I Like Onions

Onions are a “cool weather“ vegetable.  Anyone who’s anyone in the gardening world knows this. But it’s the definition of “cool” that alluded me.  I think of “cool” as in the 40’s and 50’s, perhaps.  I really had no idea that it means “0”, as in zero degrees.  In my dictionary, zero degrees is downright cold!

Aside from that, and without ever checking the actual definition of “cool weather” for these plants, I went ahead and planted some onion sets a few weeks.  And those brave little things are growing!  It’s been very “cool”–as in the 20’s some days– but those onions are liking it.  They’ll be ready for harvesting in a week or so (well, they could be harvested now but I’ll give them a little more time.)

And the kale has sprouted as has my spinach and the swiss chard, and peas are starting to make an appearance.  I’m amazed.  I had no idea they liked it this “cool”. This is all very exciting and I’m very proud of these brave little seeds.

And something else I learned.  All these years I’ve been singing the chorus of the I Like Onions song,  wrong.  I thought it went:

Onions, onions, yeah, yeah, yeah,

Onion, onions, yeah, yeah, yeah

Oh, oh, I like onions!

Wrong.  It’s:

Onions, onions, la-la-la!

Onions, onions, ha-ha-ha!

Root doot doot-doot, doot doot doot.  

Frankly,  I like my version better

Another Coffee Mug

If your birthday is approaching and someone asks you, “What do you want for your birthday,” l know you  won’t answer, “Another coffee mug.”  No one asks for coffee mugs.  Coffee mugs just appear.

You no doubt have a cupboard full of them, probably no two alike, and none of them asked for.  They arrived from workshops you attended, fundraising events you donated to, the office Christmas party, and leftovers from your college roommate who couldn’t pack another thing. They sit on the shelf huddled together collecting dust and doing whatever else unloved coffee mugs do.

But I suspect that amongst the huddled masses there are one or two mugs that capture your fancy when it’s time for a homemade coffee or a cup of tea after dinner. I have mine.

It’s a big mug, the biggest in the house and it has a frog on it ( I collect frogs). But that’s not why it’s my favorite.  It happens to be from Mexico which moves it up on the list.  But the real reason it’s my favorite is that it’s from my son-in-law.  He bought it for me on his first trip to Mexico.  I think he saw the frog and thought of me (which is the best part of collecting anything.  When people know you collect whatever-it-is that you collect, they often think of you when they see that thing)  and so he bought me the cup as a souvenir.

Who needs another mug?  No one.  Everyone has too many mugs.  I have at least 2 dozen, not counting the unused coffee cups that are part of our china set.

But my Mexican frog cup?  Indispensable.  Every time I fix myself a cup of tea in my Mexican frog mug I think of my son-in-law,and his thoughtful gift, and his lovely wife,  and Mexico, and the tea tastes even better.

I Want My Mommy

My “Biggest Daughter”, grown and married and gone, texted me last night saying she’s sick and wants her mommy.

I learned a long time ago that we never stop being parents.  Some people think parenting ends when the kid turns 18.  Or leaves home. Or graduates from college.  Or gets married.  It’s not true.  It doesn’t matter how old the children are, they will forever be your children and you will always be their parent. You think about them, worry about them, celebrate with them, cry with them, miss them. They are your babies forever, no matter how old you, or they, are.

So it’s nice to know that no matter how old and independent and self assured they are, they know in their heart that they are still your kid.  It may only be acknowledged when they’re sick, but it will be acknowledged.

Love you, my biggest daughter.  Hope you’re feeling better!

You’re an Adult. Things Don’t Hurt You

Our son and his fiance are having a serious discussion in the other room, with our 8 year old grandson.  I hear snippets of it.  Sounds like there’s been an injury of some sort and the adults are trying to convince the young’un that the medicine won’t hurt.  Too much.  But he’s not buying it.

There are short gasps and whimpers of anticipated pain.  The adult voices are mostly soft and soothing but the occasional bits of laughter are not helping.   Grandson is sticking to his guns.  Death is better than medicine.  Besides, he firmly reminds them, “You’re an adult.  Things don’t hurt you!”

I chuckle, then I sigh.  Hold on to that belief a little longer, grandson.  Soon enough you’ll learn the truth: we have feet of clay.  But for now, hold on to that innocence and continue to believe that we adults are invincible.