Desert Survivors with The Happy Ladies Club

Miss Vicki organized a trip to Desert Survivors last week.  The Happy Ladies Club Gardening Group is a fluid bunch; those who were regulars have disappeared and new members have joined and I've been absent for much too long.  I forgot how inspiring it is to be surrounded by others who share a passion; the plants looked much different after hearing how they grew in this one's front yard, in that one's courtyard, in a pot by another's poolside. After three hours of garden gossip, I was energized.... and so was my credit card.  Shopping for plants is the gardener's joy and abyss... there is really no reason to stop, it seems, since everything looks so luscious. 

I was good - I bought only this leopard succulent... whose name escapes me.  

But, I'm getting ahead of the story.

 

Desert Survivors is a human service organization with a botanic twist.

Set on 3.8 acres at the base of A Mountain

it carries 550 species of native plants.

There are five professional nursery staffers and a slew of developmentally disabled worker bees.

That's the beauty of Desert Survivors - both the plants and the workers are trying to establish a foothold in the world around them.  Just as native plants, insects, and animals coexist, so do the disabled staffers.  They dig and carry and plant and tend and interact with the shoppers as we wander from row

to row.

Can you see how tempting it was?

Aren't you proud of the restraint I showed?

 

The nursery prides itself on learning to cultivate native, oddball plants.  Arizona, according to our docent, is the third most biodiverse state in the USofA, following Texas and California.  Desert Survivor staff collect seeds from local yards while trying to stay out of collecting in the wild.  Removing five pounds of seeds from the wild removes five pounds of bird and animal food from the area; that rankles the sensitivities of the staff.  So, they beg seeds from friends and neighbors, leaving the desert to thrive on its own.

 

Due to overwhelming unpopularity, they are phasing out the water pond plants

There was only this one barrel of specimens from which to choose.

There were lots of cacti

and trees of all sizes and shapes.

We stood under their shade as our docent regaled us with facts. 

There are lots of minerals but they are bound up in the soil.  They are not accessible to the plants.  Our soil has a very high ph; the high salt content of the water makes it even more so.

Rain is also acidic, and lightning in the air changes the ph temporarily.  The iron and minerals are then available to the plants.  I'm not sure how this works, but I chose to believe him.

 

As always, there were things he told us with which the Master Gardeners disagree: Don't fertilize for the first three months after planting; let the plant settle in VS Fertilize upon planting to stimulate root growth.  I suppose I could plant the same species in two similar holes and do my own experiment to see which works better in my yard, but I'm not that motivated.  For me, it depends on whether or not I have fertilizer available when I'm digging the holes.

 

It's not scientific, but it works for me.

 

There were rock gardens created by the client/staff

and although Peggy was willing to pay more than they were worth, they were not for sale.

 

These bee houses were, though. 

Since I already have a hive in my saguaro, I let others bring them home.

 

Instead, I wandered and fondled and took my one pot with three plants home with me.

I know I'll be back for more.

 

 

The Stupids Were Out Today

I had nothing scheduled this morning.  I was free to do all the errands which have piled up on the front seat of my car.  SIR has a birthday coming up, and shopping was required.  In the midst of our six week planting season, the garden store beckoned.  I woke up without an alarm or an ache or a pain.

It was shaping up to be a great day. Then, I left the house. 

There was a person in an SUV parked south-facing on the north-driving side of my little road.  There were no blinkers, no turn signals, no indication that she was doing anything but hanging out in exactly the wrong place.  I sighed, and drove by. 

Turning left across six lanes is easy; there's not a lot of traffic on what was once a sleepy two lane road.  This morning, though, every oncoming vehicle seemed determined to travel in the fast lane while proceeding at a lower-than-the-limit rate of speed.  This messes up the flow.  The spaces between blocks of cars are diminished when the stupid takes over.  I sighed, I waited some more, I drove on.

Turns out the Nike Outlet doesn't open until 10; my 9:15 arrival was overly-enthusiastic.  I drove on to the nursery and chose a tall white rose and a bushy cherry red rose and a dozen zinnias, topped it all off with a bag of the appropriate soil, and drove home behind a hundred year old man going 25 in the 45 ... in the lane I needed to make the absurd jug-handle turn into my neighborhood.  I sighed and took my foot off the gas.

Planting left me with only one scraped forearm, a fairly benign morning when dealing with roses.  The soil in the bed I chose for the zinnias has loosened up over the seven years that the yuccas and damianitas have been sending their roots around.  I'd heard of this happening but have never seen it before today. I rocked back on my heels in amazement; my trowel went in easily.  Since most of my yard is dirt, the appearance of what could honestly be called soil was startling and thrilling and gives me great hope for the zinnias.

I showered the plantings off my skin, and TBG and I went out to lunch.  Our usual breakfast place stays open til 2; we decided to try it for lunch.  We were seated in the first booth as soon as we walked in... and then the stupids began, again.  Five minutes before anyone came by.  More minutes before our water.  More minutes before the waitress stopped by to say she'd take our order in a little bit to give the kitchen a break. 

We looked at one another, at our untouched water, at the empty tables surrounding us, at one another, and then we stood up and said goodbye and walked out.  I'm not revealing the name of the place because I want to give them another chance to redeem themselves.  But turning away customers just doesn't make much sense.

Hungry, we drove to our staple, 5 Guys.  Unfortunately, so did the SUV with the Alaska plates which pulled out of the lot right in front of us.  As TBG signaled to change lanes, the SUV pulled in before us.  He tried to turn left at the NO LEFT TURN sign. He turned into the frontage road and then into the parking lot, making a full and complete stop before each maneuver.  There were no signs requiring that stop.  They must have been in his head.

Steam pouring from his ears, TBG let his road rage take over as he zoomed around the back way to the front door of the restaurant.  We had ordered and were enjoying our beverages by the time the Alaskans made their way to the door.

The trip home was uneventful.  The stupids must have been having lunch, too.

Happy April, Garden Lovers

I am tired of reading my friends' complaints.

There is snow where there should be crocus blossoms.

The bunnies are hopping through drifts, seeking sustenance.

We have no such problems here in the desert Southwest.

This volunteer desert marigold (Baileya multiradiata) is nestled comfortable beside these rocks.

The bunnies sniff but don't seem to be that interested.

The ground squirrels are clambering up the barrel cacti, pulling out the tuna and sucking the juices.

They often leave their trash behind; do you see the empty tuna on the top of his brothers?

This golden barrel cactus provided protection for the bluebells. 

Old friends are returning, too.

These clusters were planted the first year we arrived.

For the next five summers, I watched and waited and nothing happened.

Suddenly, this year, these appeared.

I'll post pictures if they turn out to be more than these green leaves.

The prickly pear cacti (Opuntia) are getting ready to bud.

The soft-in-appearance-but-dangerous-to-the-touch new paddles are green and attractive.

This year I managed to remember the existence of those pesky glochids; 

I kept my un-gloved. hands away from them. 

Proving that the right plant in the right place works every time,

this aloe's stalks are three feet high.

The goo inside the leaves soothes my pricked hands after a day in the dirt in the desert.

I can use it with impunity; more just keeps coming.

This year I put gladiolus bulbs right into the dirt.

To my amazement, they've begun to send up signs that flowers might be on their way.

The damianita to the right are in full bloom.

They are unattractive without all those yellow flowers, but they're so pretty right now that I forget how much they annoy me for eight months of the year.

This is Euphorbia Antisyphillitica and yes, they did use its sap to treat syphillis.

Those delicate pink flowers don't last very long, but they make me smile every time I see them.

This is the last full rose bloom left on the plant.

One full cycle has already bloomed and blown.

Never fear.

There's another bud right below it. 

I grow veggies, too.

This year, the cherry tomato plant never got further than a flower pot.

Still, it seems that the fruits are on their way. 

This is how the pots look without a tomato growing in their midst.

I'll have to replant them when the heat sets in, but, for now, these double petunias are simply gorgeous

(if I do say so myself).

There are special tools used for trenching, and I hired Rillito Nursery to use them and to connect a drip system to the containers around the house.

 I'm using a bit of my inheritance to pay for it, and I've felt G'ma's approving smile as I watch the workers ply their trade.

Everything was going along swimmingly until Dave pointed out the new home for migrating bees in my yard. 

He thinks they are resting before moving on.

If they are still there by Friday, he suggests I call someone.

Until then, I'm going to enjoy the spring.

Strolling the Mercado

Brenda Starr and I walked a new neighborhood on Sunday.

The Mercado is built at the western-most terminus of Tucson's new Modern Streetcar.

It channels The Old Barrio, where Brenda Starr will take me on our next perambulation.

On Sunday, we walked and were amazed.

 

There were flowers

and artistic plantings

and bright colors on a gloomy day.

The doorways were welcoming

and interesting

and the colorful houses made us smile.

 

The windows had detailed ironwork from which rastra chains

or cacti

peered.

 

The gorgeous metal work was evident on more than window boxes and grates. 

This trellis will maintain the sanctity of the structure while displaying the flora and will look elegant until it's covered with vines.  The corrugated metal fencing is a delightful shade of green.

 

There is neighborhood greenery

and water reclamation systems to maintain the personal greenery. 

 

Care is taken with every detail.

This is the most attractive downspout I've ever seen.

It empties into a downward sloping sidewalk which ends in a planting area.

We save every drop of water, even in urban hardscape.

This is a clever, uncovered, dual parking garage. 

There are empty lots if you'd like to build.

The one house for sale is listed at $579,000.

It has two bedrooms and a guest house over the garage.

 

After walking for 50 minutes without sitting (our new personal best) we settled in for coffee and conversation.

Of course, there were sweets to be had, as well.

We shared stories, admired well-behaved dogs, bought ourselves tea strainers,

and made plans for next weekend.

 

It was a perfect Sunday.

Had the Wildcats won on Saturday night, I might have considered it a perfect day.

It Didn't Have To Be That Way, BCBSAZ

I was wrong.  I didn't pay attention to the paperwork.  I made a mistake.  I'm happy to admit it.  I just wish someone had brought it to my attention in a less distasteful fashion.

BlueCross/BlueShield/Arizona raised our premiums by about 11%.  I received a letter notifying me of the change last Fall. I was stunned by the amount and the rate and I never got further down the page.

The date at which the change became effective eluded me.  I assumed they were telling me in October to give me a chance to examine my other options under the ACA before the price went up in my birthday month, February.  I would turn 62 then; I assumed that was a magic number for my insurer. Nothing else could justify such an egregious increase in monthly premiums.

I groused and I investigated but it seems that this is what it costs to insure two relatively healthy older adults in Tucson these days.  In February, I edited the automatic payment function at Compass Bank's online consumer center, and that was when the trouble began.

I received a letter late in the month, informing me that I had not paid my bill, that BCBSAZ was holding any claims for services and that my coverage would be cancelled if I didn't pay immediately.

After panicking, I went to the online banking center and reassured myself that, in fact, the payment had been made early in the month.  It reflected the new, higher amount.  I began to breathe normally, and chalked it all up to a computer glitch on the insurer's part.  The payment might have crossed with the letter; I hadn't opened it until a week or more after it had arrived in the mailbox.  Anything important comes to me via email these days.  Certainly there was nothing about the envelope which  warranted immediate attention.

On Friday, there was, once again, an envelope from BCBSAZ in my mailbox.  This time, I opened it immediately.  It was the same letter as last month.

I went straight to the bank's website and then to the phone.  I bypassed panic altogether; I moved straight to pissed off.  More than peeved, less than furious, more ornery than annoyed.... I was pissed.  Poor Shannon (not her real name) answered my call.....

finally...

after much too much time had been spent listening to loud Muzak interspersed with commercials for products and services which held no interest for me.  I tried to put it on speaker so that it wasn't up in my ear canal but TBG was watching tv and it was too loud for him.... in the next room... down the hall.....

and there was no escape, despite the fact that the voices told me to press 0 to speak to a representative.  I did.  Nothing happened.  The Muzak didn't change; the commercials remained the same; no mention was made of my place in a queue waiting for a human to answer my question... nothing.... except music I didn't like and ads I tried to ignore.

By the time Shannon began to speak, I had tuned out the sounds from the receiver to background noise.  When I heard her name, I perked up and paid attention.... but she'd gone quiet. 

"Are you going to put me on hold?"

"No.  Why would I put you on hold?"

"God only knows."  That was the state to which I had been reduced, lost in voice mail hell, feeling unloved and unappreciated and getting more and more pissed off by the minute. 

There had been a lot of minutes.

I explained my problem, she told me that the price had gone up in October, that I had underpaid and then correctly paid and that correct payment sent the system into shock and it paid itself back and then found that I was in arrears and I agreed that I was wrong and I went to online banking and made a catch-up payment and through all this solving and resolving neither one of us could figure out why it took BCBSAZ all this time to let me know that I was making a mistake.

It would have been easily rectified.  I would not have been thrown into a panic.  I'd have chastised myself for being negligent and I'd have moved on.  None of you would have been the wiser.  By choosing to telling me that our health insurance coverage .... will end on the date (our) payment was due, that date being three weeks prior to the receipt of the letter informing me of the problem, BCBSAZ chose to threaten.

It felt awful.  I was scared when I should have been abashed.  There was no need for that.
As Shannon and I were talking, I realized that I'd never considered my options through the ACA.  It never occurred to me that I could be a consumer of health insurance, that I could have options, that perforations and pre-existing-broken-body-parts would not preclude those pieces from coverage, that I ought to look around. 

"I have choices, now, you know." And Shannon paused, and agreed.  I'd always thought of BlueCross as the gold standard of policies.  Customer service has been quick and bright and helpful.... right up until now.  The notion that I might leave gave me a shiver of delight.  The power... the control... the sense of self-worth.

That's what pissed me off about the whole thing - it was so disrespectful. Poor Shannon had to listen.

I was over the top but I was also right; that's a dangerous combination for someone with my up-bringing.  Channeling Daddooooo results in nothing but angst on both sides of the interaction. These days, I try to imagine Little Cuter's smiling face and gentle tone... and sometimes it even manages to break through sixty some years of conditioning. 

Shannon helped me get through to the other side; by the time we hung up I was looking for contact person to whom I could send a complimentary note. She spelled the name, and I repeated it.  I looked on the letterhead for the address....and there was none. 

Even Shannon had to laugh.

It's such a simple thing to fix: provide an estimated wait time for the caller; offer a call-back option; change the message when I press 0; inform me as soon as the payments go awry.

Calling yourselves the Member Concierge Department is a nice touch, but it's no substitute for respectful and timely communications.

Jump Rope for Heart

Miss Goldman, P.E. instructor extraordinaire,

had the whole school out on the playground this morning......

 

 including the principal. 

It was the Annual Jump Rope for Heart Field Day.

As Prince's Official Adopted Grandmother, I was an honored guest.

 

There were non-competitive games on the grass,

but this year I stayed on the cement, watching,

along with those astonished boys,

 as a teacher showed her stuff.

 

She wasn't the only one having a good time.

Some held one end of the rope for those in line

 

watching as amazing things happened

The kid really had hops

Yes, he's on his fingertips.

 

And this one is inches off the ground while flipping the rope and jumping.

Other girls were jumping, too,

even if their clothing was often less than hospitable to the activity

She didn't let tradition get in the way of fun.

She jump-walked all around the concrete.

 

Next year, this one will wear sneakers: 

 

There was attitude in abundance

although some of it turned to shyness when approached

 

There was much preparation

 

 

And there was much jumping. 

 

 

 

It was a wonderful morning.

 

There were two members of the Amphitheatre School Board sharing the joy.

 

"It seems these kids give as much to you as you do to them."

 

Truer words have never been spoken.