Dandelion

wild and unbidden

golden globes invade my yard

manes flashing sunshine

Slitherin'

Orphidiophobia
That's what I've got.
An abnormal fear of snakes.
There is some controversy over whether fear of snakes is an innate response for survival or whether it's caused by a frightening experience in one's youth. Some studies even suggest fear of snakes develops, at least in part, due to exposure to negative information about snakes.
Of all the phobias to which I play hostess, I would have to say my snake phobia is among the top three or four.
It may even be number one.
I've never had a bad experience with a snake, nor do I remember being exposed to scary stories or information about snakes.
No, my fear of snakes is most definitely visceral.

So, you'll never guess who has moved into my neighborhood.
Okay, maybe you will.
Yes, I have the auspicious privilege of hosting a nesting colony of garter snakes in my very own backyard.
Whoopee.


Yes, a nest of vipers - okay, garter snakes - lives in the broken masonry under my back porch.
I wish they had chosen a different yard, but since this is their second year in this location, I think word is spreading that this is the place to be.
You see, we don't spray or fertilize our lawn, our dogs don't pay any attention to the snakes, our yard is fenced, and we don't really mind that they're here.
In theory anyway.

I'm glad they have a safe place to live and breed.

Really, I am.
Who knows how bad our mouse problem might be without their presence. I believe they also eat insects and other pests.
That's all good.
I just wish I could walk through the yard without fear.
Now, I don't mind seeing snakes in the zoo, reading about snakes or seeing pictures of snakes. I don't have any problem with my children handling snakes - gosh, one time I even let them pose with a giant anaconda draped across their shoulders at the Iowa State Fair.
I was fine as long as I could keep my distance.

I've never touched a snake.
Never plan to.
But my fear hasn't clouded my judgment about their importance to the ecosystem.
I appreciate what marvelous creatures they are and am truly saddened to read of rattlesnake roundups or to see smooshed snakes in the street.
And there have been a lot of dead garter snakes along our neighborhood walking route this spring.

I know an amazing amount about snakes for someone so phobic. Snakes were one of my older son's favorite topics for a couple of years. Back before we had the Internet, my husband and I even spent one "date" night at the bookstore trying to find out exactly how rattlesnake venom killed its victims for him.

Today at the dog park a good-sized garter snake slithered across the path in front of me. By the time I finished uttering a strangled gasp of fear and my feet touched ground again, it was in the grass on the other side. My daughters and son laughed at me and I laughed at myself.
Once I caught my breath and my heart stopped pounding.
So much for exposure therapy.

That's the thing about phobias - they aren't rational.
I know garter snakes - and most snakes I will ever encounter in the wilds of my backyard - are harmless. I know they have no desire to interact with me at all.
I know they won't hurt me.
And I'm not even really afraid that they will.
They just creep me out.
Completely.

There's really nothing I can do about my fear of snakes, though I guess I could thank some prehistoric ancestor for passing it on. Who knows, maybe I'm here today because some cave woman was overly cautious when walking through the Savannah.

I'll be glad when this current crop of hatchlings grows up and moves away.
In the meantime, I'll proceed with caution in my backyard.
Guess who won't be weeding the flower beds anytime soon?

Self-motivated

Why, yes, he is unschooled.

One car?

In my frenzy of debt disposal I've been manically reading every personal finance blog, frugal living blog and get-out-of-debt blog I can find. An interesting idea proposed on many of them is to ditch the second car and become a one car household.
At first blush, this seems impossible.
But after careful consideration I can see that it could work for us.
We're kind of living a trial run right now. Last month my son totaled his car. He graduates from Iowa State University in a few weeks, but until he has a few months of full-time work under his belt - and in his bank account - he won't have the down payment for a new (old) one.
ISU is in Ames, Iowa, about 45 minutes from Des Moines, where we live. My son has to travel to and from Des Moines several times a week for appointments and his job.
What to do?
Since we don't want to take on another car payment, even short-term, the obvious solution was for us to share one of our two vehicles with him. Translation: he has the family van most of the time while my husband and I share our Prius.
We live a good 25 minutes from my husband's work, but he can get a subsidized bus pass for $5 a month. So far, so good. The pick-up and drop-off times aren't ideal, but they are workable.
So, it's working well, right?
Yes and no.
I know this sounds terribly indulgent and somewhat ridiculous to some, but our one-year-old basset hound goes to daycare two or three times a week. Why would I do this, after all, I'm a stay-at-home mom, right?
First, daycare gives my daughters and myself a break from his puppy energy, which for anyone would be nice, but for me is essential. With my EDS and fibromyalgia, fatigue from normal activity can be incapacitating. Add in a puppy and it's almost impossible at times.
Daycare has also been great for socializing him, and bassets are extremely pack-oriented dogs. He needs the companionship of other dogs to keep him healthy and happy. It also gives him great exercise, leaving him worn out and easy to handle on his days at home.
So daycare is a must.
My husband used to take Gus to daycare on his way to work - it's about 20 minutes from home. We planned his daycare days to coincide with the days my younger daughter takes her high school classes, giving me two or three mornings of extra rest. Plus, my husband would pick the dog up on his way home at the end of the day.
Having to take over these early morning tasks is beginning to wear on me, as is the extra trip at the end of the day.
I guess I'm not really complaining, as it is only short-term. And it's nice to know this would be a viable option if necessary.
But it is hard.
And not fun.
In the meantime, I'm finding that as long as I get one cup of coffee down before heading out, I'm good to go. And usually I can hold off the worst of the fatigue until the weekend, when there is more chance to rest.
If we were to consider permanently downsizing to one car, we would need to live a less "scattered" life, with home much closer to work and activities than it is currently.

***Update***
My son was able to get a car loan on Saturday, no down payment required. We co-signed the loan, but he will be building credit history.
I spent most of the weekend recuperating from spending last week in the car, so I'm really happy we have both our vehicles back.
We won't downsize to one car any time soon, but I do think my husband will continue to ride the bus a couple time a week.

Hungering

I think I need investment advice.
How much would it cost to make a sizable investment in bean futures?
As in green bean futures.
You see, my old dog Wally, 12, has always been a chow hound.
The technical term for this is "food motivated," which doesn't even begin to capture Wally's never-ending quest to ingest.
In his long lifetime Wally has indulged in more different foodstuffs than I can remember. Off the top of my head: two whole boxes of Crispy Creme donuts, several boxes of Raisin Bran cereal, two boxes of chocolate covered cherries, a delightful combination of hay and rabbit poop, an entire tub of glucosamine chondroitin chews, sticks of butter left out to soften, and more cat poop than I care to admit. He even managed to eat two small NylaBones intended for our puppy. If you don't have a dog, NylaBones are considered indestructible.
Most of this either caused massive vomiting, diarrhea, or both.
In addition, he regularly hoovers up any and all crumbs, usually stationing himself right in front of me when I cook.
Wally's proclivity for the forgotten loaf of bread or the tray of cooling cookies makes for an interesting kitchen. A busy baking day will find the top of my refrigerator covered with baked goods, along with the tops of cupboards both in the kitchen and in the dining room.
Of course, if we were smarter, he would never had access to all these foodstuffs in the first place. But all it takes is a forgotten bag of groceries or a not-quite closed door and he's in like Flynn.
Rather than abate with age, his constant hunger has gotten worse, as one of the medications he takes makes him even more frantically hungry. Giving him more dog food would only make him gain weight, which would add to his health issues. So, as per the vet's suggestion, Wally now gets a can of salt-free green beans every noon.
That's a lot of beans
And they haven't helped.
I spent yesterday morning taxiing my daughters here, there, and everywhere.
In between runs I stopped at home to grab a drink of water.
And there on the floor were my "deal" of the week.
Several pounds of 79 cent tomatoes lay scattered across the floor.
He had taste-tested each and every one.

 At first I thought the cats had knocked the bag on the floor to play with the fruit, but a closer look revealed that what I thought were claw marks were actually tooth marks.
A quick check of Wally's mouth and the culprit was identified.

Later in the day I picked up another couple pounds which now rest on top of the fridge with the bread, cookies, and granola.
At least I learned something: Wally doesn't like tomatoes.

RIP

In the history of a marriage there are always those few instances that, while forgiven, are never quite forgotten.
My poor husband has been the perpetrator of a few of those.
One that stands out in my memory happened nearly 20 years ago at Christmastime.
It seems like yesterday.
When my grandfather, my mother's father, died, I received my grandma's pots and pans, everyday dishes, and various kitchen tools. I had just moved into an apartment off campus and needed all those items.
I didn't give them much thought at the time, as I didn't really cook much beyond heating up the occasional can of Campbell's WonTon soup. That was my air-popped popcorn and diet Kool-Aid phase. It's a wonder I survived.
Anyhoo, two short years later I was married and my homemaking instincts kicked in, at least the cooking ones. I discovered a love of cooking that's stayed with me all these years.
And that's when I began to appreciate my grandmother's things. Not so much the pots and pans, but her utensils, and most especially her rolling pin.

Now, I am the last grandchild on both sides of my family - and by a good many years. My memories of my Grandma Stutelberg (heritage hint) are few and definitely not particularly happy ones. It's not as if I watched her makes pies nor do I remember ever having eaten a pie she made.
Nevertheless, this rolling pin belonged to someone important to me. It was part of my heritage. When I used the rolling pin I imagined what it must have been like when my mother was a little girl in the 1930s. My rolling pin connected me to the past in a tangible way.
As my life evolved and I had children, I became an avid pie-maker. Each time I rolled out the dough I was honoring past women and the important work of feeding the family.
It was Christmas of 1994, I believe, when the incident occurred.
My husband has always been somewhat lacking in gift-giving acumen. It's not because he doesn't care, but more because he expresses his love differently. While I put great stock in a well-thought-out, carefully-chosen gift as an expression of love, he shows me he loves me by his everyday actions. He always has.
With age, comes wisdom and I now have a hefty dose of both.
But 20 years ago?
Not so much.
I still can't imagine what thoughts ran through his head that holiday season. But for some reason, he decided I needed a new rolling pin. After all, the one I had was old, wasn't it? I liked to cook, so surely this would be a good gift.
You see now where this is going, don't you?
Christmas morning I eagerly opened my gift and was surprised (and a little dismayed) by the rolling pin, but I tried to hide my true feelings.
It wasn't until later when putting the new tool away that I discovered the true horror of that gift.
"Honey, where's my old rolling pin?"
"I threw it out."
"I'd like to keep it, I think. Could you get it out of the trash?"
My husband has never planned in advance for any holiday. Each year I remind him that like my birthday, Christmas falls on the same day every year. But somehow, that year, he planned.
Yes, the new rolling pin was apparently a "planned" gift.
He had bought it enough ahead of that day of infamy that he had time to not only throw out my old, beloved rolling pin, but for the garbage trucks to take it away.
Forever.
Gone.
I'd like to say that I handled it well.
I didn't.
After a fair amount of ranting and raving and profuse apologies on his part, the incident became a part of our past. After a while, I even forgave him.
But I never forgot.
Several years after that I found an old rolling pin in a dusty antique shop.
I had to have it.
I've never liked that "new" rolling pin; it never felt right.
But this new-old rolling pin was almost like Grandma's.

I still have that ill-fated gift. It lies in my utensil drawer next to my antique rolling pin.
Perhaps someday it will find its own way into a dusty shop for some young wife and mother to spy.
I hope she imagines a happy history for it.
What of my wonderful, old rolling pin?
That, I hope, will pass from myself to one of my daughters and beyond.
For it has been used with love for decades by me - and perhaps a half a century by someone else - to lovingly craft pies and cookies for her family.
Even for her gift-challenged husband.

Precision

Earlier this year I offered to pay my girls for some of our routine household chores.
I am unable to keep up with everything myself because of my EDS and fibromyalgia so I need more help than I care to admit.
Sarah brushes/furminates the dogs and cats weekly, gives medications as required, and cleans the bathrooms. Melissa vacuums and Swiffers the kitchen and bathroom floors, dusts, and makes a dessert each week.
It is such a relief to know that these jobs will get done. And while the girls used to help do these jobs, now I don't have to "ask." Of course, they both help out a lot more than this with animal care, dog watching/walking, laundry, dishes, etc.
I would have to say that next to having guaranteed clean floors and bathrooms, the best bargain by far was Melissa's dessert making. We have had cookies, brownies, cakes, and more.
It's been wonderful.
One little thing I've noticed, however, is that Melissa takes after her father in the kitchen.
My husband is a scientist and approaches cooking as if he's in the lab. While accuracy is important in following a recipe, scientific precision generally is not.
Plus, it makes him really slow.
Melissa isn't a fast cook, but I chalk that up to lack of experience more than anything else.
But when it comes to arranging cookies on a baking tray, her precision takes the cake.
I've never seen anyone place dough blobs on a cookie sheet with her exactitude.
It's really something to behold.

The only other person I've known whose cookies turned out so perfectly round and similarly sized was my Aunt Ruthie. And believe me, she was a legendary neatnick and an amazing cook.
While I have no illusions regarding my daughter's tidiness (or lack thereof), I do think she's on her way to being a fabulous cook.
Just keep those cookies coming, honey.

Opposites

http://carlanthonyonlinedotcom.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/bobby-sherman.jpg

I woke up with Bobby Sherman this morning.
Not literally, of course.
Gee, I wonder how old he is now?  At least 70, I would think.
No, I opened my eyes with the refrain of "Julie, Julie, Julie, do you love me?" running through my head.
I'm a little young to have been a true Bobby Sherman fan, though I remember watching the TV version of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers  - Here Come the Brides. I must have been only 5 or 6 at the time.
But I really stumbled upon Bobby through one of my sister's record albums.
Remember those?
My two oldest sisters are 12 and 11 years older than I, which means they left for college when I was in kindergarten and first grade, respectively.
In those days, I'm sure, they didn't have record players to take away to school, which means their records were left at home - where their adorable little sister could play them over and over and over.
They didn't own many records, but Bobby Sherman was there, along with Frankie Vali and the Four Seasons, a greatest hits album (knock-offs) including Wooly Bully, Do the Freddie, Silhouettes on the Shade, and greatest hits from The Turtles.
I had the eerie experience growing up of hearing a song on the radio - one I didn't remember hearing before - and knowing the words. Another gift from my older sisters.  I'd apparently heard these "oldies" often enough in my preschool years that the words and melodies were stashed somewhere in the nether regions of my brain.
I have so many tidbits of songs stuck in there it's like my life has it's own musical score. My daughters hate how I can sing parts of songs to match whatever we're doing.
"Don't forget to call me" can lead to a mom-style rendition of Debbie Harry.
Upon arriving home they might be greeted with my version of Tom Jones' "What's New Pussycat?" Procrastinating on that English paper? "Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping..."
I have a lot of fun.
My family finds it annoying.
I mentioned waking up with Bobby to my husband this morning.
He shared that he often wakes up with thoughts in his head, too.
Like what?
Oh, you know, research ideas.
Yeah.
So, while my darling husband awakens to scientific inquiry, I'll just have to content myself with Bobby.
I guess opposites really do attract.

Outside In

We have a profusion of tulips and daffodils and other flowering bulbs in our yard, but it never seems quite enough.

Every fall we plant more bulbs, and every spring we realize we need another 100 or so for the next year.

It's especially hard for me to pick a bouquet. I'm not exactly sure why that is, but it's almost impossible for me to go out in the yard and remove the beauties.

I'm always concerned that I'll pick too many and there won't be enough left in the yard. Silly, I know.

Fortunately my daughters don't have that problem. They keep me well-supplied with gorgeous bouquets throughout the spring and summer.

I wonder how many thousands of flowers I would have to plant to eliminate my worry of cutting too many so I could gather my own bouquets?

I still have a couple of years before I have to find out.

This and that

So, it's been three full months since we started our "no holds barred" debt reduction.
At first it was difficult just to experience what felt like "limits" on myself. Not that there were all kinds of things I wanted to buy - I just don't do well with rules.
But I have to admit what felt like a straight jacket at first now feels incredibly liberating.
We budgeted for absolutely everything and eliminated lots of unnecessary spending. I reduced Netflix to streaming only and the newspaper to only four days a week. We eliminated one of our trash cans (we paid for two), I haven't renewed any magazine subscriptions, and we were able to knock $30 a month of our cell phone bill. I no longer buy sparkling water unless we're traveling (I got a SodaStream for Christmas this year). This alone is likely saving me more than $50 a month.
Every extra penny - what some people call "found" money - goes toward debt.
My husband and I each get $100 a week. This covers all groceries (including cat litter and toiletries) and gasoline for our Prius and minivan and any "extras" not included in the budget. Last week that included garden seeds and brewing supplies for my husband. This week, a trip to a specialist in Iowa City and and an oil change. At first it seemed nearly impossible to feed 4-6 adults and gas up two vehicles for that amount, but now I love the challenge of having leftover cash at the end of the week to put toward debt.
We are on track to have all of our debt, except the mortgage, gone in two years.
In some ways that seems really fast, but the day-to-day reality can feel quite slow.
I have been way too obsessed with the numbers lately - no matter how many times a day I log into my bank account or check my debt level it's not going to change much. It's the long haul that counts.
My daughters both have commented that going to the mall for lunch or to Barnes and Noble for coffee is much more fun now that it doesn't happen so often. I have to agree.
Today I decided to stop staring at those numbers and get busy.
I'm waiting until next month to order the roving Melissa needs to make more yarn for my afghan project, so I needed another cheap or free project to work on in the interim. She helped me sort through the yarn stash and we found enough yarn for me to make an entire afghan - no purchase necessary. I'll start on it this afternoon.
Supper tonight will be reincarnated leftovers. I turned Friday night's leftover Tuscan beans with garlic and rosemary into pasta e fagioli. We'll have that with fruit smoothies and homemade bread. A quick look through the fridge and I found 2 cups of squash puree from the last of my winter squash. We had pumpkin bread and pumpkin pie last week. A quick search turned up a recipe for Spiced Pumpkin granola. In the process, I used up lots of dribs and drabs of this and that - cashews and walnuts, sunflower seeds, and dried fruits.
We've made so much progress in these three months - it's exciting to look at the possibilities when our finances include no consumer debt at all. We have upcoming house expenses, including front porch repair, yard work (we need about a dump truck's worth of wood chips), a new window, and a sump pump for the basement.
Instead of feeling overwhelmed, I feel in control.
It's a nice way to feel.

AWOL

Our neighbor's Magnolia tree in full glory

I'd like to say I was on a planned blogging break, but I'm afraid that's not true.
I've had several preoccupations this past week; some good, some not.
Since I'm a dyed-in-the-wool pessimist, I'll start with the not-so-good first.
I take a medication for my EDS pain called piroxicam. Basically it's a prescription anti-inflammatory. It makes quite a bit of difference in my daily pain level - except for headaches. I didn't think I got headaches that often, but that's probably because I had devised a great little over-the-counter cocktail for getting rid of them - two aleve, followed an hour later by two ibuprofen, followed 30-60 minutes later with two Excedrin. That and a nap would often blunt the pain if not get rid of the headache outright.
So, what's the bad news?
I have to give up my aleve and Excedrin. Completely.
Apparently, they are too similar to the piroxicam and taking them would be akin to double-dosing.
The past two weeks I've been fighting headaches with an uncomfortable level of regularity. Bad headaches. Migraine-like headaches.
To help combat the headaches and for when the daily med doesn't offer enough relief, the doctor prescribed a muscle relaxant.
It does seem to help the headaches, but best of all when I take it I sleep. And if you are someone who typically doesn't sleep well, getting a solid 5 hours without interruption is like Nirvana and heaven all rolled in chocolate and topped with a cherry.

But while I waken without a headache the next day, I'm left with a slightly spacey s-l-o-w-n-e-s-s. I'm not really sleepy, just floaty. Too floaty to function properly for several hours if not most of the day. I'm spacey enough as it is without medicinal help, so I'm limiting these pills to twice a week.
Which leaves me with far too many headaches.
The doctor suggested Tylenol, which in the past did absolute nothing to relieve my headaches. It might help now, however, since I'm steadily taking the anti-inflammatory.
My skepticism kept me from trying the Tylenol until last night when pain and a fear of floating finally persuaded me to give it a try. I had to dig pretty far back in the medicine cupboard but I finally found a bottle of generic acetaminophen.
It expired in March of 2009.
Apparently it's true that medicines are still effective after their expiration dates since it did provide relief.
Whew.
I also saw the doctor about the weird lump sensation in my throat - fortunately it not a thyroid tumor nor even globus hystericus. Nope, she told me new research has shown that a lump-in-throat sensation can indicate acid reflux.
That and a lot of coughing.
I do that, too.
I have no other symptoms of reflux - no heartburn or indigestion. Just the lumpy throat and coughing.
She recommended an over-the-counter antacid and wonder of wonders it's working.
Who'd a thunk it?

The best thing about the past week has got to be our glorious weather. Spring sprung (sprang?) here in central Iowa in March this year - and I don't mean just daffodils and tulips. Every flowering bush and tree has been in full blossom for more than a week. Even our blueberry bushes are flowering!
While it's been beyond fabulous to have the windows open, go for walks without coats, and enjoy the breathtaking beauty, the pessimist in me worries. Our last frost date is in mid-May. Just one hard freeze between now and then could wipe out fruit crops throughout the state.
So now you know what I've been doing while I wasn't blogging: fighting headaches while slowly floating through the flowers.
Hmm.
Not too different from usual.