A glorious first day of Spring to you, dear Readers. It's overcast with the hope of more rain, rather than just sprinkles, in my neck of the woods today. Having a nice steady, but gentle on the fruit blossoms, beat of rain would be perfect for right now. Yesterday, the Mama sowed her bittermelon seeds in a pot. That means the time for the Husband and me to start preparing the Mama's veggie garden plots is very, very near. If the Mama still had her strength and endurance, everything would've been done a few weeks ago. That's okay though. She has been distracted with transplanting different flowers from elsewhere in her back and front yards to the one particular patch of ground that you see in the photo below. "I want all flowers here," she said."Lots of flowers." It's gonna look amazing.

Garlic cloves all in a row—kinda. The Mama definitely has something-to-plant radar. This morning, I decided to plant the garlic cloves that were sprouting on the kitchen counter. I always wanted to grow garlic, just for the heck of it. Hmmm, I may have inherited the "mad horticulturist" genes from the Mama. Anyway, I put the chosen garlic in a yogurt container (which was probably the clue to the Mama that something was about to be planted) and put the container out on the back step. I would plant them after I picked some lemons. The lemon-picking task quickly created the additional task of pruning the branches that were touching the tops of the apple tree. To the Mama's delight, because that meant she'd have something fun to do in the garden. As I was walking by the Mama at one point of fetching pruning tools, she had this where-is-that-thing-I-wanted? look on her face. I thought it was the empty basket  for the lemons that I was holding, so I gave that t

Last week, I planted my first banana trees. That's another Doing 60 for me. The banana trees are transplants from the Mama's banana grove in another part of the yard. Click here to see where they originally stood. They were the clump on the far left side.  Usually, I dig out the banana trees and leave them for the Mama to replant. No more. Not that the Mama can't do it. But, why let her have all the fun, right? Besides, I need to increase my strength, if I want to keep up with her come veggie gardening time. The Mama supervised the job. I lugged them across the yard, one by one. In the photo, the banana trees look like they weigh nothing. Hah! The Mama marked the spots where she wanted them. And, I dug.  Ping! Rock. Ping! Another rock. Ping! Ping! I enjoyed the challenge of getting the rocks out. It was so much easier than sitting in front of the computer screen and trying to think of a word that would precisely describe what I needed to say in a sentence. P

When we meet up with friends, they eventually ask about the Mama. They've come to expect a doozy of a response about the tiny, not-so-frail 90ish gardener.  For example, one time I replied:  We were gone 90 minutes to do errands. Only 90 minutes. Do you know what she did while we were away? She whacked off the tops of the banana plants. With her machete. Ba-dum-bump. Tishhhhhh. And then there was the time I got to tell our friends this story. We were gone most of the day. We came home to find that the Mama had pruned the apple tree next to the small shed. "Did you use the ladder?" I asked. "Only my small one," she said. "You'll have to prune the top. I couldn't reach the branches." I looked at the tree. I couldn't figure how she got the middle branches without climbing the taller ladder. "How did you get those middle branches?" "Oh," said the Mama. "I stood on the roof of the shed." Ba-dum-bump. Tis

The theme is still the inability to get started. That is, the brain of my mine.   Plutter... Pletter... Splutttttt... .The sounds that the brain of my mine has been making. So, on Saturday, I tried to jump start the brain of mine by snatching up the camera and going outside. Some of the Mama's roses are in bloom. Take that cold weather, they seem to say. And, yes, the roses, the snapping of photos, the doing of something creative seems to have sparked something in the brain of my mine. Of course, dear readers, I must share with you the Mama's roses. © 2013 Su-sieee! Mac . All rights reserved.

My strategy used to be: Wait until all the leaves have fallen off the trees and then gather them up. Sure, it would be one murder of a day, raking and bagging literally tons of leaves....I say literally because obviously tons of leaves do not fall from less than a dozen trees. Maybe, thousands of leaves, but then I would just say that and not "literally thousands of leaves" because there are thousands of leaves on the ground. Yes, I think people overuse the word literally. Okay, back to leaf-gathering strategies. The Mama's strategy: Pick up leaves every morning. Depending on the season, it may take her less than 30 minutes to several hours before she is satisfied that her garden is neat. The Mama dislikes the sight of leaves on the ground. She actually grumbles and shudders when she passes people's yards that are full of leaves. "If that was mine," she always says. "I wouldn't stand it." The husband or I usually respond, "Look away

Several days ago, the Mama fell twice as she was watering her vegetables. I didn't see either fall, but fortunately she told me about each one just after it happened. I had gone out to give her a juice drink. It was a hot day and my mission was to keep her hydrated whether she liked it or not.  As I waited for her to gulp her drink (Sipping? No such thing when she's on a task), she mentioned that she was wet because she slipped and fell on top of the beans. If she hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have noticed she was wet. When I looked at the beans, I couldn't tell that anything was wrong. The woman is that light. "Here, let me finish watering," I said, reaching for the hose. "No, I can do it," she said, swerving away from me. After three times of going back and forth, I let it go. After nine years of living with her, I have finally learned to choose my battles. Assured that she hadn't hurt herself, I went back inside to work. Ab

I'm old. Old. Old. Old. Old. Old. Well, we're both hold. The Husband and me. Oh, he won't like me saying that. But, it is true. We are old. Yet. Yesterday, we pedaled our cruiser bicycles against that defiant wind for several miles to buy three pounds of freshly-picked locally grown, sun-kissed cherries. Very yummy cherries indeed. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about getting older. As wise folks say, "What's the use of complaining?" I'm just stating the fact today to myself, and you happen to be in on it. Still, no matter how old I am, the Mama is older. As many of you know, nothing is going to stop her from doing what she wants to do.  Example: The back yard that is her jungle of a vegetable garden. The better description is the mad scientist's horticultural sandbox. Any day, I expect her to tell me that she tore out all the bean plants and sown new seeds. Why? Because she can't stand that the plants are producing

There are always two sides to a story, right? Here's one tale for you from the Mama's Garden. One Side:   The Other Side: I like both sides to the evolving summer garden story.

"Take a photo of the pink roses before I clip them," said the Mama, as I was cleaning Molly the Cat's litter box. She—the Mama—rarely asks me to take a picture of anything, especially of her works of wonder. "Take it so you can see the apple tree," the Mama said, showing with her hands the angle she wanted me to shoot the photo. She was sitting in the living room. I love it when the Mama gets artistic on me. That, too, is rare these days. That is, except for her gardening.  The Mama is one of those people with a green thumb. She can clip a rose branch, stick it in the ground, and most of the time it grows into yet another beautiful rose bush. The rose bush in the photo was once upon a time a small pot of roses that was bought at a grocery store. I don't remember how long ago, but I do recall she didn't really care for that kind of rose at the time. But, the Mama being Mama, rarely throws a gift plant away. By the way, that is not the apple

If I were more ambitious, I would nudge myself to actually take the time do the following ten ... five ... three! things within the next...uhm...let's say five weeks. Sew the "bridle" for Molly the Cat. It's not really called a "bridle". I just can't remember the correct term right now. But, it's the thing to which you attach a leash. Yes, the Husband and I have visions of walking with Molly the Cat. So does the Mama. I've already bought the "ingredients" (again, I can't remember the correct term) for the project. If you're curious about my vague description, check this link . Okay, the bridle is a harness. Bridle sounds so much nicer. Pedal my bicycle to and from Tres Pinos. Every morning before breakfast, too. Tres Pinos is a cool, tiny village about five to seven miles away from the house, depending on what route I take. This would be a very huge commitment as well as a complete overhaul of my schedule. It would mean

Last week, the husband and I bought a grow-your-own mushroom kit from Bertuccio's Market , one of our local produce stores. As you can see the kit is a very compact package. It's also very easy to take care of, as long as I remember to spritz the slits after breakfast and then again in the evening as the husband washes the dinner dishes. Five days later—so far, so good. Little bumps are starting to burst forth. The mushroom kit is produced by Back to the Roots , a company based in Oakland, California. According to the instructions, the kit should produce 1.5 pounds of oyster mushrooms. The first crop should appear in 10 days. After five days, I don't know about that. Maybe it means, the bumps will have grown into larger bumps and pushed their way through the bag. We've tried growing mushrooms before, with zilch results. But, then, that was because we let the magic dry out long before we paid attention to the package. Maybe this time, it'll be different. We a

A few weeks ago, the Mama and I cut back her banana trees and she stripped off the dried leaves. A banana blossom had actually made it through the frosty days. It was quite yummy. The Mama decided to leave quite a lot of the trunks in tact. Usually, she likes to hack them almost to the ground. It shall be interesting to see how tall her tiny groves grows. Here's a close-up of how happy part of it looked last year.

Brrrrrrrrrrrr. Temperatures have been dipping into the 30s and 40s the past month. Ha! So what! says this blooming rose in the Mama's garden. Head over to Alphabe-Thursday , hosted by Jenny Matlock, to read other N posts.

About a week ago, I got a paper bag full of iris bulbs from a woman who runs the community garden in our town. She'd dug up hundreds of them and was giving them away. Purple, white, blue, and yellow. But, I won't know what colors the iris are until they bloom. Yesterday, I had fun planting some of the bulbs in a bunch of baskets of different shapes and sizes. I can just imagine the iris baskets lined up in a row in the front yard come spring. That is, if they bloom. The few times I've planted iris, nothing happened. I may have planted them too deeply, which iris aren't supposed to like. The experts say that iris should be planted in September and October for a spring bloom. Maybe that's for another part of the country.  The experts also say that iris should be planted before the frost. We've had a couple of frosty mornings already, but I don't think the experts were talking about California climate.  A woman at the thrift shop where I got some baskets (25 ce

Because Veterans Day fell on a Thursday this year, the past weekend was a four-day one for some folks. A few of our friends think that the husband and I have a seven-day weekend because we work at home. I say they're just envious. But, I admit that if I ever had to do a 9 to 5 job again, it would be a very difficult adjustment. So, knock on wood that won't need to be. Anyway, back to the highlights of the weekend. Thursday The husband and I went downtown to watch the Veterans Day Parade. That was the first time I've been to one. Ever. It was a short, but fun, parade.  If you love a small town parade, come to Hollister, California.  A couple weeks ago was the high school homecoming parade. A couple of weeks from now will be the "Hey, it's time for Christmas!" parade. That's not the real name, but you know what I mean. Other annual parades that march through downtown include the Portuguese Festival Parade ,  the Horse Show and Rodeo Parade , and the Mexican

For this Wordless Wednesday and Outdoor Wednesday , I give you a look at the Mama's garden. This is how the mama's garden looked in April of this year. The mama's garden as of last week. Can you see her at work? The mama gave her first gourd of the season  to her friend. The mama chops the banana plants back every winter. By summer they are in full bloom again. The Mama's sunflowers had to be over 12 feet tall, three times taller than her. Today, we celebrate the mama's first day of starting another trip around the sun. Joy!

The Mama's Vegetable Garden in 2009 The weather was so glorious last week that the Mama started planting her vegetable garden. She was very happy to be playing in the dirt again, after being cooped up in the house during the rainy and cold days. To read more about the gardening Mama, click here . Happy Mother's Day to you and your Mamas! This is how the Mama's garden looks today. Soon bean and squash vines will be climbing up these wires again. The Mama threw these bean seeds in the ground about two weeks ago. The first artichoke of the season! Those are all volunteer apricot tree saplings. No idea how that happened. The Mama at Work

April showers bring May flowers. I hope so. On Saturday, I sprinkled a large bag and a half of random seeds (over 8,000 seeds) amid the mama's organized flower beds. She said I could, even after I said some of the flowers may be vines. Messy yards drive her nuts. She curses the leaves of other trees in the neighborhood that end up in her backyard, as she sweeps, picks, and deposits them into the green recycling bin almost every day.  In the fall, the mama clucks at front yards full of dead leaves. "If that was my yard," she would say, "I would get rid of that tree." And, if a neighbor happens to annoy her at the moment, she mumbles about the weeds in his or her yard, but only I would be able hear or understand what she is saying. Why then did the mama allow me to shake seeds throughout her orderly garden? There was a starry far-away look in her eyes at the mention of four-o'clock flowers. I think, though, it's mostly because she has a strong sense of cu