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Archive for May, 2014

I always – ALWAYS – want to do the obligatory holiday post to show I have not forgotten what day it is. I no longer live in rural America and Memorial Day parades are a little hard to come by where I live. I have no relations buried nearby, and certainly no veterans buried nearby. Memorial Day is different than Veteran’s (Armistice) Day. I put out the flag and get to the business of barbecuing.

Do not misunderstand me: there are veterans in my life. This just isn’t the day to remember them (for me), and the one who is living prefers that we keep it low-key, anyway. Therefore, the two patriotic things I did today were: put out the flag and watch a fly-by. Six fixed-wing WW2 vintage aircraft flew overhead in perfect formation. It was a little different that the usual noisy F-18 fly-by, but a whole lot prettier, in my mind.

I spent the day rearranging art in the garden and pursuing photos of the insect pollinators in my yard. I even put my Xerces membership sign up in the front yard:

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I also put up my very first No Solicitors sign:

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I’m hoping that will work to keep me supplied in cheap gift wrap, magazine subscriptions, Boy Scout popcorn, and Girl Scout cookies. I want my Thin Mints.

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Wire sculpture is so difficult to photograph! I moved the salmon sculptures to the handicap ramp. I am happier with this positioning of the above sculpture than I have been with any of the previous locations.

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WHY did I never think of this before? Oh, I remember: I tried using the sculptures as a sort of support for the gladiolas. The art faded into the back ground. But here – on the ramp – the art is the feature. The photo doesn’t begin to do it justice: I have a current and river flow going (I know, my youngest came over for barbecue and that was the first thing she said about the new location: “It looks like a river.”

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Two salmon, making their way upriver to spawn.

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I like my fish.

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The bees were not cooperating. I stalked them in the foxglove, the honeysuckle, the poached-egg flowers, the lavender, and the columbine.

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I tried stalking them in the front yard, but I only managed to come eye-to-eye with this band-tailed pigeon that wanted to feed in the bird feeder. I was surprised it didn’t fly off as I delicately tip-toed past and then turned with the camera to snap it’s photo. It flew off.

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One photos of a bumblebee. There were plenty on the lavender, but this was the only one I could get to stay still long enough. I wish I had a bumble bee identifier. It’s a little one, with a rusty abdomen. Very common.

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You must click on the photo to see it. I was concentrating on the one tiny black bee that was on the yellow sedum. When I uploaded the photo, I discovered a second bee had joined the first – and a third (over in the left corner of the photo) was zeroing in on the sedums as well. Accidental score.

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ONE honeybee. I know we will have plenty more where the oregano blooms – the honeybees love the oregano – but it is disappointing that I do not have a lot of them in my yard just yet.

Then. again, we saw our first tree swallow today. It is nearly June, and the tree swallows have not yet returned. Something seems wrong.

My husband barbecued steak and brats, and we all lounged in chairs around the table, alternately sweating in the direct sun and freezing when a cloud passed over. It is Portland, and it wasn’t raining – a first for Memorial Day, I think.

Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I saw a bee do several slow somersaults. It landed on the edge of the barbecue. My youngest said, “Hey! Did you see that?”

The men had not: one had his back turned and the other just missed it. But both Chrystal and I saw it. It was a slow-motion somersault out of the air. The bee landed on the barbecue and seemed dazed, slow, and subdued. It stayed there several minutes, cleaning itself from top to bottom.

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It was a little clumsy and very groggy-acting.

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I could have petted it, it was so mellow.

It stayed there for about fifteen minutes, disoriented and mellow. We wondered aloud if neonicotinoids were to blame. I know I have neighbors who spray without conscience. The local big box hardware stores continue to sell those particular products as well as the small hardware stores. People purchase them, thinking they are just going to prevent wasps or ants or worms in their apples – but they are killing the bees.

Eventually, the bee seemed to recover, and it flew off on it’s own. I hope it was OK.

 

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My Saturday began with a dream about living in a huge old house with my parents, my husband, and other characters that I can no longer recall. The house was fitted for an artist, with nooks, crannies, storage, and tons of “junk”. Organized junk, I might add. I remember sorting the junk in my dream: rocks here, ceramic elephants there, odd pieces of re-bar and metal, frames, and so on.

I decided to go garage sale shopping after I took Harvey for a walk, thinking I could get an early start to that Heavenly House full of junk.

I didn’t pick up very much – two sales were run by folks who understand the art of dickering, one was run by people who were not open to dickering, and the final was a fund raiser for two college girls who have been selected to go to Italy for some softball tournament (I confess: I only read half of the sign). I opted not to dicker at that one because it was a fund raiser, the people were nice, and they already had rock-bottom prices on their items.

I do not like garage sales where the seller is not open to dickering and will often leave empty-handed just because the person was unwilling to dicker over the price. So I low-balled the price? Come back with an offer. I can promise you that if I offered low, it’s because your item is over-priced and if you counter, we can come to terms. Besides, what’s the fun in a garage sale where every thing is black and white?

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Here’s the haul: 2 chairs for fairy houses, four “project dowels” and a number of little blue drawer pulls – from garage sale #1 where the woman said, “Oh… Just give me five for everything.”

One little bird cage from the garage sale that wouldn’t budge in their prices (I paid too much for the candle holder, but I have plans for it)

One step stool and a ceramic bird from the third sale. We dickered, she took my offer. 🙂

Four pretty picture frames and a blanket for my car from the last sale.

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I have some photos of my children that are framed in those cheap gold metal frames. I am slowly changing up all the frames to something prettier & loner lasting. The little pulls are plastic and look sort of like church bells for a fairy house – or some crafty project. I’ll think of something.

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The chairs are “perfect” for some future project. The bird cage will end up hanging outside – perhaps with a ceramic bird inside, or a small captive fairy.

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The little ceramic bird house was not a garage sale find. I stopped at the local Farmer’s Market for fresh produce. The artist who was selling these was having a half-price sale, and I love to support local artists. It is made to fit on the end of a dowel and already has a home in my garden.

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This bird is so cute! I have no idea where the permanent home is going to be, but it will be in my garden. I love the dorky face.

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Lassie came from the first garage sale. I was thinking of repainting it to look like a Setter, but the ears are all wrong.

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I think I will just repaint it as a collie, but I’ll use colors that are truer. Then I will resell it for more money. We will have to have our own garage sale this summer. Maybe Lassie will be ready in time. I think I can make a small profit on her. 🙂

 

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No Soliciting!

Don and I have long discussed getting a NO SOLICITING sign for our front yard. The problem is (aside from the fact that most solicitors ignore such signs) that we do not want to discourage young people from coming to our door to solicit for their fund raisers. We support as many youth-related fundraisers as come to our door: we like our youth and who can turn down a chubby-faced Cub Scout asking for canned goods to donate to the poor? Or the local soccer team offering to take our refundable cans and bottles off of our hands to raise money for uniforms? I love it when the local high school marching band rings the doorbell and asks if I could spare any change for their trip to where ever (I was in marching band).

But we absolutely agree on the door-to-door adult sales people.

I am better at repelling them than my husband is. He’s a sap and he knows it. He has learned to not even answer the door when they come calling. It’s not rude: it’s our door and we do not have to open it to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that knocks on it. Not answering the door is the equivalent of reading the 1-800-number on Caller ID and letting the telephone go to Answering Machine. If it is important (and it never is), they will leave a Voice Mail.

Occasionally, I will answer the 1-800 calls. I take a perverse pleasure in flummoxing the caller on the other end. Recently, we had a rash of telephone calls on our new phone number for our adult son who has never been associated with this phone number. The first one that called, I laughed at. “Are you freaking kidding me? He hasn’t lived here since he was seventeen!” I was very amused. the caller was not.

Once, I picked up a rude one that called here at 7:30AM.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am. It is 7:30AM PST.”

“Well, I don’t know about your mother, but my mother taught me that it is rude to call a private residence before 9:00AM.”

“Hey! Don’t be insulting my mother!” He was truly offended.

“You called ME. I did NOT call YOU. Therefore, I feel quite free in insulting your upbringing.”

He hung up on me. The jerk. 🙂

Yesterday, we had yet another unsolicited door-to-door salesman. I was in the back yard with the dogs. He knocked on the door and Don ignored him. He came to the back yard and ignored the barking dogs. “Do you live here?”

(No, I’m just scoping the place out to burglarize it!) “Yes. why?”

“I’m promoting our pesticide…” (That isn’t really what he said. He was, however, promoting pest control.)

“We’re entirely organic here,” I replied, calmly, clutching Murphy’s collar.

“Oh, our pesticides are entirely organic!” He paused to open his folder.

“No, you do not understand: we don’t have any pests here” Except unwanted solicitors.

“Oh. But I have been speaking with your neighbors and they all have mentioned an ant problem.”

The thing is: ants are an unknown factor in peonies. No one knows if they are actually beneficial or not. Everyone knows there is some symbiotic relationship between ants and peonies, and the Peony Society recommends you do not attempt to kill the ants.

Furthermore, all pesticides are general. We are trying our hardest and our darndest to encourage pollinators in our yard. I do not have my Xerces Society sign up in my yard yet, but I am a paid member. We harbor several varieties of bees: mason bees, bumble bees, several kinds of sweat bees, and we grow plants that encourage the honeybees to come into our yard. Twelve years ago when we first sat in our backyard, we noted that there were no insects at all in the yard. We vowed then and there to turn that around and now our yard is a haven to invertebrates as well as to birds. I don’t care how organic your pesticide program is, it is not organic enough.

Behind me: my vast peony garden in full bloom. “So? Ants are beneficial to my peonies.”

“Oh. Uh. have a nice day.”

I chuckled the entire time he backed away from me and ran to the street. I wonder if he googled ants and peonies when he got back to the office?

 

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Panic Attacks

I had a bad day today. It was productive, in it’s own way, but it was not a good day emotionally or psychologically. It started out late: I could not awaken from my dreams. I broke through around 10:15 AM and struggled out of bed. I hate that – it is a side effect of the medication I take for chronic depression. Saturdays are the worst because I do not have to get up to go to work and my body rebels against the previous five days of early mornings vs. the medication (which is a generic form of Lexaproâ„¢). (Or maybe that is a Registered Mark?)

I finally got up, poured myself a cup of coffee, and tied my sneakers onto my feet. When the coffee was gone, I put the leash on Harvey and we took a quick walk through the neighborhood. It is always a nice walk: the neighborhood I live in now reminds me of the one I lived in as a child, but with the absence of sidewalks and even without sidewalks, my neighborhood is a friendly place for walking dogs, jogging, teaching children to ride bicycles, and pushing a stroller. I made Harvey sit and wait for a man who was jogging with his dog, following his two young children who were riding their very small first bikes. Harvey is such a good dog on the leash! Then we met a young couple who smiled and said what a beautiful day it was.

I started my Saturday routine of picking up, cleaning, and weekly chores – and then it hit. I was shaking, nervous, angry. I made myself some lunch, thinking it was – perhaps – a small sugar crash (I have naturally low blood sugar and eating protein and carbohydrates will often push the sugar level back up to normal). I checked my blood pressure to make certain I wasn’t having an episode (nope). I went out into the sunny back yard, sat down on the grass, and called Harvey over to me. I cried into his fur. He cuddled up to me and fell asleep on my lap, sensing (I guess) that I just needed him to stay close. I used to hug my cats when I felt like this, but since I no longer have a cat…

Harvey helped calm me down. I dug out the Holy Basil and took a dose of that.

The rest of the day, I dinged about, doing silly things like resetting my soaker hoses and establishing rocks on said hoses in order to flatten them out.

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Simple steps that mean nothing in the larger scheme of life, but small steps to calming a restless soul.

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I moved some planters around. Refilled the hummingbird feeders, filled the bird baths, put out new suet for the birds.

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I made a promise to a neglected corner of the yard: I haven’t forgotten you need help!

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I found a new home for the compost bin.

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It doubles as a Harvey shield – Harvey loves to try to ding under the fence right there, behind my grapevine. Now, there’s a compost bin in the way.

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I moved the wind chimes around. This isn’t a great photo because the big rhododendron commands your attention over the funky wind chime.

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I even situated my chair to take maximum advantage of the peonies in my yard.

Everything worked temporarily. Nothing worked at all. I simply had to ride it out.

I feel calm now.

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Even when I have to listen to these two play… (Look at that insane look. Murphy is a strange dog.)

The moral to this story is… Um… Let me think.

Be good to yourself.

Recognize that a panic attack is out of your control

Stay calm. Smell the flowers.

Hug a dog (or a cat).

Remember that this, too, shall pass.

 

 

 

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The Spotted Towhee abandoned a nest full of eggs in the Oregon Grape. We suspect it is because the dogs disturbed the birds or perhaps it was because my husband inadvertently disturbed them when he mowed the lawn. Whatever the reason, they moved to a different site, built a different nest, and are most likely raising young towhees as I type.

Meanwhile, there’s the nest.

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It is about 4′ up in the Oregon Grape and the leaves are thick and stickery. Getting a camera in there to take a photo was a hazardous job.

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It was dark in there, but the flash didn’t want to go off. I photo-shopped this photo.

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Out of about fifteen photos, this is the very best one I could get. Mottled eggs nesting with a fir cone.

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May Finds

The first weekend of May has been blustery, cold, and wet: not exactly inspiring weather. Still, I managed to get a few things planted – in pots. I planted potted plants because I could do it inside. What a wimp.

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These hangers are my concession to annuals. The pots are too small to encourage perennials (4″ pots), and so every year I have to find some small hanging basket type annuals to stuff into them.

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The petunias are a shout back to a woman who was pretty much my second mother when I was growing up, whether or not she wanted to be. Mrs. T. always had petunias growing in the long planter in the front of her house. This year, I decided I would plant petunias in honor of Mrs. T. The alyssum in the middle is just because I like alyssum.

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This finally opened up (after my last post, obviously). I stepped out the back door on Saturday and was greeted by this fiery orange Oriental poppy. COOL.

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Isn’t it gorgeous?? It has several other buds swelling. I hope to let it go to seed at some point and (hopefully) have many, many more such beauties in my garden in the years to come.

I also managed to fit in a trip to the local thrift store with a friend. I scored a few things (as usual).

I found two bud vases. Well, one is a real vase & the other is a tiny little tea cup for a cheap child’s tea set (I guess).

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The one on the left has: hawthorne, luminaria, columbine.

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The one on the right has – oh shoot! Don’t you hate it when you forget what that is? It’s OK –  I still have the plastic stake in the ground by it so if I was serious about identifying it for you, I could go down the stairs, out the door, into the cold rain, and look it up. I’m not serious. Variegated something that is evergreen, grows like a ground cover and a shrub. It’s pretty. The point is: I have a tiny vase for short flowers.

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I still have Fish Woman. She makes an excellent bud vase. The golden alyssum makes the perfect flower to surround her.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I did find other things, but they’re itemized over on my art blog. Yeah, that blog. The one I rarely write on. The one I should be serious about.

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