I have one of those to grab things in difficult places. Like when I drop a clothes hanger behind the drier. But with canna lillies you gotta get the entire bulb out which requires digging it out. Last time I did it a few weeks ago my son had to hold the ladder. And there is a huge ant bed right in the middle of them and I’m eye to eye with them. I think that’s where the ants moved.
We treated them with some stuff that smells like rotten cabbage and it does kill them dead. Most of them. Hopefully they are dead.
I'm using Euro Yellow Grapefruit, Pur Pomelo, Pur Raspberry, with a little LA Lemonade. The mix is semi-sweet, not tart, but I think the Raspberry is the culprit. Tried adding sour, that didn't help, may leave the raspberry out and try some Pur Sunset for the pineapple to see if it puckers up. Long way to go on this one.
This stuff really works on ants. Smells awful for a long time.
https://www.lowes.com/pd/ORTHO-Orth...-8KMRhpD8d_qLnjn7owaApNAEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds
https://www.lowes.com/pd/ORTHO-Orth...-8KMRhpD8d_qLnjn7owaApNAEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds
All I have of those flavors is the PUR Raspberry
I picked up the sticks in half the yard and realized I should wait until after the storms tomorrow. There will be more. That kills my back! So I dug up the canna lillies on one side of the fence. The other side of the fence requires a ladder and getting over my driveway wall to dig up the rest. That is for another day. I have a feeling they will never go away.
There was an ant bed near my fence for years and I finally killed them (they moved...do they ever really die?...) and it left this hump of dirt that is weird. So I dug it up, moved the dirt to the sunken-in canna Lilly patch and smoothed both out. My fence is now free of the ant/dirt mound, and water won’t puddle from the removed canna lillies.
Then I swept my garage. I guess the car going in and out and the door sometimes open lets all this stuff in.
Progress!
Spray weed killer on the cannas and get one of those grippers to pick stuff up without bending over. I used to have a one piece pooper scooper that worked great for picking up yard debris. Don't know what happened to that thing, wish I still had it.
I was thinking the grabber thingy for your sticks. Works good with pine cones too.I have one of those to grab things in difficult places. Like when I drop a clothes hanger behind the drier. But with canna lillies you gotta get the entire bulb out which requires digging it out. Last time I did it a few weeks ago my son had to hold the ladder. And there is a huge ant bed right in the middle of them and I’m eye to eye with them. I think that’s where the ants moved.
I'm going to take a break from ECF for a day or two. Tooth aches put me in a crappy mood, and I don't want that to affect y'all. I'll check in when I'm in a better mood, talk to you later folks
Whelp, I made my husband spaghetti sauce, the recipe is delicious but you don't want to really see what I PUT in it to make it so good. The sad part is, it's his favorite dish and I'm actually sort of sick of it unless I melt some cheese into it. I mean it's GOOD, it's just not my favorite thing.
Sadly I cooked a bunch of liver and forgot to like, refrigerate it but whoo I am out a dollar fifty. Livers, gizzards, hearts and tongue seem to be the way to go for cheap protein. I actually like all these things, LOL.
I also did the medbox and confirmed our reservation. Like it was fine, I have little else to pack. My new coffee system is the bomb I'm so happy. I cannot even say what a PITA that was to deal with and I just don't like those tiny hole sippy cups. It's amazing what you can figure out if you have to.
I'm 45 so I still climb trees and on the properties we will be visiting I will need to climb at least ONE tree per area, so I should get a workout, but yoga that's the thing. I never want to get out of like, the yoga routine again, because regular exercise is super important, and I think if I had not s spent the majority of my years on it, well, I would have like not been as in good shape as I am now.
Ooh I cannot WAIT to build my very own practice and do what I wish and do yoga not at 5 am. I mean I'm not all OTT on it I have time, etc.
Show Low has a small but decently rated hospital that's always good I like this town and I hope we go there when the time is ripe.
I still haven't opened my SQUAPE box but I probably will. I mean, I bought it when I did not know my plight and etc. and I wanted at least ONE mini because it tells you the state of your batteries and I am sure there are a few I should likely purge, IDK.
Yoga soon, yay! I hope it is smooth and nice, but probably, hasn't been that long.
Please don't fear the reaper. Fear of death actually REDUCES immune system response. I posted a bunch of legit studies done before COVID about fear and the immune response. lI'm not saying don't take precautions but really... Don't LET COVID and the media get you. LOL I am about to share a death poem that MAY put things into perspective. Don't worry you don't have to read it but you SHOULD I am an excellent poet, actually. I have been voted "Most likely to succeed in poetry" by every poetry class I have taken. I laugh, because I well, I would have to be like Emily Dickenson, discovered posthumously except I don't SUCK. I hate Emily because my English teacher (the non pedophile one) LOVED her and named his daughter "Emily" and like, WROTE a rather GRAPHIC poem about the birth (I mean it included CROWNING and stuff) and he read it to us and about all you could say was, "Yep. That ALSO could be read to the tune of Gilligan's Island."
He looked at us all hopeful and I said, "It's wonderful that you love both Emily Dickenson and your wife and kid so much, thank you for sharing your moment with us." It was all I could do, I mean I AIM for nice.
Anna
Sadly I cooked a bunch of liver and forgot to like, refrigerate it but whoo I am out a dollar fifty. Livers, gizzards, hearts and tongue seem to be the way to go for cheap protein. I actually like all these things, LOL.
I also did the medbox and confirmed our reservation. Like it was fine, I have little else to pack. My new coffee system is the bomb I'm so happy. I cannot even say what a PITA that was to deal with and I just don't like those tiny hole sippy cups. It's amazing what you can figure out if you have to.
I'm 45 so I still climb trees and on the properties we will be visiting I will need to climb at least ONE tree per area, so I should get a workout, but yoga that's the thing. I never want to get out of like, the yoga routine again, because regular exercise is super important, and I think if I had not s spent the majority of my years on it, well, I would have like not been as in good shape as I am now.
Ooh I cannot WAIT to build my very own practice and do what I wish and do yoga not at 5 am. I mean I'm not all OTT on it I have time, etc.
Show Low has a small but decently rated hospital that's always good I like this town and I hope we go there when the time is ripe.
I still haven't opened my SQUAPE box but I probably will. I mean, I bought it when I did not know my plight and etc. and I wanted at least ONE mini because it tells you the state of your batteries and I am sure there are a few I should likely purge, IDK.
Yoga soon, yay! I hope it is smooth and nice, but probably, hasn't been that long.
Please don't fear the reaper. Fear of death actually REDUCES immune system response. I posted a bunch of legit studies done before COVID about fear and the immune response. lI'm not saying don't take precautions but really... Don't LET COVID and the media get you. LOL I am about to share a death poem that MAY put things into perspective. Don't worry you don't have to read it but you SHOULD I am an excellent poet, actually. I have been voted "Most likely to succeed in poetry" by every poetry class I have taken. I laugh, because I well, I would have to be like Emily Dickenson, discovered posthumously except I don't SUCK. I hate Emily because my English teacher (the non pedophile one) LOVED her and named his daughter "Emily" and like, WROTE a rather GRAPHIC poem about the birth (I mean it included CROWNING and stuff) and he read it to us and about all you could say was, "Yep. That ALSO could be read to the tune of Gilligan's Island."
He looked at us all hopeful and I said, "It's wonderful that you love both Emily Dickenson and your wife and kid so much, thank you for sharing your moment with us." It was all I could do, I mean I AIM for nice.
Anna
I'd do the same thing Blitz. Them teeth have a way of getting one's attention. Rack out for a spell. Good luck.I'm going to take a break from ECF for a day or two. Tooth aches put me in a crappy mood, and I don't want that to affect y'all. I'll check in when I'm in a better mood, talk to you later folks
We’ll miss you but I know toothaches can be nasty.Hope yours gets better.I'm going to take a break from ECF for a day or two. Tooth aches put me in a crappy mood, and I don't want that to affect y'all. I'll check in when I'm in a better mood, talk to you later folks
I figured I would share my very favorite death poem since I converse with it often . I wrote it for my brother as a birthday gift and like, I have written untold numbers of poems about death, but I called my brother to like apologize for not calling and he was like, "Yours was the call I most enjoyed missing. I always think on my birthday, "I don't remember asking to be born." It was too good not to use, so, I sent him this. He loved it. I love it too, but mainly because I ALSO managed to like, achieve my long held dream of using the word "photosynthesis" in a poem and making it WORK.
Happy Birthday
The way I see it, I do not recall requesting to be born,
all unaware, I rose to the top of the victimhood heap
shadow steps walked me, inexorable, coaxing me to sleep
to spring, reborn; far below now, faint and shifting in my eyes-- the earth.
No, I don’t remember demanding for my birth,
to be delivered to my unchosen mother my
similarly unclean and sinning sisters and brothers
to my absent and indifferent father; nor society, no
I did not request a single breath
or to give up the smallest winged feather.
I didn’t beg to for change, from a white goose in flight by instinct
into a self-aware shadow, my breath against a mirror, as my misty proof.
Why would I ask to be born,
when, perhaps, I rested, such unyielding and quiet marble
or, instead, a cloud adrift, creating shapes.
I did not seek this long, dark fall into disgrace,
as who, upon being asked, would seek a choice for failure or
for grace; who dares to answer such a call
from even the most high, sacred thing of all?
Who could acquiesce into a helpless, mewling baby
so dependent on imperfect beings, also lost? So, I list, less brave than
those who may have answered firmly to the question, “Yes.”
Though I did not cry out to be born, and though at
times lifelessness calls long and gentle through the marrow of my bones,
I also did not seek to be dead,
I desired not to live and not to die, at all.
Yet here I stand, steady on my feet. Each day
falls, sometimes restless, at other times replete,
and though I grew, loved and hated, fearless but small,
wrinkles collect at last like dander of pets, long buried under my toes.
Still, I cannot understand how I could ever give assent
to a maker who engraved upon my new sprung body both my birth and death date.
Although many whom I loved, on hearing the call, dove
steep over life, to nothing at all…. I will remember I
did not seek one lucid breath, one single step of this, yet
around me swirl all colors, shapes and sounds I am permitted sense.
And still, there linger days in which I pretend I do not recognize my name.
I wonder what inside this world would have changed? Would
my son have been born to another mother, would my
husband have sought to find a different mate, would he have been
happier or sadder, would he have chosen flight beside me
like a homing pigeon, streaking above, instead?
I do not know, but I know this. Each birthday I gaze around
and wonder, Did I ask for it? Or, did another fail before my place in
line, and I was beckoned forward into a life which sometimes doesn’t seem to
fit the shoes upon my feet? My head tilts weary as
I inspect my place. I’m tired and I sense the space,
the one, the sleeping self, the less weary indemnity we term “Heaven.”
Perhaps, upon my death I’ll beg my coffin and my resting ground for mercy
instead; to turn me to a tree—a tall and quiet oak, spinning carbon dioxide
into oxygen. My being enacting photosynthesis, sprouting leaves
and seeds; resting, my feet will no longer walk, penetrating deep
into the earth. I will not breathe, nor think, I may
remember, but I will not speak. For I will hold my breath,
my shoots will drink the water from above, the nutrients beneath.
I’ll grow, straight tall and free; and if there is a single thought at all
it will never be: Another birthday, to remind me, once afresh.
Anna
Happy Birthday
The way I see it, I do not recall requesting to be born,
all unaware, I rose to the top of the victimhood heap
shadow steps walked me, inexorable, coaxing me to sleep
to spring, reborn; far below now, faint and shifting in my eyes-- the earth.
No, I don’t remember demanding for my birth,
to be delivered to my unchosen mother my
similarly unclean and sinning sisters and brothers
to my absent and indifferent father; nor society, no
I did not request a single breath
or to give up the smallest winged feather.
I didn’t beg to for change, from a white goose in flight by instinct
into a self-aware shadow, my breath against a mirror, as my misty proof.
Why would I ask to be born,
when, perhaps, I rested, such unyielding and quiet marble
or, instead, a cloud adrift, creating shapes.
I did not seek this long, dark fall into disgrace,
as who, upon being asked, would seek a choice for failure or
for grace; who dares to answer such a call
from even the most high, sacred thing of all?
Who could acquiesce into a helpless, mewling baby
so dependent on imperfect beings, also lost? So, I list, less brave than
those who may have answered firmly to the question, “Yes.”
Though I did not cry out to be born, and though at
times lifelessness calls long and gentle through the marrow of my bones,
I also did not seek to be dead,
I desired not to live and not to die, at all.
Yet here I stand, steady on my feet. Each day
falls, sometimes restless, at other times replete,
and though I grew, loved and hated, fearless but small,
wrinkles collect at last like dander of pets, long buried under my toes.
Still, I cannot understand how I could ever give assent
to a maker who engraved upon my new sprung body both my birth and death date.
Although many whom I loved, on hearing the call, dove
steep over life, to nothing at all…. I will remember I
did not seek one lucid breath, one single step of this, yet
around me swirl all colors, shapes and sounds I am permitted sense.
And still, there linger days in which I pretend I do not recognize my name.
I wonder what inside this world would have changed? Would
my son have been born to another mother, would my
husband have sought to find a different mate, would he have been
happier or sadder, would he have chosen flight beside me
like a homing pigeon, streaking above, instead?
I do not know, but I know this. Each birthday I gaze around
and wonder, Did I ask for it? Or, did another fail before my place in
line, and I was beckoned forward into a life which sometimes doesn’t seem to
fit the shoes upon my feet? My head tilts weary as
I inspect my place. I’m tired and I sense the space,
the one, the sleeping self, the less weary indemnity we term “Heaven.”
Perhaps, upon my death I’ll beg my coffin and my resting ground for mercy
instead; to turn me to a tree—a tall and quiet oak, spinning carbon dioxide
into oxygen. My being enacting photosynthesis, sprouting leaves
and seeds; resting, my feet will no longer walk, penetrating deep
into the earth. I will not breathe, nor think, I may
remember, but I will not speak. For I will hold my breath,
my shoots will drink the water from above, the nutrients beneath.
I’ll grow, straight tall and free; and if there is a single thought at all
it will never be: Another birthday, to remind me, once afresh.
Anna
My poem for a gravestone
Stop gentle reader as you pass by
As you are now so once was I
As I am now so you must be
Prepare for death and follow me
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