Gardening: a not so Rosy View

My tiny late blooming tulip

The thrill of recent small gardening successes has fizzled a little. I was quite happy with the daffodils and tulips, and even the little west corner where I planted bulbs too deep achieved modest success, with miniature flowers blooming colorfully even in this summer heat.

Waiting for wildflowers

Today was too hot to spend in the sun digging and planting. Spring has ended abruptly and the weather is now in the high 80s F. Bob has been faithfully watering the wildflower patch every day, and a few little plants seem to be showing up, though most of them look suspiciously like grass. So the wildflower experiment may not produce much.

Bob helped me a little before he began the day's painting. However, I did most of the work on the little plot on the east side of the house. We widened it a little this year, and I spent a fair bit of time shaking the dirt off big chunks of grass and pulling out little oak trees growing out of last year's acorns, planted by squirrels last fall.


Impatiens and begonias in the shade garden

Last year, I planted that space in the pouring rain, simply shoving the plants in the mud and hoping for the best, and the results were surprisingly good. This year, Bob insisted on peat moss, mulch and plenty of sod turning and raking, such that the process was more labor intensive and tiring.

The east flower patch

I started shortly before 10:00 a.m. and was soon taking a break on the deck with a large glass of water. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I was thinking that the only good thing about this mini-project would be writing about it later, and maybe a cold beer on the deck. By then, I was ready for another break and a change of eyewear, as my regular sunglasses kept falling into the dirt.

Petunias, marigolds and celosia

Because of my two knee replacements, I can't kneel down so all gardening has to be executed from a crouching position. This soon gets old, and I needed several more breaks in the next couple of hours. By the time I got the job done, I remembered that I still had a tomato plant to get in the ground. More peat moss and compost.

Finally, the job was finished. I stumbled into the house, dehydrated and exhausted. Lots of water -- and no beer -- this afternoon. Feeling better now, as the sun begins to set in the western sky.

Touch of Hypochondria

I recovered from the painful shoe incident a day or so after I arrived home from Canada and was soon back into my usual, fairly active routine. Last week, I worked outdoors three days running and felt that my stamina had improved since last summer, when I first ventured into the unfamiliar world of yard and garden maintenance. Maybe the work was less demanding this year, because Bob and I are sharing it. Early last spring, I was on my own as Bob recovered from knee replacement surgery.

Anyway, I felt pretty good, and good about myself, until Saturday night when I couldn't sleep. As Bob drifted off, pain returned to my right leg, radiating from my shin down to my toes and up through the femur. I soon ached all over as I sometimes do with what I usually think of as some kind of  MS pain syndrome.

A few hours later, the leg was so painful that I self-diagnosed osteosarcoma and mentally put my affairs in order. After a fitful sleep, I rose before 6:00 a.m. on Sunday morning and we attended early Mass. Yesterday, we took the day off and by evening I felt surprisingly well. I slept great and woke up ready to pick up my shovel.

As I turned the soil in one of the back gardens, I realized that the shin pain was the result of stepping on the shovel to give myself some leverage. I revised my diagnosis to muscle strain complicated by hypochondria.

Transitions

I've always felt a little sorry for the generation that came of age in the new Millennium: 9/11, wars and terrorism, a deep recession. Recently, I've begun to see they are more resilient than I'd ever imagined.

Twice in the last week or so I've had the pleasure of sharing a meal with several young people in their late twenties and early thirties. Both times I found myself feeling a little choked up as I listened to their animated conversations about careers, relationships, plans for the weekend -- and for their lives.

Today I was struck by the thought that they've all grown up in the last few years, and I never noticed until now. Kids no longer, with 30 looming up ahead or already in the rearview mirror, they're looking and acting like adults. They've acquired impressive expertise in some areas and excellent skills in many more. They're people who give and take advice well. They seem to be happy and successful.

I read somewhere that a century ago children grew up very quickly and were expected to be grown up in mid-adolescence. People may mature later now, but this generation is looking good in spite of the challenges they faced and conquered. We can stop the hand-wringing!

Wildflower Garden

Nothing more hopeful that a big bad of wildflower seeds

A few weeks ago, Bob negotiated with Jerry, the bobcat guy working up the alley, to remove the rocks beside the garage. The area was used as a parking spot for campers and snowmobile trailers over the years, but the last snowmobile was sold over a year ago and the rocks were definitely an eyesore. Jerry also delivered a few loads of "black dirt" from his worksite and leveled it out.

Bob was ready to plant grass, but I had been looking wistfully at bee and butterfly friendly wildflowers since last summer and was eager to turn this "arable land", as I thought of the space, into a delightful wildflower garden.

I pictured myself sitting on the deck with a glass of wine of a summer afternoon, watching birds and butterflies, camera on the table beside me. I imagined my beautiful flowers brightening the landscape and helping the environment. I felt so good about myself!

Bob reluctantly agreed to the garden, suspecting that the venture might not succeed and that, sooner or later, he would get his grass. I started "turning the soil" early in the week and after a few minutes of shoveling, I realized that the job was harder and bigger than anticipated. The "soil" was so hard and difficult to work that I began to reflect on the Parable of the Sower. I thought about bringing in some better soil but really all I wanted to do was get the damn job done.

Today I returned to my labor, determined to finish the project. By now, I'd decided that Lady Bird Johnson didn't get all that wildflower planting done by tilling the banks of the nation's freeways. Surely some of the seeds had fallen on rocky ground and flourished. Shortly before noon, son Chris came along and shoveled the last few square yards for me, and I felt a little optimistic.

Chris is a good landscaper and he told me to turn the soil again before raking it. What? Fill the rock bucket again? Not happening.  I raked the area with little enthusiasm and sprinkled the seed-mulch-fertilizer combo, a poisonous looking bag of green pellets. I hosed the whole mess just to get the job out of the way.

I spent the afternoon feeling exhausted. My attraction for the land has diminished this evening, and while I'm guardedly hopeful, I don't feel that good about myself or the future of my wildflower garden.

Re-Entry

Marilyn and I spent Sunday afternoon recalibrating. We picked up Dougal, Marilyn’s wheaten terrier, did various chores (Marilyn) and worked on photos (me). We had a delicious quiche supper brought by friend Maggie, who also came with good humor and excellent conversation.

The day started with the zipper on my rather large suitcase finally giving way just after I had finished packing. Marilyn gave me a much smaller one, but everything fit in except the pair of uncomfortable shoes that I left in Stratford as trash, along with the suitcase.

The drive to Pearson airport on this holiday Monday was pleasant on a very light traffic day. I sailed through customs & immigration at YYZ in record time and was at the gate more than two hours before my scheduled flight time. I enjoyed a Starbucks breakfast sandwich and skim latté and sat down to write.

The weekend was not only enjoyable but also very “satisfying”. I had the pleasure of participating in two happy occasions that brought great pleasure to many families. I survived awful shoes and Marilyn saved me from a luggage disaster. Bob picked me up at the airport in the pouring rain.

What more can anyone ask for?

Stratford by Train

My last train experience was long and somewhat uncomfortable, so I was looking forward to revising my impression of train travel. I had been in Union Station once or twice before, back in the 1970s. The station is undergoing extensive renovations, but the passenger areas we saw have that depressing look of poverty in the nineteen sixties: cheap, uncomfortable furniture; ugly colors; not even an electrical outlet for use by passengers. Add that unmistakable “railway” smell of train track, rubber, creosote, and various body odors and you’ve got a traveler a little reluctant to get on the train.

My fears were unfounded. L didn’t break my neck getting on or off the train (always a good thing) and the trip was quite scenic, in super comfortable seats. Spring burst out all over as the sun warmed the trees and gardens along the way. The only sour note was downed wireless connectivity which persisted throughout the two and a half hour trip to Stratford, despite the conductor’s best efforts to “reset” the wireless. I was dying to have a look at the router but wisely said nothing.

My stomach lurches very easily and I was both relieved and happy with the cleanliness of the lavatory.

One-Night Stay at the InterContinental

I was too tired from the Steam Whistle shoes misadventure to fully enjoy the comfort of the InterContinental Hotel on Front Street. On a visit longer than the few hours we spent in Toronto, I would have explored this very pleasant hotel and its amenities. Marilyn reminded me yesterday that the subway would have been a better way for me to travel between the hotel and St. Michael’s Cathedral. And, of course, that had crossed my mind at the time but I felt reluctant to take the chance of going in the wrong direction. I was wrong … but no matter.

Marilyn ordered room service for a delicious Sunday continental breakfast, including enough fruit and pastries to feed a family. After our meal, we went for a swim in the spa area of the hotel. Quite posh and well equipped, though the locker room did seem a little small to the woman who walked in, expecting to repack her extremely large suitcase next to the lockers.

The pool was beautiful. Not too much chlorine; narrow in the style of modern pools designed to attract the serious lap swimmer, which I am not. I was mesmerized by the view through the skylight of the CN Tower, from a corner of the pool.

The hotel is a convenient short (<  10 minutes) walk from Union Station, where we hopped on the train to Stratford.

Agony at the Steam Whistle Brewery

Through the window from inside the Steam Whistle Brewery

The wedding reception was at the Steam Whistle Brewery, a few blocks from our hotel. A short walk, unless one is stupid enough to wear extremely uncomfortable shoes (not elegant, or even good looking, in my case). The shoes came from Payless a decade ago, and I've kept them around for use when the comfy black loafers just won't work. Shoes are now in Marilyn's pile of junk for the dump, but that is another story.

I had already hoofed plenty that afternoon, walking to St. Michael's and most of the way back, but at least I was wearing my comfortable tennis shoes for that junket. My calves and shins were so sore that I contemplated abandoning the shoes and walking down Simcoe in my bare feet. Marilyn was wearing very lovely heeled sandals but she looked fit and comfortable in her wedding finery as we trudged down the small but challenging hill.

By the time we walked in the door, I desperately needed a stiff drink, but under the circumstances was afraid to imbibe. I settled on the glass of red wine offered by a snappy looking waiter. I had to sit down on the bench at the entrance, while Marilyn socialized with friends. I had gone way beyond being worried that I'd be thought unsociable and cold. I was in too much pain. The wine didn't help.

I enjoyed the two appetizers (chicken in a miniature ice cream cone, breaded shrimp) brought to me but I simply couldn't get up to try the others. Meanwhile, I was getting mighty thirsty but the authorities were herding the crowd into the wedding reception. By the time I got to the bar, service had stopped so I grabbed a second glass of wine from a waiter's tray and limped into the dining room.

During the delicious dinner, I worried about how I would look when I finally got up from the table. Later, before the dancing began, I got up my courage and stumbled toward the ladies' room. I looked around, only a little concerned that I would be judged to be drunk -- which might have numbed the pain -- or infirm, which I definitely was.

The climb up the hill was actually quite a bit easier than the trek down. We made it to our room shortly before 11:00 p.m. By that time, I ached all over and slept fitfully, grateful that the day had ended without some awful fall or shameful incident.

The wedding reception was, in fact, very enjoyable, and I got the warm feeling that Carol and Jeff were compatibly blending two lovely families. Read about Carol & Jeff's wedding here.  FB Photos.

Interlude at St. Michael's Cathedral

The four-hour gap between the wedding service and the reception gave us the opportunity to check into our hotel and compose ourselves. Marilyn headed off to the Aquarium and I decided  to  attend the vigil Mass at St. Michael’sCathedral. I hadn't quite realized that a half-hour walk would take such a chunk out of the limited time available. I ambled a little on my way to church and didn't arrive until about 15 minutes before 5:00 o’clock Mass.

I was a little dismayed when I saw the scaffolding surrounding the church, and surprised to note that the interior is a construction zone, with virtually all seating impeded by scaffolds. Caution tape everywhere. I really wondered how Sunday Mass could possibly be held in such an environment.

The cantor began the opening hymn, and the most glorious music wafted toward me from the rear. The men's choir processed down the center aisle, elegantly robed and solemnly reverent. Behind them, the boys from St. Michael's Choir School sang sweetly. I felt much as I did when I accidentally walked into Vespers at Sacré Coeur in Paris, transported to heaven. I closed my eyes and forgot the scaffolding as Gregorian chant and Palestrina filled the worship space.

A couple of unrelated thoughts distracted me during the homily. I reflected that if I hadn't know where I was, I would have identified the choir sound as Anglican, not Catholic. Perfect diction; almost British. And, being me, I wondered about the cost of this massive work of renovation.

Someday, when the work is completed, I'll return to St. Michael's for a concert.

St. John's Church




Church of St. John

Church of Saint John

I don’t know Toronto very well (make that “at all”), but I always wondered about "The Beaches" neighborhood so I was happy to finally drive through the pretty streets along Lake Ontario. The Its history as a resort area for Torontonians reminds me a little of White Bear Lake, where people would ride the streetcar to spend the day in the park and on the beach. The Beaches neighborhood looks very gentrified now, with no outward sign of concessions or carnival rides.

St. John’s is a parish built during that great church construction era of the early twentieth century. The stained glass windows seem to have been added over time, many during the period following WWII as memorials to servicemen killed in the war.




I suspect that the St. Pius X window the rear portico preceded the rest. Pius X was a great promoter of good liturgical music and I’ve seen many a tribute to him in churches of the era. Other windows depict saints like the ever popular St. Catherine of Siena and St. Bernadette.





Saint Pius X

Saint Catherine of Siena

The parish seems prosperous and the priest was pleasantly indulgent, in the manner of Catholic clergy who have presided over many weddings attended by an unchurched congregation.

The only surprise was the presence of a single restroom at the rear of the church. I encouraged some uncomfortable looking wedding guests to try the basement, but the only one who ventured down the stairs said it was "too dark and scary".


Carol & Jeff's Wedding

Carol and Jeff

Marilyn took be along as her guest for Saturday’s wedding. Jeff is a friend from Harry’s years as an undergraduate at Western and he played in a band with both Carol and Jeff in med school – or something like that. Yesterday’s guests included the couples from Friday’s celebratory grad dinner, so I felt connected, even though I didn’t know Carol and Jeff myself. Harry and Laura picked us up in Stratford on Saturday morning and we drove directly to the church, St. John’s in Toronto’s Beaches neighborhood.

I was surprised to hear German spoken by a group waiting for the restroom in the rear of the church. Turns out they were Jeff’s relatives, in town for the occasion. The music was provided by an excellent little string ensemble and a superb soloist. The tiny flower girl, the bride’s niece, was carried down the aisle during the processional, but she got the picture during Mass and walked out on her own, to audible “awws”.

It was a cold afternoon and the female members of the wedding party must have been chilly in their lovely yellow dresses. Both families and all guests beamed on this happy day, missing only a little warmth and sun. More wedding pictures here https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10203372940660641.1073741851.1125181306&type=1&l=2be6555931.

Celebration Dinner

We celebrated Harry's graduation in the new chic Stratford restaurant located in the Bruce Hotel. The hotel itself won't open until May 24th but it certainly looks promising, and it has the smell of new construction that I love so much.

The best part of the evening was getting to know Harry and Laura's friends a little better. For some, the friendship dates back to middle school and they have an easy familiarity and humor that made the evening very pleasant.

Marilyn was eager to try the menu, especially after learning that the chef had been buying cheese at the Milky Whey when she was shopping for us this afternoon. I am less adventurous than she, but I loved my "Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes ..." appetizer that featured a variety of potatoes with a mildly seasoned white sauce drizzled tastefully around the plate. The others all chose a second appetizer but I just couldn't eat any more, especially because I had enjoyed several pieces of excellent bread.

My lamb main course was a kind of patty made of shredded meat, breaded lightly and roasted, not quite what I expected but excellent nonetheless. Unfortunately, the summer ratatouille (if that's what it really was) was full of olive bits, which I detest, so I didn't touch the accompaniment after the first surprising bite.

A few of us had dessert (not me) but all enjoyed miniature pastries. Just enough to finish off the meal. Perfect end to an exciting, milestone day.

New Doctor in the House

Harry and his lovely wife, Laura

Harry became the latest M.D. in the Marshall family - #5 by my count: Dr. Mark (Harry's paternal grandfather), Dr. Ken (dad), Dr. Marilyn (mom), Dr. Kate (sister). Harry earned his Ph. D. a few years ago, the first degree in the seven-year joint MD/PhD program offered by the University of Western Ontario.

It was a cold morning in London. Seems to be I've sat through many a sweltering graduation ceremony, but this wasn't one of them. The morning was run efficiently and well. Most of the speakers were brief and a few even had good things to say.



Harry and his mom, Marilyn

For me, the most memorable words were from Professor Jacob Van Dyk, the recipient of an honorary degree at today's event. His advice to the graduates was simple, direct, and easy to remember: 1.  Prioritize the big things or you'll never get anything done; 2. Invest in other people - they contribute to your success; 3, Celebrate your successes - don't get bogged down in your failures. He used the acronym "PIC", cracking a joke at the PICC procedure familiar to all the new graduates and many of those in attendance.

Graduations are emotional celebrations, often tinged with a little sadness. How I wish Harry's dad had been with us today! He would have been bursting with pride to see a second child begin a medical career. I think of my parents too and the happiness they would have savored on this extraordinary day. Photos: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10203360959561121.1073741850.1125181306&type=1&l=12341c26f9

Rose breasted grosbeaks

Rose breasted grosbeak in the magnolia tree

A few weeks ago, I saw a couple of jumbo "sparrows" at my feeders, and I wondered how they had grown so large during our long, harsh winter.

The answer came last week, when I noticed two beautiful rose breasted grosbeaks of similar size feeding just outside the dining room window. The jumbo sparrows were, I think, female grosbeaks, colored much like generic sparrows.



rose breasted grosbeaks under the feeder

Turns out sister Marilyn had a similar experience and came to the same conclusion as I. This morning I was thrilled to see a couple of beautiful rose breasted grosbeaks in Marilyn's garden. They stayed long enough to pose for pictures

Spring at Last

Tulips in my sister's garden

When I was packing my bag for Stratford on Tuesday evening, I found my selections a little heavy on winter wear. Fortunately, I remembered that this region of southern Ontario is always warmer than home, even this year when winter stretched on forever. I decided that I didn't need a sweatshirt or winter gloves.

I have often been here in May, and my first impression was that the leaves are a little more advanced, but nowhere close to where you'd expect them to be in mid-May. And then I saw my sister Marilyn's beautiful spring gardens! Her tulips have reached their prime and they're stunningly beautiful. The weather feels much as I imagine Holland at this time of year.

Our Minnesota spring can't be too far behind, even though the thermometer is still flirting with near freezing temperatures. My spring Facebook album has lots of photos: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10203085851483591.1073741848.1125181306&type=1&l=a325b326c6

MSP vs. YYZ

I've been flying the Twin Cities - Toronto route for many years and I've always enjoyed flying into the beautiful Toronto metropolitan area.

In recent years, I've noticed that MSP has really improved its appearance and functionality. The airport is bright, clean, well laid out and efficient. This morning, my flight left from the B terminal, a long way from the ticketing area but made easy by a series of moving sidewalks and a modern tram. I was impressed with our airport's use of  limited space in a high traffic environment.

My arrival at YYZ was unwelcoming and dreary. The walk to Customs is long and the escalator wasn't working. I had trouble finding my bag because the monitors with baggage information weren't easily visible and I got incomprehensible answers from the two airport staff I asked for directions.

If I were a first-time visitor to Toronto, I wouldn't be too interested in seeing more of this beautiful city.

A Wild Dream

I hadn't watched playoff hockey for many years until the Minnesota Wild surprised fans with a powerful appearance in post-season play.

I was hooked when the Wild lost a first game heartbreaker in OT, and I didn't get much sleep on hockey nights until Minnesota went all the way to Game 7 and clinched the series in Denver. I dared to hope that the Wild could win the subsequent series against Chicago.

Minnesota played impressive hockey but finally succumbed to Patrick Kane and the Hawks in last night's Game 6 overtime loss at the Xcel Energy Center in Saint Paul. The outcome was deflating and very disappointing for Minnesota fans.

However, I think we'll see a revitalized and more experienced team next fall. I'm daring to hope for a great 2014-15 season in the state of hockey.