I've been having cramps lately. First, my thumb froze in place, pressed against my palm, not one, but three different times the same evening. I chalked it up to having a cast on the other hand and overusing my right hand. Several days later, my big toe froze poking straight up into the air. Weird! I could feel the muscle stretched across my arch knotting and spasming (Spellcheck doesn't think this is a word, but I KNOW better). Then, around 3 a.m. Wednesday morning, I woke violently to a charliehorse in my left calf. I could feel the muscle knotting, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I began yelling to Don and reaching for him, aimlessly thrashing my right arm his direction. For some reason, I have this VERY mistaken notion that he will massage my legs when I get cramps and help work them out.
I finally jumped up and began stomping my left foot on the ground, hoping to jolt the muscle back into compliance. It relaxed and I finally, gingerly, climbed back into bed.
"What was THAT all about?" Don asked.
"What do you mean? I had a cramp in my leg!"
"Well, why did you wake ME up?"
"I was hoping (emphasis) that you would get up and massage my leg. I needed HELP, honey!"
"Is THAT why you beat me mercilessly in the head?"
Long pause.
"I was concentrating on my leg. I didn't realize that was your head."
That evening, Don and I were to attend an appreciation function for the church volunteers. I wasn't sure if he would be able to make it or not. He called from work and, before I hung up, I asked,
"Not to put any pressure on you, honey, but do you think you'll be coming to the Party?"
"My plan is to leave work in enough time to get there. However . . . you beat me in the head last night!"
I wonder if anyone's ever written a book on the "true" cost of marriage?
Friday, May 22, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
THE Game
Dane's baseball team played the team that all the rest of his classmates are on last night. The team is coached by two of Dane's friend's dads. The other boys began playing together in T-ball and the coaches moved up to each subsequent league with the boys, so they've been together now for many years. They're a very hard team to beat and play well together.
We didn't start Dane in baseball until much later than the other boys began. For various reasons, he didn't ever get on his classmate's team, which has been just fine. Dane loves the team he's played with for the last two years and really respects his coach. T.J. (Dane's coach) has been a constant encourager to Dane and has taught him well, even working with him to make him into a pitcher.
T.J. has told me several times this year that he wants to put Dane on Pitcher's Mound, but it hadn't yet happened. When I discovered we were playing this other team, I called the coach and suggested that this might be a good time. He told me later, at the game, that it was Divine Intervention, because he had been talking to his wife about getting some of the other boys up on the Mound since they'll be moving up to a new league next year and really need the experience. Nine of his players will move up and he had only used 3 as pitchers so far this year; his two regulars that he rotates and, in one game, he used one other boy.
At the start of the 3rd inning, I saw Dane trot out to the Mound and begin warming up with the catcher. I jumped up from where I was sitting right next to home plate and ran to an empty field where Daelyn was playing with some of Deanna's classmates.
"Daelyn," I yelled to him, "Dane is pitching. You need to come and watch!" Daelyn took off on a dead run to join the family. The opposing team's dugout was directly behind me when I yelled to Daelyn and, as I walked back to our side of the field, I heard an excitement growing from it.
"Dane's pitching!" "Dane's pitching?" "Dane?" "Yep! Dane's pitching!" "DANE's pitching!" "Dane IS pitching!" Bz-z-z-z-z-z-z, like a swarm of bees amongst his friends. Apparently, they were very surprised, but seemed pleased, as well.
It's a hard situation to watch. My son, on Pitcher's Mound, pitching against boys that I've known and loved since they were in the womb. Before he got on the Mound, I found myself routing for OUR team unless one of his classmates was up to bat. I couldn't help but yell encouragement to them.
"Hit it over the fence, J.P.!" I hollered. He turned and grinned at me. Later, I called to Ben.
"You can do it, Ben. Whack it good!" And Conor, "Come on, Conor, I know you've got it in you to get a homerun!" Booty, Sam . . . I had to root for these boys. The other moms on my team were scowling at me until one quiet, patient dad explained that these were all Dane's classmates. "OH!" yelled several moms, then turned and smiled at me, understanding in the way only a mother can.
But once Dane was standing out there, preparing to wind up, all I could think of was, "STRIKE HIM OUT, Son!" I didn't want to discourage these sweet boys that I love so much, so I walked a good ways away and joined Don and Ben's dad, an assistant coach on the other team, where they were standing, evaluating every pitch. I sat right up until J.P. took his batting stance, then I couldn't stand it any longer. It was like watching one brother pitching to his blood brother. These two, while they've strayed from each other over the last two years, have always been very close, like siblings. J.P. is an only child and I have a very close relationship with both his parents. We've been on vacation together and are going camping together right after school gets out. I just couldn't take it. That's when I joined Jimmy and Don. And, boy, was I glad I did.
Jimmy knows a lot about baseball - way more than me or Don. He explained to us that the coach wanted Dane to pitch high and outside on a particular batter, who was one of their best hitters, so he (the coach) had the catcher stand up and put his mitt on the outside. Dane always pitches to a glove. Wherever that glove sits, that's where he's going to aim his pitch. T.J. knew that (because that's how he's taught Dane, of course), so he moved the catcher around to where he wanted Dane to put the pitch. It was so exciting.
Anyway, he struck out the first batter, then walked one. The next hit they got out on base. Dane walked a second. Someone must've gotten a base hit, because the bases were loaded with two outs when this great batter stepped up. Jimmy was talking Don and I through every pitch. Strike, ball, ball, strike, ball . . . FULL COUNT! And with the bases loaded. If this guy got a hit off Dane, they would have gotten home some runs, maybe as many as FOUR! It was absolutely nail-biting.
"I can't take it! I can't watch," I mumbled, terror in my voice.
"Watch, Patti, watch!" Jimmy coaxed. "T.J. knows that with really strong batters, you pitch either low and outside or high and outside so they'll strike for it but miss. This guy tends to hit low, so T.J.'s having Dane pitch high and outside. Dane's doing a fabulous job and has a great delivery. T.J. knows what he's doing. Dane'll do it. Just watch."
Despite my protests, I couldn't peel my eyes away from the game. I think I held my breath for a full three minutes as Dane wound up for the final pitch. What would it be? Would he throw a wild ball with all the pressure, walking the batter and forcing a runner home? Or could he control himself, with as little experience as he has, and throw that pitch just where T.J. wanted, egging the batter to reach for a ball just outside his strike zone and shut down the inning? Could he do it? I really didn't know. Jimmy seemed very certain that Dane could, but I wasn't so sure.
As soon as the ball left Dane's hand, before it even reached home plate, Jimmy said, "That's it! Dane DID it!" Sure enough. High and outside. The batter stuck at it but couldn't quite stretch far enough. THE THIRD OUT!
Dane trotted off the field, a great big smile on his face.
"I'm going to go talk to him," Jimmy said. "He did a GREAT job!"
Isn't it wonderful to have friends that love your children so much. The coach of the opposing team came over to congratulate Dane on a job well-done in the middle of the game. I really love our life.
Matt, the Head Coach of the other team, threw the game ball to Dane with a smile. After the first half of the next inning, the game was called - 4 to 2, but one of their runs was a bad call by the Umpire and the game should have been 3 - 2. We lost, but held our own really well. It was a game played with pride.
In our dugout after the game was over, T.J. gave his usual pep talk. He always highlights all the good plays of the game and talks about plays that should have worked better. Mostly, though, he encourages the boys to have fun and play like a team. He announced that he doesn't believe in giving out Game Balls, because every player is just one on a team and it takes the entire team to win a game, but he wanted to make an exception in this game. He wanted Dane to take the Game Ball, take it into school today, and show his friends.
"There was a lot of trash talk about Dane not being able to pitch from the other team," he said. (I told him that. Dane's been telling me for weeks that the boys in his class have been saying, "You can't pitch." "You're not a pitcher." "I don't believe you pitch!", etc. That's what T.J. was referring to, I believe. I didn't hear any trash talk during the game.) "I think he proved them wrong real well. And I think he deserves this Game Ball. This was his first time pitching, he didn't give up ONE run. Way to go, Dane."
When we got home, Dane had me write the date, "Game Ball" and "Pitched 3rd Inning" on the ball in Sharpie for him. It's quite a treasure. I just wish I could go to school with him today and hear what his friends have to say about his pitching. I'm sure they'll be encouraging. They're all good boys. They just hadn't ever seen him pitch before. That's not the case now!
I don't know if he'll get the chance to pitch anymore this season, but he made himself (and us) proud. And he pitched as well as the two boys T.J. typically uses to pitch, maybe better than one of them. It'll be interesting to see if he gets used again, but there are lots of other boys on the team who want a chance to pitch in a game, too, and deserve that right.
Today, I'll be walking with my head held high and my chest puffed up just a little. I think Dane actually looked a little taller today before school. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the grin and gleam in his eye.
We didn't start Dane in baseball until much later than the other boys began. For various reasons, he didn't ever get on his classmate's team, which has been just fine. Dane loves the team he's played with for the last two years and really respects his coach. T.J. (Dane's coach) has been a constant encourager to Dane and has taught him well, even working with him to make him into a pitcher.
T.J. has told me several times this year that he wants to put Dane on Pitcher's Mound, but it hadn't yet happened. When I discovered we were playing this other team, I called the coach and suggested that this might be a good time. He told me later, at the game, that it was Divine Intervention, because he had been talking to his wife about getting some of the other boys up on the Mound since they'll be moving up to a new league next year and really need the experience. Nine of his players will move up and he had only used 3 as pitchers so far this year; his two regulars that he rotates and, in one game, he used one other boy.
At the start of the 3rd inning, I saw Dane trot out to the Mound and begin warming up with the catcher. I jumped up from where I was sitting right next to home plate and ran to an empty field where Daelyn was playing with some of Deanna's classmates.
"Daelyn," I yelled to him, "Dane is pitching. You need to come and watch!" Daelyn took off on a dead run to join the family. The opposing team's dugout was directly behind me when I yelled to Daelyn and, as I walked back to our side of the field, I heard an excitement growing from it.
"Dane's pitching!" "Dane's pitching?" "Dane?" "Yep! Dane's pitching!" "DANE's pitching!" "Dane IS pitching!" Bz-z-z-z-z-z-z, like a swarm of bees amongst his friends. Apparently, they were very surprised, but seemed pleased, as well.
It's a hard situation to watch. My son, on Pitcher's Mound, pitching against boys that I've known and loved since they were in the womb. Before he got on the Mound, I found myself routing for OUR team unless one of his classmates was up to bat. I couldn't help but yell encouragement to them.
"Hit it over the fence, J.P.!" I hollered. He turned and grinned at me. Later, I called to Ben.
"You can do it, Ben. Whack it good!" And Conor, "Come on, Conor, I know you've got it in you to get a homerun!" Booty, Sam . . . I had to root for these boys. The other moms on my team were scowling at me until one quiet, patient dad explained that these were all Dane's classmates. "OH!" yelled several moms, then turned and smiled at me, understanding in the way only a mother can.
But once Dane was standing out there, preparing to wind up, all I could think of was, "STRIKE HIM OUT, Son!" I didn't want to discourage these sweet boys that I love so much, so I walked a good ways away and joined Don and Ben's dad, an assistant coach on the other team, where they were standing, evaluating every pitch. I sat right up until J.P. took his batting stance, then I couldn't stand it any longer. It was like watching one brother pitching to his blood brother. These two, while they've strayed from each other over the last two years, have always been very close, like siblings. J.P. is an only child and I have a very close relationship with both his parents. We've been on vacation together and are going camping together right after school gets out. I just couldn't take it. That's when I joined Jimmy and Don. And, boy, was I glad I did.
Jimmy knows a lot about baseball - way more than me or Don. He explained to us that the coach wanted Dane to pitch high and outside on a particular batter, who was one of their best hitters, so he (the coach) had the catcher stand up and put his mitt on the outside. Dane always pitches to a glove. Wherever that glove sits, that's where he's going to aim his pitch. T.J. knew that (because that's how he's taught Dane, of course), so he moved the catcher around to where he wanted Dane to put the pitch. It was so exciting.
Anyway, he struck out the first batter, then walked one. The next hit they got out on base. Dane walked a second. Someone must've gotten a base hit, because the bases were loaded with two outs when this great batter stepped up. Jimmy was talking Don and I through every pitch. Strike, ball, ball, strike, ball . . . FULL COUNT! And with the bases loaded. If this guy got a hit off Dane, they would have gotten home some runs, maybe as many as FOUR! It was absolutely nail-biting.
"I can't take it! I can't watch," I mumbled, terror in my voice.
"Watch, Patti, watch!" Jimmy coaxed. "T.J. knows that with really strong batters, you pitch either low and outside or high and outside so they'll strike for it but miss. This guy tends to hit low, so T.J.'s having Dane pitch high and outside. Dane's doing a fabulous job and has a great delivery. T.J. knows what he's doing. Dane'll do it. Just watch."
Despite my protests, I couldn't peel my eyes away from the game. I think I held my breath for a full three minutes as Dane wound up for the final pitch. What would it be? Would he throw a wild ball with all the pressure, walking the batter and forcing a runner home? Or could he control himself, with as little experience as he has, and throw that pitch just where T.J. wanted, egging the batter to reach for a ball just outside his strike zone and shut down the inning? Could he do it? I really didn't know. Jimmy seemed very certain that Dane could, but I wasn't so sure.
As soon as the ball left Dane's hand, before it even reached home plate, Jimmy said, "That's it! Dane DID it!" Sure enough. High and outside. The batter stuck at it but couldn't quite stretch far enough. THE THIRD OUT!
Dane trotted off the field, a great big smile on his face.
"I'm going to go talk to him," Jimmy said. "He did a GREAT job!"
Isn't it wonderful to have friends that love your children so much. The coach of the opposing team came over to congratulate Dane on a job well-done in the middle of the game. I really love our life.
Matt, the Head Coach of the other team, threw the game ball to Dane with a smile. After the first half of the next inning, the game was called - 4 to 2, but one of their runs was a bad call by the Umpire and the game should have been 3 - 2. We lost, but held our own really well. It was a game played with pride.
In our dugout after the game was over, T.J. gave his usual pep talk. He always highlights all the good plays of the game and talks about plays that should have worked better. Mostly, though, he encourages the boys to have fun and play like a team. He announced that he doesn't believe in giving out Game Balls, because every player is just one on a team and it takes the entire team to win a game, but he wanted to make an exception in this game. He wanted Dane to take the Game Ball, take it into school today, and show his friends.
"There was a lot of trash talk about Dane not being able to pitch from the other team," he said. (I told him that. Dane's been telling me for weeks that the boys in his class have been saying, "You can't pitch." "You're not a pitcher." "I don't believe you pitch!", etc. That's what T.J. was referring to, I believe. I didn't hear any trash talk during the game.) "I think he proved them wrong real well. And I think he deserves this Game Ball. This was his first time pitching, he didn't give up ONE run. Way to go, Dane."
When we got home, Dane had me write the date, "Game Ball" and "Pitched 3rd Inning" on the ball in Sharpie for him. It's quite a treasure. I just wish I could go to school with him today and hear what his friends have to say about his pitching. I'm sure they'll be encouraging. They're all good boys. They just hadn't ever seen him pitch before. That's not the case now!
I don't know if he'll get the chance to pitch anymore this season, but he made himself (and us) proud. And he pitched as well as the two boys T.J. typically uses to pitch, maybe better than one of them. It'll be interesting to see if he gets used again, but there are lots of other boys on the team who want a chance to pitch in a game, too, and deserve that right.
Today, I'll be walking with my head held high and my chest puffed up just a little. I think Dane actually looked a little taller today before school. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the grin and gleam in his eye.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
News of my Hand
I'm in a cast. The Orthopod did an X-ray and said he didn't see any broken bones. However, he said, broken bones in the hand frequently don't show up on traditional X-rays and require an MRI to accurately diagnose.
Meanwhile, at the minimum, I have a bruised bone on the outside of my hand (where the lump is) and several bruised muscles underneath the thumb, which he says has many muscles. He believes the only way it will heal is to immobilize it to give my body time to work on the injuries.
He ordered a removable cast. They made it right there in his office, which was quite cool. I just wish the boys had been with me to watch the process. Modern medical science is amazing. They cut it off while it was still wet, cut an opening the length of it, covered all the edges with soft material, then put velcro straps on the opening to hold it together. The technician that made the cast told me that I could wash it in the top shelf of the dishwasher, if necessary.
The doctor told me I should wear it as much as possible.
"Can you give me an idea of how many hours a day I should wear it?" I asked him.
"Just whenever you're doing nothing," he said. "You should wear it every night while you sleep and while driving, and while you're watching T.V. at night."
I laughed.
"While I watch T.V. at night, I'm either doing hand-sewing or shelling pecans or stripping the dog. I seldom just 'sit' to watch T.V." I explained.
"No hand-sewing, pecan-shelling, or dog-stripping for the next two weeks," he responded. "I see you're going to give me trouble."
Yep. Now he's beginning to get the picture.
He explained that the cast would make me feel so much better that soon I'd want to wear it all the time. While I found that doubtful, that has turned out to be the case. I'm to wear the cast as much as possible for two weeks, then I have a return appointment. If I'm not significantly better at that point, he'll send me for an MRI and look for fractures.
The cast hurt for the first couple of days. It was almost a relief to remove it. But my hand really is beginning to feel much better and I find now that I'm reluctant to remove it. Of course, I took it off to get my garden in the ground on Saturday. And I take it off to cook and clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. But I'm trying to learn to do more while wearing it so I'll get the full benefit.
Boy, do people ask a lot of questions. It's very kind that they care, but even the children's friends are all abuzz about it. Within the first 24 hours, I finally decided to just smile and nod when they ask, "How did you break it?" It's easier to let them think it's broken than to have to explain the whole situation to every inquisitive little mind.
The children have been very helpful, as has Don, but I've been a little slower than usual. You should see me trying to get my seatbelt on. The cast immobilizes my thumb to let those muscles heal, so I can bend my four fingers down to the middle knuckle, and that's the most my hand functions. Since the seatbelt is on the left and my cast doesn't fit between the seat and door, I have to open the door and reach around with my right hand to get it and pull it around me. Deanna had to help me dress this morning.
Anyway, life is always an adventure, I've decided. While this is an inconvenience, it's not really too bad and it's given my children a chance to help more around the house. I'm not quite sure why I'm so upbeat these days. Maybe it's the medication my OB/GYN gave me. Perhaps it's because summer is JUST around the corner. Or maybe it's feeling like I'm getting some things accomplished. I don't know. I only know that life is good and I'm happy. I love my husband and children. I have great friends and a wonderful life. I have an amazing extended family that cherishes my family and a church home that nourishes our souls. God is good, and He continues to pour out His love and acceptance on us.
Even in casts.
Meanwhile, at the minimum, I have a bruised bone on the outside of my hand (where the lump is) and several bruised muscles underneath the thumb, which he says has many muscles. He believes the only way it will heal is to immobilize it to give my body time to work on the injuries.
He ordered a removable cast. They made it right there in his office, which was quite cool. I just wish the boys had been with me to watch the process. Modern medical science is amazing. They cut it off while it was still wet, cut an opening the length of it, covered all the edges with soft material, then put velcro straps on the opening to hold it together. The technician that made the cast told me that I could wash it in the top shelf of the dishwasher, if necessary.
The doctor told me I should wear it as much as possible.
"Can you give me an idea of how many hours a day I should wear it?" I asked him.
"Just whenever you're doing nothing," he said. "You should wear it every night while you sleep and while driving, and while you're watching T.V. at night."
I laughed.
"While I watch T.V. at night, I'm either doing hand-sewing or shelling pecans or stripping the dog. I seldom just 'sit' to watch T.V." I explained.
"No hand-sewing, pecan-shelling, or dog-stripping for the next two weeks," he responded. "I see you're going to give me trouble."
Yep. Now he's beginning to get the picture.
He explained that the cast would make me feel so much better that soon I'd want to wear it all the time. While I found that doubtful, that has turned out to be the case. I'm to wear the cast as much as possible for two weeks, then I have a return appointment. If I'm not significantly better at that point, he'll send me for an MRI and look for fractures.
The cast hurt for the first couple of days. It was almost a relief to remove it. But my hand really is beginning to feel much better and I find now that I'm reluctant to remove it. Of course, I took it off to get my garden in the ground on Saturday. And I take it off to cook and clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. But I'm trying to learn to do more while wearing it so I'll get the full benefit.
Boy, do people ask a lot of questions. It's very kind that they care, but even the children's friends are all abuzz about it. Within the first 24 hours, I finally decided to just smile and nod when they ask, "How did you break it?" It's easier to let them think it's broken than to have to explain the whole situation to every inquisitive little mind.
The children have been very helpful, as has Don, but I've been a little slower than usual. You should see me trying to get my seatbelt on. The cast immobilizes my thumb to let those muscles heal, so I can bend my four fingers down to the middle knuckle, and that's the most my hand functions. Since the seatbelt is on the left and my cast doesn't fit between the seat and door, I have to open the door and reach around with my right hand to get it and pull it around me. Deanna had to help me dress this morning.
Anyway, life is always an adventure, I've decided. While this is an inconvenience, it's not really too bad and it's given my children a chance to help more around the house. I'm not quite sure why I'm so upbeat these days. Maybe it's the medication my OB/GYN gave me. Perhaps it's because summer is JUST around the corner. Or maybe it's feeling like I'm getting some things accomplished. I don't know. I only know that life is good and I'm happy. I love my husband and children. I have great friends and a wonderful life. I have an amazing extended family that cherishes my family and a church home that nourishes our souls. God is good, and He continues to pour out His love and acceptance on us.
Even in casts.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Squah Blooms
There must be 15 open blooms on my crooked-neck squash plants this morning! It's so exciting! The temperature has dropped, it rained hard yesterday, and today it's only in the 50's (rare for May in Georgia). After dropping the kids at school, I took a toothpick and went outside to try and cross-pollinate my squashies. Most of the blooms were female, with little tiny fruit on the end, but I found about 4 - 5 male blooms and scraped pollen off them, then transferred it into the female blooms. With the weather being cool today, there's very little insect movement and it's the bees that generally handle the pollination of fruit.
I don't think the blooms stay open but two days, anyway, a very short time, so I was concerned. We should know in another couple of days if my efforts worked. Here's hoping!
I finished up my blackberry syrup last night and made 3 jars of blackberry jelly. There was enough left in the pan for a small jar for us to eat. The children had it with breakfast. Between the blueberry jelly I made in April, the strawberry jam I made in April, the mint jelly from earlier in May, and the blackberry from yesterday, I have quite the stock of homemade jams and jellies. Now I'm ready to branch out into green beans, which I'm hoping to can today. My cousin in Canada (Calvin's sister, Kathy), has sent me a recipe and some of her tips. I cleaned and sorted the beans last night to get them all ready.
This is so much fun. And I should know enough by the time my garden is producing to be able to put up my own vegetables this year . . . if we stay in town long enough.
I don't think the blooms stay open but two days, anyway, a very short time, so I was concerned. We should know in another couple of days if my efforts worked. Here's hoping!
I finished up my blackberry syrup last night and made 3 jars of blackberry jelly. There was enough left in the pan for a small jar for us to eat. The children had it with breakfast. Between the blueberry jelly I made in April, the strawberry jam I made in April, the mint jelly from earlier in May, and the blackberry from yesterday, I have quite the stock of homemade jams and jellies. Now I'm ready to branch out into green beans, which I'm hoping to can today. My cousin in Canada (Calvin's sister, Kathy), has sent me a recipe and some of her tips. I cleaned and sorted the beans last night to get them all ready.
This is so much fun. And I should know enough by the time my garden is producing to be able to put up my own vegetables this year . . . if we stay in town long enough.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Summer Sunday
As we were leaving Choir Practice Wednesday a week ago, the boys discovered wild blackberries growing in amongst the shrubbery that borders our Christian Ed building. We took the time to pick a few. They were very tart (typical for wild berries) but flavorful. Since our Choir Concert was last Wednesday, we hadn't yet checked in on them again.
Our Church Picnic was today. I don't know exactly why I thought about the berries, but when the picnic was over at a nearby park, I loaded up the boys (Deanna wanted to go home with her Daddy - we had to drive separately because Deanna sang this morning for church and had to be there by 9:15. I didn't need to be there until 10:00), borrowed some gallon-size Ziploc bags, and headed back to the church for berry picking.
We had a wonderful time and found tons of wild blackberries just waiting to be picked. We half-filled both of the gallon bags, then headed home. I cleaned them and cooked them down, then made a batch of blackberry syrup and three jars of blackberry jelly.
This evening, as they munched on dinner, we reminisced about the day. We got to sleep in. Then, before dressing for church, I harvested my basil (for the second time), some dill, and parsley and began cleaning it. Deanna sang beautifully at church and the sermon was particularly short. Then, off to the picnic, which was a blast. We followed that up with berry-picking and jelly-making. What an amazing day.
It already feels like summer. Only 2 more weeks of school to go.
I'm counting down.
Our Church Picnic was today. I don't know exactly why I thought about the berries, but when the picnic was over at a nearby park, I loaded up the boys (Deanna wanted to go home with her Daddy - we had to drive separately because Deanna sang this morning for church and had to be there by 9:15. I didn't need to be there until 10:00), borrowed some gallon-size Ziploc bags, and headed back to the church for berry picking.
We had a wonderful time and found tons of wild blackberries just waiting to be picked. We half-filled both of the gallon bags, then headed home. I cleaned them and cooked them down, then made a batch of blackberry syrup and three jars of blackberry jelly.
This evening, as they munched on dinner, we reminisced about the day. We got to sleep in. Then, before dressing for church, I harvested my basil (for the second time), some dill, and parsley and began cleaning it. Deanna sang beautifully at church and the sermon was particularly short. Then, off to the picnic, which was a blast. We followed that up with berry-picking and jelly-making. What an amazing day.
It already feels like summer. Only 2 more weeks of school to go.
I'm counting down.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
A Little Confused
While eating lunch, Deanna and I were talking about how simple and humbly our neighbors live.
"Let's not talk about the neighbors anymore," Daelyn said.
"Why, son?"
"Well, isn't it GOSSIP?" he asked.
"No, dear," I explained. "Gossip is when you are talking about other people in a way that causes the listener to think badly or less of the person. Were we saying anything about Bud and Grace that made you feel bad about them?"
"NO!" Daelyn said very emphatically. Then, after a moment of silence, he added,
"I think bad thoughts about the Bad People off and off."
Deanna and I glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. (By the way, the "Bad People" are a family that live directly behind us, separated by an 8-ft. wooden fence. Their habits are quite questionable, and when I asked the local policeman about them, he said, "Oh. You mean the Crack House!" Thus, the Bad People.) Daelyn saw the look pass between us.
"Okay," he corrected. "Then, on and on."
This time, Deanna and I couldn't help ourselves. We snickered.
"Daelyn," I told him, "the saying is 'off and on', dear."
"Sor -r-r-y!" he responded, sounding irritated. "Sometimes I don't remember Nursery Rhymes!"
"Let's not talk about the neighbors anymore," Daelyn said.
"Why, son?"
"Well, isn't it GOSSIP?" he asked.
"No, dear," I explained. "Gossip is when you are talking about other people in a way that causes the listener to think badly or less of the person. Were we saying anything about Bud and Grace that made you feel bad about them?"
"NO!" Daelyn said very emphatically. Then, after a moment of silence, he added,
"I think bad thoughts about the Bad People off and off."
Deanna and I glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. (By the way, the "Bad People" are a family that live directly behind us, separated by an 8-ft. wooden fence. Their habits are quite questionable, and when I asked the local policeman about them, he said, "Oh. You mean the Crack House!" Thus, the Bad People.) Daelyn saw the look pass between us.
"Okay," he corrected. "Then, on and on."
This time, Deanna and I couldn't help ourselves. We snickered.
"Daelyn," I told him, "the saying is 'off and on', dear."
"Sor -r-r-y!" he responded, sounding irritated. "Sometimes I don't remember Nursery Rhymes!"
Friday, May 15, 2009
That Lump in my Hand
Okay, one more, since I'm a few Posts behind this week. But a short one, for Grandma Doughty, who doesn't like reading my long posts.
The hand that got slammed in my mother's car door last Tuesday . . . I was at the ENT's office yesterday (he gave me a steroid shot in my arm and it ached all day) and showed him my hand. I have a long lump near the outside of my hand where there shouldn't be any. He thinks I've got a broken bone in my hand and recommended that I see an Orthopod immediately. He said that you can chip small bones in your hand very easily and not have any decreased mobility. However, the bones often migrate and can lodge in a nerve or muscle, significantly debilitating my hand.
I called my Orthopedic doctor yesterday and have a 2 p.m. appointment today. I'm hoping it's just a hematoma and not serious. Don, however, is talking about the possibility of them taking me immediately into surgery to remove bone chips.
I think he's thinking a little too far to the extreme, although this is a remote possibility, I admit.
Anyway, I should know something by this evening. Maybe a cast, maybe a splint, or maybe nothing. I'm hoping for the nothing.
The hand that got slammed in my mother's car door last Tuesday . . . I was at the ENT's office yesterday (he gave me a steroid shot in my arm and it ached all day) and showed him my hand. I have a long lump near the outside of my hand where there shouldn't be any. He thinks I've got a broken bone in my hand and recommended that I see an Orthopod immediately. He said that you can chip small bones in your hand very easily and not have any decreased mobility. However, the bones often migrate and can lodge in a nerve or muscle, significantly debilitating my hand.
I called my Orthopedic doctor yesterday and have a 2 p.m. appointment today. I'm hoping it's just a hematoma and not serious. Don, however, is talking about the possibility of them taking me immediately into surgery to remove bone chips.
I think he's thinking a little too far to the extreme, although this is a remote possibility, I admit.
Anyway, I should know something by this evening. Maybe a cast, maybe a splint, or maybe nothing. I'm hoping for the nothing.
More Gardening
I had all but given up on my big garden this year. I still had to dig a trench, bury the soaker hose, cover it, even out the garden with a rake, cover it with newspaper that I then wet, then cover the top of that with black plastic before I could plant.
What's all the hullabaloo about? Well, I've reclaimed this garden from the yard. It's right underneath the only REAL tree in our yard, which offers a lot of shade but, also, a lot of seeds. Because this soil is so rich (actually it's loam from the decayed bark mulch that's been sitting there for 3 years), anything and everything grows in it. While I've been in the process of preparing the garden, things are continuously sprouting and I keep seeing little green leaves poking up their little heads. The only possible way to keep the grass and seeds from taking over this plot again is to starve them of light. And the only way I know to do THAT is with lots of newspaper and black plastic. The newspaper and black plastic make the process of watering much more difficult, though, because it requires a lot more water to penetrate all those layers. Thus, the buried soaker hose. Much more efficient, and conserving water as well.
But this all seemed like a little too much work for me at this point in my life. Plus, most everything I have already planted is doing GREAT. The herbs on the deck are ready to be harvested again - for the second time already this season. And my box garden is doing amazing things. It meant I wouldn't have tomatoes this year, since I haven't yet planted any, but I reasoned that I could live without them for one year. So the garden has sat. Periodically, I'll go out, turn a little more soil, dig up a few more of those little sprouts and roots, but I haven't really progressed much.
This morning, Dane met me when I arrived in the kitchen.
"Mama, before you start breakfast, will you come outside with me and look at the squash?" he asked. Dane and I made an agreement last month to which he has been VERY faithful. If he waters all my outside plants before school on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday mornings (before Church on Sunday, that is), for the entire month of May, I'll pay him $10. He started around the middle of April and never needs to be reminded. Every other day, he gets to check out the progress of our gardens up close while he waters. He loves it and is getting paid and it means I can scratch something off my very full TO DO list. Today was watering day. He had been looking over the plants.
I pulled a coat on over my jammies, and we headed out to my box garden. I had planted 6 yellow squash and 6 zucchini. Then went back and put 5 bell peppers in amongst the squash, reasoning that the squash plants would stay low to the ground and the peppers would get tall, a perfect recipe for existing in the same garden area. One of my zucchinis had died immediately, but I still have 11 plants in this garden. I walked around the corner with Dane and sucked in my breath. The squash is absolutely out of control. There are 3 - 4 layers of leaves from each plant, so large that they billow out like a tropical rain forest. The entire garden is covered. From the top and the sides, you can't see ONE SPOT of soil, just beautiful, fuzzy green leaves. Dane and I dug through the leaves to look below. Each squash plant has several fruit already, with blooms on the end which will open this coming week. One should open today. I counted as many as 12 blooms on some of the plants. The yellow squash is just as prolific as the zucchini. My poor peppers, however, are completely blocked from the sun by several layers of squash leaves. I just waited too late to plant the peppers and they didn't have a chance to establish themselves and grow taller than the squash plants before THEY took off. I fear it's too late now.
"Mama, what are we going to do about our poor peppers?" Dane asked, perplexed. He wasn't the only one. I can't stand the thought of these little plants dying for lack of sunlight. Especially not when they're in so rich a soil. I've tried breaking off some of the squash leaves around the peppers to allow them sunlight. The squash has promptly filled in the area with new, larger leaves.
"I don't know, son, but we've got to do something! Maybe I'll just have to transplant the peppers." To where, though, I thought. Do I want to put out another planter on the deck for the peppers? I think not. And there is that WHOLE big plot in the back of the yard, just waiting to be planted.
Guess what I've been doing this morning? Yep. The soaker hose is now IN!! Yay! And tested and cover up. And I've gotten a lot of the leveling done. I had to stop for a drink break and decided to write my Post. Now I've got to hurry out, finish the leveling, put down my newspaper and plastic, and I can get my little peppers in their own garden. Maybe I'll get to the peppers tomorrow and can put in some tomatoes, as well, now that I'll have some space.
I decided that biting off the whole garden was too much for me this late in the season. I only dug one trench from front to back of the garden, which is 16 feet long. That gives me a row on each side of the hose or 32 linear feet of planting space. That ought to be more than enough for this year, and a good start to my garden. Next year, I'll dig a second trench and, maybe, a third for my soaker hose and spread out a little more. But I decided that something was better than nothing this year, and 32 feet of garden is nothing to sniff at.
I've got to get back at it, though, if those bell peppers are going to survive and thrive. Once that's done, I've got basil, parsley, and dill to harvest.
I love Spring!
What's all the hullabaloo about? Well, I've reclaimed this garden from the yard. It's right underneath the only REAL tree in our yard, which offers a lot of shade but, also, a lot of seeds. Because this soil is so rich (actually it's loam from the decayed bark mulch that's been sitting there for 3 years), anything and everything grows in it. While I've been in the process of preparing the garden, things are continuously sprouting and I keep seeing little green leaves poking up their little heads. The only possible way to keep the grass and seeds from taking over this plot again is to starve them of light. And the only way I know to do THAT is with lots of newspaper and black plastic. The newspaper and black plastic make the process of watering much more difficult, though, because it requires a lot more water to penetrate all those layers. Thus, the buried soaker hose. Much more efficient, and conserving water as well.
But this all seemed like a little too much work for me at this point in my life. Plus, most everything I have already planted is doing GREAT. The herbs on the deck are ready to be harvested again - for the second time already this season. And my box garden is doing amazing things. It meant I wouldn't have tomatoes this year, since I haven't yet planted any, but I reasoned that I could live without them for one year. So the garden has sat. Periodically, I'll go out, turn a little more soil, dig up a few more of those little sprouts and roots, but I haven't really progressed much.
This morning, Dane met me when I arrived in the kitchen.
"Mama, before you start breakfast, will you come outside with me and look at the squash?" he asked. Dane and I made an agreement last month to which he has been VERY faithful. If he waters all my outside plants before school on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday mornings (before Church on Sunday, that is), for the entire month of May, I'll pay him $10. He started around the middle of April and never needs to be reminded. Every other day, he gets to check out the progress of our gardens up close while he waters. He loves it and is getting paid and it means I can scratch something off my very full TO DO list. Today was watering day. He had been looking over the plants.
I pulled a coat on over my jammies, and we headed out to my box garden. I had planted 6 yellow squash and 6 zucchini. Then went back and put 5 bell peppers in amongst the squash, reasoning that the squash plants would stay low to the ground and the peppers would get tall, a perfect recipe for existing in the same garden area. One of my zucchinis had died immediately, but I still have 11 plants in this garden. I walked around the corner with Dane and sucked in my breath. The squash is absolutely out of control. There are 3 - 4 layers of leaves from each plant, so large that they billow out like a tropical rain forest. The entire garden is covered. From the top and the sides, you can't see ONE SPOT of soil, just beautiful, fuzzy green leaves. Dane and I dug through the leaves to look below. Each squash plant has several fruit already, with blooms on the end which will open this coming week. One should open today. I counted as many as 12 blooms on some of the plants. The yellow squash is just as prolific as the zucchini. My poor peppers, however, are completely blocked from the sun by several layers of squash leaves. I just waited too late to plant the peppers and they didn't have a chance to establish themselves and grow taller than the squash plants before THEY took off. I fear it's too late now.
"Mama, what are we going to do about our poor peppers?" Dane asked, perplexed. He wasn't the only one. I can't stand the thought of these little plants dying for lack of sunlight. Especially not when they're in so rich a soil. I've tried breaking off some of the squash leaves around the peppers to allow them sunlight. The squash has promptly filled in the area with new, larger leaves.
"I don't know, son, but we've got to do something! Maybe I'll just have to transplant the peppers." To where, though, I thought. Do I want to put out another planter on the deck for the peppers? I think not. And there is that WHOLE big plot in the back of the yard, just waiting to be planted.
Guess what I've been doing this morning? Yep. The soaker hose is now IN!! Yay! And tested and cover up. And I've gotten a lot of the leveling done. I had to stop for a drink break and decided to write my Post. Now I've got to hurry out, finish the leveling, put down my newspaper and plastic, and I can get my little peppers in their own garden. Maybe I'll get to the peppers tomorrow and can put in some tomatoes, as well, now that I'll have some space.
I decided that biting off the whole garden was too much for me this late in the season. I only dug one trench from front to back of the garden, which is 16 feet long. That gives me a row on each side of the hose or 32 linear feet of planting space. That ought to be more than enough for this year, and a good start to my garden. Next year, I'll dig a second trench and, maybe, a third for my soaker hose and spread out a little more. But I decided that something was better than nothing this year, and 32 feet of garden is nothing to sniff at.
I've got to get back at it, though, if those bell peppers are going to survive and thrive. Once that's done, I've got basil, parsley, and dill to harvest.
I love Spring!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Need's Deep
About a month ago, Dane begged me to go on a Field Trip with his class to the Zoo. I don't remember all the details, but it was virtually impossible for me to pull it off. My friend, Kelly, recommended to me that I promise to go with Dane's class on their big, all-day field trip to Charlotte, NC in exchange for the Zoo one which I couldn't pull off. I took her suggestion and made a deal with Dane.
The big Field Trip is this Wednesday. When I contacted the teacher to tell her I wanted to go on it, she told me the date. Wouldn't you know? It was the only date this whole month that had something already scheduled that I couldn't change - our Choir Concert. The class doesn't expect to be back from the Trip until 6:00 p.m. and the concert starts at 6:30, a 1/2 hour drive away. Choir Call is at 5:30 and I direct the Cherub Choir, so I need to be there for Rehearsal, robing, etc. before the Concert.
I was faced with a huge dilemna, but I had promised Dane. I was able to work out the details and, with a little help from the Lord controlling traffic, we should make it with time to spare. The bus will be re-routed through North Augusta, down the road where our church is located, and will drop me and Dane in front. If we are on-schedule, we should be there by 5:40, but if we're even a 1/2 hour late, we should be okay. My parents are keeping the other two children and getting them to the Choir Call on time. Don is coming directly from work and will take us home.
As I was tucking Dane in a few nights ago, we were talking about how badly he wanted me to go with him and how hard I had worked to make it all happen. Suddenly, I remembered something that happened when he was in First Grade.
Kindergarten was only a half-day; he got out at 1:00 each day and we would read books together, do his homework, watch a half-hour show on T.V., or just play together. This was OUR time. Daelyn was napping and Deanna was in school, so that two hours was devoted to Dane. When he started First Grade, he didn't get home until 3:00 and we he had to compete with his sister and baby brother for my attention. About two months into school, he broke down one day on the playground. His teacher called me to tell me that he was sobbing in the middle of the play equipment.
"He just keeps saying, 'I can't take it anymore! I can't take it anymore!'" she told me on the phone.
What WAS it he couldn't take? The answer seemed elusive. That night, I snuggled him when I put him to bed and asked him what the problem was.
"I just can't take it anymore, Mommy," he started.
"I understand, son, but what IS it that you can't take anymore?" I asked him, trying to make some sense out of what was going on with him.
"I can't take being away from you so much!" He cupped his hands around my face and his little face screwed up into a frown as tears began to flow. I was absolutely broken-hearted. The next day, I called his teacher.
"Dane is so tender-hearted," she said. "He just needs more quality time with you. He's doing so well in school, I think you ought to schedule one day each report card period to take him out of school and just spend the day with him. I think that will help." What an understanding teacher.
I never needed to take him out for the day. The next week, they had a day off for something or other, two weeks later, they were out for Thanksgiving, and Christmas was only 3 weeks after that. By January, Dane had pushed through and was doing just fine. But I've never forgotten that and how much he needed time with me.
He's my one child that ALWAYS needs my attention. EVERY night, before bed, he asks me to come and tuck him in. He wants snuggles and kisses everynight so he can fall asleep feeling wrapped in my love. He's just like Don in personality, but so needy of my attention and affection.
It's not that the others don't need me. They have different types of needs. But Dane is the one who craves that contact with me and always wants me with him. If Don and I both have to drive our cars somewhere and we give the children an option of who they can ride home with, Dane always chooses me. I don't know WHY he's so different from the other two, just that he is.
Anyway, I'm going to Charlotte with him on Wednesday for the whole day - 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. And he's thrilled. It was a lot of work, but well worth keeping my promise to him. I keep telling myself that he won't want me with him for forever. There will come a day that he'll feel less of a need for Mommy. But, for now, his need is frequent and obvious, and I pray I will never zone out to it and leave him feeling neglected.
After all, I want him to grow up to be as wonderful a man as his daddy.
The big Field Trip is this Wednesday. When I contacted the teacher to tell her I wanted to go on it, she told me the date. Wouldn't you know? It was the only date this whole month that had something already scheduled that I couldn't change - our Choir Concert. The class doesn't expect to be back from the Trip until 6:00 p.m. and the concert starts at 6:30, a 1/2 hour drive away. Choir Call is at 5:30 and I direct the Cherub Choir, so I need to be there for Rehearsal, robing, etc. before the Concert.
I was faced with a huge dilemna, but I had promised Dane. I was able to work out the details and, with a little help from the Lord controlling traffic, we should make it with time to spare. The bus will be re-routed through North Augusta, down the road where our church is located, and will drop me and Dane in front. If we are on-schedule, we should be there by 5:40, but if we're even a 1/2 hour late, we should be okay. My parents are keeping the other two children and getting them to the Choir Call on time. Don is coming directly from work and will take us home.
As I was tucking Dane in a few nights ago, we were talking about how badly he wanted me to go with him and how hard I had worked to make it all happen. Suddenly, I remembered something that happened when he was in First Grade.
Kindergarten was only a half-day; he got out at 1:00 each day and we would read books together, do his homework, watch a half-hour show on T.V., or just play together. This was OUR time. Daelyn was napping and Deanna was in school, so that two hours was devoted to Dane. When he started First Grade, he didn't get home until 3:00 and we he had to compete with his sister and baby brother for my attention. About two months into school, he broke down one day on the playground. His teacher called me to tell me that he was sobbing in the middle of the play equipment.
"He just keeps saying, 'I can't take it anymore! I can't take it anymore!'" she told me on the phone.
What WAS it he couldn't take? The answer seemed elusive. That night, I snuggled him when I put him to bed and asked him what the problem was.
"I just can't take it anymore, Mommy," he started.
"I understand, son, but what IS it that you can't take anymore?" I asked him, trying to make some sense out of what was going on with him.
"I can't take being away from you so much!" He cupped his hands around my face and his little face screwed up into a frown as tears began to flow. I was absolutely broken-hearted. The next day, I called his teacher.
"Dane is so tender-hearted," she said. "He just needs more quality time with you. He's doing so well in school, I think you ought to schedule one day each report card period to take him out of school and just spend the day with him. I think that will help." What an understanding teacher.
I never needed to take him out for the day. The next week, they had a day off for something or other, two weeks later, they were out for Thanksgiving, and Christmas was only 3 weeks after that. By January, Dane had pushed through and was doing just fine. But I've never forgotten that and how much he needed time with me.
He's my one child that ALWAYS needs my attention. EVERY night, before bed, he asks me to come and tuck him in. He wants snuggles and kisses everynight so he can fall asleep feeling wrapped in my love. He's just like Don in personality, but so needy of my attention and affection.
It's not that the others don't need me. They have different types of needs. But Dane is the one who craves that contact with me and always wants me with him. If Don and I both have to drive our cars somewhere and we give the children an option of who they can ride home with, Dane always chooses me. I don't know WHY he's so different from the other two, just that he is.
Anyway, I'm going to Charlotte with him on Wednesday for the whole day - 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. And he's thrilled. It was a lot of work, but well worth keeping my promise to him. I keep telling myself that he won't want me with him for forever. There will come a day that he'll feel less of a need for Mommy. But, for now, his need is frequent and obvious, and I pray I will never zone out to it and leave him feeling neglected.
After all, I want him to grow up to be as wonderful a man as his daddy.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Spring Chores
As I was dropping off to sleep last night, I began thinking about my herb garden on the shady side of the house. (Isn't this what everyone does in bed at night?) There are several problems with this garden. First off, as I said, this is the shady side of the house, which means these plants only get late afternoon sun. While my rosemary has done marvelously well (I'm convinced rosemary is impossible to kill), nothing else has really succeeded there. One year, many years ago, I planted basil. It did alright, but nothing like my basil is doing in the planter on the deck filled with moisture control soil and watered regularly.
The second problem with that side of the house is the soil. Most of the ground around our house is red clay below the topsoil. I've dug down a little ways and tilled up the ground, but not very deep and it's been years since I've added any good soil to that little plot.
Thirdly, I always forget to water on that side of the house. I don't know why, but those things fight for their lives every summer. I guess it's because I really never get around to that side of the house. I'm always on the deck and we walk right past my box garden to get to the car, so I see the progress and the plants drooping, if they're dry. But I never seem to wander past my herb garden.
With this in mind, I dropped the kids off at school this morning, then unlocked the shed, pulled out my tools, and got to work. I had decided, in the wee hours of the morning, to transplant my Greek Oregano, which was the only other thing still alive in my herb garden (other than the rosemary bush/tree), into a planter on the deck with the rest of this year's herbs. I already have basil, which I've harvested for the first time, dill that looks better than anything I've ever been able to grow in the fern department and which I've also harvested once already, mint, and parsley. Why not add a little oregano? I had a nice square box planter that I had bought several years ago and put mint in, but it was too shallow-rooted and I left it on the shady side of the house, thus, it never got watered and promptly died. So the nice, square planter (the matching one now holds my parsley and mint) was full of twigs.
I went around to the side of the house, planning on emptying it out, punching holes in the sides for drainage, filling it 1/3 full with drainage rocks, then 2/3 with good soil mixed with fertilizer, and - voila! A perfect recipe for great oregano. But, as I rounded the corner of the shed, I discovered I had already put the square planter to use holding bushes that my neighbor was having replaced. I had already planted 9 of them across the front of the deck to make a hedge, but I had several more in the planter waiting to be put in the ground. I sighed. Can't use the planter until I do something with those bushes.
But where to put the bushes? I had originally asked my neighbor and friend, Jane, if I could have them because we want to put in a patio at the back of the yard and surround it with a nice hedge, leaving a large opening to walk in and out of. But it occurred to me that if I planted the bushes, it would make building the patio much more difficult because we'd have to work in a confined space, taking care not to trample the bushes. I finally settled on planting them down one side of where I would like the patio - the beginnings of my hedge. Maybe that will also help get us moving on actually doing it.
I dug several holed, which turned out to be a bigger job than I realized. That area is underneath the only shade tree we have in our yard, which is why it's the perfect place for a patio. But there were so many roots, I had to take after them with a pick-ax. I finally got my holes dug, filled them most of the way with good soil and mulch, then picked out the nicest bushes. Once they were planted, I put dirt back on top of the soil/mulch mixture, tapping with my foot to secure them. After a good watering, I was finally ready to get started on my planned project, the replanting of the oregano. It had only taken me two hours or so to get ready.
The oregano is now on the deck in the square box planter. And I built a little platform out of bricks around the pot that contains my dill. Part of the reason I believe my dill is doing so well is that I've covered it with a deck chair (sounds crazy, I know) which creates a terrarium atmosphere for it. I mist it with cool water, then place the chair over top of it so as the day heats up, the water will condense on the underside of the chair and drop back down on the dill. A guy at Lowe's suggested this to me (not the chair part, just covering the dill somehow to create a misting field). The chair's perfect because it doesn't conduct heat and it has a hole in the back, which I've strategically placed over the dill, so rainwater will drain down onto the plant. But the chair was too low and the dill was being forced to grow sideways, out past the chair. My new platform raises the chair just enough to still keep the terrarium-effect while giving the plant a little more room to grow.
I'm exhausted, but still have a few more chores I want to do in the yard. And I NEED to get at least some of my new garden planted.
Maybe . . .
The second problem with that side of the house is the soil. Most of the ground around our house is red clay below the topsoil. I've dug down a little ways and tilled up the ground, but not very deep and it's been years since I've added any good soil to that little plot.
Thirdly, I always forget to water on that side of the house. I don't know why, but those things fight for their lives every summer. I guess it's because I really never get around to that side of the house. I'm always on the deck and we walk right past my box garden to get to the car, so I see the progress and the plants drooping, if they're dry. But I never seem to wander past my herb garden.
With this in mind, I dropped the kids off at school this morning, then unlocked the shed, pulled out my tools, and got to work. I had decided, in the wee hours of the morning, to transplant my Greek Oregano, which was the only other thing still alive in my herb garden (other than the rosemary bush/tree), into a planter on the deck with the rest of this year's herbs. I already have basil, which I've harvested for the first time, dill that looks better than anything I've ever been able to grow in the fern department and which I've also harvested once already, mint, and parsley. Why not add a little oregano? I had a nice square box planter that I had bought several years ago and put mint in, but it was too shallow-rooted and I left it on the shady side of the house, thus, it never got watered and promptly died. So the nice, square planter (the matching one now holds my parsley and mint) was full of twigs.
I went around to the side of the house, planning on emptying it out, punching holes in the sides for drainage, filling it 1/3 full with drainage rocks, then 2/3 with good soil mixed with fertilizer, and - voila! A perfect recipe for great oregano. But, as I rounded the corner of the shed, I discovered I had already put the square planter to use holding bushes that my neighbor was having replaced. I had already planted 9 of them across the front of the deck to make a hedge, but I had several more in the planter waiting to be put in the ground. I sighed. Can't use the planter until I do something with those bushes.
But where to put the bushes? I had originally asked my neighbor and friend, Jane, if I could have them because we want to put in a patio at the back of the yard and surround it with a nice hedge, leaving a large opening to walk in and out of. But it occurred to me that if I planted the bushes, it would make building the patio much more difficult because we'd have to work in a confined space, taking care not to trample the bushes. I finally settled on planting them down one side of where I would like the patio - the beginnings of my hedge. Maybe that will also help get us moving on actually doing it.
I dug several holed, which turned out to be a bigger job than I realized. That area is underneath the only shade tree we have in our yard, which is why it's the perfect place for a patio. But there were so many roots, I had to take after them with a pick-ax. I finally got my holes dug, filled them most of the way with good soil and mulch, then picked out the nicest bushes. Once they were planted, I put dirt back on top of the soil/mulch mixture, tapping with my foot to secure them. After a good watering, I was finally ready to get started on my planned project, the replanting of the oregano. It had only taken me two hours or so to get ready.
The oregano is now on the deck in the square box planter. And I built a little platform out of bricks around the pot that contains my dill. Part of the reason I believe my dill is doing so well is that I've covered it with a deck chair (sounds crazy, I know) which creates a terrarium atmosphere for it. I mist it with cool water, then place the chair over top of it so as the day heats up, the water will condense on the underside of the chair and drop back down on the dill. A guy at Lowe's suggested this to me (not the chair part, just covering the dill somehow to create a misting field). The chair's perfect because it doesn't conduct heat and it has a hole in the back, which I've strategically placed over the dill, so rainwater will drain down onto the plant. But the chair was too low and the dill was being forced to grow sideways, out past the chair. My new platform raises the chair just enough to still keep the terrarium-effect while giving the plant a little more room to grow.
I'm exhausted, but still have a few more chores I want to do in the yard. And I NEED to get at least some of my new garden planted.
Maybe . . .
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
The Home Stretch
We're already into the end-of-school rush: last minute field trips, Teacher's gifts, baseball games, Choir Concert, and plans for the summer.
I keep telling the children to just hang on, we're almost there. Only 17 more days of school . . . and counting!
I can't wait for the summer. I can't wait to put the lunch boxes up in the cabinet and not have to deal with them for 3 months! I just want to sleep in, hit the pool, and spend lazy days lolling around with my children.
We're trying to plan a trip to Washington, D.C. and have already scheduled a camping trip with friends for the week after the children get out of school. We also have a short, 4-day vacation in Hilton Head planned and visits to Grandma and Grandpa's. Last year was a little too busy for me, so this year I'd like to slow down a little and enjoy the summer. But I sure am ready to get it started.
I just have to get through the next 3 1/2 weeks!!!
I keep telling the children to just hang on, we're almost there. Only 17 more days of school . . . and counting!
I can't wait for the summer. I can't wait to put the lunch boxes up in the cabinet and not have to deal with them for 3 months! I just want to sleep in, hit the pool, and spend lazy days lolling around with my children.
We're trying to plan a trip to Washington, D.C. and have already scheduled a camping trip with friends for the week after the children get out of school. We also have a short, 4-day vacation in Hilton Head planned and visits to Grandma and Grandpa's. Last year was a little too busy for me, so this year I'd like to slow down a little and enjoy the summer. But I sure am ready to get it started.
I just have to get through the next 3 1/2 weeks!!!
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Accidents by the Vanload
I got rear-ended yesterday. Deanna agreed to walk Daelyn across the street to his soccer practice. Kelly said she'd be willing to be the responsible adult for him and would keep him after practice if I wasn't back yet. Deanna had lots of homework, so I gave her the spare key so she could get back into the house and get started. Then Dane and I loaded up to run and get our allergy shots.
On the way home, in the rain, a young woman, driving her friend's mother's car, hit me from behind when I had to stop in traffic. She was probably going far too fast for the amount of traffic and the rain and couldn't stop in time. I watched her in my rearview mirror as she plowed into me. Dane and I weren't hurt, but we both walked away with bad headaches and my tailbone began to ache. It worsened as the evening wore on.
It took an hour to exchange insurance info and fill out the Incident Report. The policeman who helped us was wonderful and a dear friend and neighbor, who was driving by, stopped to check on me and Dane and stuck around through the whole thing, which was a HUGE relief for me. I worked for him my first job out of college and having him there was the next best thing to Don or my father.
By the time I got to Kelly's to pick up Daelyn, then home, I was sore and rattled. Nicki was coming to dinner, so we packed up and went out for Mexican food. On the way, my arm was itching terribly. Nicki (who's an oncology nurse) checked it out and told me I was having a reaction to my shot and that I needed to take some Benadryl and go to bed. She also gave me Ibuprofen to take the edge off my headache and soreness. Before heading to bed, I measured the welt on my arm. It was 4 cm long and 2 1/2 cm wide. My arm still itched and ached this morning and my tailbone pain was back.
But today is another day and was my day with my mother. We took off to run errands, then she treated me to lunch. As I was getting out of her car, trying to open the umbrella in the open doorway, the door swung shut on my hand, hitting the outside of my palm and slamming the soft tissue underneath the thumb against the hood of the car. Blood vessels popped in both spots and they immediately began swelling. I couldn't use my hand. A girl at the counter at the fast food place took pity on me and got me a bag of ice, which helped, but I have to keep my hand above the level of my heart or it throbs.
To sum all this up - my two-day injuries amount to: pain in my tailbone whenever I sit or move a particular way, a headache, a welt with pain and itching on my left arm, and a swollen, unusable left hand.
I'm not sure if I should look forward to tomorrow or dread it.
On the way home, in the rain, a young woman, driving her friend's mother's car, hit me from behind when I had to stop in traffic. She was probably going far too fast for the amount of traffic and the rain and couldn't stop in time. I watched her in my rearview mirror as she plowed into me. Dane and I weren't hurt, but we both walked away with bad headaches and my tailbone began to ache. It worsened as the evening wore on.
It took an hour to exchange insurance info and fill out the Incident Report. The policeman who helped us was wonderful and a dear friend and neighbor, who was driving by, stopped to check on me and Dane and stuck around through the whole thing, which was a HUGE relief for me. I worked for him my first job out of college and having him there was the next best thing to Don or my father.
By the time I got to Kelly's to pick up Daelyn, then home, I was sore and rattled. Nicki was coming to dinner, so we packed up and went out for Mexican food. On the way, my arm was itching terribly. Nicki (who's an oncology nurse) checked it out and told me I was having a reaction to my shot and that I needed to take some Benadryl and go to bed. She also gave me Ibuprofen to take the edge off my headache and soreness. Before heading to bed, I measured the welt on my arm. It was 4 cm long and 2 1/2 cm wide. My arm still itched and ached this morning and my tailbone pain was back.
But today is another day and was my day with my mother. We took off to run errands, then she treated me to lunch. As I was getting out of her car, trying to open the umbrella in the open doorway, the door swung shut on my hand, hitting the outside of my palm and slamming the soft tissue underneath the thumb against the hood of the car. Blood vessels popped in both spots and they immediately began swelling. I couldn't use my hand. A girl at the counter at the fast food place took pity on me and got me a bag of ice, which helped, but I have to keep my hand above the level of my heart or it throbs.
To sum all this up - my two-day injuries amount to: pain in my tailbone whenever I sit or move a particular way, a headache, a welt with pain and itching on my left arm, and a swollen, unusable left hand.
I'm not sure if I should look forward to tomorrow or dread it.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Got Any Empty Jars, anyone?
About two years ago, I felt like the Lord told me I needed to learn to can. We have a friend (actually, the mother of the family with whom Don lived when single and who helped us tremendously through our courtship) who is an expert canner and I felt like I should call her and ask if she would teach me. I never did it.
When the economy turned south and the government began to deal with bail-out propositions, I realized that I should have done what the Holy Spirit prompted me to do. If I had, I'd be sitting pretty now with jars of canned goods on the shelf.
"It's not too late," I reminded myself. Good thing God gives us second chances. So I called Vicki and put in my request.
"I'd love to teach you," she said. "But you mostly can during the spring and summer months, when produce is plentiful."
In the meanwhile, I haven't sat idly by for the last two years. I HAVE learned to dry foods and have done a good bit of freezing. Actually, it was the freezing that led me into drying. Freezing berries and fresh tomatoes are wonderful ways to use up the plenty God provides, but the finished goods take up a lot of space in the freezer.
I've tried my hand at drying just about everything. I've made jerky, croutons, and sun-dried tomatoes, which I've mentioned before. But I've also tried my hand at drying berries (blackberries and strawberries do the best), pineapple, peaches, apples, oranges, peas, potatoes, carrots, green beans, celery, squash . . . just about any fresh produce can also be dried. I like the carrots. They dry real sweet. And the dried pineapple makes a wonderful snack. The dried oranges are really good, too - very tart and flavorful. My favorite part about drying is that the nicest flavors in the vegetables or fruit become much more intense.
So, I'm scheduled to begin learning to can sometime this summer. In the meantime, my mother was defrosting her freezer and pulled out bags and bags of frozen blueberries. My father showed up at my back door with them.
"Mama was going to throw these out. Would you like them?" he asked. I wasn't sure what I'd do with them but, like my father, I just couldn't bear the thought of them being thrown away.
I refrigerated them for several days. Then I poured off all the juice and made two batches of syrup - one for us with a little lemon juice for tartness, and a low-sugar syrup for my parents.
But what to do with the huge pile of remaining berries? I decided to make jam. Unfortunately, I haven't made jam since I was a young girl living in Belgium and I didn't remember the basics.
Several months ago, I had seen some boxes of Certo marked down on Clearance at Wal-Mart. I bought them, anticipating canning over the summer. Now seemed like the time to open them. I did, and found a long insert full of directions for jam and jelly-making.
Over the years, my Aunt Faye, who is a Master Canner, has sent home with me from visits to Canada tons of jars of jam and jelly from all the Northern berries. I've noticed that she uses just plain jars, not canning jars. Obviously, this can be done, but I had no idea how. I poured over my cookbooks, which gave detailed instructions on canning, but only with using canning jars. That was right about the time my Aunt Faye arrived for the wedding. I told her that I wanted to make jam and asked her if she could help me one evening. She was in the middle of making Hot Cross Buns for Easter but said she'd try and come back over later and help. I went ahead and got started.
As I was cooking down the berries and squeezing out the juice, Calvin walked through the kitchen and asked what I was doing. I explained that his mother always used plain jars and I wanted to learn to do that, too.
"It's real easy," he said. "The key is that your liquid has to be very hot and your jars have to be real hot. Then, as the liquid cools, it creates a vacuum and seals your jars. Would you like some help?"
I was ecstatic. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. I scooted over at the stove and he worked with the jars, showing me how to pop them in boiling water for a few minutes, then turning them upside down on a drying rack to drain. We made 3 jars of blueberry jam - a small one for my parents and two larger ones for us. One of the two for us didn't seal.
"No problem," Calvin said. "That just means that you refrigerate that jar and eat it first."
The next day, I was telling Auntie about it. She explained that if she has jars that don't seal, sometimes she'll reheat the liquid from just that jar and attempt to re-seal it. Usually it works the second time around.
"I had forgotten Calvin knew how to can," she told me. "You know, now that I think about it, Calvin is a much better canner than me. He used to can chicken. He'd buy them by the cases and can them. They're the most difficult of anything to can, because it's so easy to mess them up and poison yourself."
I had gotten help from the expert after all.
Shortly after they left, I tried strawberry jelly. I was wanting to try my hand at not being quite so careful to follow a recipe, so I put way more strawberries in the kettle than I should have. Every jar sealed nicely, but they didn't gel - not enough Certo for the amount of strawberries I had.
I left them out on the counter. They were safe, just not very good. This morning, I uncapped my jars, dumped the ungelled strawberry jam into a large saucepan, and started the process all over again. I have five jars sitting on the cooling rack and I can't wait to see if they seal and gel. I can take up to 24 hours to know for sure.
It's exciting to see the work of your hands in jars in front of you and know that you're providing for your family for the future. I have a feeling my children are going to get very spoiled with fresh jams and jellies and not want store-bought ones anymore. We haven't even cracked open a jar from the store in weeks. The children request my blueberry jam when they need something sweet for their toast.
I feel like I'm beginning to get the hang of this. I'm certain there's much more I can learn from Vicki, but I also put up stewed squash this morning and both jars of it sealed nicely.
So much produce, so little time. And so few empty jars on hand!
When the economy turned south and the government began to deal with bail-out propositions, I realized that I should have done what the Holy Spirit prompted me to do. If I had, I'd be sitting pretty now with jars of canned goods on the shelf.
"It's not too late," I reminded myself. Good thing God gives us second chances. So I called Vicki and put in my request.
"I'd love to teach you," she said. "But you mostly can during the spring and summer months, when produce is plentiful."
In the meanwhile, I haven't sat idly by for the last two years. I HAVE learned to dry foods and have done a good bit of freezing. Actually, it was the freezing that led me into drying. Freezing berries and fresh tomatoes are wonderful ways to use up the plenty God provides, but the finished goods take up a lot of space in the freezer.
I've tried my hand at drying just about everything. I've made jerky, croutons, and sun-dried tomatoes, which I've mentioned before. But I've also tried my hand at drying berries (blackberries and strawberries do the best), pineapple, peaches, apples, oranges, peas, potatoes, carrots, green beans, celery, squash . . . just about any fresh produce can also be dried. I like the carrots. They dry real sweet. And the dried pineapple makes a wonderful snack. The dried oranges are really good, too - very tart and flavorful. My favorite part about drying is that the nicest flavors in the vegetables or fruit become much more intense.
So, I'm scheduled to begin learning to can sometime this summer. In the meantime, my mother was defrosting her freezer and pulled out bags and bags of frozen blueberries. My father showed up at my back door with them.
"Mama was going to throw these out. Would you like them?" he asked. I wasn't sure what I'd do with them but, like my father, I just couldn't bear the thought of them being thrown away.
I refrigerated them for several days. Then I poured off all the juice and made two batches of syrup - one for us with a little lemon juice for tartness, and a low-sugar syrup for my parents.
But what to do with the huge pile of remaining berries? I decided to make jam. Unfortunately, I haven't made jam since I was a young girl living in Belgium and I didn't remember the basics.
Several months ago, I had seen some boxes of Certo marked down on Clearance at Wal-Mart. I bought them, anticipating canning over the summer. Now seemed like the time to open them. I did, and found a long insert full of directions for jam and jelly-making.
Over the years, my Aunt Faye, who is a Master Canner, has sent home with me from visits to Canada tons of jars of jam and jelly from all the Northern berries. I've noticed that she uses just plain jars, not canning jars. Obviously, this can be done, but I had no idea how. I poured over my cookbooks, which gave detailed instructions on canning, but only with using canning jars. That was right about the time my Aunt Faye arrived for the wedding. I told her that I wanted to make jam and asked her if she could help me one evening. She was in the middle of making Hot Cross Buns for Easter but said she'd try and come back over later and help. I went ahead and got started.
As I was cooking down the berries and squeezing out the juice, Calvin walked through the kitchen and asked what I was doing. I explained that his mother always used plain jars and I wanted to learn to do that, too.
"It's real easy," he said. "The key is that your liquid has to be very hot and your jars have to be real hot. Then, as the liquid cools, it creates a vacuum and seals your jars. Would you like some help?"
I was ecstatic. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. I scooted over at the stove and he worked with the jars, showing me how to pop them in boiling water for a few minutes, then turning them upside down on a drying rack to drain. We made 3 jars of blueberry jam - a small one for my parents and two larger ones for us. One of the two for us didn't seal.
"No problem," Calvin said. "That just means that you refrigerate that jar and eat it first."
The next day, I was telling Auntie about it. She explained that if she has jars that don't seal, sometimes she'll reheat the liquid from just that jar and attempt to re-seal it. Usually it works the second time around.
"I had forgotten Calvin knew how to can," she told me. "You know, now that I think about it, Calvin is a much better canner than me. He used to can chicken. He'd buy them by the cases and can them. They're the most difficult of anything to can, because it's so easy to mess them up and poison yourself."
I had gotten help from the expert after all.
Shortly after they left, I tried strawberry jelly. I was wanting to try my hand at not being quite so careful to follow a recipe, so I put way more strawberries in the kettle than I should have. Every jar sealed nicely, but they didn't gel - not enough Certo for the amount of strawberries I had.
I left them out on the counter. They were safe, just not very good. This morning, I uncapped my jars, dumped the ungelled strawberry jam into a large saucepan, and started the process all over again. I have five jars sitting on the cooling rack and I can't wait to see if they seal and gel. I can take up to 24 hours to know for sure.
It's exciting to see the work of your hands in jars in front of you and know that you're providing for your family for the future. I have a feeling my children are going to get very spoiled with fresh jams and jellies and not want store-bought ones anymore. We haven't even cracked open a jar from the store in weeks. The children request my blueberry jam when they need something sweet for their toast.
I feel like I'm beginning to get the hang of this. I'm certain there's much more I can learn from Vicki, but I also put up stewed squash this morning and both jars of it sealed nicely.
So much produce, so little time. And so few empty jars on hand!
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