Binks Meets the Toddler, or "Is That Pee?"

The day after the main mass of my old place was transferred to the new place, I went back and picked up my sweet fur-bellies so they could get acquainted with their new environment while I was here to provide comfort for their traumatized little emotions.

I put them in their carriers and secured them in the back of the truck and began the 25.3 mile drive from Titusville to Cape Canaveral. I was entreated with many vocalizations along the way and several different decibels, most of them very high in the megahertz range.

On arriving we met Shannon, her father, Don, and her 20-month old son, Tristan. I left the cats in their crates on the floor but opened the doors so they would know they could get out if they wanted. Tristan, who is just about the same size as Binks, thought this was a fabulous arrangement and proceeded to try and crawl inside the crate with Mr. Bond. Binks took advantage of this distraction by attempting to slink out of his crate behind Tristan's back so he could find somewhere to hide.

Just as he was about 3/4 of the way out of the crate, Tristan squealed with glee because Mr. Bond hissed at him (this is apparently hillarious to a 20-month-old). Binks panicked. Moved at lightning speed, he dashed from the crate onto the smooth wooden flooring of the foyer. Problems immediately emerged to impede his retreat. 1--he has no claws with which to grip a smooth surface; 2--the foyer is VERY smooth and uncarpeted; 3--he was peeing steadily as he ran because I hadn't considered whether he'd visited the box before stuffing him in his crate--his paws, tummy, tail, OK pretty much everything below the head, were all drenched.

I eventually caught up with him as he flailed in place in the middle of the floor and put my hand down on his scruff, effectively immobilizing him. Don, still somewhat out of sorts by the initial mad dash, was a bit beside himself as he looked at the floor ... and looked at Binks ... and looked at Shannon ... and looked at me ... and finally asked in utter disbelief, "Is that pee?"

And thus the foyer was christened by Binks during his first 60 seconds in his new home.

So I Moved . . . Again

Yeah, that's me. One step ahead of something. I have no idea what I'm trying to stay ahead of, but doggonit, I'm staying ahead of it.

Yep. All that stuff. Moved it again. In the same boxes it was in the last two - sometimes 3 - times I moved it.

I did however, unload the fabulous Vanilla colored sofa and love seat that I purchased on arriving in Florida. I sold those to B since he loves napping on them so much. They are beautiful, but two things prevented me from carrying them along. The first is the constant frustration of trying to keep Vanilla colored fabric from showing every black hair my sweet little fur-bellies leave behind--and they leave behind a LOT of hair. The second is space. I am now the secondary renter and thus have the two smaller rooms. My new roommate/land lady already has a lovely set of eggplant colored living room furniture which thankfully does not show all that black hair. I guess there's a third reason, too. I didn't want to bother with a storage unit to keep them for some future date when I'd have to...move them again.

I also left B the free furniture I got from Erin when he moved last year--the futon and entertainment unit. I've visited the old place since I left, and he is making good use of these, and of the pantry/work bench I put in the kitchen to make up for the horrible lack in storage space there.

The rest of it all came. About 1/4 of it still remains in the garage patiently awaiting the moment that I remember the rule I set for myself upon moving in (and promptly forgot)--that being "never go upstairs empty handed." That lasted approximately 1 week.

In my defense, though, I've had a mutant in my armpit that first made it painful to move because it was big, painful, and growing rapidly; then I had it removed and had 2 feet of sterile shoe string shoved inside the hole to drain any remaining OOK out of it. NOT a process I recommend for any conscious individual. Dr. Blue Eyes said it was an abscess about the size of a golf ball. Felt more like an elephant, but he's the one who got to see it. Personally, I didn't want anything to do with the bloody pussy thing. Ew.

So I haven't been online much in the meantime because I was using Shannon's (new roommate) PC, which currently has a virus of grand proportions, and not nearly enough RAM. I think Yaw's working on those issues for her. I couldn't use my PC yet, because I needed a wireless network card or some such creature to access Shannon's wireless router. Yaw fixed that for me as a Christmas gift--yay! I am still having a problem getting onto Guild Wars, but I think I know how to fix it--I'll bat my eyes at Yaw again! ;-)

Ahhh...It's good to be back on my own PC.

I look forward into sunrise;
At night, Orion leads the way.
A mystery awaits me;
A challenge for my day.

I give blessings to the sunrise;
For its gift of hope and light.
I give thanks to strong Orion;
His strength upholds me in my plight.

If lost I shall find solace;
Where it will always be.
By day or night, the brilliant sky;
Is watching over me.

Though the trip was twice as long as last time, the visit was still all too short.

The colors were beautiful; Fall is in full swing in North Carolina and Virginia and all the trees are dressed in Autumn's finest.

It was great to see everyone, especially Mom. I know she's not happy about being where she is, but she is making wonderful progress and should be home before Christmas if all goes well.

I got to see some old friends, and missed some others. I completely missed every opportunity to hash even though I really wanted to see all my old friends from my former kennel. Oh well. I'll be up again sometime and will try again then.

I'll take making that drive with two people over going solo with two cats any day. Good company, good music, good scenery, and cuddles and smooches during the potty/gasoline stops. No better way to travel. ;-)

Today, since I was still off, I was at the house catching up on cleaning that didn't get done while I was gone. Interestingly, the messes continued to be made. At least the cats were fed, and their flea problem seems to have taken leave of them. Whew!

Neighbors took note of my presence and the fact that windows were open to air out the place, so I was interrupted at least every 20 minutes for some inane purpose or other. But they brought me boxes for my upcomming move, too, so that was good.

I go back to work on Monday, so I still have a weekend left to relax and recover. Going to have to do a whole bunch of laundry. Let's see, $3 per gallon to drive to Yaw's house and use his stuff for free (about 1/2 tank which equals about $18), or $2.75 per load to wash (at least three loads before adding in the dirties from the trip) and $1.25 per load to dry 3 blocks away? For a $2 difference, I'll talk to Yaw, but he leaves again tomorrow for on-site work with a new client. Sigh.

I'm very much looking forward to my new place with a washer and dryer RIGHT THERE in the house!

Rob says she sounded like she was in good spirits when he spoke to her yesterday. Jan says she's heard that being there is causing her stress.

I will see for myself in a matter of days, whether she is Queen Rose in audience at the place where she is healing, or if she is tired and scared and just wants to go home again.

It tears me into lots of teeny tiny pieces to know that she has gone through this painful time and I have not been there at her side every second, to comfort her and do everything I can to make the healing go faster.

And I know that it tears up my Father even more that he had to make such a hard decision - to put her in that place so she could heal, and have people right there at hand all the time just in case anything happened.

He's always been so strong, so forceful, in his conviction that he must be the protector and make everything right. Maybe that's where I get it from. I feel I have in some way deserted my family because I have not dropped everything and run up there ages ago. It doesn't matter that they told me I should stay here and keep my plans to be home at birthday/Thanksgiving time. They promised to tell me immediately if things went south and I should come up.

It took every grain of self control I had to not ditch the rent payment and fly up after her hip broke. Even more self restraint was required when I heard she was feeling unhappy there.

This is the woman who held me when I cried for absolutely no reason as a teenager; who, when I was separated and feeling so insane and unstable, sat on the floor of my room beside me in spite of the pain it caused her to sit there, and rocked me in her embrace until the sobbing subsided and I could breathe again. When I was losing my baby, she was there, at my side, crying too, but giving me all the strength I needed to get through each moment. This is the woman who sat through each concert or play that I performed and made sure I had the most beautiful gown, who supported me the entire way.

How in the world can I sit here one second more knowing she might need that same support from me? I tried calling her, but must always be timing it wrong. I know she has Dad's phone, but I don't think she can check the messages. I just want her to hear my words; to know I'm with her, that the miles between us mean nothing.

I can't wait to see her. My Mother. Queen Rose.

Hmmm...

I don't have anything to say, really.

I was just busting Mayberry's chops for not updating often enough, so I felt I should update my own.

Then there's the Coolest Thing Ever that's been on Hiatus since ... FOREVER. I can't post a comment on that one, though. They don't let you. :=(

Must I be the blog police?

Spanking for everyone! (Note the lack of a plural. That means something.)

I wonder if the chicken soup I made is cool enough to put away yet so I can go to bed. If not, who knows what craziness I will inflict on the blogs of my friends and relations!

Oh yeah. And about those fleas. Two weeks my sweet a... That stuff lasted about 4 days and the cats (and I) are still being bothered by the little fiends.

I'm seriously considering selling all the furniture, or heck, just giving it all to charity, and buying the blow-up furniture they sell as gags. Or maybe just camping furniture. They make a full variety now; you can get beds (on a metal frame), chairs, folding tables, side tables, pretty much anything you'd want.

Then I'll shave the kitties once a week so the fleas can't hide. And rip up the horrible brown-puke colored carpet that comes with the apartment. I'm sure the management won't mind.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

What is it, in our humanity, that makes us forget that all the other humans are merely human as well?

Styx Album Cover

When I was coming home from work yesterday afternoon, the air was freshly washed by a heavy downpour.

The sky was full of clouds and yet managed to also be brilliantly bright blue. As I turned east to head over to K-Mart on my way home, I saw one of the most clear and perfect rainbows I think I have ever seen. It was a complete arc, which doesn't always happen, and it spanned the entire width of my vision.

Nestled within its arms, huge clouds of black, grey, and white all tinted with shades of the oncoming sunset, equally huge patches of clear blue, and one large, glowing moon at 3/4 stage, doing its best to outshine the sun.

Now that I was completely wowed by just the sky, out of the south came an airplane, making its own counter arc and flying right through the center of everything.

It reminded me of an album cover from Styx, from their early years before Dennis DeYoung took over. It was amazing.

Infestation

My life is destined to be dramatic in every way, in spite of the fact that I really prefer non-drama. This week's theatrical piece took the form of billions of itsy, bitsy, jumping, biting, and very annoying fleas.

I've lived in Florida about 2 1/2 years now. There hasn't been a single flea on my cats or in my home since I got here. A short while ago, I allowed some friends of my roommate to take shelter here while they rearranged their living arrangements. They had no pets anymore, but they used to have at least one cat. I took some of said cat's toys off their hands, thinking to help them out, and thinking the boys would enjoy them. I'm pretty sure that's where the fleas came from.

Since then, a great deal of items of cat paraphernalia have been removed from the apartment. This weekend, I had a lot of things planned, which I still managed to attend. But smack in the middle of all of my plans, I had to get up early on Saturday (OK not as early as when I worked at McD's, but still earlier than I wanted to). I got up, located a couple of newspapers, two sets of foggers (I wasn't playing with this) and a large package of Arm & Hammer baking soda.

I came home from the store and loaded the boys into their carriers (surprisingly, Binks still fits in his - I expected to need to buy a bigger one). I backed my truck up into the shade and opened all the windows and left the back open so they'd get the wonderful breeze, then came up here and began the extermination process. (There was no way I was leaving this up to management considering how the AC issue has been treated.)

Over the regular counter spaces, I simply laid newspaper out to protect the surfaces. In areas of the kitchen where B and I keep our boxed foods, spices, cooking implements, etc., I bunched things as close together as I could and piled them up where possible so I could bundle trash bags over them. In my 850 sq. ft. apartment, I laid out 5 bug bombs. I wasn't playing. I put one in each bedroom, one in the hallway space between the bathroom and AC unit, one in the kitchen and one in the living room. I wasn't thinking about the fact that the one in the hallway was positioned under the smoke alarm, and as I set off the last one in the kitchen, I heard the alarm going off. (Have to remember to replace those batteries.) I made sure the neighbors knew the place wasn't really on fire so they wouldn't try to get into the apartment, used said neighbor's sink to wash the poison off my hands (my claws got in the way when setting the switches) and got into the truck with boys.

My plan was to drive around Titusville for the 2 1/2 hours the bomb packaging said I needed to allow. And that's what I did. Why drive around instead of board the cats somewhere? 1-The cats have fleas. Couldn't leave them with a friend, because then the friend would have fleas. Couldn't afford boarding prices because I'm trying to save up $$ to go home in November. 2-Where was I going to spend that 2 1/2 hours anyway? Might as well spend it with my terrified babies trying to comfort them as much as possible. There were lots of places in Titusville I had yet to drive to by myself. Might as well check them out since I had all this time to kill.

So, I turned on the AC and drove out along the road to the nature preserve on the Cape. I found some interesting side roads that were open to the public, that I'd never been on before. I spent the first hour and a half driving these. The only glitch during this time: I found a secluded spot to pull in and try to give the boys some water, and to pet and comfort them. I parked the truck and went around to the back, opened it up and sat in the rear with the cats still in their carriers. We were in a park pavilion that wasn't currently occupied, and the area all around it was nature at its best. Any number of dangers lay in waiting for two hapless cats who were fully declawed and never spent more than 60 seconds outdoors. So I didn't take them all the way out of their carriers. I opened the doors one at a time and blocked any leaps of faith with my body. There were none, though. They were very frightened.

As I opened the door for Binks, and began trying to coax him to drink water, two cars pulled up into my secluded area. I tried to signal them to go on past me (I could tell they were hesitating at the sight of an unfamiliar vehicle there). They didn't go past, so I closed the door on Binks and walked over to the first car to explain that I'd be leaving in just a moment. The driver looked into the back of my truck and asked what I was doing with those cats. Oh, great, I thought to myself, they think I'm trying to feed my cats to alligators. I explained that we had a recent flea infestation and I was driving around town (or the wilderness) until I could go back into the apartment with the cats. They nodded dubiously and waited for me to pack up and leave before proceeding forward to the pavilion. As I left, I watched for park rangers to come chasing me down and take away my cats. Thankfully, none appeared.

After this, I decided to go ahead and risk having the cats be scared by passing motorcycles (noise) and stick to more populated areas. Besides, I was hungry for lunch. I came back out into town, called a couple of people about Saturday's plans, and pulled into the drive-thru at Wendy's. I took the food to a local "mall" that doesn't really get much business, and parked in the back parking lot. I ate my lunch, then tried again to get the boys to drink some water. No luck. They were way too upset by all this, and I really couldn't blame them. I took each one in my arms for just a moment and petted their heads and loved on them, then put them back in their boxes and got moving again. (While we weren't moving, the AC wasn't running and it gets pretty hot back there.)

Only about 45 minutes remained at this point, so I just did a wide circle around the outskirts of town, then headed back home. Upon arrival, I parked the truck in the shade again and left everything open as before. Mike and Tabitha's girls were out playing, so I asked them to keep an eye out and make sure the boys were alright. They were happy to help. They're really sweet girls.

I came upstairs and opened up the house - every window, the sliding glass door; all of it. I turned the AC on full blast and turned on every ceiling and floor fan. I went back outside, took a puff on my inhaler, and sat with my babies for about 30 more minutes before trying to re-enter the disaster zone. Much better. I still wanted something over my face, but it was mostly breathable.

I moved fast and furious to clear everything away, vacuumed up the poison and baking soda from the floors and furniture, mopped the kitchen and bathroom and cleaned off the surfaces that weren't covered. Once I got everything to where I thought the cats wouldn't be too bothered, I brought the boys back inside and opened their cages. They were nervous about stepping out, just as if I had taken them to a totally new place and they weren't sure what to think.

Poor little guys. Not only have they been through numerous baths and flea dips lately (I had to put them back on Advantage, darnit) but then they got drug around in a moving vehicle (which they hate) and when they finally came back home, it smelled funny. I'd be pretty upset too.

But, when I walk across the floor now, nothing jumps up onto my ankles and bites me. When I pick up Mr. Bond and ruff his tummy fur (where it's white and I can see the little buggers) I don't see any fleas. They both still scratch. I hope that's left over skin irritation. The fogger package says the whole deal may have to be repeated two weeks later. In the meantime, I'll give the boys a couple more baths with the medicated shampoo the vet sold me. That seems to help.

This coming weekend doesn't have quite as much activity planned. Let's hope no new drama decides to inflict itself upon my boys and myself. Yaw will be out of town for work again. We suddenly have a rash of new clients and he has to go install all their stuff. So I'm hoping for a mostly quiet and restful weekend. And I'm sure my cats are as well.

130 X 3

This is my 130th post according to my dashboard. Seems like I only started this stuff last week, but when I look back and see my older posts, I think "Jeez, don't I have anything to do with my life but put posts on here?"

Another 130. This weekend, 130 hashers gathered in Cocoa Beach, FL. We partied, we ran (some of us walked), we played drinking games, we sang bawdy drinking songs, we laughed and smiled, strained our bodies together in a joyful communion.

Now the party is over, the clean up is done. 130 hashers are presently returning to normality and the mismanagement staff is happily going over the weekend; did our visitors have a good time? did everyone get enough beer, enough food, enough whatever it was they needed? did we represent ourselves well and truly as BVDH3? I think that we certainly did. I think most of mismanagement will say they don't ever want to host something so large again. I also think that if I were to be given that task again, I would want exactly the same crew online to make it happen. It is exhausting work, but such a pleasure to see the other hashers so happy and know that we helped make it happen for them.

Now I've got to make my own return to normality. What's the third 130? The number of pounds of sweaty, smelly laundry I need to wash for Yaw and myself. Exactly one pair of jeans, one pair of socks, and a towel came home not smelling like sweat, beer, or some other unknown substance. I must have had a great time too...

The Great Sky Painter

...was practicing on the Florida sky again this afternoon, and some more at twilight.

Ahhh....

Stormy Weather

Wow, Nature is beautiful.

So there's this storm blowing outside. I have a vacuum to fix, so I'm mostly not aware of it as I take the beast apart again so I can install a new belt and hepa filter. When that's done, I give it a test run on the living room floor (hoping to at least make a fair swath in the kitty litter debris all over the carpet). At 9 p.m. I run the vacuum across the floor one time and get more hair, kitty litter and shoe gunk out of the carpet than the last 4 attempts combined. I'm tempted to continue, but I think I've probably strained the patience of my grouchy downstairs neighbor quite enough for the moment.

I empty out the canister and put away the vacuum cleaner and notice that there is some very heavy wind blowing about outside. Then I notice a freight train's whistle and "chugga-chugga" sound as it passes by up along US1. (Yes it was really a train and not a tornado.)

I step out on the walkway to watch the wind blow things about. Off to my right I can see the outside lights from another building. They shine through the branches and dangling Spanish Moss. The wind whips through the branches and causes the light and shadows to move like wild, enraptured dancers, whipping and twisting in the ecstasy of the moment.

I find myself pulled out closer to the edge of the walkway where I am no longer sheltered from the rain being blown towards the building. I feel the soft tingle of thousands of raindrops as they crash against my skin and run down my face, arms, hands. My feet feel the moisture on the walkway's concrete and the coolness of the surface is welcome to them.

It is humid tonight. According to the weather forecast, humidity is about 90%. With the wall of water whipping and twisting about on the rooftop across the way, I think to myself it's a good bit more than 90%.

After a few more minutes of letting Nature vent her fury on me, I decide to return to the shelter of the Palm Tree House and comfort my terrified Mr. Bond. And try to convince him to walk on the freshly vacuumed floor. Looks like I need at least another pass before it's up to his standard. Picky little fiend.

Kitty Care

The cats have been playing a game lately, called "don't touch the floor." My guess as to the cause of this is that my vacuum doesn't suck lately. The only thing in a normal day that is supposed to suck, and it doesn't.

I've taken it apart and checked every hose and passage for blockage. There is no blockage. I've taken the belt off and checked it for wear. Though the vacuum's instructions suggest it should be changed once every 12 months, the belt looks good. The filter is the kind you can take off and wash so you can reuse it. I do that every time and don't put it back on until it's dry. The hepa filter seems in good shape.

To be sure, I decide to go to Wal-Hell where I bought the vacuum and find replacement parts for these three things. Can't hurt. Wal-Hell sells the replacement parts for the vacuums they are currently selling. They are not currently selling the model I bought there over 2 years ago. None of the packages say they will work for my model. I'll have to try Sears. I'm not buying another vacuum before exhausting every possibility with this one. No.

In the meantime, I have had to make defensive lines across every counter top and table top surface in the apartment. And I took Mr. Bond's carrier down from the closet and have left it open for him. The reason? If I find my butter dish scattered across the floor and glasses broken because they were pushed off the counter by a kitty butt again, Mr. Bond will be an ex-danger kitty. He's cute. He's lovable. He's not impossible to get mad at.

Another step I have had to take is to reinstate the bath torture. This is as much torture for me as it is for them. This used to be a rare event, mostly because of issues with my back, which become much worse after the fight with each of the cats.

Back in VA, it took 3 grow-ups to bathe one cat. It's not like they hadn't been taking baths their whole lives; I bathed them once a week from the time they were kittens, up until they became too big for me to fight by myself. I'd speak in soft sweet tones, telling them they were good little babies, and cooing at them as much as possible. I'd work quickly so as to diminish the amount of time they spent in the horrible water. I'd fill the sink (and later the tub) with water ahead of time and test it with my elbow, just like for a human baby. Sometimes, there is no way you can bathe a cat without causing horrible trauma. And when the boys grew to full-sized cats, they became too much for me to handle on my own.

Well, here I am, all on my own again and they still need the occasional bath. I have to work myself up to it. I still follow all the same steps with filling up and testing the water ahead of time. I make sure the rinsing bowl, shampoo, and pile of towels are readily available before the cat is ever deposited into the shallow end of the tub (the sink in not an option in our current arrangement). The cat is carried lovingly and tenderly into the bathroom, cooing and petting all the way. The door is closed behind us and an extra push is given to make sure the latch clicks in place. I carefully kneel down on the floor in front of the tub, cradling Mr. Bond and cooing as my joints pop and my muscles begin their protest.

Mr. Bond, aka Danger Kitty, takes great offense at the degrading treatment of being set down with his feet and under-belly standing in water. The fight begins. I continue trying to use calm soothing words and tones. For Mr. Bond, this is somewhat more effective than it will be when Binks faces his turn. Holding Mr. Bond with my left hand, I carefully begin pouring water onto his back and sides with the bowl. The howling would suggest that I am actually drowning the poor fiend. I take the shampoo bottle and squeeze a line down his back, quickly push the cap closed and toss it aside, and begin massaging the shampoo into his fur--back, sides, underbelly and tail. I try to get at least a little on the sores around his neck. The hard part with this is that this medicated shampoo needs time to sit on the skin and fur in order to do its job. Yeah, right.

I try my best to mollify Mr. Bond while continuing to massage the shampoo deeper into his fur. I figure it's the only way I'm going to keep it on him long enough to have its intended effect. Eventually, I think the eternity has finally reached its end (it's probably only been two of the five minutes it should have been), and I reach for the rinsing bowl again. Mr. Bond senses an opportunity to escape and attempts to make good on it. I'm impressed with my own reflexes as I narrowly miss being batted in the head by his read paws as he launches himself from the tub. Quickly, I turn and pick the soapy, sodden fiend up from the floor in front of the door and wrangle him back into the tub where I waste no time in starting to rinse him before he can escape again.

The hard part is finally complete and I hold Mr. Bond still while I reach for the drain plug so I can let as much water out of the tub as Mr. Bond will allow before making another leap. The tub is almost completely drained, and I have managed to get one of the towels draped across my arms, ready to catch him, when I finally release my hold.

Mr. Bond once again takes flight. This time, instead of ducking, I move to catch him with the towel. I am partially successful. The bottom half of his body is wrapped in the towel. The top half is wrapped around my head. I have a cat's belly on my face, and his paws are batting at my ears as he attempts to free his lower half. I wrangle another towel off the toilet seat and manage to wrap it around the cat (around my head) and finally get him off my face.

Spitting fur out of my mouth, blowing it out my nose, and reaching for tissues to rub it from my eyes, I hold Mr. Bond, wrapped in swaddling towels, and is the toilet lid while I dry him as much as he will allow.

One battle down. A major war left to fight. Take the drama and stress of bathing Mr. Bond, add about twice the body mass, and multiply it all by a factor of 10. That's what it's like to bathe Binks. I need to lay down and cry for a while.

I stood on the balcony, telling Yaw goodnight, and looked up through the branches of the oak tree at the masses of puffy white cloud moving through the dark sky.

The air was cooler, at long last. Not much cooler, but at least it wasn't still 85 degrees at 11 p.m. And the humidity was down quite a bit. I wished I had a bottle of wine so I could sit out in my chair and stare at the sky while sipping. Alas, all I had was beer. Not quite the same thing when I'm trying to get those creative juices flowing.

Wine is for thoughtfulness, artistic creation, philosophizing. Beer is for mindless partying or drinking at the neighborhood barbecue.

So I stood a few minutes more, watching the clouds move so a triangular gap opened up, revealing an opposing triangle of stars, twinkling like a mystical pair of eyes and a nose in the middle of the darkness. OK, so maybe I didn't really need the wine...

The sky this afternoon is once again a painter's pallet of cloud formations. I especially liked the look of the leading edge of some anvils on their way towards the area from the West. Sort of like the edges of clam shells, but glowing from within.

I took pictures on my phone and will endeavor to transfer them to my pc to share.

I enjoyed taking pictures of them in the Taco Bell parking lot with hungry people watching me in utter confusion.

Why is she taking pictures of the sky? Are we being invaded? Martha, get your aluminum foil helmet out from under the seat and put it on, quick!

What does it mean when "The Coolest Thing Ever" takes a hiatus?


Does it stop being cool for a while?



My cat is lying in the middle of the floor at my feet, paws sprawled out in all directions, fat white belly spot daring me for all I'm worth to not play the "belly, belly, belly" game on it as I go past for some water.

Darn. The neighbors closed a car door and he moved.

I am in the process of buying a bicycle from Deb. She bought a new one, and didn't need the head-cracker anymore. I like the bike; it's got wide handle bars and a wide seat and it's a comfortable ride so far. I need a helmet though, just in case it wants to keep cracking heads.

This morning I took it out before it could get too hot for me to enjoy. I rode in circles around the complex several times, just getting the feel of it. It's been a long time, and there's a lot more of me than there was the last time I rode a bike, so I'm letting myself get used to the process again. This is the third time I've done this within the complex. I will break out into the real world with it over the next few weeks, once I feel more confident.

There was some rain last night, which has mostly dried up already, but a few small puddles remain. The kid within demanded that I ride through each puddle I found, and I happily obeyed. The circles I was doing were no more than an acre in diameter. But when I came back around to puddles I'd gone through, my tracks had already vanished and all signs of my passing were gone.

It's going to be another scorcher with temps in the mid 90's, even with a 60% chance of rain. Good thing I did it this morning. ;-)

Whew!

I'm glad that pink attack is over!

Random Words

From various email conversations with various friends. Yes, we often email in mono-case type.

*people have a crazy tendency to hear a vague possibility of a moderate change and translate it into definite proof of impending, painful and messy doom.

*holy screaming babies batman!

*i have no idea what you're talking about... so here's a bunny with a pancake on its head.

*I could just dip him in ranch dressing and eat him.

*I've never seen a crane with invisible wings before. You should sprinkle salt on them so he can't fly and then you can sell tickets to see him.

*SORT OF LIKE A KIDNEY STONE. WON'T BE PLEASANT, BUT IT'LL EVENTUALLY WORK ITSELF OUT.

*I might be lying.

*Q: do you have fitty cent?
A: i'm not into gangsta rap. but i have some quarters you can have. i'll hold them ransome...

*That would seem very logical.

*No need to confess unbidden. Just move forward.

*Stop making me snort chewing gum.

*pastry, of course, being my favorite way to commit suicide.... who knew?

*Evanism of the day: If you sit on a cactus, it will poke your bum.

ATTENTION

This blog has been attacked by a pink monster. All viewers are advised to take caution when approaching this blog. The possibility exists that incautious viewers may find themselves covered with pink flowers edged in starched white lace.

Please bear with us while a sedative is applied to the blog so that a template more suitable to Marvelous Mystical Magical Mad Madam Mim can be installed to replace it.

Up, Up, and Away

The shuttle launched again last night, once again taking a school teacher along for the ride. No horribly tragic explosion this time.

I drove over to Searstown Mall and parked, then called Yaw. "I'm just leaving work," he said.

I waited a few minutes, then realized that while he could run from here to our viewing spot, with the heat index around 105 and the air so think it would stick to you, I knew I'd be risking an asthma attack if I waited for him and had to run. It's only about a block, so I took my ice-cold bottle of water and started on my way.

As I approached the street corner I spotted Deb and Ian crossing US1 with their bikes. Yaw called to ask where I parked and I told him, and said I was already on the move. He parked next to me and headed out to catch me up. I reached Deb and Ian and we chatted while I watched constantly behind me for him to make it around the corner. He made it with about 2 minutes to spare.

We stood, chatting, all of constantly aware that at any time we should see the tell-tale candle-stick glow. I worried that we wouldn't see it as well because of the thick haze. No worries. We could see just fine.

We stood and watched until we could no longer see the microscopic dot of light in the sky--a distant star moving farther and farther away.

Random Ramblings

I went to a friend's house after work and shared some idle chat and some wine. It was a pleasant evening, well spent. We talked about cats and I mentioned a cat I grew up with who had coloring similar to her cat. Foxy was a stray who wandered into the front door one winter day and never left. She had numerous litters of kittens, and some of those kittens remained with us their whole lives. Foxy was a terror though. She weighed no more than 4-5 pounds and was all fur, claws, teeth and purr. I remember one time a big German Shepherd came into our back yard thinking to play with the little kitty. Foxy chased him all the way down our street, yowling in terror the whole way. Somewhere in my box of photos, I have a picture of her face surrounded by blades of grass, looking at me with her piercing green eyes. If I can locate it, I'll scan it one day and put in here on the blog.

When I came home, B had our parking spot, so I parked over by the mailbox and walked in. The temperature was a little cooler (finally) than it had been during the day, and there was distant lightning occasionally adding hints of purple to the dark-blue of the evening sky. As I walked the 500 feet to my building, I took advantage of the time to enjoy the street lamps shining up into the oaks and palms with their Spanish moss dangling down. I remembered how the moss has always reminded me of spooky places and eerie scenes because it has so often been present in ghost stories of the south and various caricatured stories of dire times. It still brings that sense to me, but not as vividly as it used to. As I looked at one palm tree, I took particular notice of a frond that had come loose and fallen into the basket-weave of fronds that grow up the sides of the trunk. It was positioned perfectly horizontally and with the wide flair of it's frond at one end, and the straightness of its stem at the other, it seemed a perfect Floridian semblance of a witch's broom. The witch herself was missing, but I felt she was most likely just lolly-gagging about in some of the nearby Spanish moss.

Another friend of mine has recently discovered some unpleasant extra features within her person. Trying to keep things light, we spoke of it as if it were simply some alien visitor that would soon be leaving. She'll have surgery for it, and everyone is fairly certain that will be the end of it. Jokingly, I told her she would have to take lots of pictures of her hair as soon as possible just in case the alien requires more persuasive measures to be evicted. She laughed and we joked about how she could buy wigs and be a different person every day. She said she'd buy the cheapest, most horrible wigs she could find, just because. And I know she would. And I would laugh myself to tears over every single one.

There was a rocket launch this past Saturday in the early morning before the sun was up. I had intended to wake up and drive over to the little park by the water to watch it. I forgot to set my alarm. I also forgot about my hair appointment until 10:15 when my phone woke me up with a message from Michelle asking if I was still coming. I didn't forget to feed the cats though. You just don't forget something like that unless you're completely oblivious to the constant weaving of rubber-fur-meow creatures in, around, on, around, under, around your feet. I don't think I would have made it out the door alive without feeding them first. As usual, I walked out of the salon with movie-star fabulous hair, which remained until last night when I finally gave in and washed it so I could try to repeat her styling. Yeah, right. I managed a flattened length, with a tiny bit of curl at the bottom. But the curl was cute, and definitely more than I usually do for a regular day at work. Of course, it was pulled back in a clip by the time the day was half over.

More Art by Shaposka

The Morning of the Last Day

Earthset

The City and The Stars

I was searching the Internet for pictures of Jupiter and came across this. I liked it so much, I saved it and made it my wallpaper. This is called thecityandthestars by John B. Shaposka. I have decided that I really enjoy Mr. Shaposka's work, and I will seek out more of it.

Chameleon Revisited

Deb had mentioned to me once or twice that there was a great little pet shop up by Publix (a higher quality grocery store in this area) that has some of the more exotic pets. I was out that way getting my hair done recently and decided to go take a look. I was curious if they had any chameleons that had feet like the Panther Chameleon I had painted (and still have). I've gone out on the Internet looking for a good close up picture of their crazy feet, but I guess I'm the only freak who is fascinated by them. There are plenty of pictures where you can sort of see their feet, but nothing that I could put on here that you wouldn't need to enlarge to see.

The pet store was not a disappointment. I looked in every single cage and aquarium, and they really do have an interesting array of exotic (and more mundane) pets. I ogled the chameleon's crazy feet as much as it would allow. They really are not the most social creatures and I was met with looks of distrust by one eye, while the other concentrated on a nearby leaf.

I was proud of myself when I looked in on the tarantula without doing my normal reflexive heeby-jeeby shiver. I still wouldn't be interested in being in the store if the spider came out of it's case, but at least I didn't squeak at the sight of it.

The pets I found most intriguing (aside from the chameleon) were the chinchillas. They had a cage out in the middle of the store with maybe five or six chinchillas in it. Chinchilla lanigera is the scientific name. According to some websites I looked at, they can become tame and bond closely with their captors (I mean humans). I put a finger up near the cage, though, and the one who seemed to be interested in human interaction was actually more interested in nibbling at human fingers. So I satisfied myself with ogling them as well. They are cute in a strange, furry creature sort of way. According to the Internet (because it knows everything), they are good as same sex pairs, especially with litter mates. I didn't look to see how they are with other animals, like big fat cats. It's a moot point. I know how my big fat cats are with other animals and it would never work. Not that I'm looking to bring a third pet into my house, or anything; they were just really cute.

This is Urquhart Castle on the shores of Loch Ness, Scotland. I visited the area several years ago with a choral group from Virginia.

The group went to England, to sing with our sister choir in High Wickham, but I paid extra to stay an additional week. My hosts, Barry and Jenny Street, helped me make arrangements for my second week after original plans I had made became suddenly moot.

During my extra week, I stayed in Edinburgh at a wonderful bed and breakfast, whose name I wish I could remember, but the hosts were absolutely wonderful to me. I was in Edinburgh for the festival of Beltane and took one of the "ghost tours" in the tunnels (catacombs, sewers, whatever) under the city.

That was for the first few days. The rest of the week I traveled north into the lower Highlands, to a city called Inverness. It lies on the river that leads into Loch Ness and was showing signs of rapid development from a small community to a busy tourist area. My bed and breakfast there was somewhat of a let-down after the wonderful treatment I received in Edinburgh, but I still enjoyed the city.

One day I spent the entire day walking around in the countryside. I had taken a bus into the hills to look for what I thought would be the location of a stone circle mentioned in a novel by Diana Gabaldon. (The novel is Outlander and I am currently reading the latest installment in the series, A Breath of Snow and Ashes. She's a wonderful writer--well able to make you love and hate the characters as if they were the people in your own life. She also puts a great deal of research into her work so the historical aspects she draws on are not too far taken away from the history we are taught--just enough to be realistic and still have the lift of fantasy. I have been in love with Jamie Fraser, the story's hero, since I read the very first passage about him.)

Umm... yeah. I was telling a different story, wasn't I? So I walked around the hillsides looking for the battlefield at Culloden, which I found, and the stone circle, which I don't believe I found. I found a stone circle, but I doubt it was the right one. During this adventure, I also found landmarks that referenced places I had heard of in Scottish music. A band called Silly Wizard has a song on the one album of theirs I owned, called the Valley of Strathmore. I passed through an intersection with crossroads signs on it, and one of them pointed towards Strathmore. I had to take a picture of that for myself and my sister, who loves the song (and the group) as much as I do. Of course, I also promised to bring her back a big Scotsman, kilt and all. I didn't completely manage that, but I did get pictures of a bagpiper in full tartan, and got a Beef Eater to speak on a tape recorder for her. That was great.

Well, enough reminiscing for the moment. I need to get beautiful for a wedding this afternoon. Not mine! Some friends from the hash decided to get married, so of course, all the hashers are invited as well. Several of us pooled our funds and bought them a kegerator. Perfect gift for a hasher, especially since the groom is our current beer meister. I think we may have even gotten enough money together to put the first keg in it for them. I love hashers.

Bumper Stickers About God

I'd like to know what makes bill board and bumper sticker writers think they know what's going on in a god's head -any god, not just the Christian one, though most of what I see is about that one.

I mean, driving down the road at any given time, you'll see at least one bill board or bumper sticker that's telling you something "God" says, wants, does, or believes. How did the person who wrote that know? Are they a direct conduit of "God's" thoughts/emotions?

Today, on my way home, I saw a bumper sticker that read "God doesn't believe in atheists." OK, now. First, how do you know what "God" believes? Did he tell you? Second, here's a pretty standard definition of the term "atheist": One who disbelieves or denies the existence of God or gods. So, if "God" doesn't believe in atheists, that means he thinks everyone believes in him. Sure they do - that's why there are so many atheists hanging around. This "God" fellow has a few issues if that's the case. I think he needs some therapy. I'll send Gaia over to talk to him about it. Or maybe Buddha or Allah. Or how about Zeus or Odin? Lillith, maybe? Hera? Osiris? Can I stop now? Do you get the point?

Really, people. If every god says they're the only one, or the only right one, which one's wrong? Can we all PUH-LEASE stop stomping all over everyone else's beliefs? Or, at the very least, can we all please not get all huffy and self-righteous whenever someone says "I don't believe the same thing you believe?" It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with what you think, so stop getting defensive. For goodness' sake, people, just accept that there are differences in thinking and move on and stop trying to convert everyone into YOUR mindset. It's just silly. You should all just believe what I believe and be quiet.

I wanna go! Wanna go with me?

Potter Heads

OK, I think he's groovy enough to come out to a midnight pre-release showing in the middle of the week. That doesn't make me one. I'm only a fan.

A Potter Head is along the same lines as a Trekkie. They dress up in costumes like they wear in the movie, even to the point of carrying around sticks carved to look like wands. They adopt phrases and terminology that aren't part of their regular world. All I can say is that I'm glad no one was wearing a tall, pointy hat. At least no one in front of me; I can't say about the people behind me.

I am not speaking against them at all, believe me. Let's face it; I've got no room to tease them. When several hashers decided to meet at the pre-release party for Pirates 3 (Arrrgh!), we all whipped out our favorite pirate-y gear, some of which was quite impressive. And then there's the whole hasher thing. I mean, hey, tomorrow my kennel is having our annual Red Dress Run where everyone wears a red dress (EVERYONE) and we move from one bar to the next drinking and leaving behind mystified "muggles." (Yes, we adopted the Potter Head term to replace our former term, "civilians." They both mean non-hashers.)

Anyway, the movie was good. It felt a little slow but I chalked it up to the fact that Transformers was so darn action-packed. It kept Yaw's attention in spite of how close to sleep he was during the pre-show ads. His sister, who had just returned on a plane from DC, managed to stay awake as well after not getting any sleep.

I noticed that everyone looked very different from last time. Not just the kids but all the grown-ups as well. OK, Maggie still looks like Maggie, but everyone else looked changed in some way or other. Some of it could be chalked up to someone different doing hair/makeup/costumes, etc. But they felt different too. Not unpleasantly so, but definitely different.

But it was a good movie and anyone who likes the story-line to date should watch it. It's way too late for me to up typing on the pc, even on a Friday, so I'm taking my scratchy eyes to bed. Go to the movie!

Transformers - More Than Meets the Eye

Double dose of Tylenol Cold. Bag of Halls Menthol Liptus cough drops in my purse. Once the popcorn is gone, pop two cough drops at a time until they're gone, then do it again until the movie's over.

We waited a year for it to come out - we saw the previews after last year's 4th of July shuttle launch. I can't even remember what movie we watched; I just remember we made the date right then. When it comes out, we'll go watch it together.

I left work early today because of my cold and my lack of sleep (because of my cold). Deb and I had many brief conversations about my guilt over leaving early combined with my determination to get to the theatre with Yaw to see this movie TONIGHT. The conversations mostly consisted of Deb saying "Just go." My folks raised me to think that if you didn't finish your day's work, you had no business going out to play at night. I think I can deal with the guilt.

I went home. I slept - upright because when I tried laying down, the cough was just too annoying and persistent. I got up around 4:00 and moved to the couch to sleep another 30 minutes or so, then I looked up the times online and sent Yaw a text. I was going, darn it all. We finally agreed on the 7:15 showing and I told him to call me when he was leaving work.

Six o'clock came. He called. We went. We saw. The movie kicked Transformer Booty! It rocked and rolled. I want the soundtrack. Yaw wants the movie. And all the action figures. And he wants his car to be a Transformer. (It would be a really cute one, I'm sure.)

Now I'm supposed to get a good night's sleep. Guess I'll be hitting the Tylenol Cold Night Time. Branden loaned me his jar of Vick's ointment, which is also helpful. Doesn't smell all that great but it really does soothe a cranky chest and nose. Tomorrow I may or may not be up for fireworks. But I will definitely put my little grill to work on some hot dogs and boneless country ribs. MMM Yum.

Residents In My Mailbox

If one were to count the number of people living in my apartment by the names that appear on envelopes in my mailbox, the place would be extremely overcrowded. I'm sure immigration or other government organizations would be watching the place very carefully.

Since I've moved here there has been a constant flow of mail coming to my address for people who do not live here. I'm not talking about the "Resident" or "Our Friends At" mail. I'm talking about the names of real people, or maybe the fake names real people gave to businesses to get stuff.

It started out as just two names that kept showing up, and I assumed they were previous residents. Now the list has grown, and I've lost count, but I think it must be somewhere in the neighborhood of ten or eleven different names. Once, I even received a notice of a certified letter for one of them. When I went to pick it up (feeling very confused because I had no reason to expect such a thing) I was taken aback by the name on the envelope and told the postal worker ("Wait a minute mister postman") that not only did I refuse to pick up the letter, the recipient doesn't even live at that address.

Either my address is very popular, or I am very popular, and everyone wants to get in on the action. It would be nice to find more mail in the mailbox that does actually say my name, though - besides bills, I mean.

I've decided, after reading the "Spiders" info a little more, that this dream must be about the more positive sides of the spider dream figure.

There was webbing, but not enough to endanger me. The spider wasn't limited to one location, but ran all around the room, it never bit me, and I never smashed it (even though I thought about it).

All said, it must be a positive dream. Now if it would just tell me what it's trying to tell me...

So I made Yaw read my blog about the spider in my dream, and being the helpful man that he is, he hopped over and did a quick search on http://dreammoods.com. I'm still working on how this all translates out in my dream, but it's pretty interesting anyway. Thank goodness I didn't moosh the spider, though!

To see a spider in your dream, indicates that you are feeling like an outsider in some situation. Or that you may want to keep your distance and stay away from an alluring and tempting situation. The spider is also symbolic of feminine power. Alternatively, a spider may refer to a powerful force protecting you against your self-destructive behavior. If you kill a spider, it symbolizes misfortune and general bad luck.

To see a spider spinning a web in your dream, signifies that you will be rewarded for your hard work. You will soon find yourself promoted in your job or recognized for your achievement in a difficult task. Spiders are a symbol of creativity due to the intricate webs they spin. On a negative note, spiders may indicate a feeling of being entangled or trapped in a sticky or clingy relationship. It represents some ensnaring and controlling force. You may feel that someone or some situation is sucking the life right out of you.

To see a spider climbing up a wall in your dream, denotes that your desires will be soon be realized.

To dream that you are bitten by a spider, represents a conflict with your mother or some dominant female figure in your life. The dream may be a metaphor for a devouring mother or the feminine power to possess and entrap. Perhaps you are feeling trapped by some relationship.

The Spiders in My Dreams

Last night I dreamed of a spider in a room of my dream house. By dream house, I don't mean the house I dream of owning. I mean the house I walk through in my dreams--constantly changing, with many secret or hidden places that I am always surprised to find even though the house is really a dream representation of my soul, my spirit, the place where my internal or subconscious self lives.

There is a room in that house where I used to play music, but apparently I haven't lately. But in my dream I went into that room for some unknown reason; not to play music, but to find something maybe. I'm really not sure. It's probably not as important as "Why haven't you been playing music in there?" but that's a question to ask on another day.

When I entered the room, there was evidence that it had been used, perhaps by another resident of the house (I am never the only one "living" in my dream house. It is occupied by the people I know and care about as well, although their presences tend to be more like long term visitors.) I walked into the room to find shoes, crumpled papers, other discarded items, all tossed about on the floor as if forgotten in a rush to leave. I decided this was unacceptable and that I should tidy up, and would most likely find the item I wanted in the process.

As I was moving one of the crumpled papers, I didn't take notice that a portion of it was a glossy white, almost like a very expensive paint job on a car, and that the white had other colors in a pattern on one side. I did take notice, however, when the object decided I should not be moving that piece of paper and attempted to chase it down.

With my view no longer blocked by quite so much refuse, I could see the spider a bit more clearly. This is not a spider I've ever seen in nature, so I'm sure it's a presence my subconscious wants me to consider. The body was the shiny white carapace describe above, and the colored pattern (reds and oranges) went down both sides. A section of midnight blue velveteen fur surrounded the bottom of this, then the long grey legs stole the show. The legs looked like long and bony human fingers that came to a point at the ends.

As spiders usually are, this one was both fast and nimble. My normal reaction is a mixture of "Kill it!" and "Run away! Macha! Macha!" (Caveman, if you didn't get the reference.) This occasion was no different. I took offense to the creature taking over in my music room, and was disgusted to find that in its rampage about the room, it was leaving a fresh trail of gossamer for me to pass through and be ickified. Bleah. It was never enough to endanger me, but it only takes one little strand to gross me out.

I never did catch up to the spider, but was still in the process of deciding whether to smash it outright, or to try to capture it and sell tickets to stare at it, when someone joined me in the room (because I was making a ruckus and they wanted to know why). Both of us were now crashing about the place trying to get the spider; the other person (I'm inclined to say male, but don't know who he was supposed to be) attempting to catch it, and myself still unsure what I wanted to do with it. The spider continued to elude us, which is generally the way of spiders. He began tossing bits of food out for it (where the food came from I have no idea and don't want to know) and it seemed to be interested in that.

Unfortunately I woke to the alarm at about the second toss of food, so I will have to wait until the next time I come across this creature to know if the food offerings were accepted. But now I know they may help to figure out what the blasted spider is doing in my music room. Maybe it's just a reminder. Hey, remember the music? Don't you want to come in here and play some more? (Actually, my dreams almost always have a soundtrack of some kind, just like a movie, appropriate to the mood. I can't remember the soundtrack of the dreams most times, but I always remember that it was there, and it always seems to be appropriate to the current activity in the dream.)

I used to have a book, or maybe I was just borrowing it, that gave common meanings of things you see in dreams. I've always believed that whatever the common meanings are, sometimes dream objects, presences, and occurrences mean different things to different people, and each person has to translate her/his own dreams based on the personal meaning of what is seen. But that book did say a few things about spiders that I always remember when I see spiders in my dreams. It means one thing if you see the spider on the wall and another if you see it on the floor/ground, and something else if you kill it. Of course, now I can't remember which means what, but I think maybe if it's on the wall, it's supposed to be good news. I have no idea what it means if the thing is running circles around you in the room, all over the floor, walls and ceiling. I'm just glad it didn't swing around from the ceiling fan and leap onto my head. Macha! Macha! I'll have to see if I can find that book again in a store.

Celebrating in Small Ways

Yesterday, I left work within 15 minutes of when I was actually supposed to leave (pretty good for me). I had a plan. I had sent Yaw a text the other night and told him the grill was built and two steaks were marinating. We agreed that he'd come over after work and we'd break it in.

I got home, got some charcoal into the grill and got it lit, I lit up the bug candle I'd bought and went in to feed the fur bellies. They were a bit miffed because I did these things before feeding them, but I needed the coals to have as much time as possible to heat up before Yaw got here so we would be able to eat soon after.

My plan worked perfectly. Except for the part where I thought the $12 package of 1 1/2 inch thick steaks would take much longer to cook than it did. Fortunately, I checked on them and discovered the error in my calculations. Mine came out close to perfect, but Yaw's looked like a piece of the charcoal on the outside. I was very disappointed that he didn't get a perfect steak the first time around, but now that I know how fast this critter works, I can adjust for that in the future.

So we sat down and ate, and I said this was a small celebration for me in my grill building triumph, but it was actually a celebration for him as well. He's picked up a side job doing consulting work for a travel company. It's not like a McHell side job where you stand in the lava pit all day even though your body is screaming for water and rest. He can do this from his own home (or wherever he happens to be with all his techno-geek gear that I love so much).

Speaking of work, I guess I'd better get ready for that. Not independently wealthy yet, but still working on it!

Nice recipe for a cheese fanatic on a sleepy evening:

Dinner:
1 left over pork loin marinated in various of my favorite ingredients, all of which are secret and any interlopers will be shot on sight getting anywhere near me while I'm making it. For added enjoyment, this can be topped with Pineapple chunks to give it a tropical flair. The pork can be cooked on a Foreman grill if you, like me, were too lazy and tired when returning from purchasing your new table-top size Weber grill to put the blasted thing together and cook on it.

6 discs of Garlic flavored Bagel Crisps, approximately 1 1/2 inches diameter each. Top these with your favorite melty cheese and bake at 350 degrees for about 10 minutes, or until cheese is melted to your idea of perfection. My choice tonight was a mixture of English Cheddar (the only true Cheddar comes from Cheddar England), and Stilton. Yum! I call this treat "Little Boy Blues" because when the last one is gone and there is no more cheese to peel off the foil you lined the oven with, you are suddenly blue. It has nothing to do with the color of the cheese. Really. You can make this more fancy (if you really need to) by mincing up scallions or chives and sprinkling onto the cheese. Note that once the cheese melts down into the bagel crisps, only the edges where no cheese sat are still crispy. All the rest of the bagel has now absorbed the appropriately high content of oils and fats from the melting cheese. Again, I say, "Yum!"

While the discs are baking, nibble on the remnants of cheese that crumbled off the block and try your best to peel them off the cutting board with larger crumbs from the bagel crisps. Your hips won't mind and your tummy and taste buds will love you forever.

Desert:
Not really necessary with this meal, but a good beverage is requisite to wash it down afterwards. I recommend a nice White Zinfandel and Sprite spritzer on ice. Have two - they're cold and yummy. If you can watch old movies and bore the living daylights out of your roommate while you're drinking them, all the better.

Tonight, all of this was made all the better by the fact that I finally DID put together that Weber grill all by myself, even though there were all kinds of parts to be assembled. I only had two washers left over at the end. Yay me! Now, two steaks are marinating in yet further secret ingredients and the grill is out on the walkway on my cheap little home made table that came from someone's yard sale and my old rusty lawn chair is sitting there waiting for me to rest in it while I cook on my grill. Understand that when you say "my grill" it is said with utmost pride and respect. The grill is good. The grill uses fire to cook the food. Fire! Fire! Hehhhh... :-)

More Coffee Drama

How many coffee makers can one person go through in a 2-year period? Apparently 3. I am now on my third coffee maker since moving to Florida. What's with that?

The latest coffee pot drama occurred (again) on the weekend, when I am generally desperate for a cup to get me moving so I can deal with McD's. This last weekend being my last, I needed it even more to keep from making irreparable comments to the boss--just in case I ever need to go back.

I had my coffee Saturday morning, went on to work, and came home to shower and nap. I missed the Hash again because I was too tired/ouchy to walk a 3-6 mile trail then get home in time to get to bed so I could work 8 more hours the next day.

I got up from my nap and went about cleaning up my mess from the morning. I had some other dishes in the sink and put the carafe from the coffee maker in with them. I was holding a glass in my hand above the sink while I washed it, and it slipped free and landed in the sink. Right on top of the carafe. The good news is that the glass is very solid and undamaged by the fall. The bad news is that the carafe is neither of those. Sigh.

Being too tired still to deal with it, I cleaned up that mess and finished the rest of the dishes. I decided I'd just have 7-11 coffee the next morning and promptly relocated to the couch where I dozed off and on the rest of the afternoon and evening while watching pirate documentaries on the History Channel until Brandon came home at 10 and woke me out of a sound sleep.

I went to bed, got up the next morning and went to 7-11 for coffee. I got through my last day at McD's unscathed (they let me leave at 11:30 even though my shift wasn't over until 1:00.) I went home and did the shower/nap thing again and when I got up, Brandon came home shortly after. We hung out for a while, and he eventually asked about the coffee pot, so I explained the drama of the previous afternoon.

I said I needed to go shopping anyway and invited him along, so we went and did the shopping and made sure the first thing on the list was a new coffee pot. I was hoping to just replace the carafe, but they didn't have the right one, or even a suitable substitute. So once again, I was faced by a bank of super fancy coffee pots that do everything but brush your teeth for you. I eventually settled on a 12-cupper (way too big) that has the two simple things I need: an on/off switch and interrupt. I don't need a clock in my coffee pot. I don't need to be set to auto. I don't need to change how strong or weak it is (really, isn't that just a matter of coffee to water ratio?) or any of those other fancy-pants they do with coffee pots.

So we got our coffee pot, and the rest of our groceries, and headed home. We got the cats coralled into the bathroom so we get everything into the house unhindered and I sat the new coffee maker on the counter until I was ready to deal with it. Before bed, I took it out of the box and gave everything a thorough cleaning in preparation for the morning. I plugged it in just to make sure it actually got power to it. Everything looked OK, so I went to bed confident that I would have life's blood in the morning.

I got up this morning and made my normal amount of coffee, which made the pot look extremely empty, and enjoyed that first cup. Ahhh. Now I'm happy. Again.

Coffee. :-)

Rain, Work, Sleepy

Rain always makes me sleepy. Yesterday at work, the rain combined with it being Friday and a Full Moon made me a little giddy towards the end of the day. I was in bed by 9:00.

For some reason my tummy was upset and it woke me up during the night, so I ended up sleeping upright for about half the night. When a noise woke me up at about 3, I decided I could lay down again, and I slept intermittently until the alarm sounded at 4.

I remember some of my dreams, the clearest memory being of some guy on a farm or ranch who had a bunch of different small dogs. The thing that strikes me most about it is that he was a very "manly" man, like you would expect to find owning a farm or ranch. But each of his dogs had a silly little doggie-size hat on its head, and in the dream I knew that the hats were the man's idea and not some silly woman attached to him. And he talked in baby voices to the dogs. I remember wanting to get away from him as quickly as I could, and yet I was fascinated by the whole dog/hat/baby voice thing. Like watching a crash; you don't want to stare but you find you have to look.

Now I'm sitting here trying to wake up for work for my last weekend at McD's. It's still raining. Tropical whatever-he-is-right-now Barry is dumping water and wind on my apartment. That means the floor boards of my truck probably have a lake in them. I've also just noticed that my roommate has me parked in. I'm not feeling very generous this morning. He may have to get up and move his car himself since he didn't leave his keys out for me. Maybe he'll remember not to park me in tomorrow for my last day. ;-)

I am glad for the rain though. There are still a number of brush fires burning out there, which hasn't helped my asthma at all. The firefighters are saying that it will take 2 or 3 tropical systems to dump enough water on them to get the worst of them put out. Maybe Barry's contribution will count towards that. Either way, we need the rain. Water tables are very low and have been since I got here. We really need to get them built up again.

The End

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

I went to McHell yesterday and put in my two weeks notice. I was going to try to make it through June, but realized that I have several weekend events coming up that all fall on whichever day I work that weekend. The chance of me making it to any of them is about nil if I actually work my schedule first.

So I will work this weekend--I requested both days this weekend because I will be in VA next weekend. I have a paycheck coming this Friday, then the check for this weekend comes next Friday. It will be there when I return. I'll take them my clean uniforms and get my check and be done with it.

Hallelujah.

Now to find something to replace that little bit of income...

Driving home from McHell today, I was certain I was suspended in a giant bowl of baby-blue colored pudding with fluffy whipped cream all around the outside edge.

No I am not on drugs. I was looking at the sky. I do that a lot here.

A note about that last posting, Solitude. That was written just shy of a year ago; right before I got to know Yaw better.

If you're tired of the way something in your life is going, state it, face it, and continue living. If you can change it, you will; if you can't, then accept it and stay or move on without it.

I've made a decision about the second job issue. Without or without something to replace the income, I will give my two weeks notice by the end of June. My body is no longer willing or able to put up with the strain of being on my feet in a poorly ventilated kitchen on a cement floor for 8 hours at a time. And I am no longer willing to put up with the new manager, so I am following my own advice.

Solitude

It isn’t a place I want to be right now.

It is more of a prison than a freedom to me.

I continue to wait, for what I don’t know.

But I will wait until it comes to show me the way out.

And then I will walk along beside it and share myself as much as it will allow.

And perhaps, this time, it will share as well.

Shopping Carts

It's a mystery to me.

You go to the grocery store, park in the back section of the parking lot, and walk all the way up to the store. You pick up a shopping cart and continue to walk all the way through the store to get everything you need. You make your purchases and push your grocery-laden shopping cart all the back to where you parked and unload all those groceries into your vehicle. A shopping cart return station is six feet from your car, and yet you leave the cart sitting exactly where you put it so you could easily reach the car with your groceries.

Is walking that much of an issue for you? If so, why didn't you park in one of the many open spots closer to the store?

???

Laughs.
Smiles.
Hugs.
Kisses.

Four things EVERYONE ALWAYS needs.

Universal Eye

Things I like about coming home from work (aside from not being at work anymore):

-Counting the little lizard heads peaking out from under the window sills of my building.
-Turning my phone back on and listening to the butt-ton of music I have crammed in there.
-Seeing the sky, whether sunny, cloudy or stormy, in its usual Floridian splendor.
-Seeing the progress on the new Target shopping center, and thinking how excited Deb must be.
-Seeing flocks of Ibis pecking away at critters in the grass along the road.
-Getting home and being greeted by two fur-bellies who are anxious for dinner.
-Turning on the pc and reading emails from close friends and family.
-TAKING OFF MY SHOES. ;-)

The Surprise

So there I was, drudging away through a late shift that I took so a co-worker (Julie) could take her husband out to the Heart concert at King Center in Melbourne. I had a migraine that was two days old and I'd been drugged up on Darvicet and Tylenol off and on for the duration so far.

I got a call from my director. "I have Julie on the line for you."

"Julie?" I asked in complete puzzlement.

"Yes, Julie that works with you. You know, JULIE."

"Oh, OK. Thanks." Pause while she transfers Julie to me. "Thanks for holding; this is Kat." (My pseudonym at work is Kat.)

"Hi Kat, this is Julie. So, how's your head feeling?"

"Still pretty bad, but I'm making it. What's up?" (Aren't you supposed to be rockin' your tail off at a concert about now?)

"Well, crap. I was hoping your head felt better. Michael and I aren't going to be able to go to the concert because he's not feeling well and Tammy just gave me the OK to relieve you so you can have my tickets and go instead."

Pause to digest.

Pause a little more.

"You mean tonight? The Heart concert? The band I adore and was very sad that I couldn't afford to see?"

"Yep. I can be back in the office in about 30 minutes which should give you enough time to get there in time for them to get on stage. Tammy said you can leave as soon as I get there."

"Can you hold on a second?" Pause while I put Julie on hold. Then, shouting across Support "Yaw are you still here?"

"Yes, " comes back faintly from ASP.

"Come here please." Pause while he comes over. "Whatcha doin' tonight?"

"Why, what's up? How's your head?"

"My head's terrible. Do you want to go to a Heart concert for free at King Center? I won't take her tickets if you can't drive me. I can't be trusted right now."

"Uhhhh... Sure. When?"

"Opening act starts at 7:30, Heart comes on at 8. I can leave as soon as Julie gets here--about 30 minutes from the minute I get off the phone."

"Uhhhh... OK."

"Julie, see you in 3o minutes. You totally ROCK!"

Thirty minutes later, Julie arrived and off we went, flying down I-95 so I could enjoy one of my all-time favorite groups. And I did, and there was much rejoicing. Yaw enjoyed it too, for which I was thankful since he canceled his plans to drive me there and watch it with me. He sang along with a couple of songs, so I knew he liked at least some of their music. And as usual, they did a few covers. "Rescue Me" by Tom Petty, "Love/Rain on Me" by The Who, and two covers from Led Zepplin which I can't remember now but rocked my butt off while they played it.

I also partook of some of my typical people watching. Since my head hurt so much, getting up and dancing like I wanted to do wasn't an option, so I observed the people who did.

One row below us and a couple of seats over was a couple that to me appeared to be reliving their glory days as rock hounds. She had her hair in a high pony tail, wearing all black body tights with a loose black t-shirt that fell off her shoulders, and black Candies on her feet. He was in shorts, a casual button shirt and a backwards ball-cap. They were having a blast. I felt sad for them that they needed so desperately to relive their former lives, and yet jealous that they were so carefree and uninhibited while they simply enjoyed the music with their whole bodies. Their dancing was energetic and enthusiastic and just what I hope I would be doing if I felt better.

A few seats to their right was a man watching the show by himself. He didn't seem connected to anyone around him, but it didn't seem to matter to him at all. He did what I call "The White Bread Dance." He would slump his shoulders slightly and sway to one direction, bob there a couple of times, then repeat in the opposite direction. He was having a blast, without or without accurate rhythm.

Below him and a few more seats over to the right was a pair of ladies that I felt certain were part of a sorority; probably one of the more reserved sororities where the women are expected to be very quiet and polite and proper. Not all sororities are like that, but I have known a few that were, and these ladies definitely fit the type in my limited view. In their way, they were having an absolute blast. They were up and dancing (the rebellious floozies) and singing along with the music, and even put their arms up in the air and attempted to bang with the beat. Their dancing was more of a bend-at-the-knee-and-follow-with-a-shoulder sort of thing that was totally unrelated to the beat of the music. This was as wild and outrageous as they could get. They WANTED to be just like the (possibly slightly tipsy) couple down to my left, but they just couldn't get rid of those darned reserved habits. But they looked perfect and they didn't ruffle their hair or clothes while they danced, and as I said, in their way they were having a blast. So bravo to them, too.

I really wish I'd felt like getting up and being silly and dancing just to have fun. I know someone else would be observing me in much the same way I observed these people. They'd probably note that I have SOME rhythm, but I'm not consistent, and because of my size and shape, moves that I think are sexy probably look silly to them. And I wouldn't care a whit because I'd be having a good time and moving (sort of) with the music. And I'd be hoping that they get up and dance and feel the music with their bodies too.

I satisfied myself with tapping my feet, bobbing my head (TERRIBLE idea with a migraine, by the way) and tapping my hands and fingers on Yaw's knee, my knee, the armrest between us, whatever else was in reach. And of course I sang along with nearly every word, every guitar riff, every note from Ann's flute (the ones I could reach--Oh, wait. I could reach all of them). I enjoyed it to my fullest ability under the circumstances, and when I came in to work today I thanked Julie for the hundredth time and said to tell Michael that I was so sorry he had to miss, but I was so thankful to have gotten the chance to go.

The Elephant Theory

I learned something from my days as a Mary Kay rep (a long time ago) that I have carried with me and used frequently in times when life seemed to hand me a constant stream of overwhelming challenges.

You can eat an entire elephant one bite at a time.

VA Tech

I'm probably not really ready yet to write about the events there earlier this week. I know my step-son is at school there. I know he is safe - he wasn't on campus at the time. I know he knew victims.

I can only be so very thankful that he is unharmed. I feel a deep sorrow for those who were injured and killed and for the ones left behind who loved them.

The school is a good school. People come out of there ready for the world and ready to give the world their all. The student who snapped is an exception to that. I can say that I wish someone had acted more pro-actively to get him in control before this happened, but too many freedoms would have to be lost for everyone to make that a legal possibility. Sometimes, you just don't know all the facts until everything is over and the body count piles up.

I wanted nothing more in the world than to get on a plane and fly to the school. I'd spoken to my step-son. He told me he was fine. That's not the same as putting my arms around the one I consider to be under my protection. Whether or not I felt the labor pains, whether or not I changed their diapers, he and his brother are my sons in my heart; and I would do anything, including laying down my own life, to keep them from harm. I wanted to be there, to put my arms around him and shield him from anything else that may come near. Knowing his mother, she felt the same. And if I know her at all, she drove straight there as soon as she heard. Or she will be there shortly. I will be satisfied with that.

Breezes

Yesterday I was off all day. I managed to sleep until almost 9 a.m. It felt pretty good.

Yaw called about 9:15 thinking he was going to wake me up. I knew we had to head for the airport far too soon after he would arrive, so I had already gotten up and started getting ready.

He was almost to my place when he called so I finished up quickly and met him at the door. We only had about an hour to spend before we had to leave because Brandon had created some strange concoction in the sacred coffee pot and I wouldn't drink it. So, naturally we were going to have to stop somewhere (Dunkin' Donuts) so I could properly caffeinatefor my day.

At the drive-up we annoyed the poor employee while I questioned Yaw as to whether or not he wanted something and what it might be. He decided on a large white hot chocolate. White in this case described both the flavor and the temperature. He took a sip and I asked how it was. He said it was hot. I said "It is called 'HOT' chocolate." He said it was so hot it burned his tongue. I was impressed. Usually when I warm things up in the microwave, it goes in for 2 minutes on high or he thinks it isn't thoroughly heated. I sipped happily at my medium iced coffee with 3 Splenda packets, some cream and some caramel flavor. Yummy.

Off we went to the airport. We were in his car with cruise control and an engine that doesn't shake at 75 mph... oh, and a radar detector. We made great time getting there. I pulled up to the departures gate and said goodbye so he can go save a client for a week or so.

Heading home, I called Deb to see if she wanted to have some beach time with me. It would be my first visit this year. She is already a nice toasted shade of tan due to her Latina blood. She said that sounded great and said to call her when I got back into Titusville. About a minute after I hung up, I found the traffic jam - not very welcome since I had to pee before I dropped Yaw off but I couldn't go inside because I would have to leave the car. For the next 45 minutes, I spent an eternity sure in the knowledge that my bladder would not last until I reached the next sign of civilization. I reached my exit, which luckily comes out within a mile or two of Summit. And, just as luckily, I had my work badge on me so I could get in the door. Which I did, and not a moment too soon.

I got back in the car and called Deb to let her know I was finally back in town and we eventually agreed that I would get ready and meet at her house. She had her son and his friend on hand and so far hadn't managed to convince them that they wanted to spend the afternoon at the beach. I explained it was company I wanted as much as beach and, being Deb, she understood. We spent a moment playing with Clancy's snake. An itty-bitty boa of some sort. He sensed the heat in my chest from the magnifying glass effect of my windshield and was heading straight there before I stopped him. The whole scene reminded me very much of the manner by which my ex-husband and I selected the love bird we purchased. A story, perhaps, for another time.

After entertaining the snake for a few minutes, Deb informed me that our beach time would be spent in beach chairs in the back yard with a table for our drinks and crackers, and tiny boom box that her ipod plugged into it. We were in heaven with the sun and the breezes and the music. Our taste in music is identical, i.e, pretty much anything. We were set for the day.

After we had enough sun, I piled myself back into my truck and came home. I watched one of the movies I'd rented and watched the news and weather so I'd know what to expect today. I had opened up the house to let it air, but some heavy air moved in and made it too hot and humid. When I watched the weather, they said today we'd have heavy thunder storms through the morning. I decided to move my truck over to block in Yaw's car so I wouldn't have to walk in the rain on my way to work this morning.

It wasn't raining when I headed out this morning, but I was still glad I'd moved the truck. When I came home this afternoon, I opened everything up again. The rain had brought in some nice cooler temperatures so I could turn off the a.c. and breathe. Right now I'm enjoying the fruits of my efforts.

The breeze is blowing nicely, and I've moved the fan (that big honkin' fan from when my a.c. died over in the towers) into hall, to suck the air from the front of the house into the back. Where my p.c. sits I am excellently positioned to feel it passing through. Add to that the sound of the breezes blowing through the Oak branches and palm tree boughs, and I've got a heaven of a completely different sort.

I spoke to Yaw a few minutes ago. I asked how he had spent his day. He said he'd found a new website and spent his whole day staring at it. It's apparent purpose is to show every TV show ever. He latched onto the sci-fi section and all was lost. I'm sure he will do nothing but watch that until it's time to go save the credit union tomorrow.

I think I'm finally wound down enough to head to bed and get rested for tomorrow. As soon as Dresden Files is over. A girl's gotta have her goals.

I came home last night in the rain and was wearing heals. I told myself, I'll park Branden in if he's home, but just long enough to feed the kitties and change into some comfortable shoes. Then I'll move the truck.

I came inside and fed the fur bellies, then went to my room and changed shoes. Branden came out of his room as I was picking up my keys, so I told him I was going to move my truck out of his way.

He said not to bother; he's off in the morning and he's going to a party tonight. Someone should be coming to pick him up soon.

I remember those times...


. . .


We have made some changes at work with how we organize our department. We now have call takers and researchers. I chose to be a researcher for two reasons: 1) I like solving puzzles; 2) I'm really evil in the morning and I think I do not possess the correct mind set to be on the phone my entire day - especially first thing in the morning.

The first full week of this new arrangement came on the heals of the end of a month and the end of a quarter. In the financial industry that's a pretty busy time. I felt a great deal of stress all last week because of the influx of new issues to research. Fortunately, so far this week, things have slowed down a great deal and things are going more like I envisioned them (knock wood).

My stress levels are greatly reduced.


. . .


I've gotten started back into painting ceramics. (Maybe that's helping with the stress too.) I went to the only store I know in Titusville where I can buy bisque or unpainted fired ceramics and loaded up on a few pieces. I've painted a lizard and a panther and am working on a piece that is two tree stumps with mushrooms growing off the side.

Yaw and I met some folks at a recent seminar that are opening up a shop for all kinds of New-Age sort of stuff and they are setting aside space for local crafters and artists to sell their wares. I'll be taking these pieces to them in hopes of finding an easy buyer.

These are not my typical fare, but I think they look pretty good. I'm especially pleased with the lizard. When I bought it I had no idea what kind of lizard it was. The feet really threw me. When I saw them, I thought this must be some sort of fantasy creature (which would fit completely into my normal theme of dragons and such). I started looking up lizards on the Internet and after about an hour's worth of poking around discovered this is a chameleon. Not just any old chameleon, but a Panther Chameleon. Each of its four feet are split into two sections, each one looking like a complete foot. I really don't believe I can describe them clearly, but if you Google "Panther Chameleon" you'll find lots of pictures of them and you can see it for yourself.

Now I want one for real so I can ogle its feet all the time. I know, I'm not right. What else is new?