a senior's place in life

My sister sent me a message this morning. She'd been going through my father's papers (so many papers!) and she found a rather long poem I'd written for him for his birthday. I was 20 year old. I had enormous respect for my dad and it came through, in verse. What he accomplished in his life, especially given the time and place where he lived, the paucity of opportunities, and the political quagmire in postwar Poland -- it was truly extraordinary. And he did it without fawning, cheating or losing sight of his principles. He remains the second youngest ambassador to the United Nations in the history of that organization (he was appointed to that position just shy of his 34th birthday), and he immediately fell into an even higher position upon arriving in New York -- Poland was at that moment a member of the Security Council and he stepped into that role at a time of geopolitical tensions as African states sought their independence from colonizing nations. My father developed a reputation for being a bridge builder, despite coming from a communist state. He was seen as highly articulate and intelligent. A well liked pragmatist. (These are not my observations -- you can read much of this in the archives dating to the 1960s.) This is why he was later appointed as the Under Secretary to the United Nations.

But he was not a family man. Restless, private in his thoughts, immersed in politics, trying to survive in a climate that doomed most. He liked his two daughters just fine, but he never really connected with either my sister or me. He just didn't care about the trivial daily grind that seemed to be our lot, as we built our own families and working lives. He was an especially lousy grandfather, claiming a love for his grandkids but never reaching out to them, especially mine who lived on the other side of the ocean. Never asked about them, never send cards or letters, never called. If I volunteered some story, I could tell his mind was elsewhere. Didn't really listen, which I attributed to not really caring, though in retrospect, I think that's too harsh. Both my father and my mother cared. From a distance. 

When my father left his final UN post, he did not want to go back to work for the Polish government (the year was 1982) and so he retired. He was just 56 years old. Between that, his complete disenchantment with my mother (leading to multiple shenanigans with women in his orbit), and his increasingly heavy drinking, he, to put it bluntly, lost it. He lived his senior life, all thirty years of it, with his girlfriend, drank heavily, and this calm bridge-building father of mine turned into a ranting crazy man. In his final decade, I visited him annually, and I don't think I ever saw him when he didn't have alcohol on his breath. I took from that that he needed to drink to face me.

I've written about my mother more on Ocean, because I took over her care as she aged her way out of independent living into assisted living, and finally to a nursing facility. My father died a more lonely man. My sister was living and working in Sweden, his friends were either dead or off doing things that did not include seeing him. His girlfriend was much younger and found him to be annoying, so she spent most of her time with her own friends and colleagues, and more often than not, chose to stay in her own flat in Krakow (he lived in Warsaw). Even at 100, my mother still had friends in Poland, California and Madison. And she had me. I gave her my listening ear every day and let her talk sometimes for just 10 minutes, sometimes for ten times that. 

Both my parents had this in common: despite everything, they did not die happy. My mother believed her life had been one hellish struggle. My father wondered if having conversations and churning out paper all his days could be called a meaningful life.

In recent weeks, this thought keeps bugging me -- were both my parents victims of a seismic shift in attitudes toward the older generation? I was already backing away from the model of a daughter who would be a servant to the wishes and needs of her elders. I remember discussing this with a colleague from Japan who said she never had wanted children because between her career ambitions and attending to the demands of her in laws, she simply hadn't the time for anything else. That wasn't me! I didn't jump around either parent ever, and if I took care of my mom in her most senior years, it was never going to be a round-the-clock kind of thing. Nor did she want me that close to her -- she was not physically affectionate, or in need of proximity to her kids. She chose to live far away from both, until she couldn't hack it anymore and I brought her back to Madison, kicking and screaming. 

Just this last week, Ed pointed me to question/answer kind of article in the New York Times. Here, I'll gift it for you -- it's this one. The title says it all:  My Adult Daughter Has Gone 'No Contact' With Me. What Should I Do.

The daughter had offered to care for her mother round the clock after some medical procedure, but there had been an outburst, the mother said stuff that was harsh. She later apologized, but her daughter said nope, not enough. No more contact. Mom suggested joint counseling. Daughter said -- I dont have time. I'll reconnect once YOU get counseling. So, what do you think the esteemed NYT columnist said? I think he followed pretty much the conventional thinking these days: adult children do not have to put up with what they may consider to be toxic relationships with their parents. They need to think first about their own mental health and their own family needs. Yes, the mother should do therapy. Even though she thinks she had a fine relationship with her daughter -- this is probably only her fantasy. "No contact" is almost always the result of years of mistrust and dissatisfaction. The mother needs to get help examining her own behaviors toward the adult daughter.

What was interesting to me was that this was the obvious solution, even though the mother's letter was brief and offered very little information on, well, anything. I think no advice should be given on a topic so complicated, spanning generations -- both within that particular family unit and, too, in the broader historical context. 

In my view, you should (as a parent of a grown child, or as a grown child of a parent) always tred carefully, keep judgment to yourself, avoid hurting the other, acknowledge that you are not living the same lives and that each of those lives deserves respect. So, I'm a middle grounder! No contact, toxic relationships -- these are common labels now, but to me, they summarize poorly what's really going on. And what's going on is that we would really love, as adult kids, to have kind, giving, helping parents that remained interested, especially in our children, but respected the fact that we have limited time for them and would prefer if they kept their opinions to themselves and shared our political religious and cultural beliefs. And as parents, we would like to have adult kids who are respectful, grateful, sharing, affectionate, understanding of our aging struggles, and sometimes just a little helpful. That is a  perfect mismatch and when the going gets tough, conflicts will bubble over, and in the end, given our stressful lives, we're all going to be torn apart more often than not, and maybe that's a good thing, but I doubt it. I'm glad I never pulled a "no contact" with my mother. She did it to me and it was shocking and hurtful and lead to nothing better. My sister and I couldn't be the people she wanted us to be, but I'm glad I tried until the end, to enter each conversation, really each and every conversation -- with hope.

*.    *.    * 

Yes, we had that frost. Just a degree or two below freezing, but it counts.

 

 

 

My basil died, but my nasturtium, being very close to the house, survived. So, just a degree or two below, and depending where you stood for the night.

But the sunshine! Cool outside still, but hey, some of the flowers are still with me...

The sun comes into the house beautifully, streaming in through the windows! I didnt get much sleep last night and I woke up too early and too tired. I looked at my face in the mirror (I have to put in eye drops four times a day) and it looks like the face of a person who has forgotten to use any face creams for the past twenty years. I dont know why it's so drawn. Well, no matter. The sunshine puts me on a good path for the day. Still, I am tired.

(with a garden rose...)

The day is very pleasant. I play with Millie in her yard...

While she expresses herself through her zoomies, I snip off spotted rose leaves (the fungus struck at least half of my roses and I am resisting treating it with anything other than a manual clean up, snipping of the damaged leaves). We both really like our time in her yard, even though the positioning of the sun is such that the place remains mostly in the shade.  On a cool day, you need to keep movingto stay warm.

And speaking of movement, Ed finally convinced me to go back to the park with him. He'd wanted to go with me to the Brooklyn Wildlife Area, where the hike is longer and harder, but I begged off. Too tired, and as I told him, that's a dedicated hunting area and I hate walking through the woods and hearing all that November gunfire.

Millie stays home to rest. while he and I revisit our favorite local park. The walk is just fabulous. All that sunshine of course...

But, too, being on familiar ground, walking a path that's so loved by us -- it's really uplifting. 

And at home, Millie and I study roses (well, I study roses, she studies me). I watch my crime drama, then play my Mozart, remembering that my mom, too, loved Mozart. She gave up on any music in her last years. Maybe this was why she found it so difficult to get through them. 

with so much love... 

 

what I'm seeing...

Don't you just love it when your doc tells you, with a head shake for emphasis -- in all my years (decades?) of practice, I've almost never seen this... 

I am a rare bird, out of whack with the rest of the world, disturbing her sense of order and defying science, flying off into a vacuum of the great unknown.

A rare bird that has eyes that were not helped by all the carrots I ate at a younger age. Or maybe carrots are like the UN -- ask not what has the UN done for the world, but ask instead where the world would be without the UN, or your eyes would be without the carrots.  Or maybe carrots and eyesight are just one of these childhood myths, like Popeye and his spinach. 

My entire morning and a good chunk of the afternoon were spent in the eye clinic. With good reason. My left eye scored so badly on the eye chart that I could not tell her what the top row of letters was! My vision had been great for so many decades and now suddenly it isn't so great. Oh, I knew this already going into my appointment. The last time Snowdrop and I read a book together (was it just last week?), I had to use a flashlight and keep the book almost at my nose to make out the lettering and still, every once in a while, Snowdrop would correct me. From a distance. Gaga, that's not what's on the page...  Driving at night worked only because my right eye was decent. Not great, but decent. You only need one good eye to drive, though I do find it tough going on dark stretches of road. I can't quite see the curb... (Luckily, there's only one block leading up to doggie daycare where there are no lamps. I lean into the windshield, and Millie whines in the backseat, probably to let me know that she doesn't feel safe.)

And now here's the good part -- a rare thing in cases where a patient really can't see much. My doc recognized the problems I'm having (read my phone? impossible! read anything? difficult...) and without hesitation offers to do the laser surgery required to blast out whatever is slowly clouding my vision right then and there. That's the kind of person she is. I only wish that I could have entertained her more with a good story when she asked "how was your Halloween?" I told her about Millie barking, but I don't think she's a dog person, so I might have been on the boring side of things. 

How about that! I walk in half blind and I walk out seeing the world once again. Clearly with one eye and... decently with the other. (She can only do one eye at a time, so she did the bad one, reserving the not awful one for later.) And what is it that stunned her so much? A recurrence of cataracts and bits of God knows what, reemerging after not one, but two surgeries on these eyes. (More typical -- one removal and you're done. A second one -- in rare cases. A third time? Almost never.)

 

It's a gorgeous day, albeit we will have our first real frost tonight. In November, the two often go together. Clear skies in the morning is a gardener's fair warning (I just made that up). That's okay, the soil will remain warm and the rest of the month, too, will be quite above average. There is a gardening deity out there that truly loves me, or at least is willing to cut me some slack this year. I would not be able to keep up this planting work otherwise. I am grateful, oh divine Chloris (who, myth has it,  invented the rose by transforming her body into one, asking Aphrodite for beauty, Dionysus for a intoxicating scent, and the Three Graces for charm).

 

So, going back to the beginning -- a walk with Millie, just as the sun is at its prettiest. 

 

 

And guess what else is blooming here in November?!

 

 

 

(more roses...)

 

 

Breakfast with Millie and plenty of sunshine. Right in her eyes.

Then she goes to day care, I go to the eye doctor.

And only toward the end of the afternoon, do I go back to digging out a hole and planting one more rose. Oh, and I mow the grass in Millie's yard, because I'm sure she'll want to play there this weekend.

Full day! And at the end of it, when I pick up Millie in the dark of the evening light, I can see the curb! You do not appreciate this until you've driven for weeks without seeing it, or much of anything, really. Not with any clarity anyway.

with so much love... 

 

 

wondering, forgetting

Sometimes I wonder -- what would have life been like for me had I been more of an Ed? Impossible! Had I been more of an Ed, I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am today. And I like where I am today: in my cottage with a garden and a dog, close to Ed. And yet, what if all parameters shifted, or hadn't been set in this way at all? What if I left Poland, dropped out of college in my last semester, closed myself off from the pressures of modern life, earned a little, spent less, didn't care... There is no one right life. Where would I be now, as a senior, looking back at a life lived differently?

*.    *.    * 

Have you ever broken someone's heart? You probably did. But did you know it? I've done it at least twice in my life. I could excuse each and claim neither was intentional, but that's just lame. I also broke the heart of Sadie and one could count Henry too. Both those dogs deserved my loyalty and yet I could not give it to them. In the same way that I could not stay with the two men whose hearts suffered for it. (There was also Niko in Greece as a third, but I dont think a vacation fling counts, even if he did slice his finger in passionate desperation.)

We associate heartbreak with romance. Heart equals love, no? But it can run along different lines of course. Family, for example. My mother broke my already shrunken heart when she walked out on me and stated her loyalty to my then husband over any loyalty to me. She just liked him better than she liked me. But then, she seems to have liked Ed better too, so maybe I was the problem for her...

The conventional wisdom is that your kids cannot damage your heart. If your kid commits a crime and ends up in jail, or votes for the other side in a presidential race, you still love her or him. You may be disappointed, depressed, demoralized, but your heart should not bend, crack, or shatter. All those mothers in the TV crime dramas I watch tell the detective -- he was a good boy, he would never harm anyone... A desperate hope that deep down, her child is a good human being. Mothers should understand. Have compassion. My mother was unusual in her disdain. I am grateful that in the end I did not break her heart. She saved that for my father, who did. 

Ed often says to me -- I do not understand why people want kids. It's never ending draining work. What if I were like him? I'm not, no, not at all. But what if?

He called last night, he called this morning. Checking in on me. To the outside observer, it may appear that Ed isn't one to show concern over another. But this is not true about him. He doesn't worry, that part is true. He'd also like me not to worry or fret, or to be discouraged. In other words, I suppose to be more like him. It's an interesting idea. Though are we ever able to change? I'm a product of my history, he is a product of his. 

*.    *.    *

Millie and me. In the morning. I blame a sleepless night for my eating breakfast. 

(are you coming to eat?) 

 

 

 (yes...)

 

 

(breakfast is the only time when she likes to sleep on me, or pressing into me) 

 

 

I'm on auto pilot and I make my morning meal forgetting that I will be eating in about an hour or so.  It's the day of my breakfast meetup with my two breakfast friends.

Such good food she makes for us! I still am hungry for it, maybe because my dinner was pathetic last night: a salad with half a piece of still half frozen chicken. I didn't bother fully defrosting it. Today, I feast on squash, carrot and onion galette and apple cake.

And I continue to forget. That I was supposed to pick up bread for Ed at Madison Sourdough on my way home. And spinach from our CSA spinach farmers. At least Millie is at day care, so I do not have to worry about leaving her at home or dragging her along on these not too interesting outings that I have to backtrack to, because I forgot.

 

(driving past Vilas Park: two trees, engaged in a dance)

 

Taking the bread, the spinach to the farmhouse, dumping my compost there, I come across Henny, the lone
chicken living there now.

 

 

 

(remember this farmette autumnal view? photographed so often over the years by me!)

 

*.    *.    *

I have no baby sitting duties this week. Again, I don't do the planning here -- I show up when I am told to show up and stay home when I am told to stay home. Because I have a freer afternoon, I ignore the drizzle (yes, that again!) and plant four more roses. And no, I'm not done yet, even though the weather is really turning on me this next week. The ground wont freeze, but still, I should have been done with planting in October.

I pick up Millie. How I love my little pup!

Tired girl. Tired me. 

with so much love... 

 

so blue

You know that Ocean is not a place where I feel compelled to opine about political matters. (Not that I want to opine about political matters anywhere: wiser people have spoken wisely and I stand behind those women and men.) However, I have to say that I woke up, I remembered last night, I glanced at the headlines this morning and I smiled, big time. Millie got an extra belly rub and an enthusiastic let's go! And as we went down the stairs, I added -- puppy, we are ushering in a new era! She understood. (Walking down the stairs with her in the morning is, I admit it, always joyous. She has this way of mingling with my feet without tripping me up. Exuberant and happy -- that's her default setting in the mornings.)

The rains have finally let up, though we are in that November absence of color phase that always seems just a bit to dreary. It helps that this year, several roses are still putting out some blooms. Let me show you one of my favorites -- Carding Mill:

 

Breakfast. Millie waits for me, keeping an eye out on the outdoor activity. We both  listen to the news because for once, it's not depressing! When was the last time you heard me say that?!

 

 

 

Millie wants to know what we're up to next. Are we in, are we out, am I going somewhere?  Sweet girl, I have to brush out your coat from yesterday's play session. 

There. That's better. 

 

 

 

While she naps, I put another rose into the ground, and I also plant in containers the four roses that are not safe for this zone, but that can do fine overwintering in the garage in the coldest months. All good, all five are in. It isn't until after lunch that I realize that I've made a bunch of mistakes with my roses. But, that comes later. First, Millie and I meet up with Ed at Tati's cafe. My pup loves these familiar outings, probably because she knows she'll get a pup cup, but also because this is now known territory for her. 

("is my pup cup in production?") 

 

 Now that the weather isn't so great, I'm less excited about doing big outings with her. And the everyday stuff? Most places where I'm likely to go in my errand runs are either not dog friendly, or they're so boring that I want to run in and out quickly, while she is at doggie daycare. And so Millie has little exposure to new settings. I realize that this is not good. Even though she is past the stage when it really shapes her development, still, I do worry that her introduction to new people and new places has stalled.

(same old...) 

 

And after the coffee shop break, we do stay indoors. And another box comes and it has a rose and I unpack it and this is when my whole rose plan gets very very messy. I could say it sort of falls apart, but that would be perhaps overly dramatic. 

The thing is, although I have added roses and expanded the beds without a grand master plan, I do draw up a sketch of what goes where with each new addition, because it really cannot just be random. The roses are of varying heights and colors and growth habits, and they have to fit into the garden harmoniously. Climbers need trellises. Small shrubs can't hide behind massive branching bushes. And my favorites, and the ones with great fragrance -- these should be up front, not stuck against a wall of the house.  So every time I have purchased a plant, I have spent a long while figuring out how to integrate it into the entirety.

And then comes this package today from a new to me nursery. One with a good reputation, but each nursery or rose farm has a shipping style and size and I thought that the good reputation would mean that the rose would be at least in a gallon pot. It isn't. It's tiny! The size of a spoon, really. All my other roses have been at least a year old and many are three to four years old. This one? Cant be more than a few months. 

That's a problem. I can plant roses so long as a hard freeze is still at least a month away (our ground freezes typically in the last weeks of December). But I just do not believe this baby plant is ready for the big time. She is so fragile! And here's another thing -- I had planned for her a prime spot, right by the bird feeder. I dug a hole there that's probably two feet deep and almost as wide. Ha! Wasted effort! And I cant put in a rose into such a prominent place knowing that she'll likely not survive.

And so I work on redoing the plan for the roses yet to come: move Dee-Lish from the place by the AC fence, put her in the hole where the popcorn rose tree once lived  (she is in a pot now, ready to go into the garage) and where I had thought the Starlet Beauty Eva, with a nice obelisk, would reside. Eva will be going over to the bird feeder. I'd put Leonardo da Vinci there, but I think his bloom may be too traditional for a front row seat. And the Strawberry Macaron would be perfect, but she, too, is coming from a strange to me nursery, so I can't risk that. Dames de Chononceau will be (eventually) too tall, and Madame Anisette is too creamy -- I have to Eden creamy roses right behind. Too much cream is not good. Better to put this tiny Comtesse de Segur in the back, at least for now. In Dee-Lish's place.

 And this is when the mistakes just kept piling on. I considered potting her for the winter and sticking her in the garage, but then I read that if I pot her, it should be in a small pot, to be moved to a larger pot later in the game. Really? Does that go for all roses? It does. So much is using big pots initially a no-no, that I almost took my four ones from earlier in the day and switched them to smaller pots, but it struck me that since I wont be watering them much in the next four or five months, it probably doesn't matter that they're in their forever homes. 

It was getting very late and very dark by the time I sorted all this out.

In thinking about it later, I realized that like with perennials, you have to develop a feel for and an understanding of what you're doing. At the beginning, there are so many variables that you do not consider because you do not know that you should be thinking about them. Potting some roses was supposed to be the easy game. Sure, it took me forever to figure out the best soil for this (not one used for in-ground plantings, not one with any fertilizer in it, not one for indoor plants... and so on), and I went back and forth on whether to get burlap for the pots given the fact that my garage is not insulated, but after that -- easy peasy, no? No.

I realize that roses are not your thing (very few people grow them, even fewer like reading about someone else growing them!), but I'm writing about this anyway, because I think there's value in thinking about all that goes into learning something new. Pickle ball for Ed, roses for me: steep learning curve for both. And honestly, that's a good thing.

Now, let me put all this aside and think more about blue waves and such. Always nice to end on a sweet note of hope.

with so much love... 

working in the rain

Looks like we'll get a light freeze on Friday. It'll be our first -- a month later than usual. It doesn't really affect my work outside -- we'll be warming up the next day and the roses I plant do not mind a night of frost. I expect they wont shut down completely just yet. Look, this morning, my Sweet Mademoiselle put out these:

Nevertheless, it's not great weather. Light rain for most of the day. A drizzle when I walked Millie at around 7.

I'm posting the next photo (from our morning walk) with a puzzle for you: what's unusual about the block of houses (Steffi's House is among them)? Not typical of the American residential community? 

Give up? It's the complete absence of cars. The houses to the left all do have driveways facing the street, but no one has parked in the driveways. The curbside is empty as well. On the right -- my side of the street -- none of the homes have garages or driveways facing the street. We back out onto an alley. And, parking on my side is not allowed, so I am lucky enough to never have a car in front of my house. (I view cars as a necessary evil: I dont much like them, but I admit that they are luxuriously handy for the everyday.)  No cars, no people. Remarkable.

Breakfast. Millie is eating again. Her boycott of the "boring food" didn't work -- I did not change her menu. 

I cut a few blooms from the garden for my own morning meal.

We snuggle, she rests, I take her to doggie daycare.  I run errands, and of course, I vote. No lines, no hassle. We will see what comes of it. 

And at home, I set to work. Yes, it's raining (lightly) the whole time I am outside. Still, I move out two perennials, dig two more holes, and plant two roses. I am muddy. I am wet. But I am satisfied!

 

Today is pick-up-Snowdrop day. I'm curious: will the girl finally give up on shorts? 

Um, no.

Is she cold? She responds -- Gaga, it's so warm today! 

I think the girl's blood runs along a charged superhighway while mine trickles slowly and shivers at every puff of the wind.

It's a gloomy, drizzly afternoon. If we go back to her home, I'll have to walk their dog and get wet all over again. We have about an hour to kill (after she finagles a bag of fries at Culver's out of me, and before I have to drop her over at Girl Scouts). I suggest the bookstore. She readily agrees. Warm and cozy. Hot chocolate and a book. What could be better?

It is after 5 and dark when I pick up Millie. What's this? I brushed the girl so well this morning... 

 

 

 

... and now -- there is no white fur on her. The pup is gray and dirty brown. But she had so much fun! -- her dog care provider tells me. What more could you ask for!

 

 

Millie sleeps as I watch the election results, touching base with Ed every few minutes. Lookin' good. May it be one of those nights were you go to sleep satisfied, without the worry that in the morning, you'll wake up to an unwelcome surprise. 

with so much love... 

it has come to this...

November. Openly disliked by me for its weather, dark days, with a promise of darker yet to come. So of course, coming as no surprise, we have a day of drizzly cold weather. I expect nothing more from this month. 

There is a window of such light drizzle that it almost feels like someone is spraying rainwater cologne in the air. Millie is bouncy, joyous today! Wet air? No problem!

Breakfast for her is still on the meh side of things, but I have a topper to urge her on. And then she brings her toys to the corner chair and waits for me.

Here's a lovely detail about November: it will be Millie's birthday in a couple of weeks!

The girl is so full of vigor that I take her out to her yard for a decent zoomie spin.

She then plays, muddying her paws while I dig out dandelions. I'll never get even half of them, but the big ones at least are out!

The clock moves toward 1. The time of my first neighborhood Mahjong game. I had Chat GPT give me a five minute lesson, but honestly, I'm more than a novice. I do not play games in general and so I am a poor candidate for playing with serious gamers. But, it was sweet of them to ask me to join their group (um, they desperately needed a fourth!) and I hadn't the heart to say no. Besides, the hosting person lives just three houses down from me. How convenient can this be!

Today was just a trial run so that I could get the hang of the game. And guess what -- I won! (Which is a good indication that luck plays into the result. By no means entirely, but I assure you, I could have lost just as easily.)

It was, for me, a rare visit to one of the homes in the new development. Everyone here is a newcomer of course, though I may well be the newest of the newcomers on the block. This particular home had a different layout -- one that had room to support the two hobbies of the two who live there -- hers -- quilting, his -- woodworking. But let me stay with the quilting. This is no small quilting set up. She has been churning out the quilts for twenty five years now and they are spectacular. Here, I'll show you one or two:

She also does mosaics, but I think that's just an add on. My other neighbor turned a bunch of people here onto that hobby! 

I felt like the person who somehow skipped that part of growing up where creativity was forming and blossoming. I'm not crafty at all, I don't paint, I don't knit or crochet (these women do all those). And no, I don't weave or make quilts or throw pots. Sure, you can tell me that writing and photography require creativity and I don't disagree. However, neither of them require the use of hands. Gardening you say? It's a hobby, and it does require skill and lots of work with your hands, but once you've planted a garden, the maintenance part is just plain work. If you do not expand (I cannot!) or redo (I hope I don't have to!) failed plantings, you're pretty much tied to what you have put in place. You can improve the garden, but you're not producing something new. And importantly -- it's very seasonal. I'm playing Mahjong because my gardening will soon come to a total standstill. Water the overwintered pots once a month. How creative is that?!

But let's get back to Mahjong: I have to admit, the game itself was quite fun. There are challenges and strategies of course, and in my head,  I am still working through the reputation that it has (old women in China, playing late into the night...), but I had promised them availability once a month and at the end of the game I changed my mind and told them I would see them next Monday. It has come to that.

 

And what's going on with the roses? Well, they're still in transit and besides, the weather isn't good for outdoor work. I am resisting looking at rose websites because they are all launching their bare root collections (which are sent to our state in April)  and if you think there was an assortment beyond belief this summer and fall, well, the spring collections are about five times greater. I suppose it's a good thing that I simply haven't the space for more or else I really would spend all my retirement money and efforts on ... roses. I suppose there are worse ways to fade -- my father drank himself to pieces and my mother -- well, there wasn't much that brought her pleasure in her final years. Losing myself in the world of roses beats both those outcomes. Right Millie?

 

 

 with so much love...

time change

 A lot has been said on the subject of whether we should abolish Daylight Savings Time, or take it on year-round, or just stay with the bouncing ball we have in place now. The Bill to put in place a permanent fix stalled this year in committee and so we are bouncing around still. Today, for example, we ditched Daylight Savings Time and reverted back to Standard Time. Sleep specialists and those who study circadian rhythms say that we should stay with a year-round clock that doesn't spring forward or fall back. That we should align ourselves with the times that are given to us by the rotations of the planet and not tamper with the clock because our bodies do better with that than with the artificial introduction of Daylight Savings Time (DST). We are naturally aligned with Standard Time, they tell us.

I do not understand their position at all. None of it is "natural." Clocks are human inventions serving human interests. How can you say it's more "natural" for me to call 7 a.m. its regular 7 a.m., when just a few miles to the east, that same time is deemed to be 8 a.m.(in Michigan)? Back in 1918, the introduction of DST in the US was all about the war effort and conserving energy to strengthen our position in the conflict. After the second World War, when summer DST was passed into law on a permanent basis, the stated reasons had to do with recreation, outdoor activities and the need to have some time to get stuff done after work. I suppose it was so hopelessly dark in the winter anyway, that everyone gave up on the idea that we needed more daylight to get things done after work then.

The discussion continues. I'm in favor of more daylight in the evening, but then I dont have little kids starting school at 7:40 in the morning. So, ask me which I prefer and I'll say DST forever! But I understand that this is just my preference. What I don't understand is how it has come to pass that the experts are weighing in and telling us that it is better for us to stick with the clock as the cosmos intended because, you know, otherwise our circadian rhythms are out of wack and that's just plain dangerous. Plain nonsense, if you ask me. If they're out of whack it's because we all spend too much time on our screens. Which for once was not my problem last night.

It's not that I went to sleep at a decent hour (now that Millie is here again to regulate me). I did not. More like 2 a.m. again. I got very engrossed in work on my Rose Book. And what exactly is this Rose Book? It's a very large blank notebook where I want to list all the roses I have growing here, with brief descriptions telling me what I planted where and in what state of growth.

There are many reasons for me to do a Rose Book, but I think chief among them is my inexperience with seriously growing roses. I bought plants that should survive a Wisconsin winter (if properly prepared for it). But will they survive? Will they die back? And where did I put what? Should I expect fragrance? Tall canes? What does each plant need come springtime? I dont want to get down on the ground and look for tags everytime I want to check on a rose. The book will help me remember where I planted my 104 bushes, large and small (plus my seven container ones, though that's more obvious). 

Millie was wonderful this morning: she stayed put until I got up at 7 (which to her surely felt like 8). I'm not totally surprised: she had quite the evening, given all the trick-or-treaters. And with my being up late, she had her "last chance" walks deep into the night. Still, it was wonderful to transition so easily to the new time. 

I'd like to say that breakfast was wonderful on this first day of November, except that it was wonderful only for me. Millie has been rejecting her food for several days now. I subscribe to Farmer's Dog adn she used to love it to pieces. Now, and especially in the mornings, she wont touch it, which is especially troublesome since she is taking meds for her tummy issues and each untouched meal is a wasted pill. I have actually started sprinkling toppers on her wet food. She is very nimble at fishing them out of her dish. Oh, Millie!

(my breakfast)

She naps, I dig three more holes.  Sounds like a good way to spend the morning. For both of us.

The day is a little different (from other Sundays), because the young family is not here for dinner. Not quite sure why. I have long given up on making sense of their needs and plan changes. This does free up the day a bit more and since Ed wants to come over for a light supper (now that the house is people free!),  I decide to take Millie to Tati's for her pup cup treat. Just us two girls! Well mannered,well behaved, both of us.

(yum!)

 

 

Back home again, I give her a thorough brush through. She is used to this daily routine, and rarely fusses (much). Afterwards, she looks like one big cream puff. (It's rare that you see her eyes well: the dark iris fills the eye and hides in a frame of dark fur. This time, however, I catch her giving me The Eye.)

 

 

 

Of course, by 5 it's dark and it will be thus until March 14th (in the U.S. and Canada, and March 28th in Europe  -- Asian countries and African countries do not change their clocks, and Australia does, but of course, they're on DST right now so they don't belong to the dark evening club at the moment). Millie prefers daytime walks, although this morning she was very agitated by all the new smells left over in our neighborhood from last night's trick-or-treating. But we shall persevere! Time to bring out some evening candles, don't you think? After Ed leaves. He is not a fan of winter candles!

 

with so much love... 

 

  

default setting

I have never yelled at anyone in my life. Nor have I ever done the passive aggressive thing where you refuse to speak to someone who you think has wronged you, for ages and ages. Both were practiced by one of my parents. The other parent was of the calm sort, until he turned 60-ish and then it was all high drama, spurred on by alcohol. For me -- it's not that I dont get upset. I do! And I admit to, in the past, writing very upset emails. Spurred on by a glass of wine. But my default is to withdraw into myself until it's safe to come out. 

 I write this because there's a lot going on in this world and all around me, and it struck me today that I should be angry. Everyone else is angry -- where's my fighting spirit? But that missing gene in me is a real roadblock to what should be a state of fury and rage. Wouldn't it be nice to just scream at someone? I'll never know.

Nonetheless, I'm not blind. There's a lot to be upset about and, as I said, I do not have a missing "upset" gene. But here's the thing: when you pass 70, you realize that getting upset will interfere with finding joy in what could be the last good years of your life. A significantly more palatable option is to redirect yourself toward doing something you love. Roses came along when I was on the prowl for that something. And Millie? Well, she has been a godsend in a million ways! She is my rock solid super-girl. Do you wonder that I thought about her when I was in Paris? That I bought for her that striped Bretagne dog shirt I saw on my visit there to the pet store? And that I supplemented it with a beret, and put it all together for Halloween? To those in the know, I say she is my French fille. To most, I just say she is my little jailbird.

 

 

*.    *.    * 

Breakfast on this last day of the month.

So, Halloween. A cool one. With a chance of rain, but only with that chance. Millie, we're going to participate! I have a toy French poodle for you too!

 

But of course, participate in what way? It's not as if I'll be taking her out to collect candy! 

Maybe we can do a Halloween walk...

All those kids out and about! And people, finally using their front porches! Millie is transfixed! What the hell is going on out there? 

I had worried that she would be scared of all the noise, the activity. Initially, when we hung out on the porch, she was merely excited. Once it got dark and we went inside -- well, she had to bark. Tail wagging, but bark she did. At every child who dared pass our house on this night of spooks and goblins and Bluey characters and of course, the occasional Elsa.

Sweet sweet girl of mine! 

Tomorrow, I'll go back to digging holes for roses. Today, Millie and I hung out. And it was grand.

with so much love... 

malady

My symptoms weren't obvious. It was one of those things where you could think of it as a sign of illness or chalk it up to being old-ish. Doesn't everyone who is, say, past 72 have moments... okay, days... no, weeks, of fuzzy thinking, irrational behavior, dizzying sleeplessness and the like? But last night, I struck a new level of instability and this morning I woke up knowing that I was doomed. I didn't need a doctor to tell me -- it's so obvious. And AI confirmed it. When I listed my symptoms and asked if this was indicative of disease, I got a very clear "yes." I guessed which one and AI confirmed it. Here's a direct transcript: "rose fever" describes a passionate, obsessive desire of a gardener to buy, collect, and plant more and more roses than they actually have room or time to manage.

Millie keeps me in check. When she is here, I understand that my time to work with roses is limited and can fit into the pockets I have when I am not with the kids and she is in daycare. Too, her presence forces me to go to bed at a reasonable (albeit late) hour, because I know I have to get up between 6 and 7 (earlier, starting Sunday) and I know I need to get some decent hours of sleep.

Last night, she was not here and it happened to be the evening where I discovered that there are small growers  and retail outlets that post roses on Etsy and some of them have a fantastic reputation and importantly, they dont spend the dollars on marketing (in the way that the big nurseries do), so their roses are invariably less expensive.

For many, many hours I studied the various roses available there. I wasn't really in it for the purchase, but simply to get to know what else is grown in this country. Your local nursery has a very predictable stock of rose varieties (in the spring and summer). The nurseries that sell online are a little bit better in that their selection is substantial and it includes the rose varieties that any rosarian would covet. The modern English roses (David Austin, for example), the German Tantau and Kordes disease resistant ones, the lovely French pastels, and even a few of the Japanese roses (Miyabi, Masora, etc). Etsy, on the other hand, has stuff I'd never even heard of. Yes, the English ones, yes, the German and French, but also a plethora of Japanese shrubs and, too, Chinese varieties which have become popular among some growers recently. The caveat here is that on Etsy, you feel a little like you're being thrown to the wolves. Forget those review stars -- they could easily be fabricated. A rose for $1.95? Can't wait to get that in my mall mailbox! On the other hand, we now have AI to help us sift through reputations -- of both the roses and the growers. And so I stayed up late (until 2), reading, evaluating, lusting, and just learning. 

Eventually I did purchase four roses which they say will come in the next week (I really cannot plant beyond that, so if they come later, I'll have to overwinter them in pots which is not a great idea for me as I already have enough to store in the garage once everything freezes). Wait -- planting roses in November?? Rose Fever gone wild.

My friends, those who have been at Steffi's House and thus know the size limitations the garden presents, asked me yesterday -- where am I putting all these roses and other plants? It's a good question and I have to say, the last four roses incorporated into my Master Gardening Plan ("MGP") dont have a perfect spot yet. I am not going to overcrowd the beds I have filled thus far, so I will have to extend the planting spaces or move some perennials. I'll likely do a combination of both, though I am a little apprehensive about the Dames de Cheanonceau climber. I'm not sure my idea for her is entirely workable. We shall see.

 

Without Millie here this morning (she over-nighted with Julie because of the date Ed and I had last night), you'd think I'd sleep in, but no! I got up as if she were there, waiting for me. In part it's because I am always up and moving by 7-ish. And in part because I had all these ideas spinning in my head about rose placement. When you have the Rose Fever, it does not go away in the hours when you should be sleeping.

 

Breakfast was late (because there was no Millie to keep me on schedule), and not the best, because I took my laptop with me to the breakfast chair...

... and that's just not a good idea. Screen time just isn't restful or meditative. It's frenetic and oftentimes depressing. And once I was online, I read more about the roses on Etsy's. I am done with buying. Even a fresh budget month wont help anymore -- the shipping dates are too late now. Everyone is already shifting to reserving bare-root roses for spring. Surprisingly, I am not part of that bandwagon, mostly because I really do not have room for expansion. And I do want to see how the winter treats my roses. If they all die back to the root-ball, then I will have learned something. Not sure what yet, but it has to be incorporated into my pool of knowledge about growing roses here, in Steffi's Garden.

 

In the early afternoon, I plant a couple of perennials and I put in the remaining 24 bulbs. And I make some decisions: I dig out a big hydrangea and give it up to a neighbor. And I move some perennials. And I put up a trellis. And I do not forget about the other plants that are beautiful right now in Steffi's Garden.

 

 

 

And then, finally, I go to pick up Millie at doggie daycare.

(in the car)

 

 

Oh my girl! I cannot manage without you! I'm so glad to have you home. To keep me sane, content. To keep the Rose Fever at bay. To focus on what's before us and not what's coming in the mail "for sure" in 7-9 days. Come up here, little one. Time to brush you out!

 

 

with so much love... 

fragrance

If you take on rose growing and you start reading all the descriptions that are offered on a particular variety's fragrance, your head swims. It's like reading about wine notes on your palate, or more recently -- of dark chocolate. I bought many a dark chocolate bar in Paris based solely on the description of what I would taste once a small morsel would dissolve in my mouth. Last night I broke into one of those bars and I'd forgotten what I was supposed to be tasting, so in the end it tasted like... chocolate. Good chocolate, but still, chocolate. 

With rose fragrances I'm in a whole new to me ball game. I'm learning to differentiate between honey myrrh (Bathsheba Rose), lemon, apple and raspberry (Earth Angel Rose), notes of tropical fruit (Bolero Rose), fruity spice (Moonlight in Paris Rose), almond blossom, cucumber and lemon zest (Desdemona Rose), and so on. I find myself avoiding the buying of rose plants with modest fragrance ratings, even though I have so many roses that if only half gave out any fragrance at all, it would be one big perfume factory out there. I do have to wonder if it will be like chocolate: maybe they will all just have the fragrance of... roses?

Morning. Millie slept in a little longer and had no accident. I was happy with that until it was breakfast time and she refused to eat any of her beef meal. She has been less enthusiastic about her meals lately and I'm wondering if it's her tummy, her age, or if the meals that I give her are simply boring. 

She was good company for my own breakfast (once she moved to make room for me...)

She doesn't spend the entire time snuggled by my feet, but she always gives me a handful of minutes like that and I am intensely grateful. I cannot imagine my days here without a Millie looking into my eyes, trying to read where I am at, what I have in store for her, which way the world is heading.

I take her to doggie daycare on an empty stomach. I tried, I really tried and spent a couple of hours coaxing and cajoling -- she refused to eat. Still, she was otherwise her usual bouncy self so off we went. She is sleeping over at Julie's tonight because Ed and I have a date -- our annual one, it seems! -- and I thought she'd like it better at Julie's than in a crate for several hours in the evening. 

From Happy Dogz, I went to the big box Kohl's store, where I had to take an Amazon return, and of course, the clerk there did a little mini commercial for me on their Sephora products (there is a Sephora within the store). I assured him that I am not a Sephora person, but he gave me a 10% coupon nonetheless and I wandered over to look at the rows of cosmetics (forget it), creams (I'm well stocked) and such, to see if there is anything that I would even consider buying. And in poking around, I came to the shelves of perfumes. I love a good cologne, but the reality is that I never use it. I often take a bottle with me to Europe and if I remember, I spritz it on before a dinner out, but this is such a rare event that my two or three bottles of the stuff are still mostly full. Nonetheless, I saw that they had a whole shelf of Jo Malone perfumes (a brand that I like because at least in name they smell fresh and honest). Maybe I can find a rose scent just to wear for the day while I dig around in my rose bed? 

Again, the name and by implication fragrance of each bottle befuddled me. There is one called Peony and Blush Suede. As I recall, most peonies don't have that much of a fragrance. I read a further description of this particular bottle: This is a voluptuous and flirty fragrance, full of blooming peonies and opulent notes of jasmine, rose, and gillyflower. A juicy bite of red apple brightens the scent with a fruity twist. Accents of honey unfold into a sensual base of soft, blush suede. At once charming, fun, and totally seductive. My God! All that in one bottle? No wonder it's so expensive. And another one, called Bergamot and Sea Salt. Does sea salt smell? I sampled that one! Heavenly indeed, but I would never have guessed that it carried any notes of sea salt to my nostrils.

The world of fragrance is at once mysterious and intoxicating and alluring. I walked away without using my 10%, but I did douse myself with Bergamot & Sea Salt on one side and English Pear & Sweat Pea on the other. That last one sounds so very perfect, but maybe it's the imagery that is messing with my senses, because the scent itself is one of... lovely perfume.

The day is sunny again and I work in the garden. Planting bulbs of course (I only have 24 left for tomorrow!). Digging a hole for another rose,  moving a daylily and a false sunflower. Taking stock. 

 

And in the evening I am out for dinner with Ed at Sardine and it is wonderful. We sit as we have sat at so many restaurants -- squeezed onto a bench together at a table that should have us facing each other. He orders his favorite, I order mine, and I break with my wine-free existence and order a bubbly rose from Alsace and the whole evening is just pure pleasure. They gift us a sorbet for our anniversary and I have to smile at the red cross on Ed's shirt, and the red sorbet -- a dramatic burst of color for two people who lead very undramatic lives. But good lives. Happy to be close, happy to be intensely busy in our own peculiar ways, just happy to be as we are right now.

 

 

 

with so much love...