Humor: Garbage gardening

By Alice Carroll
Kansas Senior Press Service

Hosts at garden tours do not have dirt-embedded fingernails. There is no  “essence of compost” smell about them. After months of coaxing chunks of Midwestern dirt into a knockoff of the gardens at Versailles, they emerge as well-coiffed as their lawns.

Anyone other than a Master Gardener would be convalescing, not cavorting. An observer could believe that to pick-and-shovel an Amazon-like rain forest, an oriental water garden, or a mossy topiary of a warthog was more fun than an afternoon at a Sandals resort.

Gardening novices who are enticed by this image don’t dig deeper (pun intended) to consider joint aches, muscle strains, heat exposure, and watering obsessions until it is too late. By then, their gardens are the envy of the neighborhood, so what’s a little pain.

The only way I’d have a home surrounded by beautiful blooms and rows of organic vegetables would be if a local gardening group, desperate for publicity, adopted my yard for a makeover.

Garden centers are not to blame for my shortcomings, any more than my beautician is to blame when my haircut doesn’t make me look like a magazine model. It wasn’t their fault that I endured cultivation calamity. There was nothing wrong with the seeds, potted plants, shrubs, and instruction tags. It was me.

I was troubled at stage one, when the seeds were sown. The new, green sprouts were not to be admired; they were to be  thinned. “Thinning” is a euphemistic term for “random destruction.” I was not a sprout assassin, so I left the choice for Mother Nature. She killed them all.

I moved on to established plants with a simple pot-to-garden transfer. They thrived until wild squatters overran their turf. On the minus side, these self-starters were prickly and the flowers, if they had any, were as small as gnats. On the plus side, they asked for nothing, thrived without water, and  reached impressive  heights. The botanic world encourages profiling. These were “noxious weeds.” I had to yank them out, even if it left me with nothing but bare spots.

Shrubs matured into unruly masses that required more clipping than a poodle. The bulbs overslept and missed the first spring. Later, to get even with me for not subdividing their entangled roots, they produced meager, washed-out blossoms and multitudes of scraggly stalks. Success apparently required more than tilling the soil and regular watering. Master Gardeners, it seems, achieve artistic results by working as Servant Gardeners.

But it was fun playing in the dirt — so much so that I refused to wash my hands of the project. Edibles would be my niche. If I couldn’t make stuff look good, at least I could plant stuff that tasted good. With gusto I scattered  herbs, tomatoes, peppers, squash, and beans in the soil like a Midwestern Jackson Pollack. Basil flourished. Hello, pesto! Sage was as aggressive as an enemy combatant. Misshapen vegetables, my forte, were pleasing to the taste if not the eye. It was not a bumper crop, just enough to keep squirrels, rabbits, neighbors, and me content for a few summers.

Then came the dry spells, when the produce was stunted and decayed. It was time for a smart squirrel with a passion for tomatoes to migrate up the street. The soil needed 911, desperately.

Help was under the sink. The tonic was coffee grinds, egg shells, and fruit and vegetable scraps, fermented outdoors. I then worked into the soil this seasoned garbage, or compost, turned periodically. The dirt, now dark and moist, was farm ready.

The new concoction was so robust that it began without me. Volunteer vegetables, the offspring from meals long forgotten, reintroduced themselves. I had the thrill of surprise that people who conscientiously plan their gardens never experience. It’s exciting to wonder what manner of squash, tomato, or melon will be harvested.

Recycling garbage has brought me back to nature on a level I can handle. Let others create their fine landscapes. There is room on this planet for the Obstinate Gardener and  the Master Gardener.

I am waiting for my “green” way to alternative, unpredictable gardening to catch on.

Alice Carroll, a travel agent, works from her home in Overland Park and enjoys freelance writing.

All the lonely people

By Lisa Taranto
Kansas Senior Press Service

We all get lonely every now and then. Our grandkids are out of town, our friends have taken a vacation, or our spouse is traveling.

But for older adults, being lonely can be a more serious and extensive problem than transient loneliness. Because of the deaths of spouses and friends, role changes such as retirement, and other aging factors, seniors tend to have fewer people in their social circles and a bigger chance of being lonely.

Recently, a study by AARP magazine found that millions of older Americans suffer from chronic loneliness, and the numbers seem to be growing. AARP surveyed 3,012 people ages 45 and up for the study. Of them, 35 percent are considered chronically lonely (as rated on the UCLA Loneliness Scale, a standard measurement tool), compared with 20 percent in a similar survey performed a decade ago. No matter what gender, race, or education level, the common denominator in the study was increased age.

Chronic loneliness makes us feel depressed or unhappy; evidence also suggests that being alone significantly increases our risk of major diseases and life-threatening issues such as sleep disorders, diabetes, high blood pressure, and weakened immune systems. Loneliness is also linked to serious health risks including obesity, alcoholism, and even dementia.

Sometimes a lonely person’s health is jeopardized in ways that may seem menial at first but can lead to serious health threats. When lonely people choose to stay home and overindulge in poor eating choices instead of getting out, socializing, exercising, or eating healthfully, they run the risk of something more serious happening to them over time.

Some people assume that loneliness just comes along with aging, so they ignore the signs and don’t consider it a serious problem. Many elderrs are isolated, with few around to notice their unhappiness, so the problem goes unnoticed. Even if loved ones want to help, some elders are reluctant to talk about their true feelings or get the help they need.

If you or someone you know is struggling with loneliness, the best thing to do is seek help. This doesn’t have to mean taking a trip to the therapist; most experts say a trip to the store, the gym, the community center, or your neighbor’s house may all help. If you or someone you know is lonely, here are a few ideas.

Fill the calendar. Schedule regular social activities. Group outings, visits from friends and family members, or trips to the local senior or community center can help combat isolation and loneliness. If you are suggesting the activities and your loved one is refusing, be gently insistent.

Get out. Invite your loved one out. Depression is less likely when people’s bodies and minds remain active. Suggest activities to do together that your loved one used to enjoy — walks, an art class, a trip to the museum or the movies — anything that provides mental or physical stimulation.

Move it. Eating right and exercising are crucial when it comes to combating loneliness. Learn to prepare healthful meals. The activity will keep you busy and the nutrition will help motivate you in other ways, as well. Make exercise a regular part of your routine. Join a fitness center with group exercise programs, walk with a friend, or look for senior fitness groups in your area.

Lisa Mona, MS, RD, a group fitness director at Element Fitness in Lenexa, says regular fitness is important for seniors.

“Group fitness classes are definitely a win-win for seniors.” she said. “There are numerous research studies demonstrating the benefit of exercise in elevating mood and decreasing signs and symptoms of depression. And a group setting helps foster relationships and lasting friendships.”

But what if you have never exercised, or you have been sedentary for a long time?

“That’s OK,” says Mona. “It is always important to start slowly and to get your physician’s approval if you have any concerns or family history of heart disease. Sedentary individuals may benefit from starting with chair-based fitness programs led by trained fitness instructors to gradually build up strength, endurance, and range of motion.”

Seek professional help. If you try a few of these ideas and loneliness is still profound, find someone else to help you. Discuss the situation with your doctor or contact a counselor or therapist. Above all, don’t give in to those lonely feelings. Take charge of your situation by taking positive steps toward a happier you.

Lisa Taranto is a Kansas City certified fitness instructor and lifestyle and weight management consultant specializing in senior adult fitness.

Starting to 'parent' your mom or dad? Here's more caregiving counsel

By Edward T. Schulte
Kansas Senior Press Service

Editor’s Note: Johnson County Human Services, and its Area Agency on Aging, receive many calls from members of the baby boom generation who are helping to care for their elderly parents. Many times these loving, compassionate boomers are at the end of their ropes — exhausted, frustrated, and confused.

 

When do you recommend that it’s time to talk to my parents about moving to some sort of assisted living facility?
You can talk about this option anytime, but especially when your parents need more care and socialization than they can get at home, and when they have the capacity to pay for assisted living. Talking about health and long-term care can take place whenever a conversation naturally lends itself to the topic, but usually not at moments of high stress. Don’t discuss this in the hospital before an operation or diagnostic procedure.

Talk when a person feels comfortable with the subject, let the conversation take place over time, and engage health and social service professionals in a discussion of options. As noted earlier, these conversations will be addressed formally through the social services staff after a hospital stay. But depending on how busy the staff are, you may still have unanswered questions.

Home health services after a hospital stay usually involve a social worker as a resource for long-term care questions, and Area Agencies on Aging (AAAs) are good resources for these kinds of discussions, too.

Guidelines for conversation should include understanding that talking does not mean acting; it means understanding options. Touring a few facilities will help everyone understand what they are choosing, at what price, and including what amenities and services. Be non-confrontational and supportive. Do not threaten facility placement. Keep talking. Look around. You might see something you and your parent like and discover an environment in which your parents might feel at home and flourish.

What about a parent, such as my mom, who is struggling to remain living alone but refuses to consider moving out of her home?
Keep your mom close to your heart and guard her from a distance. Set up a network of friends and family to check on her. Ask what she wants, and appeal to her needs for food, safety, or help.

Introduce services and expand her support network  bit by bit, visit by visit, service by service, person by person. If she tries something, she might like it.

Be careful not to overwhelm your parent with too much too quickly, even though you might see that the whole solution and plan of care could be put together in a snap. Remember, we always seem to know the answer for improving other people’s lives, but change and transition — for anyone — take time and acceptance. People make many choices throughout their lifetimes related to health and social needs, when to see the doctor, when to redo their homes, their diet, their living situation — and they do it on their own schedule.

If my aging dad insists on remaining at home, is there a general plan of action you recommend to provide home care?
If he is at risk because of self-neglect or physical or emotional threats from someone else, contact Adult Protective Services in your area (National Eldercare Locator, 800-677-1116, or www.eldercare.gov ). This may get him in touch with medical care and diagnostic processes for his physical and mental health issues, address safety issues, and get the ball rolling when new living options need to be considered. This is not a surefire remedy for all situations, because people perceive risk and a person’s right to choose his life differently.

If he just needs some help to get by, start doing some research and explore your options. Seek advice from health care providers, social workers, and AAA staff. Great books, newsletters, and resources on caregiving are available at your library, online, and by talking to professionals who work with aging parents right where they live.

Caregiving has been a national initiative under the Older Americans Act for 10 years, so plenty of supportive programs exist.

Think about how your parents live their lives day to day, and identify the important issues to address. Is it mornings and getting up, meals, medications, housework, laundry, personal care, help getting to bed? Express your concerns. Find out and share what is available. Join a caregiver support group. Ask for help and advice on the journey.

We are a nation of caregivers. You are not alone.

Ed Schulte is an aging information specialist with the Johnson County Area Agency on Aging.

Book review: Gardening for a Lifetime: How to Garden Wiser As You Grow Older by Sydney Eddison

Kansas Senior Press Service

As I began reading this book in early February, a blizzard dropped several more inches of snow on our already deep drifts. But now, as I write this review three weeks later, the temperature is in the 60s, the snow is almost gone, and the daffodils are tentatively poking above ground.

As a passionate gardener, I am always on the lookout for new gardening strategies. I will turn 70 this year, and want to continue to work in my gardens as long as I am able. Sydney Eddison’s timely new book, Gardening for a Lifetime: How to Garden Wiser as You Grow Older (Timber Press, 2010), provides many useful suggestions.

Eddison, who has been gardening for half a century, is an accomplished writer and lecturer and has written six other books on gardening. When Eddison, who is now 84, began to write this book, she wasn’t hobbling. That happened later and led to a hip replacement.

She notes that each phase of her life is reflected in her sliding-glass kitchen door. Now she sees the reflection of an “old woman,” but when she looks through that door to the garden, the view is very different than when she began to garden there in 1961. Her garden has been an essential part of her life and is full of wonderful memories.

“I cannot leave this place,” she writes. “It is where my husband and I spent a lifetime together and where I want to stay.” (Her husband died while she was writing this book.)

Eddison traces the history of her secluded but celebrated four-acres-plus garden near Newton, Conn. There was no plan for its development; rather, it was developed according to the limitations of the site, the amount of time that she and her husband, Martin, had available, and their feel for the natural landscape. For the first 30 years, she expanded her garden domain and horizons. She made friends with other gardeners, exchanged plants and gardening advice, joined plant societies, and took gardening courses. By early 2004, she had come to realize that she was no longer a “spring chicken” and would need more help — probably more than she and Martin could afford.

Much of Eddison’s garden work takes place in her upper lawn, where a long, curving perennial border follows the site contours. Her first major garden revision, simplifying the perennial borders, was a collaboration with a young, energetic horticultural school graduate. Staging a three-season bloom cycle of perennials is a “tall order and so is maintaining it,” she writes.

The greater the variety of perennials in the garden, the more work the border requires — staking, deadheading, cutting back, and division. The couple began to substitute low-maintenance plants, such as bulbs, which “virtually take care of themselves,” for the more demanding ones. Eddison also cut back on daylilies, her “all-time favorite” summer-flowering perennial.

Another step toward simplifying that she advocates is substituting some shrubs for perennials. Shrubs, which supply strong structural forms, change more slowly than perennials and are “infinitely less trouble.”

Eddison warns those of us who tend to buy perennials on impulse to do more research when we shop for shrubs: Ask other gardeners about their favorites, assess shrub-pruning needs, and be suspicious of size ranges advertised in nursery catalogs.  Hydrangeas and viburnums are among the flowering shrubs that flourish for her, and also work well in Kansas.

Over time, Eddison’s favorite garden area has become the shady border. (As a hosta fanatic, this is my favorite, too.) There her brunnera, hellebores, and corydalis are “all enthusiastic self-sowers.” Among the taller perennials, they behave like a ground cover and discourage weeds. Under a large maple tree, “hostas, ferns, wild ginger, and Solomon’s seal have been growing happily for 30 years with practically no care.”

She has come to understand and respect the habits of some native plants and has learned about the “miracle of mulch.” Now she harvests the leaves in the fall and spreads the shredded leaves over the garden beds the following spring. For large mulching projects, she buys shredded bark mulch by the truckload in the spring and hires an able-bodied young man to put it down. She also makes a master list of seasonal garden tasks, big and small.

Eddison and I are both changing our attitude about lawns. “If it’s short and green, it’s lawn,” she says. We have learned to mow less frequently in the heat of summer and to give up using insecticides. Another gardening strategy that she recommends is container gardening, “which requires a fraction of the physical work that an in-the-ground garden demands.” She also is experimenting with bonsai and miniature landscapes in hypertufa troughs.

Sometimes people feel less valued as they grow older, but, as Eddison has often experienced, “One of the lovely things about gardening is that in the eyes of young gardeners, age and experience confer status.”

But gardens, like life, are unpredictable:

“I don’t know the ending. Gardens don’t have endings like novels. And, as gardeners, we don’t want them to be finished. ... real life works in ways we cannot anticipate and will never understand. It continues to evolve, leaving gaps, holes, and loose ends as it unfolds. But I do know one thing — I’m not moving if I can help it.”

Me, either! Like Eddison, I hope to retain a realistic view of life and gardens and a sense of humor about it all. Gardening makes us better people—or at least it reveals the best that is in us. She suggests that “Making the most of what you have left is also the older gardener’s task.”

Other suggested readings

• Ruth Stout, How to Have a Green Thumb without an Aching Back (Exposition Press, 1955). This classic but out-of-print book (look for it online) by the “maven of mulch” is one that Eddison highly recommends. Stout gardened organically until her death at 96 in 1980.
  • Stanley Kunitz, The Wild Braid: A Poet Reflects on a Century in the Garden (Norton, 2005). Twice named national poet laureate, Kunitz, who died at age 100 in 2006, describes his garden as a “work of the imagination” and a “constant source of solace and renewal.”

  Memories: Backlash and flashbacks

  
  By Victor Druten
  Kansas Senior Press Service

  I decided to work on a small project in the garage.
  

  I had purchased a spool of very fine wire enclosed in a plastic package. You simply pulled out what you needed and used the attached snippers. But I dropped it, wire popped out, I accidentally kicked and stepped on it, and suddenly I was holding the tangle of all tangles.
  

  I was amazed at how messed up that small container of line had become. I sat down and tried to solve the mess, but after three or four minutes into this wish-I-had-smaller-fingers scenario, I thought, Heck with this, I’ll just buy another one.
  

  Then a memory hit me: Backlash!
  

  Once upon a time, when I was young, fishing rods had reels on which the line was simply wound around an axle. This required you to cast, let loose of the line, wait until the appropriate moment, and clamp down. If you were off by even a little in your timing, the line/axle combo would spin loose a mass of messed-up string that almost defied description. The dreaded backlash.
  

  Then dad would come over. Quietly and calmly, he would pick and grab at this weaved mess until it was all back to normal. No yelling, no threatening, no words of thunder. He just did it. And in our case, he did it for all three of his sons. In fact, I don’t actually remember Pops even getting a chance to get his own line wet.
  

  So here I was after just a couple of minutes, pretty darn frustrated, screaming at myself and using some derogatory names to refer to the wire. Would my father have been in total loss of his emotions like this? Would my father have given up and looked for an easy way out? No. The guy had his act together.
  

  That got me thinking. Way back when, people faced quite a few incidents that required them to take a breath, focus, and just get to it. There was no calling down of the divinity, no talk of suing anyone, no blaming or lamenting. They just cowboyed up. They were veterans of dealing with the stuff that happens.
  I can recall my dad changing flat tires by the side of the road in all kinds of conditions. I guess there wasn’t an AAA to bail him out. I also remember his going out while it was snowing to put chains on the car. Who had garages back then? Besides, who would he have called? Then there were the times we broke house windows with baseballs, snowballs, rocks — and dad just fixed them. No words were spoken.
  

  That was an era when, if something broke, the guy of the house spent quite a few hours trying to fix it himself. Frustrated griping wasn’t something a lot of us grew up with, but watching the old man trying to put stuff back together was.
  

  How did Dad stay so calm, so in touch with his inner self when faced with the constant disruptions to his already very busy (six-day work weeks were the norm) schedule? He had been raised to handle what came along. This was an era when guys carried a pen knife, had a supply of string around, and knew how to use glue.
  

  So why, and how, did we end up wanting to curse all of humanity when the simplest thing goes awry? Why do we throw up our hands and look for outside help? Maybe it’s because we have so many easy ways out. Maybe it’s because we are not used to just taking care of things. I don’t know why we want someone else to solve our problems today, but we do. We got spoiled, and we spoiled our kids. We lost our pocket knives, our balls of string, our independent initiative. We got soft.
  

  So I sat down, got a needle, and spent the entire afternoon unspooling that mess of wire. I sat there for three solid hours thinking about my dad calmly taking care of his tasks. The memories moistened my eyes, put a smile on my face, and let a ton of really neat memories flood my head.
  

  I got it done, and was pretty darn proud of myself. This one was for you, Dad! I see you, Victor A. Druten. I see you in my heart forever!

  Vic Druten, a retired teacher, lives in Shawnee.

  Humor: Ask what you can do

  By Mary-Lane Kamberg
  Kansas Senior Press Service

  My husband, Ken, is getting ready for work and I’m watching one of the cable news networks. President Obama is saying, “We need more spending to get the economy moving.”
  

  It’s a call to action.
  

  “I’ll help!” I shout to the TV screen.
  

  “Help with what?” Ken hollers from the bathroom.
  

  “The nation’s economy!”
  

  “Good,” he says, his mouth full of toothbrush. “We need it.”
  

  I’ve always believed that one person can make a difference. And I recently read a study that found it takes only five people to start a “wave” in a football stadium with 50,000 fans. I am ready to do my part (and it doesn’t hurt that there’s a sale at the mall).
  

  I get dressed and pull on my walking shoes. Armed with my debit card, credit card, and a little cash, I head to the stores. I get there when they open. There are just a few other patriotic people in the parking lot. But together, we can have an influence in the metaphorical football stadium of America’s recession.
  

  I start in Sportswear at the department store on one end of the mall. Clearance signs adorn racks of refugee sweaters no one wants. I move on to racks of new spring styles. Not much has come in yet. The racks are in desperate need of reinforcements. Besides, it’s still too chilly to think about spring frocks.
  But I am on a mission. What can I buy? In Housewares, I look at everyday dishes. A brightly colored pattern catches my eye, but I don’t like the bowls that come with the set. Other patterns are too plain or too fancy. A bit disappointed, I leave the store. But, like a good soldier, I keep my chin up.
  

  The day is young, I tell myself.
  

  I march out into the mall and spot a bookstore, where I browse among bargain books, bestsellers, and new releases. Nothing cries out, “Read me!”
  

  Under my breath, I say to myself, “My fellow Americans are counting on me.” I walk the length of the mall. I don’t need vitamins, shoes, or a diamond bracelet. With no family birthdays approaching, I bypass Gap Kids and the Disney Store. I already have a cell phone. I don’t need sunglasses.
  

  I reach the department store at the other end of the mall and realize I need a war plan. Where’s General Petraeus when I really need him?
  

  Then it strikes me: Linens! Our bedroom has a shabby, un-chic look created by a wet dog with perpetually muddy paws who likes to sleep on the bed. How about a new comforter ensemble? As I ride the escalator up to the bedding section, I conduct aerial surveillance of the ground floor in case I need to retreat.
  

  On the way to Linens, I maneuver through Luggage, but we have no plans for a vacation deployment. Finally, among the bedding, I look at every comforter and sheet set, from cheap to pricey. But the global color scheme has changed since I decorated my home. My cayenne reds and saffron golds clash with the greens and purples on the shelves. I want to do my duty, but I don’t want to paint my walls.
  

  I drag my purse like a useless musket and shuffle past displays of blankets, pillows, shower curtains, and towels. Nothing I want to buy.
  

  Then I spot it! Camouflaged under a stockpile of bath mats is a gold bathroom rug. I can use a new one. And it’s marked 50 percent off!
  

  I hand over my money and listen with satisfaction to the whirring and clicking sounds of the cash register drawer opening. A single shot fired in the economic war. But, combined with shots fired by other customers in other stores across the land, it may make a difference.
  

  Battle weary but triumphant, I head home. Ken meets me at the door.
  

  “Where do you want me to put all this?” he asks with astonishment, taking my solitary bag and looking inside. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”
  

  “I know,” I say. “It’s the least I can do for my country.”

  Mary-Lane Kamberg is a professional writer in Olathe and author of The “I Don’t Know How To Cook” Book.

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