I still know the way

The doorbell rang last night. I still was sitting at the table, empty plate to my left and coffee on the right. I'm engrossed with the book I'm currently reading, Bryon Stevenson, Just Mercy, and finished the paragraph before I went to the door.

David was there, football jersey scrunched up in his hand. Could I drive him to the game, please? I agreed, and he brought my trash cans in from the street in the time it took me to get keys, cane and sunglasses together.

David has been here in the park as long as I've been here. He showed up offering lawn mowing services way back then, and I told him I'd bought a lawn mower for Laura. He reminded me we have to weed wack the perimeter of our unit and shed, too, and he was available. I bought a weed wacker. You can't know too much.

We had a pleasant chat on the way to the high school. We were still in the park when David asked me a technical question about the car: how was the refrigerator holding up? I couldn't believe anyone who did not own a Dodge Caliber knew the glove box also was a refrigerator. I only figured it out by accident and close perusal of the owner's manual.

The young man is quite the car buff, and quizzed me exhaustively on every car I admitted to owning. In short order we pulled into the mayhem of a Friday night home game. David held up his jersey and we were waved through, to the reserved tailgate party area, also the team entrance.

Tonight I was startled by the noise of a weedwacker  around my unit. I went out, and was face to face with David and his weedwacker. I thanked him for his kindness, and asked after the game.

It was rained out. There was a substantial storm last night, and I did glance at the clock and wonder if the game was over. Then I went back to the book.

Done, done, and done

Yesterday friends Deb and Pam came by to liberate a shovel full of Aunt Laura's iris from the old garden, and go to lunch.Which we did.

Before they arrived I came very near the end of my second attempt to make a shirt. I finished it in the afternoon. My thyroid and I came to a satisfactory resolution of the job.

If I ever make it again, I probably won't trick it out with buttons. Otherwise it is a decent job, for fabric of a width intended for towels. There is plenty of the fabric left; I've just set it aside for the time being.

We left the garden with the intended plunder, and more. Snuggled in among the wild overgrowth, many colchicum blossoms. One of us had a shovel and one of us had an extra bag and one of us would like some bulbs to plant.

I've decided to go ahead with planting a pot of bulbs. We are zone six, more or less, and the bulbs I want are hardy to zone 3. My pots are completely immobile. 

They are situated to hold the poles with hooks that hold my hanging baskets. The poles are secured to the deck uprights. Each pot weighs at least seventy five pounds.

Short of a tornado, nothing will move. I do subscribe to "better safe than sorry", so I shall fashion snug winter jackets of burlap. Perhaps I'll sit out in the sunshine and stuff them with straw. Or not.

At lunch that afternoon, an invitation was extended to participate in another artist open house. It's time to get back to something I'm good at. There is no line at my door for shirts, but there is a small clamor for towels.

The open house is in November, so that is my target. I must re-thread the loom, at which I am slower than ever. And rewind a lot of bobbins, and put a big towel warp on the beam and pull it through the heddles and reed. And tie it up. You know. All the tedious prep work.

But first I have an appointment to have my hair cut. Until we meet again, when I will have far less hair. And this picture was two weeks ago. My hair is irritating now. Not good.

Bulbs in a pot

    

What with packing, moving, unpacking, assembling the new house, plants had little planning and a very late start here. The ever present mandevilla could do no wrong, but how to spruce up the rest of the cement foundation of my deck.

Lacking any garden worthy area of land, I coveted large clay pots with shiny finishes. Four of them to arrange strategically around the deck. The cost, at two to three hundred dollars, per pot was prohibitive, and the idea was set aside, until I discovered resin pots. 

They looked very like the shiny pottery pots I wanted, though weightless.

I had so many left overs stones, so much left over soil, I had no ballast shortage. I bought the resin pots and added some clearance shelf plants that would fill up space. It was very satisfactory for this summer.

For next summer I would like flowers I really enjoy. First I would like the opinion of wiser gardeners than I. The flowers all grow from bulbs, and all the bulbs will be planted in a resin pot.

The resin planters are 16” in diameter and 14” tall. They have an 8” base, in case that’s important. The walls are half an inch thick and the planters hold eight gallons of soil.

At eight inches I would plant allium, iris and lilies. At seven inches, white narcissi’s, only. Then at five inches, snowdrops, crocus and anemone.

For what it’s worth, the frost line here is four inches. Since the pots are exposed to freezing from the walls in, I think frost line is moot. I probably must think of how I will protect the pot exterior from the cold, but I can do that.

Any advice? All advice welcome. And opinions. I seldom bite back.

In the meantime, "summer's almost gone, winter's coming on". Soon I will be taking apart the hanging baskets and clearing out my resin pots. Time to make a plan!

Back at it

I spent much of the month of August---asleep!  I wasn’t tired, I was soporific.  Sometime during the day I would stagger to my bed, or risk sinking where I was. Or, wake with a snap from reading the paper or a news report on the computer, stagger to bed and sleep two to three hours. 

Medical sleuth that I am, I deduced my thyroid was crapping out again. My next appointment with my endocrinologist was scheduled for the last day of September.  The day after Labor Day I called for the next available appointment. It was the next afternoon. I took it.

I generally go to this appointment with lab work done and new thyroid readings on record. But this was a “damn the torpedoes” situation in my estimation. I left with lab work authorization in hand, and had it done yesterday morning. The results were in my email yesterday evening, and yes, another instance of thyroid crapping out.

A new script goes to the drug store today, I’ll get it tomorrow, and start working back to normality.

What gets accomplished in a day with three hour naps? Precious little.

To remind myself I have a life, not to mention I like to eat, I kept up three meals a day. That may not have been the best plan; there were several less than palatable meals. No pictures were taken.

I loaded the dishwasher. I took out the trash. I fed the cat. God forbid I forget the cat! His room is on the opposite end of the house from mine.  The instant I turn to leave my bedroom, he’s on the move. Tail up, head glancing back to be sure I’m following, little legs moving thump, thump, thump, thump, one, two, three, four.

If the bottom of the food bowl shows, I am warned by a heart wrenching howl before we reach the room. He doesn’t care if the water is half gone, or if there is an extra poo littering his box. Just let the food dwindle, and he raises an alarm.

I watered the flowers.

I did not clean the house, although I did hire a service recommended to me. Two nice women cleaned my 860 square feet in less than thirty minutes. Sadly, the owner did not lower her minimum charge, and that in spite of ruining a day by appearing two hours late. “Oh, I forgot to call you!”  As soon as they left, I went in for the nap.

Waffles and more culinary delights

Waffles

2 cups flour, sifted

2 tsp baking powder

2 tbsp sugar

1/2 tsp salt

2 eggs, separated

5 tsp butter, melted

2 cups milk

Sift the flour, add baking powder, sugar and salt. Sift again. Beat egg whites until stiff, set aside.

Beat egg yolks, add to milk and add to dry ingredients, only enough to blend. Add melted butter. Fold in egg whites last. 

Cook according to waffle iron instructions.

I put 1/2 cup of batter in the center of my 8" waffle iron.

This made ten waffles. I did not scrape the last half cup of batter out of the bowl.

My only hint is, sift the flour everywhere the recipe says sift the flour. It's as important as beating the egg whites.

The table was lovely, with three plates with waffles, butter, the maple syrup jug. Jim and Lynn had orange juice and milk. I had coffee. No pictures happened.

Lynn said to me to please not be offended, but she had maple syrup once and did not like it. It was too thin and watery and not sweet at all. I forget what she compared it to, but it was not favorable. So, she would use Jim's sugar free syrup.

I put the little jug of warm syrup on the table.

"That sure smells good," she said. She tried a waffle hole full. Instant convert to maple syrup.

I told her it was just maple syrup. You know, the stuff they make in Geauga County every spring. 

I asked where she had maple syrup. "Cracker Barrel," she said.

I did get up an hour early this morning, to commence my cooking duties. I opened the egg carton, and to my surprise, they were every egg color. I did take a picture of a blue egg.

I don't know if you can tell it's blue. I used my egg separator, the fellow with the accommodating nose. It didn't work well. Since I no longer trust myself with the standard, egg shell to egg shell method, I guess a real egg separator will go on the shopping list.

Since I had to go back in the kitchen for the recipe, I took a couple more pictures.

Aren't they pretty. And since I'm mostly proud of my state, here is one last picture:

Black Bonnett Amish Farm Elderberry Jelly is also fabulous, and you can take that from someone who grew elderberries and made jelly for twenty years.