So...how much is a hot shower worth to you?

I found out recently that a good hot shower is worth over $600 to me...because that's what I paid...

Recently, I called the plumber. I told the guy I was calling him because my shower leaked. I pretended to be a helpless female. I knew I could actually fix that but I didn't want to admit that I didn't know how to turn off the water main. I also didn't know what all the stuff attached to the pipes in the basement was. Seemed I was just looking for information--the strong hot shower wound up being a happy unexpected result.

The plumber--let's call him Pete because frankly, I can't remember what his name was (I do know his wife had a baby in the middle of our bill negotiation)--arrived in a downpour. Each trip between his truck and the inside of the house and the inside of the basement, he got wetter and wetter. Fortunately it was a warm day.

Pete fixed the shower leak in a heartbeat -- he even had the cartridge that needed to be replaced saving me the $75/hr trip to the hardware store. Eventually, it seemed that each time he peeked his head in the front door there was either really great news or really horrible news. The time passed, the news continued. In the course of this, he discovered that a) the water main shut off was a little tiny thing that looked like it belonged in the office supply world rather than the plumbing department, and b) there was a lot of stuff in the basement he could not explain. First, he suggested we replace the shut off--I agreed since I thought it might break off when I needed to use it.

Turns out the original installation of the system was bass-ackward and included a couple different tanks which were unidentified and unidentifiable. Who knew things could be this complicated, this wrong and this expensive? He rearranged the things he could ID and at some point, he finally left. The upside was that I felt like I knew a whole bunch of stuff I hadn't known before.

A couple weeks later, I realized that water pressure had deteriorated since Pete's visit. I called him to see what he thought. He thought he needed to figure out what the stuff in the basement was. I thought that sounded reasonable. A few hours later, he said, let's just take this tank out and check the water quality and see if anything changes...then we might know what that tank is. When he pulled out this giant tank, he found it was full of what I could swear must be toxic waste. We still don't know what the tank was for--and there's another one still in place so there're opportunities for more visits with Pete, but meanwhile, the water pressure is good, the water quality is fine, the silt at the bottom of my water bottles is gone. Life is good. The really really really great upside is the hot pelting shower. I love it. A mere $638 later.

PNewL PNewS Volume 17 #3...finally

but first...help me win a pink vespa (I mean, how fun is that?) Sign up for the Army of Women between now and November 23, 2009--go to armyofwomen.org, pick from the referral field "Vespa Contest," enter your email address in the corresponding field and you will not only be helping me win a pink vespa (...cool), you will be helping find the cure for breast cancer. Life is good. Thanks for your help...

On with the show, this is it...[Once again, Blogger and I are having some issues...I will try to resolve them one day, but in the meantime, pretend the formatting is right and that for whatever reason, part of this is not really little and in italics.]

PNewL PNewS

Volume 17 No. 3 “All the pnews that phits.” October 2009

Some days Up -- Some days Old

You are only as old as you feel, the saying goes, and I am feeling old. I know that many reading this are older but I have always felt that no matter what other people think, if it feels true for me, I have to accept and deal with it. Within the last couple weeks, I almost broke my toe as I jammed it into the magazine rack, dinged my knee when I fell trying to clear brush, and at the beginning of 15 hours of a yoga workshop, overdid it and I am sitting here with an ice pack, arnica, an ace bandage, and a stuffy nose from a pity party. Just feeling old.

A few weeks back, I was in a different yoga class where we spent a fair amount of time holding poses and Diane said, “Think about how your body feels.” I thought this was fabulous advice because she always told us to calm our monkey minds and be present and I knew I wasn't allowed to think about my grocery lists or what I was going to do with my day or what I wasn't going to get done and should, but I was never quite sure what I could be thinking about and now I know!

So each time we were supposed to calm our monkey minds, I started thinking about how my body felt and occasionally—nay usually—ran into judgments...about my body versus other bodies in the room and my body versus 10 years ago, and I thought—this is not productive and is all negative, which I know is not the intention. And then it came to me: I am really really really mad at my body. Each ache and pain, each joint that doesn’t work the way it once did. Each muscle that doesn’t stretch as it used to. News at the doctor never seems to be good…and there was the Aha! I am angry and sad. News stories about people getting older and old include people of my age. Obituaries include more people like me. When did this happen???

Granted, it’s not like my body couldn’t be mad right back—I’ve abused it along the way. But it seems this aha moment that exposed the most recent little storm is big. It’s something I can work on. The result is I joined the Y and am actually going, and that is a good thing.
It is ironic that the latest injury—the ankle as big as the Ritz—is yoga-related. In class this week, we were talking about falling down and how nice it is that toddlers are built so close to the ground, padded by diapers, since they tend to fall all the time. Falling down at 18 months is a lot different from falling at 52.

So I have recovered from the pity party. Time marches on (isn’t that what this is about?) and all the injuries have healed. I am back at yoga, Pilates, dog-walking, pumping iron and Zumba, not in any particular order. All of this old-ness has caused me to re-think my mantra. I have changed it from “Change is good” (which has served me well for 14 years) to “I do what I can." Onward.

Things I am Learning & Miscellaneous Observations

* A reminder to back it up: When I came home from from being away, I found that the three messages on my answering machine that I had saved of my father singing me Happy Birthday, wishing me a Happy Fourth of July and one other generic one (Hi Peggy, it’s your Daddy), along with a message from cousin Ann were all gone. I had meant to somehow transfer them to my computer but had never gotten around to it—now I won’t be able to…ever. Then a msg came across a listserv reminding us to back up our computers as the writer’s hard drive had crashed when she was installing new software. I thought it was a good reminder only I couldn’t remember where I hid my hard drive. Oops. I don’t know what it all means, but I thought I would share that with you. [Eventually, I did find the hard drive, but it’s a better story the other way.]

* We have had a charming stretch of rain—day-in/day-out—and so I finally left the house (having exhausted my Netflix options) to see a movie. I chose Julie & Julia, which started after a remarkable 20 minute stretch of trailers. I like a few trailers, especially if they are similar in genre to the movie I am settled into seeing, but enough is enough. So in the course of this epic series, I started thinking about the men and women in the various movies (that weren’t slasher type which were liberally sprinkled in the list and seemed like interesting movies to advertize to the Julie & Julia crowd). And I even remembered to look the following up:

Movie News: Julia Child (played by Meryl Streep, b 1949) was married to Paul Child (Stanley Tucci, b 1960) who was 10 years her senior. Amelia Earhart (Hilary Swank, b. 1974) was married to George Putnam (Richard Gere, b. 1949), who was 10 years older. And that’s the real people. In another movie, coming out this holiday season, Meryl Streep (1949) is divorced from Alec Baldwin (1958) and dating both him and Steve Martin (1945), for what that’s worth.

* I saw my first bears in North Carolina! This morning, my dog Bear and I ran into the kids in the neighborhood who were arguing about how big real bears are. Then a mere 11½ hours later, I saw not one but THREE bears dart out onto the road directly in front of me. And if they weren’t all youngsters, then NC bears and my real Bear stand around the same height at the shoulder, but I think the fuzzy bears may have my Bear beat on weight. Cute factor? A draw.

* I have mentioned my problem with adult onset ADD in previous issues. I have some additional information that some of you might find interesting. There was an article in The Sun Magazine called “Computing the Cost: Nicholas Carr On How The Internet Is Rewiring Our Brains” by Arnie Cooper (March 2009, Issue #399—you can read it online). It’s about Carr’s theory that Google (among other browsers/search engines) is re-wiring our brains. I can’t remember if he described it like this but our thoughts are like pin-balls bouncing around as we get distracted by links and ads and Facebook and Word Drop and WE ARE ALL DOING IT…well, many of the folks I know are…and it was in some ways comforting and other ways terrifying. Carr (who originally wrote an article in July 2008’s Atlantic, “Is Google Making us Stupid?”). His fear is that “deep contemplation and reflection” is being lost. He could be right. There are some more basic concerns I have but I won’t go into them again.

* President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. I just wanted to say it again.

* When I got home from dinner last night, one of the string of smoke alarms in my house was chirping. Bear, the 120 pound hound, was cowering in the corner. Neither of us react well to sudden loud noise.

I went online in search of the manual for these beasts, then stood under them to figure which one was the offender. I wound up taking down three smoke alarms and two carbon monoxide alarms because I was so frustrated and my dog was a wreck. Today, after buying a load of batteries, I started reinstalling them and realized they are networked and that part of the chirping isn’t dead batteries, it has to do with their relationship to each other or a button that was inadvertently touched and that disconnecting them doesn’t do anything any good. Meanwhile, the large hound is plastered up against the back door looking at me through bloodshot eyes. Why, pray tell, do things have to be so complicated?

* RIP Gourmet. I was sad to hear that Gourmet Magazine is another victim of the economy. I was a loyal reader of the magazine for several years… several years ago. I can blame (credit?) Gourmet for my traveling obsession. It was actually because of Gourmet that I came up with the World Tour back in the mid-90s. Originally, I read an article in Gourmet about a cooking school at the Oriental Hotel in Bangkok and I wanted to go. But I thought that my first big trip should be to the land of my people and being a full-bred WASP, that land was England and Europe. But once I was there I was almost to Bangkok, and once I figured out how to get months off from my life, what difference would a few more months make? The irony was that when I got to Thailand, I had been living on nothing and it didn’t seem in sync with my life to spend $100/day on a cooking class. Apparently the folks agreed—when I went to look at the cooking school, they escorted me through the Hotel to the classroom—they didn’t seem to want riff-raff like me wandering around. Thanks for the memories and inspiration, Gourmet!

“The only thing you own in the end is your story.” Neil Fletcher, Australia (movie)

When I grow up, I will be a better blogger

But for now, what you see is what you get. So I thought I would upload a few pictures-speak-a- thousand-words.

I started dyeing fabric again not to mention some of Maggie's Organic socks which are no longer organic but which take the dye--even my funky old dyes--beautifully.Then I started working on another project with Dad's bow ties--he was the King of Bow Ties--but I fear they had suffered from a lack of laundering...and so here they are drying (with aforementioned socks in the background)

And finally, this was in a recent Dilbert--I hope it isn't too wrong to do this--but I thought they were words to live by...A PNewL PNewS is in the works. I am sure that makes your day.

PNewL PNewS Volume 17 Issue 2

I seem to be having some technical trouble with the spacing. will keep working on it...

PNewL PNewS

Volume 17 No. 2 “All the pnews that phits.” July 2009

Time Management

The other day I was getting ready to go out. I had an hour before I needed to leave, and I felt I was already late. Then I paused. I have an entire hour with little more than a shower, getting dressed etc, and breakfast. This seemed manageable in an hour but for some reason, it felt unmanageable. I sat myself down to discuss.

For those who don’t know this about me, I am one of the fastest shower-ers ever. I am not sure what people do in the shower for more than seven minutes. I mean really—what are you doing in there? Whatever you are doing, either I skip it or do it super fast because other than when I am freezing cold, I am bored after a few minutes. And having lived in California for so many years during the drought and now in NC on a well, paranoid it will run dry, the sound of a shower is just not all that comforting.

Ok, so shower takes up less than 10 minutes being overly generous, allowing for undressing, organizing towel and bath mat, making sure the bucket is there collect pre-warm water.

Post-shower. In case there is any doubt, I don’t dither over what I am going to wear. Ok, maybe there are those times when something got into the closet or drawer just too wrinkled, or a little bit stained and I have to start over, but really, figuring out what to wear is not something I spend a ton of time on. I’ll give it less than 10 minutes, a generous amount of time again. Oh maybe not so generous. And here’s why: When I went to Florida to surprise Gini for her birthday, she asked if there was anything I wanted to do while I was there. I said, let’s get our make-up done. This was a bit out of character as I have not worn much make-up since I worked in downtown San Francisco in the ‘80s. Since my hair has started to get light again (I was a blond into my 20s and am, in my 50s, getting lighter again, this time heading silver), I think I look washed out and I thought it might be interesting to see if I could get some color back. We went to see Joanne who sells Mary Kay and she did the whole she-bang, with q-tips and cotton balls and dabs of this and that. It’s pretty basic, when I remember to do it—little line here, mascara there, blush and I am outa there. Don’t tell Joanne as she thinks I am putting on all sorts of goop too. All totaled, that takes about 90 seconds.

On the subject of breakfast: I do have a teeny ritual there that involves a little stovetop espresso maker and two cups. And in the winter I have oatmeal and in the summer, blender drink. Much of this can be multitasked so it doesn’t take as much time as one might think. At the outside, let’s give breakfast and reading the paper (or as Chris describes it, looking at the pictures) 15 minutes. At the outside we are looking at less than 36 ½ minutes. That number shocks me as I don’t think of those things as taking that much time, but there you have it.

When the dog is in residence, I need to add walk time: 30+ minutes, breakfast preparing: 7 minutes, telling him how handsome he is: most of the day. On the day that this whole discussion started, he was not here luckily or it would have been much more complicated.

While these numbers for morning prep are small and I should have 20+ minutes to spare, I know myself pretty well sometimes. The thing I know about myself that does not yet figure in the above equation is what I call “The Farting Around Factor” (FAF). I apologize to those of you for whom this language is indelicate, but it is what it is.

FAF easily takes several hours a day, or more if the time is available. It encompasses a whole slew of things that derail my schedule. It includes checking email which often morphs into googling any number of topics. It includes trying to get stuff that has migrated from its home in another room to visible horizontal surfaces, back to its home. This is complicated by the “Why did I come into this room?” dilemma. You know, you walk into the bathroom to put away something that was in the living room and on the way back, find yourself in the office thinking you would be efficient by picking up….now what was it I was here for? Yeah, I feel you nodding. And then there’s the adult onset ADD mentioned in previous issues in which I figure that as long as I am here and can’t remember why, I could just reorganize the thread collection or look for that article I wanted to read on crazy quilt stitching.

A friend was visiting recently and he said his wife’s time management issues drove him crazy. Ah dear friend, I feel your pain.

Things I am Learning & Miscellaneous Observations

* The birds that built the nest on my back porch are long gone. It was a bit disturbing that they left while I was out of town, leaving no note, no thank you, no “It was mighty kind of you to allow us to trash your back porch and prevent you from using it for over a month while we lay eggs, sat on them, hatched five lovely youngsters and taught them to fly.” There are Eastern Phoebes that fly around my yard but I don’t know if they were born here or were parents here or who knows, both.
* I am a bit frustrated with me and digital cameras because I don’t make prints and put them in to albums any more. When I saw the little books listed on the Kodak website, I decided to check it out and I had a small book made of some of my photographs of Bhutan. This is SO cool. A couple weeks later, this little book arrived with all my beautiful pictures bound into a little book that weighs NOTHING compared to the albums I have been carting around. What fun. I know a lot of you have been doing this for ages and I know there are all sorts of companies doing such a thing, but this is my first and it was a very satisfying experience!
* In the AARP Bulletin November 2008, there was a “snapshot” of a person’s life who works until s/he retires at 66, with a list of statistics. I found it interesting that the average worker spends TWO YEARS sick and only 1.4 years on vacation.
* Since I last wrote, I have been out and about. I went to a conference in Washington DC and fell in love with our nation’s capital, and to the Bay Area for the annual Angel Island picnic. All good. I also went to a quilt symposium in Raleigh (my first foray into the eastern side of the state) that was lots of fun and where I learned lots of neat stuff from really inspiring talented teachers.
* People are so different. I had some neighbors who are planning a backpacking trip in Colorado in a little over two weeks over for dinner the other night. Susan was talking about buying shoes for the trip. When I asked when they were leaving, they said they needed to make reservations. So they’d ordered shoes but not plane tickets? Very differen from how I do things…!
* I want to say something about Facebook but I am not sure what it is. I was struck by the fact that my niece has over 500 friends; that people are uploading over 1 billion photos a month (source: FB website); that the fastest growing segment of the FB population is over 35. In the March 15 NY Times Magazine, writer Peggy Orenstein ruminates over the effect this phenomenon is having on the younger generation. For her (a woman of a certain age) it’s fun to re-connect with people from the past—but with the young who don’t have a significant past, is it about staying up to date every minute? (I’m not going to even get into Twitter!) Another article in the same magazine (10/26/08), the author was realizing he had 700 friends on FB but no one to meet up with at a pub. Ok, that’s probably ‘nuff said.
* Back to School sales have begun. They actually started a while back. This is a very difficult time of year for me. I love new notebooks—I have a moratorium on new notebooks--and pens, scotch tape, Crayola products, and don’t even start on the plastic storage issue. Have you seen the Really Useful Boxes (Made in the USA) at Office Depot? I want one in every size and color. I am getting there.

It's June???

How did this happen? Alas. Onward. It's been a busy time.

Here's a before shot of the demolition project...and an after

Then, an Eastern Phoebe moved in and set up housekeeping (a nest) on the light on my back porch, just when I was looking forward to having my breakfast out there... She made a lovely little nest though was sloppy in doing so--the siding is splattered with mud. I have been keeping the blind closed hoping not to disturb her. She seems to be an attentive mama. Here she is on the nest, through the blind. (if you wanna see a bigger version, click on the photo)
This past weekend I went to a quilt symposium in Raleigh, my first foray into the other side of North Carolina. It was a great event for me. Interesting entertaining lectures, good teachers, inspiring work, and some nice people. I had a strange roommate--kind of a sour sort--but otherwise, all good. Even the food was impressive for a college cafeteria, with good healthy choices. There was way too much food we didn't need (cookies, brownies, chips, soda at every meal...well, not breakfast but then you could get grits and gravy, french toast, and some brightly colored cereals), but again, there were good choices.

[A side note: I was reminded of a trip to a quilt show with my aunt who said, Quilting must make you feel good--you are younger taller and thinner than most of the people it attracts. I am still all of those things! Though the aging thing is catching up to me.]

I took a class with Larkin Van Horn who taught Beadwork for Quilters or something like that. This is the beaded button I made. It's a start.



On the way home, I stopped at this place called Replacements Ltd., which I have seen on e-bay. They buy and sell china, glass and silver. It's an amazing place (huge!) and right off the freeway between western NC and Raleigh apparently since that was where I was. You can tell them what you are looking for and they look it up on their computer and they tell you how many of whatever they have in stock, complete with a photo. It was a hoot. There's a clearance section where I got some bowls for $2.99 I had been following on e-bay. (I would've paid a lot more esp. with shipping.) But anything that wasn't in the clearance section was real money. It was a fun stop. Here's their website if you are curious (http://www.replacements.com/) and if you are on I-40, in the middle of nowhere NC, check it out.

Upon my return, I found that the babies in the nest had hatched. And here they are sleeping. They appear to be mostly beak at this point. Hopefully, a picture is worth a thousands words as I am short on words and long on pics this time around.

And the walls came tumbling down...

This past week, I returned to Florida for the demolition of the sinking garage. The direction the garage was going--down in some parts, up in others and in opposite directions in others—was worrisome to say the least. When I returned after being gone a mere six weeks and opened the garage door (something I hadn’t done in six months for fear something violent might happen), I noticed that I almost needed to duck to get out the door. There was daylight coming through in many places and the broomstick test (sticking it in the cracks to see how wide they were) no longer worked. I could fit my arm or leg through some of ’em. There had been some serious motion over time and then some more in the last six weeks.

I have my theories why this is happening after 40 years. These houses built on sand are being affected by the pounding of pilings on new homes. It was supposed to be a trailer park and instead they built heavy cement homes on sand. Things started to move when they were building the causeway, so far and yet so near. Henry says the whole neighborhood is built on mangroves which are finally rotting and moving. Jim said erosion. Some guy whose name I have forgotten salivated at the thought of sinkhole. I had a series of folks walk through with suggestions about what to do with it. Since the electricity and all other utilities make their way into the house through the garage, my decision was to tear it down. If the thing fell when I wasn’t around, I’d be even less popular than I already am.

I had wanted to throw a party so friends could enjoy the view. My belief has always been that when one spends a lot of money, one should enjoy it. I threw a party in California when I re-roofed that house and made everyone ooh-ahh the new pretty grey-blue shingles. Heck, I threw a party inviting everyone to come over and paint my house but I am getting off-topic. The party here didn’t happen unless you call Peggy Gini and Bear a party (which I could). The work commenced at 7:20 a.m., which was the main reason I didn’t serve hors d’oeuvres and champagne. One moment we were talking—the large equipment driver, Henry, and the three of us—and the next, the front of the garage was gone. We hardly had a moment to focus the cameras. The guy who ran the equipment—we’ll call him Chet because that is his name—was an artist. He was so delicate and so accurate and soooo good at what he did I was in awe. I mean, sure, there was a lot of ripping and crunching and creepy sounds, but he would take the giant claw and nudge the mess of wood and rebar and concrete into distinct piles. He pulled a large ixora bush out like it was a dandelion. He gently placed things in the dumpster, filling the first with “everything else,” and the second and third with concrete which will be recycled here on the island. It was fascinating. I got bored after over five hours but that’s a long time to watch a…someone said it was a backhoe but I’m not sure. I thought of “Mike (Chet) Mulligan & his Steam Shovel.”

And so it’s gone. (Photos of the event are online at http://pnewlpnews.spaces.live.com/photos/; we are still working on the video and I understand I can load it onto Facebook. Am I hip or what?) The house doesn’t look totally goofy without the garage. They are rebuilding the soffits around the edges of the remaining building and making it look like it’s supposed to be that way. The furniture is slowly going to new homes. Someone more skilled than I will do a deep cleaning and a tenant will move in in a couple months.

Time is an amazing thing. It marches on. Stuff happens. We move on to whatever the next latest thing is. Then I find Dad’s files about his thirty-some years on and around Sanibel, complete records of every impact he had here including the Garage Project of 1985 and I realize I have demolished one of his projects but it was a small one. Others will live on way beyond this house. Meanwhile, I will head back to North Carolina soon, Bear and Gini are down on the west end, and Chet is performing his art for some other unsuspecting soon-to-be fan.

I thought I should close with a quintessential Sanibel shot. Yup, paradise.

PNewl PNews Volume 17 Issue #1!!!

PNewL PNewS
Volume 17 No. 1 “All the pnews that phits.” April 2009

Hee Haw…or not

I am not a farmer. I am not even a very good gardener. In California, I used to think of my trips to the nursery as charitable donations that were not tax-deductible. I spent many dollars on plants that didn’t thrive under my less than watchful ADD-ish eyes. Now I have moved to the country where everyone seems to be gardeners if not full-fledged farmers and I am trying to keep up.

When I moved to the wilds of Marin County in California, I remember showing Peter where I lived and he pointed out that I didn’t live in the country, I lived in the suburbs. When Carla and I were talking about where we ideally wanted to live, she asked if I had always lived in a suburban-like environment. I had to confess most of my homes leaned in that direction (though only one of them truly leaned). So sue me. (I guess I am a little defensive.)

Now I believe I do live in the country. There are llamas uphill from me and angora goats next door. Sculley has become a chicken herder. And there were horses across the street until they moved to greener pastures—really. Oh and an honest-to-god bison farm (ranch?) at the end of the road. A nice young couple have a vegetable stand during the growing months from the crops they grow across the road. And the road—I try not to call it a street and sound suburban—is gravel and dirt; the fire department is volunteer. If I have a medical emergency, I am fairly convinced I am on my own. Water comes from a well; outflow goes to a septic tank. Sounds a wee bit like the country to me.

And so between snow and rain interruptions, I have been pretending to be a gardener. Some of it is fun and some of it, frankly, hurts. First, I would start by telling you the story about why there are so many bloody rocks in this ground but I can’t remember it and my North Carolina native older neighbor tells it way better than I ever could. I cheered at every shovelful that was rock-free and believe me, there was not much cheering going on. Some day I will make a nice wall—about fifteen feet high—with all the rocks I have dug up.

Chris and I went to the Madison County Extension offices in a blinding snowstorm to get blueberries and raspberries for me, and asparagus and strawberries for her. It was a good morning. We went into Marshall and had a delicious lunch. Then the painful part started. I hope the blueberries appreciate it.

When I learned about growing roses, there was a line about a $25 hole for a $5 plant. If not quite $25 holes, the blueberries got fancy dang holes filled with all sorts of goodies. And they won’t even produce a berry for two to three years. As a big fan of immediate gratification, this is killing me! Then I started digging for the raspberries and when I felt I had done them justice, I noted that I had bought TEN plants not 5. Sigh. More digging but not where I had started as I fear it won’t be sunny enough. The yard is starting to look at bit like a patchwork quilt: little flower things here, bulbs over there, here a berry there a berry.

At the end of a long afternoon of digging (how do I remember my mother sitting so much when she gardened?), I dragged all the tools into the shed which I had been using for storage. Tired of trying to squeeze my totally wonderful garden cart into the garage, I decided to move the gardening supplies to the shed. Since I was last in there, some new tenants moved in. Fortunately, they don’t take up too much space. They took up residence under a shelf of a wire rack I had left out there. Boy did that resident look surprised when I removed his roof. Bear thought it was a fun game, chasing the skittering critter out the door. The next one was living in the plastic bag with the rack hardware, which she filled with moss for a nest. When I moved the bag, a mama with the biggest sweetest black eyes--Susan says she’s a field mouse--jumped up and ran, leaving behind—oh never mind. It was not a happy scene, but if I sound callous, trust me I wasn’t. I screamed…like a girl…and can’t seem to get those big eyes out of my mind.

Meanwhile, the rain continues off and on and Bear and I slip walks and planting in between downpours. (I know, I know, we need the rain.) And if nothing blooms or bears fruit it’s not my fault this time, it’s the wacky ways of Mother Nature in the wilds of a North Carolina spring.

------------------------

Things I am Learning & Miscellaneous Observations

• While I really enjoy having the large hound with me, I have these moments when I just wish I could take his batteries out and shove him in the closet…just for a few hours. Good thing I never had kids, eh?
• Once again, this time at the John Prine concert, I was reminded how full of lyrics my brain is. There is no more room. It’s not my memory that is a problem, it’s the storage issue. I sang along with almost every song in the program.
• My favorite new books: “The Survivors Club” by Ben Sherwood–great statistics about why some of us survive and some don’t, and how you could have better odds; and “Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings” by Edward Espe Brown (suggested by Tracy, one of my fellow travelers to Bhutan) which is part wisdom and insight, and part recipes. Both good. Check em out.
• Happy Birthday PNewL PNewS! You are 17 years old!!
• Sitting in an auditorium, fairly certain I wouldn’t see anyone I know, I tallied up the number of people I have met since I moved to North Carolina—the number of people who I know well enough that we would recognize each other and perhaps remember the context. I was pleased to realize the number was working up towards 30. While that may not impress others, I thought that was pretty good progress.
• The other day I went out at around 6pm. While March had been full of the swelling of spring, early April brought back a taste of winter. For two days, we had snow (which Bear loved) with huge heavy snowflakes. When we went out at the end of the day, the light was kind of gray towards greenish-yellow. The sun was coming through a fairly heavy layer of clouds. I wondered if I was having some frightening neurological event because the colors got lemony and vibrant, the bright spring green of the grass was coming through the fresh white snow on the ground. And then there was this swirl of huge—I mean HUGE—wet flakes. A large happy puppy tossing his ball into the snow and stuffing his face down into the stuff on the ground added to what was pretty darned surreal scene.
• I was sent a link to an article by Kathy Freston in which there was a remarkable list of statistics regarding the impact of not eating meat. It gives one pause. I quote some of it below. The original text can be found at http://www.alternet.org/water/134650/the_startling_effects_of_going_vegetarian_for_just_one_day/
If everyone went vegetarian just for one day, the U.S. would save: 100 billion gallons of water, enough to supply all the homes in New England for almost 4 months;
Globally, we feed 756 million tons of grain to farmed animals. As Princeton bioethicist Peter Singer notes in his new book, “The world is not running out of food. The problem is that we--the relatively affluent--have found a way to consume four or five times as much food as would be possible, if we were to eat the crops we grow directly.” Food for thought…
• I have been back to the Women Build house at Habitat in Asheville a few more times. (Leaving after my last day before the “key ceremony” when they turn over the house to the new owners, was hard. I enjoyed myself and I think we did a good job.) I have nailed subflooring, hung cabinets, done some really horrible stucco-ing, installed soffits and trim. Next week, the garage on the house in Florida is being torn down. Two years ago, we gutted houses in New Orleans. What is it about April that brings all this building and tearing down?

----------------------------------------------
Angel Island Picnic #28
Saturday, June 27th
Perles Beach
Be there or be square—Everyone’s welcome to join us!
----------------------------------------------

"I wish Pooh were here. It's much more friendly with two." AA Milne
(Piglet? Eeyore? Christopher Robin? I will have to go re-read to find out.)