I Brake for Living Things... Part 2

Salvador (aka "Sal) ca. 2004-July 19, 2007

Not even two weeks ago, James was hit by a car. Yesterday Sal cashed in his ninth life.

I had a really creepy dream last night where our late dog Kaya came into our bedroom and started licking Chris' and my faces. At first I was happy to see her and then I realized that she was there to take Sal. The details are sketchy now, but for some reason I cupped her face in my hands and it turned into this bloody fleshy mass that wouldn't go away. Yeah, it kinda looked like a placenta! I couldn't get it out of my hands. As the dream turned nightmare I did my "this is a dream and I can change what I want in it" trick. It didn't work. I got the lump of flesh off my hands, but couldn't make it go away. I woke up in a panic.

Kaya is truly living up to her role as a spiritual midwife through both death and life.

I Brake for Living Things in the Road

Last week I saw a bear. That story will have to wait. I'm going to vent about the assholes who drive like maniacs on my street. In the three years that we've lived here, Chris has seen two dead cats, I've seen countless dead squirrels, we've both seen dead whistle pigs, Bea was hit by a car (she walked away with a few bumps and bruises), another child was hit by a car, Meg saw a car kill a chihuahua, and just today, someone hit our cat James with a car, and never bothered to stop.

James is okay. No broken bones, no internal bleeding, just a lacerated tongue and an enormous vet bill.

People use our street as a short cut to larger roads, and they act like they're on the fucking Autobahn, or they're being chased by a car eating monster, or something ridiculous like that. There's no excuse. The speed limit on our street is 20 mph. If you want to drive faster, don't drive down the side streets of small towns like ours! It's that easy. I'm inclined to sit on my porch and start throwing eggs or kombucha SCOBY's (because they have a mysterious flesh feel to them and I think that would get some one's attention) at the speed demons who pass, but that would probably get me in trouble. I've tried yelling at people to stop, and it only works for maybe 25% or the cars. I've thought about making pleasant and colorful signs that say things like "Welcome to our neighborhood", and "please drive slowly [you stupid asshole]", and "we love our children and pets and don't want their brains splattered on your windshield", and "If you hit one of our children or pets we will take your ass to court and sue you". I'm not confident those signs work. I might just start taking down license plate numbers and calling them in to the police. Actually, nagging the police is a common practice on our street. Not all of our neighbors are neighborly.

At any rate, if you live in Greenfield, and you drive down the side streets, beware. If I catch you speeding on my street it will not be pleasant.

I'm afraid that one of these days I might have to go to Bea and tell her that someone ran over her beloved cat. It was sad enough to tell her that we had to take James to the vet and we didn't know how badly she was hurt. She immediately burst into tears. It was heartbreaking.* So to the person who hit our cat and never stopped, fuck you, and consider yourself hexed.

*You may ask why do we let our cats outside. If we don't, they piss all over the house. They were indoor cats for two years.

And Then There Were Seven

I have two African Clawed Frogs living in a tank in the computer room. I adore these frogs, Tristan and Isolde. They're fun to watch, they make a pleasant sound, they're easy to take care of. Yes, they're male and female. How do I know? It's pretty easy to tell, plus I had a tank full of tadpoles about two weeks after I got them, plus they enjoy each other's company--a lot.

So I have two sexually active African Clawed Frogs living in a tank in the computer room. One of these days I'm going to get a large tank in the hopes that I can put fish in the tank that would be large enough not to get eaten by T. and I. I buy guppies every once in a while, but they only last a few minutes. On Thursday I bought 12 ghost shrimp, which are wicked cool little things. It's Saturday night and I count 7. I had 8 from Thursday night until about 10 minutes before I started writing this. Not bad. The shrimp figured out how to avoid the frogs, but one must not have been paying attention. I have several females. I can tell because their exoskeletons are see-through (sometimes they're called glass shrimp), and half of them have bellies full of green eggs.

They eat debris and algae, so they would make a nice addition to the tank if they survive. If not, I'll just get more. They're $1.49 for six at the local pet shop. I think they're worth $2.48 a month. I got a little cheesy neon pagoda for them to hide in and lay their eggs. I'm hoping they'll do that before the frogs get them. T. and I. will probably eat the eggs or the babies, too. They ate their own tadpoles.

It looks like my planaria problem is gone, too.

Glass Shrimp in the wild (where I got the picture)
Glass Shrimp as pets

Kombucha, Missionaries, etc.

The past two weeks, crap as they may have been, have been full of kombucha adventures. Friday the 13th came with prospects for brighter days (not weather speaking!), and a pleasant experience with two cute Mormon missionaries, which actually made my day. Joy pops up at the oddest moments. I love pamphlets and tracts where the images of Jesus bear a striking resemblence to my husband.

In preparation for the farmers' market, I've been buying up Boston bottles and salve containers, collecting new recipes, and planning the first offerings. For the first weeks I should have hair oil, personal lubricant, salves, and kombucha hair and skin toners. I'm doing research on other kombucha cosmetics, and will be setting my older SCOBYs aside for cosmetic use. Older kombucha tea (like the stuff the babies live in) can be used the same way as vinegar in toners and rinses. Soap will come in June, late May at the earliest. If I don't need to certify my kitchen by the Department of Health I will be selling Kombucha starter kits (SCOBY, instructions and recipes, mason jar). If I do need health department certification, maybe I'll hand out brochures on kombucha with information on purchasing starter kits outside the farmers' market.

I've been adding lavender and chamomile to some of the brews. Yum! I put about a small handful or chamomile flowers and a small handful or lavender flowers to the tea, strain them off when I pour and mix the tea and SCOBY, and ferment.

I don't recommend using smokey teas like Lapsang Souchong or Russian Caravan. My SCOBY wouldn't grow in it, but a nasty layer of fuzzy white mold (Aspergillus? Yikes!) grew on top of the tea. I fed it to the compost.

I've been adding ginger in the initial fermentation. I'm going to start adding it once I pour it off. I think it makes the SCOBYs carry a funny aftertaste.

I learned from the Happy Herbalist how to decaffeinate tea, so tonight I did a lavender, chamomile, decaf pu-erh brew with honey as a sweetener. I've read of mixed results with honey, so we'll see.

Also from the Happy Herbalist, I purchased a 2 1/2 gallon porcelain jug with spigot for continuous brewing. I can't wait! I'm going to keep doing experimental batches in my 3 liter jars. We're going to bottle the continuous brewed stuff to share with friends and take to work. So local folks, save your 12 ounce beer and soft drink bottles and I'll fill them with kombucha.

I think a spawning SCOBY demon would make a really cool Sorcerer demon character. The sorcerer drinks the tea or gives it to other people for whatever effect (energy, power, poison...). The SCOBY demon's need is sugar (or something creepier like human-derived glucose), the desire is to have its tea consumed.

I have a job interview on Thursday to train as and then work as Sleep Technician or Polysomnographer. I'm really looking forward to this, even more so than the Church Administrator job, as I would go back to the health care field, back to patient care, in a job with actual growth potential, that could be rewarding and interesting. I'm even looking forward to the possibility of working nights.

Chris and Bea dropped Jeddy off at his temporary board. I couldn't go with them. Just packing up his toys was hard enough. The cats are practically dancing around with party hats and noisemakers, they're so happy he's gone. James came and hung out downstairs this evening when we had a house full of people. We haven't seen her downstairs (other than darting from the stair to the basement to eat, drink, and poop) since Jeddy arrived. When our visitors arrived, they knocked and rang the doorbell without incident or barking or snarling. It was the right thing to do and I do not regret the decision to surrender him to the rescue organization. We weren't an ideal home for him and we couldn't address his needs. Actually Jeddy would make a good model for a Sorcerer demon as the hellhound with a heart of gold.

Bottoms Up

I didn't get the job. They promoted the Administrative Assistant. Which just goes to show that it would have been a great place to work. I'm totally bummed.

And we're giving Jeddy back to the rescue organization we got him from. He's an awesome dog, but he's not a house dog. He's becoming more and more territorial in the house, and things came to a head when he bit Meg on the leg. When he's outside, walking in the woods, he's a great dog. In the house he marks his territory on the kitchen floor and goes crazy when people come to the door, even when he knows them. I'm totally bummed (but looking forward to getting my house back.)

A shot of Tennessee's finest whiskey would be nice right now. Or a little Southern Comfort. Wild Turkey, maybe. Alas.

Woof! Woof!

I received an anonymous letter from one of my neighbors. Because it is anonymous, I am unable to respond and apologize. But since it's anonymous, I can put it on the Internet. So here it is, with my response.
Dear Neighbors,
I'm writing to you regarding your dog. I haven't lived here for very long, but since that other family with the annoying barking dog moved from the neighborhood, it has been a relatively peaceful area. [S/He's referring to the people who lived at Meg's house, I think. I never heard their dog, but they had dogs and they moved away.] Until recently. It shows a tremendous lack of consideration toward your neighbors to let your dog bark from your porch at whatever it sees. This is not a small dog. Its voice is loud and thunderous and is amplified off the other houses. The dog is frequently waking my daughter from her naps, and me from mine, especially when you let it bark at night. Couldn't you keep the dog in your back yard, or get a muzzle for it. I'm getting very frustrating and don't know what else to do, other than calling the police, which I'd rather not do.

So please show some respect and consideration for the other families living in the area and train your dog not to bark. Thank you!!!!!!!

Sincerely,

Your Neighbors

Dear Anonymous Neighbor,
It is unfortunate that this couldn't be resolved face to face. It shows a tremendous lack of neighborliness.

We've had our dog since November. In that time, I've left him on the porch no more than 5 times, and no more than one or two hours. We don't leave him out all night. We don't leave him out during the day. He's in the house when we aren't around or it's night time. I wonder then, if you're not hearing another dog. In the past week I tied him on the porch twice and when he started to bark too much, I brought him in.

I apologize if he disturbed you and your daughter. (Frequently? I find that hard to believe, given the rarity I've put him on the porch) He does have a loud bark. I won't put him on the porch any more.

In the future, please speak with us directly if there is an issue that can easily be resolved between neighbors. We, including our dog, don't bite.

Sincerely,
Your neighbor


I asked one of our other neighbors if he can hear the dog barking when he's in the house. He said no. I am really irritated by the anonymous note addressed to neighbors. There's nothing neighborly about it.

Last year, the people who own a quadruplex down the street let their shrubs grow out into the sidewalk. I wrote to them and asked them to trim them. They did, and then wrote me back, apologizing, and thanking me for bringing it to their attention (they live a few towns over). I would never write an anonymous note to another neighbor. But that's just me. Gosh. I know I'm in the wrong here. I need to stop putting the dog on the porch (it's really been a handful of times). But I'm pissed because I can't talk to this person about it. Maybe there's another dog that is left outside more than Jeddy. What happens when I stop my behavior, but the other person doesn't? Will my "neighbor" call the police on me?

Ingrid and the Bad Cat

A few years ago, Primo found what we believe to be a cat's skull while he was hiking around Poet's Seat Tower/Greenfield Mountain with our late dog Kaya. I'm probably the only one in the house who likes this thing, but I like anatomy and bones and bodily functions and biology-type things. Every time the discussion arises as to whether we should throw it away, I am the loud lone dissenter. And the cat skull now resides atop our CD rack, where the dog can't get it.

A few weeks ago, annoyed and exasperated by Sal, our male cat who still sprays despite being neutered, I threatened him with the skull. I stuck the skull in his face and I probably said something like "If you don't stop spraying, you evil cat, this will be what's left of you." Then I probably muttered on and on about how Sal is evil and bad. It hasn't helped at all. I can accept that all cats are essentially evil, but even evil cats can avoid spraying in the house. As much as it pains me, because he is technically my cat and I otherwise adore him, I've considered finding a new home for him.

Ingrid witnessed the whole thing, and has become fascinated with, if not a little afraid of the skull. After dinner this evening, she climbed into my lap and said, with the conviction of a 23 month old, "I want to see the bad cat." We weren't sure what she was talking about at first, but she kept on pointing to the CD rack. I asked her if she wanted to see the cat skull and pointed to it, and she said, "Yes! Cat skull. I want to see the bad cat." So Primo handed her the bad cat, and at first she recoiled. But he said that it was the bad cat, and happily she took it and carried it around singing "bad cat! Bad cat!" Her older sister, who is into Living Dead Dolls and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, won't touch it.

I bet I can get Ingrid to eat a waterbug.

The Alpha Bitch De-Bitches

Okay everyone together, deep breath. Inhale.......and......exhale. One more time. Inhale.....and.....exhale. Ah.
How could I forget that dancing makes me irie?
I took Bea to Dance Spree this evening. It's amazing what a little movement can do for your mood. Miss "Ha ha! The dog pissed on your gym clothes" Grumpy Pants boogied her grumpy pants right off. It was just what the doctor might have ordered. Bea and I got to hang out and have fun, and I got some exercise, which I need on a daily basis in order to maintain a reasonably sunny disposition. I didn't make it to the gym yesterday.
And I had a little taste of the proveribal karmic crow before I left. Jeddy got a little excited and, that's right, ladies and gentlemen, he pissed on my bag. I'm sure he did it not because he just adores me, but because he got excited and pissed all over the place, as young dogs are apt to do. Just a little dribble got on my bag, but enough to remind me how much it really sucks to have a dog pee on your stuff.

The Universe chastened me by way of the Dog. Thanks, Universe. Thanks, Jed.

So why all the pee in the house? Jed never lived in a house before he came to us, and we've had him for about 3 weeks. He's about 95% house trained, and Dec 1 was his 5% day.

My Dog Speaks for Me When I Must Hold My Tongue

The crap of the week:
I discovered my frog tank is infested with planaria.
My mom is having a cardiac catheterization and I had a dream about her telling me she was dying of a heart illness.
Work just plain sucked.
My older daughter tested my patience at every possible moment, and showed me just how similar we are.
The husband's schedule allegedly required him not to be home before 8 pm Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday and on one of those nights he chould have called, but he didn't because he never calls to say he's late, and I was in a bad mood, and I would have liked his company and help earlier in the evening, so I've been a little annoyed (pissed) at him all week. But what do I say? "You can't go out"? I can't say that. I'm going to be gone most of the day on Sunday, and the shoe has been on the other foot before--many times. So I didn't say anything. I just gave attitude here and there, enough to let him know I was annoyed about something that may or may not have had anything to do with him. He probably thought I was just menstrual. And yes, I know my behavior was wrong.

Maybe Mississippi Jed picked up on the last one. Jed adores me. I'm the alpha bitch in the pack. This morning, he peed all over the husband's mesh gym bag that was full of his freshly laundered exercise apparel. The husband didn't notice until he got in the car to go to the Y after work, and noticed his car smelled like dog piss. (I guess he wasn't going to tell me he was going to spend the whole evening at the Y tonight, and not come home before 8 again.) So he had to come home to wash his dog pissed clothes and actually tell me of his plans to work out all evening. I said, (paraphrasing) "not so fast, dude, I'm going out tonight with Bea, and you're staying home." And I laughed.

Thanks, Jed.

Note: This isn't how the husband and I normally communicate. Our communication is mostly healthy, but we all have our days, and today apparently was not mine.

I Been Good! I Been Bad!

On Thanksgiving Day I did not pig out, but I did eat much.

The day before Thanksgiving, I sat on my parents-in-laws' couch, and worked on Get Away Jordan for a solid hour or so. I made fantastic headway, and can happily say the rules are 90% complete. I will try to write an actual play account on The Forge on Saturday.

The day before we left for Thanksgiving dinner I took Jed for a walk and forgot my neighborly plastic bag. Jed ended up crapping in the yard of the neighbors who let their pit bulls loose all the time and inevitably find their way to our yard and crap in our yard. I did not feel much remorse.

The husband and I are about to check into a hotel near Salem, MA, sans nos enfantes, to celebrate our 8th year wedding anniversary, and we plan to be very, very bad. Well, as bad a two married folks can be with each other.

A Letter to James, our "Beloved" Cat

Dear James,
Please believe me when I assure you that Jeddy, the dog, does not give a rat's ass about you. Any lies that your buddy Sal has told you about him are lies. In fact, Sal gets along with him just fine while you're upstairs hiding in our room.

I understand you've been through a lot in your life, but you have a good home here. You're going to have to adapt and get over this. You managed to adapt when we brought Sal home. I know you've lived with dogs before. We wouldn't have adopted Jed if we thought he would hurt you.

Your little passive-aggressive notions have not gone unnoticed and I demand that you cease and desist shitting in our closet, and get over it. Move on. Embrace life with a dog. If you continue this behavior, you will not be permitted in our room any more. You will have to find another pile of laundry to sleep on, most likely downstairs, where the "big, bad" dog lurks. I do not intend this as a threat. It's a promise.

You have two places you can defecate: the self cleaning litter box on the first floor, and the back up litter box in the basement. Use them, not the closet. This will require that you go downstairs. You'll survive.

With much affection,

Parthenia and family

Another WTF website

Dog Litter?
If you need dog litter, maybe you should have gotten a cat?

What's My Name?

Meet the new addition to our family, Brody, uh, Buddy, no maybe it's Ragnar, no, um, Jed. We're having a naming dilemma in the family. It's mostly between Bea and me. Bea and I are so alike it's painful sometimes, and here's a perfect example of our typical conflicts. She wants to call the dog Buddy. I want to call the dog Jed.
Now I don't know why she likes "Buddy" so much. I admit, it has a nice ring to it, sort of. It's what the foster family called him. According to his vet papers his name was Brody. Buddy is easy to say. He is definitely a buddy. An all around sweet dog with no hang-ups, other than he's not used to being inside. He was a farm dog, now he's a small town dog.
I want to call him Jed, because I love the name Jedediah. If I ever have a boy child, I want to call him Jedediah, but according to my husband, that ain't happenin'. Okay fine. So the name is relegated to pets and role playing game characters. I played a Brother Jed (Jedediah) once, in Dogs in the Vineyard, and he was big and excellent. The other reason I want to call him Jed is that he and I were born in the same part of the country. He was found in Senatobia, MS. I was born in Memphis, TN. (Look at a map. They're close). And when I think of Tennessee, my place of birth, I can't help but think of the Grateful Dead song "Tennessee Jed." I used to queue it up in the tape player when I drove home from college, and once I hit the Tennessee state line, I'd play it.
As it stands now, I will pay Bea $10 for naming rights. She will probably refer to him as Buddy for a while, but just as she called Ingrid "James" for a couple of weeks, I'm hoping she'll come around, and he'll be Jed. If not, I know it's really a bad idea to spar like this with a 7 year old. I know what I was like as a 7 year old. I could learn to live with Buddy.