Those Pesky Squirrels!

It's amazing the things you can still learn at my age about gardening despite doing it most of my 3/4 of a century life.

You all know by now that I'm busy working with brand-new-to-me gardens in the new home, and dealing with the long neglect of some established plantings as well. It's the brand new plantings right now which are attracting the attention of neighborhood squirrels.

Now, I like squirrels. They're cute. We lived across the street from a growing population of albino ones for several years, making them both fun and easy to watch. Having a family dog helped keep any squirrels from becoming too much of a nuisance. Building a new house on a new lot in a new development devoid of trees kept their attention elsewhere for many years. Living in the desert also discouraged their presence.

But this neighborhood has lots of very tall trees around its edges - on other people's lots - and a very healthy population of squirrels. On walks to the mail hut I can often see two or more, each way. Judging from my bounty of garden weeds, both oaks and maples nearby are producing plenty of huge supplies of food for them to gather and store for the coming winter, and lately they have seemed to always have gaping mouths around a big future meal.

This neighborhood also has no loose dogs or cats to give them chase. Yes, there are plenty of (small) pets, but always on leash or behind porch screens, because rules, you know. And between my increasing allergies and the extra rent fees for pets, we are pet free after many years. I gave squirrels a brief passing thought when I bought wire cages for suet/seed blocks for our winter bird station, already in the ground but only holding wind chimes right now. It might be fun to watch them try to jump up to get a meal. If adjustments are necessary, they'll wait for next year.

Last weekend I put in the last of my bearded iris, leaving a spot I'd designated to crocus. Note that more crocus are in transit from Holland, I'm assured, but this spot was in the middle of a large area and needed to be planted and gotten out of so I wouldn't be stepping on what I'd just planted, or what would be outside of those get trampled while I finished this location. (I stay awake nights planning not just where stuff is to go but when, for just those reasons. It's been well thought out.) In this case I'm talking about the center of the big raised circle bed. There is currently a single path in to the middle. The middle is now planted, and seeds will cover the lone path in/out... before freeze. I had planned on doing the seeds earlier but I now know I still need that path, and the seeds can germinate in spring instead of starting now.

Why do I now know? As I was coming back out of the house to water the iris/bulbs area, I startled away a squirrel, a new hole in the dirt and one of my crocus bulbs in its mouth! There were only 10 in the bag! At least they were the cheap ones from Walmart, but even so! ARRRRGGGHHHHH!

Back in I went, and pulled up Google. I suddenly had questions. My first angry impulse was to ask how to poison them, but I decided that was not the best idea. They might not even eat the bulbs till mid winter or early spring, and they could well harvest half my garden by then. So it became a combined search for what bulbs do they like, not like, and how do I keep squirrels away?

First, they love crocus and tulips. I have a bunch of both, expensive fancy types, arriving soon. I better figure this out fast. 

There were all kinds of ideas like spreading framed screens around over the bulbs. Expensive, hard work, and why wouldn't the buggers just burrow under them? Plus I'd have to remove them in the spring... and store them where, exactly? We've always known if Steve needs a ramp, the only place for it would be where our current shed sits, so bye bye. And the scooter would take up space in the living room, but that's another issue.

Squirrels hate daffodil bulbs, so that's good news as I have a bunch of those coming as well. I doubt planting each crocus or tulip between a couple daffodils would be effective, so keep hunting. They also love Asiatic lily bulbs, and in some countries folks even use those as food. I have enough of those on order to fill a bed 2 feet wide by 28 feet long, and they could be here as early as today or still another week out. The bed is being turned in stages by Paul right now, and it will be wider than two feet but the hollyhocks will go along the back wall at Steve's request, filling out that space. I haven't even dared to ask if squirrels eat their seeds!

After more hunting, a possible solution came up. It turns out squirrels avoid several very strong scents. Mints for example. Sounds expensive and easily dissipated., making that even more expensive. BUT... they also hate cinnamon! I happen to love cinnamon. So much so that I buy it in very large shaker-top jars, the 18 oz. size. One was  currently next to the spice rack, and fairly full. Voila! Out I went, out it shook, a circle of ground was turned from black to brown.

 I keep checking on it a couple times each day. I figure if I see black dirt a squirrel has been digging. It's all brown. Mother Nature stormed almost everywhere but here last evening, splitting and going around us instead, though we did get a bit of rain. So back out I went this morning, shaking some more. While the little rain we did get made a few inroads in the brown color, nothing matched a digging pattern, so presumably the remaining bulbs are still intact. 

The can sits on the floor near the front door, accessible at a moment's notice. A replacement set of them are on the shopping list, as they will be in use until a good freeze. At some point I will try to find out if, once the flowers have bloomed and new bulbs are replacing the old ones underground and even multiplying, fingers crossed, the treatment needs to be renewed or if they are good now, safe from those pesky squirrels for the rest of their lives. 

Maybe next September I'll just spread cinnamon all over regardless, just in case. It certainly won't hurt anything. Hmmm, wonder if there will be sales around the holidays for stocking up.

Our Front Porch Signs

It won't always look like this. Come mid November, it'll be plain white spindles holding up the top railing over a dark green wood plank floor. Maybe with snow even. But for now, we're advertising.

 I know there are neighbors who (proudly?) display their support for the Felon, not that they describe him that way. A few standard Harris/Walz signs are finally appearing along the streets here. But the folks/wingnut/neighbor (we haven't met them yet so can't be more specific) across the street stirred me to be a little more visible and flagrant than the mostly grey signs for Harris. They're trying to flaunt their "virtue" by equating their regard for Jesus with their regard for The Felon. We as a result have been prodded to talk about actual values we hold.

I realize the signs in the above photo are difficult to read. So I took several pictures and cropped them way down so you can.

These are made of fabric, and both sides of each read the same. There is a wide hem in the top to run whatever through it so they hang from a flat top. In our case, there was a foam "dowel" in the middle of a tube of rolled window coating film, the kind that adheres by static cling, lets light in but gives privacy, and has patterns which, when the sun hits it, displays rainbows where the light hits, whether the opposite ceiling, wall, or floor. I saved it. I did have a different idea for its future use, but it fits perfectly inside both hems with room between to run a string around to separate the two while tying them to the smaller rings in the railing spindles. Both ends of the foam dowel also have string tightly wrapped around and tied to spindles to keep the flags from falling or blowing off. 

I realize they aren't proof against vandalism. But if, for example, somebody tries to spoil them with paint, I can take them down, flip them over, and voila,  good as new. Only this time they would be displayed prominently behind a window. If they are stolen, I'll just order more from Amazon, where I happened to find these. And hung like this, "they" make "one" sign. Nobody has more than a single sign in their yards, unlike out along the county road. So it's likely that the park powers-that-be have somewhere in the lease fine print a restriction on quantity. I could go look it up... but the damn document is a dozen pages long.

Meanwhile, Steve and I stand fully behind these.

I'm thinking of velcroing the "IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE" one to the front door we actually use when the election is over. The storm door is clear glass to both protect and display it. Plus there is a nick in the door which needs covering, and a paint-free spot where we figure a former sign was removed, probably something like "The Smiths". Those are popular here. Morning sun will eventually get to it, but it will keep the spirit going for a while. This porch faces the street on the north side of the house, and is simply the required 2nd exit if a fast one is needed. It basically just gives access to the utility/laundry room.

Don't Assassinate That Despicible....

 Please, everybody, Do Not Assassinate that despicable excuse for a human being. You know who I'm referring to. 

You might think you are justified. He's a narcissist, caring only about himself, associating with people who fawn on him and agree with him, falling for the alleged admiration of world despots who treat their own people terribly, turning him into their puppet, making him in no way suitable for the office he's running for. Don't forget he's a 34 times convicted felon, and up for other charges around the country, including however they charge for selling intelligence to foreign interests. His mind is failing, likely the Alzheimer's most of his elder relatives were subject to. His speech is nonsense. He advocates violence and praises the wanna-be Nazi element in this country.

I could go on and on and on. But. Just. Don't. Assassinate. Him!

Let him live. Let him fail, more visibly by the day. The debate showed his selfishness, his inability to keep on a topic, his contempt for women, and his wholeheartedly swallowing of the most ridiculous ideas used to denigrate "those people" - whoever they happen to be for the day. As the days go by his downward slide will become more apparent, so let it show.

Let him lose the election, like he did the last one, only by more extreme numbers as  more people on his side advocate against him, eyes finally (!) wide open to the dangers of having him in a position of power again. Let him be humiliated. 

Don't make him a martyr.

Let him, finally, be imprisoned.  Don't take that away from him.

Don't take that away from us!

Now How do I Describe This Scam?

I wouldn't have discovered this attempt if I hadn't just previously discovered that all kinds of welcomed email was being shuttled into my Spam folder. There were about two hours worth of emails to go through... before I quit trying. And the reason for that was I had to try to verify without responding to the wannabe scam that it was in fact a scam.

That meant, first, a very brief look at what it was about. This one was trying to persuade me that I had signed up for an ongoing withdrawal of over $600..... unless I called their 800 number to change my mind.... and meanwhile they were thanking me for my first payment of that amount.

Now I don't know about your finances, but that is certainly an amount to get my attention! It's supposed to, since that's their way of fleecing the sheep, when we reach back to them to stop a "terrible problem". I was sure I didn't believe I'd signed up for that kind of deduction. Nor could I recall anything I'd bought in the last several months being that amount. I had to check, however.

First, check out the email without clicking on anything to see what telltales or other information I could get. There was no real name to the "bill". There was no explanation of what the alleged payment had been for, just a hyphenated number/letter combo for the description, as if it came out of a catalog. First thing therefore was to log out of my laptop, shut down, wait, then log back in. I checked my credit union for the last 2 months plus, and nothing similar there. Then I tried my credit card company... and hit a snag.

I couldn't get in. It claimed to be opened but I got a blank page. I tried a couple more times, and decided that given the lateness of the hour I'd try the next morning. Perhaps they were down for some reason, like my credit union had been after hours for the last couple of days. I presumed weekend re-programming of some sort, the kind of thing that they'd probably not advertise to us customers for fighting cyber attacks. (For the credit union, they had a lot of reprogramming to do to complete a merger with another credit union, which they'd been announcing for weeks. They were up and down, but currently up.)

This morning I couldn't get in before work, but once home I got in without problems. As expected, my outstanding balance is zero, having paid it off for the month a few days earlier.  Checking back a couple months, again no amount on the books resembling the stated payment the scammers pretended to be grateful for.

One more thing left to do. Back to my email, deleting all the spam mails, whether or not they were actual spam. (Sorry if I lost your email, anybody.) Then I emptied the trash, and shut the laptop down again. After a reboot my email would come up with only the new stuff on it. After checking those, I dipped into the spam folder, and nothing new had gone into it. I can hope the program learned that the emails I sent back to "not spam" will be treated as such when they come in from that source in the future, as most of them are from a much favored site where we have an email community and write back and forth. 

Those weren't all the mis-marked spam emails, however. I had to tell a family member that I hadn't responded to her waited-for email because it never occurred to me after so many years that the spam folder would snatch up her mail. Mostly these days it's supposed to hold unwanted vendor solicitations, once I'm done with an order from the company and mark them for spam, and political solicitations I'm deluged with from people I can't afford to support and can't or definitely won't vote for, like a former AZ representative.

Regardless of whether my spam folder learned its lessons, I certainly did. I will be checking it regularly to see what's going astray. To any friends who read this, if I've been ignoring you lately, you've popped into my Spam folder. Try me again. I'll be checking.

I also won't be "cancelling" a debt I never took on, since I am sure it's just their way of getting financial information from me. There may well be a sucker born every minute, but it wasn't me for that particular minute.

A New Project

I write a lot more than Steve does. But he does write. He has two blogs plus a favorite Facebook site he contributes to frequently. After 81 years, he still has stories to tell.

What he needs more of is organization. I'm better at that. So he asked me for a favor. Could I find a way to work with him to organize his stories into a single unit? After some discussion, we agreed that what he really wants is hard copies, collated, which he can give out to the people he cares about. It starts with his kids, and spreads out to younger generations and friends. In a nutshell, self-publishing, home computer style.

There are a few issues, so far mostly surmountable. Let's start with the fact that we have different computer systems with different software and terminology. He can't work with mine. I can't work with his. When I try to explain a concept in my computer, it comes in different terminology in his. We did figure out that "copy-paste" works for both of us. I'm just way more familiar, not to mention I'm not fighting the back pain that sends him back to bed frequently.

A few years ago he was trying to do something with his blog and wound up losing (he thought) most or all of his previous writings.  So "High Empire" became "High Empire 2", some things got transferred, and some, miracle of miracles, were still on the first blog. Neither is fully collated with the other, so if you choose to read both, there will be a few repetitions, and some new on each. Or you can hope you're on "his list" and hope to read them all in some kind of order.

The title "High Empire" is named after his late father's first novel, in tribute to him. That's another story he tells but needs to write.  "You Know You Grew Up In Greeley When..." is the Facebook site, and "The Old Man Says" is what he writes under. It tells of long ago days when Greeley, CO was a much smaller town, a far cry from the Denver contiguous suburb it's becoming. The Colorado front range is fast connecting-into another version of the Eastern Seaboard Extended City, except with prairie instead of ocean on the east, and 14,000 foot tall Rockies at its back. Judging by Steve, nostalgia is the soul of the site.

During Steve's early nap, I organized the stories from his two blogs into a single unit to go to my printer. I recognized titles which were on both blogs, scanned them to be sure they were in fact identical, and created one many-page document. Each entry had a date, and they were in the order written, but in the format blogs use where the latest one is on top.The whole thing became a pdf file, then printed. Once he woke, he read them all, finding a few he'd not seen for years. Praise was effusive though the work hadn't been onerous.

I had questions, however, after printing them out. Did he want them in that order, or in the order in which he'd written them, i.e., earliest one first instead of last? And with all those pages, did he want page numbers? I know the computer program can do that. I just have to dig to find out where I saw that possibility in all the toolbars full of software I ignore, and figure out how to use it. Plus, of course, does that extra character per page have to fit in the same size of printed space, thus kicking everything one extra line down off each page? Or can it go, say, in a very bottom corner? There are places where I added space lines in order for a final sentence or the title to be on the same page as its story. Paragraphs carrying over I didn't worry about. But would I need to reformat? "Yes" in the sense of earliest written becoming first read. "Unknown" in terms of page numbering.

Then there was Facebook. I simply don't go there. (Nor Twitter /X either, among many popular sites. I could spend half my life online and then some if I hit those sites. After all, I already have 9 weather / climate sites bookmarked in one single folder which I check in on daily, and over a dozen in a financial folder. I've lost track of how many blogs I follow, or medical sites, or....

 So Steve would have to go in and scour his stuff on the Greeley site, do a copy-paste from FB to an email to me for each, from which I could transfer all that into something I could print off for him as well. Before he retired to his bed again, he transferred two over, mostly as a test to see whether FB had some prohibition against copying material from their site. He'd only be after his own, but we wouldn't know until we tried.

It worked. 

So now it's just a matter of him finding his time and comfort level (literally) to ferret out his writings there and scoot them to me. Plus there's the matter of one of his blog stories being "One of Two" without the "Two of Two" being written. 

That's the simple stuff. Then there's fastening each full unit together. Steve suggested staples before he felt how thick the first bit of printing is. I'm not even considering a cover set yet. Note I did this with poetry in the 80s. My choices of book binding were - I'll be kind to myself here - semi-effective. At best. Were I to repeat that with the same content, that was back in floppy-disc time, and I'd be retyping every single keystroke. There is no copy-paste, no electronic file, just hard copies. I'm trying to get Steve to understand his project is going to be EASY! Just maybe not the covers.

Not Broken... This Time

An x-ray below shows the results from when it was broken before, But let's start at the beginning.

It was truly stupid, and I assure you I felt every bit of the stupidity, only overshadowed by the pain. Yesterday we were returning from grocery shopping, and I'd just put the last load in the wheeled cart which climbs stairs to haul it inside. The hand in question was on the handle, keeping it next to the car since the cart will roll on the slightest incline.  Because it takes my other shoulder extra force to bring the hatch down and return to a more comfortable position (thank you arthritis) over the force of the hydraulics, I'd given it an extra hard tug to bring it down. I thought the other hand was out of the way.

It wasn't.

Wham! Right across the back where the palm was gripping the handle, thus trapped at its elevation and not getting knocked out of the way. (Insert your version of resulting language here.) The hatch bounced up a bit, and had to be pulled back down once the rest of me was out of the way.

Steve made me an ice pack, which I left on for about half an hour. After that the hand was fairly numb, but doing a good job of puffing up and changing colors. We spent the rest of the day occasionally looking at it in a kind of "Isn't that interesting" kind of way. At bedtime it was aching and doing its fair share of keeping me awake, but sleep finally triumphed.

When I woke it was even puffier, with distinct sculpted shapes marking bruise topography across the back. I chose not to touch it, heading instead to my laptop to answer some emails. The very process of striking the keys set up a lingering ache, which of course demanded delicate exploration by the other hand. There was one tallest bump which felt like something hard was resting close under the surface. I tried to ignore it but the persistent ache demanded otherwise. After consulting by phone with the nurse at my local clinic, an x-ray was deemed a good idea. Yes, they had one. No, there was no room in the schedule, try the ER.

Three hours later I was home bearing a copy of my x-ray. Yes, per the title, it was not broken this time, so I also had hematoma care instructions. And yes, per what you hear occasionally on TV shows, old broken bones do show in x-rays years later.

The thumb rises on the right, and I'm told the scramble of bone below it and the index finger, which raised the ER doc's eyebrows over a botched job, is the previous break. That fits with where I hurt most, which was when I had  to write something, like signing for freight on the job, bringing thumb and forefinger together and moving them. I am, as you should have guessed by that, a leftie.

I do not have an x-ray from that injury. I was without insurance at the time and chose to deal with immobilizing my hand myself. I reassured today's ER doc that it was not one of his fellows to blame, and explained how it had all happened. I had tripped and landed in a three point landing, both hands and one knee. One hand/wrist hurt at the time. I rigged up a form with flat pieces of wood like tongue depressors in a "t", duct tape to hold their shape, and a folded old sock to provide shape to keep the hand formed in. Then an ace bandage kept it in place inside my hand. I could pretend it was a sprain. I switched to a slightly different configuration for sleeping, and after a couple weeks, for work switched to a carpal tunnel brace, as they'd just appeared on the OTC market. Driving all day was a challenge, but mostly successful without those twinges of warning.

A bit over 6 weeks later there was no longer pain, and nobody was the wiser aside from family. I had been concerned that I'd be forced to stop working until it healed, but since nobody knew, I just pushed my way through it. When an independent contractor, one does what is necessary to keep the income flowing.

And when a blogger, one uses whatever stories one has.

A New Phone Scam: "Failure To Appear"

I was visiting a friend in the hospital when my phone rang. It showed an Arizona area code. I answered. I still know people down there.

The first voice was nearly indecipherable, definitely had a foreign accent , and was accompanied by a lot of background noise. I caught a few words, like the claim to be from the Sheriff's department, and a bit later "failure to appear", but explained I couldn't hear clearly what the caller was saying.

I got transferred to a second person, which was at first both better and worse. Worse, because there was louder background noise, but better because this was a deeper voice, definitely American, the kind of voice one could easily mistake for an stereotypical authoritative cop.

Once he understood I couldn't hear him, the background noise went away, with the explanation that he'd turned off his police radio. (I suppose that's supposed to impress the mark.) At least his voice was now understandable.

He confirmed my name, and said I had signed an affidavit to appear for a grand jury but had failed to appear. It was a "serious legal matter." Uh huh, sure.

Now let me interject here, had I ever signed such an affidavit, I would surely have known about it. And had such a thing happened, the world would have known about it. Right here! I would love to serve on a jury. I've been called twice to show up, but never even gone through voir dire. It was the "sit in a room, bring a snack, read a book and wait" kind of jury service in Minnesota. Arizona dispenses with waiting in a room, substituting checking in via phone. Nor was I ever called for a grand jury, just the normal ones. The second time, meaning Arizona,  I was informed I was now "too old" to serve on one and would not be called again.

Dang! But maybe Minnesota doesn't have that rule, and I could still be called.

But back to the call. I told the caller I couldn't possible have signed such an affidavit, none had ever reached me, if one had I'd remember, and more to the point I had left the state long ago. Then I hung up.

Within half a minute my phone rang again. I sent it to voice mail, and didn't bother to listen until I was back home. Once I did listen, the deep voice called me "Lisa", informed me it didn't matter that I had left the state long ago, this was from before then, and I should call back immediately. This was a "serious legal matter." 

OK, half a point for persistence. Only half, since they've not repeated trying to contact me. Maybe I should cut it back to a quarter point, since he couldn't even recall my name correctly.

I was distracted by being in the hospital when the call came in. Should they repeat it, I'd ask them what address the alleged jury summons had been sent to. When had it been sent? Having recently been sent a regular jury summons in AZ, a few months before we moved, I know I wasn't required to sign any affidavit promising to appear, I just needed to call a particular phone number to "answer" the summons and the phone system would register my call. I'd give them a code from the card I'd been sent, and I'd get a recorded message about next steps. I am also positive that had this alleged failure to appear actually happened way back when, I'd have had a knock on the door long before we moved. I might be tempted to just tell them, should they threaten to arrest me (presumably for non-payment of whatever fine they suggest I can pay to worm my way out of some bogus jail sentence), to go right ahead. Not that I'd give them any address, of course.

Only A Sample Of One, But....

This is a covid story, so bear with me. I'd love to hear if anybody else is having a similar experience. I also would love to hear if it stirs anybody on the fence to getting out there and getting the most recent shot. So far I'm only a sample of one, but it's given me hope and a much more enjoyable world. I'd love to think it could have positive effects for others. And it's such a simple thing to do.

I inherited my sensitive nose from my mother. We were always the first to know something in the kitchen was burning. Or something somewhere was rotting. We loved smelling the flowers in the garden, or the neighbor's lilacs. Especially the lilacs!

For me it was worst when I was pregnant, when everything I smelled made me throw up, mostly after I ate it of course. Up till them I'd always had a morning glass of milk because I liked it, it was good for me, and now for baby. Plus with half Scandinavian heritage, I have the digestive system to handle it. But I'd arrive at work and run-waddle for the bathroom, heaving up such big curds of sour milk that I struggled to find space to breathe between them, sure I was going to aspirate them. Occasionally I did, choking.

I don't drink milk any more. Turn  it into ice cream,  cheese, yogurt, I'm fine. Add to eggs for french toast or a scramble? Great. Milk in a glass? Never!

I kept my back-to-my-normal post-pregnancy sensitive nose until a couple years ago, when my second round of covid (despite shots and masking) killed my sense of smell and most of my sense of taste. I'd eat from habit, not because the food was delicious, although suddenly I loved fresh tomatoes. What really drove home for Steve just what I was missing was the day we passed where a skunk had recently sprayed along the road I was driving on. I had just enough functioning olfactory receptors to know there was something there. I couldn't identify something I've known nearly all of my life, even after Steve reacted strongly to it and identified it for me after I asked. I couldn't trust when opening the refrigerator if food inside had spoiled, which bothered me much more.

Just over a week ago, Steve and I got our newest covid boosters, the ones that are supposed to function in a new way and deal with new variants. For the first time since a Shingrix shot years ago, I had a bit of a sore arm, supposedly a sign that my immune system is working. Nothing really bothersome, I had to poke it or lie on it to notice.

However, in the week since, I've been steadily getting my nose and sense of taste back! I can taste my morning coffee again, just when I'd about decided not to bother adding cocoa powder any more to my instant mix, but drink it black. All I wanted if I couldn't have yummy was caffeine. I'd absent-mindedly picked up a 4-pack of my favorite yogurt Flips the week before, forgetting I didn't enjoy them any more, and suddenly could actually taste them again! I went to the local apple orchard last night and picked up a frozen apple pie to bake for today's company, and it smelled like baking apple pie with a cinnamon crust! Yummmm! I picked up some tootsie rolls at the store, thinking to hold them for Halloween, but tried one and could taste it! (Screw Halloween!) Just days earlier while in the store for our shots, I'd picked up a new flavor of M&Ms, as usual forgetting that I couldn't taste them, and my inability again slapped me in the face, so it's that recent.

So here's my hypothesis: I think the newest covid shot is attacking whatever was left over in my body from the last illness, and wiping it out. I know I'm only a sample of one, but have you heard of anybody else, possibly with some version of long covid, getting beneficial effects now, not just in the future, from the new shot? I knew that this shot is supposed to work forwards in time, fighting new variants. Is it also working retroactively?

How Tired?

 I have  new scale to tell how tired/ exhausted I have gotten while I wasn't looking. You know, busy, intent on completing a job while you could actually tell how far you'd gotten in it. This time it was the second stabby rose bush, in a raised bed so the ground was less than level, more than inconvenient, and downright devilish should my chair or feet tilt while I was depending on them for balance.

On top of that, of course, since I was in "the neighborhood", there was a maple tree growing inside the rose where nobody had cared to attack it because the rose was staunchly defending it, until just a bit ago, and one or more maple trees (yet to be determined) growing up inside the hydrangea next to the rose. While it isn't as stabby, it is a tangled thicket, presenting its own challenges. I do know part of that second maple tree was removed, and chopped into small pieces... sort of. More information than that is yet to be collected.

I did finish, or at least completed what is going to pass for "finished" this week. That included refilling the garbage bin, since it finally got emptied that morning and now had room, plus folding up the chair, returning tools to the shed, and bringing the package FedEx left on the (correct) porch into the house.

So, the curious among you may be wondering just how tired exhausted is on my new scale. First, I didn't bother opening the box to find out what was in it. Why should that be a question since I ordered it? First, it's just one of a dozen boxes and packages expected in the next two weeks, and even knowing who was sending it, they'd just sent me a note letting me know part of my order was not arriving, but without telling me which part. I went back online earlier in the day to try to figure out what it might be, but instead of a list of items by name or description, it had a collection of tiny pictures. I did recognize one, but I don't believe that would fit in this box. So with that mystery hanging over my head, I didn't bother to take the tiny step of actually opening the box.

I suppose now you're saying to yourself that you just wouldn't be that curious, and not opening the box quickly is not an indication of tiredness, but of your own patience. So we come to the second part of the scale. I'm sitting down typing this in my recliner, feet extended on the footrest, because I have this much energy left: my fingers can still move and the brain still churn, at lease enough for a first draft.

HOWEVER, there's a bathroom about two feet behind me, on the other side of the wall my recliner backs up to (not in to). I need to use it. But to get there I have to set down my laptop, drop the footrest, stand up, walk about 30 feet down the hall, turn through the living room to the door to my bedroom, cross it and most of the bathroom until I'm almost exactly opposite this chair. I'm just to tired to do that right now.

Now do you believe it's an accurate scale for how exhausted I can get while I'm not paying attention? I'm too tired to.....

Feeling a Need To Tear Up?

Sometimes the combination of time and distance makes thing more poignant. It was true in this case for me, and thus very unexpected. Steve tipped me to a vintage Budweiser commercial, of all things.

Now we both love the Clydesdale horses, and even more so any of their commercials with a puppy added. Neither of us go for the beer.  Steve will have a beer once in a blue moon, and his favorite happens to be a different brand. I simply hate ethanol. Period. It involves a long story from college days and a lot of vomiting, so never mind. Just think of it as a one day cure.

This morning Steve tipped me to a commercial on You Tube, with 911 as the theme. He introduced it by telling me they only played it one time, for the 2011 Super Bowl, as a tribute, and not to make money off the tragedy. The horses are hitched to the wagon, do their usual thing, and wind up viewing the New York skyline, minus the two towers. Until then it is an ordinary looking (for Budweiser) beautiful ad. What the horses do at the end still brings unexpected tears even as I write this.

I won't spoil it for you. Go watch it. Please.

https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-1-e&q=911+budweiser+commercial#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:75fadddc,vid:LyP0JsyvYnA,st:0