Teeth, titmice, and tomatoes

Our youngest child (the one who is university-bound on Monday) had all four wisdom teeth surgically removed yesterday, and it was a semi-traumatic event for her. She does not remember the 3 or 4 other times she's had general anesthesia because they all happened before she was 5 years old. When she came out of anesthesia she was shaking uncontrollably, and she was very weepy. The slightest thing set her off, and I had to remind her often not to cry because she is not allowed to blow her nose yet. Only the prospect of appearing gross prevented her from giving in to a huge boo-hoo session. She seemed much better when I tucked her in last night, and I am hoping she will return to her own rare form soon.

The tufted titmouse looks like a small, gray version of the blue jay, and it has the temperment of a jay, too. It is quarrelsome and aggressive, even with other titmice. It does not like to share, and it does not appear to play well with others. I enjoy watching their antics in the early morning as one titmouse after another tries to play "King of the Birdfeeder." The titmouse does remind me of human behavior, though. Even though there is plenty of bird feed for them all, they appear to be avaricious, territorial, and totally self-centered.

Twenty years ago, the world's most wonderful man and I planted a small plot of tomatoes. We cleared the land, fertilized it, bought tomato plants, insect repellent, tomato cages, blossom-end rot preventive, blah, blah, blah. We babied those tomato plants as if they were our children (we didn't have a child at the time so we had the energy, money, and the time to expend). When the painful season had finally ended, we had enjoyed exactly ONE tomato. I still refer to it as our "four hundred dollar tomato." This year I decided to be adventuresome, and I bought one of those little bag thingies where the tomato plant hangs upside down. I guess I'm just a slow learner. This year we have enjoyed six $5.00 tomatoes. Heavy sigh.