Earth Day Chats

As I have noted here before I often find myself conversing with whatever critters I might happen upon on my drives. Usually it's cows, or dogs, or cats, or turtles, or hawks, or horses, or goats...anyway you get my drift. I find myself saying the same sorts of things over and over again. I think the most popular...in no particular order of importance are:
"What's up cows?" "Sheep!!!!" "Goats!!!!" "BABIES!!!!""Get out of the road!" "What have you got in your mouth?" "Should you be eating that?" "You scared the crap out of me!" "Be careful!" "What are you doing?" "Oh...please sit still little bird..aw rats!" "Aren't you pretty?" And "Thank you!"

Yesterday I noticed that, per usual in the Spring, I was talking a lot to my friends the turkey vultures. The vultures and I have an unusual relationship. For some reason I feel the need to critique their behavior. I think it's because when I just talk to them normally they give me that condescending look they always wear. It's that same look I used to get if I accidently cursed in front of a nun...you know the look. This causes me to immediately retort..."oh yeah...well you're butt ugly and you eat road kill so I wouldn't be so smug if I were you!" (This is said to the vultures...never to a nun.)

In about the span of four miles I had several chats with the dead breath kids. The first was "What are you four fighting over? Ah...a possum...well done...carry on." A mile down the road there were three in a field and I could not figure out what they were doing so I stopped since no other sane person was on that road in the cold rain. I figured out two were fighting...I assume over the babe with them because they were not eating. Since I hate fighting and confrontation in general I rolled down the window and proceeded to yell at them until they broke it up and the one combatant flew away. I was quite pleased with my peace making efforts.

Another mile down the road I thought what the heck is going on down here. It's a convention. This can't be good. There were nine of them and guess what they were doing? That's right...fighting over a tiny little smushed bunny. NINE...of...them! I just stopped and looked at them..."Really? Nine of you...there's a possum a couple miles west of here you might want to check out because this is just sad." "Oh and you might want to move because the next farmer in a big truck might not care if he takes you out and then you know what comes next right? That's right. Your friends are relatives here eat you! So get your asses out of the road because that tiny bunny is not worth it dudes."

Later on I had a discussion with two more brilliant vultures who were fighting over a raccoon in the middle of a bridge. "Um...middle of the bridge guys...this is why the raccoon didn't make it in the first place...not a good plan." They just gave me the look and flew off into a tree.

I love chatting with the boys and girls of the "I eat dead things" crowd. I think they really appreciate sarcasm. I think if they could speak English we could have quite the chat and I am sure it would be rude and delightful. So the next time you see one doing something ridiculous or stupid please feel free to tell them so and you can use my name as a reference. I am sure I have a rep. Get outside people!!!

Who Knew??

Disclaimer: This blog in not intended to mock fish owners or the individual fish or anything to do with fish.

My brain is tangent driven. Give it a new bit of knowledge and it will run wild with it like a friend of mine who shall remain anonymous chasing a shoe sale. Today I had just such an experience so here goes....

I was in the kitchen at work stocking up the essential items so that no one dies tomorrow morning when I noticed a bag of semi-frozen peas lying on the counter near the coffee machine. I must admit...I looked around to see if someone was punking me. Then I thought...hmmm...someone forgot their peas...I shall remind them because it is almost 5 pm and I am not sure these peas should be left out unattended. So I paged the person missing their peas to come and collect them please. Well...that didn't work...no one was claiming the poor little things. So I paged again seeking guidance. Do I put them back in the freezer? Do I put them in the fridge? Were they trying to defrost them? How am I supposed to know? Because as SURE as I put them in the freezer someone will get upset because they were thawing them out for their morning smoothie tomorrow.

This caused much laughter amongst my co-workers but hey...I am not my vegetable's keeper here people and you need to step up and claim your foliage. I just needed some guidance. Finally...a very nice guy who is pretty new to our little village came by to tell me he thought they belonged to his office mate and they could go back in freezer. Finally...some guidance....

And THEN that's when I found out a new bit of knowledge that has caused me much joy and mirth. He said his office mate feeds the peas to his fish. WHO KNEW?? I had no idea you fed peas to fish in a non-bait sort of a way. I find this tidbit both fascinating and funny as hell. Immediately my two office mates and I start googling and the internet continues to provide me with the most amazing trivial information. We have turned the internet into a giant research tool for Trivial Pursuit. It's awesome!!

We found pages of information on feeding peas to your fish. Even a you tube tutorial on how to feed peas to your fish. I say again...who knew?? Evidently this is a good idea because certain kinds of fish have digestive issues. Seriously??  Have we made the world so stressful that even the FISH have irritable bowel problems?? And then I thought...how on earth do you know your fish is constipated?? Does he/she swim up to the side of the bowl and look at you with the same frowny face we make when we can't go? Do you have to look out for them floating for long periods of time in one corner with a magazine? I wonder if their fins fall asleep like our legs do? Does he/she hold up a little sign saying...mom or dad...I can't poop? One of my office mates said that if your fish has buoyancy issues you may have to hold him/her while you feed him/her the peas. How can a fish have buoyancy issues?? Do they even make little fish floaties to help them out? I find this sort of thing just fascinating to think about and I will annoy people with it for days so count your blessings if you are not around me every day.

I know you will think I am odd for thinking this and you are not far wrong but I find these sorts of things fabulously fun to think about. I laugh until I snort and pee a little. But I will guarantee you right now I will store away this fact like all of the other millions of threads of minutiae that live in my brain. My blessing and curse is that I remember stuff like this forever!! This would be why I have trouble sleeping at night. This sort of little non-descript tidbit gives me great joy. It's like cardio for my brain. So tonight I will go to sleep thinking about all the fish in the world who need peas and the people who love them. I wish them health and much buoyancy.

A Conversation with Cows

Okay...for those of you wondering what I do when I am out riding around for hours out in the country taking my random pictures here is some insight into the oddness that is me. Sometimes...aside from having songs stuck in my head looping over and over again...today it was TLC's No Scrubs...I often have complete imaginary conversations with random bovine.

Today I saw these girls hanging out in the pasture together and thought...how sweet...they look like old (in cow years anyway) friends. So I went through a whole imaginary conversation they were having as I sat there taking one of my crappier shots of the day. The girls deserved better.

Please read the following conversation with a very strong British accent. Maybe not Cockney but pretty thick...okay here we go...this is how I amuse myself. I call them Francine and Betty.

Francine: What's she doing Betty?

Betty: I have no idea Francine. Are you sure it's a she?

Francine: By the sounds coming out of the car I think it's a woman. Is she actually talking to us Betty?

Betty: I think she is. What's she saying?

Francine: I don't know...some kind of argy bargy about us being very pretty cows and what are we doing this fine day?

Betty: Och...what's she think we are doing Francine? We are cows. We are standing around in our pasture chewing our cud. Humans are weird.

Francine: True enough...what's she doin' now?

Betty: She's pointing something at us. She's not going to shoot us is she?

Francine: Oh...Betty don't be silly...I don't care how big-boned she is she ain't never getting one of us into that car.

Betty: Are you sure? I can smell her cheeseburger breath all the way over here! Mercy...that's gross.

Francine: Yes...I am sure...she is just taking a picture of us I think. How's my hair look? Do I still have that hay hanging out my mouth?

Betty: Why would she want a picture of us Francine?

Francine: I don't know...I told you...humans are weird.

And this is how my excursions go...I drive around...I do the one finger wave to all the farmers I pass on the road...or the nod...or sometimes the whole hand wave...I talk to cows and birds and hawks and whatever else might be out there and my brain loops around and around and around hopping from topic to topic. Sometimes I have great epiphanies but mostly it's just rubbish.

The Value of Human Life

So I did a check on myself on how I was doing political and social anger wise and discovered that...nope I am still angry. I have been trying to avoid a lot of the media carnage because it upsets me so but I fear I must wade in again.

Yesterday I had a grand adventure and got to see the beauty and majesty of about 50 Bald Eagles all in one place. They are magnificent creatures and they reminded me of a conversation I have been having off and on with myself for some time.

I find all this reactionary nonsense toward refugees and Muslims and Mexicans both racist and morally bankrupt. We are all immigrants to this country and the fact that we might have been white and Christian does not make us better or worse than anyone else. We are not more entitled to anything because of our race and our religion.

Every wave of immigration into this country has been met with resistance and ugliness and racism. The Irish were not wanted because of their Catholicism. The Italians were not wanted because of their skin color and their Catholicism. The Chinese were not wanted because of their race and non-Christianity. And the list goes on and on...I am sure my Polish relatives were looked down upon because of their Catholicism and language issues. This is not something new to this country. That being said...most of us had thought things were slowly getting better. That we were learning that the world was bigger than just us and that there was a more compassionate and caring way to deal with others. I think in some people this is true but for other parts of the population it is NOT true and they are determined to take a step backwards instead of forwards.

This is when I was struck by something I heard coming from the right. A sentiment and a thought that struck me right at the core. I am going to paraphrase the sentiments here...we need to protect American lives from terrorists. We need to make sure our people are safe. We need to protect our children from terrorists. I want to be safe from terrorists. America first. My thoughts on the subject...who the hell made your life more important than any other person on this planet? What the f*%^ is so special about you?

My parents were by no means perfect but they did teach me to respect other human beings regardless of any and all differences between us. They taught me that I was not more or less important than anyone else. That I was a human being with responsibilities to other human beings. My life has no more value or importance than any other life. All human life has value and importance. (We shall not enter the abortion debate here.) So all I ask is that while you sit back on your couch in your home with all your family and "stuff" to keep you warm take a moment and consider those who have lost everything and everyone. They are refugees for reasons out of their control. Reasons at least partially caused by our government's failed policies in other parts of the world.

Their lives are not less important than yours. The fact that they may or may not have terrorist links is irrelevant because really you are more likely to be run over by a bus or shot by your toddler than you are to die in a terrorist attack. Check the death tolls from Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Turkey and other hot spots and do the math. Your are being fed lies by people who profit from your fear.

I understand that you love your family and friends and you want to protect them. But who convinced you that life is safe? That life is without risk? Every second of every day people die from a myriad of causes. You cannot control and micromanage every second of your life and still actually be "living". We are all interconnected by something basic called humanity. Whether you like it or not you are just the same as every other human being on this planet. Death does not care what color you are, how much money you have or don't have, what country you are from or what religion you practice. So take a step back and look in the mirror and ask yourself if your high opinion of your own value is not really the problem here and realize that you are a human being with a moral obligation to treat others as you would be treated. Stop giving into the fear and start living.

Adventures in Aging

Dear Useless Reproductive System:

We have been on quite the adventure you and I. You started messing with me about age 7. That is when I began to change. I began growing up and out. I started becoming more masculine in appearance. My voice got deeper and more booming. By puberty you and I were engaged in full-scale warfare. I started growing my ever-impressive beer belly...without the beer. My face exploded into a magnificent cornucopia of acne-induced nastiness. My voice kept getting deeper and louder although I rarely spoke. The awkwardness you helped induce...combined with many other issues...made me pathologically shy. You taunted me with the physicality of femininity but left me with a masculine countenance that made me most unfeminine. Then the cherry on top...ta...da...you are gay. Oh...thank you so much...that makes things so much clearer and less awkward...especially since you didn't let my brain in on the joke until I was 19.

Moving along...things remained weird and awkward until my late 30's when you started acting up again. I can't remember now what you were up to but I remember finally giving in and going to a gynecologist in Nashville. She took one look at me and told me I had PCOS. That explains that note my doctor wrote that talked about hirsutism without explaining what that really meant years earlier. PCOS...for those who do not know...is Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. It means that for a great deal of my life I have been growing cysts on my ovaries that interfere with estrogen production amongst other things. You may wonder about this diagnosis but never fear...we paid several hundred dollars on blood tests to prove said diagnosis. My gynecologist and I then embarked on a journey of frustration and worthlessness. It was lovely.

So...in my late 30's you and I began our journey into peri-menopause. We had fun with timing issues, I began to have to shave my chin every day, I kept getting heavier for no good reason...and on and on we went. Sometime in my mid 40's we reached a kind of truce. You stopped hassling me with those monthly joys and I stopped torturing you with attempts to manipulate your hormonal dance of death. I became pre-occupied with other aches and pains. I became aware of my depression and PTSD. We ignored one another happily for many years except for those random periods of shooting pains that stop a girl dead in her tracks. Thankfully...those come fairly rarely these days.

Now here I am in my early 50's and I feel like we are entering a new chapter in our ongoing battle for supremacy. I have managed to get a handle on my PTSD and depression. My brain and I have reached détente where they are concerned. But now...now seems to be your turn to shine again. I win the battle of the hot flashes with Vitamin E. I don't know how or why it works...it just does. You win the night sweats with your pillow case destroying powers. But I fear I am losing the more important emotional battles with you. For the last couple of weeks or so you have been particularly hostile. I am inexplicably exhausted feeling. I am incredibly irritable. Little things that should not bother me are wreaking monumental havoc on my emotional well being. I am even more moody than normal and soon those who have to deal with me every day may contemplate smothering me with the aforementioned pillow.

If we are entering another and hopefully final stage of our menopausal journey I wish you would let me in on the joke because I am not having fun here. I feel like my ovaries have been taken over by Dementors and my hormones will never know happiness or joy again. I don't like feeling this way. I don't like being angry and irritable and moody and generally bitchy for no good reason at all. This is not fun. I would like you to take your cysts and your extra Androgen and just go. I am tired of the tango. I have never felt feminine but I have never felt masculine either. You have made my life more difficult than it ever needed to be and for that I do not thank you. So let's just stop the bickering and begin the aging gracefully part...okay??

Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present

This Christmas has felt more ghost friendly than normal. I have been re-watching my favorite version of "A Christmas Carol" with Patrick Stewart a lot since this Fall. It has been my election disaster coping tool. This may have something to do with the ghost-like feel of my Christmas this year but who knows...I tend to get morbidly ruminative at this time of the year anyway.

One of the hardest things about growing up is the loss of the generations before you. My mother came along late in the program and I came along late as well and that has made for an odd generational off-set in my family. I never knew either of my grandfathers. I barely remember one of my grandmothers and the other died when I was 17 so even those memories are faded now. It feels like I have spent half my life going to funerals. As a child it was great aunts and great uncles and older cousins etc...As a teen and young adult it began to be uncles. Then came the hardest loss of all...both of my parents at 30.

Christmas has not been the same since I lost my mother. I have not been able to re-capture that same sense of familiarity and warmth. Perchance if fate and genetics had played out differently I would have had grandchildren and that would have made it different but that is all a rather mute point now. Not that I have not had lots of love and friends in my life. I have been very blessed in that department. Somehow...despite all my efforts to be weirdly introverted and awkward I have managed to maintain friendships with a pretty wonderful group of people. And I do have a special Piglet in my life but that's a whole different blog right there.

It's not that our Christmases were all that Norman Rockwell brilliance that one sees on the TV. I was a only child but we were always struggling. There was never much spare money around but mom always managed to provide something. I suspect a particular Uncle played Santa Claus more than I ever knew. I would have liked to have known about it and thanked him but my parent's pride would never allow for that sentiment. It was always just the three of us...sometimes Grandma Clayton would be there but mostly it was just the three of us.

We never got a lot of "stuff". Christmas at my house was always more about the yearly replacement of the practical things we needed for the year. We always received the same gifts every year with usually one or two special things. It was that familiarity and routine that I miss with all my heart. Dad would sit and guess at what his presents were with unfailing accuracy made all the more possible because he always got the same thing. Overalls, t-shirts, socks, underwear, red handkerchiefs, a new wallet and if it was time a new watch. Mom always got sleeveless blouses and polyester slacks in various pastel shades. Socks, underwear and bras and usually one special item like a new coat or a new dress for church or a kitchen gadget of some sort. I always got socks, underwear, a new outfit for church, a stuffed animal of some sort and a special toy. It was pretty mundane stuff but I would give my right arm to do it all over again. Despite the angst and the drama and my dad's ill humor I would still love to feel that way again. We would open presents early on Christmas Eve so mom and I could have our new clothes for Midnight Mass and then off we would go to church. It was nothing special but it was mine. I catch glimpses of memories in my mind with certain sounds and images and smells. It's fleeting and ephemeral and I can never seem to hold it. Ghosts.

All of this reminiscing had been brought to you by my experiences this Christmas with a dear friend's elderly parents. When my parents died they kind of "adopted" me as one of their own. At the time I had been friends with their daughter for about 11 years. Now it's been 35 years and the time has flown. They are my back-up parents or my pseudo-parents or my second parents or just the Troll parents. Whatever term I struggle to describe them with to people I meet now. It has been a very interesting relationship. I tease their natural children that I am the "good" daughter. They are very special to me but there is that disconnect there. They treat me as one of their own but I can talk to them differently because I am not their natural child and I don't have all that residual angst in our relationship.

They are 89 now and John has dementia/Alzheimer's which is accelerating at a rapid pace. I was struck this Christmas how being with them was like living with the ghosts of past Christmases and yet dealing with the ghost of the present in that he has no clue who any of us are anymore. I was struck by the idea that we are all like ghosts to him. He carries on and pretends, quite well I might add, that he knows us but he has not a clue. He call his wife of over 60 years by her name but he has no idea who she is to him. He thinks she is someone there to take care of him. I wondered how about how confused he must feel at his children calling him daddy but he has no idea who they are. He obsesses over objects and constantly repeats himself and reads the same thing over and over again. Again...it is like sitting with the ghost of who he once was.

As I was sitting there listening to him drone on and on about a tube of Crest toothpaste I got a sense of the surreal so very strong I almost fled. It was very much like sitting with ghosts. I know that they will not be around much longer but they were sitting right there with me very much alive but it felt like I was looking at their ghosts. It's hard to explain. How do you deal with living people whose spirits seem to have already gone on without their bodies? I still have not processed it all.

What I want to say in my rambling sort of way is be aware of those around you who are struggling. Take a moment to consider all of the thousands of couples like my Troll parents who are battling these issues primarily on their own or within their insular families. Take a moment to check on those elderly neighbors who seem on their own. You don't have to crawl into their lives but just take a second to let them know that you "see" them and make sure they are okay. Recognize that there are those among us living with our own ghosts who need us to remember that they are valued as human beings before they become silent memories.

Adventures for introverts

Introverts have a different sense of adventure compared to their extrovert neighbors. We tend to shy away from the exotic or dangerous and stick to more mundane things that we find exhilarating to us.

So imagine the fun two extremely introverted bears could have taking a drive in uncharted territory. Now...lots of you know my hobby is to drive around out in the country and take pictures of whatever strikes my fancy. It's usually clouds, critters, trees, sunsets, moons, barns...you get the gist. I usually gravitate toward the east and north of Carthage even though I have driven those same roads all my life. There is a comfort in familiarity and I always find something interesting.

But while I was out in Colorado this Thanksgiving we decided to go on a different sort of adventure. You see Colorado country roads are nothing like Missouri country roads. With the exception of far Southern Missouri the roads are laid out in a grid. Everything is pretty much in mile squares. So you know that if you get turned around you can always find your way back. In Colorado there is no grid. There are mountains and there are canyons and there are not so many people in some areas. It's far easier to get lost and turned around.

So we gathered the map and the GPS and we got hot chocolate and coffee and peanut butter crackers and headed out. We picked a county road out by the hospital in Trinidad and off we went. This may seem dull to you but for us it was wandering into the unknown wilderness. We were cruising along following the signs and the GPS like good little campers when we saw a mesa or some such geological formation that caught our eye...so we...gasp...deviated from our route. This is when we spotted the sign displayed above this text and we laughed and discussed the many nuances and humor this sign possessed.

And we kept following the road. It wound around the valley and there would be a house every few miles but no traffic. You see in Colorado there is abundant ranch land and the country roads wander through the ranches. Periodically you slow down to go over another cattle guard and you know you are on a different ranch but it's still a county road. It's a little like going to Oz every time you go over a cattle guard...you just don't know what to expect.

We diligently watched for signs to make sure we were still on the county road and not on private property. Being introverts we are especially respectful of other people's property. We are very tuned into the whole "do unto others" thing. We stopped to take pictures of deer and birds and even came across a large herd of antelope. I love the antelope! It was all so very exciting and we had such a great time.

Then we came to the true introvert gauntlet. We came to another cattle guard and the road looked like it ended right at these people's house. I mean in their driveway. Beth stopped and I looked at the GPS and I said it says it's a road. I know it look like a yard and driveway but the GPS says it's a road. So we pulled forward a bit and since no one came out of the house waving a gun at us we crept forward a little more not wanting to trespass but needing to either go forward or turn around. We both leaned forward and peeked around and finally I said well...go around the garage here because it looks like the road might go on once you get around the garage and low and behold it did!! The county road just ran right through their yard separating their house and barns with just a narrow road. I mean that happens in Missouri but the road is much wider and has fencing and pavement and stuff.

We were so proud. It may not seem like much to folks who don't understand but to two timid adventurers it was like finding Montezuma's freakin' tomb! We continued on until we came out to a main road. From that end you would never have known it was a county road. It had a tiny sign and a big ranch arch over the road that made it look like a private driveway. It was like finding a secret road to Narnia. We laughed and we giggled all the way back to town. It was so much fun! It may not seem all that wild but to wander around in the high desert in a state you are not familiar with (I mean this was not another ride out to Maple Grove) was quite exciting to a driver who is completely...I mean completely...directionally challenged and a passenger who isn't always as brave as she should be it was exhilarating and fun and not something we will soon forget. So forge on introverts of the world. Go out and find new adventures...just maybe wait until this freezing drizzle stops.