Dogs, Fleas, Knees

Back in June, we noticed fleas covered both dogs. And the cat. And us whenever we worked outside for any appreciable time. Yuck. Fleas. It’s been a bad year for fleas.

We found a carpet spray and vacuumed like crazy. But when 11-year-old grandson came for a short visit, he spent a lot of time picking fleas up off the floor and putting them in baggies. Jim and grandson drowned the fleas in hot water. Double yuck.

After sending grandson home, we bombed the garage and two bedrooms. We tore the living room apart, washed and sprayed and vacuumed. We sprayed the yard, both front and back, for fleas. We took the dogs to the groomer, had Juno shaved, and had the groomer apply more Frontline.

Oh, did I forget to say we regularly applied Frontline?

We bought a flea comb for the cat. We set up a light at night and used the sticky backside of vinyl tiles to catch fleas. And boy howdy, did we catch ’em.

Jim brought home stories from the golf course of others with a similar flea problem.

And then…

Getting the dogs and cat ready for their annual pilgrimage to the vet, Juno tripped me. August 4, it was. I’d already overworked my knees trying to clear gardens for a fall planting. But now unable to put any weight on my left knee, I hightailed it to the urgent care. They suggested crutches and an orthopedic surgeon. He suggested an MRI and cortisone. After a month with cane and/or crutches, I ended up at physical therapy.

I can walk again, but have been repeatedly warned to stay off it. For more than a month. So no walking for me, probably through September. My gardens are a disaster. My pets have gone a little feral.

This wouldn’t have happened except for the dogs and the fleas. Right?

And now we are finding … moles …


With the Best of Intentions

Yeah, it’s June and the last time I wrote a Blog here was in April. My bad.

Today I pulled gray shallots out of the ground — a plant I’d never tried before and probably won’t again. My ups and downs with gray shallots would’ve made a good Blog. But, no go.

I’ve had wild success with daylilies this year. Except. The ink on the labels I prepared vanished over the winter. I’ve no idea what’s what. That would’ve made a good Blog. But. Nope.

I’ve noticed a few new folks following in the last couple months, and I had to wonder why. NG-Blues started off as a record of the trials and tribulations of an inexperienced gardener.

In the last four years, I’ve learned … what? That with sunlight, water, weeding, and fertilizer, things that grow in Kansas will grow. That some things don’t grow in Kansas–blueberries, for example–without a degree of dedication and heroism I’m not willing to give. That it’s best to garden early in the morning before the bees arrive. That keeping track of when it rains makes decisions about watering easier.

So there it is.

Meanwhile, I’ve moved on to other projects that take a lot of time. My garden is up-to-date. My Blog, not so much.

A name change for the Blog is in order, and I’m thinking on it.

Meanwhile, here’s my favorite photo from this year’s flower garden. So far.

April Fool

The joke’s on me! I had no time in March to write my second Blog. We had solar installed instead – quite the process. We’re still chasing pantry moths, though not as many. The exterminator I spoke with said, “It’s a process.” Indeed!

So what with one thing and another, I have had no time to Blog about the spring garden. And I’m not gardening because it turned cold – April Fools – and wet.

I’m out of excuses. Here are some of my favorite spring photos from the past week.

The sweet gum tree against the still-winter sky.

My three-year-old red bud. I was told it wouldn’t survive. It’s thriving!

Bleeding heart starting to bloom. A bit early.

Daffodils this week. Maybe tulips next if the sum comes out.

If the weather ever turns spring-like, I may Blog more. Happy April!


Who knows where they came from?

Maybe someone left the door open a skosh too long, allowing one to wander in from outside. Maybe one rode home from the organic food store, hidden among the bulk almonds or granola. Maybe one was hiding in a brown paper sack or in a reusable cloth bag stored in the car.

Wherever they came from, they arrived last year. My husband, Jim, who notices such things, looked up from his Kindle.

“Did you see that?” he asked. I think it was a year ago January.

“Was it a bug? If it was, you know I don’t want to see it.”

“A moth,” he replied. “Just a moth.”

We kept seeing ‘just a moth’ for weeks. I cleaned out the large pantry and set up moth traps. The problem seemed to diminish. We still saw them, but only one a week. Or two. Or five.

Beset by a series of domestic crises, including a basement flood, we used fly swatters to kill whatever moths we noticed as they fluttered by. Then, as if we hadn’t had plenty of warning, I noticed a swarm of moths sitting on the dining room ceiling. Our pantry moth traps were loaded. I went to make a cup of coffee and three fluttered around the pot.

“Damn,” said Jim. “We have to do something before they destroy our clothing.”

Google to the rescue. Pantry and clothing moths are different. Pantry moths flitter and fly. Clothing moths do not like bright light, so aren’t often seen. Clean everything, said the experts on Google. Use heat to kill the eggs.

And so, it began. Cupboard by cupboard we emptied the kitchen. Every dish, every bowl, every bit of silverware went into the dishwasher on high heat. We scraped shelf liners off the shelves — that adhesive is meant to be permanent – using fingernails and straight-edged razors. First, we scrubbed, then we scoured, and then we sanded each shelf. New non-adhesive shelf liner was installed.

Moths flew out of each cupboard we opened. Not many. Two or three. Until we reached the cupboard where we keep the cereal.

Cereal is a contentious topic at our house. I don’t eat cereal, having excised all wheat products from my diet. Jim eats it every morning. I ignore this, in my opinion, unhealthy habit because Jim is months from his eightieth birthday and should be allowed to eat whatever he pleases.

Still. The cereal is his. This fact becomes important in assigning blame for the infestation.

In the cereal cupboard, we found hundreds of moths, together with the nasty, cigar-shaped strands of eggs. Yuck. We threw the cereal away. We threw the raisins away. Both heaved when we opened the boxes. Double yuck.

We scrubbed, then sanded the shelves, and finally used a hairdryer to put heat on the wood. Despite everything, the moth trap tent we put in that cupboard overnight rewarded us with three dead moths.

A week later, the kitchen has been returned to its former neatness, much cleaner, and hopefully, moth free. As we sit, Jim is watching golf on TV and I am writing this, he utters a curse and exclaims, “Look at it!”

Oh no. Another moth…

Thanks to for the public domain photo of a moth.

Ain’t Making Them the Way They Used To


Once again, the month has flown by, filled with all sorts of small, domestic crises. Our biggest problem? The ten-year-old TV started to fail. With TV prices as low as they are, it seemed prudent to buy a new one.

But let me back up. Our TV watching habits require the use of headphones. Jim watches early in the morning while I’m sleeping. I watch late at night while Jim sleeps. A silent house during those times is quite the luxury.

You may (or may not) know that headphones used to connect to the TV through an analog port known as the RCA connector, or Cinch connector, or audio jacks. The new TVs, for the most part, don’t have audio jacks. Instead, they have a digital or orbital connector, primarily for sound bars.

Just in case you haven’t figured out our problem: our old headphones won’t connect to the new TV.

So, in talking to the folks at the electronics store, we found and purchased a very expensive set of headphones that would connect with our new TV.

One problem. Out of the box, the headphones didn’t work. We read and reread the directions. We went to the manufacturer’s website and downloaded the 35-page manual. We watched the How-To video on You Tube. No dice.

This particular set of headphones has both the digital and analog connection options. We tried setting them up to our basement TV, which is still analog. Nope. Still no sound. We returned the headphones.

And drove the 35 miles back to the electronics store. Ordered another set of headphones. Received them. Guess what?
Yes, you guessed it. They didn’t work either.

We called the TV manufacturer and learned that the TV we had purchased will not support headphones. Period.

Armed with the box of headphones and the receipt for our new TV, we returned to the electronics store. Where we were told not to believe what the manufacturer had said, that the headphones would work with any TV with a digital connection.

The proof is in the pudding, right? We spent a couple of hours trying to get our headphones to work with their TVs. Would you believe it? None of the new TVs supported the headphones when using the digital connector. The only TV that will work has both analog and digital ports.

We’re still waiting for the new TV to be delivered. We’re keeping our fingers crossed. Maybe this will work. One thing is certain.

They ain’t making them the way they used to.

Words Matter

A couple years ago, I had great luck planting sugar snap peas. Only problem? The plants were so heavy with fruit that the stakes I used collapsed.

Heartened by that single success, I found, bought, and erected a pea tunnel, hoping to provide last year’s crop with greater support. Sadly, rabbits found their way into my pea bed last year. They ate the shoots emerging from the ground, and despite multiple plantings, no sugar snap peas.

Armed with products to deter rabbits and other critters, along with the addition of rabbit fencing to the bottom of my chain link fence, I bought some sugar snap pea seeds. The warm winter, with no cold weather in sight, encouraged me to think about planting in late February.

I ordered ‘early’ seeds. Here’s the blurb from the catalog.


So imagine my surprise when I received the seeds in the mail and read the back label.


Got that? Do not use for food, feed, or oil purposes.

Seriously? Why am I planting them? I reached for my phone to call the company and spoke with a very polite young man who listened to my story and then went ‘to check.’ Guess it struck him as odd, too.

Turns out, you’re not supposed to eat the SEEDS. They are treated with a fungicide called Thriam 42-S. I’ve provided the link to some EPA information, if you care to go to the trouble of looking it up.

Problem is, ‘don’t eat the seeds’ is not what the back of the seed packet implies. Something I hastened to point out to the seed catalog customer service guy. What the packet should have said was: Do not use the SEEDS for food, feed, or oil purposes.

Makes a difference, right?

Words matter. I might have written this Blog using some ‘alternative facts’ about this particular seed. The company sure left me an opening.

Words matter. Wish someone would tell that to our government. Wish someone would explain that to the media. But maybe they already know that. Maybe the goal is to tell so many lies that the truth is no longer discernable.

If that’s the case, look out!

We may all end up feasting on poison.

A Winter Experiment


I promised two Blogs a month and here it is, January 26, with only one under my belt. I’ve had plenty of ideas. Too bad for me, they’ve all been some kind of political commentary. Lucky for you, they have stayed firmly where they belong. In my mind.

January has been a warm but wet month. Not complaining about the wet. I haven’t had to haul hose yet this winter. The warm temperatures are a bit of a worry, though, with its threat of climate change. Will eastern Kansas move from Zone 6 to Zone 7? Maybe not quite yet. And as far as gardening news, I have none.

But while scrolling through Face Book one afternoon, reading all the political sturm und drang, I read about growing vegetables from veggies bought at the store. Celery in particular. I found a bit of old celery in the fridge. Since it was destined for the trash, I cut it as described in the article, plunked it into a glass of water, put it in a sunny window, and promptly forgot it.

“What’s this?” Jim asked a week or so later.

Yes, by golly, the durn thing grew. Little celery leaves poked up out of the center of the old stalk.

I looked. No roots, so I wondered if the roots were inside the stalk. Nothing loath, I planted the entire stalk in a four inch African Violet pot with some AV soil. And now comes the experiment.


How will I know success? When I have a bunch of celery I can eat. Honestly, I don’t think this method will ever replace going to the store and buying some. I don’t have room for hydroponics in my basement. But as an experiment into what works and what doesn’t, I’m curious. And open.

Which leads me to my amateur political punditry. We’re in the middle of a grand, disruptive experiment in our country. I was against it all the way, but I accept that it’s here. Like the celery, I don’t know whether this will be something we want to keep on doing once winter is done.

For me, I’ll know when I’ve had enough. I have a bottom line. People, not profits.

Those of you who follow me on Face Book know that I’ve been touting that mantra for the past few months. People, not profits. I’m hoping that our government has a heart for its people. If not, well, I hope the people know what to do next.

Onward to February!