What I learned this week: Reason No. 11 why I won't live near my grandsons

As many of you know, I live more than 800 miles away from my grandsons. When my daughter and son-in-law first told my husband and me we'd be grandparents, it broke my heart. I was certain I'd not survive unless they relocated to live near me.

They never did.

Of course, there was the option of my husband and me moving to live near them. A lot of grandparents do that, but it's just not in the cards for me. I wrote about my reasons for not doing so in this article. At the time I wrote it, one big reason I noted for not moving to be near my grandsons is the fact I have a life here in the mountains — a life that includes my (yes, adult and out of the nest) oldest and youngest daughters who live in the mountains, too, despite my middle daughter and her family preferring the desert.

There are other reasons why I won't live near my grandsons, and another I hadn't originally thought of became crystal clear this week.

I like to take photos. I'm not the greatest, though I'm working on getting better. Here are two I took of nature in all its glory while looking out the sliding doors to my deck this week:

 
A butterfly enjoying the dianthus.

A squirrel relaxing in the tree.

Compare those two photos to two my daughter took of nature in all its glory around her place this week. Keep in mind that this is my daughter who, along with her husband and my two grandsons, lives in the desert. Here are the photos she texted me:

A scorpion lodged inside the honeycomb window blinds.

A lizard in the garage — just outside the door to the house.

I'd say nature in the mountains (my place) is far easier on the eyes — and nerves — than nature in the desert (their place), wouldn't you?

The bottom line/the moral of the story being that if getting to see these two adorable kids...

 

... on a regular basis means seeing those two frightening critters on a regular basis, too, I'll take being a long-distance grandma any day. I'm not proud to admit that... but it's true.

And that is what I learned this week.

Well, I also learned that my daughter is far more brave than I ever thought she'd be, that little Meggie of mine who once (as a teen!) captured a spider in our family room late one night by placing a heavy bowl over it, then taping a note to the bowl asking me to take care of what was trapped inside once I awoke. Now look at her — taking photos instead of screaming and running!

(Now I hope I'll be just as brave and not be completely freaked out about icky desert things when I visit my daughter, son-in-law and grandsons in 10 days!)

Best wishes for a critter-free weekend, wherever you may be! I look forward to seeing you all again on Monday!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

Picture this: Reflections from a moon child

With the appearance of the super moon and the continuing wild fires that make for wild sunsets, there's certainly been no shortage of photo opps at my place of late.

Today's question:

Where is your favorite spot to watch the sun set or the moon rise?

What wine drinkers do on long weekends

Let me start by saying that Jim and I are not lushes. Fact is, 90 percent of the wine bottles you'll see in the photos below came from our youngest and oldest daughters — and their friends, too, to be fair.

My daughters aren't lushes, either, they're just always happy to lend Mom a hand whenever asked. Let's just say they were extraordinarily zealous in their assistance this time.

Here's the thing. About a year ago, I saw the following on Pinterest:

I thought it was a creative way to upcycle wine bottles and add a bit of whimsy to our unusual back yard. So I asked my daughters to start saving their wine bottles for me.

Boy, oh, boy, did they save wine bottles, unloading them at my place each time they'd visit.

This past weekend, Jim and I put all those wine bottles to use, creating a border similar to the one I'd pinned on Pinterest.

We did bury our bottles deeper than those in the pinned photo. Plus, we chose to stagger rather than line them up perfectly — perfection is something that just plain doesn't fit our wild and wacky back yard.

I planted wildflowers several weeks ago in the area the bottles border. Now we just have to wait for those flowers to grow. And for the bottle labels to weather away. (Note to self: Soak off the labels next time I do such a thing. And consider convincing Jim to dig up these bottles then rebury them after I remove the labels. My money's on labels weathering away sooner than exhumation.)

I'll share photos a few months down the road, once the flowers have grown. Stay tuned. And feel free to enjoy a glass of wine while you wait.

Just keep the bottle to yourself, when you're through. I've had more than my share, as you can see. Of bottles, that is.

Today's question:

What did you do over the long weekend? And was drinking wine involved?

What I learned this week: Sometimes the hassle is worth it

I take my dogs on a walk nearly every weekday morning. We walk as fast as my legs will take me, and the round trip is about a mile and a half. It's pretty much our go-to exercise — for the dogs as much as for myself.

I used to take my point-and-shoot camera with me each time, but ever since getting my DSLR, I've avoided taking it. The camera is fairly large and bulky, and even though it takes awesome photos and I love, love, love the camera (a Canon EOS Rebel T3i), it just seemed a hassle to wear it on my morning walks. Especially because I try to race-walk the majority of the way, and the idea of a camera bopping along on my chest from beginning to end of the walk didn't appeal to me.

This past week, though, I decided to try bringing it anyway. I keep seeing cool things on my walks, and I kick myself every time for not having my camera on me. I do carry my iPhone, but it just wasn't doing the job the way I wanted when I'd photograph this or that along the route.

Turned out that managing to keep two dogs in line while juggling my phone, my pepper spray (to avoid this happening again) and now my bigger, better camera is, yes, a bit of a hassle. But once I figured out to situate my camera along my side rather than hanging in front (to avoid it bopping on my chest), it really wasn't that big of a deal.

What was a big deal? The photos I managed to get, photos such as these:

Sure can't get such things on my iPhone. The hassle was definitely worth it.

And that is what I learned this week.

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

Long live Grandma's hoya

I've never been very good at growing houseplants. Because of that, I felt quite nervous and unduly obligated when the care of an elderly houseplant was informally included in the deal when we bought our current house nearly five years ago.

The sellers told us upon our agreement to buy the house that they were leaving the plant they had inherited when they bought the house, a plant started by the original homeowners when the house was built in 1975. Story was, according to the sellers — who had no information on what the plant was, only a stern warning to not let it die — that the plant bloomed only once a year and "thrived on neglect." I'm pretty good at neglecting plants, yet I still worried about my ability to make it thrive.

Soon after we moved into this house, Jim and I hosted an open house for our previous neighbors so they could see why we left them and the street where we thought we'd live forever. While explaining the plant story to one of the former neighbors, an older German woman who always had interesting stories to tell, informed us the plant was a hoya. She seemed rather excited about it, but not being much of a houseplant person — and definitely not knowing a darn thing about hoyas — I smiled, just happy that we finally knew what the plant was.

Our first couple years living here, the hoya never bloomed. It did stay alive, though, growing like mad. (I apparently neglected it correctly.) The darn thing stretched across our dining room window with tendrils offering nothing more than creepy fingers that reached farther and farther toward the far wall. I eventually had to cut back those wild fingers that had overtaken window and wall. I was fairly certain I had done the poor plant in.

Soon after my over-zealous trimming, the elderly wife of the now-deceased builder and original owner of our home arranged a visit with us. She, sensing her mortality, hoped to see one last time the one-of-a-kind home she (a concentration camp survivor) and her former husband had built after immigrating to the U.S. from Poland. When she visited us, she was escorted by a couple of her adult children and her 20-something granddaughter, all of whom had lived in our house for many years, all of whom had cherished memories of the home their family patriarch had built.

Two of the daughters, both older than I am, exclaimed upon seeing the flower-less but still very much loved (by them, not me) hoya in the dining room. They asked to please take clippings of it, and I, of course, encouraged them to. The granddaughter excitedly clipped a bit of her grandmother's hoya for herself, too.

Then, not long after they visited, the hoya bloomed for us for the very first time. It was just one lone bloom that I noticed one day while sitting in the dining room talking to Jim. We couldn't believe it. The flower was lovely, the scent intoxicating. Within a week, the bloom died.

A year later, the plant bloomed again, this time with a few flowers. Again, they soon died.

This year? Well, that photo above is our hoya right now. This year it has bloomed better than ever, bursting forth with not only incredible flowers, but literally dripping with a luscious scent that fills nearly all three levels of our house, especially come evening. (Look closely at the photo in the lower left of the collage and you'll see the sticky liquid scent oozing from the blooms.)

This plant is amazing. I'm now in love with it. I love its story, its blooms, its scent. I love that the previous owners took clippings of it for their homes, for their granddaughter's home, that it's tendrils have stretched far beyond this house.

On Sunday, when Brianna and Andrea will be here for Mother's Day, I plan to give them cuttings of the happy hoya for their home. Eventually Megan will get a piece of it, too.

The abundant blooms this year lead me to believe the hoya will continue to thrive, that one day I'll be able to share cuttings from it with my grandsons, just as the granddaughter of the original plant owner carefully clipped from Grandma's hoya to cherish in her own home.

I hope that granddaughter's hoya clipping has thrived, that it has bloomed and made her smile as she remembered her grandma, who had passed away less than a year after the visit to our house. Perhaps the cuttings I share with my grandsons from Grandma's hoya will one day do the same.

Long live Grandma's hoya!

Today's question:

What memories do you have of your grandmother(s) and plants?