This is the Life That Is

How Can Anything I Write Be Significant in Times Like These?

Wow--it has been so long since I posted anything that I couldn't even remember the website address at first.  I've chosen, or just allowed myself, to devote energies to other things for the time being, such as my stained glass.  I'm setting out to reproduce some beautiful windows that are at the Berwyn Cafe, a vegan restaurant in College Park, MD.  The windows are not so detailed to be intimidating, but are colorful and to me, breathtaking.  They were taken from a house before it was torn down.

And its not like there hasn't been plenty of fodder for this mundane old blog--just last weekend, three of 'the guys' from work, as well as another staff person to keep us all legal, went to the Mid-Atlantic Reptile Show in Baltimore after the guys worked their tails off as volunteers setting up close to 200 tables, 400 chairs, etc. etc.  It was heartwarming, for me, to see them doing work that would have had to been done by  'normal' people, and doing it just as well or better.  And better still, they were treated like 'normal' people by their fellow volunteers, and were much appreciated.

And the week before that was, of course, the North Carolina Gourd Society's 64th Annual Gourdfest.  Fellow gourdian Karen and I attended that one, and also volunteered taking tickets at the entrance, so as to save the $3 admission and get a free GourdFest T shirt.

  Right now we are awaiting the arrival of mystery guests who will stay overnight before attending the anti-Bush march in DC tomorrow.  People are supposedly coming from CT, MA, AL, and maybe NY.  Just seemed as tho it was too easy just to go, march, and come home--it felt as tho we should do something to help out.

There is a concert at 3 PM, after the march, and Joan Baez, among others, is set to perform.  The organizers are hoping for 100,000 to attend, tho maybe some of them will be on the national mall for the National Festival for the Book, hosted by Laura Bush.  She'd better plan to read loud...

Update

Our pond now has maybe 8 goldfish.  There used to be maybe 18.  Somewhere there is a great blue heron rolling on a tree limb,clutching its belly.  On my shoulder is a Quaker parrot, biting my ear.

Good news is that, at yesterday's block party, one helpful neighbor suggested running lines of monofilament (fishing line) across over the pond's surface--said it freaks out birds.  Another helpful neighbor offered to sit, with his shotgun, and wait for the heron to return.

So, fishing line is in place.  Not invisible, but not too unsightly.

On another front, I never did dump the chopped up remains of the Creepy Plant...and yesterday I noticed that it hasn't died.  No, it has continued to grow, roots bare, trunk hacked...and yet it is succulent and growing vertically.  We should support research to discover how this can happen--and how to infuse ourselves with whatever it is that drives this plant to grow, and live.

Stranger Than Fiction

If You Build It, They Might Come

In our backyard, we have a small pond, approximately 8' x 10', man made, dug tediously into the rocky soil 5 years ago.   To my delight, we have an occasional bullfrog visit for days at a time.  We have nearly the same assortment of formerly 'feeder' goldfish that we bought to test the pond when it was first filled.  The pond has been a playground for ducklings that were hatched here in an incubator.

Last night, I walked out to the deck which overlooks the pond, carrying my dinner.  Thought I was hallucinating, but it sure LOOKED like a very large bird with long legs and neck was flying up thru the trees behind our yard.

This morning, at 7:15, as I lay half awake, heard the slightest little sound outside the opened 2nd floor window overlooking the pond.  Crept over to the window, and even without my contact lenses in, I could see a very large bird, sitting on the 'island' in the pond, made of a large flat rock resting on a milk crate.

I motioned silently to my husband to come and look,  because I doubted that anyone would believe me unless someone would vouch for my story.  I ran to get my camera, tiptoed downstairs and tried to get a shot of it out the downstairs window.  The wily bird, however, became air born as the shutter finally opened. 
This picture wasn't taken at our pond (duh) but it does look like the bird sitting on the island.  I checked a little while ago to see if there were any fish left...they didn't come up to eat, which NEVER happens.  The poor fish (including Herman, the 14" catfish from Illinois) were hovering as close to the bottom as possible, or inside the milk crate island support.  An hour later, the food remains on the top of the water.  These fish have obviously been severely traumatized...

The Fall and Rise of Azmodius, God of Fishes
Azmodius is a pacu, a South American peaceful (mostly) member of the piranha family, who came to live with us when (s)he was less than 2" long.  Though I was warned that pacu grew to great size, I thought I 'knew' that a fish's size was limited by its tank.

Azmodius grew from a 20 gallon, to a 30 gallon, to a 55 gallon tank, housed in the smallest room of our house, with my son.  We knew the 55 would have to go when he splashed water clear to the bed, a few feet away, when he was feeling frisky.   

As with the previous two tanks, a 110 gallon tank was procured, used, from someone who probably laughed with glee while holding our check and watching us back down the driveway.  THIS tank, however, was not undertaken lightly.  THIS tank was a life force in itself, much like its inhabitant. (on right: Az's chew bone)

After two years of getting by with partial water changes and filter cleanings, and facing the prospect of replacing the carpeting under the tank stand, it was determined that Azmodius needed a thorough tank-cleaning--and relocation.  Cleaning a 6' long tank that weighs probably 100# when EMPTY is not something you undertake lightly.

Azmodius USED to have a tank-mate, a plecostomes (ugly) bottom feeder that was only seen about once a month.  When the tank was drained (garden hose siphoned out the family room door) it became apparent that the pleco was long gone.  With 4" of water remaining in the tank, Az was wrapped in a pillowcase and wrestled into this 20" long plastic tub.  A naive thought of weighing him was quickly dismissed when I could barely even HOLD him.

Over the next 5 totally exhausting hours, the tank, gravel, filters, covers, et al were toted outside and cleaned, with my husband's help and navigational assistance.  By the time his home was restored,
poor old Az was looking a bit peaked...

He was placed into his tank, tho it was still a bit cooler than the tub water, but continued to look like the grim fisherman might be coming at any time...

Such was still the case at midnite, when I gave up and went to bed, wondering if the frequent question, "What are we going to DO about Azmodius?" wouldn't soon be easier to answer.

The next morning, I crept into the basement, sure I'd see a 19" long fish, floating on the top of the nice, clean water.  To my relief, and delight (I really do LIKE this fish) this phoenix of a fish was somehow upright and again folding in his tail to turn around in his tank...the LAST TANK WE WILL BUY for him (I hope he's listening...).

Another Fix for the Institution Junkie

Had a few extra minutes and my camera in my car the other day, so I stopped by the Spring Grove Hospital to look for an old favorite building.  This place is a very old psychiatric hospital, dating back to the end of the 1700's, tho none of the buildings go back that far.  This one is, of course, not open

seeing as it is filled to the gills with asbestos.  But this cornerstone, dating from pre-psychotropic medication days, is very haunting..

It is an immense building, with grates over the windows, and I could almost see and hear the poor unfortunates who likely had to live out their days with no relief from the visions and voices that brought them there.

Met the chaplain while I was there--we talked "shop" for a while.  The gulf between MI and MR is narrow in many places.

Had to take a picture of this cheery road sign when I finally found my way off the immense campus...somehow, I hope that no one has a mailing address on this street...

Top This (or don't)

Poor Psychobob has had a rough week.  I can empathize on the carpenter ants, and even tell him that he should be glad there aren't termites, too.  And the rotting wood, bummer.  But no excuse for resuming smoking--don't come blogging to ME for sympathy when your health is suffering!

But anyway.  Here's MY story.

I went for a 6 month review yesterday at the facility where my son is staying.  As I raced along the winding, narrow road in the rain, mentally rehearsing excuses for why I'd be 5 minutes late, my cell phone rings and it is...the Probation Officer.  "I'm running a little bit late and I wanted to catch you before you left work."  Gee, thanks--I wasn't AT work--I'd just driven 30 minutes from home for this meeting..."HOW late?", I ask him.  "I'll be there in 35 minutes".  AARGH!

So, maybe, had I known this, and left my house 30 minutes later, today's disaster could have been avoided.  Or, maybe not.

After the meeting, and a couple of on-the-way-home stops, I arrived home and noticed a sock on the floor of the entry hall.  This was odd...the cats and/or dog have never dragged my socks out before.  Stepped into the kitchen and noticed that all of the drawers, and some of the cabinets, were open.  A familiar feeling and a mild terror came over me.  I had set down my packages, and cell phone, but was overcome with a need to LEAVE THE HOUSE RIGHT THAT MINUTE.

Drove to a pay phone, called my husband who verified that he had NOT been home, and he left work to meet me.  I dawdled, stopping for unnecessary groceries, and when I arrived home he met me in the drive.  Policed were on their way and we were NOT to go in.

The little cop who arrived first remembered our house.  He entered, and we heard him calling out in a loud voice to no one.  At length, his partner arrived, and went in, and then they said we could join them.

There is no carpenter ant who can inflict the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing your clothing pulled from drawers, your personal effects dumped out (and rejected!) and the other unmistakable signs of an uninvited intruder.  And it got worse as we realized what all was missing.

My laptop, for one.  My step-daughter's laptop, with us for safe keeping while she is out of the country.  Cameras, credit cards, passports.  My mother's old jewelery.  My jewelery.

Larry is calling "Hello!" "Hey Lar!" (kiss kiss) as usual.  Honey trots by with her stuffed white kitty in her mouth.  They were witness to our burglar but they aren't talking.  I suspect they even knew him, and Honey probably greeted him like an old friend.

After the police left, I wandered room to room, didn't want to even touch the socks and underwear on the bedroom floor, found myself closing the kitchen drawers with my hip rather than touch them. 

Found myself thinking weird thoughts, like, why didn't they take my whole box of collected business card?  Damn, wasn't my stuff good enough?  They took my husbands...

They weren't even creative...the police said that the sock I'd first noticed was probably used to cover the person's hand--said thieves often take a pillowcase to dump the stuff in.  I looked again--sure enough--one bed pillow was minus a case.

I had to think, what if I hadn't left the house so early?  Could the P.O. have set me up, somehow (no--that is ridiculous).  What if I had come back while they were in the house? 

We went out later, to replace my computer.  As we drove back up our driveway, I had a strong urge to not go in.  Wished that we could move...right then.  Felt almost a loathing toward the house.  It was not ours anymore.

Today is a little better, but it is still not right.  What people say when this happens...that you feel as tho you've been violated...is exactly right.

And now we can gear up for identity theft...a woman tried already to use one of the credit cards...

So, PBob--let's just call it a "No Good, Very Bad" Week.  I hope that it improves (could it get worse?  well, actually, yes...).  Good luck with your course...just remember how to eat an elephant...

Dental Reflections

It is almost 10 months since I ceased to be a mom.  I mean, a REAL, hands-on, 24-7 mom.  I think about it less and less; when I do think about it, it is hard to imagine living through it, especially those last very difficult weeks.

But lately (never begin a sentence with a preposition) I've been feeling like an outsider with regard to typical 'mom' stuff--as it is thrown in your face at this time of year.  Backpacks and notebooks on sale (remember when "Trapper Keepers" were a must-have item?).  Back-to-school sales.  For many years of my parenting, these events were anticipatory in a positive, exciting way.  Eventually, they became almost an exercise in futility, a ritual that was followed, grudgingly and with much prodding on my part, for the sake of following it more than because it would accomplish anything.

New clothes, new backpacks, pens, binders--these do nothing without intrinsic motivation.

Today, I waited in the dentist's office to see if a very much abused tooth could be ressurected one more time.  In the waiting area were mothers with kids--fitting in that late summer checkup before school begins, along with scheduling nightmares.  My 'child' was here just last week--but it was not I who brought him.  It is almost as though HE was janked out of my life like my tooth will, sooner rather than later, have to be yanked out of my jaw.

Sitting in the dentist's chair, waiting for an x-ray to be taken, I strained over humming machines and banter among staff, to hear the radio, which had suddenly caught my ear.  In an office that usually is playing "Mix of the 70's, 80's and 90's!" (i.e. ear pablum) the sounds of Nirvana, Kurt Cobain, and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" were filtering in.

For a moment, I thought it seemed mystical, like a communication of some sort...but then my cynical side, which increased in amplitude when I passed it along genetically to my son, reminded me that that was a stupid idea...

One for the Home Team

Last summer, when we discovered that we could, indeed, grow sweet corn in our garden at work, I began talking up the legendary sweet corn from Illinois.  NEXT year, I told my colleagues, NEXT year, I told the 'individuals' who participated in the gardening project, NEXT year, we will grow ILLINI EXTRASWEET!

So, in May, while in Bloomington, IL, visiting my daughter and her husband, I trotted down to the A & B Hatchery (a former chicken hatchery, really!) and bought an ounce or two of corn seed.  Felt almost illicit bringing it out of state.

In early June, we prepared the rows to plant.  When I produced the sacred seed, one co-worker asked in  a worried tone, "We're not planting Silver Queen?".   Silver Queen is the stuff sold at the farmstands, proudly proclaimed on hand-written signs.  "No", I replied, "We are planting the BEST sweetcorn in the world. Illini Xtra Sweet!".

Secretly, I wondered if there was some magical synergy between the seed and Illinois' incredible rich, black soil that made it taste so good.  Would it really grow in the anemic looking, reddish clay-prone soil of Maryland?

It jumped from the ground in a few days, and took off.  A small panic arose in me when Japanese beetles infested the silks...this did not happen with the Silver Queen.  Maybe the corn was so sweet that it attracted pests!

When I left for Floyd Fest, the corn was nearly mature.   I  awakened at nite in the tent and worried that it would be overgrown and starchy before I got back to initiate the harvest.

The day I returned to work, we bagan picking, cooking, and eating the corn.  I am pleased and relieved to report that everyone who has tried it has agreed--"That was the best sweet corn I've ever had!"

I told them so.

Now, to introduce it to the community garden at Solterra...

My only fear now is that the NCAA will force the name to be changed to something that does not represent an  extinct tribe of Native Americans.  Prairie Dog Extra Sweet, perhaps?

Exhausted and Lacking Ambition

Fresh (not) from two days of teaching "Behavior Principles and Strategies" at work.  Today, day two, was  the action--yesterday was all talk.  Today, escapes from strangulation, from the front, the rear, up-against-the-wall, on the floor.  Basket holds, turn and goes, take-downs, lifts, carries, restraints, and ultimately, exhaustion.

Tried Monday to upload FloydFest Fotos to this site, with no luck, so tried again tonite, and here they are (<==== ).   vsa1111111111111111111111111111111

(Larry is typing now...)

No, Not PINK Floyd

I can't believe there is a wireless connection here!  I mean, there is no plumbing, no showers (yet), no drinkable water that isn't bottled, no cell phone for miles (for me, anyway) but there is a wireless connection.

at 2 am i wouldn't have said it, but this is likely a worthwhile experience.  another one for the cumulative file.  it has rained several times already (since last nite) and is so cold that I can barely type (tho it says 73 on the computer) and i'm practically shivering as i type.

Met several nice people, interesting.  a guy who carves pipes out of already-dead deer antlers and just had a bit part in a colin farrel (sp?) movie.  a ceramicist who does installations in homes.  several locals.  the tent city is growing so fast that i can't find my own when i return to it.  a very unreal experience.  lotsa down time at this point cause things don't really start for another 2 hours.  hope the rain stops by then.

who have thunk that this kind of thing goes on all over, in many places?  they expect thousands of people here this weekend.  it is all "peace and love" but not in a way I can't believe.  wide age spread, everyone from the aging hippies to young folks with little kids to ex-military young guys.  food stands, converted school busses selling coffee and housing the propriators,  so many people that live a nomadic life--i wonder for how long?

well, i guess further pictures will have to wait, for some reason they won't upload now, and i want to save my battery for later, or tomorrow, or whenever.

signing off, live from Floyd, Virginia.  Brrrr. 

Greetings from Bend

...Oregon, that is.  Having now been awake for nearly 20 hours, I expect to be forgiven anything I may write that is grammatically or in any other way incorrect.

Here for the wedding of a step-nephew-by-marriage.  the wedding is a home-made affair, but it will be quite grand, none the less.  I thought that Chris and Amy's wedding last summer was amazing because of the many complicated layers of family involved, but that was NOTHING compared with this.

Gradually assembling at the home where the wedding will take place tomorrow evening were the groom's father and step-father,step grandfather and step grandmother, his mother's sister, stepbrother and stepsisters (from both parents sides) his grandfather and step-grandmother, and various cousins and step-cousins that I totally lost track of.  I think half of the people came just to see how all of these folks, some of whom do not speak to one another, will get along.

It is beautiful here--low humidity, "high desert" climate, not-too-distant mountains.  Within a quick walk of my husband's step-mother's home are bizarre sheep-goat things with up to 3 and 4 horns each, with some horns being incredibly...well...horney.  And huge.  They look as tho they were irradiated.  Behind our motel is a large pen with llama(s). 

And just for the heck of it I looked up and called the number of a guy I thought MIGHT be someone I knew briefly in 1971, who lived for a year in my Chicago neighborhood before returning to Portland, Oregon.  The internet said that he now lives in Bend, of all places.  He called back and actually remembered me.  We'll meet up on Sunday.  I will share with him a letter he wrote to me when we were both young and stupid.  Luckily, he apparently does NOT have the one I wrote to him.

Coming to grips with my impending significant birthday, which I'll celebrate in advance, mid-life crisis style, by camping out and volunteering at a 3 day music festival in Virginia next week.  Have I completely lost my mind?  Not yet, but there's still time. 

And luckily, we all have survived Mz. Smlph's  wisdom tooth extraction this morning!  Go, Mz. Smlph!

Now, I'm going to prepare to go to bed...

History

I'm not a classical history buff, meaning the stuff that you hear about in American History class and such.  I've had, if possible, a NEGATIVE interest in American history.  My historical lust is for things I know personally, such as the old institution where I work, the old neighborhood where I used to live.

However, I recently had a yen to return to, and take daughter Ka*tie to, the FDR Memorial in Washington, DC.  Not out of any love for history--I couldn't have even told you when FDR was president, or which came first, FD or T R.  I just really, really like the memorial.  It is a place, not a thing.  You experience it, you don't just look at it. 

When I saw it 6 years ago, I didn't really pay more than passing attention to the plaques with quotes on them.  I was more captivated by the waterfalls, the sculptures.  On THIS visit, though, the quotes seemed to have been placed as a secret, although blatant, communication.  And many people seemed to be hearing it, and taking pictures, as was I.

You'll have to click on these pictures to enlarge them so you can read the quotes, but it is worth the trouble.  I assume that they are also on the website.  There isn't much I can say to add to them, so I'll just put them up here for you to appreciate.  It was incredible to me how timely they all seemed...