The Third Wedding Draws Ever Nigh, Third Son, Dahlia Edition

 Love in a time of Pandemic is even more precious. We are reminded of the terrible beauty of Life—that is oh-too-short, and that we should cherish the moments we are allotted. Trying to implement a wedding that has been in the works for over a year-- but now the details and the concerns change from week-to-week—has certainly been a lesson in priorities. Guest lists get slashed to the bone, plans for refreshments have new guidelines, and scented hand-sanitizer is the new fragrance du jour.

 

Through it all, there is—as it should be—love. And flowers. Because –at least in my opinion—once you have the happy couple and the dress, the other key ingredient is flowers.

 

We have the usual wedding flowers: roses, calla lilies, alstroemeria, in lovely sunset shades—but what we really need are Dahlias. Dahlias are prolific bloomers and come in every color imaginable. Because they peak in late summer, dahlias are perfect for a September wedding.

Sunset colors, perfect!

 

Unfortunately, I am not Dahlia friendly. I forget to dig them up in the fall and have killed more little beauties that way than I care to account for. I didn’t think to plant them this spring because we were at the then height of the pandemic and I was Oh, She of Little Faith.

Ooohhhh, pretty!

 

While not Dahlia Friendly, I am Dahlia Adjacent. When I went to Facebook, seeking dahlia growers, my FB friends reminded me that not only do we have two local companies growing flowers—shout out to Big Bottom Bouquets and Courageous Crow for their beautiful blooms—but my neighbor Joyce (hi Joyce!) who LIVES RIGHT DOWN THE ROAD FROM ME has a plethora of petals.

Perfection!

 

What can I say? I’m often very “pretty.” But, thanks to my FB friends’ reminders, I contacted Joyce. She very graciously offered to give me a garden tour. She is growing lots of varieties that will be perfect for the latest Sume Wedding, but my favorite—not at all in the color pallet-- was a dahlia Joyce introduced me to.

 

Meet “Elk Lips on Fire":

Elk Lips on Fires. Seriously. That is the name.

 

 Joyce said she bought it for the name, because the name is irresistible and she just had to see it in person. Which, as a fellow flower addict, I recognize a good justification when I hear one. We both had a laugh at the name, and I wondered at the backstory behind the moniker. For once, Google failed to illuminate me, but my imagination believes there was some sort of retaliation story in the naming. Probably involving pepper spray.

 

That’s my belief, I’m sticking to it. Bring on the dahlias!

Ding Dong Ditch 2

 My straw bale garden has been growing and growing, and I am in full on harvest mode—desperate to off-load produce onto unsuspecting friends and neighbors.

Unfortunately, most of the people I know are in a similar situation and the search for produce-receptive people has become rather competitive.

I had lamented my lack of victims—er, my lack of “recipients” on Facebook, and a couple of friends messaged me with various “someones” they believed would welcome piles ‘o produce—specifically zucchini. 

I know, I know-- I too, found it hard to believe that such people existed, but desperate gardeners are not about to look at a miracle too skeptically, so when I was informed that a such willing person existed RIGHT DOWN THE ROAD from me, I immediately loaded up a brown paper bag with zukes, put on my mask, and headed over.

Now, the more suspicious among you might assume the mask was to hide my identity but I assure you, this was not the case. I was just trying to do my part to mitigate any possible virus transmission; the fact that I’d be harder to ID in a police line-up was only a secondary consideration.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t worked through the entire produce delivery scenario in my head. And when my neighbor opened the door to my rather quiet knock I wasn’t quite prepared, and panicked. Do I just thrust the bag into her arms and run? Was I supposed to have put the produce on the porch, then ring the bell? Wait—was I supposed to set fire to the bag first?

While these and other thoughts zipped thru my brain, I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Luckily for me, my neighbor is a very kind person and she not only accepted the zucchini, she invited me to sit on the porch and have a visit—at the approved socially-distant distance, of course.

Embolden by this success, I will admit that it has been over 48 hours since I last shined a spotting scope on my garden...What could possibly happen that my newly acquired delivery skills wouldn’t be equal to the task?

Hubris. 

I haz it.

Jack and the Cinderella Pumpkin Stalk

I have a tale to tell, but it’s kind of hard to believe. You remember the story of Jack and the Beanstalk and how he traded his mother’s cow for some magic beans? He threw them away after his mom got a little bit miffed about the poor bargain; in the morning there was a towering beanstalk that reached into the clouds, and there was a giant, some thievery, bone-grinding and bread making, a talking musical instrument –I think it said “Help, help, I’m being oppressed!” But I could be misremembering that part. Anyway, the story ends with Jack chopping down the beanstalk—possibly killing the giant, but probably in some sort of pseudo self-defense—and living happily ever after with his ill-gotten gains. One hopes he at least bought his mother a low-mileage cow, if not a new one.

Now that I think about it, I wonder if this story was more an allegory about Wall Street than a fairy tale, but I digress.

My story is kind of like that. Except my name isn’t Jack, my mom hasn’t owned a cow in 50 years and the seeds in question are pumpkin seeds—Cinderella pumpkin seeds, to be precise.

Perhaps it is the Cinderella part that infused these seeds with magic, because I planted those things and holy cow! (Hah! There is a cow in this story after all!) Those seeds are growing at a phenomenal rate. They have already taken over my entire straw bale garden—it’s all pumpkin vine, stem to stern—the vines have forced me to remove my inner-pheasant fence by threatening to climb right over it, and now seem intent on neighborhood domination.

So far, there have been no talking musical instruments, ill-gotten gains, or bone-grinding. There was a bit of bread making-- but everybody is making bread these days so I’m discounting that.
But if a really, really tall guy starts hanging around mumbling “Fi, fi, foe, a deer, a female deer,” or mice begin to talk and offer to make me a ball gown-- I am out of here.

A Reckoning to Be Reckoned

A couple a weeks ago I made some rather bold statements about my hair. I said “When you shelter at home—who is going to see the whole hair mess anyway? Not to mention the later addition of masks—GENIUS! No haircut, no mascara—no problem! Put on a mask when you go out in public and voila! No one can recognize you!  It’s like putting glasses on Superman—no one knew who he was! Secret Identity! Also, she stopped wearing contacts and only wore glasses—so exactly like Superman! Maybe she IS Superman!”

I completely forgot to consider that acquiring food requires going out in public—and that can entail social distancing--standing in line six feet behind another person, for an extended period of time. Or in this case, six feet IN Front of someone.

Last week I was standing in my socially approved line at the grocery store when a male voice behind me said “I really like your hair.”

 Thank you, I replied, with a quick glance of acknowledgment over my shoulder, a smile under my mask.

“Did you know?” the voice continued, “Many of the Ladies’ Hair Salons are now back open for business.”

Uh. Thank you, I guess?

Clark, possibly Clark Kent--
more likely Clark Grisswald.

He then proceeded to tell me exactly which salons in five block radius were open. Bless his little darling heart. I suppose I should be thankful he didn’t offer to call and make an appointment for me, then and there—as though I were on some sort of hidden camera Hair Intervention show. The kind where they accost people, just minding their own, and hijack them into a beauty salon that specializes in lost causes and hopeless cases. Six hours later they reveal the New and Improved You to your disbelieving circle of family and friends.

Superman never had to put up with that crap—but Clark Kent did. In my rush to embrace my secret identity, I had completely forgotten all the comments Mr. Clark had to endure. Hashtag Super Hero Problems.

As my friend Philip would say, “It ain’t easy.”

Soothing The Savage Beast

When last we saw our heroine, she had lost her pluck, her happy thoughts, and a great deal of her shine. Everything sucked. She was bored. She hated rain. She hated work now that work was only comprised of All the Worst Things and none of The Good Things.

Now work was taking turns in the office, instead of hanging out together. Work was stupid. If our heroine had to put on pants and leave the house, she dang sure wanted to have her co-workers and lunch hour waiting for her. AS A REWARD. BECAUSE PANTS. Stupid Pandemic. Stupid Dam Panic*. Stupid Rain. Stupid Pants. Stupid Everything.

So, there was stomping, some muttering. Perhaps some threats were made—a few crayons lost their structural integrity. Perhaps an ill-tempered beast stomped around; a fit was pitched--perhaps it was more of an impassioned plea to the Universe—I can’t really say. But at the end of it, our heroine felt a little bit better. She took a bubble-bath and got a good night’s sleep and in the morning, when the stupid work from home computer locked her out did she get mad and cry? No, she did not. Cry, anyway. She put on her plucky, and her pants. She packed up the computer and headed in to work before the start of office hours. She could work from work before anyone else was slated to show, fix her problem and be gone—because plucky! While wearing pants! Superman, probably. Except. Now that I think about it—he didn’t wear pants...

Superman? Or Brave Little Toaster?
You be the judge.

Anyway, the point is--  she was taking action. She was pro-active! Sure, in her heart of hearts she was still anti-pants—but if that’s what society required of her, the robe could stay home. She is a brave little toaster, in pants. With too many curls and a mask. It’s an interesting look, I’ll admit that.

Grands are GRAND:
Aiden Allen & John Shane

Now, I’m not saying that our heroine reacquiring her pluck is what turned the tide. I’m not saying that the epic fit she pitched swayed the Universe to her side, all I’m saying is, that when our heroine recovered her pluck and went to work on solving her problem—magic happened. Suddenly, and without any forewarning, her county was granted Phase Two status, effectively immediately. People could get haircuts again! Or sit at outdoor cafés, in small groups, social distancing from other small groups—at up to 50% occupancy! It was exactly like that scene in a Fairytale when the Princess wakes up and the world suddenly goes back to technicolor!

What I am saying is---you’re welcome.

*Also—I stole the “Dam Panic” spoonerism from artist Susan Branch. The internet is fun!

Ill Tempered Beast

Welcome back to this episode of Over My Garden Gate, in which we discover our plucky heroine isn’t quite a plucky as we thought.

Oh sure, she got on board the This Is a Serious Pandemic train early on and settled in for the long ride with nary a complaint, mostly. She had her snacks for the journey, and plenty of TP, and with that mess of curls she calls a hairdo who could tell she already overdo for a haircut in March? She packed her favorite soapbox and at every whistle stop along the way was happy to preach the gospel of Stay Home Save Lives.

When you shelter at home—who is going to see the whole hair mess anyway? Not to mention the later addition of masks—GENIUS! No haircut, no mascara—no problem! Put on a mask when you go out in public and voila! No one can recognize her! It’s like putting glasses on Superman—no one knew who he was! Secret Identity! Also, she stopped wearing contacts and only wore glasses—so exactly like Superman! Maybe she IS Superman!

Superman. Probably
Who can know?

It’s true, she had a brand-new grandson she hadn’t held since he was not quite a month old, and a slightly-used 20 month old grandson whose vocabulary was developing daily with out her there to influence it. But thank goodness for the invention of Snapchat and FaceTime! Our plucky heroine could receive multiple pictures of Baby Aiden in real time and do a nightly book club slash story time with John Boy Shane, and it was a lot to be thankful for. Word of advice? Toddlers shouldn’t be served wine in their sippy cups—but it’s totally fine for Nannas. Sippy cups save spills, amirite? Cheerios and string cheese are delicious snacks. It’s almost like being there!

Our heroine’s pluck took on some serious damage when one of her sons underwent emergency surgery mid hospital crisis, and no one could go visit him. But God is good--all the time--and her friends pulled her through; after a second hospitalization he was finally on the mend and Life in Lockdown continued on.

The sun was out, there was grass to mow and flowers to plant and multiple home improvement projects start—in a super plucky fashion, our heroine bravely started project after project without actually completing projects One, Three and Seven because—well, because she’s an idiot, but that’s a story for a different time.

But the wear and tear on her pluck became cumulative. And when the rains came, and day after day became darker, and soggier, her pluck went AWOL. Our heroine suddenly snapped one day last week and became an ill-tempered beast who could be neither soothed nor solaced, nor sung to. She stomped around the house, cursing the rain and the virus. She declared she was bored, and mad, and sad; she hated rain, threatened to break all her crayons, and run away from home. Did I mention it was raining? Still? Again? And that it would probably never stop? Ever ever ever? The cats sought shelter under the bed, and the neighbors vacillated between calling a Realtor or calling a Priest...and then the strangest thing happened...

Tune in to next week’s episode, where we discover the fate of our heroine. Does she get her pluck back? Or do the neighbors end up lighting torches and storming her castle? Does she get one of those cute little white jackets with the sleeves that buckle in the back?

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

It’s Tuesday morning—if you can call 2:30 am “morning” --- and I can’t sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning and annoying the cats, I finally give in and get up. Rising at 4:30 am makes me feel virtuous—as though I were getting a jump on the day --- get the cows milked and the chickens fed, all before sunup.

After my first cup of high-octane tea I remembered I have neither heifer nor hen. Mostly because getting up early is not my cup of tea. By my second cup of tea—which is, literally, my cup of tea-- I remembered I have a Garden Gate due yesterday. Oops!

What to write? My SBG is still at the water/fertilize/nap stage so there’s not much to write about there. Do I write about the Stay at Home/Stay Healthy Don’t Kill My Friends Order? Because while I know it’s hard to do—I miss my kids and grand kids in a visceral way-- I also understand the science behind it and the need for it. But even I am not in the mood for that soapbox today.

Should I write about how weird it is when I went to Costco for supplies and they had zero fresh chicken? As in NONE. They did have plenty of ground turkey—and by plenty I mean they had the entire refrigerator case that used to hold chicken tenderloins, breasts and thighs stacked three deep … now holds ground turkey—spread one package deep over the entire case. It’s very good psychologically—It keeps people from getting that “plague of locusts” I-must-consume-this-before-you-do feeling. Which is good, because I’m not a fan of ground turkey.

I am a fan of bathroom tissue. Out of curiosity I check to see if they have any. Nope. But I was told they had some earlier.

As Americans, we are so used to plenty, so used to buying in bulk at Costco—because it’s COSTCO for heaven’s sake! It’s what they’re FOR, and having limits on items is rather disconcerting. Once again, I’m glad they have them, I just wish we were back in a time when limits weren’t necessary.

None of these topics are entertaining me this morning; they are all a little too close to the bone. So, after my third cup of tea I thought, “What if I tell you about my many adventures in on-line dating?”

GULP.

I think I’m going to need more tea.

Gardening in a Time of Pandemic

The sun has been lovely these last couple of days. I find it so much easier to be optimistic with the sun on my face. My gardens are receiving a little more TLC that is “normal”—in part because of the sun, but the truth is the Stay at Home order has a lot to do with it. “Stay at Home” means not running off to nurseries near and far and indulging my flower fixation. Or buying shoes. Or whatever. Anyway, I’m at home.

Working on the layout.

I’ve decided that I want to have a vegetable garden this year. Since I own neither tiller nor tractor-- and am far too lazy to employ a shovel—I’ve decided to go the Straw Bale Garden route and save myself a lot of labor. My bales were well under $10 each, and available locally—Overby’s Hay & Grain, for the curious.

For once, I’ve started the 12 day “maturation” process well ahead of local planting time, so I’ve had time to play with the design layout of my garden. I’m going rather small—a five bale garden—and have oriented the garden to best take advantage of the sun, while still staying clear of any lawn shenanigans that might ensue over the summer: Slip ‘n Slide, Beersbee—it’s Frisbee, but with beer, Wiffleball, Cornhole, what have you. I’m holding on to optimism that perhaps some little “normal” will be reestablished and the clan can gather once more. When it does, I plan that my SBG won’t be in the path.

I’m still mulling over what I want to plant: tomatoes are a given, but there are carrots, green beans, potatoes, radishes, lettuces, pumpkins...I don’t think corn is a good crop for SBG—too top heavy/tippy and would use up a lot of my available planting area---and I’m having fun choosing what to plant. I may or may not have added a packet of zucchini seeds to my shopping cart. Strange days indeed.

I have NO IDEA how those
zucchini seeds got in there!

I have a package of marigold seeds to plant—I’ll transplant the seedlings into the sides of the bales. There they can both beautify and protect, as many garden pests don’t like marigolds.

One of my favorite summer activities that revolves around gardening is taking and giving garden tours with fellow gardeners. I suppose this year we can do it “virtually” --but they will be a lot less likely to help me weed or deadhead. **sigh** Fortunately, one of the upsides of SBG is you have far fewer weeds to pull.

My neighborhood is busy with vegetable garden prep, and I have a feeling many people will be looking for a healthy, at-home hobby. Gardening can nourish both body and soul, so go get your grubbies on and go play in the dirt. 

Or the straw, whatever.

Write It Down: Day One of LockDown by Any Other Name

Now is a good time to keep a blog/journal/diary of current events from your perspective. Keeping on in your own handwriting is a bonus--I'll award extra credit points for hand written entries. And the end of this project you may cash in those extra credit points towards a toaster oven.
Editor's note: there is no toaster oven, but please feel free to play along.

In case you are wondering WHAT in the heck you're going write about, I've compiled this handy-dandy list of writing prompts:

My must haves--plus tea.

1) Describe your living situation: who/what/where/how. Be sure to include a tally of available rolls of "bathroom tissue."

2) Biggest fear. Might as well haul it out into the daylight and take a look at it.

3) Thing you miss the most.

4) Dumb thing you miss.

5) Something you don't miss AT ALL/A.K.A. a good thing that has come from this.

6) What is your daily routine like? "My New Normal."
6b) Revisit this topic every 10 days and track the changes.

7) Are your meals/meal times different? Describe a meal you just had.

8) Imagine a Post-Virus Cookbook--what would the recipes have as a main ingredient?

9) Crafts using T.P.: will we wallpaper with it?

10) Celebrity you would most like/dislike to quarantine with.

11) Write a Covid-19 Haiku. (5/7/5 if you've forgotten)

12) "When I realized this crap was real"--day/event.

13) Turns out, this was all a dream-- like that season of Dallas with Bobby in the shower. Here is how my friends reacted when I told them my *dream.*

14) Is the POTUS a Zombie Creator? Discuss. Outlandish claims welcome.

15) Make a list of all the positive outcomes: i.e. birdsong, cleaner air, etc. or relate a positive story you know about.

16) What is your go-to stress reliever? Before/Now. Same/Different? Personally--i'm all about the bubblebath.

17) Write a Covid-19 Cinquain. Google cinquain. I'M NOT DOING YOUR HOMEWORK, BOB!

18) Write a short story about a person waking up with amnesia and trying to go about their daily "before" life. What do they tell them selves to explain all the differences?

19) Write about Food Banks in a time of Covid.

20) What color would you repaint your shelter-in-place surroundings if you could?

21) Re-name the color rainbow--think fingernail polish names or paint colors. What would you call beige?  What would you call__________?

22) Weirdest thing you bought on-line.

23) Weirdest food you purchased in a grocery store.

24) What/When was your last day of "normal" life like?

25) Dream location to shelter-in-place?

Feel free to share these prompts with others, kindly give credit here to #OverMyGardenGateBlogger.
Thanks, and stay safe!

Virtual Real Life

By now, even the most blissfully oblivious among us have noticed that “normal” is a bit different than “business as usual.”

There are all kinds of advice and information—even mis-information-- available on public safety, proper hand washing, social distancing. Hopefully you’ve paid attention to the Very Fine Advice available, but if you haven’t, here’s the cheat sheet: 1) You can have the virus and share it BEFORE you have any symptoms. SO-- just because y’all are feeling find doesn’t mean you still can’t infect grandma. And since I’ve officially become a grandma, I TAKE THIS PERSONALLY.

2) Wash your hands often, for at LEAST 20 seconds, WITH SOAP (your mom was right about that) and turn off the water with a paper towel if possible. Disinfect surfaces often AND STOP LICKING DOOR HANDLES, I SEE YOU, INTERNET. For the rest of you, stop touching your face.

3) To social distance: just pretend you’re better than everyone else and space accordingly. Just kidding--but do keep 6-10 feet apart in public. That means new line etiquette, don’t get in your cashier’s face when paying/ordering, and you can go to Disneyland when this is all over, but not now. STAY HOME. Yes, you can go for a walk in the woods, but stay 6-10 feet away from bears. Or other hikers, whatever. Google “flatten the curve” and see why it’s so important we do this NOW. As an aside, I can only hope someone hasn’t turned #Flatten the Curve into one of those risqué sites...

If you can afford to, consider keeping your appointments with small business owners, but keep them “virtually”. Order your coffee, pick it up and then chat with your buddies via FaceTIme. Personally, I’m “keeping” my appointments (paying for them) but not going “in office” to get them. I can help keep my local economy going, I can keep myself and my neighbors safe. I know not everyone can do this—but if you can, please consider it. I promised my hairdresser I wouldn’t cut my own bangs in the meantime, so I believe she’s on board with my plan.

4) Take care of your immune system. Laughter is good medicine, so here’s my recent favorite, regarding toilet paper hoarding: “Back in my day, there was so much TP, people used to literally string it up in the trees of their enemies.”

 Eat your veggies, drink plenty of water and get plenty of sleep. Mom was right again!

 Check in with your neighbors, Senior Citizens, and friends. We all need connection, even as we “distance.” Thinking about others takes your mind of your own worries. 

We truly are all in this together. Six feet apart.