Master of the rolls

A bit of tidying and sorting today, and a bit more planting out of seedlings.  The kids were in a lively frame of mind, so after lunch the Man and I wandered out onto the deck with our cups of tea for a moment's peace in the sunshine - just as the neighbours started up their drive-on mower and a strimmer...

This evening we've been out for dinner at a friend's house and had a lovely time.  Lots of laughs, and we got to bring home some home-grown rhubarb into the bargain - my kind of night out.

The Man had a go in their giga ball.  Here is a snapshot of his human hamster's-eye view.

Buried treasure

The Boy planted out his sunflower seedlings today - grown from the seeds we planted a few weeks ago.  I don't know if we're being optimistic.  On the gardening phone-in I sometimes listen to they always seem to warn of late frosts through to the end of May.  Oh well, we'll give it a go and meanwhile plant a new batch of seeds for back-up.

We've all sorts of other things that look ready to go out - lettuce, rainbow chard, cucumbers and more.  The Boy got enthused enough to go and start raking our dormant vegetable patch.  I suddenly heard a whoop of astonishment - he'd raked up a carrot!  And not just one, a whole bunch of them, as colourful and good as new even after our long and bitter winter.  Treasure indeed! 

Medical mystery

I've had a few physio (physical therapy) sessions now for my tennis elbow problem, and they've provided some temporary relief at least.  Today I received a "THIS IS NOT A BILL" statement from our medical insurance company, aka an "Explanation of Benefits".

These "Explanations" leave me a bit baffled.  There's a list of figures that the clinic has submitted to the insurer as a bill, then the figure that the insurance actually covers.  Subtracted from the latter is my standard, pre-determined co-payment of $15 per session.  For one session the clinic claimed $185, and the insurer paid $27.60 - but apparently that's ok.

The implication seems to be that a medical provider puts in a claim for any random figure, with the expectation of being paid just a fraction of it.  How does that work?  And if you don't have insurance, if it's just you, the patient faced with that big bill - can you get away with paying only what you feel you can afford?  I suspect not. 

I wonder if any well-informed reader can help me out on this one?

Knit One, purl One

I made a great find in Barnes & Noble today as I casually browsed through the craft book section.  All old hat now, I suppose, but who could fail to fall for a book called "Knit Your Own Royal Wedding"?

I've done a little research and come up with this video.  Watch and enjoy.

The Corner from Hell

We have a ludicrously big bedroom.  Our double bed (here known as a "full bed", the size found in many an American child's bedroom) which we shipped over from England, looks lost in it to say the least. But if, reading this, you are wishing you had a bit more space in your own bedroom...well, you might want to think about that.  Nature abhors a vacuum , they say (almost as much as I abhor our vacuum cleaner, ha ha), and where there is space, stuff will accumulate to fill it.

One area of the room, which is slightly tucked away from the main part (hard to explain), fills up with mess so consistently that I suspect evil forces are at work there.  It is known affectionately as The Corner from Hell.  Today I set about trying to tidy it up.  I do this from time to time, though you wouldn't know it. 

It's papers, mostly, generated by fair trade projects; plus piles of the kids' schoolwork; some crafty odds and ends; a half-finished cardboard model of the Empire State Building...you know the kind of thing.  Tidying it is such a nightmare because you have to drag everything out and make it all look so much worse before it looks any better.  And to be honest it's still at the looking worse stage right now - but tomorrow...

This evening, parent orientation night at the Middle School, which the Girl will be joining next year (along with around 399 of her peers).  The place runs to an oddly precise timetable:  the school day starts at 8:03 and ends at 2:46 - who dreamt that up?  We had a lot of information thrown at us and don't feel too much the wiser about what to expect, though we were reassured multiple times that it'll all be fine.  Even when , as one teacher cheerfully warned, "You'll find your child is going along nicely, getting straight As, and then suddenly - they like someone..."

Adventures ahoy, oh yes.

Flowery prose

For the second successive Monday, the Girl was off school sick.  That could be a fun tongue twister, but it didn't feel much like fun getting up ten times between 2 and 3:30 in the morning (interspersed with radio discussion about the death of Osama bin Laden - it was all a bit surreal in fact).  Anyway, needless to say the Girl is fine again now, and fingers crossed the rest of us will be too.

So, it's been a quiet day, catching up on correspondence and such-like.  Cooler and breezier than the weekend, and our cherry blossom, which finally bloomed right at the end of April, is already starting to drift away.  We are very lucky to have in the front yard a white cherry, pink plum and green maple which all come into pulchritudinous colour at the same time.

No pictures (because I forgot to take any today) of our daffodils  - probably all over in the UK by the end of March, but just coming into their prime here at the start of May.  The Boy and I gathered a handful first thing to take in for his teacher for Teacher Appreciation Week.  Is there such a thing as Teacher Appreciation Week in Britain?  Teachers and teaching assistants out there reading this - d'you feel sufficiently appreciated?

Mowtown

After all yesterday's busyness, today was more of an at-home day.  The weather was perfect.  We did a little yard work and the Man was inspired to get the lawn-mower fired up, to join in the medley of mowers playing around the neighbourhood.

It was a pretty lovely day yesterday as well, so too bad that I spent most of it indoors.  The Man and I did get out for a brief stroll at Five Rivers in the early evening though. 

This evening our family, inspired by the Boy, started chatting in D-language over dinner.  If I explain that it all degenerated into a chorus of "Dinkle, dinkle dittle dar" you'll get the picture.  A bit silly, but it's a very effective way to pick up everyone's spirits if the mealtime conversation starts to flag.  Dou dould dry dit dometime!