trigger warning

    If you suffer from fear of mice, spiders, various creepy-crawlies, or hideous death, read no further. This is not the post for you. Yes, Dianne, I am talking to you.

    If however, you are interested in the stray dog story or the mouse wars, you can keep going. 

  As for the dog, Dianne and I left it food and water  for a few days, but there was never another sighting. I did, however, have a sighting of the horrible woman who forbade me to feed the dog. I was pulling away from the bowl after distributing more hot dogs, when she pulled past. I did not recognize her at first, because she was driving a different white truck. She, however, recognized me and my truck. I could tell by the malevolent and suspicious glare she gave me as we passed going in opposite directions. She was wearing scrubs and a nametag and will heretofore be known to me as Nurse Ratchett. I only regret that I was going too fast to read the nametag. She probably killed the dog.

   And, yes, I killed the mice. They died a horrible, painful death. But snap traps do not work for me—I snap my fingers, and the mice take the food without incident. So first I got one. Then I resealed the pipes around which I thought they might be entering. And then I caught the other (below), along with a lot of wolf spiders and other things I didn't look too closely at. And I am not sorry. I have cleaned up enough mouse shit and suffered enough electrical wire chewing in my lifetime that, however cute, I have no tolerance for a mouse in the house. Especially with refrigerators being unobtanium these days. The end. 

   

 

the parting glass

Making the rounds. Last supper with Denise. Last swim at Dianne's pool. Last refills of hummingbird food. Last drives on favorite dirt roads. Last lunch with David. Oh wait, another coming up! The one yesterday was pretty epic though. We had the Dungeness crab ceviche and the perfectly marbled porterhouse. Rare. No leftovers for the cat.

THE PARTING GLASS

 

back to school—finally

Today was the first day since one day in March 2020, a year and a half ago, that Camilla and Isaac went off to school by themselves. It was an intense year of homeschooling and fear and of learning and growing. Isaac reads now. Camilla speaks Spanish. And now it's back to school like never before. Small classes, masks, social distancing, uniforms. New schedules, new teachers, new classmates. And time away from parents.

    Meanwhile, in England, Lulu and Max are off to school in their new uniforms. The kids they meet can't understand the way they speak—"wadder" instead of woh-tah." But all the kids are excited.

The parents on the other hand, are somewhat trepidatious. As the magic bus comes to take the children away, their feelings are mixed. The desire to keep children safe while giving them a measure of much needed independence is the balancing act of parenthood. And then there's a bit of guilt, too, for the relief of not having child care 24/7 and not having to be all things—teachers, meal providers, babysitters, launderers, nail clippers, hairdressers, disciplinarians, exercise coaches, companions, organizers, doctors. Oh man, it makes me tired just to think about it!

 

meanwhile in old rhody

 

That white dot in the middle of the storm Henri would be Block Island. It looked like the island would take a direct hit (as indeed it did), and the police asked outsiders to leave. My tenants fled back to their homes on Friday, and my sister and husband buttoned up the houses. But in the event, the hurricane became a storm and was pretty much of a bust, with the highest gusts maybe 75. The ferries were running again by Monday, and Isaac's birthday took place under sunny skies. Excited, Isaac woke up at 2 ayem and never went back to sleep. Breakfast was the traditional birthday pancake, and the family porch party featured a video game (Hollow Night) motif as cake.

   I find myself divided. Part of me is here at the Goose, and part of me has been in RI since the storm headed northeast. I'm missing the fam. One foot out the door, I guess. Leaving in about ten days.

they came, they cooked, they left

Kate and Dennis missed their sojourn in my yard last year, because Covid. But you can't keep em down on the farm in Austin (crops: figs, Meyer lemons, okra, eggplant) forever. So they braved Arkansas (PRETTY DIRE THERE  and  TIMES VIDEO) and made their way to the relative safety of the Goose.

Tgey bring their own home with them, and Dennis comes equipped with a chainsaw (to trim back branches from the concrete pad) and breaker box (in case of an invasion of ants). Kate comes equipped with fresh produce, flour for breadmaking and piebaking, as well as her own kitchen. 

We were eating so well I convinced them to stay another day. And then, after Kate's breakfast of fresh bread, steak and eggs and potatoes they hit the road again in their brand new F350, back through Arkansas to Austin. The house feels empty.

 

news from ed

 Ed called. "I'm stunned," he said. After undergoing daily radiation and chemo for months, plus wearing a headful of magnetic electrodes, he had just gotten the results of an MRI of his brain  "I was so sure what the outcome was going to be," he said. Most glioblastomas, malignant brain tumors, recur after surgery and grow aggressively, killing you within 14 months. Ed knew this. But the MRI yesterday showed no growth. "I could barely believe it!  Most every thought I've had is—holy shit! I'm OK! I'm actually thinking of being alive again."

   Our friend Peter reported the same. "I just got off the phone with Ed.  A thirty-minute conversation in which he said he just found out he was cancer free and then preceded to recount to me—full sentences!—the story he was "writing" called something like "the day we lost the war in Afghanistan"....  the whole frigging thing, complete names and spellings of guys like Gulaga Sheraz... and of course it involved a CIA guy named Gersten and a recommendation that I read 88 days to Kandahar...I'm stunned too."

   Ed has pretty much been living in Haiti and Afghanistan lately, given the news. He spent months in both countries as a reporter and TV producer. He has a story about fishing for trout in the Taliban stronghold of the Panshir Gorge—by throwing a hand grenade into the river. Another one about befriending the Grand Wali of Swat in Kabul. The Wali, a hereditary monarch, had once been so powerful that when his cook stepped on a cactus and was unable to produce his dinner, the Wali had all cacti removed from his kingdom.  Ed found Afghanistan one of the most beautiful of all the countries he had been to. "My second homes—at least for a time," he mourned. "Haiti, gone. Afghanistan, gone." 

   But Ed himself, not gone. His doctors were gratified. "I think I'm their golden child."

 

 

signs of other times

This rig was parked at my local hardware store. One is forewarned by highway signs to watch out for the Amish. There are no such signs for the tractors that go about the same speed. 

In unrelated boasting about friends, but also having to do with the past, here is my friend Tammy Drummond's PODCAST ABOUT SLAVERY IN CALIFORNIA for the ACLU. And here is my friend Paula Glatzer's contribution to the incredibly prestigious SHAKESPEARE VARIORUM about the stage history of King Lear, finally in print. I am basking in reflected glory.

 

the stray

 

This dog stood by the side of the road, looking hopefully at every car that passed. I had seen it off and on for a week, getting skinnier. Finally, I called Dianne and told her about it. She said, "Can you go back and try to get it and bring it here?" I turned around and went back, stopping traffic on the highway in two directions—no verges in this neck of the woods. Many of the people who patiently waited were also concerned about the dog. But I had no food, and the dog was afraid of me. Likely abused.

   I didn't see it for a couple days, and then there it was again, this time on a side road. I stopped and got out of the car. All I had was some nuts. I threw them in the road, and the dog hesitantly approached to eat them.  I poured water into the nut can and put that down. I called Dianne to come with food. 

People stopped. This kid Holden, who said his grandmother named him after the kid in Catcher in the Rye, stopped, but the only food he had in the car was candy. He gave me his phone number and said he would take the dog to his place, where he had a big dog and 1,500 acres.

    Frank and Dianne got there with food and water dishes, and Dianne was able to sweet talk the dog closer. As she had succeeded in making it a little less fearful, a woman pulled up who was also worried about the dog. She gave it some wet dog food and said the only way her husband had succeeded in getting a scared dog into the car was to grab it. But when she lunged for it, it ran into the highway. Frank was so mad at her Dianne had to restrain him. We left the dishes there with food and water. We thought we would feed it for a while until it became more trusting and would go home with Frank and Dianne, at which point they would find it a home. (As if once they got that dog home they would give it away. Ahem.)

     So the next day I tootled over towards Frank and Dianne's house with water and sausages and crackers (all I had that I deemed acceptable) to put in the dog dish.

    No dog in sight.  As I was putting the food in the bowl, a woman in a big pickup stopped.

   "Don't you dare feed that dog," she said. "It's making all our animals sick!" 

   "All it could have is worms," I said. 

   "There's a lot of rabies in this neighborhood," she said ominously. "You take those dishes away. I don't want you feeding that dog."

    "They're not my dishes!"

   "Then give them to me. I'll take them," she said.

    Here's where I wish I would have taken her picture and a picture of her license plate and asked, "Is this your dog? Is this your road?" Instead, I meekly took Dianne's dog dishes and put them in my truck. 

     I texted Holden what she had done, and he texted back, "I would of told that woman where to shove it. She obviously didn’t want it or care about it because she left it there so why would it matter that you brought food? Does she want the dog to die? If you see her again please get her name for me."

    When I went back, the woman was nowhere in sight and nor was the dog. Dianne had given me some dog food, but we decided to throw it in the grass so as perhaps the bitch wouldn't see it. "She'll probably poison it," said Dianne gloomily. "If she wants it to die, why didn't she just shoot it, instead of leaving it to suffer?"

      I threw the food in the grass, and put a dish down with water. Dianne told me that  from the thirst the dog had exhibited, it didn't have rabies—dogs with rabies won't drink. I will go back today and see if the water dish is still there. And the dog. 

                                                    Dog whisperer Dianne at work.

  

woodstock

 I find the headlines so distressing that I can't really write anything pleasant. So here's a flashback (not to the fall of Saigon) and another flashback to the events of—gulp—52 years ago.

dinos of mercy

 And now for something completely different. A guest contributor, DC comic author and world-class wit, presents this enchanting preview of her forthcoming series. For syndication rights etc., please comment below and the admin will get back to you.

Welcome to the New Television Series 

                                Dinos of Mercy

A Medical drama in which Inanimate Objects face everyday problems like

Murder, Betrayal and Decapitation by Zombies.

The Cast: Atticus Rex, Chief Resident of the Dinos of Mercy Hospital in Atlanta , Georgia . 

                 Nurse Darling: Head of Nursing 

                 Catniss Andrews-Jackson: Hospital Administrator

                 T. Faberware: The Coffee Pot

                 Hospital Background Extras: The Rat ,  Tiny Intern Rex 

                 Police: D.S. Hercule Pawroit

                                        Officer Furry Mason 

                       

Season 1, Episode 1 :  "To Kill a Coffee Pot "

Dr. Atticus Rex examines an injured coffee pot. The doctor's nurse, FiFi Darling  (on the left, wearing a blue bow,) tells the doctor "Hospital attendance is up thanks to Administrator Jackson’s new ad campaign and slogan: 

"Come in to Dinos of Mercy! We don't want to eat You... We want to TREAT you!"

In the background , a young intern examines another patient. “Don’t show so many teeth, Tiny Dino!”  warns the senior physician.

Dr. Rex takes the Coffee Pot’s vitals and Nurse Darling offers it some warm glue. “Hmmm.. this could be the end for Mr. Faber if he’s out of warrantee. !" murmurs the Doctor. 

Administrator Jackson looks on. 

The Administrator asks Dr. Rex “What is wrong with the patient?"

 

The doctor answers “  My first impression was that Mr. Faberware  suffered an accidental blunt fork trauma to the two-cup level  .. but before slipping into a coma , he said that he was was the victim of a vicious attack … by a spoon of some sort. I think we’d better call in the Fuzz.  Administrator Jackson, do you confur?”

 

"Yes, Doctor, I confur. Let’s get them here before this causes the Hospital any negative 

pawblicity.”

Tune in next week for  Dinos of Mercy

                                     episode 2

                                   "watching the Detectives"

the mouse wars

 This entry is, however, about mice. I found the first traces and freaked out. In my experience there is no such thing as one mouse. There are almost always six. Even so, I was hoping this one was a scout or an outlier. I purchased the cruel sticky traps and put them out. I couldn't sleep that night as I listened to the thrashing downstairs. And, yes, I had caught a poor little mouse. They are so cute. But so destructive. 

   The next night I put out more traps. Nothing. The next night I put out the traps again and turned on the fan so I wouldn't hear anything. Well, I didn't hear the next mouse drag the trap from the stove over to the sink, tumble a glass into the sink then fall in itself, shit all over the place and escape the trap. 

   The next day I chloroxed everything, cleaned the oven, put new liners under the stove burners and put the traps out again. I then bethought me of the fact that I had heard that if you put Bounce dryer sheets in your car, mice wouldn't invade it. In fact, I had some smelly Bounce dryer sheets in the truck for just that reason. I strewed them about the kitchen. I left the lights on that night. The next morning: Nothing.

   The next morning, nothing.

   The next morning, nothing. 

    I figured the Goose was mouse free for the moment, so I foamed up the holes that the pipes came through inside and out. I did a terrible job, but there have been several more days mouse-free. No traps disturbed, though I continue to put them out. Fingers crossed.

    And if all else fails, there is this better mousetrap suggested by David's cousin.

doin' bidniss

This picture has nothing to do with mice. It is from a summer long past when Barrett and I thought it would be hilarious to have a tube rental outfit called "You Tube," which was a virtually unknown platform at the time. We scoured West Plains for truck tubes and finally scored one. Sadly, we did not realize that a black tube would pop if left in the sun. That was the end of that business plan. I then thought of doing I Ching readings. I mean, they are likely not available anywhere in the three-county area. But then, I didn't really want random people coming into the house. Same problem with renting out the Goose. Mostly it's bikers and hunters who rent around here, and I don't think they would enjoy a girlie scene with no TV. We tried selling boiled peanuts, too. That was a bust. Don't think we sold any—though I ate quite a few. Probably the best idea I came up with was to set up an outdoor bar selling Grey Goose vodka and Goose Island IPA. After all, the cafe across the street has no alcohol. However, in the end, like the old sailor, I did nothing at all. I'd rather just entertain my friends and give stuff away.

Everything went but two ratty pillowcases. I'm pretty sure one person takes everything I put out in the yard. Hate to see their place!

and on the other hand

Lest you think we're all anti-vaxers and hillbillies out here, I want to show you the Other side of the Ozarks. Frank and Dianne and I ate fancy pizza at a local vineyard. Actually, Frank had bruschetta and salad. Dianne did NOT approve of the pizza, though it was thin crust wood fired. And we all approved of the peach pie pizza dessert and the ambiance.

Jessica, a town council member, came out to the Goose and drank fancy wine. Needless to say that was supplied by David, since I buy the veriest plonk. Denise came over and cooked fancy chanterelles, which she had gathered herself in her woods.

And, once again, David had me over, this time to meet his brother and cousins. We ate fancy oyster ceviche and oven-fried chicken. Yum!

And for a little international action, Frank and Dianne and I went out again to a Mexican restaurant in Cabool, which town is named after the one spelled (and pronounced) otherwise in Afghanistan. I was charmed by this mural, which turned out to have been done by my one-time landlord at the yoga retreat where I stayed while rebuilding from the flood.  

 
 

aw, shucks

Striking out on all counts. Well, I am white.
 

local color

We were going to try to see some ruins of a spa built around a magic spring and magic cave. But not getting there turned out to be most of the fun. First there was the construction slowdown, which involved sitting still until the jolly flagman waved us on. Several times. And then we became part of an Amish funeral procession, which perforce moved at a slow pace, seeing as the carriages were horsedrawn and the walkers were walking. We were about a mile from our destination—only a short ferry ride across the Current River to go—when it proved that the Akers ferry was out of commission due to the low river level. In a 4wd vehicle we might have made it across, but in the landshark Chrysler it was not happening, so we retraced our steps for an hour or so back home. However, we were better off than the folks  who wanted to cross from the other side. Dude we met below told us that, not knowing that the ferry (behind him) was out of service, a car drove on. Trying to back off they tore off their front bumper and possibly the whole front end. He didn't know. All he knew was that the car sat there on the other side for a couple days. No cell service in this neck of the woods!

 

vacancy

In greater downtown T'ville, there are several options for short stays—the b and b in the former bank across the street, the former beer store cum cottage and now glamping! One tent has a queen bed, bunk beds, bathroom and AC! There is also a shower building, presumably for the other four tents. They are supposed to be riverfront, but the river was so low as to be invisible when I was there. So was the clientele. I will unVelcro and unzip and look inside, but it was evening and the mosquitoes were coming out. Plus I was getting the creeps.

 

the road ahead/behind

Drive time. I spend a lot of time driving here. That's because everything and everyone is, as Ed says, 45 minutes away. It's more than that when you drive the dirt roads though, which I like to. I get to stop and enjoy the scenery. I can avoid the animals that run across the road—deer, muskrats. I know where the blue buntings fly. I can open the windows and turn off the AC and smell the wind. I have my favorite buildings and my favorite trees. Lately I have become obsessed with oak trees. I love how the massive branches spread and the stained glass effect between them. I can't seem to get a picture of what they feel like to me. I'll keep trying. Here are two.