Signs that the O.K. Chorale has been — well —

I think I’ll address this in the form of a top ten list. Here you go, readers:

The Top Ten Ways Daisy can Tell She Hasn’t Blogged Recently. 

10. Several friends have changed their Facebook profile pictures and I didn’t notice.

9. Plurk updates have gone down in quantity.

8. The laptop didn’t need charging.

7. I’ve known the final Jeopardy answer twice and haven’t bragged about it here.

6. I’ve had more posts on my employer’s national blog than on my own.

5. The latest ER visit had me saying “I hope the doctor on duty isn’t the crabby one.”

4. I’ve spent more time with my new blood pressure monitor than with my laptop.

3. Amigo asked if I’d blogged the latest captioning errors on MeTV’s series “Emergency.”

2. My coworker’s parents, regular readers, asked her to check on me.

1. I started getting emails saying “You haven’t blogged. Are you okay?”

In conclusion, my friends and family, it’s been rough around the O.K. Chorale. I was started to feel stronger and walk a little less lopsidedly (that is SO a word), and my back started giving me spasms so agonizing that we went to the E.R. (see #5). I’m healing, but I’m low on energy. I’m back at work full time, but not doing much else (see #6). I come home, throw my herbal heating pack in the microwave, and sit down to watch Emergency with Amigo (see #3). Supper has been a throw-it-in-the oven affair. Thank goodness for the nearby meat market that sells ready to eat lasagna, among other things!

I’m not kidding when I say I’ve rearranged the desk in my “office” to make room for a new tech toy (see #4). Petunia checked the reviews and made a few calls and found us a portable electronic blood pressure monitor. So far, the results are good – BP results, that is.

For now, I’m going to adjourn and watch Final Jeopardy. The category tonight is The Academy Awards. I don’t stand a chance.

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Adventures on the Internet

A middle school student in our virtual school had a lesson blocked by his “net nanny” filter program. Why? The net nanny determined this lesson had a Mature Theme.

The lesson: Relationships Between Parallel and Perpendicular Lines.

My students must meet certain source requirements for their research, including print and online sources. I teach a lesson about recognizing reliable sources on the Internet. They always complain a little when I say, “No Wikipedia!” In addition, I don’t want my kiddos reading a conspiracy theory site and deciding that because it’s on the web, it must be true. So when I saw this on Facebook, I borrowed it.

“Quotes found on the Internet are not always accurate.”

— Abraham Lincoln

On another note, the closed captions on MeTV continue to entertain. In today’s episode, “blood pressure” became “blog pressure.” I can identify with the first phrase, but I don’t feel pressure to blog. I do it for fun. In fact, blogging is kind of like gardening: cheaper than therapy!

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Compost – it happens

Chuck wanted to know where to put the ashes when he cleaned out the fireplace. I told him to dump them in the small compost bin. He replied “The pretty, fake terra cotta, un-green plastic one?” Hah, my dear, it’s made from recycled materials AND I got it free in exchange for posting a review. That must be worth something in the O.K. household.

Anyway, it reminded me of some fun I had with La Petite when this compost bin was new. Here you are, folks, from a few years back – the new bin. 

I’m a garden geek. My son calls me a green freak. My daughter? You’ll see.

Husband tolerates and even supports my green proclivities. In fact, he brought home my first composter and later bought me a pitchfork to go with it. Lately I’ve been hinting that I need a second compost bin. “What’s wrong with this one?” he asked. “Nothing’s wrong with it; it’s full.”

That was in May. Luckily, compost compacts as it decomposes, making room for more. Now it’s August, and the bin is filled to the brim with organic matter. It needs stirring, and then I’d really like to leave it alone for a full year – a full twelve months or more. That means next spring I would not empty the bin and till it into the garden soil; I’d let it sit until the following spring instead, giving everything a better chance to decompose completely. But meanwhile, where would my kitchen scraps and yard waste go? Enter the new composter.


My new composter is smaller and cuter than my big beautiful bin. It has some nice features, too. This composter has a base and an insert to keep the solids off the bottom and let the liquids, the “compost tea,” drain off, and a spigot in front for collection. Compost tea makes a great fertilizer, I’ve been told.

When I want to empty the compost, I simply open the back. It stays open nicely, which will make it simple to shovel the rich soil enhancer into my wheelbarrow.


The holes in the sides have purpose: they allow air to circulate and speed up the process, and the holes are big enough that I can poke a broom handle or stick inside to aerate the compost itself. And last, I mentioned it’s somewhat smaller than my old one. It’s still a hefty size – big enough to fit a college senior inside. Yes, that’s La Petite, modeling the new composter for all of my lovely readers.

As soon as I decide where to place it, I’ll post more pictures! Then I’ll fill it with kitchen scraps and weeds and other organic goodies, and let the compost happen.

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Gardening in Three Minutes a Day

I’m still following the “Three Minutes a Day” philosophy in getting the garden ready to go – er, ready to grow. Three minutes are often all I can spare these days. Three minutes of time or three minutes of energy or three minutes of sunshine – until the weekend, that is. So I wonder. Does worry count? Thought? Decision making? Dilemma solving?

Dilemma Number One: weak, wimpy seedlings. I decided to try Miracle Grow potting soil this year, and the seedling came up faster. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing, though. Those tomatoes and peppers of any height (relatively speaking, of course) have weak, white, spindly stems. These plants need a lot of sun and a lot of fresh air. They’re too weak to stand up right now. What to do, what to do?

Dilemma Number Two: straw bale prep. I need to review the research, buy the necessary fertilizer, and set up my calendar for prepping the straw bales. Where is the best place to buy fertilizer?

Dilemma Number Three: I plan to move the mini-greenhouse shelves to the deck later this week. What shall I do with the grow light that’s hanging on the shelves now?

Dilemma Number Four: The mini greenhouse shelves are not big enough to hold all the seedlings. Which should go outside first: the weaker or the stronger?

Today’s three minutes happened twice. One: I put the seedlings outside to soak in some real sun and to toughen up in the light breeze. Two: I water the seedlings.

And on we go. So much to do, so little strength – I’m as weak as some of the seedlings. When they’re falling over instead of waving in the wind, I’m getting a little bit done and then sitting down to rest.

Somehow, no matter what the dilemma, the plots seem to take shape.

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Believing in a Future

Planting a garden means believing in a future.

Didn’t I post a quote like that in the recent past? I’ll search the archives. When I ran a quick search for “garden future quotes” I found everything but this one, so I’m unable to source it quite yet.

Meanwhile, back at the O.K. Chorale, I am sitting still and resting, stretching my legs as much as I can tolerate, and keeping calm. Mostly.

The big bunny still takes her responsibilities seriously in the role of service animal. I took a half day at work, stayed home for the morning, and even though I’d gotten up to feed her at the normal time, she came in a little later and made sure I was up. First she thumped, loudly, and then she scrabbled and scratched the blankets hanging down from the bed. I gave in and got up, and then she sat watching closely while I checked my blood pressure — so closely that I almost expected her to stick a paw in the cuff and check her own.

I’m discouraged from anything resembling physical effort. Bending, lifting, twisting, and straining are all on the “no-no” lists. That means digging in the dirt, spreading topsoil, carrying pots of seedlings out to the deck, or wrestling with a rain barrel are all outlawed. For now, that makes sense. I am stiff and sore, and I tire easily. I don’t know how long the remnants of last week’s hematoma (look it up, and trust me, it hurt) will get in my way.

On the bright side (there’s a little resilient thinking) Mother Nature has delivered rain for most of this week. The weather hasn’t encouraged garden work, so I miss it a little less. But as soon as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, I’m going to want to garden.

Gardening has always been an ingredient in my healing, a strong part of any recovery. Taking the time to start seeds indoors kept me looking forward after my hysterectomy. Now it’s May, and by the end of this month I hope to have my plants in the dirt.

That’s where the faith in the future really comes in. When it’s time to plant, and I’m looking around and envisioning the harvest, my belief in the future is at its strongest.

 

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Resilience

The term resilience came up in one of Erica Diamond’s posts on her blog, Women on the Fence. A guest blogger talked about her cancers – two bouts with two different cancers – and the strengths she discovered while fighting for her life.

The CEO of the company that oversees my teaching job is showing her resilience against cancer – also for the second time.

The first time I heard about resilience was in a training for teachers. We were learning about families with drug and alcohol problems, how to recognize the problems, and how to help the children get the help they needed. Our training showed that resilience comes in many forms and it can be developed and strengthened.

Resilience is a strength, the strength to hold on and survive. It’s more than recovering from influenza, although influenza can knock even the strongest person off her feet for a while. It’s more than getting through that last class for the advanced degree, although that certainly takes strength and endurance.

People who are resilient are not the ones who win all the time. Those folks on the top have strengths, too, but they haven’t been tested. Those who show resilience get tested and come up and out of the test stronger than before. And somehow, resilient people keep a sense of humor.

What doesn’t kill me may make me stronger, but even more than that, every time I find humor in a difficult situation, I win a small battle.

Readers, how do you show resilience? Where do you find strength when the going gets tough?

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Thanksgiving in April

Signs that I am a literary type —

Every time the nurses asked me the standard question, “What month is it?” I was tempted to say, “April is the cruelest month” instead of simply “April”. I did find myself saying, “Still April for a few more days!”

My dear darling husband “Chuck” suggested that pre-surgery, maybe I was like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. I had a brain, but it wasn’t running on all cylinders. Now that the carotid artery is unblocked, who knows what ideas might surface!

I spent one morning chatting with the nurse about our favorite authors.  It all started when she noticed I’d brought my Kindle with me. I recommended a book for her, and she recommended one for me.

The day nurse showed the tender spot on my abdomen to the night nurse and warned her that I was very, very sensitive there, but the pressure had gone down significantly since I moved onto the ward. I pointed toward the ceiling and told her, “See the footprints? Those are mine.” The pain was bad, folks. No way around it. Relief, however, was on the way.

Chuck and I shared a funny with the night nurse when she asked me to close my eyes and touch my nose. M*A*S*H fans to the end, we giggled a little about a recent episode when Blake was treating Radar and asked him to close his eyes and “…touch the old nose.” Radar, literal as always, closed his eyes and reached out to touch not his own nose, but the Lieutenant Colonel’s.

On a more serious note, people, I’m very thankful for many things. Most of all, I’m thankful that I didn’t know the extent of the blockage in my carotid artery until after the scan and surgery were completed. I freaked out a little (okay, I admit it, a lot) when I got the news. Now that it’s over, I can just feel relieved. Very, very relieved.

 

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And More Awareness

Today’s political climate is scary in that so many seem to have forgotten the fights that have already been fought. Seeing so many attempts to return women to a marginalized group (I can’t bring myself to say “minority”) reminds me of a story from not-really-so-long ago. The original title was “Being a Woman”. Here it is, courtesy of Grandma Daisy. 

I almost posted a quiz – a list of feminist slogans and quotes along with a list of years, with an opportunity for readers to match the two. Instead, I offer you an chance to reminisce about creativity in the feminist movement. Remember the Barbie Liberation League? In the 1990s….Grandma Daisy does this sort of storytelling best, so here she is.

Oh, children, your world is different, thank goodness. I lived through a fascinating and yet difficult time we called the Women’s Movement, or Women’s Liberation, Women’s Lib for short. We reminded lawmakers and voters that we are people, endowed with basic human rights along with our, ahem, voluptuous figures. To put it bluntly, we didn’t need balls to make good decisions about …. oh, your mother is listening. I can’t say that in front of you young ones., so back to the history behind the story. We had rallies, we held demonstrations. We ran for office ourselves instead of waiting for men to take care of our needs. We worked to pass laws that protected our right to make health care decisions.We built awareness of the importance of birth control and how much that birth control meant for our freedom, our liberation. We fought for equal pay for equal work. Laws passed, medications improved, but attitudes were harder to change. 

Sometimes women got creative to make a point. The Barbie Liberation League was one such example. We females were determined to be good students and make it “cool” to be smart. Math and science were supposedly men’s territory, so girls had some catching up to do. Adult role models like teachers and nurses pushed us young ones to go farther, higher, faster into the world of advanced math and sciences. 

Barbie dolls. You know the doll, right? Of course. They’re at the bottom of your sister’s closet with the rubber ducky and the worn out blankie she won’t throw away. Barbie, the doll with the unrealistic figure (39-21-33 at 6 feet tall were the proportional measurements, if you’re into trivia) was a favorite of many young girls. Girls knew she wasn’t realistic, but some tried too hard to look like her and became anorexic. A doll for a role model? Well, it happens.

When the Talking Teen Barbie came out, she had a limited vocabulary. Unfortunately, the people who programmed and recorded Barbie’s phrases had been in a fog throughout the entire women’s movement. Take a look at these examples.

Will we ever have enough clothes?

I love shopping!

Math class is tough.

Wanna have a pizza party?

In the old toy store aisles, G.I. Joe was a parallel type of doll, er, action figure, on the little boy side. His vocabulary was macho and tough – what they called “all male” back then. 

This is going to be rough. Can you handle it?

I’ve got a tough assignment for you!

Mission accomplished. Good work, men!

The Barbie Liberation League took action. They bought Talking Barbie and Talking G.I. Joe from toy stores, swapped out the voice boxes, and then repackaged the dolls and returned them to the stores. Little boys and little girls got Barbies that said, “Vengeance is mine!” and G.I. Joes that suggested, “Let’s plan our dream wedding.” When Joe proclaimed “Math class is tough”, it sounded ludicrous.

Well, darlings, that was the point. If a man couldn’t say it without sounding idiotic, why should a woman repeat that phrase and internalize that philosophy? Talking Barbie wasn’t pulled off the market, but the feminists and the Barbie Liberation League had made their point. Being female didn’t mean being less intelligent. It still doesn’t. 

Anyway , my grand-precious ones, some day I’ll tell you what we did when the guys at our college claimed that women couldn’t play jazz. Hah! We showed them, all right. Now go practice your trombone, and I’ll tell you that story later. 

 

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Reviving Poetry

I added a few Book Spine Poems to A Mother’s Garden of Verses. I contributed a post to my corporate employer’s national blog. In that contribution, I created examples of my own and recruited a student to contribute another.

Meanwhile, I read posts and editorials and commentary about Autism Awareness month. Awareness Months bug me. The concept of raising awareness, of shouting “We are here! We are here!” just doesn’t cut it any more.

Instead of posting for Autism Awareness Month, I’ll stick to celebrating poetry.

Most of my examples were winter poems because I wrote them for a lesson I taught at the end of March. The month of March in Wisconsin managed to come in and go out like a lion this year with cold, colder, and coldest followed by snow mixed with rain and sleet. We were still wearing our fingerless gloves and pulling out our cubicle blankets on windy days. When the social media folks wondered why the sample poems were all about winter, I reminded them that we had just exited (and might still see signs) a long, long season.

The student had offered ideas in class, so I asked her to revisit that poem and complete it for me. My favorite part comes in the last two line. What do you think?

Enter a world full of everlasting snow

Freezing the water, when you try to row

Giant blizzards coming, though very rare

Hills of snow beyond compare

Ice falls in mounds at my feet

Jabbing at my body, the cold stings my cheek

Knowing how endless we may seek

Lies spring around the corner, waiting to astonish me?

May the snow melt soon, much to my glee

Nevermore, calls Mother Nature

O’er the hills and through the forest in her nurture

 

Me? I know she’s brilliant. Maybe we’ll see her work published some day.

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