Month: February 2026

Our garden is always at its best in mid-winter when I nestle by a fire and linger over seed catalogs. I have yet to tuck a single seed into the ground which is now granite.

As of page 3 in the catalog that arrived two days ago, I have visions of deep red tomatoes piled high in bushel baskets. Page 10 adds pole beans gracefully winding around beautiful trellis structures. Page 13 gives birth to green peppers so gorgeous they should be on display in art museums.

I read the words “you’ll never be satisfied with grocery store again” and pump my fist in the air.

The herbs in my imaginary garden cover rolling hills (never mind that the backyard is flat) with thyme, rosemary, lavender and oregano. Waves of basil reach for the sun.

I drool over seed catalogs the way other women drool over jewelry. “Could I see these seeds under a magnifier, please?”

“Look! It’s a 14 carrot!”

In hopes of maintaining some connection with reality, I propose that seed catalogs come with a black box warning. CAUTION: Seed catalogs may produce wild dreams, grand delusions and unrealistic expectations.

One of my favorite seed companies is offering the Martha Washington Kitchen Garden Seed Collection to commemorate the nation’s 250^th anniversary. I’ve read several Washington biographies but apparently missed the parts about Martha gardening. I’m not quite able to picture Martha wandering about Mt. Vernon hoeing garden beds, planting seeds and pulling weeds.

My sources say George Washington oversaw most aspects of managing the grounds and there is “evidence that Martha Washington was involved in dictating what was planted in the kitchen garden.”

Ah, a kindred spirit. Dictating is my forte in gardening as well. “I’m only asking you to move this giant hydrangea (for the third time) because you’re a perfectionist and I know you want the spacing right. I’m doing this for you, Honey!”

The seed names are mesmerizing. They are descriptive on a par with women’s cosmetics. Martha’s seed collection offers “Blue Curled Scotch Kale,” which is puzzling and captivating all at the same time. “Amish Deer Tongue Lettuce” is perplexing. Was the lettuce a favorite of Amish deer, or does the lettuce taste like the tongue of an Amish deer?

“Armenian Cucumber” hints of theological disputes sure to kick dirt any garden. I added “Early Scarlet Globe radish” to my cart without even looking at the picture. On the other hand, “Georgia Rattlesnake Watermelon” was a hard pass.

Many gardens are at their peak in the dead of winter, for when the ground is frozen and the air is frigid, imagination grows wild.

 

Against our daughter’s better judgment, she sometimes asks if we can homeschool her youngest when she has a scheduling conflict.

Her concern is not that we don’t cover the material; her concern is that we modify and augment the material or sometimes deviate entirely from the material.

We call it enrichment.

The last time our student was here, she asked me to check her work on a metric conversion problem involving kilo, hecto, deca, unit, deci, centi and milli.

“You know the mnemonic for metric, right Grandma?” she asked. “King Henry Doesn’t Usually Drink Chocolate Milk.”

I told her all I knew for sure about metric is when the obstetrician says, “You’re at 10 centimeters,” the baby is coming real soon.

She gave me a puzzled look.

Instead of doing a lot of conversion, I suggested King Henry swing by Walmart and buy anything he wanted in pints, quarts, 2-liters, six packs and cases of 24.

The look on her face said this was not helpful and that I was going to be reported to the principal.

To my credit, I excel in language arts. I do good with grammar (well, sometimes), and specialize in pronouns without antecedents, my favorite example being: Susan told Emily she was looking old.

Our occasional student also has been covering all the major body systems with wonderful charts, graphs, and overlays. I did well on the cardiology unit, probably due to being of a certain age and knowing a lot of people with heart issues.

This week, when our student was going to do her schoolwork here, her mother sent an early morning email with the subject line, “Urology Test.”

The email said, “Mom, would you mind printing this at your house? I’m currently out of paper. She needs to take this test. You can attempt it, too, if you want.”

Maybe it’s because I just had a physical, but I was flummoxed. I called our daughter to clarify that the urology test did not involve anybody taking strips of paper and little plastic cups into the bathroom.

When she finally finished laughing, she confirmed that was correct. The only testing would be with pen and paper.

Whew. Close one.

It’s a game of hide and seek a lot of women play. You hide the last bite of something delectable for yourself, not because you’re selfish, but because you are a visionary.

Based on personal history and past performance, you know with certainty that soon, maybe in the next week, day or next five seconds, you may feel depleted, exhausted and in need of a small pick-me-up.

You need a bit of encouragement. Or a bite of encouragement.

The key to keeping a small private reserve is knowing where to stash it.

For years I kept a couple of Hershey Kisses in a buffet drawer with the cloth napkins. It was a great hiding place. Not once in the history of our family has anyone ever said, “You know what would make this meal complete? Cloth napkins!”

The napkin drawer was such a great hiding place that I often forgot about it myself. I rediscover my small stash each year at Easter and Christmas, the only times we use cloth napkins.

Another strategy is tossing a couple of miniature candy bars in the freezer for later. Later comes when someone goes to the freezer in search of butter, digs around and pops out yelling, “Look, old Halloween candy! The kind only Mom likes!”

If the treat is something no one else likes, you can leave it in plain view. Dried apricots are safe here, so are nuts and fresh dates.

It’s easy to quietly consume something sweet that you saved for later, but crunchy snacks do not lend themselves to stealth. Chips can be heard from outside the house at the far end of the driveway. Small children have been known to awaken from a deep sleep by the crunch of a single Cheeto. Fritos smell. For days. Weeks maybe.

Hiding things has a cascade effect. Whenever we go out of town, I hide my ancient Rolodex with old addresses, defunct landline phone numbers and home repair contacts. Like someone is going to break into a house and say, “First thing we look for is an old Rolodex!”

“Look! I found the ID number for her library card!”

If they only knew what was hidden in the napkin drawer.

I’m not sure why there is a stash of anything delectable anywhere. Whenever we have something special, the husband refuses to eat the last piece or the last bite. He saves it for me. I don’t even have to hunt for it.

Love is sweet.

I was puzzled when the husband announced he was going to burp the house. I asked if he thought it would need a diaper change, too.

“You know, burp the house,” he said with an air of disbelief.

I didn’t know. I couldn’t get my head around patting a two-story house on the back.

He said burping a house is based on the German practice of “lüften” where you open all the windows, so cross ventilation lets the inside air escape and the outside air enter.

It sounded like spring cleaning – or what I do after we’ve had fish for dinner. He said when you air out a house in the winter, it’s called burping.

He was surprised I had not heard about burping a house. I was surprised he had heard about it. He’s not exactly what you’d call a domestic by nature.

When we were dating, he invited me over for dinner, but all the dishes were dirty and piled in the kitchen sink. He’s come a long way, but still. Who was this man? How and when had German domestics infiltrated his head?

I nonchalantly pointed out that the ground was covered in 10 inches of snow and the outside temperature was 5 degrees.

“Even better,” he said. “The furnace has been running and running and who knows what we’re breathing. Burping the house releases trapped, moist air from cooking, showering, and breathing. It also reduces condensation and prevents mold growth.”

I married an infomercial.

He threw open all the windows. The warm air was sucked out of the house and bitter Arctic air blasted in. I grabbed my coat, scarf, gloves and the book I’d been reading and dashed into the utility closet to stand next to my new BFF—the furnace.

I saw the husband shoot back and forth from one side of the house to the other a few times, monitoring air flow. “It’s getting awfully cold in here,” I shouted. “Are we about finished burping?”

“Not yet!” he said. “Two more minutes to go on the timer.” It was a timed burp. Perhaps one times burps in adolescence, but here? Now? Us?

“I’m going upstairs, where it’s warmer,” I shouted over the roaring furnace.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m burping the upstairs next.”

The man was showing a domestic side that has been hidden for many years. I liked it. Only a fool would resist.