Category: 2021

Winterpast is in full bloom. A correct watering schedule is a beautiful thing. With everything getting the correct dose, I have little plants emerging that weren’t in sight last year. In fact, remembering July and VST’s memorial, the yard is more luscious and green, now. Far more than last year. Hence, the rose blooms are here and gone, requiring the tedious but rewarding task of deadheading.

Deadheading encourages more blooms in the garden, by removing any blooms that are dead. With my scissors in hand and the trash can at the ready, I bend and snip away anything withered. The results are stunning. Last year, I wasn’t sure if the roses would ever bounce back. With a severe pruning and the correct amount of water, the results are amazing. Blooms, well shaped and intense in color, are abundant.

My dad loved roses. As a farmer, he had no extra minutes in the day. But saving minutes from each day, he tended his favorite rose garden in the front yard. He made sure the roses had the proper water, fertilizer, and insecticides. Being in the middle of the San Joaquin Valley, the soil was the richest in the world. His roses were magnificent. Every day from Spring to Fall, my mom had one fresh rose sitting in a vase by the sink. He would bring her this rose over breakfast and give her a morning kiss. Just the way it was.

His favorite rose was called a Peace Rose. This rose was the palest of yellows with a hint of pink at the base of the pedals. It had a oily rose fragrance that was rich and full. These roses were so large they could fill a dinner plate. When I moved to Winterpast and began with my own roses, I searched everywhere for a Peace Rose to add to my collection. Things change over the years, and unless I wanted to order one online, it wasn’t to be found.

Then, the strangest thing happend.

Like everything else, the roses struggled in 2020. They hadn’t been groomed, partly because I had a million other things going, like moving it. They also weren’t all getting the water they needed, because the sprinkler system needed adjustments. But, late in the summer, this one struggling rose bush was almost ready to bloom for the first time. Not really paying attention to things, when I finally noticed the variety, I was overjoyed. For there, the one little bloom told it all. It was a Peace Rose! In my very own back yard.

If you are given a miniature rose bush remember that they are as hardy as their bigger cousins. When the blooms are done, plant it outdoors. With the right water, fertilizer and care, they continue to grow.

Along with deadheading the roses, be sure to top your bulbs after they’ve finished blooming and dry back. They need to be dug up and separated every few years, for a fresh start. By doing this, your bulb stock increases and you have more flowers all over the yard. I have a beautiful crop of Iris bulbs that need to be moved. That project will be on hold for a bit, do to the latest little problem.

I have a major sprinkler line break. I started digging yesterday in the front yard. Long ago there was a lush, green lawn in the front, since replaced by white rock. Under this white rock, garden cloth, black plastic, and remnants of the sod of yesteryear, there is a major leak. With a shovel in my hand and a song in my heart, I must leave you to dig, rather like the human mole. I worked on it a few hours yesterday. Perhaps today, I’ll reach the source of the problem. Thank goodness I’ve located the break. It’s just a deep line that will take patience to unearth.

Have fun in the garden. I hope you’re lucky enough to have an apricot tree that is producing fruit. Pass the fruit and keep deadheading!

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about lifelong values. In 65 years, they’ve served me well as a rock solid foundation. With Grandparents that were born in 1902, the beliefs values of first generation German-Russian immigrants were passed on to me. Simple beliefs and values like honesty, determination, and integrity a strong foundation for everything else to come. In my life, strength to withstand the storms has come from faith. Not a belief, but a knowing. There is such a difference between believing something is true, and knowing there is no other possibility. Without faith, I’d have given up decades ago.

Since becoming a widow, the choices in life are overwhelming at times. Remaining optimistic in the middle of the firestorm of cancer is no small challenge. Finding the courage to continue through the vicissitudes of life, I trudge on. Some days it would be easier just to pull the cover’s over my head to wait for the next. However, with morning, comes a new day and a chance to find opportunities for growth.

I’m so blessed that VST left me within the secure walls of Winterpast. While sharing adventures through our lives together, the things that mattered the most were our friendship and love for each other. We enjoyed health and wealth through the years, never forgetting to be grateful. So many times, VST would look at me and say, “If not now, when?” There wasn’t an hour to be wasted as we raced through a happy and productive life.

Many are not as fortunate to have the trifecta of Health, Wealth, and Time. Enjoying those things in retirement is truly a gift I’m so thankful for. Now, Covid has changed the ability to enjoy spontaneous travel. Every day, the freeways around my town are packed with campers and RV’s. I can only imagine the challenges these road warriors are facing with crowded conditions in the great outdoors. Turning to the big desert sky and the gardens of Winterpast, I’ve decided I’ll wait just a little while longer for travel adventures that will surely come. Besides, I have a broken sprinkler pipe to fix.

Achieving a happy life has been a journey of determination. Some days I had to fake it until I could make it. Those days will certainly come and go again. Striving the the illusion of perfection is a silly game. At the end of the day, if you can smile at the small successes, it’s been a great one. Hoping for peace, while trusting in the love and kindness of mankind, snuggle into dreams of a world we long for. Differences that seem to be tearing the world apart are not a productive focus. Love, peace, and tolerance begin with a single heart.

Days of Viral Insanity are coming to a close. Although storm-weary, there are always inspiring stories from those that carry on under the most adverse conditions. Those that struggle with physical and mental health issues. Those that have lost loved ones. Those that find themselves working diligently to find their own values and truths.

Take a few minutes each day to think about beliefs and what you know to be true. Think back to what helped you get through each day. Perhaps through the struggles of 2020, important values became clearer. They did for me. A very wise person once said, “Value what you know, and you’ll know what to value.”

Time is a most precious gift. Given 24 hours each day, they’re a perishable commodity, taking me the pages of my life’s story. Minutes to sleep or work, read or watch television, walk or rest under the shade of the apricot tree. Time marches on, no matter the chosen activity.

Through my life, the worst thing I could imagine was not making each minute become a product of my intentions. VST was of the same mindset. An un-aimed arrow always hits its mark. So, I’d make a bullseye of goals, ready for completion. One by one I’d finish each, crossing them off my list. By the end of the day, the feeling of accomplishment was satisfying, if nothing else.

When I first moved to Winterpast, there was no choice in the matter. I needed to work as hard and fast as I could to get settled in. There wasn’t anyone else to do the things necessary to make a home. Just me. Some days, there wasn’t even time to breathe, let along find enjoyment. Preparing for a Memorial in July 2020, it was a race to the finish.

My lists were long, including all forms of unpacking, cleaning, organizing, planning, and contacts. Time was allotted for grief and rest, because anyone that’s been hit by a Mack Truck needs time to recuperate from gut wrenching devastation. Cancer is no less than that. Through the days, things came together as planned.

These days, my life is a bit different. I schedule in categories instead of by minutes. Making sure there’s time for spiritual, physical, and emotional health, my time is split equally between household tasks, gardening, and necessary outings. By dividing my time in this way, life is a balanced ballet, while I roll forward. When things are going pretty well, I can add another spoke to the tire. Lately, I’ve been sprinkling the entire experience with love, friendship, success, and lots of fun.

My God-Mom, being so very wise, told me long ago of the importance of practicing lazy. A valuable truth. Months ago, if an hour was spent doing nothing, I felt terribly guilty and unproductive. I SHOULD have something to show for every waking moment. However, an hour of meditation or napping IS something very important for the mind and body. I’ve been working on relaxation techniques and the hot tub has been helpful in that regard.

Sky watching has become one of my favorite hobbies. Being under the jet stream between East and West, as well as being near a huge US Naval Airport, the jets and their fluffy trails crisscross the sky right over my hot tub. Clouds, puffy and white, blow this way and that, showing me wind direction and speed. The sun makes its daily trail from my right to my left as I sit facing, as I face True North. The day time sky is as fascinating as the night, both mesmerizing.

Add in the daily activities of the bird families happily creating more of their own, and there’s an entire show going on right in my own back yard. One thing missing here at Winterpast are stray mammals. Random cat visits are non-existent thanks to a healthy coyote population. There are no opossums or skunks that make it over or under the white plastic fencing. A random hawk will take out a dove or robin, leaving the murder scene covered with feathers. But, that’s about the height of the mammalian drama in these parts.

I do long for travel, but that will need to wait. Doggy Day Camp is full, with no room at the Inn until after August. Oliver and I need to make the best of it and enjoy the daily routine that we enjoy. Summer camp is in fully swing with the summer solstice in two days. With Autumnal Equinox in 96 days, the extreme summer heat won’t last forever. Thank goodness.

I’m happy to report it seems Oliver is finally finished eating plastic. At least for now. The number of small lights on my pathway are holding steady. The drip system no longer under attack, Oliver is now focused intently on the ripening apricots. This is the new worry of the day, as apricot pits can be harmful to dogs. Well, plastic pathway lighting isn’t part of the normal canine diet, either. He waits by the back door each morning ready to hunt for fallen fruit. I sneak out before him to clear them away. We’re both enjoying our fair amount.

Sometimes my allotted lazy time is eaten up by tiny little disasters. Happily, I report that I’ve located the sprinkler line leak. In a major line for my drip system, it was buried 18 inches below the surface, probably leaking for a very, very long time. Now exposed, I’m going to try taping the crack with electrical tape until I can get someone to come fix it. A hack I found on the internet, it sounds brilliant. I will keep you updated on the success or fail.

Someday, it won’t be necessary to schedule my life in this way. Eventually the journey will carry me along, balanced in a little boat of happiness. For now, paying attention to the individual parts of my life is helping things run smoothly. Remember, time is a terrible thing to waste.

Summer Solstice Eve has arrived with a flare, as in solar. The heat is on. Waking early, I’ve been gardening before the sun becomes to intense. Oliver’s outdoor antics have become very short. He loves going outside to harass the birds and patrol for a wayward toad, but after a few minutes, he’s begging to come back inside.

Extreme weather calls for preparation for the “What If’s”. Winterpast heats up quickly when the air conditioning is off. With a power outage, a rapid drop in my comfort level would follow. For this possibility, I’ve been planning.

Household refrigerator/freezers these days are pretty amazing and can stay cold for hours during a power outage. A spray bottle of water is a nifty tool to stay cool. Wet washrags can help, also. Find some shade and mist away until things return to normal.

Covid has shown us all how quickly panic buying can change the landscape of our town. Now, the gas tank on my Jeep is never below half full. Non-perishables are stored in the garage, including extra water. My pantry is inventoried, with an array of meal possibilities that could be prepared on a small propane BBQ. Outside of those things, there isn’t much more one can do.

The other day, a News Jackal was reporting about the weather in my old home town in the San Joaquin Valley of California. This valley was a desert before irrigation. After irrigation, it became the bread basket of the world. Everything grows there. From kiwi’s to garlic, it’s possible to grow anything your heart desires. This reporter, who was too young to remember 1990, reported all activities for the area were cancelled due to the extreme heat. Shake my head in wonder.

As a child, nothing was cancelled. From Memorial Day to Thanksgiving, there was one temperature. Hot. Night temperatures often hovered in the high 80’s to low 90’s. It never cooled off and nothing stopped. Football practice was a 4:00 PM during the summer months. Kids didn’t fall down dead. They drank lots of water and carried on. Tractors didn’t have cabs, but tilling continued. Farmers farmed and children played. None of us ever died from the heat.

The News Jackal went on to report the day’s temperature of 110 would be the hottest in history. Hmmm. Not sure about that. The July day my son was born in a town 45 minutes south of mine, the temperature was 115. Friends and family were so envious that I was in a chilly hospital with my warm little bundle. They all encouraged me to stay there as long as I could because of the heat wave. The Central Valley of California is hot. Period.

These days, people seem so fragile. You can’t be in the sun without sun screen. Forget the fact that when you’re in the sun, your body produces your very on Vitamin D in the correct amounts. Hmmmm. Vitamin D is a deterrent to the virus, if I’m not mistaken. You can’t be in the heat. Stay out of the cold. We’ve all become hermits surviving in artificial habitats of 70-something degrees. Believe me, if I could live in 70 degree weather for the entire year, I’d be so happy. But nature is a wonderful place to hang out in any weather.

Take some time to make a plan if the power grid in your area goes down. Crazier things have happened. Stock up for your pet, giving consideration to their needs. Remember that walks on hot pavement can burn paws badly. Oliver, being white, can sunburn. Yes, doggie sunburn is a thing. His outside water gets very hot by mid day, here in the desert. Be sure to provide shade and fresh water if your furry friend lives outside, where dogs lived my entire childhood.

Even though upcoming days may find us with inconveniences, focus on the wonderful things we do have. Get out and have a blue-sky kind of day. Forget about the hand wrenching News Jackals. Let’s hope they get out for some fresh air, too. They need it.

And on the eighth day, God looked down on his planned paradise, and said, “I need a caretaker.” So God made a farmer. And through the years, young boys became men and those men became farmers. VST became one of those strong, brave men to farm. I was lucky enough to be the farmer girl that stood by his side caring for our 40 acre vineyard for 6,385 days.

God said, “I need someone willing to get up well before dawn, repair a tractor, work all day at a real job, race home, eat supper and then pull a disc a past midnight to get ready for irrigation water.” So God made a farmer. In his infinite wisdom, knowing the farmer needed help with the more delicate matters in life, he made his wife. Because her muscles could not perform heavy tasks, (even though she wanted to believe she could), he created this wife to prepare delicious meals, launder the clothes, grow the garden, pay the bills, help kids with their homework, and order supplies, while waiting up for him on very long nights as he worked on. She provided optimism and encouragement during the darkest of storms, when his muscles were so tired, he thought surely couldn’t go on. Yin and yang- opposite forces gave rise to each other as they interrelated. Together, a force to be reckoned with.

God said, ” I need somebody willing to sit up on a September night with a year’s crop of raisins on the ground while holding onto his weeping wife while saying, ‘Maybe next year.’ I need somebody who can shape a knife blade from an old piece of metal, fix a spray-rig with duct tape, or weld a raisin shaker out of scrap and discarded parts. One who’ll finish his 40 hour week by Tuesday noon, and then, painin’ from ‘tractor back’, put in another 72 hours.” So God made a farmer. He made his wife to irrigate in 105 degree weather, while walking down a dusty avenue kicking up dirt as fine as cake flour. A wife that could chop weeds with the best of hired hands, because they couldn’t afford one. A wife that was all in, all the time.

God said, “I need somebody strong enough to repair the broken-down fork-lift and move raisin bins, yet gentle enough to teach his sweet daughter to drive and his young sons how to become men. To care for the vineyard’s tendrils of spring, the growing bunches of summer, and the drying grapes of autumn. A man who would stop the word for an hour to sit on the porch and laugh with his mom and dad.” So God made a farmer. He made his wife to bake the best apple pies and have dinner ready at 6 PM sharp. A wife that could work the fields along side him, but also join him for a Waikiki sunset surrounded by his arms. A wife that could stand up to nature along side him, while they accepted everything thrown their way.

It had to be somebody who’d plow deep and straight and not cut corners. Somebody to seed, weed, feed, build, repair, disk, plow, and plant, while laying down the grapes to deliver a raisin crop. Someone smart enough to be a doctor, and wise enough to know what he didn’t know. Someone who loved ice cream anywhere and any time. Somebody who’d bale a family together with the tender yet strong bonds of sharing and love. Who’d laugh, and then sigh, while replying with smiling eyes to his God who was so proud. Standing tall, this farmer and his wife loved God, Family, Country, Neighbors, and each other. God made a wife that was just for him and he for her. God made quite a fine man. God made a farmer.

****Together, we farmed our little spot of paradise on earth for seventeen years. I’m grateful that God let us.

For everything obvious, and things not so obvious, be thankful there are men and women that work physically and mentally challenging jobs every single day as farmers. Without those that toil in the heat and till the soil, life would be much different for all of us. Happy Father’s Day to all the wonderful Dads out there!

PS–Eat Raisins. Nature’s best sweet treat. Thank a farmer!!!!

Yesterday, I woke to the normal darkness that is 5 AM. After getting my coffee, feeding Oliver, and completing my daily blog, I went outside to tend to the gardens of Winterpast. Just when I think there are no weeds, here they come, fast and furious.

I pulled them both out.

Watering, while snipping this and cutting that, I decided it would be a great day to visit another local church. Being alone in a strange town is not for the faint of heart. With Miss Firecrackers advice, I’ve joined The Red Hat Society, but the local chapter has yet to phone. With a real need to build a community of friends, I went inside to prepare for my visit to the local Catholic Church. Deciding it would be most appropriate, I wore a cute floral sundress with sandals. I even ditched the fanny pack, taking a purse instead.

The drive up to the church was quite impressive. On the side of a mountain, the structure is ten years old, with the main chapel and classrooms designed to showcase the surrounding mountains. Thirty foot ceilings made the interior of the church grand. Floor to ceiling windows behind the alter filtered beautiful light into the sanctuary, blue sky Nevada as the backdrop. Everything was crisp, clean, and new.

A gentleman at the front of the church was reciting the rosary with a few parishioners.

When I entered, I noticed no greeter or even a single person to notice that I was new. Asking if there was a program, the gentleman at the door looked at me as if I was from another planet and thrust a paperback book into my hands. I went to sit towards the back of the church. It was then I realized that church this might not fill my spiritual needs.

The entire service was scripted in this little book. Yesterday’s service, as well as those for three months. It was as if I was teaching 3rd grade again, with scripted lessons that needed to be delivered precisely as written, day, after day, after day, without any deviation. All the words to be delivered were pre-planned, and I could just envision an entire country with every Catholic priest delivering the same exact prayers and sermons at the same time. Orchestrated religion.

The priest himself had one simple problem. Being an Indian man from India, he had a thick accent. So thick that I could only understand every third word. I was so thankful for the book I’d been given. This man was a good man. A man of the cloth. Kind. Sincere. Observant of visitors in the pews that morning. But, I need to be able to understand the message delivered.

He spoke of Job, and every few minutes used the phrase, “Let me make this simple for you.” A strange phrase to add, when all I wanted was understand the message through his heavy accent. Continuing on about the necessity of severe pain and suffering in life, the focus of the message was heavy. Searching for a place of hope and healing, his message, although full of truth, wasn’t something especially helpful in my situation. Listening, bricks were added, one by one, to my already sagging shoulders.

Strange as it seemed, an offering wasn’t asked for or collected. However, the priest WAS collecting money to send to an Indian community ravaged by Covid. All very confusing, considering our own community has fallen on very hard times, as well. Elderly veterans living alone, homeless people, and hungry children struggle right in my town. No mention of them.

All in all, it was a beautiful morning. Two guitar players shared their talents. A spiritually uplifting building full of very quiet guests provided a place to pray and reflect on God’s blessings, so numerous and beautiful.

A mask-less communion seemed tone deaf, in spite of the ravages of a virus from which we just now heal. I cringed as the gloveless priest handed each parishioner a broken piece of an unwrapped wafer. People waited in a line of 100, one after the other. Not being Catholic, my participation wasn’t allowed. Grateful, I took the time to pray for everyone’s safety.

A search for a little spot of community will continue. I didn’t find a personal sense of family today in my visit to a very beautiful church in the desert, but a visit with God is wonderful in any situation. I hope the Priest finds help for his hometown village in India, but with limited funds, I need to support my own community.

Such was a Sunday in the hottest little place in the Northwestern Nevada Desert that I call home. Gardening awaits. It’s going to be a scorcher today.

People are the most interesting subjects to watch. Truly fascinating, some of the more colorful characters live in the same wide spot in the road as me. Scary to think we’d have anything in common, let alone our choice of home town. I hope the similarities stop there, because there are some mighty interesting dudes around these parts. Last weekend, Joan I  returned after Oliver’s grooming and our little visit to the gun range. Zigging this way and zagging that back to Winterpast, we were slowly approaching our last sharp right turn. To our left was the most interesting sight. The houses on that side of the street sit high above the road with extremely steep driveways. At the bottom of their steep properties, there runs a fairly deep drainage ditch. With frequent flash floods throughout the year, the ditches help prevent flooding. Wedged into the bottom of the ditch was a newish SUV, grey in color. Pointing hood up, bumper down, it seemed pretty obvious what’d happened. The car had rolled off the top of the hill, slamming down and coming to a violent stop in the ditch. Next to the car stood a heavily tattooed 20-something boy with a man-bun. This short clad boy was on the phone to the man of the house, his dad. At 20 years of age, every one of our five children were no longer boys and girls, but adulting and doing quite well at it. Today, things are different. Distraught and confused, he was deep in a conversation we overheard, now that our windows were open as we drove past him at a snails pace. “Daaaaaahhhhhhhhdddd, what do you want me to do? Tell me right now! WHAT DO I DO????” There are times in life that one must look to the heavens with a grateful “Thank-You” that some problems are not ours. This falls into that category. His Daaaaahhhhhhhhdddd deserved a very nice Father’s Day, but something tells me this kid has lots more grief to give before he launches. Perhaps a lesson about the different gears in a transmission and what the “N” represents might be in order. Because, most likely, he left the car in “N” instead of “P”, leaving him in this conundrum. No doubt, he’d need to look that word up on his phone, not owning his own Funk and Wagnalls. It appeared the car was driven to the top of the hill. Perhaps still in neutral, the car rolled off the hill and slammed into the ditch. By this time, we’d used up our neighborly amount of time staring at the wreckage, so we made our right turn and proceeded home. Without a tow truck at the ready, we could be of no help to this poor lost boy. Later that evening, I felt like an ice cream sandwich from the local gas station. Jumping in the car, we raced to the Chill and Grill Jiffy Stop off 85B. It was especially busy for an early evening, but it was the group of friends parked just outside the front door that caught our eye. They were three together, with one car that didn’t run. One man, two girls and a pair of jumper cables. It was obvious from the moment we arrived who was in charge. SHE took command of the entire situation, calm, cool, and collected while wielding her jumper cables. Knowing where to connect the positive and negative charges, SHE was familiar with the workings of a battery. Another friend pulled in with a donor car and the two hoods were placed in the up position. Now they were four, one car running, one not. The young woman in command, also was in control of all eyeballs at the station. I think people were going back to fill gas a second time just to sneak a peak. I, already being in the store by the ice cream freezer next to the window, had a front row view. It took him longer than normal to make my ice cream selection. You see, this woman was wearing swim wear, not of the normal type. For the longest time, swim wear has been getting skimpier and skimpier. In my childhood, it was forbidden for women to show their naval in movies. As the years passed, it didn’t seem anything could get smaller than the Brazilian thong string bikini. But, our “Cable-ette” with her mechanical knowledge had gone one step further. Her bathing suit covered the front only. Just tiny strips of torn fabric went across the lower back. Plenty of space in between them. Nothing else. The front was torn strips that strategically covered important areas. This was her bathing suit. A vertical maze of torn fabric that obscured nothing from the rear, including the rear in its entirety. Like a torn t-shirt retrieved from a lawn mower accident, this suit covered very little, quite possibly having been designed by Edward Scissorhands. Oh My. She WAS in charge of the jumper cables. She certainly knew what to do with them. After two such entertaining episodes, I realize that trips out to various parking lots in my little town are in order. Forget evening television shows that I used to find amusing. My town is far more interesting than those. These are richly diverse and outlandish people that dance to tunes I’m unfamiliar with. I plan to investigate this new type of bathing suit, although I prefer a little more modest version when hot tubbing. These days, I continue to check the “P” for Park and set the brake before exiting my vehicle. Things work out a little better that way. Having no DAAAAHHHHDDDD to call for answers, avoiding the problem in the first place seems prudent. Happy People Watching.

This has been a crazy week. With the full moon shining down on my little piece of heaven, things have been hopping. Tuesday was especially crazy.

During the morning hours, many things happened. A Landscape Architect stopped by to give me an estimate on the front yard. The loyal and realistic gardener arrived to fix the sprinkler line once and for all. $40 later, it was obvious he’d need to return on another day for more digging. The old line continued to crack with every repair he made.

A ringing doorbell announced the Fed Ex delivery of meat right to my front door. Steaks in a white ice chest of deliciousness had arrived a day early. The morning was rolling along, busier than most around my retirement haven.

Then, the phone call of all phone calls came in the middle of this flurry of activity. The dentist had an opening. Would I like to repair my crown at 2:50PM? This was the call for which I’d been waiting. Finally, my 20 year old gold crown, the last of its kind, would be replaced. At least the process would begin. This brought both optimism and dread because at some point, the tooth WILL fail. It’s a given. I hoped for one more save at the hands of a skilled dentist, only 30 miles away.

My teeth are a disasterous fail. VST always joked that he should’ve examined my teeth before marriage. It’s true. Born with very poor teeth, they’ve taken me on a carnival ride through the worst hairy-fingered dental hacks known to human-kind. All teeth have received multiple crowns. They’re short timers now, like me. Old.

It amuses me when people recommend their dentist. My first question is this. How many hours have you sat being drilled, filled, capped, polished, straightened, or extracted? If it isn’t well over 50 hours, you don’t know. So the office has the cutest pictures on the walls, or a beautiful fireplace and leather chairs. So the dentist has a computer and 3-D printer that spits out a crown while you wait. So what??? Is your dentist competent???????

My last dentist had that very expensive office. Soothing music floated through halls. With 20 foot ceilings throughout the brand new building, original art adorned every wall. Every employee was trim, tanned and perfectly model like. The chairs were the newest and most comfortable. Headsets for music were offered while your dental service was completed. A computer generated a beautiful crown while I waited 4.5 hours in the chair. All in all, the experience was perfection for the mouth and teeth. OR SO I LET MYSELF BELIEVE.

The little office I’d be visiting this time was different. It was a dental office with no artwork on the walls. The floor tiles betrayed any fleck of dust, utilitarian and white. A big office, the clientele were desert folk. Coming for many different reasons, they needed a dentist that would fix what was broken. There was no Keurig machine on the counter with everything from hot chai to hot chocolate. Nope. This was a PODO. Plain Old Dental Office.

Now, let’s get this straight. I don’t fear anything dental. Being knowledgeable after hours of treatment, I can read x-rays with the best of them. My concern was that the gold jacketed tooth would need pulling and and medication might compromise my drive home. I’d deal with it if the need arose.

Once settled into the extremely clean, modern, and functional treatment room, the fun began. A digital x-ray of both the gold crown and the computer generated beauty were displayed on the wall. Side by side, the old technology and the new. There was one glaring defect staring me in the face. Between the two teeth, there was trouble brewing. It was an obvious problem, easily identifiable. Either decay or a fracture was visible.

Dr. Mike finally appeared in the doorway. Adorably dental doctor-ish, he was ready to rock and roll. After a painless shot, we were on our way to done, until we ran aground.

After drilling for seconds, the assistant stopped him. He was drilling the very expensive, computerized tooth. Removing it, actually. The defect on the x-ray was decay under the improperly formed $2500 computer generated crown. The crown hadn’t covered the tooth’s surface properly. It was a fail before I ever rose from the very expensive dental chair five years ago. A computer is only as precise as the man running it. Obviously, Dr. Dimwit hadn’t practiced enough, because he generated a defective crown for me.

As a patient, learning that the dentist is drilling on the wrong tooth is a chilling event. This happened to me once before when I was 28, and it now it was happening again. I was there to repair the worn out 20 year old gold crown. Not my beautiful new computer generated marvel, now unrepairable.

“I came in to replace the worn and torn gold crown,” I stated.

“But this one has failed and you have decay underneath,” he defended.

“I signed an agreement to replace the gold crown,” I repeated.

“Hmmmmmm. Well, then. I guess today you get two for the price of one,” he said, solving the problem.

More wonderful words were never spoken! Just like that, this dental genius became my hero. If I couldn’t have seen or read the x-ray, I might’ve felt differently. But, the decay under the computerized crown was so obvious. He was right, it needed repairing immediately.

Of course, the procedure was not without added fun and frivolity. There just wasn’t a lot to work with considering how many times these two crowns have been replaced through the years. I got to see pictures of the active decay and pictures after the decay was removed. Dental impressions were made and gum tissue burned away. Nothing like BBQ in your own mouth. All in all, just more procedures added to my list of dental experiences.

Two hours later, I was done. Dental work is a strange experience. Although you feel the same, your mouth doesn’t respond in the fashion it should. With lip and tongue drooping to the side, I drove myself home.

To Dr. Mike’s credit, I did get two crowns for the price of one, fairly priced from the beginning. With temporaries and pain meds, I returned to Winterpast, exhausted.

The moral of the story is this. Pay attention to every service hired. Medical. Dental. Automotive. Even the Beauty Shop. These days, you need to be the Dentist, as well as the gardener, landscape artist, and chef. You need to be in the know, or else, you won’t be when the wrong tooth is prepared for a new crown.

Do I blame the dentist? No. He looked up , saw the serious defect, and got to work. When he saw his mistake made with the best intentions, he made the situation right. With the cleanest and most modern dental techniques, I’ll return to Dr. Mike. Fireplaces, leather chairs, and expensive artwork don’t qualify someone as a good dentist. Caring for patients, while working through unplanned detours, does.

“Home-owning” isn’t a static situation, but wildly fluid. In my case, literally fluid. Just when you sit down to enjoy a cuppa coffee, a septic pump blows or a pipe bursts. Every day with no breakage is a winner!

Enjoying my coffee on Tuesday morning while thinking about possibilities for the front yard, the perfect visitor knocked. The Landscape Architect arrived to give an estimate right on time for his pre-planned visit.

Now, some things should be obvious. Unless you own a mansion in the Hills of Beverly, the skills of a Landscape Architect might be a bit much. In my town, this is certainly true. As houses sell in my little neighborhood, young families move in. Busy young families, dreams overflowing, don’t have time to fret over yardwork. Face it. Keeping a landscaped area looking beautiful is hard work. Slowly, yards around me are reverting back to a natural state of weeds and sagebrush.

Retired, with nothing to do but garden, the elders of the neighborhood continue to weed, mow, fertilize, clip, chop, trim, and dig. My front yard was overgrown with junipers. Being difficult to even see the front door, they were removed. Everything lays in an arrested state of decay, awaiting the execution of a plan.

Years ago, a beautiful lawn grew in the front yard. Sprinkler pipe lay empty under the area, waiting for the day lawn will again grow. Surely possible. Stenotaphrum secundatum, Poa pratensis, or Cynodon dactylon, all deeply rich in color, would contrast beautifully against the harsh desert landscape and Nevada’s big blue sky. However, horses love lush lawn. Horses poop. A lot. My water consumption is high enough already. One solution, although not cheap, would be Engineered Poaceae. In other words, fake lawn.

These days, artificial turf has come a very long way. A variety of blades in various stages of growth and decay add to the illusion. After careful investigation, this product sells for $61 a foot, or more. Installation requires proper preparation. A 15′ x 40′ patch of green in front of Winterpast would add a kick to the neighborhood, which suffers from bland-itis with yard after yard of rock. Brown rock. White rock. Grey rock. Big or little. Rough or smooth. Any kind of rock you can imagine lines my street from East to West. I want green. Year round.

The architect, clipboard in hand, followed me from want to wish to dream. Explaining little things I’d like completed, his pencil flew across the page. It was quite a list when we were finished. Finally having a vision, he promised a prepared estimate within hours. Leaving me with a picture in my head and a song in my heart, I returned inside to finish my coffee wondering how much this would set me back

“$5,000 – $8,000 was my guess and as stickin’ to it.

Now, there was no way I’d pay that much. Simply eliminating tasks one by one, I’d trim that bill down to a respectable amount not a penny over $5,000. Green is the new Happy! Returning to the gardens of Winterpast, I continued assembling the new fountain.

Later that day, I received a phone call from the Landscaping Engineer. The estimate was complete and ready for e-mail consideration. I understood once it arrived. They couldn’t bear to hear the uproariously laughter that followed. Clearly, my yard would remain lost in the sea of rock that is my street. No lush green carpet of plastic would replace the perfectly great white rock (current cost — $0) covering the formally lawn-covered yard.

$21,000.”

Autumn is a great time to play in the front yard. Tote that white rock, I can, while preparing the spot. $3,000 is the new budget. With some decomposed granite and my gardener’s help, that will work.

Note To Self—– Landscape Architects are for the Hills of Beverly. Not for the Beverly Hillbillies. Yee Haw! Have a wonderful day.

Plenty of lemonade, no AC.

The air conditioning unit, the finest of heavenly inventions, died at 12:03 PM yesterday. With the help of a box fan, the house temperature hovered at 80 degrees last night. Of course, this would happen on a Friday when repair shops close for the weekend. Murphy’s Law at work.

Comforting it is to know this problem will cost me a flat $75, thanks to my home warranty. The problem must be fixed, and if it can’t be, the unit must be replaced. So, I can easily wait out a weekend. After all, it’s summer in the desert and AC repair people are in high season. Patience. Patience. Patience.

Today will be a day filled with misting, full speed fans, and naps. A good day to watch some movies and lay low. Ace has the knowledge, tools, license, and Freon to help me out, but he has weekend clients. As soon as he is finished, he’ll come to the rescue, if a repair shop hasn’t contacted me by then.

To compound the matter, Oliver is not feeling his best. Not sure of his issues, but we’ll visit his vet on Monday if he isn’t feeling better. It could have to do with his sneaky ingestion of apricots and their pits. But there are other indicators it could be even more serious.

Oliver is such a strange little creature. He’s so very intelligent, having spatial awareness. He knows the world is in three dimensions. He will sit under the apricot tree gazing at fruit yet to fall, contemplating the best way to get into the tree. He knows the countertops in the house are rich with everything yummy. He never forgets what he’s seen, having a photographic memory. If there is a crumb of food anywhere, he won’t stop until he finds it. He would make a great working dog, as his energy is as limitless, unless he is not feeling his best.

When Oliver came to live with us, VST and I were in the midst of RVing. Oliver was housetrained on the road. He is the only dog I’ve ever met that uses only pee-pads. Yes. I have lawn, but he’s just learning what that’s for. Being neutered at a young age, he never began to lift his leg. He’s a squatter. One benefit of pee pad exclusivity is that I know what comes out of Oliver. In the last week, the amount of liquid has been increasing.

Along with that, strange new spots are growing on his abdomen. Tan in color, they are flat, brown spots. Rather like the age spot on my arm. These could be absolutely nothing, or they could be the sign of something very serious, common in dachshunds. Hyperpigmentation. Two kinds exist. Primary and secondary. If primary, it could be a symptom of many troubling issues, with no cure.

The internet, vast with information on every subject, is not a place to sit and read about your furry friend and possible illnesses. Especially when said friend is peeing more frequently, while restlessly looking into your eyes. Dachshunds are prone to many health issues, but this is a new one I hadn’t heard about. I’ll be emailing his breeder to get his thoughts on the matter.

With that, I bid you “Farewell” this morning. I need to retrieve more fans from the barn and get this air moving. Expecting 100 degrees, today. I love the desert. Patience. I love the desert. Patience. I love the desert. Patience. Etc. Etc. Etc.