by jphilo | May 18, 2012 | Daily Life
This morning, I was up bright and early. At 6:15 I left the house to walk, my back exercises, Bible study, and breakfast already completed. Ten minutes later, my phone rang.
By the time I fished it out of my pocket and untangled the iPod ear buds wrapped around it, and I inadvertently pressing several buttons, the caller gave up. The screen said it had been Hiram, so I tried to call back. But somehow I hit the mute button and had to hang up. Eventually he called back, and after explaining I really hadn’t hung up on him twice, he remembered why he called in the first place. Which is a miracle in itself, as the rest of the story proves.
“Did you put muffins in the microwave this morning?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, and then added. “And I ate them. For breakfast.”
“Okay,” he said. “So these in the microwave are mine?”
I pondered the question for a moment.
I didn’t remember putting more muffins in the microwave.
But the older I get, the more I forget what I’ve really done.
The older I get, the more I confuse what I only considered doing with what I actually did. And the older I get, the more reality seems like a day dream and the more my day dreams feel like reality.
That’s when I realized Hiram and I have been married for a long time, and he’s rubbing off on me. As my internal dialogue confirms, though I have spent the last 35 years pulling him out of the anti-memory-time-and-space vortex where he lives, growing older is gradually sucking me into it with him. My days as household memory queen are numbered. Maybe even over already.
Hesitatingly, I answered. “I don’t think I would put a second set of muffins in the microwave. And my stomach feels full, so I ate mine.”
“Okay.” His voice remained cheerful and unperturbed. “They must be mine. I just don’t remember putting them there.”
I laughed. “We’re pathetic.”
He agreed, and we both hung up. I slipped the phone back in my pocket and felt something long and stringy wrap around it. I pulled the phone out again, along with a tangle of iPod ear buds.
Where in the world did those come from? I wondered. Then I stuffed them in my pocket and walked down the road cheerful and unperturbed.
Just like my husband.
by jphilo | Apr 23, 2012 | Daily Life
My rhubarb life is spinning out of control this morning. I blame my present chaos on the recent mild winter. This is not the first time the Winter of 2012 has invaded my personal space. Last week, I renamed March and April as Marpril, thanks to the great Early Spring Weather Flip Flop of 2012. Blissfully ignorant of nature’s wiles, I also suggested Maypril as a new name for April and May if the weather hijinks continued, never expecting to put it to use already. But today, the announcement must be made.
Maypril is here!
How do I know? Because it’s time to pick the rhubarb. All last week, before leaving for the Accessibility Summit in the Washington, DC area, I denied the truth. Over and over, I told myself it was still Marpril and nobody in this part of the country picks rhubarb in Marpril. Picking the rhubarb in Marpril would weaken it. Kill it even.
I didn’t want rhubarbacide on my rap sheet.
But when I returned from the Summit (more on that trip tomorrow), the rhubarb – egged on by the Winter of 2012 and the great Early Spring Weather Flip Flop of 2012 – threw it’s version of a tantrum, determined to gain my attention. The rhubarb sent up seed pods. Unheard of in March, April, or Marpril. But common in May. Except May is two weeks away.
Which means it’s Maypril.
So this morning, though my desk is covered with business expense receipts to file and record, though trips to the grocery store and bank are in order, though my inbox is overflowing with emails to answer, though the dirty laundry pile grows as unpacking progresses, though there’s cooking and baking to do…I’m hacking off seedpods and picking rhubarb. Because my mama always sent me out to cut off those seed pods and pick the rhubarb so it would keep producing until the weather turned hot and dry. But the seedpods never sprouted in April. Always in May.
Which means its Maypril. The month when life spins out of control.
Or will feel out of control until my desk is cleared off, the errands are run, the emails are answered, the laundry’s done, the get basic cooking and baking is finished, and there’s time to make a rhubarb-strawberry crisp. Then maybe I’ll like Maypril as much as I liked May evenings when my mom served rhubarb crisp for desserts, when my dad winked and said, “Maybe you better not eat that, Jo-Jo. Maybe you better give it to me so I can see if your piece is as good as mine was,” when my brother and sister and I giggled because it was rhubarb season, and our parents were happy.
Then, I’ll welcome Maypril.
by jphilo | Apr 6, 2012 | Daily Life
For most of the country, March Madness 2012 ended with last weekend’s championship game. For many Iowans, like my husband, the madness ended in the second round when the Iowa State Cyclones, the team that beat the reigning champs in the first round, lost to Kentucky in the second.
But for other Iowans, like me, the March madness continues, not on the basketball court, but in our flowerbeds. This year’s mild weather was mentioned in a previous post, and afterwards spring marched through March like mad. In fact, so unbeleivable was spring’s onslaught that on the last day of the month, I used my camera to make a record of the mad, mad, mad, mad spring of 2012. Crazy stuff, unheard of in Central Iowa. Stuff like
bleeding hearts blooming in March,
along with tulips,
and more tulips,
and violets.
Not to mention buds on the clematis
and the lilacs, too,
rhubarb almost ready to be picked,
and the roses in full leaf.
Only the wild plum tree blossoms, usually the first of the spring flowers to bloom, waited until their usual time to appear.
Surrounded by the many evidences of this mad spring, the plum tree nearly escaped my notice, until the fragrance of the blossoms wafted on the breeze and tickled my nose. A lovely March Madness I pray will rule at our house until the end of May.
by jphilo | Mar 26, 2012 | Daily Life
The first four items on my weekend to-do list
- Clean the bathrooms.
- Vacuum bugs in the guest bedroom.
- Put finishing touches on speech for next week.
- Make apple pies for church camp scholarship auction.
were a snap to finish. In fact iWas so pleased with my skill and efficiency, my mom would have warned me not to break my arm while patting myself on the back had she been here to do so.
Then, iTackled the last two items on the list
- Research iCloud.
- Research iPad 3.
Two paragraphs into the first online article, iWondered if it was written in a foreign language. The article was peppered with phrases like like
iOS device,
wireless pushing,
4 GB,
retina display,
oleophobic scratch-proof glass,
slick interface,
blazing LTE hotspot.
iDidn’t understand any of them. My iCloud and iPad research made one thing perfectly clear. When it comes to technology, iFeel
iNcompetent,
iNsecure,
and
iN need of an iNterpreter.
So tomorrow, off to the Apple Store iGo where, hopefully, a perky iGenius in a bright, blue T shirt will refrain from laughter while answering my iCloud questions, respond with kindness when a blank look is my response to his answers, and exhibit great patience while conducting my iPad tutorial. iN short, iNeed an Apple Store iGenius who can do the iMpossible. iNeed an Apple Store iGenius who can make me feel
iNspired
iNstead of
iDiotic when navigating the
iUniverse.
Otherwise, iAm coming home to unwire my iUniverse and launch an apple pie baking business iNstead. Like my mother always said after she warned me about breaking my leg by patting myself on the back –
iF you can’t conquer ’em, cook ’em.
by jphilo | Mar 23, 2012 | Daily Life
This March we’ve had lots of good news. A grandchild on the way. Our Ohio kids moving closer to home in August. A sizable tax refund. Even so, I feel like Debbie Downer’s double today. Since I can’t stop the feeling, here are my top ten reasons for being a Debbie Downer when I should be Perky Polly:
10. Spring is way too early this year. See this post for further explanation.
Wah. Wah.
9. It’s been cloudy and rainy. Which is poking holes in my summer drought theory.
Wah. Wah.
8. I caught a cold on the Ides of March. Etu, immune system?
Wah. Wah.
7. I didn’t take out stock in a tissue company before this cold started.
Wah. Wah.
6. My recent upgrade to OS X Lion has not gone as smoothly as Apple promised.
Wah. Wah.
5. iCloud is looming on the horizon.
Wah. Wah.
4. The agent who promised she’d be in touch soon about my proposal still hasn’t.
Wah. Wah.
3. I can now order from the Senior Citizen menu at I Hop.
Wah. Wah.
2. No chocolate since Ash Wednesday.
Wah. Wah.
1. Debbie Downer would be ashamed to post this list, but I’m not.
Wah. Wah.
by jphilo | Mar 20, 2012 | Daily Life
For the first time ever, my indoor bouquet of American Cancer Society daffodils and the bed of outdoor daffodils are blooming at the same time.
Since today is the first day of spring, this may seem like no big deal to many of you who live south of Iowa. But in this state, the calendar’s first day of spring and the weather’s first day of spring are usually weeks apart. But not this year.
This year on the first day of spring, the bleeding heart looks like this:
The magnolia like this:
Not to mention the iris,
the tulips,
the columbine,
and the lilacs.
Spring is almost a month ahead of itself, and its early appearance is a worry. Spring is one of those things to be anticipated, best savored when it arrives on time or even a little late. An early spring leads to complications, like when house guests show up before you’ve made the bed with fresh linens, or babies are born prematurely, or young people become rich before they’ve learned to handle money.
Once the leaves and buds and stalks appear, they’re sitting ducks for the killing frost that’s bound to come. After the frost, flowers don’t bloom, fruit trees don’t fruit, and plants spend the entire summer trying to recover. An early spring is like dessert being served before the meal. It tastes so good at first, but it spoils the appetite while leaving the stomach unsatisfied.
But, an early spring is the one we’ve got, and nothing can be done about it. Therefore, I’m doing my best to enjoy it, trying to convince myself that it’s okay to eat dessert first if it’s the only food in the house. So far the ruse is working. But when the killing frost comes – and rest assured it will – and wipes away all this early sweetness, will these pictures of early spring be enough to fill the emptiness inside?
