Is there no end to it all???  This computer is apparently on its last leg thus making the creation of any document an all day affair.  It heaves and wheezes and sometimes sounds like a jet about to take off.  As I type, no letters appear on the page. Then abruptly half of what I wrote shows up just before  the screen goes blank and whatever it was that I was working on vanishes, never to be seen again.  Messages from Microsoft and from Mozzilla say things like, "Oops, sorry..., problem encountered..., you may have lost what you were doing..."  AAUUGGHH!!! 

I hope to have a computer guru diagnose the ailing machine that is my livelihood and decide if a trip to Best Buy for a new ‘puter will be necessary.  And so, since I do not plan to stay up until midnight attempting to post this blog, today's entry must, by necessity be brief.  With a bit of luck (something very elusive of late) production will be back to ‘normal' (?) tomorrow.  Keep fingers crossed!

A frantic email arrived last night from a distant pal I'll refer to as QLY.  My friend admittedly is not an "animal person," so the squirrel that decided to take up residence in her home was not met with open arms, so to speak although she expressed great fear that her unwanted guest might indeed leap upon her given half a chance.  The daring little fellow (or lady) had the audacity to race past her as she was working in her office.  The desperation in her communiqués might have led one to believe she had discovered a grizzly bear in her house.  From afar I chuckled.

After indulging a quiet giggle I offered suggestions for encouraging the squatter to vacate, but the little critter seems to be enjoying his new digs.  After making tempting peanut butter sandwiches for him my friend laid awake all night "listening" for his departure which did not happen, so she's not in the best humor today.   She says she has the only squirrel in the world that does not like peanut butter.  Maybe he's one of those with a nut allergy?  Anyway, at last report her houseguest was spotted gnawing away at the basement rafters and QLY was planning a trip to Lowes to purchase a Hav-A-Hart trap.  I eagerly await the next installment on this dilemma.

If such an event happened here it wouldn't be a big deal, so it was easy for me to forget that not everyone is capable of casually dealing with such issues and now I feel guilty for being so insensitive! 

I really do hope the intruder leaves post haste because his continued occupancy means that my friends will have to cancel their already-booked two week holiday as leaving him to "house sit" could spell real disaster.  They could return to a pile of cinders where once a stately home stood as squirrels are known to chew the insulation on wires.  Not good. 

Worse still, the longer the sky rat ransacks my friends' home and terrorizes QLY, the less patient she and her kindly husband will be employing the humane trap and release program. Oh dear, is it apparent that my greater concern in this situation is the fate of the poor little squirrel who should be scampering from tree to tree rather than from table to table?  If this scenario weren't taking place so many miles away I'd do my best to help, but meanwhile I'll look forward to the next installment from QLY and Company.

 

I still had a lot to do, but as I drove home from an appointment I was overtaken by a strange urge to stop and see some friends I hadn't visited with for far too long.  It almost felt as if the truck were driving itself and I allowed it to pull in behind the old station wagon that looked as if it had taken root in the driveway.  The house looked as if it were slowly being consumed by ivy and trees and mold.  It hadn't seen paint in a long time and I thought to myself that it wasn't likely to see it in the near future either.

I rapped hard on the glass door and heard Missy's barking followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs.  The locks rattled and finally M. opened the door.  A smile crawled across his deeply-lined face revealing the funny teeth that always reminded me of a rabbit's.  It was good to see each other for too much time had passed.  As we climbed the dusty steps to the second floor it was obvious the place I knew so well hadn't felt the sweep of a dust cloth or vacuum cleaner in years. 

"Where's T?" I asked. 

"Sitting in the dark like he does every day," answered M. nodding toward the shadowy living room.  That room like all of the others was filled with elegant things; fabulous paintings and art, lavish draperies, ornate furniture, sculptures and prismed chandeliers.  But it was grandeur gone seedy.  My friend sat bolt upright like a mannequin on a small tapestry-covered loveseat, staring blankly into the dimly lighted space.  The shock of walking into this scene haunts me still.

We've been friends for many decades and the three of us have weathered a lot of storms, had great fun and shared laughter and tears, but now T. seemed to have given up on life and M. had fallen into the role of caregiver.  I doubted the room would ever again reverberate with gaiety, but I was wrong.

T.'s face transformed from its waxen stare to a broad smile as he stood and grabbed me, hugging me so hard and long that I thought my ribs might break.  M. pulled back the heavy draperies and the room lit up. 

"How about some coffee?" said M.  That sounded like a good idea and he disappeared into the tiny kitchen.  While I had only intended to stay a few minutes the time flew and minutes grew to hours.  The dust-laden rooms again sparkled with laughter just as they did before T. began to slip into that sad place politely referred to as "dementia."   

This afternoon he escaped from that prison and revisited the happy place from not so long ago.  I'm glad I ignored the silly tasks on my ‘to do' list and allowed the truck to pull in behind the old station wagon instead.

 

 

It's no secret.  Of my three dogs Ted is the favorite.  Irregularities of any kind on any of the animals are worrisome, but discovering a walnut-sized lump between Ted's ribs was cause for alarm. Peggy Sue, the kitten was also sporting a sizable lump on her back.  Needless to say, they both went to the vet this afternoon. 

In the truck Peggy protested loudly from her kitty carrier, but once at the clinic she put on an impressive acrobatic display for anyone who cared to watch.  She enjoyed all the attention, but Ted was worried.  After carrying his leash around, he knitted his funny eyebrows, plunked his big head on my knee and stared pleadingly at me.  "Oh, please, I'm sure this lump is nothing.  Can't we just get back in the truck and go home?"

When it was our turn to enter the exam room he began to pant while Peggy continued her award-worthy performance trying to impress the vet and his assistant.  Her lump was as I'd thought/hoped nothing more than the result of her recent rabies vaccine.  It will soon dissipate.  Ted watched nervously.

The good doctor knelt beside Ted on the floor as he doesn't have one of the elevating tables like Dr. Costsalot has and at 108 pounds (Ted's lost a bit of weight since his last visit) lifting him onto the exam table wasn't really an option.  I watched as Dr. Affordablegoodvet probed the worrisome lump on my big baby. 

"Probably nothing at all to worry about," he said as he prepared to aspirate the unwanted protuberance.  Amazingly, Ted didn't even flinch as fluid was withdrawn.  I had dreaded that moment.  A milky fluid is something to worry about, but clear is a good sign.  The fluid in the syringe was clear and microscopic examination confirmed what we had all hoped.  Ted's lump is a benign fatty tumor.  Whew.

My animals are all so important to me that the recent announcement from a nearby city to hire a reputed thug to trap and kill cats that are alleged to be stray, feral or problematic is incomprehensible to me.  This hare-brained governmental approach to "animal control" has enraged me and a lot of other progressive-thinking, intelligent people.  The buffoons who were elected to look after their constituents have no idea what a can of worms they've opened.  I plan to be at their next meeting and expect there will be a good bit of drama and confrontation.  To be continued.

 

 

            ‘Still not feeling quite back to normal, so I'm writing off the seemingly endless bad choices I've made lately to my compromised health.  The latest should be considered a cautionary tale to other conscientious recyclers like myself.  I can't throw anything away.  If it doesn't go to the recycle center, get burned in the woodstove, eaten by the chickens, composted for garden use or given to someone else I can usually think of some innovative use for the refuse.  That's what I did with Jim's Organic Coffee Beans.  It was a bad idea.

            I love good coffee, but the bag of Jim's just wasn't to my taste.  I'd used only about ¼ of the bag before it got shoved to the rear of the cupboard to be rediscovered yesterday.  What to do with the beans?  In retrospect I should have tossed them on the compost pile, but you know what they say about hindsight....

            I know!  I'll dump them in the house plants as a sort of organic mulch.  Brilliant!  Later, as I sat engrossed in Downton Abbey an unpleasant smell wafted from the jade plant next to the sofa.  You guessed it; those damned coffee beans!  Not only did Jim's ground and carefully brewed beans stink in their liquid form, they were worse in their beans-turned-mulch form.  Imagine trying to pick hundreds of little tiny coffee beans out of the soil without damaging the delicate plant.  Not easy!

            So, my advice is not to buy Jim's Organic Coffee Beans unless you like coffee with a strong tannin aftertaste (I don't) and never ever use any coffee beans for houseplant mulch.  Stay tuned for Karen's bad ideas du jour.  I'm sure this won't be the last one.