Can it be August already? Yikes!

The first of August - and the cucumbers are really coming in. We've been eating cucumber salad nearly every day. Yesterday I made some Gazpacho - more cucumbers - and have been handing the extras out to friends and neighbors. It's really wonderful that they are so prolific, but my fridge is getting full! The Gazpacho turned out really well if I do say so myself. I made it really chunky, full of cukes, tomatoes, red onion, garlic, basil, ripe olives, carrots, yellow bell pepper, celery, scallions, a little tomato paste, V-8 juice, ground pepper, olive oil and a mixture of vinegars. Plus a dash of worcestershire sauce. I could live on that in the summer.

The next biggy will be the tomatoes. Already we are eating the cherry ones, and a few of the larger ones. Better Boys, I think. Two went into the Gazpacho along with some I bought at a produce market. I'm hoping for a big harvest of the tomatoes so that I can make some tomato relish and perhaps some canned tomatoes.

Meanwhile Ming, our new kitten, is adjusting well to life in our household. The other cats are slowly adjusting to her being here. A few half-hearted attempts at playing, but for the most part they're being old poops. She's remarkably resiliant to their rebuffs. Doesn't seem to get her feelings hurt, and is very brave at taking a few swats of her own. She's turning into a real retriever with her toys. Likes to have us throw them, then brings them back again. It's one of the traits of the Tonkinese, along with shoulder riding, being very social and being very vocal. They're called the cats for dog people, and I have to say it's true.

The History of Cold Saturday Farm

This evening I met a woman named Alice. As it turns out, she has some personal history with Cold Saturday Farm, the property across the road. In 1932 her mother and father and their three children were living in Baltimore, where they had moved from New York City. Alice's mother always wanted to live on a farm, and on weekends she had her husband drive them into the country to look for farms. Apparently they drove down Rt. 91 through Finksburg, and she noticed a grove of evergreens off the road. She rightly guessed that there was a house back there. They drove in, found the house, and inquired whether it might be for sale.

They ended up buying the farm - all 330 acres - for $33,000. This was during the depression, in 1932. At the time, the farm was called Clover Hill Farm. The beautiful old stone house was built in 1765. There was also a smaller stone house, a barn, and several out buildings. Alice's mother went to Annapolis to research the property, and found that the original name had been Cold Saturday Farm, so named because when it was originally surveyed, it was noted that it had been a cold Saturday in January. She reverted the name of the farm back to Cold Saturday Farm, and so it has been ever since.

They raised cattle and had horses. In 1939, a terrible arson fire destroyed the barn and all twelve of their riding horses, draft work horses, and the children's ponies. The herdsman, who lived in the smaller stone house, saw that the barn was on fire and was able to open the gates and let out the cattle, but none of the horses were able to be rescued. Tragically, they all perished inside their stalls.

The farm remained in the family until 1976, when her mother sold all but 75 acres - saving 25 acres for each of her children. Sadly, the new owners neglected the property. It became very run down until it was sold again in 1985 to a Mr. Bean. Mr. Bean restored Cold Saturday Farm and still owns the property today. In order to afford the restorations, Mr. Bean sold off large portions of the farm to developers, including the land where our house sits today.

After she was married, Alice and her family moved several times while her husband served in the military, until finally settling near Washington, D.C. Alice had her own career as an anesthesiologist. She ended up in medicine after she took a required science course in biology and found that she loved it. Prior to settling on medicine she had started out in college with a major in English, then art history.

About 6 months ago, Alice moved back to Finksburg where she and her daughter now live on the remaining 75 acres of the original farm. As it turned out, her siblings settled in different areas, so Alice bought their 25-acre shares from them. I recently posted a blog describing the walk Jim and I took through that property, and posted some of the photos I took that day. I would like Alice to come over to see them. We'll have tea, I think. I'm sure she would enjoy seeing how lovely the property is today. I'm so delighted to live within walking distance of this beautiful place.


Old Stone Farmhouse, built in 1765.


Smaller stone house where the herdsman lived.


Horse looking out of the barn.


One of the horses boarded at the farm.


Fencing overlooking stream and bridge.


Log house used for bath house in summer, skating house in winter.


Another view of the log house. It was moved from another place and completely reassembled on site, board by board.


One of the old barns.


Farm pond.


Geese swimming on a stream. Beautiful bridge over the stream.

The Throes of Summer ...

Like most of the country, it's been miserably hot here lately. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a little cooler and we can venture outside without immediately wilting. A thunderstorm blew through late this afternoon, and it was interesting to see the temperature drop 20° in a matter of minutes. Gave us an opportunity to poke around in the garden after the storm and harvest a few cucumbers and cherry tomatoes. I was rather depressed to check out the flowers. We have two potted double hibiscus trees that have been in great shape until now. Each pot is actually three bushes braided together. One has the trunks of three different colored bushes, resulting in a bush with peach, red, and yellow flowers. It's lovely. The other is all peach. I noticed that the peach one has had an alarming number of leaves stripped off by the squirrels. I know it's them because I've caught them in the act many times and chased them away. They shimmy up the trunks, pick off the leaves, then run away with a leaf in their mouth. They sit up on the hill out of reach, blissfully chomping away. Must be a delicacy for them, given how few leaves are remaining. Unfortunately, the hibiscus branches aren't strong enough to support squirrels, and I've found several broken off under the weight of the thieving rodents. That's even worse than losing leaves, which may grow back.

The rest of the flower beds and pots really need some attention. I usually go out every day and tend to deadheading the flowers, watering the pots, and pulling up weeds. Well, things are looking pretty scruffy out there now. No way am I going to tend the garden when the temperature is in the mid-nineties, and it shows. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to catch up a little. I hope so. Damn this global warming.

Sharing Daddy's Lap

After a few days of hisses, growls, and bad tempers, Paddle has begrudgingly accepted little Ming Toy. Ming was brave tonight and jumped up onto Jim's lap while Paddle was lying there. At least Paddle didn't chase her away. Progress! The other two have yet to be civil to the new kitten, and it's really sad. She wants to play in the worst way. It may take a few more days before everybody starts napping together in a pussy pile.

Ming is proving to be a very sweet little cat. She's well behaved, mostly, and very affectionate. Big eyes take everything in as she figures out where she fits in. Good appetite, uses her litter box, plays with various toys, although she doesn't put them away yet. Doesn't quite have the retrieval concept down, but I think she'll catch on soon. All in all, she's great fun. Now if only the boys would quit the macho attitude...

Welcome to our Family!!!

We have a new family member! We're back to 4 Tonks with the addition of a new Natural Mink Tonkinese to our household. After a flurry of kitten power talks and emails with a breeder in Virginia, we made trip to "adopt" this little five-month old kitten on Thursday. Today is her 5th month birthday. She's just adorable, very brave, and very affectionate. I'm just thrilled with her. She was spayed a week ago and had her stitches out on Wednesday.

Natural Mink is what my Ping was, our cat who died last year on September 11th. I loved her very much. She was unique, one of a kind, and irreplaceable. I'm not trying to replace Ping, truly. I loved Ping's coloring and her mink-like coat. The Natural Mink is fairly rare and darkens as the cat ages until it's a deep sable with brown-black points. I also loved the time when our Tonks were kittens, and wanted to capture that fun time again.

And so we have! Our new kitten is named Catdancing Ming Toy. (Catdancing is the name of the cattery.) I call her Ming or Toy. Hubby calls her Shitsky, but just to push my buttons. He claims since she came from Warsaw, (Virginia) she's Polish, ergo the name Shitsky. The other Tonks call her An Intruder. They are Not Pleased. They have been shooting her dirty looks and giving her a hiss when they see her, complaining in low growls. She's being respectful of her elders, keeping her distance, but not hiding from them. Today we had a game of "catch the birdie" with a feather toy between Paddle, Pong, and Toy. Pretty soon the animosities from Pong and Paddle diminished and they were all jumping after the "bird." I think they will all be bonded in a few days. But for now, they just wish she'd go home.

Meanwhile, I was advised by the breeder that we should sleep with her for the first three nights. This is to assure that she bonds with us instead of the cats. Well, it hasn't worked out quite that way. I have spent the past two nights with Toy in the spare bedroom, while my husband has remained in our bedroom. He decided years ago that the cats had to sleep outside our bedroom so that he can get a good night's sleep. That's fine with me. After 2 night's, I'm feeling somewhat sleep-deprived. Toy is a kitten, after all, and feet under a sheet are meant to be pounced on. Regardless of my husband's refusal to sleep with her, she is bonding to him as well, jumping up on his lap and rolling over for a belly rub.

Lots of fun times ahead. I'm really happy.

Itchy Bum? NO! Ichiban!

Several years ago, we received a gift from one of our family members. It was a beautiful handmade pottery vase, a low dish with three short, upright tubes. We were told it was an Ichiban, a Japanese flower designing vessel. The tubes were open at the bottom to allow the stems to uptake water. Well, recently we had a visit from this family member. She found the Ichiban in the bathroom, serving as a catch-all for a candle, matches, and hair clips.

Ah, the humiliation. We were given a stern lecture regarding the proper usage of an Ichiban, its history and its purpose. An Ichican is a feng shui-type pottery vessel, designed to support the stems of flowers and sprigs of greenery in a simple, vertical arrangement. It's all about maintaining different heights of the selected vegetation in a pleasing arrangement. The still water in the bottom is also very feng shui, transmitting positive chi, tranquility, calmness, and peacefulness to the household.

Ever since the visit, I've been maintaining our Ichiban, changing the water and the flowers faithfully, and I've come to love it. I use flowers from our garden and sprigs from the surrounding shrubs and trees. Here's my latest arrangement, which I think is quite lovely.

Pastoral Walk Thru Finksburg

I think my muse must have been off on vacation for the past week or so. Happily, it's back again and I can post. I've missed my blog! It's time to get back into writing.

I want to start by describing and showing a walk we took around our neighborhood at the beginning of the week. Luckily I had the forethought to bring my camera with me. I'm so glad I did, because there were some beautiful photos for the taking. I can't get over how beautiful the scenery is here. Within walking distance of our home there is a very old, beautiful horse farm, streams and and several ponds. We saw a gaggle of geese (I've never used that word in a sentence before!) who were swimming in the brook, then trooped out and marched across a lawn.





The greens of the vegetation were wonderful, reminding me of the 40 shades of green in Ireland.




Here's a burro who came up to the fence for a pet.


I love the old weathered barns.







The following photos are just beauty that speaks for itself.






















I can't believe how fortunate we are to live in such a beautiful area!

Finished!

Just finished reading the book for our book club Monday. The Amateur Marriage. When we learned what the next book would be last month, I realized I had already read it. Anne Tyler is a favorite author of mine and I've read most, if not all, of her books. Anyway, decided I'd better leaf through it again to "refresh my memory" before Monday. I remembered how the story started, but couldn't recall much except that the main characters met on Pearl Harbor Day and he went off to war. After that I couldn't remember anything else. So I checked it out again from the library and started rereading it. Come to find out, I had only read the first 50 pages or so the first time around! Yikes! Only three days to read the whole book.

Well, it was a great book, so it was easy to get through it in just a couple of days. Lucky for me. I highly recommend it.

Beetle Invasion!

We've been invaded! Our whole property is swarming with Japanese Beetles. Seriously! Yesterday we were standing in the yard and someone noticed that there were a lot of "bees" hovering over the grass and around the plants. I knew they weren't bees, but at first look thought they were some sort of flies. Didn't pay much attention until I went out this morning and discovered that all the flowers, plants and trees were covered with Japanese Beetles, horny little buggers mating in clusters of insect frenzy.

I absolutely loathe those nasties. They play havoc with vegetation and can ruin trees and ornamentals. My favorite flower is the rose, but I have purposely avoided planting any in my east coast yard, knowing that Japanese Beetles are prevalent in this area, and roses are a favorite food of the beetles.

We put out a beetle trap, and they are so dumb it actually works, but I know that's not going to make much of an impact. I also captured some in a coffee can with water in the bottom, and probably succeeded in eliminating a total of a few hundred in just a few minutes, but soon gave up the effort. There are easily a million flying around and I was just frustrating myself trying to get rid of them. It's like sticking your finger in a dike to hold back the sea.

It's always something. Last year was the 17-year cicada emergence. I know it's all part of the natural cycle of life, I just wish they'd leave us alone. I really don't want to resort to any chemical pesticides, so we're probably stuck with them.

Bummer!

Fairy Lights

It was lovely outside tonight, just before dusk. The clouds were pink cotton candy in the dwindling light before sunset, and the fireflies were blinking all over the lawn. I watched for a few minutes, trying to decode their signals. It seemed that they would all blink at once, then for a few seconds, the blinking stopped. The males flash to attract a female, and if she's interested, the female will blink back to let him know where she's hiding. This little game will go on until they finally meet and have a go at it.

Here's an interesting little tidbit. Some females from different species have evolved the ability to mimic other firefly females, thus luring the horny males for dinner - but unknown to them, they're the main course! Here's the official skinny:

"The male firefly of the species Photinus pyralis, beams a single half-flash during a forward rising flight movement. It looks like the letter "J." The female responds with a single flash. Another species, Photinus consumilis, signals his mate with a rapid succession of flashes. She responds with two beams. In general, males will not fly down to a female that sends the wrong species signal. But, some females of differing species have evolved the ability to mimic the response flashes of species other than their own. As the male flies down to a mimicking female, he is captured and eaten, gulp!"

How 'Bout a Little Rain Over Here?

We have a well on our property, and Jim is convinced I'm draining it dry. I've been babying the various flowers and plants in our gardens to keep them going during the current dry spell we're having. Every day I go out and hand water all the patio pots and hanging baskets. A few days ago I dragged a hose to one of the larger gardens and set up an oscillating sprinkler to drench the shrubs and flowers. For whatever reason, we have very low water pressure from the hose bibs, and instead of the ten-to-fifteen foot arc of spray I anticipated, all I got was a little dribble about 15 inches high. I can deal with that - just water longer and keep moving the sprinkler head. When I went out after a half hour or so, I found that the sprinkler had blown it's cork, so to speak, and water was just running out in a stream. Sigh.

We have another sprinkler head. This one is a ring about 8 inches in diameter with holes poked all over it. I figured this one might spray up a few feet into the air, so if I placed it in the middle of the tomato plant and veggie garden, it would water the whole plot at once. I put the ring squarely in the middle, turned on the water full blast, and held my breath. It squirted out this mini-water fountain about 6 inches high. All in all, this little garden patch is no more than 8'x10', and I had to move the sprinkler six times before it soaked all the plants.

Low water pressure is just a small downside of country life. Maybe the only one I'll have to learn to live with, and if so, it's no real biggie. On the plus side, no water bill!

Mr. Vagabond

Pong, one of our three Tonkinese, has become more and more of an outdoor cat. Although none of the three are allowed outside after dark, Pong is outside all day long, returning only briefly a few times during the day to grab a snack, then he's off again. The other two Tonks are much more home bodies. Pong has this really loud, annoying meow and is unrelenting when he wants to go out. Our job is to open the door. We have no idea where he spends all his time - at the neighbors, in the woods, patrolling the property. Who knows. He does take his moling duties very seriously.

First thing he does when he goes outside is to roll around on the patio. When he finally does come inside, he's all dusty and dirty, with flecks of grit and grime and debris on his fur. I'm not happy about that.

Until the past year or so of being outside as he pleases, Pong was an indoor cat. A real slug, eating and sleeping most of the day away, and that's about it. Normal kitty behavior. At 14 pounds, according to the vet, he was on the verge of obesity. Now he's slimmed down, no more paunch, and looks fit and trim.

I wonder if he naps outside, and if so, where does he sleep? Occasionally we see him stretched out on a lounge chair on the porch of Le Shed, but not too often. I somehow can't imagine him curling up for a snooze on a bed of leaves.

Jim thinks maybe he has a girlfriend. He's been "fixed" since he was a few months old, so we don't worry that he's increasing the feline population of the county. So if he is fooling around, he's just shooting blanks.

I don't have the heart to tell him.

Sponges - The Latest in Schnoz Protection

Here's an interesting little tidbit from the Proceedings of the National Academy of Science. It seems that dolphins around Shark Bay, Western Australia have been observed tearing sponges from the sea floor to use as snout armor when foraging for food. Apparently poking their bazoos into crevices and along the sandy bottom results in scrapes and scuffs and stings from various nasties. Some of the dolphins, mostly the females, have found that wearing a sponge is a good thing, like gardeners wearing gloves. The young ones, who spend up to four years with their moms before weaning, learn to sponge by watching mom, and it gets passed down the family line. This is huge, since animals using tools is a relatively rare thing, behavior that is usually limited to humans and other primates.

What I found especially amusing is that it's just the females who have figured out this sponge idea. The males must think it's sissy behavior, so they continue getting bruised and stung. Apparently they'd rather be macho and spend their time checking out the gals.

A quote from the article says: "Only one male was observed using a sponge. (Michael) Kruetzen noted that, as adults, male and female dolphins have very different lifestyles.

Adult males form small groups of two or three individuals that chase females in reproductive condition, he explained. `I would think that they do not have time to engage in such a time-consuming foraging activity as adults, as they are busy herding females.'"

Hmm. Now why does this sound so familiar?

Have You Hugged Your Rhody Today?

I read something today that I found very interesting. Great article. According to a study at Rutgers University, we humans have an emotional attachment to flowers. "Our hypothesis is that flowers are exploiting an emotional niche. They make us happy," McGuire says. "Because they are a source of pleasure, a positive emotion inducer, we take care of them. In that sense they're like dogs. They are the pets of the plant world."

I really like that analogy - pets of the plant world. I get it. Tending to the garden is like taking care of pets - we feed them, water them, protect them, and give them lots of love and TLC, and they reward us by looking adorable.

And then eventually, of course, they up and die on us.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

My heart rate got an unexpected jumpstart this morning. I was on the phone, looking out onto the patio, when suddenly I spied a small, black head peeking over the stone wall. This was followed by a long, slithery black body that kept coming, and coming, and coming, until it reached the patio and rose up the side of a large planter, its little tongue zipping in and out of its mouth. SNAKE!!

Oh. My. God! Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I hung up the phone to go outside to tell Jim what was going on. He was saddling up the mower by Le Shed. Before I could get to the door, the phone rang again.

It was a call for Jim, so out I went with the phone and the news of the patio intruder. He took the phone and calmly began his call while watching the unfolding of this unending snake. It was a good 6 to 8 feet long. Unbelievable! After a minute or so, he slithered himself back up and over the patio wall into a bed of day lilies. Well, that's just great. This freaked me out even more, him being out of sight, because I know He’s Out There. I’ll never be able to walk barefoot through the yard again with the same feeling of abandon. If only it hadn’t been so BIG and so BLACK and so GHASTLY. Now, I’m a reasonable person. Garter snakes are reasonable snakes, but this one? Nightmare material.

Jim says he hates snakes, but for some reason he likes this one, which is apparently a Black Rat Snake. I somehow thought Jim would be my protector and take it on. But no, he considers it “beneficial” because it feeds on mice and moles and other small rodents. Hmpf. I’m rather partial to our little chipmunks and squirrels and mousies, and hate to think of them ending up anybody’s dinner, especially a nasty-ass snake's. After all, the little hoo haa's are only here because we feed the birds, and in return they entertain us with their acrobatic antics. So now they’ll think we’re just fattening them up for the chow line.

Well, you've heard it before - Nature is a cruel Mother.

Tonkinese Food Critics

Well, it’s happened again. My cooking has been critiqued by one of the cats, and found to be inedible.

It’s like this. Every evening, as Jim and I sit down to dinner, one or more of the Tonks will sit patiently on the floor between us, looking for a taste of what’s for dinner. Sometimes they are patient, as I said, but occasionally they start clammering non-stop in high-pitched Tonkinese if we ignore them and simply try to eat our dinners.

Tonight Paddle was the only beggar, the other two still outside on mole patrole. I had prepared, from scratch I’ll have you know, a nice dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, mixed green salad and rolls. I thought it was lovely, could rival any nice Italian restaurant’s fare. Jim and I started eating, and Paddle began non-stop meowing, determined to know what we were eating. Now, just so you don’t think they beg because we deny our cats enough to eat, rest assured, they always have plenty of food in their bowl. It’s premium quality dry cat food, and whenever the bowl is near empty, we refill it. So they’re never starving, no matter that they might tell you otherwise.

I confess that even though they have their own food, we do give them bites from our plates to let them feel included in the evening meal - meat, chicken, fish, whatever. They have us well trained. We feel guilty when it’s vegetarian or pizza, since they don't like those things. Anyway, Jim obediently cut a piece of meatball for Paddle, sucked off the offending sauce, which he knows she won’t eat, and presented her with a nice, bitesized tidbit.

Here’s where it gets ugly. She gave the meatball a cursory sniff, turned tail and walked away. And Paddle is a little pig, who will eat lots of stuff that makes the others turn up their noses. Do you know what it feels like to have your cooking rejected by a cat? I suppose I should be grateful that I didn’t get their topmost rejection - which I have on many occasions - the leg shake as she walked away. If it’s something they think is gross, I get the 2-legged shimmy, or if it's really gross, an all 4-legged waggle. I kid you not! They turn tail, walk/run away, shaking their feet as if to rid themselves off even the smell of whatever revolting food I have served for dinner, prancing away in a kind of kitty jig.

There's more - the ultimate insult they offer. If they don’t like the smell of what we’re eating, they will try to “bury” it, right in front of me, pawing at the floor and covering the offending food with imaginery dirt.

Now, I have to assume, since they really are very smart cats, that this burying tactic is mime play-acting. They don’t really think there is any dirt there, they’re just saying, “Phew - this stuff belongs in the litter box. Better cover it up before it stinks up the whole house.”

So all I can say is, at least Jim will eat it.

Cat Napping

This is Paddle, our smallest Tonkinese. She's our little whiner, otherwise known as Paddle One Note. She's made herself a kitty nest by disemboweling the stuffing from a pillow I was in the process of sewing back together. I wanted to wash the cover, and had to cut the stitching to remove the stuffing.



Yesterday after its washing, I stuffed the pillow back together, leaned it against the couch and left it until I found time to sew it. Paddle thought this was a great find, and pulled out all the innards to make herself a bed. I cleaned up her mess, re-stuffed the pillow, and this time hid it behind the couch. Well, as you can see, she found it again and "rearranged" the stuffing to suit herself. Now how can I be mad at her? She is kind of cute.

The next picture is one of the boys, Pong and Ball. Although Ball is smaller than Pong by nearly half, he's our alpha male and creates trouble whenever he can by pouncing and instigating a wrestling match. Pong just gets disgusted, ignores him and grumbles a lot.



At the end of the day, all is forgiven, and they share a soft place to sleep, using each other for pillows.

Bragging Rights

I'm not usually too much of a gardener. I try, but I'm not very consistent. Well, I'm turning over a new leaf, and this weekend I outdid myself with the mowing, weeding, planting, weedwacking, and general cleanup. Jim was busy all weekend working on rebuilding our waterfall and finishing up the deck he and his son are building at David's house. The yard looks really great, and I'm glad I stuck with it, even though it about did me in. As a reward, I decided to cut a bouquet of the irises for the table. They are just gorgeous, perhaps because of all the rain we had this spring. This is the first time I've ever had irises in my yard, and I can see why they are so loved by gardeners. I really hope they will last for a while.





This handmade infant's dress and hat was crocheted by my young friend K as a shower gift for her co-worker. It took her many hours, and the result is this exquisite, intricately handcrafted future heirloom. K has made a number of these sets for other friends and family members who were having babies. She always dresses a bear in the dress and hat as part of the gift. Lucky moms, lucky babies!

Is There a Doctor in the House?

Last night I had, once again, an anxiety dream. I have these a lot. Mine are usually in the form of being back in school. I have to take an exam, I'm late, haven't studied or studied the wrong thing, can't find the right room, etc. etc. Sometimes it's the first day of class and I can't find the classroom I'm supposed to be in. Or it's the day of the final exam, and I realize I never went to any of the classes. I'm forever getting lost in a strange building and the clock is ticking. I have these kinds of dreams so often that I don't get as freaked out as I used to. It's kind of, well, here we go again, time for my final exam and I can't find the classroom.

I think my psyche is catching on, and has decided I haven't been sufficiently stressed and traumatized lately. It's begun to raise the bar on the stress level. Kick it up a notch. So last night, I'm back again, first day of classes, only this time I'm in Harvard Medical School as a first year med student. I have all these weird classes to take, in strange buildings with complex, winding corridors, and I'm lost in a sea of really brainy people. Once again, can't get where I'm supposed to be, I'm late, and separated from the person I rode with so I won't be able to get home. I have my hands full of things, nowhere to put them, and I keep dropping everything. I have to climb over people to get to find a seat.

The irony of this particular dream is that I'm the last person who should ever become a doctor. I can't stand the sight of blood. I can't even watch someone getting a shot. I'm definitely not the person you want in charge when there's an emergency. Even the thought of someone being injured or in pain makes me woozy. I admit it - I'm a fainter. The first time was when I stabbed my palm with a kitchen knife while trying to separate frozen hamburgers. It was a deep puncture wound, and it didn't bleed, which bothered me more so than if it had bled. Ended up in a heap on the floor and had to crawl the rest of the way to the bathroom. The next was when my husband was putting eye drops put in my eye. I was getting more and more nervous and after several unsuccessful tries, totally passed out. He had to carry me, unconscious, to the couch.

The real kicker was one day when I took my pre-teen step-daughter to the Emergency Room. She had a really awful sore throat and couldn't swallow. She was miserable and in terrible pain. We were told to wait. I remember walking down the corridor, feeling light-headed, and knew what was coming next. Saw a bench further down, and headed towards it, the corridor closing in on me. I barely made it. Just then a passing doctor saw what was going on and came over to help me. Had me put my head between my knees. When he determined that I was coming around and my color was returning, he said, "Now, who brought you in?"

How embarrassing.

"Mow Town"

After several days of cool, rainy weather, today started off with sunshine and brilliant blue skies. I still get excited about clear morning skies here in Maryland, after living through 17 years of "May Gray" and "June Gloom" in San Diego. As nice as San Diego weather can be, for two to three months of the year, San Diegans endure gray, overcast skies until late morning or even into early afternoon - the result of fog banks and mist rolling in over the city from the ocean. Eventually the sun breaks through the fog and sunshine prevails for the remainder of the day. But San Diego mornings are gloomy. We've been living here almost two years now, and morning sunshine in spring is just another reason to love our new abode.

I decided to take advantage of the mild weather to saddle up the John Deere. We live on two acres, much of it grass. Since I learned how to operate the riding mower, I'm usually the primary mower. I enjoy the zen of mowing, even though it still takes 3+ hours to complete the job. The front lawn is a wide open hill, then interspersed with young trees, then maneuvers between huge hardwoods and gardens, around the house, and finally beside the veggie garden and patio.

I use the time alone on the mower to enjoy the scenery, the birds, the cloud patterns, and especially the wonderful, fresh smell of newly cut grass. It's a great time to let my mind wander, make plans, or organize my thoughts. There's usually a lot of chatter going on in there - songs, conversations, lists, you name it - to keep me entertained, so I'm never bored. After living in urban areas nearly all my life, I find living in an open, rural environment very peaceful. Should have moved to the country long ago.

Where's my Spaghetti Strainer?

Ok, I think I've seen way too much TV. I woke up this morning after a dream in which I was giving Michael Jackson hair styling advice. There he was, standing next to his limo, getting ready for another televised entrance into the courthouse. He was combing his hair, and I was advising him about blowing it dry to avoid excesss curl. What's up with that? All this news coverage of the trial has seeped into my subconscious and I can't get away from it, even in my own bed at night. Enough already! Maybe all those weirdos who wear aluminum foil reflector caps on their heads aren't so crazy after all.

Playdate with Mr. Mole

This afternoon I arrived home after some shopping and saw Pong napping on the patio glider. He was glad to see me 'cause he wanted his afternoon snack. I busied myself traipsing in and out, putting things away, and was shutting the back door when I spied Pong running up the step with a LIVE MOLE in his mouth. I yelled "NO!" but he darted right past me INTO THE HOUSE, mole and all. I yelled again "NO, NO!" but as my friend would say, it was a waste of spit. He was thrilled, ran behind the recliner and let the mole go. Of course, the mole ran, which is exactly what Pong wanted, and the pounce and run game was on.

The other two Tonks thought this was a great idea. All of them were thrilled with the new arrival. The mole ran under a pillow sitting on the floor, the cats pawing away and sniffing. Well, some felines these guys turned out to be. There they were trying to get at the mole, and unbeknown to them, he had already slipped past them, ran along the wall, behind the entertainment unit, across the carpet, in front of the fireplace and behind the drapes. Terrific. Now I have to catch the damned mole myself! Lame, useless pusseycats, still pawing away at the pillow.

Grabbed the closest thing, some wrapping paper tissue from one of my purchases and tried to pick the mole up. Yikes, what if he bites? And he's rabid? I let go of him and he ran behind the bookcase. Swell. Now what? Can't do anything alone, so I'll have to wait until Jim gets home. Figured the mole would probably stay put, and the cats had already gotten bored with pillow pawing.

Well, I didn't have to wait long. Jim arrived, and I explained the whole predicament. He looked slightly amused, and rather proud of the brat cat's hunting prowess. I told him the mole was behind the bookcase, but he was doubtful. The plan was to unload the bookcase, move it away from the wall, and shack him out if he was there. Jim thought it might be easier to get Pong to catch him than one of us. I doubted it, considering their ineptness earlier, but didn't want to argue about it. Opened the door to get Pong back in the house, but Ball came inside instead. Well, Ball's a cat too, so I deposited him behind the bookcase to do his thing. No whisker twitching, no interest. He walked away. So much for Ball's hunting instincts. Picked him up, kicking and screaming, and put him behind the bookcase again. He ran away. Well, we tipped the bookcase up, and sure enough, there was the poor mole, hunkered down and looking rather pathetic. Since Jim was the one holding the bookcase, it fell to me to be the mole catcher. I donned a pair of heavy leather gloves, scooped up Mr. Mole and carried him to the front door. Jim open it, and I set my little rodent down between the bushes. He just laid there, kinda stunned, I guess. I gave him a little nudge, and he scampered off, free to fight another day.

Pong is on my list.

Here's the tribe in napping mode.

Buggy Booster

What a gorgeous day. I decided today would be a great day to get a few tomato plants. Jim had amended and rototilled our garden patch a week or so ago, and it was in perfect shape for a garden. The location is also perfect - a southern exposure that gets sun all day, and the watering hose is nearby.

So it was on to Lowe's to check out their Garden Department. I was a little apprehensive about what I might find there, since I had stopped in a couple of weeks ago and the selection was rather pathetic. I could tell as soon as I drove up that today was a good day for buying plants. Lots of color and variety and selection. Super! Suddenly I needed a lot more than just tomato plants. No carts available, so I followed an elderly lady to her car, relieved her of her empty cart, and entered the garden store. Along with a couple hundred or so other flower shoppers.

Happily made my selections of tomatoes, sweet peppers, cucumbers, marigolds, petunias, and my favorite - a cute little succulent called Hen and Chicks. Spent a lot of time fastidiously selecting each pot, making sure I got the best of each. With all the shopping cart traffic, it was easier to pull the cart out of the way and bring my selections to it rather than maneuvering around bent over behinds and baby strollers. Made a last stop for some blueberry bushes (on sale!) and returned to my cart. Or rather to where I THOUGHT it was. No cart. Must have forgotten where I left it. Started walking up and down the aisles searching for my wayward cart, then doubled back again. After tramping through the whole department, it became evident that the cart had been spirited away by some absent minded fool who thought it was theirs. Started an in-depth search, poking my nose into every cart in the store. Nobody had my stuff.

Now I was seething. Get another cart. Back to square one. So what the heck had I spent the better part of an hour choosing? Well, by the time I figured out what plants I wanted - AGAIN - and was about to get into line for the register, THERE THEY WERE! All my plants, everything I had lovingly chosen, scrunched together on a marigold shelf. Can you believe it? Somebody just wheeled away my cart, and when they discovered it wasn't theirs, instead of taking out their own stuff, dumped out MY stuff. Jeez Louise! What a nasty little trick. I hope their tomatoes give them heartburn.

A Phobia is Born

Did you watch the 2-hour finale of CSI last night? Woof! I usually watch these things rather passively, since I've become a bit jaded with all the gore and graphic realism portrayed in these types of shows. Ho, hum. I watch with half an eye while paying bills or skimming through a magazine. Well, they sure pushed all my buttons last night. The character Nick was kidnapped and buried alive in a plexaglass coffin by a madman who blew himself up when they delivered the 1 million dollar ransom. WITHOUT first telling Grishom where his guy was buried. Throughout the episode they show Nick inside this plastic box, hardly able to move, all his agonies captured via a web cam feed. His predicament intensifies ten fold once the plastic box develops some cracks from the wieght of the earth on top, and dirt starts trickling in over his feet. More horrors as a colony of fire ants storm in, "eating him alive." They show macro closeups of the biting jaws tearing at pieces of his flesh. Nick does the only thing he can and stuffs pieces of cloth into his nostrils and chewing gum in his ears. Lips and eyes are shut tight in a terrible grimace. He's covered with ants everywhere, especially all over his head. It was truly awful. He gets saved in the end, of course, just as his air supply runs out. Drama, drama. Definitely a nail-biter. The thing that really made me shiver is that in real life, this poor sod was ACTUALLY CRAWLING with those creepy buggers. And he WAS confined in that tight, coffin-sized space, even if it was just a television program. I sure hope he got hazardous duty pay. You couldn't pay me enough to do what he did.

I'm not really scared of the ususal spiders or snakes or heights, within reason, but I do have a real-life phobia of being closed in small spaces. It all stems from a time back in high school when I went on a night time hayride with a bunch of other teens. That part was fun. Afterwards, there was a hay maze we had to crawl through. It was really tight quarters, and there we were in the dark, head to toe, crawling through twists and turns on our bellies. The kids in the front were too slow for some of the ones behind, who were getting scared in this narrow tunnel. Then the idiot in front of me pulled out his Bic lighter and LIT IT. Even now, writing it down, my breathing is rapid. I can see that image in my mind's eye, and feel the panic I felt then. People screamed and he put it out right away, but in that instant, the thought of that whole bank of hay bales catching fire with all of us inside being burned alive left me with a case of claustrophobia that has never gone away. The "what ifs" of that night haunt me even now, nearly four decades later.

Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival

This past weekend was the long awaited Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. It was really great. So glad I went. I tried to capture the flavor of the event through pictures to post here.


Karakuls Sheep


Yarn Cubbies


Judging Lambs


Beautiful Sweaters


Ready for Shearing


Wraps and Shawls


Dancing on One Foot

Loved the crowds, the colors, the energy, and the beautiful wools and yarns. I'll be goiing again next year!