The End is (Not) Near

It's the end of January, and you'd think we'd be done messing about with trees from the December storm. But we had the arborists out Friday to make four big new messes - two of them where we'd already spent hours cleaning up!


Oh, be very careful, tiny man!
That can't feel very safe
Sure it's less stately, but the house is safe

Since then we've spent three days picking up sticks and making firewood around three of the trees, and I need to take some time off before doing any more. We've got the area around the house looking tidy (after our fashion), but plenty of work lurks a little way away.

The only property damage from all this was the barn across the road, so we don't see devastation every time we look out a window or step outside any more. But it's amazing how wearying it is to have all this to deal with. I know it pales in comparison to - oh, say, Katrina, or Baghdad, or even our Columbus Day storm. Why doesn't that make me feel better than it does?

It's true that when we're out there in the sunshine, warmed up and working together in that companionable way, I feel great. It's just that when I get tired and sticky with pitch, and there's still another hour's work before it gets dark, I have trouble with my inner two-year-old. And like spoiling a bad child, we went to a movie Saturday and Sunday night! A little popcorn shut her right up, the little hoyden...

Heat Wave

We woke up early this morning because, for once, the sky didn't just go from black through infinite shades of grey, but was clear and blue with perky clouds in Martha Stewart shades that harmonized nicely. For a moment, I wanted to slip into a peignoir and fluffy mules so I could trip downstairs and whip up some beignets. Then, I snorted derisively, pulled a sweatshirt over my tshirt and found a pair of not-too-gross jeans in a heap on the floor so I could make it to newspaper box and get a bowl of cereal. (OK, I did have a huge cafe au lait after, and the milk was steamed just right.)

Because I live with a genius, we made progress on two projects at the same time today. He made racks for the pickup so we could clean out the top of the broken barn, and we dumped four loads of the straw in a row where we'll plant the grapes we started last year. If it kills some of the grass and weeds, that's great. If it just rots into the soil, that's great, too. I can just hear the worms now: "Hey, Frank! Get a crew together. There's a bunch of stuff up there we gotta get to work on!" Go, little buddies, go . . .

And it seemed really warm, too. I guess it was only 44 or so, but with a long-sleeved shirt (and a job to do) it felt lovely.

Tag, hunh?

It's been a while since I played tag, but here goes:

I was tagged by snarkapuss.
The game is to list six ways in which I'm weird and then tag six other bloggers who each are to write the six weird things about themselves and then go to six other blogs, leave a comment saying "You are tagged", and tell each to read the tagger's blog for details. It's a chain letter, see, only without the warnings of dire consequences for not passing the challenge along. That's a good thing, because I would have to pick bloggers at random, since I don't actually read six other blogs. Hey! What a good idea!

Here are the six I've tagged:
Banana Theory
Ameliorable Logorrhea
Teck on the Web
Crimes & Corruption of the New World Order News
Reset
string theory

Yes, nearly random . . . There was one, I admit, that scared me, so I just "accidentally" clicked "Next Blog" and hummed a little tune. And I stuck to blogs in English, on the off chance that any of them take up the challenge. I'd like to be able to read their responses (I think).

And how, you ask, Ms Snarkapuss, am I weird? Heck, I should let you guest this post - you could point out a few that I hadn't noticed (or had my face rubbed in) yet. Let's see:

1. When I have a conversation of more than a minute with anyone who has an accent or speech pattern much different from mine, I end up talking like them. They probably think I'm mocking, but really, I don't even notice I'm doing it. And there's a hangover. I'm still getting over spending five days with a woman from Min-a-SEW-da.

2. I count things. Lots of things. Useless things. I don't have to count; often I don't even notice I'm doing it until something interrupts me and I stop. And I almost never remember how many telephone poles there are between here and the highway or the number of steps from the front door of the State Library to the Reference Room. I just count them.

3. I can't look at birds on the ground or sitting in a tree without seeing their "arms" folded behind their backs. It was crows at first. They look like men in dark suits walking bent over, pondering deep stuff. Now all birds look like that, except most of them dress more casually. And a lot of them walk funny, too.

4. I can bend the tips of my first three fingers without bending the second joint - on both hands.

5. Although I don't even look at the price of the coffee beans and have been known to tell the shoe clerk to just bring me something comfortable, I will not pay someone to cut my hair. (I can just hear you saying, "Ohhhhhh! That explains it!") The first four items only seem weird to other people; this one seems weird even to me.

6. I keep a pretty light grip on reality. It's not that I believe in fairies or chi or God or anything; in fact, I don't really believe in much at all. It's nice just to let reality rest on the palm of my hand so it has room to flex a bit from time to time.

That was fun.

Lemonade

Our exercise program is back in gear. Bill's chain saw has a shiny new part, and we can get back to cutting oak. Well, he can cut; I can drag limbs and pile brush.

We've been trying to decide whether to make it all into firewood and sell it ourselves, or just sell the logs and let someone else do the commerce. A third option seemed appealing but had about 47 questions to research, not the least of which was cost.

Then, Monday, it all fell into place. We have a trucker, a miller and a moulder, who will take our logs and, Presto!, instead of firewood, we'll have oak flooring! How sweet is that? Instead of going up someone's stovepipe (and adding to global warming), the trees can come inside and play.

Drive, drive! Go, go!

We're in the first throes of buying a new car, and for once I'm not looking forward to the dickering part. It's a shame, because we've had such a good time playing with car salesmen over the years. Bill usually gets to play Mr. Nice Guy and I get to be the bitch (typecasting) and we've made some fine deals. But I just don't have the stomach for it this time.

The web has spoiled me rotten. I like surfing for as long as it takes to get the features and price I want and then watching the product wend its way to us. Before Christmas we were visited by UPS, DHL, FedEx, and USPS package handlers all in the same day! After service like that, going to a car dealer seems like something out of the 19th century.

I have a couple of disturbing dreams that I torment myself with from time to time. One is that I'm secretly a couple of credits short and have to go back to high school. The horror is that I've forgotten my locker combination, can't find my gym shorts, etc. The other one is that I find myself with a lit cigarette and an ashtray full of butts - proof that for twenty years I've lied about quitting. That one makes me wake up with tears in my eyes.

But worse than either of those would be to dream I'm selling cars.

Cardamom

Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with spices; I just like the word.

I think I'm getting the hang of this retirement thing at last. I'm starting to flash back to how life was when Bill was off farming and I was around the home place or just working part-time. It's like rummaging through the closet for a more comfortable pair of shoes and coming across that pair I loved twenty years ago - still comfy and just right for today.

I am a little disappointed, though, that when I reach for a real pair of jeans my choices ares still those soft ones (with a few stains), the thick warm ones (all ragged at the cuff and a dingy grey), or the one pair I swore I'd only wear for good (definitely pale at the knees). Why do I still not have a decent pair of pants?

Oh, yeah . . . I still hate to shop. Doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon. Sigh.

Oh, what a relief it is!!!!

e-NOUGH!!

Have we paid our weather dues yet? Surely we've finally gone through the final indignity, and get some respite. Here's the latest: winds over 65 mph Thursday night. The cedar tree shed most of its top across (just missing) the front of the house. One-third of the horse chestnut fell across the driveway - the third that held one of the yard lights. The cedar Bill raised from a seedling was uprooted - again across the drive. The last of the ancestral fruit trees was felled. An oak limb fell exactly across the area we've been planting to Japanese maples. Another blocks the drive into the woodlot. A third one landed in the neighboring orchard.

Have I forgotten anything? Oh, yeah, there aren't even words for this one:

So rich, so moist, so tender

Given that we had about 12 inches of rain in November, it might surprise you to hear this was a great week in the garden. All that rain left our soil the consistency of gingerbread - moist, crumbly, and smelling a lot like heaven. Those rooted cuttings we tucked into the nursery bed back in March survived the hottest, driest summer we've ever seen, and we planted 55 lavishly-rooted native trees and shrubs this weekend.

All the posts for the vinyard are cut and curing in the shed, too! They came from the black locusts Bill planted 30 years ago - posts on demand and reproducing faster than we're cutting! There were adventures involving most of our vehicles and lots of cable, but no one got hurt, no equipment was smashed, and all the trees in the orchard are still standing. You say it would have been easier to just buy posts? Sure, but where's the fun in that?

It was that tricky kind of weather all weekend - freezing overnight, and the house got cold in all the corners. But when we were outside in the sun, working, it felt balmy. OK, it would have seemed warm inside if we'd been cleaning house or something, but that's not the kind of dirt we like! And I secretly don't mind the shorter days when it starts getting dark just about beer o'clock. Seems about right.

Read the *&%$# label!

. . . or, How I Nearly Killed the Kitten

So, Bungee, the elastic kitten, has an eye infection that's responding s l o o o w w l y to treatment. The vet thought an antihistamine might bring down the swelling and itching (and give me more practice pilling a whirling dervish).

Yesterday was a busy day, but there was a moment in the early evening when Bungee was calm (asleep) and there was an extra pair of hands available to pinion him for me. This is not an excuse; it's just what happened. I didn't read the label carefullly. It said, "GIVE 1 / 4 TAB . . ." and I gave him a whole one.

For some reason, I looked at the label again (too late) and saw my mistake. While Bill googled "chlorpheniramine dosing in cats" I paged the vet. We watched our dinner plates cool to unpalatability while waiting for the call back, and I imagined horrible outcomes, several of which were patently impossible.

Long story short: Bad or life-threatening reactions were only possible during the first few hours, and all he did was act sleepy and a little out-of-sorts. He'd get stuck in really impossible positions - all stretched and twisted - and apparently too stoned to adjust. You know how cats tuck their tails when they're frightened or miserable? Bungee's was stuck in a lovely spiral against his flank until about 10:30 when he joined the warmups for the 11PM heat of the cat olympics.

It was great to come downstairs this morning and find him right there with the other two at the foot of the stairs, tail up and purring, this morning.

Sleepy thought on the way to the bathroom at 2AM looking at those long tails waving about with handy curls at the end: isn't it nice cats have handles?

The Hirsute Henchmen

As you will recall from yesterday, we are monitoring, with increasing alarm, the activities of a race of pink-skinned aliens whom we believe to be bent on our destruction. They, however, are the least of the problem. It is the belief of the scientific community that without their overlords, they would be no more of a threat than dust-mice or the pubic hair in the sink.

The real threat comes from a second type, distinguished by their furry appearance*.

*While scientists debate whether this is fur as we know it or iron filings, such questions can only be answered when we are fortunate - or unfortunate - enough to examine one closely. Note: until we have more details, the exterior will be described as "furry".

There are two forms of these larger, darker creatures. One looks like a cross between a raccoon and a bear, with dark "fur" and large, rather morose, yellow eyes. Several of our field staff have witnessed it roughing up MoleRats and Tripods, and even stalking Bulge. These attempts have been rebuffed by the frantic efforts of the apparently lower-ranking MoleRats and Tripods. Such attacks have led us to label the attackers "Guidos".

Late-breaking news: One of these Guidos has been captured, affording our research team an invaluable opportunity for close study. To our surprise, this individual, which was caught while bitch-slapping a pair of Tripods, was quite docile when held - see illustration, below.

Unfortunately it escaped just after this picture was taken, but we were able to definitely determine that it is not covered in iron (or any other metal) filings. Lab results on the "hairs" left behind may give us valuable information about this bully from scientific-inquiry-wants to-know-where. Clearly its passivity was a ploy to lull its captor into inattention, thus enabling its escape.

Speculation is that it has rejoined its brethren or gone back to report to the creature we feel certain is directing all Guidos. This most monstrous being seems to be covered in similar "fur", but has none of the dull stupidity of the Guidos. On the contrary, the one which has been sighted by our field staff is uniformly described as eerily malevolent and menacing. All indications are that it is worshipped by Guidos, Tripods, MoleRats and the Bulge alike. That this adulation is based in fear and oppression cannot be questioned. We feel it our duty as persons of conscience to warn humanity and mobilize the necessary force to crush this threat to all we hold dear.

If the evidence thus far reported does not suffice, consider the single extant photo, and experience the dark aura of . . . Zygadenus!

There are threats unknown to the Bush administration

Our hidden cameras have documented the presence of mutant life forms bent on our subjugation. Wily and secretive, they are difficult to study, but we report our preliminary findings here in order that you may be alert to signs of their presence in your homes, too.

There appear to be two distinct types. One has pink skin and from zero to four appendages, which we have codenamed Bulge, MoleRat and Tripod. MoleRats, although blind, are the most mobile. They may communicate with their sighted cohorts for directions.



Tripods are sighted, but less mobile than MoleRats. They achieve locomotion by balancing on what appears to be a pointed abdomen and swing their "legs" forward or back. They are able to turn in limited fashion, but attempts to do more than about 30 degrees cause them to fall and thrash about violently until aided by allies.



MoleRats and Tripods seem to take direction from Bulge, who appears incapable of locomotion, but whose vision is hyperacute. Presumably the need for motion is obviated by the ministrations of the less senior members of the cohort, namely Tripods and MoleRats, although this has not been verified. There is some debate among researchers as to whether Bulge is equipped with night-vision goggles or is just a fashion victim.



These are the three skin-clad life forms under study at this time. Please report sightings and document their activity. Your cooperation is vital to understanding and neutralizing this threat to our way of life!

TOMORROW: The Hirsute Henchmen

What have they done to the rain?

I know it's supposed to be a good thing to eat organically-grown food but, honestly, sometimes the things our health-food store sells just scare me worse than eating pesticide-laden, over-processed goods from the local chain supermarket.

Case in point:




Fractals enchant me, but I'm not sure we're supposed to EAT them! They say we can eat this "broccoli romanesco" raw, but it looks dangerously pointy - like it could start drilling through our gizzards!

Tears for breakfast

At 7AM I had a thick quilt pulled up to my chin, a hot-water bottle in one hand, a heating pad on my chest and "Shadowlands" on the DVD player. This is the setup for donating platelets at the Red Cross Apheresis unit: the heat to keep everything flowing and the movie to keep from going starkers, because it takes me about 90 minutes to pump my pint.

Choosing the movie is a very big deal. There used to be one VCR for every two donors, so the first one there got to choose. That's how I once got stuck watching "Milk Money" - a disgusting bit of drivel. Now that there's a player for each donor, we only have ourselves to blame for poor choices. For me, a poor choice is a generally a thriller or a weeper. Emily will appreciate that "Singing in the Rain" works perfectly, but then so does "Twelve Monkeys" and "Antonia's Line", so figure that out. And "Shadowlands" is both a weeper and one of my favorites.

The donors I knew used to avoid weepers because we had to keep both arms still throughout the procedure (whole blood out one arm, everything except a pint of platelets back in the other arm). So, when tears leaked out, a nurse had to mop them up or we let them dry itchily on our cheeks. My donation site has changed over to mostly one-needle machines, so now I can wipe my own eyes, blow my nose, scratch my ear . . . oh, my gosh! I just realized, I can read a book!

Anyway, today it was "Shadowlands" for the sixth or seventh time. There was a group of writers called "The Inklings" that included C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and Charles Williams. I couldn't get through the Narnia books, found the four books of Tolkien's trilogy exciting, but am still awed by Williams' novels. Fortunately, "Shadowlands" isn't about the Narnia books; it's Lewis himself, nearly fossilized in academe, doubting just enough to risk his comfortable life and finding he was capable of great happiness and crushing pain.

Oh, yeah . . . I love this movie. And when it was over, I got juice and cookies and still had the whole day ahead of me!

Fish on bicycles???

We've had a warm, sunny, dry Fall. It finally got dark and wet, but the warm got left behind, and we found ourselves waltzing into November with 70-degree days and buckets of rain. We call that "the pineapple express" because it comes to us from Hawaii (I can almost smell the coconut tanning lotion).

I lay awake the night the wind picked up. Like a child with a toy flute, the wind played the cedar tree - long on vigor; short on finesse. It wasn't the fury of the wind that kept me awake, though; it was the temperature. Even with all the heat turned off, the thermometer wavered between 72 and 76 for the next three days! Talk about stewing in your own juice!

Our neighborhood is fine, but it's flooding, especially at the coast - roads collapsing and houses being washed away, too. I don't wish the people of Gleneden Beach ill, but if they had the wits God gave a goose, they wouldn't have built there in the first place. Why do people respond to places of great natural beauty by plunking down a house or a hotel? Do they think it's a game of Monopoly? Then they shouldn't whine when they draw a bad Chance card.

Here's a great little video that gives you an idea how off-kilter things are. Don't mind the ad; it's short. You'll have to copy & paste the link, because I couldn't embed this one. Sorry. http://www.katu.com/home/video/4593501.html?video=YHI&t=a

I'm rich! Rich!!!

We got a load of compost today and I think it's humming something deep and soft and warm - a siren song for the garden's best friends. Over the years, I've tried tilling in some of this and spading in some of that to loosen up our fertile-but-heavy soil, but it was when I quit thrashing the ground (and myself) that I discovered we have a full-time gardening crew who, for a few yards of compost and a good rain will work over each planting bed without disturbing a single plant, incorporating all that organic matter, loosening the soil and aerating it to a faretheewell. You call them worms; I call them my gardening staff.

Other things that make me feel RICH:

• a stack of clean clothes


• jars of peaches cooling from the canner
  


• change in my pocket (!!)


• having a new book I haven't started reading yet


• quail talking in the bushes


• being outside at night with Bill

Money in the bank? (Yawn) Sure, it's nice. I just can't get very interested, though. I guess it's that momentary feeling of absolute goodness, rather than the total of a column of figures, that makes me feel well-to-do. Would it be different if I were hungry or homeless? Yeah, some . . . but I'll bet I'd always stop to bathe in a perfect sunrise or love the feel of 87 cents in my hand.

Like a pig

After a couple of months of me zigging when Bill was zagging, we're back in the garden together. Sweet.

Pop Quiz: How do you know your rosemary is out of control?
Answer: When you need a chainsaw to prune it.

We slaved like - well, slaves - this morning, freeing the granite from the rosemary's clutches, weeding, mulching and reducing the sumac thicket to what we laughingly consider a manageable size.

But here's the best part - we had a nice big pile from clearing the orchard and today was a burning day. By the time we were tuckered out from gardening, there was a bed of coals - I kid you not - six feet long and three feet high. We cut filbert suckers for skewers and sipped a cold beer while our sausages sizzled. A great horned owl lit on the top of the little fir tree, silhouetted against the western sky. It looked like a really big black cat (except for the flying part).

We went back long after dark and sat watching the sky and the glow of the coals. Even with fire-glazed eyes we saw the Milky Way clear across the sky. It was a nice respite from the thundering feline horde in the house, but we couldn't stay out too late. We think they've figured out how to use the internet and I caught Bungee with my credit card yesterday . . .

Breakfast at Tiffany's it ain't

I spent yesterday on a clear liquid diet and then spent the evening drinking ONE GALLON (I kid you not) of a product jokingly named "GoLYTELY", and then shitting my guts out. The prize for all this was getting a colonoscopy this morning (good report!). I am, of course, overdramatizing (blame the anesthesia) - it's not really terrible, just mildly undignified. Luckily, as we age, we learn a) to maintain a modicum of dignity at the worst of times and b) to care less and less about maintaining a modicum of dignity.

And the hits just keep on coming

So, as I said, the wedding was a romp, a rollick, a fest o' good spirits. The day after, we woke feeling smug and laughed about having a blank calendar ahead of us. That lasted about an hour. Then our sneaky firstborn and her equally sly husband, who had been keeping the secret for three months, finally got to tell us we'd be grandparents in the spring!

One minute I'm smiling over one couple; the next I'm grinning over the other; and then I laugh out loud because life is good.

On the road again . . .

Ahhhhh. . . One of the joys of traveling through PDX is clearing security and finding Aero Moka just beyond. Laptop connects and life is good.

All was not, however, beer and skittles. Here's an airline first for me: after waiting nine (9) hours for the connecting flight (including a whole hour to find a flight attendent!), they called us to board and then mentioned the plane had been "downsized" (apparently they didn't notice this before boarding started) and half of us would not be going on tonight, after all - oh, but our luggage was leaving. Sheesh!

I'm falling for Oneonta in a big way. I'm staying a few blocks from the kids and a few blocks from "The Latte Lounge" which, in spite of its unfortunate name (how would a lounging latte look, anyway?), is a great place to read the paper after a nice long morning walk. The weather gets clearer and brighter each day and the trees are making up new colors for themselves.

We're trying to be tense and irritable about the wedding, but we're all too happy to pull it off. Everyone we work with is pleasant, thoughtful, courteous and prompt, so we can't bitch about vendors. And Mike's family is just great. Emily is so lucky to have Connie for a mother-in-law! And I'm far enough away that Mike shouldn't suffer too much, either.

Late note: the wedding went off BEAUTIFULLY. The one teeny, tiny little problem was handled before the guests noticed, which is the same, in my book, as no problem ever happening. The room looked great all filled with happy people, and the newly-married couple finally got to relaaaaaaaaaaxx.