READY

We had a long, wet fall. The yard was so saturated with water that it squished when we walked. The boys made muddy paths everywhere they walked. The dog tracked muddy pawprints all over the house. The mud was so deep that Ben skidded, backcycled wildly to keep from falling, but did a pratfall flat on his butt when I was taking him to school, and was so muddy he had to change everything, shirt, pants, shoes, even underwear!

So, I bought slate paving stones from a gardening center to put on the muddiest path. And noticed that all the spring bulbs were 75% off.

So, I went a little nuts. 200 new tulip bulbs, 200 crocuses, 100 irises, and 60 freesias. We finally got everything planted last weekend. Also, I weed-whacked the butterfly beds and the herb bed, and trimmed back the peonies and roses and grape vines. Mulched everything. Even cleaned out the garage so my car would fit.

Planted the freesias in pots for the windowsill. They need Zone 9 and above. I've never even seen a freesia, as far as I know.

And I dug a hole for a new cherry tree to plant in the spring. Probably a Morello cherry, although I will wait until the neighbor's cherry blooms to see what is growing in their yard. It's so healthy. And if it's not a Morello, maybe try planting a Morello on the north side of the house, just to see if that really works, as it is reputed to do.

And now I am ready for snow.

PEPPERMINT

People with anosmia can't taste flavors as others do. They can taste the standard tastebud tastes - salty, sweet, sour, bitter (and, I assume, umami). But, for example, if given the choice between vanilla creamer and hazelnut creamer (and why would anbody want that?) it doesn't matter, because they both taste the same - sweet.

On the other hand, many people with anosmia can taste peppermint.

I wonder whether it's similar to the blind man in England, who is neurologically blind, but with optic nerves intact, who somehow discerns human emotions when confonted with a human face expressing a very clear emotion such as laughter, anger, or fear?

PETER PAN

Recently we discovered Peter Pan, a Chinese all-you-can eat buffet that we had ignored because the food is not Americanized Chinese but Chinese-Chinese, chicken feet in black bean sauce and stuff like that. But we've been learning to eat Chinese-Chinese so decided to go for it.

Sociologically the place was fascinating. 90% of the patrons are Chinese, while 9% are Hispanics with strongly Indian features. These Hispanics are the newly burgeoning demographic in this part of NoVa. The vast majority of the males work in construction or landscaping.

We actually went twice, Friday night for the seafood buffet, which two varieties of whole octopus, jellyfish, a tub of raw oysters on the halfshell piled on top of each other, morsels of coagulated blood, and stuff I could not identify, and Saturday for dim sum.

Both times I was fascinated by the Hispanics. Based on visible ethnicity, height, and dress, as well as body language (swagger) it seemed extremely probable to me that the men were construction workers who were doing well enough to take the family out for a buffet dinner. Driving around in that neighborhood on Saturday I further surmised that many are doing well enough to have a good car and take the entire family out shopping. The roads were packed, more so that on weekdays. I assume by shoppers who were unable to go out during the week - only one car, or everybody working.

But I also saw a dozen or so men standing around the spot on Little River Turnpike close to I-495 where they get picked up for day labor, despite the fact that it was Saturday and mid-afternoon. Weekday mornings you will see hundreds, but I was still surprised to see any.

ME, JOHN KERRY, AND BEN (PART TWO).

Two or three days after the election, I dreamt all night that I accidentally voted for John Kerry. And, since even in a dream I realize that this can't affect the election, I tell myself that this can't affect the election, so I should forget about it, and sleep, but I can't.

The next day, as I am driving Ben to school, I tell him that I dreamed all night that I voted for John Kerry by accident.

He asks me whether in my dream this had any effect on the election. I say no.

He tells me, "Mom, it was just a bad dream. John Kerry can't hurt you, ever again."

ME, JOHN KERRY, AND BEN (PART ONE).

Election day. I have become hyper-aware, and hyper-sensitive, and it is driving me insane.

Circa 2 p.m. the news sources start leaking the exit polls, and I become aware that they are saying that Virginia is "too close to call."

VIRGINIA. Which, as we now know, actually split approximately 54-46 for Bush, a ten point spread.

I realize that if Virginia is, in fact, "too close to call," Bush will be crushed. And I can't take it.

I take the boys out with me to shop and run errands, anything to get my mind off the election. And I try, very hard, not to turn on the radio.

But in the Costco parking lot, my fingers reflexively reach for the knob on the radio, and when I twist the knob, I hear John Kerry's voice. I shriek, and writhe, and turn off the radio, all in one reflexive gesture.

Ben says, "John Kerry. His voice causes my mother to writhe in agony. Save my mom. Vote Bush."

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH.

The house is quiet, the guys are all eating at an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet.

I am pottering around the house, taking care of loose ends.

Speaking of which, I haven't been here in a while. They seem to have made some improvements.