What can we do while sheltering at home?

                 For us without small grandchildren to homeschool, for us without (on purpose) TV, for those of us who prefer quiet to ‘white noise’, how have you spent your ‘shelter at home’ time? Some folks binge watch old or Netflix movies, clean out cabinets, file computer works and hard-copies that probably won’t be read until our descendants happen on them (when and if they go through our stuff ) after we’ve moved on.

                Others have used the time to catch up on reading. Since I ‘shelter at home’ most of the time anyway, nothing much is different other than the cancellation of various groups—Bryant Bunch Lunch, local poets’ meeting, church, Lucidity in Eureka Springs, Spring Celebration of Poets Roundtable of Arkansas, Girls of ’54 breakfast.

                Instead, on days without rain, I’ve worked in the yard trying to tame the spring-growing, ubiquitous privet, rake leaves from the flower beds, trim back the loropetalum, and move the houseplants to the front porch.

                Several folks from church (fifteen miles away in Tull) have checked on me, and a family going by the house who saw me outside wheeled in to see if I needed anything, and my retired-from AR-DOT son came over to mow and weed-eat. He and I stayed six feet apart during the entire morning, which was hard to do but we blew kisses to each other.

                I can tell more folks are on their computers or iPhones; my computer is much slower nowadays, it seems. I completed my MFA assignments on Tuesday before they were due on Sunday, so I began reading David Brook’s The Second Mountain. Greye-the-old-cat climbs up on my throw-covered lap for some close, quiet contact. Now, if I could find something he will eat longer than two days at a time.

                This past Sunday, I did vary my routine a bit. More than a bit, really. First, I slept (and dreamed) until nearly 10 a.m. I brought the local and state papers inside, cleared them of the advertisements, made coffee and checked email, Facebook, national news online.

                I looked through my CDs to find some choral music and found two discs of such. One was “Vivaldi” and the other was Faure’s “Requiem” both performed by my sister’s community chorus, NoVa Lights when she lived in northern Virginia. Then, instead of sitting at the table or on the loveseat, I sat on the sofa by the lamp table and began reading the Perspective section of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. I actually read nearly every article, column and letter to the editor, which I usually do NOT do. And by four o’clock I had even begun the BIG PUZZLE, always a difficult one. But it was nap time, so I turned off the music player, set the alarm for 6:30, warmed the heating pad and neckpiece and enjoyed a shortened snooze. Monday, things got back to normal.

              Now that the daffodils have gone, irises are popping up everywhere. My roadside bed is full of early whites and a few blue-purple ones. Later, the nursery stock whites and maroons with dazzle with their large blooms. Azaleas are coming into their fullness and beauty. If we have to stay home, we can enjoy the blooms. And hope the bees flock to the flowers, too.

c2020, PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Preparing for winter -- again

~Google images~

 

          Time to bring the plants in, says Ms. Janet Carson, the horticulturist. Where do I put them? I ask myself. In front of windows, I answer.
 

          Now, I have plenty of windows but not all of them will host a plant--small, tall, narrow, H-UG-E, like the schefflera that's 3-feet wide and 2-feet tall. OK, narrow it down to possibilities: the breakfast room/green room on the southwest corner. Three windows, two doors. In fact, since the hardwood floors in the office/sunroom are again beautiful (without years of water spots from dripping plants), they won’t go in there. The Green Room/ old breakfast-room area will soon be filled. It reminds me of the late Edna Brown’s room of wintering-over plants.

          The pear-motif-ed curtains are still down to let in the light. I must cut the huge variegated privet from the west window—again for more light.

           Since this is an old house with thin-paned windows, time and weather have messed with the casings, etc. Where air can get in, I either caulk or lay vintage lace into those places, then arrange clear or colored glass pieces on top. One winter, I used fake snow fabric. That way, I could imagine an inside, but never-melting, snow scene.

          This winter, however, the newly-laid vinyl tile floor is to be considered. No water should stand on it, the tile men warned. So each plant must have its own saucer.

          
            At the south windows, on a two-by-twelve, hand-built-by-Dad, bench (we used to sit on at breakfast many years ago), I will arrange the jade plant, an 8-year-old dish garden, a drunkard’s dream, and anything else that will fit. Then, I’ll maneuver the huge schefflera into the corner.

          At the west window, I’ll bring in another like-sized bench from the front porch and place the two ferns on it, and whatever else that there’s room for. Mom’s lacy fern will go in a tall metal plant holder. The smaller plants will rest on the table in the center.

         The angel wings and beefsteak begonias and the pepperomia I might place on card-table chairs or wooden step stools. The mother-in-law’s tongue and split-leafed philodendron, the peace lilies, a corn plant and the Norfolk Pine will more than likely have to spend the winter on a back porch table covered with a flannel-backed plastic cloth. Oh, how could I forget the money plant the church gave me when I retired in 2009?

        
       Changing the subject: The theme of this year’s Season’s Greeting Letters, published in Baltimore by Mohammed H. Siddiqui, was “breeze/ breezes.” Each year he asks for haiku and tanka on a selected theme. I have been lucky enough to warrant a place or two in a dozen years’ issues. This year, he chose these poems of mine:

 

parking lot breezes

aluminum can 

rolling, rolling

 

mid-June rain

 in the porch swing

 making my own breeze

         
   May your autumn breezes bring happiness and contentment.
   And bring your plants in soon.

 

Preparing for winter—and Wynter

 

 

        Time to bring the plants in, says Ms. Janet Carson, the horticulturist. Where do I put them? I ask myself. By windows, I answer.

 

        Now, I have plenty of windows but not all of them will host a plant--be it small, tall, narrow, H-UG-E, like the schefflera that's 3-feet wide and 2-feet tall. OK, narrow it down to possibilities: the breakfast room/green room on the southwest corner. Three windows, two doors.

        First, take down the pear-motifed curtains to let in more light. Wash, dry and fold.

Second, wash the exposed windows. Done. Now, how to hide the upper window where sash meets frame? Think, girl, think. You are creative. Aha! Take the clean curtain panels one at a time. Fold them into 4ths. With white thread strung through a teeny-eyed needle, baste a place for the curtain rod. Hang, Voila!

 

         Another possibility for those of us who have our mother's and grandmother's crocheted lace from worn-out pillowcases or the embroidered part WITH the lace still attached. Do the same--perhaps on the door. Now, you have a reminder of the dear ones who've preceded you and helped make you what you are and who you are still becoming.

 

        Since this is an old house with thin-paned windows, time and weather have messed with the casings, etc. If air can get in anywhere around, lay lace into the flat loose places, then arrange clear or colored glass pieces on top. One winter, I used fake snow fabric. That way, I could imagine an inside, but never-melting, snow scene.

 

         But I digress. At the south windows, on a two-by-twelve, hand-built-by-Dad, bench we used to sit on at breakfast (yea, many years ago), I arranged pots of jade plant, a dish garden, a drunkard’s dream plant, then placed the huge schefflera at the end.

 

        At the west window, I stood a fern in a tall metal plant holder. Perfect. On the table are two African violets, one that needs dividing, and one that had been divided and is having a hard time recuperating.

 

         But that left two tall angel wing begonias, another fern, a mother-in-law’s tongue, a split-leafed philodendron, a large container of peace lilies, a corn plant and the infamous Norfolk Pine that finally recovered from serving as last year’s Christmas tree. Oh, yes, the money plant the church gave me when I retired.

 

         All are now positioned in front of windows—some in the living room, more in the office/sunroom, and the latter, in the west window of the guest room.

 

            But that was just the beginning of readying the house for winter. Now, Wynter was arriving soon. That visit required sweeping, dusting, cleaning off and redressing the dining table, cleaning (and decorating-for-autumn) the bathroom, mopping the kitchen floor, shaking the rugs and sweeping off the front porch.

          Just in time, too. “Hello, friend Wynter! How was your trip?”