Spring...

 

I didn't keep close track of online weather maps this week, but I'm thinking most of the Midwest saw spring storms on Wednesday.  High temperatures here made for instability in the weather when the winds finally blew in the rain. Tornadoes were sighted all around the Indianapolis area, and south of us, but on our little spot on the map we woke up yesterday morning to a freshly washed landscape and hardly any tree debris on the ground.

Bradford Pear blossoms

While the forecast predicts a welcomed cool down though most of next week, it is undeniably spring here.  White-blossomed Bradford Pear (which is, I'm sad to say, an invasive at this point) now dot the landscape along the highways.  Sprinkled amongst them are redbud trees, and all kinds of other trees just beginning to leaf out.  

Everything here is growing fast! Sedum, daylilies, irises, clematis, daffodils, forsythia, garlic, onions...  

Sedum, last week🠝 and today🠟

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Daylilies a week ago🠝 and today🠟

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Iris growth a week ago🠝

Irises today🠟

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This Clematis will soon be looking gorgeous.

Forsythia's bloom is about finished, though.

As are the daffodils, I suspect.

Garlic planted in the fall is looking good!

And walking onions planted from the 

bulbils of last year's onions are thriving.

And it looks like we'll have peaches again this year!

Once this rain is over (early next week) I plan to uncover the strawberry plants and take stock of that situation.  I am eager to see if my thinning them out last autumn will have an impact on their production and strawberry size in a couple of months.

I'm not quite ready to throw myself into spring's outdoor work, but hopefully that's just inertia tugging at me to be lazy.  I still have time to think about it. With all the rain we've had, it will take a while for the soil to dry enough to work it, anyway.

Meanwhile, with more consistently warmer temps, I've set myself up again in the sunroom to stitch on my never-ending cross stitch sampler.  It's a great front-row seat for the annual spring show accompanied by birdsong.

Digital fast...

Some folks in our church (including myself) are participating in a digital fast during this Lent season.  To make it interesting and even a little fun, our churched purchased access to an app (called Aro) that keeps us connected and able to see how we are all doing in our successes. 

Some people are enjoying gamifying the app and turning this fast into a fun competition, but I suspect the majority of us simply see it as a tool that may help us get a bit better control of our time spent on our digital devices.  And yes...  We are all aware of the irony that using an app for this purpose requires use of our digital devices.  

Each person who's participating in this digital fast decides what the "fast" means for them, and the boundaries they put around their own digital fasting.  The point of the fast isn't to demonize phone use, or become critical of others' phone use.  In fact, others' use of their devices isn't what is publicly visible.  We can only see when someone has intentionally set aside time they might have been on their device(s) and are making a conscious choice to not be.  

The purpose is simply to make each participant more aware of how habitually and absent-mindedly s/he uses their phones, and other digital devices.  And to encourage each of us to be more mindful about our digital device usage.

And in this awareness, to recognize that while our digital devices are wonderful tools of the modern age, they also have the capacity to rob us of time we could use for doing things we'd actually rather be doing...   people we'd prefer to be interacting with in person...   creative activities we'd feel more satisfaction pursuing.  These are my words, but I think the writers of the book and workbook titled "The Digital Fast" would wholeheartedly approve of my take.

I thought this would be easy, to be honest.  A lot of days, whether I'm at home or out and about, I feel like I've got plenty of things going to keep me busy and my mind active. Some days I lay my phone down and hardly look at it for hours.  But then sometimes (usually late in the evening) I find myself scrolling through YouTube videos, looking for something that interests me - feeling myself growing more bored with each scroll of the screen.  Which, oddly, has the effect of making me scroll even more.  I say I want to break this habit, but summoning the willpower is hard.

While YouTube is a great treasure trove of information, and I am thankful for many things I've learned from videos there, I hate that I have become so attached to it.  That's putting it too nicely.  I'm just plain addicted to it.

Whatever I end up writing here about this experience is not meant to be any kind of screed on the problems of the internet and social media.  I'm a big fan, in all honesty.  I LOVE that I can have conversations with people who live across the ocean, or on the opposite side of the globe from me.  I love my fellow YOPers and enjoy the camaraderie of a creative online community.  I am all in for the wonderful benefits the internet can give us.

What I'm not so crazy about is, how mindlessly I can get sucked into the vortex of news stories that rarely say anything actually new.  I'm weary of the fact that algorithms keep us divided, and unable to see and hear what exactly is influencing people we think we disagree with. We don't even take in the same information; how on earth can we have productive conversations on issues we think are important?  People too easily talk past each other.  The internet allows this to happen at lightening speed.  Talking, talking, talking, hearing very little.

So...  while, to date, I'm somewhat failing in my goal of conquering the mindless taking in of Youtube content in the evenings, it remains my goal to do just that.

Some good things so far from this exercise:

We've been motivated to have some people from church over recently.  One of the encouragements of the fast is to replace screen time with community.  We're no strangers to having folks over, but it's easy to get lazy about it when weeks go by and we don't do it.

Greg and I have played games a couple of times.  Nothing very exciting, but it's good for us.  Good for our gray matter, good for our relationship.  We enjoy games.  We need to do it more.  I'm struck by how wholesome it is to just play a game with another person.

A few evenings ago we played Othello, last night Boggle. Other great two-person games we have:  Mastermind, Scrabble, Upwords, Battleship, Eclipse, Cathedral, Blokus, Tangoes, Chess, Checkers, Backgammon, and any number of card games or other games we tend to play with more people, but are probably fun for two.  

I'll write about some struggles, and attempts at solutions in my next post on the subject.  Meanwhile, thank you for being online and reading this post about me trying to spend less time online. 😆

 

Waiting... awkwardly...

When was the last time you sat in a waiting room that didn't have a TV in it?  Or maybe there was a TV on, but the volume was too low to actually hear it.  Did you sit there feeling a little stupid as you watched a silent picture?  Feeling only slightly less stupid realizing that the person in the next seat over was watching the silent TV too?  

This was my very odd experience last week at my dentist's office.  

To get to the point of this post...  TV or not, when was the last time you sat in a waiting room without pulling your cell phone out to check for a text, or to simply help you pass the time?

This past week I challenged myself to do just that.  Just sit. In a waiting room.  For an undetermined amount of time without distracting myself with my phone.  

I didn't last more than five minutes before sheer awkwardness drove me to finally dig my phone out of my purse.  It wasn't boredom that made me look for my phone.  It wasn't that I felt compelled to check on something.  It was simply that I grew overwhelmingly awkward sitting in a silent waiting room, in the midst of people also sitting there - most on their phones.

It didn't used to be this way.  I can remember years ago sitting quietly, maybe closing my eyes to deepen the experience of soaking in the quiet. I remember when life was busy with kids and their activities, having occasions to sit alone, quietly in a waiting room and actually enjoying it.  I remember sometimes carrying a book with me if I expected  to be waiting for very long.  I remember picking up magazines on a nearby table to glance through, and once (at a dentist's office) I even remember when the receptionist offered to make a copy of the article I was reading.  I guess she noticed I was engrossed when I was called back more quickly than I expected to be.  

This week, in the waiting room of a lab, there weren't even magazines.

The Quest Diagnostics waiting room I have had the experience of visiting in recent years is a sadly stark space.  I don't think there is a window to look out of.  No music. There is definitely no TV.  There isn't even a person whose job it is to check people in.  Even that little bit of activity can at least give one the opportunity to people-watch without looking obvious or rude.  All that is in this dreary waiting room are chairs around the perimeter (that on this day were mostly full), and a kiosk awkwardly placed across the room from the door - just waiting for the next person to walk in and across the gray-carpeted floor to check him or herself in.  Watching the back of someone silently checking himself in on a touch screen doesn't make for very interesting people watching.

So I looked around, smiling if someone made eye contact.  Finally, folding my arms over my purse I began to hopelessly look at the walls for something my eyes could land on. There were three pieces of paper tacked to a bulletin board close to where I sat, but the print was so small I couldn't read them without getting up and going to see what was printed on them.  They didn't look interesting enough to bother. 

I shifted my body.  I changed my gaze.  I looked at the carpet.  Then, glancing in different directions, I tried not to look shifty.  

Feeling shifty, I closed my eyes.  Having nothing at all to listen to, I felt odd sitting like that - imagining I looked like I was praying.  Which would have been a perfectly fine thing to do, but I was so overcome by my awkwardness actually praying didn't even cross my mind. 

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.  I opened my eyes and pulled out my phone.  

I checked for texts.  Nothing there.

I texted a friend (a few years ago, I began texting one long-distance friend whenever I found myself in a waiting room - I thought it was a unique genre of texting, even if it was a little weird).  

She didn't reply.

Since I didn't have earphones, I couldn't watch a video, so I googled something.  I have no memory of what inane thing I typed into the search box.  What I remember was how disappointed I was in myself that I didn't have the fortitude to not pull my phone out and pretend I had something interesting to do on it.  I had failed the challenge.

Setting aside, for a minute, my utter disappointment in myself, I'm suddenly remembering I have Solitaire on my phone.  And some word game. I rarely play games on my phone, so it didn't even occur to me.  Is that what other people are doing on their phones when they look completely immersed in something fascinating?!?  I've always assumed other people have gobs of friends or family texting them.  Or I've figured they might be doing some important work on their phone. 

Are they actually just playing games?!?

In my next post, I'll explain where this topic has sprung from, but for now, seriously...  when was the last time you just sat silently in a waiting room, not watching TV, not playing on your phone?  Instead, just sitting with your thoughts.  I'm sure a few of you have.  But no worries if you haven't, or have no desire to.  It's just a question.  A serious question.  But not one with any criticism implied. 

While I failed on my last attempt, I'm already looking forward to the next opportunity I have.  I am determined to succeed.

Promise of spring...

The roller coaster of late winter's changing weather is upon us.  The pattern repeats:  a string of unseasonably warm days followed by frigid temps in the teens.  

It snowed a bit yesterday as we left a funeral service.  It seemed fitting. 

Today I see 70°F in the 10-day forecast!  That seems impossible.

But there are signs of spring. Garlic planted late last autumn, is popping through  saturated soil, teasing me to start thinking about the garden.  

Though, as of yet, no asparagus is coming through the leaf mulch we put down in November of last year.  

 

And while strawberry plants are starting to stretch from their winter's nap, I'm not sure I want to uncover them just yet.

In this late winter season when it's too wet (and most days, too cold) to be working in the soil, I try to content myself with inside business. 

My friend, Lynne, who brought her own sourdough bread for our dinner and a movie night recently, inspired me to consider that I should really learn how to make this delicious bread.  A few down-to-earth bakers on YouTube have just about convinced me it doesn't need to be as complicated as it often looks to be.  I bought rye and spelt flour for making a quick starter.  Now, I just need to commit to trying.

And in between half-hearted cleaning and decluttering, I'm pretending that crocheting another blanket is something productive to do.

Indeed, there is no need for another blanket, but it is undoubtedly satisfying to move yarn between fingers, while a crochet hook twists colorful strands into a playful pattern of granny stitches.

While this large granny square blanket is more than half-way finished, the rounds go slower and slower the bigger it gets.  No promises or predictions on when it will be finished.  Just pleasure in the making of it.

More doilies...

Today we woke up to a brand new winter wonderland.  And the birds were excited by it all day.

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Putting away blanket-weight yarn for a bit, I pulled out some crochet cotton for two new doilies - from the book, 99 Little Doilies...

Somehow, it escaped me that I had made #44 before, but interestingly, made in this peach ivory color, a new name emerged:

Crinoline

And because (I think) I'm working on a collection of little doilies made in the above Ivory Peach color, and a dark brown/gray color called Hawk, I quickly produced #54 below.

Photographed on a lighter background, I might have come up with a different name, but on this gray cloth, this doily is giving me garden/soil vibes.  

Meet Cherozem

Cherozem (the doily) reminds me of the dark prairie soils in north west Indiana where Greg and I first lived (and planted our first garden).  Greg was a soil scientist (who mapped the soils in that part of the state in the early '80's), and he tells me the name used for the soils there is Mollisols. It's rich and dark, and great for growing things.  Cherozem is a word used for this soil in Russia and Ukraine, and maybe Canada?  I think Cherozem is a prettier name than Mollisols, so Cherozem it is.  The emphasis is on the first syllable in case you want to try to pronounce it.  

And that's it for today's YOP post.  If you're at all interested in YOPping, or just being part of a world-wide network of fiber crafters, you can check out the group on Ravelry by clicking the Year Of Projects graphic below.  If you're not already a member of Ravelry, you'll have to create a free account to get any further than the home page.

Look at all those cardinals!  I counted 14 males.  There are probably that many females in the trees and on the feeders.