Thursday, August 26, 2010

the garden

I have not planted a garden for 7 long years. I did not have room. But this year, along with a husband, a house, a new cat and a red haired grandson I got room to plant a garden! I was ecstatic and relentless. I made wonderful loamy compost. I bought dirt (yes, in the desert we buy dirt) plants and seeds and went to work.

I planted squash and watermelon seeds and beautiful tomato plants, both determinate and indeterminate, with tiny marble sized tomatoes trembling on the stems. I planted flower seeds galore and already established succulents; baby sun rose and moss rose with tiny blooms. I moved Rudy’s little cactus into the garden where it could keep company with other growing things. I tended the seedlings and plants with great care. I mulched them deep and low (thank you Arlo) and watered them twice a day. All was well in my garden. Life was sweet.

Rudy and I noticed two Common Sagebrush Lizards living behind a young Mediterranean Palm at the edge of the garden. We named them Lizzie and Leo Lizard Lips. In short order Leo and Lizzie presented us with several tiny hatchlings about ¼ inch long. The little ones skittered across the deck and up the block wall when we walked outside. Their parents were much braver and stood watching us as they did “push ups” to make themselves appear ferocious.


The squash put forth huge yellow blossoms that bloomed in the morning and withered by afternoon. But we had no pollinators. For a week or so every sunrise found me padding about, bleary eyed, paint brush in hand, transferring pollen from male to female blossoms. The tiny yellow blossoms on the tomato plants wilted and died. I harvested eight tomatoes; those that were on the one plant when I bought it. The watermelon vines grew silvery green and sprawled their way past succulents and useless squash and tomato plants. They bloomed and the blooms died.


We watched as two soft, gray mourning doves billed and cooed on the garden wall and since they were nesting, I bought seed for them. They pecked gently among the seed and soon about a million pigeons joined them, jostling and pushing them aside. I provided them all with water. It’s hot in the desert. I bought a hummingbird feeder hoping to bring pollinators to the garden. The hummers loved the nectar but couldn’t be bothered with yellow flowers, thank you very much. Tiny finches found the hummingbird feeder so I bought a tube feeder and Rudy and I watched the hummers and finches eat while we had breakfast and dinner. They chirped loudly, jockeyed for position, fought and fluttered. One of the little finches learned to cling to the window screen and peer in at us. One early morning a hummingbird hovered not five inches from my nose. We were eye to beak and I was so enchanted I think my heart stopped beating.

My veggies bore no fruit, my flower seeds did poorly, though I did have a nice showing of California poppies, and while my morning glories climbed the wall in true morning glory fashion they did not flower.

Then one morning the unthinkable happened. I looked out the window at my poor struggling garden and the pigeons were industriously eating away at the succulents and even the few petunias that were left! I did nto know pigeons ate plants! I stopped feeding the pigeons; the mourning doves had already left for where I don’t know; probably a nearby garden without pigeons. I still feed the finches and the hummers but the garden is just about finished. There is one bedraggled, yellow cempasuchi marigold, the yellow marigold associated with the Day of the Dead ceremony. How fitting. I wonder who pollinated it. I hand pollinated two watermelon blooms last week and now there are two tiny pea-sized watermelons. I am protecting them from the pigeons with mesh. I wonder what will become of them. And though I no longer feed them, the pigeons stay on, feeding on seeds and suet the finches drop. I have tried chasing them away but they're not afraid of me. The succulents have all been moved to the front porch where they have not been found by the pigeons and are beginning to bloom again.

All is not lost in my garden. There were lessons to be learned. I have learned that in spite of it all I still love to garden. I have learned the difference in male and female squash and watermelon blossoms, and that you don’t always get what you expect. I have learned to care for hummingbirds and finches and that pigeons will eat anything %*@#!

I am already planning next year's garden. I'm going to have carrots, turnips, potatoes; anything that grows underground.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Lost in the hallway.

It was our second night in Colorado. We enjoyed a delicious dinner and returned to our hotel.

“I’m going to hang out in the lobby a few minutes and check my Face Book,” I said.

“You go ahead. I’m going up to the room,” Rudy said.

The lobby was pleasant and I checked my Face Book and wandered around a bit before heading up to the room.

I got off the elevator on the 2nd floor and hesitated before I knocked on the door of room 233. It seemed to me our room was on the other side of the hall. I did not want to knock on the door and come face to face with a stranger. How would I explain myself? “I’m sorry but I can’t remember what room I am in?” No way! I wandered up and down the hall and looked at the doors. None of them looked right. I whipped out my trusty cell phone and sent my husband a text message: “Open the door please. I am lost in the hallway.” But the message was not sent. I tried again. “Rudy, please open the door and look out in the hallway. I am lost.” Again the message was not sent. What the heck was wrong? Once more I tried and the message was not sent. Arghhh… Was I doomed to go to the front desk and tell the very young receptionist I had forgotten what room I was in? I tried to call my husband. The call did not go through. “Wait,” I thought. “We are in the mountains and the reception is probably no good!”

I gave it one more try before I faced the front desk and this time I heard Rudy’s sweet voice say, “Hello?” But that was all. I lost the connection.

“Buzzards!” I pushed the down button on the elevator and just at that moment I heard a door open. I looked around the corner and there stood my husband. I was saved!

“Have you been trying to call me?”

“Well. Yes. I forgot what room we were in and 233 didn’t seem right.”

Rudy laughed. “That’s because we’re here… in 218.”

“Oh. Thank goodness. I didn’t want to have to go to the front desk and admit I had forgotten where I was sleeping tonight. I tried messaging and calling you but my cell wasn’t working.

Rudy laughed again. “That’s because the reception is lousy up here,” he said as he turned to open the door to our room.

A strange look came over his face and immediately I knew what it meant. The door was locked. Yes. He had walked out and let it lock behind him.

Hand in hand Rudy and I went downstairs to tell the very young receptionist we had locked ourselves out.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

the Steve and Doctor McDreamy question

The Mountain View emergency room was busy. At the end of the hall a young woman sat on a gurney and a nursing assistant sat with her. She was on suicide watch and had been there 6 days waiting for a bed at Las Vegas Mental Health. All the rooms were full and there were people in the hallway… people with broken legs, feverish babies and seniors with chest pain. I was there with my daughter Lori, who was suffering headache and stiff neck. We were not in the hallway but in a bay, surrounded by a red and gray striped curtain. Lori was sleeping after an injection of morphine. I sat wedged between a metal tray and a crash cart, reading and waiting for the doctor to come back and say something. Anything. The metal tray next to me began to rattle and I felt the side of it hit my leg. I looked up. The lead wires from the next bed were coming over the curtain and tipping the tray. Suddenly drops of blood spattered the floor near my feet. I heard people running. The curtain covering the next bad was shoved back. I could clearly see what was happening.

“Get back in that bed Steve!” yelled the young doctor. “Look what you’ve done! You ripped your IV out and there’s blood everywhere! You’re pulling the curtains down and you’re going to hurt this woman. I don’t blame her if she sues you.” I did not want to be hurt but I had no plans to sue Steve.

“I just spent a week… seven days, in Summerlin Hospital drying out!” Steve yelled.

“And you left there and on your way home you got drunk and ended up on the floor in CVS. The ambulance brought you in. You are detoxing all over again, your cardiac enzymes are not good and I expect you to seize any moment. Now get back in that bed.”

“I am sick of being in the hospital. I just spent a week in Summerlin. I want to get out of here.”

“Look Boss, keep it up and you’re going to see a nice doc become a mean doc. Get back in that bed!”

By now, two security guards and a nurse had joined the doctor and they were all issuing orders.

“Get back in that bed now!” said one security guard.

“Here, give me your arm,” said the nurse. “You’ve got blood everywhere and your arm is swelling. Give it to me!”

And Steve kept repeating, “I just spent a week in Summerlin. I am tired of hospitals. I want to get out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” yelled the doctor. “I am serious. Get back in that bed.”

“I know my rights! I want out of here! I just spent a week in Summerlin! You can’t keep me if I want to go! Give me the @*$# paper and let me sign it and get the @*$# out of here!”

The doctor looked like Mountain View’s version of “McDreamy”; young with curly, dark hair, blue eyes, navy blue scrubs and matching sneakers. Steve was older, gray and thin with cavernous eyes, dressed in a hospital gown with blood dripping from his right arm. It was clear to me who was going to win this argument.

“Don’t make me restrain you Boss!” said the doctor.

“Just give me the paper and let me out of this @*$# place! You can’t keep me if I want to leave.”

About that time a nurse hit Steve with an injection in his arm.

“What the…? What was that? Why did you do that?”

“The doctor ordered it to help you calm down.”

“I don’t want to calm down. I want to get the hell out of here. I just spent a week in Summerlin. I need to go home. You can’t keep me here. I know my rights.”

Steve was right, of course. They couldn’t keep him there legally and they were keeping him against his will. Still it was 11 pm and 104 outside. He was drunk and the doctor felt he needed to be somewhere safe.

“Hey! What was that you gave me?”

“Ativan. Relax.” The nurse helped Steve back onto the gurney and pulled the curtain back around him.

“I guess I don’t have any @*$# choice.”

I watched the housekeeper clean the blood from the floor, listened as Steve’s voice became softer and was finally quiet and I thought about his rights and how they had been violated. Steve was not incompetent but he was drunk. And it was a hot night. And it was dangerous for him to be wandering around out there but still… he really wanted to leave the hospital.