I hiked over to the Central Library today which is about a twenty minute walk through the center of downtown. People, this is one dirty city. Litter blows about everywhere, and there needs to be more available trashcans with signs around. Not only the ubiquitous plastic bag is caught in tree branches or rolls down the sidewalk, but empty paper cups with the plastic tops and straws sticking out of them are legion. Wrappers. Food, mashed up food is on the sidewalk, the middle of the street, or left at the bus stops.
To see a clipped, well kept area is unusual. Lafayette Square has a once a week during the summer free concert gig, and the once apparent grass has been stomped away to hard packed, dusty dirt that must turn to mud during a rain. You could, however, stay afloat by walking on the clusters of cigarette butts which form a sort of mat. Not to mention the crappy self promoting teen behaviors demonstrated on YouTube after one of these concerts, but I am guessing that it's not the music that's the draw anymore, but the opportunity to go get publicly drunk on a summer night. Maybe I'm wrong. Enlighten me with a comment, please, if it's only a few bad apples.
The thing is, where the heck is this garbage coming from, because even though I trotted to and fro, there aren't enough people downtown to create this mess. Is it the empty storefronts? The above-ground subway down the middle of the main street? The lack of people friendly venues? There is a void, here, of city pride. The city could step up the cleanliness, police presence, and attract some shops to take a chance down here. Who comes down here for shopping and lunch anymore? If your job isn't in the city, you don't get here.
The library says that it's attendance is up, elevated by people looking for something to do that doesn't entail driving. Good. In fact, fabulous. Come on, come into the city, it really could be such nice place and fortunately, it's the direction we are headed in. The waterfront is beautiful, but we want something to do in the city besides the lunchtime jazz and architectural tours. The place is a ghost town on the weekend. I can see why.
In the soaped-up windows of the former AM&A's store, someone scraped a prominent note saying, "Buffalo builds bad character." It wasn't just put there yesterday, probably has been there for months, could we please get rid of it? You see something like that everyday and it is one more kick in the pants on an already overloaded human. You are what you read. If you can't get into the building, could something be pasted over it?
We have to start somewhere, in a public arena that everyone enjoys. On our streets, with the demolition of the boarded up housing, getting after absentee landlords. Lay some brick down in the Square so that it really looks like a square and is easier to maintain than the mud. Oh it goes on and on, but this walk was an eye opener for me. It was a signal of the apathy of local government which has trickled down to the people as too large a job to be tackled. Clean. Up. Downtown. Now.
Ranting wears me out, I'm hitting the sack. Dark orange moon slowly rising.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Thursday here and there
From mid to late August, the mushrooms known as Boletus bicolor appear; they are one of the prettiest fungi with red caps and stems with bright yellow pores underneath. When you bruise them, they temporarily stain blue. There are a few other species of boletes that can give you problems with toxins, but overall, this is a fairly safe crowd to mingle with. Please do not go out and pick mushrooms, there has been one death and two hospitalizations in New York State so far this year.
There is a similarly colored bolete named Boletus sensibilus that will turn you into a human faucet or worse. Boletus satanus is aptly named; any orange or red-pored mushroom is seriously poisonous. Now that I have bored the stones outta you with mushroom talk......
I am feeling very chipper, and god knows why. It feels like a burden is gone, something intuitive is happening but please don't remind me that I said that later on when I am licking the bottom of the cat food cans after the cats because I am so broke. I tell you, I saw people fishing in the Buffalo River yesterday... this family may be eating lake fish and then after all our hair and fur fall out from the mercury, we will glow and be able to read in the dark without a flashlight.
Today I polished the brass knocker on the door, and plan on painting some sort of floral statement, maybe ivies, on the outside. I am going to go sketch some stuff right now, well, actually after I clean the fish tank which can take twenty minutes. Gosh, I'd like some cake.
Which reminds me, I have lost five pounds says the scale. Truthfully, the day has been as fragmented as my sentences.
Sun is starting to go down, the sky is ready for the evening show, last curtain call. Peace out.
There is a similarly colored bolete named Boletus sensibilus that will turn you into a human faucet or worse. Boletus satanus is aptly named; any orange or red-pored mushroom is seriously poisonous. Now that I have bored the stones outta you with mushroom talk......
I am feeling very chipper, and god knows why. It feels like a burden is gone, something intuitive is happening but please don't remind me that I said that later on when I am licking the bottom of the cat food cans after the cats because I am so broke. I tell you, I saw people fishing in the Buffalo River yesterday... this family may be eating lake fish and then after all our hair and fur fall out from the mercury, we will glow and be able to read in the dark without a flashlight.
Today I polished the brass knocker on the door, and plan on painting some sort of floral statement, maybe ivies, on the outside. I am going to go sketch some stuff right now, well, actually after I clean the fish tank which can take twenty minutes. Gosh, I'd like some cake.
Which reminds me, I have lost five pounds says the scale. Truthfully, the day has been as fragmented as my sentences.
Sun is starting to go down, the sky is ready for the evening show, last curtain call. Peace out.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
One Door Opens
Just received the decision that the college will not re-accept me this term to further the master's degree and as a result, I will most likely lose my NYS certification and my job. Well, it goes like this: I don't want to talk about it right now, but it has a lot to do with panic attacks and medication and loss. I'm good at my job as a teacher, I just don't meet the state requirements without a master's degree. I had five years to get one, and this is year number five. Ah well.
It can only be an adventure. Thanks to all of you for your encouragement. Love, Susan.
It can only be an adventure. Thanks to all of you for your encouragement. Love, Susan.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Numbing
This morning I told the dentist to give me everything he had to numb me up before the filling. He went through two syringes of mepivacaine and my crocs still hit the ceiling when he hit the inner tooth. The procedure was over very quickly, but for the rest of this day I have been dragging the right side of my drooly face along the floor as I walk. Just now, I can get all the noodles/tea/milk in my mouth without it leaking out the other side.
Next to my dentist is a jewelry shop owned by the nicest people, the Korona's. It was the plan to get new batteries for my Audubon chirping bird wristwatch, and to sell the handful of whatever jewelry they would accept. All he was interested in was gold. I had a few small opals that had been my mom's, a tanzanite ring set in sterling, an immense catastrophe my friend had bought from QVC, and my wedding ring.
He gave me $50 for some teensy gold earrings, $100 for the wedding ring, and $100 for the gaudy ring from QVC. I was happy, yes, there was a small twinge from parting with the wedding ring, but just like my uterus, I won't miss it. Women, if you ever go through a hysterectomy, you may experience a temporary sentiment, but after the following months of no period, nada, no spots, dots, or pink sneezes, you will click your heels and dance across the ceiling like Fred Astaire. Those cheerleaders on the tampon commercials will have nothing on you as you cartwheel down the block in your mid-fifties or whenever it happens, if it does. After having periods, you won't miss the Ute. No vomiting, no excruciating crushing pains in your legs, no vast wastelands of mood swings. Whee!
But back to the jewelry story; and this is it, and I know you have better sense. Do not buy jewelry from QVC. In my opinion, do not buy any of their crap. My friend has an addiction to them, and ends up with boxes of stuff that she doesn't know what it is by the time it gets there. She had purchased a ring of so-called chocolate diamonds for over $1,000. A ring. From a television channel. Deciding that she didn't like it, she sent it to me for a Christmas gift, god love her. I looked up the item on their website, and the blather accompanying the sell used words like "independent woman" "you'll be noticed as you walk into the room" it would make your teeth shine and men be baffled by your power if you believed the blarney.
First off, everything they sell is made in China; next, the chocolate diamonds were indeed diamonds, but are more commonly known as "brown" diamonds--chocolate diamonds have a milky appearance to them--these were close to worthless. The lump of "Sleeping Beauty Turquoise" in the center was valueless. The saving grace was that the base was made of 14K gold, the doodads on top were a double heaping spoonful of what these creeps were selling.
And they sell tons of it to people, mostly women, who are looking for that one item to make them feel happy and in charge. Acquisition means prestige means self-worth for my friend who is an intelligent woman, but not in a good place right now. I asked if QVC would put a block on her name so she couldn't buy any more, but no. She just has to have the will to stay away from the channel. If she is overmedicated with pain-management drugs and is without her memory, she often doesn't realize she's been "shopping".
What that godawful ring did was get me another month for a September car payment, and that's good enough. I am sorry that I didn't like it, I feel badly for selling a gift, it was her money to begin with, but my rationalization is that over the years, I have bailed her out from many bad choices. That is sort of an apology for taking advantage of someone's lousy luck, but I had asked her if she wanted the ring back, and she told me to sell it. The other things I sometimes receive from QVC go right back into the mail, back to the company to credit her account. I had to tell her she was pissing me off by buying me stuff. This is my wild friend who did many dangerous things over the years, thank goodness she is still here.
It's only dinnertime, the sun is still up. I will slowly shovel food into my loopy mouth a bit later, not hungry right now. I want to think. There is a cat on my lap and the air coming in through the window is cool and fresh. You have a pleasant evening, the wings of angels take you to your dreams.
Next to my dentist is a jewelry shop owned by the nicest people, the Korona's. It was the plan to get new batteries for my Audubon chirping bird wristwatch, and to sell the handful of whatever jewelry they would accept. All he was interested in was gold. I had a few small opals that had been my mom's, a tanzanite ring set in sterling, an immense catastrophe my friend had bought from QVC, and my wedding ring.
He gave me $50 for some teensy gold earrings, $100 for the wedding ring, and $100 for the gaudy ring from QVC. I was happy, yes, there was a small twinge from parting with the wedding ring, but just like my uterus, I won't miss it. Women, if you ever go through a hysterectomy, you may experience a temporary sentiment, but after the following months of no period, nada, no spots, dots, or pink sneezes, you will click your heels and dance across the ceiling like Fred Astaire. Those cheerleaders on the tampon commercials will have nothing on you as you cartwheel down the block in your mid-fifties or whenever it happens, if it does. After having periods, you won't miss the Ute. No vomiting, no excruciating crushing pains in your legs, no vast wastelands of mood swings. Whee!
But back to the jewelry story; and this is it, and I know you have better sense. Do not buy jewelry from QVC. In my opinion, do not buy any of their crap. My friend has an addiction to them, and ends up with boxes of stuff that she doesn't know what it is by the time it gets there. She had purchased a ring of so-called chocolate diamonds for over $1,000. A ring. From a television channel. Deciding that she didn't like it, she sent it to me for a Christmas gift, god love her. I looked up the item on their website, and the blather accompanying the sell used words like "independent woman" "you'll be noticed as you walk into the room" it would make your teeth shine and men be baffled by your power if you believed the blarney.
First off, everything they sell is made in China; next, the chocolate diamonds were indeed diamonds, but are more commonly known as "brown" diamonds--chocolate diamonds have a milky appearance to them--these were close to worthless. The lump of "Sleeping Beauty Turquoise" in the center was valueless. The saving grace was that the base was made of 14K gold, the doodads on top were a double heaping spoonful of what these creeps were selling.
And they sell tons of it to people, mostly women, who are looking for that one item to make them feel happy and in charge. Acquisition means prestige means self-worth for my friend who is an intelligent woman, but not in a good place right now. I asked if QVC would put a block on her name so she couldn't buy any more, but no. She just has to have the will to stay away from the channel. If she is overmedicated with pain-management drugs and is without her memory, she often doesn't realize she's been "shopping".
What that godawful ring did was get me another month for a September car payment, and that's good enough. I am sorry that I didn't like it, I feel badly for selling a gift, it was her money to begin with, but my rationalization is that over the years, I have bailed her out from many bad choices. That is sort of an apology for taking advantage of someone's lousy luck, but I had asked her if she wanted the ring back, and she told me to sell it. The other things I sometimes receive from QVC go right back into the mail, back to the company to credit her account. I had to tell her she was pissing me off by buying me stuff. This is my wild friend who did many dangerous things over the years, thank goodness she is still here.
It's only dinnertime, the sun is still up. I will slowly shovel food into my loopy mouth a bit later, not hungry right now. I want to think. There is a cat on my lap and the air coming in through the window is cool and fresh. You have a pleasant evening, the wings of angels take you to your dreams.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Pawprints
The fog rolls in on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city
On silent haunches
And then moves on.
....Carl Sandburg, Fog
I become reclusive even on the nicest of days, and will fritter away a day with small events that stack themselves into twenty-four hours. Today I made myself go outside for a walk, intending only to stick to one area and buzz back with a quart of milk. It had been some time since going to see the new terminus for the Erie Canal, so I walked my way down to the other end of the shoreline to take another look.
I didn't know this city had the money or the ability to plan what has been completed. Originally under an asphalt parking lot, the end of the canal is as nice as anything I have seen in Boston, Massachusetts. There is ample space for concerts, lots of benches to view the river, and red Medina sandstone pathways. It looks like some cash went into this, thanks to the state, a pair of responsible geologists, and a local politician who pushed for funding. It makes the upswing that the city is slowly going through apparent, not just hopeful.
Several foundations had been excavated, stone and brick bases for buildings from the 1800's. Each piece had been numbered and removed to a nearby yard so the rest of the plot could be landscaped. Now you can see walls, drain holes, and doorways. This is what caused me to stop.
At the bottom of one of the doorways of stone, the sill plate was jumbled with brick and stone so that a patch of concrete was laid over to smooth the passage. In this recently laid mortar were several small cat's paw prints pressed, delicate as seashells. As if the cats were holding sway as they did one hundred and fifty years ago, as if telling the city, I am here, I am still here, do not forget how I kept the rats and mice away from the immense grain elevators that once lined this slip. This place wouldn't have met with as much success without the cats who curbed the rodent population.
It was poignant, how this little cat's foot imprinted into the concrete, to be here until that stone crumbles. Many eyes will see it, and think, "Cat," a real cat who echoes the ghosts of those who once lived during the city's heyday as the opening to the Great Lakes and the west. A blessing. A twining about your leg. We may go ahead.
Be blessed wherever you are, may your evening be peaceful.
It sits looking over harbor and city
On silent haunches
And then moves on.
....Carl Sandburg, Fog
I become reclusive even on the nicest of days, and will fritter away a day with small events that stack themselves into twenty-four hours. Today I made myself go outside for a walk, intending only to stick to one area and buzz back with a quart of milk. It had been some time since going to see the new terminus for the Erie Canal, so I walked my way down to the other end of the shoreline to take another look.
I didn't know this city had the money or the ability to plan what has been completed. Originally under an asphalt parking lot, the end of the canal is as nice as anything I have seen in Boston, Massachusetts. There is ample space for concerts, lots of benches to view the river, and red Medina sandstone pathways. It looks like some cash went into this, thanks to the state, a pair of responsible geologists, and a local politician who pushed for funding. It makes the upswing that the city is slowly going through apparent, not just hopeful.
Several foundations had been excavated, stone and brick bases for buildings from the 1800's. Each piece had been numbered and removed to a nearby yard so the rest of the plot could be landscaped. Now you can see walls, drain holes, and doorways. This is what caused me to stop.
At the bottom of one of the doorways of stone, the sill plate was jumbled with brick and stone so that a patch of concrete was laid over to smooth the passage. In this recently laid mortar were several small cat's paw prints pressed, delicate as seashells. As if the cats were holding sway as they did one hundred and fifty years ago, as if telling the city, I am here, I am still here, do not forget how I kept the rats and mice away from the immense grain elevators that once lined this slip. This place wouldn't have met with as much success without the cats who curbed the rodent population.
It was poignant, how this little cat's foot imprinted into the concrete, to be here until that stone crumbles. Many eyes will see it, and think, "Cat," a real cat who echoes the ghosts of those who once lived during the city's heyday as the opening to the Great Lakes and the west. A blessing. A twining about your leg. We may go ahead.
Be blessed wherever you are, may your evening be peaceful.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Maybe
Sunday is the day I visit my father, with whom I didn't have a close relationship while growing up or as an adult simply because it doesn't take many times of being told to get the hell out to do so. There has been reconciliation and now the once a week visit to see if he needs anything and to ah, well, I guess create a sort of relationship where there wasn't one before. I tell you, if you have a good dad, count yourself lucky.
Again, the pins and needles of waiting to see if my teaching job disappears is making me such a nut case that I look over my shoulder to see if the squirrels are following. Not only that, but my physician suggested a reduction in the medication I take, saying that summer is the best time to try. Halving it, she says, will increase my metabolism to enable a weight loss. I'm not scary large, but I am bigger than necessary and being a size sixteen blows, even though I am sort of taller.
So the reduction of the meds which I take for depression and anxiety attacks, plus the maybe maybe not business of employment causes me to gather hyper-bundles of psychic current like a far off a.m. radio station that comes in better at night. Now all that means, little cowpokes, is that I am worried and the what if's gather faster than white cat hair on a black wool sweater.
It's nothing I've not been through before, and things never stay the same anyways. But it is a literal headache.
Today when I saw Dad, he told me he had asked my brother if he could move in with their family, and rightfully, they said it wasn't a good idea which it is not. Then he said, "Why don't you move in here?" I really wouldn't want to, considering our history and the fact that he smokes and a million other reasons, but if it had to happen, well, we shall see. I told him thanks for the offer.
As we were saying goodbye at the door later, he asked something else that surprised me; half-laughing he said, "You wouldn't shoot me, wouldja?" "Noooo, I wouldn't shoot you Dad."
It struck me odd at first, but in the car it was as if he, for the very first time, acknowledged that there had been tension, and that my always concealed anger at his crap apparently wasn't. Was it an apology? Am I reading too much into an offhand statement? Did he behave horridly all those years, to deliberately piss me off, push me away?
Heck, I don't know, and really don't care, I am glad to be able to talk to a father, my father, without scanning the room to plan a fast exit if he came at me. There is a lot to like about him still; I wish his drying out had happened sooner, but I'm not complaining, I'm swinging on a star.
Again, the pins and needles of waiting to see if my teaching job disappears is making me such a nut case that I look over my shoulder to see if the squirrels are following. Not only that, but my physician suggested a reduction in the medication I take, saying that summer is the best time to try. Halving it, she says, will increase my metabolism to enable a weight loss. I'm not scary large, but I am bigger than necessary and being a size sixteen blows, even though I am sort of taller.
So the reduction of the meds which I take for depression and anxiety attacks, plus the maybe maybe not business of employment causes me to gather hyper-bundles of psychic current like a far off a.m. radio station that comes in better at night. Now all that means, little cowpokes, is that I am worried and the what if's gather faster than white cat hair on a black wool sweater.
It's nothing I've not been through before, and things never stay the same anyways. But it is a literal headache.
Today when I saw Dad, he told me he had asked my brother if he could move in with their family, and rightfully, they said it wasn't a good idea which it is not. Then he said, "Why don't you move in here?" I really wouldn't want to, considering our history and the fact that he smokes and a million other reasons, but if it had to happen, well, we shall see. I told him thanks for the offer.
As we were saying goodbye at the door later, he asked something else that surprised me; half-laughing he said, "You wouldn't shoot me, wouldja?" "Noooo, I wouldn't shoot you Dad."
It struck me odd at first, but in the car it was as if he, for the very first time, acknowledged that there had been tension, and that my always concealed anger at his crap apparently wasn't. Was it an apology? Am I reading too much into an offhand statement? Did he behave horridly all those years, to deliberately piss me off, push me away?
Heck, I don't know, and really don't care, I am glad to be able to talk to a father, my father, without scanning the room to plan a fast exit if he came at me. There is a lot to like about him still; I wish his drying out had happened sooner, but I'm not complaining, I'm swinging on a star.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Wonderland
Time for a change. I have been living with aqua painted walls for five years, it accentuates the sea shell collection and my mermaidlike qualities. Turquoise is one of my favorite colors, but as I said, five years is a while and this place needs painting. Should I lighten it with a white glaze swiped on, like waves, or should there be a complete change?
The first three years I lived here, the walls were two pale green, two lilac. Then I went to pink and orange like an Indian elephant and couldn't sit still. Now everything is a medium aqua and I love it, but think it's time to let go. I want light in here, and the linoleum floor is daaarrrk brown like chocolate. The ceiling is painted a very pale blue with a few clouds.
Really, I am boasting when I say that people have hired me to do murals in their homes. I have painted children standing by fences, griffins, Hawaiian fish, really really great clouds, and forests with en-chanted animals. Oh, and a grotesque of a head reading a book surrounded by ivies in a library. I wish I had a picture of that one. I can't do a mural per se in here as a rented apartment, but I can layer colors and hang up large canvases.
Leaning towards a very pale pink, but then I saw a terrific gold couch for thirty bucks at the thrift shop. And like I said, the ocean is a very large calming influence, and friends and relatives like that. I will take all the biofeedback help I can get, and if that means pretending I am Lelani of the Islands, we all win. Maybe a nice seashell pink, not the intense deep pink that kept me awake when painted on all walls.
Maybe I could paint the godawful brown floor, but I think the landlord would shoot me, and he would have to get in line for that. Besides, how do you paint the floor in a galley apartment with cats? A square at a time?
Oh crap oh crap oh crap the cat has got a spider and wants to give it to me. Gotta go. Nite nite!
The first three years I lived here, the walls were two pale green, two lilac. Then I went to pink and orange like an Indian elephant and couldn't sit still. Now everything is a medium aqua and I love it, but think it's time to let go. I want light in here, and the linoleum floor is daaarrrk brown like chocolate. The ceiling is painted a very pale blue with a few clouds.
Really, I am boasting when I say that people have hired me to do murals in their homes. I have painted children standing by fences, griffins, Hawaiian fish, really really great clouds, and forests with en-chanted animals. Oh, and a grotesque of a head reading a book surrounded by ivies in a library. I wish I had a picture of that one. I can't do a mural per se in here as a rented apartment, but I can layer colors and hang up large canvases.
Leaning towards a very pale pink, but then I saw a terrific gold couch for thirty bucks at the thrift shop. And like I said, the ocean is a very large calming influence, and friends and relatives like that. I will take all the biofeedback help I can get, and if that means pretending I am Lelani of the Islands, we all win. Maybe a nice seashell pink, not the intense deep pink that kept me awake when painted on all walls.
Maybe I could paint the godawful brown floor, but I think the landlord would shoot me, and he would have to get in line for that. Besides, how do you paint the floor in a galley apartment with cats? A square at a time?
Oh crap oh crap oh crap the cat has got a spider and wants to give it to me. Gotta go. Nite nite!
This is a Test
Lately the ads have been focused around cats, which is easier to take than the HCG's from before. HCG is a secret code not ever to be typed out or the embarrassing ads will come back. So the software is supposed to figure out what might be relevant to the blog; so I am writing this little note regarding growing your own mushrooms because I want to see what comes up.
Buy a mushroom kit if you want to grow mushrooms. Mushrooms, I say. You will be sent a log inoculated with spawn and all you have to is keep it damp at a reasonable temperature, and you will be growing mushrooms. Fungi. Mushrooms. Mushrooms. Mushrooms. The End.
Tomorrow's ad experiment: mushrooms.
Buy a mushroom kit if you want to grow mushrooms. Mushrooms, I say. You will be sent a log inoculated with spawn and all you have to is keep it damp at a reasonable temperature, and you will be growing mushrooms. Fungi. Mushrooms. Mushrooms. Mushrooms. The End.
Tomorrow's ad experiment: mushrooms.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Invisibility and Popcorn
I washed the car today at the self-serve car wash which is like the Car Olympics since I finished under the three minute mark. I hustled, people. The car looks great, I tried this new stuff called Invisible Glass and flap my pancakes, the glass really looks like it disappears. Spray and wipe and zingo, your windows are smudgeless with that extra-clear appearance.
On the way home it rained but I didn't care, the drops bounced off my invisible windshield like transparent bullets. Don't drive while watching the rain hit your windshield instead of looking through it, you might miss that exit.
In the mailbox was a surprise. It was a paycheck!! I had no idea this one was coming! Yay poor memory and substandard accounting skills! This is great because now I can get some food and keep my car payments on time! I also bet that you can tell I found the italics key! Stay tuned for more enthusiasm and highlighted points that you should remember for complete understanding of the world.
It's a popcorn night tonight, I'm not that hungry and as an adult, I can eat popcorn for dinner. I have a hot-air popper that works great, but the best way to make popcorn is in a pan with oil over heat. Air-popping toughens it just a little, microwave popcorn is crap but I am never above eating crap, and JiffyPop is cool to watch but is mostly good for camping. I tend to be an air-pop girl, simply because I am too lazy to wash an extra pan when I could be inserting italics!!!
We had lightning today as we have had every day this summer. I hope someone out there is focusing on how to catch that stuff and put it to use. Can you imagine a lightning panel designed like a solar panel? One strike absorbed into giant batteries and you could light up the New York power grid.
More storms are predicted for tonight and tomorrow. I enjoy the rain, and assume our water table is in better shape than during the past dry years. Sleep well, do good, I know you do.
On the way home it rained but I didn't care, the drops bounced off my invisible windshield like transparent bullets. Don't drive while watching the rain hit your windshield instead of looking through it, you might miss that exit.
In the mailbox was a surprise. It was a paycheck!! I had no idea this one was coming! Yay poor memory and substandard accounting skills! This is great because now I can get some food and keep my car payments on time! I also bet that you can tell I found the italics key! Stay tuned for more enthusiasm and highlighted points that you should remember for complete understanding of the world.
It's a popcorn night tonight, I'm not that hungry and as an adult, I can eat popcorn for dinner. I have a hot-air popper that works great, but the best way to make popcorn is in a pan with oil over heat. Air-popping toughens it just a little, microwave popcorn is crap but I am never above eating crap, and JiffyPop is cool to watch but is mostly good for camping. I tend to be an air-pop girl, simply because I am too lazy to wash an extra pan when I could be inserting italics!!!
We had lightning today as we have had every day this summer. I hope someone out there is focusing on how to catch that stuff and put it to use. Can you imagine a lightning panel designed like a solar panel? One strike absorbed into giant batteries and you could light up the New York power grid.
More storms are predicted for tonight and tomorrow. I enjoy the rain, and assume our water table is in better shape than during the past dry years. Sleep well, do good, I know you do.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Busy Day and Dinner
Two days ago I would have cheerfully jumped in the river, today I can't explain where the energy is coming from. The bone density scan was not the series of postures required by the last one, the focus was hip and pelvic in nature. One rollover and I was done. And, no co-pay, so that was a bonus.
I don't have an appetite today, either, and the carb cravings are quiet. Shhh. However, I am making up a batch of mac and cheese tonight and will dress it up with tuna. I'm good with that, but it doesn't make me scream hallelujah like a mac n cheese with meatloaf dinner recipe that I got from a distant, fantastic relative.
You make up the mac and cheese, you can use a boxed brand, tossing in extra bits of cheese from the fridge after cutting off any blue fuzz; set it aside. Bake up a pound of bacon about halfway so that it isn't quite done, drain, and line a meatloaf pan on the bottom and all around the sides like you're building a bacon house. Pile in half of a meatloaf recipe of your own choosing, layer on the mac and cheese, and top with the remaining meatloaf mix. Pat gently.
Patting raw ground meat is creepy, and if you don't have disposable plastic food service gloves, wet your hand with cold water. It keeps the bits from sticking to you. Or, you might be the kind of person who has a spatula. You could wet that, too, and it will stay cleaner. Seal this up with a final layer of bacon on top, cover with tomato sauce and oregano.
Bake for a very long time on a cookie sheet because the juices will bubble over, turning your oven into a potential sacrificial altar to Zarkov. An hour at about 400 degrees, maybe. Make something healthy to go on the side, something green that will distract your arteries while eating this. Remember, you have lots of arteries, so this won't hurt. Salad is nice. Remove the delicious baked animal meat from the pan, let cool ten minutes and slice. You will have meatloaf with a layer of mac and cheese in the middle and tell me if that don't make Mama dance. Serve with more tomato sauce on the side.
Time to start winding down for the night, I am going to be dreaming of meatloaf. Wonderful, cheesy meatloaf dreams.
I don't have an appetite today, either, and the carb cravings are quiet. Shhh. However, I am making up a batch of mac and cheese tonight and will dress it up with tuna. I'm good with that, but it doesn't make me scream hallelujah like a mac n cheese with meatloaf dinner recipe that I got from a distant, fantastic relative.
You make up the mac and cheese, you can use a boxed brand, tossing in extra bits of cheese from the fridge after cutting off any blue fuzz; set it aside. Bake up a pound of bacon about halfway so that it isn't quite done, drain, and line a meatloaf pan on the bottom and all around the sides like you're building a bacon house. Pile in half of a meatloaf recipe of your own choosing, layer on the mac and cheese, and top with the remaining meatloaf mix. Pat gently.
Patting raw ground meat is creepy, and if you don't have disposable plastic food service gloves, wet your hand with cold water. It keeps the bits from sticking to you. Or, you might be the kind of person who has a spatula. You could wet that, too, and it will stay cleaner. Seal this up with a final layer of bacon on top, cover with tomato sauce and oregano.
Bake for a very long time on a cookie sheet because the juices will bubble over, turning your oven into a potential sacrificial altar to Zarkov. An hour at about 400 degrees, maybe. Make something healthy to go on the side, something green that will distract your arteries while eating this. Remember, you have lots of arteries, so this won't hurt. Salad is nice. Remove the delicious baked animal meat from the pan, let cool ten minutes and slice. You will have meatloaf with a layer of mac and cheese in the middle and tell me if that don't make Mama dance. Serve with more tomato sauce on the side.
Time to start winding down for the night, I am going to be dreaming of meatloaf. Wonderful, cheesy meatloaf dreams.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
After All
My aching body. After finding out that the appointment is tomorrow, I came home, ate lunch, and sacked out on the couch. Slept for three hours, still didn't feel right until about seven o'clock this evening when my brain apparently came back online.
In the mail was a form from my medical insurance carrier seeking opinion on one of my doctors, the one who took off with no notice to write a book. Didn't find out she was gone until a call to the office redirected me to another doctor's receptionist. Not back till January. This survey was filled out with all the sturm and drang one could accomplish by scribbling in ovals. I did put notes in the margins, even though the paper will most likely be read by a scanner.
One question was phrased "Did the physician answer me questions." I wrote "Arr. She be sailing the high seas." I will take every opportunity to talk like a pirate, the annual holiday of which is coming up in September. This physician be a scourge to the profession. Actually, she just had a fabulous article written on her practice and how she particularly works with women's issues. Color photographs, three pages, local high-falutin' magazine. My fat fanny. I think her ego overgrew, and now she is writing her life story. The woman is in her forties, I believe. What kind of a life story is that? Of course, I am grousing. It's my job.
I never realize when I am being treated badly by a figure in authority, for in such areas I question my own judgment. It takes a while for reality to set in. Now that I figure there is no way in hell she can find out who filled out the survey, I let her have it, filling in the "Fair" oval over and over again. Take that, and that, and that. I'm still vibrating from the assertiveness.
It's after nine, and guess who isn't sleepy. Again, I have to get up and be in the outlands by 8:30 to be flipped and flopped like a pancake on a cold metal table as the invisible death ray investigates my spine, which perhaps, has just gotten a little thicker. You all sleep well. If I filled out surveys for you, you would all get the "Excellent" oval filled in. Arrr.
In the mail was a form from my medical insurance carrier seeking opinion on one of my doctors, the one who took off with no notice to write a book. Didn't find out she was gone until a call to the office redirected me to another doctor's receptionist. Not back till January. This survey was filled out with all the sturm and drang one could accomplish by scribbling in ovals. I did put notes in the margins, even though the paper will most likely be read by a scanner.
One question was phrased "Did the physician answer me questions." I wrote "Arr. She be sailing the high seas." I will take every opportunity to talk like a pirate, the annual holiday of which is coming up in September. This physician be a scourge to the profession. Actually, she just had a fabulous article written on her practice and how she particularly works with women's issues. Color photographs, three pages, local high-falutin' magazine. My fat fanny. I think her ego overgrew, and now she is writing her life story. The woman is in her forties, I believe. What kind of a life story is that? Of course, I am grousing. It's my job.
I never realize when I am being treated badly by a figure in authority, for in such areas I question my own judgment. It takes a while for reality to set in. Now that I figure there is no way in hell she can find out who filled out the survey, I let her have it, filling in the "Fair" oval over and over again. Take that, and that, and that. I'm still vibrating from the assertiveness.
It's after nine, and guess who isn't sleepy. Again, I have to get up and be in the outlands by 8:30 to be flipped and flopped like a pancake on a cold metal table as the invisible death ray investigates my spine, which perhaps, has just gotten a little thicker. You all sleep well. If I filled out surveys for you, you would all get the "Excellent" oval filled in. Arrr.
Fair Days
Ah! The noise! Ah! The smell! Ah! The people! Yesterday we went to the fair and stayed till eleven at night, past my bedtime. I am whupped, mostly from all the very attractive and personable junk food I ate. Fair food is so friendly and overpriced, the traveling fryer booths on wheels so brightly colored and worded, so that the simplest human with a wallet is pried from their monies.
Seven dollars for a plate of the lovely butterfly potatoes, cut like a spiral string of chips and deep fried; no, no, I didn't indulge, for seven dollars is dear for what amounts to be two potatoes. Did I mention that I may not have a job, won't know until September 1st? As delightful it is to swash a doodle of ketchup over the mountainous heap of frydom's best, I resisted. Still thinking about them, though.
Instead, I went to the 4-H booth that was selling hot dogs for a buck each. Had brought my own drink in the Wonderful Cavernous Purse, sat and ate two dogs. The crew I go with aren't the visit the animal barn types, but prefer to get happy with the craft area and jewelry stands. Me, I would like to see the animals and the canned in glass jars green beans and the other home economic stuff, but I am just as happy trotting around anywhere. The whole fair is the scene, chickie-chicks.
We all are interested in the food offered, all shocked at the prices, all happy to complain about money. After we ate, we grazed, starting with something called "Doughnut Nuggets", pillows of hot fried dough blanketed with powdered sugar. After that, I ate a sugar waffle, also coated with powdered sugar. We had vanilla cones, buttered spuds, and a fried onion blossom, all surrounded by pillars of colored light bulbs illuminating outlines of the Ferris wheel, the Scrambler, the pirate ship thing that swings back and forth. Dazzling, even more so when you are dazed with sugar and enough saturated fat to fuel the space shuttle.
For a Special Today Only Fifty Cents, you could view the Giant Rat (a capybara), the Smallest Horse, the Giant Snake, the Smallest Woman, and Snake Girl who miraculous survived birth to grow into a boa with the head of a Beautiful Girl. On the outside of Snake Girl's trailer was a tiny little sign that said "Illusion." Well, thank heavens.
I got home late, with the idea of rising early to get to a bone density appointment at 8:30 a.m. When the morning alarm came on, I hit snooze. I did that three times, until reality pushed me up to a sitting position and I rolled out to get ready, still thickheaded from the quart of fat and sugar in me, and also, I ached from trotting about, back and forth, up and down.
I walked slower than usual to the car, plopped in, got on the road and made it only five minutes late. Really, I need to realize that trip takes forty minutes, not a half hour. Triumphantly, I pull into the medical complex lot, and with head up, enter the reception area. "Your appointment's tomorrow," said the bright eyed young woman. What?
You know you've done this, and have experienced the colossal waste of time frittered away due to enthusiastic showing up a day earlyism. Ah, don't worry, it all works out well. Go ahead with the day, a cup of tea will put you to rights.
Seven dollars for a plate of the lovely butterfly potatoes, cut like a spiral string of chips and deep fried; no, no, I didn't indulge, for seven dollars is dear for what amounts to be two potatoes. Did I mention that I may not have a job, won't know until September 1st? As delightful it is to swash a doodle of ketchup over the mountainous heap of frydom's best, I resisted. Still thinking about them, though.
Instead, I went to the 4-H booth that was selling hot dogs for a buck each. Had brought my own drink in the Wonderful Cavernous Purse, sat and ate two dogs. The crew I go with aren't the visit the animal barn types, but prefer to get happy with the craft area and jewelry stands. Me, I would like to see the animals and the canned in glass jars green beans and the other home economic stuff, but I am just as happy trotting around anywhere. The whole fair is the scene, chickie-chicks.
We all are interested in the food offered, all shocked at the prices, all happy to complain about money. After we ate, we grazed, starting with something called "Doughnut Nuggets", pillows of hot fried dough blanketed with powdered sugar. After that, I ate a sugar waffle, also coated with powdered sugar. We had vanilla cones, buttered spuds, and a fried onion blossom, all surrounded by pillars of colored light bulbs illuminating outlines of the Ferris wheel, the Scrambler, the pirate ship thing that swings back and forth. Dazzling, even more so when you are dazed with sugar and enough saturated fat to fuel the space shuttle.
For a Special Today Only Fifty Cents, you could view the Giant Rat (a capybara), the Smallest Horse, the Giant Snake, the Smallest Woman, and Snake Girl who miraculous survived birth to grow into a boa with the head of a Beautiful Girl. On the outside of Snake Girl's trailer was a tiny little sign that said "Illusion." Well, thank heavens.
I got home late, with the idea of rising early to get to a bone density appointment at 8:30 a.m. When the morning alarm came on, I hit snooze. I did that three times, until reality pushed me up to a sitting position and I rolled out to get ready, still thickheaded from the quart of fat and sugar in me, and also, I ached from trotting about, back and forth, up and down.
I walked slower than usual to the car, plopped in, got on the road and made it only five minutes late. Really, I need to realize that trip takes forty minutes, not a half hour. Triumphantly, I pull into the medical complex lot, and with head up, enter the reception area. "Your appointment's tomorrow," said the bright eyed young woman. What?
You know you've done this, and have experienced the colossal waste of time frittered away due to enthusiastic showing up a day earlyism. Ah, don't worry, it all works out well. Go ahead with the day, a cup of tea will put you to rights.
Monday, August 11, 2008
In the Woods...
Today, instead of other paper responsibilities, I took off for the woods to scout for fungi. The forests are absolutely soaked, and I haven't ever found so many different varieties during this time of year. I was hoping to find Craterellus cornucopiodes, a black chantrelle, and Boletus bicolor. Small success with the boletes, and indeed there were a few early bicolors.
Imagine a fat mushroom shape with a smallish cap; the stem is dull red as is the cap, and the pores underneath are bright yellow. It is beautiful, tasty, and not many people know about them. In my journal, the date of their appearance is late August, when the first flush is abundant. Into September, they become scarce, but then other boletes step up.
In the woods, there was evidence of someone before me, for a few stipes had been sliced with knife; an inedible Tylopilus may mimic an edible bolete until you turn the cap over and see what pores are underneath. Vas ist der bolete? Well, the mushrooms you generally purchase at the grocery have gills, the folds under the cap. Other mushrooms, the boletes, have pores like a sponge underneath. These are the ones I look for the most. Gilled mushrooms are good, but not as nutty, earthy, and elusive as the pored fungi.
I gathered other specimens for sketching as well, there were green, red, and yellow Russulas; faded pink Entolomas, and some others I have to key out. I left any Amanitas alone, I don't even want them in my basket, they are that poisonous. Let me tell you, a poisonous mushroom can grow right next to a good one, that was the case with a group of Death Angels fruiting near some white Russulas. The problem was that there has been so much rain, some of the identifying remnants of the vulva found on the Amanita's cap had been washed away, so to the uneducated eye, mushrooms is mushrooms.
I am going to play with my treasures and hopefully get some sketches completed. Then I am going to address the hangnail that I received from the college that I have already made a payment to, saying that they would like another $150 to re-register and they have no idea of how I was able to sign up for this course. Blah blah blah, meow, meow, meow.
It promises to be a cooler night. Sail away, me hearties, to regions unmapped and new.
Imagine a fat mushroom shape with a smallish cap; the stem is dull red as is the cap, and the pores underneath are bright yellow. It is beautiful, tasty, and not many people know about them. In my journal, the date of their appearance is late August, when the first flush is abundant. Into September, they become scarce, but then other boletes step up.
In the woods, there was evidence of someone before me, for a few stipes had been sliced with knife; an inedible Tylopilus may mimic an edible bolete until you turn the cap over and see what pores are underneath. Vas ist der bolete? Well, the mushrooms you generally purchase at the grocery have gills, the folds under the cap. Other mushrooms, the boletes, have pores like a sponge underneath. These are the ones I look for the most. Gilled mushrooms are good, but not as nutty, earthy, and elusive as the pored fungi.
I gathered other specimens for sketching as well, there were green, red, and yellow Russulas; faded pink Entolomas, and some others I have to key out. I left any Amanitas alone, I don't even want them in my basket, they are that poisonous. Let me tell you, a poisonous mushroom can grow right next to a good one, that was the case with a group of Death Angels fruiting near some white Russulas. The problem was that there has been so much rain, some of the identifying remnants of the vulva found on the Amanita's cap had been washed away, so to the uneducated eye, mushrooms is mushrooms.
I am going to play with my treasures and hopefully get some sketches completed. Then I am going to address the hangnail that I received from the college that I have already made a payment to, saying that they would like another $150 to re-register and they have no idea of how I was able to sign up for this course. Blah blah blah, meow, meow, meow.
It promises to be a cooler night. Sail away, me hearties, to regions unmapped and new.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Natural Art
Went up to the Art Show today, with my dear dear friend P. It rained on the way up, all the way through, and pluvialed on the way back as if Neptune ran the carnival. It poured buckets. Fortunately, we had donned those twenty-five cent plastic raincoats which worked out way better than any umbrella would have. We parked at the bottom of a hill, Lewiston is located at the end of the Niagara Escarpment, which means hills before a deep dive to Lake Ontario.
Lewiston is a village, set amid countryside, but even then the flash of brilliant yellow orange with wings of black startled me; a Baltimore oriole was being chased by two smaller brown birds and flew up into a tree for refuge. It was the second live one I had ever seen, and so was cause for admiration, as I haven't used up all my oriole admiration yet.
Earlier in the day I had checked in on Dad; on the way I again saw the egret who is making his home here this summer. He or she was in a creek that meanders through a golf course, doing its egret job of standing and looking good. Maybe there is more than one around, even so, it is a pleasure to see.
We looked at the art, the poor dealers were kept busy pushing the gathered rain off their display tent awnings and roofs. Few people were buying, possibly because it was raining so hard, and they didn't want to carry items. Really, though, there seemed to be a good turn out in spite of the weather.
My friend stopped by the bathrooms, I waited outside and noticed down on the wood mulch that there were hundreds of Bird's Nest fungi pushing through the chips. Again, something not seen very often, this cup fungi. It grows into small, funnel shaped cups which hold the spore sacs that look like eggs, tiny bird's eggs. When a rain drop hits one just right, the egg is dashed out of the cup, and a tiny tail at the other end snags onto a blade of grass. If a grazing animal eats this grass and moves on, the spore sac is then deposited in another area in the manure. Too much science? Tough noogies. I say double heapings of science for everyone! Rowf.
After, on the way back down the hill, one of my favorite birds was hanging onto a fluff of a flowerhead, picking at seeds. A minute goldfinch was dining in the rain, not far from where we had observed the oriole. The brightness of yellow startles one, and their song is reminiscent of gardens and fields of thistle, where they often feed. This was almost too much, the egret, the oriole, and a goldfinch all in a day. Art, this is the first art.
I had wrapped a couple of the Bird's Nest fungi in a tissue, and have brought them home to put under a magnifying glass. You can tell which part of the art show I liked best, can't you?
No lie, I am tired and the best kind of a Sunday night is the one where you don't have to get up early on Monday. Tonight is one of those. I am going to go flop on the couch and read a bit, another luxury before the school year begins. Tomorrow I am going to find a patch of woods, I know just where, and look for more things to admire. Sleep, peace, sleep.
Lewiston is a village, set amid countryside, but even then the flash of brilliant yellow orange with wings of black startled me; a Baltimore oriole was being chased by two smaller brown birds and flew up into a tree for refuge. It was the second live one I had ever seen, and so was cause for admiration, as I haven't used up all my oriole admiration yet.
Earlier in the day I had checked in on Dad; on the way I again saw the egret who is making his home here this summer. He or she was in a creek that meanders through a golf course, doing its egret job of standing and looking good. Maybe there is more than one around, even so, it is a pleasure to see.
We looked at the art, the poor dealers were kept busy pushing the gathered rain off their display tent awnings and roofs. Few people were buying, possibly because it was raining so hard, and they didn't want to carry items. Really, though, there seemed to be a good turn out in spite of the weather.
My friend stopped by the bathrooms, I waited outside and noticed down on the wood mulch that there were hundreds of Bird's Nest fungi pushing through the chips. Again, something not seen very often, this cup fungi. It grows into small, funnel shaped cups which hold the spore sacs that look like eggs, tiny bird's eggs. When a rain drop hits one just right, the egg is dashed out of the cup, and a tiny tail at the other end snags onto a blade of grass. If a grazing animal eats this grass and moves on, the spore sac is then deposited in another area in the manure. Too much science? Tough noogies. I say double heapings of science for everyone! Rowf.
After, on the way back down the hill, one of my favorite birds was hanging onto a fluff of a flowerhead, picking at seeds. A minute goldfinch was dining in the rain, not far from where we had observed the oriole. The brightness of yellow startles one, and their song is reminiscent of gardens and fields of thistle, where they often feed. This was almost too much, the egret, the oriole, and a goldfinch all in a day. Art, this is the first art.
I had wrapped a couple of the Bird's Nest fungi in a tissue, and have brought them home to put under a magnifying glass. You can tell which part of the art show I liked best, can't you?
No lie, I am tired and the best kind of a Sunday night is the one where you don't have to get up early on Monday. Tonight is one of those. I am going to go flop on the couch and read a bit, another luxury before the school year begins. Tomorrow I am going to find a patch of woods, I know just where, and look for more things to admire. Sleep, peace, sleep.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Farmer's Market and Beyond
The early strawberries and flats of plants are now behind us in early August, and the summer fruit and vegetable explosion has begun. The rain has been steady but fortunately not overwhelming this summer--out in the woods, the wild mushrooms are threatening to form a society with elected officials and a Miss Lamellae award for prettiest gills.
Just an aside--fungi are so different from plants and animals they sometimes overlap behaviors and really shouldn't be lumped in with the plants. In fact, the taxonomy of living things goes: Plants, Animals, Fungi, Protists, Eubacteria (Monera), and Archaebacteria. Most of what's alive isn't visible to us without lens. Investigate slime mold behavior for a hoot. Not a big hoot like the refund check from the government, but a hoot of huh.
At the market, the early peaches are in their second week of appearance, the summer plums are here, and corn. Corn, corn, corn, which has come to $4.50 a dozen and worth the price of admission. Tomatoes are just starting. One farm has a good old pickup truck that has the wooden slat framework rising from the bed, so they just drive it into the field and toss the ears in till full up. It was half gone by nine-thirty. After corn, they'll load it with cauliflower, after that, pumpkins and cabbage.
They get up at 3:30 a.m. to get out in the fields and pick fresh, involving the whole family, sons and a daughter. The wife grows gherkin cucumbers for pickles, but I use them for eating as the nicest, crisp, non-bitter salad cukes you can find. Less expensive and tastier than the long, hothouse cukes that you get charged $2.00 for at the supermarket. Great in a homemade yoghurt dressing of tzatziki :http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tzatziki.
There are many husband and wife teams that load up the truck even before the chickens think of their morning coffee. One couple stands out for they are both in their seventies, and have the sinews and tanned complexions to show for their days in the field. They have a small plot of land that supports a few fruit trees, a garden plot of vegetables, and chickens for eggs that they haul the results of to market in a rusted blue van. Sometimes one lone squash or beet or potato sits on their folding table, with hand-lettered slips of paper stating the price.
I know, that is the one you would like to buy from. Me too. All they have depends on their weekend sales, all their lives they have watched the sky for sun and rain. There are several others, old men and women, that bring their produce from the small farms they still own. Dirt is under their fingernails, their faces are wizened and lined, their backs are bent forward so that they naturally look towards the earth. Stewards, they are, who coax abundance from soil and sun. Lucky us. How humbly lucky, us.
The small storm has passed and the wind has changed to the east, and causes the chimes hung at the kitchen window to clang and mutter. Lightning is visible, jumping from cloud to earth as the darkening clouds roll towards the farther horizon. It is evening, and the farm folk have been to bed earlier than I; they lay listening to the rains fall to ground. Sleep at night, wake refreshed.
Just an aside--fungi are so different from plants and animals they sometimes overlap behaviors and really shouldn't be lumped in with the plants. In fact, the taxonomy of living things goes: Plants, Animals, Fungi, Protists, Eubacteria (Monera), and Archaebacteria. Most of what's alive isn't visible to us without lens. Investigate slime mold behavior for a hoot. Not a big hoot like the refund check from the government, but a hoot of huh.
At the market, the early peaches are in their second week of appearance, the summer plums are here, and corn. Corn, corn, corn, which has come to $4.50 a dozen and worth the price of admission. Tomatoes are just starting. One farm has a good old pickup truck that has the wooden slat framework rising from the bed, so they just drive it into the field and toss the ears in till full up. It was half gone by nine-thirty. After corn, they'll load it with cauliflower, after that, pumpkins and cabbage.
They get up at 3:30 a.m. to get out in the fields and pick fresh, involving the whole family, sons and a daughter. The wife grows gherkin cucumbers for pickles, but I use them for eating as the nicest, crisp, non-bitter salad cukes you can find. Less expensive and tastier than the long, hothouse cukes that you get charged $2.00 for at the supermarket. Great in a homemade yoghurt dressing of tzatziki :http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tzatziki.
There are many husband and wife teams that load up the truck even before the chickens think of their morning coffee. One couple stands out for they are both in their seventies, and have the sinews and tanned complexions to show for their days in the field. They have a small plot of land that supports a few fruit trees, a garden plot of vegetables, and chickens for eggs that they haul the results of to market in a rusted blue van. Sometimes one lone squash or beet or potato sits on their folding table, with hand-lettered slips of paper stating the price.
I know, that is the one you would like to buy from. Me too. All they have depends on their weekend sales, all their lives they have watched the sky for sun and rain. There are several others, old men and women, that bring their produce from the small farms they still own. Dirt is under their fingernails, their faces are wizened and lined, their backs are bent forward so that they naturally look towards the earth. Stewards, they are, who coax abundance from soil and sun. Lucky us. How humbly lucky, us.
The small storm has passed and the wind has changed to the east, and causes the chimes hung at the kitchen window to clang and mutter. Lightning is visible, jumping from cloud to earth as the darkening clouds roll towards the farther horizon. It is evening, and the farm folk have been to bed earlier than I; they lay listening to the rains fall to ground. Sleep at night, wake refreshed.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Aged Documents
Licked the stamp and lammed down to the post office. I love the post office, especially when you get to be a regular. This was important mail, so it was sent priority and certified in order to have someone on the other end sign for it. The lady worker there is beautiful in an unassuming 1940's manner, hair parted in the middle, rolled, and pulled back into a ponytail. She appears to be in her forties herself, thin, and looks like the secretary in a whodunit film noir production. She has a cat.
The other postal worker I see most often is fond of the ocean and was quite happy when the stamp for Duke Kahanamoku, the man who popularized surfing in the 1920's, appeared a few years back. Knowing these tidbits about their personal lives makes me look forward to stopping by, if only to pick up stamps even though I rarely use them. It's enough, this information, I don't need to know more. Do these two know of their stage roles in my post office vignette? Never.
It's the same everywhere that you go, with the people that aren't friends or acquaintances, but nonetheless people you seen on a fairly regular schedule. There is the Farmer's Market group, the work group, the neighbor group, and the, heck, I'll say the relative group--the ones you only see at serious gatherings. I wonder what role I am assigned in reverse? Who looks for me that I am unaware of; am I a familiar but unknown face for someone?
Don't be afraid of your face changing as you age...live on top of the world as long as you can, but there will be a day that you are unrecognized by another from the circumstances of life. It happened today in the post office--there was a man who I thought I knew as the husband of one of my coworkers, but as he turned to look around, the composite of his face did not match the one in my memory. Our eyes connected, but I could tell he had the same dilemma; who is that woman? We haven't seen each other in over seven years, and he didn't look familiar enough to me to give him a smile and a nod. If he wasn't the alleged husband, it could mean big trouble.
For me, the weirdest element to this aging is the loss of elasticity in the skin. I am getting more like a sharpei by the minute, and have pockets of skin forming in handy places. Now, if I'm working with a polymer clay that needs warming, it gets tucked under a tata and is held there till I need it. Nothing drops. It used to. I had my day.
The tattoos on my back are starting to fold in half. You tweeze a stray eyebrow, and sister, you have to pull farther as the skin now follows the hair on its way out. When you put on make up, your skin doesn't stay in place, but smooshes around with your fingers, stretching in the most amusing ways. That was sarcasm. Well, maybe it isn't, for if I want to travel in disguise, loose skin is very amenable. Think of Marlon Brando stuffing his cheeks with cotton for the Godfather role.
I can hold enough cotton in my cheeks to make a small chipmunk happy. You want white eyebrows? Pull some out and stick it on with Vaseline. Handy. You could do that "who is that, I don't quite recognize her" thing with me if you want, I won't be offended. In fact, that may be the reasoning behind the disguise.
Cool night, clouds are tall and white. You have been blessed with recognition that you are alive, and can make choices about your actions. I have a friend who cries about aging, as if she didn't have anything to offer but her face. She is only in her mid-fifties and looks back, looks back too much, bitter as a pillar of salt. Ah, my one, you are lovely still in other, deeper ways, and your eyes still tell of the warm emotions inside. Come along with me, it will be an adventure, your life is here to live. Cast the day aside, dream of what is to be.
The other postal worker I see most often is fond of the ocean and was quite happy when the stamp for Duke Kahanamoku, the man who popularized surfing in the 1920's, appeared a few years back. Knowing these tidbits about their personal lives makes me look forward to stopping by, if only to pick up stamps even though I rarely use them. It's enough, this information, I don't need to know more. Do these two know of their stage roles in my post office vignette? Never.
It's the same everywhere that you go, with the people that aren't friends or acquaintances, but nonetheless people you seen on a fairly regular schedule. There is the Farmer's Market group, the work group, the neighbor group, and the, heck, I'll say the relative group--the ones you only see at serious gatherings. I wonder what role I am assigned in reverse? Who looks for me that I am unaware of; am I a familiar but unknown face for someone?
Don't be afraid of your face changing as you age...live on top of the world as long as you can, but there will be a day that you are unrecognized by another from the circumstances of life. It happened today in the post office--there was a man who I thought I knew as the husband of one of my coworkers, but as he turned to look around, the composite of his face did not match the one in my memory. Our eyes connected, but I could tell he had the same dilemma; who is that woman? We haven't seen each other in over seven years, and he didn't look familiar enough to me to give him a smile and a nod. If he wasn't the alleged husband, it could mean big trouble.
For me, the weirdest element to this aging is the loss of elasticity in the skin. I am getting more like a sharpei by the minute, and have pockets of skin forming in handy places. Now, if I'm working with a polymer clay that needs warming, it gets tucked under a tata and is held there till I need it. Nothing drops. It used to. I had my day.
The tattoos on my back are starting to fold in half. You tweeze a stray eyebrow, and sister, you have to pull farther as the skin now follows the hair on its way out. When you put on make up, your skin doesn't stay in place, but smooshes around with your fingers, stretching in the most amusing ways. That was sarcasm. Well, maybe it isn't, for if I want to travel in disguise, loose skin is very amenable. Think of Marlon Brando stuffing his cheeks with cotton for the Godfather role.
I can hold enough cotton in my cheeks to make a small chipmunk happy. You want white eyebrows? Pull some out and stick it on with Vaseline. Handy. You could do that "who is that, I don't quite recognize her" thing with me if you want, I won't be offended. In fact, that may be the reasoning behind the disguise.
Cool night, clouds are tall and white. You have been blessed with recognition that you are alive, and can make choices about your actions. I have a friend who cries about aging, as if she didn't have anything to offer but her face. She is only in her mid-fifties and looks back, looks back too much, bitter as a pillar of salt. Ah, my one, you are lovely still in other, deeper ways, and your eyes still tell of the warm emotions inside. Come along with me, it will be an adventure, your life is here to live. Cast the day aside, dream of what is to be.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Eggs is eggs
Going to the veterinarian for a rabies shot, Princess Snowbelle was miserable all the way there and back. After the trip, I held the carrier up so she could see the grasshoppers boinging from leaf to stem in the scrappy little field where the wild cats live. She did calm down a bit watching the bug carnival. I snapped her a head of catnip and mooshed it against the screen, which she also took some interest in.
Thrifty tip: You can find catnip growing in almost any Eastern dry, undernourished soil, you really don't have to purchase it in the stores. I have found it along railroad tracks, bike trails, and in abundance under the raised thruway bridge next to the apartment buildings. It's a biennial, so that means it grows lush in the spring, goes to seed about now, dies down and repeats again ensuring a good fall crop. Belongs to the mint family, and makes a great flavored jelly. I should really do that again, it's good in tea. Supposed to have a calming effect on humans, however, personal experimentation points to not enough.
Hmm. Catnip mints for people. I bet there's a market for it. I'd buy a pack. Note to self: catnip lotion or soap Not a Good Idea, the neighborhood cats would be spreading rumors that you're easy.
Anyway, my veterinarian, Dr. P, has taken good care of my animals for many many years. She never ages and is a popular, delightful beauty in the community. She is as close to religion as I get these days, for her outlook is deliberate, thought out and put into effect.
This is it, see what you think: thoughts are tangible things that we create and take on a life of their own. One uses this to construct positive outcomes based on trust and spiritual guidance; she firmly believes this tenet is a factor in the success rate of her practice. Everyone thinks positively, and therefore an otherworldly beneficent force surrounds them and the animals she cares for. She claims this works for parking spaces also, to the provenance that her scientific, fact-based agnostic husband asks her to "do that parking space thing that you do" when needed.
Dr. P also owns a cottage in Lilydale, NY, one of the vortexes for contacting the spirit world down by Lake Chautauqua. Her neighbor is a Russian immigrant from Israel who organically raises chickens and sells the eggs, which are available at the veterinary at $3.25 a dozen. I have given dozens away as gifts, a new shipment is coming in next Thursday, if you're local, let me know if you're interested.
These eggs are raised by someone who talks to her chickens as they run free eating summer insects and dandelion blossoms. Raised by someone who is part of the Lilydale community of mediums and psychics, and therefore are eggs of the cosmos, eggs of stardust, eggs watched over by a thousand seraphim, manifest apparitions, and the souls of generations of chicken guardian angels, former farmwives who had coops. These are celestial eggs.
They come in all sizes in the carton, shades of rust brown, and take a good crack to open. When you spill the orange yolk into the buttered frypan, it stands up and roars, girdled by thick whites. Eggs like this are strong willed and fierce, and deserve a crisp corner of toast for dunking. I like mine once over easy, to make sure the gook gets fairly solidified. Salt and pepper.
Cakes rise, omelets ascend, cookies fortify, boiled eggs are unctuous and hearty due to their upbringing and residence at the Positive Thought Veterinary. I shall give this a try, usually I take things as they come, figuring events are life-building experiences that everyone has a swing at. Truth be told, however, if I could scoot out from under some circumstances, that would be gravy. Oh, by the way, don't believe that idiom "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." The hell it doesn't. Too much will beat you down and put you through the machinations of despair.
So, the consensus here is....? We can use the assistance of a spiritual thought process to create positive outcomes, or that we are dealing purely with reality and the cards fall where they may, or, do we just want paranormal eggs for breakfast?
You get your jammies on and do some reading before bed tonight. Think of those happy chickens roosting for the evening in their nests of straw, unseen hands blessing their productivity. Snowbell has sacked out already, exhausted by the trip. I am ready for a late supper and will not turn in until she is dreaming of squirrels and sparrows. You might dream of sparrows, too. Little brown bundles of feathers, tucking heads under wings, breathing in, breathing out. Sleep well.
Thrifty tip: You can find catnip growing in almost any Eastern dry, undernourished soil, you really don't have to purchase it in the stores. I have found it along railroad tracks, bike trails, and in abundance under the raised thruway bridge next to the apartment buildings. It's a biennial, so that means it grows lush in the spring, goes to seed about now, dies down and repeats again ensuring a good fall crop. Belongs to the mint family, and makes a great flavored jelly. I should really do that again, it's good in tea. Supposed to have a calming effect on humans, however, personal experimentation points to not enough.
Hmm. Catnip mints for people. I bet there's a market for it. I'd buy a pack. Note to self: catnip lotion or soap Not a Good Idea, the neighborhood cats would be spreading rumors that you're easy.
Anyway, my veterinarian, Dr. P, has taken good care of my animals for many many years. She never ages and is a popular, delightful beauty in the community. She is as close to religion as I get these days, for her outlook is deliberate, thought out and put into effect.
This is it, see what you think: thoughts are tangible things that we create and take on a life of their own. One uses this to construct positive outcomes based on trust and spiritual guidance; she firmly believes this tenet is a factor in the success rate of her practice. Everyone thinks positively, and therefore an otherworldly beneficent force surrounds them and the animals she cares for. She claims this works for parking spaces also, to the provenance that her scientific, fact-based agnostic husband asks her to "do that parking space thing that you do" when needed.
Dr. P also owns a cottage in Lilydale, NY, one of the vortexes for contacting the spirit world down by Lake Chautauqua. Her neighbor is a Russian immigrant from Israel who organically raises chickens and sells the eggs, which are available at the veterinary at $3.25 a dozen. I have given dozens away as gifts, a new shipment is coming in next Thursday, if you're local, let me know if you're interested.
These eggs are raised by someone who talks to her chickens as they run free eating summer insects and dandelion blossoms. Raised by someone who is part of the Lilydale community of mediums and psychics, and therefore are eggs of the cosmos, eggs of stardust, eggs watched over by a thousand seraphim, manifest apparitions, and the souls of generations of chicken guardian angels, former farmwives who had coops. These are celestial eggs.
They come in all sizes in the carton, shades of rust brown, and take a good crack to open. When you spill the orange yolk into the buttered frypan, it stands up and roars, girdled by thick whites. Eggs like this are strong willed and fierce, and deserve a crisp corner of toast for dunking. I like mine once over easy, to make sure the gook gets fairly solidified. Salt and pepper.
Cakes rise, omelets ascend, cookies fortify, boiled eggs are unctuous and hearty due to their upbringing and residence at the Positive Thought Veterinary. I shall give this a try, usually I take things as they come, figuring events are life-building experiences that everyone has a swing at. Truth be told, however, if I could scoot out from under some circumstances, that would be gravy. Oh, by the way, don't believe that idiom "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." The hell it doesn't. Too much will beat you down and put you through the machinations of despair.
So, the consensus here is....? We can use the assistance of a spiritual thought process to create positive outcomes, or that we are dealing purely with reality and the cards fall where they may, or, do we just want paranormal eggs for breakfast?
You get your jammies on and do some reading before bed tonight. Think of those happy chickens roosting for the evening in their nests of straw, unseen hands blessing their productivity. Snowbell has sacked out already, exhausted by the trip. I am ready for a late supper and will not turn in until she is dreaming of squirrels and sparrows. You might dream of sparrows, too. Little brown bundles of feathers, tucking heads under wings, breathing in, breathing out. Sleep well.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Digging for Dollars
It's that time of year, job is over and there is a month or so between paychecks...it gives me time to read, catch up on the Master's degree, and commissions for work. I do portraiture as a sideline, but not too often as it is like running fingernails over slate to get it so that it looks like the subject and not a near relative. This midsummer season of no incoming money is the time when you take a serious look at the canned goods you squirreled away just like your parents did.
This year, even the farmer's market vegetables are expensive, for example, Brussels sprouts are going for $2.79 a pound. Peaches, in season here, are bringing $1.99 a pound--I paid $1.23 for one peach the other day. It was a good one, but for that price I can go to the Sav-a-Lot and get two cans. Not the juice runs down your face kind of peaches that you eat over the sink, but still peaches. Sort of.
Stretching that old dollar means you excavate every winter pocket and go twice through dirty laundry looking for change. You are lucky if you have a man in the house, for they flop on that couch and lose coins every time they shift their rumps. Dig, sister, dig! Believe it or not, and you really have to be hard up for this, check clothes pockets at the thrift shop. Go to the self-service car wash and look on the ground near the vacuum hoses, you would be stunned at what kind of money people throw out.
Today, after choking up a hefty payment to Sallie Mae, I did a review of what kind of jewelry do I have, and is it worth selling? Most of my stuff looks like it came out of the bottom of a cereal box, I am easy to please. One of my favorite necklaces is an orange and yellow fishing bobber on a yellow cord. There are those stamped out metal bugs, I have a cicada; earrings made of varied glass beads, cheesy cha-cha rhinestone pins, sterling silver rings, a lovely Tibetan bracelet that turns my arm green and some of mom's old doodads.
What else could I sell? What other venues would bring in cashola? Just enough so I don't have to cook up the aquarium fish for the protein. I always get skitzy this time of year, and usually it turns out okay. Of course last year I forgot to pay September's rent, so maybe that's the reason there was money available.
I can't rely on finding money at the car wash, maybe you will see me selling my little Klaus Nomies on eBay. It would be like selling a miniature part of the family, but the cats told me to hell with attachments or we'll eat your nose off while you sleep.
I have clean sheets for tonight and two appointments in the morning. One dentist for the human, one rabies update for Princess Snowbelle. Let your worries float by if only for a moment. Rest your head, let it sink down into the pillow. Auntie 2seahorses is watching you dream.
This year, even the farmer's market vegetables are expensive, for example, Brussels sprouts are going for $2.79 a pound. Peaches, in season here, are bringing $1.99 a pound--I paid $1.23 for one peach the other day. It was a good one, but for that price I can go to the Sav-a-Lot and get two cans. Not the juice runs down your face kind of peaches that you eat over the sink, but still peaches. Sort of.
Stretching that old dollar means you excavate every winter pocket and go twice through dirty laundry looking for change. You are lucky if you have a man in the house, for they flop on that couch and lose coins every time they shift their rumps. Dig, sister, dig! Believe it or not, and you really have to be hard up for this, check clothes pockets at the thrift shop. Go to the self-service car wash and look on the ground near the vacuum hoses, you would be stunned at what kind of money people throw out.
Today, after choking up a hefty payment to Sallie Mae, I did a review of what kind of jewelry do I have, and is it worth selling? Most of my stuff looks like it came out of the bottom of a cereal box, I am easy to please. One of my favorite necklaces is an orange and yellow fishing bobber on a yellow cord. There are those stamped out metal bugs, I have a cicada; earrings made of varied glass beads, cheesy cha-cha rhinestone pins, sterling silver rings, a lovely Tibetan bracelet that turns my arm green and some of mom's old doodads.
What else could I sell? What other venues would bring in cashola? Just enough so I don't have to cook up the aquarium fish for the protein. I always get skitzy this time of year, and usually it turns out okay. Of course last year I forgot to pay September's rent, so maybe that's the reason there was money available.
I can't rely on finding money at the car wash, maybe you will see me selling my little Klaus Nomies on eBay. It would be like selling a miniature part of the family, but the cats told me to hell with attachments or we'll eat your nose off while you sleep.
I have clean sheets for tonight and two appointments in the morning. One dentist for the human, one rabies update for Princess Snowbelle. Let your worries float by if only for a moment. Rest your head, let it sink down into the pillow. Auntie 2seahorses is watching you dream.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Phasers on Stun
Well, I say, nine times out of ten you will get a nice person on the other end of the telephone line. Today, I got number ten. No names will be used. Yesterday the state told me to call Sallie Mae as the loan was getting ready to go into default. Today I did, and #10 snidely told me it was too late and how was I going to pay the 2,548 dollars right this minute? If I didn't they would be able to foreclose on my house. That's fine with me, as I live in a rent-controlled apartment building, but #10 went onto a barrage of what they will do to me, but what could I pay today? At this point, fifty dollars is big money, so that is what I offered. "That won't help, I'll take the fifty dollars but you need to pay $1,274 today to put a stop on this. Can't you borrow the money from someone?" Never. I would not ever do that.
Phone phobic me told #10 that I had just paid out of pocket for a master's course and that I hadn't any more than the $50 to spare. "You could have put in for a forbearance." Well, damn, I did; once online, got no response, sent it in writing, got no response. At least I have a very strong memory that I did, but with me, who knows. Paperwork is around here somewhere. He is lecturing me that my wages will be garnished regardless, "You could have called." He said that about three times. I know me better than that.
I asked if I could speak to someone else, he said that anyone else would be telling me the same thing, that they will take my wages and blah and blah and you and you. I said "I guess so. Thank you for your time," and hung up. I hated crying on the phone and I think he was enjoying it as an underscore to the bullying.
I don't know what to do, except I will call again tomorrow and if #10 answers, I will hang up, but that won't resolve anything, so maybe I have to face the little creep. The other lady at the state was so pleasant and helpful with arrangements, I got all brave and then met this tinhorn tyrant.
I wish him a pleasant day, I'm sure the family will be happy to see him when he gets home, I'm sure his family consists of a poster from Star Trek and a box of Hot Pockets. No, no, that's not me, I USED to have a STNG poster, but that was long ago in front of my exercycle. What's his face, the Number One guy. I bet Number One could kick #10's butt around the parking lot.
Sallie Mae has been helpful many times before, this phone-answering person is not a good representative. The corporation is in trouble, and has had to answer to NYS District Attorney Andrew Cuomo as far as some practices. Apparently, they receive three billion dollars worth of requests each month with only one billion coming in from investors to cover. They also are questioned about relationships with certain universities. But that doesn't help me other than wondering which large corporation may themselves be garnished by the federal government.
What a mess. Who the heck knows. I may not have a job this fall anyways; better news is that my friend says they can't put me in jail because there is no debtor's prison here.
No, no, don't worry, Auntie 2seahorses will be fine. You just watch. Words can take you many places, I'll just find a good place tomorrow. Good night, sleep well.
Phone phobic me told #10 that I had just paid out of pocket for a master's course and that I hadn't any more than the $50 to spare. "You could have put in for a forbearance." Well, damn, I did; once online, got no response, sent it in writing, got no response. At least I have a very strong memory that I did, but with me, who knows. Paperwork is around here somewhere. He is lecturing me that my wages will be garnished regardless, "You could have called." He said that about three times. I know me better than that.
I asked if I could speak to someone else, he said that anyone else would be telling me the same thing, that they will take my wages and blah and blah and you and you. I said "I guess so. Thank you for your time," and hung up. I hated crying on the phone and I think he was enjoying it as an underscore to the bullying.
I don't know what to do, except I will call again tomorrow and if #10 answers, I will hang up, but that won't resolve anything, so maybe I have to face the little creep. The other lady at the state was so pleasant and helpful with arrangements, I got all brave and then met this tinhorn tyrant.
I wish him a pleasant day, I'm sure the family will be happy to see him when he gets home, I'm sure his family consists of a poster from Star Trek and a box of Hot Pockets. No, no, that's not me, I USED to have a STNG poster, but that was long ago in front of my exercycle. What's his face, the Number One guy. I bet Number One could kick #10's butt around the parking lot.
Sallie Mae has been helpful many times before, this phone-answering person is not a good representative. The corporation is in trouble, and has had to answer to NYS District Attorney Andrew Cuomo as far as some practices. Apparently, they receive three billion dollars worth of requests each month with only one billion coming in from investors to cover. They also are questioned about relationships with certain universities. But that doesn't help me other than wondering which large corporation may themselves be garnished by the federal government.
What a mess. Who the heck knows. I may not have a job this fall anyways; better news is that my friend says they can't put me in jail because there is no debtor's prison here.
No, no, don't worry, Auntie 2seahorses will be fine. You just watch. Words can take you many places, I'll just find a good place tomorrow. Good night, sleep well.
Monday, August 4, 2008
One Foot and Again
This morning I made a bone density, dental, and vet appointment and called New York State about loan management. Usually, I fear the phone and either blank out on what the person said, or incoherently end sentences. This day, I made up for several years of dilly dallying and will call more people tomorrow, I only blanked out once.
It took me years to make a decision to become a teacher because I knew I would have to call parents regarding behaviors, permissions, and illnesses. Cell phone? That took years also, and I still don't know my number, I had to enter it in the directory. The phone is in my purse for emergencies, and is really useful if I remember to charge it.
I registered for a course in Fiction Writing, starts in September, online. Excited. I tell you, nothing, nothing stays the same. If you think life slows down when you reach your mid-fifties, I am here to say get your roller skates ready and grease the surfboard.
In the meantime, I think I need a glass of milk to calm down, all this is very stimulating, the phone calls, the registration, the talking to government employees. Tomorrow, I will get out of the apartment and fly down the sidewalks. Oofa. Better post tomorrow, my head is spinning with indulgences and dreams. From Dreamville, love to all. Susan
It took me years to make a decision to become a teacher because I knew I would have to call parents regarding behaviors, permissions, and illnesses. Cell phone? That took years also, and I still don't know my number, I had to enter it in the directory. The phone is in my purse for emergencies, and is really useful if I remember to charge it.
I registered for a course in Fiction Writing, starts in September, online. Excited. I tell you, nothing, nothing stays the same. If you think life slows down when you reach your mid-fifties, I am here to say get your roller skates ready and grease the surfboard.
In the meantime, I think I need a glass of milk to calm down, all this is very stimulating, the phone calls, the registration, the talking to government employees. Tomorrow, I will get out of the apartment and fly down the sidewalks. Oofa. Better post tomorrow, my head is spinning with indulgences and dreams. From Dreamville, love to all. Susan
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Here it is, the city of Buffalo, where several of my close friends once lived, but have taken root elsewhere. It has been more than awhile since visiting any of them, and it may be even longer. I am ready to go, Amtrak to Boston takes fifteen hours no lie, for $115 each way. That is a hella long time sitting on your arse--I did it once before and swore not to do it again.
I drove to Boston once and since driving is fun for me, the eight hours it took to get there was worth the 2005 price of $168 for gas one way. There was beautiful scenery, and to get there is one straight drive on the thruway right into Beantown. My complaint about Boston is that There Aren't Any Street Signs, so you don't know where you're at, and by this time it was dark. I was able to call my friend who directed me right to his apartment, you wouldn't believe how many times I drove over this huge bridge.
Flying is my second favorite travel option after driving, the sensation of being lifted up and taken through a navigable medium is my idea of a good time. The Greyhound bus lines, however, are the cheapest at $155 round trip to Boston. Plus boarding two of the cats. Plus additional pet sitting. Plus food and whatever. Plus my teaching contract may not be renewed, I will know by August 31. Ahh! Do I go or do I stay??
I haven't been on a trip in two years. Damn those gas prices, or I'd hop in the car and go. I am going to go figure some things out on paper. I'll be up for awhile, you go on ahead. Love to all.
I drove to Boston once and since driving is fun for me, the eight hours it took to get there was worth the 2005 price of $168 for gas one way. There was beautiful scenery, and to get there is one straight drive on the thruway right into Beantown. My complaint about Boston is that There Aren't Any Street Signs, so you don't know where you're at, and by this time it was dark. I was able to call my friend who directed me right to his apartment, you wouldn't believe how many times I drove over this huge bridge.
Flying is my second favorite travel option after driving, the sensation of being lifted up and taken through a navigable medium is my idea of a good time. The Greyhound bus lines, however, are the cheapest at $155 round trip to Boston. Plus boarding two of the cats. Plus additional pet sitting. Plus food and whatever. Plus my teaching contract may not be renewed, I will know by August 31. Ahh! Do I go or do I stay??
I haven't been on a trip in two years. Damn those gas prices, or I'd hop in the car and go. I am going to go figure some things out on paper. I'll be up for awhile, you go on ahead. Love to all.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Something green with long legs was moving on the shiny linoleum of a big box store. Who knows how he got there, but this bright green grasshopper-type katydid was disoriented and destined to be crunched by a cricketcidal matron or kid. I scooped him up and took him outside to the ornamental bushes on the side of the building. This demonstrates that I am not a killer; remember that.
My bathroom has become a spider suburb, an offshoot of the city-living spiders on the Outside of the Screen. Little wee uns, middle size mamas, and long shinned daddies are pouring into my, My bathroom way beyond allowable limits set by our government. The window screen has separated from the frame, and a miniature neon arrow lights up at night, pointing the way in. It will cost about $22 to get fixed, it is not something at the top of the list for the landlord to fiddle with.
I have a favorite hardware shop run by a family who will reinforce the thing with super strong screening tough enough to deflect a kick from a Clydesdale. No tricky spider fingers will be able to peel this baby back so the family can crawl under the fence. The others that are trying to move in will face the Vortex Spider Suckomatic vacuum hose to a debris laden death. Oh, wait.
The vacuum cleaner I have is a bagless model, so the critters will Not be sucked into a bag, but will swirl around with the cat hair and dirt and possibly dine on dust mite suppers and come out of the situation hardier and more robust. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger may apply to this situation. There could be some pissed off prisoners ready to rumble when I empty out the plastic canister. Remember this, too, when you purchase a bagless model; you may have to face the bugs you just vacuumed and apologize.
The bug spray I have only slows them down. It says right on the label "spiders" but when used, the spider disappears for a day and then returns with a stronger immune system, whilst I gasp and get visions of Mexico upon inhalation. Hairspray stickies them up and induces them to sing "And Ah Am Tellin' You, Ah'm Not Going" from Dreamgirls.
This will not go on much longer, Monday I will dislodge the frame and wipe off the millenia of spider detritus before taking it in to the hardware. Then the screenless window will be invitation for every Tom Dick and Harry arachnid to slip in between the other outside screen and the window. No, no, this isn't a big deal, I'll get through it with rubber gloves and chocolate. Maybe some dark sponge candy, which I never knew wasn't available in other parts of the country until my friends started asking me to send some out.
There have been storms, downpours, on and off all day, with brilliant sunshine inbetween. You would walk past yards just soaked with rain, yet remain dry, it was over that quick. Makes you breathe. I missed the GardenWalk but in the Elmwood Village, there are many front yards burgeoning with flowers wet from the sudden showers. I saw a puppet show today by an artist who performed as part of the Infringement Festival. She does the work of six geniuses, this woman of electric blue eyes; it was going to the performance with friends which caused me to be up in the Village among some of the gardens. No spiders were evident among the blooms.
This evening calls for more showers; two of the cats growl when the winds kick up. Myself, I enjoy the rain and look for the clouds that come in off the lake. Sleep easily and blessed. Find some clean jammies. Close your eyes. Let night come.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Grace and Beauty
If we didn't have sweat glands, we'd pant like dogs. The inside of our car windows on the driver's side would be a mess. We'd get yelled at for drooling on the linoleum. We'd laugh when the yeller cracked a tibula after sliding across the kitchen on it. Arf arf arf. Sweating has its blessings, but I am ready to jump out of this sticky skin from all the debris it attracts.
Invisible dust motes layer themselves and it feels like I am wearing a coat. Furthermore, anytime I lean, I stick to that surface and have to carefully peel myself off backwards; if I am lucky, the red welts defining a peel are usually in obscure areas and not too large, unlike pillow welts. Nothing like getting up to go to work and having a road map imprinted on half of your face.
You know, I think I will go defrost the freezer. There is a thick blanket of permafrost encasing a bag of peas and some other stuff, maybe a baby mammoth that you could have and then make an Ice Age Surprise casserole. You'll be the talk of the town, wouldn't that be sweet? And I could fit the ice cube trays back in and wouldn't have to drive really fast to get home before the bag of ice I bought at the store melts.
Really, the oddest thing in my freezer right now is a bag of lima beans. Mmmm. I do enjoy those. Ask me what the strangest thing ever was, and I would have to say the bunch of nine garter snakes an amateur herpetologist gave me along with a dead gecko. I was all ready to draw them, but after they thawed out, they were kind of floppy and melty. Sadly, they had to go in the big garbage can in the trash room in an unmarked unidentifiable plastic stinky bag. Don't tell me you'd like a sketch of melted garter snakes, it's too late now.
I think it goes back to childhood, when I'd bring home bits of animals found in the fields. You could do more with them when they were dead than alive. I avoided whole mammals, as they were juicier than scientific investigation merited. My mother had found a dead grey squirrel when she was a child, and brought it home and dressed it in doll clothing, until my grandparents found out where the smell was coming from. Pushed it around in a baby carriage. They were poor, but I think part of the fascination was from the idea of a little squirrel face looking out from a bonnet. Maybe that reasoning is how she got married to my father.
No clouds have yet appeared in the east for the predicted thunderstorm. I always sleep better in a storm, and it usually cools down the air. Can't wait. Sleep well.
Invisible dust motes layer themselves and it feels like I am wearing a coat. Furthermore, anytime I lean, I stick to that surface and have to carefully peel myself off backwards; if I am lucky, the red welts defining a peel are usually in obscure areas and not too large, unlike pillow welts. Nothing like getting up to go to work and having a road map imprinted on half of your face.
You know, I think I will go defrost the freezer. There is a thick blanket of permafrost encasing a bag of peas and some other stuff, maybe a baby mammoth that you could have and then make an Ice Age Surprise casserole. You'll be the talk of the town, wouldn't that be sweet? And I could fit the ice cube trays back in and wouldn't have to drive really fast to get home before the bag of ice I bought at the store melts.
Really, the oddest thing in my freezer right now is a bag of lima beans. Mmmm. I do enjoy those. Ask me what the strangest thing ever was, and I would have to say the bunch of nine garter snakes an amateur herpetologist gave me along with a dead gecko. I was all ready to draw them, but after they thawed out, they were kind of floppy and melty. Sadly, they had to go in the big garbage can in the trash room in an unmarked unidentifiable plastic stinky bag. Don't tell me you'd like a sketch of melted garter snakes, it's too late now.
I think it goes back to childhood, when I'd bring home bits of animals found in the fields. You could do more with them when they were dead than alive. I avoided whole mammals, as they were juicier than scientific investigation merited. My mother had found a dead grey squirrel when she was a child, and brought it home and dressed it in doll clothing, until my grandparents found out where the smell was coming from. Pushed it around in a baby carriage. They were poor, but I think part of the fascination was from the idea of a little squirrel face looking out from a bonnet. Maybe that reasoning is how she got married to my father.
No clouds have yet appeared in the east for the predicted thunderstorm. I always sleep better in a storm, and it usually cools down the air. Can't wait. Sleep well.
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