I'm at Papa's Ice Cream & Deli, having a yummy sandwich with my DH and the girl, who just passed her final exam at driving school. Soon now, she'll have enough practice to try for her driver's license. I'll warn y'all if she gets it.
Still no sign of Carey. I sometimes (often, actually) dream about our animals after they've gone missing or died. In the dream she came home in through the dog yard. For a few minutes I was completely, ecstatically happy. I wanted to run and tell the girl, but first I had to pet her and pick her up and tell her what a good kitty she was. Then, of course, I woke up. The dogs were barking, so I went out in a robe and slippers and looked around just in case. No cats, no coyotes, no raccoons, no deer. The dogs calmed down after I went out. I think the fog, which was pretty thick and smelled like dry dust, kind of freaked them out and my going out and looking around reassured them. Or maybe they thought they were all in trouble. Maybe both.
I spent a few hours typing on a book and then went back to bed. Today is going to be a loooong day, with maybe five non-consecutive hours of sleep. I feel okay now. I'm dreading the carb crash later ....
Friday, July 27, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Review: The FURminator: My Hero
Not that long ago I had lunch with a writer friend of mine, and we got to talking about my ten thousand animals. She suggested that I use a furminator on our dogs to help strip out their winter coats and help prevent mats that might form too close to the skin and eventually cause serious sores. She used a big one on her horses, and extolled the virtues of the might furminator to me while we had salad. I was intrigued, but her description of the price tag made me flinch and file it under the category of pipe dream/luxury item. I was under the impression it was an electric thingy, too, for whatever reason, and decided that I'd just shave the dogs if needed.
Then yesterday I ran into a friend of mine at Petco and she recommended it too (she uses a small one on her cats) so I caved and looked at them. They're not electric. I got a medium one for long-haired dogs for my dogs. I'm glad I didn't get the large one partly because of the extra money, and partly because although it might have been worth it on the big sections, the larger comb would have made it harder to work on their legs and stuff. And I was happy that it wasn't as expensive as the one my friend used on her horses. Size makes the difference, it turns out.
Then yesterday I ran into a friend of mine at Petco and she recommended it too (she uses a small one on her cats) so I caved and looked at them. They're not electric. I got a medium one for long-haired dogs for my dogs. I'm glad I didn't get the large one partly because of the extra money, and partly because although it might have been worth it on the big sections, the larger comb would have made it harder to work on their legs and stuff. And I was happy that it wasn't as expensive as the one my friend used on her horses. Size makes the difference, it turns out.
Finn had way more undercoat than I realized he had. Working with the regular undercoat puller I use, I would have cleaned up his hindquarters in a few minutes and considered my work done. But running the furminator over his supposedly-clean back was enlightening. Yikes. I pulled almost as much undercoat off of him as I did Brian, Brian the Fluff Generator, Brian the Puffy Source of Endless Hair, Brian the ... you get the idea.
For full-time (or in our case, mostly full-time) outdoor animals, pulling out the undercoat isn't just a matter of neatness or appearance. Those old undercoats hold a lot of dirt, and way too much insulation value for our increasingly warm temperatures. I'm really glad I helped Finn rid himself of it before August. Heck, if I hadn't pulled it, it might have hung around until his winter coat came in and shoved it off within reach of our normal brushes, and by then the dogs would have been dangerously filthy, even with baths. It's just too hard to wash that stuff out, even using the awesome rubber brush to help work the suds in down toward the skin.
Brian had some mats in his fur that I buzzed off so that I could save him some tugging prior to using the tool. He hates having his mats pulled. (So far I haven't let them go so long that they end up matted close to the skin but they are clingy ...) It turns out that I shouldn't have buzzed them after all. The furminator pulled out the remaining smaller mats very easily and Brian never gave me the 'owie mommy' look he does so often when I'm using a standard undercoat puller. I ended up not shaving much around his seat and pulled the mats with just the furminator with no trouble at all. It's kewl, though. His tail looks a little funny right now, but he'll be fully feathered in no time.
Getting that undercoat out turned out to be especially gratifying in Brian's case. Both dogs had dirty undercoats, but Brian's hair is a different consistency than Finn's more labrador retriever-like fur. The dirty undercoat pulled free of his guard hairs and an almost pristine white summer undercoat. It was almost as good as giving him a bath. Combing with a nice bath, he'll be in excellent shape to endure the heat we'll most likely experience in August. These dogs do really well in very cold temperatures, but tend to suffer in anything over 75 degrees F. The last two years I've taken Brian to get shaved, and this year I planned to shave him myself (after buying a spacer--the one I like to use on him broke) but now I wonder if it might not be unnecessary. I think just keeping him groomed, and taking him to the river on 90+ degree days, will be sufficient.
The girl sat down and (very gently) furminated Wizard, our big, fat, very happy and formerly feral tiger tabby shorthair cat. He loved it. As an experiment I ran a nice cat brush over him. We didn't get much. We ran the furminator over it and pulled lots of undercoat and dander along with it. They have small ones for cats, but I think that we'll use the one for our dogs on the cats as needed, being careful not to push because the teeth on the one we have are sized for long-haired dogs.
Furminators are expensive, but I think they're worth it. Now that I have one, I don't see any reason to visit a groomer, which will pay back the worth of the comb by next summer, and that's for an ultra-minimalist grooming schedule (once a year.)
One minor note about the instructions. They suggest bathing your animal first and letting it fully dry before using the comb. In our case, I think it makes more sense to use the comb as a kind of dry bath. And then, when we get around to a big, wet, soapy bath, we won't have to try to clean old, wooly undercoat hair that shouldn't be there in the first place. And that undercoat really hinders getting the soap down to the skin and makes rinsing that soap out much more difficult.
Half of Brian's pile. The rest is outside. Bear in mind we brushed him last week to get the worst of it off.
Also, because they're pricy, I suggest that folks living within a budget to shop around and maybe investigate getting a used one if possible. If you do get a used one, be sure to clean it thoroughly and disinfect it in case the animal it was used on had a transmittable disease. I don't usually recommend a particular vendor, but in this case, Amazon has one of the best prices for new ones available.
I'm happy with the tool. The dogs enjoyed the attention, and are tons cleaner, lighter, and cooler. Wins all around.
Update: Carey is still not home. We made some calls and put up ads on Craigslist. We also left some fliers around town. Keep your fingers crossed for us. Thanks for your well-wishes.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Carey
The beloved Fluff, Carey, is missing. We're looking but we don't have as much hope as I'd like to have. Between the weasel and the huge number of coyotes (more than I've ever heard since we've moved here) ... yeah. She's not on the side of the road. We called our local veterinarians to see if anyone brought in an injured cat matching her description. Today we'll go to the shelters with 8 1/2x11 pictures of her. I miss her very, very much. While eating fried chicken, her favorite, I wanted nothing more than to see her waiting patiently by my feet, expecting her share. The other cats don't mooch for food, so it felt like I was eating dinner alone. I had a terrible, empty feeling that my daughter (Carey is her cat) felt the same emptiness, though we sat in the same room together.
The other kitties are being forced to stay indoors much more. They were out for only a few short hours yesterday. The whining and wheedling first thing in the morning was amazing to behold. They expect to be let out before we do anything else--before going to the bathroom, breakfast, coffee--preferably before we're awake enough to do anything except stumble to the sliding door and open it. They'll get used to it, eventually, I think.
The other thing I miss is seeing Carey on the driveway, watching Chase race the cars driving by. If it was a coyote, that's probably where he grabbed her. She never goes out of sight of the house except to go next door to our down-the-hill neighbors, where I suspect she has a kitty friend. Our neighbor takes in strays too. He was the first one we talked to when she went missing, to see if she might not be there.
Living in a rural area is wonderful, except ...
Of course, in town, there's the traffic issue, and stray dogs, and raccoons, and people using rat poison ...
The world isn't a safe place. I won't lock up all our animals 24/7 to keep them safer. Might as well keep our chickens in tiny cages and the goats locked up under artificial lights, etc. If I could go back and do things over, I wonder if it might not have been better to keep Carey an indoor cat. She's a long-haired kitty and they do better indoors full time anyway. But she loved to sit on the driveway, and sleep on the deck, and walk out to the barn and to the veggie garden while we did our chores. I wonder why she's the one that's missing, when the other kitties go so much farther afield and don't spend as much time close to us when we're out. Just one of those things, I guess.
Veronica, aka the Poop, sleeps where Carey used to sleep inside the house. She's been crying by the sliding door most of the night the past few nights. It's hard to say if she wants us to help her look for Carey, or just wants out.
There's a chance, of course, but hope is fading fast.
The other kitties are being forced to stay indoors much more. They were out for only a few short hours yesterday. The whining and wheedling first thing in the morning was amazing to behold. They expect to be let out before we do anything else--before going to the bathroom, breakfast, coffee--preferably before we're awake enough to do anything except stumble to the sliding door and open it. They'll get used to it, eventually, I think.
The other thing I miss is seeing Carey on the driveway, watching Chase race the cars driving by. If it was a coyote, that's probably where he grabbed her. She never goes out of sight of the house except to go next door to our down-the-hill neighbors, where I suspect she has a kitty friend. Our neighbor takes in strays too. He was the first one we talked to when she went missing, to see if she might not be there.
Living in a rural area is wonderful, except ...
Of course, in town, there's the traffic issue, and stray dogs, and raccoons, and people using rat poison ...
The world isn't a safe place. I won't lock up all our animals 24/7 to keep them safer. Might as well keep our chickens in tiny cages and the goats locked up under artificial lights, etc. If I could go back and do things over, I wonder if it might not have been better to keep Carey an indoor cat. She's a long-haired kitty and they do better indoors full time anyway. But she loved to sit on the driveway, and sleep on the deck, and walk out to the barn and to the veggie garden while we did our chores. I wonder why she's the one that's missing, when the other kitties go so much farther afield and don't spend as much time close to us when we're out. Just one of those things, I guess.
Veronica, aka the Poop, sleeps where Carey used to sleep inside the house. She's been crying by the sliding door most of the night the past few nights. It's hard to say if she wants us to help her look for Carey, or just wants out.
There's a chance, of course, but hope is fading fast.
Carey with her best friend, Veronica
Monday, July 16, 2012
Review: Tardis Room and DiPrima Dolci
Ate at a couple of spiffy places recently: The Fish and Chip Shop on N. Killingsworth in Portland, Oregon, known as the Tardis Room, and an italian deli just down the road. Awesome for lunch, a pleasant walk, and dessert. Parking is on the street and limited near the Fish and Chips, so be forewarned if you want to meet with a group. The decor in the Tardis Room was lots of fun, and I loved the fresh, hot fish and chips there. Bear in mind that the chips (fries) and the batter on the fish has next to no salt--you're expected to be a grownup and salt your own. I also used lots of vinegar on mine, and the lemons that came with the fish were nice and fresh. I had the cod, and it was very, very good, fresh fish.
At DiPrima Dolci we sat out on a back patio in the sunshine amid a very nice, romantic garden all overgrown and bountiful. I bet it looks even better later in the year. If you love gardening and would like to combine it with fresh cannoli and not-too-sweet but rich and tasty cheesecake, this is the place for you. I'd also like to thank them profusely for having high quality tea and not pouring boiling hot water over it so that it ended up overcooked. It was perfect--rare in this day of Stash or Taos tea with hot water meant for espresso searing it so that it tastes muddy and sour. I recommend going on a day when it would be nice to sit outside, and prepare to relax completely.
Oh, and I have to say that I appreciated the portions at both places. At DiPrima Dolci I ordered a small cannoli and RL ordered the marbled cheesecake. I didn't feel guilty snarfing as much as I did--the whole cannoli and half (or more) of the cheesecake. Much as I adore Rose's giant cake slices, I always mean to take half of them home and end up eating them all in one sitting, which does nothing good for my manly waistline. At the Tardis Room, the two pieces of cod and the sides were plenty for a heavy lunch, at least for me. There's a large (probably three pieces) available for folks with bigger appetites than I want to have. Yes, I would have gladly eaten a third piece of fish, but I'm glad I didn't.
If you're local, plan to check it out and worried about the neighborhood, don't be. It might be a different story on a hot night, but everyone seemed friendly and nice, and there weren't any people trying to intimidate or conduct questionable business there on a Sunday afternoon. It's not the prettiest place I've been in Portland, to be sure, but I loved the houses and gardens, and it looks like the locals are dedicated to keeping their area safe, beautiful, and welcoming to visitors.
I hope to visit both places again soon.
At DiPrima Dolci we sat out on a back patio in the sunshine amid a very nice, romantic garden all overgrown and bountiful. I bet it looks even better later in the year. If you love gardening and would like to combine it with fresh cannoli and not-too-sweet but rich and tasty cheesecake, this is the place for you. I'd also like to thank them profusely for having high quality tea and not pouring boiling hot water over it so that it ended up overcooked. It was perfect--rare in this day of Stash or Taos tea with hot water meant for espresso searing it so that it tastes muddy and sour. I recommend going on a day when it would be nice to sit outside, and prepare to relax completely.
Oh, and I have to say that I appreciated the portions at both places. At DiPrima Dolci I ordered a small cannoli and RL ordered the marbled cheesecake. I didn't feel guilty snarfing as much as I did--the whole cannoli and half (or more) of the cheesecake. Much as I adore Rose's giant cake slices, I always mean to take half of them home and end up eating them all in one sitting, which does nothing good for my manly waistline. At the Tardis Room, the two pieces of cod and the sides were plenty for a heavy lunch, at least for me. There's a large (probably three pieces) available for folks with bigger appetites than I want to have. Yes, I would have gladly eaten a third piece of fish, but I'm glad I didn't.
If you're local, plan to check it out and worried about the neighborhood, don't be. It might be a different story on a hot night, but everyone seemed friendly and nice, and there weren't any people trying to intimidate or conduct questionable business there on a Sunday afternoon. It's not the prettiest place I've been in Portland, to be sure, but I loved the houses and gardens, and it looks like the locals are dedicated to keeping their area safe, beautiful, and welcoming to visitors.
I hope to visit both places again soon.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Cuteness, with teeth
I was on my way home the other day when something darted across the road. It was so thin, with a sharp face and long, trailing tail held out in line with its narrow body, that dart described its movements almost perfectly. Legs scuttled rapidly under its body, making it travel with nary a bump or a squiggle, until it vanished on the far south edge of our property. It was the color of a squirrel, but definitely not a squirrel. I asked the girl to grab our copy of North American Wildlife and told her to turn the page to weasels.
Yep. Sure enough. I'm pretty sure it's the long-tailed weasel, but it could have been an ermine, too. Just barely over a foot long including the tail, maybe six ounces of animal tops, they regularly kill rabbits. Our cats are all over 6 pounds and they very, very rarely take on rabbits. When they do, it's usually a juvenile.
Weasels, of course, are famous for wiping out whole coops of chickens. So our days of forgetting to close in the chickens (forgetting=looking outside at the beautiful evening and thinking meh, they'll be fine) are over. We have just the two, and I treasure my faithful biddies.
I knew this day was coming. We have to fill in the floor of the coop with cement. Dang it! I guess we'll just have to do it in our copious spare time.
On the plus side, the weasel was adorable. Seriously. I can see why some people in medieval times kept ermines and such (very occasionally) as pets. Ferrets are cute too. Will I have one as a pet, ever? No thanks. But I'll play with the ones my friends keep any time.
Yep. Sure enough. I'm pretty sure it's the long-tailed weasel, but it could have been an ermine, too. Just barely over a foot long including the tail, maybe six ounces of animal tops, they regularly kill rabbits. Our cats are all over 6 pounds and they very, very rarely take on rabbits. When they do, it's usually a juvenile.
Weasels, of course, are famous for wiping out whole coops of chickens. So our days of forgetting to close in the chickens (forgetting=looking outside at the beautiful evening and thinking meh, they'll be fine) are over. We have just the two, and I treasure my faithful biddies.
I knew this day was coming. We have to fill in the floor of the coop with cement. Dang it! I guess we'll just have to do it in our copious spare time.
On the plus side, the weasel was adorable. Seriously. I can see why some people in medieval times kept ermines and such (very occasionally) as pets. Ferrets are cute too. Will I have one as a pet, ever? No thanks. But I'll play with the ones my friends keep any time.
Monday, July 09, 2012
Weeds, Tea and Soup
The garden is growing really, really well. Too well, in some cases. Can you have too much bok choi? Apparently so. Sadly, the goats don't like it, which I find weird, but useful in that the deer haven't bothered it at all. I guess I have to eat faster. Something to think about--bok choi, when cooked, forms a nice, not-too-thick gel. It might be a good ingredient for soups. If an experiment comes out all right along those lines, I'll post about it.
Anyway, I noticed something that produced a duh moment for me.
I have areas in my garden where not just the plants, but the weeds are positively huge. It made me realize that the places that have small weeds are under-fertilized. Sooo ... when I put the beds to sleep (heh) in the fall, when I put down my homemade fertilizer and cover things over, I can put extra in the places where the weeds are really pitiful, and less where they're gargantuan.
Not that I'll have weeds, of course. Everything will be perfectly manicured and weeded by then.
But if I did have weeds, I could totally use them as a gauge for how much fertilizer to put down. Aaaand, the beauty part, if I overdo it in the fall, its not going to burn my veggies because I won't have any in the ground at the time. It'll have time to mellow for many months before I plant again. Remember, though, if you add amendments in the fall, if they're super water soluble, they'll just wash away into the soil too deep for the plants to reach them in spring, so either protect against rain or just wait until after your seedlings sprout in the spring. Don't fertilize when you plant seeds. It messes them up when they germinate. If you must, scratch the fertilizer in at least six inches, preferably farther, away from your seed line.
Speaking of fertilizer, I have a scary bucket of chicken poo waiting by. I haven't decided what to do with it. It's super hot, and only partially composted. I'm tempted to spread it between the smallest of my zucchini plants and maybe make tea with some of it to water with around the fruit trees. Chicken poo is awesome fertilizer, but you have to be careful. It burns, baby, burns! There's really no way to measure how hot it is, so I'll have to guess. In cases like that, it's good to remember that you can always add, but you can't take away the damage from too much once it's done. It's not like too much salt in your soup, where you can stick in a couple of celery stalks or add potatoes to fix it.
Soup again. I must be craving it. I think I'll make soup for dinner tonight.
Watch out for the weather. Stay hydrated in hot spots, and look out for lightning. We had an incredible lightning storm just east of us. It sounded like fireworks show off in the distance, and for a while I thought that's exactly what it was, a post-4rth show, until I looked out the window. Often there were multiple flashes at once. We don't usually get that kind of weather around here. I was very, very glad I could appreciate it at a distance instead of being directly under it. It must have been terrifying. Here's the weather report for it. Photos here. BTW, it takes three to four hours for me to drive from my home to the worst-hit areas of the storm, but I saw the closest edge of it quite well from our deck.
Anyway, I noticed something that produced a duh moment for me.
I have areas in my garden where not just the plants, but the weeds are positively huge. It made me realize that the places that have small weeds are under-fertilized. Sooo ... when I put the beds to sleep (heh) in the fall, when I put down my homemade fertilizer and cover things over, I can put extra in the places where the weeds are really pitiful, and less where they're gargantuan.
Not that I'll have weeds, of course. Everything will be perfectly manicured and weeded by then.
But if I did have weeds, I could totally use them as a gauge for how much fertilizer to put down. Aaaand, the beauty part, if I overdo it in the fall, its not going to burn my veggies because I won't have any in the ground at the time. It'll have time to mellow for many months before I plant again. Remember, though, if you add amendments in the fall, if they're super water soluble, they'll just wash away into the soil too deep for the plants to reach them in spring, so either protect against rain or just wait until after your seedlings sprout in the spring. Don't fertilize when you plant seeds. It messes them up when they germinate. If you must, scratch the fertilizer in at least six inches, preferably farther, away from your seed line.
Speaking of fertilizer, I have a scary bucket of chicken poo waiting by. I haven't decided what to do with it. It's super hot, and only partially composted. I'm tempted to spread it between the smallest of my zucchini plants and maybe make tea with some of it to water with around the fruit trees. Chicken poo is awesome fertilizer, but you have to be careful. It burns, baby, burns! There's really no way to measure how hot it is, so I'll have to guess. In cases like that, it's good to remember that you can always add, but you can't take away the damage from too much once it's done. It's not like too much salt in your soup, where you can stick in a couple of celery stalks or add potatoes to fix it.
Soup again. I must be craving it. I think I'll make soup for dinner tonight.
Watch out for the weather. Stay hydrated in hot spots, and look out for lightning. We had an incredible lightning storm just east of us. It sounded like fireworks show off in the distance, and for a while I thought that's exactly what it was, a post-4rth show, until I looked out the window. Often there were multiple flashes at once. We don't usually get that kind of weather around here. I was very, very glad I could appreciate it at a distance instead of being directly under it. It must have been terrifying. Here's the weather report for it. Photos here. BTW, it takes three to four hours for me to drive from my home to the worst-hit areas of the storm, but I saw the closest edge of it quite well from our deck.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Walking
I've been having trouble signing in through our family-shared computer at home. Sorry about the long silences.
I decided to start walking every day, preferably twice a day. Re-decided would be a more accurate statement. I decide these sorts of things and then, to no one's surprise, they don't happen. For some bizarre, reason, though, I re-decided, put on my walking shoes, asked if anyone wanted to come along, and then I went out.
I had one taker. The sun hadn't quite set, but it was heading toward the horizon fast. Fireworks had already started to boom and pop in the distance, but around us the people who were home waited for dark. The boy and I went up the road a short distance and then turned on one of those rural roads where you never know what you're going to see around the next bend or over the steep hill that would make a great sledding slope if it wasn't so darned dangerous.
We talked, and I huffed and puffed and did a bit of rue-ing but mostly I loved listening about the boy's friends and school and life. We startled a deer, and then snuck up on it. It's not a real sneaking up, but if you startle a deer, generally they don't go very far. They'll find someplace where they have enough room to run and see and set themselves at a 90 degree angle to you and listen. And wait. The boy saw her first, and moved me so I could see her through the narrow opening in the brush where she stood, both of her huge ears open to us, her large, dark eyes focused toward us but perfectly capable of seeing almost 360 degrees around her.
We also tried to spot birds. I wanted to get another look at an indigo bunting. I could hear them everywhere, but despite being brilliant blue, they're tough to see.
The experience inspired me to get out early and walk again this morning. Scared the same bunny twice--he came out to eat miner's lettuce on the edge of the road. When I get home, I'll have dinner, put my feet up, and then before I sink too far down into cushiony, weary bliss, I intend to go out and walk again. And again tomorrow. Always again, because I love it. I'd forgotten that.
I decided to start walking every day, preferably twice a day. Re-decided would be a more accurate statement. I decide these sorts of things and then, to no one's surprise, they don't happen. For some bizarre, reason, though, I re-decided, put on my walking shoes, asked if anyone wanted to come along, and then I went out.
I had one taker. The sun hadn't quite set, but it was heading toward the horizon fast. Fireworks had already started to boom and pop in the distance, but around us the people who were home waited for dark. The boy and I went up the road a short distance and then turned on one of those rural roads where you never know what you're going to see around the next bend or over the steep hill that would make a great sledding slope if it wasn't so darned dangerous.
We talked, and I huffed and puffed and did a bit of rue-ing but mostly I loved listening about the boy's friends and school and life. We startled a deer, and then snuck up on it. It's not a real sneaking up, but if you startle a deer, generally they don't go very far. They'll find someplace where they have enough room to run and see and set themselves at a 90 degree angle to you and listen. And wait. The boy saw her first, and moved me so I could see her through the narrow opening in the brush where she stood, both of her huge ears open to us, her large, dark eyes focused toward us but perfectly capable of seeing almost 360 degrees around her.
We also tried to spot birds. I wanted to get another look at an indigo bunting. I could hear them everywhere, but despite being brilliant blue, they're tough to see.
The experience inspired me to get out early and walk again this morning. Scared the same bunny twice--he came out to eat miner's lettuce on the edge of the road. When I get home, I'll have dinner, put my feet up, and then before I sink too far down into cushiony, weary bliss, I intend to go out and walk again. And again tomorrow. Always again, because I love it. I'd forgotten that.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Customers that make me cringe
Had a return today from a gentleman who didn't like the flip flops he'd bought.
"These have two problems," he told me very seriously. I put on my best grave attention face. "First of all, I want you to see this." He took a flip flop and pushed it across my counter as if it were a Hot Wheels special edition car. It went about six inches. I had a really, really hard time not laughing, especially since he looked even more serious. "Did you see that?" he exclaimed. "I wore those on a vinyl floor and almost had a very serious fall. You should pull these all off the shelves immediately."
I imagined demonstrating the Hot Wheels flip flop to my boss and almost laughed out loud again. I think my serious face cracked a bit around the edges. "I don't think they'll let us do that."
"Then you'll just be part of the pay out for the lawsuit against the manufacturer when someone is seriously injured in these."
I thought about people suing because they wore high heels in sand and broke their ankle. Mmm, not so much.
"The second thing is that they have this cloth on the bottom that's peeling off," he said.
"Yeah, that's really bad." I finished processing the return, thinking about kids skating gleefully around hardwood floors in these things, and why more people don't sue manufacturers for making those hard plastic bottomed slippers that are far, far worse than the Hot Wheels flip flop. But I left it alone. "Sorry those didn't work out for you."
He gave me that 'you'll be hearing from my lawyer' look and stalked off.
I also had a lady dash in. "I just bought this," she said breathlessly, setting hair color on the counter. "I just want to trade it for a lighter color. It's way too dark. I didn't notice until I got outside."
The color was 'Clove,' a very dark, reddish, almost black brown. "Sorry, I have to run this as a return unless we're trading it for the identical color."
"Can I go grab the one I want?"
"I need your information--"
She left her ID on the table. I filled out the stuff while she was away. When she came back, she had a very, very dark brown, but without the reddish tones. "This is the one I want," she gasped. "How much longer will this take? We're buying a pickup truck and I have to meet someone."
And you're buying hair color ...? Now? Oh, never mind, it's not worth it. "Just take this to the cashier and you're all set."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Enjoy your almost indistinguishably dark brown hair color. It'll cover your light brown hair ... a lot.
I expect to see her back tomorrow.
"These have two problems," he told me very seriously. I put on my best grave attention face. "First of all, I want you to see this." He took a flip flop and pushed it across my counter as if it were a Hot Wheels special edition car. It went about six inches. I had a really, really hard time not laughing, especially since he looked even more serious. "Did you see that?" he exclaimed. "I wore those on a vinyl floor and almost had a very serious fall. You should pull these all off the shelves immediately."
I imagined demonstrating the Hot Wheels flip flop to my boss and almost laughed out loud again. I think my serious face cracked a bit around the edges. "I don't think they'll let us do that."
"Then you'll just be part of the pay out for the lawsuit against the manufacturer when someone is seriously injured in these."
I thought about people suing because they wore high heels in sand and broke their ankle. Mmm, not so much.
"The second thing is that they have this cloth on the bottom that's peeling off," he said.
"Yeah, that's really bad." I finished processing the return, thinking about kids skating gleefully around hardwood floors in these things, and why more people don't sue manufacturers for making those hard plastic bottomed slippers that are far, far worse than the Hot Wheels flip flop. But I left it alone. "Sorry those didn't work out for you."
He gave me that 'you'll be hearing from my lawyer' look and stalked off.
I also had a lady dash in. "I just bought this," she said breathlessly, setting hair color on the counter. "I just want to trade it for a lighter color. It's way too dark. I didn't notice until I got outside."
The color was 'Clove,' a very dark, reddish, almost black brown. "Sorry, I have to run this as a return unless we're trading it for the identical color."
"Can I go grab the one I want?"
"I need your information--"
She left her ID on the table. I filled out the stuff while she was away. When she came back, she had a very, very dark brown, but without the reddish tones. "This is the one I want," she gasped. "How much longer will this take? We're buying a pickup truck and I have to meet someone."
And you're buying hair color ...? Now? Oh, never mind, it's not worth it. "Just take this to the cashier and you're all set."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Enjoy your almost indistinguishably dark brown hair color. It'll cover your light brown hair ... a lot.
I expect to see her back tomorrow.
Monday, June 18, 2012
TMI and Stuff No One Likes to Think About
It's official. I'll be going in for a colonoscopy in about a month. Yay. The peace-of-mind part sounds great. Some members of my family have a genetic hiccup that makes us pre-disposed for polyps, so it'll be good to find out if I got dealt that card or if it passed me up. The bathroom time (I expect I'll be reading rather than writing, and reading a lot) and the anesthesia, not so much.
At least it'll be a twilight anesthesia rather than general. I'm not a big fan of general.
Anyway, I get to walk up to this particular milestone sooner than most. I do hope that I can amble on by like most people. But the fear--of discomfort, of complications, of what they might find--is very low key, and being a little nervous and then more than a little uncomfortable for a little while is a small price of admission to pay for life. We're made of meat. All of us. Until someone comes up with a way to make that meat invulnerable, or makes our various parts easily and quickly replaceable, we gotta take care of the meat we got.
Every time I feed my goats and chickens (though Beatrice sometimes doesn't let me) I put my hands on them. Are they thin? Too plump? Do they feel strong? Are they bright-eyed? When I come home from work I say hi to all the dogs and cats, and it's the same thing.
The sad thing is that I don't check myself over nearly so often. Good thing that I have a working nervous system, or I'd never figure out when I'm hurt or sick. Unfortunately the nervous system isn't hooked into everything. There's a whole bunch of stuff that has few or no symptoms, and a whole bunch of stuff that has symptoms we can ignore or write off as our imaginations, or stress, or whatever. It's sooo important to get these checkups, whether you have insurance or not.
And that's another thing. I think people are far more willing to spend a couple of hundred bucks (if they're lucky) on having their car checked when it makes a funny noise or doesn't steer right or blows smoke than they are to go to the doctor for the same or less money because they don't have insurance. Really? I wonder how much regular folks spend on pop in a month. I don't drink it, but if I did, I might save the pop money for a few months and go to the doc instead.
Okay, that was totally self-righteous and catty, and I don't care. Go to the friggin' doctor, people! Save your pennies for tests and get 'em done. If you're 'that age', better start saving more in the thousands rather than hundreds for those nasty tests like I'm going to have done. But get it done. It's a necessary expense like food, rent, etc. And call your mother, for pity's sake. Seriously.
At least it'll be a twilight anesthesia rather than general. I'm not a big fan of general.
Anyway, I get to walk up to this particular milestone sooner than most. I do hope that I can amble on by like most people. But the fear--of discomfort, of complications, of what they might find--is very low key, and being a little nervous and then more than a little uncomfortable for a little while is a small price of admission to pay for life. We're made of meat. All of us. Until someone comes up with a way to make that meat invulnerable, or makes our various parts easily and quickly replaceable, we gotta take care of the meat we got.
Every time I feed my goats and chickens (though Beatrice sometimes doesn't let me) I put my hands on them. Are they thin? Too plump? Do they feel strong? Are they bright-eyed? When I come home from work I say hi to all the dogs and cats, and it's the same thing.
The sad thing is that I don't check myself over nearly so often. Good thing that I have a working nervous system, or I'd never figure out when I'm hurt or sick. Unfortunately the nervous system isn't hooked into everything. There's a whole bunch of stuff that has few or no symptoms, and a whole bunch of stuff that has symptoms we can ignore or write off as our imaginations, or stress, or whatever. It's sooo important to get these checkups, whether you have insurance or not.
And that's another thing. I think people are far more willing to spend a couple of hundred bucks (if they're lucky) on having their car checked when it makes a funny noise or doesn't steer right or blows smoke than they are to go to the doctor for the same or less money because they don't have insurance. Really? I wonder how much regular folks spend on pop in a month. I don't drink it, but if I did, I might save the pop money for a few months and go to the doc instead.
Okay, that was totally self-righteous and catty, and I don't care. Go to the friggin' doctor, people! Save your pennies for tests and get 'em done. If you're 'that age', better start saving more in the thousands rather than hundreds for those nasty tests like I'm going to have done. But get it done. It's a necessary expense like food, rent, etc. And call your mother, for pity's sake. Seriously.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Meatloaf. Mmm.
I had a pound of hamburger, and I wanted to make something simple with ingredients I had just sitting around the house that I could eat on for a few days. What to do, what to do ....
First, I got some fresh bok choi from the garden and chopped it up into small pieces. Mmm, bok choi. I had a portabella mushroom, too. Chop chop chop into cubes. Bergenost cheese in the fridge. I'm briefly tempted by smoked gouda, but I realized that bergenost is just the thing to go with the portabella mushroom. I grated a whole bunch of it.
By now I had a whole pile of non-hamburger stuff, way more than I had hamburger. Not a biggie. I set the oven for 350 degrees F and put a small cast iron pan in there to heat up. Then I put the hamburger into my bowl.
Seasonings. Hmm. Salt, but not too much because there's already cheese in there, and I squeezed in some ketchup, which is also salty. Can't have meatloaf without horseradish. I got a tablespoon from the drawer and scooped out a big glob. Of course I have a big enough jar of horseradish that I can get a spoon in there. Who doesn't? A tiny bit of mayo, a sprinkling of mesquite seasonings, and then I stirred the ingredients together. When they were more or less even, I washed my hands with soap and hot water.
The hot water feels good. Have to scrub under the nails, of course. And then it's mushing time. I kneaded the hamburger like dough. It was cold, and it made my fingers cold, but it was fun, like playing in mud. When it held together more or less, and the mushrooms were nice and pink from absorbing blood, I washed my hands again and got that hot pan out. I rolled the hamburger out of the bowl into my hands and made a loaf. When it hit the hot iron it hissed and sizzled beautifully. I loaded it into the oven, and washed my hands in that lovely hot water, and waited.
When it came out, it was delicious. I had it for lunch and dinner for two days, and it never got boring. And ... best meatloaf sandwiches for work, ever.
First, I got some fresh bok choi from the garden and chopped it up into small pieces. Mmm, bok choi. I had a portabella mushroom, too. Chop chop chop into cubes. Bergenost cheese in the fridge. I'm briefly tempted by smoked gouda, but I realized that bergenost is just the thing to go with the portabella mushroom. I grated a whole bunch of it.
By now I had a whole pile of non-hamburger stuff, way more than I had hamburger. Not a biggie. I set the oven for 350 degrees F and put a small cast iron pan in there to heat up. Then I put the hamburger into my bowl.
Seasonings. Hmm. Salt, but not too much because there's already cheese in there, and I squeezed in some ketchup, which is also salty. Can't have meatloaf without horseradish. I got a tablespoon from the drawer and scooped out a big glob. Of course I have a big enough jar of horseradish that I can get a spoon in there. Who doesn't? A tiny bit of mayo, a sprinkling of mesquite seasonings, and then I stirred the ingredients together. When they were more or less even, I washed my hands with soap and hot water.
The hot water feels good. Have to scrub under the nails, of course. And then it's mushing time. I kneaded the hamburger like dough. It was cold, and it made my fingers cold, but it was fun, like playing in mud. When it held together more or less, and the mushrooms were nice and pink from absorbing blood, I washed my hands again and got that hot pan out. I rolled the hamburger out of the bowl into my hands and made a loaf. When it hit the hot iron it hissed and sizzled beautifully. I loaded it into the oven, and washed my hands in that lovely hot water, and waited.
When it came out, it was delicious. I had it for lunch and dinner for two days, and it never got boring. And ... best meatloaf sandwiches for work, ever.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Best in the Bunch
I had a brilliant lunch with a friend yesterday. We went to a couple of stores after lunch and snooped around for things. I found some discounted clothes for work and got much-needed cat litter. I think she had fun, and I know I did. I think I've found a shopping buddy! We're going to have a shopping date soon.
She has this great way of looking at shopping that fits the dynamic in my household perfectly. It seems the boy and I are gatherers living with two hunters, my DH and the girl. My friend's son asks her, when they go shopping, whether it's going to be a hunting or a gathering trip. I like that distinction. Maybe it'll become part of my family's vocabulary too.
Gatherers like to look around and see if they can find something better. They like to touch everything if they can, and sort through piles seeing if there's a shinier object mixed in with the others for the same price. This makes me think of how I used to shop for stuffed animals. I looked through what appeared to be identical, mass-produced critters, but I was looking at the spacing between the eyes and the ears for the one that clicked for me. To me, at least at close perusal, they all looked a little different and I wanted the cutest one.
When it came to clothes, though, my inner gatherer hid away in terror. Through jr. high and high school, I wasn't bullied, but I was ostracized. At least in high school I finally found a group I could be a part of, (I'm still close friends with one of them!) but clothes weren't on that group's radar, so I continued to dress myself defensively. The idea that jr. high imprinted in my vulnerable brain was that since I was laughed at and looked down upon even more when I wore something new, it was better to keep wearing the same things over and over, and buy things very similar to what I already had. And I hated shopping for clothes. It was stressful. I didn't want to buy anything, because it felt like anything I chose would be make me an easy target for weeks.
Anyway, in college I went on a non-shopping trip with a whole new set of pals (it took me a year to find them but once I did, again, I'm still friends with some of them to this day), clothes shopping became a delight. We couldn't afford anything except ramen and frozen peas, so we didn't buy anything, but we tried on all kinds of clothes. Clothes we didn't dare wear. Clothes someone else picked out for us. Clothes that made us look like entirely different people. Thinking on it now, I wonder how much this experience of clothes changing the outward personality influenced the ideas behind Masks. We had so much fun, it shocked me out of my hatred of buying clothes. And I've never looked back.
Now hunters just want to kill it. They want to buy something convenient, within their price range, that will function the way they want it to. If they don't see it, they don't mess around looking hopefully at other things, nor do they consider upgrading, or shopping for something else 'since we're already here.' I can't speak to the inner process in a hunter's mind, but I expect that shopping is a boring but necessary chore that ought to be made as quick as possible. If something they grab is sufficiently defective that it won't work, they either return it or just let it collect dust. Of course some things I've carefully picked out don't work out sometimes either. Maybe gathering behavior doesn't gain me anything. But I like it. It's not a chore. So I persist in it.
You'd think that grocery shopping would turn into a sort of hunting trip for me, but it really doesn't. I'm still gathering. The only reason I get it done quickly is because of familiarity. I know, of the things I buy, what's available and what a high-quality item in a given batch will look like. So, if I snatch the first bunch of celery in the center top and stick it in my cart without a backward glance, it's not because I'm hunting. It's because within that glance I knew immediately it was a good bunch and sorting through the whole bin will not produce a better one.
It's a fun and potentially useful way of looking at the world. I wonder what I'll learn from my friend next time. I can't wait to find out!
She has this great way of looking at shopping that fits the dynamic in my household perfectly. It seems the boy and I are gatherers living with two hunters, my DH and the girl. My friend's son asks her, when they go shopping, whether it's going to be a hunting or a gathering trip. I like that distinction. Maybe it'll become part of my family's vocabulary too.
Gatherers like to look around and see if they can find something better. They like to touch everything if they can, and sort through piles seeing if there's a shinier object mixed in with the others for the same price. This makes me think of how I used to shop for stuffed animals. I looked through what appeared to be identical, mass-produced critters, but I was looking at the spacing between the eyes and the ears for the one that clicked for me. To me, at least at close perusal, they all looked a little different and I wanted the cutest one.
When it came to clothes, though, my inner gatherer hid away in terror. Through jr. high and high school, I wasn't bullied, but I was ostracized. At least in high school I finally found a group I could be a part of, (I'm still close friends with one of them!) but clothes weren't on that group's radar, so I continued to dress myself defensively. The idea that jr. high imprinted in my vulnerable brain was that since I was laughed at and looked down upon even more when I wore something new, it was better to keep wearing the same things over and over, and buy things very similar to what I already had. And I hated shopping for clothes. It was stressful. I didn't want to buy anything, because it felt like anything I chose would be make me an easy target for weeks.
Anyway, in college I went on a non-shopping trip with a whole new set of pals (it took me a year to find them but once I did, again, I'm still friends with some of them to this day), clothes shopping became a delight. We couldn't afford anything except ramen and frozen peas, so we didn't buy anything, but we tried on all kinds of clothes. Clothes we didn't dare wear. Clothes someone else picked out for us. Clothes that made us look like entirely different people. Thinking on it now, I wonder how much this experience of clothes changing the outward personality influenced the ideas behind Masks. We had so much fun, it shocked me out of my hatred of buying clothes. And I've never looked back.
Now hunters just want to kill it. They want to buy something convenient, within their price range, that will function the way they want it to. If they don't see it, they don't mess around looking hopefully at other things, nor do they consider upgrading, or shopping for something else 'since we're already here.' I can't speak to the inner process in a hunter's mind, but I expect that shopping is a boring but necessary chore that ought to be made as quick as possible. If something they grab is sufficiently defective that it won't work, they either return it or just let it collect dust. Of course some things I've carefully picked out don't work out sometimes either. Maybe gathering behavior doesn't gain me anything. But I like it. It's not a chore. So I persist in it.
You'd think that grocery shopping would turn into a sort of hunting trip for me, but it really doesn't. I'm still gathering. The only reason I get it done quickly is because of familiarity. I know, of the things I buy, what's available and what a high-quality item in a given batch will look like. So, if I snatch the first bunch of celery in the center top and stick it in my cart without a backward glance, it's not because I'm hunting. It's because within that glance I knew immediately it was a good bunch and sorting through the whole bin will not produce a better one.
It's a fun and potentially useful way of looking at the world. I wonder what I'll learn from my friend next time. I can't wait to find out!
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
Wacom Bamboo Create Tablet Review
I've been producing a lot more art lately, thanks to the Bamboo Create. It's an awesome tool for creating book covers. One of the things that I found fascinating was that although this is apparently considered a non-pro art tablet, or as one reviewer put it on Amazon, a 'fun' tablet, the only limitations I ran into were the limitations of my own artistic abilities. I would not have been able to create the covers for Masks and Confidante without the tablet.
The only features I found lacking related directly to the software I downloaded. For example, in GIMP, there's no way that I've found to create a virtual group of color dabs that I can then mix and have several different colors on the 'bristles' of the same brush that would then behave like a brush dipped into several colors before it's applied to the canvas. Oh how I long for that! I'm sure it's available somewhere or somehow. I just haven't found it yet. Also, I haven't figured out a way to tell GIMP or any other software program to, instead of a gradient forming in stripes along a line (so that if I'm making a ribbon, the ribbon is blue then green then yellow then orange then red then violet) to make a ribbon with the gradient running across the surface. So in my rainbow example, the center would be yellow and the edges would fade out to blue on one side and violet on the other. I'm sure it's possible. The way I've gotten around it is to start with a thick line of violet, then a slightly thinner line of blue on a new layer, a thinner one of green on yet another layer, red, and then yellow and carefully using the smudge and erase functions to fudge the colors so that they obliterate what I want to disappear and leave behind only the colors that I need. Obviously, making a rainbow ribbon this way would be a huge pain. It's much less so with a tablet then it would be a mouse, but still. That's a lot of switching between layers, and a lot of pen strokes.
But, back to the tablet.
Whenever I needed more control over an area, I just zoomed in on it. And I learned to be patient. My computer isn't the fastest in the universe, and so I had to sometimes wait while the pen figured out where I was and what I was doing. I wait less now then when I started out, because I learned how close to hold the pen so that it didn't have to reconnect with the tablet. I also found that by pausing briefly in one place whenever I moved the pen too far away and then back into range again, I recovered more quickly than waving the pen around near the tablet trying to find my spot. In fact, now that I've had some practice, the vast majority of the time I'm working as fast as I can without having to wait for the tablet at all. Also, in a matter of a few days, I quickly learned how to switch between mouse, keypad, touch pad and the Bamboo Create which helped me to do things like save files, name files, move between programs and multitask. Lots of fun. The tablet was much easier to learn how to use than the software that I interface with when I use it.
It does burn my battery power quickly, so I learned that it's best to have my laptop plugged in while I'm using it. The pad comes with extra tips. I bought extra tips in addition to the ones that came-with, under the assumption that I'd burn through them quickly. So far I haven't had to change tips yet. When I do, I may experiment with a different kind.
I also ordered a protective cover made for the tablet, but by another company. Initially I was disappointed. The cover wasn't big enough to cover the entire tablet area, and it wasn't small enough to fit between the guide corners interior to the 'touch' area, so there was no tidy/pretty way to apply it. Also, it sticks on rather than being a magnetic-style screen protector like I expected. Maybe those don't work on tablets. I don't know. It bugged me to basically 'tape' it on. But once I had it positioned I was happy with it. I had the area on the tablet that used the most protected from the pen tip (which makes little, tiny scratches on the surface that I'm sure would have built up over time) and the cover makes a very yummy surface to work on as far as resistance to the pen tip I'm using. (It's the one that came originally with the pen.)
Overall I give the tablet a four happy kitty review out of four happy kitties. I expected a lot less, considering the reasonable price. I thought I would eventually have to upgrade, but I have no plans to do so. So far, this tablet does everything I need it to do. I doubt I'd get more quality work done more quickly with a 'better' tablet. If I do upgrade, though, I'll let y'all know!
Links in case you're curious ....
The nibs I got don't appear to be available anymore. I hope there wasn't a problem with them! Mine had a couple of felt ones in the mix. I included a link to the 'normal' extra nibs. Also, the center link to POSRUS is for the Bamboo Create protective cover I mentioned. I know, it looks like another tablet ....
Extra Nibs
The only features I found lacking related directly to the software I downloaded. For example, in GIMP, there's no way that I've found to create a virtual group of color dabs that I can then mix and have several different colors on the 'bristles' of the same brush that would then behave like a brush dipped into several colors before it's applied to the canvas. Oh how I long for that! I'm sure it's available somewhere or somehow. I just haven't found it yet. Also, I haven't figured out a way to tell GIMP or any other software program to, instead of a gradient forming in stripes along a line (so that if I'm making a ribbon, the ribbon is blue then green then yellow then orange then red then violet) to make a ribbon with the gradient running across the surface. So in my rainbow example, the center would be yellow and the edges would fade out to blue on one side and violet on the other. I'm sure it's possible. The way I've gotten around it is to start with a thick line of violet, then a slightly thinner line of blue on a new layer, a thinner one of green on yet another layer, red, and then yellow and carefully using the smudge and erase functions to fudge the colors so that they obliterate what I want to disappear and leave behind only the colors that I need. Obviously, making a rainbow ribbon this way would be a huge pain. It's much less so with a tablet then it would be a mouse, but still. That's a lot of switching between layers, and a lot of pen strokes.But, back to the tablet.
Whenever I needed more control over an area, I just zoomed in on it. And I learned to be patient. My computer isn't the fastest in the universe, and so I had to sometimes wait while the pen figured out where I was and what I was doing. I wait less now then when I started out, because I learned how close to hold the pen so that it didn't have to reconnect with the tablet. I also found that by pausing briefly in one place whenever I moved the pen too far away and then back into range again, I recovered more quickly than waving the pen around near the tablet trying to find my spot. In fact, now that I've had some practice, the vast majority of the time I'm working as fast as I can without having to wait for the tablet at all. Also, in a matter of a few days, I quickly learned how to switch between mouse, keypad, touch pad and the Bamboo Create which helped me to do things like save files, name files, move between programs and multitask. Lots of fun. The tablet was much easier to learn how to use than the software that I interface with when I use it.
It does burn my battery power quickly, so I learned that it's best to have my laptop plugged in while I'm using it. The pad comes with extra tips. I bought extra tips in addition to the ones that came-with, under the assumption that I'd burn through them quickly. So far I haven't had to change tips yet. When I do, I may experiment with a different kind.
I also ordered a protective cover made for the tablet, but by another company. Initially I was disappointed. The cover wasn't big enough to cover the entire tablet area, and it wasn't small enough to fit between the guide corners interior to the 'touch' area, so there was no tidy/pretty way to apply it. Also, it sticks on rather than being a magnetic-style screen protector like I expected. Maybe those don't work on tablets. I don't know. It bugged me to basically 'tape' it on. But once I had it positioned I was happy with it. I had the area on the tablet that used the most protected from the pen tip (which makes little, tiny scratches on the surface that I'm sure would have built up over time) and the cover makes a very yummy surface to work on as far as resistance to the pen tip I'm using. (It's the one that came originally with the pen.)
Overall I give the tablet a four happy kitty review out of four happy kitties. I expected a lot less, considering the reasonable price. I thought I would eventually have to upgrade, but I have no plans to do so. So far, this tablet does everything I need it to do. I doubt I'd get more quality work done more quickly with a 'better' tablet. If I do upgrade, though, I'll let y'all know!
Links in case you're curious ....
The nibs I got don't appear to be available anymore. I hope there wasn't a problem with them! Mine had a couple of felt ones in the mix. I included a link to the 'normal' extra nibs. Also, the center link to POSRUS is for the Bamboo Create protective cover I mentioned. I know, it looks like another tablet ....
Extra Nibs
Friday, June 01, 2012
I'm Mean
Retail employees see a lot, and some of it, frankly, we don't want to. Makes us mean.
Take yesterday. Two girls came in looking to do a little foraging. These are awful girls, pre or early teens--hard to tell. I can't help but imagine what terrible parents they must have, but that may not be necessarily so. I've seen some nasty kids come out of great families, and some great kids come out of the worst situations you can imagine.
Anyway, I was checking and they got into my line. Yay. So I was already in a bad mood when they started picking on the customer I was helping ahead of them. This disabled lady lives a full, independent life and she is tough as tough can be, but sweet and my kids like her a great deal. I suspect that she knew that the girls were being mean, but accepted what they said at face value when the taller one said, "I like your eyes. I think they're pretty." The lady smiled from behind her coke-bottle glasses, her two lazy eyes wandering independently of each other, and said, "Thank you. I'm just a brown-eyed girl. You like brown eyes?"
The girl snickered so subtly that I almost missed it.
The lady noticed the shorter girl had zebra-striped fingernails. "How did you do that? The lines--they're so clearly defined."
"Oh, we were real careful," the taller girl said, and this time the smaller one couldn't help but smirk. The nails, of course, were just a paste-on pattern.
I wondered if they thought I didn't say anything because I thought they were amusing, or because they thought I was stupid and didn't realize what they were doing, or because I'm just another mindless drone with no personality too meek to stand up for others.
Actually, I didn't say anything because I didn't want to pick on someone less than half my age and half my size.
Of course now I'm writing this blog post. So much for that ... I'm not a very nice person.
After they bought their candy they started making the rounds. Sadly, we didn't catch them, but they stole all the tampons out of the tampon machine in the bathroom. (So that's why we never have any! Mystery solved.) Then they hovered near the birth control/intimates area. My boss watched them, and overheard something about needing a pregnancy test. He was too close for them to make the grab. I guess the condoms they stole last time didn't work.
My cattiness emerged from its long sleep. I'm not proud of it. It's just there. The girls went out the door, back in, out again, back in, circling, trying to get that pregnancy test but didn't manage it. As far as I know, all they got were the tampons, unpaid-for of course, and the candy, which they forked out a couple of bucks (probably begged for--we've thrown them out for begging for money from customers before) and some coins, and probably used the bag to get more candy for free on one of their many rounds.
The second-to-last time the shorter girl was almost in tears. "I'm sorry!" she cried to the other girl, who waited outside with a nasty expression on her face. And I laughed. Because they were so mean, they couldn't even be nice to each other. I didn't even feel bad about it.
I know. I'm terrible.
The last time they came in I laughed at them again, knowing that by this time every employee in the store was watching them and they wouldn't get squat. I can be mean too, just like them. It's human. I think the difference is, I try to spend as little time being mean as I can. These girls, who want (and often get) everything that adults have with none of the responsibility, who delight in mocking others, and who take advantage of others whenever possible, who steal and lie and cheat and leech off of others and yet are never satisfied, who feel cheated themselves and probably wonder why they can't have what everyone else seems to have, who most likely know that others look down on them and try to believe that it's everyone else's problem ...
Will be unemployable. Even if they get a job, they won't keep it because they'll get caught stealing.
Will (maybe even soon) end up pregnant and living off of government money, assuming their health lasts long enough to take them into adulthood (age of majority adulthood--I don't know if stunted creatures like them are able to grow up. That's a terrible thing to realize when you're looking at such very young girls.)
Will likely spend time in jail, wasting precious moments in their lives they will never get back living among criminals who will be mean to them and who will teach them how to become even nastier and less likely to live any kind of life above what the weakest of animals can scrabble together.
Will never know real friendship. I thought that maybe at least they had each other, until I saw the vicious look in the taller girl's eyes after she turned on the shorter one. (For spilling the pop they shared, it turns out.)
Will not understand the joy of real accomplishment or know the true value in striving or creating or being part of a community that doesn't despise them.
I hear the song "Mean" by Taylor Swift running through my head. ... and a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life and mean ....
And I feel badly for them. The person they picked on is so much better off than they are. She is an independent, beautiful and kind woman, liked and appreciated by so many in our little town. Those girls will never get anything from me, but that lady will always have my undivided attention and help whenever she asks for it. She spared the unworthy a smile and a moment of her time. They, the poor foolish children that they are, felt superior to her. They probably always will. I doubt that they noticed that I was laughing at them because they were too caught up in trying to score emotional/social points on each other. I know that they didn't realize I wasn't cheering the lady on, and that I planned on writing about them, revealing their petty natures and stunted souls to the world.
I'm just not as nice a person as that disabled lady.
I'm mean.
Take yesterday. Two girls came in looking to do a little foraging. These are awful girls, pre or early teens--hard to tell. I can't help but imagine what terrible parents they must have, but that may not be necessarily so. I've seen some nasty kids come out of great families, and some great kids come out of the worst situations you can imagine.
Anyway, I was checking and they got into my line. Yay. So I was already in a bad mood when they started picking on the customer I was helping ahead of them. This disabled lady lives a full, independent life and she is tough as tough can be, but sweet and my kids like her a great deal. I suspect that she knew that the girls were being mean, but accepted what they said at face value when the taller one said, "I like your eyes. I think they're pretty." The lady smiled from behind her coke-bottle glasses, her two lazy eyes wandering independently of each other, and said, "Thank you. I'm just a brown-eyed girl. You like brown eyes?"
The girl snickered so subtly that I almost missed it.
The lady noticed the shorter girl had zebra-striped fingernails. "How did you do that? The lines--they're so clearly defined."
"Oh, we were real careful," the taller girl said, and this time the smaller one couldn't help but smirk. The nails, of course, were just a paste-on pattern.
I wondered if they thought I didn't say anything because I thought they were amusing, or because they thought I was stupid and didn't realize what they were doing, or because I'm just another mindless drone with no personality too meek to stand up for others.
Actually, I didn't say anything because I didn't want to pick on someone less than half my age and half my size.
Of course now I'm writing this blog post. So much for that ... I'm not a very nice person.
After they bought their candy they started making the rounds. Sadly, we didn't catch them, but they stole all the tampons out of the tampon machine in the bathroom. (So that's why we never have any! Mystery solved.) Then they hovered near the birth control/intimates area. My boss watched them, and overheard something about needing a pregnancy test. He was too close for them to make the grab. I guess the condoms they stole last time didn't work.
My cattiness emerged from its long sleep. I'm not proud of it. It's just there. The girls went out the door, back in, out again, back in, circling, trying to get that pregnancy test but didn't manage it. As far as I know, all they got were the tampons, unpaid-for of course, and the candy, which they forked out a couple of bucks (probably begged for--we've thrown them out for begging for money from customers before) and some coins, and probably used the bag to get more candy for free on one of their many rounds.
The second-to-last time the shorter girl was almost in tears. "I'm sorry!" she cried to the other girl, who waited outside with a nasty expression on her face. And I laughed. Because they were so mean, they couldn't even be nice to each other. I didn't even feel bad about it.
I know. I'm terrible.
The last time they came in I laughed at them again, knowing that by this time every employee in the store was watching them and they wouldn't get squat. I can be mean too, just like them. It's human. I think the difference is, I try to spend as little time being mean as I can. These girls, who want (and often get) everything that adults have with none of the responsibility, who delight in mocking others, and who take advantage of others whenever possible, who steal and lie and cheat and leech off of others and yet are never satisfied, who feel cheated themselves and probably wonder why they can't have what everyone else seems to have, who most likely know that others look down on them and try to believe that it's everyone else's problem ...
Will be unemployable. Even if they get a job, they won't keep it because they'll get caught stealing.
Will (maybe even soon) end up pregnant and living off of government money, assuming their health lasts long enough to take them into adulthood (age of majority adulthood--I don't know if stunted creatures like them are able to grow up. That's a terrible thing to realize when you're looking at such very young girls.)
Will likely spend time in jail, wasting precious moments in their lives they will never get back living among criminals who will be mean to them and who will teach them how to become even nastier and less likely to live any kind of life above what the weakest of animals can scrabble together.
Will never know real friendship. I thought that maybe at least they had each other, until I saw the vicious look in the taller girl's eyes after she turned on the shorter one. (For spilling the pop they shared, it turns out.)
Will not understand the joy of real accomplishment or know the true value in striving or creating or being part of a community that doesn't despise them.
I hear the song "Mean" by Taylor Swift running through my head. ... and a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life and mean ....
And I feel badly for them. The person they picked on is so much better off than they are. She is an independent, beautiful and kind woman, liked and appreciated by so many in our little town. Those girls will never get anything from me, but that lady will always have my undivided attention and help whenever she asks for it. She spared the unworthy a smile and a moment of her time. They, the poor foolish children that they are, felt superior to her. They probably always will. I doubt that they noticed that I was laughing at them because they were too caught up in trying to score emotional/social points on each other. I know that they didn't realize I wasn't cheering the lady on, and that I planned on writing about them, revealing their petty natures and stunted souls to the world.
I'm just not as nice a person as that disabled lady.
I'm mean.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Books I'm Reading Right Now + bonus griping
I had a really frustrating day at work last week, and one of the most frustrating parts of it is that I can't write about it here, even without naming names and pointing fingers. Gone are the days when people could vent their spleens without getting sued or losing their jobs or whatever.
Or were they ever here? I'm in the midst of reading Toward the Brink by Claude Manceron where people got jailed for writing less confrontational and critical stuff. I guess it's for my own good. Though it's highly unlikely my boss would ever read it and correctly deduce it's me writing about my job, and though it probably wouldn't cost me my job, it would only make work more uncomfortable.
Speaking of Toward the Brink, I'm having one of those mixed experiences that drive me crazy. On the one hand, the author puts you right there in the middle of things and makes it feel like everyone is a fully-realized person, which of course they were at the time. So it's very humanizing. On the other hand, I'm in the middle of the series and I often feel lost. I don't think that's the fault of where I started, though. I think it's the writing style. The writing often presents as the author sharing a lot of inside jokes and anecdotal material with readers who ought to know everyone involved. It is, after all, the French Revolution. And who hasn't heard of the Marquis de Sade? (for example.)
And sure I've heard of him. But when the author starts bandying around first names I've never heard and whips out a bunch of nicknames of various people associated with him, I turn into the most ignorant person in the world.
So although I'm loving the information and the sense of place and culture and people, I just bought a copy of 1776 by David McCullough which I know is going to be a much more reader-friendly book, and I'm tempted to set the intelligent and fascinating Manceron for the equally intelligent, accessible and engrossing McCullough.
That probably makes me a bad person. I'll keep on a keepin' on with Toward the Brink. But if 1776 ends up on my nightstand and I accidentally start reading it after my bath when I settle in to bed tonight, I won't be the least bit surprised.
PS--I got 1776 for $10 at a used book fair. I was all pleased with myself until I saw the fully illustrated version (with maps!) for $25 at another booth. I was good and stuck to my budget, but there was much pouting, lip-quivering and whining. My poor friend R and the girl bore up to it well. They're so good to me.
Or were they ever here? I'm in the midst of reading Toward the Brink by Claude Manceron where people got jailed for writing less confrontational and critical stuff. I guess it's for my own good. Though it's highly unlikely my boss would ever read it and correctly deduce it's me writing about my job, and though it probably wouldn't cost me my job, it would only make work more uncomfortable.
Speaking of Toward the Brink, I'm having one of those mixed experiences that drive me crazy. On the one hand, the author puts you right there in the middle of things and makes it feel like everyone is a fully-realized person, which of course they were at the time. So it's very humanizing. On the other hand, I'm in the middle of the series and I often feel lost. I don't think that's the fault of where I started, though. I think it's the writing style. The writing often presents as the author sharing a lot of inside jokes and anecdotal material with readers who ought to know everyone involved. It is, after all, the French Revolution. And who hasn't heard of the Marquis de Sade? (for example.)
And sure I've heard of him. But when the author starts bandying around first names I've never heard and whips out a bunch of nicknames of various people associated with him, I turn into the most ignorant person in the world.
So although I'm loving the information and the sense of place and culture and people, I just bought a copy of 1776 by David McCullough which I know is going to be a much more reader-friendly book, and I'm tempted to set the intelligent and fascinating Manceron for the equally intelligent, accessible and engrossing McCullough.
That probably makes me a bad person. I'll keep on a keepin' on with Toward the Brink. But if 1776 ends up on my nightstand and I accidentally start reading it after my bath when I settle in to bed tonight, I won't be the least bit surprised.
PS--I got 1776 for $10 at a used book fair. I was all pleased with myself until I saw the fully illustrated version (with maps!) for $25 at another booth. I was good and stuck to my budget, but there was much pouting, lip-quivering and whining. My poor friend R and the girl bore up to it well. They're so good to me.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Blood, Sweat and Seeds
When I got home I had two M&Ms cookies with a cone of whipped cream on top, and then I went to work. You'd think after a full day at the day job I'd want to put my feet up, or maybe at least cook some dinner and watch a movie or something.
That would be far too sensible.
We had rain in the local forecast, and I remembered I had all these old seeds I hadn't gotten around to planting. Bags and bags of them. And I thought, I'll just scatter them around and the rain will soak them in and what comes up, comes up.
But of course it's never that simple.
First I planted some ancient marigold seeds out in the veggie garden, and then I checked out the area I had planned for my mass old seed dumping ground. It's about sixty feet long and ten to twenty feet wide, depending on the section. The kids had, as instructed, dug out the majority of the blackberry roots, so I figured I'd just toss the seeds on the bare ground and go inside and have dinner. I grabbed a rake (big mistake) and went to break the crust on the soil.
Hard as a rock. Seriously. I felt so betrayed! Normally the soil under blackberries is quite soft. They form their own sort of (evil) duff that keeps the soil moist and suppresses weeds. And a few of the areas were like that, but way too much of it felt like baked clay so hard that I understood why even the grass hadn't started to take root there (yet.) First I debated attacking the areas with a hoe. Couldn't find one. Then I considered a shovel. Mind you, this is after work, and I knew it would get dark soon, and breaking up rock hard dirt with a shovel is no light, quick task.
The impending darkness settled it for me. I would get the big rototiller.
One sweaty, sore, throat-sore-from-suppressed-cussing half-hour later I had the whole section tilled. I scattered the seeds, keeping particular kinds more or less together, raked the now (mostly) soft dirt to roughly cover at least some of the seeds in case they needed to be covered to sprout, and went home. I had just enough time to gather eggs from the coup and close the chickens in for the night before the dark swooped in. I had to turn on lights when I came in so that I could find my way around the house.
So now I'm thinking (I'm crazy that way) that I'd just put a whole lot of work into seeding an area that may or may not have viable seeds scattered on it. So sometime this week I'm going to do yet another ridiculous thing. I'm going to get a bunch of fresh seeds of something tall, bomb-proof and pretty, like cosmos or baby's breath or bachelor buttons (or maybe all of the above), and mix it with a big bag of potting soil and scatter that around the area as well.
That should fix it up real nice.
And then I'll be done.
Except for putting in the tomatoes, peppers, eggplants and other stuff.
Oh, and I have a few more discounted bulbs to put in.
But then I'll be done.
Really.
Mostly done, anyway.
That would be far too sensible.
We had rain in the local forecast, and I remembered I had all these old seeds I hadn't gotten around to planting. Bags and bags of them. And I thought, I'll just scatter them around and the rain will soak them in and what comes up, comes up.
But of course it's never that simple.
First I planted some ancient marigold seeds out in the veggie garden, and then I checked out the area I had planned for my mass old seed dumping ground. It's about sixty feet long and ten to twenty feet wide, depending on the section. The kids had, as instructed, dug out the majority of the blackberry roots, so I figured I'd just toss the seeds on the bare ground and go inside and have dinner. I grabbed a rake (big mistake) and went to break the crust on the soil.
Hard as a rock. Seriously. I felt so betrayed! Normally the soil under blackberries is quite soft. They form their own sort of (evil) duff that keeps the soil moist and suppresses weeds. And a few of the areas were like that, but way too much of it felt like baked clay so hard that I understood why even the grass hadn't started to take root there (yet.) First I debated attacking the areas with a hoe. Couldn't find one. Then I considered a shovel. Mind you, this is after work, and I knew it would get dark soon, and breaking up rock hard dirt with a shovel is no light, quick task.
The impending darkness settled it for me. I would get the big rototiller.
One sweaty, sore, throat-sore-from-suppressed-cussing half-hour later I had the whole section tilled. I scattered the seeds, keeping particular kinds more or less together, raked the now (mostly) soft dirt to roughly cover at least some of the seeds in case they needed to be covered to sprout, and went home. I had just enough time to gather eggs from the coup and close the chickens in for the night before the dark swooped in. I had to turn on lights when I came in so that I could find my way around the house.
So now I'm thinking (I'm crazy that way) that I'd just put a whole lot of work into seeding an area that may or may not have viable seeds scattered on it. So sometime this week I'm going to do yet another ridiculous thing. I'm going to get a bunch of fresh seeds of something tall, bomb-proof and pretty, like cosmos or baby's breath or bachelor buttons (or maybe all of the above), and mix it with a big bag of potting soil and scatter that around the area as well.
That should fix it up real nice.
And then I'll be done.
Except for putting in the tomatoes, peppers, eggplants and other stuff.
Oh, and I have a few more discounted bulbs to put in.
But then I'll be done.
Really.
Mostly done, anyway.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Remember when you were a kid?
I'm at the coast working on book covers. On the way, my DH and I were talking about hot lava. Who didn't play games where if you touched the ground while going across the monkey bars or jumping from rock to rock or leaping from the swings (and many other things, probably some of which have been banned from playgrounds because they've been deemed unsafe and schools don't want to get sued because little Kami broke her arm) you fell into molten lava? There was molten lava friggin' everywhere on the playground. Talk about unsafe! Sometimes we had hot lava in the living room and you had to leap from the sofa to the easy chair and then launch yourself into the hallway to make it to bed alive.
It was a great talk, and a fantastic warm-up for putting together my latest book cover project. I giggled the whole time I worked on it.
It's good to be a kid sometimes. Maybe even most times. And then, once I cleared the molten lava hazards and finished playing with crayons, I got back to being an adult and had prime rib and wine for dinner followed by a cheesecake truffle for dessert. Yum!
I'm at the coast working on book covers. On the way, my DH and I were talking about hot lava. Who didn't play games where if you touched the ground while going across the monkey bars or jumping from rock to rock or leaping from the swings (and many other things, probably some of which have been banned from playgrounds because they've been deemed unsafe and schools don't want to get sued because little Kami broke her arm) you fell into molten lava? There was molten lava friggin' everywhere on the playground. Talk about unsafe! Sometimes we had hot lava in the living room and you had to leap from the sofa to the easy chair and then launch yourself into the hallway to make it to bed alive.
It was a great talk, and a fantastic warm-up for putting together my latest book cover project. I giggled the whole time I worked on it.
Monday, May 07, 2012
A Married Couple at Work
Soon now, our house sitters will move in (note to self, have to clean the kitchen!) and we'll be off for the much-anticipated work weekend.
My DH and I work really well together. At least, it works really well for me. We succeed at the dueling keyboards model of going out to dinner, which we don't call going out to dinner unless that's the actual focus. Most of the time it's going out to Wifi at a place that has food because our chosen work time conflicts with mealtime. We also succeed at the dueling keyboards model of hanging out around the house, and often bounce ideas off of each other when we take breaks for food, to stretch, or to deal with animal stuff.
We had a great time working at home together, during that all-too-short time period when we were able to do that. I think we both worried that we'd see too much of each other and get sick of each other, but that didn't happen. Maybe spending hours and hours not talking to each other with only mouse clicks and keyboard keys getting tapped in rapid succession helps shield us from over exposure. But I don't think I'd ever get tired of hanging around my DH. He's the kind of sunshine that won't give me a sunburn.
So we're both working hard to get to the point where we can both work full time at home, and so that I can travel with him on some of his trips overseas. Not all of them. Someone needs to hold down the fort, and we do have dogs. I don't think the cats and chickens would miss us very much. They love anyone who feeds them. But Chase, and our red-eared hounds Brian and Finn, tend not to eat when we're away. I'm not exaggerating. I have family members and former house-sitters who can attest to this. As a result, I'm nervous about being away for more than a few days.
But I would like to visit with some of the people and see some of the places he's connected with. Really wonderful people, living in legendary or beautiful or exotic or all-of-the-above places. It's funny how life works out. The introvert travels and meets tons of people while the extrovert stays home.
It's funny, too, that both my DH and I have been athletes most of our lives, but we both work at a physically demanding job that requires hours and hours of sitting employing small muscles instead of the great big muscle groups. I like it. And I look forward to focusing on that work. You can bet, though, that we'll be walking on beaches and maybe even running or sparring with bokken. We'll make the time, somehow. It's going to be a jam-packed working vacation and play is integral to our working life together. Without the physical stuff, my mental stuff languishes. And my DH is a genius physical sort of guy. He inspires me to belly dance, and keep in shape, and keep some sort of semblance of physical prowess good enough to defend myself if I need to.
He doesn't just inspire my physical self. (Rrrow!) He inspires me in all aspects of life, so I guess what I'm really anticipating during our time together is a kind of holistic inspiration. That sounded way fuzzier than I meant--but it's true in a very real sense. That inspiration will go into the skull machine, and out the words and art and maybe even music will come.
We may not talk to each other, but the communication is there. We're going to get a lot of stuff done as a result, way more than we'd get done individually. I tell my kids and it always proves to be true, at least in our family. Two people working together can get way more than twice the work done than two people working independently. Weird, but it works for us.
Hopefully, by this weekend, you'll see a lot of new stuff up on the Wyrd Goat website as a result of our working retreat. I'll keep you posted.
My DH and I work really well together. At least, it works really well for me. We succeed at the dueling keyboards model of going out to dinner, which we don't call going out to dinner unless that's the actual focus. Most of the time it's going out to Wifi at a place that has food because our chosen work time conflicts with mealtime. We also succeed at the dueling keyboards model of hanging out around the house, and often bounce ideas off of each other when we take breaks for food, to stretch, or to deal with animal stuff.
We had a great time working at home together, during that all-too-short time period when we were able to do that. I think we both worried that we'd see too much of each other and get sick of each other, but that didn't happen. Maybe spending hours and hours not talking to each other with only mouse clicks and keyboard keys getting tapped in rapid succession helps shield us from over exposure. But I don't think I'd ever get tired of hanging around my DH. He's the kind of sunshine that won't give me a sunburn.
So we're both working hard to get to the point where we can both work full time at home, and so that I can travel with him on some of his trips overseas. Not all of them. Someone needs to hold down the fort, and we do have dogs. I don't think the cats and chickens would miss us very much. They love anyone who feeds them. But Chase, and our red-eared hounds Brian and Finn, tend not to eat when we're away. I'm not exaggerating. I have family members and former house-sitters who can attest to this. As a result, I'm nervous about being away for more than a few days.
But I would like to visit with some of the people and see some of the places he's connected with. Really wonderful people, living in legendary or beautiful or exotic or all-of-the-above places. It's funny how life works out. The introvert travels and meets tons of people while the extrovert stays home.
It's funny, too, that both my DH and I have been athletes most of our lives, but we both work at a physically demanding job that requires hours and hours of sitting employing small muscles instead of the great big muscle groups. I like it. And I look forward to focusing on that work. You can bet, though, that we'll be walking on beaches and maybe even running or sparring with bokken. We'll make the time, somehow. It's going to be a jam-packed working vacation and play is integral to our working life together. Without the physical stuff, my mental stuff languishes. And my DH is a genius physical sort of guy. He inspires me to belly dance, and keep in shape, and keep some sort of semblance of physical prowess good enough to defend myself if I need to.
He doesn't just inspire my physical self. (Rrrow!) He inspires me in all aspects of life, so I guess what I'm really anticipating during our time together is a kind of holistic inspiration. That sounded way fuzzier than I meant--but it's true in a very real sense. That inspiration will go into the skull machine, and out the words and art and maybe even music will come.
We may not talk to each other, but the communication is there. We're going to get a lot of stuff done as a result, way more than we'd get done individually. I tell my kids and it always proves to be true, at least in our family. Two people working together can get way more than twice the work done than two people working independently. Weird, but it works for us.
Hopefully, by this weekend, you'll see a lot of new stuff up on the Wyrd Goat website as a result of our working retreat. I'll keep you posted.
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Morning Wake Up
I had one of those moments yesterday morning, where you wake up and realize you'd forgotten something very important and now there was no way to make up for it.
I cleared out the fridge of leftovers that I knew no one would eat. Lamb pot roast I'd forgotten to freeze went to the dogs. They of course gorged themselves and then promptly got sleepy-eyed, though no one went so far as to actually nap. Eggshells, coffee grounds and banana peels for the roses. They love that. Easy enough to tuck it under the mulch. And then I took some leftover rice, quinoa and a few cooked veggies out to the chickens, and realized that I hadn't shut them in.
I called to no avail. I saw no sign of them. I walked around the lower pasture with a sinking feeling, looking for the telltale bits of wings and legs and feathers everywhere. No sign. But no sign of them around either pasture, either.
I dumped the leftovers--if the goats got into it it wouldn't hurt them--and slogged back to the house. I had to get ready for work. I told the boy that if he found the bodies to please bury them. I felt about 4 inches high and fifty feet wide, creeping along like some vile fungus into the car.
And that's when I saw them. They were bright-eyed and looking to me for their morning snackies.
You can bet I shut them in last night.
I didn't have time to raise chicks this year. If I lost my dear biddies, that would be it for eggs, for stroking their smooth feathers while they spread their wings and tucked their legs waiting for the attention, no more carrying them tucked in one arm like a baby, and no more giggling with the girl as she gets one to perch on her arm with the declaration that this was redneck falconry in action.
But they're still here. It's a very good thing.
I cleared out the fridge of leftovers that I knew no one would eat. Lamb pot roast I'd forgotten to freeze went to the dogs. They of course gorged themselves and then promptly got sleepy-eyed, though no one went so far as to actually nap. Eggshells, coffee grounds and banana peels for the roses. They love that. Easy enough to tuck it under the mulch. And then I took some leftover rice, quinoa and a few cooked veggies out to the chickens, and realized that I hadn't shut them in.
I called to no avail. I saw no sign of them. I walked around the lower pasture with a sinking feeling, looking for the telltale bits of wings and legs and feathers everywhere. No sign. But no sign of them around either pasture, either.
I dumped the leftovers--if the goats got into it it wouldn't hurt them--and slogged back to the house. I had to get ready for work. I told the boy that if he found the bodies to please bury them. I felt about 4 inches high and fifty feet wide, creeping along like some vile fungus into the car.
And that's when I saw them. They were bright-eyed and looking to me for their morning snackies.
You can bet I shut them in last night.
I didn't have time to raise chicks this year. If I lost my dear biddies, that would be it for eggs, for stroking their smooth feathers while they spread their wings and tucked their legs waiting for the attention, no more carrying them tucked in one arm like a baby, and no more giggling with the girl as she gets one to perch on her arm with the declaration that this was redneck falconry in action.
But they're still here. It's a very good thing.
Saturday, May 05, 2012
The Pace, She Quickens
The end is in sight.
I've been working on the new Masks cover for what seems like forever. Now I only have a few details left, maybe a half day's work (which will take me two days) and I can get started on the cover for Confidante. With any luck, I'll put up Confidante and reissue Masks with the new cover by the end of the month. They might even go up during my super-secret working retreat this week.
Work on the third book is stewing, perhaps even boiling over. I want to write on it sooo badly, but I think the build-up before putting more words on the page is good for me. I've already decided to change a bunch of stuff in the beginning, so it's fantastic that I haven't made my way halfway through the book before I discovered I had better ideas for where and when and how to start.
In other writing news, work progresses on the origin story for the Gelantyne mask at a more sober pace. There's something lurking in there that I haven't found yet. I want to introduce another character that's only been mentioned once so far but will probably be a huge element in this story, and I'm not sure how.
The maker of the Gelantyne mask is a middle-aged woman who took over her father's theater mask business. She came from a broken family and hasn't opened herself to the possibilities that love brings to pull herself away from work long enough to give love a chance. Then one day, two strange men show up on her doorstep. Not that unusual a circumstance for someone whose father's fame and reputation had spread as far as it has, but these men want something more than a theater mask. It seems innocent at first, of course, just another mask, but something about them, especially the one whose voice and hands draw her to stand ever closer, suggests terrible danger. To fill this contract, she may risk more than a broken heart.
I've been working on the new Masks cover for what seems like forever. Now I only have a few details left, maybe a half day's work (which will take me two days) and I can get started on the cover for Confidante. With any luck, I'll put up Confidante and reissue Masks with the new cover by the end of the month. They might even go up during my super-secret working retreat this week.
Work on the third book is stewing, perhaps even boiling over. I want to write on it sooo badly, but I think the build-up before putting more words on the page is good for me. I've already decided to change a bunch of stuff in the beginning, so it's fantastic that I haven't made my way halfway through the book before I discovered I had better ideas for where and when and how to start.
In other writing news, work progresses on the origin story for the Gelantyne mask at a more sober pace. There's something lurking in there that I haven't found yet. I want to introduce another character that's only been mentioned once so far but will probably be a huge element in this story, and I'm not sure how.
The maker of the Gelantyne mask is a middle-aged woman who took over her father's theater mask business. She came from a broken family and hasn't opened herself to the possibilities that love brings to pull herself away from work long enough to give love a chance. Then one day, two strange men show up on her doorstep. Not that unusual a circumstance for someone whose father's fame and reputation had spread as far as it has, but these men want something more than a theater mask. It seems innocent at first, of course, just another mask, but something about them, especially the one whose voice and hands draw her to stand ever closer, suggests terrible danger. To fill this contract, she may risk more than a broken heart.
Wednesday, May 02, 2012
Passion and Boredom
I have too many writing and cover projects and not enough time! This is a good thing.
I've been thinking about boredom and passion lately. We have some customers at my day job that show up several times a day because they're bored and the most interesting thing to do is to come over and shop. I'm not knocking this--but I wonder what it means to be bored, and what various passions mean to quality of life when measured against a lifetime.
I haven't been bored since I was a child. I used to be bored all the time. Restless. It seemed like there was nothing to do. I ended up reading and that cured it. Suddenly I didn't have enough time to read. I'd gripe about having to go up and eat dinner with the rest of the family when I wanted to at least finish the chapter. Does that mean that obsession or passion or addiction is the end to boredom? If so, is alcoholism any less valid a 'cure' for boredom than painting or writing or touring the world?
I've known people who drank because they were bored. I wouldn't want to spend my time that way, but if they have nothing better to do, should I judge them (assuming that they aren't harming anything except their own livers)? What about people so bored with life that they want to move on? It may not seem possible to most people, but I know it happens.
I don't think many of our ancestors were bored. Perhaps some, some of the time, but survival--eating, holding on to shelter, watching out for predators and enemy humans--kept things from becoming dull. Not to mention village/clan politics kept things lively. If you didn't get along with your neighbors or family, moving out meant big risk, so you had to deal and dealing can be tough. With increased safety and leisure time, boredom has more opportunity to take root. And what does it signify? Luxury? Lack of imagination? Lack of coping mechanisms in brains designed to survive in what used to be a very harsh environment?
I don't know. Stuff to think about, when I have time, assuming I find the time between projects. Sometimes it feels like I'm losing ground when I finally get to sleep. Not enough hours in the day. And that, too, is a product of our modern age, though perhaps the builders of our ancient and mighty monuments, be they pyramids or cathedrals, felt that same press of time as their projects sometimes required the work of generations ....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
