JUST RIP IT OUT!

           Bold words, my friend. But I’m telling you, you can do this. Just rip out that useless lawn once and for all (No more mowing! No more guzzling all that water!) and replace it with flowers.

          Nobody picnics on their front lawn. Nobody just sits there, enjoying the greenery.  Nobody plays games on it. All this stuff happens in the back yard, or in a park. 

          It’s as if we’ve agreed to be sheep, and just follow the crowed without thinking. Everyone else has grass out front—we must have a lawn, too.

So, I did it. I hired some strong guys to take out the lawn.

          Then I covered the dirt with cardboard, then new soil, and then planted a design of new stuff.  A little purple here, a little yellow there, all perennials so I won’t have to replace them.

          I love berms, so I made a few mounds for variety. Granted, until they were covered with flowers, it looked like we’d lost one dog and two cats, and chose to bury them in front of the house.

          I put in a rock footpath so I can access each area if I want to trim or make a bouquet. We strung a drip system so everything gets watered. I added low-growing groundcovers which, when they’ve filled in enough, will hide all the empty spots.

          And… ta-da!  This lifts my heart. Every time I go outside, I smile. I see all the bees and butterflies having a ball, and I finally have the English (or French, whatever) cottage look I’ve wanted.

          Anybody want a mower?

Hundreds of short life-hacks await you at my youtubechannel. Join my 10K subscribers and get new ideas all the time!

         

Don’t Get Your Peonies in a Bunch

        

          Ah, yes, Springtime. Since I belong to an online gardening group, there is much ado about Peonies right now.

          They’re the favorite of millions, the subject of countless paintings, and usually cost a bit more than roses at the florist shop. So, naturally, one member was wondering how long they live.

          I thought I’d help by dictating “How long do peonies live?” into my phone.

          But auto-correct was waiting for me. It thought I said, “How long do pennies last?” as if I am unaware that copper is basically indestructible. In fact, I’ll bet there aren’t three people in a decade who ask this. 

          My friends, you can keep pennies forever. They’ve recently been fired from our currency, but no one is coming by to gather them up. In fact, I wrote a blog about this eleven years ago, predicting their uselessness.

          So I tried again, and asked how long your peonies will last.  Ah, this time autocorrect thought I asked how long PANTIES will last, as if I have no idea that you should purchase several pair, and wash them after each use. Am I now on some kind of FBI hygiene list because of that question?

 

           Well, third time’s a charm (and I swear I am not mis-pronouncing peonies, by the way), and I finally got the answer we’ve all been waiting for: They can live up to 100 years. Now, wasn’t that a surprise worth waiting for?

My Youtube Mom channel is filled with wonderful info, as well. Check out my life hacks right here.

Happy Chemo-Tines' Day!

          Did I actually move to Joniopolis? Or did Joniopolis just sort of spot me in the distance and then flow over me like sneaky lava, just because my name was Joni?

           Because something weird is going on here, and it isn't just having to have chemo. WHICH, by the way, is the very, bottom, last item you should put on your bucket list.

            You'd think having cancer and then chemo would be plenty of holiday cheer, right? But no. I had to BEGIN chemo right smack on February 14th, the day of hearts and roses, love and chocolate. You look up irony in the dictionary, and there is a photo of me on that day, hooked up to an infusion tube leading to a port in my chest.

             This port looks like a Lego buried under the skin (make that purple and green skin) and it looks like a tiny jack-in-the-box which, if presented with enough Pop-Goes-the-Weasel music, might suddenly burst open to reveal a creepy little clown.

              But this is not all. Are you kidding? You think Joniopolis would end right here? No, the nurse who has to infuse my little jack-in-the box notices that I'm pretty swollen (NO KIDDING) and leaves to get A LONGER NEEDLE.  That's right, A LONGER NEEDLE.

             What are we talking, here, a knitting needle?  No; just an inch-long one since the standard 3/4 inch one is too short.  This is exactly like meeting some shady guy in a dark alley and having him say, "Hang on-- I need a longer knife."

              Oh, by all means, get the proper tools in order. We don't want to skimp at at time like this! So now I sit there and await my stabbing -- which I will later learn is the rock bottom least of my worries-- but at least I can reflect upon a grand gesture this morning. My hilarious kids gave me a humongous bouquet that says, "Happy Chemo-Tines' Day."

               Thank goodness they live in Joniopolis. 

You, too, can glimpse my crazy world by ordering my books right here. Don't say I didn't warn you.