Indoor plants

My African violet is blooming. I should take another picture this afternoon when the sun touches the blooms.

I have four pots crowded onto the counter by my kitchen sink, because that's where the sunlight is. The window over my sink gets the late afternoon sun. Some years ago, our neighbor on that side planted a row of evergreens along the property line (more or less -- the row actually strays back and forth across the line), and they have grown rapidly, so the western side of the house gets less sunlight than it used to, but still some.

Of these four plants, all but the spider plant in front were part of a floral arrangement I received from my boss and co-worker when I was recovering from a medical procedure a year or two ago. The spider plant is a "baby" I started from the larger spider plant in my bedroom. You know, perhaps, that a spider plant will throw out a runner and grow a mini-plant at the end of it. I wasn't sure how to root those. I tried sticking a couple in some water, but they just rotted. So I tried sticking a couple in a this pot of dirt and they took root. One subsequently died, but this one is still living and growing.

Poetry in motion

I moved my books of poetry from a small bookcase in my bedroom to a tall, narrow bookcase right by the computer desk at which I am sitting to blog. I hope that having poetry near where I write will inspire me in various ways. I want to take the small bookcase I emptied out and find a place for it in a room I'm converting into a library and use it for children's books, so that when my great-nieces and -nephew come, or any other children, they're all together and handy for access.

Sheet, dog, knee

I was changing the sheets on my bed this evening and my dog, who likes to be with me everywhere, was walking around on the bed taking an interest while I tried to spread and tuck sheets. I said, "I know you like to feel a part of everything I do, but I really wouldn't mind if you went somewhere else for a while."

He became convinced it was a game requiring him to jump around the bed and woof at me. I had to become very stern and pull him off the bed by his collar then make him "Stay!" on the rug while I finished the job.

My allergic reaction is better than it was but not "better." The worst place is in the back side of my knee, in the fold, where chafing of the skin makes it painful to bend my knee. I limp and lurch around trying to keep my leg straight. Bother.

Hanging in there

Improvement but still some remaining discomfort with my allergic reaction. Glad the work week is nearing its close. One more full week of work after that, then my "stay"-cation, when people I love will come visit.

Still recovering

Trying to take care of myself, trying topical remedies as well as internal medicine, waiting for further improvement. Hobbling through my work days.

Perseverance

Saw a doctor yesterday for my allergic contact dermatitis. Received some medicine. Am carrying on.

Further stitching

Well, I sat on the couch with my leg up, the TV remote, a glass of water, the phone, and my stitchery. I bought this project, which will one day be a pillow, in October 2010 and  started it in November. In February 2011, I posted a picture after I finished the yellow rose and bud, and now I have finished one red rose as well, and a bit more of the leaves.

What a revoltin' development

I haven't written for a couple days because I haven't felt that well--I have a bad leg. I did have a sore knee, then I rubbed an ointment on it, intending to soothe the ache. Instead I got a severe allergic reaction to the ointment to the point that my knee is covered with a weeping rash and my whole leg is swollen. So on this lovely summer Saturday, I'm limping around the house trying to think of ways to elevate my leg while still sitting comfortably. How I wish I had just stuck with Advil and Tylenol.

However, I am happy to report that I did see a hummingbird at my feeder this morning. It probably is a question of happening to look out the window at the right moment. I usually have a book or my Kindle in front of my eyes.

Currently reading on my Kindle: Mansfield Park. When all else fails, read Jane Austen.

I'm also following my sister to Alaska--vicariously, via her trip blog.

Overcoming sloth

Remember that old prose-poem, "Footprints in the Sand"? This is sort of like a short video of that.



Yeah, I know I posted this video on Facebook already. So what?

Stormy

Windy weather with a few drops of rain. Almost felt like autumn. I didn't mind because I found the cool refreshing.

Another Sunday night

The weekend is almost over. Tomorrow morning will be Monday. I feel okay about it.

It is just a little over three weeks until I get some family visitors I am very excited about and take some vacation time to enjoy their visit.

In other news, over the weekend I looked at various templates for this blog, but ended up just changing the font of this one to a larger size.

Currently reading on the Kindle: False Colours, by Georgette Heyer. I'm on a Georgette Heyer kick.

Saturday

I sat out on the deck this morning for my morning coffee and pop tart (brown sugar cinnamon). The sun was so strong, it was really too warm to sit out, but I put on a hat to shade my eyes and a tank top to expose my arms and sat there anyway to read and consume. I finished reading a little essay I bought on my Kindle (a "Kindle single") called "Jesus Is My Gardener," by Wade Graham. He's a landscaper in Los Angeles, California, and the essay concerns Jesus (Jesús), the head of his lawn maintenance crews. Jesus and his fellow workers are from Mexico. It's a good little essay.

While I was sitting, reading, eating, sipping, my dog was outside with me, on his chain. Several times I heard a noise and looked up to see he had wandered around a couple posts, tangled up his chain, and was stuck. So I would have to put down my book and my coffee cup and go drag him around the posts in the opposite direction he had wound himself, to get him free. When he gets stuck he just stands and looks at me. He's helpless but hopes and trusts I will come rescue him.

Now I am going to drive to Muddy Waters coffee stand to buy a 16-ounce latte with a package of raw sugar for my dad, a 12-ounce mocha for my mom, and a 16-ounce mocha for myself, and I will sit and visit with my parents. Perhaps one of my out-of-state siblings will call while I'm there and I'll get on an extension and join the conversation.

Sometime this weekend my niece and I hope to go see the Harry Potter movie.

Hitting the hay

Well, I guess I'll make an early night of it. I did sit on my deck in the cool of the evening, until the cool became chilly. Now, "It's time to hit the hay," as my grandma used to say.

Reading The Grand Sophy on my Kindle.

Workaday

Hm, well. I drove to work. I worked. I took a lunch break. I worked. I drove home from work. What is there to say?

On my lunch break I did wander over to the Wednesday farmers market on the Village Green behind Village Books in Fairhaven. I think 70-80 percent of the booths were organic vegetables. They were clean, large, beautiful vegetables, but I did not buy any.  There are a few food stands, but I packed my lunch in my purse. For two weeks after my job changed, I bought my lunches wherever I found a place, but those "Weeks of Spending Foolishly" are over, and it's back to my sandwiches from home.

I still haven't quite figured out what to do with myself on my lunch hour in my new work location. I basically want to sit someplace comfortable and secluded and read a book while I eat. I haven't found the perfect place yet. It may end up being my car.

Fairhaven is a hilly district and my knees have felt the inclines.

Good music

This is the hymn I sang on the drive home this evening. I only could remember the first verse and most of the third. The version below has a verse I've never heard before but like very much:

'Tis mystery all: th' Immortal dies!
Who can explore his strange design?
In vain the firstborn seraph tries
to sound the depths of love divine.
'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore;
let angel minds inquire no more.
'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore;
let angel minds inquire no more.



I also like the way they repeat the last two lines of the verse. I've been accustomed to sing the last two lines of the 1st verse (Amazing love! How can it be / that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?) as a chorus after each of the next verses.

This hymn brings to mind so many great passages from the New Testament. Jesus emptying himself of all but love: Philippians 2:5-11; waking, being flooded with light and having the chains fall off: Acts 12:5-10; the surprised gratitude for salvation, so very Pauline, as in I Timothy 1:12-17; and the no condemnation and approaching the throne boldly: Romans 8 and Hebrews 4:16.

Here's an article about the hymn that I found by googling, plus it has yet another verse. Yay!

E = - (W * t)2

Long day at work means short post on the blog.

The formula above is supposed to mean "Energy equals the opposite of work multiplied by hours, squared." It's a riff on E = mc2 (I don't think I can do superscript letters in blogger).

Standing in the need of prayer

“Prayer is as vital as the air we breathe. If we don’t pray, we die—spiritually, that is.” Moses Chung, Director of Christian Reformed Home Missions.

I think almost every Christian would agree with this, yet how difficult to be faithful in prayer--at least for me.

This morning my allergies were bothering me a bit, and I considered staying home from church, but I went--albeit quite late. I am preoccupied with my work situation and I was reminded just by being in church and participating in the Lord's Supper, that my faith is not a means to the end of accomplishments in the workplace, but my work is a means to the end of becoming the person God wants me to be and living the life he wants me to live.

Ephesians 4:28 gives as job motivation: "doing something useful with their own hands, that they may have something to share with those in need." That's a bit simpler than some of the career plans we sometimes make.

Waiting to see how things will turn out, I can remember that Joel Boot presents two comforting passages, one from the Bible, Jeremiah 29:11 (which by the way was in a letter Jeremiah sent to the Jewish people who had been defeated by the Babylonians, seen Solomon's temple destroyed, the David-descended king made a shameful captive, and themselves taken away from the Promised Land into exile):

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

And a poem by the mother of the poet Sietze Buning (pen name of Stanley Wiersma), which I too have read and loved:

Amen, Father, on your planning.
Amen, for you’ll see us through.
Amen, when the cross lies heavy,
Amen everything you do.

God spoke to me through our denomination's magazine, The Banner, tonight. May I have ears to hear.

Funny weather

It was cloudy, rainy, and cool most of the day, with on and off not-very-hard rain. Around 5:00 or 6:00 p.m., the sun came out. Around 7:00 p.m. some thunder peals and several short but heavy downpours. Then it felt kind of muggy.

It has been a little muggy the last few days, which is not the usual feel for Western Washington. In spite of the fact that it's a rainy climate, we don't usually have hot, humid weather. We're usually either cool and misty or warm and sunny.

Last March at the Home and Garden Show, a guy who was talking about solar power said that around here we get as many hours per year of sunshine as some other places we think of as sunnier, but the thing is we get the majority of the sunshine in July and August, which are our driest months, plus the days are still long, especially in July.

However, this has been a less sunny July than usual. I am not too bothered. I was bothered by the very late spring, how it was rainy and cold day after day until the end of June. But after a few hot, sunny days I'm always ready for a few days of rain again.

I just heard thunder again. We get one or two thunderstorms per year in the Pacific Northwest, which generally are not the violent thunderstorms they see in the Midwest in their summers.

Thunder used to freak out my cats, but it doesn't seem to bother my dog. Only three things make my dog agitated: the sight of another dog, the sight of a cat, and the sight of a mailman/delivery man (Fed Ex, UPS, etc.). He also will give a growl and bark if he hears someone come into the house until he can verify that it is someone he knows, like me or my parents, but he doesn't go absolutely bonkers like he does for the dog/cat/mailman.

Explanation

The reason my yesterday's post is called "Roger wilco" is because I felt like my body was sending me a message that I needed to go to sleep. "Roger" means "message received in full," and "wilco" means "will comply." I was saying that I had received the message from my body and would comply. But I was so sleepy I forgot to say so.

Roger wilco

I am literally falling asleep at my computer desk. A full work week, a Friday night visit to my sister-in-law, and now it must be to bed.

Good things come to those who wait

Ever since Monday I've been waiting, and now it's almost here: Friday. I've noticed that if you wait long enough, the weekend comes back. It only stays a short time, but then you wait some more and it comes again. My job stress goes up and down, day by day and sometimes hour by hour.

To comfort myself, I have turned to Georgette Heyer. First I read The Reluctant Widow, which I already had on my Kindle, and now I have downloaded The Talisman Ring. Well enough written to be a pleasure, witty enough to be funny, light enough to soothe.

In the spirit of counting my blessings, I'll mention that I answered a telephone survey this evening for some research group regarding health issues of Washingtonians. Based on the questions they asked me, I'm glad I don't have heart problems or a stroke, that I have not been the victim of domestic violence, that I don't struggle to be able to buy sufficient food, and that various other unpleasant things have not happened to me. In spite of my stress over my current job situation, I really am blessed.

A good word

Monday I was down, but Tuesday and today were better. And today a co-worker gave me a nice compliment that made my day.

Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: but a good word maketh it glad. Proverbs 12:25

Life is short and we have not much time for gladdening the hearts of those who travel the way with us. Oh, be swift to love! Make haste to be kind. Henri Amiel

Kindness.

Right Field

Went to a get-together of Calvin Alumni this evening (that was the good part of today). I reminisced about my softball career and someone recommended I look up this song.



My experience was like that, except for the happy ending.

The bright side

Today at work was very much a Monday. Too much. But the evening was better.

The good thing about Monday: things can only get better.

Leit-Motif

There should be a word for this. It's where a thought, idea, image, phrase, verse, or something of that nature keeps recurring in different contexts, so that you feel God is bringing it to your attention. Like you sing a song while you're alone in your car, then on Sunday at church it's one of the songs in the service. Or the preacher preaches on a passage, then later that week the same verse comes up in a devotional. So here are some things that fit that description for me about now, which I share with you in case what God has to say to me is not for me alone:

Saturday musings

Ah, the weekend. Blessed Saturday, the morning of no alarm clock (other than the dog). Slept until I woke up naturally, walked the dog in the sunshine, ate breakfast on the deck with the fountain plashing. Delightful.

I am reading The Twelve Caesars, by Suetonius, on my Kindle. My edition is an older translation, and in between the lives of the Caesars are essays by the translator, Alexander Thomson, regarding the literary figures who lived during the time of each Caesar. I was not expecting that, and the Kindle screen does not always give visual clues where one section ends and another begins, so at first I thought I was still reading Suetonius. When I read remarks like, "So and so was born before the beginning of the Christian era," I thought, "Oh, Suetonius is a later writer than I thought, maybe during or after the time of Constantine." But eventually I figured it out. Without having looked up any information yet about Mr. Thomson, he may be part of or at the tail end of the Victorian age because he will frequently say that while some writer produced many excellent and virtuous ideas yet his writing is marred by that indecency so common among the ancients, and just a little while ago I read him saying about one writer that certain of his passages could not be translated out of regard for decency.

So now I'll do a quick check online. Suetonius lived from approximately 70 to approximately 130 B.C. Ah, ha: discovered that the edition I am reading was published in 1909. The text link above is to the edition I'm reading, and I'm including a picture link to more recent edition, translated by Robert Graves. He's the guy who wrote the novels I, Claudius, and Claudius the God, which were made into a BBC miniseries in the 1970s. He also wrote a famous memoir, Good-Bye to All That, expressing his post-War ("War" with a capital W meaning WWI, "the great War," as it was called until WWII) disillusionment. Just looking up all those books makes me want to buy all of them. I have read the Claudius novels, but not for long time. I think I was in college (and that's a while ago now). I have picked up the memoir in a bookstore and been very engaged by the opening passages but didn't buy it. Perhaps I was at a moment where I just didn't feel up to post-War disillusionment.

But now, I am going to wash my hair, as a courtesy to the young woman who will be cutting and highlighting it this afternoon. She will wash it, too, and give me a lovely scalp massage at the same time, but I don't want her to have to handle less-than-clean hair. That would be a "not so fresh feeling." :-p

TGIFT

Thank goodness it's Friday tomorrow. It hasn't been a bad week, really, but busy and stressful. Certain changes at my work--again, not bad in themselves--are taking some getting used to. And, my long-term employment is uncertain, so that's worrisome.

Two things I thought of. One is the movie Office Space. The main character in that movie feels trapped in his job and says to his co-worker, "What if in 50 years I'm still doing this same thing?" His co-worker replies, "It would be nice to have that kind of job security."

The other is yesterday I was driving home from work and thinking about my future, so I started to sing, "He's got the whole world in his hands." If you know that song, you know you can make up things to sing that he has "in his hands." I tried, "He's got my employment situation in his hands," but it didn't quite fit the rhythm of the song. I ended up with, "He's got our jobs and our schools in his hands."

Last night I posted a video of the song, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God," because that verse has come before me several times at church and in other ways. I was going to say it has recurred fortuitously, but of course that is the wrong word. Providentially is more correct.

A word to the wise

The sum of summer

You can say "Spring has sprung," and you could say, "Fall has fallen," but you can't really say, "Summer has summed," or, "Winter has ... winted."

On the other hand, you can use "summer" and "winter" as verbs meaning "to live somewhere," as in, "We summered at Martha's Vineyard and wintered in the Mediterranean." (I guess those are verbs for rich people.) But you can't say, "I springed in England and I falled in New England." You could say, "I fell in New England," but that would just mean you were klutzy in the Northeastern United States.

Anyway, summer has summed and I'm summering here in Lynden.

African Violet

I got this plant--when? I can't remember, but it was a gift, part of a pot of plants sent with a get-well message when I had a medical procedure probably a year or more ago. I transplanted all the plants from that gift into pots that are on the counter by my kitchen window. The African Violet had blooms when I received it, they lasted a long time, then went away, and now, look, new blooms are starting.

I'm so happy to do well with an African Violet. A dozen or more years ago, I tried to grow one in my office and nearly killed it, so I gave it to my brother-in-law, who has a gift for growing them. So I was afraid I would not be able to take good care of this one, but it's doing great. My kitchen counter and window must give the right light and temperature for it.

I like purple flowers. Other colors, too, of course, but purple has that certain something.

Happy Fourth

Today I set myself the goal of getting our "water feature" set up, and I accomplished it. First, I had to bucket all the old, yucky water out of the pond. Then I cleaned the plastic pond using paper towels and a white vinegar/water mixture--it had some green and brown slime. When it was all clean, I attached a new pump to the fountain. I was quite proud of figuring out how to do that on my own. I filled the pond with water, positioned the fountain, submerged the pump, and plugged it in. Nothing. I could feel the pump vibrating, and eventually I disconnect it from the fountain and could feel it pumping water, but no water was going through the fountain. By that time, it was late afternoon, and I was tired. I talked to my dad about it, and he came down to help. I thought the hoses must be plugged, but he blew air through them and found they were clear. It was the fountain itself, the manneken pis (replica of the famous Brussels fountain) who had a urinary tract blockage, as it were. My dad took him to the garage, where he cleared it out with a nail or wire or whatever he found there, and now his flow is free.

Getting the manneken pis set up is an important part of my summer. It's great to sit out on a summer day and listen to the water.

Little kids love the mannekin pis. They burst out laughing when you start it up and soon afterward announce their need for the potty. The power of suggestion.

This evening, my folks and I will observe the Fourth of July by eating a red, white , and blue dessert: strawberries and blueberries on vanilla ice cream. It is my dad's favorite brand of ice cream, a local product, Edaleen. My dad is something of an ice cream and milk aficionado, as he grew up on a dairy farm.

God Bless America

My church is having a pre-evening service opportunity to come sing patriotic hymns (as tomorrow is Independence Day here in the U.S.), and I am going to go. I think it's appropriate to have this outside the service. We don't want to confuse the Kingdom of Heaven with any nation now existing on earth but, on the other hand, there's nothing wrong with loving the country you live in at this time.

It's supposed to be embarrassing to be patriotic--that it means you are blindly nationalistic and jingoistic--but it doesn't have to mean that. God made a good world and we can love it. In the good world is the good country I live in, and I can love it. In the spirit of Jeremiah 29:5-7, I can seek the peace and prosperity of the place where I live, and with the more reason as it's a country that has been a good home to me.

Anyway, I like to sing songs like "God Bless America" and "America the Beautiful," and I don't get the chance to very often because, as I say, it is gone out of style. I like to, and I find it moving.

In the words of Sir Walter Scott:

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"?

Watering

Late this evening, I watered my deck plants. I had noticed the pansies looked wilty this morning, but I didn't get to them. I felt too lazy to do it tonight but feared some plants might not survive the night without it. Several were droopy in the extreme. So I unrolled the hose and got to it. I run the hose at very low pressure when I water--a mere dribble. If the flow is too strong, it knocks the plants down and splashes the soil out of the pots, so I proceed gently. The slow flow means I have to spend a good amount of time standing over each pot, but that gives me time to look at and monitor the condition of all the plants, and just enjoy each one. Now tomorrow morning they'll all be perky again.

Working for the weekend

Today my job moved to a new location and company, which made for a long and tiring day. Nice weather, though, and now a 3-day weekend!

God's jongleur

I took a couple pictures of my St. Francis statue the other day, because I just love it so much.

I love that he has a bird on his shoulder and another on his hand, and a lamb noses at the other hand. That's kind of how my little dog lifts his head and looks at me when he follows me down the hall. I can see him in the mirror at the end of the hall, watching and following me. I like that a very godly man would see the value of loving animals.

Canticle of Brother Sun
also known as
Canticle of the Creatures
by Francis of Assisi (1181-1226)

Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord,
All praise is yours, all glory, honor and blessings.
To you alone, Most High, do they belong;
no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your Name.

We praise you, Lord, for all your creatures,
especially for Brother Sun,
who is the day through whom you give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor
of you, Most High, he bears your likeness.

We praise you, Lord, for Sister Moon and the stars,
in the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

We praise you, Lord, for Brothers Wind and Air,
fair and stormy, all weather's moods,
by which you cherish all that you have made.

We praise you, Lord, for Sister Water,
so useful, humble, precious and pure.

We praise you, Lord, for Brother Fire,
through whom you light the night.
He is beautiful, playful, robust, and strong.

We praise you, Lord, for Sister Earth,
who sustains us
with her fruits, colored flowers, and herbs.

We praise you, Lord, for those who pardon,
for love of you bear sickness and trial.
Blessed are those who endure in peace,
by you, Most High, they will be crowned.

We praise you, Lord, for Sister Death,
from whom no one living can escape.
Woe to those who die in their sins!
Blessed are those that she finds doing your will.
No second death can do them harm.

We praise and bless you, Lord, and give you thanks,
and serve you in all humility.

The look of love

Me and my dog

Had a stressful moment at work today and I glanced at the time in the bottom corner of my computer screen and thought, "When can I go home?" I longed for the enthusiastic greeting of my dog.

Of course, dinner is what is really making him leap for joy, but he looks to me as the source of dinner and other good things. Now he's asleep by my feet. It's good to have a dog's love.

Blooms in June

An iris--this time without a slug.

A couple of the fuchsia blooms have opened up.

Part of the job

Perfect summer day today. Sunny but not at all hot.

I pottered around on the deck, cleaned away old starter pots and so on, and did some sweeping. I didn't get the whole deck swept, but a good part of it. I got distracted partway through with the need to weed on the west side of the house and make more progress planting the Veronica. I'll be so glad when all those are planted, but it's a big job. Weeding was dirty, sweaty work at which spiders kept showing up uninvited. In handling the starter pots, I twice made finger contact with a slug, causing me to exclaim loudly, "Ew! Bachy! Gross!" I didn't get the whole place weeded and planted either. I did part of two jobs, weeding/planting and sweeping.

I gave all the potted plants some Miracle-Gro, so that was one job that I completed the whole of. The fuchsias are starting to get blooms. They're not completely open yet.

I'm glad to see them. Last year we had such a late summer that my fuchsias didn't bloom until August, if I recall correctly.

And I did take some time to just sit around and enjoy the deck, which is, after all, the whole point.

Now it's Miller time

The city of Bellingham is paving the road in front of the building where I work. This morning, when I sought access to my parking lot, the flagger told me, "You might not be able to get out again." I thought, You guys better just get out of my way when I leave on a Friday. As it turned out, everything went fine when I left, which is how things should go on Friday at quitting time.

When I was in college, there was a commercial on TV for Miller beer. It would show men working hard in a factory or wherever, then the whistle would blow, they'd head out of work, and the voiceover would say, "Now it's Miller time." Then would come scenes of happy dudes in a bar being served Miller beer.

I did not actually drink Miller beer after work today.

As I wrote this post, it occurred to me to wonder if Miller beer is still out there, so I googled it. Apparently a merger took place while I wasn't paying attention and there is now a company called MillerCoors. When I was young, Coors was only sold in certain states and if you took it to another state you were smuggling. This is, in fact, the premise of the movie Smokey and the Bandit, starring 70s heart-throb Bert Reynolds. I don't think I've ever actually watched that movie straight through. The first time I saw any parts of it I was shocked and disappointed at the way Jackie Gleason was swearing. Nowadays foul language is so common in movies I doubt I'd be shocked anymore. The coarsening of our culture. It's to the point that vulgarity and obscenity are not shocking; they're just boring. And profanity is so commonplace that nobody seems even to know it might be offensive.

Oh, well. That's not a very cheerful way to end a post, so I'll just be glad for the quiet of my own home and I will try to be a spring of fresh water.

Lift up your heads

I watered my plants after supper tonight. Part of me was whispering that I was just too tired and they would probably survive without it, but the other part of me didn't find probably good enough. I thought of watering yesterday already but read a prediction for rain last night and today. But it didn't rain. It was windy and there were threatening clouds; perhaps a sprinkle fell here or there but not enough to water the plants. When I got home from work this evening, some of them were droopy. Since I watered them by tomorrow morning they'll be holding their heads high again.

Yabba dabba doo

Ho hum. Long day at work, then sat around reading and snacking in the evening, also browsed the web. One thing is, I'm always glad I'm not still a high school English teacher. Back then, no matter what I did with my evenings it was wrong because I should have been grading students' writing assignments instead. I hated grading papers, and I was never done with it. So I either had to spend my time doing what I hated or not do it but hate feeling that I was neglecting my obligations. Now I leave my work at work, and what a relief that is.

The first day of summer

Interestingly, the first day of summer on the calendar coincided with the first day of summer in our weather. Mid-70s, woo-hoo. Maybe there's hope for the rest of summer. Looking at the forecast, I see we're due a few more days of rain starting tomorrow night. We've had the occasional sunny day this spring, but what I want are several sunny days in a row. Apparently uber-blogger James Lileks is experiencing something similar all the way in Minnesota:

Well, here’s a surprise: a cool, overcast day! (sob) You can see it all settle in the faces of the citizens: they’ve written the summer off.

Why is summer solstice the first day of summer? Didn't it used to be called "midsummer" as in A Midsummer Night's Dream? Some folks just call it "the longest day of the year," which is wordy but accurate. If I were Jerry Seinfeld, I could develop this thought into a genuinely hilarious comedy routine, but I'm me so I'll just go to bed at the close of the longest day. I guess it's the shortest night of the year, too.

The pleasantest thing

The Swing
A Child's Garden of Verses
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894)

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

Raining death from the sky

So this afternoon, after my family left following our Father's Day celebration, I scatted Sluggo among the irises and hostas and in the pansy pots, as those have suffered the most slug damage. I also took a spray bottle of Roundup and sprayed weeds and grass that were coming up through cracks in the deck, sidewalk, and driveway, and also sprayed a local weed that I think we call sand rushes (although I don't find that name online to verify it) that grows in the sandy ground in the beds at the northwest corner of our house, and that cannot be eradicated by pulling or digging, because they just break off and grow back.

Better living through chemicals.

Infestation

Finally got an iris bloom a week or so ago. This morning I looked out the kitchen window at it, and there was a large slug, sliming all over it.

Click on the picture for full gross-out. (Use your browser "back" button to come back.)

And here's a snail.

And yet another slug on the leaves of irises that haven't bloomed yet.

So among my errands today was to buy Sluggo, which is reputed to be safe to use even when pet wander around the vicinity. I have not spread it out yet because it is Not Very Nice weather out today, and I am officially in for the evening, even though I haven't yet had supper.

I wanted a sunny Saturday but I got (yet another) overcast, damp one, so I'm pouty and crabby.

Scenes from the flower pots

The plants with the yellow flowers are Nicotiana, yes, tobacco. The flowers smell sweet. In Busman's Honeymoon, by Dorothy Sayers, the vicar and his wife invite Lord and Lady Peter Wimsey over for sherry and cigarettes. This is in the 1930s, before cigarettes were bad for people. The vicar asks Lord Peter if it is correct that sherry is the only wine "with which the goddess Nicotiana does not quarrel." Lord Peter agrees that it is correct. I shall not dry and smoke the leaves of these plants, but perhaps I could drink sherry while sniffing a bloom one day.

Here is heliotrope, a sun-loving, sweet-smelling plant. My flower-loving grandma grew heliotrope. One of my flower-loving aunts grows it near the door of her house because her mom (my grandma) told her to put that good-smelling plant by the door so that when you brush by it on your way in you bring a good smell indoors with you. I just read in Wikipedia that its leaves follow the sun. I had never observed that.

Callie rose. I get this one just for the pretty flowers. I don't think it's particularly aromatic.

Bird's nest

Inside the white oval on the picture below is a bird's nest hanging from a branch of our deodar cedar. It has been there a few weeks. I think it has been used and left already.

I saw a small bird fluttering around it a few weeks ago. I thought maybe it was chickadees who built it. We get a lot of them at our feeders. But when I looked up chickadees on Wikipedia, it said they nest in holes in trees, not that they build nests like this. So I don't know what kind of bird built this nest.

He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest, may know
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.

"Beyond the Veil"
Henry Vaughan (1622-1695)

Indecision costs

If you are a faithful follower of my blog, well, thank you. You may recall that earlier this spring I ruthlessly cut back six lavenders, not sure if they would come back. Three came back full and strong.

And three seemed not  to come back, so I bought three replacements. Then two of those three started to green up, so I mentioned recently I hated to dump them out of the pots when they were trying so hard to grow.

I was trying to think of a place on the property where I could plant them in the ground, so I could then use the pots for the replacements. Sadly, while I thought it over, the replacements, waiting too long in their little starter pots, bit the dust.

Sad, sad, the bitter tale.

Sounds like

Last night was one of those nights where I got so sleepy I plumb forgot to blog. Or did I plum forget? Which is it, a plumb or a plum? It's plumb. Reminds me of once when I saw an online article that said a crowd disbursed, when they meant dispersed. And I often see people write "Here, here," when they mean, "Hear, hear." And do you "toe the line" or "tow the line"? I believe it's "toe." I thought that these words were homonyms, but I guess they're homophones.

Begonias

No words necessary.

Not just a salad

Reading on my Kindle Julius Caesar: Life of a Colossus, by Adrian Goldsworthy. My previous knowledge of Caesar comes from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar and, I'm somewhat embarrassed to say, a series about Rome by Colleen McCullough--better known as the author of The Thornbirds.

McCullough's "Masters of Rome" series is actually well researched and historically accurate to known facts, but the literary level of the writing is still on a par with Thornbirds. Still, I learned a lot of Roman history from the volumes I read. I have not read them all because I get sick of them, but I did read about the first three or four, I think. The first ones deal with Sulla and Marius, and you do get that sense, which historians confirm, that Sulla was both fascinating and sinister.

Caesar's influence on Western history was such that his name came to mean a ruler. The German word Kaiser and the Russian word Tsar (sometimes spelled Czar) both derive from Caesar. But before Julius Caesar, it was just a name, a cognomen--a nickname that became hereditary. Caesar's first name was Gaius, or Caius, and Julius was his family name. Caesar was a cognomen of some, but not all, of the Julius family, the Julii. His adopted son, who became Caesar Augustus, had the same cognomen, and after them people who were or fancied themselves to be some type of heir to the Roman emperors called themselves Caesar.

Subdued excitement

Today after work I drove around Bellingham a little, looking for the mural that calls Bellingham the "City of Subdued Excitement." I found it on Prospect Street. The banner across the bottom of the circle in this picture says, "Ye Olde City of Subdued Excitement."

I took the picture for my sister-in-law who, although she knows Bellingham better than I do, happened not to have heard of this slogan until I said it to her a week or two ago. She loved it, as do I.

In taking the picture, it seemed to me that the first time I saw this, it didn't say "Ye Olde," so I looked around the web to see if it has been different, and I found two different pictures, showing that this mural is subject to change. Here and here.

And here's a cool video some locals made:



Looking at this post and the Grand Rapids one below, it seems that I didn't plan it that way but civic pride is a theme this week.

Just one more cool local note. People who live in Bellingham refer to themselves as Bellinghamsters, or just 'hamsters.

Re-discovery

Yesterday, while I was home, sick, from work, I purchased on my Kindle and read The Wilder Life, by Wendy McClure. I enjoyed it. She recollects in her adulthood her love for the Laura Ingalls Wilder books and over the course of a year visits most of the sites and museums related to the series, and the journeys have a meaning for her that she finally discovers.

Like her, I did love those books as a girl. She had a paperback set, but I think she's a little younger than I am and that those were not out in my day. What I would do was repeatedly check them out of the library. I would find a pile of new books to read, then go get one of the Little House books and get it, too. Like Wendy McClure, I fantasized about the pioneer life without in any way emulating the actual hard work in real life--unable to complete embroidery and knitting projects.

I can even remember when I first heard of the Laura books. When I was in third grade, my family moved from Key West, Florida, to Austin, Texas, due to my father's military career. At the new school two events brought the books to my attention. One was that the teacher was reading aloud to the class On the Banks of Plum Creek, and the first chapter I heard was the one where mean girl Nellie Olsen gets her comeuppance when she wades in Plum Creek and gets leeches in her legs, which sends her into fits. My new classmates roared with laughter. And when we went to the school library, we all sat at tables and our teacher said that the quietest table could go first to pick out their books. Everyone immediately became still and proper, with their hands folded in front of them. She chose a different table than mine, and the little girl next to me expressed dismay that those lucky chosen ones would get all the Laura Ingalls Wilder books.

I enjoyed reading Ms. McClure's re-discovery of these books, her humorous stories about going to the locations, her relating of the quest to her own life, and overall I found the book satisfying. She had a very good-natured boyfriend/significant other who not only went with her to several locations but also read the books so he would understand what they were seeing. If you're someone who idolizes the books or the show, you might not enjoy her humor, but if you can reconcile your love for Laura's simple, hard-working life on the prairie with a more urban, modern narrator you might enjoy it.

Here's an example. McClure writes about a book of letters from later in Laura's life that she read that disappointed her when she was a girl because they weren't like the novels:

West from Home was a collection of Laura’s letters home from her trip in San Francisco in 1915 to visit Rose, now an adult, and to see the Panama-Pacific International Exposition. Had I first read them when I was older, I probably could have connected the dots between the Laura of the Little House books, with her braids blowing in the wind, and the older woman who traveled across the country, writing about weather and hotel rooms. As an eight-year-old kid, though, I couldn’t make sense of any of it. ... What was this Panama-Pacific thing? Where was Laura? I’d finally figured out that she went by the adult nicknames “Bessie” and “Mama Bess,” and at last I managed to glean two bits of information about her. One: that she was “growing fat,” or so her daughter, Rose, said, in a letter home to Almanzo. According to Rose, Laura ate multiple buttered scones “without a quiver!” At the time I read that I was growing up in a household full of diet books, so I was mortified. Two: Rose reported, in the very next letter, that Laura had fallen off a streetcar and hit her head. I couldn’t un-know these sad facts, that the little Half-Pint I knew and loved had become some kind of embarrassing middle-aged person who got into stupid mishaps in the big city. In my mind, the world of the Little House books just went up in smoke at the end, their heroine disappearing into clumsy ordinariness and ignominy. It had always trailed off with a vague, unspoken disappointment. It’s the kind of story we learn over and over again about everything in the world: your life starts out as a wild open frontier that you explore until the forces of time or history or civilization or nature intervene, and then suddenly it’s all gone, it all weathers and falls down and gets built over; everyone dies or moves away or becomes a grainy photograph, and yes, at some point you just get fat and fall off a streetcar. Progress—it dumps you on your aging and gigantic ass!

If that offends you, you won't enjoy the book, but if it made you laugh,  you will.

Cement sinuses

Yesterday I was going to blog about my cold under the title, "My face is a fountain," referring to the nearly non-stop liquefaction of my eyes and nose combined with intermittent sneezing. But I was too sorry for myself. Today I am still a little sorry for myself. Someone piped wet cement into my sinus cavities and now it has set solid and cannot be moved. I cannot smell anything, not even when I hold an open jar of Vicks VapoRub right under my nose. And my speech is impaired, so that I say things like, "I candot spell andything dot evend when I hode an opend jar of Vicks VapoRub right under by dose."

Dilly, dilly

Just checking in to say I've had either a bad cold or severe allergies since Thursday night, and it's kind of sapping my energy, so I haven't been posting. Because of it, I did not go to the Farmers Day Parade. However, I did still plant some flowers, mostly this afternoon. All I have left to do is transplant three lavenders, and weed the stair-path on the west side of the house and add all the Veronica Georgia Blue plants I bought for there.

I don't know if I've already mentioned I couldn't find any Veronica Miffy Brute to match what I planted last year, but I found Veronica Georgia Blue "out the wazoo," as we used to say in my younger days (we were such clever sprigs), so in the spirit of "close enough," I bought a lot of those.

The expanded version of "close enough" is "close enough for government work." And there is also, "good enough for who it's for." These are jokey-type sayings we say in my family.

I was going to plant the three lavenders this afternoon, but I couldn't decide what to do with the plants in two of the pots I want to use. After I ruthlessly cut back six lavenders in March, three of them came back and three did not, so I bought three replacements, but then two of the three that had not come back started getting green leaves. They are not full, like the others, and I don't think they'll look good, but on the other hand, I hate to yank them out and throw them away when they're trying so hard to grow back. I want to find a place somewhere in the yard to plant them, so they can live out their natural life span, but not on my deck, where I don't want straggly plants. But today I just didn't have the strength to go dig a couple holes to plant them, plus first figuring out where I want to plant them. So the poor three replacements will have to spend another root-bound week in their starter pots.

Lavender blue, dilly dilly, lavender green.
When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen.

Parades and feet

Well, hooray, tomorrow's Friday. On Saturday, I plan to observe the Farmers Day Parade from a friend's front porch, who lives on the parade route. She told me she wouldn't be home but her husband will and the house is open to whoever wants to come for their traditional "parade party." The parade starts at 10:30 a.m., which means I'll have to wake up early--for a Saturday.

On another topic, I know the question the world is asking itself is, What about Jan's feet? I'll provide an update on that important and fascinating topic. My new walking shoes and the taking of Tylenol and Advil (when I remember) and a little bit of Achilles-tendon stretching (when I remember) are alleviating the plantar fasciitis. However, the new shoes have also given me a nasty blister on the bottom of the "ring toe," so to speak, of my right foot. So that's hampering my stride now and causing a surprisingly high level of discomfort, aka pain. "It's always something," as Roseanne Roseannadanna would say.

Experience Grand Rapids

Well, I was wondering what to blog about when I came across this video at the Hot Air website.



Dear old Grand Rapids. I went to Calvin College there and then lived there a couple years afterwards. I worked at Modern Hardware, a hardware store--not the computer kind--as a cashier. Apparently there was a Newsweek item that said Grand Rapids was a dying city, and this group was offended by that and made a video expressing their love of their city. It's fun, touching, and well-done. It was filmed in one take! Love it.

Here is an article listing some of the participants. I knew I recognized Bing Goei. I met him a decade or two ago at the Multiethnic Conference (which I attended as a member of a Chinese church) held concurrently with the Christian Reformed Church Synod.

I gather this video went viral last week. I guess I'm a little behind the curve.