One man, one woman, one cat. That’s how Lars and I started out. Continue reading
One man, one woman, one cat. That’s how Lars and I started out. Continue reading
This week, we are suffering a crisis out of all proportion: one of us had had a technical emergency involving a hotel boy and a laptop, while the other has been flying Economy and drinking wine out of plastic cups. Oh, the unspeakable horror! Continue reading
As fall approaches, the annual spate of “What to Wear to Look Like a Total Hot Tamale This Fall!1!” articles are starting to proliferate. In magazines and online, fashion rules and trends are popping up like mushrooms. This season, we’re supposed to Continue reading
I have turned over a new leaf. Given my attitude a hard look and found it wanting. Discovered that while “good enough” might be okay, “my very best” is a whole lot better. Yes, I have decided to become a try-hard ninja, at least when it comes to Words with Friends.
Here’s how it happened. When my old iPhone finally joined the choir eternal a few weeks ago, and I had to replace it, I also had to transfer over all the various apps that make my life worth living. You know the ones: 2048, Dots, Words with Friends…
And of course, technology being what it is, the transition wasn’t all lotus petals and chocolate bonbons. Words with Friends, in particular, decided to get all difficult and tetchy, with the result that I wound up erasing it and re-re-installing it. All fine and dandy, except that for reasons that still elude me, the game started treating me as though I’d never played before. As in, my previous rather dismal record was wiped clean.
At first I was annoyed, but then I realized that this could be an opportunity in disguise.
You see, up till a couple of weeks ago, I treated Words with Friends as a doddle in the park: if I could find a word that fit the board and got me a few points, good enough! In it went, and I considered my job done. Off to the next game!
But when I realized that I was starting fresh with a new scoreboard, something came over me. I started staring at the letters on my board, trying them in different permutations and combinations, calculating how many points I could scrounge out of 5 vowels, an X and a P. I stopped just accepting the first word that occurred to me, and started actually investing myself in the game.
This isn’t the first time in my life I decided to stop taking the easy way out, so it’s not an entirely new experience. Still, I’d forgotten how good it feels to really throw my all into an endeavour (even one as trivial as Words with Friends).
Here’s my confession: I have a tendency to coast, to accept less than my personal best. I tell myself it’s okay, that I’m saving my brainpower for more important things, but that’s just an excuse for laziness, isn’t it?
Back in high school, I was quite possibly the laziest student in my class. I took a certain amount of (completely unjustified) pride in my ability to coast through classes without doing much of anything. Studying? That was for losers. Why bother, when I could drag myself out of bed, stagger to an exam, write it in my sleep, and still pass the course?
The fact that I was getting 60s and 70s didn’t faze me—what mattered was that I was getting promoted from grade to grade. It wasn’t until my Grade 12 English teacher, Mrs. Bolton, inexplicably saw fit to give me the English award for that year that I smartened up, at least somewhat.
Somehow, being told that someone had detected something award-worthy in me prompted me to up my game. In Grade 13, my final year of high school, I suddenly morphed from slacker to try-hard: I threw myself into my school work, started writing up a storm, memorized great honking swaths of Shakespeare and Tennyson, immersed myself in literary theory, and at the end of Grade 13, came away with two more awards.
Just as having my Words with Friends app mysteriously reset itself offered me a chance to redeem my old, lazy ways, getting that first English award seemed to ignite something in me.
It’s occurred to me recently that maybe my tendency to coast is only partly due to the fact that I am bone-lazy. Maybe it’s also partly due to a secret belief that if I were to give it my all and still fail, I’d reveal myself as not half as intelligent as people think I am. Which is ridiculous, of course. Smart people fail all the time.
I hadn’t thought of it that way before. This may take some adjustment.
Meanwhile, meet the new try-hard ninja on Words with Friends: I am kicking ass and taking names, and it feels damn good.
While you were gallivanting off to Italy with a much younger man, I’ve been engaging in hand-to-hand combat with my long-time mortal enemy, The Dandelion.
First, let me set the stage.
Our back yard is dominated by a mega-gigundo silver maple tree, which casts a lovely leafy shade over the entire garden area. Very nice for sipping morning coffee under. Not so great for growing things.
If you’re familiar with maples, you’ll know that they’re butt-lazy. Unlike other trees, whose root systems dig deep into the earth in search of water, maples take the easy way out, and simply spread their roots a couple of inches under the surface of the soil (or in our case, what used to pass for a “lawn”), in a circumference that’s about as wide as they are tall. This way, they readily suck up all the available water, leaving the area around them parched as a bone.
Oh yeah, and as their roots age they get all big and knobbly, and push up through the soil, creating lumps and bumps to trip the unwary gardener. That would be moi.
So yeah, maple trees are dicks. And we’ve got us a big one.
Well, it’s like this. Evil ginormous maple tree slurps up all the water that the grass would normally drink. It cuts off the sunlight the grass needs to grow. The poor grass presses the back of its hand against its forehead and goes gently into that good night. So long, grass, it was nice to know you.
At which point, the poor yellow trash of the plant world moves in to take the lawn’s place. Dandelions don’t much care about water. They don’t much care about shade. All they need is a bit of dirt (or even a crack in the sidewalk), and they’re in business.
I admit that a field of dandelions in full bloom can look kind of…pretty. Or at least very yellow. And I know their leaves, when young and tender, make a nice salad. So I’m cool with having a few dandelions out there, just to liven things up.
But when they get all aggressive and territorial, and start settling in, revving their motorcycles, and holding wild parties and leaving their beer bottles and cigarette butts all over the lawn? I’m not so thrilled.
I spent last weekend in the garden, and about 90% of my time was spent waging war against the dandelions that have become my unwanted guests.
Armed only with my highly specialized Dandelion Digger of Doom, I’d park myself on a patch of our ex-lawn and start digging.
There’s a trick to removing dandelions, you know. You can’t just pick them or worse, mow them into submission. If you try to pick them, their root systems remain intact, and they grow back with even greater ferocity later. Ditto if you mow them down—cutting their little heads off doesn’t even faze them. Plus, they go to seed and spread their foul progeny around the garden, just for spite.
“Hahahaha,” they chorus in their insolent little voices. “Nice try.” And then they dig in deeper, and grow back bigger and stronger.
You have to literally dig them up by the roots, and since they’re very good at putting down long, tenacious roots, you need a specialized tool. Hence the Dandelion Digger of Doom.
On my first round a couple of weeks ago, I dug up (yes, I was counting) 400 dandelion plants before I finally gave in and called it a day. Actually, I didn’t give in, my back did, but that’s because I was bending from the waist. Just ask my chiropractor: that’s a definite no-no, and I was walking around like the hunchback of Notre Dame for a week or so.
This time I got wise, and used one of our Adirondack chairs as my home base. Easier on the back, but it does mean I have to get up and haul my chair around with me as I go. Using this strategy, I’ve dug up another 200 dandelions. As I work, I leave their corpses in little piles around the lawn as a warning to the others…though eventually I’ll collect them all and send them to the city compost, far far away from my lawn. And me.
You’d think that would do it, wouldn’t you?
Sadly, I’ve only scratched the surface in my dandelion extermination program. The yard is still crawling with them, but I’m determined to get them under control. As I go, I’m reseeding the empty patches with clover, a much more polite and friendly little visitor than the Dandelion Menace.
I’ll never have a model lawn (thanks, Giant Maple Tree!) but at least I can have the satisfaction of knowing that I have a (more or less) dandelion-free zone, however temporarily.
And that would be me.