So here we go again. This is a true sign of spring: volunteers. Accidental plantings. I don’t know what this is, but there are several coming up in this section of the garden. Parsnips, maybe?
Mystery vegetable?
Similar to the mini mums and tulips, each spring the daffodils come up next to the old roses. I plan to dig up the daffodils after they’re done blooming. We have other plans for that area, including moving the roses. The stones will join their friends in the rock garden on the other side of the house.
See the markers? I’ll find the bulbs this time, I will.
It seems like every year I post signs of spring and then – bam! – we get more winter. This time, my signs of spring will be one post at a time.
The barrels are back!
It’s a true sign of spring: the rain barrels are set up! Last year – well, last year was difficult. I’m glad to see one of my favorite garden tools – or should I say supplier? this is my main water source – is up and running.
It’s my turn. I cared for the boys, washed my hands frequently, stayed out of range of their coughing as much as I could — and it wasn’t enough. I’m on my second day home today. Chuck is back at work, but Amigo is still suffering.
In the category of Simple Pleasures, also known as For What it’s Worth, there are some reasons to feel (almost) good these days.
We have a new couch – with dual recliners on the ends. With this set-up, two of us can lean back and relax with the tissue box between us. No one fights over the couch because we can both stretch out.
Spring weather might return late in the week. Right now, none of us want to step outside into the cold air for fear of setting off a coughing fit.
I did the shopping last weekend, and I stocked up on chicken noodle soup. I’ve also thrown together crock pot meals to tempt our meager appetites while not spending precious energy in the kitchen.
Positives aside, I need a nap. After that, I need chicken soup.
Maybe it’s Trump. Maybe it’s the dystopian novels I read so often. My inner paranoid streak or doomsday prepper is begging to get out and take action.
Here’s an example. Trump claimed today that if he carries Wisconsin in the primary, he’ll go to a Packer game in the fall. Does he have any idea how hard it is to get tickets? Or how long the waiting list is for season tickets? Never mind. Don’t answer that.
Our primary election is next week Tuesday. The airwaves are full of campaign ads. The one that makes me slap my forehead and shout “Doh!” is Ted Cruz’ commercial that announces he is the only one who can beat Trump. “Do the math!” the announcer demands while showing a bar graph. Frankly, the best candidate to beat Donny Boy isn’t on the same primary ticket. Do the math? Someone forgot a variable.
I spent a bundle to restock our medicine cabinet with supplies for spring allergy season. It was costly. It would be more costly if I hadn’t stocked up and had needed a last-minute run to the store. By planning ahead, I was able to use two coupons and buy generic store brands. When all the allergic folks start breaking out in sneezes and wheezes, the shelves will be empty except for the expensive varieties.
I’ve used up the corn in the freezer. If we want corn, we’ll have to buy it from the store. We have one container of peas left, and several of beans (green and yellow). We salvaged the last two squash from the basement and noted that next year we need to cook them sooner, not later. I guess the vegetable of choice for the time being will be beans. As the summer arrives, I’ll put up more corn, an equal amount of peas, and beans? Let me think about it.
Meanwhile, I’m hearing about schools getting budgets zapped, stripped to the bone. Layoffs are rampant. My job is fairly secure, at least for the time being. I just did a promo for open enrollment a few days ago. Maybe it’ll help keep our enrollment up.
But when I go in to vote on Tuesday, I’ll have all of these issues on my mind – and more. All politics may be local, and it’s also personal. Very personal. Do I need to stock up on toilet paper? Build a chicken coop? Hide my retirement fund in a mattress?
Readers, help me silence my inner doomsday siren. Promise me you’ll do the most important prep of all: you’ll vote.
We were expecting 11 inches of snow. Or maybe it was nine. Or 10-12 inches. All depending on which forecast was on the TV or the radio or the computer screen – we just knew there was a storm coming.
So we prepped, as we privileged first world people do. At work, we ordered lunch from a local restaurant in case we didn’t get to do it at the end of the work week. We postponed our office Soup Day because the odds were against having to work the next day – and if we were in business, it would be tough to drag all the crock pots and supplies through the snow piles in the parking lot. As the long day (parent-teacher conference schedule) ended, we took the extra step of cleaning our cubicles and bringing home anything we’d left in the refrigerator.
When I got home, I still didn’t know if the blizzard that was moving in would convince our district superintendent to shut us down. So I prepped as I do, in this privileged first world home of mine. I charged all of the devices. The Kindle, my phone, my laptop – all got plugged in and charged in case of a power outage. I charged my FitBit because it is also my alarm in the morning. We keep a pretty well-stocked pantry, so feeding the troops (ahem, the family) won’t be difficult.
Petunia has been watching the storm from her hospital room on the 8th floor. This pneumonia that side tracked her at least put her in a room with a view.
I have the news, now. It’s official. No school tomorrow! Spring break starts early! You guessed it, people. This blizzard, with its white-out warnings and blowing snowdrifts has added one day onto our spring break. Mother Nature has a sense of humor – I’d better laugh a little, too.
Maybe I’ll start a few more seeds under my grow lights – as long as the power stays on!
Chuck and I helped the local arts community by writing a column for the newspaper about Amigo and the barbershop chorus in which he sings. He enjoys rehearsals, thrives on the music, and gets totally psyched up for the performances. We were happy to support them with our column.
The piece apparently got picked up in a Madison newspaper. How do we know? Well, Chuck got a card from the guy who represents our district in the State Senate. We’ll call him Senator Throwback. The card enclosed a copy of our column, and carried a message that said “Saw this in the paper and thought you might like a copy.”
Nice, right? Maybe thoughtful? Politically expedient, too, eh? Almost. It’s likely that one of Senator Throwback’s staff pointed out the article and took the time to find our address, and on and on. We know that. But anyway, how did something that insignificant make the blog?
We co-wrote the article. Both of our names and both of our pictures accompanied the piece. We wrote it together. Senator Throwback addressed the article to Chuck and only Chuck. In his eyes, evidently I don’t exist.
Make no mistake, folks: this omission counts. By leaving one author, the female author, off the note, Senator Throwback made it clear that I do not exist for him. That’s too bad for him, though, because he’s forgotten one very important point: my vote counts exactly the same as Chuck’s does. And Senator Throwback isn’t likely to get mine next election.
Nothing is certain, but the district is considering moving us, the online charter school, to a currently unused small building the district owns. Nothing is for sure, but of course we’re talking.
Pro – on the side of the move
- A decent sized parking lot
- We wouldn’t have to share space with any other schools
- We’d have actual storage space and maybe even a lounge space
Not-so-pro
- It would no longer be within walking distance for me.
- We like the beautiful old building housing our offices now.
- We’re close to downtown, a thriving downtown in a small city
- IT will no longer be in the same building we are.
Kinda pro –
- We’ll be near two good coffee shops with drive-thru windows!
Oh, well, it’s not up to us. But we’ll still talk. And for now, we’ll keep doing what we do, teaching from our cramped cubicles.