"Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it."
Matt’s email three days ago quoting The Great Gatsby, informed me that I again missed the longest day, because I was too busy living it. For several Junes since we read Gatsby for our family book group in 2013 Matt has emailed Daisy’s question.
Saturday, the longest day of my year, was spent with two adorable grandchildren, Andrew and Victoria. It was sunny and hot and we played in our wading pool. I had bought two spray nozzles and attached them to garden hoses so they could have water fights while I watered my rhubarb with a third hose.
As Xiomara and I sat in the sun-warmed pool late in the afternoon, she reminisced about her childhood in Honduras. They received just one pair of shoes a year, so they went barefoot most of the time, including to school and on their daily mile-long walk to the river to fetch water. Being the youngest, Xiomara only carried two one-gallon containers home: the older children carried five gallons on their heads. Her resourceful father bought an acre of land outside of town and planted mangoes, bananas, pineapples, and coconuts as well as beans and vegetables. As poor as they were, tropical fruit was cheap and plentiful. It's a stark contrast to the prices in New York.
My dad grew up in a ‘ranch house’ among the wheat fields of Montana with no running water. I remember using the outhouse the summer of 1965 when we flew to Montana for a reunion.
A few days ago, I planted several zinnia seeds in small pots and by Saturday they had sprouted cotyledons. (The embryonic ‘leaves’ that nourish the plant until true leaves can grow and start photosynthesis.) I gave one to Victoria to take home and today, by video, she proudly showed me her thriving plant.
Another botanical project is my Christmas cacti. My mom grew beautiful Christmas cacti (which aren’t technically cacti at all) and enjoyed collecting varieties. She had pink and white and even an orange one. They bloomed at Christmas or Thanksgiving or Easter.
My oldest cactus sat for years on our old piano; the brilliant pink blossoms cascaded down one side of the pot. This year I decided to take the old, lopsided plant in hand. I perched it on top of an overturned wastebasket in the kitchen and studied it for several days. I came to see that I could restore balance by pruning it severely. Two younger but also unruly plants needed a deep trimming as well. I filled several small pots and a large, shallow pot with soil and planted about 20 slips. I’d never thought to prune a Christmas cactus. A week after the pruning, all three plants are sending out fresh new leaves. I hope they enjoy their new state.
I got a haircut too, the first in twenty weeks. My hairdresser, Pauline, has rearranged her salon to allow for safe distancing. She's always been meticulous about cleanliness: the main change is the box of disposable face masks on her counter. I left about four inches of grey and white hair on the floor, just in time for the hot weather.
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
Tuesday, June 16, 2020
As For Years
The other day my youngest son, Sam, shared memories of working in the garden over his growing-up years. I really appreciated it. A lot of it has faded for me. (Note to the world: keep a journal. You will one day appreciate even a few sentences you write about your life today.)
Then I asked the other kids for memories. Matt sent a detailed email, including many things that I had forgotten. He said the rhubarb in the small triangular bed near the garage was the original plant. I’m not sure if it was the only one, but certainly we started with no more than three. Now we have 21. That’s not as impressive as it sounds. The western edge of our one-acre property is lined with trees and our large garden does not get a full day of sunshine: the western third of the garden is in shade by about 1 p.m. You can measure the length of sunshine by the size of the rhubarb plants. In the center of the garden the plants spread out five feet wide. As the beds progress west, the plants shrink to 18 inches.
Last Friday I bought 10 bags of composted cow manure (low-odor) at Home Depot. Saturday I spent four hours, dunged each rhubarb plant, and then watered each thoroughly.
I have five friends who help me in the garden this year: Leroy (15), Ruby (13), Lucy (12), Twyla (10), and their mom, Sherie. This morning Ruby, Twyla, and Sherie came. The beets and carrot beds were overwhelmed with broadleaf weeds. I thought the seedlings had all died, but with very careful, gentle weeding we discovered four of each hidden under the weeds, each about an inch tall and incredibly delicate.
Jim had suggested, when I started this project, to have the girls plant flowers. Along with the manure, I bought a tray of marigolds and petunias. We dug trenches, mixed manure, peat moss, and topsoil to a uniform color and texture (I called it the cake mix), and planted each flower in the bed where we sowed sunflower seeds (only one seed sprouted).
Last week, Twyla had harvested the rhubarb, as I directed, quite heavily. Today new, crinkly leaves are sprouting up from the heart of the plants. We covered the bare soil between plants with black landscape fabric or salt marsh hay, hoping to starve weeds out.
For years I’ve had a glorious fantasy of returning the garden to its 1993 elegance, with clean brick walkways and raised beds. I fretted that if I put the energy into it, it might not last and my efforts would be for naught. But last year I decided to “act upon this land as for years.”
When we moved to a little rented house in Columbus, Indiana, a week after R’el was born, I decided to create a little vegetable plot, mostly for tomatoes, which is what I knew how to grow. We didn’t know how long we would live there, but I went forward with my project, inspired by the counsel given in the LDS book of scriptures called the Doctrine and Covenants (section 51, verse 16):
...let them act upon this land as for years, and this shall turn unto them for their good.
We lived there for three growing seasons and I’ve never regretted the effort I took.
Now that I’ve started actually working on the garden intensively, I accept its potential loss with equanimity. Instead of resisting the project I am embracing it in all its complexity, creativity, experimentation, hard work, and the possibility of failure. I am acting upon it as for years, and it is turning unto me for my good.
Then I asked the other kids for memories. Matt sent a detailed email, including many things that I had forgotten. He said the rhubarb in the small triangular bed near the garage was the original plant. I’m not sure if it was the only one, but certainly we started with no more than three. Now we have 21. That’s not as impressive as it sounds. The western edge of our one-acre property is lined with trees and our large garden does not get a full day of sunshine: the western third of the garden is in shade by about 1 p.m. You can measure the length of sunshine by the size of the rhubarb plants. In the center of the garden the plants spread out five feet wide. As the beds progress west, the plants shrink to 18 inches.
Last Friday I bought 10 bags of composted cow manure (low-odor) at Home Depot. Saturday I spent four hours, dunged each rhubarb plant, and then watered each thoroughly.
I have five friends who help me in the garden this year: Leroy (15), Ruby (13), Lucy (12), Twyla (10), and their mom, Sherie. This morning Ruby, Twyla, and Sherie came. The beets and carrot beds were overwhelmed with broadleaf weeds. I thought the seedlings had all died, but with very careful, gentle weeding we discovered four of each hidden under the weeds, each about an inch tall and incredibly delicate.
Jim had suggested, when I started this project, to have the girls plant flowers. Along with the manure, I bought a tray of marigolds and petunias. We dug trenches, mixed manure, peat moss, and topsoil to a uniform color and texture (I called it the cake mix), and planted each flower in the bed where we sowed sunflower seeds (only one seed sprouted).
Last week, Twyla had harvested the rhubarb, as I directed, quite heavily. Today new, crinkly leaves are sprouting up from the heart of the plants. We covered the bare soil between plants with black landscape fabric or salt marsh hay, hoping to starve weeds out.
For years I’ve had a glorious fantasy of returning the garden to its 1993 elegance, with clean brick walkways and raised beds. I fretted that if I put the energy into it, it might not last and my efforts would be for naught. But last year I decided to “act upon this land as for years.”
When we moved to a little rented house in Columbus, Indiana, a week after R’el was born, I decided to create a little vegetable plot, mostly for tomatoes, which is what I knew how to grow. We didn’t know how long we would live there, but I went forward with my project, inspired by the counsel given in the LDS book of scriptures called the Doctrine and Covenants (section 51, verse 16):
...let them act upon this land as for years, and this shall turn unto them for their good.
We lived there for three growing seasons and I’ve never regretted the effort I took.
Now that I’ve started actually working on the garden intensively, I accept its potential loss with equanimity. Instead of resisting the project I am embracing it in all its complexity, creativity, experimentation, hard work, and the possibility of failure. I am acting upon it as for years, and it is turning unto me for my good.
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
Nerd Fitness
Last week, I woke up at 6:49 a.m. and realized that I had time to do my Nerd Fitness workout before Khare’s daily meditation circle. I didn’t feel well-rested, but I did it.
My workout has changed character recently. I’ve begun to focus on challenging myself. My friend, Kimberly, told me that it’s the last rep, the one I can barely do, that is strengthening the muscle. Instead of marking time, doing the prescribed reps unthinkingly, my mind is actively engaged, tuned into my muscles and joints for every rep.
I imagine I’m one of the older members of Nerd Fitness. Steve Kamb targets young ‘nerds’. I’m not a nerd in that sense. But I did have a body that was under-worked and atrophying.When I started Nerd Fitness Academy last August, they sent a series of twelve weekly emails with systematic challenges. I ignored many of them. But last week I decided to ‘respawn’ (I had to look that up. Nerd is set up like a massive video game.) and receive the emails again, which will take 3 months to get through. The workouts are just one aspect of change, along with healthy eating and a positive mindset. I had stopped consistently logging my food and my scale confirms that I need that discipline. I’m taking the Nerd challenge to log my food every day for a week. It's surprisingly difficult to sustain the effort. I'm 'walking to Mordor' as well: walking at least five minutes a day for a month. Gotta go!
My workout has changed character recently. I’ve begun to focus on challenging myself. My friend, Kimberly, told me that it’s the last rep, the one I can barely do, that is strengthening the muscle. Instead of marking time, doing the prescribed reps unthinkingly, my mind is actively engaged, tuned into my muscles and joints for every rep.
I imagine I’m one of the older members of Nerd Fitness. Steve Kamb targets young ‘nerds’. I’m not a nerd in that sense. But I did have a body that was under-worked and atrophying.When I started Nerd Fitness Academy last August, they sent a series of twelve weekly emails with systematic challenges. I ignored many of them. But last week I decided to ‘respawn’ (I had to look that up. Nerd is set up like a massive video game.) and receive the emails again, which will take 3 months to get through. The workouts are just one aspect of change, along with healthy eating and a positive mindset. I had stopped consistently logging my food and my scale confirms that I need that discipline. I’m taking the Nerd challenge to log my food every day for a week. It's surprisingly difficult to sustain the effort. I'm 'walking to Mordor' as well: walking at least five minutes a day for a month. Gotta go!
Tuesday, June 2, 2020
I Love New England! Part Two
Jim has gotten into jigsaw puzzles in a big way this past year. After repeating all the puzzles we own (some twice, yes, two times), he ordered three online. In my Zoom support group two afficianados mentioned Eureka Puzzles in Brookline, a town that borders Boston. I navigated their website and ordered three more with curbside pick-up.
So, Saturday we got in the car and drove the scenic route through Belmont and Watertown. The sky was a brilliant blue with fluffy white cumulus clouds, the trees in full leaf of delicate spring green. The first of the rhododendrons are blooming. I’ve observed that azaleas bloom in a certain order: lavender is always first, then white, red, and then pinks and oranges. Then the rhododendrons start, in that same order.
We parked at Coolidge Corner, called the shop and waited for the clerk to come outside and deposit the shopping bag on a folding table. After he returned into the store, we retrieved the package, and I proudly showed Jim my selections. Then we continued down Beacon Street looking for some take-out food. Lots of hair salons, which opened this week, but few restaurant choices. On a side street we found an authentic Jewish deli. Back on Beacon St. we found a bench and enjoyed my Romanian pastrami on pumpernicle, Jim's steak sandwich, and some toothsome half-sour pickles.
Driving home on Route 9, we searched for ice cream and found a Shake Shack in Chesnut Hill. It’s got an interesting story: it started as a hot dog cart at Madison Square Park in Manhattan and now has over 200 locations. My friend Anna, who works at Harvard, introduced me to it in Harvard Square. It's modeled after an old-fashioned burger stand. I had a cherry blossom milkshake, doesn't that just sound heavenly?
I’m on a milkshake kick since Clayton Christensen died. He once consulted for MacDonalds and developed the idea that a seller doesn't need to analyze customers as much as discover what job the customer wants done. People buy milkshakes in the morning because they want something tasty, fast, and portable for their commute.
As a child I loved milkshakes, vanilla or strawberry (never chocolate). Milkshakes and 7-Up. Did you know that Bib-label Lithiated Lemon-Lime Soda was created in 1929 (shortly before the stock market crash) and contained lithium? That's a mood stabilizer I’m intimately familiar with. The lithium was banned in 1948, the name changed to 7 Up, and by the time I was drinking it, it didn't have lithium, but I love that connection. 7 Up has always been soothing to me. It was something I could keep down those first months of pregnancy.
Give me 7 Up and a vanilla shake, rather than Coke and dark chocolate. I’ll eat dark chocolate, but it’s completely wasted on me: I just choke it down.
While driving on 128, we called Annie to chat. Jim described to her what a weird experience we were having. He's hardly been out of the house, except to walk in the neighborhood and one trip to Market Basket. It’s like waking from a dream and finding the world still there.
So, Saturday we got in the car and drove the scenic route through Belmont and Watertown. The sky was a brilliant blue with fluffy white cumulus clouds, the trees in full leaf of delicate spring green. The first of the rhododendrons are blooming. I’ve observed that azaleas bloom in a certain order: lavender is always first, then white, red, and then pinks and oranges. Then the rhododendrons start, in that same order.
We parked at Coolidge Corner, called the shop and waited for the clerk to come outside and deposit the shopping bag on a folding table. After he returned into the store, we retrieved the package, and I proudly showed Jim my selections. Then we continued down Beacon Street looking for some take-out food. Lots of hair salons, which opened this week, but few restaurant choices. On a side street we found an authentic Jewish deli. Back on Beacon St. we found a bench and enjoyed my Romanian pastrami on pumpernicle, Jim's steak sandwich, and some toothsome half-sour pickles.
Driving home on Route 9, we searched for ice cream and found a Shake Shack in Chesnut Hill. It’s got an interesting story: it started as a hot dog cart at Madison Square Park in Manhattan and now has over 200 locations. My friend Anna, who works at Harvard, introduced me to it in Harvard Square. It's modeled after an old-fashioned burger stand. I had a cherry blossom milkshake, doesn't that just sound heavenly?
I’m on a milkshake kick since Clayton Christensen died. He once consulted for MacDonalds and developed the idea that a seller doesn't need to analyze customers as much as discover what job the customer wants done. People buy milkshakes in the morning because they want something tasty, fast, and portable for their commute.
As a child I loved milkshakes, vanilla or strawberry (never chocolate). Milkshakes and 7-Up. Did you know that Bib-label Lithiated Lemon-Lime Soda was created in 1929 (shortly before the stock market crash) and contained lithium? That's a mood stabilizer I’m intimately familiar with. The lithium was banned in 1948, the name changed to 7 Up, and by the time I was drinking it, it didn't have lithium, but I love that connection. 7 Up has always been soothing to me. It was something I could keep down those first months of pregnancy.
Give me 7 Up and a vanilla shake, rather than Coke and dark chocolate. I’ll eat dark chocolate, but it’s completely wasted on me: I just choke it down.
While driving on 128, we called Annie to chat. Jim described to her what a weird experience we were having. He's hardly been out of the house, except to walk in the neighborhood and one trip to Market Basket. It’s like waking from a dream and finding the world still there.
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