What is this weed, Farmer Squack?

Last night while weeding in the garden, I noticed a weed that looked different from the rest. I looked at it briefly, noting that it was new. It had long, slender leaves about maybe two inches high, just beginning to unfurl. I pulled it out to discover that it was...corn. Among the lilacs. Gee, I wonder how that got there?

My questionable social skills

On Saturday I had dinner with an old friend who lives on the other side of the country and whom I had not seen in many years. Scott and I dated briefly in college; how briefly has become something of a debate between us -- I think it was something like two weeks, and he thinks it was something like nine months. Which gives you some idea of how *exciting* it must be to date me. But that's another story for another time. Or maybe never.

Dinner was at the home of Scott's friend. I had never met him before, but he's married, has two young kids, a lovely home with a stunning view of Lake Washington, and excellent taste in wine. I was appreciative of the very kind invitation into their home, but I swear I used to be better at meeting new people. I used to be sweet and inoffensive while I learned about the new person, and then steer clear of potentially hazardous topics based on what I had learned. It seems the years of therapy have paid off in that I am now able to express my opinion about damn near anything, but apparently I now need to work on getting those filters back. A few examples:

• I know that Scott falls squarely on the red end of the political spectrum, and have no problem teasing him about it. I have no idea where my hosts fall on the Red-Blue scale, however. We got to talking about the presidential race, how it has started too early, will go on too long, and we'll all be sick to death of it by the time election day rolls around. Scott adds that by the time we get to pull the lever, the only thing we're really going for is who we can stand to see on t.v. every night for the next four years. He adds "did you want to watch John Edwards, or John Kerry, or George? At least George is a good guy, a nice guy, a guy you could hang out with." Me: no hesitation, no filter, eyes wide as saucers. "Are you kidding me with this? I can't stand to listen to that ass for two seconds and I have to change the channel. I like to listen to comedians poke fun at him, but he's like nails on a chalkboard to me. And he's a good, nice guy? What?? Seriously? Every time I see him I want to wipe that smirk off his face and beat him with it!" Scott's friend quietly changed the subject, and that was the last word about politics for the remainder of the evening.
• When we sat down to dinner -- friend, wife, 3-year-old son, Scott and me -- Scott's friend's wife said grace as we held hands around the table. Very nice, very civilized, but not what I'm used to. During dinner the wine flows freely, the kid goes to bed, and we start talking about sex ed in school. Did it start in 5th grade or 6th? Scott says he didn't have sex ed because he went to Catholic school. Me: no hesitation, no filter, smack my hand on the table and exclaim "and they're exactly the people who need it the most!" Did I forget that part about finding out how religious someone is before you start making cracks like that? Did I forget the part about how we held hands and said grace?
• During dinner the wife reports to her husband that a friend of theirs has started breeding dogs. There was some discussion about what kind of dogs they were, and should they get one. Me: no hesitation, no filter, and surely unsolicited: "I don't believe in breeding dogs. The best dogs are pound mutts anyway, and I just don't think we should be deliberately creating overbred, genetically weak designer dogs while the shelters destroy perfectly great dogs every day because there aren't enough homes to place them in." Do you think the conversation quickly changed, never to return to the subject of pets? Why yes it did. Scott's friend did return the favor at one point and made derisive comments about single thirty-something women with cats and only then thought to ask about my pet status. Yeah, I'm a cliche, I know it.

It's possible I'm making it out to be worse than it was. Nobody seemed overly offended at the time, but I swear I used to be better at this. Did I mention the wine?

Berry thieving vermin

I'm not one of those people who considers squirrels a nuisance. This is probably a good thing, since the old guy across the street takes great care to provide for them. He has feeding platforms in his trees, has made and erected several other types of feeders, and is out there filling them with corn and peanuts pretty much every morning. He even has one of those big yellow faux street signs in his yard that says "Squirrel X-ing".

I used to have a bird feeder just outside my front window too. I didn't try to prevent the squirrels from getting to the sunflower seeds; I just watched, was entertained, and filled the feeder frequently. One year I even had a pair of regulars that I called Ray and Pete. (Yes, I could tell them apart, and yes, once when Pete was hanging upside down from the feeder with his underside facing me, I could tell that he was a Pete and not, let's say, a Paula. I'm not so sure about Ray.)

Like I said, I'm no enemy of the squirrel. Until, that is, it comes to strawberries. I have about 15 strawberry plants in my back yard. Most are new this year and I don't really know what to expect from them. In the last few years I have come to expect very little from the existing plants. This year I boosted some of the old plants with compost, and that has brought them back to life and into production. But I am not the only one who has noticed. I go out to tend my plants every couple days, and have been mildly annoyed to sometimes find the planters disturbed - litlte holes or mounds in the dirt, the plants kind of pushed over. The occasional empty peanut shell next to a little hole is a whodunnit giveaway.

Since the compost has brought some of the plants back to life, I've been watching little fruits emerge, grow, and turn red. The first berry of the season ripened all by itself, just one lone berry, and I watched it for days as it got bigger and redder. I got to eat that first one - my garden, my berry. It was fabulous, but left me wanting more, of course. The next berry to ripen also came in all by its lonesome, but I thought I'd be generous and let Bill have it. Again I watched it ripen for days. When it had reached perfection just the other night, I told Bill he really needed to go eat that berry, but he didn't. When he went out the next day to get it, he came in with this perfect red berry in his hand, with a quarter of it chewed away by little rodent teeth. Squirrels! In years past I do remember watching and a waiting for a few tiny fruits to turn red, only to have them disappear in the night just before I was going to pick them. This year it seems more maddening because the plants are doing so much better and are producing larger fruit. And because I've been watching them so carefully and so expectantly. Damn the little vermin! If they start eating the blueberries we're going to have serious problems.