The sweet peas are out, but the cornflower will remain for awhile
Life is full.
Since my last post we’ve celebrated three family birthdays, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, and my oldest son’s graduation from college. My youngest son came home from his first year away at college and my oldest son moved home mid-June. Somewhere in there we took a two-day getaway to Las Vegas after Mike finished a big work project. Next week I leave for a long-anticipated trip to British Columbia and Alberta. I’ll be traveling with my friend Kelly, a dear friend whom I met through blogging nearly eight years ago. I am really looking forward to this trip.
Through it all though, my garden continues to sow content.
We had some brutally hot days in the low 100’s (104 F or 40 C), but it has settled down into cooler temps. During the heat wave I arrived home to wilting hydrangeas and burnt ground cover. The flowers recovered but the ground cover is done till the rains return.
Pink hydrangea looking refreshed
Burnt ground cover after the heatwave
Burnt succulent during the triple digit heatwave
Pink hydrangea dominating the corner
On the subject of rain, we had the loveliest, late-season rain in May, bringing about larger and taller flowers, fuller blooms and a short-term delay in the unbearable heat. It was such a gift.
(name escapes me) purple flower
Miniature yellow roses, a long-ago gift from a friend
Kangaroo paw amid grasses, salvia and the last of the sweet peas
pin-cushion flowers
This gladiola grew twice as tall as last year
Gladiola closeup
I spent some early mornings this week pulling out the spent Nigella, also known as Love-in-a-mist and the sweet peas. I let both of them go to seed, reaping the benefits of a self seeded garden each spring. The cornflowers are the last of the self-seeded spring flowers. The bees are still pollinating the remaining blooms while the birds swoop in for the seeds.
Bee pollinating nigella bloom
Cornflower seeds equal happy birds
The darkest of the cornflowers
Sweet peas in rich purples, magenta and lavender
Sweet peas grow amid the perennials
Assorted sweet peas return year after year
I’ve been musing to myself that some of my garden favorites are the ones that return year after year with no effort on my part. They attract birds, bees and admiring neighbors. I get several month’s worth of small garden bouquets, and enjoy sharing the bounty with others.
Now that summer is here, our plums are ripening and the four o’clocks are about to bloom.
My miniature Hobbit garden, planted a year ago in celebration of my New Zealand friends and hosts is also robust.
Miniature succulents filling in
Tiny flower lights from Laura
A tiny violet self-seeded near the Hobbit door
Table and chairs
My miniature Hobbit garden in May, 2018
I’ve added a tiny rusted table and a few flower “lights”, a gift from my friend Laura. I noticed this week that a tiny violet has self-seeded near the Hobbit door. We’ll see how it grows.
The tomatoes are looking promising this year!
Mouse next to the Earthbox tomatoes
Three stages of ripeness
Tomatoes growing skyward
Still grayish green with the spent flowers attached
Red mulch keeps the soil warm and weed-free
Over the years people ask “is your garden a lot of work?” and the answer is always the same. Yes, it can be back-aching work, bending and lifting, pruning and pulling weeds, especially during the hot days of summer. But the work is joyful. It’s not so much the ends but the means. I love working in the dirt, discovering new things, seeing what works and learning from failures. Working closely with nature is uplifting. I marvel at the different shapes and sizes of the bees. I’m honored when a hummingbird comes close, inquisitive and open. I hear the rustle of the lizards and hope the cats will let them be. I laugh at myself when I’m startled by a spider, but I’ve learned to manage that fear while respecting the gifts they bring to the garden. A few ladybugs came for a visit last month and polished off the invading aphids. These are some of my favorite examples of nature at her finest.
I get dirt under my fingernails and sometimes in my teeth. Bruised knees and a sore neck mean I’ve stayed out too long. It takes me a lot longer to get up from the ground, and the pain in my hips reminds me of my advancing age. It’s all worth it for that time in the garden where I find a real connection to this earth.
I’ll write a blog post tomorrow, I thought, and then, and then, and then. Tomorrow becomes next week, then a month, while life serves up challenges big and small.
I miss blogging. My time on WordPress has yielded wonderful friendships, rich connections, and thoughtful and thought-provoking conversations. How could I be away for so long? In short, life is full.
My youngest son went away to college in August. This included helping him get ready, attempts at helping him get ready, a one-fell-swoop shopping trip and a day-long drive to Southern California. Within a few weeks my oldest son went back to the dorms, and is now into his senior college year.
We celebrated our wedding anniversary (23 years on September 23rd)
After dinner at Santana Row
and ten days later I turned 59. Dear friends visited from Canada over my birthday week, including a few days in beautiful Carmel.
An alleyway in Carmel
Posing for selfies near Pebble Beach
The soothing fountain at our hotel
Pebble Beach golf links
17-Mile Drive stop
On the beach
Seagulls
With my BFF
My volunteer work at Lifted Spirits kicked into full gear. If I wasn’t working with organizing clients, I spent time volunteering in the boutique. I work two shifts a week, and I’m often there on Thursdays organizing the boutique or other areas of the program. It feels like home. The work is challenging and rewarding. It also allows me to serve women in need in my community. I’m learning so much as I go. My favorite organizing project so far is the computer lab. We needed extra space for other programs, so I split the room in two using an abandoned old chalkboard and a fancy shower curtain found in a drawer. How’s that for using what you’ve got?
Reorganized stationary cabinet
Computer lab and food delivery
I split this room in two using an old chalkboard and a fancy, donated shower curtain
Food donations, computer lab
I devised a sorting system for donated bras
Donated bras, color-coded for easy reach
Color-coded labels for donated bras
Lifted Spirits boutique (a table runner and a few small bins added some style)
Lifted Spirits boutique: color coded hangers including pink for plus-sizes, blue for dresses and white for the rest
Mike and I are enjoying our evenings and weekends as a couple once again. In many ways, the empty-nest blahs seemed worse leading up to the boys respective departures. It eased once I knew my young men were and getting on with life.
This past weekend we planned to fly down to see our youngest son for parent weekend. I ended up going alone. I took Mike to urgent care the night before, where they referred us to the ER. They diagnosed Mike with a blood clot or Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT). It was a long, scary night, but he’s home and receiving good medical care. He’s not allowed to fly for at least three months so we’re adjusting to the idea of possible train travel. Mike’s not in pain and he’s able to work, so those are both a plus.
Our felines continue to cozy up the place. As the weather cools into a California autumn, I hope to haul out my crochet once again.
Tessa, my snuggle bug
Mouse keeps the puzzle warm
Tessa’s turn with the puzzle
Lindy, Mouse and Tessa soaking up some sun, embroidered pillow by Marlene H.
Meanwhile, I’m on the committee for our Front Door Communities, Lifted Spirits fundraiser in early November. I’m putting together the program, a soup recipe book, preparing a raffle item and working with another volunteer assembling silent auction items. It’s a busy time.
Oh, and the garden I used to blog about? It’s still here. The tomatoes were a complete bust this summer, with four huge plants producing about two dozen tomatoes in all. I planted late-season cantaloupe, only to see them munched under cover of darkness. I did manage five small pumpkins so all is not lost in the produce department. Overall though, I feel like I lost my gardening mojo. As that tired cliché goes, there’s always next year.
Not bountiful, but definitely delicious
All the pumpkins ripened in August
Succulents along the deck and walkway
An upside down praying mantis in the Scabiosa
On the deck
Here in the States we’re gearing up for mid-term elections in three weeks. Once again our garage will serve as a polling place. Change is in the air. I can feel it.
Thank you for stopping by today. I hope you are doing well.
The vote was unanimous: no breakable ornaments on the Christmas tree this year.
Those eyes! That face!
Our growing kitten, Tessa could hardly believe her luck. Were we really putting up a tree in the house?
We have an artificial Christmas tree that we set up in our living room the day after Thanksgiving. With the boys home from school and Mike off work, the four-day weekend is the perfect time to trim the tree.
Mike may have needed a bandage after this encounter
Mike and Tessa exchange looks
Like most kittens, Tessa’s curiosity peaks at the sight of anything new. So after assembling the tree, we let her explore. She wasted no time climbing into the tree for a little adventure. As Mike sat on the floor opening the branches she jumped up, climbed down, rolled around and peered out at me with excited eyes.
I’ve got my eye on you
From now on, when I hear the expression “lit up like a Christmas tree” I’ll think of our tiny terror frolicking through the limbs. Who needs lights when you live with Tessa?
Well…we still wanted some lights. Once she lost interest we strung the lights and the boys carefully chose the soft, unbreakable decorations to hang low on the tree. I gave it a second pass, and moved up anything that hung too low. You have to think like a kitten. We unplug the lights when we’re away, and nearly two weeks in, all is well.
Tessa gymnastics
She may never come down from the tree
If Tessa’s likeness were a tree ornament, they might look like this.
Heat Map Tessa
Soft-focus Tessa
Neon Tessa
Do you celebrate Christmas? If so, do you also decorate a tree?
I was out-of-town for a couple of days visiting my friend Marcia in Santa Rosa. When I got home Friday evening, Mike said all was okay, but that he and my son thought they were hearing things.
“Things” they said, sounded just like a cat’s meow coming from inside Mike’s car. The sound was neither loud nor repetitive so they chalked it up to a song playing through Mike’s phone. Mike drove our son to school Friday morning, then drove across town to work. Late that afternoon they both heard it, but again, couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Shortly before I walked in the door, Mike heard the sound coming through the living room wall. Our living room faces the back wall of our garage.
As the two of them finished the story, the three of us traipsed out to the garage and stood listening for a tell-tale meow. Nothing.
At this point, Mouse the Cat started demanding “where-have-you-been-how-dare-you-leave- town”, circling the wagons so to speak. We took a 15 minute walk around the block, an evening ritual that leaves kitty tired and content. We’ve grown used to the stares and comments by now and when asked simply joke that we’re “walking our dog.”
Back home, my kitty radar had piqued. If there really was a cat in Mike’s car, I needed to know. I suggested we sit quietly in the back seat for a while and just listen.
As an aside, I wonder sometimes what things look like to a casual observer: “Oh look, Mike and Alys are sitting in the garage in the back seat of Mike’s car having a chat.”
Within minutes, we both heard the meow. It seemed to be coming from the front of the car. Mike drives an electric car called a Tesla. It’s assembled differently from a traditional car, so when you pop the hood where the motor would typically be, there is an open storage space instead.
We popped the hood…and found nothing. We searched the interior of the car, the trunk, the front compartment, and I even crawled under the front of the car to see if there was an access point we’d missed. There are two holes under the carriage of the car, but neither one of them large enough for a cat to gain access.
We coaxed and cooed and called “kitty-kitty” to no avail. Somehow, somewhere a cat remained trapped somewhere in the inner workings of the car.
I felt sick.
My son Googled “cat stuck in Tesla” and he got a match. Sure enough, someone captured this video of a cat as they freed it from inside the inner workings of the car.
It’s a different model than ours, but suddenly it seemed possible.
It was after 9 now on a Friday night so there was nothing further to be done. If there was a cat inside the car, it had now been in there for over 12 hours. We left food and water under the car and went to bed, sleeping fitfully.
We drove to the Tesla Service Center in Santa Clara Saturday morning and expressed our fears. They were terrific. While we waited for the auto mechanic to arrive, two of the service professionals drove the car on to the lift to expose the under carriage. We heard a meow! They worked quickly to remove one of the wheels and several surrounding parts, then started to remove the covering from the bottom of the car. When the mechanic arrived, he approached the problem from a different angle, removing the lining of the front compartment and several bolts. This exposed a shoe-box sized opening (the auxiliary battery compartment) above the electric panel and one frightened little cat.
I swooped in, nabbed her and immediately placed her in our cat carrier. Deanna, one of the service technicians escorted me into a quiet waiting room while the team re-assembled the car. Talk about excellent customer service!
Diana, Jimmy and Jake, Tesla Service Team, Santa Clara, California
My son was anxiously waiting at home. He asked the night before “if it’s a cat, can we keep it?” I blurted out yes, before conferring with Mike, but I needn’t have worried. The desire to keep the cat (before ever meeting her) was unanimous.
It was love at first sight for the lot of us. Here she is, the little darling, two minutes after her rescue.
Safely ensconced in a cat carrier
It’s a holiday weekend here in the states, so our vet won’t reopen till Tuesday. We’re keeping her isolated from Mouse and Lindy till we get a well-kitty checkup, but the rest of us can’t keep our hands off of her. She has a lovely purr and enjoys nuzzling around our necks. Our little darling is a beauty, too, with soft gray kitten eyes and the loveliest markings. Look at that face! She must be quite young but she’s eating solid food so she’s old enough to be away from her mother. Our postal scale says she weighs 24 ounces or .7 kg.
Tessa, 7 weeks old, in my sister’s arms
Papa Tesla
The sweetest face
Sharon meets Tessa
She likes to stand in her food bowl
My son made her a blanket nest
Playing
Looking adorable
Our sweet girl has gladdened our hearts and lifted our spirits. We’ll never know her origin story, but we’re happy to have our own story to tell. Welcome to the family, Tessa.
“It really grew like that? Then it must be a message from the fairies – isn’t it special! I love it! Maybe they are saying there is another kitty on the way ….. 🙂 ❤” – Pauline King, February 11, 2017
It was 1966. After a three-day train ride through the cities and countryside of America, our family arrived in Northern California. As newly arrived immigrants from Ontario, Canada, we didn’t know a soul.
Why we arrived on Thanksgiving day is a long story. My parents were smart, hardworking people, but neither of them had a formal education. They wanted their girls to get a college degree. California seemed like the land of opportunity, especially for my dad the horticulturist. The plan was to finish the school year, sell our house and come to California. The house sold, we said our goodbyes and we gave away most of our worldly possessions. Then we hit a snag. The US government delayed my father’s visa while they continued to research his background. Dad was a British immigrant first, moving from England to Canada where he met and married our mom. Long story short, we were not allowed to immigrate for another five months. We stayed in a hotel at first, then later with a relative. From there we stayed in the home of our former babysitter and finally rented rooms in the home of an abusive man. These were traumatic months for all of us. We were homeless in a way, straddling uncertainty between two countries. Dad took odd jobs while we waited and our savings kept us going during the wait.
Memories are a fascinating thing. Our brains record everything, but our hearts seem to decide what we recall. The highs and the lows often play out, with the minutiae of daily life lost to the ether. I remember the brief layover in Chicago. Mom bought us a kit of paper chains to keep our hands busy during the wait. We traveled by coach, so no berth for sleeping. We took turns draped across our mother’s lap. Three days on a train is a long journey when you’re seven.
We arrived in Loomis, California on that wet Thanksgiving day in 1966, welcomed into a stranger’s home. The man who would be my father’s co-worker invited us to dinner! Most of the details remain a blur, but I remember sitting on the floor of a small, warmly lit room watching an episode of Star Trek with a large, lumbering dog nearby.
There were many dark days ahead, but in that moment I felt safe and warm and welcomed, one immigrant family to another, in a vast, complex country called America.
The names and faces of our hosts that day are lost to history. But in my heart I’m thankful for that gracious family that opened their doors and hearts to ours.
Dad’s easel hangs in my crafting area with special photos
Today’s post is a bit of a departure from my gardening antics. It’s a love letter, a giveaway and a way to celebrate my dad. He died in early August, 1969 at the age of 54. I was nine.
This year, things are different. I’ve worked many hours with a caring and knowledgeable therapist, reaching in to the dark corners of my confusing childhood. My willingness to do the hard work finally paid off. I’ve been able to integrate the vulnerable girl I was into a strong, caring adult. Through Fran’s guidance, I’ve arrived at a happier place.
Will you celebrate with me?
Eric Milner
Eric Milner Landscape Design
My father, Eric, had lots of hobbies. Outdoors, he gardened, spending hours working with his hands to shape our beautiful, Ontario garden. He dug a small brook along the garden path to collect water and snow. The garden brimmed with flowers and in the summer, garden vegetables and fruits. I tasted my first cherry tomato from his garden. My sister Sharon and I would race around pinching the snapdragons. Dad taught me why bees are important and why you should never hurt one. Mom gave me a pair of spoons so I could dig in the dirt under the kitchen window while dad played in the garden nearby. There are many cherished memories of our home in Canada.
During the winter months, dad worked on his indoor hobbies. He built a wooden model of the Golden Hind. He painted, collected coins, made home-made movies with his Super 8 and he collected stamps from around the world.
Dad in India
Born in Oldham, England, dad studied horticulture and design. He lived in Darjeeling, India for many years where he worked on a tea plantation. He was a captain in the army, and worked as a translator. After the war, disillusioned with life back in England, he moved to Ontario, Canada. There he met our mother on a blind date. According to Mum, she didn’t want to go. Her friend convinced her that my dad was a good dancer so she went. They married a year later.
Mom and Dad get married
My parents moved to California in the fall of 1966. By Christmas, 1968 dad had lung cancer. He died the following year.
My tall, slender dad loved teasing us. He would exclaim loudly at something outside the window, then when you turned back your dessert was gone. We fell for it every time. He came home from work hiding small gifts behind his back and my sister and I would get to choose which hand. He saved extra postage stamps to encourage our own collections. He loved animals and children, art and photography, and most of all he loved us. And of course, he loved gardening.
Vintage Postage Give-away
My dad collected stamps from his travels and through buy and trade. Packets of stamps arrived in the mail, ready for soaking and mounting in his Burgundy-covered New Age Stamp Album. May years after his death, Mum sold a few of his stamp albums and gave each of us the money toward college. She saved the rest of his albums and they came to me after she died. I’ve leafed through them from time to time, amazed at his vast collection. My oldest son took one of his albums for show and tell in grade school. Recently I sent some of his stamps to a dear and trusted friend and realized the joy in releasing them to someone special. My sister plans to make cards for her friends with the album in her care.
Here is where you come in. My dad would get a kick out of the idea of mailing these stamps around the world again. The album pages have come free of their binding. They’re ready to go. If you look for a ‘sign’ you can find one anywhere, so for me, this is a sign to mail the stamps to you, and quickly before the post office goes broke. I once viewed his albums as a life and a hobby interrupted. Now I see them as a gift to be shared, and as a way to celebrate his kindness, generosity, curiosity and care. Will you please take part?
Sample Pages
The stamp issue dates are mid-1937 to mid-1938.
Please make your requests using the contact form. Click here. This keeps the requests private and allows you to provide your complete name and address for mailing.
On the form, please request your first, second and third country of choice. Include your full name and mailing address. That’s it. Please make your request by August 31, 2014. If I still have pages after that date, I will let you know. Click on the list of postage stamp countries to see what’s available:
In honor of my dad, I’ve written haiku to go with his landscape drawings.
Dad painted and drew as a hobby, but he also studied horticulture and worked at a nursery. These drawings are loose pages from one of his sketch book. My parents sold his paintings before we moved to the US in 1966. These are among the few possessions to arrive with us from Canada. I don’t know if he drew them for a class or for a potential client, but I love them dearly.
Many years ago I had one of dad’s landscape paintings professionally framed. It was expensive at the time, so I never thought about framing his sketches. I should frame them now. The thought just occurred to me as I type this. I guess I needed to write this post.
Daddy’s Designs
Beautiful drawings
lovely landscapes in pencil
Eric Milner. Dad.
Eric Milner: Garden Design
Art flowed from his hands
three-dimensional gardens.
May I sit under the tree?
Eric Milner Design: Patio Near Garage
Eric Milner Designs: Planting Pocket
Garden steps and ramps
I’m glad he would never know
Sharon would need one
Eric Milner Designs: Steps and Ramps
Carport patio
storage wall, movable planter
a caption haiku
One of the coolest things about our neighborhood is the general camaraderie. Neighbors talk to neighbors.
On the surface, that sounds so simple, but time and again we hear from others how lucky we are to live on a street where all the neighbors know each other. Over the years, we’ve covered for each other with emergency child-care, extra meals in times of poor health, emotional support and carrots.
Carrots?
Yes, even carrots.
The grandfather of one of the daycare kids walked by while I was curbside chatting with (yes) another neighbor. I reached over to offer him a fresh garden pea, when he stopped me and asked if he could have ten. More specifically, his granddaughter needed ten items to trade during Kindergarten class for a lesson on trade and Thanksgiving.
Our quick search didn’t yield ten pea pods, but there were still plenty of carrots. Not just any carrots, but the very carrots the wee kinder (gardener) planted herself. He came back with his granddaughter later that day. Her brother gave her special permission to harvest his carrots as well in case she didn’t have enough.
Baggy in tow, she pulled up several carrots, bagged them and happily smiled for the camera.
Harvesting
Grandpa asked her to rinse the dirt from her hands in the fresh rain water, and then she wiped them on the grass. I stepped in and dried her tiny hands on the inside of my jacket, because honestly, once a mom always a mom. I scooped her into a hug and she was on her way.
Harvested carrot
All smiles
You reap what you sow . I felt such a welling of emotion as I turned to come inside. Ten little carrots were on their way to the classroom, and once again the giving garden filled me with joy.
New England states are known for stunning displays of fall color. My husband and I crossed the country by train one year so we could enjoy the spectacular (and fleeting) beauty.
We also had the good sense to plant our own fall color in the strip of land between the street and the sidewalk. Though there were four beautiful trees growing in the back yard when we bought our house in 1996, we didn’t have a single tree out front.
Planting the tree August, 1996
We planted two that first year, and have since planted a couple more. The Magnolia shows off in early spring with huge, snowy-white flowers but the fall belongs to the splendid Chinese Pistache.
The City of San Jose requires a permit before planting a tree in the sidewalk strip, the space between the sidewalk and the street. They provide a list of “approved” street trees. Approved trees must have non-invasive roots, non-staining fruit and other good-neighbor qualities. In the past, neighboring streets sported Liquidambar trees. They’re pretty but a nuisance when planted curbside. Invasive roots lift the sidewalks, causing myriad tripping hazards, and the seed pods are hard enough to twist an ankle when stepped on. I remember getting them caught in the wheels of the boys’ s stroller and later in the undercarriage of scooters. One by one, homeowners removed the Liquidambar, leaving neighborhoods bereft of trees.
A few years back the trend reversed, and once again families are planting trees.
Planting a tree is an act of hope and optimism. It also says “I’m here to stay!” My family moved a lot when I was a child, and I moved even more during college and my early working career. The same was true for my husband. Planting a tree outside our front window said “we plan to stay awhile.”
August, 1996
Spring, 2011
Now and again my husband grumbles that our tree is not as tall or as full as the one across the street. I immediately come to our trees’ defense and assure him that it’s just fine. BK (before kids) we used to measure the tree’s height each year. We settled into life raising two boys, and measured their growth each year instead.
Growing boys, sleeping tree
Now we have three strapping teenagers (two boys and one tree) and all three are taller than me. The colors of fall, and our beautiful tree, are an introspective time to reflect.
What a fun weekend! A group of us stayed at a local hotel and worked on crafts and photo albums the entire time. We did lots of eating, laughing, and impromptu dancing as well. Michelle Obama’s not the only one doing the ‘Sprinkler.’
I finished one of my craft-it-forward projects, and got a start on a second one. I came away with lots of great ideas, one of the perks of spending a weekend with so many creative souls.
One of the women at my table gave each of us a St. Patrick’s Day cup. March crept up on me and now Saint Patty’s day is just a week away. I bought the silliest of impulse purchases at the craft store before I left: a small shamrock kit, promising a sprouted plant within the week. We’ll see.
I walked in the door around 5 today, to the smell of homemade carrot soup and decadent brownies. A lovely bouquet of flowers were waiting on the counter.
My youngest son wanted to plant the shamrock seeds with me, something we often did together when he was younger. It was fun, proof that you have to go away once in a while to be missed. That little pot of seeds already brought me luck, whether it grows or not. ♣
If I had to summarize the perfect time away it would be this: feeling lucky to get away, and even luckier to come back home.
Whether it's one simple yet somehow perfect day or a dreamed about journey finally realized, I never want to forget the joy of the moment or how fortunate I am!
The sweet peas are out, but the cornflower will remain for awhile
My miniature Hobbit garden, planted a year ago in celebration of my New Zealand friends and hosts is also robust.
Gardening Nirvana 