Jaci Dawn

No, this isn’t about the heroic rescue of the 33 Chilean miners trapped underground for over 2 months. Nothing I could write could do that event any favor: it will just have to stand on its own.

Nope, this was a struggle for life and death right here in my own front yard.

I was talking to Chrystal on the telephone when it happened: I was watching a young Eastern Fox squirrel rummage through the mess of black sunflower seeds on the ground under the feeder. One of the many black-and-white cats in our neighborhood was patrolling up the busy side-street approximately four houses away. These cats keep a keep eye on the bird feeder in our front yard and this one was no exception. It turned from its path and crossed the street to slink along my neighbor’s yard, pausing only for a moment at the orange fire hydrant.

The cat dropped down into a stalking trot and hurried across our street, ears intent on the squirrel. I thought the squirrel should have seen it: the bugger was facing the street as he ate.

The cat came to the retaining wall and disappeared. I was relating this blow-by-blow to Chrystal now:

“Ok, he’s down below the wall. I’m sure the squirrel saw him. Oh! Little black ears are coming up from behind the wall…”

The stupid squirrel turned his back on the street, intent on seeds.

“He’s got him! Oh my gosh! The cat caught him!”

The cat picked him up by the butt and headed out of my yard, across the street. And the squirrel twisted around.

“Oh! He bit him! He’s free!”

In the next few seconds it was hard to tell who was going to win: tiny squirrel or experienced hunter. A tumble of black-and-white-and-red fur rolled across the lawn and jumped back up above the retaining wall, then rolled around the base of the lone tree in our yard. And suddenly, the squirrel was free! Panting, he dangled on the tree trunk just a few inches above the disgusted cat’s nose before catching his breath and making for the nearest limb.

The cat rolled it’s green eyes, shook it’s collar and trotted off.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

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I have been a very busy little bee around here. I’m pretty surprised myself.

First off, I did not go camping with Don because he was making his camping trip into a bird hunting trip with his bird dog and his shotgun. I’d love to go, don’t think for a moment that I wouldn’t, but the logistics changed when I brought Harvey into our little family. Yes, Harvey is a bird dog and I’ve seen him come up onto a point that he held until I flushed the grouse for him, but the truth is: he’s an unproven bird dog as far as having a shot gun fired over his head goes. And camping with Harvey is not as fun as all that: he still doesn’t quite understand boundaries and has to be tethered all the time when camping. If we had the money for a second shock collar, maybe.

Besides, he’d have to stay in camp with me while the Big Boys go hunting and he’d hate that.

He hates that they left him. Oh, he knows they went camping. And he knows he got left behind. He sulked for about 3 hours.

So what have I done with all this time on my hand and no husband underfoot? Well, for starters, not as much as I would have liked to because I have this stupid cold that saps my energy and today it dropped down into my lungs, depriving me of oxygen. I’ve used my emergency inhaler sparingly, but necessarily. I hate my emergency inhaler and the jitters it gives me, but I love that I can breathe. Anyone who suffers asthma knows whereof I speak.

I decided to give my house the kind of cleaning it has not had since we moved in seven years ago: I pulled out furniture and took things off of walls so I could wash walls and baseboards. Of course, I also had to wash the things on the walls and clear out the cobwebs that grew over the summer. I rearranged artwork as I put it back up on the wall.  I plowed through the bathroom, the hall, the living room, dining room and a third of the kitchen in two days. Today I tackled the last two walls in the kitchen.

UGH. We have a gas range with no hood. The wall behind it, the cupboards, and anything near it gets coated with a film of greasy dust. I frequently clean it all up, but it is never a pleasant chore – and this time, I confess that it has been about a year since I’ve looked on top of the refrigerator.

Hey, I think people who can actually see the top of the fridge should clean it, not people like me. I can’t see it. I can barely reach it. I had to stand on a chair to clean it.

I purged half of my refrigerator magnets. I can’t believe I did that. But they were flimsy advertisements from companies I don’t use or that no longer exist and they had to go. Magnets have to have some relevance, you know?

Like magnets from boxes of Celestial Seasons tea.

Or photo magnets. I don’t know why I have more photo magnets of Levi than anyone else. Not sure where the Arwen magnet went. My cousin and her sweetie in a cute little cabin frame. Justin at 3 months. But those are my photo magnets.

Places and Tupperware magnets. I’ve never been to Alaska, but I have three magnets from there. And two from Israel, another place I’ve never been. And some of those places didn’t come out so hot or don’t tell you where they were from: Pike’s Peak, Colorado; an eagle sanctuary in Minnesota…

I think Tupperware is self-explanatory.

Religious magnets. Yes, that one that says “In a world of Copies…” falls under “religious” – it was a gift from a church friend I’ve lost touch with and it reminds me of her. She was very special to me and I wish she hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth.

It’s just random. I love this magnet. Who wouldn’t?

Live streaming folk music from Kent State, Ohio. I have three such magnets. I love Folk Alley.

Smokey the Bear magnets and personal ones from friends: Bob’s Buck Camp is a place where Don goes camping (and a person he camps with) every year. Eagle’s Quest is my dear artist friend, Eric Clanton. And Jesse the Magician is no more, but when he was 12-14 years of age he was quite the magician in the Seattle area. He’s grown up now and moved on to other things. Another friend we’ve lost touch with. 😦

Sort of a dual set of magnets. Ones large enough for little hands so they are where little boys can reach them. The ones on the right are from Starbucks and I swear I had more of them (probably lost somewhere with the Arwen magnet). The ones on the left, now… the wagons are from my very brief stint as a waitress at a place called “Trail’s End Restaurant”. I don’t know if the place exists still or not: I walked off the job with several other waitresses back in 1978, but not before I made them give me a name tag with my name spelled the way I prefer it spelled. And the cows? They came from some church craft night when we all got together and learned how to paint magnets. Yes, I rolled my eyes, but it was fun to get together with several women and do some sort of crafty thing together. I keep the cows because they’re sort of like oxen to my little covered wagons. Really.

The daisies were inspired by Ferdinand the Bull.

It really doesn’t cover all the stuff I’ve done in the past three days, but I’m proud of the front of my refrigerator anyway.

There are more magnets on the side, but aside from FolkAlley.Com – they were pretty boring. So I spared you.

Have a great night and ignore the Fly Lady: I think magnets on a refrigerator are a MUST. 😉

Jaci

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It seems like it was a hundred years ago: I was young, naive, and away from home at college. I was on my second room-mate, a woman named Suzanne from Skokie, Ill. She had a great sense of humor and we did some juvenile things that still bring a chuckle to my heart.

One of our stunts was to pass out rumors that Peter, Paul & Mary (who were no longer a group in 1975) were going to perform in the quad. No one showed up, so it was obvious people were onto the fact it was a rumor (or they just didn’t care). We didn’t care. Another time, we decided to go on the air, live, on the college radio station and sing a song together. The midnight disk-jockey lived in the dorm room next to us and he was thrilled that we were up to such a stupid stunt.

First off, harbor no illusions: my voice is flat. I can hear music just fine, but make my voice obey? HA! I sound eerily like Yoko Ono. That is not particularly flattering. It is also why we chose “Give Peace A Chance” for our debut song. Our only song, actually. Suzanne had a voice as bad as mine and I think the disk-jockey turned us off before he got nasty phone calls in the dead of the night. If anyone was listening, that is.

I loved John Lennon. Of all the Beatles, John was the one I most admired. I didn’t care so much for Yoko Ono, but I loved John Lennon’s quick wit, sarcastic come-backs, and the beauty of the songs he penned. The poetry. From “I Am the Walrus” to “Imagine”, John Lennon was a poet.

The day he was assassinated, I remember crying. I cut the article out of the paper and pasted it into my scrapbook and I wondered why no one else seemed as saddened as I felt that day. The world stood still.

Years later, watching “Mr. Holland’s Opus”, I was gratified to see Mr. Holland stunned by the same news: John Lennon was dead. The world had, indeed, stood still for some of us.

Peace had no chance, there was no Imagine, there was no long-haired hippie dude in white mocking our values. John Lennon made us question things: now he was dead. Assassinated. Murdered. Father, husband, musician. The most fringe element of the old Beatles – gone.

I remember their debut on the Ed Sullivan Show. I’m surprised my parents let us watch it. My sister, Denny, and I spent the following week pretending we were the Beatles: she was Paul McCartney and I was John Lennon. Over and over and over again.

Today, John Lennon would have been 70. That is as hard for me to imagine as it is to imagine that in a few weeks I will be (gasp!) 54.

Happy 70th Birthday John. We’re still trying to “Give Peace A Chance” on Earth – but we’re not doing a great job at it.

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Some decisions are harder to make than others. I don’t expect anyone’s advice to sway me either direction (mostly because I have already thought out nearly every scenario possible); I just want to write about how difficult this decision is to make.

I have the week of the 11th-15th off. Originally (before Harvey) I was going to go camping with Don while he went bird hunting in Eastern Oregon (chukar, specifically, but a grouse would not be looked down on). But now I have Harvey and the logistics have changed: he is not trained to hunt, we don’t even know if he is gun shy, and he would just stand in camp and bark because Murphy is gone. It wouldn’t be much fun.

Then I thought I might drive down to Nevada to see my dad, but the more I looked at my finances, the less I thought I could afford the trip at the same time Don is traveling across Oregon. The possibility of an emergency happening and the traveler needing extra cash looms and I wouldn’t want to tie up that money with both of us traveling different directions. And I would have to board Harvey.

I decided I should stay home and winterize. My dad was in favor of this plan, by the way. I could pull my garden out, dead-head all the dying flowers, dig up the bulbs that need to be dug, and clean all the nooks and crannies in the house that need to be cleaned before winter hits and we’re all stuck inside while it pours cold rain outside.

THEN my youngest mentioned how much she would like to go to Ely to see her grandfather and her oldest brother and she thought we could pool our money and go. Two can travel cheaper than one sometimes. We’d drive to Reno, pick up my brother and drive to Ely, then back again – jiggity jog.

So I called my dad and tried the new plan out on him. He’s 82, ill, dying slowly of COPD (I guess it’s COPD – no one has given me the exact terminology of his various illnesses, but he’s on oxygen all the time) and he’s grouchy. He wasn’t exactly open to the idea of the pair of us making a trip to see him. In fact, he sounded downright upset at the idea and said some not-so-very nice things. He aimed especially at the younger generation under some old man’s misguided impression that a young woman did not really want to see him – but would only be coming down to see her older brother.

To which I wanted to say, “So what? He is her brother and she’s seen you more over the years than she’s seen him and you weren’t exactly nice to her the last time she saw you…” But I didn’t because I was raised to respect my elders even when they don’t exactly respect you.

Chrystal seems to think the trip is urgent and her urgency is fueled by notes she gets from her older brother who lives part of the time with my dad. John is afraid he’ll wake up one morning and have to deal with Dad’s death – a valid concern. Dad pretty much raised Johnny: my parents had custody of him for several years of his younger childhood and when he was an adult, my dad’s house was always open to him. John is more like a son than a grandson in some ways.

My brother wasn’t sure it was so urgent. He advised me that I might want to err on the side of saving money and plan to come down in the Spring. But there’s a long winter ahead and I don’t really know how ill my dad is. Terry said he’d talk to dad and feel out the issue. But my dad is ignoring Terry’s telephone calls.

Bottom line is: I am leaning toward disappointing Chrystal and John. I think we should go in the Spring.

What if Dad dies in the interim? Well, I’m not so certain that’s a likelihood but I keep falling back to something someone told me last week. She didn’t know I was struggling with this decision, she was just telling me about losing her own parents and how her father chose who came to see him before he died. He let one daughter know but not the other because he felt the other could not deal with his dying. He didn’t let either daughter know in time to see him before he passed, choosing to be alone rather than to have them see him in a weakened state.

It put me in mind of my mother’s death. My mom did not want my sister there. My brother called me or I would not have been there. And while we waited for Mom to go, my dad kept insisting we go for walks or drives because he could not sit beside the bed and watch my mom die. He said they had agreed there would be no death-watch. And so it was that we were away from the hospital when my mom breathed her last. She knew we were away and she knew why we were away. I fully believe she chose the time to let go as much as the time chose her.

So. I have decided to wait until Spring unless something comes up in the next few days to radically change my mind. The hard part will be informing Chrystal that I have made this decision and knowing that she will, in turn, relay the decision to John. I’ll look like the bad guy.

But I’m not so sure I am the bad guy. I think my dad doesn’t want us to come down. I think he prefers it that way.

Doesn’t make it any easier.

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My oldest child is car-less at the moment. She also is home alone with three under 3 and going stir-crazy. It wouldn’t be quite so bad but every weekend she thinks she will have her mini-van back and then the mechanic calls and there’s some set-back. This weekend was no exception.

And this weekend her husband had a planned trip out of town. Talk about feeling stranded! She called me at work yesterday to whine and asked “If you’d like to see your grandsons, why don’t you come over and visit me… ” meaning: I’m bored, I need adult conversation and I need someone else to entertain small peoples.

I wasn’t really sure how I would fit it in this weekend, but I also knew I could not afford to not fit her in.

I set some “urgent” projects aside (mostly gardening and art projects which are never really “urgent” except to me) and I went over to see my boys. I just cannot believe how much they change. Can’t we keep them toddlers forever? And why didn’t I appreciate my children when they were toddlers? How is it that I am 54 years old (almost) and I suddenly like people under the age of four? I’ve never liked people under the age of four!

Javan lights up when he sees me. He’s fifteen months old now and makes sounds that I suppose mean words. “GUCK” or maybe it’s “CLUCK”. I gave him a “ghost” Halloween bucket and he tried that word out: “goest”. He’s a little turd, too: I watched him at dinner time as he carefully leaned over and touched his brother’s chair. Don’t tell me he doesn’t know his brother hates that. I can hear it in my head: “MOM! He’s TOUCHING me!”

Where do they learn this? There must be a prerequisite class in the “Before You Are Born” division for siblings: “How to Annoy Your Older Sibling 101”. Levi knew it intuitively and Javan seems to know it, too. It’s amazing how it works!

Zephan is always my funny little boy. He has a pet snake. I can only tell you the Facebook version of the snake:

Sam caught a snake at work and decided to bring it home to show the boys. eaves it in a cup in his truck… yep, a cup! and it escapes before he gets off work. On his way home, it sticks its head out of the dashboard to hiss at him and disappears again. In the process of trying to find it again, it falls on Sam’s head!… lol… serves him right, leaving it in a cup! 🙂 And now I’m taking care of a snake… hmm.

It’s a western yellow-bellied racer. And for perspective – it isn’t a very large snake at all:

While I brought Javan a bag to collect Hallowe’en treats in, I brought Zephan a small terrarium, a water dish, some snake bedding and five crickets to feed the poor thing. it probably won’t eat for a couple weeks anyway, just out of shock. But when it is ready to eat: it will have a cricket ready.

I almost bought it a small baby mouse (a “pinkie”) but I couldn’t garrantee that the snake would eat the mouse right now and the mouse wouldn’t survive very long without its mother. So that was a mouse that got a lucky break and didn’t become snake food. ICK.

We loaded the boys and their car seats into my car and brought them over to our house for barbecued hamburgers and to see Poppa and the Puppies.  Arwen needed a break in the food department as well: who wants to fix dinner when you’re the only one who will eat it?

Lordy! Javan looks like Zephan at the same age. Suddenly I love toddlers and I don’t want them to get any bigger.

I have so many thoughts on this photo.

1. How does he remember that we have a plastic shovel with his name on it?

2. How does he remember how to use that shovel when I only showed him once?

3. If I attempted this same maneuver, I’d put my back out for a week. Period.

Zephan is the shy child and the cautious child so I was surprised when he insisted on going into the backyard with the dogs. And he didn’t cry when they barked. And he wasn’t afraid when Murphy tried to steal his shovel (and got bopped on the side with a roll of newspaper). He insisted we get the shovel out and he was thrilled to get to go into the veggie garden to dig “holes wib my shobel.”

Darn. He’s just so adorable.

And then there’s Eli.

Arwen deliberately looked away from the camera. But look at the little chunk there in the sling! He’s awake, he’s aware, he’s got purpose.

I just love these little guys.

And the one in Colorado, too. And the one on the way.

I love my boys.

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I tried some artsy photos of Harvey’s feet.

(If only those paws could pay the PGE bill…)

fuzzy toes.

soft ears

dozing dog.

boring blog.

(rhyme!)

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The area where I work is a busy business park with one main road dividing it and several side roads intersecting. There are crosswalks on all of the corners and stop signs on all of the side streets. Traffic is posted 35 MPH.

The problem is the crosswalks. In Oregon, a motorized vehicle is required to stop if a pedestrian steps off the curb into a crosswalk. Of course, that doesn’t mean peds are to be stupid, but drivers are supposed to be on high alert and they are required (I used that word again) to stop.

But they don’t. Tigard police occasionally do pedestrian traps in the area and they always nail drivers. But it doesn’t seem to curb the problem.

As a driver, I can understand that sometimes you actually miss seeing a ped or you misunderstand that they are going to step off the curb and cross (usually that happens because the ped doesn’t make eye contact). But as a driver with 30 years’ experience of driving in Oregon, I can say that I try to always stop for peds. I put myself in the peds’ position.

Actually, much of the time I am the ped. Buddy is afraid to cross the busy road where we work and will not do so when she walks alone. I am less afraid: I make direct eye contact with the drivers and I let them know in my body language that I know what the law is and I expect them to stop. Those that don’t stop, get yelled at. I’m what you call an aggressive pedestrian (and I stay within the law – I’m not out to prove a point by becoming a road bump!).

I’ve observed some pretty close calls since Buddy and I started walking together. I saw a car skirt around a pregnant woman & toddler when the woman was nearly half-way across the street, coming close enough to the woman to cause her eyes to pop open in fear. I saw another driver gun it and cut right behind Buddy so close that her coat moved with the air generated by the car. There are some motorized idiots out there.

And I’ve never had my camera ready.

Until today.

This woman approaches crossing the street like I do. She’s off the curb and in the crosswalk, but cautious and looking both ways. She intends to make eye contact. Traffic was coming from both directions. I whipped out my camera and started taking pictures.

There are no obstructions to the view on the road. This driver could see the ped as soon as she stepped off the curb and he was 500 feet away (moving at 35 mph). Didn’t even brake. She isn’t looking at him because she’s already figured he wasn’t going to stop and she’s looking at the traffic from the other direction to see if they will stop for her.

That’s Buddy’s hand as she throws it up in disgust at the driver who just missed the ped. See that white van entering the intersection? He wasn’t going to stop, either, but when Buddy’s hand went down and he saw my camera in place, he stopped in the middle of the intersection to let the pedestrian cross.

When the woman in blue crossed the street (in front of the now-stopped van) she said, “Thank you” for taking the pics. I just said I’d been waiting a long time to catch one of those shots.

Unfortunately, the sun glare obliterated the license plate number of the silver SUV. Still: GOTCHA.

Buddy wants me to email the pics to her so she can send them to Tigard police and request another pedestrian/car sting in the area.

bwahahahahaha! I’m definitely carrying my camera with me all the time!

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I’ve been carrying my camera with me every where I go. No, I am not committing to taking a photo a day, but somehow having photos to talk about helps me get past writer’s block. I have photos, therefore I will blog.

What decided me were the mushrooms. I think it was a Monday. We went on our walk as usual (my Bud & I) and there were mushrooms popping up everywhere in the grass around the ponds and buildings of the business park where we work. And I had no camera!

I decided to take it to work on Tuesday. And guess what? The landscapers came before 8AM and mowed down all the mushrooms! Talk about a lost opportunity. I knew then that I should just have the camera with me, just in case I saw something worth taking a photo of or blogging about.

A week has passed, we’ve had some warm rains, and the mushrooms popped back up. This time I had my camera. Good thing, too, because this morning the landscapers mowed everything down again.

Darn landscapers.

Pretty cool ‘shrooms! I should have located some faeries to put in there, but I think this time I will let the ‘shrooms speak for themselves.

It isn’t just the size of the mushrooms, but the textures. These are some deliciously textured mushrooms!

I just want to say “wow!”

Toadstools!

They’re maybe a few hours past good (if they were edible). All the colors and textures suck me in…

I think these are a fresher version of what is pictured above and they look similar to “Shaggy Mane”.  They aren’t “Shaggy Manes” at all (they’re too smooth) but they do seem to turn “inky” rather quickly, hence my observation.

I automatically assume any mushroom growing in a public place like a lawn is either poisonous or hallucinogenic (I did not photograph the psilocybin that was rampant in the lawn after the landscapers mowed last week). There is a way to find out if a ‘shroom is edible or poisonous, but it takes time and a good reference book (or website).

Edible Wild Mushrooms is a great website (which I just found). I love how the warnings pop up (two of them) and the last word is “when in doubt, throw the mushroom out!” And wash your hands.

Even edible mushrooms can make you ill. I once picked a passle of Shaggy Manes and fried them up for supper. Some of them must have been just past “edible” because i got a little sick. Well, a lot sick, but not death-bed sick. I probably will never eat a Shaggy Mane again, and they are pretty yummy. *IF* you pick them and fry them when they are very, very VERY fresh.

I remember the first time I went ‘shrooming with my husband’s family. My own family never did anything like that (we weren’t big mushroom eaters). I called my folks to tell them about hunting for wild morels and I got a lecture on being Very Careful.

They really needn’t have worried: while the rest of the family just picks morels because they know what they are, my husband is incredibly anal (can I say that here?) about identifying things in nature. It’s not a “sea gull”, it’s a specific sort of gull: California, whatever. You do not get it wrong. (It’s a family joke: do not mis-label a bird around Donald. He WILL correct you.)

That carries over into mushrooming: find something suspicious? He has to take the time to key it out and identify it and label it. We never try something we are not absolutely certain of.

If he read my blog, he’d tell me exactly what mushrooms I took photos of and he’d have ten cows because I labeled one photo “toadstools”. True story. There are no “toadstools” – they have scientific names.

Just like there are no sea gulls. They have a specific name.

(It’s still a damn sea gull when it poops on my windshield in the parking lot!)

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I bring this up because I saw a video on Facebook that piqued my interest. I did a little research tonight and discovered this has actually been out for a number of years.

I dare you to type “ufo training for firemen” into Google. Makes for some mighty interesting reading!

Sleep well tonight!

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