Academic A

Welcome to my garden  PRIZE WINNING garden

That's right.  My broccoli rabe and tongue of fire bean both won second place in the Fruits And Vegetables category.  Which makes my garden a PRIZE WINNING garden.  

Now some of you may be like "Your stupid half baked veggies won second place in a small town flower show, big whoop."  

Well let me ask you this, how many awards has YOUR garden won?  None, obviously, or you wouldn't be talking shit because if you had ever won something you'd know how insanely good it feels to have grown something well enough that it won a ribbon.  

Secondly, though the show its self is in a small town, the judges are shipped in as they are national flower show judges, not just Gerdie and her haat spice pod inquiries.  

Third, you should have seen the Myers lemons that got first place.  They were fucking beautiful.  

Everything we entered placed.  Wade got second place while Ty got third (they are now in the same division so they were each other's direct competition with the same exact materials to work with.)  The rose in the wine bottle got 2nd, my California natives got 3rd, so did my herbs, the succulents got 2nd, the dried rose I found on the floor covered in cat hair that just needed a little dusting is all got honorable mention, and you know what got first place?  My friggin miniature. 

I can't say I didn't suspect this, considering how the old ladies fell all over it.  But I did wonder if it would be disqualified because I don't think it was quite 2 inches tall.  The lavender gave it some height.  

So I scored ranks with the little things that I have made grow.  Add those ribbons to the honor roll and perfect attendance awards my kids got and I feel like a pretty decent mom, of both the human and seedling child varieties.  

And then guess what?  

Hard work seems to be paying off.  I got a 90 on my psych final, and went in one last time to Dr. Link's office to discuss my project.  I had to wait for him to finish with another student, and while waiting Link dragged me in to ripping him a new one.  I did not want to, it's awkward.  I think this is why Link has the open door policy in his office, and that he encourages us to all pile in rather than wait outside the door if he's with another student.  

Link is going over the guy's project and he turns to me and says "What does it mean to accept the null?  Because he sure doesn't seem to understand this."  

Oh god, why drag me in?  I don't want to play.  

But then Link is reading things out loud from the project like "Also there is also a correlation..."

And "it depends on the activeness."  

I ask "Is activeness a word?"

"I don't know, let's look it up in the dictionary," says Link.  It turns out that it is a word after all, but his old dictionary didn't have it.  It's okay because I like old dictionaries too.  

"Their religiosity depends on their sexuality.  Well now wait a minute, what do you mean by sexuality?  Male or female?  Their sexual preference?--"

"Their activeness," I add.  Link claps and yells "YES!"  

I felt mean.  I didn't want to be mean.  But Link tells the guy "You know, many students started off with papers right exactly as bad as this.  The difference is about four or five office visits."  And that's when I didn't feel bad, because we're supposed to visit him several times per semester, and if this guy didn't, well, he needs to work on his activeness.  

He rubs his hands together and skims over my paper when it's my turn.  "I have been so excited to read your edits, I've been so excited about this project from the beginning!  YES!  GOER!  YES!  ERIKSON!  YES!  YOU DID THE NEUGARTEN!  And what's this?  Oh goodness...The Mort-Vault.  You designed that?"

"Skeleton structure of it at this point, but yes."   

He immediately scrolls down to the bottom of the Google Doc my project is in.  

A FOR PROJECT.

A FOR COURSE.

My first earned A ever.  Not that I've never received A's before, but they were usually just for band or PE or ceramics.  Participation A's.  This was a hard work, dedication earned Academic A.  

I was so proud of myself that I sold the book back to the bookstore and bought tacos.  Good tacos.  Tacos from 1,000 Limes, and I even got a tres leche.  Because I earned it.  Fuck yeah.  

Earlier that day I had taken my music final, which was on things I did not study for despite being given a study guide with things to study for--fucking guy.  I have a 95% in the class and I usually get A's or B's on the tests so that should be another A.  But that's another one of those Participation A's I was talking about.  

ASL may end up being a B.  I sit at 90% with my attendance and final not graded.  Not sure how I did on the final, as she also put questions on it that I was not told to study for.  Which seems like complete bullshit.  But that was just a portion of the final.  The other portion had to do with making up a story and submitting a video.  But whether it's an A or a B that was a difficult fucking class that I put a lot of decent effort into.  Sign language is harder than you think.  

So now I sit back and wait for the grades to go up on Webadvisor.  I know they're all spectacular, that they'll help the shit out of my drowning GPA, and that I can rest this summer knowing that I done good.  

Well, I can't totally rest, as I do have the online nutrition class and Link is going to contact me about being a researcher.  And with the kids out of school pretty soon here I can focus more of my time on them and not have to be spread so thin.  Though not working has helped as compared to last fall when I was spread so thin that there were days that I didn't even see them, and for what, a couple of D's and time behind a camera that wasn't really a camera taking pictures of kids I didn't even know for parents who probably won't buy the pictures anyway.  

I do have some personal projects lined up for the summer outside of my domestic duties and the research project.  One of them is to clean up a manuscript that I wrote a few years back that I just feel so bad about sitting on.  Another is to maybe learn to cross stitch.  Also, my family genealogy project will have its fair share of my time.  And who knows?  I might get another bean or two out of my garden!  

And Willie has some very good things going for him.  

And I haven't had Dr. Pepper in like two weeks.  

Ask me how I'm doing though and I'll still answer "pretty good, so far." 

Nice Of Her

I'm at the community center dropping off my floral arrangements and vegetable specimens for the flower show and these old ladies are all "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH now what have you got there, sister?"

I explain that two of the arrangements were made by my kids, that I had a California Native entry, some veggies, succulents, a dried rose, a rose specimen and herbs. 

"What's that there?"

"A tongue of fire bean." 

"Hah?  What is it?  Is it a hot bean?  What is this hot bean?  Gerdie, she's got a haat bean.  Come see this here, what did you call it again?  Some kind of spice bulb?"

"A tongue of fire bean." 

"Oooooh wouldja lookit."

Fucking love old people.  And they look just old enough, so as they're oohing and aahing over my little herb arrangement I say, "My mother was the president of the Yucaipa Valley Garden Club in the 80's." 

"REALLY?  Is that so?  In the 80's?  Us here would remember her.  Camille, do we remember her?"

"What was her name, dear?"

"Bonnie Stuart." 

"Oh.  Did she ever get to be president?"

"It is my understanding that she was president of the club, yes." 

"Oh gosh well you just inherited her habits didn't you?"

"...Well not all of them--"

"Oh Gerdie, Gerdie she needs to come to the senior center for lunch with us, hah?  What's your name?"

"Jessie"

"Gash.  You just need to come have lunch with us and be our guest.  Come see us on Monday.  You're such a natural, you have beautiful entries here today!" 

"What's that haat coal pea you brought again?"

"A tongue of fire bean." 

"Well you just come to have lunch with us this Monday.  At the senior center.  Don't be late." 

"Thank you," I say, and they continue to dote over my entries.  "You know, I used to enter this contest when I was small, always competing against Drew Toy.  She always placed higher than me.  That's back when you had big huge cow ribbons to give away." 

I think they asked me about the bean again and I left, but not before someone told me to go to the museum and ask for old scrapbooks.  That maybe I'd find my mother in there. 

I've been curious lately.  Maybe because of all of the genealogy research.  It is my understanding that she was a very talented person before she went all whackadoodle.  I tracked down her son in Oregon using Ancestory.com, and found him on Facebook.  In his profile picture he is shaped like my mother's body but with my brother Jim's face.  And he likes horses.  I've never met this brother, and I know that he is 55ish.  But really, I'd like to know about my dad. 

Sometimes I am a glutton for punishment and I go about asking in the local Yucaipa groups if anyone knew my dad or my grandfather, and I am cautious about asking about my mother because I don't know how many people she still owes drug money to.  Normally it goes unanswered.  I am in contact with my cousin, and my other cousin's children go to my children's school.  I asked Ty once if he knew who those kids were and if he knew that they were his cousins, and he said he did, and that one of them "does a lot of stuff to get attention." 

I've asked my cousin a few times for pictures or information, it usually gets forgotten.  Asked for a job once too. 

Also wrote my aunt and asked if I could photograph inside the buildings my dad built. 

No reply. 

My basement dwellers are heavily involved in the local baseball league, which my cousins are heavily involved in.  One time, Raya's mom mentioned to my cousin that I had shot Raya's wedding, and there was a strange response, "almost implying as if there was some kind of litigation" is what I was told.  Sore subject, I guess.  

So, you know, I put it out there to strangers sometimes. 

Whenever I mention who I'm looking for, they bring up my aunt and uncle.  I say I know who they are, that I'm really more looking for my dad.  "Have you tried getting in contact with your aunt and uncle?"

"Only for the last 21 years of my life."

The lady who bit tonight told me that I would be in her prayers. 

That was nice of her. 

Fountain Of Youth #9: Poor baby

A rare photograph of the jackrabbit.  Willie doesn't look too happy to be there either. 

Next Of Kin

There I am sitting across the table from Willie in my office/study/whatever collecting his signature on his will and the form that gives me Power Of Attorney Over Health Care, you know, in case something should happen.  I caught Daryl and Raya on their way out to a baseball game and had them sign as witnesses.

"You can strike through the things that you do not want your body to be used for."

"I want to be used for all of it."

"Really?  Transplant, therapy, research and education?"

"Yes.  But you can cremate part of me if you want a necklace."

"They don't do that."

"Why not?"

"They don't cremate an arm at a time.  Though usually if you end up at a school the students will write a eulogy thanking your anonymous corpse, and they might send what's left of you back in a box to me in ash form."

I fold his stuff and put it into his envelope.  I've explained to Daryl and Raya where they can find the fire safe and how to get into it in case the situation should arise.  In case I am dead too.

I tell Willie my wishes should I ever be unable to make my own medical decisions, and that I'm sorry I didn't know sooner that had I been hurt a few weeks ago the person who would legally be able to make those decisions would have been David.  I said that I am sorry that for all intents and purposes, I'm pretty sure I have no next of kin now, and if my sister counts as such it would be just as bad as David being in the position.  So here, have me if I'm brain dead and checked out, but here's a list of things I would prefer.

And he understood that me being in charge of him should something ever happen would be better than his next of kin, who is his Mom Lady, and would keep his severed head alive in a jar for centuries with no consideration for the quality of life he would have in that jar.  This is not what Willie wants if something should ever happen.  So I am his person, and he is my person, and we have promised to ensure that we'll both do what is right.

I read my will to him.

To my right, the flowers Perpetual Yard Sale Glenda Next Door picked from my yard for me on Mother's Day are dried up and dropping leaves all over the place.

I read to him the letter that I have left with instructions for what to do if I die.  And what not to do.

I gave him the one and only final wish that I want, the one about becoming the lemon tree.  I said not to spend any extra money on anything for me.  I'm sure Morticia can give us the ol' discount down to the crematorium, but if he has to wait 10 years to do the tree thing, wait.

I also said that he needs to learn to drive stick or else he's going to get left at his jobs if I pass while he's at work and then the cats will perform my backup disposal, similar to the Tibetan Sky Burial, the North American Cat Burial. 

I do not want to go this way.  Tibetan Sky Burial, maybe, maybe.  Or like the guy who called in to Handle On The Law the other day and asked how he can make his family drop his body from a helicopter into the mountains so he can be eaten by a pack of wolves...or like no.  I do not want anyone to remember me as "cats ate her face."  

Please for the love of god, Willie.  Learn to drive stick.  Don't leave me with these beasts.  

I want to clarify that nobody is dying immediately.  It's just very important to get your affairs in order.  As Morticia told me on my last trip out to where she stays, "these things are very important for a spunky mother of two to have completed."  

These conversations are important.  If you do not have them now, you may never have them.  

My basement dwellers, Daryl and Raya--well mostly Daryl, he seems afraid.  Not stupid and calling will writing "morbid" as I have heard from others, because it's fucking responsible as fuck, but he seems scared.  Raya is just an all around calm and realistic person.  Diplomatic and all.  They've been the couple to sign all of my wills over the past few years, of which there have been a few, and whenever we do them we have a little "will signing party," and they tell me they are honored to do the honors.  

Truth is, I don't have anyone else to do it.  Raya is one of my back up executors.  

I found a website that helps fill in the blanks as to your "final wishes."  Funny shit on there.  You're dead but you'd still like to make the choice of flowers?  You care whether your underground apartment is mahogany or walnut?  You want to write your own epitaph?  Pfft.  Control ends with death, and I say that as one of the biggest control freaks I've ever met.  Go out there and do something that is going to give people something to remember you by.  

My shit is so blank that it reads "there is no preference" in about 9 of the 13 different sections.  

How minimalist are you?  

Life got complicated with the divorce.  It was complicated before, but I've got instructions for how to take over should I go.  Because I am in charge of lives which means I need to plan for what will best be suited for those lives should mine end.  I have my shit in order so the kids will be okay in theory.  I have my list of people to contact, but I do not have a list of music to play at any memorials.  If there's even a memorial.  There is no preference.  

Nothing dies within pure light.  

Or, that's the Sunni way of trying to personify and hold on to the dead.  Like the ghosts in my house that I garden for.  I do it too, bro.  It's okay.  But I have a will and a Power Of Attorney Over Health Care and a set of instructions.  

But I am unmarried, no family who speaks to me other than my children, so it's hard to get one of those whatchacalled next of kin. 

The Snozzberries Are Snozzberrying

Garden update:  Two months in, and everything lived! 

Remember that Willie and I grew all of this from seed.  Many of the seeds were given to us by perpetual yard sale Glenda next door--PS she has a song.  I made it up.  It's to the tune of "I Wanna Be Sedated."

Perpetual yard sale Glenda next door
She needs to be sedated
Nothing to do no where to go-oo
She needs to be sedated

Just put her in a wheelchair
Take her to the store
But not into a thrift store
Cuz then she'll buy some more

She cant control her fingers
She cannot help but hoard
Oh no oh oh Oh oh...

Anyway so she gave us some seeds, many of which looked to be vintage.  So Willie and I grew them in little fast food containers and bam, garden.  And now bam, food!  Sorta.

The beans are beaning! 

The broccoli rabe is broccoli rabing!  

The stabbage is stabbing!

The corn is corning! 

And you know what?  Our corn is just a little shorter than the corn growing on the 38 in Mentone by the real farmers.  Their corn corned faster than ours but I don't think it matters.  Our corn is organic...but I have no proof that theirs isn't either.  I chalk it up to professionalism.

And in a surprising revelation, the cucumbers are cucumbering!

This is a surprise because the cucumbers have always been kind of puny and easily depressed.  I tried to toughen everyone up by leaving them outside at night occasionally when they were seedlings, and their first few weeks in the ground they'd wilt and be all kinds of yellowish.  Now they have actual flowers on them.  I do recall that they were supposed to vine up that lattice but whatever, if I get two cucumbers that grew on the ground and I can get to them before the snails, it's fine.  It's whatever.  Good effort, baby cucumber plants.

Willie's greens are greening!  We have collard greens and mustard greens here and they're doing well, except that snails occasionally eat the mustards.  Okay, not occasionally.  The snails eat the shit out of the mustards.

I found a beer in the back of the fridge from ages ago and poured it into some pans around the plants so hopefully those bastards will get all sauced up and drown in their chosen lifestyle.

Down in that bottom left corner you kind of see the spinach that isn't doing well.  I just don't think spinach does well here, as this looks pretty yellow and we have a second batch growing under the sawhorse and though it isn't yellow it isn't very big.  I don't know, maybe this is normal for spinach and I'm just spoiled on the size of every other plant.  There is also some iceberg lettuce under the side of the sawhorse but it's all spread out and bitter tasting, which I understand is a result of it having been too hot for the lettuce so the batch is essentially ruined.

I keep saying batch.  Maybe I mean crop.  I don't know.  I also say "recipe" when referring to manual camera settings.  "Oh that's a bad ass picture of the moon!  What's the recipe?" 

You know what else you see in this picture of the greens though?  TEN SQUASHES SQUASHING each with FIVE GOLDEN..THINGS.

This picture was taken late in the afternoon so the big pretty star shaped squash flowers closed up.  A few of them have even started turning in to little squashes!  The squash patch includes spaghetti squash, zucchini, table queen squash, jack o lanterns, little pie pumpkins, and sugar baby watermelons thrown in for good measure, and because they grow the same as the squashes.

These are my peas, and they are peaing.  These are the most delicious things from the garden yet, and they take me back to my childhood of stealing them off of people's fences.  I did this as late as the 8th grade when I walked home from school every day.  I can recognize a fence of sweet peas from a mile away.

They've only produced three pods so far and they're only like 6 inches tall so I am being as patient as I possibly can.  Which isn't very patient.  I am convinced that none of these things will ever become things.

PS I checked the tins of beer and all it tricked was pincher bugs.  Which I guess is okay. 

You can go to my Flickr to see the broccoli's broccoliing and the beans beaning and etc.  The snozzberries are snozberrying!  I will have you know that I also cleaned the pond yesterday by myself, which is significant enough to mention because A. that pond was not supposed to be our responsibilities as renters, B. there were thousands of bees helping me, and C. I have no idea what the standard of clean is for a pond, and if you want to get technical D. I don't usually do yard work things so it was odd for me to have even taken on this task.

But as it goes,

A. shit doesn't get done around here.
B. I didn't bother them and they didn't bother me
C. skeeze water is as skeeze water does, and stray housepets drink from it either way
D. I like to grab life by the skeeze. 

Perpetual yard sale Glenda next door came over while I was attempting to clean it and was telling me how Etheline used to clean it.  How she'd drain it and scrub it and put in new plants every year.  Aint nobody got time for that.  I just flooded both sides of it and used a pond skimmer to scoop the skeeze.  Glenda went on about whatever.  Probably a lot of fishes died in the process of all of this but the frogs seemed happy, as did the one giant goldfish we have, Fish Stick.

But because the drain on the front porch was clogged I had to spend a half hour sort of flinging water off of the sidewalk into the lawn, which turned the lawn into soup and probably made me look crazy.  At that point the bees had become loyal and would have fucked up anyone who had a problem.

I'm amazed at how into it I was.  I don't recall telling Glenda to watch out or anything as I started flinging water.  I had a task I needed to complete and, well, I completed it.  I think.  As I said, I don't know the standard of clean for a pond.  But the green skeeze on the top is gone and the water seems clearer.  If that is the standard of clean.

Now to do the inside and finish up the last bit of school work that I have.  Like a scholarly skeeze slinging housewife.