An Annoying Day

Are you easily annoyed?

I am sometimes.

I can be patient. I’m usually pretty mellow. But some days everything annoys me. Today, while the poor folks in New Orleans were facing real problems, I was dog paddling in my own private sea of annoyance.

Sometimes things build up during the week, fueled by frustration. I hate it that I’m still stumbling around, that my shoulders don’t work right, that there are a lot of things I can’t do for myself.

This a.m. I went through the whole big production of trying to get my hair washed and dried. By 10 I had that done and, seeing that the horses had not been fed - they were leaning on the fence and that’s annoying - I toddled out to take care of that. I actually got the flakes of hay up over the fence this time, without Dusty pushing them back into my face. And down my shirt. Instead, he sneezed and blew a big wad of horse snot into my hair. Back to the shampoo.

At noon, with fresh hair again, I went to the store. I’m so happy I can do that finally, and actually put groceries in a cart instead of the walker. Bob was still asleep when I left the house. When I came back with 7 heavy bags of groceries, he was gone. Off to work. I never know when he’s working, but I can usually count on it being when I have something I need him to do.

A half hour later I finally had all the groceries in the house, pushing the walker full of sacks up the stairs. While I was struggling with this, 3 kids (strangers) showed up from the direction of the corn stand. They walked right past me to the horses and proceeded to tear apart a flake of hay to feed them.

OK. I actually LIKE kids. And usually I’m patient with them. But today I found them annoying. I mean, where were their parents? Did they just send them to my yard to make a mess and maybe get a finger bitten off? What? Does this look like a zoo? (Well, maybe it does, but that’s beside the point.)

The little orange cat was being annoying, weaving in and out under the walker and under my feet, wanting to be petted. While I was putting the groceries away, he slept on the front porch.


I decided to put out some sprinklers and sit in the yard for a while with the cat. Yesterday was lawn-cutting day. The lawn guys had pushed my hoses as far from where I needed them as it was possible to get. The sprinklers had been disconnected and I had to hunt for them. I tripped on the hose twice, trying to drag it across the lawn, and almost fell. Very annoying. Why can’t people leave my stuff where I need it to be?

I finally got the water going and sat on a bench. The cat jumped into my lap and I enjoyed scratching his ears for maybe 15 seconds. Until the flies showed up. Flies are sooo annoying, aren’t they? Even when you’re not having a picnic, they land on your arms and legs like they own you. I have some fly repellent, but it was in the house. A 10 minute trip for me.

Isn’t this bitch-fest annoying? Well, there’s more.

I went back in the house and sat in the only chair I can get my butt out of. It’s next to the Buck stove. A couple of days ago Bob’s friends thought they heard noises coming from the stove. He pulled it out of the hole, but there was nothing behind it.

Well now I could hear something, too. It sounded like a pigeon. Bob came in for lunch about then and I had him pull the stove out again. We couldn’t see anything, it sounded like the bird was quite a ways up the chimney. Well shucks. I was trying to figure out who I had to call to solve this problem. The fire department? Animal control? Finally I got the bright idea to put a flashlight behind the Buck stove. Pigeons are smart. Maybe this one would move toward the light. I could hear it scratching and scrambling. So could Charley. Charley can be very annoying when there’s a bird around. I didn’t dare leave the room with him in “kill” mode.


After an annoyingly long time, the bird finally plopped to the hearth. I tried to catch it with one hand and use the cane to keep Charley pinned to the floor with the other hand. That didn’t work. So I picked up the cat, hobbled to the phone and called the corn stand to ask Bob to come home. He did. He brought the net and caught a really pooped pigeon.

I wrapped it in a towel, took it to the kitchen, and offered it some water. It drank half a cup without hesitation. Then it snuggled in my hand and said “thank you.” This part was not annoying, it was great. It was not getting anything else done while the drama unfurled that was annoying.

The pigeon was OK, I turned him loose out the back door.

Bob had said he was going to a LAN party after work, and I had several projects I needed his help on before he left, so I toddled around the house trying to get things ready. In the meantime I found a couple of big messes of his that I wanted taken care of before he left. When he got off work, I met him at the back door with my list. I know that annoyed him.

He got one thing done, then started hauling his computer to his truck. “Uh, pardon me,” I said as he walked right past chore #2 - a table full of empty beer cans and bottles still sitting in the carport after 4 days. “I want this cleaned up before you go.”

He got into his truck with a smile on his face. “It’s not that bad,” he said. And he drove off. Sons can be so annoying.

“Oh, I get it,” I thought. “He won’t clean up this mess until it’s bad.” So I took my cane and broke the bottles. That worked very well. Then I played golf with the cans, scattering them far and wide with the cane until there was a REAL mess. That felt pretty good.

Back in the house was project #3 - the Legos that have been sitting on the counter for 3 weeks. Bob had them lined up carefully by color and size, some had already been made into space ships. I swept them all into a trash bag and tossed the bag into the wormhole that is Bob’s room. Wiped out a whole Star Fleet in 3 minutes. That felt good, too. Who needs video games?

I’m not annoyed anymore. Now it’s dark and the flies have gone to bed. I’m going to go out and try petting the front porch cat for a while again. Then I’m going to make a new list for Bob.

Around the Yard

This was my “before” picture from April 1. Before Susie came with her cultivator. The dogwood tree was nice, but the big mass of plants in the front was all weeds.


This is a picture I took this a.m. It's not really an "after" picture, more like "along the way." There are lots of different flowers. It will be interesting to see if they spread out and fill all the space before winter.


And here is the view from the front porch. The morning glories are like watchdogs. Anyone who doesn’t move fast will get caught and absorbed into the monster plant. Can you see the faint outline of the SMUD meter reader it ate? (Just teasing.)


Other news: the stray kitty is still here.

His eye has healed and I’ve scheduled a trip to the vet to get his shots. Jen, thank you for the info about how rescue groups clip the cat's ear when it's neutered so they don't catch the cat again when it's released. I suspect this cat has already been neutered, which would mean Trudy didn’t clip its ear. Not that she wouldn’t try. She came up on the porch after him a couple of days ago. I’ve also seen That Goat chase him out of the horse pasture. This is not a farm cat. He doesn't hunt, when he naps on the sidewalk the lizards run over him and he doesn't even wake up. I do not need another cat, I'm still looking for a home for him. Someone who watches TV a lot and wants a lap cat would love him.

Trudy Patoodeh is finally back on the ground. She abandoned her nest a couple of days ago and I caught her and Rudy “beaking” like a couple of turtle doves in the driveway. Rudy is happy, he whispers sweet nothings into her ear. Trudy doesn’t whisper, she sounds like a foghorn.

The days are getting shorter and I’ve had a lot to do at work. I barely have time to water the yard before it’s dark out there. Shucks. I definitely prefer the half of the year when days are getting longer. Either that or swing shift. A lot of my peers are retiring, I suppose that would work, too.

Nancy, Bev, Mo? Are you enjoying retirement?

Catching Up With the Bobster

Chef Alex, caught with the hot frying pan. Alex really IS an official chef, and it would be worth living out in the dirt for a couple of days to be treated to his cooking.


Here is a different group ­— the guys who went to the Star Trek convention in Las Vegas. Bob, Devin, John and Charley.


Bob, sitting in the captain’s chair. I think this one is Captain Kirk’s.


All the excitement is over now. School started today.

Free Breakfast

If you’re near Silver Lake this weekend, stop in at the campground at Plasse’s, camp sites T8 and T9. Ask Bob to fix breakfast for you in my good nonstick frying pan that he swiped for his camping trip with the guys. If it’s before noon and he isn’t up yet, please wake him for me.

Some Things Don't Change

One great thing about living where we do is that people don’t move as much as they do in town. Kids grow up together and stay friends.

This is a group of Bob’s elementary school and 4-H camp friends who showed up to gather around the kitchen table and play board games. Travis, Erin(ne?), Gwynessa, Alex, and of course Bob (looking dopey). This was the best picture, though. He ruined the other two.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe the kids are all grown up. Well, most of them are.

Bird Hospital

Once upon a time, Bob and I brought birds home from Wildlife Care to either raise them or mend them. Pigeons were my favorites because they’re such good patients they make you feel like a great healer.

This morning I wanted to be at work at 7 a.m. I glanced out the back window as I was getting ready to leave and saw a pigeon bobbling around, an unnatural thing. So I woke Bob and sent him out to catch it. Bob in his boxer shorts running around the yard swinging a fishing net is something to see.

So now I have a pigeon to doctor. And got to work late.

We’re still waiting for the photos from the Star Trek convention. Even Velcro is eager. She’s been looking at the official program and wants to see a photo of Bob with Data. If she could actually READ the program, she’d see that it costs $50 to have your photo taken with Data. I doubt that happened on Bob’s bargain trip.

Trudy Reigns

I love to learn about animals. Sometimes you have to watch them a long time. And sometimes there are instant lessons.

I thought Trudy the female peafowl was a mental mess. There she sits on top of the horse shed. She's been there for what? 3 months? Poor thing doesn't even know she has no eggs.

But no. I learned this evening that Trudy is the queen of this place, and the horse shed roof is her throne. She sees all and knows all, and if something is not to her liking, she takes care of it immediately.

I was watering the flowers, the orange kitty was sitting by my feet. When Trudy went swooping off the roof into the back yard, he flattened out on the lawn like a pancake. "Ha Ha," I said, "do you think she's a raptor or something? That's just Trudy."

The cat knew better.

Trudy gobbled some food in the back yard and grabbed a drink, then came back to the front yard. The cat hadn't moved a muscle when she started toward us.

"Hi Trudy!" I called, glad to see her.

She swooped right past me, almost under the walker I was sitting in, to get the cat. The cat scatted, with her hot on his tail. He finally found a place where she couldn't follow him, and she turned around and strutted back to her throne.

I'm beginning to think I've figured out how the cat got his eye hurt and the end of his ear snipped off. And why he stays out of the back yard, even though it's a mouse play area.

And if Trudy ever does hatch babies, I won't worry so much about predators smaller than a mountain lion. And it's no wonder Rudy runs when he sees her coming.

Beauty Isn't Everything

Rudy had confined himself to the back yard, where he could not be seen, embarrassed, I think, by his lack of tail. He did come out last night when I was watering with the cat in my lap. Either his curiosity or his love of alyssum flowers finally got the best of him.


I’m glad he poked his head out, I’ve missed his company.

This is also a good opportunity to show you how the garden is growing. The morning glories are beautiful on the archway. They’d be even prettier if they had more flowers among all those leaves. This is not the common variety of morning glory, but a special one. Next year I’ll plant the common one with either bright blue or dark purple flowers.

Bob made it back from Las Vegas. I’m waiting for pictures I can use. He took my camera with him, but used his buddy’s instead, so the only good picture on mine was of Devin posing on a handicapped toilet. I’m not sharing that. Neat toilet, though. I could have really used one like that 6 months ago.

Definitely a Lap Kitty

The orange kitty knows precisely what a lap is for, and how to perch on one.

When I sit in the walker to water the flowers, he comes up and arranges himself with 3 legs flopped over and one toenail on one hind foot carefully hooked into my jeans (and not my skin) for balance. He plants himself, then stays put, humming and talking, for as long as you can sit still, with his head on my knee. He doesn't even care that I have a hose in my hand and there are stray drops of water splatting around. He doesn't even look up when the baby lizards scamper around.

This cat needs a home. Tell your friends.

A Poor Waif

Oh no! What’s this coming down the driveway?

A little orange, beat-up tom kitty that someone has dumped off. Yes, indeed, this is the ideal place to dump a cat. Between the highway, the coyotes, the owls, and various other predators, it has little chance of surviving more than a month. That’s why the 3 cats I already have are kept in the house. They aren’t allowed outside. (Not that they want to go.)

This little kitty is very friendly, isn’t afraid of people at all. Someone treated it well before they dumped it.

It has had some rough times, though. The top of one ear is gone. Its eye is banged up. It has ear mites. It was pretty skinny.


While Bob was gone, I fed it and wormed it. He helped me doctor the eye and put flea stuff on it. I guess we’ll take it to the vet. But it can’t come in the house. I’ll try to find a home for it.

It’s not that an outdoor cat wouldn’t be welcome, if it stayed in the back yard it would be fairly safe and there are probably lots of mice to keep it busy. This cat looks like it would be more comfortable on a couch, though.

People who dump animals are despicable.

Being a Good Customer

It’s hard to be a loyal customer. I try. The other people don’t hold up their side.

I had finally found a doctor, 25 years ago, whot I could relate to. I could tell him to his face when he was being an ass, and he would always give me a hug. But he retired soon after Bob was born and went and died soon thereafter.

I had the same dentist for 30 years and he retired too. It took me 3 or 4 years to find a new one, but I’m ready to stick with this one if he’ll keep coming to work for a few more years.

When I had my hair cut 6 weeks ago, I made an appointment with the same stylist, Missy. Today I found out Missy no longer works there, so now I have Brianna (not to be confused with the horse crazy girl from across the street).

I can just sit back with the hair thing and enjoy having someone else wash it and scratch my head (purrrrrr) and I don’t really care what it looks like. I am finally at an age where I realize that even perfect hair won’t really make my life any better, and nasty hair won’t make it worse.

I just can’t make that sort of analogy with the doctor issue, though.

As a review: I have autonomic neuropathy. One of the things this affects is blood pressure. My blood pressure is extremely low in the a.m. and works its way up to maybe 110/65 by afternoon. When I go to the doctor (or the dentist) it’s around 140/85. Even though I have taken my own BP 3 times a day for 16 months and diligently recorded it in my little book, all the doctor looks at is what the reading was in his office.

I got a letter from him saying I needed to take a hypertension class. (I’ve read several books on the topic, thank you. Even if I HAD it, I don’t need the basic class.)

Then I got a call from Kaiser to sign me up for the class. I wasn’t home to take this call, darn it, and the call-back number was an automated answer thing. There is no satisfaction in snarling at a machine.

Today I got a call from a nurse who was calling for my doctor. She said he had reviewed my records (obviously not very well) and decided that I needed to start a medication program for my high blood pressure. YES!!!!! Melanie (my office mate) said I was nice to the lady, but very firm. I’m glad I seemed nice. I saw it as an opportunity to release the self-righteous bitch in me, and I’ve been practicing this speech for some time.

What a satisfying morning. A head massage, eggs and bacon for breakfast, and a chance to be snarky. All before noon.

Hope your day is also a good one.

Foot Tales

Once you pay toe tax at Kaiser (meaning they cut one off) they want you to see a footnurse every 3 months to make sure the other little pigs are doing fine.

My first nurse, Linda Footnurse, was wonderful. She had horses and was around in the days of Barbara Worth and Bill Oakford, so we had a lot to talk about. It was fun.

Then I was assigned to G. Footnurse, a big fellow with a stern attitude and - my friend Cindy claims - pants that were way too tight. The first time I saw him I was barely able to stand and move. I came scuffling in with the walker and the first thing he did was scowl at my Arcopedicos and tell me I should be wearing my Kaiser prescription shoes. (Remember, the Frankenstein shoes?) For one thing I couldn't pick my feet up if I wore them, and for another what difference do shoes make when all you can do is sit on your butt?

For the past two times, I have seen R. Footnurse, a very nice lady. I have to drive through traffic, take time off work, etc., to see her for maybe 4 minutes. Not even the full 5. She makes sure I still have 9 toes and gives me the lecture for the day.

The first time she saw a small scratch on my leg. I got it pruning roses a couple of days before and it was already healed. I got the cat lecture.

She said, “you have a cat.”

“Yes, I have three.”

“You’ll have to get them declawed. Diabetics can’t have cats with claws, they could come up behind you and scratch your legs and you’d never know.”

Well, that’s an interesting opinion, I thought, but it has nothing to do with me. And also, no way in hell.

I saw R. Footnurse again this past Friday. Without even looking at my feet she said, “You have fungus on your toenails, you have to watch that.” And I got a fungus lecture.

“What?” I said. “Everybody and his dog has looked at my feet for the past year and nobody ever said anything about fungus. What are you talking about?”

She said, “Your toenails are yellow.” (NO, they’re not!) Then she stuck a picture of a nasty fungoid toe in my face and said, “And you have a toe with a black toenail, like this.”

“My toenail was black because I dropped something on it months ago. And it’s not black anymore...SEE?...that grew out. I don’t have fungus!”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, “lots of people have it because their parents let them run around barefoot when they were kids.” (Great, blame it on my mom.) “You need to wear zoris when you take a shower so it doesn’t spread.”

“So what are people (as in other people) supposed to do about fungus on their toenails?” I asked.

“Well, you could take pills, but they mess up your liver and the fungus comes back anyway. You just have to watch it because you’re diabetic. What was your blood sugar this morning?”

“79” I answered.

“Oh, you might need to have your medication adjusted,” she answered.

“I don’t take any,” I said.

“Well, be sure to watch that. Goodbye! See you in 3 months.”

I don’t know about that. Except for its value as blogfodder, I don’t see much use for these visits. Would anyone like to volunteer to go in my place? I doubt the nurse would notice. If she counts toes, just tell her your big toe grew back. Or that it’s really a mushroom that just sprouted there.

If I ever had to go back to see hunky Dr. M from the hospital, I know of two volunteers who'd be waving their hands. You know who you are.

8-8-08 - A Lucky Day?

Well I didn’t win the Lottery today, did you? But by the end of the day I had figured out that I was pretty lucky, after all.

I didn’t have to spend the 8th trying to deal with bad things that happened on the 7th. Three of my dear coworkers had bad times yesterday. One was hit by a car as she bicycled home (cuts and bruises), another had her car bumped by a hit and run driver, and the third was taking her mom to dinner and mom fell. So two ended up in the hospital and one was totally P.O.’d.

I hope your day was either lucky or uneventful.

Bob is in Las Vegas today. Maybe he'll have a meaningfully lucky day.

Horse Poo Tree

Two years ago I bought a bonsai Braided Money Tree for my desk at work. It was 8 inches tall. It wasn’t happy at work. Two of the three stalks in the braid croaked and it was down to a leaf or two, so I brought it home and repotted it, adding a little horse poo to the soil.

Now it’s almost 5 feet tall. If your money tree plant is thriving, you should be rich. Right? I wonder why that hasn’t happened?

I checked on the internet. This is your botany lesson for today.

The species used for a money tree plant is Pachira aquatica, a native of South America. The idea to braid the stalks originated in Taiwan in the 1980s and spread through other Asian nations, where the trees are associated with good luck and fortune. (Can’t be an ancient custom in Asia if the trees come from South America.)

The plant has good feng shui because it has five lobes on its leaves. The leaves are edible, along with the flowers and nuts it forms. It can be planted outside in zones 9-11. That might work here if we don’t have a hard frost. My avocado tree, after all, is at least 30 feet tall. And it even has fruit once in a while. It’s really exciting when avocados start falling from 30 feet up. Instant guacamole.

I’m not sure I’d want this outside. It looks like something illegal. Maybe THAT’S why it’s called a money tree!

Family Loyalty

I have been asked why Bob doesn’t wear the Belcherfarten t-shirt. Is he too modest?

Well, no. But he has no notion of family identity when it comes to the Belchers. It’s not like he’s ever known one. At least a couple of us in my generation knew our little grandmother for a while.

Bob has his own sense of loyalty. In this case it belongs to Monty Python, so the Belcher shirt is still yours, Ken. Bob's preferred shirt:

A Difference in Perception

Perhaps you recall my mentioning a big black bumblebee that lives in my yard. I’ve only ever seen one at a time, and it has been here since I was a kid.

Well, obviously that’s not the same bee. Unless it’s not really a bee. But we won’t invent weird stories here today.

I checked on the internet to see how bumblebees propagate, so I wouldn’t accidentally destroy a nest with my digging and “improvements.”

It’s not a bumblebee. It’s a carpenter bee.

The first site I checked said:

“Spring has sprung! Ornamental trees are blooming, flowers are growing and insects are awakening. This is an exciting time of year. Mother nature gets to show us that she is omnipotent - nothing can stop her. And one of her creatures which is active now is the carpenter bee.”

And then it goes on to tell how to destroy them. You want to destroy them, it says, because they bore holes into wood to lay their eggs. And because the male bees are curious and will buzz around people. This buzzing scares people into thinking they are being attacked.

In fact, the male bee does not have a stinger. Female bees have a stinger but they only use it to guard their nest.

So let’s decimate the bees because people are stupid?

I thought we had grown past things like this.

Here’s the rest of the story. The bees use the same nest year after year. They lay about 5 eggs. The male dies shortly after he propagates. The black female hangs around and guards the nest until the young hatch a year later.

If I only ever see one big black female bee (the males are golden) at a time, there is obviously no infestation, and I really like having her come around to check things out when I’m watering the yard.

I didn’t take this picture, it came from the internet. (http://www.whatsthatbug.com/carpenter.html) This is not the “how to kill it” site. My camera is digital. By the time I press the button and the camera takes the picture, the bee has traveled on.

Morphing World

We are all - all of us from all over the world - morphing into a homogeneous society.

When you're finished reading this, click on "Next Blog" at the top of this page. It will take you randomly to blogs from people all over the world. If you don't look at the language, just at the pictures, you usually can't tell if the blogger is from India or Indianapolis. There are pictures of grandkids and pets, pictures of parties and sports teams.

I think it's neat. I noticed a while back that news pictures from some rural place in China, for instance, didn't show people in cone-shaped hats and pajama-like outfits. The people are dressed in jeans and t-shirts and carrying bottled water. (Bob says, "Of course that's what they're wearing, where do you think that stuff is made?")

So goodbye to all our preconceived notions about each other. The internet has made us all brothers and sisters.

Now, go hit "Next Blog" a few times.