The oddness of Brussel Sprouts

Today I write about a strange subject for such a season. Brussel sprouts.

It was my original intention to have a vibrant vegetable container garden spilling forth from the third floor of my apartment, but apartment and gardening is a tricky combo, especially with vegetables. While my flowers thrived, my vegetables were less than thrilled with this strange existence, and one by one they gave up the ghost. All except for three little brussel sprouts, who, like all the other vegetables were raised from seeds, given the same loving care as the cucumbers, the peas, and the tomatoes. I was curious about brussel sprouts, not opposed to eating them, and had heard that they were a strange plant to grow in appearance and habit. I had hoped that by growing them perhaps some of the mystery would be revealed, but alas, I am more enamored and confused by them now than I ever was previously!

Upon first inspection, aside from their unwillingness to die like their other vegetable cousins, these sprouts were like many others I had seen, and I gave them their own pot. Throughout the summer, I watered and fertilized them with my other plants, expecting to see the one stalk that would show me that brussles were on their way for my dining pleasure. All summer long those three little plants thrived, alert and spunky when my petunias were drooping from the heat, crisp and cheerful when the rest of the plants were being nipped by frost in the fall. But once they each reached a certain height, there was no more growth to be seen. New leaves came and went, but the height remained the same and no signs of any brussels. Fall came and went and killed all of my flowers, so I took all the pots in, but the brussel family was still cheerfully alive, so I left that pot out on the balcony, thinking in a few more weeks it would be dead.

A few more weeks came and went and with the impending snows I was sure the brussels would be killed. My assumptions were proved wrong however as after each snowstorm, the little plants bounced back. Last week we had a severe cold snap that sent our temperatures plummeting into the negatives. This, surely would kill my brussels. Any yet though they drooped a bit at that last weapon of nature, this week they are perking up again, the only green thing to be see (Aside from Christmas Trees) for quite a ways!

So I thought I'd take a picture of my three brave stalks to share with you all, for while I still have yet to see any sign of edible vegetables, I've admired their tenacity and will to live!

I'll have to agree with people on brussel sprouts, they are a most strange little plant. :)

Back and Better than Ever

Hi All,

Well it's been nearly a year since my last post. With my senior year of school and such, I backed way off anything that didn't involve homework in my spare time. My apologies to all, but the good news is that I graduate this Saturday (the 17th) and now have the time to get back into doing this. So, I'll be reconnecting with those that used to comment and beginning to get some new stories lined up about what's been happening these past few months. Thanks for being patient, I look forward to reading all your blogs again!

~Christa

It's all about perspective. . .

CIDER

Last night, I walked quite a few blocks of downtown Denver in a blinding snowstorm to get to the bus-station. Upon arriving, my hair was frozen in strange directions and I was soaked. My fingers numb and mascara running. The bus heater was barely on, and so I continued to freeze for another 20 minutes as we drove back up the freeway.

That said - it was probably one of the prettiest things I’d ever seen in my life. The snow blew down the vast corridors of buildings, changing stop lights into fuzzy representations of colors, and falling back up into the sky on crazy air currents. One of the reasons that I was so wet and cold is because I was walking incredibly slowly, trying to watch it all even as snowflakes lashed at my eyes. Before the storm hit, I was talking to a man and he was wondering if it was better to take his break outside in the cold or inside where he works. I told him; “Outside. Even though it’s cold and overcast, it is an extraordinary day. This summer, when it is scorching hot and everyone is complaining about how they can’t keep cool, you can go back to this day and remember what it was like to be so cold that your nose lost feeling.”

I really think that people have forgotten that everything – comfortable and uncomfortable – is an experience to be embraced. Just as a snowy night in downtown may not be the perfect 70 degrees to walk in; it’s still an experience having its own ethereal beauty. When you’re too caught up with how cold you are and how strange you must look with hair frozen at right angles to your head . . . you lose sight of what’s really going on. Nature’s Snowstorm Spectacular.

Technology

Last night in class we delved into the netherworld of UNIX. From my short history with that program, I’ve decided I can live a full and happy life if I never come into contact with it again.

A DOS-like command program, the server froze time and time again, as each of us attempted to create a simple text site that stated “Welcome”. I was sent into a demented help manual that didn’t let me out and then created a whole list of files that I couldn’t delete and couldn’t get out of. My friend, Chad created a site that said:

Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website

Even though he didn’t type it that many times, that’s how it came out. As he stated “I wanted people to feel really, really welcome”. Another friend became stuck in the text editor and was unable to publish or leave that file. We were in the inner workings of hell with no escape. Even the instructor resorted to faith as he said “You have to believe it will work! What the *&!% did that do?”

We ended up having to cut off the server just to exit the program, and we ended up leaving class about 15 minutes late due to this pleasant technology trip. Grumpy, tired, and sick of typing commands, I thought to myself as I walked to catch my bus home: “What about this technology is making my life easier?!”

Mutiny on the Bounty

CIDER

My father is out in California this week. It’s funny how things can link in your mind. We bought the family boat in Cali, and I’ve been thinking about my dad’s prized sailboat that sits in Pueblo Reservoir here in Colorado . . . and my dad.

Like most father-daughter relationships, there are times we get along, and times we do not. My dad has a personality that compels him to have everyone share in whatever great activity/hobby he’s into at that point in time. (I also, have this trait)

For instance, he bought a sailboat, so he can sail. But everyone else had to sail too; and while my parents were raised in Hawaii where sailing is the ‘in’ thing; their Colorado offspring do not share this passion. But, there were no excuses. Out to the boat we all went, so we could go around in circles on a rather tiny reservoir. I was there, Greg (before we were married), my two brothers, sister, mom, two dogs and vast quantities of food.

We had just ‘cast off’ (which doesn’t mean much when there is not wind) and had begun to drift slowly towards the center of the lake. Occasionally a wind would gust off from one of the nearby ridges, and instead of making us go faster, it would hit the sail with great (albeit brief) force, and then the boom would knock one of us nearly unconscious as it snapped around the deck. This began to annoy my dad. Although he would yell “JIBE!!!” milliseconds before this happened; none of us really knew what “JIBE!!!” meant, and were knocked silly by the boom as punishment. So dad took action. He began to utter mysterious phrases with great passion, often directed at one of his four children. Things like “COME ABOUT!!!” or “FALL OFF!!!!” to the poor soul who had been drafted into working the tiller; or - to the person who was sitting gazing at the water – “GRAB THE LINE AND PULL THE SHEET IN!!!!”

It was mayhem. Those who didn’t respond as expected (all of us) were sternly rebuked for our lack of maritime knowledge; and soon the situation came to a head. I started snapping back, my brothers joined in, even our border collie seemed less enthusiastic then normal – and within a matter of mere minutes it was ‘Mutiny on the Bounty’. We were shouting, gesturing, the boat had decided to stop, my mother was attempting to lower blood pressures, and within all this pandemonium, my father decided to let us know just how furious we made him. He drew himself up and bellowed with great force; “THAT’S IT!!! I’M GOING TO FIND MYSELF ANOTHER CREW!!!!”

Well, that killed the viscous mood that we were all in. No matter how serious he was trying to be, ‘the crew’ couldn’t keep a straight face. The day turned out all-right in the end.

Harnessing Cats

I've found that the more I think of things to write about, the more my attention comes to rest on my cats. Greg and I have cancelled our DirectTV subscription, and have felt only minor withdrawal symptoms; I think because of the high entertainment value that cats have.

For example, Cider is now about 7 months old, and I want to get her used to a harness so that she can be out gardening with me without being an outdoor kitty. So we found one that matches her fur beautifully, and, following all the advice given us, tossed it on the floor so she could get Used To Its Presence over the next few days. She lost interest within about 3 minutes, and it sat on the floor in the exact same spot for the next 3-4 days. So, with her Used To Its Presence, I decided that it was time to put it on her.

She say patiently while I clipped it on, adjusted it to fit her tiny runt-frame, and then I patted her on the sides and scooted her out into the middle of the living room floor. She looked at me, disgusted, and then began to walk like an old sway-backed mare. Her body was stretched; her stomach an inch off the floor, and then the weight of it all was apparently too much. She collapsed onto her belly with great drama, and began pathetically scooting about, pulling herself with her two front paws and pushing with her back. I was in fits of giggles at this stage, and Cider, seeing that her flare for acting had not pulled my heartstrings nearly enough, burst into action.

BOING! High up in the air I saw a flash of tortishell fur, and then another streak as she re-entered the atmosphere and went tearing around the living room. She did somersaults, cartwheels, she hopped to the left, then the right; she flopped over on her side and began scootching again, only to be hit with another burst of energy as she went zooming to the den. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. My sides hurt too much. I intercepted another wild dash and took off the harness, and with an indignant sniff, she went to get some food.

All the websites say that you should NEVER react to a cats behavior to the harness, laughing is specifically mentioned, so I suppose I'm a bad trainer in that fact. I need to keep putting it on and taking it off, and eventually we can work our way outside. As of right now, I don't see that happening anytime within the next 10 years. Especially if Cider has something to say about it.

Suntanning

_____________________________________________________________________ Today, as I write this – I am a major contributor to global warming, and will be for probably the next few days.

I've recently begun sun tanning again. I've been going for almost a month now once or twice a week in a very low UV bed. So there haven't been dramatic results, per say - but I like the slow and steady approach to this particular habit. To mark my progress, I keep sticking a little butterfly sticker on my skin which will show up lighter as the rest of my skin gets darker and darker. As of yesterday morning, there was no butterfly to be seen.

So yesterday I go in to see if my bed was open. It wasn't, but the helpful employee said that bed 2 was. It was a step up from what I was already using, but it had less intense something-or-other which dramatically reduced the chances of sunburn. It was, he told me in a matter-of-fact-voice, the bed that I should have started with. Splendid! Put me in for 10 minutes like the other bed! He paused, "Well, you could go longer in this bed, it won't burn you, and you’ll see results very quickly.” "Hmmm, ok, let's do 15 minutes then." He had a point, I had been at 10 minutes for 2 1/2 weeks now, surely 15 minutes in a lesser bed would do no harm. Perhaps that butterfly I'd been sticking to my skin would begin to show!

I go in, and cover my face, like always, and relax. There is something nice about laying on a warm tanning bed when its chilly outside, I just love it. I did get a little warm, but turned the fan up to compensate, and was fine. After 15 minutes were over, I went home to take a shower and then finish up some studying before class started later on that evening.

I looked at myself in the mirror to see how the tanning was progressing, and was a little worried to see the vast amounts of pink beginning to show all across my hide. I changed my plan to a milk bath to take some of the heat out of the ‘mild’ burn, and then went to class. When I returned home at nine, I changed into my pajamas, and noticed that I was putting off vast amounts of radiant heat. I went back to the bathroom mirror, where it was revealed to me that I now resembled a lobster. The good news was that my butterfly sticker showed. A pale outline among a vast expanse of red. The bad news was that tomorrow was going to involve much pain.

Today, I am the sun, clothed in baggy jeans and a loose shirt. I can barely carry my laptop bag, and last night Greg couldn’t sleep near to me for the amount of radiant heat that was warming our bed. My cats are especially drawn to me, as it must resemble sleeping on a heater, and I know that the global warming monitors will notice a sharp peak in Colorado for the next few days.