Trouble is, he’d be happy to munch the plant away long before then.

A small Anya seedling.

Guess who showed up yesterday morning to take a sniff at it? I took that picture right before it stood up and reached its head over.

Until last fall, we hadn’t seen a rabbit in our yard for thirty-three years of living here. Since then it’s been popping up from time to time, but it had been gone long enough now that I’d half-convinced myself an owl or something had gotten it.

Nope.

Guess who opened the box with a new set of NuVue bird netting tents for that seedling and my squashes  immediately after snapping these pictures and scaring it away. Just the right size for protecting a large pot. All I’d needed was a little incentive. Yes it can chew through it if it wants to badly enough but trying to get into a cage is just not high on most wildlife’s list.

The good part is that the new version has–and it’s not in Amazon’s picture–small bright red ribbons hanging down from the top that blow in the wind and startle birds and rodents, and there was no sign of that cottontail today.

I was looking for this page comparing Anya seedling characteristics vs their fruit and somehow ended up instead at the gardening forum page that had the link that I’d originally found it from. For a heartbeat I was disappointed. Then I decided to re-read it anyway.

Only, this time, while recognizing that familiar thread, I did a sudden doubletake because, wait, if that internet name is the guy’s initials and his unusual last name–!!! and I squinted at the tiny photo–it IS! That’s Cassie’s husband!

Yay for photos on Facebook, because I’ve never met the man, only my friend who married him after she moved away from here a dozen years or so ago.

So I sent her a note. I said, He wrote that two years ago but that has to be him and I have no idea if both of you have any interest whatsoever but if you seriously do, I’ve got some seeds and you’re welcome to a few.

She wrote back quoting her stunned husband: “Those are like GOLD!” He’d so wanted to try, but the four hour drive each way to Andy’s to buy apricots while raising kids and running a small business, there was just no way, he’d finally given up on the idea because it was never going to happen.

And then Google gave me a page that was not the page I was looking for but was the one where he needed me to be to find him and actually see him this time. I don’t have a lot of kernels, because Anya season overlapped with our going out of town, but a few are coming their way.

If I gave you some for this growing season and they didn’t make it, you’re not the only one and it’s okay and let me know so you can have a do-over if you want it.

From Drew51, writing on a garden forum six years ago:

“Reminds me of the fact that Bamboo flower about every 120 years. 95% die after flowering. About 10 years ago a very popular bamboo hit that 120 mark, and thousands of clones throughout the United states flowered and died. Young plants, small plants, big plants, old plants. All the clones flowered, the wood knew its age!”

Me: Given that bamboo requires solid concrete poured 18″x24″ wide and deep to keep it from punching through, say, the floor of your garage if it’s growing next to the house, maybe a do-over on the landscaping like that is not so bad.

Meantime, I found a spot on my scalp a bit forward of my skin cancer scar and got it seen today. The doctor declared it early enough and not a problem enough that she simply froze it.

My head has gone cryogenic.

Another possible way of tackling covid-19: a novel application of an older treatment for something entirely different that looks like it will decrease covid sickness markedly. That would be great.

We attended church today, noting that there were fewer people there in person than our last time and more on Zoom and I didn’t see any small children at all–and the majority of adults were not wearing masks. I don’t know what they announced last week while we were out of town but clearly others got the message. It felt so strange.

And then someone said to me, I see you’re still wearing a mask.

I explained that someone in my lupus group had been fully vaccinated and then tested–and her antibody level to the virus was a flat zero. I’m not on the chemo drug she’s on but even fully vaccinated, I can’t risk transmitting anything.

My friend certainly understood that, leaving me thinking, so then why aren’t you… I mean, you live in the world that has such people too and did you know there was a cancer patient on that side of the room? She hasn’t lost her hair yet (and you’d likely never know if she did because that’s one person who’d get a wig no matter what the heat waves say.)

I mentioned it to Richard and his immediate response was the obvious, “When everyone under twelve is vaccinated I’ll take my mask off but not before.”

Yes. Exactly.

Now, if that new treatment that has so few side effects turns out to work for covid illness, that would be wonderful.

But nobody’s been absolved of responsibility towards their fellow man. We’re not done with this virus yet.

Did you remember that there was a Flintstones spin-off that had a saber-toothed tiger named Fang?

I did not.

Some may remember my fandom of the Flintstone house in Hillsborough. It was created in the 1970s with I believe air balloons and rebar and cement and whimsy. Over time, the hillside it was built into was eroding and when it went on the market, nobody wanted to buy it, hot market or no.

It was a fun landmark to all who drive the 280 freeway.

Including the woman who not only bought it but had the means to shore up that quarter million dollar hillside.

She initially thought she would plant flowering cherries, but it just didn’t fit in with the theme of the place. And so–she went to town. She Flintstoned that Flintstone house: she added bright mushrooms, dinosaurs, a giraffe–because everybody loves giraffes–and put Yabba Dabba Do! in rocks by her entryway.

Annnnd… The upscale town sued. Said it was an eyesore.

They’d had no problem with anything the previous owners had done.

The end result after several years is, they just paid her lawyers’ fees and she is suddenly free to do as she wishes.

So now there’s a Bigfoot. She is having so much fun!

And a friendly saber-tooth tiger over the door for the wonderful Florence Fang.

Holly was in the area and dropped by this morning. I was expecting to offer her some cherries. I was not expecting a gift of her cross-stitching and stood there quite agape before she even got past the entryway. A photo will be added when it comes through but none could possibly do it justice. So much talent and love in that piece!

Then Chris the contractor came. He found damage the previous people hadn’t–he’s thorough. I mentioned needing the roof replaced and that I hadn’t heard back from the company that I know he’s worked with previously: because they not only did our roof 27 years ago, but when we needed someone to fix the mistakes our remodeling contractor had left behind, that big roofing company had recommended we hire Chris. And we were very glad we did, and wished we’d known about him the first time around.

I asked him, Will they do a job for me a lot faster if you’re the one asking? (Because the roofers around here all have long waiting lists right now.)

Oh yes. And then he detailed how their working together would mean the sealing around the edges wouldn’t have to be done twice and he could lower his bid by that amount.

Then he left, and after lunch my friend Nina showed up. She had never gotten around to trying out Andy’s Orchard herself, though she’d certainly enjoyed what I’d brought her, but at long last it felt like it was time and she had time and let’s go! She called in an order for a case of Blenheim apricots, picked me up, and I showed her the way.

They had Anyas. They had Anyas!!

Friday, the young employees at the farm store thought they were over for the season, but no, they’d still had more to pick. I didn’t miss out for a whole year after all! Thank you Nina for getting me back there!

And I saw my old friend who’s worked there for the past two seasons for the first time this year.

I bought three pounds and almost, almost bought a whole case, too, except, that’s a lot of apricots. I’m wishing now I had, just so I could go around to a bunch of friends and say, This is what I’ve been talking about!

I did a taste-testing: Friday’s (second) Yuliya apricot box (most of which went home with Holly) vs the Anya. Both of them John Driver varieties from Silk Road areas of the world. I’d never seen both at the same time before.

The Yuliyas are sweet and quite juicy, although with a skin that is surprisingly a bit tough. The Anya I tried could have used another day but it still totally beat the other hands down with its spicy complexity, not just sweetness, and definitely a thinner skin, one that didn’t distract from the rest of the experience. I swooned and fell in love with my favorite all over again.

Now what do I do with those Yuliya kernels I saved from the first box. Probably let them go so they don’t get mixed up with the Anyas. I’m told Yuliyas need pollinators and the Anya row is next to the Yuliya row at Andy’s, so… If anyone wants to rescue them let me know.

Our longtime arborist came yesterday to give me a quote on cutting back where the trees had grown over the house again.

Chris remembered when the mostly-dead olive his men had taken out had been over in that one spot and it just wasn’t that long ago. He kept exclaiming: Look at all the cherries!

His eyes got wide when I said, Yes, and I’ve picked them twice already.

It is one prolific tree. I offered him some, but he said another client had actually already gifted him some. Beat me to it.

I showed him all the fruits on the mango, and he marveled, It was just a little stick! Look at it!

The first time he’d come, he and his wife had had a babysitting crunch and he’d brought his little boy with him. Remember that hat you gave him? he asked me. He loved it!

That six year old is a teenager now and his baby sister is–She’s HOW old?! I asked.

It was not lost on either of us in that moment that kids and trees tend to change before your very eyes, so slow you almost don’t see it and so fast you marvel in awe.

I told him my oldest grandson was ten now. He laughed and proclaimed, You win!

I later asked my friend Nina if she’d like some just-picked sour cherries. She was thrilled. Since we’re all vaccinated, that was the excuse for her and her husband to invite me and mine over for the evening. (Out of curiosity, I weighed the Rubbermaid container before we left: it was over three pounds and even now, the tree is loaded.)

Man did it feel good to sit and catch up as if life had never changed so drastically for so long. We met Calvin and Hobbes for the first time at their house thirty-something years ago, and we have made so many memories since. It felt great to be making new ones.

Holly’s coming by Monday. A bunch of cherries darkened nicely today but I think they can make it till then.

I live in clogs but for a goodly while now I’ve needed a plain old pair of sneakers. Like, for years.

When you’re 6.5 to 7, depending on the brand, but a EE width, buying online is an exercise in returning the online.

Unless it’s Birkenstock. And even their shoes, I find you mostly have to go up a size from their sandals so it’s still not a sure thing.

Guess who makes sneakers now. Wildly overpriced, but who else would fit my feet? You just can’t do mud puddles with kids while in clogs. They don’t work.

The box came today. Upped a size.

I’m wearing the new hearing aids today.

I put on the shoes and wore them a bit on the carpet, trying them out, and finally made the decision non-negotiable (having been taught well by my mom that you do not walk off the carpet unless you’re keeping them) and, feet exploring their new surroundings, started doing stuff around the house.

My shoes. They made noises. I was trying to figure out why. The laces flopped against them with each step–who knew? But I wasn’t sure that was all of it and looking at them didn’t tell me what they were saying. You cannot lipread a sneaker.

I mentioned to Richard that they were making sounds and he said, All new shoes squeak.

?

So then I had to walk back across the house and around a bit more and there, in the kitchen: I heard it! That was a definite hamster type sound, ever so briefly. And another! Flappity flap (squeak!) Are everybody’s shoes this distractingly noisy? Since when do shoes make sounds?

I went back to him in triumph. I heard it! They do!

He looked at me, totally understanding/totally trying not to roll his eyes at my excitement over hearing something I hadn’t in decades.

“I’ve had Squeak Deprivation Syndrome!”

A distraction while I wait for some pictures to come through…

This one needs some work. That sports wallpaper at the top against green and peach walls–I don’t get it. The bright blue and red kitchen would turn out a boring cream-to-lightest beige by the time I’d be done with it, but I do love those cabinets.

The two shades of cheap green carpet clash, and where there are ripples in those other pictures? That means they threw the cheap sell-this-house wall-to-wall in, nailed it down and walked away without stretching it out first. If it’s cold, you have to turn on the heat to get it to do it right; I learned that from a flooring worker in New Hampshire who was not willing to do it wrong.

And then there’s the chicken pox room. The one with the ping pong table and laundry on the other side of the room. Can you imagine how loud that washer and dryer are going to be in there?

But the house does have some pretty good bones to it.

Checking: nope, the picture still hasn’t shown up yet. But another estimate from a contractor just did. Two more are coming to give estimates tomorrow, one Monday, we make our picks and then we’re off to the races.

By the time we’re done fixing everything that needs to be fixed I want our house to be so pretty that we fall in love with it all over again and stay right here. Pass the cherries.

The follow-up appointment on the new hearing aids.

How do you like them? She noticed that I had the charger in that bag next to my purse and was clearly wondering if I was going to return them. We were within the 30-day window.

I love them and I hate them, I told her, wincing as I took the left one off and putting my old ones in so we could have a conversation. First, I said, the charger. There’s no lid on the thing. Were you here during the Loma Prieta quake? (She wasn’t.) They’ll go flying out of there in the next one, and the green lights light up the room at night and I have to cover it. They should have made it with its own.

Re the aids themselves, I explained that it was one day in, one or two days out and using the old ones, and finally I’d left them out for three days running to let my ears heal.

Let your ears heal?

And then I’d worn them to church yesterday, where the whole time there I heard one half of one sentence. Period. (She winced.) Yay for Zoom captions on my phone. Went straight home and put the old ones in and had my husband look at my ears. He could see red marks on both sides. I put the new ones in this morning so that you could see.

She got out her otoscope and took a look. I had told her three weeks earlier about the connective tissue disease making it hard for my ears to tolerate the tight fit that is required to best transmit the sound through the ear molds and that it’s long been a tradeoff with me giving up some hearing, that my ears had actually bled after one prior pair was made.

But it didn’t need to be like that at that point and that point on the molds and she could do something about it. She was a little wistful that they wouldn’t look so perfect, and I laughed and turned my head way to the side, mimicking and laughing at the idea of someone looking way in past my hair to criticize my ear molds. She laughed.

I told her that the sound was really brassy at first but was gradually starting to settle down and then when I didn’t wear them it got bright and brassy again–but when I kept wearing them it was doing better and my husband and daughter both remarked on how I was hearing more. And I was.

And then I’d go back to the old ones for the pain and have to start over.

She took them in the other room to use the right equipment/lighting/whatever and came back with them.

I put them on.

Night and day. Wow. So I *can* do this.

I asked her about–and I explained what a glissando is: when you run your fingers fast all the way down the white keys on the piano. Twice in one conversation the right one had suddenly done something like that, completely substituting for the conversation it was supposed to be transmitting to me.

She thought about that a moment and then realized what it must be: there’s a program that tries to stop feedback from happening. Because the ear hurt, I must not have had the aid in all the way and the tilted angle was trying to set off feedback and the aid was trying to warn me and stop it.

Okay, so I don’t have to do that anymore. Good.

I still have to let my ears heal from wearing them yesterday morning and today as they were, but the sound is already improving and the brassiness is already fading. I’m not at church or the like to really test them, and my daughter’s gone back to her sister’s now, but so far so good, and such a relief to have a comfortable fit on these. I don’t yet know if it’s enough. She can do more if need be.

I plugged the charger back in once I got home in a mental declaration: these stay. Mine.

A house that needs a lot of work.

A house I would definitely want to buy if we were moving this year. Shades of Fallingwater. Gorgeous. Link here so I can find it later.

At my own house: first fig of the year.

Meantime, I was emptying and organizing the baking-pan cabinet and the end result is that a friend and her eight year old daughter showed up for the cake pan of a dragon wrapped around its eggs. Who knew that it had become a collector’s item? The mom looked it up after I offered it and found them selling for $100-200, which is nuts. It still had the wrapper; I wanted it not admired but actually used, and by the happiness in that little girl’s eyes it was definitely going to be, and right away. Her mom said so.

Man, that felt good.

They were waiting. I was waiting. I’d gotten there first. They had nothing to do and were trying not to look like they were watching me knit but they were watching me knit because those needle tips and the yarn periodically jerking upwards were the only things in the room that were moving.

Finally, they said, How long have you been waiting?

I held up the nearly finished hat on my needles and took the stitches about an inch above the ribbing between left thumb and forefinger: “That’s where I was when I got here.” (While thinking, it’s not *that* bad, at least this is thick Mecha we’re talking about even if I’m knitting it on 7s.)

Almost immediately my wait was over and I shoved the stitches back away from the tips and stood to go, wishing them the best.

And of course the hair was back to its curly self the next morning, and then some, with the weight of the length gone. That’s the silly stuff.

The sliding door repair guy is coming. The termite guy came. The tree guy is coming (can’t tent the house with branches hanging over it, and they are again. There has to be a foot clearance.) I need to call the guy to do the dry-rot repairs. Just a cascade of long-delayed home improvement triggered by the termites now that we’re fully vaccinated.

There is a holly bush that was trained by the previous owners to be flat and tall and spread wide at the top as if it had been espaliered. The trunk cannot do that 12″ clearance. There are multiple bird nests in it every spring, it makes a very protective habitat for smaller species, and I cannot fathom losing it.

It’s also a potential termite highway all by itself. It will not survive the process from inside the tent and it doesn’t sound like they can keep it outside it.

Still gotta call the shed demo guy, too. Got to leave some excitement for Monday, right?

Meantime, just because, a piano graveyard with cows. Where frogs got under the keyboard of one and jumped up and down and had fun, because how often do they get to create sound like that?

I was going to joke about okay, now you’ve seen me so you’ve pretty much seen his face, too.

But the car didn’t.

My big brother whose face I compared mine to yesterday was riding a bike today on a beautiful day after work and a car came speeding without looking. Morgan shouted and the driver matched his frantic yanking of the wheels to avoid the hit.

And just just just avoided a strike from the car but not the one with the pavement from that momentum mismatch.

As he lay in the road people came to his rescue–except the driver, who hesitated and then took off.

Three broken ribs, and another one cracked, along with his shoulder.

But he’s alive and himself and will heal and yay for helmets and as he dryly noted, his bike is okay.

Praise be.

September 2019, Kimber gave me a nice haircut and we agreed on the next March for me to come back in for a trim. But March 2020 didn’t quite turn out as expected. She is fully vaccinated now and I am, too.

She combed it out and held it up for me to marvel in the mirror with her: Look how long it is!

Yeah, I told her, I pulled the two halves to the front and snipped a few times over the pandemic, otherwise there would have been about ten individual strands down to my waist. I lost a fair amount when I was sick and it got pretty sparse at the bottom.

Do you want this much? (About two inches.) Or this much? (About four, maybe even five.)

I held up my hand to motion the four/five.

My self-snipped edges fell gently away to the floor, finally, after all this time, curling into circles on impact after she’d conditioned it straight. The straggly ends by my face got evened out and morphed into done on purpose. It looks great.

I took a picture when I got home, and of course it didn’t come through, but I have to say I was dumbfounded to see my older brother’s face looking back at me from that photo. Twins.

Except with hair.

And I know exactly who would tell me, with a grin, not to complain over not being able to get a haircut.

Kimber waved me off at the end with, See you in two years!

I laughed/winced, Not that long!