take hardly anything in the way of medications, either prescription or over the counter. She seemed extremely happy with her lot in life. If she wasn’t, she certainly didn’t whine (like me) about it and just kept on keeping on. I guess I’ll keep on keeping on, but as of today, I doubt there’ll be very much in the way of tasty foods going over my lips, by my gums, look out tummy, here it comes.

GRRRRR, COMCAST, GRRRRR

         I had already a post for today, but that was before our wonderful internet and cable provider, Comcast, took up my entire Wednesday. I have never ever disliked a company as wholeheartedly as I dislike this company. It might be different if there was a choice to be made, but Comcast has a monopoly in my little city. Yes, I’ve seen Century Link and Frontier trucks out and about, and I even think there are some people who have one or the other, but they aren’t any happier than I am.

          When I got up Tuesday morning, I let the dogs out, made my latte and sat down to watch the crawl on Good Morning America. There was no service. I got a message saying the company had a problem and they were working hard to rectify. Thanks for your patience. Fine, I went on with my day.

Late last evening, I turned on the TV again, only to receive the same message. I texted my neighbor and she responded saying their cable had been out earlier in the day, but came back on about 2:00 pm. So, I tried all the usual things, unplugging, plugging back in, and finally called Comcast. When the computer operator learned my zip code, she informed me there was an outage, assured me they were working hard, thanked me for my patience and hung up.

I went to my computer. Additional frustration because I could not get a real live person. All I got was a computerized assistant who told me the same thing I’d heard on the phone only in print. No matter how I tried to word my question, I got the same message over and over. Fine, pissed, I went to bed and read for a while. I usually set the TV on mute and to turn itself off in an hour. I had a bit of difficulty going to sleep because without outside interference, my brain likes to dance about from one topic to another, keeping me awake.

This morning, I got up, let the dogs out, made my latte and turned the TV on. Same thing, same message. I went on my walk and when I came home, I called Comcast again. Got the same operator who gave me the same information and hung up on me.

Moved to the computer and said to text me when an operator was available. I also said I wanted to wait for an agent on line…figured I’d get some help one way or another. Well, I got a phone call and when I got off, I had five text messages…three said I could chat now, one said my service had been restored, one said my time was up.

Back to the computer and this time I got to chat live with William who was very helpful. He did everything he could to get me back on line. Nothing he did worked, so he had to talk to his support division. I then got a text telling me a technician would be here today between 2:00 and 4:00 pm. I got the message before William did.

Now the technician (Will) has been here for more than an hour and it still isn’t working. He’s now outside checking various connections. He found more than one connection that is apparently still on line…the connection to the living room and the one to the bedroom should be the only live ones. He’s in the process of shutting down all the other connections…apparently the one that used to go to John’s room and the one that went to my sewing room. He’s even on the side of the house where I didn’t think there was anything.

I wish there was some way I could bill Comcast for my time. I figure if I was still working, I’d be making $50-60/hour, so that company could end up owing me an entire month’s payment (or more), or one month of free service. That, of course, won’t happen. Actually, it should be more because of the other things I had planned to do today. None of those happened except for cleaning and dusting my desk…did that while I was waiting on William’s multiple responses. At least I’m now surrounded by dust-free and shiny surfaces in which I can throw my hissy fit.

Will left a bit after 6:00 pm, so he was here a good three plus hours. I certainly cannot fault him for his service…he was GREAT. Besides checking everything in the house, he climbed up the telephone pole and checked everything there. He gave me a new box, he ran a line from outside to the box, but no matter what he did, including talking to other folks elsewhere, he kept getting the very same message I did. Eventually, he talked to someone who said it might be a node…whatever that is. Another technician was going out to check on that.

Will asked if he could hang around for a while to make sure it worked whenever the node was fixed. I gave him a diet Coke and we swapped stories about caves and travel and families. After being home alone f o r e v e r, it was nice having someone at the other end of the room on the couch participating in a conversation with me.

Then, just before KOMO TV news came to an end, voila, the TV came on. Will disconnected his line to outside and the TV froze, but as soon as he connected my cable, it came right back on. He finished gathering his materials and went home for dinner. Will said in his 20 years of service, he’s never had a problem like mine…how about that, once again I’m an original. 

Now, while I may HATE Comcast, the technicians I’ve dealt with today as well as those from a year ago were first rate. They were kind, knowledgeable, eager to fix my problem(s), and didn’t quit until the TV was on and working again. In a survey this morning, I gave William gold stars and if they ask about Will, he’ll get the same…nothing but positive comments.

I still think I should get a month free though…don’t you agree???

MORE PLANT STORIES

         Yesterday I posted about Pam and the begonia which made me start thinking about the part plants have had in my life. In fact, today I transplanted the plants that needed it, and moved some of them around. I still have some to go, maybe not a complete transplant, but they always appreciate a trip to the deck and a serious hosing off. It started to rain, so I’ll need to finish this up another day.

          When I was growing up, my Grandma Alice grew gorgeous African violets. She would give me starts, but no matter what I did, they never ever equaled the ones she grew. Perhaps I didn’t pay enough attention…when you’re a teenager, there are so many other things to grab and hold your attention. No one else in the family really did anything with house plants, but they did garden outdoors.

          When John and I bought this house, I didn’t have a single plant. When we separated six years later, I eventually moved into a little house by Green Lake. I built a brick and board bookcase for my stereo, records and books. It looked a bit bare, so I began to purchase a plant here and there. By the time I moved back home, I had the beginnings of a collection. My brick and board bookcase took up residence at the east end of my living room.

          Yesterday I said I’d had the begonia going on 40 years. Well, the Beefsteak Begonia pictured here I’ve had for 48 years. While John and I were separated and after I filed for divorce, I went to the Open Door Clinic in the University District. I needed some help getting strong enough to make John stay away from me, not AJ, just me, because I still loved him so much and it was so hard.

I made plant stand too

          I got the help I needed, but something else came to light in my sessions. I had a tendency for child abuse…not physical, but mental. My counselor signed me up for sessions at the Ryther Child Center. I learned a lot during the time I attended all those group sessions and maybe I’ll write about those another time. Anyway, my Ryther counselor had this plant hanging in her window. At some point she gave me a start of her Beefsteak Begonia.

          As you can see in the photo, it isn’t very big. Over the years it has grown big, been cut back, almost died, been nursed back to health and continues to live with me. It was in a much smaller pot before today. I hope it likes the new pot it’s living in now.

          In the process of doing this plant maintenance, I also noticed that another one of the Begonia gigantiosium has a bloom stalk. If you look in the middle of the photo, you can see it.

          A couple years after moving home, John replaced my brick and board planter with a three-tier redwood tongue and groove planter. He also installed gro-lux lights up against the ceiling. I’m sure lots of the neighbors thought we were growing pot, but we weren’t doing that at that point in time.

          A neighbor and I taught ourselves how to macrame. I made macramae hangers for my plants. At one point in time, there were two plants hanging in front of every single window in the house. I even tried selling them at the Lake Forest Elementary School craft fair one year. John built me a beautiful display and one of the PTA ladies told me that she could tell how much he loved me just by the way he looked at me…nice.

          I’ve also included a photo of a macrame hanging I did way back when. It used to hang on the living room wall, but I have an original painting I purchased at the Jungle Party one year. Amazingly, I haven’t been able to find the artist anywhere on the internet…guess the kids won’t be able to sell the painting to some museum for a ton of money.  When I made the hanging, I followed the directions to the letter, but no matter what I did, the central portion came out not centered. Finally, I threw the directions down and just did what made sense…it came out centered that time.

          Over time, and as I grew older, my plant collection dwindled. Some of them died. I gave some of them away. Some I didn’t pay enough attention…I’d love to have my red orchid cactus back. I took it outside for a wash, left it there and didn’t get it back inside before it froze…sad, sad, sad. We repainted and removed the hooks from the ceilings in the process. I just didn’t have the time or energy to give them the care they required. At the height of my plant phase, taking them all outside for a cleansing spray and repotting could take almost a whole week.

          John took out the redwood planter when we removed the carpet and had the hardwoods restored. Since Haley is 18, that would be 15 years ago. He also removed the gro-lux lights from the ceiling, so the plants now have to depend on whatever natural light comes in through the windows. I do have one standing plant light, but it doesn’t provide enough light for the entire group. Just the ones that could use some extra get to be close to it.

          When I was thinking about having a garage sale and eliminating a lot of stuff in the house, I figured I’d include the majority of my plants. I'd keep my two special begonias and probably a couple of others, but I do believe I could let the remainder go for a good price. I know if I move to a small place, I wouldn’t want all that many plants, plus if I ever get to travel again, I wouldn’t be able to be gone for long periods without providing for their care.    

          I’m seriously hoping I can save my black bean tree. I’ve had it forever and it’s been through a lot. When Zooey the cat was young, we came home one day to find the black bean on the floor, some of its leaves shredded and it’s roots out of the pot. I babied it and it recovered and continued to grow. Now, it has scale again. I put it in the shower, washed it off and have put a No-Pest Strip between two of its branches. It's residing in the bathtub until the scale is dead. If the scale doesn't die, then I may have to send it to the yard waste can…don’t need scale on all my other plants.

I do need to finish with the house plants so I can turn my attention outside. I have an appointment at Swanson’s Nursery on Friday to go pick out tomato plants. With all the cars except mine gone, I can now grow my squash, tomatoes, beans and who knows what else down the north side of the driveway…they’re all going to love the heat from the asphalt…and I’m going to love eating them and maybe sharing them with friends and family.

It felt good today though to mother my plant babies and think about where some of them originated. I like the way I’ve arranged them this time, but then I always like the way they look when they are dust free and shiny. I’ll get to the rest of them in the next week or so and then I’ll be done, except for watering, until this time next year...unless I have that garage sale.

PAM AND THE BEGONIA GIGANTIOSIUM

         This is a post about friendship and a plant. My east coast or Cape Cod best friend is Pam. We first met when we both worked at the University of Washington. Her husband, Ed, was getting a degree in Oceanography and she’d been hired as the Department of Physiology and Biophysics editor. We worked together for about a year or so on the text book I posted about before.

          Pam grew up in New Jersey and how or why we became best friends, I’ve no idea, but we did. I love her sense of humor and she must like mine. We also like the same kind of books and movies. When her husband finished his degree, he was hired by Woods Hole in Massachusetts. So, she left, but we stayed in touch via letters and cards…no computers in the 1970s. They built a house not too far from the beach and I figured I’d visit her someday. In 1979 her husband was awarded a year’s sabbatical back here at the University of Washington. I was so excited to have her close by again, plus I was pregnant.

          Well, big surprise. When Pam arrived here, she told me she was pregnant too. I’d be having a baby in February (Thor) and her baby (Alex) would be born the beginning of April. How fun it was to share this experience. I could hardly stand it when she and her baby and husband returned to Massachusetts that summer.

          Jump ahead a couple of years and John and I were going east to attend a friend’s school graduation in Baltimore. I left a few days before John and flew to Boston. It was February with snow and ice, but her husband came and picked me up. I had a few days with her and her son before returning to Boston and flying to Baltimore. In fact, I was lucky her husband was able to get me to the airport, and even luckier that our friend had a friend with four-wheel drive. The east coast was suffering from the worst blizzard they’d had in 40-some years.

          While I was at Pam’s, I was taken with this wonderful plant she had. She didn’t know the name, but it was gorgeous. Jump ahead, I don’t remember how long, and her husband came to Seattle for some reason or other having to do with oceanography. Thor and I met Ed at McDonalds in the University District. He had a big black garbage bag for me. He’d carried it on the plane (couldn’t do that now) and inside was leaves and pieces of the rhizome from that wonderful plant. I was so excited.

          It’s now almost 40 years later and that plant, Begonia Gigantiosum, still lives in my house. In fact, at the moment I have five pots of them…it’s the most I’ve ever had at one time. Over the years, I’ve populated the northwest with this plant. I’ve given it to family, friends and even took some into the Woodland Park Zoo for the Tropical Rain Forest. I do warn them, however, that it can get large enough to require its very own room.

          Just now, while writing this, I looked on the internet to see if I could find this begonia. There are like 1800+ different begonia plants and I couldn’t find mine among the ones listed. I do know I have the name correct, because when I found it all those years ago, I thought the name most fitting because it does become as huge as you’ll allow it to be. I just wish I could remember how and where I found the information…there was no internet then.

          What caused me to write about this plant and Pam today was the fact it is actually blooming. This is the very first time I’ve had my begonia bloom like this. Other people, to whom I’ve given the plant, have had it bloom, but it apparently didn’t like me well enough to bloom before now…I guess I had to grow on it. Now it is blooming, and while the bloom isn’t all that attractive, I’m happy it’s happy enough to bloom in my bathroom.

          It doesn’t look all that large in the photo, but by the end of summer, it will take up a huge amount of space in my bathroom.  Fortunately, I’m not terribly tall and the room has a high ceiling so I don’t run into it. The leaves will be bigger than my hands put together and the leaf stems can become a half-inch to an inch in diameter. It looks gorgeous in there and when I sell the house, I may need to leave the one in the bathroom behind…if the new owners want it.

          Unfortunately, the rhizomes also grow and can become a couple of inches in diameter. Almost every summer, maybe every other summer, I’ve had to take the plant outside, remove the majority of its leaves, take it out of the pot and cut it into two or four sections before replanting. This is why I have so many now…I didn’t find homes for the extras when I did this last summer.

          As I said above, Pam and her family returned to Massachusetts the summer of 1980. Shortly after, my husband came up with a stash of tape recorders. I sent one to Pam and rather than writing, we began to send each other tapes. Sometimes they were 60 minutes, other times 90. Sometimes we sent or received more than one. Part of my idea was that our boys could talk to each other when they began talking. That didn’t happen too much, but what a treat it was to hear my friend’s voice every month or two. Those tape recorders eventually wore out and we replaced them. I think we stopped sending tapes when email and cell phones came on line.

          I’ve been back to Cape Cod twice more since the visit in 1982. Thor and I went when he was 10 or 12 years old. Pam’s library provides passes to a variety of places, so she took us to Plimoth Plantation, Plymouth Rock, and the Mayflower. We had a great time and the two boys got along famously. They went wind-sailing together down at the beach, and Thor shared his love of comic books with Alex.

It was kinda funny actually having a conversation face-to-face after all the years of sending tapes. Pam offered to set her timer and after I talked for an hour, it would be her turn. I went to see her once more on my own after my mother died. Pam worked every day which was fine because it allowed me the space I needed for grieving, plus it was so good to see and be with her.

Pam’s first son was born in Seattle and came back for a job interview some years ago. It looked like he and his wife might relocate to Seattle, but that didn’t happen. They’re in Maryland I think. Her youngest son, born in Massachusetts, did relocate and now lives in Bellingham. Pam came out about a year ago to see him and his wife, her first trip back here since 1980. It was so good to see her and I toured them around the zoo and took them to dinner at Ray’s. She was supposed to come back this spring, but the pandemic has squashed that idea.

These days, we email back and forth if we have something to say. If we use our cell phones, it’s not unusual for our conversations to last more than an hour, sometimes close to two…we don’t set a timer. We’ve talked about doing some traveling together. I know she loves cruises because she’s done it and didn’t want to get off the ship. Maybe when all this craziness is over, we can pick a destination and meet up at some port or another. And, just maybe, I can figure out how to take her a new Begonia gigantiosium.

THE NEW FASHION STATEMENT

         It’s a sign of the times, I guess. When I go out, I don’t pay a lot of attention to the people I see other than making sure I’m not in their space and they are not in mine. Back in the day when I used to go to work, I was used to getting compliments on my apparel, haircut, nails, whatever. Once I retired, being complimented for something was rare because I mostly wore sweats or jeans with tank tops. I stopped using makeup ages ago, and if my hair wasn’t great, I put on a hat.

          Even though I just went to the store on Thursday, I didn’t plan well, so had to go back on Sunday because the doggies were out of food. Their Chewy order will arrive at some point in time.

          Finished at the checkout counter, I went to take my cart and the bag person goes, “I really like your mask.” I was so surprised I almost didn’t thank her. But I did and said that my daughter-in-law made it for me which she thought was very cool.

          Actually, I now have three masks. My walking partner, Kathy, made me one weeks ago and I’ve worn it faithfully when I’ve had to go out. I’ve also washed and dried it. We have received compliments on the masks Kathy made when we’ve been out walking. In fact, she’s now made more than 100 and gifted them to family, friends and on Buy Nothing to anyone who wanted one…for free!!! This woman has a trillion Karma points!!!

When I saw my son and his daughter last Monday, I really liked the way their masks fit. I asked where they got them and AJ said his wife, Angie, made them. I asked if she’d make me one. The ones Angie made are different than the ones Kathy makes. Angie puts something bendable in the middle top so you can squeeze it over your nose. AJ said it’s the rigid part of the top of a coffee bag. And, the material isn’t folded over at the sides the way Kathy does hers. Angie folds the middle at the top and bottom, so you have a little open space in the middle below the nose pincher.

          Angie then made me two. When she sent me the photos, I told her I’d take the blue one, but she said I had to have both because my granddaughter had picked out the fabric of the red one. When they arrived, all I had to do was fix the elastic so they fit properly.

          There have also been some photos on Facebook of a wide variety of masks. There were some really fancy ones for Easter. There was another one that looked like the mask the woman was wearing had red lips. Then, she pulled on it and it opened up into a huge mouth…made me laugh out loud. There are many many creative and funny examples of face masks. I guess face masks are the new fashion statement. I’m so glad I have such talented women in my life who made me mine.

At the end of this post, I included a photo of one of the fanciest masks I’ve seen on Facebook. Mine aren’t that fancy, but I love all three of mine and will rotate them through the days. I also think I’m going to start looking at the people I see when I go to the store. Being complimented on my mask made my day. Maybe I can make someone else’s if I pay it forward.