Change is coming

I'm sad for Biden, who has been a good president, and is clearly a lovely man. However, I'm psyched that he stepped down. It was the right thing for him to do for the good of this country.

I'm feeling new energy, and new hope. A woman of color? Yes! She's a feisty, fearless woman who, like all vice presidents, has been relegated to the shadows so as not to shine brighter than the president. She remained loyal to Biden to the end. Now it's her turn. I can't wait for the old Kamala to return to the spotlight.

Imagine the people who will be voting for the first time, and how epic this vote will be. I'm also looking forward to the most exciting convention we've had in decades. Suddenly I like politics again. And depending on who she chooses as a running mate, it could get young people excited about politics, too. All this because our current president is a politician who cares more about this country than he does about himself. Thank you, Joe - for so many things.

Weddings change over time

My maternal grandparents must have had a wedding in 1910, because there is a formal portrait, Grandma in wedding dress and Grandpa in a suit. They married in South Chicago. I wish I knew how they celebrated.

My paternal grandparents eloped on horseback in 1923, married by a preacher by the side of a road in Southeastern Kentucky. Certainly not the norm for that time and place. Her mother was angry! 

When my aunts and uncles married in Northern Indiana in the 1940's. WWII was raging. A marriage took place while service men were on leave. The ceremony might be conducted in the front room of a parent's house in the morning, with a wedding breakfast afterwards. 

When my hippie generation came along in the late 1960's/early 1970's, marriage wasn't cool, at least in our crowd. Tom and I went to a justice of the peace with two witnesses. If friends had a wedding, the afternoon reception was cake-related, like a formal tea. In those days before birth control pills or abortion, the bride was usually between 17 and 21, and maybe a little pregnant.  

Weddings for my younger siblings, non-hippie cousins, and eventually our daughter were bigger. These felt like family reunions. Brides were in their middle 20's. Old folks and babies left soon after the wedding dinner. Young children flailed about on the dance floor with cousins for an hour or two, while parents, aunts and uncles tried desperately to stay awake. Alcohol was served. The younger folks carried on, celebrating with abandon until the music ended and the staff started clearing tables.  

Now, weddings have changed again. In recent years, most weddings we're invited to have been adult-only events. The bride and groom are often in their late 20's (or early 30's). Consequently, they have discretionary income and a huge network of friends. The wedding industry has seriously upped the cost (and instances) of all related expenses, so I imagine that plays a role in limiting participants to adults. Their carefully planned weddings are amazing.

Times change, and weddings follow suit. I get it, and I find the evolution interesting. Still, I miss seeing children on the dance floor.  Maybe I'll start planning a family reunion? 

My maternal grandparents in 1910

Bored

Oh gee, it's been a month since my last post.  I wish I could say I've been too busy to write, but that wouldn't be true. 

It's been hot, muggy and rainy here; however, that's true so many other places. I shouldn't complain. We've been having heat advisories, and then heavy rains that make the yard too mushy to work in. We're kind of trapped inside the house where it is cool until mid-September. It was fun for a couple of weeks, but now it's boring. I need to force myself to do inside things. Writing my blog is a good start. Maybe tomorrow I'll start to make a quilt for my grandson. There are any number of things I could be doing, actually. What's wrong with me?

Here are some flowers in bloom around the house right now.  How can one be bored when there are so many photo opps?

And now for the maintained garden beds

Yesterday I posted the drop garden meadow from our NYS home.  Today I will finish up this nostalgic love story with pictures of the more formal beds.  

The vegetable garden

I wish this was a better picture

This takes in a few garden beds, and 
looks back to the vegetable garden

the front of the house

my favorite photo of "the land"

July - sheer joy

one of the beds in front of the drop
gardened meadow

The wetlands way out back, with some
drop gardened purple bee balms

Drop gardening in NYS

When you have a ridiculous number of perennial flower beds, each year you have a lot of dividing to do. For many years I gave our extras to friends, neighbors, co-workers. But most people have limited amounts of space.We were lucky in that we had an acre and a half of land. At a certain point, I decided I'd take the divided plants I didn't want in the maintained beds and drop them on either side of the path in the meadow. These areas are referred to on the map of my previous post as areas 24, 26, and 29. 

I'd usually put down a little dirt, and then plopped the plants/roots down. Drop gardening, I named it. I watered them a time or two, and then just let them live or die. Many lived and naturalized. Here are some pictures of that area in all it's glory.

day lilies and red bee balm

From the back of the path looking towards the 
garage and house.

Foxglove, for crying out loud.  It loved to
naturalize and reseed.

From the path looking west towards area 26 and 29
and a little bit of the veggie garden

In this picture you can see the trumpet vine in front of the
garage, and my gorgeous husband.

The path going out to the wetlands. 
Area 24 on the left, area 26 on the right.

From the back of the meadow looking towards 
our little veggie garden.  Purple bee balm.

Day lilies, the wild kind you find in the ditch 
along side the road. We also had
hybrids in the maintained beds - later for that.

Sorry, I don't seem to have pictures of spring when the dames rockets were in bloom, and I don't think I captured the purple cone flower (which never did as well as the other drop flowers).  Oh well.  I know they are there.  

Remembering garden beds

We lived in the Finger Lakes Region of New York State for 39 years, moving to Central Florida in 2014. We didn't buy our first house until 1990. It was an old house on one and a half acres out in the country, adjacent to state land. 

Perennial garden beds were our passion for 24 years, and it seemed like each year we couldn't help but put in another, and then another. By the time we moved it was ridiculous. We left the new owners a hand-drawn map and a detailed summary of what was where. 

What to do?

The other day I was out doing yard work and walked into the remains of a palm tree frond that protruded from the tree. It caught me in the middle of my forehead. I was the one who originally cut that frond back, and I did a bad job.  So it was there to get me, knowing I would eventually wander back not looking where I was going.  

I determined the resulting cut on my forehead wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches or a trip to the ER.  Still, it bled, and might scar.  It also swelled up a little, even down around the bridge of my nose.  I had a slight headache, and iced the area for relief.  Today I'm better.

Last night, though, I had an anxious fantasy that I would die from a brain bleed over night. Consequently I emailed a few of my favorite people telling them quite simply that I loved them. That's all. I'm such a drama queen. I was at peace when I went to sleep.

Happily, I woke up.  Good thing, too, because I forgot to email my siblings.  

April 2024 with a touch of bromeliad

It has been a busy month for us. Well, busy by our lazy and reclusive retirement standards. We've had two short term visitors this month. A beloved nephew, and then an old friend. Both visits were deeply meaningful and gave me a lot to think about.

Tomorrow we pick up my Baby Sister from the airport. She is just here for the weekend. I look forward to sitting out on the lanai, talking and talking and talking. When my mother was alive, Baby Sister and I talked on the phone every Saturday morning. She was Mom's caretaker. My mother was in the advanced stages of Parkinson's for a long time, and it was hard to talk to her on the phone because I couldn't always understand what she was saying. Baby Sister was my touchstone when it came to Mom. I say "Mom," but as often as not we called her Ma. Why is it so hard for me to believe my mother has been gone for over 9 years? 

I must admit, this whole "time" thing really messes with my brain.

a crazy bromeliad

Thoughts on the eclipse

Yeah, I watched the solar eclipse. We only got 58%, and it never got dark outside. But it was still awe-inspiring; a numinous experience - great word, that. I've used it before, and I'll use it again, because it is one of those words that describes a specific experience exactly. 

I had to wonder what it must have been like for the ancients to experience an eclipse. No news service warned them in advance, or told them not to look at it. If it was total, the day would become night and return to day. In those breathtaking moments, they had no idea what was happening. How could they not perceive it as a message from their Gods?  

How wonderful it is to live in a time when we have a more complex understanding of reality, right? To the educated mind science actually magnifies the complexity of the universe. I'm pretty sure some might think that complexity divine. Who knows? Not me. Outside of direct experience, it's all just words and wonder.

Magical thinking is a basic human reaction. In our innocence, this is how we are delivered to the world. However, the ability to think and reason are what separate us from animals. So, I was shocked to discover there are still people in these United States who thought it was The Rapture last Tuesday. Geez O Pete! I despair.

Memory 24Mar2024

Why is it that we think and/or dream of people who played a relatively small role in our lives? Surely something sparked the memory, but I can rarely tell you what it was. I only know that my mind is a mess of memories now. And when I say "mess" I mean it like my Grandma did, i.e., a mess is a whole lot. Occasionally one of those memories asserts itself above the others, demanding to be remembered.

Today, for absolutely no good reason, I'm thinking about my second grade teacher, Sister Anne de Lourdes. I really liked her, in spite of her occasional temper tantrums in front of the class. Of course when she was good, she was very, very good as they say. Adults are fickle and unpredictable.  

I assume nuns get to pick their nun-names? If so, she chose Anne, the mother of Mary. Apparently there is a church dedicated to Anne within the Marian pilgrimage site of Lourdes. There are other churches and sites dedicated to Saint Anne elsewhere. Why would she choose the one at Lourdes? I've been doing a little research and I think I have the answer, which would be obvious if my mind wasn't so messy. She was a Sister of the Holy Cross, which was based in Notre Dame, Indiana (a suburb of South Bend). The priest who founded Notre Dame was Father Sorin.  “Fr. Sorin also wanted to make Notre Dame a pilgrimage place … honoring our Lady of Lourdes,”  So there you go. A mystery probably solved.

Eventually she left the convent and married a priest. 

Very cool habit, don't you think?
Sisters of the Holy Cross. The headpiece
was a pleated wonder.