Monday, April 19, 2010

It's all a blur

I know I had a weekend. I know I did. But it all kind of…went by…in a big old blur

We consolidated the surviving tomatoes into one smaller block of the back forty(yards). Picked another bucket of peas, two BIG heads of broccoli, two small golden beets, and the very this-time-we-mean-it last of the red onions.

Then we weeded like crazy people around the little trees. We have been sort of lazy less-than-diligent back there on the theory that weeding is a pain in the neck it wasn't that important seeing as how the trees were tall and the weeds not so tall.

But this weekend I finally admitted to myself that it is a very bad idea to allow the weeds to grow wild anywhere like that. They encourage the spread of the powdery mildew and other ickies, they attract all the wrong bugs (cutworms in particular, they love all that juicy green cover) (and aphids…grrrrrr…aphids…), and of course it looks pretty awful.

Besides…I'm thinking I could probably get a few other crops in there. Right now the trees are so small I don't even have to worry about the sun/shade thing, but going forward I could be planting shade-tolerant goodies all around their bases.

What? Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not obsessed or anything, I'm just…um…trying to utilize my scarce land-resources to the absolute best of my abilities.

Also, I found an interesting potential cure for the powdery mildew, and it's just so unlikely that I couldn't not try it: milk.

Milk. Nine cups of water to one cup milk, spray liberally on the leaves. Allegedly, it can actually cure it…most things merely slow it down a bit, but if the infection is already widespread you're pretty much doomed.

I sprayed in the morning, and by evening I noticed that it did seem to be falling off the peas! Falling off! Like a fine powder.

I will be so excited if this works.

Lillehammer Jr. is coming along splendidly. I made it through the main body and am working through the last few rounds before the neck shaping…the part where suddenly I'm consulting the pattern every row again. After all those inches of pattern repeat-repeat-repeat-repeat, it's a refreshing change.

Except for when I'm trying to juggle it all on a crowded BART train. Yeah. That part isn't so much fun.

Lillehammer Jr 4-19

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Kvetch and you shall receive…

I was grumbling about my lost time last pay period. My stupid tooth cost me four days. Denizen illness another two, plus a half day here and a quarter day there for appointments and whatnot – my paycheck was so light this last time it was in danger of floating away.

And, because I’d been out so much, I wanted to go into the office a little more diligently because I didn’t want anybody to forget I worked there.

Which meant my hours were even more down because going into the office means I’m spending between four and five hours of my day parked in a train or a bus or a car on my way there or back again.

It’s hard to get even seven hours of time billed…and that’s if I don’t take a break through the day but just charge straight on through, eating my lunch with one hand while coding with the other.

Not a fun way to go through an entire week.

So I was grumbling about my hours. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

And lo! The god(dess) of hourly workers heard my laments, and took pity on me, and made with the magic, and lo…

My team is doing a production data load this weekend. Which is why I was working until 9:00 last night, after a full week of other ‘up until 9:00 working’ and ‘logging in at 4:15 a.m. working.’

And which is also why I’m sitting at a computer right now instead of doing housework. (Wait…actually…is there a downside to this…?) (Oh, OK, I would rather be doing housework…but only because I love a clean house, not because I have any affection for housework whatsoever.)

I’m tired, cranky, and possibly beginning to turn a little code-blind. All the numbers are starting to blur together, the queries all look alike, the combines and the entities and the tables WAIT, that one is a view but is it the view of a view or is it just a, wait, is this the select-splat-from, or is this the one with that fourteen-layer-crazy-cake join in it…yawn…blink…stretch…squint…

No, yeah, it’s the crazy-joined view, of that other view, that summarizes the select-splat view.

Riiiiiiiight. I totally knew that.

Ah, the bittersweet life of the hourly contractor. On the one hand, I’m tired and a little cranky and very definitely NOT feeling the love for error counting and data quality research…which takes “detail oriented” straight past ‘art form’ and into ‘masochistic myopic madness.’

On the other…my next paycheck is going to be very sweet indeed…

Thank you, god(dess) of hourly workers…

Friday, April 16, 2010

Also not safe...

Can you even tell what this is?!

It's my weekly contribution to the local economy. The fact that it may APPEAR to be a gluttonous orgy in the form of BBQ tri-tip smothered in hand-crafted BBQ sauce from the eternally awesome heaven's portal of Shorter's BBQ in Tracy is just an illusion. I didn't get this for ME, so that I could devour its tangy-smoky-sweet-n-spicy goodness like a starved pig.

No, it is purely because I am ALL ABOUT the revival of the local economy.

Because I am noble that way.

(This thing is SO not safe for work. If IT knew I'd had this thing within 500 feet of my corporate laptop, they'd probably escort me from the building...) (wait...can they do that when I'm working from home...?)

(sent from my Treo)

Unexpectedly unsafe

I was in a phone meeting, twiddling my thumbs waiting for the two people fencing over who was doing what on something that had nothing to do with me to be done with their verbal duel.

And I thought, Hey. Powdery mildew. I wanted to Google that...

Ahem. Yeah. Apparently? Powdery mildew is a big problem for marijuana growers, too.

..we'llllllll just leave THAT research for later, shall we...?

(sent from my Treo)

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Oh nos!!!

Look! Look at what is all over my peas!!

ALL OVER THEM.

EVERYWHERE!!

This is one of the banes of the San Joaquin gardener: powdery mildew. I've been afraid of this ever since the rain started...warm weather + persistence dampness = powdery mildew HEAVEN.

Last weekend, I cut off a dozen infected leaves. Tonight, there isn't an uninfected one in the whole patch...and two plants were like this.

Past gray, all the way to rusted.

(sad face)

Oh well. Time for the weekly neem oil routine...hopefully, it isn't too late for this poor little patch...

(sent from my Treo)

Happy Free Coffee Day!

Starbucks has a 'green' promotion today – bring in your own tumbler, and they'll fill it up with drip coffee free.

Which is one of my favorite words in the English language.

Knitting for children can be so satisfying. It's like almost-instant gratification…I'm already only four centimeters away from having to pay attention to the pattern again to do the tops of the panels on Captain Adventure's sweater:

Lillehammer Jr. 4/15/10

(Note the tumbler full of free coffee. WOOT!!!!)

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Are they still casting for Pokeman?

Dudes.

Dudes.

OK, so – I dyed my hair last week? Which is a thing I do because I am too immature to take my gray hair like a woman all about keeping up appearances?

Yeah. So, I had picked out this color that looked kind of fun. A bit redder than The Usual but hey – life is short.

Oh. My. God. In. Heaven.

I look like…an aging anime character. It’s so red it’s just…just…well, it’s…it’s…

Wow.

The only problem with this is, well, actually, there’s a couple problems. One is the “aging” thing; I suspect it looks more than a touch ridiculous on me because this is a color for someone who is twenty or thirty-something. While I steadfastly refuse to grow up and maintain a mental age of oh, about, eh, maybe seventeen (on a mature day) (go ahead, say the word ‘fart’ – I’ll snicker. I won’t be able to stop myself), the body looks like I should be loading up the kids into the gray minivan for soccer practice. Ssssssexy!

The other major problem is that I have no hair style.

No, seriously – I have no hair style. The ‘look’ goes like this: Dunk head under sink, apply goop, comb, hope for the best.

That’s my “hair styling” routine in the morning.

Like I said: Ssssssexy!

This color kind of needs a style. In fact, it rather demands it. It says, “Hey! You canNOT go around with me on your hair, but no style! You look like a complete ass. Fix it, loser!

So I looked at myself in the full-length mirror at work (memo to me: you need one of those – that’s how you would know your pant hems are way too long) (I kid you not, in my own bedroom / bathroom, there is no mirror I could use to even see how my shirt and pants go together; they’re too small and there isn’t enough room to back up enough to see from a distance. Not that I could, seeing as how I need new glasses.) (You know what, now I’m getting a little bummed out. Let’s move on.) and here was this too-funky-fresh-for-me color on that lame excuse of a style and I thought, You know what would be fun?

Yes. That’s right. I thought those six words again.

And then I started trying to figure out if I could do some kind of spikier thing with my hair. Something that had that “it took two hours of hard work to get this hair to look like I forgot to brush it after sleeping under a bridge all night” vibe going, maybe.

You know, something…style-like, with…I think they call it, um, “lift”?

…or something…?

And that, dear female coworkers, is why I was standing in front of the bathroom door holding my hair up in both hands staring at myself all wide-eyed like that with my chin down and a possibly somewhat wild overall expression on my face…as if I’d just learned some terrible truth and just couldn’t deal with the trauma of it.

I was just trying to imagine what I would look like, you know, if I had lift.

Lord-have-mercy, I should NOT be allowed out of the house without a keeper…

Happiness is a warm jacket

Yesterday, I washed my "good" jacket. I wore it out in the rain over the weekend while planting and predictably it got muddy / dirty / ew.

Also predictably, I did not notice this until I got to work Monday morning and hung it on the coat rack. Because nothing says, "Trust me, I'm a professional" like showing up to work in a jacket that looks like you ran behind the train all the way to work. Awesome.

I washed it first thing in the morning and hung it out on the clothesline to dry – but the weather chose to be a little cold and a lot humid and when I took it in last night, it was still very damp.

This morning, it was also very damp.

So even though it was supposed to be line dried, I tossed it into the dryer and gave it a twenty minute tumble on medium while the whirl of coffee and cocoa making, backpack inspections, "go and put on socks" and "where are your shoes?" and "wait, this form was due YESTERDAY?!" flew past.

Then I stepped out the door without my jacket. Because it was in the dryer instead of hanging on the hook behind the door and I really am that controlled by my routine.

Then I skittered back into the house because whoa nelly! I'm dressed for the 60-70 temps we're expecting later today – not the 40-something it was out there.

Then I stared accusingly at the hook behind the door because where is my jacket?

Then my brain went, "AHEM…do we remember what we did twenty minutes ago…?"

Then I got my jacket out of the dryer, groped at it and found it to be glory hallelujah dry, and put it on.

And then I just stood there for a moment purring because ohmygah did it ever feel goooooooood…mmmmmmmm….warm jacket….mmmmmmmmmmm…

And then I did my commute and got this far on Lillehammer II:

Lillehammer II 4/13/10

And then I thought the seven most dangerous words in the world: You know what ELSE would be fun…?

Making this same sweater four more times. In red and white, for the girls and me.

And then we could all go to family therapy! Wearing our matching sweaters!

Righteous!

(I do make them wear matching t-shirts when we go on "field trips" as a family – all of us wear the most vivid, glow-in-the-dark tie dye shirts you can imagine. It just isn't possible for them to get lost wearing those shirts. They can be seen from space. I can point at any one of the remaining Denizens and yelp, "He's wearing a shirt just like this one!", and someone will say, "Oh, yeah, I saw that kid, he was feeding the tigers popcorn…")

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Lillehammer II

I finished my husband's Lillehammer a couple weeks ago. Then I was putting away the leftover yarn and found myself going, Hmmmmmmm…

An awful lot of it leftover, there.

So naturally, I thought six of the most dangerous words in the English language: You know what would be fun…?

Lillehammer Jr.

Father-son Lillehammers. Because nothing says, "Hi, I'm a kid who is going to need serious therapy someday!" like a little boy forced wear daddy-n-me matching sweaters in public. Awesome.

Now, this one for Captain Adventure is going to be less complex a pattern than Daddy's. The main panel on the Lillehammer is ornate and wide…like this.

Lillehammer Sr.

Can't get all that onto a sweater until you get up to the teenage sizes, alas. (Not at this gauge, anyway.)

I'm also using a different base yarn for the black and white; I had enough white leftover, but not the black; but I did have some black and white Knit Picks Telemark I'd reclaimed from another project. This is a slightly narrower yarn than the Merino Style I used in the other sweater, so I had to go up a needle size to get gauge…which was actually good, because now I can use my KnitPicks Options interchangeable, which means I have the giddy, immortal power of choosing what length cable I want to use, at my whim.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…the power…the powerrrrrrrrrrrr…

(OK, possibly, I need to get out a little more.)

Sunday, April 11, 2010

WhatEVER, human...

Ten cups of shelled peas, huh? Ya. Thrilling.

Let me know when you're uncanning ten cups of tuna. Might be interested then.

But don't count on it.

(she WAS actually interested in them right BEFORE I grabbed my Treo...but then she sensed her sangfroid was in peril and quickly adopted her 'what-ev' pose. Cats. Oy.)

(took four to six people two hours to shell these...and there will be about this many AGAIN in a few days! Yowsa!)

(sent from my Treo)

Peas may we have another?

Bucket, that is.

This is only four day's worth of ripened peas. Good grief - they are the crowned champions of gardenly overachievers...

(sent from my Treo)

Ya, it's ugly NOW...

..but in about a week or so, there will be some scrawny seedlings.

A week after that, four hills of assorted summer squash, flanking rows of spinach and beets.

It's like a magic trick, ain't it?!

(Lord, I hope my coworkers like summer squash...last year just TWO hills had me scrambling...) (although one of these hills was planted EXCLUSIVELY for one of my neighbors, because she loves them and is one of the dearest creatures on Earth)

(sent from my Treo)

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Peachy!

Those are peaches. There are also a few baby nectarines on the tree.

On the one hand, I won't be surprised if they shrivel up and fall off - this is the little tree's first year in this ground.

On the other, would it not be AWESOME if a few of them DID survive?!

Just looked at my artichokes too. Looks like the one I thought was a donation to the Snail Hunger Relief Society has decided it wants to live after all. Heh. These things are actually weeds in some areas out here. Always trips me out a bit when they're two bucks each at the supermarket...tramp around the Delta for a while, you'll probably find a patch of 'em, growing wild.

Right. Back to it. So much to do, so little weekend...

(sent from my Treo)

Epic fail…

A few days ago as I was staggering out to Homer the Odyssey juggling backpacks, newspapers, travel mugs and the other sundries of another working day, I glanced at the rooftops around me and saw frost thickly blanketing them. There was a thin coating of ice on the windshield. The dashboard lit up and informed me that the outside temperature was 34 degrees.

And I thought to myself…rut-roh…

I also thought a few other things, but let’s keep the ‘G’ rating, shall we?

Usually, our temperatures right now would be in the mid to high 70s during the day, with overnight lows in the mid-50s. We might occasionally get into the 40s, but the 30s?

Not after February.

But right after I transplanted those poor little plants, winter decided to do a curtain call. It got cold, it got rainy, and even worse, it got windy - the kind of wind that blows down fences and trees, and even the occasional RV.

I watched the weather reports anxiously…but they never said anything about temperatures getting down into the thirties. Forties, yes. Thirties, no. So I crossed my fingers and resigned myself to losing a few more transplants than I’d hoped…

Needless to say, when I went out this morning to look at the tomato field it was a scene of horrifying devastation. Oooooh, the tomato-ity…

There are a few ragged survivors, grimly clinging to the last vestiges of life…but they are a strange shade of yellow and I don’t have high hopes for them. Especially not with yet another cold and windy blast about to descend on us tonight.

Oh, fie.

Welllllllllllllllllll…guess I’ll have to come up with a Plan B for the back forty(yards) for this first planting cycle. It’s a little late to start all over with the tomatoes, especially since I’m out of the seed. Maybe break it back up into the smaller beds for now and get a mix of spinach, broccoli and other cooler-weather things going. I dunno. I’ll have to ponder it for a bit.

I tell you what, though, this actually makes me really glad we’re doing this the labor-intensive way: My financial loss isn’t all that bad. The husband said, “Maybe we could go to the nursery and buy some of those six-packs of tomatoes?”

They’re $3.29 apiece, and if we wanted to replace all of our lost transplants, we’d be looking at a good $90 bucks by the time we’d paid taxes (pause to consider the irony there: if you buy tomatoes at the supermarket, you don’t pay sales tax…but buy the plants or their seeds, and you do).

The seeds cost me about $3. The peat cups I used to start them were $4.

So, I’m out seven bucks for this epic fail.

I’ve had worse. (Far, far worse.)

The white potatoes were kind enough to send up a couple sprouts to say “there, there” this week. The peas have been extra generous and we’re all dreading the shelling tonight. I’ve got another half dozen red onions and a couple random green onions that popped up.

The beets are happy, and the two remaining broccoli plants are in full bud and about ready to harvest in.

Could be worse.

Could be better, too...but could be much, much worse.

Friday, April 09, 2010

They ALMOST wear no pants

O.M.G. Just seen at BART: Pair of young men. Pants almost to their knees.

Trying to look cool while waddling like ducks, holding their pants up with a thumb looped through their BELTS.

You know...the ones around their KNEES...?

BWA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *giggle*snort*

(sent from my Treo)

Thursday, April 08, 2010

Some days are just weirder than others

This morning on the ACE train, a charming lady sat across from me and proceeded to carry on a lengthy conversation with me. We were having a lovely time. I was a little confused and maybe even a tiny bit irritated because I really would have rather plugged into my iPod and zoned out while knitting on the Sock In Progress but hey.

She was a nice lady, lovely to talk to, and I liked her hat.

Then suddenly she looked at me from across the top of her commuter mug, did a double take and said, "Oh my heavens, dear, you're not Carol!!"

By golly she was right. I was not Carol. But I was sitting where Carol was sitting, one car further down.

We laughed so hard about that I was afraid they were going to throw us off the train.

On the bus shuttle between ACE and BART, the generously-sized lady who sat on next to me kept apologizing for squashing me as she continually wriggled her hips and squashed me more. "I'm so sorry!" {wriggle-squash!} "Oh, can you breathe?" {wriggle-squash!} "You're so little, am I totally sitting ON you?" {wriggle-wriggle-squash-squash YES, STOP MOVING!!} "I'm just going to get my book out of my bag, I'm so sorry…" {gak…can't breathe…seriously…no book, no book, just SIT STILL…}

I really wish the people who design seats on public transportation would cotton on to the fact that we are no longer the same size we were back in 1930{mumble}. Seriously. I'm pretty petite. I'm only 5'3" (when I stand up straight) and precisely in the middle of the weight chart – well above "too skinny" well below "getting fat." And my backside hangs over either side of most of those seats. Add a jacket or sweater to the mix and I'm definitely encroaching on the seat next to me…and whether we like it or not, America, I am not in the majority on that "exactly right" weight thing.

Build bigger seats, dammit. She really was embarrassed (although I do wish she could have contained her twitchiness) (and gotten her damned book out before she sat down), and I really was squashed. She shouldn't have to stand because she's heavy, and I shouldn't have to because I'm not. BIGGER. SEATS. THANK. YOU. FOR. YOUR. IMMEDIATE. ATTENTION. TO. THE. ABOVE. PUBLIC. TRANSPORTATION. DESIGNERS.

Then on BART, the man sitting across from me kept fiddling with his iPhone. I didn't pay any attention to him – people are always fiddling with their phones on BART.

Then suddenly he leaned across (invading my personal space juuuuuuuust a smidge) and said in a rapid-fire singsong, with the biggest grin you've ever seen on his face, "Excuse me very much please, but I am hoping you do not mind me sending these pictures of you to my mother in India – she will be very much amused as she is also knitting and does not think Americans are doing such things. Indeed."

He had been videotaping (iPhone-recording?) me knitting a sock on BART. So he could send it to his mother. In India.

Ooooooooooookay…

Then a man behind me got on his cell phone and started talking to his girl friend. In (ahem) very colorful terms.

Yeah, uh, dude? TMI.

Then just as he shut up, the man sitting next to me – who was definitely old enough to know better – decided that hey, you know what would be fun? Making a similar call to his main squeeze!

Awesome. Thank you for having this conversation with her right here next to me because I was just thinking this morning, You know what? I really wish I knew more about the sex lives of the random strangers around me…

But the weirdest thing of the day…well. Therein lies a bit of a tale. Which I will tell you now.

I made two tactical errors today that worked together in a most unpleasant way. The first was that, having had my stitches out yesterday and having experienced a fairly 'good' day yesterday with the whole tooth-pain thing followed by waking with only mild-to-maybe-bordering-on-moderate discomfort, I decided I didn't need the prescription pain medication anymore.

I'm fine. I'm awesome. This barely hurts at all! I'll just take a few Advil and I'll rock on

Yeah. Halfway through the Altamont hills, I was already regretting that decision. How your mouth feels right after you woke up after a night's sleep in a stationary bed v. how it feels after you've been bouncing along on a train for half an hour are two very different things.

By the time I'd finished two hour-long train rides and the fifteen minute bus shuttle between them I was practically in tears.

Undaunted, I tried to carry on with my lunch plan which involved solid food. I haven't had much of the stuff for a solid week now. My pants are literally falling off me today, and I'm what might be termed a bit peckish.

If "a bit peckish" means "hungrier than a newly-wakened bear."

Now mind you, I didn't bring a shoe-leather casserole on a bed of rusty nails with a rock salad. I brought nice, soft food that required minimal chomping to get down. Overcooked rice, diced chicken, cooked beans. Piece of cake.

No really, I brought a piece of cake. From Eldest's very late birthday party last weekend.

Well. Turns out that even minimal chewing is a bit beyond me right now. The pain had settled down in the three hours between getting off BART and heating up my lunch – it erupted anew and refused to settle down. It scoffed at Advil. It took over my whole life. I could think of nothing else but how much my mouth hurt. Argh, I thought I was PAST THIS…

I sat there cradling my jaw, trying not to laugh (which is hard – I have a fun and funny team of coworkers at this job, they're always cracking me up), trying to make it to 3:45 so I could begin the homeward odyssey – which at least had a prescription bottle at the end of it with my name on it. (Literally. Right there on the bottle. Along with permission to take 1-2 tablets every 4-6 hours as needed. Mmmmmmmm, pain relief…)

Then I realized I wasn't going to make it. I just wasn't.

Now my options are a bit limited. The ACE train has three (3) trains a day. I catch the middle one usually; there's one an hour earlier, and one an hour later, and that's it.

So, big deal. I can leave an hour earlier. Ooooooooooo, aaaaaaaaaah.

But I took it. Oh yeah. I took it. I grabbed my stuff and split at 2:30. And I went into Starbucks and had them fill up my Contigo with an extra-hot mocha for the ACE ride home. Because the next best thing to Vicodin? Caffeine, and cocoa.

As I was heading down into the BART station at Embarcadero, I noticed a news truck sitting in front of our building. Hm. Whatever.

The station was crawling with extra security and…extra bodies. Lots of people, for 2:40 on a Thursday.

Hmmmmmmmmm…

The train was fairly full. And it turned out that a big old protest was planned at Embarcadero, starting at 3:30 with the "festivities" to begin at 4:00 sharp.

You know, right when I would usually be trying to catch my train?

Awesome.

AND HERE'S WHERE IT GOT SUPER-WEIRD.

I found myself sitting on the BART train, lovingly patting my sore and slightly swollen jaw thinking, Thank God you were killing me, Tooth #30…

Now, y'all know you've fallen down a rabbit hole when you're intensely grateful that something hurt so bad you decided to give up your hourly income for the rest of the day, pack it in and go home.

Although I'm a little afraid to actually go home. On a day like this, and given that my home is kind of…ahem…other directed on "normal" days…goodness only knows what awaits me there tonight…

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Lessons

Some lessons are pretty easy to take. Most of the Denizens giggled and sang their way through learning their ABCs. Learning to crack eggs and dump spoonfuls of cookie dough into their mouths onto a cookie sheet came pretty easy, too.

Other lessons…not so easy.

A few weeks ago, Eldest had new a friend over. They went to a garage sale up the street together. Ran through the house and yard like a pair of maniacs. And then they had a sleepover.

Great weekend.

A few hours after the friend had left, Eldest came to me in a fit of distress saying something really awful had happened: Her money was gone.

She had thirty dollars she'd been saving. Though warned with quotations to keep it someplace safe, she had put it on the windowsill of her bedroom.

And now it was gone.

We hunted for it. We checked drawers and bags and pockets. Dug around under the bed and desk. We quizzed the Middle Twain. We pulled apart Captain Adventure's room.

Neither of us wanted to bring up the possibility that her new friend had sticky fingers…even though it was by far the most likely cause of the fiscal disappearance.

Eventually, though, she began sniffling from her bed.

"Mommy," she said. "I really hate to even say this, but the evidence kind of says that maybe my friend took it, doesn't it."

"Welllllllll…yeah."

It really did look that way. The Middle Twain aren't too likely to risk it, and if Captain Adventure had taken it, he would have immediately brought it to me demanding candy – thanks to the Den Dollar system, in his mind that's what cash is for. Get a dollar, get a candy.

Sigh.

So we talked about how not-right that was, and about money itself. She really doesn't have a whole lot of experience when it comes to having real money, and hadn't been ready to listen to me when I'd said things about it before – things like, "Don't walk around with your money out in your hands" or "Hey! Don't start yelling, 'DIDN'T YOU JUST GET $200 FROM THE ATM, MOMMY?!' in public like that!!"

That money had a way of making people do things they might not otherwise do wasn't new information, but it was newly important information.

We talked about how tempting that money would have been for a ten year old who doesn't even have her own allowance yet, who had just gone to a really cool garage sale, where one dollar bought two almost-new board games and another dollar got three hats and four stuffed animals.

And we talked about the concept of innocent until proven guilty. For all we knew, Captain Adventure would come running up to me later with the thirty dollars clutched in his sweaty paw yelling, "Mom-MEH! I haf it some maun-EEE, I wan-it some can-DEEE."

He's still pretty amoral that way. Totally innocent in his avarice, and blithely unaware that he's totally going to get busted on that deal – like I'm not going to know he must have stolen that money from a sister or my purse or something.

…unless he's got a day job I don't know about…oh, no, he doesn't go to kindergarten all day! He works in the mines, picking up the small slag…

Well. Last weekend, the new friend's older sibling took Eldest aside and told her that her little sister had come home with money she claimed Eldest had "given" her.

Uh-huh.

After they had left, Eldest sat down at the table looking thoughtful.

"So?" I finally asked her.

"Well, I told her that her sister had said she took my money," she told me. "And I told her that if it were true, I wasn't mad and I totally forgave her and everything."

She paused for a moment, then smiled sweetly. "…and then I told her, 'but I still want my money back.'"

Heh. That's my girl.

She hasn't gotten her money back, of course. There's still no actual proof, and Eldest isn't the kind of kid who is going to launch a Federal investigation into the matter. She isn't even the kind of kid who won't continue to give someone the benefit of a doubt, even when all the evidence and the hearsay of a third party all points the same way.

But she will be keeping her cash out of sight from now on…even when she's among friends.

Tough lesson. I'm sorry she had to learn it; but hopefully, she's learned it well and early and for a relatively small price.

I didn't really learn it until my twenties, when a "friend" swiped $600 cash from my apartment.

That was a really painful way to learn about the effect cash can have on otherwise decent human beings…especially with the rent due the next day.

Monday, April 05, 2010

Train gave me owies

Jiggling around for fifty minutes did NOT feel good on the jaw this morning. Stupid train.

I found this sock on my wire kitchen rack in a mixing bowl this weekend. Ummm...oooooookay...I think I'm sensing a Denizen-style "cleaning up the playroom" on this deal.

It's Claudia hand-painted in Copper Penny, which I was apparently using to make Retro Rib socks. BUT...I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull out. The put-up on the Claudia is less than the average sock-yarn ball, and I don't think I'm going to make it. Curses, foiled again...

(sent from my Treo)

Money Monday: April 5, 2010

I watched part of a show called Wa$ted last week. The premise was that the hosts would swoop in, fiddle with your way of life to make it more eco-friendly, and then turn you loose for three weeks to do your best. Then they calculated how much you had saved over that three week period, multiplied it out to represent a year’s worth of savings, and handed it to you as a cash prize.

It was entertaining, but mostly I was struck by how surprised people seemed to be by the concept that reducing your waste could directly increase your cash flow.

Seriously…this is surprising?!

I was kidding when I wrote about canceling our garbage pickup service, but folks…the fact that we put way more into the recycling tote than the garbage really does save us money. Most of the households with kids around here have to pay for the largest totes; a few of them even pay for two totes because one just isn’t enough. That’s an additional $120 to $600 a year to have your trash hauled away.

I’m willing to bet an awful lot of that could be eliminated without a whole lot of drama. Shoot, just remembering that most paper can go into the recycling bin can often slash how much ends up at the landfill…and if you’re having to pay for a second trash tote, shoot. It’s not that big a deal to start separating your “clean” recyclable paper from your greasy pizza boxes and plastic wrap.

I put fluorescent bulbs in the hallways (especially upstairs) and in the ceiling fan lights all over the house – not because I believe that I’m going to Save The World that way, but because the @*^&@ing things are always-always-ALWAYS on. ALWAYS! As I started to write this paragraph, I thought to myself, …I’ll bet you a burrito…, got up, went down the hall and SURE ENOUGH: The Middle Twain’s bedroom ceiling fan light was on, their bathroom light was on, and the hall light was on.

The fluorescents use so much less energy, I really did see actual immediate savings the month I put them in.

Still pisses me off that they get left on by Not Me all the danged time (seriously, ask any of the Denizens who did it…they will say Not Me did it, every single time)…but not quite as…vehemently as it did before.

Switching from prepackaged, processed foods to cooked-from-scratch definitely reduces the amount of packaging you’re having to dispose of every week – and it absolutely saves you money. Also, it’s not hard to be making stuff that is miles away better for you than what came out of your supermarket freezer.

And of course if you really want to go the cheap route…you could always convert your entire yard into a garden and grow most of your produce right there! Awesome!

(Whaaaaat? That’s not crazy, it’s just…well, it’s…OK. It’s kind of crazy. But it’s also fun, gets you some exercise out there in the fresh air and sunshine, and honestly you will never have finer tasting food than what you just grew in your own yard. Even if you just put a couple pots of tomatoes on your patio, you can save a lot of money over what you pay at the supermarket, and have some really good eats on your table all summer long.)

Granted, some of the stuff I’ll do to save money is a little…extreme.

Converting the entire yard to a little farm comes to mind. Ahem.

I also do little weird things like…turning down the water heater before we leave for work. One morning we were heading out to the car and I heard the water heater go “FaaahWHOOOM!” as it fired up its burners, and I thought…For heaven’s sake, don’t bother – nobody needs hot water for, like, twelve hours…

So I turned it down to ‘vacation.’ When we got home that night, the water was still plenty warm enough for someone to take a shower, and since it can heat an entire tank of cold water to scalding in less than half an hour anyway – we never noticed any impact to our lifestyle from my newest obsession.

I don’t buy a lot of cleansers. I use vinegar for most things…because it’s cheap-cheap-cheap and works-works-works. What vinegar can’t clean, baking soda probably can. And if I want a lemon scent, well…I have a lemon tree. And about three gallons of lemon juice out in the freezer.

Or I could burn some incense.

Or I could bake something. Glade has nothing that beats a loaf of bread in the oven…

More than once I’ve had a teacher gallop up to me on Earth Day to ask about my “green” ways – because they’ve been doing their thing with the kids that week and found out about my clotheslines and my sun oven and the scratch-cooking and uber-garden and the way I’ll go all ballistic if somebody puts a plastic grocery bag {GASP!} in the trash are you CRAZY, that would go in the RECYCLING BIN if you please, missy!

I hate to admit it at such times, but…it really has a lot less to do with “being green” and a lot more to do with “saving green.”

I don’t want to have to pay for an extra trash tote (or to rent a truck to drive the excess to the dump myself), so I do my best to recycle avidly and reduce how much crap comes into the Den in the first place. I don’t want to pay for energy to dry my clothes when the sun is right there anxious to do the job for me.

And then have to use the air conditioner that much more because now I’m heating up the house with the dryer.

I save the laundry and bath water for the garden because water is precious out here in California. Every last drop is precious. If I can harmlessly reuse it, I’m going to – and it’s worth having to use the “special” soap, especially since I tend to use less than half the recommended amount because lord have mercy, do they ever overstate how much of that stuff you “need” to get your clothes clean…

I consolidate my shopping trips and do a lot of walking from store to store to save at the gas pump, not because I’m trying to reduce my carbon footprint. I buy in bulk for the best price, not necessarily for the least packaging. I cook from scratch because it’s cheaper, and healthier. I started gardening to take that next big step into frugal eating, to give us the fresh organic-method produce we love but really couldn’t afford.

When a single carrot is running two bucks, I’m priced out of the market. The seed package that produced carrots on demand from November to March followed by one big thirty-pound harvest that went into the freezer cost me…ten cents.

You never know what you’ll find at the dollar store, kids. I restocked big time this year – all my spinach, lettuce, carrots and green onions were ten cent seed packages. Righteous.

We’re all more aware of these things than ever right now. Some of us feel kind of caught between the two – I want to be “greener” but ohmygah, I can’t afford to because I have to be careful with the money right now…

I have been surprised to find myself labeled “green” when in fact all I was doing was looking for ever-more frugal ways to live well. I want my clothes to be clean and smell nice cheaply. I want to eat really, really well inexpensively. I want to have the absolute best when I do buy something, and I don’t mind not buying six thousand other things to have it. I want my Tupperware (real and take-n-toss) beautifully white even though I left spaghetti sauce in it for weeks (put it out in the sun for a few hours – seriously, it works, uses no-nasty-chemicals and is free).

Frugality doesn’t automatically lead to greener living, any more than greener living automatically leads to frugality. But they have a long love affair, those two, and they work very well together. If you follow either one long enough, you’ll find the other has moved into the house and made itself at home.

It should be no surprise that living by the mantra ‘reduce / reuse / recycle’ leads to cost savings, and that seeking cost savings will lead back to that same mantra.

This week (or so) in the garden:

Thirty pounds of carrots peeled, cut up, blanched and frozen. (Last weekend, actually.)

Four pounds of peas shelled and ready to be eaten – the first time any significant amount has actually been harvested instead of being eaten straight off the vine by night-stalking predators, probably ninja vegans or something me. Or the Denizens. But mostly me. Those vines are still heavy with immature pods, so I expect to be harvesting another four pounds or so in a few days. Woot. They’ll be blanched and frozen in boilable bags – kind of a slow-made-fast-food thing. Slow to grow, shell and bag, fast to reheat and eat.

The last two heads of broccoli are on their way to being harvested. Another week or so and they should be ready.

Fourteen beet plants decided to jump out of the ground, having apparently over-wintered as seeds. They almost got pulled as weeds before I realized they were growing in awfully straight lines. They’re supposed to need about 50 days from sprout and they’re already about ten in, so another month or so and we should have some golden beets. Mmmm, stain-free sweetness…

Six hills of white potatoes were started. No signs of life from them yet. The purple potatoes haven’t been properly planted yet. The first go-round got dug up accidentally due to an overenthusiastic crowd of helpers. Whoops.

Blueberries, blackberries and raspberries are leafing out and acting happy.

One artichoke plant was mostly eaten by snails. The other two appear to be happy.

All three cranberry bushes are putting out new leaves and seem to like their new home quite well so far. We’ll see how they do when the heat hits this summer.

The cherry trees are happy, and so is the apple tree. The five-in-one stone tree appears to have lost two of its grafts – they might be fooling around and will leaf out later or something, but I’m kind of thinking those two grafts are dead wood at this point. We’ll see. But the surviving three (two peaches and a nectarine) are thriving away.

One yellow-striped heirloom tomato, and one cherry tomato were put into containers. They’re having a grand old time stretching out into their new cages, getting ready to climb like the dickens.

Nothing from the horseradish yet. I understand it’s slow to start but then tries to take over the world, so I won’t expect much for a while yet. Then I’ll expect to answer a knock at the garage door one day and {duh-nuh-duh-nuh-duh-nuh} the horseradish only rings once…

The bed for the zucchini / spinach has been dug up and is ready to go…just need a pain-free (or pain-reduced) weekend and I’ll get that planted too. Ditto the carrot / onion bed, and the newly designated because the tomatoes took less room than expected watermelon bed. (The Denizens are super happy about that one. They love watermelon.)

150 tomato transplants were finally put into the ground last week, where they were promptly attacked by unchancy spring weather. Right immediately now, they are being pounded by a cold northern storm – loads of rain, rather cold temperatures and (worst of all) a whipping wind. I’m afraid to look out there tomorrow when I get home from work…it may be an absolute slaughter.

The excitement continues…

Sunday, April 04, 2010

So thaaaaaaaaaat’s…good…right?

This surgery has been a whole lot of not-fun. Friday, I looked like I had a golf ball stuck in my jaw. Kind of felt like I did, too. Pain, random bleeding, etc. etc. etc. The area stitches up is Considerably Larger than I had anticipated – silly me, I expected the surgery would impact the areas immediately around the one tooth. Ha ha ha ha ha. Yeah. The stitches extend from my front lower teeth all the way back to my last molar. I’m also still numb from the center of my lower lip to my ear, probably due to the swelling (which is gorgeously awful) putting pressure on that nerve that runs along the base of your jaw.

It’s awesome.

BUT, it went well and hopefully things will be getting a little better every day and then someday soon I will wake up and realize that I do not have to pound back anything because my jaw is throbbing.

When I woke up at Ridiculous O’Clock Friday morning, my entire life was one large red smear of pain. I could feel my heartbeat in my jaw. I was pretty sure I was no, really, dying. DYING. This was it. And then the great Pharaoh died of a toothache, the end.

Relief was about twenty feet away, in my bathroom. A bottle of Motrin, and a bottle of Vicodin. Four of the former, one of the latter, and I should be feeling the will to live again in less than half an hour.

…but it was soooo…farrrrrr…awaaaaaayyyyyyy…

Eventually, I managed to overcome inertia. Staggered into the bathroom, got myself a swallow of water, tossed back my pills, and crawled back to bed to wait for the relief to wash over me.

Which it sorta-kinda-partially did, eventually. Still hurt like a @*^&@^&, but I was able to grudgingly admit that I probably was not going to actually-literally die of the toothache.

Saturday morning was more of the same. Waking up too early, pain too intense, can’t deal, relief is far, far, far away…

Saturday night, with those two experiences under my belt giving me wisdom and guidance, I set a bottle full of water and my pills right next to the bed – so that I wouldn’t have to actually get up to get the pain relief started.

So, when I woke up this morning after a fairly decent night’s sleep with my face sure-enough throbbing like I’d been kicked in the face by a mule, I rolled over and smugly popped my now-routine four-Motrin-one-Vicodin combo. Then I lay back, folded my hands on my stomach and began my Zen-like meditations on suffering and how each moment of our lives is like a drop of water into a holy crap I forgot to hide the Easter eggs last night, GAH!!!!

“Tim!” I hissed. “The Easter eggs! We didn’t hide the Easter eggs!”

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz,” he replied urgently. Curse you, Super Sleeping Powers…!

I contemplated the relative importance of hiding Easter eggs and lying in bed waiting for pain killers to come along and, well, kill the pain. I pondered the probability that any of the Denizens would be getting up soon. I calculated just how much light there was outside and how long it would take said light to penetrate into the Inner Sanctum of Captain Adventure’s room – he’s generally our earliest riser and seldom stays in bed much past dawn.

I didn’t have twenty minutes. Shoot, I probably didn’t even have ten minutes. If I didn’t get up and get those things hidden immediately, well, it would be a(nother) year of many good intentions and zero follow-through.

Damn.

So I got up, went downstairs, and hid the 48 Easter eggs all around the downstairs – just in the nick of time, because I barely had time to slip back into bed before Captain Adventure’s little bare feet hit the floor with a thud and we were off to the races.

That I was able to get up and do this is, to me, a sign of considerable progress.

Friday or Saturday morning, if you had told me that Jesus Himself Personally was at my door asking for a cup of coffee, I don’t think I could have gotten out of bed to make it for Him. I’d’ve been all, If the dude can turn water into wine, I think He can @*^&@ing well manage to make His own damned coffee. Leave me alone, I’m dying.

But today, merely the thought that the Denizens would be rather disappointed if (once again) we had forgotten to “do” anything with the Easter eggs we’d fussed with so much was enough to overcome the throbbing and get me moving.

Which means it had to have been less-intense throbbing.

Which is progress.

Of a sort.

Right?

Right.

But man…I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. Not even the people who drive like jerks around schools when children are present.

Especially since they probably wouldn’t make the connection, you know? “Gee, this pain is awful! It must be because I drive like a jerk around that school every weekday while children are present!” – probably wouldn’t occur to them. So it would just be a wasted hex.

And what’s the point of that, I ask you…?