FlyMo: Different Kind of Mower

 

 

Diagnostics

I mowed my first lawn nearly two years ago and was very proud of my success with a new and unfamiliar task. I didn't mention how exhausted I was after getting the job done -- I would take a shower and then sit quietly in the recliner for several hours, too tired to move.

I've adjusted to frequent sessions of manual labor, most of the year. It's simply part of my routine now, and most of the time I feel quite good. The exception this year was the rock culling exercise in the prairie garden. I nearly gave up after a day or so of digging through layers of rock, thinking that I would never get back to feeling like a human being. However, after a week or so I had stopped hurting, for the most part, and I was eager to begin the mowing season.

Adam testing his dad's work

We use two mowers for the lawn, one a Honda self-propelled machine and the other a light, hovercraft-like mower that floats above the grass. Bob equipped it with ropes so that the bank can be cut by lowering it to the sidewalk easily, without damaging the turf below. As I blogged two years ago, passers-by stop to watch the bank cutting effort, particularly since no one even heard of the FlyMo. Bob was a little worried that parts might not be available if the need arose.

Trouble hit last week when the machine was even more difficult to start than usual. I couldn't keep it running, so Bob took over my bank job and managed to get the bank done while I cut the rest of the grass. Fortunately, John Hennessey agreed to have a look and yesterday we loaded the mower into the Traverse for transport to John's Woodbury driveway.

John had the FlyMo apart in a few minutes and discovered the main problem, a clogged and dirty carburetor and a disintegrating engine filter that was jamming the engine, shred by shred. John cleaned the carburetor and restored the mower to its original bright orange and white colors. Adam took the rejuvenated FlyMo -- which has never sounded so good -- for a test run on the Woodbury Hennesseys' lawn.

The mower is now in our garage, ready for service. See the pics here.

FlyMo as good as new

Hummingbird!

A minute or so too late to capture a shot

 

I enjoyed hummingbirds in my "prairie garden" at the end of the summer and in the early fall, but when I couldn't find a feeder so late in the season. A few weeks ago, I tested the waters with a very inexpensive model on sale at Menard's for about $6.00.
I mixed up a solution from the powdered sugar mix I bought with the feeder but failed on my first attempt to put the pieces together, spilling most of the sugary nectar in the sink. I got it right the second time and hung the feeder, expecting immediate results.

The weather turned cold almost immediately. As the liquid level fell in the reservoir,  I figured the nectar was evaporating and wondered if I should have hung the feeder away from my other stations, as the instructions suggested. I left it as is because the feeder view from the dining room is best at the existing location.
This morning, the sun shone brightly and we mowed the lawn but I had a few indoor tasks so I went inside. When I was vacuuming the living-dining area, I saw a flash of green iridescence that reminded me of last winter's excitement over the neighborhood  rufous hummingbird. The bird returned to sip nectar several times in the next few minutes but I was afraid to scare it away by approaching with my camera. I do foresee photo ops in my future.

A Military Burial at Fort Snelling National Cemetery

Fort Snelling National Cemetery

The National Cemetery Administration maintains 131 cemeteries across the country. One of them is Fort Snelling National Cemetery, a few miles from our St. Paul home. I had driven past the cemetery many times but had no reason to go in until recently.

Last Tuesday we attended the visitation and funeral of a U.S. Navy veteran of World War II. Al S. joined the Navy at 17 and saw action in Okinawa, the Philippines and other venues in the Pacific Theater. In her eulogy at his funeral mass, one of Al's eight children mentioned that he had carried a burden of grief from that long ago war and, like many other veterans of his generation, suffered uncomplainingly from PTSD.

The graves at Fort Snelling are in sections, with rows of identical tombstones as far as the eye can see, for the veterans of wars fought by Americans since the mid-1800s.The spring winds blew and the birds sang their songs in this lovely, sacred place. I remembered visits to the national cemeteries in Normandy and Arlington, and felt a mix of emotions: admiration, respect and great sadness for the families affected by the immense loss of children, parents, siblings, so many stolen in the prime of life by war. 

Fort Snelling National Cemetery

 

Burials are scheduled by appointment, and we'd been instructed to arrive at 1:20 p.m. for 1:35p.m.  The mourners gathered at the assigned assembly station and the cortège advanced slowly to the appointed venue.

An honor guard from the Anoka Vietnam Veterans of America guided us through the military part of the service. The history and symbols of the ceremony were explained, and a rifle salute broke the peaceful silence of the spring afternoon. A single trumpeter, a Navy veteran, played the Navy song Anchors Aweigh, America the Beautiful and Taps. Though old, the musician was very fit, and his playing was sweet and flawless, with perfect phrasing.

After the presentation of the flag, the deacon moved quickly through the familiar Catholic burial ritual. We left the cemetery in reverent silence.

Spring Gardens

Prairie garden after back breaking digging

For most of my life, I viewed birders and gardeners with contempt. However, since so many friends and family members love birds and flowers, I kept my mouth shut and only a few suspected that I perceived their hobbies as useless time wasters.

Of course, I've been one of them for some time now. I'm especially enjoying our wonderful spring, when chilly rainy days are followed by warm ones filled with sunshine. On this cold Mother's Day, the trees are in almost full leaf and the ground has just enough moisture to make planting easy. About ten days ago I turned the first shovelful of dirt in what I think of as my prairie garden.

Home Depot
spading fork

The mix for Prairie Garden 2015

It was hard going, rocky and full of mineral dust, made a little easier when my neighbor Gaylord lent me his 4-tine spading fork, a good purchase for me later in the summer before fall cleanup. I finally finished the job yesterday, leaving lots of rocks but ending up with a plot much better than the one I had last year. I worked in a little manure and peat moss and will plant this year's garden in the next day or so, as soon as I'm sure it won't get pelted with hail.

I saw a few green hints of green this weekend

Last week, I persuaded Bob to let me have the little strip of earth on the north side of the garage. The area gets no sun at all and plantings the last two summers have been disappointing, so I've been imagining a little garden populated by shade plants. I dug and turned the soil, and finally sprinkled the mix over the earth and watered it. Yesterday, we planted a border of red and white impatiens, and this morning I noticed the first tentative sprouts of green. Next I'll help Bob with the little strip between the front and back yards, that it's really his  project so I'm just a minor contributor for that one.

Pumpkins in the fall

In addition to the wildflower gardens, I'll plant some pumpkin seeds on the west side of the house where I've had only marginal success with spring flowers, thanks to the energetic squirrels that dug down through wood chips to eat most of the bulbs, especially the crocus and hyacinth that I planted last fall. I'd love to have a nice little pumpkin patch in the autumn, so if the seeds are planted on June 1, I should be taking picture of beautiful pumpkins on September 19, 110 days later.

After the first few days of digging, I ached all over in muscles I didn't know existed. I groaned rolling over in bed and limped downstairs in the morning. I had no idea my butt could hurt so badly just from using that garden fork! I was surprised to feel better by yesterday, ready to dig again and looking forward to modest but exhilarating summer success.

The Price Wasn't Right

My red glasses

I should have replaced my glasses before leaving for Florida, but by the time I thought of it I was too late to do anything. I squinted to see signs, especially in the sun, and new eyewear was on one of the first items on my post-vacation to-do list.

I'd been coveting red glasses for a year or so, but hadn't intended to order everyday, no-line bifocal, transition lenses and sunglasses too. However, I was an easy sell when I saw not one, but two attractive red pairs. I made the purchase at a America's Best, where the price was right and the St. Paul Midway store staff are courteous, cheerful and professional. I didn't get the "deal" (2 pairs for $69.95) but was fine with my higher end glasses, especially when the resident optometrist and optician performed miracles with my new and always difficult prescription.

Bob almost immediately noticed that his own transition lenses -- one of about ten pairs of glasses in active service -- were irreparably scratched and beyond the warranty period. He tried to blame the scratches on me, the self-appointed eyewear cleaner in the family, but at least one optician suggested that he might have done the damage himself by rubbing debris into the lenses while using "unauthorized" cleaning materials, such as his own shirt.

His eye appointment was yesterday morning at the University of Minnesota, and the staff there recommended Costco ("no membership required") and Walmart for his glasses. I was stunned and a little dismayed, since Bob had already dismissed discount providers, attributing at least some of his problems to "shoddy goods" in the current rotation.

Bob is not really a discount shopper, or any other kind of shopper for that matter, but he actually found a pair at Costco that he liked, but a $120 membership is indeed required so no purchase was made, particularly since glasses aren't warrantied. We moved on to Walmart, where he found a nice pair, but the price tag was quite high so that deal didn't fly either. Meanwhile, I smugly admired my two new pairs of red glasses.

The Magic Hairbrush

Magic hairbrush selfie

On Easter Sunday I interrupted Sonia M. in mid-sentence to comment on her beautiful hair. She looked as though she'd just come from a high-end salon after a pricey blowout and I couldn't help admiring her new look, with just a hint of suppressed jealousy.

"It's my new hairbrush", she said, and with characteristic generosity, she offered to pick one up for me. Sonia delivered my magic hairbrush on Wednesday afternoon and I couldn't wait to try it out. Sure enough, the ceramic center gets hot and does the job of a curling iron, and the soft bristles add shine to the hair. We're using the Olivia Garden Turbo-Vent Combo Petite.

Because the magic brush worked so well on my post-Florida hair -- too long, fly-away and dry -- I decided to proceed with the plan to grow out my layers for the summer. The hair looks quite a bit shorter, but the only  "real" length was cut off the bottom back layer. The other layers and bangs were simply trimmed by a fraction of an inch.

I dry my hair quickly and use the brush mainly for volume and curl control. No more heated rollers or curling iron, and the shine is quite lovely.

Holiday Deck Lights

Deck lights are on again

Off and on in the 10+ years we've enjoyed our deck we've had small clear lights across the top perimeter. Last summer I replaced them all, with used Christmas lights, and wondered how long it would be before I'd have to do the job again. The answer came when we returned from Florida after leaving the deck lights on 24X7 for the month we were gone.

All three strings were out, two of them completely. No amount of jiggling restored the connection so I removed the lights and did the job again, this time in the chilling cold of an April afternoon instead of the bright warmth of a Minnesota summer morning. One set was old and the other two were brand new "out of the box", bought last November with this specific failure in mind. Bob reminded me that I could have replaced the little battery in each set, but I just didn't feel up to it.

The lights aren't LED. I'm usually in favor of anything energy efficient but I got discouraged several years ago when the squirrels destroyed a half-dozen expensive sets of  LED lights that may have looked a little too much like appetizing fruit. However, I feel guilty and think I'll try LED again next time I have to do deck lighting.

The construction workers next door watched me work with some interest, maybe wondering if I'd lost track of the season. With unusual restraint, I refrained from commenting on my achievement and enjoyed the cheerful brightness when the rain fell in the evening.

Good Friday Devotions

In the ten years or so before I retired, I usually landed at Assumption Church in downtown St. Paul for both Holy Thursday and Good Friday. Always a quick service, starting promptly at 12 noon and over in time for me to be back at work by 1:00 p.m. Last year, Bob and I went to Assumption on Good Friday and yesterday we went to Holy Thursday Mass there. However, Bob is not too keen on the 19th-century pews designed for short German pioneers and he wanted to go to our own Nativity Church this afternoon. We arrived in plenty of time to get a good seat - in our case, the last pew of the first section on the west side of the church.

Shortly before the service started, a seemingly self-appointed usher started stuffing people into pews with fewer than eight occupants. He was still signaling to unseated attendees during the reading of the Passion, and we got an extra deuce in our pew, as well as a young couple with a young child and a newborn. That brought our occupancy to eight plus two kids.

I was actually OK with that, until I moved a little close to my right-hand neighbor. He was definitely not

Back to Reality

84F our first full day back in Minnesota - a record for temperatures dating all the way back to 1882. I still felt so tired from our trip that I didn't enjoy it as much as I should have, but at least I was outside for most of the afternoon.

The prairie garden is covered with last year's leaves, and I knew I'd have to deal with the dried flowers sooner or later. I expected a big job but the garden was  planted on rocky ground and the plants were pulled from the soil much more easily than I had anticipated.

We made our first trip to the compost site late Wednesday afternoon, a few hours ahead of a noisy storm that evening. There wasn't much rain but the daffodils and tulips are growing on the east side of the house, while the new bulbs I planted on the other side are nowhere in evidence. I know that they were too shallow and fear they were either eaten by squirrels or just now growing for some reason.

The sun is shining and the air is quite chilly, more like the early April cold we expected when we got home. Traffic in St. Paul quiet, particularly on this Good Friday afternoon. Feels almost as though we never left home.

Florida 2015

Florida 2015 roadtrip posts.

Minou | April 17, 2002 - February 9, 2015

Minou | 2002-2015

I put in my bid for one of Clark and Shannon’s Russian Blue kittens when TeeCee (Tornado Cat) was pregnant with the latest “batch” in early 2002. Clark insisted on a rigorous vetting process with a wide range of qualifications, including the requirement that his large cat family approve of a prospective adoptive parent.

I must have passed, because I was soon invited to view TeeCee’s litter, a pile of silver beauties supervised by their vigilant mother. I had once read that the pick of the litter is the mother’s favorite kitten, supposedly the one nursing closest to her face. I selected that kitten and put her in the palm of my hand. Her little claws stuck like Velcro when I held her against my shirt, next to my face. I was totally and forever in love.

Spring turned to summer, and shortly after the Fourth of July when the kittens in the litter were about  12 weeks old, Clark summoned me to come and pick up my cat. I brought the tiny creature home on a warm evening after stopping at son Chris’ workplace to show her off. My fear of Bob’s reaction was soon realized;  he stormed out of the house and didn't return for several hours, silent and fuming. Our tabby Fritz, dark-eyed with hostility, stationed himself outside the bedroom where I had sequestered the new kitten.

The next morning, Bob was still angry so I had to take a vacation day to stay home with the new baby, whose beautiful blue eyes were already beginning to turn the striking emerald green of the adult Russian Blue. The next morning, I went to work, full of anxiety, worried that the kitten would never find a place for herself in this hostile environment.

When I walked in the door at the end of the day, Bob excitedly demanded the video camera. The kitten was perched on his lap, looking adorable and content. From that moment on, Minou was Bob's adored baby and he was "her" preferred person.  I decided to name her “Minou”, a generic name – "Kitty” in French -- but uncommon here in Minnesota. I dutifully registered her with the Cat Fanciers Association under her full pretentious name, Princess Katya Minou.

As the years passed, Fritz tolerated Minou and especially appreciated her begging skills. When the shared dish of dry food was empty, Fritz would get Minou to persuade me to fill it. Fritz and Minou shared an interest in birds and other backyard wildlife, and they both loved to hate the outdoor cats that appeared regularly at the front door or under the bird feeder. They had hours of entertainment watching Alpha, the little betta fish that lived on the kitchen counter for a couple of years.

Minou was always a “self petter”, but she snuggled her way into Fritz and Bob’s “daily rub” routine. When Fritz wouldn't allow Minou on the bed where he enjoyed a vigorous rub every morning, she got Bob to give her “the rub” on the stairwell landing, while Fritz glared menacingly from above.

After Fritz died, Minou became much more affectionate and, in the last few years, she loved to sit between Bob’s legs or stretch out on Chris’ chest.  She ran like a little wildcat and jumped to great heights in one easy leap, up to the top of the buffet or the shower in the basement, her landing pad for "walking the pipes". She peered at us from the kitchen cabinets and refused to come down until she was good and ready.

We were heartbroken when it seemed last fall that Minou might have cancer, and were so happy when she rallied after treatment with antibiotics. Unfortunately, respite was short lived, and last week, we realized that her health was declining rapidly. Over the weekend, we were alarmed to see that she could barely eat or do anything but sleep.

Our wonderful Dr. Whitman and the compassionate staff at Animal Medical Medical Clinic helped Minou die peacefully, and we are relieved that she is finally at rest on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.  We loved her so much and were fortunate to enjoy her in our family for nearly thirteen years. The house feels so empty without her!

More about Animal Medical Clinic's care http://www.twincities.com/opinion/ci_27568680/best-pets-and-their-humans.

Don't say "yes" when you mean "no"

Last week Bob bought a new Garmin GPS. He will need it when his OnStar subscription expires, and this seemed like a good time to get used to the new model, with its large, easy-to-read display and lifetime map support.

In order to keep maps up-to-date, I thought I'd install Garmin Express software on my laptop computer. I was a little distracted when I was doing so, and somehow I made the mistake of installing bundled adware along with the Garmin software. I've always preached the need to say "no" to installation choices, unless you're absolutely sure you mean "yes". I could hardly believe I got caught myself, and was somewhat surprised my Norton antivirus software to kick in when I really needed it.

The adware kicked in immediately, slowing down my computer and offering me the opportunity to buy a wide variety of products and services, including anti-adware software and services (!), upgrade Windows drivers or talk to a tech for immediate help. The usable real estate on my desktop diminished to a few square inches. Too bad I didn't read this item before I installed Garmin Express.

I spent several hours over the weekend trying to uninstall the adware. Norton was very involved this time around, and I thought -- more than once -- that the adware was gone. I think I got most of it uninstalled, but I'm fairly sure both IE11 and Chrome browsers were hijacked with adware add-ons and I just didn't have the skill or the tools to fix the problem.

Finally, I did things the old fashioned way and restored Windows (8.1) to its pre-Garmin state. PC and Windows are running fine now, and I feel lucky that I got only a slap on the hand for my carelessness.

Breadmaking 101: F

The bread maker

My mother, Mary Ryan, never considered herself an expert in the kitchen but she was a good cook and very competent baker. She followed recipe instructions to the letter and knew the value of accurate measurements, especially for certain ingredients like baking powder, salt and vanilla.

I remember Maman's baked goods, produced with predictable results and few, if any, failures. Many years ago during a visit, she was horrified to see me throw out a baking sheet caked with some baking disaster that I was too lazy to clean up. She would have laughed at my recent bread making adventures.

I'd been thinking about getting a bread maker for several years, sure that the methodology would be foolproof and even enjoyable. I imagined myself throwing together a batch of bread before leaving for work in the morning and arriving home to the tantalizing aroma of fresh baked bread. Add soup and voilà, a delicious meal.

As I researched the subject over a period of at least 7-8 years, I decided that the best approach might be to borrow a bread maker from a friend. However, anyone I asked had long ago sold the machine at a garage sale or donated it to charity. Finally, Meggan K. came to the rescue with an almost new machine that she graciously borrowed to me.

I made my first bread last Wednesday, a one-pound loaf of plain white bread. The instructions were easy and soon my bread was being mixed and kneaded, allowed to rise several times, and baked in the machine. My husband and I sampled the bread as soon as we could, while it was still warm. We tried it cold too, and as toast. It tasked fine, but really "just OK". I ended up throwing out most of it, determined to try again.

This time I found a recipe online that went against the instructions that came with the bread maker -- "Forget everything you thought you knew about using your bread machine!". The recipe promised fabulous results, so I thought it would be good to come home from church to fresh baked bread. Early on in the process, something seemed to be amiss. The mixture didn't knead properly and a layer of flour covered the top of the "loaf". The yeast mixture bubbled up along the sides of the pan. Oh oh. This development did not bode well.

Home made bread!

I decided to let the cycle terminate naturally. The alert sounded after baking was complete, so I eagerly opened the bread maker.  The gooey mixture was caked with flour and the "bread" seemed like dumplings squashed together, with a bit of caulk added in for texture: another candidate for the garbage. Mercifully, Bob did not laugh, but thought that he himself would be able to do a better job if he tried. I can see this might very well be true.

This is not my first culinary catastrophe, and I must have matured a little over the years because I didn't have a temper tantrum or try to hide the evidence of my failure. It helps that retirement has given me more time, and I didn't need to feel that I had wasted precious weekend time on bread making.

I still have bread flour and yeast left.

I'm going to try making bread one more time, the traditional way.

Winter Wedding

Cousins Michele Hennessey and Bob Hennessey with Rich Fortman and Kerry Hennessey

There's nothing like a winter wedding to break the monotony of cold and ice. Yesterday we were at Hamline Church United Methodist for the marriage of Kerry Hennessey and Richard Fortman. Kerry is the beautiful daughter of Bob's first cousin, Tommy Hennessey and his wife Cindy.

I felt a little anxious before the wedding because of a "formal attire" notation on the invitation. I have not formal clothes and fretted off an on about what I'd wear, but in the end I was fine in my seldom worn velvet jacket and black fake silk pants. Bob was very dapper in his dress clothes, including the custom made shirt that was a birthday gift from Chris last spring.

The  ceremony was a mix of traditional and modern, with a few laughs that relaxed the wedding party and the guests. In his nervousness, the groom forgot one of the phrases in the "repeat after me" segment of the exchange of consent and he had to ask the officiating minister for help. Very endearing.

We were a little concerned about getting to the reception in downtown Saint Paul at A'bulae, right Saint Paul Winter Carnival Vulcan Victory Torchlight Parade. We did have to wait for a few minutes to get into the parking ramp but really didn't face any difficulty at all.
where the

The reception venue was beautiful and upscale. To my surprise, the bridal party arrived at the reception with everyone else. Timing was perfect, with just enough time for a pleasant mix of appetizers and cocktails. My red wine was so delicious that I know I need to know the name.

The bride and groom visited our table as they were making their rounds and I was happy to snap a good shot of cousins Michele Hennessey and Bob Hennessey, with the bride and groom. Our companions at Table 4 were pleasant and interesting. The evening was full of fun and joy.

Father of the bride Tom Hennessey (seoond from left) with ousins Mary, Michele, and Bob. I'm second from the right.

Surprised by Real Customer Service

Just before the New Year the carbon dioxide that powers my Genesis SodaStream ran out of gas and I returned the empty canister to Walmart for a refill. At a cost of $14.95, the process was simple and cheap, at least $10 less than the cost at Target, where I used to replace my canisters.

However, my SodaStream machine didn't work when I tried it out with the new CO2. Bob thought that I'd received an empty cylinder, but that seemed so unlikely that I called SodaStream's customer service on New Year's Eve. After spending ten minutes on the phone with me, the customer service rep determined that my machine was defective and would be replaced under the terms of the three-year warranty. She emailed a UPS label and I returned my SodaStream for free.

Today the new machine arrived but it didn't work. Once again, Bob figured the CO2 canister was empty, so I returned it to Walmart for a replacement. Although the customer service people had trouble with the return of their first "defective" cylinder, they were cheerful and stayed with the problem until it was solved ten or fifteen minutes later.

I screwed the canister into the new SodaStream and carbonated two bottles of water with my new appliance. I'm amazed that I dealt with two customer service teams that were determined to please me, the customer.

Well, I'm both happy and surprised with SodaStream and Walmart. Time for a celebratory glass of refreshing carbonated water.

First World Woes

Me in my diamond earrings. Summer 2014.

I have a number of beautiful pairs of earrings, mostly gifts from my husband or my sister, or purchased by me in an extravagant moment. This is my only "girlie" indulgence.

My all-time favorite earrings originated as diamond studs, a 25th anniversary gift. I was always afraid I'd lose the studs, so I rarely wore them. until Bob "upgraded" the diamonds for our 30th anniversary and changed the setting to a drop earring, with a solid clasp. I've worn them regularly for the last two years and they always made me feel elegant, even in my jeans and sweatshirt.

Yesterday I attended a going away luncheon with former work colleagues. I stayed behind after our delicious lunch at Christos to take a few photos at Union Depot in downtown Saint Paul, and stopped for a few things at Walgreens before heading home. I noticed my left earring was gone a little later, when I was ready to take off my jewelry. I probably dislodged it when I was putting on my jacket, which I did several time during the afternoon.

Phone calls to Union, Depot and Walgreens yielded sympathy but no earring. Our insurance agent said there is a chance that the earrings are insured under our Homeowners policy, less a $1,000 deductible. I'm embarrassed that I didn't insure my few items of valuable jewelry under a "scheduled" policy that would require a new appraisal of covered items every 24 months. The policy is cheap, not more than $30-$100 per year, depending on the value of the insured items.

I cried off and on during the evening and finally went to bed, thoroughly sad and exhausted, a little smarter and wiser. In the grand scheme of things, this incident is a minor inconvenience, but I loved those earrings so much!

Saturday, January 17: This is a happy footnote. I found the earring this morning when I was washing the kitchen floor. It must have come off when I came in from shoveling the garage floor on Tuesday afternoon, and took off my jacket at the kitchen table. I'm tearful, happy and wiser.

Thriving!

Minou - January 12, 2015

Minou is doing better than we had hoped only a month ago. I began treating her twice daily with the antibiotic doxycycline two weeks after the long lasting antibiotic shot convenia was administered by our veterinarian.

Because Minou turned up her nose at the taste (fish & marshamallow), I mix tuna with her regular Fancy Feast cat food, and added a second meal to deliver the second dose. I also experimented with gradually reducing her daily dose of prednisolone, now 0.5 ml daily, down from 0.8 ml.

She seems better than she's been for at least 18 months. As a precautionary measure, Dr. Whitman renewed the doxycycline prescription and I hopefully mentioned that perhaps the underlying problem was a bacterial infection all along.  In a week of so, when the weather's warmer, we'll investigate the possibility of a bad tooth, sometimes the cause of these infections. The vet cautioned that Minou's apparent good health doesn't negate the possibility of a slowly progressing cancer.

Our little cat is more energetic, sleeping less and presenting herself for grooming. For now, we're all happy that she's doing so well, thanks to medical care superior to what's available for most of the world's children.

Maintaining

Minou under the tree. December 2014.

When asked how he was, a young work colleague at the Minnesota Department of Revenue in the mid-90s would often reply, "Maintaining. Just maintaining ...". I've often thought about this response when I've had to "put myself on automatic" just to cope with everyday activities and small challenges, never more than in the last two months. I was expecting some hard days after Bob's knee surgery, but I was totally unprepared for a major health crisis affecting our little Russian Blue cat.

In the early fall, Minou's now chronic sneezing and coughing, diagnosed as asthma about a year ago, worsened. We took her to our veterinarian and she was treated with Convenia, an antibiotic used for bacterial infections, thought to be a consequence of a primary viral infection and exacerbated by a compromised immune system. Minou continued on her daily 0.8 ml dose of Predisolone, administered to manage her symptoms. For a few weeks, all was well and then the symptoms slowly returned, worse than ever.

Blood tests were inconclusive so we decided to request a second opinion from the University of Minnesota Veterinary Medical Center. After a comprehensive exam and a chest X-Ray, several "nodules" in her lungs were identified and she was diagnosed with probable lung cancer, either primary or metastasized from a tumor in her sinuses or elsewhere in the respiratory system. No sign of asthma. Other possibilities were a fungal infection (unlikely) or lung worms (highly unlikely). The only way to know for sure is a CT scan that would include a biopsy in one or more locations.

Our original decision was to get the conclusive diagnosis, but after a very bad weekend during which Minou's wellbeing diminished by the hour, we opted to treat her symptoms, with the goal of making our beloved pet as comfortable as possible for whatever her lifespan might be. Since we would not be inclined to treat cancer with either surgery or chemotherapy, the conservative approach seemed logical and kind, both to the cat and ourselves.

By last Monday afternoon I was an emotional wreck. Bob, while outwardly calm, was upset too. We consulted with our longtime vet, Dr. Jan Whitman of Animal Medical Clinic, who reassured us that we're doing the right thing for Minou, who has had "a great life". She even came by on Monday evening after her long workday to give a Convenia injection, delivered so efficiently that she was in and out of the house in less than a minute. I feel so fortunate and grateful for  Dr. Whitman's kindness and compassion.

Almost a week later, Minou is no longer coughing or sneezing, and she seems very comfortable, though a lethargic version of her former perky self. She sleeps most of the time, but still loves to snuggle up with Bob or Chris, purring contentedly. We've resigned ourselves to the idea that this could be hospice care that we'll provide as long as it's appropriate.

During this time, I've felt very sad and preoccupied, unable to write or take pictures. The Christmas card list seemed so daunting that I divided it into manageable segments and omitted my annual photo insert summarizing the year in pictures. Other tasks have simply been left undone.

With a course of action pretty well laid out, I'm doing better than "maintaining" this weekend. I've always loved the Christmas Season and this year is no exception, despite the fact that sudden near record warmth has given us a dull, foggy landscape. All we need now is a little snow ...

Too much, too early

Goodrich Avenue November 16

On a visit to Minnesota in the early 80s, I saw the book Bring Warm Clothes in a bookstore: I can't say I didn't know what I was getting into all those years ago when I moved here. Of course, I've always lived in "the north country" and I enjoy winter. I love the little crystals of snow sparkling in the winter sunlight and cheerful winter activities in the fresh air, and nothing can beat the feeling of superiority that comes from thriving in this harsh climate.


Unplowed Goodrich Avenue

Not much snow has melted since Monday's winter storm and we got more yesterday, enough to shovel this morning. More cold weather, 20-30 degrees F below normal temperatures, is promised for at least another week.

The streets in St. Paul are treacherously icy and yesterday evening vehicles were sliding through most stop signs in the neighborhood. On all but snow emergency routes, I guess the City of St. Paul is relying on Plan B (the sun) to melt the snow and ice.

The first snow is usually just a reminder to finish the raking and put away summer toys. Seems like more of a warning this season.

Rufous Hummingbird Way off Course

Rufous Hummingbird - Wikipedia

I had never heard of a rufous hummingbird until this morning, but now I realize I missed a great opportunity on the next block.

Yesterday afternoon when I was out in the alley clearing snow, a young couple -- all bundled up and looking a trifle eccentric -- asked me if I knew where to find "the hummingbird" somewhere in the neighborhood. I mentioned that I thought I'd seen a hummingbird fluttering among the last blooms in the prairie garden but figured that this was simply wishful thinking, given the time of year.

More snow last night so this morning I was out with my shovel again, and two of my neighbors mentioned the "rufous hummingbird" on the next block, where a local birder had set up a makeshift warming station for the bird. Photographers were capturing beautiful images of the bird, so I planned to visit this afternoon, though I felt sad that the little creature seemed to be so alone and far off its migration path.

I read on a birding site early this afternoon that the bird had been captured and was headed to wildlife rehab. I hope this is a good thing for the bird, but it's definitely bad for me because I missed out on a great photo shoot.

Giving me pause: I may have looked just a little "off" myself this morning. The day was cold and I was wearing a big jacket, hat, heavy mittens and rather masculine looking hiking boots. My transition lenses were dark, despite only a little sun. The first neighbor gave me a knowing look and asked, "Are you into birding at all?", before starting in on the rufous hummingbird story. "Oh yes,", I answered with enthusiasm. So now I guess I am readily identifiable on the street. Next thing you know I'll be in full birding gear, leaving no doubt as to either my birding bent or mental status.

Première Neige

University of Minnesota Medical Center, East Campus

Forecasters are predicting a storm that may rival the Halloween Blizzard of 1991, so I felt a little apprehensive when I went to bed yesterday evening, knowing that I had a 7:30 a.m. appointment for a routine mammogram. The snow began to fall shortly after midnight and it was blowing mightily across the deck when I got up shortly before six.

I'm a mediocre driver who requires ideal conditions: perfect weather, no rain or snow, excellent roads, and, most important, no traffic. This morning I decided to drive Bob's 4WD  Chevy Traverse instead of my little Ford Focus. I've been driving it since Bob's surgery, so I didn't experience the dread that usually overtakes me whenever I have to take his meticulously cared for vehicle.


Beginning of the storm on Goodrich Avenue

My trip was uneventful, despite icy roads, especially in St. Paul. There was a lot of traffic on East Mississippi River Boulevard, since commuters seemed to be taking city streets to downtown Minneapolis instead of I94. However, no worries in the Traverse. The back-up camera, superb control, miracle of anti-lock brakes and great visibility gave me an easy ride, as did the big girl underpants that seem to fit so well today.

A Just Reward

Canon Pixma MX922

I've been thinking of a new printer for awhile, especially in recent months as my old but great HP PhotoSmart has been showing its age. After thousands of pages of text and hundreds of photos, the printer was jamming more frequently. With the holidays approaching, I knew I'd be needing reliable printing, so I started shopping several months ago.

My first choice was another PhotoSmart, but I was irritated with HP for changing the printer cartridges for newer models, so that I wouldn't be able to use ink that I still have in my cabinet. I finally decided on a Canon Pixma MX922, on sale at Best Buy for $125, with free delivery. I was a little dismayed to find the same printer at Amazon for $99 ...

The printer arrived Friday afternoon, 3 full days earlier than promised. I unboxed it right away, and went to work on setup on Saturday morning. Like many of my IT colleagues, I took only a cursory glance at instructions; after all, I've set up dozens of printers and one is much like the other. However, the ink cartridges were a little different on this printer, easy to install the wrong way. I did this several times until an online video and a little logic (often in short supply) led me down the path to success.

One online reviewer warned that wireless networking was harder than expected, but fortunately I've done this for many devices and my problem was limited to figuring out the buttons for the little keyboard on the device display.


Canon Pixma MX922

The printer is fast and output is almost like laser printing. The tools that come with setup are easy to use and will serve me well for use with digital photos -- I don't do much editing but I do straighten and crop photos before archiving.

A new device -- laptop, phone, camera, speaker, printer -- is always a great pick-me-up. I'm thinking of it as my "caregiver bonus".

Demolition Derby

Just before demolition

Photos.

In the introduction to a later edition of Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh explained that when he wrote the novel in late 1943 and early 1944, he anticipated the imminent demise of the English country house and the British upper classes. Both proved to be more resilient than anyone could have anticipated during those bleak days of World War II.

This morning the heavy wrecking equipment arrived onsite to demolish the house of our longtime and much beloved neighbor, E.L. The house was sold earlier this year to a professional buyer of distressed properties, a "knockdown" house like so many in these older neighborhoods of Minneapolis and Saint Paul.

10 minutes into the job

E.'s lovely little house was no typical knockdown property. She completed home projects with predictable regularity, one every year or so: the kitchen, her pretty little porch, the roof, metal siding. She loved her garden and especially relished her annual "first ripe tomato" contest with my husband. E. won every year, until I tied store bought tomatoes on one of Bob's bushes so that he would finally be credited with his first win.

E. spent a few years in a nursing home before she died in August two years ago. Her house has been vacant since then, and we had been hoping for new neighbors as pleasant as recent arrivals on our block. It seems, however, that the estate sale last January was the beginning of the end.

The little house is half gone after an hour

We have been dreading this day since the remodelers' sign went up last spring. Since then, we've taken note of the many large boxes built on our small city lots, designed to blandly fit reasonably well into our neighborhood of early 20th century construction. Sometimes the little houses on either side look out of place, and they are almost always deprived of light by their new neighbor. And, of course,occasionally property values increase and neighbors are happy with this urban renewal.

Today I feel very sad. Selfishly, I hope that we don't lose the eastern sun when the new property is raised. My greater sadness is for Saint Paul and for our lovely old Macalester Groveland neighborhood. I hope that I, like Evelyn Waugh, will be pleasantly surprised by the impact of what today seems like the beginning of a great decline.

Fall Clean-Up

The oak has lost enough leaves to make a big job in the yard

I was amused when Bob referred to me as Nurse Ratched but my underlying restlessness was no laughing matter. Being inside so much was getting on my nerves, but I didn't want to go too far from home so soon after my patient's total knee replacement surgery. Early last week I wanted to begin chopping up the oak leaves in the yard with the lawn mower, but I couldn't start it. I'm not very mechanical, and over the summer Bob always had it running for me, so I'd forgotten the steps.

The "one-pull" Honda wasn't even close to any kind of action after five or six pulls and I had to give up. Yesterday, Bob thought that I might have forgotten to engage the clutch while pulling the rope, and of course he was right. I guess I'd put all my (minimal) brainpower into remembering to set the choke. I quickly changed into my yard work clothes and sure enough the mower started like a charm.

The oak is over one hundred years old and a lot of leaves were on the ground -- not all, by any means, but enough to fill three barrels and six lawn bags, tightly compressed. If the leaves weren't chopped, I would have had about 25 bags: I know this, because I had to do fall clean-up once before, when Bob was out of town for almost the entire month of November. That was back when I had never used any kind of machinery at all, except girly things like a stove or a sewing machine.

Today I even put gas in the tank and hoisted the leaves into the Traverse for a trip to the compost site, under the supervision of the head lawn guy, of course. I felt proud of my work, happy after several hours in the brilliant fall sunshine, and confident that I'm ready to deal with starting a snow blower when winter hits.

Don't Make Mine Milk

I've always disliked milk. When I was a little girl, my mother believed in a breakfast of porridge (oatmeal), sweetened with brown sugar and drowned in whole milk, with a whole orange on the side. The porridge made me feel queasy and, well, I sometimes threw up. After it happened in church at High Mass one Sunday, both the porridge and High Mass obligations ceased. In fact, I'm not sure that milk, or any other offensive food item (olives, mushrooms, fried onions ...) was ever forced on me again.

Today's news story suggesting that milk is bad for the bones and the heart gladdened my heart and made me feel damn good about myself. I've been a consumer of cheese, cottage cheese and yogurt for many years, but somehow those smug milk lovers like my mother and my husband always made me feel like some third world child who needed both education and, of course, milk. Turns out they, and others like them, may have been wrong.

The study's statistics are impressive. I may avoid osteoporosis and live longer just by continuing with my half-century + of avoiding milk. It was a good day!

Locked Out!

Many years ago I was invited to a 50th birthday celebration in an unfamiliar neighborhood. The party was for a woman I didn't know very well, so I was already a little nervous as I approached the house, built on a hill at the end of a long driveway, one that I'd have to back down in the dark later that evening. I realized as I stepped out of my van that I had left the keys in the ignition. I had to lie down on the ground to retrieve the spare set in a magnetized little packet attached to the underside of the vehicle. I was flustered and mortified.

Today I felt a little unsettled when I left the hospital after spending the afternoon in my husband's hospital room at the University of Minnesota, where he's recovering from knee replacement surgery. Everything is going well but I was tired and a little edgy. I decided to stop at Birds Unlimited, since the bluejays come for peanuts every morning and I felt guilty knowing their feeder has been empty for several days.

When I returned to my car, no keys. They were within sight in the vehicle, easily retrievable if only I had left the window open a little. I looked around for a cab, but saw only Lincoln Navigators, Volvos, Mercedes, Porsches and other high end vehicles in the parking lot around me. No one in that busy strip mall looked even remotely familiar, and, though I was fairly conspicuous with two large bags of bird food at my feet, I didn't even get a passing glance. Walking home -- over a mile with heavy bird food -- seemed out of the question as darkness fell and fatigue descended.

I called my son, Chris, looking for the number of a taxi. He sprang into action and a few minutes later a Lincoln Town Car limo pulled up behind me. I settled into the comfortable back seat with my peanuts and bird food on the floor. I was impressed by the availability of complimentary water, mints and gum.

The driver dropped me off at my front door and waited while I found the hidden house keys and retrieved the extra car keys. I was soon back in Highland Village and in my car. Chris had already paid for the limo and gained a new convert to Uber.  Neither flustered nor mortified, I was soon home where I cracked open a beer, feeling very fortunate and happy.

Wish Granters

I've always been somewhat skeptical of organizations with the mission of fulfilling the wishes of very ill children, police officers, firefighters, other special groups. Sometimes the administrative costs of such non profits are outrageous and I am reluctant to fork over contributions based on an emotional plea for help. While I find the Charity Navigator a handy decision making tool, my tendency is to lump all of them in the "undesirable" bucket without even checking.

This morning I'm sitting in a family waiting room at the University of Minnesota while my husband has knee replacement surgery. In a casual conversation with a woman here with her adult daughter, I learned that she is a "wish granter" for Make-A-Wish Minnesota. A team of two wish granters evaluates formal wish applications submitted by candidate families and makes recommends for approval. During the process, the wish granters establish a relationship with children and families, and maintain contact through wish fulfillment and sometimes beyond.

Common wishes are trips, meetings with sports and media personalities, sometimes an item to facilitate a favorite activity like fishing. My wish granter companion told me about a child who wanted to "pet a cheetah" and was granted a trip to the San Diego zoo, where she petted a baby cheetah and viewed cheetah bottle feeding from behind protective glass. The family of another child who wanted to hold a koala bear visited Australia. The wish granters make an event out of the "wish reveal" and will celebrate the gift with a party or other celebration.

Minnesota Make-A-Wish gets high marks for financial management and transparency as well. The website is interesting and attractive, with easy access to wish stories and financial information.

Shock and Tragedy in Ottawa

Parliament Hill, Ottawa. September 2014.

About a month ago, I spent a day revisiting some of my favorite places on and near Parliament Hill in Ottawa, where I worked for the better part of a year in the late 1970s. I was a staffer to Liberal Member of Parliament Marcel Prud'homme (Montréal-Saint Denis), later a distinguished Canadian Senator. Always I political junkie, I learned to appreciate the dedication of elected officials as I worked long hours myself in the West Block. They're always "on"; can't even go to church on Sunday without interruption.

It was a happy time. I liked my office in the West Block and the people who worked there. I loved the daily Question Period, especially on Friday morning. I learned to follow bills and identify stakeholders for pending legislation. The best time was Wednesday morning: always a few hours to get caught up with work when MPs from all parties met for Caucus sessions, segregated by party.

My heart sank when I learned of this morning's shootings at the Canadian War Memorial and in the Centre Block. I knew right away that the building would be full of MPs and Senators gathered for Caucus, and was horrified to turn on CNN and see so many uniformed police officers exposed to gunfire on the lower level, just inside the front door. The shots must have been terrifying, magnified by the echoes in that space, but officers pressed forward, without apparent regard for personal safety.


Canadian War Memorial, Ottawa. September 2014.

The Canadian soldier who was guarding the tomb of the Unknown Soldier is dead, the second member of the Canadian military murdered this week: Patrice Vincent was killed in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu on Monday after a "radicalized" man rammed him and another soldier with a car.

The gunman, whose identity hasn't yet been released, is dead, shot by a true hero, Sergeant-at-Arms Kevin Vickers. The scope of the attacks isn't yet known, but it seems now that the gunman may not have been acting alone.

It's a sad day for Ottawa, for all Canadians and for people of good will around the world. This beautiful and peaceful capital city is unsettled and weary as evening falls on this late October day. Ottawa and Parliament Hill lost their last vestige of innocence this morning, forever changed but not vanquished by powers of darkness.

Last Vette Trip to LaCrosse

The weather was perfect for our overnight to Lacrosse . Lots of photos in the Facebook fall album.

Perfect Fall Day

We took advantage of a winter storage Saturday to travel through Kanabec and Pine counties, on our way to St. Croix Park and western Wisconsin.

Blog post.

A Time to Plant

Today's planting

Last October I planted spring bulbs for the first time and was as amazed by tulips and daffodils in May as I was by the "prairie garden" a few months later. A few weeks ago, I bought a few bulbs at Menard's to supplement the flowers that should bloom again next spring.

On my first attempt, I dug a hole large enough to qualify me as a gravedigger. Those bulbs -- buried excessively deep -- didn't do so well. The hastily planted daffodils and tulips in the area east of the house did much better, so this morning I approached the job with what might have been misplaced confidence.

I'm used to yard work now, and it doesn't exhaust me the way it once did. I expanded the operation into the west garden, prepared the ground and planted about 65 crocuses, tulips and hyacinths in a couple of hours.

Sad to admit quality control hasn't improved much, if at all. I quickly tired of weeding and turning the soil, and was soon throwing the bulbs in hastily dug holes too quickly to ensure proper depth or adequate space for each bulb.

There is no deep black hole year this fall. In fact, most of the bulbs are much too close to the surface, so I'm simply crossing my fingers.
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Summer Slides into Fall

St. Croix Falls

Fall Photos
After my return from Ottawa, the weather began to warm and we enjoyed several 80-degree days at the end of last week, extending through the weekend. We put away our jeans and delayed shoving our shorts into our Florida wardrobe drawers.

Dahlias at the Arboretum

Outdoor projects can wait. Day junkets to St. Croix Falls and the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum reminded us that retirement  gives us the opportunity to enjoy drives in the country when others are at work. On Sunday, we fell back into our year-round habit of afternoon appetizers at Pier 500 in Hudson.

Waking up to autumn on Monday was something of a shock. By Wednesday we  were used to the idea, and a day of rain seemed like a good time to have the carpets cleaned. Today, surfaces are almost dry and I'll take advantage of clear surfaces to declutter and clean.

However, virtue has its limits. More rain today and I think I need lunch out ... or something!


Fall on the Mississippi River in St. Paul