the Dirr?

Okay. Michael Dirr wrote (and has updated over the years) what is considered the definitive "manual" on woody landscape plants. The master gardeners with whom I studied in New Joy Sea positively swooned when discussing this book, which was the staple of the Help Desk reference library. It's large. It's expensive. It's marginally useful for the neighborhood gardener, but a must for anyone at a county extension office trying to answer plant questions from local land owners.

Many of you know that I completed the master gardener class in Ocean County, New Joy Sea just before we packed up and moved to Pete Townsend. I didn't take the class because I think I'm some fancy gardener, because I'm not. I'm lazy. I don't like to weed. I don't like mosquitoes. But I do like beauty, and more importantly, I want to know about this place where we live, this planet, its flora and fauna, abd a little bit about how it all works. The Pine Barrens and coastal plains were new to me, as far as the biosphere goes, and I needed to find a way to get involved in the local community. We were pretty isolated, and it was a way to meet people and be a part of life there.

So I'm signing up again for Master Gardener training here in JeffCo, WA. This course is likely to be brutal: 2 entire days a week from early January through March. Then the exam. Then the volunteer time. I am so geeked! I can't wait. The entire PNW ecosystem is a joyous mystery to me and I can't wait to begin to learn how it works. We'll probably do the same old basic botany, integrated pest management and such. But when it comes to what's particular about here, I'm sure to start grinning from ear to ear.

hobbitt loves me. He got me a geeky gift he knows I'll use over and over and over until the pages are dog-eared and it's time for the updated edition. My garden may become overgrown and weedy and ugly, but by god I'll be able to tell you not only what particular species of conifer that is, but I'll know its lifecycle, its diseases, its beneficial insects, and therefore its place in the ecosystem here.

Of course I'll never crack the mystery of this world, but my curiosity will be at least met, and maybe sometimes satisfied.

the Dirr

hobbitt got me "the Dirr" for Christmas. I'm maximally geeked.

I can't imagine that I'll ever need another horticulture book. Not that it will stop me.

friendly neighborhood birds

Yes, we were standing this close. Yes, this is why we live here. We've seen at least one juvenile, so we believe they had a successful year.

underpants gnomes, part III

I found these in the guest room right after Thanksgiving. Shoved between the mattress and the headboard. I know who they belong to. But I'm keeping them in our collection anyway. Because I. Am. Evil.

scattered thunderstorms

Note to self:

Check the weather report and read it carefully before taking a long walk on the beach.

The corollary to this item is: remember to always wear a brimmed hat in the great state of Washington.

at random

I can see fresh snow in the Olympics when I drive out of this neighborhood.

Pedestrians in Pete Townsend = sacred cows. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I'm just saying...cross at the freaking crosswalk, dammit. I want to get out of town (all 5 blocks of it) before my deli sandwich begins to sprout mold.

"Season's Greetings" is an acceptable phrase and has been in wide-spread use for my entire life. So what's the big effing deal about saying either "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" and all that jazz? Hey, I don't know whether you're {Jewish / Muslim / Zoroastrian / Sufi / Green Party / or even born-again fundamentalist Christian}. I'm just being nice to you. Ease up on me a bit, willya? And while you're at it, forgive me. Try it. Just this once. C'mon. I know you can do it!

The gals behind the counter at the Victorian Square deli make a decent sandwich. A real bonus is that it didn't sprout mold before I got out of town.

Circle and Square Auto Care did an amazing job of washing my crap-encrusted Swedemobile after doing the 22.5k mile service ($60 no holler!). But it probably wasn't the brightest idea to then drive the car through the boatyard's muddy potholes immediately afterward, huh?

Our "break" from Weight Watchers was poorly planned. Oops.

Or not. The chocolate mousse recipe I just got looks scrumptious. As does the one for potatoes Lyonnaise. Okay, I truly do not think food is evil but sometimes I wonder about Cook's Illustrated magazine. Those folks are the devil, right?

it's heeeere!

Today I received a letter from a friend who lives in Illinois. I've known S. for six years or more. We met in a cancer support group. S. is a bit younger than me - a few years, perhaps. She started her little "cancer experience" with stage IV metastatic breast cancer. She experienced remission for a while, but isn't in remission anymore, and has been on chemo this entire year.

One whole year.

She's on her third chemo drug of the year, but mentioned only two things about it: it's been challenging dealing with side-effects, and it seems to have her cancer stabilized.

Her letter was chatty - lots of news about her grandchildren (one brand-new!), a broken foot, square dancing. She hasn't been able to work in quite some time. She's single. And let's just say she's not on the top of the socio-economic scale. But I read not one word of complaint or regret or even care - other than not being able to spoil her grandchildren rotten with gifts.

Her gift to me, in that letter, was the return of what some might call the Christmas spirit. You know, the one about compassion and love and giving and connecting. That one. She has every right to bitch and moan about the hell that her life might be, and yet she chooses to experience it as joyful, fortunate, and open. I've always admired her. And right this minute I'm very, very grateful to her.

merry exmas!

So today I exchanged a shirt, got the scotch for Aunt Grace, mailed some stuff, picked up all the goodies for the goodie basket that goes with the scotch, and wrapped and packed half of the dozen packages that hobbitt and I sent. Which I then took to the UPS Store.

$236 later, our hero staggers out to her car, having barely escaped the crushing throng.

Okay, this is Pete, after all, so it wasn't exactly a throng. The crowd numbered in the one-dozens and everyone, including the clerks, one of whom (the one serving me, of course) had a choking wet cough, was cheerful and friendly. And this is Pete, after all, which means that overnight mail actually takes two days to get to Seattle, so almost everything had to be shipped expedited; hence, the grocery bill for a family of eight.

The very best part of the day was the shirt-exchanging event. It was a bit blustery here today. A bit. I was walking on the far side of Water Street (which is the side away from the actual water) and got salt spray on my eyeglasses from the waves breaking against the bulkheads out in front of Sirens. Seeing the ferry chugging out of town through that green chop impressed me.

It shore weren't a day fer paddlin'.

sure. yeah, that's me. uh huh. yep.

Stolen from Alison. What. Like you had to ask.

Oops! I lied! I stole it from newwavegurly! My bad.

I am 34 years old

You Are 34 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

here's why not

It was fracking cold. And breezy.

But we did have a nice moonlight walk and hobbitt took many moonlit pictures.

And now I'm trying to thaw out.

why not?

So I'm thinking about putting some Christmas lights on the Blue Dream, and maybe some jingly bells and a miniature tree. Okay, maybe not a tree, since she's upside-down on the rack when not in use. But I like the bells idea.

Last night we went down to the beach with the pandammys for a moonlight stroll, around 5:30. There was almost enough light to read. Danny allowed as to how nice it would be to take a moonlight paddle tonight, if the winds are as calm as they were then. I'm game. What the hell? I'm fairly sure I can adjust the vest to fit over my winter parka, though with the exertion, I'd probably only need the squall jacket.

I'll have to keep reminding myself that this isn't a re-enactment of that scary Jaws moonlight swimming scene. The water temperature is in the 40's. I don't think that's exactly great white sharks' preferred climate. But I'm sure that while paddling on the dark water, I'll start to believe I'm dead wrong about that.

Why can't my overactive imagination imagine things like me cleaning my house, clearing the gutters, cooking, putting up the Christmas tree, wrapping presents - stuff like that? Oh, no. All I get are monsters and danger and gut-wrenching, paralyzing fear. Thanks, imagination.

agenda

07:30 Get up, shower, wash hair.
08:30 Update banking, write checks, read blogs.
10:30 Walk dog halfway down the hill. Notice the water is calm.
11:00 Give in to craving for fried cabbage and kielbasa.
12:00 Greatly enjoy fried cabbage and kielbasa.
13:30 Give in to craving to get out on the water, despite the 40-degree air and 45-degree water temperature. Dolphins, 0. Harbor seals, 1. Grebes, loons and cormorants, very many.
15:00 Drag boat back on rack and drive to grocery store.
15:20 Run into banker who arranged our mortgage. Shoot the breeze for 30 minutes.
16:45 Put groceries away.
17:10 Take dog to walk on the beach under clouds and moonlight.
17:40 Run with the dog on the beach under driving rain.
18:30 Bombay sapphire martini, olive, stirred.

back stretch

The good thing about being at Newark Liberty International Airport at this hour? No lines for Alaska Air. A quick and painless trip through security. No screaming babies, whiny two-year-olds or motor mouth brothers-in-law.

Am I awake? Not on your life. I sipped (or tried to - have you ever ridden in the back seat of a Honda Element? No? Do it if you really like bouncing) a most excellent coffee which could only have tasted better out of a ceramic mug rather than a plastic travel cup, and without all the bouncing. I don't really want another, and besides, the only option at this point is CharBux.

So it's time to leave New Joy Sea. And I meant that. It is also time to be home again, to be within touching distance of my beloved hobbitt. And yet, it's the leaving that feels most important now. I knew in 2002 that moving back here wouldn't be what I wanted it to be, but it was good, for what it was. Leaving this past spring was exhilarating. How many of us get to do what hobbitt and I did? Just up and move precisely where we wanted to be?

But lately I've been feeling nostalgic for many things. My big old house, druid labs east. The woods, my own woods. All that space.

Then when I got here, I realized that the entire area is turning into McMansion land. My folks bought a tiny house (600 square feet) in a fringe neighborhood (next to a commercial zone and between two major roadways) in my hometown in 1950. It's on the market right now. The asking price is $325,000. That does not compute for me. Everything else going up in this area is at least 3,000 square feet, though those are the small places. This is the same thing that's happening in our old neighborhood in Illinois, though there, it's 6,000 square feet and at least a million bucks.

Driving around in Monmouth and Ocean counties made me wonder what the push for more and better and bigger was all about. And for a few moments, it also made me feel a wee bit jealous. I love my little house at druid labs pnw but dayum! It's pretty small! And an insidious bit of inadequacy crept in.

I shook it off quickly, of course. We are living our dream, and we're probably in a minority. Or stupid. We opted for less of most things and more of others. We opted for a slower life, less worries, less need to struggle about anything. More free time, more discretionary cash, along with less need to spend it. How did we get so lucky?

The soul of this area makes itself known to me by the angry and aggressive driving, the relentless development, the parceling of the waterfront for the rich, the increasing marginalization of the poor. Though I suppose those things are happening pretty much everywhere, for the most part it isn't the norm in our new hometown. So far I've experienced a lot of laissez-faire, mutual respect, and what seems a rather harmonious blending of different economic classes. Maybe I'm insulated from the realities of the place. Maybe I'm just exercising my inner Pollyanna. But that is how it feels to me.

So it's time to get the hell out of here. I don't feel much need to come back, ever. I'm sure I will. I love my family and miss them sometimes. But there's a ton of history here for me. A lot of it brings up feelings of sadness and loss and hardship, and frankly, I'm tired of those feelings. I'm more than ready to fill myself up with new ones, positive ones, more generous ones.

Coming here was one long night, as I arrived at SeaTac in the dark and arrived at Newark in the dark. Today will be a very long day - the sun is just starting to color the horizon, and I'll arrive at SeaTac before noon. hobbitt will be waiting there for me, and he'll bring me back to our cozy little old town and our cozy little house and all the happiness and love that two people can possibly stand. And that, as we say, totally doesn't suck.

busy

The other day, while driving somewhere here at the Joy Sea Shore, I spotted a church sign. It read "The innkeeper was busy, too."

It moved me. I'm not one for getting inspiration from church signage, though I was often amused, as a kid, by the Long Branch church's sign. It read, "Welcome to CH CH. What's missing?"

Nevertheless, the "busy" sign struck me deeply.

I am blessed in my life that I'm not really busy, ever. Being such a poor manager of my time only makes it seem that I'm busy, and then, only to me. Well, that, and the fact that hobbitt and I tend to be protective of our peaceful time together, in spite of how much we love having guests. I have to get it through my head that if we got to spend 30 uninterrupted years together, that would still not be enough time, so there's no purpose in being jealous about it.

Usually some message comes to me in wintertime, some missive from spirit about what I am to learn in the coming year. Not exactly a New Year's resolution, but a distant cousin. The lesson often takes the full year to sink in, and that's okay. I'm slow. One year it was compassion. Another year it was about being present.

I'll venture to say that this coming year will about opening my heart and time like the innkeeper. Or maybe I'll be an innkeeper of sorts. Maybe I'll be learning all about being present and attentive to the spiritual gifts that come my way, along with the wonderful beings who walk through the door to spend some time at druid labs.

The innkeeper was busy, too. May there always be room at druid labs for those who need to be here, whenever, and for however long. There's no reason to be stingy with all the love we have here, right?

winter

I missed the first snow of the season up in Pete. A dusting. It would have been wonderful to see, with hobbitt. Just a few days ago I had been lamenting the fact that I'd never see snow falling in the south woods at druid labs east again.

But I didn't miss the snow here! Last night nature spared about an inch of the stuff. We're within a hundred yards or so of the Shark River bay, and only a half-mile from the Atlantic, so this won't last. But it sure is pretty.

My time here at my sisters has come to an end. I appreciate the hospitality, very much, and leave with one of their cars for the next week. They are very generous to me, my family. We've spent a lot of time together and my brother and his wife have actually invited me to participate in their yearly ritual of cutting, setting up and decorating their Christmas tree on Thursday. I'm hoping that I can make it. In the three years I lived in New Joy Sea, I only had one actual invitation from them, for anything. Lots of "stop over anytimes" but they are busy people, and do not stop what they're doing around the house come hell or high water. It has been frustrating.

Nanc and I have been sharing this so-called guest room and have been howling with laughter every night before attempting sleep. (She has no trouble sleeping but I haven't yet adjusted to eastern time. It's been tough, especially here where my hosts work nights and there are two teenage boys. I'm pretty much a zombie.) I'll miss her, but she's leaving tomorrow anyway, so I'll move on to my friend Jill's house.

Getting away from the volatililty of my host brother-in-law's temper, which wasn't entirely directed at me, and was the subject of my previous post, will also be a good thing. Of course, long-time sobriety doesn't automagically bring about emotional maturity, but sheesh. He's a good guy, over all, I suppose. But his mouth sure is on ultra-super-duper overdrive 24/7. And my ears are not.

Ah. Family!

anger

I don't know where it originated. I don't know what feeds it. But I do know this: unchecked or unacknowledged or mindless anger is perhaps the most toxic substance known to humankind.

So I'll be brief. Why is it so hard to be kind to the people we love the most? What is up with that? Why is it impossible, when we see red, to stop and really look at what triggered that in us, before lashing out at the nearest target?

I know this: It's a whole lot easier to bite one's tongue than it is to take back hurtful words. And I know that by the time I usually figure out what the personal trigger was, two things have happened. One is that my anger has evaporated and the other is that it would have been terribly misplaced had I opened my damned mouth.

Step back. Take a breath. Survey the scene. Run down your emotional checklist. And before you open your mouth, look at the person upon whom you're about to spew and ask yourself what you hope to gain by inflicting hurt.

Now, was that so hard?

right. that's better

I woke today to an empty house, but eventually Nanc arrived back here with a huge mug of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. I believe I kissed her feet. Then she emptied the three (3) kitty litter boxes that are in the "bathroom" we're using in the downstairs part of my older sister's house. She emptied them and Pinesoled them and now at least our eyes don't water too much down there. More feet kissing. Then we went to visit our folks at the cemetery and afterwards visited with my folks' long-time friend Aunt Josephine, unannounced. She gathered us in warmly and told us, with great amounts of laughter, about her fall in August, wherein she not only skinned her shin but required a 5-day hospital stay and a skin graft. And evidently our Aunt Jay (also a long-time friend of our folks) was found in a diabetic coma in her home, when her daughter just happened to stop by to see her. Jay is in a nursing home now while attempts are made to stabilize her blood sugar. Hopefully we'll get to visit with Aunt Jay this weekend.

Both these ladies are nearing 80, and both are long-time widows. And they both have lots of loving family close by. Phew!

After that wonderful visit with Aunt Jo, Nanc and I took off for our favorite post-cemetery spot, Harrigan's Pub. Martinis were consumed. There was a flurry of phone calls trying to firm up plans for a family reunion dinner at Mom's Kitchen in Neptune (zero ambiance, career waitresses whose average age is in the early-to-mid 100's, and excellent Italian food) on Saturday. Tomorrow Nanc and I will go to brother John's (her twin) to see his young son off to school. John proposes he'll buy breakfast for us. We shall see.

I'll sleep eventually.

the lost day

I got to SeaTac yesterday before daylight (thank you my dear hobbitt for driving me there) and arrived at Newark after dark (and a big thanks to both my sisters for battling Port Authority traffic police in order to collect me). The three of us laughed our asses off on the ride to the Shore, and Nanc and I laughed our asses off while trying to get to sleep in what once was my niece's room. The inflatable mattress could not be found, so Nanc was forced (by me) to sleep on a camp cot, upon which my nephew and I put some old couch cushions for padding. It looked much like the back of a camel. But I'm the big sister so it's not my problem, right?

Anyway, here I am. I made a dinner date with Aunt Grace tonight but must use Nanc's car, since every other vehicle available to me is either an SUV or minivan, and at 92, Aunt Grace can't make that first step. I'm sleep-deprived and cranky, being not only out of my routine, but out of my comfort zone.

I'm ready to come back home. Now.