Squirrely

Yeah…so…here’s a picture of a squirrel. Hmm. What’s that, you say? What’s so special about a picture of a squirrel? Well, this is not just ANY squirrel. Oh no. This is a very special squirrel. Really? It doesn’t look so special, not at first glance, anyway. But this squirrel IS special…unique, even…because it is the only squirrel in my neighborhood. That’s right. The. Only. Squirrel. I’ve never lived in a neighborhood that wasn’t chock full of squirrels. But my neighborhood had none, not until this little one turned up. Rabbits, yes. I even have a resident garden toad. But no squirrels. It’s been suggested to me that the reason is that there aren’t any mature oak trees around here. And that’s certainly true. This subdivision is only about 12 years old, and the few oak trees that have been planted are still pretty small. So this little beastie is a kind of pioneer (I will now think of her as “Laura Ingalls Wilder Squirrel”), discovering my lovely bird feeder and bird bath as her own little house on the prairie. And just yesterday, I discovered another little friend—either a chipmunk or a gopher—hanging out near the bird feeder. It seems like I’m the neighborhood Snow White, attracting all the woodland creatures to me.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

I’ve been in my new neighborhood a little over six months now, and I feel that I’m slowly getting to know my new neighbors. It’s a quiet neighborhood, this little Legoland subdivision of mine, with most people gone to work during the day, and everyone shut behind their front doors at night. There don’t seem to be a lot of small children around, at least on my block. I think it’s kids who often get people out an moving around in their yards, giving you the chance to meet them. There are lots of people out walking and running, often with dogs, but they usually just smile and wave hello. Alice is often a great introduction, especially when she’s playing with her ball in the yard. People almost always stop to watch her, and we’ve even had a one or two people walk over to see what’s going on. I’ve had the chance to meet a few neighbors, and I’m getting to know their quirks. Starting from the top of the street: The Chicken Lady—she lives across the street and has 4 chickens in her backyard (Two over the limit, she tells me furtively). The Hoarder—he lives next door to The Chicken Lady. He’s an older, retired man who lives by himself. From what I can see of his house, the living room and the garage are stuffed FULL. According to The Chicken Lady, the rest of the house is full too. He comes and goes by the back door, because he can’t get in or out any other way. The Nurse—across the street from The Hoarder, and next door to me is The Nurse. She is married with grown children, and she has told me that she’d like to move away from Wisconsin and go to work in California as a nurse in the prison system. Personally, I’d pick winter weather over prison employment any day. The Nurse has a little white rat terrier dog who barks when you talk to it. They also let the dog run free, and the dog likes to use my yard as an extension of its bathroom. And The Nurse wonders why she didn’t get along with the guy who used to own my house. Huh. The Smokers—next door to The Hoarder is a couple who lives in one side of a duplex. I think they might work from home, at least for part of the day. Every couple of hours (it seems—not that I’m keeping watch), they come out, usually together, and stand on the porch and smoke. The Blinds Lady—she lives in the other side of the duplex next to The Smokers. She’s the Blind”s” Lady because she works for a local window treatment manufacturer. I don’t know much about her, other than she has two grown children and an adorable, friendly golden retriever. The Young Punks—they live on the other side of me. Mommy bought the house for her daughter and the daughter’s boyfriend to live in. Daughter has about as much personality as wallpaper paste. Boyfriend is the typical young guy—likes to shoot things (mostly geese) and drives an enormous diesel engine pickup truck to reinforce his masculinity. It sounds like a semi idling in the driveway when he lets it warm up on winter mornings. They have two dogs, who seem nice but are somewhat untrained. The male dog is “intact” (of course), and he made me nervous at first because didn’t respect the lot lines and would come bounding over to check out Alice. They would also use my front yard as their bathroom (what is with people not keeping an eye on their dogs? Not cool.) I tried to gently hint that they should keep their dogs in the yard, and when that didn’t work, I took to cleaning up after their dogs and leaving it where they would find it. I think they finally got the message.

My imaginary friend Priscilla

One of my childhood games involved assigning personalities to numbers. I had whole stories and relationships worked out between the numbers 1 – 10. 6 and 8 were girls, best friends, who wanted nothing more than to hang out with 10, who was the George Clooney of numbers, cool, kind, and smart. 7 was the rebel loner, who did his own thing and didn’t interact with the others. 6 & 8 didn’t like 9, who was close—so close—to 10, but in the end, just wasn’t the same. 5 had a mad crush on 6, but she found him annoying. She tolerated his friend, 4, but only because he could get her to 10. The whole thing sounds to me now like an extended episode of “Freaks and Geeks”. When I was a little girl, I had curtains in my bedroom that had a ruffled edge. My mother always referred to this style as “Priscilla” curtains, and I always wondered who Priscilla was and why she had curtains named after her. The only Priscillas I knew of were Priscilla Alden and my mother’s cousin Priscilla. Neither of these women seemed to have anything particularly curtain-related going on in their lives. I would lie in my bed, looking at the outline of the ruffle against the backdrop of the window shade behind the curtain. I imagined I could see the silhouettes of faces there—often an old woman or a man with a big nose and beard. I would make up stories about their lives and imagine conversations between them. Having recently bought a new house, I decided to buy some new curtains to replace the faded and fragile drapes the previous owner had left behind. For my bedroom, I turned back to those nostalgic curtains, the Priscillas, which fit well with my old-fashioned furniture. Now again, I can lie in bed and look for friendly faces among the ruffles.

The "Laverne & Shirley" Paradox

Not too long ago, I was watching an episode of “Scrubs” while getting ready for work. “Scrubs” was not a TV show I watched regularly when it was first on, but I find the reruns pretty funny. In this episode, one doctor greets another doctor, calling him Beardface. The man turns around, revealing that he was a big, bushy beard. Rather crossly, he replies, “It’s Beard-fah-SAY!” And for some reason, I found this joke hilarious. For several days, every time I logged in to Facebook, I’d think, “It’s Fah-SAY-book!” and crack myself up. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what I like to call the “Laverne & Shirley” Paradox. What is that, you ask? It’s the state where you find a TV sitcom rerun hilarious, where before you either ignored the show, or found it unfunny. What causes it? I think it has to do with expectations. When I sit down at night to watch TV, I want to be entertained. I’m tired, I’ve worked all day, and I’ve got 8 million things I should be doing, so if I’m going to sit down and spend my time with TV, then I certainly want it to be worth my while. But during the day, or on the weekend, it’s a different story. I just want something silly to amuse me. So I’m more willing to spend 20 minutes on Scrubs or The Brady Bunch or almost anything that isn’t an infomercial. And with lightened expectations, I can find the humor among the silliness. Why Laverne & Shirley? Because my sister, so many years ago, mentioned in passing how funny she found the show while she was doing housework.

For Sparky, Who Is Bored with This Blog

It’s been six months since I turned my life upside down—since I quit my job, sold my house, and moved to a new city. And started all over again.

So how am I doing? Good. Things are much better. I told someone that it feels, in a way, like I’ve been released from prison, and I’m learning how to live a normal life. And let me tell you, it’s pretty nice not having to feel stressed out all the time; not feel scared, paranoid, exhausted, or angry. ALL. THE. TIME.

The transition was stressful, for sure. I knew right away that I would be happy in my new job, and I was thrilled to find new coworkers I liked and respected. But not knowing if my house would sell, moving into a dumpy apartment with no furniture, and most especially, having to leave Alice behind (even temporarily), all of that was difficult.

But I’m through that part now, settled in a brand new home. Finding a house to buy was an ordeal worthy of its own blog entry. I’m slowly, slowly unpacking, finding ways to fit my belongings into this new space. And when I’m content with that, I hope to find the time to explore this new place I’m in.

Hoe day?

Pizza Boy, that's hoe day!

I do declare

I hereby declare a moratorium on the following words and/or phrases:

"a splash of color"
"pop" as in, "the turquoise belt really makes her outfit pop"
anything "mama" like "blogging mama" or "crafty mama" or "wine mama". Enough with the self-involved mama worship.

Thank you for your attention. You may now resume your normal activities.

Make me an offer

The house has been on the market for 6 days now, and I've had 5 showings with an open house scheduled for tomorrow. No offers yet, but maybe the more people who see it, the better the chance someone will bite. I hope someone does soon, because getting the house ready for showings is tiring. The hardest part is getting the cats out of the house; I don't think Pal is speaking to me anymore, because he's so traumatized by getting hauled in and out of the car. Midge seems a little more resilient.

Home sweet home

Oof, what an exhausting day. I drove down to Madison to look for a place to live. I found an apartment, but it's far from ideal. Every place I looked at was either too expensive, or wouldn't let me have cats that weren't declawed, or only had 12 month leases. My "safety" place, where it looks like I'll end up, let me have pets and a 5-month lease. The place itself it pretty depressing though--it looks clean and safe enough, but old and shabby. But it will have to do until my house sells or I find something better.

Right now, I feel like I have ceded all power and control over my lifestyle. I'm giving up my job, my house, my yard, I'm disrupting our lives, I'm giving up everything right now without feeling like I'm getting much back in return.

All I can say is, I hope to hell this job is worth it. Please tell me it will be worth it.

Love that dog

Today I said goodbye to my sweet Polly. This was a day I knew was coming for some time, but still, making that decision to call the vet was terribly hard. I kept second-guessing myself all the while, thinking, "I can cancel the appointment" or "I can stop this and take her home", but truly, I knew I couldn't. She had been deteriorating quite quickly over the last few weeks, and in my heart, I knew that it was unfair to let her get any worse.

My first goal, last year, was for her to make it through the holidays. When we made that, my next goal was for her to make it to the warm weather, because she loved being outside so much. Last Sunday, on a beautiful, warm, sunny day, she and I went to a local park, just the two of us, where we walked along the river. She had a great time sniffing everything along the trail. When we came home, Alice joined us in the backyard, where we relaxed and soaked up some sunshine.

To the end, she remained cheerful, and sweet, and loving. I held her and kissed her, told her I loved her and let her go. I miss her presence in the house, the happy energy she brought to everything she did, the way she just melted into me when she cuddled up for affection.

My beautiful girl, I was so lucky to have you in my life. You gave me love and joy and taught me about patience and compassion. I love you.

My day at the Capitol

I’m not political, not really. I do vote in every election, and I have strongly-held beliefs, but for the most part, I’m live and let live when it comes to politics. Also, I don’t trust politicians.

Some of my worst fears about politicians were realized when Governor Walker declared war on public employees. I will be personally, and financially, affected by his actions. But more than that, I am personally appalled that his actions will hurt the poor, public school students, college students and others with limited resources. I am disgusted by his efforts to consolidate power and control into the hands of the privileged few. So it was with growing interest that I watched the protest efforts gather steam in Madison over the last few weeks. “This is a historic time,” I thought. “I want to be a part of that; to say that I participated when I had the opportunity.” I wanted to be able to say that I had stood up for myself and for others.

So this past Saturday, I drove down to Madison to meet up with my friend Shawn. She had attended some of the previous weeks’ rallies, but this one promised to be the biggest one yet.

We left her house, planning on taking the bus to the Capitol. We walked to the bus stop on Atwood Avenue, where about 6 other people waited along with us. One of the women held a small sign that read, “Recall Walker like an overdue library book”, and it seemed we were all headed to the same place. As we stood there, cars honked at us, people waved signs, gave us thumbs up and smiled. When the bus pulled up, it was packed solid, standing room only. The whole city, it seemed, was headed to the Capitol. On the bus, I spoke to a woman who was an unemployed physical therapist. She had gone every day, she said, to protest for the people who couldn’t come because they were working.

When we arrived, Shawn suggested we walk around the Capitol Square. Already at 10 am, there were people everywhere. News vans and union trailers were parked on the streets. Organizations had tents set up, with petitions and mailers, signs and stickers. Entrepreneurs were selling t-shirts, noisemakers, or food. There were thousands of people on the Capitol grounds, with thousands more promenading around the Square. Small groups would walk together—both public and private unions—firefighters, boilermakers, ironworkers, nurses, librarians, teachers. I saw workers from Nebraska, and Michigan, and Minnesota. It wasn’t a carnival, but everyone was in high spirits. There was lots of chanting and drumming. As we walked along, Shawn and I ran into Marge Loch-Wauters, a librarian from La Crosse. Funny that in a crowd that large, you’d walk right next to someone you knew!

Soon we heard horns and the rumble of diesel engines. A caravan of tractors made its way to the Square. As Shawn and I made our way to the curb, I heard someone call my name. It was Katie Guzek, one of my co-workers. She introduced me to her family, and we all got in place to watch the tractorcade. As the farmers drove past, the crowds would chant, “Thank you! Thank you!” and the farmers would wave and smile and cheer back. The energy and enthusiasm of all of these people was genuinely moving.

After lunch at a Nepalese restaurant on State Street, Shawn and I headed back up to the Capitol. The sun was out by this time, and even more people thronged the streets. It was hard to see the whole scope of it, but Shawn said there were many more people than any previous day she had attended. Later estimates put the crowd at up to 100,000 people.

At 3 pm, an honor guard escorted the Fab 14, Democratic senators who had fled the state to try to stop passage of the budget repair bill, up to the speaking podium. The Senators received a hero’s welcome from the crowd, with the crowd roaring, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” to them. I can only imagine what it must have felt like to them, standing at the podium, hearing tens of thousands of people chanting. One by one, the senators addressed the crowd, thanking everyone for supporting them and assuring us that the fight to restore workers’ rights was far from over. The Reverend Jesse Jackson spoke after that, followed by actor Tony Shaloub, who gave a funny and sweet speech about his sister Amy, who works as a speech pathologist in a school district.

After that, as it was getting late, Shawn and I decided to leave. As we started to go, I heard someone say, “There’s a librarian!” Looking up, I saw Pete Angelillo, a former co-worker. Shawn too ran into several people she knew. I loved the absolute miracle that in a crowd of thousands, you would still meet your friends and neighbors.

Making our way off the Square was almost impossible, because there were so many people packed in, it was extremely difficult to move. But everyone was calm and civil, and eventually we made it out of the crowd. We rode another packed bus back to Shawn’s house, and I headed home.

Shawn and I talked a bit during the day about the purpose of being there. These protests won’t change the Governor’s mind; he’s said as much. I told Shawn, “We did it for us.” Because in a free democracy, you get to disagree with your government and speak up for yourself. We did it for the unity and solidarity of supporting your fellow workers. We did it because we could.

Some of my impressions of the day:

At no time, even when we were caught in the crowd, did I feel unsafe. There were such high spirits and positive attitudes. People were friendly and polite, and you felt energized and excited by the crowd.

Many of the chants still ring in my ears: “Hey Hey! Ho Ho! Scott Walker has got to go!” “Recall! Walker!” “What’s disgusting? Union busting!” “Thank you! Thank you!” “This is what democracy looks like!”

The signs were pretty incredible too. Many of them were vulgar, but most were clever or funny or poignant. A few of my favorites:

“Cat Lovers Against Walker”
A photo of Scott Walker with a road sign below it: “Keep Left”
“My cat is smarter than Scott Walker”
“My 83-year-old mother told me to come here and protest for her. I listen to my mother.” (I told him my 81-year-old mother was proud of me for coming to the protest.)
Held by a young boy: “I want a governor who is smarter than me.”
Held by his older sister: “I got detention for standing up for my beliefs.”
Under a photo of John Belushi: “Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!”

The streets throughout the downtown were filled with protestors carrying signs, and while we were walking back to the bus stop, cars driving past all honked out, “Beep beep beep buh beep beep buh beep beep!” THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!. Walking back to Shawn’s house, we could hear cars all the way over on Washington Ave beeping out the message.

I’m so glad I went. I’m so glad I got to go with a friend I love. I would hope that anyone who had the slightest interest in participating in something like this would do it. It’s worth it.

Tonight a co-worker reports that at least 4000 people showed up at a demonstration outside a Green Bay banquet hall were Governor Walker was speaking at a Republican dinner. For conservative Brown County, protesting a bill that has already been passed, that’s incredible,. We may have lost this battle, but the fight is far from over. This is just the beginning.

Still not too much to say

It seems as though my time and attention has been elsewhere lately. There's a lot of anger and anxiety of what's been happening with the Wisconsin state budget, and as a public employee, I stand to be directly affected by how all of this turns out.

What has been hardest for me to understand is the anger that is directed at public employees. Where did all of this come from? We've been called lazy, incompetent, greedy parasites...yet only yesterday, I had a man ask me, "Can you look something up for me? I could do it myself, but I'm too lazy." Sure, this lazy incompetent greedy parasite will be GLAD to do that for you.

Blood orange envy

This morning, a Facebook friend commented on how a blood orange tree in his yard (in Palm Springs) collapsed, leaving him with lots of oranges to deal with. I joked about having his gardener/cabana boy do it instead, and in all seriousness, he explained what advice his gardener had given him.

Really? I was joking about having a gardener! Oh, to have such problems.

This is especially poignant because I had just spent an hour shoveling the driveway.

Visiting the well

Honestly, I haven't forgotten about this blog. I even have a few ideas kicking around. It's just that I haven't been, well, inspired lately. But hang in there, I will be back!

This space for rent

**your ad here**

Bad company

I spent the weekend hanging with a pretty rough crowd. You just never knew when a wrestling match would break out.

I will almost certainly come to regret this

I have a strong fondness for Queen Anne's Lace. It's mostly considered a weed, growing wild along roadsides and ditches. It's this roadside habit, however, that makes me love it so. It makes me think of hot summer days and driving to Door County to spend the day at the beach. It makes me think of blue skies and sweet-smelling fields and lazy days with nothing to do but soak up the sun.

I love all of those tough little roadside plants-- Queen Anne's Lace, hawkweed, chicory, daylillies, even bindweed--for being tenacious enough to grow where they can. I love them for being beautiful in a ragged and overlooked way.

So when I saw some Queen Anne's Lace growing in my neighbor's yard a few years ago, I snagged a dried flower head and threw the seeds into one of my flower beds. It's a kind of ordinary bed--full of ferns and daylilies and now QAL--things that are tough and strong and survive (or even thrive) without much attention. And I'm glad to have them there.

Some people

So I was at Bed, Bath & Beyond today buying this fabulous closet organizer. Seriously, it's fabulous; you should look into getting one. While I was waiting to pay, I got a real eyeful of the babe in line ahead of me. She was:

somewhere around 30 years old

blonde, with her hair pulled back in a messy bun

wearing stiletto-heeled mules

had a MAJOR pedicure

wearing tight tight black leggings

wearing a tight black sweater than went past her hips. (with the leggings, at first glance, I thought she was wearing a full bodysuit)

carrying a Michael Kors handbag

about six months pregnant

And she never stopped talking on her cell phone THE ENTIRE TIME, even while she was paying for her ugly wastebasket or whatever the hell it was.

After she left, both the salesclerk and I agreed that we cannot stand it when people keep talking on their phones while they are paying for something. Unless you are talking to a brain surgeon or the man in charge of the White House nuclear football, there is no phone call so important that you can't stop talking for five minutes to acknowledge the human being standing in front of you trying to do his/her job. It's called manners, people.

As I walked out of the store, I saw Miss Babe driving away in a white Cadillac CTS. I can't help but wonder, what kind of pregnant 30-year-old dresses like that and drives a Cadillac? Is she some CEO's trophy wife? A Packer girlfriend? Whoever she is, I bet she doesn't have a library card. Thank goodness.

Not such good news

A couple of weeks ago, I was watching TV one night, when Polly, who was sleeping nearby, went into a full-on seizure. With no warning, she went rigid, convulsing and drooling; the scariest part was that she stopped breathing. I had no idea what to do or what caused it, but after a few minutes (that felt like an eternity), she came out of it, gasping for breath and disoriented.

I had hoped it was a one-off sort of thing, but a week later, she had another one. Less scary this time, because even though she stopped breathing, I knew it wouldn’t last for long. Still, seizures are not to be ignored, so I took her in to see the vet.

The vet was very straight forward, saying that in dogs this age, seizures are usually caused by brain tumors. We ran some blood tests to rule out other things, and they all came back fine. Which means, in all likelihood, that Polly has some kind of tumor. To be sure, I’d have to take her to the university vet clinic for an MRI, and if I chose to treat her, it would mean radiation treatments there as well.

I’ve chosen not to pursue the MRI/radiation route. Polly is 12 years old, and I just can’t put her through that, especially if it would mean her being away from home for an extended period. Instead, we’ll focus on keeping her seizures under control. She’s started on Phenobarbital and for now, that seems to be working. She hasn’t had a seizure in that last week.

Polly is such a lively dog, full of contradictions. She makes me laugh every single day, but she can also exasperate me to no end. She follows me from room to room, but outside, completely ignores me. Sweet and loving, she can also be very bossy and domineering around other dogs. I don’t know if I’ve ever met another creature who so fully embraces life as she does. Every new activity is greeted with excitement and joy…we’re going outside? Awesome! A car ride? Oh boy! Nap time? ZZZzzzzzzzz

While she has moments where she is Horrible, they are pretty few and far between. She teaches me every day to be grateful and happy for every moment in life. I love her fiercely for that.

Reconsidering my vocation

If I didn't have my own livestock to deal with, I would TOTALLY consider doing this:

Apprentice Wanted
August 18th, 2010

Juniper Moon Farm is fixing to go through a growth spurt and it seems like the right time to take on a new apprentice. We’re looking for a someone willing to commit to at least a six-month stay, although a year would be better.
What you’ll get: In addition to room and board, plus a small stipend, you will gain experience and proficiency in all aspects of the yarn business. You’ll learn to give vaccinations, pull out a stuck lamb, fix a broken fence and trim hooves. You’ll watch lambs and kids come into the world and take their first shaky steps, something that still leaves me speechless after seeing it a hundred times. You’ll get to know the personalities on the farm and will be able to tell when something is wrong, just by looking.
If you want to learn to shear, we’ll send you to shearing school. And after the sheep are shorn, you’ll learn to wash fleeces and dye the yarn.
You’ll leave JMF with confidence in your abilities to run a farm- your own or someone else’s- and with the knowledge of exactly what you are capable of.
What you’ll give: Some days are ridiculously easy. Some days are so hard that every muscle in your body will ache. Most days are somewhere in between. You’ll average about 8 hours a day, including some weekends. Many nights you’ll go to bed exhausted, but it will be that good kind of exhausted, when you know you’ve done a hard day’s work and kicked some ass.
What you’ll need: Experience isn’t necessary. Just a strong work ethic, a desire to learn and a healthy curiosity. You’ll also need a good pair of boots, rain gear and warm clothes for winter, sunscreen and a hat for summer. A good pair of work gloves is highly recommended. A car in not a necessity but would make your life a lot easier when you want to get off the farm.
If you’d like to apply, please send a resume and cover letter to susie AT fiberfarm DOT com with Apprentice in the subject line. All applications will be carefully considered and telephone interviews scheduled with likely candidates. Please pass this post along to anyone you think might be interested.