Category Archives: Playtime

It’s December; what’s your Tree Decorating Personality?

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The other day my husband said that the month of November dragged and dragged and seemed to go on forever, and honestly, I felt like I couldn’t relate at all. November FLEW by for me, in that I keep thinking that it was just Halloween the other day, and now it’s December. I mean, I’ve been feeling festive for the past couple of weeks, as is my wont at this time of year, but I keep feeling like my life is a speeded-up cartoon of pages flying off a daily calendar.

On Wednesday I went to the post office to mail the Christmas parcel to my mother-and-sister-in-law, and as I walked through the parking lot I saw a man standing outside of the Tim Horton’s, having a cigarette. This would not be notable in the least, except that the man in question looked exactly like Santa Claus: he had a long, well-kept white beard, rosy cheeks, a generally round shape, and – this might be speculation on my part – a jolly demeanor. I wondered if he WAS the mall Santa Claus; although he wasn’t wearing a red suit, he was wearing a red t-shirt, and anyway it would be more than likely that he would change for his smoke break, so as to not disturb the young children who had just sat on his lap in the pretend North Pole in the mall. Nevertheless, I did wonder if he WAS the mall Santa, would children recognize him even without the suit, and if so, how would their parents explain this? Even Santa deserves a break, maybe, or Santa has a stressful job at this time of year. I thought about this all through the lineup at the post office, imagining this stranger, who had done nothing whatever to deserve this thought process, other than having a Santa-like appearance, was actually the real Santa, picturing his smoke breaks during toy-making supervision, and the elves smoking with him with their tiny elf-sized mugs of super-strong coffee, talking with a “HEY! I’m WALKING here!” New York accent. I thought about this until I got back to my car and then realized that I was letting my imagination run away with me, and speculation is just that, speculation, and most likely the fellow in question was not Santa in any shape or form, only a kind-looking, if hirsute, older gentleman.

Not that I’d begrudge Santa his smoke break – it would be tiring sitting there with screaming infants and parents trying to coax a smile out of their terrified toddlers, who intuitively know not to sit on a stranger’s lap and tell that stranger secrets for any amount of candy canes. Have you been a good girl this year? But a smoking Santa might be a little stinky for the kids.

Long story short, now is the time to visit the post office. The lineup was negligible and the clerks are not as downtrodden and exhausted as they will be three weeks from now.

What’s the gift-and-card-for-the-in-laws situation in your house? For what it’s worth, I take this task on myself. I know many people have a “your family, you do the gift” policy, but a) I find I’m probably more suited to shop for a seventy-five-year-old woman than my husband is, b) I have a much more flexible schedule, and c) broadly speaking, once two people are joined in holy matrimony those two people should – IDEALLY – consider the spouse’s family to be their own. Ideally. In any case, it’s all done and mailed now.

I am also the person in charge of holiday cards, for the very good reason that I am the only person who cares about holiday cards. I am the person who chooses the photo, the layout, and the inside message. I make sure to include “from Barkley too, woof!” as I do every year, and I write out and address each one. I do not let anyone near them – which, as I said, no one is really clamouring to help – because to say I’m particular about them is an understatement.

I mention this so you know that I am not judging the people involved in my next topic. I know we all have our things. Lately I have seen a lot of posts about women, exclusively women, who either a) redecorate their Christmas tree after their children decorate it, or b) do not let their children decorate the tree at all. No judgement here, but I cannot relate in the least. Decorating the tree is a full-on family affair in the Boyhouse and hoo boy, can you tell. I love it. I love our extremely eclectic collection of ornaments and I love to see the perfect arrangement of ornaments through my kids’ eyes. Every year I add one or two ornaments to our collection, something to remind me of the year that has passed, and so we have a lot of interesting trinkets; a tractor from when the boys were obsessed with John Deere, a beautiful ball with an Inukshut on it from 2010, a fat moose from the year I was pregnant with the oldest and was enormous.

Did you know that there is much spirited debate in the world about white versus coloured lights? I did not but never fear: our tree has a setting for both, and the lights oscillate between the two. See?

I love when the kids jam several ornaments on one branch; they do that because they think the ornaments want to be together, which melts my heart.

Clue – a gift from my parents – plus two homemade candy canes and, surprisingly, Superman.

A stormtrooper with Ben 10 and a few assorted Cars movie ornaments.

I bought this admittedly tacky Disney castle with Mickey Mouse last year, at Disney World. It reminds me of watching the fireworks show, and how wonderful and special that was. A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you’re fast asleep.

This came from Disneyland, back in 2011. The kids LOVED the Buzz Lightyear ride.

My mom had given the boys these ornaments when they were – as you may guess – four and five, and I love that they are together. Also: Scooby Doo and my marshmallow “Kiss the Cook.”

My mother-in-law gave me this bowl years ago. I keep it filled with driftwood, shells, and smooth rocks from trips my husband and I made to the West Coast, before kids. The vintage ornaments get added at Christmas, and they were also a gift from her. I love the 1960s feel of them.

My husband, bless his heart, spends at least eight hours putting up outdoor Christmas decorations. Not only do we have lights – white icicles and red bulbs – along with lighted deer, trees, gift boxes, a hippo, penguins, snowmen, a moose, and an entire candy cane lane – which he bought for me because I always wanted one – he also decorates our large Mayday tree with glittery ornaments.

Sadly, two of them detached from their hooks. I went to Walmart to buy Gorilla Glue, feeling like an I am Woman Hear Me Roar type. I went to the DIY section, giggling because DIY always reminds me of that line in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, “Do you like to Do It Yourself?” Anyway, there were many different kinds of Gorilla Glue but I chose wisely, I think. When I told my husband, expecting praise for doing what I would strongly consider a Blue Job, he nervously texted me to ask me to please wait until he got home before fixing the ornaments. I think he thought I would glue myself to the table, or perhaps glue my hands together or one hand to my face or something. Given my track record for fixing things, this was probably warranted.

My husband also strung lights on the garage so when I’m making dinner, I don’t have to stare out the window into the pitch-black abyss. It really brightens my mood. He also set the timer so that the lights come on just as I’m driving home from yoga in the wee hours of the morning, and it always makes me happy.

Happy December, my friends. I wish you a month of joy and festivity, and no fingers glued together. xo

Why do we have two Agent P? I don’t know, but I’m glad they’re together.

Strange things are afoot on the internet; The Shoe on the Roof

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Just in case you’ve always wondered what it’s like to live in this meteorological hellscape, on October 28 it was 24 degrees Celsius, and within a week we had a 43 degree temperature drop. It is basically impossible to acclimatize to that kind of temperature swing, and so this is what I look like when preparing for a dog walk:

Except with my head covered.

The bad weather really started on Halloween; it poured rain all afternoon and I despaired for the kids and their costumes. It had mostly let up by 7 pm, but by then, the damage had been done; the Trick or Treat crowd was greatly thinned. My own kids, however, made out like bandits, and we now have a metric tonne of candy in the house, probably to still be here next summer, if the past is any indication of the future. They were also, they said, toasty warm.

At least the snow held off until the next day, but it is a winter wonderland around here now. It’s given me a very festive feeling, and I will say that I am almost entirely done Christmas shopping, with the exception of the calendars I make for grandparents and other relatives; that shall be done this weekend, I think.

One of the things that I vowed to do this year was to read more and be on social media less. So far, so good, and since it’s November, I feel like I can pretty much say that was a New Year’s goal that I achieved. I am on my 72nd book since January 1, which I think is a pretty solid number. Notably, Simon and Schuster Canada sent me a copy of The Shoe on the Roof, and it was a very interesting read. Three homeless men all believe they are the true Messiah, and a psychology grad student decides to cure them of the delusions by bringing them all together; after all, only one can really be a Messiah. What a great thesis topic, he thinks. But the twist is that the student was himself the centre of a study; in fact, his entire childhood was exploited as a study in children’s behaviour, by his father, a renowned psychiatrist. Lots of twists and turns, it was like nothing I’d read before. I recommend it!

But I am not a book-reading robot, and so I do still enjoy my daily fix of social media. It’s a strange, strange world though, and sometimes I see things I wish I hadn’t seen.

Okay, we all know babies’ bums are adorable but…I can’t get behind (heh) this. I’m imagining the scenario in which teenaged children figure out that the table centrepiece is really an imprint of their own derriere. I’m also wondering how many diaper wipes it would take to get that paint off. I’m also…well, I just…you do you, bum imprint people. I’ll just enjoy the “tiny handprints” playgroup crafts of days of yore.

One of the things about Facebook that I like, generally, is that I can see businesses and pages that my friends have liked. I have discovered some sweet yoga sites, some tasty recipes, and some fabulous fashion that way. But then one day something pops up that you cannot un-know.

Will someone please tell me what I’m looking at, here? Actually, maybe don’t.

Is this a sauna? A portable sauna?

 

WHAT IS THIS

While something like this might come in handy for those frigid dog walks, I think I’ll pass.

Spooky stuff!

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Happy Halloween! After years of elementary school rules wherein costumes were only allowed after lunch on October 31, we have entered the realm of junior high. Every day this week has a theme – yesterday was Pajama Day, for example, and Thursday is Twin Day – and today, happily and appropriately enough, is Costume Day.

What could possibly go wrong? On the weekend the eighth grader had quite a lot of homework, including making his own water filtration system to be brought to school on Tuesday. Tuesday, Halloween. “Mom, where do we keep our activated charcoal?” is a question I never thought I’d be answering, but here we are. Fortunately my husband has a charcoal grill, and although I’m unsure if it will be effective, the filtration system now has smashed up pieces of charcoal in it. Just getting the system there in one piece while wearing a headless horseman costume and carrying all the usual school paraphernalia seemed like an enormous undertaking, fraught with all sorts of issues, but it is now 1:00 pm and I haven’t been alerted to any major issues, so I suppose all is well.

I just had a feeling of sympathy for all the teachers today, and tomorrow. Let’s have a positive thought for them, bless those brave souls.

Speaking of scary, it is supposed to rain tonight and the snow is starting tomorrow, so I am thankful that I am the home base candy person. My husband is only going out around our block, though, and then the kids are meeting their friends, so it appears a new era is upon us. I’m just glad we have a white stormtrooper to be the reflective person in the group, and am trying not to be too nervous about it. DRIVE SLOW, HOMIES.

Scary movies and sleepovers involving horror flicks were a big part of growing up in my generation, it seems. I have never liked horror movies at all, and I must have blocked them mostly out because while I remember watching some of the Nightmare on Elm Street ilk, I don’t remember any details of them. I do, however, remember two television shows from my youth that scared the bejesus out of me, and neither were Halloween or horror related.

First, when I was very little, I remember watching a show about a bear that stalked people and, presumably, killed them. I’m fuzzy on the details; I was pretty young. It would have been set in “settler times” because the cast was dressed in Little House on the Prairie-like clothing and the houses were small cabins in the woods. I remember only one scene, and it terrified me for life: the people being stalked were in the safety of their cabin, when the camera panned onto the door. Underneath the door, a claw slid through. It was so creepy then, and it’s creepy now, and I have no idea whatsoever this program was or why I watched it. I guess there was nothing else on – but that doesn’t explain it, really, since I was never much of a TV-watcher. Anyone?

The second terrifying television program WAS Little House on the Prairie. Ma had – somehow – gotten a cut on her leg, which became infected and practically gangrenous. She was alone in the house for a few days, and became feverish with this infection. She picked up her Bible and read a passage about cutting off and casting away a limb which is causing problems, since it was better than having the entire body go to hell. Obviously Ma was crazed with fever and pain to not realize the symbolism of this verse, and she actually got out her big old carving knife in preparation to saw her own leg off. I know it ended with Ma NOT becoming the One Legged Woman Of Walnut Grove, but I don’t remember how exactly because I ended up becoming far too invested in the story and freaking out entirely. I think, probably, Pa came home and Ma had already passed out from pain before she could do the unsedated old-timey amputation.

Other terrifying childhood memories include a visit from the firefighters about fire safety, with a warning that “everyone will be involved in a fire sometime in their lives,” leading six-year-old me to believe that the house would instantly combust and I would burn to death in my bed, leading to nightmares for years, getting lost at a large Canada Day festival and ending up in the cold, grey, concrete Lost Children Room with a CLOWN, and watching Bruce Banner change into the Incredible Hulk with my older brother, who would always tell me that the worst was over and I could look, now, WHEN THE WORST WAS MOST DEFINITELY NOT OVER.

And now it’s your turn – what spooked you, when you were a kid? Tell all, it will be like therapy, but much less expensive. xo

Dressing like a gypsy fortune-teller – one of the more popular costumes back in 1981.

This year’s festive carvings – can you tell which one is mine?

It’s 5:00 pm and I have had no one bring me cocktails.

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My husband and I took a quick trip to Cabo San Lucas, leaving the kids behind with my parents. I know! I can’t believe it either. We had a great time, the kids had a great time, and now it’s all “back to reality” and attempting to both reestablish a routine AND savour every moment of this last week before school, which seems like two non-intersecting circles of a Venn diagram.

We arrived home on Sunday night and yesterday I spent the day in that post-vacation state where you wonder if you were actually on vacation or if it was some kind of dream. I popped out to the grocery store before teaching in the morning, and the Co-Op was changing their aisles around. How long was I gone, I wondered, while staring at the shelf where the rice stick noodles used to be. I stood motionless in one aisle so long that an employee asked if I was okay. I’m okay, I just don’t know where the fusilli is.

Anyway, I am now feeling extremely refreshed and rejuvenated; I think that I was maybe a bit burned out before going away. Princess problems, I know. Even though it was just a quick trip, it was incredibly relaxing. I mostly did nothing except cool off in the pool, drink refreshing cocktails, chat with people, eat, and read. I have been on a roll of reading excellent books, and I also read one not-excellent-but-still-decent book that will be reviewed soon, as I am involved in a virtual book tour. Stay tuned!

One of my favourite things about travel is meeting people. Everyone has a story, to me, everyone is interesting. Most of the people I met were from the southern United States, and I stand firm in my opinion that Americans are the friendliest people on earth. However, they do not spell Toffifee correctly. I took this photo of the candy in the international departures part of the airport, because I was shocked – SHOCKED, PEOPLE – to see it spelled Toffifay. TOFFIFAY! Heresy! But several American friends have told me that is the American spelling and I just don’t know what to do with that information.

I suppose it’s a tomato tomahto thing, and as long as we all eat them by peeling off the caramel layer, and then eating it layer by layer, all is well and harmonious. If not, well.

In addition to all the lovely Americans, I also met a newly-single girl from Calgary. We chatted for a long while, and when I recommended to her the above book, The Choices We Make, she gave me the side-eye. “Is it a self-help book?” she asked with a sigh, and when I replied that it was not, it was an excellent novel, she told me that since becoming single her friends have inundated her with self-help books. That seems to me a little presumptuous, and I don’t think I would ever recommend a self-help book to anyone, in any circumstances.

Also a little off was the group of young men wearing red ball caps with what I THOUGHT said “Make America Great Again” but actually said “Make John Single Again.” Guys. In the first instance, I thought that it was pretty rude and insensitive to wear a hat like that in Mexico, of all places, but when I discovered what they really said I was kind of appalled on a whole new level. I mean. I presume this is a stag, where the fellows are lamenting their friend’s bachelorhood, but really. Really, guys. To make matters worse, the fellow I presume was John wore a cap saying “Make Me Single Again” and I feel for his bride-to-be. John’s fiancee, this may not be the best start.

Unless – UNLESS – he was actually newly single after a break-up and his buddies were cheering him up but a) that seems unlikely and b) this was a resort geared towards couples, and if they wanted the newly-single guy to get lucky there are probably better places to do that. Improbable, but not impossible, I guess.

The kids are back to school in one week, and I am feeling a bit melancholy about it; fleeting time, I miss them when they are gone all day etc., etc. I can’t complain though. We have had the most beautiful summer ever; I cannot remember another summer this warm, sunny, and lovely. It’s my favourite season and I’m trying to think of all the things I like about fall, but alas. The leaves are already turning and our front yard is sprinkled with dropped leaves; I don’t feel ready but here we are. We cannot stop time, as my trip to Costco today reminded me. Just in case anyone wanted to buy one of these they are now available – only 117 days until Santa is here!

Nicole, the Cruise Director

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Those of you who do not live in places with incredibly unpredictable and volatile climates will not be able to understand my complete and utter joy that it is SUMMER in Calgary. Actual, bonafide summer. Warm – even hot – sunshiny days and calm, beautiful evenings. This is a thing that rarely happens, and it is forecasted to stay this way for at least another ten days. The regular reader, or any Calgarian, will recall last year at this time it was dark, frigidly cold, and rainy. And when I say “cold” I mean that a few daytime highs were eight degrees. Eight.

So it has been beautiful and I am doing what any person might do when faced with beautiful weather in Calgary: assuming that things could change at any time and desperately seizing the day. Carpe diem, and soak up that sunshine.

We have been spending as much time as possible at my parents’ place at the lake, boating and paddleboarding and biking, and also eating and drinking a lot. All that activity requires a lot of replenishment, and let’s not forget to hydrate! The kids have also been swimming, although that is a bridge too far in my opinion, as the lake is very chilly, even with all this sunshine.

I’ve been taking care of our very-good-friends’ kids for the past couple of days, and it has been very fun. It has brought out my inner Cruise Director, in that I am devising activities for the kids to maximize our outdoor time. Of course, they are awesome at finding their own things to do, which is just as well, because there is no need to be Helicopter Cruise Director.

I wonder what it would be like to be a Cruise Director. I’m guessing it would be terrible. In general, I don’t like to rule out whole ideas or paint with one big giant brush, but when I think “cruise ship” I immediately think “epidemiological disaster” or “Norwalk outbreak.” I know, I shouldn’t be close-minded, but still. Imagine contracting the Norwalk virus with only one of those tiny cruise ship bathrooms at your disposal. Ew.

Anyway, the kids have had epic water gun battles, including one with our hose, just like a real “1970s summer.” I don’t think anyone drank out of it though; slurping down warm, rubber-flavoured water is a thing of the past, I guess. They also had a water gun battle at a wading pool, which I thought would be fun and it WAS, albeit slightly nerve-wracking with all the little ones and their moms around. I reiterated the rule that no little kids get shot – or any adults – but I think a few may have gotten caught in the crossfire. Mostly I was just glad I wasn’t one of those moms, because I forgot how anxiety-inducing it is to have very small children toddling uncertainly around water.

The kids also had a day at the local amusement park, which was very fun for everyone involved, including me, since I took a book and read while they went on rides over and over. I guess I was channeling my inner Lazy Cruise Director at that point. And, of course, there were Minecraft and Mario Kart marathons; all in all a fabulous week.

Red wine and cowboy boots

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Well, hello there, Friday. You beautiful thing, come give mama a kiss.

I desperately try not to wish my life away but I have been looking forward to today. It hasn’t been a long week, not really. If anything, I feel like time is rushing by like one of those super speed videos; I can hardly believe that June is past the halfway mark, 2017 is almost half over, and life is just going by quickly. All the same, I have been looking forward to cracking open a bottle of wine tonight.

Speaking of which, last night I was in Superstore, which is my wont on evenings that the kids are in karate. Usually at that time – which is non-negotiable for me – it is a disaster zone. Things are unstocked, empty cardboard half-boxes sitting on shelves which previously contained my much-desired items. But not last night, dear reader, NOT LAST NIGHT. Last night I got every last thing on my list, including a three-pack of Romaine hearts, which they NEVER have in stock when I shop. I got everything I wanted and in record time, so I thought I’d pop into the liquor store to grab a bottle of wine.

That’s when I saw it: Wayne Gretzky Cab/ Shiraz, on sale for $13.77 a bottle. The friendly man working there asked if he could help me, and I just said “I’d like a case, please.” In and out, and then tonight I will be able to enjoy that delicious wine and revel in my (relative) thriftiness.

It’s been a busy week though, and I had a dentist appointment, which I always dread. It’s the scaling that gets me, every time. That scraping noise just gives me the chills. I floss daily and brush my teeth several times a day, and scaling is still a torturous process for me. Maybe it’s the red wine.

Honestly, given the choice I’d take a Pap test over dental scaling, even with my ham-handed doctor searching for my elusive cervix. The last time I had a test I endured what felt like hours of poky cervical torture, and then a week later the office called to say that they’d made a mistake with the sample and I had to come back for another test. I nearly cried. But cervical health – like dental health – is no joke, and so off I went, only to find out that the doctor needed to use a totally different speculum, for my special-snowflake lady-parts. “Remember to ask for the LARGE speculum next time!” my doctor cheerfully said, which was a hit to my already-beaten-up feminine mystique.

I’d still take that over scaling. However, no one wants to end up with a mouth full of dental issues, and so I shall soldier on.

Today was the elementary school’s Stampede Breakfast, our last one. I got all kitted up in my annual cowgirl wear; I was responsible for manning the syrup station. It was literally the easiest volunteer hour I’ve ever spent. I kind of wished I’d volunteered for that every year.

If you’ve ever wanted to dress up for the Stampede, or if you are not in Calgary and you – for reasons unknown – need Western-style wear, I refer you to my post of yesteryear, entitled How To Dress For The Calgary Stampede Without Looking Like An Idiot. Since the writing of that, I have actually purchased cowboy boots; I bought them last year for the Zac Brown concert. They were breathtakingly expensive, and so I justified the cost by promising myself I would wear them often and incorporate them in a cute way into my wardrobe. They are, without a doubt, some of the most comfortable footwear I have ever had on my tootsies, and so I thought that would be easy.

I have worn them exactly zero times since then. Well, except for today. I guess today really brought down the average-wear cost. At this rate I will be wearing them in the nursing home, in fifty years or so, when it’s Country Western Theme Day, just to justify the cost of purchase. I’ll wear them with my old-lady beaded and fringed cowgirl dress, my lipstick bleeding into the lines around my mouth. It’s going to be great!

Some people think of nursing homes as sad places they never want to end up in, but in my opinion, it sounds kind of nice. I mean, in fifty years do I really want to be worrying about my hot water heater or who’s going to mow the lawn? No! I do not! I want to be concerned with making my macrame owls or whatever happens during craft time; I want to have someone else make my meals and wash the floors. Bloom where you’re planted is my motto; I want to be like that 98-year-old yoga teacher when I grow up. With red wine and comfortable cowboy boots.

Who’s a good doggy?

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Yesterday I was in my front yard, happily watering my gardens, when my across-the-street pulled up. I chatted with him for a few moments about the gorgeous, sunny weather and his beautifully blooming double-flowering ornamental plum tree. As he turned to go, he stopped. He had forgotten to mention, he said, that there was a coyote hanging out in our front lawn the other evening, right underneath our Mayday tree. Just thought I’d let you know! Maybe keep an eye out! he said as I stood there, stunned. There have been a lot of coyote problems lately in the city and in some of the natural, off-leash parks, but not really on my street.

Haven’t you noticed the rabbit population has gone way down lately? he asked cheerfully and, now that he mentioned it, I HAVE noticed it. Normally when I would drive to yoga at five in the morning, a number of wild rabbits would run out of the way of my car and into the small green space behind my house. Now that I think about it, that hasn’t happened in over a week.

Gah.

I’m pretty sure a lone coyote wouldn’t hop our fence to eat fat, fluffy Barkley, especially when there are any number of rabbits and, sadly and regrettably, outdoor cats around. But still. One never knows. In any case, Barkley tends to be in bed for the night around eight pm, and so he is PROBABLY fine. I looked around carefully before going outside this morning though.

Speaking of Mr Fuzzy, it’s his ninth birthday today! To his great excitement and confusion, we sang Happy Birthday to him this morning and then gave him some freeze-dried chicken, one of his favourite treats. Well, pretty much any food is his favourite treat, but I think he likes this best of all.

Who’s a good doggy? YOU’RE A GOOD DOGGY.

I’m feeling a little emotional about him being NINE, because that means a) he is heading into his Golden Years, so to speak, and b) my children have grown up with him. I always say that I could never have another dog, because Barkley is so perfect, to which my husband always responds “Never say never!” accompanied by an incredibly cute puppy picture.

Anyway. Let’s just all enjoy the time we have with our wonderful pets and NOT THINK FOR A MOMENT ABOUT THE INEVITABLE.

As mentioned earlier, we have been having absolutely beautiful weather, save for a giant wind/ rain/ and snowstorm last Wednesday. I was teaching a restorative yoga class and during breaks in the calm music, there would be the wild howl of the wind and the whipping of rain onto the windows; it was both calming to be in the warm, lovely studio, and agitating to hear the gusts. But that day seemed to be a blip, and the weekend was incredibly warm and perfect for gardening, which is what we did.

My husband, after I described to him the addition that I thought we needed to one of the front gardens, encouraged me to go out and buy plants on Saturday, and then after he trimmed the spirea in the back, he encouraged me to go out again on Sunday. Needless to say I jumped at the (unneeded) encouragement and the weekend was spent very happily digging up lawn to make room for more plants. I also finished digging out all the useless, disappointing tulip bulbs and wondered if the coyote population would perhaps help out with the squirrel population. Is that wrong? If it’s wrong, frankly, my plants and I don’t want to be right. What? It’s the Circle of Life.