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Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Inconvenient Sense Of Duty
Last night exhaustion somehow sneaked by the evil little no-sleep application in my brain circuitry. I slept for much of the night.
Then at 5:00 A.M. I woke up to find Pork Chop sitting on top of the covers beside me, looking into my face, making small worried noises. This does not happen. Once I actually get into bed for the night, Porkee is down under the covers fast asleep. That dog is a champion sleeper. She can go to sleep on a dime, BOOM! she's asleep. Any time I sit down, she's immediately on my lap and asleep. Especially, though, if I put on my nightgown and climb into bed, that's it for LaPork until the next morning. Not so, though, for me. Which is why I leave the TV on all night. I need something to think about besides the ideas whirling around and around in my head like hamsters on a little wheel.
So there it was, the almost-crack of dawn, and on TV some silly guy asked people questions about the most abvious things, apparently trying to prove that his "guests" were idiots since they knew nothing about anything. And there was Porketty ChopChop worrying audibly into my face. Once in a while, to emphasize her distress, she raised a tiny paw and patted my face. Well, this was just entirely unheard-of behavior. Still sleepy, but curious, I sat up and asked her, "What's the matter?"
She hopped down off the bed and went to stand in the hallway at the top of the stairs, looking back at me as if to say, "Come ON!"
My gracious. There had to be something terrible going on that I didn't know about.
I groaned my way out of bed and down the stairs. Aha. Half-way down the stairs, I began to hear it, some kind of dreadful wailing. The farther I was from the upstairs TV, the better I heard it. Terrible screams and wails of the most extreme kind. Shocking.
I peeked out from between the blinds into the street. Nothing. No little lost child trying to get help. Hm. What could be the problem?
Then I got it. That had to be two mating raccoons. They make noises like crying, screaming children...very much like mating cats only much more so and louder. I have heard this all before. At the farm in Pa. sometimes on a summer night I have heard those hideous, hair-raising screams and yowls from the woods. Raccoons in reproductive mode.
So what was I to do? Pork Chop had no idea what made that noise but she felt obliged to go outside and shut it down. She was at the door, shivering and shaking, scared, if also determined to do her dogly duty. I tried to hush her up, but no luck. The more I tried to quiet her, the louder she barked and raged. That noise had to GO. She, Porkee, as the only dog around, needed to do something about the howls and yowls.
Well, I wasn't going to get any rest unless I took her out, but I worried that her barking would wake the neighbors. Also, I feared that the raccoons might take it into their heads to do battle with a chihuahua at the other end of a leash from me. I could see where the raccons were because my neighbor to the rear has motions sensor lights over his garbage cans. Those light had turned on and off several times in the moments since I came downstairs. Way too close for comfort.
Finally, I just grabbed the leash and out we went.
Porkee did NOT bark. She very quietly growled her way around the yard until satisfied that whatever bad things were out there did not inhabit the space for which she feels responsible. Also, there was no further noise from the raccoons.
So, we came back indoors and went upstairs again to bed. Porkee was instantly asleep. I watched re-runs.
No, Joanna. Just no.
Advice given to me forty years ago went like this, "Keep it all simple. Don't allow your life to be complicated." Every now and then I have to revisit that long ago wisdom.
Over time, activities, committments, choices, intentions...grow up so high that I can't see out. The panic attacks begin.
I am my only enemy. All these dramas I inflict on myself. No one makes me say that I will do this, that, and the other. I volunteer...with the best of intentions. Then the anxiety; how am I going to do any of it?
Right now I'm desperate about a project re. chihuahuas. I started on the things I have to do, but all of it seems so complicated. I want to make chihuahua slippers for four children...little slippers with a chihuahua head on the front of each and a tail on the back of the foot. Then I want to make a little back pack with a velcroed-on chihuahua puppet for each of those children.
Finally I want each child to have a t-shirt with a chihuahua printed on the front. Worry, worry, worry.
The thing is, I can't make the chihuahua the way I see it in my head. As a matter of fact I can't choose which chihuahua image to use. Yesterday when Benny was here, we drew chihuahuas for the second time. I think my effort came out a bit better than the previous attempt. Here it is.
The pattern I made for the slippers came out this way...
I suppose this is going to be another instance of me frantically just diving in and doing one of these projects because the stress of worrying about them is too much. I don't, however, really have any idea how to do what I want to do.
See? That's how it goes. I talk myself into a predicament and then I have panic attacks about how to do what I said I'd do. Nothing new, been doing it all my life. Every time I start another project, I say to myself, "I will never, ever, so long as I live get myself into another mess like this."
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Fooooooooood
It's one thing to follow a recipe and produce a lovely, appreciated result. Quite another thing to go alone through the endless choices, myriad flavors, and create an all-new and far-too-good dish. My aim, always , is to accomplish the second alternative.
Today after I woke up early, I watched my favorite minister on TV. He always preaches for an hour, and I love it. What a brain, what a talent. It is the Reverend Courtney McBath. Oh, my goodness, how entertaining, original, and intelligent he is. On his program there is not a word of begging for money. It's all about fixing the human race, one person at a time. The guy is a genius.
Then Lydia called and invited me out onto the Netzer family boat for the rest of the day. She teased, "Don't you want to see eyeball to eyeball
with dolphins?"
My answer, "No. I want to see dolphins on TV, if at all. I at all times want a solid floor under my feet, not endless deeps of water." We go through this dance nearly every nice weather weekend.
After she stopped pretending to be surprised that I could give the boat trip a miss, I asked her, "On your way home afterwards, would you like to stop here for supper?"
She admitted that she would like that and asked what was on the menu. I told her , "Cabbage and pork and potatoes." He-he-he-he-he.
Of course, I have no intention of making anything so fall asd winter as that. This is a lovely, hot, summer day and it calls for salad meals.
After deliberation I have decided to make shrimp salad and also a molded strawberry jello salad complete with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.
So many choices, so little time. I had no idea how many shrimp salad recipes existed on the internet.
After thought, I am going to make a salad which includes the following items; pasta, minced celery, shrimp, hard-cooked eggs, mayonnaise, lemon juice, cut-up Spanish olives, minced onion, mustard, minced green peppers, fine-cut carrots, salt and pepper, and sweet pickle relish.
Let's hope that those hungry Netzers, fresh from a whole day on the ocean will like what they find.
I intended to make crab cakes and grill them, but could not find enough locally caught crab at my local store. I mean I couldn't find enough fresh crab which lacked it's exoskeleton. No way do I want to spend this beautiful afternoon prying bits of crab outsides off the underlying meat.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Roofers
The house being built across the street, it needed better roofing than plywood. With all the recent rain, that plywood must have begun to swell. Finally today a roofing 'company' showed up. It was a shabby little old Econoline van with the top nearly invisible under a forest of ladders. Five little men got out, no, not Leprechuans, little skinny Hispanic individuals gabbling loudly to one another in rapid-fire Espanol. One of these was clearly a kid too young to go up on the roof. Another seemed to have something wrong with him. First he sat down on a pile of lumber, took off his shoes and socks, and played with his toes. Then he put his shoes back on, but strolled around the house with his shirt half on/half off, held down at waist level by his arms. Now and then he sat down and appeared to suffer from abdominal cramp. That left three workers. They tore into the job as though it would be their last chance to prove to St. Peter that they deserve to go to Heaven. My, the frantic scramble. Since the work began well after noon, I assumed that they were just on hand to set up for tomorrow. Not so. In less than three hours, those three little men completely tar-papered the roof, cleaned up the site, repacked their van, and disappeared. At first I watched their progress, than gave it up as too scary. They showed no regard for their safety, leaped from section to section. Stood upside down pounding nails on an eighty percent grade. A man below threw material up to a fellow above who jumped to catch while standing on steep roof with no safety equipment of any kind. They just leaped around like mountain goats. It was sickening to see. Each minute I was sure that I would witness an ugly fall. Didn't happen. They are such a small "company" that their rusty old van had no lettering on the side. I guessed that this means they are illegal Mexican workers, going around doing roofing jobs like other migrant workers travel to pick fruit and veg. Good workers, though. Outstanding.
In today's paper I see that Mexican president Vicente Fox is in trouble with the NAACP for saying, "America needs the Mexican worker who will do work that not even blacks will take on." Blacks, of course, are furious about the word EVEN, and it was a silly, demeaning thing to say. I have no idea whether a black roofing company was offered that job or whether they would have taken it if offered. I do know that there are very few people of any race who could have accomplished a neat, efficient tar-paper roof on that entire house in three hours with only three speedy little workers. Those men deserve a chance to work in the USA. Actually, they're too darn good for this country. Nobody else here works like that. The only thing an American worker might hold against them is that if they lived here all the time, no contractor would want to hire anyone else.
An all-black crew did the masonry. An all-white crew framed the building. Now an all-Hispanic crew papered the roof. Of the three groups, if I were a contractor, I'd try to get a permanent lock on the services of those roofers. All three crews did a good job, but the roofers were unbelievable.
Joanna Of The Jungle
Last night I woke up briefly to see a silhouette cross the roof outside my window. Looked like a very large raccoon. I went back to sleep.
Today neighbors recited an endless litany of raccoon and opossum invasions. The consensus? It's only a matter of time before I, like everyone else, meet animals right here in the house. I heard about raccoons which fight cats for their food...raccons which wake people up at night foraging in the garbage tub and then banging the lid down...raccoons that climb up on the porch to sit with people on nice summer evenings, brushing against their hosts kind of like cats do.
I heard about opossums that live in a house for months, hiding in spaces between the upstairs floors, coming out at night to graze around the kitchen for scraps in the sink and garbage can. Opossums that cheekily just move into the house, that have to be chased out with a broom. Then there was the opossum that slept under a little girl's bed. The family kept chasing it out and away, but it always came back. They knew when the opossum was snoozing under the bed, because its long, bald tail stuck out from under the bedskirts.
I heard about an empty house on the next street, a house empty of furniture but full of live raccoons.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Don't Read The Newspaper
As a person with a bad heart and high blood pressure, I should really cancel my newspaper subscription because once in a while I actually read the thing and I always get mad. Today was no exception.
The most annoying article was about the fact that so many little kids get kicked out of preschool for extremely awful behavior. As usual teachers were blamed. If those teachers weren't so pathetic, the kids would behave. Oh, my. What kind of bad behavior was mentioned? Well, you'd think the article was about inmates at an asylum for the criminally insane...sexual assaults, arson, assaults with deadly weapons, drug sales, attempted homicide, theft, etc., etc. I don't even want to know how a preschool child can commit a sexual assault. Now, while it might be true that children generally behave better when they have a really interesting teacher, I fail to see how a poor teacher can be the cause of this crime wave. It's all just too violent and crazy. Yes, if the teacher's boring, the kids might throw spitwads and pass notes, but commit arson? There has to be some kind of bad little kid virus going around.
Bad Dog
See the sweet, humble, meek and lowly face on that little dog? Don't you believe it. Today as we did our walkies, I had to hoist her up and tuck her under my arm several times. She so much wanted a chance to bite the ankles of passers-by. Fortunately it's easy to get her off her feet. Her leash attaches to the middle of the back of her harness. Plus, she's a feather-weight. So when I need to take her out of circulation, I just haul up on the leash and grab her. Most people, even those at whom she's yelling and cursing, most of them say, "Oh, what a cute little dog." Today we ran into a more sensible character who in a loud, stern voice yelled back at Porkee, "You are a BAD DOG!!"
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Tooling Up For Memorial Day
Here we are, Porkee and I, in the middle of the largest military spread on Planet Earth. When you combine all of the bases and military airports and boat yards and ports in Hampton Roads, this little parcel of the USA houses an enormous array of military stuff.
Everything, everywhere is about militariness. Names of major roads; Battlefield Boulevard, Military Highway, Terminal Avenue... The fanciest shopping happens at MacArthur Mall, complete with statue of the man himself and built in his memory. Then there's Military Circle Mall, not so rich and snooty, but very big. Stores in every direction bear signs..."Automatic Credit For Military Personnel".
A woman whose family briefly vacationed here told me that she, her husband and kids took a tour of the main base in Norfolk and were told that it alone is the largest military base on Earth. She said that without making any stops except for one restroom visit, their bus tour took four hours and only hit the high spots, places of interest to non-military tourists. That one base is just part of vast expanses of military might crowded into this southeast corner of Virginia. There's every description of military installation from the monstrous Newport News shipyards, big enough to build and repair aircraft carriers and nuclear submarines, to small, historic Fort Monroe, perpetually under threat of shut-down.
Now, consider that Memorial Day approaches. This morning I checked online listings of Memorial Day festivities and was amazed. Back in Detroit, Memorial Day meant, at most, a little, rag-tag parade down Gratiot, followed by family barbecues. Here, over the three-day weekend, there will be endless free concerts by big-name entertainers, military demonstrations, tributes, flyovers, parades, kids' events, re-enactments, family fun events, fireworks...no one could attend a fraction of it all.
I have no idea what Porkee and I will attend, if any of it. However, LaPork is getting tooling up appearance-wise. I've begun to "dress" her each day in a ribbon bouquet. Here's one I tried as a Memorial Day "outfit." :-) Taaa-Daaaa! The patriotic Pork Chop!!
Decrepitude
Once in a while one's mortality shuffles closer and rudely bumps one in passing. Yesterday was such an occasion.
Lydia wondered if I had any plans. I had no exciting ideas, just a couple of merchants whose businesses I wanted to visit in the near future. Lydia volunteered to chauffeur a shopping expedition, complete with stops of her own along the way and kids in tow. So around 9:30 A.M. we set off.
First stop: Comp USA. Their Sunday flyer detailed camera options both cheap and of a high quality. Once in the store,I waited out three customers who arrived after I did but who must have been more clearly visible to the help. At length a nice young lad assisted me with the purchase of a decent camera and a memory card for it. This took a long time. I went into the store planning to buy a 7.2megapixel unit, but changed my mind. That would only force me to shrink each image. Why not start with each image less massive? It's not as though I anticipate a career of making Benny/Sadie/Porkee posters and calendars...although why not? Good raw material there.
Second stop: Office Depot, where after extended internal debate, I chose a cross-cut shredder which claims to hunger for paper clips, staples, huge wads of paper, and other silly things. Like a teen-aged boy who says, "I could eat a cow and a calf, a hog and a half, and dessert after that." Well, all I expect of it is a decent appetite for what's left when I answer the mail.
Third stop: Lydia dropping off some cheery little gifts at the home of a friend whose kids are drearily sick. I stayed in the van with the children who turned out to be in entertain-Ahno mode. Sadie, particularly, ran through her repertoire of goofy behaviors. My favorite is that she has "security ears". You know how a small child will cherish a blanket or a soft toy, drag it everywhere and snuggle with it when tired? Well, for Sadie, that security item is her ears. When she starts to get sleepy, she grabs one of her ears in each hand and holds the tops of those ears out away from her head. I've never seen another child do this, and it's both cute and funny.
Fourth stop: McDonalds where we waited at the outdoor ordering box for nearly ten minutes without rousing a response from the inmates. I volunteered to just go inside to order, but Lydia said, "No." Finally even Lydia's patience exhausted, we pulled forward to the payment window and there, inside the store, stood a group of employees who appeared to resent our intrusion on their do-nothing idyll. When Lydia requested ice-cream...Benny's order...the girl who reluctantly approached the window after we all glared at her...she laughed as she announced that the ice cream machine was "down". Grrrr....! Oh, well, we all got something to eat after an inordinate delay. The wait was bad, but the fries were good.
Fifth stop: Target where I bought a dog carrier purse and a t-shirt for Porkee. The shirt had on the back the words Bling-Bling spelled out in tiny rhinestones. Also I got a pedometer for use during Porkee's obligatory neighborhood surveilance each day. Lydia bought a timer to use while Dan does sprints on his racing bike. He wants to prep for a race coming soon in June. Benny tried out a bicycle which looks like a little red motorcycle...complete with training wheels. He adored it and found that he needed extreme time on task with that try-out. It will be a reward for completing his 50-day challenge...if he makes it through tomorrow still faithfully practicing the violin. Both Dan and Benny did the challenge...Benny on the violin, Dan on his bicycle. Dan has promised himself a fancy new kind of cell phone if he completes the challenge. Ha. As if Dan would ever not finish what he began.
Sixth stop: the sewing machine parts store. Once more the children and I waited in the van while Lydia tried for a part she needs...her zigzag capability seems to have gone wrong. This time quiet prevailed as the children watched a movie on their overhead screen...wonderful invention.
Seventh stop: home. Benny asked and was promised a cooking visit with me. I was ready to help him make brownies, his favorite. He and I climbed out of the van. Lydia carried in my new shredder. Then she said, "I think Sadie and I will stay, too. I want to see how Porkee looks in her new shirt and carrier." So, Benny played video games and baked brownies. Sadie redistributed the contents of the kleenex box and the toy box. Lydia figured out my new camera and showed me how to use it. Porkee barked indignantly at Benny for daring to displace her on my lap and then on Lydia's lap.
Earlier I arranged to meet the teacher of dog training classes in the Virginia Beach Petsmart at 5:30 P.M. So around 4:30 Lydia and the kids went home. They had to feed Dan and then go on to Lydia's and Benny's karate lessons. I sat down for a minute.
Suddenly I realized that I was going nowhere. My chest hurt so much I could scarcely breathe. I gripped the arms of my chair and clenched my teeth. Very painful. After a bit it subsided. I got up and headed for the stairs. Oops. Mistake. Pain came back worse than ever. I waited. The pain subsided again. Carefully I hauled myself out of the chair and walked slowly toward the stairs. Worst pain of all. That did it. I slumped on the sofa and prepared to sit as long as necessary. When at least fifteen minutes without pain elapsed, I walked to the phone, called Petsmart and rescheduled my appointment. Then I very slowly worked my way upstairs, into my nightgown, and into bed. For once, lifting Porkee seemed at the edge of impossible. Although it was a warm day, and although the bed was covered with a sheet, blanket and two quilts, I was so cold my teeth chattered. I got up and put on a heavy sweatshirt over my nightgown, then re-crawled into the sack. There I laid until nearly 9:00 P.M. when I woke up feeling somewhat better. Very slowly I maneuvered my way downstairs, wangled Porkee into her harness, took her out for a bedtime pitstop, came back indoors and fed her, and then went back to bed until I woke again at 6:00 this A.M. Here I sit with the feeling that a hand is around my heart and once in a while that hand gives the heart a hard, painful squeeze. In the dictionary beside the word decrepitude, the only definition necessary would be a little picture of me.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Top Three
Takes some effort to move Benny from Ahno's house out into his mother's waiting van. He always cries. This, I suspect, is a habit of no more significance than sneezing after distantly sighting an allergen. Once or twice he probably was really reluctant to leave, but EVERY TIME? I don't think so. Anyway, at his going home time, I start to work up transition strategies designed to move him out with a minimum of boo-hooing. Lydia calls to say that she's on her way, and I think fast.
On Saturday I knew that the Netzer dinner menu would be delivered pizza. Benny loves pizza. Well, I thought he did. Lydia called. I said to Benny, "Oh, boy! Let's hurry up and get your shoes on. Mommy's coming so you can go home and eat your favorite dinner." He end-ran the hype and went into his sniffles and moans routine.
I brightly chirped, "Benny, your favorite? Tell me, what's your favorite? That's what you're having for dinner."
He ventured, "Cheesy noodles?"
I said, "No, this is your other favorite. What's that?"
Benny, "Eggy pie (quiche)?"
Me, "Another favorite."
Benny, "Trees and cheese (broccoli with cheese sauce)?"
Me, exasperated, "Benny. PIZZA!"
He was not impressed.
What about that? He expects mac/cheese...quiche...broccoli when promised his favorite food. Obviously Lydia does a far better job with kiddy nutrition than I realized. Broccoli. Well, I never! As a child I might have mentioned every food on the planet before resorting to Benny's big three.
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