The company of guinea pigs and blooms

Working at home can be lonely. So lonely that sometimes you find yourself talking to your office-mate, the Guinea Pig, asking Mr. Nibbles whether or not the temperature is working for him or if he’s ready for another hit of vitamin C.

Mr. Nibbles. A fine office companion.

The telecommuter’s state of isolation is an extra challenge for people fed by human interaction — the classic “E’s” on the Myers-Briggs scale. What feeds us is a nodding head, a smile — even an exasperated roll of the eyes. It’s all feedback, and it’s all in real time. The pig’s beady eyes are undoubtedly, unbearably cute. And the sweet tickling whiskers are a great distraction. But he doesn’t say anything.

So there is teleconferencing. On Friday I was a disembodied voice in two phone-based meetings. The first was to pick the brain of a fellow marketer in North Carolina. I have no idea what he looks like, but his voice was all I needed to be impressed by what he’s doing with the purchase of remnant television media. Then there was the three-way call with office-mates gathered in a conference room in St. Paul and an e-publishing vendor somewhere out West. That was a two-hour demo of a tool that will bring even more information to our clients and partners wherever they live and work, day or night. It was entertaining and enlightening, and there were real people on the other end of the line.

But a solid three hours of calls on a gorgeous Friday morning was a little much. Mr. Nibbles chewing on his cardboard hiding-tube kept my visual brain occupied for about 30 minutes. Then I remembered: I’m wireless, the phone’s cordless. The home office can relocate without going more than 30 feet. Outside, in the shade of the patio umbrella, it’s harder to feel lonely. All those trembling new blooms staring at me from their beds. Mama robin zooming in and out of the nest on the neighbor’s downspout. And the pig in, well, pig heaven, eating real grass.

Turned into an excellent Friday. And a little preview of what might be an okay summer for Nibbles and me.

My friends, the sweet Veronicas.

That dependable dianthus.

Star Jasmine smells like heaven but needs to come inside during Wisconsin winters.

The columbine that naturalizes in every nook and cranny of a Wisconsin yard.