Lend Me your Lamb's Ear

D.M.H. and I spent the past three days or so at the Jersey Shore with my family, and for most of the time I was either drunk or hungover. It was wonderful. I didn't want to come back, and there were a few moments today where I could swear I felt some food poisoning coming on.

Back at home, I was just about to leave for D.M.H.'s place when I remembered I ought to water the garden. I've got a tomato plant with four small 'maters and three pepper plants with the tiniest of buds starting. The fence was as far as I got before I heard a "hey" from behind the neighbor's flower garden. Mrs. Fussnpuss said "I have a question I want to ask you" as she slowly made her way over.

"How are your plants doing up here? Not so good, huh?" She pointed to the three flowers and the Lamb's Ear that I'd planted. The Lamb's Ear's taken off, expanding to fill the space I'd given it. The flowers on the other hand aren't doing so hot. They started off well, but I think a quick thunderstorm we had a couple weeks ago had left them wet, and the sunshine that followed burned the leafs. That's my theory anyway, because one day the leafs were a healthy dark green, the next they were spotted and brown, seemingly instantaneous, and they haven't recovered since.

"Yeah, I don't know what happened to the flowers."
"What are they supposed to be?"
"I'm not sure. They were doing well but something's gotten to them."
"Yeah, they don't look to good. I see you've got some Lamb's Ear growing there."
"Yep, that's doing well."
"Well, I wanted to ask you. I used to have Lamb's Ear over there." She pointed to a planter where there's a tree planted, along with some bushes and flowers. "But it disappeared and now I see it's over there now in your yard. I was wondering if I could plant it over here."
"I found it in the yard, here." I pointed to a spot near my foot, which happened to be the exact spot I'd found it. It's an easy find, since the grass never grew over the naked dirt I left when I dug up the two spots of Lamb's Ear my Mother casually pointed out to me one, mentioning I should dig it up before it got mowed.
"I was wondering if I could have some of it back so I could plant it over here."
I kneeled down and desperatly parted the grass over the bald spot, hoping the scar, when combined with my explanation, would be proof enough. "No, I dug it up here. It was growing right he..."
"No, no, no. It was over here in my yard. Maybe it blew over or something. Anyway, could I have it to plant back over here?"

I relented. What could I do? "Sure you could. Help yourself."
She bent over, picking up a tray and a shovel, which she passed over to me. "No, could you dig it up?"

So I did. I dug up all the Lamb's Ear. I helped her load it up on her tray, and I even straightened her shovel for her. While I dug, ripping up he roots, I was pissed at having been accused of something I didn't do, knowing that nothing I said would convince her otherwise. Later, on the road, I had to laugh, anticipating the enjoyment I would get in telling my story. Now that I've written it out though, I'm not so jovial about it anymore. At the time I told myself that I was just being kind, because really, why make life any harder for her? Why add stress to her days, knowing that they're relatively close to her last. I felt as if I were doing her a favor by being so easy going. What I realize now that is the that it didn't matter who was on the other side of the fence, I would have given my Lamb's Ear up anyhow. Little old lady or not.

It doesn't matter that it was my favorite, that I was so proud I'd rescued it from the yard, that it made me think of my mother, or that I rooted it on as it spread, tripling in size, to fill the area beside my porch step with felty green. I gave it up because I still haven't learned when and how to stand up for myself in those moments when I'm caught off guard. I don't handle these situations any better than I did in the third grade. I'd still rather acquiesce than risk being the bad guy or being in the wrong. The only difference is that I don't pout as much afterwards. And, at least until my mind gets washed over with new preoccupations, I'm going to be reminded of these facts every time I step over that fertile brown crater on my way in and out of my house.

Bathroom Report, Day 1

Slim Jim's been planning on remodeling the bathroom for some time now. He took the week off to work on the house, arriving late Sunday. He gave me the following options on the bathroom: do a little bit at a time to keep it functional/livable, or do it all at once to try to have as much done by the end of the week. Those weren't his words exactly. He thinks he can get it done in a week. Actually, I think he has to think that, or he will get discouraged. The week deadline gives him a finish line to run for. I, on the other hand, need to believe that he can't do it in the week. That way I'm mentally prepared when (if, but really when) it doesn't happen.

Yesterday marked the first day of work, and I came home to see the shower I bathed in just the previous night cut into pieces and stacked on my porch. By the end of the evening, the only thing left in the bathroom was a (thankfully) working toilet.

Starbuck was very good through all this. That is, until I came home. Me being in the room gave her permission under the cat code of conduct to explore, and she was very interested in the holes leading to the drop ceiling below. It had always been my plan to take her somewhere when Slim did heavy construction, so last night I packed her up and took her to my parent's house.

She doesn't like their cat. Big Orange, on the other hand, couldn't care less. He's just eating and napping as usual. Meanwhile Starbuck feels the need to hiss at his very presence. I feel bad for him, but so long as he keeps his whatever attitude, I think he'll be fine. She'll be fine, too. She strode out of her carrier like she owned the place.

I felt guilty leaving her, but dad said "you think that's bad? You just wait until you're dropping you kid off at daycare, or at the babysitter so you can go party."



Note the metal box on the right hand wall. That's Fussnpuss' medicine cabinet. I know it wouldn't happen, but every time I see it I imagine pushing on it and seeing it pop out on her side. I can't believe that's all that seperates our bathrooms though. No more maligning my neigbhor over the phone on the john.

Neighbors: Can't Live With Them, Can't Hate Who You Live Next To Without Them

Oh, doddering Mrs. Fussnpuss, how life has brought you here I dare not know.  Were you always ornery, easily irritated by each passing fellow, judging safely from the slit you pry in your mini blinds?  Or has years of taking shit made you who you are?  Toughened you beyond an empathetic point of view.  Is this what I have in store: a world that tasks me more as years slip by, no one to listen to my complaints, my perspective, my existence less valued than treated as a nuisance?

Trash gets picked up Monday morning, but because I usually stay at Dark Mistress Hawthorne's Sunday night, my empty can will set on the curb.  Usually, by the time I get home, it's already been dragged to my back porch.  The first few weeks this happened I was somewhat irked.  I could only imagine that it bothered Fussnpuss so much that she was compelled to drag this huge can, which just about comes to her chin, all the way around my house.  She'd do this, but she wouldn't leave a note, or knock, and this in turn bothered me.  For crying out, I'm talking about the can setting there no later than noon after the trash was picked up.

One day I came home and saw her waddling her way backwards down my walk, plastic bin hidden in front of her.  She said something like "Oh hi there.  I see your can sitting there and I always figure I'd bring it back for you, I hope you don't mind."   "Not at all" I said, smiling, lying.  Well, half lying.  I did mind, when I thought she did it because she was bothered to.  Now, though, it seemed she was just being neighborly.  Looking out for the nice young man next door.

Our trash day changed this week from Sunday to Thursday.  This excited me because I'd finally be around to pick my can up.  (Plus, I'm usually home Wednesday nights, making it more likely I'd remember to take the trash out after work.)  Seriously, ask D.M.H.  I don't think I ever told her why, but I know I mentioned New Trash Day day to her numerous excited times. 

Thursday morning, on my way to (the final) class (of the semester!) the trash wasn't picked up.  Wasn't picked up on my way back at 11 either.  I didn't hear the truck come before I went to work at 2, so I left it.  Apparently they did come.  Apparently Mrs. Fussnpuss moved my can to the back yard again.  And, apparently one of the college students that lives in the other house next to mine helped her move my can to my back yard, all the while listening to her complain about "the college kid who lives here and never bothers to take his can in."


How life has brought us here I dare not know.

Like Sand Through My Fingers

I've not posted in two weeks because it's been a crazy two weeks. Not overly crazy mind you, but it was the holidays and all. Here's a bullet point style of what I've been up to.

PRE HOLIDAYS

I think it was Monday before Thanksgiving I decided to finally make cookies. I say finally because a year ago at least mom bought me chocolate chips, Reese's Pieces... chips, and Heath Bar chips. Though chocolate chip will always be my favorite, I went with Heath out of curiosity. The recipe was mostly peanut butter and lard, and I don't have an electric mixer. Just this little hand job. Wait. That doesn't sound right.



I figured I'd suck it up and do it like in the old days and all. How did people make cookies before electricity, right? It was so freaking hard to turn that handle that the mixer actually skipped a gear. This caused me to test it out of the bowl, which of course sent peanut butter batter everywhichwhere, evoking one or two childhood memories at least.

In the end though, I came out with a batch of cookies that were delicious. Out of the oven, at least. At room temperature, they were mediocre at best. I took some to the Dark Mistress's house for her and her roomie, and I took some home for my folks. I visited my folks yesterday and there was still one cookie left. I of course must face truth: if folk do not eat your cookies in two weeks time, they simply do not inspire.

HOLIFRICKANDAYS

I decided at mom's suggestion to take Starbuck to Thanksgiving with me. I was worried how she'd get along with Big Orange/Bad Puddy/Bad Boy/Hobbes/my parents' cat. His big and mellow (except around children) and was nothing but curious about Starbuck. Starbuck, whether it was because she was still in the cone or just being in new territory, did nothing but hiss. All in all there were no problems though.

I got into town early to see the old high school rivalry football game with some high school friends. I'm not huge into football but it was an exciting game. Plus I ran into a kid I used to be close friends with back in grade school, and it turns out he lives twenty minutes from me. We exchanged numbers, and I can't wait to catch up with him.

THE LONG WEEKEND
The day after Thanksgiving I took Starbuck in to get her stitches out, but unfortunately they said she wasn't as "closed up inside" as they'd like, so it was back home with a couple of staples, some antibiotics, and another week of the cone.

She got good at managing with the cone, so I let her have reign of the house. They gave me treats to wrap her pills in, but that only worked once, so I had to learn how to pill her the good old fashion "this is for your own good" way. (For those wondering, that is to say I cradle her in my lap, hold her jaw open with one hand, and drop the pill at the back of her throat with the other.) For being such a spitfire, she's also a real good sport.

I generally avoid anything Black Friday, but I saw one deal I couldn't pass up: 5'x7.5' area carpets for $24. Granted, there were only three patterns to choose from, but they were all better than monotone.

Saturday my old friends Bennington and Funk stopped by. (Bennington and I have known each other since we were wee, and Funk is her husband.) It was a surprise visit, and we ended up going out to dinner. Also, they were the first to sign my guest book/type writer, which I suppose makes it official.



Sunday I celebrated my birthday, though it wasn't my birthday, with the Mistress, my folks, and my folks' folks. For the most part, it was good times. I came into some money, which I decided I will hide so I won't use it to pay the bills. It will instead go towards the "I want an electric guitar" fund. Because I want an electric guitar.

Monday it was to Spanky and Zanzibar's house to meet up with Stankfoot and play some hockey and Warhammer. It was fantastic.

BACK TO WORK

Going back to work was harsh. I had early meetings all week and had to stay late a lot. Not much free time. That's all there is to say.

Tuesday I had plans to get lunch with the, uh, Templetons. They're both former creative writing professors of mine, and without going into great detail, know that they've influenced me a great deal. I've decided that I don't want to keep working my job, but I don't want to cut without a plan. I'd like to go back to school, but I don't know for what. Every time I make up my mind, I find myself discouraged a few months later by tales of what comes after. I went to college from high school because that's what I was supposed to do. I studied philosophy because that's what engaged me. I want to go to school again because I want to be working on and towards something that's enriching and engaging, but I'm not going to just wing it. If I go, I want to know for what and why.

I want to get the Templetons' perspectives on creative writing, MAs and MFAs, teaching, and the like. Unfortunately, they stood me up, so ?.

Also, Tuesday I bought a toy:



I've always wanted one. I used to set up labs of these for the high school as a summer job. I don't have cable, and I don't have any televisions. But for $20 I have an old computer with a DVD player in it that sits nicely right in front of my couch.

All week I was obsessed with the notion of installing Linux or BSD on it. Why? I'm glad you asked. The iMac I bought comes with OS 9, which is kind of old. Browsing the internet with it sucks, because it doesn't run any modern browsers nicely. With Linux or BSD, I could install free, modern, and more secure applications. But, mostly, it's because I want to prove I can.

Sometime during the week I also tricked out the coffee table so there wouldn't be a mess'o'wire underneath. Eye hooks to the rescue!



Wednesday I was late for a very important meeting. Like, thirty minutes in front of everyone on our staff late. To a workshop. But I was late for the best of reasons, I reckon. Just as I was about to leave, my neighbor, Mrs. Fussnpuss knocked. Her toilet was running and she couldn't stop it. While my father pointed out that'll make it hard to go to the bathroom, the fact of the matter was it was wasting a lot of water and would have continued to do so had I not poked around in there. The culprit? A strange mineral build up that kept her flapper from sealing.

He he.

And Friday Starbuck returned to the vet to get her staples out. She's back to her old self again, minus some ovaries, plus a gross scar.

Tonight

Today was the first, legit "me" day I've had since... I dunno. Stankfoot and I hit the Bell early, and afterwards I began doing the things I do. To be honest, I don't remember what all I did and in what order, but here's a short list: washed sheets and blankets, did a load of dishes, took all the boxes and crap in the living room to other rooms to be organized and unpacked (finally), unrolled new carpet 2, re-arranged some of the living room, drained the hose and shut off the water leading to the outdoor faucet, vacuumed living room, decorated my tree (tree courtesy of a Grandma, lights courtesy of mom, bells courtesy of D. M. Hawthorne),...

... rescued a sweet Medusa lamp from the basement, hung mirrors in the hallway, and hung a couple posters. The living room looks, well, respectable.

Like someone actually lives here.

Oh, and the cherry on top:

Who kicks ass? I kick ass! Well, maybe just a little. I almost can't believe it works. How well, we shall yet see.