I'm sorry that I let my inner uber-bitch have the password to my blog yesterday.
But, now that she knows it, there is a chance she might post entries when ever she wants.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
Buzzards, Turtles, Cats, and Road Kill
I like buzzards.
They can't help it that their Momma and Daddy were ugly. It's like assuming women with big tits are dumb and want bige ones. They had nothing to do with it, it's just the DNA code they ended up with. Obviously buzzards aren't aware that they aren't cute, and that rotting meat isn't yummy.
We have a very tall TVA tower on a back corner of our property. In the summer, during the day, hawks perch there. We planted lots of pine trees, and some day we won't be able to see it at all. But I've grown fond of watching the huge flock of buzzards that use it for a roost. Every year the flock seems to double in size. When all the space on the scaffolding is full, the late-comers line up on the power lines. I've never seen a nest anywhere, so I looked up their nesting habits. Our buzzards have black heads and their nests are on the ground or on tree stumps or in a hollow in a tree. This year there are well over 100 birds there. The winter winds must be very cold up there. They gather in the evening, spend the night and head out when the sun starts shining. I'm glad they like our tower. I just want to put little sweaters, hats and boots on them.
One year we had an ice storm. When I woke up and went to the kitchen to make coffee, I realized that the ground in between the house and the woods was covered with ice clad buzzards. They had ice on their heads, backs and wings with little icicles hanging off of them. They were standing around on the snow waiting to thaw out. Some of them could open their wings. Some of them picked at the ice. One couple picked ice off of each other. When the sun came up, more of them stood with their backs to the sun and opened their wings. As each of them thawed they flew away. I wish I had pictures, but I still haven't learned how to operate my new camera.
I thought they were ugly and creepy when I was younger. We all see their road crews at work and recoil at the thought of what they are eating. It is hard to imagine salivating at the smell of bloated carcass. I thought the name of a road we traveled frequently, should be changed to "Dead Bunny Drive". Another rural road out here has a beautiful name, "Snow Bird Hollow Road", but you are likely to see more flat 'possums, bunnies, little birds, turkeys, squirrels, turtles and dead deer, per foot, on that road, than any other road out here. And cleaning all that up is the buzzard's job.
Road kill turtles are the ones that freak me out the most. There is no excuse for running over a turtle. You can't get away with saying, "He just ran out in front of me before I had time to react!" You hit a turtle, your only excuse is you just weren't paying attention. I have moved lots of turtles, big and small, out of the road. Around here we have box turtles and snapping turtles. The snapping turtles can get very large, much bigger than a dinner plate, but smaller than the tire on your car.
Box turtles are easy to pick up. I used to bring them home and put them in our creek. The first few I put in would sink to the bottom and not move. I would stand on the bank searching my brain for any box turtle knowledge that might be hiding in there. I'd be getting very nervous, worrying that I had just drowned them. With the first couple, I just hoped for the best and left, but I hated not knowing how things turned out for them, so with the next one or two, when I couldn't stand the suspense any longer, I'd retrieve them and put them on a rock at the edge of the creek, so they could decide whether to head for land or water on their own. Now I skip the dunking and just put them on the rock.
My best intentions sometimes go horribly wrong, like the time I picked up a box turtle that was near a parking lot and dropped it over a wire fence, into a wooded area behind the place I worked, an old log cabin that had been turned into offices. The next day a lady from the office that had windows on that side, asked me what I had dropped over the fence. She was curious anyway, but mainly because she saw a coyote walk over to it right after I left.
The big snapping turtles are a whole 'nother problem. First, they can be huge and have very long necks. Making a bite from that strong beak easier than you would expect from a turtle. Second, they make a point of shitting inside your car. Big and messy. I know these guys like the water. I was more cautious with the last couple that I took off the road. I tried to shove them into an empty gym bag that was in the car and put them in the trunk. No way I'm fishing a foul smelling snapper out from under the car seat again.
A lady pulled over to help me with the last one. It was really big. She wanted to know why I was doing it. Did it have anything to do with soup? I drove to a river and carried it in the bag to the bank. I dumped it out, but the bank was steep and it slid to a stop, upside down, wedged between various sized tree trunks and brush. I couldn't leave it like that, so I made my way down to it and moved it with my foot until it toppled into the river and swam off.
The most horrible turtle story was when I was stopped at a light and saw one in the right hand lane up ahead. I had every intention of doing my thing, when the driver of a mini van that had made it through the light saw the turtle as it passed it. The van stopped, began backing up, ran over the turtle and sped away! I freaked out, screaming at what I had just seen. It was outrageous! I was too shocked even, to chase them down and flip them the bird or ram their mini van or force them off the road and beat the driver to a pulp. I may be a girl, but I can get one hell of a bitch on with assholes like that. Bring it on turtle killers!
!@#$%&*(x+!@#$%&*!
My cat died in November. That morning, before I woke up, I was dreaming that Sox had changed into a bird and flown away. I was not worried about him. I knew he would be happy to be so free, to fly as a bird and would no longer need us. I told my son about the dream when I woke up. Around noon, I started looking for him, to feed him. My husband usually feeds him breakfast while I'm still sleeping.
I saw him "sleeping" in the grass near the back porch and tapped on the window to get his attention. No response. I opened the window and called to him. No response. Then I knew. He was in his comfortable, napping-in-the-yard position, so I guess he went in his sleep. He was a beautiful cat, 11 or 12 years old.
I haven't told my daughter yet. She won a goldfish at a school carnival when she was little and after it spent most of the day in a plastic bag, it didn't look too perky. She named it Skippy and it died within a day or two. When she discovered him dead, she became inconsolable. She mourned for Skippy so deeply, after only having him for such a short time, that I was really moved by her pain. We had a little funeral, not the toilet kind, and she kept sobbing, Skippy, Skippy. So I want to break the news of Sox' death to her in person, maybe when we get back to the U.S.
I made a deep grave for him and lined it with a layer of pine needles, and covered him with a layer of pine needles before filling it with the dirt. I covered it with flat stones because I didn't want anything digging him up. I found a really nice flat stone and wrote his name, etc. on it with magic marker and sprayed a clear finish over that, so it wouldn't fade.
They can't help it that their Momma and Daddy were ugly. It's like assuming women with big tits are dumb and want bige ones. They had nothing to do with it, it's just the DNA code they ended up with. Obviously buzzards aren't aware that they aren't cute, and that rotting meat isn't yummy.
We have a very tall TVA tower on a back corner of our property. In the summer, during the day, hawks perch there. We planted lots of pine trees, and some day we won't be able to see it at all. But I've grown fond of watching the huge flock of buzzards that use it for a roost. Every year the flock seems to double in size. When all the space on the scaffolding is full, the late-comers line up on the power lines. I've never seen a nest anywhere, so I looked up their nesting habits. Our buzzards have black heads and their nests are on the ground or on tree stumps or in a hollow in a tree. This year there are well over 100 birds there. The winter winds must be very cold up there. They gather in the evening, spend the night and head out when the sun starts shining. I'm glad they like our tower. I just want to put little sweaters, hats and boots on them.
One year we had an ice storm. When I woke up and went to the kitchen to make coffee, I realized that the ground in between the house and the woods was covered with ice clad buzzards. They had ice on their heads, backs and wings with little icicles hanging off of them. They were standing around on the snow waiting to thaw out. Some of them could open their wings. Some of them picked at the ice. One couple picked ice off of each other. When the sun came up, more of them stood with their backs to the sun and opened their wings. As each of them thawed they flew away. I wish I had pictures, but I still haven't learned how to operate my new camera.
I thought they were ugly and creepy when I was younger. We all see their road crews at work and recoil at the thought of what they are eating. It is hard to imagine salivating at the smell of bloated carcass. I thought the name of a road we traveled frequently, should be changed to "Dead Bunny Drive". Another rural road out here has a beautiful name, "Snow Bird Hollow Road", but you are likely to see more flat 'possums, bunnies, little birds, turkeys, squirrels, turtles and dead deer, per foot, on that road, than any other road out here. And cleaning all that up is the buzzard's job.
Road kill turtles are the ones that freak me out the most. There is no excuse for running over a turtle. You can't get away with saying, "He just ran out in front of me before I had time to react!" You hit a turtle, your only excuse is you just weren't paying attention. I have moved lots of turtles, big and small, out of the road. Around here we have box turtles and snapping turtles. The snapping turtles can get very large, much bigger than a dinner plate, but smaller than the tire on your car.
Box turtles are easy to pick up. I used to bring them home and put them in our creek. The first few I put in would sink to the bottom and not move. I would stand on the bank searching my brain for any box turtle knowledge that might be hiding in there. I'd be getting very nervous, worrying that I had just drowned them. With the first couple, I just hoped for the best and left, but I hated not knowing how things turned out for them, so with the next one or two, when I couldn't stand the suspense any longer, I'd retrieve them and put them on a rock at the edge of the creek, so they could decide whether to head for land or water on their own. Now I skip the dunking and just put them on the rock.
My best intentions sometimes go horribly wrong, like the time I picked up a box turtle that was near a parking lot and dropped it over a wire fence, into a wooded area behind the place I worked, an old log cabin that had been turned into offices. The next day a lady from the office that had windows on that side, asked me what I had dropped over the fence. She was curious anyway, but mainly because she saw a coyote walk over to it right after I left.
The big snapping turtles are a whole 'nother problem. First, they can be huge and have very long necks. Making a bite from that strong beak easier than you would expect from a turtle. Second, they make a point of shitting inside your car. Big and messy. I know these guys like the water. I was more cautious with the last couple that I took off the road. I tried to shove them into an empty gym bag that was in the car and put them in the trunk. No way I'm fishing a foul smelling snapper out from under the car seat again.
A lady pulled over to help me with the last one. It was really big. She wanted to know why I was doing it. Did it have anything to do with soup? I drove to a river and carried it in the bag to the bank. I dumped it out, but the bank was steep and it slid to a stop, upside down, wedged between various sized tree trunks and brush. I couldn't leave it like that, so I made my way down to it and moved it with my foot until it toppled into the river and swam off.
The most horrible turtle story was when I was stopped at a light and saw one in the right hand lane up ahead. I had every intention of doing my thing, when the driver of a mini van that had made it through the light saw the turtle as it passed it. The van stopped, began backing up, ran over the turtle and sped away! I freaked out, screaming at what I had just seen. It was outrageous! I was too shocked even, to chase them down and flip them the bird or ram their mini van or force them off the road and beat the driver to a pulp. I may be a girl, but I can get one hell of a bitch on with assholes like that. Bring it on turtle killers!
!@#$%&*(x+!@#$%&*!
My cat died in November. That morning, before I woke up, I was dreaming that Sox had changed into a bird and flown away. I was not worried about him. I knew he would be happy to be so free, to fly as a bird and would no longer need us. I told my son about the dream when I woke up. Around noon, I started looking for him, to feed him. My husband usually feeds him breakfast while I'm still sleeping.
I saw him "sleeping" in the grass near the back porch and tapped on the window to get his attention. No response. I opened the window and called to him. No response. Then I knew. He was in his comfortable, napping-in-the-yard position, so I guess he went in his sleep. He was a beautiful cat, 11 or 12 years old.
I haven't told my daughter yet. She won a goldfish at a school carnival when she was little and after it spent most of the day in a plastic bag, it didn't look too perky. She named it Skippy and it died within a day or two. When she discovered him dead, she became inconsolable. She mourned for Skippy so deeply, after only having him for such a short time, that I was really moved by her pain. We had a little funeral, not the toilet kind, and she kept sobbing, Skippy, Skippy. So I want to break the news of Sox' death to her in person, maybe when we get back to the U.S.
I made a deep grave for him and lined it with a layer of pine needles, and covered him with a layer of pine needles before filling it with the dirt. I covered it with flat stones because I didn't want anything digging him up. I found a really nice flat stone and wrote his name, etc. on it with magic marker and sprayed a clear finish over that, so it wouldn't fade.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
I'll Be On Vacation
In a few days, I'm going to England and Italy for a couple of weeks, to spend the holidays and travel around with my daughter, A. Beauty.
After she graduated from college, she moved to Italy, and has been working there as an au-pair, since the end of the summer.
She's decided that she's not the nanny-type; she's really the world traveler type. But she has learned so much by doing it. The life changes, of motherhood, won't be a total shock, should she ever decide to become a parent, after 24/7 with twin babies in Macerata. She was really surprised by the "macho absent male + chattel" family dynamic. The wife didn't speak English and A. Beauty had no way to get to town to take an Italian class. There was no way the mother was going to accommodate her anyway. She was too isolated in the country villa to explore the area, which was something she thought she would be able to do on her days off. There were no days off. She said, on a visit, one of the Grandmothers kept yelling "Schwepps" at her. She still hasn't found out what that means other than a soft drink brand. But she said the context for these outbursts made it unlikely that she was asking her if she would like a soda(A. Beauty doesn't drink sodas.)
She terminated her services with the first family and found a great family in Rome, who drove all the way to Macerata to pick her up. They have two young boys, early elementary school aged. Her main function beside keeping an eye on them after school in the afternoons is to teach the children English. The parents speak Italian, Thai, and English; the kids speak Italian and Thai. She's much happier living in Rome and has lots of free time to see the sights and she likes this family. The small private apartment she has attached to their villa is nice too, it even has a kitchen. It's too bad that she got so burnt out with the first family.
Someone in her Italian language class said that if she ever considered marrying an Italian man, her advice was, "NO, RUN!" A. Beauty is very independent and I guess that would be a problem for many of the men she has observed there.
I can't wait to see her. She has planned out our travel to various cities, hotels, etc. I'm going to spend a couple of days in London, so I can get over my notoriously crabby jet-lag, before I join her in Rome. I have a few museums I want to see while I'm in London. She will be returning to the U.S. with me just before New Year's Day.
I hate to fly coach, but I'm in a coach kind of income bracket. THE SEATS ARE TOO SMALL!! I have gotten plump, but I carry my fat on the front, not on my hips. I'm no wider than an average man, but THE SEATS ARE TOO SMALL! My brother gave me some good advice. If they have perfume dispensers in the toilet rooms, dump them all down the toilets after take off. Perfume makes me feel like I'm going to vomit. Nice Brother; one of several habitual world travelers in the family. Sometime I'll have to get a copy of my youngest sister's "Flight From Hell" story, on a Korean Airline, on her way home from Hong Kong. It is hilarious the way she tells it.
After she graduated from college, she moved to Italy, and has been working there as an au-pair, since the end of the summer.
She's decided that she's not the nanny-type; she's really the world traveler type. But she has learned so much by doing it. The life changes, of motherhood, won't be a total shock, should she ever decide to become a parent, after 24/7 with twin babies in Macerata. She was really surprised by the "macho absent male + chattel" family dynamic. The wife didn't speak English and A. Beauty had no way to get to town to take an Italian class. There was no way the mother was going to accommodate her anyway. She was too isolated in the country villa to explore the area, which was something she thought she would be able to do on her days off. There were no days off. She said, on a visit, one of the Grandmothers kept yelling "Schwepps" at her. She still hasn't found out what that means other than a soft drink brand. But she said the context for these outbursts made it unlikely that she was asking her if she would like a soda(A. Beauty doesn't drink sodas.)
She terminated her services with the first family and found a great family in Rome, who drove all the way to Macerata to pick her up. They have two young boys, early elementary school aged. Her main function beside keeping an eye on them after school in the afternoons is to teach the children English. The parents speak Italian, Thai, and English; the kids speak Italian and Thai. She's much happier living in Rome and has lots of free time to see the sights and she likes this family. The small private apartment she has attached to their villa is nice too, it even has a kitchen. It's too bad that she got so burnt out with the first family.
Someone in her Italian language class said that if she ever considered marrying an Italian man, her advice was, "NO, RUN!" A. Beauty is very independent and I guess that would be a problem for many of the men she has observed there.
I can't wait to see her. She has planned out our travel to various cities, hotels, etc. I'm going to spend a couple of days in London, so I can get over my notoriously crabby jet-lag, before I join her in Rome. I have a few museums I want to see while I'm in London. She will be returning to the U.S. with me just before New Year's Day.
I hate to fly coach, but I'm in a coach kind of income bracket. THE SEATS ARE TOO SMALL!! I have gotten plump, but I carry my fat on the front, not on my hips. I'm no wider than an average man, but THE SEATS ARE TOO SMALL! My brother gave me some good advice. If they have perfume dispensers in the toilet rooms, dump them all down the toilets after take off. Perfume makes me feel like I'm going to vomit. Nice Brother; one of several habitual world travelers in the family. Sometime I'll have to get a copy of my youngest sister's "Flight From Hell" story, on a Korean Airline, on her way home from Hong Kong. It is hilarious the way she tells it.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
I Finished a Faulkner Book!
This was my second attempt to read something by William Faulkner, and I have to say I feel like I just choked down a dirt sandwich. It was "As I Lay Dying". Addie's stench is still making me queasy. To make it that real is pretty amazing. Faulkner really has a unique story here, and I liked the short chapters, each told by various members of the cast. If you are going to get inside the heads of strange people, and let them tell the story, their way of expressing themselves is bound to be difficult to understand. And if some of them are idiots they are bound to get into some excruciating situations. He did that masterfully. I want to read for pleasure not a work-out, but I bet I'll read it again someday.
I tried to read "Absalom, Absalom!" and I just couldn't make it to the end. I know that people of certain eras had to beat around the bush to tell something scandalous, without actually using the words that would tell you what they are talking about. Being frank, was considered rude. Well, actually, it still is, but half way through the book, I realized that I was mentally shouting at the book, "Spit it out, already!" I couldn't take it. I had to read an on-line synopsis to bring down my blood pressure.
I have "The Sot-Weed Factor" by John Barth and "Swan's Way" by Marcel Proust on my bedside table, next in line for my tandem reading style. Get sick of one, try the other one for a while. I can run through a stack of Kurt Vonnegut books without any frustration. I'm just curious about what all the fuss is about with the "classics". Any blood pressure warnings would be appreciated.
I tried to read "Absalom, Absalom!" and I just couldn't make it to the end. I know that people of certain eras had to beat around the bush to tell something scandalous, without actually using the words that would tell you what they are talking about. Being frank, was considered rude. Well, actually, it still is, but half way through the book, I realized that I was mentally shouting at the book, "Spit it out, already!" I couldn't take it. I had to read an on-line synopsis to bring down my blood pressure.
I have "The Sot-Weed Factor" by John Barth and "Swan's Way" by Marcel Proust on my bedside table, next in line for my tandem reading style. Get sick of one, try the other one for a while. I can run through a stack of Kurt Vonnegut books without any frustration. I'm just curious about what all the fuss is about with the "classics". Any blood pressure warnings would be appreciated.
Friday, December 02, 2005
About-Face on the Insanity Defense
Back before my youngest son became schizophrenic, I used be very cynical about the "insanity defense". I did agree that drowning all your kids, like Andrea Yates did, unquestionably qualified for the insanity defense. But, I thought the measuring stick for insanity should be something similar to: If the accused could drive a car and remember to stop at stop signs and find their way to a specified location, then they weren't insane enough for me. I was really convinced that I was on to something.
I was wrong. We live we learn.
It is strange how certain parts of a person's brain can be disfunctional while others seem unaffected. Needless to say, I have done an about-face.
We just got word, that his second attempt to be designated Disabled by the government was approved. The first request was denied because they did not receive the medical documentation from Hospitals, Doctors, etc., the paperwork that they needed to complete the process. This time we hounded everyone to send in the paperwork. He was also examined by a psychiatrist designated to do tests on him for the Social Security office. His father will be in charge of managing his money; they are sending him a packet of papers to fill out first. Hopefully this is a step toward being able to live on his own someday and get a chance to have part of the life that was robbed from him.
He knows his life has changed drastically from being the "Golden Boy" before his illness struck. The local newspaper even came out to our house to interview him and my husband and me. A reporter had contacted his high school, because they wanted to interview a student who was one of the best and brightest, someone who broke the mold of the slacker image of High School boys. His school suggested they interview Savant and his parents. I don't remember if this was before or after it was announced that he was the only Merit Scholarship Finalist in the whole school. He was pleasant and brilliant and normal. The cruelty of this illness is immense, partly, because he can remember when the world was his oyster.
This isn't the only horrible affliction, of course, but it is the one our family deals with. As his parents, it has broken our hearts and been very frightening and difficult, but we don't have the disease. I really can't come close to imagining the full extent of the suffering, confusion, frustration and isolation that Savant experiences.
I was wrong. We live we learn.
It is strange how certain parts of a person's brain can be disfunctional while others seem unaffected. Needless to say, I have done an about-face.
We just got word, that his second attempt to be designated Disabled by the government was approved. The first request was denied because they did not receive the medical documentation from Hospitals, Doctors, etc., the paperwork that they needed to complete the process. This time we hounded everyone to send in the paperwork. He was also examined by a psychiatrist designated to do tests on him for the Social Security office. His father will be in charge of managing his money; they are sending him a packet of papers to fill out first. Hopefully this is a step toward being able to live on his own someday and get a chance to have part of the life that was robbed from him.
He knows his life has changed drastically from being the "Golden Boy" before his illness struck. The local newspaper even came out to our house to interview him and my husband and me. A reporter had contacted his high school, because they wanted to interview a student who was one of the best and brightest, someone who broke the mold of the slacker image of High School boys. His school suggested they interview Savant and his parents. I don't remember if this was before or after it was announced that he was the only Merit Scholarship Finalist in the whole school. He was pleasant and brilliant and normal. The cruelty of this illness is immense, partly, because he can remember when the world was his oyster.
This isn't the only horrible affliction, of course, but it is the one our family deals with. As his parents, it has broken our hearts and been very frightening and difficult, but we don't have the disease. I really can't come close to imagining the full extent of the suffering, confusion, frustration and isolation that Savant experiences.
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