Saturdays in the Greenhouse

After an exhausting day ridding the greenhouse of vermin, Rutger took a snooze in the catnip.

Photo taken with my Blackberry Storm

Snowmageddon 2.0

This time the forecast was right. Snowstorm overnight, followed by a blizzard in the late afternoon. Up to 20" of precipitation expected. Blowing and drifting snow. White-out conditions. No one should be driving unless it’s an emergency. But you know there are always a few idiots who ignore the warnings and are out driving around.

Yesterday, I was one of those idiots.

I didn’t mean to be one of those idiots. When I got up that morning, the overnight storm was mostly over leaving 4" to 5" of snow. It was snowing lightly when I went out about 12:30 PM, shoveled my driveway and cleaned off my car, finishing a little after 1 PM. Then I went back inside, did some emails, printed a couple of recipes for the annual Wooden Spoon Valentine’s Day dinner (this year’s theme is “harmonious pairings”) and took a shower before heading off to work. When I looked out the window 45 minutes later, it was snowing so hard my driveway didn’t look as if I had done any shoveling and my car had disappeared.

My common sense also disappeared. The plow had been through my neighborhood several times during the morning. Reasoning that the highways are always in better condition than the residential streets, I thought all I had to do was make my way a few blocks to Rt 28, the main drag through my town, and I would be fine.

Rt 28 was in worse shape than my street. There was no traffic, just wall-to-wall plows falling hopelessly behind the predicted blowing and drifting snow. Again, I (falsely) reasoned that there would be more traffic on Rt. 22, the heavily traveled highway I take to work, so it would be in better condition.

It was, but just barely. And deteriorating fast. By the time I reached my exit 40 minutes later (twice the normal 20 minutes), it was snowing at a rate of 2 inches per hour and visibility was down to about two car lengths. I didn’t exit the highway, I slid off of it, white-knuckling my way to Springfield Avenue. Two traffic lights later, I discovered that Cardinal Drive hadn’t been plowed. I couldn’t even see it. I made my best guess where it was based on the position of the traffic light, turned left and started ramming my car through a foot of snow.

Thank goodness for front-wheel drive. And for all of you sissies out there who are weeping and wailing on the evening news: I am the proud owner of a 2007 Toyota Camry. I have never had any problems with mats or accelerator pedals. Mr. Secretary, you will have to pry my Camry from my cold, dead hands.

I reached the end of the street to find that the parking lot had been plowed. They were just finishing up as I drove in. I’m sure the crew thought I was out of my mind, trotting into a building that everyone else had exited hours ago. I paged management to let them know that I was in, then called the nightshift guy and told him to forget coming in. If road conditions were this bad now, and the storm was predicted to last until midnight, there was no way that he was going to make it in at 10 PM nor did I want to be trying to drive home at my usual midnight. I fired up my PC and settled in for the night.

At this point, I’m sure you’re wondering why I was so hellbent on going to work. Very simply, we just moved into this building. We haven’t had a chance to test the generator so we have no idea if it will failover or not. Management needed a body in the building overnight in case of a power failure during the storm. If we lost power and the generator failed, then I would have to make the call to the GM that no data center employee ever wants to make: there has been a power outage, the genny has failed and we are on UPS.

For those of you who are not fluent in "GeekSpeak", that means that the data center would be running on a backup battery which lasts only 20 minutes, a terribly small window of opportunity to perform an orderly shutdown of the network. There’s no way that we would be able to shut down more than a hundred servers within 20 minutes, so we would try to shut down and "save" the important ones, and hope that the others wouldn’t be damaged or lose data when the battery was drained and the power suddenly went out.

It was at this point that the realization was made that we have no flashlights. A flashlight is crucial because the best way to know if the generator is running would be for me to make my way in total darkness (because the generator is only for the data center) to the stairwell on the far side of the building from my desk, climb up one flight of stairs, again in total darkness, and listen for the generator which is located on the roof. Very high tech, I know.

Fortunately, I work with a really great guy. He is so well-liked by everyone in the company that our programmers, who are mainly Indian, have made him an honorary Punjabi and bestowed the name "Geet Singh" on him. Geet is one those people who has everything you could possibly need squirreled away in his cubicle. We have known each other so long and so well (we went to computer school together) that I knew he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed the small flashlight he uses when working in tight spaces or poorly lit areas.

The other essential tool I needed, a snow shovel, I had tossed into my trunk before leaving home. Having worked the nightshift for the past six years, I am accustomed to digging my car out after the parking lot is plowed in the morning. We are in a new building with a new plowing company so at 5 AM when I heard the plow arrive, I dashed downstairs to ask if they could try not to plow me in too badly.

It was the same crew that had seen me arrive 13 hours before. One of them was already cleaning the snow off of my car. They jokingly asked if I had slept at the office overnight. When I responded that I was working a double shift because no one else could come in, all three grabbed snow shovels and dug out my car.

I was amazed and grateful. Time is money for these guys. They have other parking lots to plow and then day jobs to go to. Thanks to them, when I left work a few hours later, all I had to do was scrape the ice off of my windows.

It reminded me of all the stories I have heard about how neighborly people are in New Jersey. I always try to be a good neighbor, helping out when asked or offering to lend a hand unasked. Wish I could say it’s reciprocated. Sadly, I wasn’t at all surprised when I got home to see that every driveway in my neighborhood had been cleared except mine. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for 15 years. Everyone knows me. Everyone knows that I am single and live alone. Everyone knows that I work nights. And they know that I don’t own a snowblower. They never hesitate to ask me for favors but no one even had the humanity to clear out the huge pile that the plow left at the end of my driveway.

My trusty snow shovel was in my trunk but I had been awake for more than 24 hours. I was too exhausted to shovel my driveway. I left my car parked in the street, climbed the glacier left by the plow, then wearily trudged up my driveway to the house. The Fur Patrol was glad to see me. They were hungry for their breakfast. I fed them and then collapsed into bed.

Would you be surprised to learn that I am not upset with my selfish neighbors? I’m a firm believer in karma. What goes around, comes around. This will come back to them and bite them in the ass. As for me, I will continue to do favors for my neighbors and anyone else that needs my help. I know that it will come back to me. It did this morning when three good Samaritans took time out from their workday to shovel out my car so that I would be able to go home and sleep.

Back in the Greenhouse

There is no better way to spend a cold winter afternoon than working in a greenhouse. The warmth is welcome as are the growing plants. The greenhouse at Rutgers Gardens has been busy since last fall. The tropicals were all brought before the first frost. Plants have been divided and bulbs have been cleaned and stored. Then cuttings were begun.

If you have ever been to the Spring Flower Fair, you might be surprised to learn that some of the thousands of plants offered for sale started out as cuttings in the greenhouse. In past years, I’ve helped with the coleus cuttings. Today, I was working on scented geranium cuttings. I loved the scent of the rose geraniums so instead of discarding the leaves that I cut off, I brought them home to scent my living room. Kind of casual potpourri.

When I finished, I gave the cuttings a big drink of water. The misting table didn’t seem to be working.  Coleus cuttings were dry and shriveling up. I watered them also then notified the horticulturist via email of the problem with the misting table when I got home.

I remembered to slip a few treats for Rutger into my pocket on my way out of the house. He kept me company while I worked.

A Christmas Story

In the spirit of the season, I’d like to share with you my favorite Christmas story. But I have to warn you. Don’t expect a sweet, syrupy tale of a Christmas miracle. I start out each December decorating my tree while wearing a hat that says “Bah Humbug” and listening to parodies of Christmas carols, dogs barking Christmas carols, chipmunks singing carols and my all-time favorite, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”. I love Christmas in my own twisted way.

So, without further ado, I present my favorite Christmas story:

I may be jinxing myself, but I have never had a problem mixing cats and Christmas trees. Our first cat, who came to us courtesy of a sign for free kittens tacked to the community bulletin board at the grocery store, completely ignored the tree and its decorations in favor of the tree skirt.

He loved sneaking under the tree, messing up the carefully arranged skirt and then curling up in the resulting nest of fabric, with a look that clearly said “I’ve been a bad boy, haven’t I?”. Thrilled that he had no interest in my precious glass ornaments, I gladly played along, scolding him out from under the tree and then carefully smoothing and arranging the skirt back into a perfect circle. I swear he was grinning as he ran from the room.

We played this game over and over again every year during the month of December until his untimely death at age 9 from kidney cancer.

Our next cat was a pure-bred Maine Coon who made up in fur for what he lacked in personality. He came to live with us in January, so I had almost a year of anguished waiting. Finally, the big day came. The tree was brought home, the lights and beads were strung and the fragile glass ornaments were carefully unwrapped and hung on the branches. I took a deep breath and waited.

And waited. And waited. Mr. Total Lack of Personality had no interest in the tree or the skirt. He did, however, develop a taste for the water in the tree stand. I knew that poinsettias were poisonous for cats so I researched online to see if evergreens were in any way harmful to felines. The answer came soon enough, offline.

Mr. TLoP developed diarrhea. Explosive diarrhea. Projectile diarrhea. You could tell when a spasm hit. His head would jerk up. Then his face would assume a pained expression and he would race for the litterbox where he would squat, vainly trying to confine the contents of his bowels to that small rectangle of litter. Instead, to the accompaniment of loud farts, he would spew poop all over his litterbox and the surrounding walls and floor. He was mortified.

After a weekend of scrubbing cat feces from walls and floor, I stuffed him into his carrier and took him to the vet who prescribed kitty Kaopectate and sent us home with stern instructions to cover the tree stand and keep an eye out to make sure that Mr. TLoP didn’t drink any more tree water.

There was no need for the admonishment. Mr. TLoP had learned his painful and embarrassing lesson. He drank only from his water bowl and steered clear of that shiny, dangerous thing in the living room.

Swarthmore Arboretum

After our tour of Chanticleer, we took advantage of the picnic area to have lunch. Then it was off to Swarthmore Arboretum. The arboretum is located on the campus which has many beautiful buildings.

There are hidden gardens.

And inviting places to sit.

My favorite place?

The rose garden, of course!


Or maybe it’s the shady amphitheatre.

 
I wonder . . .
 

 
…is this real or a clever garden ornament?
 
We were exhausted after walking all day.
 

 
We wondered if this kitty was willing to share his bench.
 

And that’s the end of my tail tale.

You can see all of my photos of Swarthmore arboretum on Flickr.

Morris County Farms

Thankfully, for my wallet’s sake, there are no nurseries like this near me.

I’ve seen heron fountains and frog fountains, but I’ve never seen an otter fountain. Have you?

Not all of the greenhouses were filled with plants. Some had aisles and aisles of holiday décor, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas.

This was taken with my cell phone but it still looks good. It was even better in person. I have a terrible weakness for glass Christmas ornaments. I promised myself that I would only make a purchase if I found something really, really unusual. What were the chances, right?

Two words: Big Ben

And, of course, every greenhouse needs a cat.

This one was named “Oz”.

You can see more photos of my visit to Morris County Farms on Flickr

Where's Waldo (Feline Edition)

Can you spot the cat in this picture?

Bad Habits

Rory and I both like the Book Review section, but for different reasons

My basement has had a bad odor for a while. I wasn’t too concerned at first. All the houses on my side of the street get water in the basement, so it always smells kinda funky down there. But this wasn’t the usual mildew smell. And it wasn’t a dead animal smell either. I don’t have to worry about that. I have the Fur Patrol Pest Control service. My cats catch and kill any vermin that sneaks into my house and then deposit the remains on my kitchen floor for me to dispose of.

No, this smelled very much like cat poop. Which was very strange because my guys have excellent litterbox manners. The smell has been growing stronger. I finally decided to have a look around this past weekend while I was dragging ornament boxes upstairs. I was horrified to find . . . a big pile of cat poop. Horrified not because I have cat poop in my basement. That’s easily cleaned up. I was horrified because it means that at least one of my cats is having litterbox issues which usually signals illness. The question was which cat?

My basement does not have a door so all three cats wander freely up and down the stairs. It’s their favorite hiding place when visitors come to the door. Except Rory, of course. He works very hard at fulfilling his duties as Official Greeter. When he is not welcoming guests, he too likes to spend time in the basement. I usually see him in the laundry room.

Today, I lucked out. I heard the familiar sound of post-poop scratching and ran down the basement stairs to see who it was. And there was Rory, hiding under a table looking very guilty. He was probably very surprised when I didn’t yell at him.

Another piece of luck: I have to make an appointment to take Tuvok, the big Maine Coon, to the vet for his annual check-up. At 22 pounds, it’s always an event when he goes to the vet in his enormous carrier. Everyone in the waiting room wants to know what kind of an animal is inside because all they can see is a big ball of fur quaking in fear in the back. I’ll make two appointments and bring them both in at the same time. I’m only willing to do that because they travel in carriers.

Many years ago when I was married and owned two dogs, the vet suggested that I bring both in at the same time instead of making two trips. Much like Communism, this was an idea that sounded good in theory but in practice was disastrous. Getting two dogs into the car was a breeze. What dog doesn’t like going for a ride in the car? No, it was once we were underway that the trouble began. Both dogs decided that the best seat in the car was in my lap.

My dog, a Cocker Spaniel, fit into my lap very nicely. It was a little difficult reaching around her for the stick shift but still doable. Then the Dalmatian, my husband’s dog, climbed into my lap. Not only was there no room, but he was so large that I couldn’t see around him. Imagine that you are driving down a local New Jersey road and come upon a Volvo seemingly driven by a Dalmatian and weaving all over the road.

Fortune was smiling on us that day. We made it safely to the vet and back. Ever since then, I have always brought my pets to the vet one at a time.