Falling in the Fall

           I was talking on the phone with a friend I’ll call Viola. I chose a fake name from a list of gangsters, and I’ll call her husband Frankie, because their real names honestly do sound like crime family names to the point that our daughter, Nicole, once asked, “How come your friends sound like Mafia hit men?”

          But they’re not. They’re a lovely couple from India who live down the street. And it seems Frankie took a spill this week and fell off a ladder while cutting tree branches with an electric trimmer.

          Yikes! Luckily the saw didn’t cut him and he didn’t break any bones. But he’s elderly (though feisty) and did bruise his ribs badly. 

          He tends to grab the phone while Viola and I are talking, and he did so now, to report that he hadn’t told his daughter yet, because she’s a doctor and would be furious with him. At his age he is not supposed to climb ladders.

          “I tell him all the time,” Viola shouted, in the background. Now Frankie gave her the phone back.

          “I told him just to lie still and don’t move for awhile,” she continued. She didn’t want him hopping up, staggering about, and falling again.

          “That sounds good,” I told her, “but then, while he's still on the ground, you should have walked away and turned on the sprinklers.”

          Well, she laughed so hard she snorted, at which point Frankie grabbed the phone again and said, “What are you saying to her? What are you saying to her?”

          She was wheezing too hard to explain, so I told him about the sprinkler plan. I still stand by this excellent idea.

          “Augh,” he scoffed. Then immediately he wanted us all to get together. And those are the friendships we all love to have.

Stay off ladders and sit at your computer to watch my Youtube Mom channel, filled with clever life hacks.

Becoming One?

           Admit it: You secretly (or not so secretly) wish your spouse could be more like you in some ways. Over the years, whenever I’ve noticed St. Bob adopting a habit of mine, I’ve pointed out this wonderful event.

          He now likes to put the Christmas tree up early.

          He’ll give a pinch of people food to the dog sometimes.

          He puts the toilet paper on the roll the way I do.

          And today, while grocery shopping together, he told me he always looks for the softest bread.

          “I thought you like crusty bread,” I said.

          “No, I like soft bread better,” he said.

          “Aha! You really are becoming me.”

          “No, I was you before you were you,” he said.

          I’ll take that.

          He also uses the life hacks I show on my Youtube Mom channel here. Be sure to subscribe!

Bobisms

I know what you’re thinking: That if St. Bob didn’t give me so much material, half of my blog wouldn’t exist.

And you are right. Why do you think I carry a little notebook and pen around?  It’s to capture Bobisms. Here are the latest two.

My oncologists ordered lab tests, so off we went, masked and sanitized. As we were leaving, the nice guy at the Covid-19 screening desk said, “Have a nice day.”

And Bob said, “No thanks, already have one.”  Yes, you may use this line. I don’t think there’s any worry about copyright infringement.

Then we were driving past this tree:

And I said, “Wow—I wonder if that tree got hit by lightning. But I don’t see any scorch marks. Maybe it just got heavy and broke.”

To which Bob said, “Yep, that’s what happened to me, too.”

Maybe I should charge for people to come along on Excursions with Bob. Just be sure to bring a pad and pencil.

You may or may not find some of his quips in my books. And, with summer upon us, what better time to curl up with a funny novel?

Barking Up the Right Tree

          Next time you evaluate your circle of friends, be sure you have an arborist in there.  I cannot tell you how handy it has been to know Ruth and Clare Williams, sisters, tree experts, and generous people willing to answer my every planty question.

          Here is the latest photo I sent to Ruth:

          Alarming, no?  I took one look at this strange phenomenon and just knew my Chinese Elm had contracted Strikin’ Lichen or some deadly disease. Was it because of all the rain we’ve been having? I pictured the cost of removing it, the cost of replacing it, and the possibility that every tree in my yard would catch Orange Whatever, which I would happily name except, wouldn’t you know, nothing rhymes with orange.

          Ruth got right back to me. “Orange spots are good!  Normal for that species. It’s called exfoliating bark. It’s a prized feature to add winter interest to a landscape.”

          It took me no time whatsoever to extrapolate this to humans, and to decide that splotchy skin should become a THING.  Don’t cover it up anymore, just tell everyone you are adding winter interest to the landscape.  We can become Exfoliating Fools, and beautify the world indefinitely!

          Check out these other a-peeling trees, leading the world in winter beauty:

          Ruth also says this is the tree’s way of Spring Cleaning.  Well, humans don’t have to copy everything a tree does.

          Besides, you’re busy watching my YouTube Mom videos, right?  And buying my books?  Find them all right here.

Dig Yourself Out of This One

         Holey Moley. Sacramento has more trees per capita than any other city in the world, save Paris—and that, only because they annexed a forest.  So you are told on tours of our State Capitol, and I believe it.

          I love trees.  And I am honored to have planted more of them than I can count over my lifetime. But I blew it a few years ago and planted two trees entirely too close together.

          First, I dumped a truckload of dirt onto the lawn to create a berm.  This may seem like a cosmetic choice to create varying heights, but in fact is the only way to garden in Rocklin, which used to be a granite quarry.  Unless you have a jack-hammer, which is how we planted a big Chinese Elm once.

          Next, I planted a dwarf Blue Spruce in the new mound.  This is in honor of that being Utah’s state tree (where I grew up) and also because I wanted a Christmas tree to decorate in the yard. 

          Several feet away I planted a Japanese Maple, whose red leaves I thought would provide a nice contrast with the silvery spruce.  Except the spruce didn’t stay a dwarf.  It grew and grew, finally scrunching the poor maple.

          I consulted with my arborist friends, Ruth and Clare Williams, and learned that the best time to transplant the maple would be NOW.  In the cold.  As soon as the last leaf falls.  I watched and waited.  First I spent an afternoon trimming all the shrubs in the area, so the tree would have plenty of room and look intentionally put there.  Then I asked eldest son, Richie, to help dig a hole for the maple’s new home, a few more feet away.  

                LIFE TIP: Do not ask engineers to weigh in on creative decisions and do not ask geologists to dig holes.  It turns out that geologists use giant vacuums when they dig, so as not to disturb utility pipes.  Guess who got to hold the vacuum for HOURS, sucking dirt out of a hole so the maple could fit?  And, since this was only a Shop Vac, it jammed full of dirt clods every few minutes and had to be cleaned out, slamming the suction tube against the ground to loosen the clay, like I’m an octopus wrestler.

Finally we got a hole big enough to bury an unruly pet.  Not that I’m planning to do this.  But it was not big enough to accommodate six feet of maple tree roots.  Furthermore, the maple trunk was firmly ensconced in the berm, unwilling to budge without another entire day of labor devoted to digging it out.  And they cost hundreds of dollars to replace, should it die.

So we decided to leave the maple exactly where it is, and live with the crowded landscape.  We declared a moral victory, gave the hole a proper burial, and filled it in.  Visiting hours are from 10 to 5.

Have you seen my newly designed website here?  Check it out, buy books, watch my YouTube Mom videos, and stay entirely too busy to garden.