Closing Address: The Final View From Headquarters.

Now, a matter of real importance... the Lilac Disaster. 

I bought that plant.

When plants people give me die, I am sad. When plants I paid for die, I feel personally betrayed.

I wanted a big lilac bush growing in my big pot.

Skinny Tail, the squirrel —or one of his cousins—had other plans.

The plant has been dug up so many times that it appears to have lost the will to live.

Darn.

I really wanted that lilac.

But one plant's tragedy has become another plant's real-estate opportunity.

My Alocasia—the plant that looks like elephant ears but isn't—has now been moved into the big pot.

Another note of interest: I had one large clump of snake plant(s) (or mother-in-law tongue, if you prefer) and divided it into separate pots. For quite a while they just sat there.

I remembered, if such a thing is possible for me, that snake plants are among those plants that don't particularly like being tiny specimens floating alone in enormous pots.

Apparently mine have adjusted to their housing arrangements because they have finally started kicking out babies. 

We are pleased to announce that reproduction has resumed. 

However, as a safety measure, rocks were installed in all pots as squirrel deterrents. 

That concludes our August State of the Garden Update. Please stay tuned for fun and frollicking in September next month. 

And Now to The Plant Report

There has been considerable movement within this troubled area in August.

Two of my newest plants, a lantana and a sweet potato vine, arrived in what I can only describe as dead soil.

I don't know if soil can actually look dead, but this did.

I took the plants to the sink and soaked them thoroughly. Within a day or two, they were dry again. Maybe that was simply Houston in August, but I decided they deserved better accommodations. 

Unfortunately, the only pots I had available were too large.

Then I remembered my bird's nests.

I don't know what they're really called. They are those round straw cups that fit inside hanging baskets. You can buy them with or without the hanging apparatus. I put sticks in the bottom of the large pots, nestled a bird's nest inside each one, added soil, and divided the sweet potato vine between them.

I was a little worried because the roots were surprisingly small.

But I can see the vines have perked up. The leaves look happy.

For now, management considers the relocation successful.

I have used both bird's nests and will be returning to the store for more. I am delighted to have discovered a way to use one of my too-large pots without filling the entire thing with dirt.

This is also important because some plants don't like being alone in enormous pots.

Which plants?

Ha. I can never remember.

This is one of those gardening facts that enters my brain, gets filed somewhere and cannot be located when needed.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Casualties, Survivors & Reproduction: spirea on life support, ivy shriveling “kind of like my arms,” snake plants producing babies, and Pentas thriving while the butterflies refuse to participate.

August State of the Garden Address

Opening Address: The Squirrel Situation 

I am pleased to report that the state of the garden is strong. 

Well. 

Parts of it are strong. 

Other parts have been dug up by squirrels, baked by the Houston sun, trampled by tree trimmers, planted in the wrong place, moved to a better place, moved again, cut down to two inches in a last desperate attempt at survival, or thrown in the garbage. 

Perhaps I should say: The state of the garden is an ongoing situation. 

This morning I sat looking through my window and saw photograph after photograph I couldn't take. 

The doves were out. The squirrels were out. The wind picked up, and rain was supposed to arrive around four. Then the birds disappeared. The squirrels disappeared. 

That's generally a better weather forecast than my phone.

For a while yesterday, every time I opened my door, squirrels came running toward me. Apparently the squirrels now believe my open door is the path to the Peanut Department. 

The birdseed I put out yesterday contained sunflower seeds for the squirrels and smaller seeds for the Mourning Doves. The squirrels spent the day running the doves off while they ate the sunflower seeds. 

Today the sunflower seeds were gone. 

So were the squirrels.

The doves returned to clean up the rest.

I didn't get the Memo but I believe there is a system there. 

Stay tuned tomorrow for the Plant Report, including significant damage to the Airplane Plant and an ongoing investigation into the death of a Lilac.

I Wanted the Tree Gone. Now I Miss It. Of Course.

I had the teenage offshoot of my tree cut off recently. The same tree I described here: Waiting for the Rain.

I wanted to do it for a long time. And, even though the leaves were beautiful, dancing in the wind, I wanted to see what my garden would be like with more sunlight. 

The tree trimmers came to the apartment this week, so I let them cut it. 

Now I'm sorry I did.

But that's okay.

Sometimes you have to do the thing you've been thinking about before you can know whether it was the right choice. I tried it. Now I know. It wasn't. Besides, I doubt I've heard the last from that tree. It will grow back. Whether it comes back as another shoot, grows taller from what's left, or does both remains to be seen.

I wanted to see the difference it made. Dang. Now there is sunlight everywhere. It's like a giant floodlight has been turned on.

In the past two days, I've been watching the leaves turn in new directions. Plants that spent years growing one way are already making adjustments. The lantana is delighted. It is stretching its branches into the new sunlight as though somebody finally opened the curtains. 

Even the sweet potato vine is perking up. I'd forgotten how much sun it can take.

I've been moving pots around, trying plants in new places and seeing what might be happier where. I raked, which is no small undertaking in my garden. There are pots everywhere, with ivy growing along the ground and assorted plants apparently having established property rights in places I don't remember assigning them.

By the end of the day, I ached like the devil beat me.

The backs of both legs hurt. Even my poor neck had apparently been gardening.

I rolled Aleve all over everything I could reach and went to bed sore but satisfied. If you haven't tried the Aleve roll-on, you're missing something great. I'm still sore today, although considerably less so. The garden needs watering, but the garden is going to have to wait until its gardener can bend over again.

The wildlife is adjusting to the changes, too.

The squirrels have gone mad. Many of the branches reached from tree to tree or tree to roof or second floor. They never stopped jumping across their treetop jungle. 

Now they are chasing one another up and down the sidewalk, through the flower beds and up and down the trees. 

Whatever has happened, squirrel rush hour now appears to last all day.

I didn't feed the birds or squirrels yesterday morning, and every time I went outside they seemed to be everywhere. Today I put some food out as an "I'm sorry for the disturbance" treat. 

Then, later in the day, I was looking at the birdbath and saw two big blue jays in it. 

I've seen one occasionally, but never two together. There they were, both apparently deciding that my birdbath was the place to be.

A few days earlier, while I was playing with my plants, I had another visitor.

A little green tree frog. 

I've always had regular frogs around here, but this was the first little green tree frog I'd seen in my garden. I have no idea what he thinks about all this tree trimming. I hope he found another leafy place he likes.

So the garden is not suddenly perfect.

The tree I wanted gone is gone, and I miss it.

My muscles hurt.

The squirrels have lost their minds.

And I still have to water one more time today.

But something interesting happened when I changed the sunlight.

The garden began rearranging itself.

Leaves turned.

Branches stretched.

Plants I hadn't been thinking much about suddenly perked up.

The squirrels went looking for new highways.

And I started paying attention to all of it.

I began looking at my own garden differently.

Cutting down that tree changed the light.

And changing the light changed everything else.

Maybe that's why I can't quite say I regret doing it after all.

I miss what was there.

But I'm awfully interested in seeing what happens next. 

More later ... 

Waiting for the Rain

 

It’s noon, and there is a heaviness in the air.

The sky is darkening, but not quite dark. The wind is blowing and the leaves are gently dancing. Usually when they dance like this, they make shadows that move across my sidewalk.

Not today.

There aren’t any birds or squirrels out either. They seem to know something I don’t.

I did feed one young squirrel this morning. I call him Skinny Tail because he seems to have less hair on his tail than the others. I also suspect he is the squirrel who likes to roll around in my flower pots.

I’ve started monitoring him and his bad behavior.

The other squirrels mostly leave my pots alone unless they’re trying to bury a peanut. They particularly like freshly planted pots with nice loose soil. Apparently, I have been providing them with both lunch and recreational facilities.

There is a barren spot just outside my hedge. The hedge is probably a million years old. After years of trimming, the bottom is mostly bare sticks while the greenery blooms several feet above them. It’s actually rather sad looking, but I inherited it that way, so it stays.

Meanwhile, I have one enormous airplane plant that continues producing babies faster than I can give them away. During the last trimming, I took about six babies with good roots and planted them in that barren spot.

The squirrels promptly dug them up.

I replanted them.

They dug them up again.

At the moment, two or three seem to be taking root. A few others are struggling along, and I’m hoping the squirrels are finally getting bored with the whole project.

I’ve even considered buying a bag of soil and dumping some in an out-of-the-way spot just for them to dig. Maybe if they had their own nice patch of loose dirt, they would leave mine alone.

Of course, that raises another question: How much of the area outside my apartment am I entitled to turn into Barbara’s Botanical Garden?

I was reluctant to go overboard at first because I didn’t want to annoy either management or my neighbors. One day a member of management walked by, so I asked if my gardening was okay.

He said yes.

His face said something closer to, Yeah, okay, whatever. Please don’t make me deal with this right now.

I took the yes and ran with it.

Fortunately, my neighbors seem to enjoy the results. My upstairs neighbor tells me how much she likes looking down at the garden. The neighbor who shares the patch with me says his visitors comment on it. And my neighbor on the other side says she wishes she could have gotten my apartment.

So I think I’m safe.

And now the sky is a little darker. The wind is a little stronger. The leaves are still dancing, and I think the rain will be here any minute.

I hope so.

Not only does my garden need it, but every drop that falls is one less minute I have to stand outside in the Houston sun holding a watering hose.

Sometimes nature and retirement cooperate beautifully.

I can now speak a Foreign Language

I learned something really useful today. I saw a commercial with two older ladies trying to speak French. I use ChatGPT for research these days, says the purchaser of World Books in 1973. 

So follow me down this Rabbit Hole. I asked Chat on my laptop how to use the translation feature on my cell. I use my laptop because I always prefer reading on the big screen, and I can also read the directions on my laptop while looking at my cell, 

I have a Samsung, so I downloaded the ChatGPT android app from the Google Play Store. If you use an iPhone, I'm sure the process is similar. 

Once loaded, I clicked the Microphone icon and said, "Translate into Spanish." "Did the dog bite your husband?" It worked perfectly. It even asked me to choose a voice personality! 

This week, there was a rumor that Brian's dog, Tiger, bit someone, again. Turned out it was not true, but to continue the story: 

One of my sweet neighbors speaks Spanish with only a little bit of broken English. So it was one of those waving-hands conversations when I tried to ask if it was her husband. Another of our neighbors speaks Spanish, so I had to ask him to ask her if the dog bit her husband. See where I'm going. 

Then this morning, I see the ChatGPT commercial on TV with the two women using Chat to speak French. And, Voila! Just like that, I have learned how I can have a conversation in Spanish with my neighbor.

Debra, this could work for you and your French radio station. 

Interesting, huh. 

More later ... 

 

  

 

More Blog Clean Up

 I've done some more work on my blog to clean up the name change to Peaceful Retirement Living. Please update your records to: https://www.peacefulretirementliving.com if you have any trouble finding me. 

Just FYI

 For the longest time, I have not been emailed a notification of a comment on my blog. So, if I want to know if someone has commented, I have to go through a song and dance. 

I just got on AI and asked it to help me figure out what was wrong. It was very easy and, DUH, I should have thought ... comments were going to Spam folder. 

They used to go to my email. Who, How, When and Why something changed - I have no idea. 

Just a heads up. Check your spam if you are having notification problems. 

More later. ... 

And That, My Friend, Is Type 1 Diabetes

I woke up around 2:30 this morning. I’m not sure why. I’m feeling kind of hungry. Why at this hour?

Then my t:slim started beeping.

Warning: 14 units left. 

Oh, good.

And while we’re at it, Dexcom expires in 19 hours.

And it’s time to change my infusion set. At 3:48 in the morning? I can hardly read the messages on t-slim. Where are my glasses?  

I’m still muddle-headed and bleary-eyed and trying to figure out what needs to be done now and what can wait until the morning.

I put a new Dexcom box by the coffee pot. That way I’ll see it when I get up, and remember to change it.

I’m changing the infusion set now. Can’t find a good spot on my stomach. Dang. This is a drag.

Got out a new cartridge, needle, and insulin vial and filled up the t-slim cartridge.

It’s now 4:30 Saturday morning. I have nothing planned for the day. Do I lie back down and listen to my audiobook until I fall asleep? Will I fall asleep? Not sure.

I’m really thirsty, although my number is headed down okay. What I really want is a fountain drink. Coke. Dr. Pepper. Root Beer. I don’t care which. Just something cold and wet and sugary. 

I don't have any soft drinks on hand because I can't be trusted not to drink them. 

I make coffee instead. Drink the coffee. Sit in my chair. I don’t even turn on TV. My mind is still asleep, even if the inside of me isn’t.

And that, my friend, is the beginning of another day with Type 1 Diabetes. 

I Started in Lapland and Ended Up in Ukraine

I was watching the Finnish television series Arctic Circle, dubbed into English. (The snowy landscape is incredible—says the Texan who has never seen truly deep snow.) The story takes place in Finnish Lapland, and at one point Germany enters the picture during World War II. 

My first thought was simple. Why would Germany care about one of Europe's coldest, most remote places? The answer surprised me.

Nickel.

Beneath the frozen ground near Petsamo lay some of Europe's richest nickel deposits. During World War II, nickel wasn't just another metal. It was essential for producing armor plate, aircraft engines, stainless steel, and countless other military supplies. Suddenly, Germany's presence in northern Finland made a lot more sense.

But did my curiosity stop there? No. I wasn't looking for a lesson in World War II. I only wanted to understand a side story in the television series. But when the Nickel source made sense, I started to wonder whether every age has had its own version of a resource so valuable that it quietly shaped history. 

The farther I looked, the more familiar the pattern became. One question led to another, and before I knew it I was reading about nickel mines, the Bronze Age, coal, lithium, and eventually Ukraine.

The Bronze Age wasn't possible without tin and copper. These metals were often found hundreds of miles apart—in places like Cornwall, Afghanistan, Cyprus, and the Iberian Peninsula. Entire trade networks developed simply to bring them together.

Then came the Industrial Revolution. Coal transformed everything. Factories, steam engines, railroads, and growing cities all depended on it. It wasn't an accident that Britain's great industrial centers grew where coal could be mined. The same was true in Germany's Ruhr Valley and in the coalfields of Appalachia in the United States.

Today's critical resources have different names.

• Lithium for batteries.
• Graphite for lithium-ion batteries.
• Rare earth elements for powerful magnets used in electronics, wind turbines, and defense.
• Cobalt for batteries and high-performance alloys.

Then there is poor, besieged Ukraine. It possesses remarkable deposits of many of these same resources, including lithium, titanium, graphite, manganese, iron ore, uranium, and potential rare earth elements.

Taken together, these minerals help power much of the modern world, from the phone in your pocket to electric cars, airplanes, wind turbines, medical equipment, and national defense systems.

I found it fascinating that one evening's curiosity had led me from a television drama set in Lapland to reading about the critical minerals that shape today's world.

This wasn't meant to be an expert's guide to critical minerals. It was a rabbit hole I wandered down. With Google and AI, it's easier than ever to satisfy a sudden burst of curiosity. The funny part is that I'll probably forget half of what I learned by tomorrow morning. But I won't forget the feeling of discovering it.

And did you notice? I have a new rabbit-hole mascot. Whenever you see this little illustration, you'll know I started with one question that led me on an interesting adventure down the Rabbit Hole. 

Has your path taken you down any Rabbit Holes lately? 

 

Did I do something wrong... or did something simply go wrong

 

This weekend I drove over a set of railroad tracks a little too fast and a hose came loose underneath my car and started dragging on the ground. The car was drivable, if only to the repair shop. Not a disaster. Just one of those annoying things that suddenly changes your plans. 

Then an email arrived. An old work friend was in town and wanted to get together. I was delighted. I also knew I couldn't do it.

When she kindly offered to come to my apartment instead, I surprised myself. I said no. Not because I didn't want to see her. I did. I wanted to laugh with someone who knew me while I was still in my working/mother mode, leaping tall buildings with a single bound. 

But I also knew I needed to be alone. Then I remembered something else. I had promised my neighbor I would take her to the grocery store. She is so good to me, sharing wonderful home-cooked meals, and I genuinely wanted to help her and do my share. Instead, I had to tell her my car wasn't safe to drive. 

Three disappointments. A broken car. A missed visit. An important promise postponed. I soon realized I felt trembly inside. As I sat with that feeling, I found myself asking, What exactly am I feeling?

At first I thought it was guilt. Was I letting everyone down? Should I have tried harder to make everything work? Then another possibility occurred to me.

Maybe this wasn't guilt at all. Maybe it was grief or sorrow. We usually think of grief as something reserved for funerals. But maybe some smaller griefs or sorrows can quietly happen. 

The grief of the afternoon you were looking forward to. The grief of not being able to help someone you care about. The grief of a day that simply didn't turn out the way you imagined when you woke up.

That led me to another question. Did I do something wrong... or did something simply go wrong? Those are not the same.

If I did something wrong, then I should take responsibility. If I was careless or dishonest or hurt someone unnecessarily, that's guilt. Guilt asks me to make things right. 

But if something simply went wrong. If my car broke. If my plans fell apart. If life handed me three disappointments before lunch, well then, perhaps what I'm feeling isn't guilt. Perhaps it's sorrow. Perhaps it's grief. That distinction brought me peace.

I realized I wasn't a bad friend because I couldn't meet my old coworker. I wasn't a bad neighbor because my car wasn't safe to drive. I was simply a woman having a difficult day.

Retirement has been teaching me something I never learned while I was working and being a single Mom. Not every problem has to be solved immediately. Not every disappointment is a personal failure.

My problems did not disappear but something inside me changed. The trembling quieted. Not because the problems had gone away, but because I had finally stopped carrying grief or sorrow as though it were guilt. Maybe that's a question worth keeping on the back burner for all of us.

The next time life disappoints you, ask yourself:

Did I do something wrong... or did something simply go wrong?