Anecdotes, Antidotes, and Anodes

War of the Roses...I Mean War of the Poinsettias

 

 

Today's post concerns the pronunciation of this plant:

Poyn-seh-TEE-uh?

Poyn-seh-ah ?

For over twenty years the holiday season brings with it a bit of discourse between theHansMan and me. on several different levels.

One level is, simply stated, we don't pronounce the name of this flower the same. That causes most of our conversations to be peppered with the word, "poinsettia."

"Did you buy dog food today?"

"Yes, and I bought some poinsettia chews for them, too."

Each of us emphasizing the word POINSETTIA for effect.

"Did you have the oil in the truck checked today?"

"Yes, and they balanced and aligned the poinsettias, too."

This highly intelligent form of conversing to antagonize each other is carried over into about everything we talk about. You can use your creative minds to just imagine where the word 'poinsettia' can be substituted.

TheHansMan and I have agreed to abide by the consensus of the blogging and Facebook world. Here is the million dollar question:

How do you pronounce POINSETTIA?

1)  poyn-seh-TEE-uh

2)  poyn-seh-AH

3)  or some other way

We will forever use the pronunciation of the one that receives the most votes.

Wikipedia has THIS TO SAY.

Other tidbits about this flower:

Is this flower poisonous?

No, says POISINDEX.  Ingesting this plant will make you sick but it probably won't kill you. A fifty pound child would have to eat more than 1.25 pounds of poinsettia bracts (about 500-600 leaves) to exceed the experimental doses.

Question # 1: Whose fifty pound kid was used to conduct this experiment ?

Question #2: What was the experimental dose? Did they use an entire greenhouse full of poinsettias?

Question #3: Wouldn't eating 500-600 of these leaves kill a horse? 

Just some Food For Thought...pun intended.

 

Just for the record . . .

Some say poinsetta and some say poinsettia. In both cases, either pronunciation is acceptable. This traditional holiday houseplant, a native of Mexico, is named for Joel Roberts Poinsett, the first United States Ambassador to Mexico (circa 1820).

In Mexico, the poinsettia is known as Flor de Nochebuena, or Christmas Eve Flower. You may also see it written as La Flor de la Nochebuena, which means Flower of Christmas Eve. In Spain, Puerto Rico, and other Central America countries it's known as Flor de Pascua or Pascua, meaning Christmas Flower.

Captions, Comments and/or Questions ?!?!

 

 

Just a random day here at The Asylum.

I was looking for a particular photo and came across these. 

Maybe one of them will make you smile . . . 

 or at least go . . . 

h-m-m-m-m-m-m !

Any questions ? 

 

Thanksgiving Cactus or Christmas Cactus ? There Is A Difference !

There really is a Thanksgiving cactus AND a Christmas cactus. Who knew ? I just always thought my Christmas cactus was an over-achiever and bloomed early. If your Christmas cactus bloomed at Thanksgiving, then it's probably not a Christmas cactus at all. It's a Thanksgiving cactus.Even though these two plants look similar, there are certain characteristics that help to tell them apart. 

And if you keep reading, we'll eventually get around to that. 

Christmas cacti and Thanksgiving cacti belong to the same botanical genus, Schlumbergera, meaning they’re closely related. It’s easy for even the well-trained eye to mistake them for the same plant. Both grow wild in the mountains of southeastern Brazil, so they prefer things on the cool and shady side, unlike the cacti found in desert habitats. This is partly why they are an easy to care for house plant, although they do need more regular watering than a desert cactus would.

The beautiful blooms grow on flattened, spineless, segmented green stems. They can be pink, red, white, or yellow.  They don't have leaves. Although these cacti have similar-looking flowers and stems, each of these features offers clues to help you distinguish a Christmas and a Thanksgiving cactus from one another. Thanksgiving cactus (Schlumbergera truncata) was once commonly called the “crab claw cactus” or “crab cactus" before it started being marketed around Turkey Day. It also goes by zygocactus. You can identify it by the pointy “teeth” on the sides of each stem segment. These teeth are soft, not sharp, and can vary in size, but are almost always visible on the plant to some degree. The Christmas cactus stem segments lack pointed teeth and have more scalloped or rounded edges. 

There is another way to tell the difference. Sticking out from each blossom, the cluster of long, thin anthers will be tipped with pollen. If the color of the pollen is yellow, you more than likely have a Thanksgiving cactus, and if it's pink, you probably have a Christmas cactus. While the Christmas cactus stems hang down like a pendant, the Thanksgiving cactus has stems that grow upright at first and then arch. When figuring out which one of these cacti you have growing in your house, consider the age of your plant for some hints. In recent years, all sorts of new varieties have been produced with characteristics that blur the differences between the two species. These are what you're more likely to find for sale nowadays, instead of the original species-type plants. So if your plant is a young one from a garden center or grocery store, chances are it's a major mishmash between Christmas and Thanksgiving cacti, and maybe a few other related species. Who knows what all is mixed in? This plant is what we might call a "Mutt cactus." 

But if Grandma gave you a cutting off that 50-year-old plant growing on her kitchen window sill, you might actually have a straight-up Thanksgiving or Christmas cactus with nothing else mixed in. A pure-bred cactus for sure. 

Confused yet ?  Well, hang on because there is another look-alike cactus.

It's the Easter cactus. Yup. For those of you in to the Latin names, it's called Hatiora gaertneri (formerly classified as Rhipsalidopsis gaertneri), and it blooms in the spring. Its flaring, trumpet-shaped flowers have pointy pink or red petals.

If the “Y” shaped segment breaks off from one of your cactus branches,  just stick it in a pot of sterile soil or vermiculite. It will root in no time.

My cacti were all tiny when purchased and came in a plastic pot. I immediately replant them in a glass or terra cotta pot so that when they become root bound, I can just break the pot and lift the root ball into a larger 'breakable' pot. There is no way to lift that plant out by the top without breaking it to pieces. 

Below are photos of my Christmas and/or Thanksgiving cacti which could be held in the palm of my hand when I bought them.  You can see the

different colors of the pollen on some. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next lesson:  Is It Cacti or Cactuses ? 

 

Cactus plural: 

 

Cacti is a noun. It is the plural form of cactus, which refers to members of a family of spiny plants. Cacti are famous for having sharp

 

spines. They can survive extreme conditions by storing water in their stems for extended periods of time.

 

Cactuses is an alternative spelling of the same plural noun. According to Bryan Garner (2016), both are accepted variants. Cactuses is more common

 

in speech and ordinary usage, while cacti is favored in print sources and scientific uses.

 

Now, here's the kicker . . . In a sense it is a misnomer to call these plants a cactus. because they do not have the long prickly spines of the desert

 

cacti/cactuses. They do have the required areoles or sunken spots that put them in the cactus clan. 

 

There will be a test ! 

Facebook: Post the Seventh Photo on Your Phone

This past week, the trending Facebook  'request' was to post the seventh photo on your phone, with no explanation. 

Every time I found my seventh photo, something distracted me, so I never played the game and posted it.

Those distractions will be the topic of another blog post. They do involve dogs and HansMan.

But, at one time each one of the following photos was the seventh photo on my phone. 

I obviously take too many pictures. 

So, I'll just play the game with all my 'seventh' photos here in one place. 

No explanations. Just use your imagination . . .

 

*

*

*

 

*

 

*

 

 

*

 

*

*

 

 

*

*

*

*

Now it's your turn to post the seventh photo on your phone.

Ready ! Go !

How Not to Go Crazy During COVID Season

It's always been an objective of mine to try to be productive in some form or fashion everyday. Now, in my dictionary, productivity can be defined in many ways. There is usually always a checklist involved. As each task is finished, there's always a rush of adrenaline to mark it off. Even if a task is accomplished and it's not on the list, I will write it down, and then mark it off. Don't judge me. 

Here's some of what I accomplished yesterday:

   ate leftovers a.l.l.d.ay.l.o.n.g.

   drank two root beers

   watched Hillbilly Elegy...again

   read New York Times editorial page from two weeks ago

   watched 6 episodes of Holiday Baking Championships

   warshed, dried, and put linens back on bed

  picked up stuffing from toys Stella & PeekaBoo annihilated

In other words, I didn't do Jack Squat yesterday. 

It was about 4:00 p.m. when my A.D.H.D. kicked in. Either that or the root beers. Or a combination of both. 

"Where are those little pink plastic rollers I bought from Amazon after watching a video of some gal who used them and in a matter of minutes her hair was transformed into luscious, beautiful curls?"

Yes. Those rollers. You know. You saw the video and was amazed, too.

But, you probably didn't order them. Did you?

Well, I did.

So, I found them and I tried to roll up my hair just like that gal did on the Facebook video. 

Funny thing is, I never saw her get her hair tangled up in any of those rollers. 

Yes, I did consider having to cut a couple of them out of my hair. 

After my arms felt like they weighed about 25 pounds each, I finally succeeded in getting the last pink stupid roller in.

Only to realize the first two had already fallen out, and PeekaBoo ran out the door with one of them in her mouth. 

This did not happen in the video with the beautiful girl with the beautiful hair. 

Nor did some wise a$$ guy keep asking, "What the hell are you doing?"

To which I softly and sweetly replied, "I'M TRYING NOT TO GO APE $HI+ CRAZY, THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING!"

There may or may not have been a couple more choice words in that reply. I really don't remember.

So, what else does one do when one is looking absolutely drop-dead gorgeous with pink plastic rollers tangled up in her hair, wearing a t-shirt that's had the neck cut out of it and has on no make-up on ?

She, of course, posts a selfie on Facebook. 

It's either that or post a picture of your feet with a sandy beach and beautiful ocean waves in the background. But since that's not my venue, the best I could do was what you see at the top of this post.

Many of the comments on that Facebook post were requests to see the outcome of the Pink Plastic Magic Hair Roller Chronicle.

So without further ado . . . drumroll please . . . here's the result:

 

 

 

(1)

 

(2)

(3)

(4)

(5)

(6)

 

(7)

(8)

I can hear my mother saying, "Your hair looks like a rat's nest."

I can also hear my daughter telling her daughter, " You have gnarlies and hinkey punks in your hair." 

So, the choice is yours.

Which of the above do you think is how the Plastic Pink Magic Hair Roller Experiment turned out?

Correct guess wins these. See below . . . 

Stay tuned . . . tomorrow I'll show you how a Navage works. 

Yes, ordered that, too. 

That's one of those battery powered Neti Pots.

You might think it's gross . . . but ItSnot. 

 

 

Watermelon Memories...Then and Now

Watermelon is a plant species in the family Cucurbitaceae, (gourd) a vine-like flowering plant originally  domesticated in West Africa

Its a staple summer fruit and a low-carb way to help satisfy a sweet tooth, especially on the Keto diet. Each 1/2 cup of diced watermelon has 5.4 grams of net carbs. It's also an acceptable choice when dieting because of its high water content. 

But, we aren't here to talk about the health benefits or from where watermelons originated, we're here to talk about who wins a watermelon growing contest. 

First we'll reminisce about the time a strange looking vine started growing in our beautiful, well-manicured lawn in Bartlesville, Oklahoma. 

I'm not sure exactly how old Brooke was when the above photos were taken, but judging by the missing front teeth, I'm thinking she's in about the first grade.  It all started when we noticed a strange looking plant growing in the middle of our front yard. There had been lots of rain, so the yard couldn't be mowed until things dried out. By this time, the 'vine-looking' thing had grown to enormous proportions. I mean we're talking 'Jumanji, Welcome to the Jungle,' could have been filmed here. 

Upon closer inspection, we realized that what we had growing were watermelon vines and were perplexed as to how this might have happened.

Enter: Brooke.

She explained that one evening after enjoying a picnic in the backyard, she saved some watermelon seeds and planted them. 

IN. THE. MIDDLE. OF. THE. FRONT. YARD!

So, for the entire summer our front yard was enveloped with a healthy, hearty jungle of vines. Watermelon vines. Everywhere. I think they may have even 'vined-up' the tree.

Looking back, I'm surprised the Friendly Neighborhood Keep Your Lawn Looking Nice and Neat Committee didn't come knocking on our front door. Of course, they would have needed machetes in hand to get there. 

Lo and behold, that six-year old harvested a crop of watermelon as documented with the above photos depicting two of them.  

Who knew that a few years later that little watermelon-seed-planting-munchkin would graduate with a double major in Landscape Architecture and Landscape Contracting from Oklahoma State University and earned a Masters Degree from Oklahoma University in Urban Architectural Studies..  She also owns Florascape Designs, a landscape design company in Bartlesville. I'm interested in knowing how many of her designs might contain a watermelon feature.

This is where you just have to trust me. I promise the story above and the photos and stories below will connect at some point. Somewhere. 

There is a common denominator: Watermelons

Rewind several decades.

I was about 10 years old and Cousin Randy was a few weeks old. Notice the smile on my face !  I had a real live baby doll to play with. Dress up. And. Feed.

I was not into the diaper changing bit. 

I was probably 14 and Cousin Randy was 4. He was still a lot of fun but harder to 'control.'

And yes, that's a real live aluminum Christmas tree.We had just finished putting it together and were getting ready to decorate it. 

Now, Fast-Forward several decades . . . to this weekend. 

Watermelons are still the topic of discussion. Stay with me. 

Cousin Randy is now older than I am.  Here we are on Friday at Two Rivers Winery with some grape juice to sample. 

He came over that big hill that's in the middle of Colorado by way of Monarch Pass to visit. 

It was a weekend full of laughs and reminiscing and comparing watermelons as chronicled with the two video clips below. 

 

 

So there. I win. He said so.

Probably because of my learning experience umpteen years ago when I was tutored by a little toothless first-grader on how to grown watermelons.

See. I told you there was a convoluted connection with all this. 

Stella and PeekaBoo saying good-bye to Cousin Randy after a wonderful weekend of making more watermelon memories. 

Morals of this story . . .

Cousins are those childhood playmates who grow up to be forever friends.

AND. . .

Never doubt the horticulture abilities of a six-year old named Brooke. 

 

 

 

 

 

Stella and PeekaBoo

Entertainment at our house these days . . .

When COVID and a broken knee keep you home . . . 

This is what you do.

Grab a cup of coffee and enjoy.  Who needs Netflix?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Treasures from PeekaBoo

Below are just a few of the treasures that Peeka has bestowed upon us the past few days. 

Not exactly sure what kind of snake this was . . .
It really didn't matter.
A snake is a snake is a snake.
Especially when one steps on it and it's still slithering on the rug in your house. 

 

Peeka came running in with something that looked like a cigar sticking out the side of her mouth.
Except it wasn't a cigar.
Upon closer inspection, we determined it was that plastic wrapper that she ate two days ago.
Hans gave her the plastic wrapper from a package of hamburger to LICK.
Evidently, she didn't quite comprehend that she was only to LICK it. 
Consequently, she passed it in the form of a poop-covered spiral cigar. 

Yup. It's a bird.
When I first realized she had a bird, it was flapping in her mouth.
Ever tried to chase down a puppy that has a live bird in its mouth?
Well, you can't catch a puppy that has a live bird in its mouth, especially if the person chasing that puppy has a broken leg.
Needless to say, the bird didn't make it. 

This would be a pile of poop.
A pile of dried poop. 
Instead of PeekaBoo, we are now calling her PeekaPoop.
She is obsessed with dried poop. 
We were able to confiscate this pile before she devoured it.
Evidently, according to Google, some puppies like to eat dried poop.
We just happen to have one of those puppies. 
At some point, Google says puppies stop eating dried poop. 

ADHD . . . to be continued

 

I'm always organizing and re-organizing 'stuff.'  Especially paper. I think it's called, "Taming the Paper Trail." My desk is a vertical file of everything paper. From bank statements to Medicare reports, to vet bills, to any kind of bills for that matter, to receipts, and on and on. I do have cute little file folders to put all this in. I don't like sitting and filing. Yes, I know I could go paperless, but that requires remembering about forty-seven different passwords. Then there's the catalog issue. And each catalog must be perused through just to see what's inside before I trash it or file it.  I have reduced the amount of catalogs I receive by using Catalog Choice and opting out. There is also Direct Marketing Association's (DMA) Mail Preference Service. It is suggested to set aside a few minutes each day to deal with the mail, preferable as soon as it's brought inside. That it helps to have a designated spot where I can sort the mail. I was visiting with a dear friend this week about needing to sit down and file all these pieces of paper/mail.  Know what she said? She said she just throws it away. Her designated spot is by the trash can and she trashes it. All of it. How do you do that? 

Speaking of catalogs, the ones I keep . . . they're kept in a cute little wicker basket . . . filed in ABC order. (See photo)

Then there's the projects that involve photographs. Oh don't get me started on how to organize photographs, hundreds of them,  because I've tried any number of ways. Right now I'm in the middle of creating a Shutterfly photo album that I started two years ago for a couple who was married in 2002. Don't judge me. So, since my knee is broken I decided this would be an opportune time to try to finish it. My dining room table is covered with photos and memorabilia that need to be scanned. I've organized these photos so well that the rehearsal dinner photos have gone missing. How does that happen?

Then there's what the experts call Time Management Issues which is a common effect of ADHD. I frequently lose track of time, miss deadlines, procrastinate, underestimate how much time I need for tasks, and find myself doing things in the wrong order. This is because I do the things that are more fun FIRST and spend inordinate amounts of time doing them. I think this is known as “hyperfocusing” and nothing else gets done.

One suggestion, of which there are many is to use a timer. I try to allot myself limited amounts of time for each task and use a timer to alert me when my time is up. For longer tasks, I set the timer to go off at regular intervals keeping me productive and aware of how much time is going by. I might start a project in the morning, get so involved in it and look up at the clock and it's 3:00 p.m.  How does that happen?

When I first started using the 'timer idea,' I kept going to the oven to pull out whatever was in there baking  But, there was nothing there. 

Speaking of timers, mine of going off . . . meaning I've spent enough time on this post and I need to move onto something else. 

Now, where is my list of things to do today?

. . .  ADHD . . . to be continued. 

 

 

. . . And Now the Rest of the Story

 

There have been several inquiries as to how I broke my knee (Fibular Head) and probably damaged the Meniscus, to what extent will be determined at a later date. 

Some stories begin with, "Once Upon a Time . . . 

This story begins with, "You Ain't Gonna Believe This $h!+ . . .

. . . it all started by winning a Gift Certificate for a Tandem Hang Gliding Session. 

The moment we were airborne, my experienced, professional partner let me know we were in trouble. The right wing kept wanting to drop, so he had to steer about 50% to the opposite side just to keep the glider going straight. I'm hearing all this through my headset as I wouldn't have had the foggiest idea about what was going on. I mean the scenery up there was breathtaking. 

We quickly hooked a thermal, released, and climbed up to an altitude of about 10,000 feet by making left turns only.  He promised me that safety was in altitude. Not my idea of being safe, I mean, shouldn't t we be trying to get down from here? My idea of safety was being on the ground, and we didn't seem to be headed in that direction. At least not just yet. 

Okay. Whatever you say. Once up that high, we proceeded to do a number of maneuvers to keep flying. We could turn left with a decent amount of control and no issues. We could also fly straight if he applied a generous amount of left input. Keep in mind, I have no idea what's going on except what he's telling me. 

Right turns stalled the glider every time, so he picked a field that would give us ample room from a left-hand approach and we slowly started boating down. 

As we turned onto a final approach, he assured me we were home free. But, as soon as we entered the ground effect, the right wing stalled and we bit the dust. Hard. 

Now you know . . .

. . . the rest of the story.

AND, it you believe that . . .  I have some ocean front property here at the house that I will sell you.

The next story begins like this . . . 

It was the Perfect Storm:

Steep hill

Wet grass 

Slick Chucks on my feet. (Yes. I had shoes on this particular day.)

PeekaBook on a leash on my left (PeekaBoo weighs 43 pounds.)

Stella on a leash on my right (Stella weighs 70 pounds,)

Dog running loose at the bottom of this steep hill. . . . way down there.

Have I mentioned it was a very steep hill?

Stella bolted to where the other dog was, and I hung on for dear life.

 A.L..L.   T.H.E.   W.A.Y   D.O.W.N.  T.H.E.   H.I.L.L. 

The very steep hill. 

(No I didn't let go of the leash for all of you who have been kind enough with that suggestion or asked why I didn't. Yes. I have water skied. Yes I know to let go of the rope once the fall begins so the boat doesn't drag me across the lake and I drown. But, I wasn't water skiing.)

When the slack went out of the leash, I went airborne. We were probably flying down that hill, that very steep hill, at about 30 miles per hour. 

 I hurtled forward, tried to dig in my slippery Chucks, and hit the ground with a thud. My right leg extended out in front of me. My left leg did some kind of loopty-loo bend behind me not normal to the human body. The minute I hit, I heard two loud pops. The pain shot up through my armpits, ricocheted off my ears, and out the top of my pointy little head. 

PeekaBoo did a great job of keeping up and was probably thinking, "Wow, I've never seen her move so fast."

Once we came to a grinding halt at the bottom of that steep hill and the world stopped spinning, I knew I was hurt. 

The hill I was on (the steep one) was actually a pond dam and Hans was just over the way with his employees fishing. That's where I was headed when all this happened.

I yelled. He sauntered over not knowing what had just happened.

The first thing he said, "Why is your nose bleeding, and why are you on the ground?"

Yup. I hit so hard it caused my nose to bleed. My nose was the least of my worries. 

He took the dogs. I hobbled back to our room not knowing I was walking with a broken knee.

We made it back to Grand Junction to Docs on Call and the rest is history.

And now you know . . . 

. . . the rest of the story. It’s your choice as to which one you choose to believe  

 

Photo: Smoky Sunset over the Colorado National Monument.
Sunday, August 23, 2020
Smoke is from the Pine Gulch Fire, the second largest in Colorado history.
Monday evening the fire was mapped at 129, 715 acres and 44% contained. 
It is about 18 miles north of Grand Junction in the Bookcliffs.