Oddball (?) Breakfast

I grew up on boring breakfasts. Waffles were exciting... and quite rare of course. Mom often had what she called "Yankee Pudding" for us: white bread toasted, put on a plate with a bit of white sugar and milk. Cut them into polite pieces however you wished. I was bored enough to cut it (2 across, 2 down) into 9 pieces and eat them in various patterns. Yep, that bored. Cereal was common. A step up was french toast or pancakes, and when she really felt like cooking we got bacon and eggs: over easy, scrambled, sometimes hard boiled. We kids got milk & OJ, our parents coffee, black.

Nineteen years till I was out of the house... ho hum.  We were always fed. Never inspired, at least not by breakfast. Now fresh caught fish, deep fried with beer-batter onion rings....... ahhh. But somebody had to go fishing first. Daddy got the last two sips of beer not needed for the batter in our otherwise teetotaling house. I tried it once... ick!

Fast forward a "few" years. OK, decades then. I'll hit the freezer section for individual meals, ranging from eggs-plus to Pad Thai and much in between. Fast and no work other than the microwave for that and heating water for instant coffee is the rule. "Dishes" are disposable, cups and silverware not, so Steve deals with those when he does his kitchen cleanup. Some days I might involve the toaster for PB&J. I got "wild" and switched to raisin bread in the toaster, plus a dab of cocoa powder in the hot coffee water which instantly became standard.  When the microwaved scrambled eggs got boring I added cut frozen peppers and onions, or jelly, homemade by my youngest and always plentifully distributed to the entire family and friends. Occasionally I'd switch that up to orange marmalade which he doesn't make. Other times I'd pop on a slice of pepperjack cheese, maybe some turmeric for interest or color. 

Whatever it was, it was fast and easy, no pots and pans, no messy stoves. Those were Steve's domain. He loves to cook that way. I just let him clean up as well. My one exception, of course, was the Thanksgiving turkey and my stuffing muffins, enough work over two or three days to discourage me for another year.

This morning I decided on something a little bit different, a new combination of old favorites. The big freezer is still over-full from both of us stocking up on raisin bread. Steve's kind of tired of it, going back to Italian bread or sourdough these days, leaving a plentiful supply for me. I decided to try a new breakfast sandwich. There were two ends from the last loaf, the replacement loaf ready to move to the fridge and start thawing. I'd set out the orange marmalade on the counter, finally tired of how solid it gets when chilled even when trying to stir a spoonful over hot cooked eggs or fresh toast. The label doesn't call for refrigeration.  So it got spread on the two heel ends, thin pre sliced pepperjack cheese on each before plopping a thin slice of ham between, folded together into a sandwich. No cooking needed, toasting totally optional. A paper towel makes an adequate "plate". A little "heat", a lot of flavor, and good nutrition in every bite. I might be hungry again by 2, but likely not sooner. Thirsty maybe. The ham is salty regardless of flavoring. This one happened to be applewood smoked.

OK, call me weird, and don't bother to try it. Or get bored... or brave... and give it a try. You might get hooked... for any meal.

Scammed

Yep, it happened to me. I fell in love with a picture of an iris online and bought it... and then did some research. Company's reputation sucked, colors were... improbable to be polite, not to mention the same photo popped up with several different variety names attached. Further research yielded even different species names! Same photos of course. Oops!  I'd say shame on them, but it seems to point just as well on gullible me.

At least I didn't spend a lot on it. After that I went to reliable sources first before thinking about ordering. Back in the early '90s there was a fairly local farm that specialized in iris and daylilies. With a new house at the time, nothing in the yard, I did some shopping while they were blooming, and most are not just still living but scattered now across several yards. (Ever hear of a daylily aptly named "root beer"?) Unfortunately they went out of business, reasons unknown.

That "first" part this time around included catalog companies I recognized and had ordered from, though interesting varieties were already sold out while other shipping dates were long in the future. I wanted to get starters in the ground earlier than that in hopes of seeing flowers, not just foliage, next year. I already have a lot of foliage that hasn't bloomed and won't yet this year. That's one reason I'm reorganizing flower beds: some things will have to be removed to give others a chance, and I'm aware of plants from last year I'm simply not motivated to keep. As soon as they bloom I can pick them out to dig them out... and hopefully share.  Free of course!

Other sources I found online were local garden centers with impeccable reputations, which often post catalogs of present or future offerings online and/or are within easy driving range. I'd already done some shopping that way on trips to the grocery store. Most of their stock wasn't even in yet, so impatience kicked in. 

Anyway, I'm already looking up various varieties with names from purchases last year, having forgotten what their flowers were supposed to look like, wanting to identify what has bloomed and what showed no sign of it yet. I now have names to go with color patterns... as well as some still complete mysteries. I expect some growers had cross pollination happening in their flower beds. It's how the world works. Most of the surprises have been fun. Who knows what the next years might bring if mine cross-pollinate?

Several tubers with good roots and cropped leaves arrived in today's mail, mostly each containing one kind from each shipper. A happy surprise was one grower which added a bonus in their package, a color I have a single one of already, new this spring in flowering for me, and a second in that color is a happy bonus. There is still one ordered variety to be sent - a frilly pink one -  and this afternoon's plantings left a space for it, as well as my having it marked on my chart for that small garden. I'd forget names by next year. I know because I already did that for most of my iris which bloomed this year. I had to go back and research names for previous orders to figure out what had or hadn't bloomed yet, and name the ones that had. That was the plan anyway, somewhat implemented.

I had tried to carry that name listing practice over to a long narrow bed of asiatic lilies, disappointing last year, due to squirrels and rabbits,  gangbusters in still closed buds this year. Uhhh... names? Who knew which were left uneaten? And oh yeah, there were a lot of multi-variety bag purchases. Oh well. Call it a kaleidoscope bed. Enjoy taking pictures. At least I remember the Forever Susan ones. Maybe the Stargazers survived to bloom this year? I do recall that purchase and I'd recognize those. But anyway....

That scam set of "iris tubers" arrived in today's mail as well. The packaging was really cutesey, but it was the only package with no name identification of its contents. At least there were two solid lumps inside the bubblewrap, though no moisture keeping whatever alive  for shipping.

Turned out it didn't actually need any. Not because iris aren't hardy for somewhat dry shipping under the right conditions. But because the two lumps weren't iris at all. I recognized the species immediately. I grew up with them. Mom planted them in every garden I can remember. These were gladiolas corms, or bulbs if you must. She likely had them because her name was Gladys and these were "glads". (Kind of like my trying to  grow heather once, an epic fail on my part.)  Mostly glads are very easy to grow, at least in any conditions anywhere we lived in Minnesota where she could put in a garden. There might also be tomatos or squash plants, but there were always roses, glads, petunias, and deep blue delphiniums.  I absolutely know the difference between the plantable part of iris and gladiolas. These were NOT iris! I have nowhere any room left for a couple stray glads. There's enough wind off the lake here that they'd need staking just to stand up long enough to bloom.

I set the real iris starters in a small bowl of water for a little soak before planting, and left the little bag of 2 glads on the counter, future TBD. Maybe somebody would like them. A lot of the neighbors have some kind of decorative garden or even just hanging pots of flowers. Worst case was I could drop them in the mail room for anybody to help themselves. We do that with a bookshelf where they come and go, and even catalogs occasionally are dropped for potential customers... or the recycle bin.

Meanwhile, anybody remember those wannabe roofers? They never showed, of course. But another crew was going through the area offering the same service, look at our roofs and suggest needed new shingles. The fellow who rang our bell was pleasant and not pushy, and inspiration struck. Did he know anybody who liked gladiolas and could give two stray bulbs -color unidentified - a new home?  He did. His boss's wife loved them at their home, and she'd be happy to plant them. He didn't make a roofing  sale but he did have something the boss could give his wife! And I didn't have to throw them away or be pissed off at the scam, an even bigger win for me as far as I was concerned. Somebody will enjoy them, even if I never find out who. I don't need to hold onto the bad feelings they arrived with, turning the scam into a gift. The iris from other orders are all planted in time for the evening rain to soak in, and now only one plant is outstanding, due for later shipping in about a month. A spot is waiting for it, the last open one in that garden except for two from my son's garden, also not due for transplant until that time. Those get to bloom this year first.

The next nice day here I'll be out cutting back dead branches from a totally different bush in a different bed, making room for some blooms this fall. It bloomed our first fall here, skipped last year, left lots of dead branches,  and now is greening up well to try again. That, or I get the shovel out before next spring. There are other bushes I like, don't just take care of because they were here before us. After all, I dug out two roses with horrible recurved thorns that snagged everybody within their reach, meaning mostly me! I like roses but they don't have to be vicious! Nothing has replaced them yet either. Rocks work just fine so far. My arms should be in good enough shape for digging and replacing the other bush if it again fails to bloom by fall. I already had signs of improvement in pain levels for that needed iris planting. Of course the soil is still very loose there. But I'm getting better, in multiple ways.

Last American Survivor of Iwo Jima Is Gone

Steve is an avid fan of the Pacific theater of WWII. He reads and rereads, after collecting the whole of them, all of one author's works on the history. He knows which ships, which generals, which islands, which things happened on. W.E.B. Griffin is the author, and I'm assured the details in the main are correct. Bits of conversation to send the plot along, perhaps are not word for word, but on the whole it stands as  history.

So when he read that headline today, he passed it on to me. That last surviving American soldier was 105!

I had to pause to wonder what it must have been like to hold those memories all those years. Or whether they were covered over and hidden as long as possible. As a non-veteran, merely military-adjacent through family members who don't talk about their WWII or Vietnam experiences, I can only imagine. Did the Iwo Jima survivors consider themselves heroes, bearing their memories with pride, or do their best to wipe their mental slates of all their experiences? Did age filter in and erase the harshest memories? The most heroic ones? All of them indiscriminately? None at all?

My memories are those of a typical baby boomer in America. I've heard some tales, watched some movies, seen the statue (or photos, or reenactments) of the flag raising to proclaim victory, and have an inkling of the cost on both sides. I'm content not to have been there, have no wish to travel there, or by now pretty much anywhere overseas. Perhaps if I were wealthy I'd have different thoughts on more traveling, but I can, through the wonders of technology, get visual images of practically anywhere on the globe without the expense or inconvenience. Somebody else's travel experiences remain colored by my own preconceptions and imagination. 

As of now, no further questions about that last soldier's experience will be answered. By the time this post is finished, I doubt I'll be raising any questions on the topic either, but it is a moment to stop, think about the little we know, and recognize that all history passes this way, either preserved more or less accurately in some story somewhere, or not. It is up to us now to assign importance, learn whatever lessons we can be bothered with, and continue... or not. 

Meanwhile the sun is shining, the wind is blowing the next weather system closer, yard storm cleanup calls, as do requirements for new plantings just delivered in today's mail, and the next nap calls. There is still always the next thing.

Stupid Question Du Jour

 It took me a while to get around to wondering this, I do admit.  It comes out of morning ritual and recent life experience, coupled with (temporarily missing) shoes.

Piqued your curiosity yet?

Here's the question: which weighs more, metal or muscle? To make it a fair question, I can't help by quantifying the amount of each in question. But here's how it came to mind.

You know I just had a second shoulder surgery. In the process they removed one of five muscles on the top of the shoulder called rotator cuffs. That was replaced by titanium, two interlocked pieces where each end screwed into bones formerly connected by 5 of those muscles. It created a new joint where, once fully seated in place, pain nerves were replaced by smoothly sliding metal. Not all pain nerves, as that is a work in process, to be aided by time, bone healing, and 4 remaining muscles taking on the load formerly borne by 5. Hence the need for weeks of physical therapy after healing, or PT. The arthritic grinding is theoretically removed, though nobody has explained whether bone was also removed, just that the moving/grinding bits no longer connect to nerves.

The morning ritual is a weigh-in, sometimes immediately post shower, sometimes fully clad and in shoes. Variations are usual, depending on everything. It's been pretty stable for months within those variations. I can usually account for shoes, winter clothing, and meals/digestion for adjustments in results. I weighed in this morning without the shoes and got a slightly different reading from most similar mornings, prompting my curiosity. And to be honest, I never thought to do a closely timed comparison pre and post surgery since the one major one around 20-some years ago which removed a lot of tissue in order to check a sudden growth for cancer. (It was negative.) In the space of hours I "lost" 11 pounds.  These past two shoulder replacements basically didn't move the recent needle on the scale except within the usual parameters with the usual causes.

So is it a stupid question? Does somebody out there weigh body parts removed and body part replacements and do their best to make them match, ounce per ounce? Does anybody in the world worry about whether people suddenly emerge from the hospital with a tilt, especially if they're only getting one side fixed instead of both? And if so, who? And why?

And you're still reading this?

One of THOSE Phone Calls

I'm pretty sure we all get them, the kind where somebody or company calls up and "offers" to perform a free roof inspection so they can let us know "if" we need new shingles. I bet you even think you know where this is going, right?

I'll take it from the top.

The caller ID didn't give a name, just a number and the suggestion that this was a spam call. The area code was one of the many in this state, not necessarily informative as to actual location any more than my cell's code is.  Sometimes I actually answer those calls. Call it entertainment? Some days it's fun to play, some days it's somebody useful. The label gets applied to nearly every mass-calling service these days, even my surgeon's staff whose primary duty seems to be coordinating medication instructions and arrival times pre-procedures.  For roofing I'm much more familiar with the knock on the door from contractors already working on the block , pointing to their existing job-in-process so we can see how well they're working and how nice the emerging new roof looks. They'll mention something like a recent wind or hail storm, refer to your insurance, and suggest some kind of a discount for you "because we're already here anyway" and "we can put our sign up in your yard for a couple days."

I did that once in Arizona. Several roofs on our block were getting replaced, the crew were well-behaved, and a look seemed harmless. They of course found damage needing replacement. We already had solar panels up - on contract with the solar company - so there was the formality of checking with them first thing about their requirements and regulations in the matter. The two companies were familiar with each other, no impediments there, so the last thing was our insurance company. Their inspector  concluded sure, they'd pay for the damage ... to a specific eleven damaged shingles. Not the whole roof. Those eleven got replaced. Somehow the dead pigeon unknowingly trapped under one of the the solar panels "couldn't be removed" however.  At least it didn't stink, but a shame it didn't discourage other pigeons. Oh well.

This time the caller on the phone verified my name and address, asked how old our roof was (replaced once per our records from the purchase) and offered a free inspection the following morning around 11. I agreed, with reservations. I needed to make a phone call myself, with the park management here, as they are very fussy about workmanship, licensing, inconvenience to neighbors, and any messes at every stage. I'd just witnessed a new shingling two doors away last week, and could barely tell except for the noise of whatever machinery kept everything from reaching the ground, shingles to nails. Even the noise was short lived.

I contacted an authority within the park with years of experience, a go-to guy with lots of information and references if needed, or at least the process needed to locate reputable work. His info let me know what was needed, but informed me anybody meeting the qualifications that we chose to do work on our homes could be contracted with. We'd already discussed the work my son has been doing here, with his approval for the quality and a couple tips for things perhaps not thought of.

Meanwhile the phone rang again, same number, different gender caller. This time I was asked if I owned our home or was living in an apartment? They did have my address for the intended visit, but I guess haven't figured out Google Maps yet. I explained this was an individual home in a mobile home park. He reconfirmed the appointment time and hung up.

Interestingly enough, we had just had a storm go through, lots of hail and rain. No need to be impressed, as most of the hail was pea sized, and just fun to watch rolling down neighbors' roofs or floating down the street in the streams from rain on either side. There was a very occasional combined hail piece, as big around as a quarter but flat as a couple quarters stacked. We expected if there was any damage it would have been to plants, and this morning my blooming peony bush confirmed that assessment by damage to two of the blossoms. Awwww.... The previous day's even smaller hail had wiped out most of the iris blooms already, so not much new.  Any large leaves in the area seemed immune. I figured the shingles were just fine, thank you. Leaving some windows open to cool the house, we went to bed curious how the next morning's visit would go.

First, there was a phone call. I noted the spam likely number was in the previous area code and answered it. Nobody was there. It was nearly time for their appointment. Hmmm......  About half an hour later an odd car pulled in to the driveway next door, somebody got out and disappeared across the yard between us. Thinking it might be "our" people I checked out the windows. Were they checking the roof? About ten minutes later that car was gone, still no communication, and they hadn't gone into the place next door. We can see their doors while we watch TV if our blinds are open.  One of them needs a lot of assistance, and we keep a casual eye on all the traffic, checking in after an ambulance for example, maybe chat over gardening during nice weather. Nice people, new last summer, and I've shared flowers with her. Had I any reason to think our roof inspector was parked there I would have  shooed them out onto the street to park instead.

Eleven came and went. Noon did the same.  I looked the company name up online, since I hadn't before. They had a decent presence online. I decided they weren't going to come at all, not because the job was likely too small for them, which their website assured me was likely, but because nobody had bothered to discover our address was about 80 miles away across the other side of the metro and as far out in the boonies as we are. (Is there another street with our name way over there? I'm not motivated to check.)

A call to cancel would have been nice. Manners, you know? I managed to keep busy, between my laptop, the TV news, taking out trash and recycling, checking for hail damage, pulling an ambitious weed or three, and heading out for the mail. I got in a nice unexpected little nap about 5 minutes into a TV show we'd recorded, which I did finish later, after lunch. I even checked the condition of our shingles on the walk for the mail, something I seldom bother to do wherever we are living. 

They look just fine.

So-o-o Tempting... For A Bit

 Remember I said this shoulder is healing differently than the first one? Pain is still the biggest part. The long term nerve block wasn't as effective and still isn't. Second time there was the familiar body dysphoria like the first time but little pain control. These weeks later my body recognizes itself and its location, but a long-term ache has set in and seems to resist alteration. I was used to Tylenol settling in to ease pain on shoulder #1 within half an hour of taking a pill, not to mention lasting for hours. Now it's like I have to wait hours and find I'm still waiting until I realize it was gone for a bit but I moved and it's back.

I left the hospital with a smaller amount of Oxy than post shoulder #1. Since I hadn't really needed that much oxy previously I had no complaints. So the temptation, when my shoulder aches for hours at a time, is to take another oxy in hopes of stopping the pain. It does sort of work. But it also means I can't drive if needed. I had a good chat with my surgeon last week, my first post-op exam in his office. We discussed a lot of things, including my need to be available as a (legal) driver coming up. I had Googled the question, trying to find out how long Oxy stays in the system, in order to see how long I needed to wait to be legal after taking one before driving, since the shoulder itself would not be expected to stop me by the time I was needed to drive Steve around after his new hip - and presumably his own doses of some strong narcotic painkiller for a while. So no driving for him then while he recuperates.

Google simply gave me a scold! Obviously if I had to ask, then  I had a problem with narcotics and needed to try treatment or addiction therapy. WTF! All I wanted was a window for being legal, just in case I was needed for driving - as fully expected when Steve couldn't. I figure I can monitor my muscle strength and work around the disability of the hour. I have for years, never letting various muscle strains or even a broken hand keep me from doing my job driving. Tennis elbow? Adjust this way. Bad knees? Arrange for driving long distances instead of hiking heavy boxes every couple of blocks in a major city. I made sure the company valued me and thus gave me every opportunity to (reliably) do the job as needed. They didn't need to hear about a broken hand, I just disguised it with a carpal tunnel support and carried on.  I was dependable, the bills got paid.

But all I got from Google was a bad assumption and an insult. What I got from the surgeon was understanding of the family needs now, and a time requirement of 24 hours between taking an oxy if needed on a bad day and getting behind the wheel. It makes the difference between ordering groceries to be delivered - an extra fee - and driving 24 miles round trip to haul them home, up the stairs, and into the house. Basically it's a financial decision, while we're still paying off the new furnace. Both of us should be able to make that kind of choice for ourselves, both of us dealing with surgeries to lessen daily pain and increase mobility as we heal. Steve will be getting his PT in our home. I'll be heading over to the local doc's office, just like for the other shoulder, about 3 miles each way, driving of course, but not starting my PT till July. Muscles will be adjusting - should all go as planned - and the second shoulder learning to work almost as well minus one of its 5 rotator cuff muscles just like the first shoulder did. 

Right now I'm not as optimistic for #2 as I was for #1, but it's still early days. I'm only at the very beginning of the window various surgeons allow for not staying in the sling 24/7. For my surgery some allow it after 2 weeks, others go up to 6. I do know he won't order PT for me until after the 4th of July, which should be a good time to know what both Steve's needs/abilities and mine will be post his hip replacement so I can schedule mine properly. He can still get PT at home, while I'll be driving in and back for mine, and we'll both know more about other plans, like just getting in the car for things like visiting family, or heading to his fishing hole, or hauling the camera to Crex in hopes of that next great photo, since these days it's only shooting the new iris blooms in one of my garden beds. Soon I'll be going for the asiatic lilies down on the south end of our home, since they have multiplied way past even my highest hopes from last year and already need more weeding than I can give despite growing so thickly that even the rabbits don't seem to have a chance for a meal from them. Where last year a bulb produced a single stalk with two or three buds, and only if left alone, now each has grown to several stems with as many as 8 or 10 buds swelling on their tops. Even weeds are being somewhat controlled by their shade - Yahooo!

I still hope to get out to Crex, Steve to go fishing again this season - the independence means a lot to both of us. It's nothing like addiction keeping us examining our pain levels on a daily or even hourly basis. It's balancing right now against hopes for the next day/month/season. It's how much we choose to put up with at any given time, or day, or month. Every so often the shoulder eases enough that it's almost a surprise when it starts in again that it hasn't been constant all this time. I'm hoping the time comes when the pain recurring is what the surprise is: what, you're still here? That's how the first one has been for a while now, reminding me that I'm hauling around something heavier than it's supposed to be used to, like a full gallon of milk. Mostly it vanishes when overuse stops. I expect those same milestones for #2, even while discovering I'm actually thinking it should be catching up to shoulder  #1 weeks ahead of time, especially since I'm spoiled by the independence I've gotten used to by such simple things as the planned for change in seasonal wardrobe making dressing much easier this time, jumping over my expectations until I bump into reality. Oh well, learning curves. But having one arm that can actually hang the shower head up again is fantastic independence! Deodorant on both sides is a planned goal. (I can hear you laughing out there!!!)

I have iris plants on order, arriving in the mail these days, no driving required, and easily planted by one hand in a well prepared bed. Meanwhile I've been enjoying shooting the daily and even hourly changes in the circle garden where the iris have been blooming their hearts out. One daylily has poked up a stem with two buds, no clue yet what color. Therein lies a small problem. The daylilies will be crowding out the iris, which means by mid to late summer there will be lots of daylilies to dig out and give away. (No, I'm not charging: inquiries considered.) Judgment was solely by color first, then location second. I've promised my regular PT lady one each of small purple (grapette) and tall purple (Nosferatu) daylilies as a thank you for working with me over the months, both pre- and post- surgery. We fill the hard working repetitious therapy times with gardening talk, among other things. She will get the first two plants. Then as others show their colors (and I know there are at least two other varieties in there I simply do not like as much,) I'll be marking and digging those out to give away, first to friends, and second to other staff in the doc' office who were so interested in seeds from my tall balloon flowers. I can easily remove a likely couple dozen daylillies, individually root-bagged in plastic store bags, of  which we have bunches from those times we don't bring our own bags shopping. If I get those while blooming, the potential recipients can see what they're getting and know how hardy those are. Then I can relocate iris in that bed, still have three seasons of flowers, and give the best loved iris room to spread. By then I hope to have two working shoulders again!

How will I know how to spread the iris around, you ask? First, I've been taking regular photos, both of the area as a whole as blooms progress, and individual blossom to get the details. I know that won't be enough, especially as the daylilies try to take over and iris bloom turn to a puddle of mush. So I came up with a plan: mark each one. It wasn't enough to label one blue and another purple. First the blues come in a short and small dark blue, two tall pale blues slightly different in shades, and a short stem but large flower with white standards and dark blue falls. That's just four blues in all, and I already dug out two of the first little ones for the second iris garden. I know I planted ten or so of just that kind last summer. OK, then, how about purple ones? Are we talking burgundy purple, or deep violet purple? The burgundy comes with a rich blue in the middle of the falls and white/orange beards. Another similar one has no blue in the falls but a very deep burgundy, and is hiding orange somewhere behind some of the standards, besides having short beards. The deep violet come with spectacular orange beards... or none visible, and standing side-by-side are hard to tell apart for about three days. Then one of the pale blue ones decided to get so pale it turned almost pure white the next day. 

See my challenge? That doesn't even count the ones new last year which haven't bloomed yet, just made leaves so I can at least tell what species they are, as in iris instead of daylilies. I may or may not recall all of what I planted. For sure I can't remember exactly where. Whatever blooms will only  last a short while... much like my memory. I need better.

I opted for buying a box of wood tongue depressors - really cheap! - and writing my version of descriptions of each blossom for each flowering stem. Since we've moved recently, there are still a couple remaining rolls of clear packing tape in the house. I went high quality in those. We have sharpies, supposedly indelible. I figured write on the wood, cover it with tape to waterproof it (lots of folds in the tape), and add a loop of tape to go around the flowering stalk it described. Eventually what remains will be a woody stalk with a tag taped to it. That's the plan anyway. They can be moved into spots daylilies are taken out from. Late July or mid August would be pretty perfect timing for both plants. There will still be unidentified iris which didn't bloom this year, including a "Pagan Pink" and a "Grand Canyon Sunset" somewhere. I wrote down other names last summer but have no clue where they landed, and the plants were no help, so definitely a two-year project at best.

If you think this seems a great solution.... I'm waiting to see how summer goes and how tags survive. But the first issue was implementation in the first place. The ground is uneven, and every year my balance gets worse, exacerbated by having fallen a few times without being able to get up without help. No injuries, as such, but I've gotten very leery of this lumpy yard. Add a crowded garden with reluctance to step on what's growing in there. It's not possible to kneel on the outer ring and reach to the center, or at least without kneecaps any more. There are stepping stones into the center in one direction, but I don't trust them... yet. They need to bear weight through a full season so supporting soil adjusts.

Then a solution arrived. Her name is Tammy, a friend of family and rapidly becoming as family herself. She easily found places to step into the garden, and wrapped the tape holding the tags around the appropriate stems, one at a time.  Her timing was exquisite, the day before evening showers and a next morning storm. Earliest blossoms or damaged ones have curled into small lightbulb shaped balls, but the tags still declare their original colors. If new plants bloom in the next weeks it can be repeated as needed. As for the new plants ordered for the former rhubarb bed, I already have a chart in process, with variety names, on my laptop ready for printing once done, presuming all orders arrive, alive. I count one as "highly unlikely" to even show up since later clues pointed to a scam and photoshopped impossible colors attached to a plethora of alleged varieties, much a I'd love them to be real. Sighhh....

As an additional bonus, I just realized that Tylenol has been doing a lovely job while I've been writing this. Who needs Oxy when there's a garden to redesign? Unfortunately the Tylenol is still fairly short lived though the supply is sufficient. We found that out recently.  The hard way.

Steve has been having computer issues. We think it started with an attempted hacking, and his security system shut him down. That was months ago. We took it to a local shop, which cleared out the crap and reset his programming so he could use his laptop again. The problem recently repeated, stopping him from looking at his photos, playing a favorite online game which he enjoys even more because of a friendly rivalry with an extended family member many miles away, or even using his own funds (though none disappeared.)  With the reset he lost all his previous game scores and the two were no longer competing for top score. He was close to working his way back up until his laptop shut him out from everything except his e-books again. Some days he couldn't even access those. Some days he could read this blog but not see photos. We returned to the local computer fixer and the only staffer there that day was... let's just settle for a total prick, and leave it there. Steve's daughter came over and cleared everything off his laptop so he could reset and start over... except the starting over part didn't go well. Through me he contacted Microsoft to get his basic software back, and even though this was a recent purchase they didn't recognize him as a customer so that went nowhere. Aaarrrggghhhh!

This was the start of a lot of driving again, for me. So no oxy regardless of how my recovery was going. There was a trip to Walmart for Rx updates after he saw his doc. It's been his computer doing the grocery orders and paying the one monthly fee to get all delivered, so we were back to in-store shopping, an activity unfriendly to both of us. I hadn't gotten my replacement credit card yet so I couldn't order even for pickup. Steve put his laptop in a bag and took it along to Walmart where he'd purchased it. While he waited for a new Rx to be filled he went back to electronics and - miracle of miracles - found a fellow named Josh in electronics who knew everything his computer needed to get it up and working again, as soon as Steve was back home to put passwords back in. Steve was so impressed he contacted store management to sing the employee's praises! (We're rooting for Josh to get a raise.)

Meanwhile this was my turn not to just drive, but pull a cart around the store one-handed,  find people to help reach things for me on high shelves (thank you all!), load everything in the car, drive back home once Steve had finished, and haul bags up stairs, into the house, up onto counters, into freezer and fridge.... Let's just acknowledge the day as a royal pain for me, shall we?  Steve at least found a charged scooter/cart.

I might have considered opening that bottle of oxy and popping a pill. It was tempting... if I didn't know I had to drive the next day again. Steve got most of his computer functions back again, so long as he remembered his logins and passwords. Now I know I can't keep up with all mine, especially with old ones I just might need again. I also use "clues" with some of them so you have to know me to have a clue what it might be, and some times even I have issues. I was on Linked In for a while before deciding it had nothing to offer and only recommendations to beg from me. I tried after a couple years to get back in because somebody asked me to. Nothing I think I ever used as a password worked. That settled that. Eventually I located it, and realized I'd felt so pushed to get on the site despite no real interest, I'd used"armtwister" as a password. Pretty telling, right? Use it if you like it. I won't be back there.

But Steve really needed to get back into his credit union to manage his money, pay bills, keep track of his balances. He did all that online. But he lost his information letting him in. We love our Credit Union, and appreciate their safeguards for our finances. In order to get him back into his account, he needed to show up in person with various IDs, sit down with a staff person in their discrete little office, and reinvent the login wheel for his account. This time not only did Steve write it all down, but did what I occasionally do with other things as well: take a photo of it!  BTW I saw the photo: it's too blurry for me to read. We'll see how it goes for him in a few months, eh?

This involved a two hour drive into the metro and back, where Steve absolutely hates to go. We have to rely on me to both tolerate the congested cranky traffic and navigate the roads. This was the day after hauling shopping goodies all around, plus a short morning bout of planting some iris tubers which had arrived the day before. A light soak overnight, rain expected the next two days, and very shallow holes in recently turned soil easily made and covered with one good arm.  No oxy needed for the planting, of course. But that was the second longest drive I've made since the first shoulder had healed, still no oxy within miles. (Insert cuss words here. Your choice.) Double Tylenol once home.

Did I mention there was also the need for a large load of laundry? I'd been putting it off since just before surgery and needed to be somewhat presentable in public at least. The dryer is stacked over the washer, and I've developed a method for throwing clothes up into it involving more twisting from the waist and relying on inertia than rotating shoulders. Even so....

Yep, oxy would have been nice. I doubled up late that day on a couple more Tylenol doses instead, carefully counting amounts over each day. Eventually I took the sling - the replacement from the hospital one which is easier on the body and mind both for comfort and independence -  and set it on the floor on top of my socks so I could get some sleep last night. I have proved to myself now I can get in/out of it on my own. I can also mostly just hold my arm in the position the sling does for me. With the humidity this summer any rubbing against my skin is a huge irritant, so that new bit of freedom is a bonus. I make sure now to start my mornings with two Tylenol instead of just one these days, while I wait for things to settle down again. Mornings are an activity bomb. Steve is going back to online ordering groceries delivered to inside the front door, saving on some driving, but next week is his surgery where I'm the driver. No maybes, no but-what-ifs, I'm the driver. The last two days have been grueling, so if I wanted to be tempted, it's there. But the last few pills are still in the bottle in a location I'm not sharing with anybody, and more iris are in the mail as I write this, but still easily dug like yesterday's pair in the same well-prepared patch of good topsoil. I even have the forethought to have prepared a chart this time as to what has been planted, what will be planted, and where in that plot. Not just species and varietal names, but colors. I'm taking it more seriously this year. However much my shoulder whines.

 Did I mention thunderstorms? Last night (aka 3AM this morning) the sirens went off, lightning flashed non-stop, small hail and winds pummeled whatever they could. This photo was yesterday morning, part of the older iris patch needing relocations to give them the best chances of even better show next year(s).

This was this morning, also before the likely suppertime repeat storm expected. Hail isn't kind. It's nice to have a camera to prove what was fleeting glory.  You may note in both shots some of the tongue depressors used to label varieties while they were still identifiable. These shots remind me of part of what I'm working for.

These plastic tags from yesterday's planting remind me of why I keep working for improvement. In case you can't read the labels, this variety is "Painted Woman", two stacked blossoms shown per tag. I hope for better photos than on fading plastic next year... or the following one.

Oh, by the way, all this blogging happens to support my arm perfectly enough that I barely notice it until time to close the laptop and prevent it from crashing into the end table where it sleeps and recharges. I'm probably good till lunchtime, also known as "mail is here" time. A pair of shoes, the keys to the mail center, grab the camera, and I can see if the peony bush survived the night. I hadn't gotten a photo this year yet. It just fully opened these last couple days when I couldn't be bothered, and it's hiding behind the shed. Sighhhhh....

Ask me tomorrow... maybe.

So That Replacement Card Came......

I knew what it was the second I touched it.  I was disappointed because usually they come with a bit of thin cardboard so a random stranger can't immediately tell what's in the envelope. It's a good invitation for one to disappear for a couple days' worth of unauthorized use. But since I now had it in hand, I guess I couldn't complain too hard.

As soon as I opened it up they almost lost me immediately as a customer, even after all these years. And even though it would hurt my credit rating. Why? When I started reading through for a phone number to call to start the card working, the first thing on their communication was a QR code.

Have  I mentioned here that I don't do QR codes? I mean mention by not more than a dozen or so times?  I suppose it could be a "subtle" ploy to send me out to finally buy an expensive smart phone, figure out how to use the damn thing, add the programming to handle QR codes, learn how to use those, and finally set my new card into use.

Thing is, I pretty much know how much smart phones cost. No thanks. I don't have the credit card to cover one right now, thanks anyway, or not apparently till I use one with the QR code programming to set my new one up for use. Then I might be able to if I chose to do it. I guess some of you are starting to see the issue here, right? Or have you already had your smartphone surgically implanted somewhere in not too embarrassing a location to pull it out from for use in public? I do promise never to ask you where, nor what the logistics are for getting it recharged, or how long it takes to stuff it back where the cop who just pulled you over for using it while driving can't see it, so by the time they walk up to your rolled down car window they have no clue what you might have done with it in those last 5 seconds and are beginning to think you were an optical delusion. Honest!

Because even if you manage to pull that off I don't ever want to know how and never wish to perjure myself in court lying about it. No matter how much I care about you.

But even more pressing a reason is without that card activated I can't use it to buy the new phone I'd need in order to activate it by QR code. Just a tiny little dilemma here, right?

As I peel the card away from the paper it's rubber-glued to, a phone number magically appears. I can actually use old school tech to get my card activated!  WOW! Somewhere in that office there lurks in the shadows a human who actually realizes there are folks out here like me who refuse the universal call to turn ourselves into AI adjacent units of relentless commerce.

I guess I'll keep that company for a while yet.