Potato-ing out of the Doldrums

Today was a stay-home day for me.  I talked it over with Bruce and he totally understood why I needed today to rest and not drive to the hospital in Sacramento to see him.  I felt good about this up through lunchtime.  I did washed clothes, folded laundry, cleaned up the kitchen and then sat down to work on a speech I'll be presenting next Thursday.

Bruce and I texted and called each other throughout the morning, so we were feeling pretty much together anyway.  Yesterday, the plan had been for Bruce to come home on Sunday.  All of this changed today when it was discovered that we live too far out of town for a physical therapist to come to the house and work with Bruce.  So this afternoon Bruce called me to say that he'd be going to a nursing home for about a week to get his strength back.  I understand that this is definitely for the best, but....I had to get over feeling bereft that he isn't coming home tomorrow.  I lay around for awhile and drank tea, but just felt sadder and sadder.

So I did the only thing I could think of to lift my spirits: Yes, I planted potatoes.  Three rows in the raised bed in the orchard garden.  First I had to rip out all of last years dead vegetable stalks, then I trundled down three cartloads of compost and raked that smooth.  Then I formed three trenches and laid   them with 10 pounds of German Butterball seed potatoes.  I got it all raked and watered in just as the sun set.  As the dogs and three of the cats went up to the house with me, I realized that although not exactly feeling happy, I felt more like my old self.

One very good thing is that the nursing home will be in Stockton, so I won't have to drive so far to visit Bruce.  And he'll regain his strength in surroundings where he'll be safe and under supervision -- plus he won't be in any situations where he'll be tempted to try to do something that he's not strong enough to do.                                                                                                                                                                          

Oh, but it will be good to have him home again!  

Joe's Bar and Grill

The surgery is now behind us -- five hours in in the operating room and two hours in recovery.  He's in a lot of pain, which is only to be expected.  I know that the next few days are going to be probably the toughest for him, but, on my end, the hardest is part is hopefully behind me: waiting for five hours for word of how he was faring was difficult.  But that part is over now...

The whole hospital experience has an additional element of backwards deja-vu because this is where I had my own emergency surgery for my ovarian cancer four years ago.  Having now experienced both sides of this coin first hand, I can definitively say that being the one anxiously sitting in the waiting room is the more stressful position to be in.  I'm not sure if Bruce would agree with me right this second, but I'm sure of it.  Just say'n!

One element of my wait was both surreal and funny.  At five o'clock, the waiting room receptionist was off duty and no one appears to man the desk at night.  So she put the phone on the counter, along with the number to reach the recovery room and told all of us to answer the phone if it rang.  And then she said goodnight and left.  By this time, there were only about six groups of people waiting.  Every time the phone would tootle, one of us would march over and answer it.  We took turns.  The person holding the phone would turn to the rest of us and ask something like, "Is the family of Lucinda here?"  Someone from Lucinda's family would rush over to take the phone and talk with a doctor or nurse in Recovery while the rest of us settled back to wait.  One gentleman finally answered the phone by saying, "Joe's Bar and Grill.  May I help you?"  Naturally, that was the long-awaited call for me to come back into Recovery to see Bruce. Figures.

Anyway, I made it home by nine-thirty, fed the starving hordes, wrote out substitute plans for class today and slept a wonderful, deep sleep.  Today the sun shines and the Frogpond crew is in high spirits.

I'm now off to the hospital again.  Poom's in charge (heaven help us!)

Tilted

Bruce is doing well.  He's got his own room (tiny, but it's got four walls!), really nice hospital staff keeping him in line and his iPad.  He's scheduled for surgery this afternoon at 4:00.  Fingers crossed.

They say that during trying times, it helps to stay focused on the moment.  I had lots of practice with this yesterday as I tried to find the correct freeway onramp so I could get out of Sacramento.  However, even with my very best focusing, I became hopelessly confused and had to finally pull over on a side street and do what I always do when stumped by life's little challenges.  I called Bruce.  From his hospital bed no less, he patiently (oooh -- a pun!) gave me the simple directions that got me pointed the right way and onto the freeway and out of the Big City.  Such a good Bear!

Once home, the sun was already sinking behind Gopher Ridge, but I did what I'd been needing to do all day: I finished digging the hole and planted the second olive tree.  We won't even go to the place where I talk about the guilt that Bruce was digging holes for trees all last weekend with a back ready to give out... Anyway, I needed to get out and do some work under the open sky of Frogpond.

I used a pick ax to break through the shale and got the little tree planted and watered in just before it was dark.  I went down this morning in my bathrobe to take a picture and was pleased to see that it was still upright.  It's the little things!

Manzanillo Olive

The neighbor's cows inspecting things from their side of the fence

As I study the picture, I'm just noticing that I set the tree in at a bit of a tilt.  I suppose that's what comes of planting in half-light.  Never mind -- a lot of us at Frogpond have varying degrees of tilt.  The tree fits right in.

I'm off to the hospital again in a little while.  I'm feeling a bit tilted myself, but (like the tree) doing well anyway.

Bruce and his Aching Back

It seemed like a normally hectic Tuesday at school.  Then the phone rang during language arts class and it was Bruce telling me that he was on his way to the hospital in Sacramento.  He'd had an MRI yesterday to see if they could find any reason for his awful back pain.  It appears nothing's going on there... except a herniated disc in his vertebrae.  Sheesh.  So his doctor called him and told him that he'll be needing surgery.  Soon.  Like tomorrow.

So I wrote up substitute plans for my class and will be driving up to Sacramento tomorrow.  I'm still amazed that all of this happened so fast -- especially since Bruce's back has been hurting for such a long time.

Tonight I'm home with the critters.  We all miss Bruce, but we're being very brave.  The three dogs and five cats and myself are all going to bed now.

The List

Our Garden Help: The Orange Boys (Bruce took this pic)

 My February break is now a thing of the past.  Since last Friday, I made a final push to get done some of the things that had been on the List (the one that has no beginning and no end, but always keeps growing).  I went to my classroom on Friday morning and did some cleaning up, fed the fish and brought home a load of journals to grade.

In the afternoon, Bruce and I took a drive to a nursery in a small town about an hour away and had a lovely time buying 3 bare root walnut trees, a bare root apricot tree, two potted olive trees and two blackberry bushes.  On Saturday we planted the 3 walnut trees in the area outside the orchard garden.  We'll see how they do.  I also planted the two blackberry plants and tied up all to the blackberry canes to the guide wires.  On Sunday we planted the apricot tree.  I also corrected all my student journals  plus all the other papers that had stacked up.

This afternoon we got the first of the olive trees in the ground.

It's a simple little blanket, but as soft as a kitten

Best of all, the baby blanket I've been working on for way too long was finally completed, cut from the loom and finished off.  That was a great feeling.  Bruce sent it off to daughter Chelsea today.

Spring is in the air.  For this week, I must plant the second olive tree, get the 30 pounds of seed potatoes planted (where am I putting them again?), complete all my report cards and prepare a 12 minute talk that I'll be presenting to the entire teaching staff of our district in 10 days.  No pressure there.

I'm slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work I've put in front of myself, but am busy, happy and pleased by all the things I can put a "done" check next too.  Even though the list keeps getting longer, I'm like a fish flashing down a very swift stream: as long as I don't fight it or start to stress, things just go rolling along.

Blanket Statement

I finally got the blanket for grandbaby Logan woven and off the loom.  It was a fun little project to weave. although its very simplicity caused all imperfections to be magnified.  The yarn was super soft and stretchy, so all the places where I wasn't consistent with the tension have left little dips along the selvages.  Well, it definitely looks handmade.

I laid the blanket out on the dining room table to tie the fringe and left to get my scissors.  When I came back, Multipass had happily settled her fuzzy butt smack in the center of it.  She was so cute, that I let her stay for a bit.

It passed the cat test with flying colors.  With a bit of luck, Logan will like it too!

The Tale of Poom's Poodle Tail

As the whole universe is well-aware, Poom sports the most gorgeous and fluffiest of tails.  Alas, it has been temporarily modified.

Last Friday, something got hold of Poom by the tail.  There was some Poom fur by the garage and he carried his tail down, but there was no blood that we could see (a problem with super-fluffy tails is that it's hard to see past the fur).  My hypothesis was that a goose might have charged up behind him and grabbed and given our boy a shaking.  It didn't seem serious, so we watched, waited and hoped for the best.  On Monday night I had the opportunity to examine his tail again while he was on my lap.  This time I saw a puncture wound -- definitely teeth.

Bruce was able to get him in to the vet's on Tuesday morning (before it snowed).  The vet's prognosis was that Poom's tail had been bitten several good chomps by another cat.  We suspect it may have been our bipolar kitty, Zelda.  Poom likes to annoy her (actually he likes to annoy all the cats) and she may have finally had enough.  No major damage -- the vet said it was already starting to heal.

It was a humbled Poom who came home again -injected with antibiotics, treated for fleas (again) and sporting a jaunty poodle puff-ball on the end of his tail.


He was upset about all of this for about three minutes.  Then, Poom being Poom, he got back to being Poom.

In short order, he got the kitchen rugs whipped back into shape...

...admired his handsome mug in the door's reflection...

...and then ended off the day by taking over the entire bed, as only a large, contented Poom can.

Which reminds me: when Poom went in to the vet's for the first time last July, he was an emaciated 7 pounds.  He's almost doubled in size since then -- we now have 13.5 pounds of Poom.  Now that's a hefty boy!

Snow Day!

 Yesterday was a good day for not being at work.  My cold was in high gear and I wasn't feeling well at all, but decided to keep my appointment to get my hair cut down in Stockton -- rescheduling would mean having to do this next week after school and the week looks to be crazy-busy enough as it is.  However, I did cancel the lunch date with daughter Liz.  Her birthday was last week, but she was very sweet about postponing our little celebration for a while longer.  She knows the best little restaurants in Stockton, so (on an admittedly selfish level), I'm relieved to wait until I have more of an appetite).

I got my hair cut and was headed back home around one o'clock when it began to rain.  Big, splappy, lacy drops hit the windshield as I crossed Gopher Ridge to home.

When I arrived home, I excitedly told Bruce that it was almost, almost, almost snowing outside!












And then, a few minutes later, I looked out the window and it was no longer almost, almost, almost snowing -- it was SNOWING, SNOWING, SNOWING!  Yeah, I reacted like a little kid.

We get very little snow here -- usually just a light dusting ever few years.  But this storm was different.  The flakes fell thickly like messy white confetti dumped out of the clouds. They were melting even as they fell, so everything pretty much turned to water when it hit the ground.

Der Schneesturm am Froschteich! (Did I say this right???)

The flakes really tried to turn into a blizzard, but the temperature was a bit too warm (36 degrees).  It was impressive anyway.

It's such a delight when something different like this happens -- I love seeing Frogpond in new ways. This freak snowstorm was perfect.


And, remarkably, amazingly and wonderfully, I was home to see it!

After the storm, a group of ducks trundled up to the house and spent several minutes quietly standing around, curiously contemplating the whiteness on Gopher Ridge.  Perhaps they were composing snow haiku together.  Or hatching a plan to order a duck-sized toboggan from Amazon so they could shoosh down the slope together.  Gotta love them duckies!

Loping along

I am sick...or, as we say in German, Ich bin krank.  (Yes, I've finally learned another German phrase applicable to something in my real life!) However, it's just a cold and I think it will slow me down only a little.

Yesterday was a riding day.  Mary hauled her horse, Jaime, over and we had a lesson in the arena.  No pictures of this, but Cornelius and I spent a lot of time loping ("cantering" when riding English).  Years ago, a horse took to violent bucking as I went into a lope and I was slammed into the sand. I've been afraid to go fast on a horse ever since.  Fears like this have a horrible power.  I worked on getting over this for two years while doing the dressage thing on Corny, but never felt secure perched on that tiny English saddle.  I could do it, but rarely was able to relax into it so that it was easy and the horse was happy.  I constantly fought the desire to crouch forward on his neck like a terrified monkey and pull on the reins.

Even when we got into the lope and were cruising around, Corny could feel  my desire to slow down and, lazy boy that he is, was more than ready to comply.  Our progress around the arena would be trot, lurch up to a reluctant lope, slow to a trot, shove back into the lope, slow to a trot, shove back into the lope....like that.  Exhausting and frustrating for me, but Corny would just get whiny and pissed.  Can't say I blamed him.  Through it all, Mary never gave up that I could get over this.  She's the stern but patient sort -- perfect for a teacher.

Switching back to the security of a Western saddle has helped.  It's more than that, though.  I've been reading about how a person's mindset can influence what they do.  Visualizing cantering easily and confidently before actually asking Corny to do it has worked wonders. I lean back, cue him gently with my inside rein and outside leg and off we go.  Just like that.  We still fall back into the trot, canter, trot mode on a regular basis, but we're getting it more and more often.  When he gets pissy over having to keep loping, I now get after him with a jab from the spurs or a spank on the butt with the end of my rein.  He was a little startled to learn that I will not be bossed around by a grumpy horse anymore.  Looks like Corny's mindset is changing too.

Afterwards, we went for our first walk down the road together.  We saw the pig (who ignored us), two tiny donkeys (who made both Jaime and Corny a bit suspicious), several dogs (who, thankfully, stayed in their yards), and were passed by several cars (no reaction from either horse).  The clip-clop of the horses' feet on the road, the warm day and riding together with a friend was all I could ask for.

It was a warm weekend and Bruce and I had a good time together. Busy, but not too busy.

I'd planned to prune the roses in the orchard garden, but never got to it.  Tonight and tomorrow it's supposed to rain.

Today looks like a good pruning day.  This is my sort of Monday!

The Chicken Prison

The wonderful thing about coming down with a head cold on the Sunday evening before a week-long school break is that I don't have to write out lesson plans for a substitute.  I'm getting as much enjoyment as possible from being sick without any distractions, but this is not as fun as one might think.  Sigh.

Yesterday was a good day.  I pruned about half of our roses while Bruce raised the fence around the chicken coop, which is now looking more like a chicken prison.  That's OK with me.

Captain Jack contemplating freedom

Our younger birds have learned how to escape the coop with ease: some by hopping onto the branches of the pine tree and, from there, sailing over the fence; some by getting a running start on the hill and launching over a low spot in the fence; some, like Houdini, get out by some sort of chicken magic.

If they just wandered around the yard and ate bugs, there would be no problem.  But hens love nothing more than scratching for grubs in loose dirt.  Like in my garden.  They've learned how to easily get over all the small fences that Bruce put up around my various beds.  What those chicken feet can do to tiny bulbs, sprouting tubers and seedlings would make any gardener cry.

Looking innocent, as only a hen can

Hen up to no good

The hens look pleasantly picturesque as they putter around the place.  Oh, but those chicken feet, tipped with sharp chicken talons can do a lot of damage in a short amount of time.  And they always seem to find my prettiest and most delicate plants. Weeds, they leave alone.

So now our plump little hens are incarcerated behind a nine foot high fence and not liking it one bit.


Today only two of them managed to escape.