what a beautiful day! man, it was nice out. we went for a nice walk after work...got ice cream.
rita likes ferretts. . .
she now knows they're harmless. . .
we called ours "chewy". . .
dude says they stink. . .
bill's opinion is unknown.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
walking the dog
what a beautiful day! man, it was nice out. we went for a nice walk after work...got ice cream.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Praying Mantis
this has been a good year for the praying matis. . . at least in our back yard. this one was on the side of the neighbors garage this afternoon and was approximately six inches long. we see them nearly every day. earlier in the summer or spring, we encountered what seemed like hundreds of young mantis' while working on the landscape. scott isn't particularly fond of them and swears they chase him around. i've read two articles about them catching and eating hummingbirds: http://www.birdwatchersdigest.com/site/backyardbirds/hummingbirds/mantis-hummer.aspx. i do hope to never witness anything like it.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
the cat
the cat seems to now how to live. it eats, sleeps, watches things, and begs for treats. she, when in the living room, always lays in that spot. she's very predictable in that she will lick her fur and then attack the plant. it's quite a comical scene: i always laugh as i watch the episodes unfold day after day. the routine never changes and neither does my reaction.
"Lisa's Plants" (because it's special)
Lisa came home to find that her plants had moved inside.
She didn’t notice them immediately, being preoccupied by herhyperactive dog, whom she scolded in a cheery voice for jumping onher and tripping her as she entered the house. “I see you, Zoë,” she saidto the dog. She rubbed Zoë’s face like she was polishing a crystal ball. The dog continued to jump alongside her as she made her way to thebedroom.
One might think the dog was trying to get Lisa’s attention forsomething specific—for instance, telling her that the plants were nowoccupying the house—but that wasn’t the case. Though Lisa arrived homeafter being gone approximately nine hours and fifteen minutes every day,Zoë was consistently surprised she was alive. To the dog, her cominghome was tantamount to her being pulled up from the bottom of a well. On the way to the bedroom, Lisa didn’t notice three viburnumssitting quite comfortably at the dining room table; nor did she notice thepatches of moss she walked directly over.
Before she noticed anything was different at all, she had changed out of her dress and into her sweats (which she grabbed from the arms of a trumpet vine), reassured the dog further, and gone back to the kitchenwhere a group of impatiens were in the sink, waiting to be watered. One was urging the others to join him over by the refrigerator. Lisa saw nothing. Instead, she walked the familiar path to the pantry, found a rawhide chewfor the dog, patted it again, and went to sit on the living room couch.
At that point, her feet on the coffee table, Zoë beneath her legsloudly chewing, she saw all. Beside her, a slightly wilted sunflower sat onthe couch, its roots dangling in the water glass she had left the night beforeon the floor. Its head tilted perilously close to the ceiling fan. A row ofbug-pocked hostas, just about to bloom, sat in semi-circle around the TV. A hydrangea crouched coolly in a doorway.
The remote was in Lisa’s hand, but she forgot to turn on the news,which she watched every morning and every evening to catch the weatherreport. The formerly invisible plants were now all she could see. Shepushed herself away from the sunflower.
Lisa wanted to ask the plants what they were doing. “What are youdoing in the house?” she actually said, though not expecting an answer.
Being plants, they heard her, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. And I mean “themselves” collectively rather than individually:they sent whispers around the room to each other, just no message to Lisa.
My plants are all inside, she thought quite simply. Who put themhere? She squinted and moved her head slightly back and forth as if theanswer to the mystery might lie in the corner of the room. Notice what shedidn’t think: the plants moved inside by themselves. Who would? She shivered, imagining someone in her house. She remembered astory she had heard as a teenager about a family in Manitowoc, Wisconsin,who awoke to find all the shoes from their shoe store on their front lawn. Neatly arranged. The story had made all the papers as a funny humaninterest story. Even then, Lisa didn’t think it was funny. She feltempathetically violated.
With Zoë one pace behind her, Lisa began to creep around thehouse looking for, but hoping not to find, the intruder who had moved herplants indoors. As she wondered about the reason—probably to shockher into a vulnerable position for attack—she saw a fern move by thebathroom sink. It wasn’t swaying in the wind. There was no wind. Itsmovement came from its bottom rather than its top half. It appeared, inshort, to be walking.
Lisa wished she could have passed out at that moment, like womendo in old movies. Even a shriek would have been satisfying. Unfortunately,it wasn’t in her constitution to have such outward signs of emotion—evenwhen confronted by walking plants.
Having no dramatic outlet, she sat on the floor, holding the dog’shead near her face, gently pushing off every third lick or so with her hand.
She had continued the search for an intruder and found no signs. She called the police, but that was no help. From the minute he arrived, thecop seemed to insinuate that it was her fault. “Did you lock the door?” hekept asking. He was egg-shaped, like one of the Weeble people herbrother had played with when they were little.
As she tried to explain what had happened, she could imagine thecop repeating her words to his friends back at the station, telling them withmuch dramatic flourish about the nutty woman with plants in her house. Shedidn’t dare tell him that she had seen a fern walk.
At least the dog didn’t seem to think she was crazy. Zoë lickedLisa’s ankle.
The last thing the cop said to her was, “Why don’t you just movethem back outdoors?”
Though she called him a dumb ass under her breath when he said it(which caused a small uprooted tomato plant near the magazine stand tojiggle), she attempted to do just that after he had gone.
She grabbed a bush but was immediately startled by what seemed tobe resistance (or even the beginnings of a tug of war) from the plant. Shakingher head and gaining new resolve, she ignored what she felt, explaining to thedog that plants couldn’t pull, and took it back to the mound it had occupied inthe side yard. There she knelt, carefully burying its roots. The ground wasmoist and warm.
She noticed that some of the landscaping bricks she had installed lastsummer were crumbling. Also, the mound itself needed new mulch. “I’llhave to get to that after we get this re-planting done,” she said to Zoë. Looking around the virtually plantless yard, she remembered her initial visionof a birdbath over by the birch tree, a stone path, and a bench. She reallyhadn’t had much time to work on her yard this year.
She began to re-plant the others with Zoë tagging along. All wasgoing well until she noticed another hole where, just moments before, she hadpatted the earth firm. She went inside to find a tuft of elephant grass leaningcockily against the fireplace. Its message was clear (and not unspoken,though still unheard by Lisa): “Not so fast. We’re not giving in this easily.”
Again, she sat at dog level, but this time she kissed Zoë back.
It was only after she had given up and lived indoors with the plants forthree days that she began to hear their quiet barking at night. That and thefrequent shuffling across the wood floor kept her awake.
Within a week, she had grown accustomed to the noise. Things wereas they were. She just couldn’t invite anyone over. Otherwise, she enjoyedthe company of the plants. They even had a calming effect on the dog. Somedays Zoë greeted her in only a half-frenzy.
By the end of the first month, she was sleeping with a Mexican heather,which began to curl at her feet, then edged its way, over a few days, to herhead. She was having coffee in the morning with a tulip, the beginning of aregular routine. “I heard that coffee grounds were good for plants,” she said.
Three months later, when she pulled in the driveway and discovered herentire yard was dirt, she wasn’t even mildly shocked. She wasn’t surprisedwhen she stepped indoors onto the grass. No need to call the Weeble cop. She knew it was her fault.
“It’s about time you came in,” she said to the grass. “Yes, I see you,too,” she said to Zoë, who nuzzled her leg without tripping her.
She didn’t notice them immediately, being preoccupied by herhyperactive dog, whom she scolded in a cheery voice for jumping onher and tripping her as she entered the house. “I see you, Zoë,” she saidto the dog. She rubbed Zoë’s face like she was polishing a crystal ball. The dog continued to jump alongside her as she made her way to thebedroom.
One might think the dog was trying to get Lisa’s attention forsomething specific—for instance, telling her that the plants were nowoccupying the house—but that wasn’t the case. Though Lisa arrived homeafter being gone approximately nine hours and fifteen minutes every day,Zoë was consistently surprised she was alive. To the dog, her cominghome was tantamount to her being pulled up from the bottom of a well. On the way to the bedroom, Lisa didn’t notice three viburnumssitting quite comfortably at the dining room table; nor did she notice thepatches of moss she walked directly over.
Before she noticed anything was different at all, she had changed out of her dress and into her sweats (which she grabbed from the arms of a trumpet vine), reassured the dog further, and gone back to the kitchenwhere a group of impatiens were in the sink, waiting to be watered. One was urging the others to join him over by the refrigerator. Lisa saw nothing. Instead, she walked the familiar path to the pantry, found a rawhide chewfor the dog, patted it again, and went to sit on the living room couch.
At that point, her feet on the coffee table, Zoë beneath her legsloudly chewing, she saw all. Beside her, a slightly wilted sunflower sat onthe couch, its roots dangling in the water glass she had left the night beforeon the floor. Its head tilted perilously close to the ceiling fan. A row ofbug-pocked hostas, just about to bloom, sat in semi-circle around the TV. A hydrangea crouched coolly in a doorway.
The remote was in Lisa’s hand, but she forgot to turn on the news,which she watched every morning and every evening to catch the weatherreport. The formerly invisible plants were now all she could see. Shepushed herself away from the sunflower.
Lisa wanted to ask the plants what they were doing. “What are youdoing in the house?” she actually said, though not expecting an answer.
Being plants, they heard her, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. And I mean “themselves” collectively rather than individually:they sent whispers around the room to each other, just no message to Lisa.
My plants are all inside, she thought quite simply. Who put themhere? She squinted and moved her head slightly back and forth as if theanswer to the mystery might lie in the corner of the room. Notice what shedidn’t think: the plants moved inside by themselves. Who would? She shivered, imagining someone in her house. She remembered astory she had heard as a teenager about a family in Manitowoc, Wisconsin,who awoke to find all the shoes from their shoe store on their front lawn. Neatly arranged. The story had made all the papers as a funny humaninterest story. Even then, Lisa didn’t think it was funny. She feltempathetically violated.
With Zoë one pace behind her, Lisa began to creep around thehouse looking for, but hoping not to find, the intruder who had moved herplants indoors. As she wondered about the reason—probably to shockher into a vulnerable position for attack—she saw a fern move by thebathroom sink. It wasn’t swaying in the wind. There was no wind. Itsmovement came from its bottom rather than its top half. It appeared, inshort, to be walking.
Lisa wished she could have passed out at that moment, like womendo in old movies. Even a shriek would have been satisfying. Unfortunately,it wasn’t in her constitution to have such outward signs of emotion—evenwhen confronted by walking plants.
Having no dramatic outlet, she sat on the floor, holding the dog’shead near her face, gently pushing off every third lick or so with her hand.
She had continued the search for an intruder and found no signs. She called the police, but that was no help. From the minute he arrived, thecop seemed to insinuate that it was her fault. “Did you lock the door?” hekept asking. He was egg-shaped, like one of the Weeble people herbrother had played with when they were little.
As she tried to explain what had happened, she could imagine thecop repeating her words to his friends back at the station, telling them withmuch dramatic flourish about the nutty woman with plants in her house. Shedidn’t dare tell him that she had seen a fern walk.
At least the dog didn’t seem to think she was crazy. Zoë lickedLisa’s ankle.
The last thing the cop said to her was, “Why don’t you just movethem back outdoors?”
Though she called him a dumb ass under her breath when he said it(which caused a small uprooted tomato plant near the magazine stand tojiggle), she attempted to do just that after he had gone.
She grabbed a bush but was immediately startled by what seemed tobe resistance (or even the beginnings of a tug of war) from the plant. Shakingher head and gaining new resolve, she ignored what she felt, explaining to thedog that plants couldn’t pull, and took it back to the mound it had occupied inthe side yard. There she knelt, carefully burying its roots. The ground wasmoist and warm.
She noticed that some of the landscaping bricks she had installed lastsummer were crumbling. Also, the mound itself needed new mulch. “I’llhave to get to that after we get this re-planting done,” she said to Zoë. Looking around the virtually plantless yard, she remembered her initial visionof a birdbath over by the birch tree, a stone path, and a bench. She reallyhadn’t had much time to work on her yard this year.
She began to re-plant the others with Zoë tagging along. All wasgoing well until she noticed another hole where, just moments before, she hadpatted the earth firm. She went inside to find a tuft of elephant grass leaningcockily against the fireplace. Its message was clear (and not unspoken,though still unheard by Lisa): “Not so fast. We’re not giving in this easily.”
Again, she sat at dog level, but this time she kissed Zoë back.
It was only after she had given up and lived indoors with the plants forthree days that she began to hear their quiet barking at night. That and thefrequent shuffling across the wood floor kept her awake.
Within a week, she had grown accustomed to the noise. Things wereas they were. She just couldn’t invite anyone over. Otherwise, she enjoyedthe company of the plants. They even had a calming effect on the dog. Somedays Zoë greeted her in only a half-frenzy.
By the end of the first month, she was sleeping with a Mexican heather,which began to curl at her feet, then edged its way, over a few days, to herhead. She was having coffee in the morning with a tulip, the beginning of aregular routine. “I heard that coffee grounds were good for plants,” she said.
Three months later, when she pulled in the driveway and discovered herentire yard was dirt, she wasn’t even mildly shocked. She wasn’t surprisedwhen she stepped indoors onto the grass. No need to call the Weeble cop. She knew it was her fault.
“It’s about time you came in,” she said to the grass. “Yes, I see you,too,” she said to Zoë, who nuzzled her leg without tripping her.
Friday, September 15, 2006
define fun
new orleans: i miss that city. i'd like to live there one day. the picture represents a happy, fun moment. it makes me smile and that is a good thing.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
finally a day without rain
i think it's been raining for the last week. ok, maybe only since sunday or monday. but hey, three or four straight days of gloom is quite enough.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
watching connections...can't do two things at once
so, i guess i need a place to rant on occasion. . . and they say it's healthy to write "things" down. in all honestly, "journaling" usually just pisses me off.
the right is our favorite "watering hole." yes, i think the place is haunted.
the right is our favorite "watering hole." yes, i think the place is haunted.
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