After All

Does it matter how long that mystery piece of something made of heavy fabric lay half concealed in my basement and was the object of some revulsion on my part--because I could see it was dirty and didn't know what it might be or might have been used for--and of my vows to sometime pick it up and get rid of it?

I hope not because it was years.

But Thursday I pulled it out from between things and from under an empty box--which I carried up to the recycling bin--and I looked it over, thinking I'd just chuck it, too.

But I saw it was only some dirty coveralls, nothing terribly mysterious there, because I figured they belong(ed) to Richard and were part of his days and years working as a granite fabricator and installer. And I say they are coveralls, not overalls, and there is a difference.

Anyway, I washed them.

They now lie clean and folded in plain sight on the small countertop of my laundry room.

Big Ben by Wrangler, size 46 regular, which would be too big for Richard now after his weight loss of 20 lbs., 100% cotton, Sanforized, in a blue and blue striped fabric. They are without holes or blemish of any kind and appear to be entirely serviceable.

Now I can't bear to chuck them and would like it if someone could use them.

What do you think?

Maybe I'll ask Richard. Maybe.

I'm just sayin'.

Full moon this morning, glorious and yellow through the trees. Soon it will disappear, but I have seen it. Lucky me.

*     *     *

I think of our baby girl back in Pennsylvania. Think of her every day. Three big brothers to be her champions, not to mention her father. My friend Sue sent me information about the name. Here's what she sent. You can go there. Just click here.

http://www.thinkbabynames.com/meaning/0/Wilhelmina

Remember, though, her name is Willamina. Willamina May, actually.
One thing I learned on this site is that Wilhelmina/Willamina (however you spell it) is not a popular name for girls these days. Good, I say. But I also say watch out, because it's likely to become so. When we named Lola, she was the only one. Now there are many.

Not that our family are trend setters. We just like a good name, you know.

*     *     *

The guy who did my lawns last summer charged me an additional $180 to treat the lawn with Zamzow products. And I paid it. Can you believe it?

Five treatments, he said, but I only counted four. Two nights ago I saw a commercial for those Zamzow lawn care products. You sign up; they call you when it's time; you go get the stuff and apply it to your lawn. It costs you $99. 

What do you think? Did I get taken? I feel like I did.

I'm thinking I'll have to sign up with Zamzow's and do it myself. I have a spreader, you know.

*     *     *

Current temperature: 62 degrees. Supposed to get to 66. We're ready for it. And I'm ready to be done with this cold. In the meantime, I feel kind of lousy.

Things you might hear in Pennsylvania

"Daddy, can I wear my Spider Man clothes today?"
"Not today, Edmund" (three years and one month old).
"Oh (sigh). I wanted to fight the forces of evil."

"I can carry Grandma's suitcase down."
"No, Edmund, it's too heavy. But you can carry her coat down."
Edmund picks up the faux leather jacket, looks at Grandma and says, "Where did you get this awful coat?"

"Hi, little Mina May."
"Can I hold her now?"
"Wash your hands."

I must leave it Ann to tell the Clinique story.

*     *     *

Or on an airplane in Denver from the . . .
Pilot: We're about to take off for God's country. Boise, Idaho.
Me: Oh, so you've been there.
P:  I love Boise. I hear all the streets are paved with gold.
Me: They used to be, but we've scraped it all up and . . .
P: Made rings and jewelry out of it.
Not what I would have said, but oh well. 

And what would you suggest?

Here's the thing. I don't cook much these days. I do occasionally, and I do prepare food for myself. But even when I have fixed something good, something I like, something, even, that I'm excited to eat. Even then, I have to eat it for days on end or else throw it out. Not everything can be frozen for the future, you know.
Throwing out good food is hard to do. So I usually just eat it.  And I reach the point, as I did today, where I say, "I do not want any more of that!" For a long time.

Like today. After four days of it, I am full, fed up, tired of tuna on toasted rosemary/olive oil bread with a green salad on the side. These are foods I really like. But I've had enough.

Poor me.

I wonder

Yes, I wonder how many of my children would agree with me that our goats were good.

I say they were, and it was a good time and a good thing that we had them. We learned stuff. To drink goat's milk and that it was good, especially if you fed the goats good hay. Good hay isn't easy to get or cheap to buy.

We learned responsibility--the goats had to be milked twice a day, no matter what. We learned that goats are smart. And stubborn, especially Cookie. She was big and pushy and strong and wanted her own way. But I was never afraid of her, never afraid to be in the pen with her or to take her up to the milking stand.

Carni (I don't think it occurred to us that we could change her name but I wish it had), our little chocolate brown goat, may have been afraid of Cookie. She certainly took a lot of guff from her. And Cookie got there first--wherever--and ate the most. Fun to watch her eat a peach or nectarine and plop the seed out the side of her mouth while she was still chewing.

Carni was younger, gentler, a pretty little goat. They both gave plenty of good milk, which we sold to people whose children were prone to ear infections. That's another thing we learned. The fat particles in goat's milk are much smaller than those in cow's milk, which means they--the fat particles--do not adhere to the mucus membranes of the human body and do not cause allergic reactions.

But the thing about selling the milk was that sometimes--often, as I recall--folks would call for milk, we'd set it aside, and they would never come.

We made ice cream. Goat's milk is rich and creamy and makes wonderful ice cream. And I made cheese. But eventually, we had more milk than we could ever use and decided our goat adventure was over. But wait. That didn't happen until we had our goats bred and got some babies. Cutest animals you'll ever see, so it's hard for me to tell that most of the babies we got we sold to people who wanted to eat them.

Does anyone remember how long we had the goats?

Our goats made me wonder about the scripture that says the sheep will be on the Lord's right hand and the goats on the left. Sheep are not smart. Really. They are not smart. Goats are. So maybe sheep are not willful. Goats are willful. Maybe that's it.

What's in a . . .

Does the name Moosehead mean anything to you?

The Trees, Part 5

At our first home in Caldwell, Idaho, we had willows and a crabapple tree. And when we moved to 722--our children's true home, they would tell you--there were trees already on the property. The one maple just off the patio was perfect for tying a rope on a branch and swinging out over the back yard. 

We planted two apricot trees, one Jonathan apple, one nectarine, and two cherry trees, along the back edge of the back yard. They gave us fruit, if we could beat the birds to it, and a sense of our own resourcefulness. Very rewarding, especially feeding nectarines to our goats. I think goats are highly intelligent, very interesting animals, but that's another story.

Here, in Boise, we planted no fruit trees. Only those I have mentioned.

And here, my trees make the ground uneven, which makes mowing the lawn difficult, I am aware, and they interfere with its health and beauty. I would like a lush green lawn to look at and to lounge upon. But I love my trees. In summer they are a lovely grove, right in my front yard.

That's for starters. Actually, their significance in my life cannot be measured or expressed. But they have much to do with it--my life--beyond shade in the summer, leaves to rake in the fall, branches to catch the winter snow, hope of new life in spring. They are more than all that to me. Besides, my children know them, expect them.  Grandchildren play on them, once in a while try to climb. The trees are just part of the place and that is right.

The Trees, Part 4

Our house in Santa Monica, where I grew up, had a tall palm tree in the front yard, a lightless beacon drawing us home. I loved the palm tree because it was unique. Palm trees are plentiful in Southern California but not in front yards. We also a beautiful bougainvillea climbing up the front of the house. 

In the back yard we had an apricot tree and an avocado tree up against the garage wall, both planted by my dad. The apricot tree I loved because I could climb to the garage roof and pick the fruit. I am sure I was first to eat the apricots every year. Once or twice I was "spoken to" about it by my mother. The apricots were for the family, after all. I suppose that should have stopped me, but I was only lightly deterred. To me the apricots were like the strawberries my dad planted along the fence on the west side of the house: if you don't get them first, you may not get them at all. 

The avocado tree never grew very tall, and I would not have picked the fruit for just me, but I learned to love avocados. My dad taught me. My dad also planted two dwarf lemon trees, and we had homemade lemonade on Sundays, which we loved.

Our neighbor's fig tree hung over the fence behind our garage, but I left the figs alone. I was not a fan of figs, and our neighbor was mean.

The Trees, Part 3

Trees require care, you know. Spraying and pruning before they leaf out, and, obviously, you have to be careful who does the spraying. And trimming back so as not to infringe upon the properties and rights of neighbors. Yes, yes, yes. I have already spoken on that subject.

It may appear that I am saying something here about my neighbors, and, it seems that the trees are not neutral, blank entities either. I mean, it seems that my trees are more righteous, more likeable than my neighbors' trees. So be it.

Trees also require watching, so that mowers and squirrels don't girdle the trunk or tear off too much bark and kill the tree. But do not all living things require some care? Well, maybe not the wild things.

The Trees, Part 2

In the back I have one dawn redwood, one Rose Hill ash--yes, I like those two varieties of tree, which is why I planted them--and a quarter of my neighbor's intruding sycamore over in the corner. (In autumn I also receive the leaves of my other neighbor's honey locusts--pesky, dirty trees.) 

The back yard trees are also big now. I watch them from my deck and back windows. They, too, are mine. We have grown old together, although the reality is less dramatic than that sounds.

Next door, to the east, right on the property line, the four pines throw their needles all over my lawns and anywhere else on my property they choose. I sweep and rake up bags full of them.  The Joneses put those trees in, and they--the pines--have grown to be enormous.  I would cut those pines down, if I had the say-so, but I don't. One is diseased. Anyone can see that. 

A new family has bought that house now. We'll see. What we'll see is whether or not they feel responsible for the reckless scattering of pine needles and do some cleaning up, whether they have the strength to take out the diseased tree. Bakers--second owners of the house--occasionally cleaned up needles but were in denial about the diseased tree. 

I haven't mentioned the twelve cedar trees that line the fence between our properties. Those cedars do not get the trimming they need, and so they occupy space on my side of the fence. I know, that sounds just too picky, and I'm really not that picky, but I have to mention the cedars because of the pines. That's what I'm thinking. Actually, on the other hand and in a spirit of fairness, I must say the cedars are not so bad, because they do provide privacy on both sides of the fence.