When the Mama bought her lemon tree, she lucked out big time. Not only does it bear Meyer lemons, but it also gives forth citrons. Someone had grafted a couple of citron branches to the lemon tree, unbeknownst to her and possibly the nursery from which she bought the tree.  Some of the citron are Buddah's hands. They're the ones that are oddly shaped, generally looking like fingers. Buddah's hands can get truly creepy looking. Today I'm hooking up with Monday Mellow Yellows , hosted by Gemma Wiseman. Click here to see other yellow-colored interpretations of the world.

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers In the late 1990s, when the Mama was in her mid 70s, her doctor prescribed her one and only medication -- a pill for low thyroid. The doctor started her with .05 mg, a very low dosage. But, in the Mama, woooo-weee! It made her run the marathon, jump over the moon, and lift several 100-pound bags of soil every day. Essentially, taking the medicine made her tired. And, of course, after awhile she stopped taking it. A few months went by before I discovered she was not taking her medication. While visiting her one weekend, I noticed she was looking very tired so I checked her bottle. She was very good at not refilling prescriptions.  The bottle was the one I had ordered months ago and it was still full. The Mama admitted that she stopped taking it. Sigh.  "Why?" I asked. She shrugged. Her usual answer to questions to which she was not ever going to respond. "That's why you

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers The Mama loves her daisies, but she complains that they're a pain to deadhead. She does it anyway so that they continue to bloom. And, bloom, they do throughout the year. I've taken to snapping off old and spent daisies off the plants in the front yard while Molly the Cat wanders about. When I started, it was to be a good assistant to the Mama. Now, I do it more for me. It helps me find zen. One of these days, I'd like to get her some regular white daisies. Check out what colors and types she has now. Today is the letter D at ABC Wednesday, a fun weekly blog hop created by Denise Nesbitt 16 rounds ago. Currently it is being administered by Roger Green at Ramblin' with Roger , with the help of his ABC Wednesday friends.  Please click here to read other ABC posts.

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers Clip. Clip. Clip.  That's what the Mama has been doing among her geraniums lately. Pruning off old and decaying branches so that new growth will take place by spring. Just doing her magic among the geraniums, both in the front and back yards.  Always the recycler, the Mama doesn't throw out all of the pruned branches. No, sir-eeee, Bob. She snips off the geranium stems to plant in bare spots in the yard, front and back. They take root, then several weeks later. . .Voila! Flowers! Which stems have a chance of rooting, you may ask? Because, I surely do. Shrugging is her answer. So, I watch her choose the stems to plant. Her selection is based partly from her many years of gardening and horticulture experience. Part is from a feeling, an instinct. And, part is from the geraniums telling her.  At least, that's what I like to think. The Mama is humble. She is surprised as everyo

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers The Mama saves the empty plastic bags in which potting mix, garden soil, and wild bird seed come. I'm not talking about small plastic bags. They are bags that once held 1.5 or 2 cubic feet of dirt or 40 pounds of bird seed.  Once upon a time, I threw the bags away only to learn that the Mama fished the bags out of the garbage can and hid them in the garden shed. "I can use them for something," she said,  when I found the bags. Yup. The tiny, 90+, always-resourceful lady did find a use for the bags for her garden work. When she's in cleaning mode, which is pretty much every day, she carries a bag in which to throw leaves, twigs, weeds, and other green waste. When the bag gets too heavy, she leaves it for me to pick up and empty into the green waste recycling can.  Some weeks, the green recycling can gets filled within two days because we've been pruning trees or pulling out v

Sawing. Clipping. Raking. Sweeping. Pushing dried limbs, branches, vines, leaves, and seed pods into plastic bags. That's how I spent most of my afternoon. It wasn't what I had planned. When the Husband and I left this morning to do the errands, the Mama was reading the newspaper in the living room. Ninety minutes later, I looked out the back door to see a high limb on the miracle tree precariously hanging above the Mama, who sat beside the tall ladder, stripping dried leaves from skinny branches into her bucket. I was furious. One, the Mama had been up the ladder. And, two, I had asked her the other day, after cutting back her banana trees, if she'd like me to prune the rest of the miracle tree. "No," she said. "The green (recycle) can is already full." Good, I thought, I'd prune the tree next Thursday.  Ha! "You know we don't like you on the ladder," I growled, throwing my purse on the ground, and hurriedly climbing the ladde

Lately, I've been helping the Mama pick up the leaves in the backyard. Even when it's about to rain or when the wind is being blustery. Why? Because the Mama is out there. And, she'll stay out there until she is a) satisfied that she has picked up as many leaves as she could before more fall from the trees,  or b) tired and has begun ranting about the next door neighbor's dirty tree that sheds lots and lots of clusters of red berries and skinny hard leaves, which are quite difficult to pick up. After years of calling out the back window, "Come in, Mama, it's too cold!" Or,  "It's windy! Just wait until the wind stops." Or, "It's raining!" I now step outside, followed happily by Molly the Cat who has been cooped inside because the Mama decided it's too cold, windy, and/or rainy for her to be outdoors.   I usually head to the other side of the yard  with my favorite rake. The sooner the leaves are picked up, the sooner t

The first, okay, maybe it was the fourth, thing I did this morning before breakfast was write that To Do list. I did finish the mystery I've been reading at breakfast. I diligently stuck with the story although I didn't care for the protagonist who was too much of an insecure whiner. But once I learned who the suspect was, I skimmed through the final scenes. I closed the book and purposely went to complete something else. For about the next two hours, I topped off the Mama's outdoor potted plants with potting soil. It was something I had been thinking about doing for the last two summers. The other week, while the Mama was watering her plants, she mentioned that they needed more soil. "Uh-huh," I said, glancing at them and thinking I need to do that before she got to it. Fortunately, for me, a few days ago, the Husband and I bought three huge bags of potting soil. The Mama requested one, but I bought two extra bags. Not because I was going to add soil to

The Mama, as some of you dear readers know, is in her nineties. The tiny, fragile, slow-stepping Mama is doing well, thank you very much for asking. She's as fit and magnificent as the flowers and vegetables that she grows. The only medication she takes is for her thyroid. I can only hope that I haven't screwed up the genes she gave me too awful much. This morning, I found a poem that I wrote about the Mama two years ago when she was rushed to the hospital. The Mama is amazing. The Sleeping Mama Slipped into her ER room. She was fast asleep, Hooked up to the IV, heart monitor, and oxygen. In one moment, she could not move no matter how hard she tried. And, she tried, and kept trying, to stand up. "Walking pneumonia," the doctor said. "Dehydration." What did she say?  "This is going to cost me a lot." © 2014 Su-sieee! Mac I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, c

Itty-bitty bananas are growing in our backyard. It's quite amazing. Don't let that photo fool you. I took it close up. They are truly very small bananas. Bananas have grown before, but normally they sprout at the end of summer, then before you know it, the weather is cool, and so much for the fruit. This year though, ooh la la, we may be eating bananas from our trees. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.  

Snap. Snap. Snap. "Mama's always finding something to snap in the backyard," I said to the Husband, as I peeked out the back door to see what she was snapping. "She'll always find something," said he. The temperature was in the 50s. Very cold, she would complain, if she was inside the house. Outside, she doesn't feel how cold it is because she says she's always moving. Always doing something in her garden. She has already dug up her vegetable boxes. I won't be surprised if she starts planting beans next month and then complains a month later why it takes so long for them to sprout. That's the Mama. Keeps her strong, I know. She is, I believe, healthier than the Husband and me right now. At least all the trees are pruned. The apple trees. The persimmon trees. The apricot tree. The miracle tree. The avocado trees. The ornamental pear tree on the front yard. Too bad we didn't have a prune tree to prune. Of course, there is th

This has been a great summer for the Mama's backyard jungle. Trees, vines, and plants are producing like crazy. This is just a bit of the Mama's bounty—Sweet Asian pears, sunny sunflowers, and sour, but yummy lemons. Today, I'm participating in the photo meme, Monday Mellow Yellows , hosted by Gemma Wiseman. To check out other participants, please click here .  P.S. ' Tis the month of the Mama and Molly the Cat.

I just love it when technical things come together. After all, I am a non-techie, regardless of what others may say. Early this morning, or late last night (depending on your point of view), I received an e-mail saying that my domain names had expired and if I wanted to keep them, I need to renew pronto. So, that I did. I decided to forgo the URL for the old blog and purchase a domain name for Don't Be a Hippie . Purchasing su-sieeemac.com was quite a cheap thrill, I tell you what.  su-sieeemac.com? Yep. I figure I can always use the URL for something else down the line, should I ever cease writing Don't Be a Hippie . For once, I'm looking ahead. Anyway, a few minutes ago, I keyed in the right combination of words and numbers to have Don't Be a Hippie appear in the browser when I plug su-sieeemac.com into the appropriate bar. Whooo-hooo! Another cheap thrill. I think I will count this feat as a Doing 60 . The little things count, too, in my book. So, as not

The tree on the right is the Miracle Tree. If you look closely, you can see the Mama behind the rose bush. The First Husband gave the Mama a package of seeds that a Native American tribe had sent him as part of a fundraising campaign. Mama, always the curious horticulturist, sowed them in her backyard. From those seeds grew the Miracle Tree, which today is more than 20 years old. It would be monstrously huge  if the Mama did not cut it back nearly every year. She can't stand the idea of the branches hovering over the roof or even being near the gutters. No matter how much it gets hacked back in the late fall, its branches are full and ready to provide sufficient shade for the summer heat. During its early years, the Miracle Tree produced a lot of seed pods. Let me repeat: A lot of them. The seeds are flat and shiny and difficult to clean up once they're on the ground. Every year, Miracle Trees sprout some where new in the yard. Most times, the Mama pulls them out. T

The apricot tree had fewer blossoms than last year. "You pruned too much," said the Mama. Sigh. I needed to cut the low branches so I wouldn't get stabbed in the forehead or the Husband wouldn't get poked in the chest as we wandered through the ya rd while following Molly the Cat. I also wanted to clean up the tangle of branches now rathe r than later when it would be too difficult to do. I want to think the Mama understands all that. But, all she can think of right now is that we will have fewer apricots to eat this year . Check out other A to Z Challenge participants by clicking here . " N ext year the tree will have a lot of blossoms , " I said . Sh e didn 't say a word.  We can o nly hope.

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.