It’s officially three days past my bedtime.
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Last night, around 2 a.m., I turned on the TV and watched an entire episode of The Flying Nun. Not even Sister Bertrille could help me. So, now I look like hell, and I’m crotchety, too — consider yourself warned. Chores are piling up along with a Mariana Trench of deep resentment of the well-rested. Yes, I’m on another one of my no-sleeping jags. They correlate to nothing. Stress, physical exertion, existential angst, tariff terror — these things are incidental when I’m in a good sleeping phase. I can nod off in the world’s highest-traffic airport, but frequently remain beady-eyed in my own comfy bed at three in the morning.
I was never a reliable sleeper. I remember tossing and turning, examining the social dilemmas of high school. Occasional sleeplessness, however, became Olympic-level insomnia when babies arrived. I knew that, were I lucky enough to enter the prized restorative phase of deep sleep, I’d hear the creaking of the crib, and soon, its prisoner wailing for attention.
There are so many sleep-aid potions and concoctions on offer. I’ve tried them all, from old-timey remedies to the stuff that is only dispensed via triplicate forms and an armed guard. Of the OTC varieties, my favourite was a Canadian-made product that — alas — was removed from shelves due to an ingredient that tripped over into the territory of prescription medication. Lots of people swear by melatonin, a natural supplement that is supposed to promote restorative sleep. A hormone produced by the pineal gland, melatonin is supposed to help regulate your circadian rhythm. As it’s purported to detect light and dark through the retina, it is sometimes referred to as the “hormone of darkness”. I call it meh-latonin as I can’t say that I’ve had great success with it.
My policy is to resist taking anything beyond Ovaltine to take the edge off. Very rarely, I’ll pour myself a finger of single-malt scotch in the hope it will knock me out. But when all else has failed, I’ll bring out the really big guns. I’ll uncap a bottle of the little blue pills that promise swift deliverance into the arms of Morpheus — zopiclone. I’ll only take half of one, though. There is a little indentation across the middle of these pills and I’ll bite into that, instantly regretting the decision as the dandelion taste persists for hours. My chronic mistake with this pharmaceutical-grade sleep aid is that I never look at the clock when taking the pill. I’ve usually stormed into the bathroom after hours of Sister Bertrille nonsense or reading an Economist magazine that predates Trump’s New World Order — so, useless — and then bite down on the pill, wash it down, and, with a vengeance, head back to bed … only to realize it’s almost 4 a.m.
Now, zopiclone is tricky. It’s also sold under the name Imovane, but they’re both non-benzodiazepine hypnotics. They work by affecting a calming brain chemical called GABA — gamma-aminobutyric acid. The effect of a single zopiclone pill can be quite far-reaching. Studies have shown that even therapeutic doses of zopiclone may impair driving performance “similar to or even greater than the effects of alcohol.” In my case, popping a zopiclone at 3:30 a.m. could have real consequences. In pooled analysis shown on the U.S. National Library of Medicine’s website, zopiclone was shown to have “significant and clinically relevant performance-impairing effects on driving in the morning until 11 hours after bedtime ingestion.”
A single 7.5 zopiclone pill can register an effect similar to a blood-alcohol level between 0.5 and 0.8 mg/mL. That level of impairment is associated with an up to three-fold increase in the risk of becoming involved in a traffic accident.
So, there you have it: Something new to fret about on those sleepless nights.
This week’s question for readers:
Question: How do you deal with sleeplessness?
Last week’s question for readers:
Question: What is your horticultural specialty?
• I reluctantly admit that my greatest success has been the growing of weeds. However, I also have geraniums that have been propagated through cuttings, year after year, from a single plant that was free in 1974. I have had my grandmother’s Christmas cactus since she died in 1972 and also a hibiscus from a cutting of hers. I also have grown the same gladioli from a dozen bulbs purchased in 1993. The number has varied from as high as 20 down to just one last year, but it doubled and so I have two glads to plant this year.
Venny Xaronski
• I don’t want to even think about what I’ve spent on spring bulbs. I simply cannot turn away from a display of bulbs — the more exotic, the better. Garden centres are like quicksand to me. I could spend hours there. I think gardeners are the most hopeful of people as they are always planning for a beautiful tomorrow.
B. Singh
• It is difficult to pick a horticultural specialty — seasonally? year round? fragrant?colour? Yes, the early scent of sarcococca and presence of bees signals spring is upon us. Dwarf daphne is a great fragrant accompaniment planting. Hyacinths provide colour and scent. Follow this up with a beautifully fragrant evergreen osmanthus. Limelight hydrangea is deciduous, not fragrant, but changes its colour from June to October — white to limelight to pink. Phlox is fragrant and attracts the bees in the fall. Of course peonies, roses, hostas, astilbes, astrantia major, dahlias, and oriental lilies. For winter floral arrangements add teddy bear magnolia and hinoki cypress trees.
Vivian Jervis
• Garlic. I grew garlic for 12 years in my community garden plot. September would arrive and I would plant over a hundred — always Red Russian. The delight of seeing the tops come through the soil before the fall and winter season came upon us. Harvest time would arrive in July or August. After carefully pulling it up, drying and curing, I would keep a few for myself and give the rest away. That was always the best part.
Kathleen Houston
• Well, I’m a plantaholic, and for over 35 years I have collected about a hundred rhododendrons. My goal has been to acquire the earliest and latest blooms — it makes for a longer season. I also look for fragrant ones, and for species that don’t even look like a rhodo. Just a little rub and they smell like green pitch. My goal has been to let them “marry”, that is, to fill in the space so the fence is no longer visible. As well, I detest open soil, so ground cover plants are a must. No weeding necessary. Friends used to call me “Rhoda, the moss fairy.”
Name Withheld
• My garden is full of volunteers — plants, not people. More than 20 years ago, a Chinese immigrant English student, thrilled to finally have his own garden, gave me a strawberry plant, whose descendants now form ground covers in all my garden beds, fill multiple pots, and even grow in cracks between the patio paving stones. We are still eating last year’s frozen berries in each morning’s fruit salad. Thank you, Cliff.
Maree Monahan
• It’s a colossal pain to locate and then don dirt-filled garden gloves. Most of them are made in a way that I can never understand. I suppose the manufacturers think that no one puts their hands in the dirt deeper than the first knuckle so the rubber part only goes that high. My story of how important it is to wear gloves happened while I was digging out a garden bed. I was on my knees and happily relocating medium-sized grey rocks when I picked up a squishy one. I freaked out once I saw that it wasn’t a rock, but rather a dying rat. Of course, there was a lot of screaming — done by me, not the rat. The feel of that rodent and his/her eyes blinking at me is what I remember each time I do any gardening … but I still nix the gloves the odd time. Old habits die hard.
Ines Zagoudakis
• When my late husband and I retired, we moved from a semi-rural property to a rancher on a city lot. Although it was on a corner, my husband was frustrated with the lack of a garden — mostly lawn. He started digging up the lawn to establish more gardens. We now have very little lawn but probably a hundred rhododendrons, Japanese maple trees, a dogwood, two magnolias, etc. Hellebores and tulips are blooming now. Later, there will be peonies, dahlias, delphiniums and a selection of annuals.
Linda Moore