Weed Wacker

The gardener used to cut my tiny plot of lawn in under three minutes. They used one of those string trimmers and it didn't seem difficult, so I figured doing it myself was an easy way to save 10 bucks a week. Three minutes once a week and how hard could it be?

Today I spent twenty labor intensive minutes "cutting" the grass and the best thing that can be said about my lawn is that it is shorter than it was. The overall look is remeniscent of that mounding ornamental grass you see in flower beds and, in addition, my hands are so weak that I can barely type.

Now this is either a good oportunity to gain more upper body strengh, assuming that with practice I will surely become more skillful; or time to try another option - like a rotery mower. I can do that. The dear sister-in-law who loaned me the trimmer also has a push mower that I could try. My problem is (pause): THE GARAGE. I don't have room to store a lawn mower! The garage is full of my car and...and stuff! Stuff that is obviously so essential to my happiness that I won't get rid of it - it will be with me forever and ever and ever.

This story has no end...

I took this class

The three hour class was titled "Water Saving Irrigation - Techniques & Technology" and was put on by Pasadena Water and Power.

THE MOST "LIFE IS UNFAIR" THING I LEARNED
. That my daughter, who has never met a potted plant that she likes or owned one that she has not murdered; who waters her front yard, oh, once a month IF she remembers, is actually practicing a form of "tough love" on her poor unappreciated and neglected plants. Evidently plants actually LIKE to be stressed a bit so they can rest and recouperate and so they will grow stronger and deeper roots. That is why her roses are beautiful and her grass doesn't die and why, when the much loved and pampered plants and trees of the more virtuous amoung us will suffer and die in the anticipated drought, her yard will continue to thrive. Doesn't this sound UNJUST and just plain WRONG?!

THE USEFUL THINGS I LEARNED:
. That it is the length of the day NOT the temperature which determines a plant's water needs. Thus, more water is needed on a cool June 21st (the longest day of the year) than on a sizzeling 100 degree+ day in August or September. The plant only works when the sun shines. The longer the day the longer it needs water to work.

. That the slower the water is delivered to plants the more is absorbed.

. That most plants have an ideal root (the roots that can absorb water) length of only 18 inches - even trees. For trees the long "tap" root that everyone talks about is just to keep the tree upright.

. That you should never plant anything below the soil line - a few inches above is better - because the plant will choke to death.

. That the hole that you dig to plant something can be as wide as you like, but should not be any deeper than the longest root.

. That a rule of thumb watering schedule is: 3xWk in summer; 2xWk in fall and 2xMo in winter (only if needed) for approximately twelve minutes if you are ovehead watering.

. That the symptoms of OVER-watering and of UNDER-watering are exactly the same - wilt.

. That overhead watering needs to be done in the early morning , but underground or drip watering can be done at almost any time during the day.

In the car with Abby

I have terrible night vision. I can't see street signs at night. I can't see freeway signs at night. I can't see car license plates at night. So mostly I stay home after dark unless I already know where I am going. Unfortunately, Megan and Aaron have a thing about the beach and also for restraunts in the city. In other words they insist on living and socializing out of my comfort zone. Google and I do fine in daylight, but sometimes..it gets dark.

So I purchased a GPS and on Saturday morning, before taking Abby home I program the address into the unit and it is talking to me...

Abby: Gramma why is it talking to you?
Me: It is telling me where to go.
Abby: But Gramma, you KNOW how to get to my house.
Me: Yes I do. I am just seeing how this works so that when I don't know where I am going I will know how to use it.
Abby: Oh. My Zoozie has one that shows where she is going backwards.
Me: I know, thats a very special one, but mine doesn't know how to do that.
Abby: Then how do you back up?
Me: Well, I have to be very carful when I back up to look behind me.
Abby: I can help you gramma! I can see behind.
Me: That will be great! I will appreciate your help.

Silence

Abby: ...but gramma, I won't be here ALL the times!
Me: It's ok. I will be especially careful when you are not here.

Silence

Abby: ...but my Zoozie's is the best - I'll ask her to buy you one.

jpeg laundering

Umm I forgot to explain why this is here: I have begun the overwhelming task of organizing my external hard drive. I fervently hope that it doesn't end up to be an unending project like, for instance, my garage. I found that this one jpeg refused to upload to Snapfish, crashing the computer at every attempt. Because every other program I owned could read it I just couldn't believe that the file was bad. I tried rebooting, re-logging in, re-scanning, etc. and spent over an hour frustrated and wondering WHY? So I still don't know "why?", but by uploading to the Blog and then saving to my desktop with a right click from here....I was able to upload. I am either exceptionally brilliant or just persistant..but no matter how you look at it. I beat the system!!!

deja vu

Adrea: "Mom" July 1979 (3yrs - she had a thing about bellybuttons)

Aaron: "Mom" 1975 (3-4yrs)

Abigail June: "Gramma" August 2008 (4yrs)

I haven't changed much it seems.....

Never say "never"

...then and now

I think I was 50 when I decided that I would no longer expose certain parts of my anatomy to public view. I freely admitted that these areas of my body, though useful and much appreciated for their long standing devotion, looked much better covered. I was, thus, free to worry and fuss about the other parts where signs of aging couldn't be so easily hidden.

So the point is, that for about fifteen years I have adamently declared to any one who seemed interested that I would NEVER wear shorts, tanktops or a bathingsuit again. Well. It is one thing to declare something while residing in Newbury Park/Camarillo where it is rarely hot enough for a fan and it is way too cold too swim, and another thing entirely when you live in Pasadena where summer temperatures routinely reach 102 degrees and your adopted in-laws have a pool. I found, like many before me, that principles are just words when bodily comfort is compromised ( I do hope I never get tortured for anything important..to keep yourself safe don't tell me any secrets).

Within the first week of a typical Pasadena summer, shorts and tank tops were reinstated into my wardrobe as acceptable articles of clothing. AND yesterday swallowing my much diminished pride, I actually bought some swimming trunks.

Life lesson: number one million and counting.

Abby's list

This is Abby "helping" me write my grocery list.

From top to bottom (sort of):
soup
bisquick
..and
Abby('s) toy
sugar
plates (paper)

Dilema...

So. Here is my latest project gone wrong. I have a white futon in the work room/play room - it looks nice, but it is sort of impractical..so I decided to make pillow and seat covers that can be washed.

Sadly, sometimes perfectly good visions do not transition into real life. I bought material that went well together and that I liked and still like. I spent several hours on the pillow covers and thought they turned out kind of nice. THEN I made the seat cushion and....oh yuk! Christmas in July! Who would have known?

So now I am stuck with deciding to keep part of it, scrap it all or try something different all together.

I tried it with just the pillows and the white seat cushion - it might be ok but seems to need something.

I tried a small green pillow - even that small touch of green jars the senses.

Maybe a small pillow or two of the watermelon red color?

And none of this solves my original problem does it? Ah well, some days just end in limbo.

Making things...

A few weeks ago when I was trying to create Abby's vision of a perfect "twirl dress", I was reminded of how much pleasure I have found throughout my life in making things. One of my earliest memories is of sitting on the kitchen floor making doll clothes out of scraps of material. I don't remember anything much about how the finished product looked or what doll I was dressing, but I remember assessing my skill level (low) and my tools (sissors and a large needle and thread), the excitment of the planning and the figuring and THEN the surge of triumph when I made it work (which is probably why I rmember it...heady stuff for a little kid).

I still dream about whatever project I am working on and if I am not working on anything particular, I find myself dreaming of excel spreadsheet formulas or even plumbing (always the romantic). Though I ultimately failed to produce four year old Abby's vision of a perfect "twirl dress", the pleasure was in the trying AND I have not given up - dress number five is in the works.

So, then I started thinking about all the things I have made in my lifetime (most not captured in photos) and in sheer volume alone the list is impressive. Besides the drawings and paintings, there was, stained glass, pottery, macreme, crochet, sewing and probably stuff I can't remember. I wonder where I found the time to cook dinner, read to my children, babysit for a bunch of kids, devour books, sort of clean the house, sort of mow the yard, and do laundry? There were projects that never saw the light of day; the dress I tried sewing by hand, the giant Barbie doll house that ended life in the rafters, because Ada grew up. There were the projects that should not have seen the light of day; my appalling first attempts at making children's clothes for one (Aaron would tremble in his very cool shoes to know that I actually took him out in public like this). In my defense, this WAS the age of red and gold shag carpet, green appliances and sideburns...we had it all.

So I suppose I am trying to say that for better or worse making things is what I do .




































And I am having a terrible time uploading, resizing and moving pictures (at one point I lost them all)...so this is all you get...

Under my belt..

...one milestone. I have been here in Pasadena for over a month and finally, yesterday, after twelve hours of slave labor in excruciatingly miserable 100 degree heat, I was able to actually PARK MY CAR IN THE GARAGE!! Now to normal people, people without a garage fetish, this may not seem like a big deal. But to me, an organized garage is a sign of physical, emotional and mental contentment. This is why (as anyone who has read my Christmas letters knows) I am continually "cleaning the garage". I love when everything has a place; I feel at peace when I know where to find my stuff even if I don't want it at the moment. It is order. It is respect. It is control! It is wonderful!

New holiday

So today on the way to take Abby to school..(written 5/20/08 and not published)

Abby: Gramma when is the next holiday?
Me: Well I guess that would be Memorial Day.
Abby: What comes after that?
Me: Forth of July, your birthday, Thanksgiving, Jack's birthday, Christmas...
Abby: ...and after that is new holiday (new years eve) for adults.
Me: Oh, New Years Eve, yes. It is an adult holidy because you have to stay up until midnight and kids can't stay up that late.
Abby: Yeh I'd be grouchy.
Me: Uh huh. Lots of adults are pretty grouchy on New Years Day.
Abby: Maybe that's why Harry is so grouchy all the time.
Me: Is Harry a boy at your school.
Abby: Yes and he is grouchy every day...maybe he stays up too late.

..two feet

To my knowledge no one has ever expounded on the wonder and versitility of two feet...

I, who have just spent four endless days with only one foot - Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday - regret that I am not a poet and, thus, unable to adequately praise such a gift; I regret all the times I have passed a wheelchair, walker bound person without giving thanks for two feet; I regret that I have taken two feet mostly for granted.

With two feet you can stand unassisted in the middle of a room, a park, a driveway, a sidewalk; with one foot, unless you are the Karate Kid, you fall on your face.

With two feet, standing tall, you can reach the stove, the sink, a table or the food in the frig; with one foot you are on the ground, knee level at best, where nothing, not even a toothbrush is available without some struggle.

With two feet you can stand in the shower or bend over a sink to wash your hair and even your armpits; with one foot you don't wash at all and you begin to smell a bit pungent.

With two feet bathroom privledges are taken for granted; with one foot a trip to the accomodation is an arduous ordeal and not to be embarked on lightly.

With two feet you are independent, invincible; with one foot people wait on you, are anxious for you and you are helpless.

This is day five.
This is Tuesday.
I have two feet.
I am a happy woman.

Happiness is...

Happiness is discovering that you did NOT make a ridiculous mistake after all; that on the contrary you did it just right. It matters not that it took hours to resolve or that you worked thirteen hours this day because of it.

I hate making mistakes.
I love NOT making mistakes.

Life is good.

Still moving...

..I think perhaps I'll never finish.

The awfulness of it is that I am not only not moving yet, I haven't even called the realtor. Every time I turn around something else needs doing or needs to be stuffed in the garage where I barely have room for my car. The house is beginning to look good and I am actually quite happy living here until, that is, I need something I have packed away and it ends up not being where I thought it was and no where else either.

I am becoming so paranoid about losing things, I have started to keep my keys, garage door opener and cell phone in a box in the hall. If you have one of those senior kind of memories it is the only thing to do.

I am exausted, but most of the big things are done now
. bedroom patched and painted
. shelving dismanted in laundry room
. laundry room patched and painted
. garbage disposal replaced (a fervernt thank you to Albert)
. mini blinds all washed and rehung
. workroom closet dismantled
. ink stained carpet patched
. workroom closet floor (where the patch was taken) tiled
. everything non-essential moved to the garage

...and tomorrow is another day.

Packrat

I have to face it. I am a packrat and I don't know what to do about it.

In my heart of hearts, I actually intend to live long enough to find a use for all the random stuff I save or rescue. But a reality check assures me that nobody could POSSIBLY live that long. The plan, you see, was that I would live here in Camarillo for the rest of my life and I would leave it all for my children and grandchildren to sort through after I was gone. I figured that the anger and frustration that this would generate would help them through the grieving process.

So much for plans. Now that I am moving to Pasadena and am also very much alive, it is all for me to do. It is me who is angry and frustrated - at me. So the trick is in figuring the possible-use odds for every object in my currently overstuffed garage.

Will I ever hook another rug? Maybe.
Will I ever crochet again? Yes. Will I need yarn? Yes.
Will I have more granddaughters (or friends grandaughters) who can use the beautiful clothers that Abby has outgrown? Yes.
Will I bake cookies to put in Christmas boxes to give away? Probably. I won't have a job.
Will I need the picture frames I have collected for artwork? Probablly. I won't have a job.
Will I need matt board? Yes
Will I need random gifts I have picked up? Yes. I won't have a job.
Will I need extra bedding? No. (finally!)
Will I need pieces of ceramic doll body parts, eyes, wigs, paint? Probably not.
Will I need doll molds? Proably not...no kiln
Will I need craft clay and accessories? Probably.
Will I need THREE printers? Yes. Yes. I really really need them!
Will I need all the toys? Yes. The grandchildren.
Will I need all my beautiful books? Yes. I really really need them!
Will I need to keep every piece of art Ada or I have ever made? Not sure.
Will I need the bakers racks? Donno.

Ah. The list goes on. Big Sigh!