It wasn't a question, but somehow the way he said it felt like he was "floating the idea."
We quickly brainstormed some ideas and I tried to contain my enthusiasm.
It wasn't until later that I realized I had signed up for more work.
For a reporter, going out on a fun assignment is like a fourth-grader going on a field trip, only reporters are paid.

(I'm not an expert, but this looks very similar to the lacewings I saw on the UC Davis IPM Web site).

Bug-eat-bug world
We think our lives are rough. Imagine being a fairly gluttonous aphid mother trying to find a safe place to land and pump out some offspring.
Every once in a while a green lacewing will leap out of nowhere and gobble up that nice aphid family just a few leaf veins away.
Next comes some gigantic humanoid with a stiff stream from the garden hose, and suddenly your whole life is sent tumbling, your nymphs scattered like boats in a tsunami.
This is as dramatic as a "CSI: Chico" episode.

Now that I'm interested in bug dynamics, and because it's too early to plant outdoors by seed, I'm going to let the aphids settle in for a respite.
Betsy said predators usually follow aphids by about two weeks. That should be enough time for me to watch those minuscule baby aphids grow, and maybe even watch if they do any leaf damage.

Normally I spray the aphids with a mixture of water and a dab of Castile soap when they look like they are gathering for an aphid Woodstock concert.
Betsy said to watch for signs of parisatoid wasps, which lay their eggs inside the aphids. Once the parasite devours the aphid, the aphid will look like a mummy. If you look closely with a magnifying glass you can see what looks like a manhole cover, popped open, where the aphid and the wasp formerly shared a brief union.
(A great picture is here: http://www.ipm.ucdavis.edu/PMG/NE/aphidius_spp.html.
What a strange death to be eaten from the inside out. Sounds almost like a scene from "Alien."

Finding people who love plants
Then there was my visit to Chico Propagators. I needed this -- I really did.
I walked into the warm nursery and was greeted by three people who love gardening, and get paid to plant seeds.
It was a cold late-February morning and my glasses fogged up when I entered the growing room. Sally Greenwood, Paula Shapiro and Angela Handy met me with 9 a.m. genuine smiles.
They soon showed me how they propagate hundreds upon hundreds of plants under ideal conditions.
Right now there are several trays of plant seedlings in my windowsill. This weekend I'll plant the seeds that can be planted 6-8 weeks before last frost, which is about April 23.
It was difficult not to be envious of these gals who get to work with plants every day. But I'm sure even they get bored with it sometimes.
The entire adventure renewed my resignation to nag my beau Tommy about building me that cold-frame.

(This photo by E-R photographer Jason Halley ran with a story Feb. 21 about guided tours at Table Mountain hosted by the California Department of Fish and Game. The two-hour tours are held twice daily on the first and third Saturdays of the month, from February to May. There is no fee, though donations are accepted.

For more information about the guided tours on Table Mountain, call (916) 358-2869).

I feel crafty and wise when I find a window of opportunity and seize it.
This doesn't happen that often, mostly because I'm better at coming up with great ideas than I am at executing them.
The thing about gardening is that it is never done, which is both good and bad. This has certainly been the case with the lawn.
I moved into a little cottage in August 1996.
I didn't know at the time that gardening would become such a pleasant diversion, provide so many metaphors about life, and at times help me keep my sanity.

This year, once again, my beau Tommy dug up about three-quarters of the lawn, filling up the green-waste container three times with the noxious weed and quite a lot of garden soil.
Luckily, the area dedicated to lawn is just enough to make a man feel useful on a Saturday afternoon while pushing the mower.
After the offending weed was mostly removed, we uncovered some ancient piles of compost and mixed this in with the soil. Next we scattered the dark surface with Chico Blend grass seed from Northern Star Mills.
This was a few weeks ago.

Just as I had hoped, there was periodic rain that kept the soil moist.
Planting lawn seed in the fall is ideal, because there is enough warmth to germinate the seeds, and upcoming rains to keep the gardener from spraying the seeds three times a day.
But I think we caught that magic pre-spring window.
Right now, the bald patches look like they are growing peach fuzz. The new blades of grass are bravely fighting through the almond blossoms that covered the yard. I'm not certain, but it looks like our cat Moxie may even have managed to stay away.
I'm hoping the new lawn turns out looking as good as my neighbor's, who was smarter and planted her grass seed in the fall.
For a very good article on Bermuda grass eradication, see http://www.ipm.ucdavis.edu/PMG/PESTNOTES/pn7453.html.

Nearby travels
As tempting as it is to spend the entire weekend getting ready for spring, now is prime time to enjoy a day trip.
Last weekend my sister, Tommy and I met my mom and Auntie Jeanne in Corning for brunch and returned to Chico via back roads.
The snow-covered mountain peaks could be clearly seen in the distance as cows looked happy in the green pastures. We stopped several times to stand outside the car and do a 360.
Just north of town, the swales are filling with yellow and white of the earliest wildflowers, making it clear to see why wetlands are different than flattened land.
While prime wildflower viewing may be a few weeks away, you never know what more-important plans will sneak up on you.
Different flowers pop up all the time and I'm hoping to take at least a weekly walk in upper park before this dance is done.

At least one trip to Table Mountain needs to also be penciled in. By the time you see the fabulous flowers on the front page of our paper, they're either on the way out, or everybody and their cousin Bob will be up there as well.
On this topic, I tried to do an Internet search to find out the peak of wildflower season. I came across this cool site at: http://calphoto.com/wflower.htm.
People from throughout the state write in and give reports on wildflowers blooming in their area.
One entry was from a guy named Don who posted a link to his photos of early arrivals on Table Mountain.

Other local excursions
For months now, Tommy has been pointedly asking me to make it up to the Kiwanis Chico Community Observatory in upper park. Good thing I didn't listen to him, because when we went this week, we found out it has been closed for a while this winter.
We met our friends up there the first night it reopened, during the full moon.
Anita Ingrao was just as enthusiastic and helpful as the last time I visited, showing us a "stellar nursery," mars, the moon and the stars.
If you go, it's cold right now, so bundle up. While a full moon isn't the best time to observe, we discovered that moonlight is a great way to make shadow puppets on the side of the open sky observatory.
The observatory is open on clear nights Thursdays through Sundays from 6-9 p.m. Hours change as the days begin to get longer.
It's located near Horseshoe Lake, and the Web site is http://www.chicoobservatory.org.

The almond tree in the backyard exploded into full bloom just before the recent rains.
It's an ancient tree, and over the years many of the thick branches have been amputated.
I keep thinking the almond must be on its last days, but this year it exploded like soft, pink fireworks, soon sprinkling the lawn with polka dots.
The flowering quince, another harbinger of spring, is also doing its early dance near my front door.
Cruising around town, you'll spot blooms on tulip trees (if they weren't battered by the recent rains), narcissus, and wild violas.
All this garden action, and we're only now nearing the time when seeds can be planted indoors.
It's difficult, sometimes, to wait.

Tomatoes now
I always jump the gun with tomato seeds, because they have sprouted successfully in past years when planted in January and February. I'm lucky because I have a big bay window that can fit several trays of seedlings.
The point is not that I really want 25 tomato plants, as usually about half end up being given away. Yet, planting the seeds and checking them every day satisfies that restless itch.
It would be preferable to have a grow light to give seedlings 12-16 hours of light a day. But I haven't found a corner of the house to dedicate the space.
Instead, the tomato plants get leggy in the windowsill, stretching for the light.
The good thing about tomatoes is you can replant them into a larger container and bury the first several inches of the stem, including the first several sets of leaves.
Tomatoes will actually grow roots along the buried stem. Some people will even bury the stems partially sideways to fit into a pot before transplanting outside.
I wouldn't necessarily recommend planting tomatoes from seed, however, unless you're like me and can't help yourself.
In about a month or so there will be bigger and bushier plants in the garden section and farmers markets, and home-grown tomatoes rarely have a chance to catch up.

Wrestling with impatience
Planting from seed helps get through these next several weeks when there isn't yet a lot to do outdoors.
For what seems like eons, I've been checking the calendar to count backward to when I can start seeds indoors.
According to www.victoryseeds.com, the date of last frost in Chico is April 23.
I took a black Sharpie pen and clearly marked and arranged all the seed packets from earliest to latest for planting indoors.
Finally, we're at the point where the earliest -- 10-12 weeks before last frost -- are ready to roll.
Much to do, time to wait
The few days of freeze in early Decembers cut a wide swatch across the garden beds. The alyssum that once cascaded over the rock borders now looks like thatch.
This week I'll cook up a new batch of these from seed as replacements.
Also presumed lost are the geraniums. However, these are so easy to grow by taking a cutting from a friend's yard and putting it in water until roots appear.
As for garden vegetables, we'll have to wait until March and April to plant most of the things that will grow through the summer months.
However, there's still time for a few batches of cooler vegetables, including lettuce and spinach, which will bolt once the weather warms up. Radishes usually make it from seed to harvest in just less than a month.
With planting by seeds, I've learned its wise not to get too attached to the young seedlings. Some will dry out, others will be kicked over from the wind.
That's where quantity comes in.

Free planting containers
This year I've had really good luck planting wheat berries through the winter for my sister's cats. These were planted in pots made from the cardboard rolls inside paper towels and toilet paper.
I cut the rolls to about 31⁄2 inches, and then fold up the bottoms to make a pot. The plan is to try this again for flower seedlings. This is cheap and doesn't require buying a bunch of peat pellets, which may or may not be OK for the environment, depending upon where the peat is mined.

For several years, I've been a member of an online group where people list things they are giving away. People also post their wish lists.
The premise is "one person's trash is another person's treasure."
There are a lot of reasons to love this concept. First, it's free. Also, why transport something from across the state, nation or earth when someone might be throwing away what you need around the corner? And did I mention it's free?
One time I sorted through the food container drawer and decided to thin out the containers.
Among the "treasures" were store-bought containers with lids, and several whipped cream containers.
A teacher happily contacted me and said she had no use for the store-bought containers, but needed the others for a class project.
Last spring we scored some car ramps that were slightly dented and just needed to be supported by cinder blocks. Now my beau Tommy has the joy of being able to change the oil in the car.
As a plant person, its also fun to know that if I divide my irises or have strawberries growing where I don't need them, someone else might be really pleased to score my leftovers.

Bulbs that keep giving
Daffodils in this area are a good investment, as Rochanah has proved over time.
Squirrels might dig them up just to torment us, but they don't eat them.
The Paradise Garden Club and Magalia Beautification Association have worked for years to plant tens of thousands of daffodils along roadways and in other public places in our area. These are gifts that continue for generations.
Reminder: The life cycle of a bulb requires that after bloom, the green leaves should remain until they fade to brown. The plant uses the energy from the leaves to plump up the bulb for next year. Over the summer, the bulb stores the energy from the sun, to send out the green shoots next winter.
Some people find this unsightly. Options include planting bulbs in places that will be overgrown by other plants in early spring.
Or you can plant in pots and simply tuck them away when the leaves begin to wither.
For more information about daffodils, see: http://daffodilusa.org.

Valentine's Day is my least favorite advertised holiday.
I'm all for romantic love, so don't get me wrong. Romantic love is one of those delightful gifts of being human. It makes us giddy, sends our body chemistry through tips and turns and sometimes makes us tingle all over.
But that kind of goo is best when spontaneous. Love loses its luster when it is given a time slot.
I prefer expressions of love to not be wrapped in fake red satin, nor to find out the token Teddy bear has been recalled because it contains cadmium.
I know part of my cynicism comes from past Februarys when the red-lace holiday gave me the blues.
There were several years I watched my co-workers serenaded by men in white starched pants and candy-red bow ties. Then I went home alone to watch TV and snuggle with my cat.
I've also lived long enough to remember how uncomfortable it is when the wrong guy makes a grand gesture on the right day.

Sage sentiments
My faithful mother sends me Valentine's Day cards most years. Looking back, I should have always cherished the gestures.
I recall several single years when I lamented to my friends that the "only" recognition of the holiday came from my ma.
We were recently chatting about this and my mom said I was missing the point.
Valentine's Day is about "love," she noted. There should be a day dedicated to love, and we should embrace love in all its forms, she said.
I don't always listen for the lesson when I talk to my mom, but I heard her clearly on this one.
If most of the pop-up windows during your Internet searches tell you to spend money on something red, why not take the reins on the holiday? Kind words, last time I checked, are free.
Most people we care about -- our mothers, our sisters, our best friends -- probably won't cringe if we remind them we're thankful they are in our lives.

Love-day gift ideas
If you're thinking of a live plant as a Valentine's Day gift, I would personally recommend Daphne.
Three years ago on Valentine's Day Tommy bought me a variegated Daphne odora after we smelled one at the Genetic Resource and Conservation Center here in Chico.
It's a fairly unremarkable looking plant for most of the year. There it sits in a large pot on my front porch in mostly shade conditions.
But when it blooms, the intensity of scent is right up there with hyacinth and freesia.
It's a perfect plant for V-Day because it blooms about this time of year, as a repeated reminder of the person who gave it to you.
Daphne requires well-drained soil and only grows about eight inches a year.
If you take a walk in any neighborhood you can see the plants that are blooming right now in Chico's climate.
You can take a digital photo and show a nursery employee what you are looking for. Then when it blooms next year, your sentiments will be renewed.
Or, you can ask the nursery employee to point out blooming plants that have not been forced to bloom early in greenhouses.

Cheap surprises, year-round
Little kid Valentine's Day cards have never failed me. I liked them in fourth grade and I still keep them on hand now that I'm 40.
These are the cards with perforated edges that say things like: "Pow! I think you're super," with a picture of Superman flying through the air.
We recently finished the box of frog and dog valentines that had bubble eyeballs that rolled around when you shook them.
On Valentine's Day I like to write out about 10 tiny cards, with sentimental messages, and hide them all over the house.
It's particularly fun when the valentine is overlooked until weeks later and is discovered when my sweetie is looking for a fresh pair of socks.
We keep the box of valentines in the file cabinet with the receipts from car repairs and tax forms. Every once in a while one of us will scrawl something sweet and pop a valentine into the other's coat pocket.
Gush.

My mother was walking out to the car as I made my discovery.
"I just now, just this second, found my first gray hair," I announced.
My mother rushed over for inspection, in much the same way she did the day I asked her to verify another type of hair at age 12.
She smiled and told me it looked curlier than the rest of my locks.
Translation: gray mop-head.

Some friends with raven locks have been plucking grays since their late 20s.
I'll be 41 in April, so I should take all this in stride, and consider myself blessed.
After the gray discovery I sat in the car, the sun streaming through the windows, and used the passenger side mirror as I scoured through my hairline. In fact, this discouraging single hair was only one of many, upon closer inspection. This had just been the first crinkled filament directly between my eyes.

I'm working to lessen my proclivity to take others' inventory. But that day I was obsessed with other women's hair. There are women who look absolutely gorgeous with their gray hair unaltered. However, I'm wise to not waste my wishes hoping that will be me.
All of this scrutiny accomplished, now I'll spend some time mulling over this milestone in life, and continue to eat sunflower seeds.

Dig on this
With the muddy weather, Tommy has been in the yard digging up wheelbarrows full of Bermuda grass.
I've warned him that I've been battling this weed for 13 years. Yet the Chico Blend grass seed we planted last spring looks so nice in comparison to the dormant brown strands waiting to conquer the entire area.

I called John Growdon, the owner of Northern Star Mills, who reaffirmed what I had asked him about Bermuda grass in previous years. This is a nasty weed.
Some people try a product called Turflon Ester, which John described as a "summer-long project."
Most of the online information I have read over the years has said "solarization" is the only way to go. This involves covering the lawn with black plastic for 6-8 weeks.

For the definitive treatise on Bermuda grass, see: http://www. ipm.ucdavis.edu/PMG/PESTNOTES/pn7453.html.

Crab grass, however, is susceptible to chemical treatment. John said the weekend of Presidents Day is when he recommends treating lawns with a pre-emergent, which prevents weed seeds from sprouting.
For people who plant lawn seed with thin blades of grass, crab grass will be apparent because it has larger blades. It grows in a clump, and will spread.

John said his primary seller is a pre-emergent product called Pendulum, which contains pendimethalin. Pre-emergent means that the seeds are prevented from germinating.
This will need to be followed by another application around Easter, and a third about six weeks after that.
The key is three treatments, six weeks apart, beginning when the soil starts to warm.
Be mindful that people have a tendency to use more product in their yard than is necessary. Make sure you read the label carefully, and pay attention to the weather. What you don't want is for the product to wash away or do more harm than killing your weeds.

I also found some tips for keeping crab grass at bay. Keeping bare spots covered will give less opportunity for weeds to invade.
Also, crab grass has shallow roots, so watering more deeply and less frequently may help.
Also, keep the lawn mower at a higher level to prevent seeds at the soil's surface from germinating.

My boss recently came across this article in the Oakland Tribune, and naturally thought I would appreciate it:

$1,000 reward offered for missing toy bears
By Kristin Bender
Oakland Tribune

OAKLAND -- Missing: Two tiny stuffed Japanese toy bears in a plastic bag.

Height and weight: About three inches tall and a few ounces each.

Last seen: Jan. 24.

Reward: $1,000. No questions asked.

That's right. One thousand big ones for the safe return of two "Korilakkuma" bears that Christopher Ferreira and his girlfriend, both 37, purchased two years ago for $10 at a Japanese convenience store.

"We just really want our bears back and figured an exorbitant reward may help bring about their return," said Ferreira, a music composer who lives in Oakland. "Of course, the reward is for our bears -- not just identical bears. I have my methods for knowing. I am almost certain that they are in the hands of someone who has no idea that they could be a thousand dollars richer, but would love to be. It is my mission to find said person."

Korilakkuma is a small, childlike white bear character that often accompanies Rilakkuma, a larger brown bear character that debuted in 2003.

Ferreira said the couple bought the bears during a trip to his girlfriend's native Japan shortly after they began dating two years ago. Both he and his girlfriend, he admits, have a somewhat silly passion, or obsession, for the bears -- photographing them, bathing them, writing about the bears' favorite foods and discussing their likes and dislikes.

"We take pictures of them everywhere we go, and have made movies for fun. We love
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them very much," he wrote in an e-mail pitching the story to the Bay Area News Group. "Even if (their loss) was mentioned in a way that was funny and poked fun at us, that would be OK."

The boy bear sports a pink hat and a pink-and-white scarf and the girl bear wears a pink cape and pink-and-white gloves.

Ferreira isn't exactly sure what happened to the bears. His girlfriend, who he said asked not to have her name in this story, had them in her purse when the two parked Jan. 24 in a garage at the Bay Street shopping complex in Emeryville.

They intended to see the movie "Avatar" at the mall's movie theater and even joked about getting 3-D glasses for Bear No. 1 and Bear No. 2, as they call them.

But then horror struck when they realized the bears were missing. Ferreira said he rushed back to the garage, looked in the car and around it, but didn't find them.

"I probably walked right by them," he said.

Deflated, they left the theater without seeing the movie and spent all day searching for the bears. Then they returned the next day and looked again.

"It was one of those things where you wake up and say, 'I can't believe the bears are gone'," Ferreira said. "It's very emotional. If we talk about it too seriously, she will start crying."

Ferreira said he believes the bears were dropped while the couple was walking to the theater. Ferreira also believes the bears were picked up by someone (maybe a girl or teen) who didn't realize the sentimental value of the bears.

In hopes of retrieving the bears, Ferreira has launched a Web site and blog (http://wearebearz.com) devoted to the toys' safe return.

The couple advertised the site on Facebook, and have asked friends to do the same. They also put up fliers and posted the blog on a couple of social news sites. They e-mailed people who have blogs about Rilakkuma bears and asked them to post the information. They also posted a few videos starring the bears on YouTube.

After eight days, more than 2,000 people from across the U.S. and from as far away as Australia, China, New Zealand, Romania and South Korea had hit on the Web site, according to the site's visitor map viewer.

But still, no bears.

If you have information about the bears, contact Ferreira through http://wearebearz.com.

I love sprouting things, and revel in that first awakening of the dormant seed with just a little nurturing. Unlike other plants, cat grass will be quickly devoured so there is no need for fussy follow-through like replanting or worrying about soil nutrients.
When the gifting began, my sister gave me reports of how much the kitty treats were appreciated. The cats circled around on the linoleum when she got near the perch where the plants were placed.

Somewhere along the way, I decided that if the cats were going to get the treat, I might as well get the satisfaction of being their hero.

The normally shy cats now creep out of their hiding places when I arrive. The tabby even gives me loves by rubbing up against my calves. The cream and gray kitty hogs the first many bites of the grass and rolls the container on the kitchen floor.
A few times during recent visits I forgot to bring the grass. The cats let me know my error, looking directly into my eyes with pleading, disappointed expressions.
This week my sister called with a semi-urgent message from her cats. She had placed the much-nibbled and drying remains of the previous cat treats in front of them, only to get vocal disapproval.
Could I please bring more?

At this point, I'm convinced that if her cats could dial the phone, they would call me directly at work and make their needs known. Although in this day and age, they would probably learn how to Twitter.
Theories abound as to why cats like to eat grass. Some folks think they need fiber, or to help them vomit up hairballs. Likely the indoor cats just like to smell a little bit of sunshine.
My own cat Moxie can't be bothered with the windowsill greenery. But then, he gets to go outdoors whenever he demands it.

Simple cat grass instructions
Last time I bought wheat berries at the farmers market, they were $1 for a small sample bag. One bag has lasted me nearly a year.
I take the cardboard roll from an empty toilet paper roll and cut it off about one inch. This will be your "pot." Fold under one side of the cardboard roll until it is just a few inches tall and the roll will stand up on its own.
I fill the pot with dirt from the yard and add a handful of wheat berries, maybe about 35 seeds.

I place the new pot in an aluminum pie tin, sprinkle the top with water and add about 1⁄4 inch of water to the bottom of the pie tin. After a few hours, the water soaks up into the cardboard roll and soil.
Place in a warm windowsill.
After several days, the seeds start to sprout.

When he grass is about three or four inches tall, it's ready to become the fancy feast for kitties.
And did I mention that I get the satisfaction of being the hero?

Unconscious gardening
With not much going on in the yard, I've also noticed that I've been compulsively pulling weeds when I take a breather from the newsroom.
We have a fire safe zone between the Enterprise-Record and a storm drainage ditch. It's covered with gravel but the weeds invariably find a way to muscle in between the small rocks.

Lately I've noticed that some of the weeds are beginning to flower. Each time I'm out there I grab handfuls of the plants and leave them on the sidewalk so the roots will die.
Normal people don't do this. Do they?
I'll do the same thing if I'm waiting in a parking lot for a friend and see something unfriendly growing in the parking lot planter boxes.

The return of the chicken
As was somewhat vividly chronicled recently, we went to Las Vegas with my dad and step-mom Lynda. We take the rubber chicken with us when we travel, and have a series of photographs with the chicken featured prominently.

(Chicken checking out another bird's nest).

After we returned safely, we somehow left the chicken at my dad's house.
The fact that we left something in the Bay Area isn't all that shocking. It seems like every time we visit Dad we end up getting a package with a forgotten cell phone charger or other item that cost almost as much money to ship as it would to replace.
However, the shocking part of the error is that neither Tommy nor I noticed the rubber chicken was gone.
This week a package arrived with my step-mother Lynda's distinct handwriting.
Inside was the rubber chicken, folded in half, and a note which is reproduced here verbatim.

"Parents," (which referred to us, the parents of the rubber chicken).

"Thanks a lot for leaving me behind. First I had to learn to type. Then I had to wrap myself, poke holes in the bottom, so I could walk myself to the post office.
"Do you know how hard it is to put an address on an envelope from the inside?
"My neck and body will never be the same. Can you imagine how difficult it was to force myself to fit? I would have been home sooner, but I had to learn yoga. The good news is that if you abandon me again in the future, I can get a job at the circus.
"And ... all those rumors about the postmen treating packages poorly are true. I also think they must hate chickens.
"The SPCA has been notified, and you are officially being watched. Furthermore, I now belong to the League of Battered Chickens, and you do not want to know how we deal with second-time offenders.
"Also, I had to outrun a chef, who had visions of my becoming a "cordon bleu." I had to cross the road innumerable times. I am not sure why. It just seemed to be a compulsion. I also now have super powers, so you might want to keep one eye open while you sleep.

Yours suspiciously,
The Chicken"

Flower deliveries cause a buzz in an office.
The receptionist and coworkers get giggly with excitement. People may conspire to take a peek at the card.
One gal in the office might look longingly, or hope the bouquet is for her from some special guy.
People might wildly speculate whether someone in the office had a passionate fight last night.

Then there is the fact that the flowers must sit on my Mom's desk all day, as a not-so-quiet reminder that she is loved.

(A photo of Mom at a young age. I think she's actually holding a plastic doll, and check out those rings on her fingers!)

I'm hoping people will ask Mom the occasion, and word will spread to give her some extra attention.
Publicity on your birthday is a good thing, because even the generally grumpy people at work will mumble a few nice words.

To live and die later
Except for the hoopla of the office delivery, I generally prefer to give and receive live plants. That way when you look at the plant years from now, you have warm thoughts about the friend.
My best friend Bonnie gave me a yellow rose bush after I served as birthing coach when her son Leif was born. It's been fun to watch the plant grow these past 12 years, and if I ever move, I'm digging that thing up.

If a live plant is from a romantic partner, some folks might get caught up in the symbolism if the plants dies or thrives.
A friend once received a live plant as a plea from a former love interest, hoping she'd give him another try.
She's generally terrible at keeping plants alive, and in this case did not want the responsibility of nurturing this particular plant.
I was therefore the happy recipient.

It's been years now, and that plant is still stunning in my windowsill. In fact, I've divided it several times.
Each year when the plant blooms, I interpret its vitality as undeniable proof that this man still holds a torch for my friend.
It's too bad when such good intentions land like a thud.
I stopped dating a man in college who sent two dozen roses. I thought it was too much for the mediocre way I was feeling about him. I found out years later that he sent them in a drug-induced stupor.

Post-storm summation
This past couple of weeks has been brutal on the garden-- first the freeze and now relentless rain.
When the power was out at the office Wednesday, my task was to drive around town and send in observations.
The avenues were littered with big chunks of dead wood and soggy citrus. Occasionally I would stop to chat with a resident who had a new pile of firewood near the curb or a colossal tree uprooted on the front lawn.

After seeing this mess, I can only thank God, the Goddess or the gods that may be that the limbs that fell from my 80-foot maple tree miraculously missed the kitchen windows.
During the brief time of daylight when the rain had eased, I did some garden tours in my own yard.
I noted that once the weather clears I need to buy about 200 pounds of gravel for the driveway, or risk one day when the tires actually do get stuck.
Also, the stock plants are still blooming. I made a note on the calendar for November 2010, to remind myself to buy more this fall.

The catalogs, which I call "garden porn," are fun to breeze through, with their juicy, close-up photos of fruits and vegetables. These are expertly photographed so you can see the leaves glistening, presumably with morning dew. Tomatoes in the photos are sliced open with juice dribbling. Other fruits may be waxed or shined.
In early January, these catalogs are hopeful, even tantalizing.

This week I spent some time huddled under the down comforter perusing many glossy pages.
Seeds aren't cheap in these catalogs, and after you add on the $6 or so for shipping and handling, you'll get a better bargain at a local store.
However, you won't find these selections at the big-box.

I don't know where else you can get seeds for broccoli romanesco (page 1 of the Cook's Garden Catalogue, http://www.cooksgarden.com). The vegetable looks like something you would see while scuba diving. The catalog explains that the texture is more like cauliflower.

Foreshadows of spring
About this time, I really start itching for spring. Each morning I go out and watch the progress of the daffodils. Soon the plants will form green pods that open up just about the time I'm wistfully looking at the box of summer clothes stashed behind the dresser.
In mid-February the almond buds will pop, and from there on it's pretty much spring.
My beau Tommy was rooting around several weeks ago in the backyard where the tomatoes have grown the past several years. He spotted what looked like a perfectly good tomato seedling.
I thought he was being kind of silly, but he asked if he should transplant it into a pot and put it in the bay window.
Now that seedling is about 6 inches tall.
Next we'll transplant it into a larger pot, submerging those first few leaves under the soil.
Tomatoes will send out roots from the submerged stem.
I love it that this plant somehow sprouted in late summer, survived the recent mild freeze and will hopefully be one of the first plants in our next vegetable garden.
That plant is a symbol of overcoming adversity and defiance of odds.
It's also a reminder of how we really have nothing to complain about; even with the gray January days we can find some magic just outside the back door.
And if I'm ever feeling mopey on a gray January day, I can call my best friend in Michigan and ask her how it's going under 12 inches of snow.

News flash
I was scanning the Chico State University news posts recently and came across the announcement for winter trimming at the rose garden.
If the pros are pruning this week, I think I'll get out there with my shears as well.
The news item said Janice and Gary of Facilities Management Ground Department would be out there next Wednesday through Jan. 29, 8 a.m. to 2 p.m., trimming the bushes, and "will be glad to give you cuttings for propagating."
The rose garden is located northeast of the library.
I've had great luck with taking cuttings from friends' roses and merely sticking them in the ground during the wet season. My good luck has likely been linked to the fact that I pay very little attention to where I planted them nor in what quantity.
A year or more later I'll note: Wow, those cuttings worked.
But for more exact instructions, see: http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/southerngarden/roseprop.html

(See original article here).

The story was about a Chico guy who was walking through a parking lot when a white van pulled up and someone inside handed him an envelope.
Outside of the envelope were the words: "Project Sidewalk," and "no strings attached."
Inside the envelope was a $50 bill.

It appears there was a group of people in Chico who decided to rouse up some $50 bills and drive around randomly handing cash to strangers.
Another woman was at work at a business in the East Avenue area when she was also handed an envelope.

I did some google searches and found another recipient, who posted a "thank you" on Craigslist. However, I was not able to track down that person to include their story in my newspaper article.

After the article ran in the paper, a woman named Dorothy Churchill called to say she was also the glad recipient of the envelope and cash.
Dorothy said she was waiting for a bus on East Lassen, when two people pulled up in a car.
She said she thought they were going to ask her for directions, but they handed her an envelope, told her to make sure she opened it, told her "merry Christmas" and drove away.

Dorothy uses a wheelchair, and she said the $50 "made my Christmas."
She said she was low on money, and had just paid her taxes.
With the money, she bought herself a poinsettia, an electric can opener and several other small things.

Her caregiver saw the article in the newspaper and shared it with Dorothy, so she knew she wasn't the only one.
I'm curious as to how many other Project Sidewalk recipients are out there.
I'm also incredibly curious about the people behind the project and how much fun they must have had driving around, bellowing "merry Christmas" and handing out cash.
What a hoot!
But in a way, it's fun that their identity is a mystery.

If anyone else has stories to tell, please e-mail them. Maybe some day the people behind it will want to talk to this reporter.
Or maybe other folks will be inspired, pool their pocket change and go on a similar gifting-spree.

Gift-giving can be difficult and stressful.
Rarely do you see something that is exactly what your loved one is yearning for. If you do, you likely buy it and give it to them before someone else gets the chance to be the hero.
Few people spend much time in my house. How would my friends know if I already have a glitter-covered pine cone centerpiece, or whether I have space for one on the kitchen table?

Ten years after the memorable episode of "Seinfeld" popularized the term "re-gift," most people are over the stigma that redistribution of goods is tacky.
Maybe in the future we will all sign up online for holiday gift registries, but that would create another host of less-than-sentimental quandaries.

Gift niches only last so long
Like any stage of life, we often go through times when we are obsessed with a certain theme that makes gift-giving easier for people who love us.
But these fetishes tend to fade over time.
When I was a wee child, I went through a Raggedy Ann stage. My room was a shrine to the red-haired mop doll.

One year we visited my dad's parents and they had gone all-out -- tracking down a Raggedy Ann stroller for my dolls and various other name-brand Raggedy items.
I was too young to remember, but have been reminded of how I threw a hissy fit, stomping around my grandparents' living room and whining "I'm sick of Raggedy Ann."
The fact is, unless you have a secret spy, most of us are just winging it when we gift.

For example, I'm not a big tub-soaker.
If people fully understood how seldom I scrub out my bathtub, they would avoid giving me bath accessories to protect my health.
My best friend, on the other hand, will routinely call me while taking a soak. We'll chat while she has her foaming potions and salts nearby and a soft, gooey sound to her voice.
Over the years, when I would receive bath baskets, she was the likely recipient of a re-gift. Heck, I would have bought her a bunch of that stuff anyway.

Gifts as a trading commodity
When I was a pre-teen, we had a lot of grandchildren around at Christmas, before the families became segregated through divorce.
Gram loved to have a giant mountain of loot under the Christmas tree, all wrapped in bags she had sewn from fabric scraps.
Gram sometimes got the gifts confused, or forgot to remove last year's masking tape labels.

For several years the grandkids held elaborate and sometimes contentious trades in a back bedroom.
At that age, we used strategies we learned through playing Monopoly.
One gift that was especially enviable would be traded for two or more of lesser coolness value.
Sometimes, the younger cousins got hoodwinked into poor trades, but that's all part of growing up with greedy older cousins.

My sister and I are fairly shameless about trading at this point.
This year my mother bought me a glowing Himalayan salt statue.
It's really nice and I thought about re-gifting it to my dad, because I also thought he would like it.
But I was selfish and kept the gift.
When I told the story to my sister, she said that if I ever get rid of it, she has a place for it in her bedroom.
It's nice to know that if my sister's birthday creeps up on me, I'll already have something that will make her smile.

The post-Christmas re-gift cycle
This year we caught up with my dad and Lynda a few days after Christmas.
Before we opened the presents, Lynda passed me a re-gift box. Some of the items I can definitely use, and others will go into my own re-gift stash under my computer desk.
I wasn't sure if I was supposed to rummage through the whole box, and just take what I thought I wanted. Yet, I knew better than to stash the neon green photo albums behind the family couch for her to find months later.

Women, in particular, like to gift one another trial sizes of body lotions, shimmer gels and purse-sized perfumes.
These are great fun, and it's always handy to have lotion in my top desk drawer and the glove box of the car.
But it's also nice to have a few of these items stashed in my re-gift box. If I remember a co-worker's birthday at the last minute or want to surprise someone with a thank-you gift, there's no race to a big-box store.
And wasn't that what the person was thinking when they gave me a gift? My friend or relative was thinking, "I want to give Heather something that makes her happy."

Sometimes what makes me happy is being able to easily dive into the re-gift box and say "thank you" or "I appreciate you" with a token gift.
While re-gifting is probably making a quantifiable dent in retail sales, if you wrap it nicely and don't forget who originally gave it to you, it really is the thought that counts.

Last week when I sat down to write this column, it was a Wednesday and I was frazzled with last-minute holiday details.
Being tragically impatient, I had given up on shopping several days prior.
Other shoppers are fortunate that I keep shuttered away.
No one needs to encounter Heather the Sea Hag when they're trying to exercise their holiday spirit by standing in line, looking for parking places, maneuvering through narrow aisles and fishing for loose bills in messy purses.
I kept my sanity one day last week by cranking up the all-Christmas-music-all-the-time radio station while I was stalled in traffic behind a giant minivan on Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway.
As Bing Crosby was crooning about better times, other drivers were bullying their way into the middle of intersections, minivans muscling their way across medians, people riding people's bumpers, others watching to merge.
It took me 22 minutes to travel from the Enterprise-Record parking lot on East Park Avenue to 20th Street.

After the Christmas holiday, it's good to have an excuse to kick on your four-inch heels, dress like a Christmas tree and hoot and holler at the moon.
In this case, New Year's Eve was a blue moon. By modern definitions, that means the second time in a month when there is a full moon.
This won't happen again on New Year's Eve for another 19 years.
My intention for the new year celebration was to head down to my dad's house in the Bay Area. However, he said that being as the full moon is such a rarity, he wanted to make an extra special night of it with his wife.
I hope the next time the full moon falls on a New Year's Eve, when I will be age 59, that I'm as frisky as my dad.
When I was younger, New Year's Eve was one of those times I would frantically send out e-mails and make phone calls trying to find the hot, hip place to be.
But now I pretty much avoid "amateur nights" out on the town.
Even back in the day when I drank excessively, it wasn't that much fun to be around other people whose resolution for the night was to arrive home safely in a cab.
Now that I'm older, I get this motherly instinct when I see the young people tottering around, losing their tiaras in the gutter and kissing strangers who may very well have the H1N1 virus.

Inner dialogue to start the decade
After the glitter settles on the dance floors, it's as good a time as any to take that end-of-the-year inventory.
Yes, reflection on the year past, perhaps coming to some conclusions, and figuring out what we can do better.
Here's my preliminary list (with more that I'll privately jot down in my journal).
• Save $20 a week.
• Shop year-round for holiday gifts.
• Find more passions.
• Be on "The Price is Right."
• Hang out with friends who make life more joyful.
• Get rid of unnecessary shoes.
• Live with compassion.
• Write famous screenplay (or win lottery).
• Guard my health.

In the meantime, enjoy your ride as the earth continues its orbit around the sun for another calendar year.
One thing that is reassuring is that from now until June 21, the days will be getting longer.

By the time your children are 15, they will be disappointed by something else.
Today is the day to give everyone an extra big hug, thank your mom for perpetuating great-grandma's recipes and take loads of photographs so everyone remembers what they looked like when they were younger.

Mr. Edwards' beard was covered with icicles and everyone agreed he must have been a madman to risk his life to trek across the tundra to surprise this little family, who was clinging to dear life in the middle of nowhere.
Mr. Edwards reached into his sack and pulled out a peppermint stick and a shiny penny for each of the Ingalls children. Laura later remembered this as one of the most magical moments of their lives.
All of us have magical moments tucked into our memory boxes. These are the things we'll remember long after Elmo is just the name of the neighbor's dog.
Today, if you're like most folks, you'll be hanging out with some nice people, eating too much fabulous food and exchanging gifts.
These too are magic moments, only without the surprise.

(Another Laura Ingalls Wilder links:
http://www.ingallshomestead.com)

One for the memory box
In my early 20s I was a waitress at a local diner. Being low on the pecking order, I worked Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, the only year I did not spend the holiday with family.
I was bummed, but I knew my family and I would do a "make-up" Christmas sometime in the future.
Like most diners, we had our regulars, mostly older men who came in every day.
On Christmas, a regular brought me a little music box with a fabric red rose inside. When I opened the box, the rose popped up.

I was surprised and a little embarrassed by the gift.
I knew the guy's regular order and probably his first name, but didn't feel I was "gift-worthy."
When he saw me flustered, he said, "I'm an old guy who lives alone. It was nice to have someone to buy a gift for."
Cori, another waitress who had to work, also had family who lived far away.
We were both feeling sorry for ourselves when one of the cooks, Jose, invited us to his house.
He lived off of Ceres with his wife, their children, and several young men who worked in the kitchen.
Jose's wife made huge vats of meat on the stove that simmered in delightful juices. Another pot was filled with hominy.

One of the prep cooks showed me, in broken English, how the food tasted better when you squeezed lime over the top. I still eat my tacos that way.
After dinner, there was cheap beer and the young men who worked as dishwashers and prep cooks wanted to teach us how to dance Mexican style. They had a boom box in the living room and someone had cassette tapes.
Cori and I were the belles of the ball. The guys took turns twirling us around the living room, which had been cleared of most things breakable.
We somehow wiggled our way out of the party and arrived home safely.
After that, we were all good friends, and found ways to joke through the language barriers.
I missed my family that year. But I wouldn't trade in those memories.

Maybe your family is a little quirky or even drives you batty. On Christmas it's a lot easier to see people as they are, just people muddling through this life as best they can.
Or maybe you're alone this year, because of circumstances beyond your control, or circumstances that could have been handled differently.
Having less-than-magical moments every once in a while helps magnify the magic when it does happen.
And maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised.

* The actual name of this year's "hot toy" is Zhu Zhu pet.