Gardening Already?

 There have been milestones noted. Yesterday morning's rain finally erased the mound of snow and ice left by plows and shovels north of the house. Frozen lakes have gone from a few inches open water to several yards of it along lake edges, decorated by Canada geese and trumpeter swans already paired off. Temperatures bounce between chilly and warm enough to be outside for a bit, and brown lawns are allowing peeks of green and promise. The piles of rabbit droppings are not counted as spring since they were there on the snow most of the winter. Oddly, those piles were in the same locations the winter before.

I knew it was time to check the unseen garden, meaning the one on the south (back) side where sun gets the longest play, and where last fall culminated in a heavy planting of early spring bulbs, followed by rows of hardware cloth topped with rocks and boards to keep hungry pests mostly out. If the bulbs were sprouting already, I'd better scramble. Of course, if I was removing the critter barriers, I better also bait and set out a live trap.

Dressed for a cool spring day, I turned the corner of the house, and... OOPS! Everything for spring was not only sprouting leaves but also pushing buds through the holes in the mesh. After pulling the long lumber strips off and removing a few spare rocks assisting in keeping everything in place, it was time to gingerly lift off the hardware cloth. I didn't plant all those bulbs just to rip the tops off in my hurry. Once those were successfully relocated, the hardware cloth was rolled up and... 

Oh, you thought I was going to say they got put back in the shed, didn't you? Have you met me? No, they are on the ground next to the shed waiting for more time in my schedule. I did all that work in a few spare moments before heading off to my PT appointment, figuring I'd be too achey afterwards to even consider doing any yard work. I've firmly put on my to-do-later list digging out 2 of the three rhubarb plants to send to their new owner, and by doing later I do mean by my son, of course. He'll have to tote the bags of topsoil I'll need to bring the level back up for moving more plants in over the summer. I've decided the iris will be getting relocated to their own bed... sort of. One remaining rhubarb plant will have to learn to share, that's all there is to it.

Besides there was one more little thing that desperately needed doing before I left, hopefully to distract what's left of the local population of squirrels and rabbits from the garden: I baited and set one of the live traps off to the side of the emerging flower bed. I'm sure the dropping off place I used last year is open to more arrivals this spring. If this afternoon is nice enough I'll clean out the other trap of the wads of last summer's grass clippings that somehow crawled inside it over the winter before bringing it into the house to be baited and set it out as well.

Then I have to find some time outside to spray paint some cardboard white so a friend can make her own sign for No Kings on Saturday. It needs to be dry before she can write on it, and the writing needs to be dry before it goes in the car with the rest of the stuff we're taking over. We're not marching, just sitting holding signs, me in a folding chair, she on her walker. There'll be enough walking from parking to the small town park. And I'll be toting a warm blanket as well. I remember having to leave early last fall due to a cold breeze. If we sit close I can share the blanket.

Some Silly Things Can Change Your Life

It has become a standing joke in our house. Not a hilarious one, but guaranteed to bring smiles. It started back on our honeymoon trip, when we drove down to Sun City to see and hopefully buy a house I'd found online. Our plan was to become snowbirds if we found the right one at the right price, which of course happened.

On the trip, we were in Albuquerque for one night, and heading down the hill the next morning to pick up interstate 25 for a southern leg to a wildlife refuge,  Bosque del Apache, before heading west again. I was busy noticing the bridge sides painted a lovely shade of turquoise while Steve was busy noticing what was traveling on the road we'd be going on: a caravan of identical black SUVs in close formation, 8 in all, lights flashing "clear the road!" as they sped south and quickly out of sight. They weren't marked police or highway patrol, so we identified them as FBI, and entertained ourselves briefly speculating what might be going on. Big drug bust? Another Ruby ridge? Illegal immigration problem? We never had a hint, never saw them again. Or at least could never tell if the ones we saw were the same or different. The plain solid black and close formation might as well be a uniform. It has never again been as many at one time, however.

However, now whether on the road or on the TV, whenever we see a parade of unmarked black SUVs, whether it's only three or some larger number, we both smile, look at each other, and crow "FBI!"And after congratulating ourselves on presumably identifying their origin we also smile at the memory of that moment in Albuquerque on our trip... as well as all the good memories we've collected since.

Fallen Giant

 My state park sticker from last year still has a month or so on it, so I popped into the state park just south of Taylors Falls both Saturday and Sunday. Saturday's photos were full of cars, people enjoying rare warmth, and super-contrast subjects. Not being what I wanted, most photos got trashed once viewed on my laptop. So I went back the next day, much colder, very cloudy, and thus empty of visitors early in the morning, the light offering much better photos. The one exception to that was green lichens on tree bark which refused to show up green, even with encouragement in editing. However details were sharp and clear, and subtleties in shading showed what I was shooting rather than lumps of black and tan.

A single tree had fallen over the winter. The base was clearly hollowed out, and the standing part was itself in two stacked chambers, with recently live wood and rotten wood pieces scattered around its base.

 

 Branches lay scattered behind it, while its enormous top lay in branching pieces nearly all the way to the top of the river bank.

Almost everywhere you looked the formerly healthy wood bore huge sharp splinters, pointing in all directions as if to guard the remainder of the tree from any further mischief.

Formerly spreading large limbs broke and compacted as they tumbled to the ground with all the force of the weight of the giant and the winds toppling it to the ground.

It had managed to avoid its neighbors as it yielded to gravity, but continued breaking with each additional impact of piece after piece after piece.

Finally all that was left dropped into a jumble of tangled pieces, ready to trip the unwary or poke the foolish.

For those who could appreciate it, now at eye level were the patterns in the bark, formerly out of reach, and only now disturbed enough to reveal the colors beneath beneath the outer layer.

This tiny section of an otherwise bad photo at least picked up the colors of moss and lichens from Saturday's excursion. I have no idea why all was blurred in most of them, or why the camera wouldn't pick up pale or olive greens in cloudy weather, But I'll happily swap the white bark from that day for the soft grey in the shade, just for proof it was there.
 

As warmer weather becomes dependable,  the sound of chainsaws and wood chippers will fill the park. The pieces will rightly be considered a hazard, and removed from a high traffic area. Some will become firewood for campgrounds, other small pieces scattered through the forest away from paths to nourish  current and future growth.

Soon enough the bushes lining the riverbank will leaf out and the biggest attraction will return to being watching the paddle wheelers head down river and return with their next load of tourists while others count their money to decide if they can ride the next one. No one will notice whatever scar remains to claim a fallen giant once dwelt here while they pick out their picnic tables and fishing spots. A few will hike the paths to look for trilliums, jacks-in-the-pulpits, and other protected treasures along the way, dip their toes - or more - in the flat calm of the river's edge, whether to swim or board a canoe to paddle downstream, or even hike under the highway to climb the cliff behind to the old railroad bed and hike into town.

Spring! Kind Of

Back on March 6, I visited a favorite spot along the St. Croix River, checking to see if there were signs of spring showing yet,  It's been a cold and very snowy winter, and a melt reliably gets followed by more snow, more melt, with temperatures which can't decide from one day to the next whether to be warm or cold again. My most recent blog showed a somewhat buried car from snow. I'm delighted to inform you that it's no longer buried and has been back on the road running necessary errands.

Yesterday one of those necessary errands involved taking the camera, new battery included, back to the river I visited weeks ago. There have been changes.

Where before solid ice covered the backwater part of it from bank to bank, now the near edge has melted enough to produce reflections.

Some of last year's grass along the bank managed to survive the heaping layers of snow well enough to still stand erect, while its neighbors matted up, waiting for enough steady warmth to sprout again.

Ice still extends most of the way across. In rare spots it still bears weight enough for the foolish attempting fishing to walk out and drill holes. In other spots it locks fallen branches in position, waiting to see if enough water rushes through to lift and scoot them downstream.

 The view downstream on the backwater side seems to show very little progress in melting...

until it joins with the main channel, which is ice free from bank to bank, except for the occasional floating chunk still riding the current until finally melting without trace on its journey to join the Mississippi and eventually the Gulf of Mexico.

Some of what it passes will likely remain close to shore, like the remains of a dead bush or tree, waterlogged and weighted down, waiting to snag miscast fishing lines and hang onto them until eventual rot and high currents have their way sending it out of sight.

Meanwhile Out In Our Driveway

Yep, the radar and reality finally caught up to each other last night, and kept snowing and blowing till morning. There are even patches of blue starting to peek through the clouds.  But don't expect us to go anywhere until Thursday, and only for a medical appointment, possibly a bit of shopping and a couple prescriptions. All that only after we get a bit of snow cleared, as we've arranged for.  Why, you ask? Do you want the thousand word version, or just a quick look?

By the way, that little post with the red top is so we know not to park on the lawn. It also helps us get in far enough that the plow misses us when it scrapes by, like it did 4 times this morning around 4AM or so, in pitch dark, no streetlights, only its own and the driver's judgment to guide it.

Where Weather Radar Is Wrong

 The big array of weather satellite dishes is way out on the southwest corner of the Twin City metro area, in an outer tier suburb called Chanhassen.  We live around fifty miles out of Minneapolis in the diagonally opposite direction. It depends on whether you drive and which roads, or manage to fly like a crow, and which part of Minneapolis you are referring to for exact mileage.

I've lived in this general area since the early 90s. In all that time, we learned to recognize one thing as a standing joke: where the precipitation was actually falling versus what showed on any radar map. A huge front had a decent chance of being correct. Showers and leading edges, not so much. The detailed maps have all kinds of landmarks showing through the color overlay by which you can place your location in relation to rainfall or snow. It might be roads, rivers, or lakes, or even the squiggles in the state border, since there are no straight lines in our part of it.We know exactly where we are on the maps.

If we happen to be online and wish to check, the first step is to pull up whichever is the favorite radar provider. All the ones we've found and bookmarked allow us to zoom in or out, and move in any direction, depending on how big or small a segment of the map we wish to view. If we're planning to go some place, a quick view of the weather there before we leave can be informative. Do I need an umbrella for the store? It we're looking for the forecast via the TV news, a bigger idea of what's happening is likely better. We use both.

Nearly 90% of the time, radar shows snow or rain falling where we live, whichever part of the area we've been in over the years.  It can be as specific as raining on our street. We get that much detail.  But if we haven't heard it on the roof, we're not surprised. It's a quick few steps to whichever window or door to check. Over half the time our yard and street are dry as the proverbial bone. We often watch on radar the storm roll through and over us, and laugh because it's just not here. 

Now we're well versed in what virga is. It's common enough, and often fun to photograph. I wonder many times how much of what radar claims to see is just that, rain in the clouds that never reaches the  ground. But when it's a thunderstorm booming outside us, and radar says it's been dumping on us for ten minutes but hasn't actually made it here yet, we have to wonder just who calibrated those big dishes down in Chanhassen. Is there too much earth curvature? Do they care?

The big systems do get here. Rain does dump. Snow packs in all the corners. It's not that we don't get the weather in real precipitation. But today is a big case in point.

We've been readying ourselves for several days for a huge winter system starting today and ending tomorrow night. The metro is announcing where cars needing to park on streets can instead park free in other lots or ramps for the duration, in order for plows to clear the streets of a likely foot of snow. They never do that! But they don't want to complicate everybody's lives by getting their cars towed, and have to come back after paying large fines only to find poorly cleared streets from all the cars left on them. They want the plows able to do the job. Four inches, maybe not so critical. But a foot of snow? They're talking plowing twice. So far they haven't mentioned needing clear streets for St. Patrick's Day, but I'm sure it's on their minds for the usual parade.

We don't have that issue here, all places having parking off the streets, year round, required. We have contacted our shoveling person about our needing to be dug out, but not till Monday or Tuesday, since we're not going anywhere. The pantry is very well supplied, as planed from the day we moved in, and no medical appointments until late in the week. We're good sitting tight.

So it has been mostly curiosity plus entertainment through the day to compare the view through our windows with the radar version of where it was snowing. Radar had it snowing here and for miles around, four hours before the first flake was visible.

Of course it did!

The Lost Is Found

 One advantage of our large double-wide is we have plenty of room for having family over on holidays. Last fall it was Thanksgiving, but with most of the extended family having other family of their own to celebrate with on the actual holiday, we hosted on Saturday.

It snowed, about 5 inches. One of our guests, a friend of a family member,  discovered on her way out the door, that an earlier walk for the two down to enjoy the lake before dinner had resulted somehow in the loss of her car keys. A hunt ensued, both indoors and outdoors, with no results. Wherever they had fallen, more snow had obliterated all signs.

We all know that keys are replaceable, though with whatever inconvenience. On a snowy Saturday evening it involved breaking into the vehicle to get a house key left inside (lucky break), a ride to another town to her house where spare keys sat, and a return to our place to finally make a late night drive home. That was the plan anyway. It turned out breaking into the car caught a neighbor's attention, who then called the police to check out what was going on. That happened to be a good thing, once the ID matched the car ownership records, since all previous tries at breaking in had failed at that point. We had started preparing for an overnight guest, hoping for new ideas in the morning. Once the police verified ownership, they had the proper tool to open the door, and the plan proceeded. A ride was provided to the owner's home to pick up the other car keys, then back here to get the car and head home.

It could have been that simple, mission accomplished, just a new need to replace a second set of keys so there were still spares. The hitch was it wasn't just keys on that ring. A very special medallion hung on the big ring. It was an award her father had earned shortly before he'd died. It was also, due to many circumstances, the only memento left of him our guest still possessed. It was the true loss of the day, not replaceable.

This of course was a winter where more and more snow fell, plows piled up icy heaps on both sides of the street, and every melt simply made another ice layer between more snowfalls. Even later when multiple warm days began to melt snow away on one side of the street getting sun, the other side was shaded by homes and still hasn't completely cleared. Not knowing where the keys had fallen, nor paying that much attention to which side of the street they had walked down... or back... we had no idea where to look. If it was on one side, the plow would have pushed snow downhill, along the sunnier side, but almost into the lake, an area covered by lots of lumpy softball sized rocks that keys could hide under. If the other side, it would have been pushed uphill, perhaps even out to the county road. It was the side still piled high from home to street for every location. Plans were made to get a metal detector and make a try locating them that way, but weather and everything else that could interfere with those plans happened. A note on the community billboard in the mailroom got removed before producing results.

Patience warred with discouragement over the months. We'd start to see patches of dead grass but only briefly between snowfalls. Resignation started to settle in. Hope for a lost last treasure was being let go.

 A few days ago I walked in to the community mail area and glanced at the bulletin board. High enough to be a challenge for me to reach, hanging on a map tack, was a key ring. THE KEY RING! I pocketed it, grabbed our mail, and once home made a phone call with the good news. When relevant vehicles were having issues, including the rise in gas prices, I made arrangements to take the key ring and hang it on the appropriate door inside a bag. My schedule didn't match their owner's but phone calls were exchanged to be positive of the exact address and the security of the specific drop off point, verified a couple hours later learning they had been picked up. I'm told she just kept holding on to it for a long time.

Now all that remains is a note on the bulletin board thanking the anonymous person hanging the keys and letting them know both it was important and they had reached their owner. I have it on good authority there is a map tack available there.

About Those Best Laid Plans

I'll get right to it: the colonoscopy got canceled.

The decision was made in the ER at 2 AM.

You can leave it there, or read on for the rest of the (not too-o-o gross) story.

I had gotten as far as going through the week of increasing food restrictions, chugging the first half of the drink to clear the gut, and had taken my phone and a book into the bathroom to spend necessary time. All was going well... until it wasn't.

I started feeling nauseous. I had a plastic basket handy which is always there. They warn you about that as a possibility, though in my previous ones it had never happened. Neither did any of what came next. From there I went straight to feeling overheated and sweating, light headed like I could fall over at any moment, and unable to stand because the circulation had been cut off in my left leg. I knew that was pinching from the toilet seat but it all struck quickly. Things were going downhill so fast that I just managed to call Steve and get out one word: "Come!"

It did take him a minute with his walker, but he was prompt. By then I was also hyperventilating. He helped me shed a layer of clothes, in between my needing to collapse forward onto his knees as they faced me while he sat in his walker, then leaning over the bucket thinking I'd need that. Lucky for us both we had decided to get him a walker with a seat/basket so he could be as comfortable as possible when using it, much needed for what came next. 

Every move I made, as I vascillated between thinking I'd throw up (never did) to pass out (never did) to needing to stand to get the pressure off my leg (also by then never did - couldn't), he was there, doing his best to help, but best was just letting me fall forward onto his knees for a few seconds. After several minutes of that we decided he should call 911. 

We wound up with a cop and two paramedics, all of whom did their thing as best as they could, since by then I was barely coherent. The simplest question took about a minute to answer, if I even could wrap my brain around it enough to answer. What meds was I allergic to? I managed to recall I had some allergy but couldn't think of to what. Normally I can recite the whole list on command. Once somebody else was there to prevent my falling while sitting, Steve went and got the medical history list I've printed out in a folding form and handed it to them for whatever they needed. Meanwhile they attached 4 EKG leads on me knowing I had cardiac issues in my past. That was one part of me functioning perfectly at the moment.

My goal was to go lie down on my bed. I had an adult diaper in case I wasn't quite through with the purge yet (I was) and a flat bed protector for the bed. With the help of three people - who couldn't pull on my arms - we got me to the bed to reassess my condition and answer the question, did I want to go to the ER?

Obviously I decided yes. The only improvement in my condition at that point was I got enough circulation back in my leg that I could put weight on it again, though standing and walking was done while surrounded by people to catch me if necessary. After help dressing, I was strapped in a chair, taken out and down the steps, and strapped onto the gurney.

Note here that it was snowing. I hadn't worn a coat or jacket. The day had been warmer, noted when I hauled both garbage and recycle bins curbside earlier. Neither chair nor gurney had blankets. If they needed access to me, like monitoring blood O2 and BP, they needed it ASAP. But the gurney had been outside about half an hour, and transfer and belting in took a good five minutes. The ambo doors had been open the whole time since they pulled up. I was already shivering from the moment I was outside. They insisted the ambo had heat inside, but during the 20 minute ride it never got above maybe 50 inside. Compared to snow, I guess that was heat. But I wasn't just shivering, I was shaking, whole body. It was hard to get my BP, or a good reading on my O2 from the finger stall.

I knew at least one thing I hadn't realized before. My entire mouth was so dry it was hard to talk, though I was beginning to be a bit more coherent. I was definitely dehydrated.

Once in a room in the ER I was transferred to a bed by putting a heavy sheet under me and lifting/swinging me over. I wasn't helping, still shivering to much for purposeful movement. I had to sit up a couple times briefly, precipitating the worst charley horses in both thighs I've ever had until I could stretch out straight again. At least those stopped. The shakes lasted hours!

First they removed my shirt and sweatshirt, normal wear for me at home in 73 degree room temp with a blanket over my legs when sitting. By blanket I mean a double layer polar fleece that covers me chest to toes, and if needed I can tuck my arms inside as well. So of course in the ER they started me in a thin cotton gown which left my shoulders and neck exposed to the air, and under one cotton hospital blanket.  You want my arm still to put in an IV? Hold it yourself! Yes, for both tries! After a quick blood draw to check my electrolytes and whatever else, the room was suddenly empty.

Eventually I located the call button, and after three tries through shaking managed to hit it hard enough to work. Somebody grudgingly brought in a pair of warmed cotton blankets, turned the thermostat in the room all the way up to 75 (!?!) and left. Busy? Indifferent? Or both? I'm going for both, since she barely spoke to me. Nor could she be bothered to bring them up to my shoulders. The blanket warmth lasted two minutes, during which I never stopped shaking, nor did I afterwards. I tried to hitch them up myself, but with my shoulders, success would still be a month or two away, between PT and my 2nd surgery, scheduled now for a month after Steve's upcoming hip replacement. He's been here for me, I need to be there for him. One of us still needs to drive, unmedicated by narcotics.

That book I brought to pass the time? It was on the tray a foot from the bed, not really a problem since I couldn't have held it steady enough to read anyway. They had left my glasses on, but I decided it wasn't on purpose. The arm on that side was pretty well pinned down due to the IV... and exposed to the air as well, thank you very much. I did finally give a mental "hell with it" and reached over to draw the tray close enough to grab  my phone to call Steve and let him know what I did/didn't know yet. It started the monitor showing my vitals beeping. Nobody came to check. Of course that also left me colder. Could they have warmed up the IV fluid any? I had asked, and they said they didn't have a warmer for it. Is everybody too stupid to just get a bowl of warm water from the faucet, set the bag inside a larger bag to keep it dry for a couple minutes, and then pour it into me? That would still leave the connecting ends clean, right?

Eventually the question came up of whether to try to get the meds needed to continue the 2nd half of colonoscopy prep since I was scheduled for that morning and just down the hall. With all the pros and cons discussed, including having no ride back home until at least when that procedure was due to be completed the next mid day, and the schedule already off by hours, with no promise anywhere of warmth until I got home, I decided not to go for it. It would have to be rescheduled. First, I needed to find out why I reacted as I did to the meds, never having done so before. And second, I damn well am not going to try it again until next summer. When It's warm!!!!!! Even my second shoulder is waiting till late May, at least. 

After I agreed to it, they scheduled a cab for me to get home in, finally arriving at 3AM, Steve still awake and waiting with cash to pay for it - from our combined stashes since I left my purse home. Even the cab had very little heat, so I never really warmed up until a few hours sleep under my polar fleece. Yep, the colonoscopy will have to wait for a retry till summer. Maybe August, eh, once the 2nd shoulder is useable?

So How Old Am I?

I could give you a number, I suppose, But there are other things in my life which reinforce my years on this planet.

I'm old enough to have gotten both kind of measles and chicken pox before there were shots. Miserable as it made him, we were relieved when my brother got the mumps at a very young age, knowing it was more likely he could be a father some day instead of if he got them as an adult.

I'm also old enough to have gotten TB tests in school every year, and also have either an arm or leg checked in class to be sure we had the scar from a recent enough smallpox vaccination. When the first polio vaccine came out we all got it from a needle. Our parents knew somebody in an iron lung, and I had a classmate in a leg brace. When the sugar cube version came out, a better and painless vaccine, we joined the town in the high school gym for our cube even after having had the first shot.

I'm old enough to watch eggs being candled by the lady Mom bought eggs from, and afterwards heard about diabetes in a granddaughter there. It was always what we call type one and she would die early from it, we were told, after going blind and loosing her feet to gangrene like her grandma.

I'm old enough that when I was very young, and our parents ran a resort, I was pretty much given free rein over the property without worrying about getting lost or running into bad people.  We just won't mention how often I followed the path along the lake in either direction from our place to the two resorts also on the lake. I knew exactly where in the yard the four-leaf-clovers grew every year. Finding a droppd penny was a treasure!

I'm old enough to remember outhouses and not just at summer camps, and getting a Saturday night bath in a tub on the kitchen floor, filled with water heated on a wood stove for the purpose, where each took their turn in the same water starting with the littlest (and presumably carrying the least dirt.)

I'm old enough that we had a phone on the wall where you lifted the ear piece, cranked out a pattern of shorts and longs to reach a very limited supply of numbers, and everybody on your party line could hear the ring pattern and listen to everything said.

I'm old enough that my first awareness of the cost of things was Mom complaining about the prices of stamps rising all the way to two cents for a postcard and three cents for an envelope. When I was in high school she sent me to the store for bread and milk, and complained again because each of those had risen to thirty five cents.

I'm old enough that when the family took a driving trip out to California one could still see distant mountains clearly as soon as they were above the horizon.

I'm old enough to have grown up without TV unless we traveled down to the Minneapolis to visit relatives who had it and knew who Howdy Doody and Captain Kangaroo were.  There was a radio in the house but rarely listened to until after supper. "Our Miss Brooks" and "Life of Riley" come to mind, and in the car hears "Gunsmoke" and "point of Law". When the family moved into a small town there was celebration when an antenna was put on top of the water tower and could broacast NBC for a 3 mile radios. We watched Bonanza and now Gunsmoke on our own small TV.

At that same time as bread and milk prices rose we moved to St. Paul,  where my brother started college and I finished high school. I dated a couple of boys who would drive from St. Paul to Hudson, Wisconsin to buy gas sold there for twenty-two cents a gallon. A full tank of gas was an affordable way for a teenager to just drive all over and call it a date, showing somebody who didn't get around much where parks and rivers the the fancy homes were.

I'm old enough to remember Daddy was a 4-pack-a-day smoker and nobody thought anything of it. As a kid I could even go buy him a pack without objection at the store. After his first heart attack, when he asked the doc when he should come back to see him for a follow up, the doc told him 6 months if he stopped smoking. If he didn't stop, he'd not live long enough for a next appointment. He quit cold turkey. A few years later he was one of the very first tripple bypass cardiac surgery recipients in the St. Paul area, eventually living to 97.

I'm old enough to have lost exact track of how many colonoscopies I've had to have. Including this week it might be five or six. But I clearly recall the one where the anesthesia didn't work in their drug coctail but the paralytic did. Thank goodness they don't use that any more. I would have loved to scream or swear, maybe both.

I'm old enough to have to think how many surgeries of whatever kind I've had, and realize later I missed one. Last week I had a diagnostic scan and was asked to list what all the scars were from, and that's just on my belly. There are more.

I'm even old enough - and have been for a while - to have prepared a mental list for this post of all I wanted to say and know I'm still missing a few things. But I'm not even close to old enough for forgetting how much I love the guy in the next chair, and all the reasons why over all the years. And most of that list you'll never get, on purpose.

Thanks, XCEL

 XCEL is our power company for this part of Minnesota. They have been for a long time, since they changed the name way back from NSP, or Northern States Power. When we were leaving MN to become AZ residents and snowbirds, XCEL was in the process of buying rural land and putting in solar panels. Now when you drive past, they look like blue waves covering former farm fields.

We're back and have them again. Since moving we've had two issues with loss of power. Both times, here's how it went. Power flickers once or twice and goes off. I pick up my cell phone, which still works, and call the number for XCEL I entered in its directory as soon as we signed up to pay for gas and electricity. Both times it went like this:

I got their business recording, letting me sort between billing, sign up or drop service, report a gas leak (beyond calling 911), or reporting a power outage. There might be more choices but I never needed to listen that long. I push the latter button. The recording confirms my status as a customer by the phone I'm using, then verifies my address as the location of the problem, then lets me know approximately how long they expect power to be out. 

Both time the estimate was twenty minutes.

Both times it was a bit quicker. 

We put away the candles, flashlights, and reset the house clocks during the two minutes it took to reset the cable connection on the TV. Not a minute of programming was lost since there is something in our cable  system that keeps about twenty minutes of back broadcasting from before every time we turn the TV on.  Besides, we had recorded what we were watching, enabling us to finish it, and the next program was filled in to cover the down time. There was no worry about losing heat on this thunderstorming winter night, though we knew where heavier clothes and blankets were if needed.  All in all, no problems.

Thanks, EXCEL !!!!

A Little Winter/Spring Fog

 It's March. The snow has lasted much too long, especially for a visiting friend who lost car keys in the snow back at Thanksgiving and is waiting for a thaw. Yes, the keys have been replaced, but there was also a very sentimental and irreplaceable medallion on the ring which serves as a last memento of a deceased parent. 

The snow banks left by the plow have melted on the other side of our street.  On our side,  shaded by our homes due to low sun angles all winter, the piles are still here in dirty glory, snow converted to ice but still stubbornly in place. A metal detector is part of the plan for key retrieval, as not all hope is lost, maybe for this weekend, depending on how high forecast temperatures really go, and whether cars are reliable transportation for people on unreliable budgets. It's been a tough winter on those as well - cars and budgets.

The roads themselves around here are in great condition, and travel for enjoyment has resumed slightly. With a heavy fog Wednesday, a morning trip was ordered, along with the camera.

There is a lake at the bottom of the hill. Visibility ended just before the shore, so I'll let you take my word that all ice houses were removed exactly on schedule, and so far as we know, safely. Had I walked to the bottom I still likely could have seen the ruts in the snow-over-ice near shore where for the last couple months racing snowmobiles on the lake could be heard nearly any time one stepped outside. Do note snow on the north vs. south sides of the street. And yes, it was garbage pick-up day, in case sharp eyes picked the cans sitting out.

As I headed toward the river which was my destination, I passed another lake, again with very limited view and no open water. However, sitting patiently on the ice near shore, waiting for a thaw was a pair of trumpeter swans, securely sleeping. The highway is narrow there with no place to pull off safely, so no picture except in memory.

The goal was a small park along the St. Croix River, known to us locals as Osceola Landing, part of the National Parks system, recently upgraded for picnics, better canoe egress, and a large paved boat access ramp off a huge parking area with added restrooms. The best part is the total lack of entry fees. Or perhaps the scenery, turtles, and birds. Whatever your pleasure is, that day offered a still ice-covered river with just enough exceptions to solid ice to keep people off and boats away. It didn't stop dog walkers or those of us with cameras from enjoying an outing on higher ground.

A tiny spur of land juts out into a backwater near the highway bridge. Canoes can pull up to the stairs near the point and carry their lunches to the tables and grills on its point. As hard as those are to see in winter, the foreground grasses and  weeds all but completely obscure it in summer. You have to know it is there. Behind it the water wraps around, a the barrier which keeps foot traffic off the private farmland rising on the far side. The main stream of the river is on the other side of the park so most people don't make the lengthy u-turn to explore it.

Turning around from shooting that, the small slice of river continues on out to rejoin the main stream, down past the far side of the round grey tree which grows in the middle of the stream on a sand bar. 

Dead trees topple into the stream, an untended hazard for canoists, and when low enough to reach from the water, allow turtles to crawl up for a morning warm-up in summer sun, like this photo from last summer. One can also spot a lot of birds then, but the only bird of this day was a single trumpeter swan, flying through the trees, hidden from cameras, only revealing its presence by trumpeting about every three or four seconds as it headed south... presumably for warmer, ice free water, and a source of food after a vary long and optimistic trip.

Why Can't I See God?

 We were watching TV and a commercial popped on, supported by some Christian organization, and with kids asking questions like this title. It concluded with the assertion that Jesus welcomes questions. I barely noticed the rest of the details in the ad, as a single one caught my attention.

"Why Can't I See God?"

I'm going to leave aside the question of whether there truly is a God out there somewhere and if so, which theology best conveys what a God is all about. There are too many opinions - yes, opinions - and I'm not picking one. Instead I'm going to ask that child - or any child  - who asks that question a question of my own: What is it you expect to see that you would call "God"?

Are you looking for some aged white-bearded man in flowing robes? Lots of paintings and other art forms do their best to minimalize a God into such forms. If something deserves the title of God, why would it look like us? Do we think we are gods? Getting past the first  question, why would any God look like a hairy old person? If that is what you are looking for, there are all kinds of old, white-haired men all over this planet. Which one would you pick out as God? Why not that other one over there? Or  those dozen? Why a man, and not a white-haired old woman? I assure you there are plenty of us out here as well, with our own founts of wisdom, and some of us are perfectly capable of growing white whiskers as well if that's what your God-image needs.

Let's assume you have seen the art and decided they don't fit the bill for you, then what are you looking for? Maybe it has to be some old guy (I bet you can't get past that depiction yet, right?) with special powers it shows off all the time in order to be noticed. Does it fly? Fade in and out of visibility? Bring a fist down on your enemies of the day, and smite them and all they possess to smithereens? Cure your particular sick person because you asked nicely with the perfect special words?

Perhaps you've grown up a bit and are looking for something more.... special. Unique. Awesome. Scary. Lovable. Reassuring. Magic. If you've gotten past the old geezer in robes, how can you tell then whether what you are seeing is God or not?

Maybe you define God as the Creator. Do you mean create art? Ideas? Life? We people can do all that, and we're not alone in that. This post is an idea, and I'm creating it. I assure you I am not any God, despite being old, white haired, and even very competent at growing whiskers. I've made art by manipulating things, and the quality is nowhere near what I'd call God-like, as much as my ego is vested in making it. And yes, I can create life. I have three times. Each time another tiny cell is required to start the process, and after some months a new life pops out that is separate from me. All animals do it. Plants do it. Microbes do it. Are any of us God? I'm sure not feeling like one. I certainly won't/can't do that kind of creation again.

Many describe God as eternal. First we need to ask whether anything is eternal. We used to define it more or less as time longer then we could comprehend, starting before a beginning and lasting after an ending. As for the "can't comprehend" part, that definition sure fits the bill. Besides, it begs the question of "who/what created God?" Not to mention where the void came from... and so may others. We're figuring out, the more we learn, that we have just no idea.

Our scientists, particularly astronomers, are finding out how much further back in time from now other things existed. We call the most likely process starting that the Big Bang, pegging it around fourteen billions years ago. Is  that God? Galaxies spread out in all directions, bits of energy and mass coming together making stars and planets and nebulae which swing around each other, joining into larger and larger parts that move in patterns to make all the varied pieces of galaxies which make up the observable universe, Galaxies in turn start to eat themselves from the center out, sometimes even eating their neighbors. We call those black holes. Are those gods? What's on the other side of those black holes? Where does everything go and will it come back? Has or will it be a never-ending process? We try to put a before and an after on all that creation and discover our minds can barely grasp the concept, much less all the processes involved. Is the universe God?  However you answer that   question, where did God come from? Or, a bit more worrying, if you can't find or explain God, what did start it all, and even where did God go if there used to be one? 

Is God just a word we came up with to try to explain the incomprehensible? Or just a concept we needed to shift blame from our powerlessness and ignorance when some part of us can't tolerate chaos?

I'm not claiming to have the knowledge to answer those questions. I can only say they exist, and need to be answered before anybody or group can claim to know who or what God is, much less what something we designate as God looks like or wants from us.

Maybe we  can see God and look at God all the time. It does seem to be in our nature to ascribe God to being behind everything we cannot understand. I can see a flower and find it beautiful, watch it feed bees with pollen and nectar, understand how to water one and select seeds or cuttings to grow new ones of the same, or even something slightly different. But I can't "make" one. Each has its own rules for life and I can't change those. I can appreciate. I can also destroy, though only on a limited basis. A flower can wilt, eventually crumbling into pieces of scattered dust. Though changed, all are still in existence. I take that as proof as my not being God. I would so love to eliminate poison ivy!

When I was young, my religion taught me that God was visible in (his) creation. God was visible in the kindness and love of those around me. All those other trappings of formalized religion were added in too, like paying money to the church, obeying the laws as set forth in the book(s) deemed Holy, all of which in my case could be reduced to only recognizing one entity as my God, and behaving well to all around me. Despite contrary messages all around me, both from religious people and society, those were the top two things. 

So for what it's worth from this inexpert source, I see love and kindness as coming from whatever one wishes to believe in as god-like. Even if it isn't seen coming from others, it can come from us. We can choose it. The capability is inside us. It can be seen as a gift from God, or not. We are free to decide our actions in many things. If we were God, we could decide everything. We can be, in a very tiny way, God-like, depending on how we define what we call God. It does not make any of us God.

Second, as I get out and see more of this magnificent planet we live on, I am in awe of whatever forces made it and the unfathomable time scale it took it to be this way. I figure that awe is what most people feel when they label something as being god-like. The more we learn of what this planet is, what we are, what the universe is, the more awesome it all becomes to us. I can't begin to explain it. Words are too little to have enough meaning. I can't even understand it except to acknowledge the crushing enormity of it all, and yes, the humbleness of realizing it's a universe that's still changing and hidden and being partly revealed to those who work to see. It can be crushing, particularly because it is in our nature to find ourselves the center of everything, though we're not. The child first finds the maker(s) of all things possible in their parents, and when things are well-ordered, their world expands and grows to the awesome, uncontrollable, and scary. How we deal with that is the measure of ourselves, not of God.

I still have questions, of course. As far as I know, no human will ever be able to answer them. We're working around them, and calling it knowledge. Or understanding. Or at least progress. Let's go straight to the Big Bang. If everything wasn't here, and somehow exploded out of somewhere else into here something like fourteen billion years ago, and is still spreading out all over here and growing and growing, where did it all come from? Is or was there another universe that was somewhere else  first, and overcrowded it's space somehow, and exploded from some tiny point into this giant enormous "here" from a single point source? What happened to start it? Where did it come from? Where is it going? And why? The realization of the huge unknowable is what prompts us to not only create God as the explanation, but also  to create the definition of God, a cosmic mobius strip.

We will never know the beginning nor the end. We will only know our own, and only if we're paying attention at the time - a challenge for sure. Being able to see God will require clearly seeing ourselves, not because we are what we declare God to be, but because what is within us demands a form of completeness only served by the concept of God. We do our best, despite never being capable of getting there. God is what we invent from need, and define God as unknowable. That is why we can never see God: we've made God that way. If there is something more out there that is seeable, we will have to change.

Wait! You Bombed A Frickin' Girls' School ???

Do I need to say I was shocked at yesterday's news about tRump and Netanyahu bombing Iran? First thought wasn't the alleged build-up of nuclear weaponry capacity. It wasn't true back when Dubbya claimed it was, and tRump is so much more of a liar. Not better, since he's so transparent, just it's a constant stream of what he wants to be true running from glimmer of a thought, likely gained off watching TV, straight through and out of his mouth - or fingers on a keyboard -  without a stop for some coherent reflection, were he even capable most days. The man is demonstrably unwell.

All those thoughts were there of course, but the first one was why the hell do we in the US, any of us, think we have the right to tell another country how to lives their lives and choose their government or - since it's tied in - their own religion?  We have a petty ugly history of it for the most part, and try to glorify it for a lot of wrong reasons. (I hold out WWII as an exception.)

The second  was why now? My immediate thought was it was just another attempt to get us all to quit thinking about what's in the still missing Epstein Files, or of what was in but has been deleted from what has been released, how awful a pedophile tRump is/was (since so many of us forget how publicly he bragged about it), with the aim on his part to possibly raise his ratings here at home. Because they've been way down, and that's what drives him.

My shock was about him combining with Netanyahu first instead of going to the US Congress, which actually holds the authority to declare war, but then was followed quickly by the almost tossed off comment by the TV announcer I first heard that one of the bombs landed on a girls school with a resulting fifty-plus deaths. Students. Girls. Children whose lives are already severely restricted by their religious society who were still trying to better their lives if even minutely, who might have one day become mothers capable of guiding their children in better ways of human interactions than the ones these girls themselves grew up in, now never getting that chance.

I wonder who thought that these girls were a danger to the world? Was it total stupidity or just plain cruelty? I ask that like it could be either-or, when both are obviously true.

I wonder about the soldiers who sent the bombs. Do they have any clue which of their bombs hit that school? Are they proud that they killed girls? Or will it haunt them as they go about their lives, perhaps looking at their own daughters or nieces or random children on a playground back home, or in a school concert, or play, or science fair?

YOU BOMBED A FRICKING GIRLS' SCHOOL !!!!!!

 Addendum:  Later fatalities were estimated, students and teachers, at around 175. 

Jellyfish Galaxy?

Boredom leads to fascinating discoveries on occasion. Boredom? Well, the Olympics' two weeks of wall-to-wall coverage is over, regular programming is coming back amid a ton of reruns, so there's some new stuff to watch, but all is mostly indoor activities still, despite the calendar building up with all kinds of medical appointments with more to schedule. There's no heading out to see the newest flower in the yard, or just walk down to the lake to see which birds are back north yet. Some snow has gone, but keeps getting replaced, including by ice, all of which reinforces the "keep indoors" injunction for anybody not willing to risk certain kinds of accidents. Even the garbage goes out to the big cans without one leaving the porch, and the cans don't actually fill often enough to require weekly hauling curbside. And no, spring housecleaning is NOT on the agenda! Yes, the dirt is visible, but the will to push the body right now has gone walkabout - ironic since the body itself can't. Even a pile of tax documents are sitting on a table sneering at me.

So there's lots of time spent online. Some of course is spent writing, including here. Other time is spent reading weird stuff, or at least weird for a lot of people. I got introduced to "Science X Newsletter" over a year ago, and get a new email containing dozens of links in various categories five days a week. Sometimes they build up, sometimes they are promptly devoured. I tend to ignore chemistry, physics, and astronomy, and stick with biology, earth news, medical news, and sometimes pop in to read "other". I might not get to one for a week, as a bunch piles up, but they don't go away until I delete them. Sometimes it's accidentally, though I did fix that glitch a while ago. In the beginning I tried to read everything and not just the teaser first paragraph, but the load grew heavier of unread stuff beckoning.

Suddenly it changed. The folks putting it out decided they either needed my money to keep reading any and everything that caught my interest, or I'd have to wade through ads for every in depth article I read. Screw that! OK, sure, I agree that they're worth it. The service is invaluable. But so are a lot of things online, and my budget isn't that accommodating, especially these last months when I'm not working. Five dollars a month here, and ten there, can build up in a hurry. I can't support them all. Decisions needed to be made. 

Since I still get the very short version of each newsletter, meaning a title and a couple sentences, sometimes a very tiny photo or indecipherable diagram, I can still browse through those. If something is really compelling, I can pull up the full article and fight a system of ads which has a very poor history of letting you clear it off the page after reading/watching it fully, meaning it still covers the article I clicked over to read even after the video ends. The result is it gets quicker and quicker to go through the teaser titles to see what's going on. 

If something looks more interesting, I find myself noting a key word or two and heading elsewhere trying to find more information. Maybe Google. Or Wikipedia even. I've been surprised by how brand new concepts (to me) wind up there, though the opposite is also true, and whatever it was doesn't seem to exist. Today was a good day.

Science X Newsletter had a teaser on jellyfish galaxies. What? Never heard of them. You? The thumbnail photo didn't really give me a clue, so first Google then Wikipedia. Both had information, or at least enough that I now know a bit what they're talking about. I'll even pass on the simple layman's version, since you've read this far.

I presume you are familiar with our own galaxy and its shape as spiral galaxy, more or less two dimensional with arms spinning off in curves along a relatively flat plane, maybe (or most likely?) with a black hole in the center. Got that image? If not, go Google it.... or use whatever search engine you please.

OK, now imagine something huge, like perhaps another spiral galaxy (don't ask me, I'm not sure) rams into it fairly flatly (aka broadside) and knocks a bunch of combined stuff through the "flat" to the other side, and some of that kind of dangles in strings as if still attached to the galaxy but trying to move away.  What's left of the original flattish spiral along with what it gained from whatever rammed into it that couldn't escape (yet?)  now resembles the head of a jellyfish. The tendrils of escaping matter - stars, planets, dust clouds, nebulas - that haven't fully separated (yet)  appear to be hanging below, like those on a jellyfish. (I doubt they move like an ocean jellyfish, but that  would be interesting! Likely very destructive as well.) Scientists describe the cause of this as ramming, so I'd guess there's enough color shift to suggest it's all still in motion. I haven't read the article for the above stated reasons.

I have no idea whether these are supposed to be static in their new confirmation, but I can't imagine they would be, just that the moment in time we observe them shows them that way, just like any constellation in our sky seems permanent. We know things move and that different forces like gravity hold them in a pattern. Observe our solar system, everything moving yet staying much the same. We can observe the evidence left of collisions in the distant past from craters on the moon, or even here on earth. Some of us have seen comets breaking up within our lifetimes, like Shoemaker-Levy 9 falling into Jupiter back in 1994 in 21 pieces.

Now go look up jellyfish galaxies and let your imaginations play, or bring out your crayons and design your own versions. Have fun! It's that or knock yourself flat on your ass with awe and/or fear.

You do you.

When Neither One Works

 Things got weird this last weekend. Going into the weekend, the right arm was somewhat mobile, pain free,  and looking forward to regaining muscles or tendons or whatever means of control it still lacks after 6 weeks of forced immobility. Its hand works perfectly, with great grip strength, but there's a disconnect when it comes to getting it elevated enough, say, to touch my head. It has to be placed in position. PT is the anticipated cure, with appointments scheduled.

When I woke up Sunday, the left arm still had the mobility it had the months before, only now any move forward and to the center is sharply painful. My plan of perhaps fixing that one in late summer just morphed into a plan to ask the surgeon at this week's "final" appointment  how soon we can schedule it, period.

Think of it this way: with both hands working, I could mostly function. The right hand needs something to bring it left and high. Low mostly works just fine, though I haven't explored all options. Even when it needs effort to get in position or stay held in position, mostly it works. If I can brace that elbow on the arm of the chair, the hand can scratch my head when I move the head into place if it itches... which of course it does. That's just life. Braced, it can hold a hairbrush, but not move it to brush the hair, a job designated for the left hand since surgery. Same for the toothbrush. So those get done, when they get done, with sharp pain now.  With both hands working together I can manage to get a wet washcloth across my face, carefully.  Neither arm can replace the shower head back up on its hook. Not yet anyway. I'm considering the cost of a plumber to make some permanent height adjustment on that wall. Or perhaps there's a gadget one can attach without making a hole at risk of puncturing plumbing behind the wall? I'm open for ideas here.

I don't know enough of internal anatomy to understand why the sudden pain when the left shoulder has been the one relied on for so long. I'm sure its use has contributed to whatever suddenly changed. Imagination fills in the gap to suggest some chip of bone, undermined by the arthritis, loosened and relocated in an unknown spot where it grates between other parts of that shoulder joint when they move. But I've never dissected one, nor even seen diagrams, so who knows?

My supply of "normal" painkillers doesn't touch it, though the ache after movement does ease after around an hour. I can assure you I'm not at all tempted to go back to NSIDS since the pancreatitis. After resisting doing so for ages, I'm about to request an interim supply of the heavy stuff. Whatever the cause, it won't be needed much after surgery, based on past experience with the other shoulder. However, once again there'll be however many weeks of the sling before the needed PT to go through to restore function to that arm.

The frustrating part is not the pain. The frustrating part is just when I start thinking I can be independent and capable of doing normal things on my own again and soon, life has its way of laughing, in a way that's both full of irony and bereft of humor. It reminds me of my chronological age, not the twenty-year-old remembered me tucked away inside. She's still there on those mornings when I wake pain-free, read to go and take on the world again, at least until it takes on me.

A Shocking Milestone!

I'm not saying it's a terribly important one, even though it is worth note, just one of those that sneaks up on you and tells you that you're getting old. (Or older, anyway.)

First, I'm back driving again, at least for those things where I won't be medicated or otherwise disqualified from doing so. Hopefully that mostly won't happen again until... late summer? Considering the issues of wearing that contraption they call a sling in the winter, I've been giving thought to scheduling the other shoulder. I see that doc next week, my final check-out, and we'll have that discussion. But I'm hoping for no slippery snowy roads, no multiple layers of heavy clothing to fight with, and no contraption preventing me from wearing my coat outside in winter weather. So I'm going to push for mid July for the second shoulder, pending the surgeon's input. That doesn't even take into consideration how cold the house gets in February when you mostly just sit around for 6 weeks, even under a doubled polar fleece blanket, and can't even tolerate being in your own bed  because you can't/shouldn't roll over so it's still just life in a chair 24 hours a day, or how itchy my dry skin gets in winter, or being unable to pick up our own mail for fear of ice causing extra damage besides a bruise or two.

So that's my starting point on milestones and scheduling, based on too much experience.

My youngest has been very helpful with all kinds of things I/we can't do under these circumstances. I'm getting a chance to return the favor... provided he goes ahead and gets some of his own scheduling done. He's going to need his own driver soon. He'll be needing a routine procedure where he'll be released after waking from anesthetics, in no condition to drive himself. I'll be able to do that for him, even bring a book to read in the meanwhile, or who knows? I might still be working on taxes and bring that paper jungle along just for "fun", though this year will be much simpler than last year because we didn't move and sell a house. 

But this year my baby turns 50! And lucky for him, his doctors inform him he needs to come in for a colonoscopy! Not the box on the doorstep kind, but a full look-see kind. Lucky him he gets to start when they use propofol, aka "milk of amnesia" for sedative. I still have awful memories of stuff that didn't work, no pain relief, no ability to speak ( or scream - I tried), just wide awake paralysis. Oddly enough I just scheduled my next one for next month myself. I'll have Steve drive for me, barring some blizzard. He'll have a book or two to bring, maybe even just sit in the car if it's a nice enough day. March can provide anything. We geezers are used to getting our own medical stuff taken care of, based on symptoms and age. We almost take it for granted that X happens every Y number of years. But that's for us.

But OMG! My baby is old enough to start that cycle! Sure he's grown, responsible, holds a long-term job, switched to an electric hybrid car, pays his mortgage, grows and harvests fruits to make jellies out of, helps us geezers with heavy tasks. 

When did he ever get old too?

Bad Timing

It's been unusually warm after being unusually cold... at least in recent terms. This winter had lots of sub-zero days and piling snow. As a kid this would have been just "Winter", at least for Minnesota.  After many winters in  Arizona, and a mild first winter back north, this winter felt harsh. Add in being trapped inside for multiple health reasons, it added to the subjective harshness.

Then we get a week plus of highs in or near the 50s. Streets of black asphalt clear, despite their sides lined by piled snowbanks. Sidewalks finally lost almost all their ice and are safe even for me to walk on these days. News reports resume mentioning people breaking through the ice and either getting rescued or drowning. Ice houses are still scattered across local lakes while we natives give them the side-eye, wondering which fish house or vehicle - or combination - will be the first to break through and sink, and at what cost. They range from tents and snowmobiles to RVs! Around here cost includes, on top of everything else, fines for polluting the lake with fluids from vehicles or whatever non-native things just got dumped into the lake along with fees for pulling out whatever fell through. One might even be "lucky" enough to have an ambulance fee to top it off.

Aside from lakes, however, it's been great to finally be back behind the wheel, getting out to doctor's appointments on my own, shopping again, and planning that trip to the library to pick up free tax forms for filing in the next couple months. (Oops, holiday: closed! Sigh.) Days are getting longer, sun actually starts to melt snow off roofs and should it peek into the house, can add some actual warmth, a good thing after looking at the latest utility bill, a bit of sticker shock after last year's baseline bills.

I finally could walk safely to the mail center again. We (meaning my son) shoveled our half of the length of the paved walk running between homes to the next street over. The neighbors on the other end who had responsibility for their share went snowbird without making arrangements. Lumpy ice simply wasn't doable. Often mail in our box would pile up for a week until somebody younger and more able bodied could be persuaded to fetch it for us. That path's tail end is visible on its meandering path if one stands on our front porch and looks across back yards. Yesterday the last of its ice left.

Two packages, one catalogue, and one envelope were expected. (We get that service from the post office, often too optimistic, but at least letting us know when not to bother heading over.) After lunch I pulled on my winter coat, with help from Steve because that's still part of my life, and headed over on foot. I could have waited, but after all the warmth, we now have afternoon rain and snow expected. Talk about a safety reset! Clouds are starting to fill back in.

We still have ice over snow in places with a lot of shade, like where the garbage and recycling bins sit until their day curbside. Neither has enough in them to warrant fighting slick ice today. They are big, our refuse supply isn't. I have developed a system where they snug up against the porch. I can stand on the dry porch right outside the front door, reach over with a long grabber stick, lift the lids so they can be filled, and drop the lids back down. No snow, no ice, no stairs. And almost no contents despite clearing out the house this morning. So they'll stay, and I won't be pulling them over wet ice ( since the roof drains right there.) As I inform anybody nosy enough to ask or rude enough to raise an eyebrow, I just mention everything inside is frozen so nothing stinks. 

But the mail was calling, or at least Steve's two packages, promised today, were calling him. He was waiting for a return phone call, so I headed out after getting his assist with the coat. If I take the long path, I had a safe, dry way to get the mail and back. In summer I cut across the grass, but shade still left too much snow and presumably ice in that direction. 

Just before I left our yard's area on that dry path, I noticed a speck of motion. Slow, undulating, motion. Had it all been black on the black paved path, I might not have noticed it, but in the middle was a fuzzy band of orange. It was a woolly bear caterpillar! I hadn't seen one of those for over a dozen years!  Mostly I've seen them in the fall, doing whatever it is they do to get ready for winters. But we'd been spending so many falls, winters, and springs in Arizona, that I'd not even been reminded that they exist. Yet here one was, not warm enough yet to be able to hurry to get wherever it thought it needed to go next. Knowing the forecast, I wondered if it would be given enough time today to make it to its desired destination. The morning forecast suggested another hour in this part of the state before it needed to be wherever it was going, oh so slowly, slowly, in the direction of. 

In February? In Minnesota? Winter returning with an attitude?

Really?

On my return from checking for mail that hadn't arrived yet, I noticed it had made it about another foot across the path. It had maybe 5 inches to grass again, brown and almost thawed in the tips showing perhaps an inch above the ground where snow hadn't totally matted them down. 

Good luck little critter.

Reset

I roam wide and far online. Some places involve conversations. Some "merely" input programming, or some paragraphs of data.  And of course there's shopping, especially the advance grocery orders so we can avoid entering a store. Eventually it starts to catch up with you, particularly when some sites both quote something and for verification, add a link to the source.

I started having trouble loading stuff I wanted to read. I love a quick perusal of a site and lining up several articles to be read in depth along my search bar to pick later, waiting for me before I can forget them from that initial look. I started getting blank pages when I tried opening them.  Add in a few other issues, and it was time to clear out some stuff.

Of course I did it wrong. But my laptop, in the interest of speed, offers me a chance to clear great big everythings at once. After all, how would I know, one by one, what's sitting there months later and not completely cleared, or worse, connected to three dozen other unknown sources - for better or worse. I mean, if it's email, I can clear by category or individual message, quite easily. I just need to remember to check SPAM because sometimes my computer is really stupid on how it assigns things there. If you are a good friend with a long list of people you send good jokes to, it decides on its own that I didn't really want to hear from you. But it's incapable of figuring out that all the messages from a good friend who died three years ago are attempts at corrupting my system. Not only had she died but she is no longer sending photos to anybody... unless I'm really wrong about what happens after cremation! Just to make it a teensy bit more challenging, I also get supposed photos from one of my kids, which still have to be sent to spam unopened. He never takes photos, much less sends them. Those were a surprise the first time, but a totally weird-ass origin tipped me off before I opened what I supposedly needed to in order to view the "photos".

Once my laptop stopped letting me have good access to a favorite few sites, it was time to clear stuff off. My laptop gave me a quick three choices: history, cookies, or cache. You know what happens when you try to call the sure-fire person who could tell me which to delete and which to rethink before doing so, and they don't answer the phone? A couple moments thought later, and I clicked "yes" on all three. 

It worked! 

There was one little catch, however. Places where I needed to log in refused to recognize me. Oops.... was that the Cookies? Cache? Or History? Luckily the financial sites (where I needed to keep regular track of balances) I'd had set to require a full log-in every time. I remembered those from daily use, though some days better than others. But others, less financially sensitive, I relied on to just be there when I clicked. A third category, like various kinds of weather reports, needed no special access, just open and navigate. The whole of one site shows fire smoke for the continent, for one example, and just zoom around. Same with the lightening map. My road map site only asks for a location to display, whether a full state or some building, not caring who I am or why I need to know.

Lucky for me, I've been writing down my log-ins over the years, especially when they change. I'd gotten a bit coy with some of them, like making references to stuff I was sure I'd remember that nobody else could figure out. After ten-plus years and changes in passwords, you know what happens, right? Ever reference "dog's name" and wonder looking back which dog it was at that time? Some of those rescue dogs had fairly short lives, a big reason they were still waiting for homes.  Just note, however, if you try to figure out my passwords, that none of them were ever dogs' names. Just giving an example of how to confuse oneself. Good thing I never tried cat's names, since some of those I can't recall myself despite a clear image of the face/fur patttern, while I'm still pretty good with the dogs many years later. 

Earlier this week I was ordering something online, and was going to use PayPal. Usually when I open the link they send me a notice that they recognize my computer. Oops. Uhhhh..... what was that again? Oh, I got cutsey with that one? Fine, I'll switch directly to one of my cards instead. 

I wanted to add a couple shows to the YouTube TV lineup. We're on a family member's plan. When it got installed, I wrote down everything! All 4 lines of "everything"! Now I have a call in to that person asking which of those four lines I need in order to get back on. I haven't even gotten to BritBox yet, and that's a different person. I'll wait till after the Olympics, I guess.  Besides, Steve handles the cable for the TV. I've gotten as far, on occasion, as pulling out the plug, counting to 5, and replugging.  More than that, it's his problem.

Sick Of Winter Yet? #6

If you're reading these in numerical order, you might be waiting for the story behind why we stopped one blue agave from blooming. This is it.

Agaves, as already noted, have a well-earned reputation for keeping you at a distance, even worse than cacti, except for cholla. If there is one exception, it is the octopus agave. The leaves are smooth, and aside from the very tip of each leaf, don't stab you. They're even easier to deal with if, like me, you take an ordinary garden clippers and trim off the last half inch of each leaf spike. It won't grow back, and even if you bump into it after that, you'll barely get the meerest scratch, and then only if you work hard at it. 

I decided I had to plant one, and placed it at the front corner of the house, close to the wall. It thrived there, since even under the eave, there was no gutter to defer the rare rain, so whatever fell watered it well. It was a beauty.  In a short time it started its own flowering stalk.

 

 

An unfortunate effect of its location was the stalk grew up into the eaves, trying to shoot through them.

This started a week's tug of war with the top of the stalk: pull, check for movement, check for progress, check for house damage. Repeat. Repeat again. Still again. But don't! break! the stalk !

Once freed from under the roof, it thrived, kept growing, and started loading up in tiny flowers.

 In turn, the flowers attracted the local bees, who loaded up on pollen.

Lots and lots of bees,  for several days. That corner of the house was humming!

We had been expecting seed pods. Once the flower petals dropped, baby plants replaced them instead.

The plants grew, filled in, and suddenly we realized we had some work ahead of us! We had plants needing homes! LOTS OF HOMES! My son Rich put an ad for us in a neighborhood online location where one can sell, trade, even give away whatever. We used it previously to divest of a bunch of X-mas tree stuff we no longer wanted, free to a good home, or an organization who'd find it all good homes. In this case, we invited people to pluck off their own plants as wanted, free. We also invited anybody with ambition (and probably a business) to come over and cut the entire stalk and remove all of them. We had several phone calls for more info, some asking for care tips, easily given.

I had already plucked a couple dozen babies off the stalk, setting them on a wide window ledge in plastic 3 ounce cups of water. They quickly grew roots, went into potting soil in peat pots, in turn got  set into thin aluminum baking pans converted for the purpose, where they could go back outside in sun and be evenly watered from the bottom. Some of those I shared with friends for their yards, depending on their own green or brown thumbs. Some I planted in our yard after they were well rooted.

 One day I stepped out front and noticed somebody had come by quietly and taken us at our word that they were welcome to the stalk and contents. I wished them the best of luck in growing them. We'd had fun.

Being busy with the new "octo-babies", the remains of the old plant were ignored for a few weeks. As predicted, stalk and leaves died . We finally made plans to dig the remainder out, asking Rich for the favor of doing the work. Instead he called me out, having news. There was new growth in the bottom! A few fresh green leaves were poking out beneath the dead leaves.  We still had a nice octopus agave, or would very soon, once the dead was removed. Instructions changed, and the new growth thrived, The babies which were planted got ignored during our snowbirding northern vacation, despite promises before we left for regular watering. By the time we sold the house, we had "only" four new healthy ones in the back yard, still a good result for a favorite plant after a minimum of work.

Note the fat plant behind the octopus agave along the house is one of our large blue agaves I showed in the last episode. After photos of where this octopus ended up and knowing what was required to do in order to avoid damage to the house, but the next time with a real stabber of a plant, I hope you'll understand better why we cut that flowering stalk. Besides, I was informed it produced seeds, not plants, and those really are a lot of work!