Return of the Critter

There was another critter in the condo. In the wall. Scratching away, trying to get out. Phoenix and Diablo have been sitting, staring at the closet wall. At first, I thought there was a bug in the nap of the rug, but I saw nothing. Then I heard the scratching. It sounded like desperate attempts to climb up the interior wall between two by fours and electrical wires.

What to do? Cut a small hole into the wall inside the closet. Position the cat carrier in front of the hole with water and cat food to lure the critter inside. Wait. Nothing. Critter disappeared or died.

I don’t smell anything and now I have a hole in the wall to fix.

I'm going to name the unknown critter Paris Hilton.

Truth Never Changes

We’ve seen the shot. Earth from space, a place few have seen or experienced first hand. It's one thing I’ll never be able to check off my “To Do List”.

The astronauts’ perspective of our home, planet earth, seen from space, is something we can try to imagine. I imagine it with two thoughts—one with God and one without. My choice is with. We can debate the points of method or means of creation, if you think it is important. I don’t, but agree I am fascinated by it. My focus is on the Maker and why. I trust in God and I know the answer.

This week, before the space shuttle safely returned to California, my friend Nancy received an email. It was from Danny Olivas onboard the shuttle. He is the astronaut who fixed the torn blanket on the shuttle last week. She knows him from Houston(We all wait to hear who she will meet in her new life in New Orleans.). The idea of getting an email from space is incredible. It is one thing to know an astronaut and quite another to get an email FROM SPACE.

Most American don’t know who this guy is. Honestly, I would not have either if it hadn’t been for Nancy. This got me thinking. Remember the days when the principle herded us elementary kids into the cafeteria to watch the space capsule come back to earth? (Okay, you whippersnapper. This was in the 60’s and I’m showing my age.) The tiny funnel-shaped craft, half the size of VW and with as much space inside as a glovebox, plummeted into the ocean often miles away from the recovery ship. For what seemed like hours we sat there watching the black and white television as Walter Cronkite walked us through the recovery. We all prayed (yup, prayed in school, God help us.) that the mission would be successful and completed before we had to climb onboard the yellow school bus to head for home where in my family there wasn't a TV.

In the days of the early missions, great attention and national importance was given to a program that launched monkeys, dogs and chimps into space. They had names and we knew the names of the Chimps—Ham and Enos. Wrote children books about them. And 40 plus years later we don’t know who is up there, what they did and when they came back. (They do howeer carry the landings live in Florida on the local stations.)

A lot has changed in our world. But from space, incredibly our planet still looks pretty much the same and the Maker hasn’t changed. And we still debate the means, but the truth never changes.

Tax Dollars

Here is an interesting website to play around with. It doesn’t involve flying helicopters into brick walls, nor does it test your skill at Suduko, nor will you get the latest up date on Paris Hilton, nor a preview into Hillary Clinton's (surprised no one has made a song about those two since their names rhyme) latest UTube video. Instead, the interactive website allows you to track your food consumption and daily activities. Over the course of time it provides charts and graphs about your nutritional intake in details that will make you ask “Selenium. What is that?” There are loads of information about the basic food groups and number of daily servings you've eaten and how your diet is stacking up. If you pay taxes, be sure to check it out as it is brought to you by the United States Department of Agriculture Center for Nutrition Policy and Promotion.

It doesn’t take much to set up outside of an ID and password. While it asks for an email address, it is optional so spam is not going to be a problem and Big Brother isn't tracking you gluttony. You can however find out all the nutritional drawbacks to Spam. (Oh yeah, check out this website. Take the time to watch the characters get bored with posing just for you. Roll your mouse over the page and each character comes alive. But be warned, the music is dorky and so is the homepage.)

You didn't think I would really give you links to Paris and Hillary did you? And you thought I was writing a book.

Healing

It was time to reboot the running program. After four weeks of laying in bed at 5:55 am, using the excuse that I was resting my ailing shin, I got up to test that shin and prove to myself that part of my sciatic problem was due to my inactivity as much as my attempt to prefect flips on the end of my swimming laps (I flounder like the fish). The shin felt good, but I ran about as slow as Hershey syrup pours after being stored in the freezer-- so the ants can’t get it although I have found some of the tiny raiders in the rubber gasket of the freezer door.

By late afternoon, the shin wasn’t sore and the sciatic nerve while not 100% continued to improve as I stretch three times a day. I tried a couple of flips in the pool, but since others were swimming and I didn’t want to endanger them or cause them concern with my possible drowning, I curtailed improving my technique.

Soy Nuts

An interesting little buds of flavor with a dry scale resembling insect wings have the same crunch of a piece of toast found in the bottom of a toaster, the salty flavor of a French fry and the light nutty hint of a wild pine cone. Here are some soy nut nutrition facts:1/2 cup as in 86gm roasted soynuts contains Calories: 387, Protein: 34g, Carbohydrate: 28g, Total Fat: 18.6g and Fiber: 7.0g.

Same negative results as soy milk. The question is how many soy nuts can a cat eat before they get sick?

Minor Leak

One of those split-the-sky-open-and-let-the-dogs-and cats-pour-out thunderstorms rolled through Tarpon Springs this morning. I headed home just ahead of the ominous clouds and slammed the windows shut in what turned out to be a fruitless effort to keep the elements out of the condo. I’m sure this is not the first winodw leak (remembered it rained during Tropical Storm Barry).

I set up a little brigade of sponges and rags along the window sill and kept working my way up and down the line wringing and wringing until my hands were as raw as Cinderella’s after she finished scrubbing the stairway to her evil stepmother’s root cellar. I filled a 20 pound cat litter bucket with water. Despite my best effort the carpet still got wet. At times, the rain actually fell on my head. Check that, I’m inside and the window is closed. The track for the pane filled with water and flowed across the faux marble sill and cascaded down the wall. An interior designer could not have designed the effect any better. Except I had no time to admire the watefall.

Definitely need to replace that window as I suspect this is not the first leak and the “crack” around the casing has to let rain into the wall itself. (This is the same area where the ants invade the condo.)

It rained harder than Barry. The condo maintenance guy is out in the parking lot trying to unplug the storm drains. Cars are up to their value stems in water. Looks kind of cool.

Raccoon

I love it when the ingredients of a story come together. The kayak story has been sitting on the back burner for a couple of months, as I struggled with four short stories and a budding idea for a novel. Finally, I figured out how to write it and who is telling the story. It took going back to the basics – paper and pencil. Actually, it took three different colored pens and a new setting—sitting at a table in Panera Bread and drinking a mango raspberry ice drink. The icy drink was delicious, so I am sure it was loaded with calories. I burned them off with an eight mile kayak this afternoon. Fighting a strong headwind and then not messing around too much on the way back with the tailwind worked up a sweat. By the way, saw a raccoon swimming across the river. This little guy was swimming as hard as he could to keep away from the three kayaks. After he made a mad dash into the mangroves, I heard some birds squawking their heads off. Nest raid?

After scribbling away on several pieces of paper, making notes about the main character and brainstorming ideas about the other characters and their desires, dreams and lives, I struck on an idea to have the story told by several individuals – their perspective, to clarify the misconceptions about how the kayak was acquired. The story is told by me to my sister, Jennifer. Very complex and I’ll probably get raked by the writers group for point-of-view issues, but what the heck. It is my story.

Now I have to re-write the twenty pages I have.

Here is a soy update: It is impossible to consume 7 grams soy protein without exploding, if you know what I mean. I’d rather deal with hot flashes.

Air Con

I finally broke down and turned on the air. Geesh it has been hot, but I had a splitting head ache, getting knocked down by hot flashes and needed a good night’s sleep. I cranked the temperature down to 79°. Aaah, relief.

I still had a headache. Actually, it was a migraine. I have not had one in months. The onset came from the other night when I went to see Headless Ax at Got Wine in Dunedin. The performance was outside, under tents to escape the thundershower that swept across the state. Lots of cigarette smoke. The small group of friends of the Headless Ax guitarist, Robert Sutherland, who I sat with went through two packs of Camels in an hour. By 10 PM I was as cured as a Virginia ham. Rode home with the windows wide open hanging my head out of the car like any happy dog.

53 Yesterday

My last experience with the drink had not been pleasant. In an attempt to find a suitable substitute on an island that had no milk except what came in a box from Australia, I bought a couple boxes of soy milk. I found the liquid had a flat taste that squashed a chalky sweetness to the roof of my mouth that lingered long after I swallowed the last gulp over three years ago. In search for another cure for hot flashes (the black cohosh is not making the grade any longer), I found myself debating about the brand and flavor of soy milk.

After my morning bike ride to Dunedin (about 23 miles round trip) thirst and hunger propelled me to stand in front of the refrigerator. After swigging back the blue drink from Powerade (I love that stuff)right from the bottle (hey, I live alone) I was about to go for yogurt and cereal when I remembered the box of soy milk I bought at Publix a few days ago. How bad can this be? After all it is chocolate flavored.

The worst that could happen, the funky chalky fluid would ruin my desire for chocolate (it could happen). I confess I liked it. I checked the label to see if I was about to indulge in another bad habit—like eating what I call second hand slow churned ice cream with Hershey’s Syrup (no need to explain that it is chocolate, which I figured could be added to the soy milk along with Splenda if it totally sucked.

No, I haven’t tied flowers in my hair and took up wearing long tattered skirts. Nor have I tried to feng shui my living room or replaced all my light bulbs with pig tails. I’m just fifty three and trying new things. Some new things anyway.

Signature

He signed the card, “Love Mom and Dad.” Mom is no longer here, but I just realized her love never died. Thanks Dad.

Gordon Stone Band

Back in May, I went to the Tulip Festival in Albany. The Gordon Stone Band was playing. Jon McCartan, the cutest bass guitar player in the world was waiting to go on stage. I introduced myself by reminding him that I misidentified his photo on my blog last summer after I saw the band play in Bourne, MA. The band sounded as good as ever, but the larger crowd and stage made the event less intimate than that rain-filled night near the Cape Cod Canal. It seems like a lifetime ago.

All the best to Gordon, Jimmy and Jon—the boys from Burlington, Vermont. This is one good reason why Vermont should not be allowed to secede from the United States.

Take Note: The Boys come to my hometown, Saratoga Springs, New York on July 1st. Where? No better place than Caffe Lena. Of course.

High Tide

There have been milestones I skipped right over. Others, I have stumbled on, but none have I clung to in a desperate attempt to find an anchor.

This morning, I waited out my first tropical storm of 2007, the second of this young, two-day old season. (The first storm zoomed up the east coast of Florida while I was in New York last month.)

Now I am watching the high tide and westerly winds combine forces to push a surge beyond what yesterday's full moon could do. I believe it just peaked, as I have been observing the debris of nature(twigs and flower blossoms) and man (plastic grocery bags, mainly) float out of the canal. Across the brown waters, the tell-tale sign of the high water mark stains the concrete barrier wall like ring-around-the-collar. (Do wives ever fret about that embarrassment?)

The bayou seeped over its embankments and stranded seawater on the road beyond the canal’s bridge. A few drivers challenged the standing waters, but I did a U-turn in my Jeep and went out the back way to Winn-Dixie in search of a can of tuna, a lunchtime craving.

On the dock watching the water rise under a clearing sky (totally different than this morning when the skies dumped up to five inches on a parched ground—last rain was 25 days ago and I don’t remember it.), I realized my birthday is this Friday. However, that isn’t the significant milestone. I am the last of five to have their first birthday since Mom passed way. I suddenly felt washed over with emptiness and some guilt by just noting my siblings’ birthdays during the past nine months. God, a birthday without the mother of my life.

I have managed to get past every twenty-eighth day of the month without thinking of Mom’s death. I might have thought about it the day before or a few days afterwards, but I never caught myself lingering in thought on that day. That was until last month. Nine months have past, the time it takes to create a new life. I guess I am still grieving. I lost a few tears in the outgoing tide.

Women on Mountain