A Florida yard that gives back in spades

I’ve decided to grow blackberries. I’ve decided to grow blackberries because I went over to my mother’s house and she said, “Look at my blackberries. Aren’t they wonderful? Taste one. They’re delicious! I am God’s gift to gardening. Brag, brag, brag.”

And I hate to admit this. It absolutely pains me to admit this. Because I’ve never agreed with my mother about anything in my entire life. But they WERE delicious. And they did look wonderful. And I thought to myself: Even though I may never hear the end of it – “See? Aren’t you glad I’m such a great gardener and taught you everything you know!” — I should try to grow some myself.

Because they were that delicious.

I’ve always believed that your yard should produce things. It should have meaning and purpose. Where you can see – literally – the fruits of your labor.

It shouldn’t just be pretty. I don’t want a yard where I spend all my time toiling and sweating so I can point and say, “Look. I made … green!”

If I’m going to fight thorns and weeds and roots and insects and, worst of all, dirt, I want a yard that gives me something back: a fruit-filled, butterfly-flying, bee-embracing earthy wonderland. A giving garden.

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Pulling off the almost-perfect Mother’s Day

How to make a perfect Mother’s Day? It’s all in the preparation. And the technique. And knowing not to say things to your wife like, “Wait, why do I have to do everything? You’re daughter’s the one you gave birth to! Why isn’t she doing the dishes?” Well, maybe not perfect. But here’s a look at how we pulled off the almost-perfect Mother’s Day this year in case you’re taking notes for future years:

• Be careful what you buy. For instance, my daughter came up with a great idea she saw online: A facial jade roller and skin massager. It sounded wonderful. Relaxes and soothes your face. Rolls across the skin, nourishing and replenishing your cells. Reduces line and wrinkles. WAIT!!! What?!? “Oh heck no!” I told her. “We can’t buy your mother something that is supposed to reduce wrinkles. That’s signing our own death warrant.” My daughter pointed out that she doesn’t have any wrinkles, and that it’s just something relaxing. But I wasn’t about to ruin Mother’s Day with a, “Hey, just in case you get some bags under your eyes, here’s a jade roller!” We would both be sleeping with the chickens.

• When your 15-year-old daughter yells from across the house, “Mom? Mom! MOM!!!” smile and say, “Isn’t it just the sweetest sound? Really captures the spirit of the day, and the wonders of being a mother, doesn’t it? I bet you’re SOOOO thankful right now.”

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Summer planning and the family camping trip

It’s May. That means it’s officially time for summer trip planning. When you get vacation on the brain. When all you think about is bending the laws of physics so you can fit 32 tons of luggage into a vehicle cargo area that can barely hold three grocery bags.

We have all manner of things planned to keep a travel-planning nut like me busy. But first up this month is something I got talked into: a camping trip with family.

This combines two things I don’t like to do when I travel: camp OR go with family.

I know that sounds terrible. Because millions of people love to camp. But it just hasn’t been my thing in a long while. And family are great, but when I travel, I really just like to go with my wife and daughter. Maybe the dog.

Extended family are wildcards. They make a neurotic planner like me – who is into controlled situations, precise itineraries and low-drama – shutter at the unknowns and variables.

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Nagging questions when kitchen appliances go bad

Boy, when household appliances go bad, or you start looking for new ones, you get some pretty interesting questions in your head. I learned this when my long-serving oven decided it had no interest fulfilling its mission anymore, and I had to go hunting for a replacement. Perplexing questions. Many like …

What do you do when you come home hungry, fire up your trusty oven and find it now emits sounds like a woodchipper? I mean, how did it even do that?!? It’s an oven! It emits HEAT. There shouldn’t be anything in it remotely capable of loud, scary noises, not to mention what sounds like it’s mauling a tree.

What do you do when everything you read online says this might mean your appliance is possessed, should be drenched in Holy Water and then dropped off a cliff? Which is quite different than the most do-it-yourself posts and videos. Online DIY articles are pretty optimistic. Bordering on fictional. You could have a washing machine catch on fire and burn itself to its feet, and some DIY-er would offer a solution involving a new actuator and premium appliance spray paint. But my problem seemed more dire.

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A little back pain solved by listening to mom

I am the type of person who misinterprets things. This is especially true when it comes to health. This means that when I feel a small twinge of something in my back, I automatically assume the worst. One of three things usually: 1) Kidney failure, 2) untreatable cancer, or 3) proof that aliens abducted me, inserted some kind of tracking device and it’s now causing both kidney failure AND untreatable cancer.

The triple whammy!

They didn’t mean to do it, I should add. They thought they were tagging me like a bear for research. But it turns out that thanks to an online bargain, they got some cheap, knock-off trackers made with toxic materials. And this is the result.

Yes, my hypochondriac imagination does get a bit elaborate.

What I do NOT think is that maybe I just tweaked a muscle. Or that maybe something simpler, or more realistic, is at play.

This was the state of me recently. Back hurting. Frantic updates made to my will. Wondering which court had jurisdiction when my family goes to sue the extraterrestrials.

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The home for ever-aging critters

Suddenly, I feel I am running a house for elderly critters. Varmints who are getting up there in years. Reaching their senior moments. Getting all geriatric on me. Demanding the early-bird buffet.

I’m not sure what to make of it all.

Our dog, Lily, must be about 10 years old. She’s starting to show gray in her muzzle. She doesn’t act old, or seem her age. But there are little hints that it’s coming. That she isn’t the young pup she used to be.

The cat, Sunburst, is a reformed stray who is pretty ancient. We don’t know his exact age, but it must be up there. When we asked the vet, they offered to carbon date his one good tooth. That means they know he’s pretty old. Our best guess is he comes from the Paleolithic era. But he seems to be managing just fine, old fella’ that he is. He tells too many stories about the Civil War, but other than that – and a wobbly walk like he’s been drinking rum – he isn’t any worse for the wear.

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A new driver dodging and weaving through downtown streets

The wait is over. The day has arrived. Anticipation has given way to reality. It has all come to fruition.

The kid has a license to drive.

The kid. The child! The wee little one … who isn’t so little. They permitted her. The state, in all their wisdom, noted that she was 15. Made her complete a course on alcohol and drugs. Required her to study a manual about driving – hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel, don’t run over small animals on purpose and all that – and then quizzed her on it. She passed it, of course. And then they checked her eyesight – she could generally tell the difference between a “B” and a “D” – and gave her a learner’s permit.

A license to drive!

It comes with some restrictions. The main one is that she must be accompanied by a licensed driver in the front passenger seat of the car at all times.

The FRONT passenger seat!

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New car fears, and figuring out fancy bells and whistles

But I’m slowly getting the hang of it. Slowly figuring out my new car, and kind of enjoying it.

All except for one thing. The worst part about EVER buying a new car: The Fear!

You know “The Fear,” right? The new car fear? The terror you get after you’ve signed the paperwork, dropped loads of cash, driven it off the lot, and then remembered one of the addendums to Murphy’s Law: “Any new car with perfect paint and no dents or scratches shall not remain in such a pristine state for more than 48 hours.”

It’s a rule of physics. A universal constant. Perfection cannot last. And the harder you try to protect it, the worse the event will end up being. Might be a scratch while filling up gas (had this happen once) or a rock hitting the windshield or a dump truck filled with cow manure overturning on you. (Pretty sure that is waiting for me.)

And knowing it’s coming – that horrible anticipation and FEAR! – is enough to drive you crazy. Within days of getting our last new car, a truck backed into us in a parking lot, crumpling the hatch and requiring an extended stay with the dealer. I spent more time in a rental car than the car I had just paid for.

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How to spend an anniversary the romantic way

Boy, nothing says, “Happy Anniversary!” like spending the day prepping the outside of your house to be pressure washed.

Yay romance!

We sure know how to do it up right. Moving garbage cans. Carrying off potted plants. Trying to figure out why every stick my daughter brought home from vacations is stacked up on our front porch. Along with every stone, every shell, every rock and what may be either a large chunk of coal or something way more toxic. Either way, it could use a pressure wash. We left that outside, then went about shuffling and moving before relocating a platoon of cold-stunned lizards who couldn’t believe we had the audacity to uproot their lives.

“Can’t you just celebrate an anniversary like normal people?!?” they seemed to say.

No, actually I don’t think we can.

It was the luck of the scheduling. How you never think about how much there is to get ready for a house project when you schedule it, or that it might leave the bulk of the work for a big day.

Whoops!

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Dropping everything and following the blue arrows to a COVID vaccine

When you get a chance at the COVID vaccine, you drop everything and go. You go like there’s a gold rush. You go like you just had a psychic vision of the winning lottery numbers. You go like you’re not actually sitting in a meeting at work.

You just get up and you go.

That’s what I did last week when I heard several colleagues I work with say that the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) facility in Jacksonville was vaccinating anyone working in education, including those like us who work at colleges or universities. They had been up to the facility, which news reports say had seen thinner demand and wasn’t administering as many vaccines as it was setup for, and were quickly moved through the process after showing their college IDs.

No wait for a vaccine and only an hour away? You don’t have to tell this guy twice. Have arm, will travel.

It had already been an exciting week on the vaccine front in our household. My wife, a pre-school teacher, had been vaccinated that Monday. She got the Johnson and Johnson vaccine at CVS – the one-and-done shot that needs no follow-up booster, and is supposed to have a similar efficacy to the others when it comes to the most severe effects of the virus.

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