My Winter Indoor Garden

As I was cleaning my workroom the other day, I was checking out my few houseplants.  Actually I have no real house plants, house plants have zero interest for me - don't know why, they just don't catch my fancy.  What I have are slips and cuttings of some of the garden plants from next year, that I am trying to keep over winter, so I can propagate them for the coming season.  Yes some of them may be illegal to propagate from - I haven't really looked into the legalities and patents of the few plants I have growing.  However my feeling is that most of the newly minted ones that I tried to propagate last fall, which might have had protective patents on their pretty little heads, did not survive the slipping process.

What I have got is a few different colours of coleus that I really liked last year, a couple of other red plants, that I don't even have a name for and an ivy or two.  I also have four of my chrysanthems that I cut back in the fall.  They looked dead, but have suddenly sprung to life and have myriads of green shoots sprouting forth.  One even sent up two feeble red blooms - not sure on that one, because day length, temperature etc all have to be exactly right for chrysanthemums to celebrate.  Some how I didn't see either of these conditions being met in their dark, dismal corner.

Mums

I also brought my plumbago plants in.  I had put them in a large plastic tub, buried it in the ground and dug it up last fall.  I know they are not hardy enough to withstand our winters, so I brought them in, in the hopes of overwintering it.  Some of the shoots are pretty dried up and dead looking, but there are some fairly healthy shoots still going.  My feeling is that if I can keep them going for another month or two, put them outside, the spring weather will bring everybody back to robust life.

I store my geraniums in the cold-room.  I have a lot of them, just sitting in their pots, dried up right now.  Last year I kept two over and both came back with water and sunlight in the greenhouse last spring.  Hopefully I can be as fortunate with a larger quantity this year.

Geraniums

In my cold room I also have a lot of other propagation material for the coming season.  For years I have stored my gladiolus corms in plastic mesh bags.  I have imported a lot of specialty varieties from a late breeder in Russia.  I have tried to keep all these varieties separate over the years.  Last fall, I admit to getting a little discouraged with my routine.  I only kept about 3 of each variety, and then only the strongest corms.  Some varieties, I had several hundred bulbs of.  Since we are no longer selling them at our roadside stand, it seemed to be a little superfluous.

So we are going to try a whole lot less gladiolus this year and in a new location (hopefully a little more weed-free).  I built new iris beds last summer and we are going to plant the glad corms along the back of each bed.  Because irises have to be kept weed free, I'm hoping the two plants will go well together.

Glads in milk crates, Sweet potatoes in pails

As well, I store my dahlia tubers over each year.  I didn't save as many of them as usual, either.  They just tend to be so prolific, that eventually you have to turf some.  We did not have a great bloom last year on the dahlias either, not sure if it was the season, or if the tubers are starting to run out -- do dahlias lose their virility over time?

Dahlias (left) & Potatoes

I also have all my calla and canna lily bulbs stored in jute bags.  I should probably get the callas out and get them moistening up in soil.  I know they seem to take a long time to revive each year from their arid winter state.

The other odds and sods I have are tigridia corms, and sweet potato vines.  I was amazed at the size of the tubers that these ornamental beauties produced last fall.  I'm not sure the legality of propagating these tubers -- they may still be patent protected, not sure.  However it does seem a shame to toss out such well grown tubers.  I guess if the plant police come knocking, I can rip the plants up and plead stupidity.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

Uncle Bert, The Black Sheep?

I never met my Uncle Bert.  He died four years before I was born in a horrible train/car accident.

Born Bertrum Joseph Edgar Patterson, on June 06, 1912, he was Mom's second oldest brother.  She didn't come along for another 10 years.  In all there were eleven children in the family, ten made it to adulthood.

The reason I chose to write about Bert, is that he seems to be a bit of a shadowy figure in the Patterson lineage.  Mom never spoke much about him, and from what she did, I never gathered he was a family favourite.

I think he saw active duty in the second World War.  At least I have several army pictures of him, one on a tank, I believe overseas, although that is something that needs confirmation.  There are a couple of photos of him with my father, which would have been taken several years before Mom and Dad every started to court.  For this reason, I'm kind of wondering if they might have both started out in basic training together.  They may have been two of the local boys that signed up together.

I also have an interesting photo of him in full Scottish regalia.  I'm not sure I understand this one at all.  His great grandmother, may have come from Scotland, but I think everyone else in the immediate genealogical vicinity were either English or Irish.  So I'm not sure if he was following some primeval urge, or if it was a photo like we now get done at historical parks, where the family dresses up at pioneers, or saloon dwellers etc.

Who's clan tartan is he wearing?

I know from pictures that Bert was a bit of a woodsman.  One story I recall Mom telling was of him bringing his crosscut saw into Grandmother's kitchen and sharpening it on the table.  I recall Mom thinking that a very thoughtless action on his part.  My feeling was that if it upset Grandma enough, she probably should have told him so.

Bert and Grandpa Patterson (note cross-cut saw).

Bert to left with beard.  Note size of pine log.

Mom's family was just a bit odd, a bubble or so off center.  Mom was fairly tight lipped about her siblings and parents and you had to ask the right questions to get any answers at all.  I'm not sure if she was actually hiding things from us, or if they were just basically a backwoodsy little family who not much happened too.

I've often said that of the siblings I met, Mom was by far the most normal of the lot.  Ten survived to adulthood, but only five ever married.  Of the five marriages, only ten grandchildren were born, four to my mother, four to the oldest sister, one to each of two brothers.  I guess they just weren't the marrying kind -- odd though in a generation where most everyone married and had a big family.  Perhaps they had all suffered through the Depression, didn't meet the right party, or just chose to stay single.

Uncle Bert appears to be a handsome enough fellow.  Maybe he was a ladies man, who didn't want to settle down.  I've often wondered if maybe he may have been somewhat rebellious.  Maybe he even was a drinker - don't know, just surmising.  But for whatever reason I gather he was a bit of a black sheep and a concern to his parents and siblings.

Police and spectators examine the pulverized wreckage of car shortly after it was cut in two by a CNR passenger train in Brampton this morning.  Driver of the car, Bert Patterson, of Brampton, died one hour later in the hospital. 

Perhaps it may also stem from his tragic death at the age of 44.  I have two faded newspaper clippings of the account, which Mom kept with the photo albums.  Again I never questioned her about it - I think I was too concerned the pain might still be raw, fifty years after the fact.  So I guess I'll never really know a lot more about my uncle, as most of his peers are long gone, and Mom's entire family has passed on.

Almost Cut In Two when crushed against a wig-wag standard by a CNR train is this car in which Bert Patterson (inset) of Parry Sound, was killed in a snowstorm last night at Brampton.  Patterson may have been blinded by snow as he approached the crossing.  The wig-wag was operating.  Patterson died in hospital an hour after the crash.  He was partially trapped in the crushed car and had to be cut free.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone.  

Why is it that Valentines tends to strike terror in mens' little, stone-like hearts.  I think the problem is, we, as a gender, are not inherently romantic in any way.  Unfortunately our better halves expect there to be scads of romance sprinkled throughout the one day of the year that we celebrate love.  Like most other holidays too, commercialism rears its ugliness and you are deemed unromantic if you do not follow cupid's bidding.

Monday unfortunately is a right-off in our household.  The missus leaves at 6:45 a.m. to start her day.  When I get home from school, she is in the midst of teaching piano in the music room.  This she continues to 7:00 pm.  I leave for my Melodia Monday choir at 6:45 and don't return until about 10:00.  We are kind of like ships that pass in the night, for that 24 hour period. 

I was down for the count with the aches and chills most of the weekend, so didn't get around to planning anything.  We had agreed that maybe we would go out for dinner and a movie on Tuesday night, but were just informed that youngest daughter needs a ride home from work, bang in the middle of such festivities.  Wednesday night is choir, Thursday I play at the Arts Center, Friday, daughter #1 arrives mid-evening from university, and Saturday I am back playing at the Arts Center.  Do you see my dilemma?

My Valentine of nearly 21 years.

So the best I can do is tell you what a wonderful, kind, supportive, loyal wife I have.  She says she doesn't care about such maudlin sentimentalities, but I think if I show up completely empty handed, she'll be a bit sad, and I will appear the cad (is there a poem to be generated there, somewhere?).   Twenty years she has put up with my shenanigans, bore me two lovely daughters and still says she loves me.

Still a knockout!

Chocolates - nope, after just shedding a small child's worth of weight, that is not a gift she would appreciate.  Cake - same deal.  Flowers - well I grow them for her all year long, so they get to be kind of meaningless too.  A singing Valentine - well that would be like bringing coals to Newcastle.  Jewelery - nope not something I am about to pick out myself, same deal with clothing.

A humorous aside in that regard.  I had purchased a lovely outfit about fifteen years ago for Valentine's Day.  Unfortunately as is usually the case, the pants were too short. Try buying anything for a six foot wife, off the rack, without her being there to try it on.  Anyway I was having a medical procedure done at an clinic that night and had the parcel in the car to return.  My wife had driven me, as I would not be driving myself home, comfortably, or thinking any romantic thoughts for several days.  She planned on returning the parcel on our way home.

When we returned from the office to the car, the glove compartment door was open and the parcel was missing.  To this day, I consider that was the unkindest cut of all.  

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

A Tidier Workroom

One of the round-to-its this winter has been the cleaning of the workroom in the basement.  I have had good intentions to get this done for quite some time.  This past Saturday, there was really little else I could force to the forefront as a stalling tactic.  So I headed to the basement, I'm afraid just a little bit less than enthusiastically.  I took a few 'Before' pictures, just so you could see the difference, if I ever mustered the ambition to actually do something.

The 'Befores'

The past two weeks have seen two events in our basement, that certainly brought cleanup to the forefront of chores that needed doing.

The first was the repair of the water softener system.  We had a little flow solenoid that had ceased to function.  The repair man was able to fix this fairly quickly, reset the flows and be on his way.  However, his boots were obviously wet and he managed to get into the kitty litter that our cats spread from one end of the basement to the other (well perhaps I exaggerate slightly).  This, mixed with the moisture from his boots left a nice pasty residue all around the softener.  If we had been looking for evidence, his footprints were everywhere.

The second event happened last week.  The missus had just finished up a sink full of dishes and pulled the plug.  Nothing drained away, and then as the dishwasher started to empty, the effluent from it, backed up into the sink as well -- obviously a plug somewhere in the system.  We plunged futilely, poured Liquid Plumber down, and allowed it to sit overnight.......still nothing!  The next afternoon, the missus had the local plumber here.  He spent three hours, snaking the system and finally discovered the pluggage about 20 feet away from the sink, just a few feet short of the large septic line.  Of course to reach this, he had to cut the pipe, use his power snake, hose it out, and then reconnect and glue the whole mess back together.  In the process there was quite a bit of black sludge that escaped onto the basement floor, to say nothing of the noxious fumes from the septic line that infiltrated the entire house.

Anyway, the time had come, and there was a need to tidy up, that plus the fact we had a large crew coming for supper on Sunday night.

The first order was to get that offending garbage can that leaked on me last week out of there, and out to air in the garage until spring.  Then there were all the gardening supplies, that just needed to be put back in their place.  The greenhouse would probably have been the proper receptacle, other than the fact it would have meant trudging through two feet of snow with every load.

I then straightened up and set up several fluorescent light fixtures that I bought at a garage sale.  Once I get down to starting seeds, I'll do even more of that activity.

And then there was the workbench, which had basically become a catch-all for the last two years.  My initial procrastinating inclinations told me to put that one off until I had bought another organizer, but perseverance won the day -- still haven't got the organizer, but all the little screw boxes are lined up and awaiting the day I bring home an organizer for them.

So with pretty much everything off of the floor the broom was the next tool of choice.  Kitty litter seemed to be the main residue, although my plants have certainly dropped their share of leaves.  Once the floor was swept, then it was a good thorough mopping.  Now recall my tail of the offensive smell last week, well it was obviously on the floor, because as soon as the water hit the floor, the smell of rotten socks once again permeated the entire house.  A rinse with vinegar reduced it somewhat, but it was a good strong dose of PineSol that finally masked the ghastly fragrance.

I took a few 'After' pictures.    Once spring arrives I may relegate the two wooden skids to the greenhouse too. I know the room still needs a fair bit of organization, and the floor for all its many moppings looks dirty, but at least I can walk through now and find most of my tools somewhat easily.

The 'Afters' to be met with choruses of oohs and aahs!

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

Off To The Slopes Continued

Well as you can see, I never returned to my blog yesterday.  More to follow on that story.

We got to the school at 6:45 as requested, and wonder of wonders everyone was there by 6:50.  A quick headcount, load the bus and off we headed to the peaks.  It was a pretty uneventful bus ride.  The kids were pretty groggy yet -- no, there was no sleeping.

We arrived in at the slopes about 8:45, piled off the bus, and got our instructions as to what to do.  Everyone has to go to ski school first to be sure they were safe to tackle the real hills. Most of the students quickly progressed from here. It was sunny and bright, but there was a harsh biting wind that just chewed through you for the first couple of hours.

My duty was to stick with the ones who would need time training on the "bunny hill".  I had four that were basically all beginning skiers.  Two of them advanced fairly quickly.  A third girl started complaining about her leg before we even got to ski school.  Two passes down the easy slope and she wiped out in tears.  Ski patrol was summoned and we went to the first aid station, where she was carefully questioned and examined.  It appears she had an injury a couple of weeks back, wore a tensor bandage for a few days and was deemed recovered.  Yesterday when she got laced into her boots, she left her pants inside the boot, so that extra pressure plus the old injury appears to have caused some pain (probably not warranting the histronics she went through though).  Drama queen flitted through my mind, as I think it did through ski patrols' too.  Their recommendation was not to ski any more that day -- off to the chalet.

So with everyone else pretty much advancing to the ski lift and hills, that left me pretty much able to enjoy the chalet and babysit my patient.  There were actual alpine trials going on, on the one hill.  That was pretty fascinating to watch and listen to the camera commentary.

My intent, as I stated yesterday was to read and write.  I did get a fair bit of reading done.  I took an old library-discard book I had picked up a year or two ago and never got the chance to read -- Pioneer Settlements In Upper Canada, by Edwin C. Guillet.  It was quite a fascinating read, and I marked down a few passages that I will probably comment on in future blogs.  I had planned on writing a couple of blogs too while I was sitting there, but there was just such constant ebb and flow of people and conversation around me, that it was hard to get inspired.  What I did do though was come up with a list of potential blog topics - 47 to be exact.

I was sitting in front of a large window facing the slopes and the sun was making it lovely and toasty.  Unfortunately shortly after noon, the sun went under and I lost my wonderful radiant heat source.  There were fireplaces in the chalet, but nobody seemed to have any pioneering spirit about them, to go get wood and light them.  I would have, but I think that might have been slightly frowned upon.

At 2:30 we went to round up the troops to get ready to head to the bus.  It is quite a process getting all the right people in the right place at the right time.  We had parents who drove as well.  Some of them brought their own children.  Some of the children elected to ride on the bus with their friends, and then those numbers all shifted and shimmied for the ride home.  Anyway, we did get all the required bodies loaded on the bus and headed for home.  Again, it was a fairly uneventful trip home -- couple of sleeping beauty photo ops.  That was about it.

We got back to the school at 5:00 and dropped the kids off to their waiting parents.  For some reason, I seemed to suddenly take a major chill.  I just couldn't stop shaking, waiting for those last parents to arrive.  When I got home, the first thing I determined to do was pour a hot, steamy bath to try and stave off the tremors.

An hour of soaking, later, and I was still sending out ripples on the surface of the water with my shaking.  It was obviously something more than just a good chilling down.  I also was now very dizzy and my hair was starting to hurt.  I know, I know, everyone tells me I'm such a wimp, when I get sick.  But it happens so rarely, one has to make the most of the event. So I bundled myself up and got into bed, cocooned in enough blankets and clothing to suffocate a yak.  Eventually I started to heat up, then simmered and boiled for a bit.  Around 3:00 am I awoke this morning, complete drenched.  My fever had obviously broke.

Anyway, I feel pretty good again this morning.  So hopefully it was only a twelve hour bug.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

Off To The Slopes

I'm not a skier by any means.  My down-hill experience amounts to once, and cross country I could probably count on my fingers.  It's just not something I have much interest in.

However, yours truly is off to the slopes today as a supply teacher/chaperone to 30 plus intermediate children.  It will be a two hour bus ride there and back.  My intentions this morning are to sleep, as I suspect some of the class may too -- am I a dreamer?

It's not my intent to strap on a pair of skiis.  Because I am in a casual position I don't like to put myself at risk of a disabling injury.  After all if I don't work I don't get paid.  So I am taking along a book, a notepad and hope to enjoy the slopes from within the pleasant confines of the chalet.  Hopefully I will get a few hours to read and write.  I will fill you in on the details when I return tonight.

French Supply Work

I get asked to supply teach French more often than I would prefer.   For instance, so far this week, three of my five days booked are au francais.  As I mentioned, in a past blog, I am about as uni-lingual as is humanly possible.  But Canpage (our supply booking system) obviously has picked up a misconception some where along the way, that Monsieur  H. is comfortable in French. 

anita-kwiatkowska.blogspot.com

 But  I wasn't the only person in the school Tuesday, misidentified as a French teacher.  Another brand new Science/Math teacher came to me, wondering if I could help her find her materials.  "I'm not French and don't speak it.  I can't find the quiz that I have to give period five."

So I suggested finding a good English book, reading it aloud, doing some drama, or passing out fun worksheets for the kids.  You could tell she was rather green, because each of these suggestions seemed like a good idea (to me, at least) , but I wasn't seeing any lights flashing on, above her head.  Then I suggested we go and make a last check of her cart, just to be sure the quiz wasn't there, but hidden.  Wonder of wonders, there it lay, the mysterious quiz paper, in plain view, just like the day plan suggested.  I have to wonder how this teacher will navigate the first day plan, she gets, where nothing is where the teacher says it is!

The second thing I dislike about teaching French is the nomadic life you usually lead. Few schools have a French-dedicated room.  The French teacher tends to be itinerant, roaming from classroom to classroom, pushing the wheeled cart, hoping and praying they haven't forgotten anything of value, back in the cubbyhole they lovingly refer to as 'moi maison'.

Thirdly, because you are entering another teacher's domain, they are in all likelihood on their prep period.  The big issue here is that they are often marking or preparing for the next class, so they don't necessarily exit.  They just kind of lurk and hover in the background.  If my French was impeccable, I'd probably find this disconcerting.  So when you consider how woefully far, I fall short of fluency, try to imagine the panic that ensues. 

classroommanagementonline.com

I have found that it is best to come clean before the class immediately and admit you are not a French teacher and do not speak French fluently.  Then you grovel and ask for the students' help. "Maybe you can teach Mr. H. something."  Usually there is at least one little keener who is willing to read books aloud for you.  That in itself can get you out of a tight spot.  Then you can repeat back, the easy sentences, hoping that their pronunciation is somewhat accurate.  I've also found I can kill quite a few minutes reviewing colours, numbers, days of the week, months of the year etc.

And then there was yesterday.  A desperate call at 7:30 came from Canpage.  "We need a teacher for Core French, morning, and French Immersion in the afternoon. How do you feel about that?"

Let me see how do I feel?  If I turn it down, I don't teach today, there will be no bread on the table, and the wolf's big toe will be firmly wedged in the front doorway.  So I guess, how I feel is .......trapped.


The morning had its ups and downs.  First class was 6/7, the usual rudeness ("can I call you, Mr. Ho?", for example) but it was just worksheets and I demanded they be handed in at the end of the period.  Same for the 5/6's in period two.  One charming girl, at least 200 pounds plus (I know I should not discriminate, but this child knew the system and will no doubt abuse our welfare system to the end of her days), sat swilling cinnamon hearts the entire period, disrupting those around her, and refusing to do a lick of work.  Then there was the grade 8, non French immersion group - nice kids, but not a Rhode's scholar among them AND the teacher forget to leave any work for this particular group.  We spent 40 minutes discussing which high school they should attend next year.


The afternoon 7/8 French Immersion group was quite pleasant, but I have to worry about the efficacy of our French Immersion teaching program.  The teacher had left a Geography handout - three pages from a French textbook.  Obviously the teacher assumed he would have a French fluent replacement.  Apparently he usually just reads the pages aloud, translates paragraph by paragraph, as he goes.   Immediately we are beyond the realm of capability of Mr. H.  Fortunately I had several willing readers, who each did a paragraph. 

Now this is where my curiosity piques.  I would ask them to translate into English what they had just read.  None of them could do it, this from student with 8-10 years of intensive French instruction.  I found I was actually able to understand far more of the words than they could.  Fortunately I did have two boys in the class who were French, first language.  However, neither was particularly good at following along. When I'd ask if we had missed any key ideas, they'd both be stuttering and stammering, trying to find what paragraph I was referring to.  

The last half of the afternoon was simple French grammar, and they did seem to have a pretty fair grasp of this work.  So did I do okay?  Well I don't think I damaged anyone irreparably.

And that is all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.