SKUNK!!

photo from http://www.pbs.org/wnet/nature/episodes/is-that-skunk/do-skunks-make-good-pets/4569/

Just me and the skunk this morning, hanging out on the patio. I've been wondering why Winnie (the dog) is so interested in our garden shed lately! Now I know. A cute little kitty with a white stripe down her back has made her home behind said shed.

Yesterday I called animal control to arrange for a little help. The man who answered the phone informed me that skunks were wild animals. Um, yes sir. Yes they are. You have indeed put your finger on the reason for my call.

The city animal control does not, apparently, control wild animals in the city. Domesticated - yes. Wild - no.

I then called someone advertising themselves as an outfit that could help me with my potentially odorific problem. They prefer enticing the skunk out of its home, then once it's gone, filling in the hole and skunk-proofing the property. For a mere $300, ma'am. Or, if I just want to get rid of the skunk (insert disapproving tone) he could put me in contact with Trapper Dave.

So right now we still hold our collective breath every time we let the dog out into the yard. I'm a little less enthusiastic about wandering out to my garden at dawn to pick my beautiful tomatoes. Speaking of tomatoes, I read that the use of tomato juice after being sprayed by a skunk is not all that helpful. The Skunk Whisperer recommends a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and liquid dish soap. Maybe I should assemble an emergency kit just in case.

I'm sure I could draw some life lesson from all of the above for your/my edification... something about keeping the mental and spiritual fences mended, not allowing pesky thoughts and attitudes to burrow in your head - making them that much harder to get rid of, calling in an expert when needed...

Nah. I'll leave that up to you. Although I would be interested in knowing what your "emergency kit" is for keeping the unwanted and potentially malodorous attitudes out of your life.

While you're contemplating these deep thoughts, you can watch an episode of Nature- "Is That Skunk?" Interesting!!

This one's for Tessa

I've always loved Andrew Wyeth's Master Bedroom painting. It reminds me of our own Winnie, who takes up her watchful post on our bed every morning as I get ready for work.

Apparently she loves anything upholstered! I can't blame her. She's getting pretty old in doggie years.

See what you're missing Tessa? Tell me college is more exciting than this!!! No don't. I really don't want to know exactly how exciting college is.

empty nest empathy

My sister called last night just to talk to someone who gets the pain of the empty nest. Her girls are gone for the summer, but it's just the prelude to being gone for good.

My sister and I went to live in Switzerland the first semester of our senior year in high school. My grandfather, a gifted theologian and teacher, was going there with my grandmother to teach for a semester. They were brave enough to invite two 17 year old teenagers to tag along. It was no less than a life altering experience.

I tell you that because it was my own mother's first experience with the empty nest. I remember her telling me later that she would sit at my desk in my bedroom, looking at all my high school paraphernalia, and feel the empty ache deep down in that hole that had opened up at the departure of her daughters.

I chose to go to college far away from home and again, my mother struggled privately with saying good-bye, leaving me there on the sidewalk in front of the dorm, knowing it was a temporary separation - a trial. The real leaving home would come later.

In reality, my sister and I don't really have empty nests. Our daughters may be gone, or still coming and going from college, but our houses are full. My house now holds four adults - two generations coexisting, plus Tessa for a few more weeks. We've exchanged caring for children for caring for parents. (My precious in-laws are probably wondering how it came to be that they are once again sharing their home with their children) My sister and her husband are opening their home to a couple of young women, providing transitional time and space. I think the empty nest is more of a heart issue.

Yes, we knew this day was coming --the day all of our years of mentoring, guiding, disciplining, dance-chaperoning, arguing, laughing, playing, cookie-baking, knee bandaging-- would come to an end. That's the plan, the goal, and we are grateful for it. Knowing we did our absolute best, knowing the daughters are relatively prepared for life, and leaving the light on and the bedroom available...those are the only things that soothe.

And maybe a phone call to someone who gets it.

Junk in the trunk...and the garage...and the closet

Does your man suffer from AMJ? What is it about men and their Accumulated Male Junk. I don't mean the in-the-trunk-junk. I mean that stuff they accumulate through the years and cry about when you attempt to wrench it from their hands, prying one finger off at at time. Not that I've tried. I'm speaking hypothetically.


Continuing in hypothetical mode, what is the plan for the two large boxes of rusted 1960's era Tonka trucks? Or how about the train set? Were you holding out for the birth of a son or maybe now a grandson? Do you really need your old baseball glove, two baseballs, ancient golf clubs, old ski jacket from 1979 with lift passes still attached, hiking boots that haven't seen a trail in 25 years? You'd still have your skis and ski boots even though we haven't lived near a mountain in 27 years, if you hadn't been forced by space issues into giving them up in one of our moves, along with the collection of tennis and racquetball racquets that you planned to someday get restrung.


Then there's the accumulation of keys to unknown locks, old cans of shoe polish, pocket knives, and miscellaneous coins in your night stand. Speaking (hypothetically) of coins, you have a collection of currency from every country you have ever visited. And that's a lot. I don't think they even print Russian Rubles in those denominations any more.


Any thoughts on the trombone, the guitar, the mandolin? Don't get me wrong, I would love to hear you play any of the above. I'm just curious about why you keep them around when they haven't been touched in years except to move them out of the way to look for something lost in the back of your closet.


To find answers to these burning questions, I turned to Steve Almond, author of the article "In Defense of Male Clutter", published in the June issue of Real Simple.

In this era of geographic dislocation with people moving from city to city, unmoored from their histories, we all long for a stronger connection to our pasts...these dusty
objects are also time machines, Their value resides in the particular set of
memories and emotional associations held by their owner. They have made that hallowed passage from physical objects to, dare I say, religious relics

I suppose that's as good a reason as any to continue stepping around the AMJ in our garage (aka: the dungeon). I've got plenty of other things to worry about. If I can just move the leaf blower that no longer blows, and your father's old table saw, maybe I can get to that big box of photos I've been planning to put in an album.

It's raining big, beefy, manly men

On March 5th I uploaded a picture of the notice from the city stating that they would replace our water main on that date. In city construction speak, that means "we will at some point in the next two to three months replace your water main." I had hoped to chronicle the excitement - woohoo- but it has been like watching toenails grow. Occasionally there were signs of some action when we returned home from work. A little spray paint here, a yellow flag there, some hieroglyphics on the road itself. A pile of sand and another of dirt unloaded at the corner, providing entertainment for the delight of the neighborhood children, and something new and different to blow through my front door with our recent high winds. Not much else. Until Good Friday.

On that day the manly men and their manly machines invaded our street, digging holes, putting in new pipe, and back filling with what was left of the sand and dirt. By yesterday morning they were at my house. I didn't leave early enough, and was trapped in the house for a few hours, my only option being to drive through my soggy front yard to escape. Darn. I had to stay home. I wasn't complaining.

Today I came home a little early from work and had to play dodge-the-large-earth-moving-machines-and-beefy-dudes-wielding-shovels with my car. As I write, we do not have water, the gas line is ruptured, and it's almost quittin' time. School just let out and all the little children are running the obstacle course, most having to circle almost to my front porch, trying to reach their respective homes. The joys of progress.

Frankly, I don't mind the mess if it means the city infrastructure is being updated. Our house was built in 1937 and I'm sure the water line is of the same age. The weird thing is that I've always loved the taste of our water. I'm wondering if it will taste the same after the leaking pipe has been replaced.

And I'm also quite sure that we are not getting curbs. And I so wanted to join the ranks of true suburbia and get curbs. Sidewalks are, I know, out of our league, but a curb seems a small thing to wish for.

Good (it's) Friday

I grew up in a church that didn't put a lot of emphasis on liturgical celebrations. I'm not even sure if that is what you would call it. We didn't really "do" advent or lent. Of course, Christ's birth, death and resurrection were recognized and celebrated. But not by means of a liturgical calendar. We celebrated Jesus with dramatic reenactments of the crucifixion, cantatas, good preaching, and an altar call accompanied by multiple rounds of "Just as I Am".

As a result, I'm not really well versed in things like Maundy Thursday, giving things up for lent or not eating fish on Friday. Err, maybe my Catholic friends used to eat fish on Friday instead of meat.

What I do know is that today is Good Friday, although I've never been completely clear why it's not called Sacrificial Friday or Bad Friday. I also know that "Sunday's a comin'" as many a good preacher has announced from the pulpit (pronounced pool-pit if your preacher's from the deep south).

All I know is that I'm thankful that there was a resurrection following the suffering and death of Christ, much like there will be new life for those folks who lost everything in last nights fires that swept across Oklahoma. And the tornadoes. Last night was a heart breaker. My heart is heavy this morning for those who find themselves unexpectedly homeless, picking through the ashes of what was once the vortex around which their lives whirled.

I don't know about you, but even in its humble, eternally under-remodeling state, home is where the whirlwind of life quiets down for just a little while. It's where I long to be when I'm away. It's where I can wear my sweatpants with dried paint on the butt and no one judges. I'm at peace at home, resting, refueling and refreshing for another dash into the crazy, busy life that I lead.

Just as I am, without one plea

But that thy blood was shed for me

And that thou bidd’st me come to thee

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

-Charlotte Elliott-

Slippery Slope

We're back home and oh so weary. After the adrenaline push of days of trying to keep it all together and being strong for others, we may come crashing down today. But it's probably only the beginning of a long journey.

Anyway, Mark turns 50 in June, so I thought I'd start a running list of things we need to save our money for. And because, well, I just love a good list on a Monday.

• Depends
• Pill box with the days of the week in large print
• Volume enhanced phone
• Shower chair
• Doorbell that makes the lights flicker
• Large print books
• Household staff

Did I mention that while in Wichita we went to the medical equipment supply store? It was like a wonderland of gadgets to help folks live independently. I'm telling you right now, and remember you heard it here, that's the business to be in. These stores are few and far between and the mark up it apparently very high. Actually, the business to be in would be for used medical equipment. Where does all that stuff go when it's no longer needed? Basements/garages? Craigslist?

One other thing I've been pondering for a few days. What is the origin of doilies? I'm gonna have to research that one.

It's a slippers and sweats day

I am in serious slacker heaven. I worked over the weekend, so I'm off today. I have a pile of magazines sent over by the world's best mother-in-law, a good book to finish, a few crafty projects to work on, and a small home improvement project to do. So much fun awaits! I don't know what to do first.

I have to confess I also indulged in sleeping ridiculously late. I woke up with a headache early this morning, so when Mark got up I got up too, took some sinus medicine, and crawled back in under the quilts. Mmmm. So decadent. It was dark and rainy and chilly. Perfect slacker weather. The only thing that would make this day better is if Starbucks delivered!

OK, one thing that would make it better - watching this from my niece's blog. http://sleepysnowbunny.blogspot.com/2008/11/hee-hee.html