she's just saying...

It's the way you tell it...

Do you know that joke about the comedians who know each other's jokes so well that they refer to them by number?* That's how I feel about my blog these days. Anything I have to say I've already said. I'm currently on vacation back east. Rocking chairs in the Asheville airport: blogged. Summer in North Carolina: here. Life at the beach in Connecticut: done. Fireworks in Bend and the butte catching fire: covered. Been there, blogged that every year. And I really have nothing new to say about any of it.

I'm not complaining, really. There's something to be said for patterns, rituals, tradition. The word I'm using these days is stable. My life is stable. It's where we are right now. A confluence of circumstances - work, Henry, money, single status - are combining to keep my life on a repeating cycle with little variation. I know this is temporary in the scheme of my life. Enough has happened to me in the past that I can coast for a few years without turmoil. I know change  will come again. I know that some will be positive and exhilarating, some not so much.

Meanwhile, I think I'll put this blog on hold for a bit, until I find inspiration in the day-to-day again. I might post a recipe or two, or share some photos via my new super-cool Android phone, but I'm not going to write regularly. I've been wrestling with guilt about not posting and I really don't need more guilt in my life, on top of not walking the dog enough or drilling Henry on multiplying fractions during the summer. I think I'll end for now with a recent comment I received that maybe says it all:

Air Max1 said...

Many thanks sharing! The goal of your site is to report your lifetime and show your personal thoughts. Several thought tend to be specific with me yet incredibly exceptional. What you would like to supply to the modern-day society, I do think I have already been acknowledged that. As long as all of us do good and assume that.

 

Um, thanks, Air Max1! Same back at'cha. Ciao for now.

 

*Oh, the joke:

Three comedians are shooting the breeze at the back of a nightclub after a late gig. They’ve heard one another’s material so much, they’ve reached the point where they don’t need to say the jokes anymore to amuse each other – they just need to refer to each joke by a number. “Number 37!” cracks the first comic, and the others break up. “”Number 53!” says the second guy, and they howl. Finally, it’s the third comic’s turn. “44!” he quips. He gets nothing. “What?” he asks, “Isn’t 44 funny?” “Sure, it’s usually hilarious,” they answer. “But the way you tell it…”

A mystery. With cupcakes.

I opened my front door this evening after running errands and found this note.

A surprise! I ran to my bbq. Here is what I found.

A dozen mouthwatering cupcakes by our local cupcake specialty baker! Wow!

Until I saw this:

Noooo!

What to do? Wish Victoria a happy birthday and thoroughly enjoy her cupcakes? Or do the right thing?

I believe in cupcake karma, and knew what I must do. This being 2011, I didn't even try the phone book, but instantly found the well-wishers on Facebook. I messaged them about their error and am awaiting their reply.

Luckily for Victoria, Henry is at a sleep-over tonight.

They'd better be quick. There's a red velvet one in there calling my name.

Electrocuting the dog in order to save her

The ceremonial flags of invisibility

We're all suffering through training the new dog, Bindi, on the Invisible Fence system at home. This is the buried electrical wire that surrounds the property that gives the dog a shock if she crosses it wearing a special radio collar. It's a painful process, and the dog doesn't like it either.

My previous dog Flash was an OCD border collie who got it instantly and learned how to game the system brilliantly. He would test the battery and escape when it got weak. He knew that snow would cover the wire enough that he could run out and play in the street. And he especially enjoyed charging full speed up to the edge at passers-by, freaking them out before he stopped and began turning in demented circles. I'd hear random screams and run out to reassure people that he wouldn't cross the invisible line to attack them. We became known as the house with the spinning dog - I can actually reference that to describe where we live still.

Back to Bindi. Part of the training steps include teaching her how to actually leave the property when you want her to, for example for her daily walk. She has to learn that if she leaves via the front walk on a special command (and you don't forget to remove the collar), she won't get shocked. It's a subtle nuance that depends on a great deal of trust on the dog's part and resolve on the owner's. It takes awhile to get to that step, so until we do, we have to actually drive her out of the property to leave. So, at 6 am this morning, I could be seen in my pajamas and coffee, driving the dog for a walk.

The containment system works well except for a dog with a "high drive" as the trainer put it. In other words, a hunting dog who watches for squirrels across the street all day (Bindi). There are a few breeds who have no problem charging through the shock field, yelping as they go, while hot on the trail of a squirrel, dog or bird. We have yet to see if she's one of them.

At first it can seem like a cruel training approach, but given that we live on a busy neighborhood intersection filled with dog-walkers, skateboarders, cats, kids, squirrels and other enticing attractions, it's a necessity if we want her to hang out with us in the yard. She seems to be catching on to the flags = shock thing very quickly, and eventually we'll be able to take down the flags, go for walks and enjoy the summer outside. For right now though, we're all prisoners of the system.

I'm sure I could attempt a metaphor here about the invisible fences that hold us all in, how we have to deal with the shocks life brings and endure some pain to move beyond our limitations etc., but luckily this is not that kind of blog, so I'll spare you. I know you're thanking me.

Avenging the Great Hamster

Hamsters everywhere breathed a sign of relief this week.

From the New York Times, By STEVEN ERLANGER

PARIS — France was punished on Thursday for not taking proper care of its hamsters.

The Court of Justice in Luxembourg, the European Union’s highest court, ruled Thursday that France had failed to protect the Great Hamster of Alsace, sometimes known as the European hamster, the last wild hamster species in Western Europe. If France does not adjust its agricultural and urbanization policies sufficiently to protect it, the court said, the government will be subject to fines of as much as $24.6 million.

The Great Hamster, which can grow up to 10 inches long, has a brown-and-white face, white paws and a black belly. There are thought to be about 800 left in France, with burrows in Alsace along the Rhine. That is an improvement: the number had dropped to fewer than 200 four years ago, according to figures from the European Commission, which brought the lawsuit in 2009.

The Great Hamster likes grass and crops like alfalfa, but these have largely been replaced by corn, which is not ripe in the spring when the hamster awakens from six months of hibernation, eager to eat and mate. It must make longer and more hazardous journeys as its grazing area shrinks because of new highways and housing developments.

 

Becoming the church lady

In the religion section of online dating surveys (so I've been told) there's a popular answer option of "spiritual but not religious." I need the opposite: "religious but not spiritual."

I'll say it right up front here: I'm not a Christian. I don't actually believe in a God. But I do go to church, every week, and I have on and off for most of my life. I've attended the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Central Oregon as a member for fifteen years. As we say in the opening words, it's "a place of solace, comfort and community" offering "encouragement to pursue your spiritual journey." Sounds a little whoo-whoo, but if you know Unitarians, it's really not.

I won't go into UU beliefs and principles; it's all here if you're interested. Suffice to say that it's a religion that embraces diversity in all ways. We have a minister, we light candles and sing hymns. We hold Sunday school and bake sales and talent shows. It feels "churchy." We just don't all adhere to the same dogma.

I grew up as a Unitarian, which is fairly unusual in UU congregations. Most members are lapsed something-elses. So for me there's an additional layer of familiarity and connection on top of the fellowship and spiritual fulfillment I receive. And now I've morphed into my parents: I've joined the Church Board.

Up til recently, I was uncomfortable telling people I go to church and I'm involved in church activities. I sensed a change in the way my co-workers and acquaintances assessed me. I'd fight the urge to clarify: "I'm not religious - I'm not even Christian - I'm really a Buddhist. It's a liberal fellowship that..." blah blah.

But I've begun to enjoy watching people reconcile what they know of me and their image of a faithful churchgoer. I relish privately the irony that they are probably so much more "religious" than me, if that's defined in a traditional narrow sense of being a believing Christian. Often, they'll rush to make excuses for why they don't go anymore, as if I might be judging them.

It's a little perverse to be a faithful church-going atheist (which is possibly one of the reasons I am). But just like so many other families, the church has become an important part of our social and spiritual life. Though Unitarians strenuously don't prostheletize, if you're interested in going with me one of these days, just let me know. There are many ways to be religulous, as the movie says.

I made dirt!

Rich, loamy (great word), homemade dirt. I finally cleared out the bottom of the composter and discovered a few things. Eggshells never decompose (or at least within three years), nor do corncobs, pine needles, plastic bags or pieces of clay pots. I found my worms which was very exciting, and a few random glass marbles from that unfortunate compost-diving episode.

                              Bindi on squirrel-watch

 

Three wheelbarrowfuls later, my vegetable beds were ready for that perennial exercise in hope, planting seeds. I'm participating in my annual attempt to grow arugula, which consists of throwing $3.99 worth of seeds to the wind and going down to the farm stand to buy a few bunches. What can I say? It's summer!*

*today's Bulletin headline: "Temperatures may break 70 Thursday." June in Central Oregon...

I has a spuragrus

Look, Mark! We finally made one!

(Mark was my gardening partner to whom I owe my many many garden beds of which I can't handle the upkeep.)

Just one. Not sure what happened to all the others. I can't bring myself to harvest it. I just go visit it now and then and feel very proud.

The whole garden has had a late start this year. I wonder why: could the snow this Saturday be one of the reasons? I think we hit 45 degrees as a high that day. That's all right - I'll be complaining about the heat in a few months.  I hope.  Happy Memorial Day!

It's not if, it's when

I really should start a new category in my cloud for posts from computer hell. I've written enough of them. I've been dealing with problems with my new HP laptop since I bought it in September. (I know - I should have stuck with Dell, Steve!) It mysteriously shuts down if it's idle for about five minutes, and I have to give it a hard kick start by taking off the battery, unplugging, replugging, holding down the power button, and rebooting. It's become such a routine that Henry can do it. It really sucks.

Every so often, I devote an hour or two of my weekend to visiting with service people in India who take me through the same old steps of running hard drive tests, checking various system items, uploading a new BIOS and declaring it fixed. This has been going on since I got it. Oh, and did I mention that the hard drive crashed 3 weeks after I bought it? Yeah, you can read that post if you want to share my pain. They won't exchange it either. Apparently there's no such thing as a lemon law for computers.

So yesterday, after throwing it across the bedroom, I called them again. This time I got the tech support geek of my dreams. He validated the issue and my frustration, gave me some inside knowledge, patiently waited until the computer crashed, and no, couldn't fix the problem. 

Meanwhile I learned a lot. He was garrolous in a nice know-it-all tech guy way, sharing a bunch of inside scoop on tech support and the repair process. He told me that the rate of hard drive failure in new PC's is running from 5% to 10%, and that computer companies figure that in to their business plans. Maybe you already knew this, but I was stunned. When I think of the time I've spent on the phone and the anger and frustration I've experienced, and multiply that by even 5% of the new PC buyers out there, it boggles the business mind.

He also said that generally they won't replace your computer until after you've sent it in three times for the same problem. Then, they might send you a new one the fourth time it fails, if you're really pissed. He shared a lot more (we were on the line for the usual hour and a half) and I appreciated it all. But in the end, the thing still doesn't work and they don't know why. Back it goes for another repair. They're going to replace the motherboard this time. I have little hope... Only two more to go til I get a replacement, I figure.

So, the post title: this is what they say about hard drive crashes, so get those backups going...

They say it's the motherboard. I say don't insult mothers by insinuation.

Fiddlehead!

I'm feeling very earthy and springlike today, though it appears to be snowing outside again. I just got a precious pound of fiddlehead ferns. Fiddleheads are tightly spiraled fern fronds, not yet unfurled. These alien-looking curls are only available for about two weeks in May - that's it, so if you haven't gotten any yet, you're out of luck.

They are a New England delicacy in my mind, but here they are in Oregon. I scored mine from the Agricultural Connections, a community-supported agricultural group here in Bend who have some adventurous vegetable offerings as well as the basic stuff.

People describe fiddleheads as tasting a bit like asparagus, but they really don't. They taste very green and deep and mysterious, with an addictive texture and crunch. Trim, rinse and blanch, then saute with butter, salt & pepper, a little lemon and maybe some garlic. I served them over angelhair (seemed fittingly delicate), and maybe ate too many last night.

I hear that warm weather has arrived elsewhere on earth, but here in the mountains, it's still a rumored event. The flowers and trees are doing their best and the late evening light is stirring up the animals, but it's still in the 50's most days. We're getting a little tired of it, but given the weather elsewhere I'm not complaining. I'll just eat my way to summer - I hear Paradise Farm Stand has morels again...

Little pitchers have big ears, and mouths

from Fun and Nonsense by Willard Bonte, 1904 by H.M. Caldwell Company

When you have a school child, there are no secrets. But there are always teaching moments...

Driving up to school today, this is what I learned: "There's Rupert*. His mom had him when she was like fifteen. And it happened with his grandma too - she's like in her thirties."  Opportunity to discuss teenage pregnancy here.

And last night I heard: "William had to move into an apartment - the bank stole his house." So we got to talk about mortgages, loans, and repaying your debts.

And then this: "Michael's brother is a crack addict - the police came and took him away last week." Insert drug abuse lecture here.

So what are the other parents hearing about me, I have to wonder?

*Names changed to maintain some shred of any privacy left...

Why medical insurance is so high

In spite of a number of laser treatments, surgeries, and other weird procedures, I still need an eye drop daily to keep my eyes in long-lasting working condition. This is the same eye medication now being sold as a lash extender, and if I ever don't need it for my eyes, you can bet I'll be making some good money peddling it on the black market. (ha ha! just kidding! really)

I order it from my mail order pharmacy and they send three little bottles at a time. Each bottle contains about a half teaspoon. So the other day I got my shipment, in this:

A five-pound box with ice packs and padding, for 1.5 teaspoons of liquid. Overnighted. All for $30, including shipping. Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining, and thank dog I have health insurance. The actual cost would be more like $450 or so. Worth all my premiums! So what's my point? I don't really have one - I was just struck by the whole thing. What do you think?

Friday Frylet for Friday

The blogging service I use has a terrific spam filter for comments, so we're spared the weird ads for health aids, if you know what I mean. (I don't plan to attract more here.) But occasionally I get the the odd random comment from out of the blue. Like the one on my post about eyebrows that showed up today and reads:

Cheap True Religion Jeans said...

I saw a police cruiser going in that direction as fast as a cruiser can go on city streets last night around 9:30 and thought it was unusual that the city attorney packed his bag and left the council meeting around 10 or 10:15 pm.

A line from a bad cop show? A random private conversation? A weird guerrilla marketing ploy? Dunno. Mildly disturbing though. I want to know what went down in that town...

Of course I went to that website. It looks legit and all, but investigating further (on my lunch hour! really!), here's the copy for its Women's Jeans section:

The true religion bootcut was become the most favored jeans by the men of today,which comes with the unique style and the extreme comfort.In a successful womens true religion bootcut behind,there are a long and hard work.Due to the designers put great efforts and zeal into the design to make a product friendly to the men,it meets with considerable success.On the appearance of the jeans,you can see the finest cotton,lavish swarovski crystal buttons,rivets and other interesting accessories.This jeans also decorated with many exquisite detailed design,and from these design you can see designer's efforts.This kind of bootcut jeans is very great that worth you to owning.So many jeans for you to choose,just come here to pick your favorite up.

Hmm. I'm guessing not the company copywriter's original description. However, they are pretty cheap (and I'm sure they're not counterfeit), so if it's worth you to owning a behind friendly to the men, go for it!

knitting dreams

I finally finished MyBigBro's second sock. Only eight months for the pair. I guess I'm not ready to join the Sock-of the-Month Club yet. Maybe if they weren't a foot and a half long each, I might have finished earlier. Or if they weren't so boring. But they're essentially done. (In the fluid definition of "finished" by a knitter - I only have one sock with me so I can't officially finish until Steve measures the original length.) 

Steve: here are the instructions:

So of course I'm now eagerly planning the next pair.

This time they'll be interesting, less splitty, smaller and I'll whip them out in a month or so. We knitters dare to dream, each time we gaze at our stash, thumb through our pattern books, consult the Ravelry project pages. Of course I also just started my next big cardigan project after weeks of agonizing about patterns. And I have the never-ending Sea Lettuce scarf going in Lucy N's honor. But that's okay - I allow myself three works-in-progress at a time, so I'm good. 

Okay, I'm off to my sock dreams...

gall-less

Surgery update: all went well!  I'm sore and woozy tonight, but not too bad. Henry made me buttered macaroni for dinner, my family's comfort food of choice. Haven't seen the aftermath in the kitchen yet...

They sure were eager to get rid of me at the surgery center. A mere 2 1/2 hours after being wheeled into the operating room I was wheeled out to the curb. Very efficient. Cut and dried, so to speak.

An interesting side note is that after writing my post this morning, I've heard from five friends and counting who've also had their gallbladders out. Who knew? I'm honored to have now joined the secret society of the gall-less.

Thanks for the best wishes and warm thoughts. Now to catch up on some movies.

What gall

There is nothing about the gallbladder that's appealing. The name itself, that fact that it holds bile, stones and sludge (yes, it's called sludge), or the pain it causes me at 3 in the morning. So I've decided to get rid of mine. Today.

I've been pretty attached to my gallbladder all my life, but the time has come to part, it seems. As my rather breezy doctor said: "Yeah, if you've got stones and they're bothering you, let's just pull it. You don't need it anyway." I figure Friday the 13th is as good a day as any for abdominal surgery -- at least there should be some good jokes in the operating room.

So, okay! Let's do this thing! I'm going under shortly and will talk to you all on the other side.

I couldn't subject you to disgusting shots of a gallbladder, so here's picture of the High Desert Museum's new baby porcupine instead. Enjoy.

The answer

 to yesterday's riddle:

 

A riddle for you

On our dog-walk early this morning, Bindi and I observed a man leave his apartment complex, cross the street, and start pulling blades of grass from around the mailbox post. He saw me trying not to notice and called over two words to explain his actions. It made perfect sense and I no longer thought he was a crazy person, but actually kind of cute.

What did he say to explain his actions?

Answer tomorrow... (see how I keep you reading?)

a Famous Knitter comes to town

Bend is honored to have a Famous Knitter here this week. Non-knitting people are always surprised to know that there actually are famous knitters. But why not?  Patterns, other than the simple scarf or washcloth, have to come from somewhere. There are real designers behind them, selling and publishing their work in books and magazines. So the knitting world, like the fashion world, revolves around designers, and there are a number of well-known ones.

But I digress. (I'm going to assign a shorthand abbreviation for that: BID. And now I digress on my digression.)

My knitting group has organizes a two-day workshop with a knitting designer/teacher, and she has arrived. It's Lucy Neatby, she of the blue and fuschia hair and mismatched colored boots. Lucy is a combination of organized, detailed instructor, technically brilliant designer and creative artist. Her DVD series has taught thousands of knitters from the basics to intricate techniques, and she's really cool. And did I mention she's staying with me this week?

My cats are thrilled to have another lap to claim.

WWJD, with a gun and at least 750 live birds

This was almost too easy. When I opened this letter from Henry's adoption agency today, the blog post wrote itself. The event could only be in, where else, Texas!

Call me a bleeding heart Unitarian liberal atheist, but I don't think this is what Jesus really meant. In Matthew 6:26, he said: "Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them." Not shoots them. Just saying.

 

 
 
 

3rd Blogiversary! What's that in blog years?

Whoops. We were having so much fun here that I totally missed my blogoversary. Happy third year of blogging to me!

There have been a number of times I thought I'd stop, mainly because I was absolutely positive I had no more posts in me - nothing more to say, no inspiration visible on the horizon.  Yet somehow I keep posting, dredging up material from who knows where. Rereading the first two years, I think my earlier posts were better, but then I had a disfunctional relationship that provided endless blog fodder. Now, I mostly write about more mundane, if more peaceful, subjects. 

This will be my 800th post. That's about a post every two days or so. (Unless I messed up the math. I've been informed by Henry's math teacher that the answer doesn't matter so much as long as the concept is clear, so whatever.)

That's a lot of miscellaneous musings, and yet you keep encouraging me. I appreciate that. I don't really know why I started this blog, but I know why I continue it. I won't get all maudlin and weepy here, at least until I've had another glass of wine, but I really do keep going because you're out there reading. Um, you are still, right? Well, anyway, thanks.

 
A virtual flower of thanks. This is not an amaryllis, it's a hippeastrum. Good crossword knowledge.