the more things stay the same....

When I walked through the kitchen door yesterday the first thing I saw was garbage all over the floor.  I gasped, but I did not yell or scream or flail my arms.  As I stood there the FLB* trotted up with his tail wagging.  I glared at him and pointed at the mess.  He looked.  Then he remembered.  Oh.  His tail lowered and his whole body slumped.  All I said was, "Bed.".  He slunk off to his doggie bed.

I didn't have to clean up the worst of the garbage: a handful of chicken fat cut from some chicken breasts, gooey barbecue sauce, and a hairball cleaned up a couple days ago.  The FLB* ate those treats.  So my part of the cleanup was pretty quick.

Of course I'm waiting for the denouement.  He ate raw chicken fat and a hairball.  I'm sure there will be some gagging drama in the middle of the night soon.  Sigh.

After I cleaned up the mess and did some other chores I decided to release the FLB* from his timeout and take him outside.  I wanted to get my two new plants out of the car.  One plant with tiny purple flowers at the end of its long green leaves looked like it had some white spots on some of the leaves, so I decided to leave it outside and spray-wash it for a few days before bringing it into the house.  As I set the plant on my patio a tiny 3"  lizard leaped from the plant to my hand.  I heard a shriek and I think there were some body tremors before the lizard jumped from my hand to the patio.  I'm proud to say I did not wet my pants...not even a little.

I do have some sad news.  My houseplant palm tree did not survive.  I'm not sure what happened.  This was the plant that the FLB* liked to sniff around and stare at.  I thought I watered it carefully but it started to yellow and brown and before long it was dead.  When I took it to the street to be added to the yard waste pile I thought I saw the blinds move in my living room.  Was the FLB* watching me?  Was he...laughing?
I purchased a replacement palm last week and so far it looks wonderful in the living room and the FLB* seems to be ignoring it.

I have some great news, too.  I have a new grandson.  Evan Philip Carter was born less than 30 minutes before Fathers' Day.  He is beautiful and sweet and cuddly.  Here is his one month old picture:

And this is little Evan with his big brother 3-yr-old Noah.  It looks like Noah is sucking the brain right out of Evan, but he's counting to 5 while kissing his little brother - as directed by his mom so she can get the photo.

*FLB = Harley, mixed terrier.

All I Wanted Was a Houseplant

Before Christmas I purchased myself a BARGAIN houseplant.  I paid just under $8 for it.  (Then I spent $34 on the pot for it, but it was still a good deal, right?)  You can see it in the photo...behind the white oscillating fan..and to the left of the dancing elf.  (She was singing and dancing to Jingle Bells sung by my dancing poinsettias, but that's another story.)  Although it was cool outside, it was imperative to have a fan going.   (When a 3-year-old visits there is NONSTOP activity which can cause women of a certain age to SWEAT.)

Although my houseplant and I got off to a shaky start due to a tree frog hiding in the watering can, I am now enjoying the newest addition to my living room.  I believe the palm tree is happy with its new home as it is filling out, sprouting new leaves, and not developing any brown areas.  It adds a bright spot of color to that corner by my front door and I just enjoy looking at it.  Everything would be perfect...except...except for ...

the *FLB.

Yes.  Him!  He spends a lot of time staring at the tree.  Up close and personal.  He will walk up to it, sniff around it, stick his stinkin' little nose in the dirt and sniff...

sniff....sniff....

Then he will startle... and stare ... at SOMETHING he sees or thinks he sees in the tree.  He will back off and sit and stare.  Move closer.  Stare some more.  Eventually he forgets what he's doing and wanders away. He is driving me crazy.

I picked up that tree and plunked it in my shopping cart and hefted it into the back seat of my car and lugged it into my home.  If there was something IN the tree wouldn't it have jumped out and gotten me then?  Wouldn't it?

Today I remembered a story carried in the St. Augustine Record last July.  I looked it up and here is the headline:  "Garden Shop Reopens After Rattler Bites Shopper".  I am not kidding.  A man was shopping in the fern section of the St. Augustine Wal-Mart Garden Shop when his girlfriend's child dropped or threw a baby bottle onto the floor.  Said customer "reached under a plastic shelf" whereupon HE WAS BITTEN BY A PYGMY RATTLESNAKE!  He survived - after he was hospitalized.

The garden shop was closed so a wildlife professional could be called in and "assess the area".  Here's my favorite quote, "What is not known is whether the rattlesnake got into the garden center from nearby woods or if it came in on plants delivered to the store." 

WHAT????!!! 

Since 2006 three incidents were reported of snakes attacking customers in Wal-Mart Garden Shops around Florida.  In the almost-requisite "What to watch for" part of the article appeared my 2nd favorite quote: "The ornery pygmy rattlesnake is a 'sit-and-wait' predator that sits coiled in one spot, waiting for its prey to approach." 

Nice.

So I'm sitting here wondering what the heck my dog is sniffing and staring at in my palm tree.  I bought it at Home Depot, not Wal-Mart.  Thank heavens.  I'm not going to DO anything with the palm tree like pick it up and move it - not anymore.

And I keep my eyes WIDE OPEN when I'm watering it - after I have checked out the watering can thoroughly.

Damn.  Just damn.

*Freakin' little bastard

DOGS, COPS, AND DAUGHTERS

"Back in the day" when I used to watch TV I would use it to lull myself to sleep, or to pass the time when I couldn't sleep.  My ex and I divorced in 1992 and the following August I bought a house in Lake Capri, a quiet community of mostly older folks who had moved there in the 1970's and 1980's to retire.  Atlanta suburban sprawl had caught up to this part of Rockdale County and now it was just another suburban neighborhood.  I loved the area with its spring-fed lakes and walking trails, and I liked the house.

My older daughter, a senior in high school, moved in with her father, and my younger daughter stayed with me.  Our house had two bedrooms upstairs that shared a large bathroom and, on the weekends when my older daughter came to stay, the girls could have all the privacy up there they wanted.  The master bedroom was downstairs and I could also have all the privacy I wanted and needed at that time.  The house had a large fenced yard and the girls' two dogs lived back there.  Snoopy and Jodi were two mutts that the girls adopted at the pound when both dogs were just puppies.  Snoopy was a black chow-mix and Jodi was a huge hairy collie-shephard-and-something-else mix.  The dogs were my responsibility (problem) now as they were older and the girls had moved on to bigger and better things.

One winter night I could not sleep and I was channel-surfing, clicking from one station to another, looking for something, anything to watch.  I had put the dogs into our large utility shed because it was going to be below freezing that night.  Melissa was asleep upstairs (or so I thought) and Mary Lee was at her dad's.  I was in the divorcee's typical sexy nighttime outfit - an over-sized tee-shirt and panties.  Click.  Click.  SCREAM.  I jumped and clicked.  One of the channels must have had on a horror movie and I clicked on it just as some poor victim let out a bloodcurdling scream.  It gave me shivers and I made a note to skip that channel if I surfed near it again.  Click.  Click.  What's that?  Boring.  Click.  Click.


Let's change the point of view.  My daughter Melissa, who was 13 or 14 at the time, was upstairs just dozing off when a bloodcurdling scream woke her.  She froze in her bed as the scream was cut off!  MOM!?!  She listened and heard nothing.  O MY GOD!  Had something happened to Mom?  She reached for her phone and pulled it under the covers with her.  9-1-1.  She told the operator that she had heard her mother scream downstairs and she thought someone was in the house.  The operator immediately dispatched two deputies to the address and kept Melissa on the phone.  Was there any way she could get out of the house?  No, the stairs and front door were by her mother's room.  Was her bedroom door locked?  No, yes, maybe, sometimes it didn't lock all the way.  Did she want to check?  No!  She was too scared to even get out of bed.  For all she knew her Mom was dead and someone was coming up the stairs to get her!  The operator tried to calm her and kept her on the phone while the police hurried to our address.




Point of view shift:  Mom is watching some stupid movie or program downstairs totally unaware of what is going on in her daughter's room.  All of a sudden she sees lights dancing on the wall outside of her bedroom door.  Mom rubs her eyes; the lights are still there.  It looks like someone is shining a flashlight through her living room windows.  Holy crap!  Someone is trying to break in!  Mom is terrified!  She mutes the TV and slowly climbs out of bed looking for a weapon.  Nothing!  She tiptoes to her bedroom door and peers around the wall into the living room.  There are two people standing at her front door shining flashlights through the window!  One of them raps on the door and says, "Ma'am!  Police!  Can you come to the door?"


Police?

"Just a minute!" she says.  She stumbles to the door and slides back the latch.  She hears her daughter's bedroom door slam open and her daughter stampedes down the stairs saying, "I'm sorry!  I'm sorry! Mom, I'm so sorry!"

Mom opens the door to the police who are relieved that we are both all right, but supremely aggravated that,  in checking out the house before approaching the front door, they had heard noises around back and opened the utility door.  The two excited dogs had bounded out, jumped all over them, and had run away.  My daughter apologized for calling 9-1-1 and they were very kind to her and told her she did the right thing.  I was mortified to be standing there in an over-sized tee-shirt, wild hair, and clueless.  They apologized for releasing the dogs, and made a halfhearted attempt at rounding them up before they gave up and drove away.  Melissa ran back upstairs and fell asleep.  I put on some sweatpants and a jacket and retrieved the dogs.

THE OMEN

Something caught my eye as I eased up my driveway.  The afternoon was bright and sunny, but with the long shadows of approaching winter.  I turned my head and peered through my windshield and what I saw caused me to slam on the brakes.  A large bird - I think it was mostly brown both on its body and its wings, and I could only see it from the neck down and from below - swooped over my car and then rose over the back fence and the house behind.  A snake dangled from its beak!  (At this point I'm still fairly sure it was its beak and not its talons, but I was in awe and my memory is imperfect.)

The snake was colorless in the strong sunlight.  It was about one and a half times as long as the bird and I believe it was still writhing in protest.  Of course, it could have been swinging but I think it was moving.  The bird flapped its wings and soared over my neighbor's house, then descended out of my sight.  I wondered at the time if it was going to land in my neighbor's front yard and finish off the snake.  I sat in my car for several moments just letting the feelings wash over me.  Amazement.  Wonder.  Creepiness (afterall, it was a SNAKE).  The awe that nature inspires. 

My part in the small drama was over.  I started my car and pulled into my parking spot.  As I walked to my backdoor I kept turning around and looking for another glimpse of the bird and its prey.  I wondered what kind of bird it was.  What kind of bird hunts snakes?  I opened the storm door, unlocked and opened the back door.  The *FLB stuck his nose out in greeting and I invited him to come out and relieve himself.  I watched him as I thought about the bird.  Was it an osprey?  An eagle?  Some kind of hawk?  Harley decided to run off as I stood there.

Twenty minutes later I caught him five buildings east of mine.  Unlike a large dog who will galumph around a neighborhood in the joy of being FREE FREE FREE to run, the FLB is like a nosy neighbor who takes the opportunity to check up on everyone.  He trots up to all the doors and sniffs with great gusto.  He snuffles the various pet scents and he checks out other wilder scents:  armadillos, possums, whatever floats his dastardly little boat.

I didn't call for him.  I knew it was a waste of time and, besides, I was embarrassed.  I knew better than to let him out of the house without a leash.  He didn't even have his halter with his ID tag on it and I was just a tiny bit afraid I would lose him for good.  That would be my punishment for being careless.  I spotted him bouncing up the sidewalk of a pale yellow triplex and kept my eye on him as I approached.  When I was even with him I called out his name in a voice like you would use when you run into an old friend.

He looked up from his snuffling and actually looked happy to see me.  He took a few steps in my direction and stopped.

"Harley, come!"  I said in a more serious tone.

At that point he decided to give in, but he wouldn't do it without a small win on his side.  He cowered.  He crawled to me on his belly looking like the most beaten, pathetic, abused animal you have ever seen.  I tried not to look around to see if anyone was watching; that would make me look even guiltier.  I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and looped the leash around him in a slip knot.  As soon as the FLB realized he was caught and was not going to be kicked and beaten (at least in public), he jumped up and headed for home, pulling on the leash, wagging his tail, and holding his head high.

When we got home I filled his water bowl and he drank all of it.  Running away is thirsty work.  Then he laid down to rest.  I will never never never let him out again without his leash.  (Famous last words.)  I should have known when I saw the bird and the snake that something bad was going to happen.

I looked up birds of prey last night, and  I've decided it must have been some kind of hawk.  The osprey is primarily a hunter of fish and, though it could have been a juvenile eagle, odds are it was one of the seven species of hawk that either live here or migrate here in the winter.

Postscript:  I have a new palm tree in my living room that I purchased on clearance at Home Depot last week for only $7.00.  I needed to water it this morning, so I retrieved my cheap plastic watering "can" from the back patio where I leave it for my granddaughter Kinsey to use to water Grenah's outdoor plants.  I filled it and when I tipped it to pour onto the palm, the water gurgled and only trickled out.  What?  I guessed that some kind of outside gunk had gotten into the spout.  I carried the plastic can back to the kitchen sink.  I fished a bamboo skewer out of my kitchen supplies and was just sticking it into the spout when something caught my eye.

A tree frog looked up at me from the watery depths of the watering can!!!

My blood ran cold, my bowels turned to water, and I nearly fainted.

I grabbed the watering can and carried it carefully to the back door.  The frog swam frantically from side to side while keeping at least one of its bulging eyes on me.  I fumbled with the door knob.  Oh crap, it was locked!  Was the frog getting ready to jump?  Keeping one bulging eye on the tree frog, I flipped the lock, pulled the door open, pushed the storm door open, set the watering can down on the patio, and backed away.  Then I ran back inside and slammed and locked the back door.

The palm tree will have to wait.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

ONE HOUR (USED TO BE ONE TV DRAMA OR TWO SITCOMS)

Last night I babysat my granddaughter for just over an hour.  Now there's not a lot you can do in just an hour.  The previous week I babysat for about 2 hours and we managed to squeeze in a trip to Staples, a walk to Barnes & Noble, chocolate milk in the Starbucks Cafe, a bathroom break, playing with the train set in the children's department, and a quick walk back to Staples to meet mommy.

For our hour last night I thought we might have a picnic:  get a bite or a drink at the drive-in, and sit at one of the outside picnic tables and just enjoy the evening.  (Grenah was a bit TIRED.)  Kinsey got out of her mommy's car with a milkshake in one hand (forget the bite or drink!) and her daddy's flashlight in the other.  I buckled her into the Princess seat and as I buckled myself in, she told me, "I saw COW!"

This was exciting news.  Cows are very important to Kinsey and me.  You see, Kinsey has always loved stories and books.  And when she was very small, just toddling-around size, about 12 or 13 months old, she was staying with me one day and learned she could close the door to the laundry room.  My back door was bolted (so she couldn't escape!) and the laundry room was fairly safe, so I didn't immediately open the door and check on her.  I knocked, and she opened the door, and I asked, "May I come in?"  She LOVED that.  For a couple weeks just playing with the door was enough.

Then one afternoon she let me into the laundry room and we were just kind of standing in there and she asked me to tell her a story.  I didn't have any books in there and I really don't know why this story came out of my mouth, but I told her a story about Kinsey playing at Carousel Park and COW drops in for a visit.  And COW wants to swing, Kinsey says NO, COW gets on the swing anyway, CRASH goes the swing.  And the same with the slide.  And the carousel.  Then Kinsey tells COW that it's time for COW to go home.  So Kinsey rides in her car (with mommy and Grenah) and COW follows.  They find a farm and the farmer is very happy they brought COW home, and COW is so very glad to be home.  The End.

Then please tell me more story - so I'm thinking this is easy - and it's Kinsey at the beach.  Here comes COW.  COW tries to do human things like surf, boogie board, build sand castles....disaster results...Kinsey takes COW home.

And so on.   COW in Target. COW at Grenah's house.  I had a million of them.   And for weeks she would take me in the laundry room and ask for a COW story.  I was a hit.  A star!  THE GRENAH OF THE AGES!  She would pass these stories down to her grandchildren and tell them what a loving and wonderful Grenah she had....oh...the immortality...the fame...the love.................

Then one day we were in the laundry room and she clung to me and asked if COW was there?!  She was scared!!!!! of COWS!?  I went from a loving Grenah to a PHOBIA-CAUSING NUTCASE.  The stories never had COW as a villain - more of just wanting to be a little girl!   What was I going to do?  And Kinsey still wanted COW stories, but she would hold my hand and peer around me looking for the maniac cows.  This couldn't go on!  I would be vilified!  The topic of therapy sessions and tell-all autobiographies.  The example of evil in every grandparenting book!

So we entered our PC phase where we talked about how COW was lonely and just wanted to have some fun.  I bought her a couple of little stuffed cows - she wouldn't touch them!  We learned the Old MacDonald Had a Farm song - especially the MooMoo here and MooMoo there.  Still scared.  When we were driving or riding around I would point out COWS everywhere I saw them - kind of desensitization therapy for 2-yr-olds.  Luckily, Chick-fil-A is big on COWS and there were big friendly COWS on their billboard, and inside the Chick-fil-A the welcome mat had a big picture of a COW, and there was a cardboard cutout of a COW near the counter.  Lots of pointing and touching and talking about COWS.  I also watched for any and all books that featured COWS in a positive light.  TIME will tell if I'm truly successful.  She seems more fascinated than scared now.  If Kinsey becomes a large animal vet or studies agriculture or marries a farmer - not so bad.  If she becomes COW-phobic,cannot venture outside any city limits as an adult, and needs years of therapy, I will deny deny deny.


So back to last night, Kinsey tells me she saw a COW and she's very excited.  I realize her milkshake comes from Chick-fil-A (It's called a CLUE, Grenah!) and that must be where she saw the COW.  (Her mommy confirms later in a phone call that Kinsey was very excited and yelled "MOMMY, LOOK!  COW!" while she was ordering.)  So I tell Kinsey we are going on an adventure and looking for cows.  It's only a 10 minute drive west to farm country; it's at least 40 minutes to sunset.  Plenty of time.  So we head west and then my cell phone rings.  Can I bring the car by the mechanic's just for a minute?  They have to SEE the hose they are replacing so they are sure to order the correct part.  Sigh. We do a U-turn and I tell Kinsey we have to run a  5-minute errand.  She doesn't mind.  She says, "We go get Harley and go on adventure."  (You see, she's decided the *FLB is her **"best friend" now.)  I say, "I don't think we'll have time to go get (gritting teeth) Harley."  She just nods her head and says, "We go get Harley.  Harley my best friend.  We take Harley on adventure."

That damn dog.

We wait at the automotive place 30 minutes instead of 5.  Kinsey is fascinated by the constant stream of people in and out, and by the picture of the Daytona Race Track painted around the top of the waiting room.  She alternately chews her straw and sucks her milkshake.  Several people speak to her and get the 3-yr-old mute stare.  I tell John the owner that she will not speak to him and he promises me that she will.  When we leave I say, "Bye, John!" with a smirk, and Kinsey says, "BYE!".  He laughs us out the door.

Now we have about 30 minutes left.  No time for Harley (HA!) and no time for COWS.  So we drive one mile east and around the big curve and park at the beach.  We spend the next 30 minutes walking and racing (well, she raced and I pretended) and picking up shells and climbing on mounds of sand and having a great time.  We get back to the car just as the sun truly sets and darkness surrounds us.  We meet her parents, shake off most of the sand on her shoes and rear end (when you climb you have to slide and fall dramatically, don't you know), hand her daddy his flashlight, and hand her mommy a milkshake cup with shells.

All in one hour.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

**A couple weeks ago Kinsey arrived at my condo and I took Harley out on his leash to meet her.  It's the first time she hasn't run to me and jumped in my arms.  She screamed, "HARLEY!" and ran to him. FLB.

MONDAY MUTTERINGS

Mondays.  Why is it you start off the week with the best of intentions and you end up in your big fat chair after work with a frown on your face?

It starts at work with a computer that decides not to boot up - what?  A simple reboot turns into a 30-minute long OH CRAP I'M GONNA HAVE TO TAKE IT TO THE SHOP adventure.  You mess with it  and finally it looks like it's THINKING about booting up, so you walk away from it before your impatience makes you click or tap on something which delays the fix.  Besides, you are ready to punch a hole in your monitor even though you realize with the thinking-side of your brain that the monitor isn't the problem.  So you leave it and take your coffee to the kitchen computer just to get a few things done while your computer decides what it's doing. 

So you work on the computer in the kitchen where the A/C blows directly on your back and drops your body temperature to about 45 degrees and your coffee drops from hot & lovely to cold  & forget it.  Then you try to help the Front Desk because their printer quit working Sunday and no matter what trick you try it won't freakin' work and you just don't want to give up because you hate saying I CAN'T FIX IT and IT'S BROKE.  But you finally come to your senses and realize it is dead and it will cost $90 to call the computer guy in to confirm, or the inn manager can spend $100 for a new one.

Then you go back to the office and your computer has booted successfully.  For no good reason.  It's just the universe screwing with you.  And this is all before 9am.

And you've planned to drive to the outlet mall after work and you decide to print that $10-OFF coupon before you forget and then you read the small print and it's $10 OFF YOUR $100 PURCHASE.  Uh, no, you weren't going to spend $100.  But wait!  There's a 2nd coupon - 20% OFF - cool - but it starts on THURSDAY.  You didn't want to wait until Thursday, but in the interest of saving a couple bucks you will.  But now you're irritated.

And you get home and you let the *FLB out of the house for a quick pee - no leash - because he does it and goes right back in the house EVERYDAY, but he spots SOMETHING that YOU can't see and he's off like a shot barking at whatever it is.  You sigh and go into the house and grab the leash and come back out and he's sniffing and rooting around the big tree next door - just past the BUCKET where the snake lives.  So you call him and he runs around the tree and you're trying to make like you're NOT chasing the *FLB and he knows you really ARE chasing him and you're worried the snake is NOT in his BUCKET but out here in the yard enjoying the sunny afternoon and if you see him or step on him you're going to have a coronary and then you get up close to your darling terrier and grab that sucker by his neck.  You're NOT going to look up in the tree where HE'S staring because it could be ANYTHING up there; you just make the leash into a quick slip knot and lead your pet gently into the house.

And you open up your email and even though you've gotten 2 estimates for gutters the other condo owner wants just one more from "his guy" and that delays the gutters again.  sigh.

And you read some short stories in your Glimmer Train Winter Issue and they are well-written but the last one punches you in the gut and you toss it aside and decide to do something else, but you feel like crap.

Then you read your daily Dave Barry column and, even though it's from July 2001, it makes you laugh.  It's about taking his baby daughter on a 4-hour flight and involves projectile vomiting.  And on the Georgia news you read that a bug from Asia has appeared in Georgia and it loves to eat kudzu.  The bug is called the globular stinkbug and the last line of the article says it all:  "But if the bug if threatened, it will put off an odor."  What?  How bad an odor?  Like a skunk?  Considering the forecasts that if scientists don't stop the spread of kudzu it will eventually cover the entire southeast, I think southerners can put up with a little odor.  Can't be as bad as that plane ride with Dave Barry's baby.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

Wild Kingdom

I was NOT going to post about this.  Not again.  But then...2 events in less than 12 hours?

So last night I take the *FLB out for his evening peepee.  I didn't even slip on my shoes, just strolled outside in my socks.  Didn't even turn on the outside light; my neighbor's outside light was on and light shined through my storm door glass.  I have to admit I felt a little nervous stepping in some shadowy places.  All the recent heebie-jeebie blogging has kept me in a rather agitated state - twitching now and then, feeling "things" in my hair, brushing my shoulder (what was that?).  I decided to quit being a baby and just take the damn dog out and not think about critters.

After his initial marking, the *FLB insisted on walking past the edge of light and to the line of grass along our fence.   I walked gingerly - looking carefully where I stepped and feeling foolish about it.  He dragged me all the way there, then stood on the pavement and stuck his nose in the grass.  That was going to accomplish nothing.  I "encouraged" him to step into the grass but he ignored me.  I became impatient and pulled him back to the patio telling him out loud, "No way, mister, am I standing in the dark so you can sniff the grass while standing on the pavement."  We walked back to my patio, I opened my back door, hustled Harley inside, and something skittered across my laundry room floor.

"Lizard!" I squealed.

Harley was skittering across the floor after the lizard-thing and I couldn't see around him to see what he was chasing.  I wasn't too concerned; I've had lizards (those little gecko lizards) get in the house before.  Harley always hunts them down and catches them.  It's his own life insurance policy.  And it fits with the 11th Commandment:

THOU SHALT NOT COME INTO MY HOUSE IF THOU IS A BUG OR SMALL CRITTER.  THOU SHALT LIVE OUTSIDE WHERE THOU BELONGEST AND WILL BE LEFT ALONEST.  IN MY HOUSE THOU ART FAIR GAME AND WILL BE HUNTED AND KILLED.

 So I encouraged Harley, "Get the lizard!", but then I saw it.  It was a small brown tree frog.

SCARY MUSIC PLAYS....

 I pulled Harley away; thank goodness he was still leashed.  The frog looked unharmed and I really wanted him back outside.  I don't like how they jump and I don't like their little sucker feet.  Tree frogs don't hop like toads  Toads hop and move a few inches here or there.  Tree frogs JUMP 4 or 5 FEET in the air.

One time a tree frog jumped through our front door - well not THROUGH the front door - but my brother opened the door and the tree frog jumped through the open front door - and the entire family (except for my father who was watching TV in his recliner - erupted in shouting and screaming as the tree frog jumped down the hallway and around the dining room.  The tree frog jumped from the floor onto my dad's HEAD and then hopped onto the living room wall with 4 kids and a beagle chasing him.  We actually chased that frog back out the front door before my dad even realized what happened.

So...back to last night....I stepped over the frog and tried to shoo him out the back door but he jumped up on the door, then jumped back into the room.  I screeched like a banshee - I thought the little sucker was going to jump on ME.  He jumped onto the wall behind the door.  He was hanging on the extra-long leash that hangs behind the door and I made one more attempt to get him out by removing the leash with him on it.  He jumped again.

That must be when I peed my pants.

I was fed up and decided he had broken the 11th commandment.  I unleashed Harley and said, "There he is, you can have him."  And that *FLB looked all over the wall and couldn't see him!  I had to practically take his face and point it at the frog!  What's up with that?  He can see a cat 300 yards down the street!

So the *FLB jumped up and grabbed the frog off the wall, but then he dropped it on the floor and it started hopping all around the room again.  I screamed some more, but this time I added some moon-dancing and ultra-studio-54-twitch moves, too.  Harley grabbed the frog again and finally took him into the kitchen to "play" with him.

Now don't get all "the poor frog" on me.  I did the best I could.  If his little sucker-feet had touched me I wouldn't be here blogging to you today.  I did feel bad because Harley played with him a LONG time.  A really LONG time.  I finally couldn't listen to him anymore and went to bed.  I even felt guilty.

This morning I looked for the ... remains...but Harley was guarding it.  I said a quick prayer that the little frog was dead and hadn't suffered too much.  No, I didn't really, but it sounds nice to say.   I knew I'd find him in the afternoon and give him a proper burial - wrapped in a thick wad of paper towels and scrunched into the trash can.

I took Harley for his morning walk. 

We were returning from our walk and came around the corner of our building when Harley smelled or spotted something.  He was acting aggressive so my first guess was a cat.  It's DARK when we take our walk and I carry a flashlight.  I haven't forgotten that a green-and-brown snake lives under my septic-bucket.  And I don't want to step on anything living or dead.  So I pointed my flashlight where Harley was straining to go.  I saw something....gray.......an armadillo.  eewww.  He standing over by the septic-bucket-snake-house.  Harley went ballistic - barking and pulling and twisting on the end of his leash.  The armadillo looked at us for a couple seconds (another big eewww) then hurried up the septic tank hill and into the brush. 

Kind of explains all the little holes in the yard and the lack of slugs this summer.  Maybe I'll just put a fence around the property and sell tickets. 

*FLB = freakin' little bastard

NO ROOM AT THE INN? PUH-LEEZE!

In any other city my place of employment - a bed and breakfast - would be unique, but here in St. Augustine, Florida, unique becomes weird very quickly.  For those of you who were brought up with a less-than-thorough education a brief history lesson:

Many Americans know about Jamestown - the first English settlement in the North American continent.  Well, big woop.  Who cares about Jamestown - the 2nd oldest settlement in America.  It's not even a real town!  YEARS before Jamestown was settled Pedro Menendez landed here and settled the town of St. Augustine.

St. Augustine is the oldest city in the United States.  (So there, Jamestown!)  And don't even start with Thanksgiving in Plymouth, PUH-LEEZE.

We have almost 450 years of history here.  As you can imagine ghost stories abound in our old city.  And the oldest inn in the oldest city has its own ghost stories.  From time to time we have psychics, sensitives, ghost-chasers, and paranormal investigators staying with us.  It's gotten so common that the owner has finally put a "ghost stories" link on our website, although you have to hunt for it.  Even though this is Halloween week, tonight's story is not about ghosts; it's about some other strange visitors we had at the inn recently.  I heard about these guests the morning after they checked in.

I was getting my morning cup of coffee and Kelly, the Inn's manager, waved me over to the Front Desk.  Her eyes gleamed as she asked, "Has anyone told you about our guests in the Dummett* (pronouced Dum-mit) Room?"

"No," I said.  "What's going on?"

"Yesterday afternoon our guests were checking in and asked if the room was pet friendly," she said.

I frowned.  We do allow pets in some of our rooms, but only ground floor rooms with outside entrances and only with prior approval.  I knew this was a problem right away; the Dummett Room is on the 3rd floor.  No way would we allow any pets up there.  Kelly grinned and continued her story.

"I tried to explain that we restricted the rooms because of allergies and the extra cleaning we always have to do," she said.  "They told me, 'No problem, our pets don't shed.'  So I'm thinking it must be birds of some kind, and told them we couldn't have birds either because of the noise.  I was starting to get worried because we were full and I didn't have a pet-friendly room for them.  They were very cheerful and said their pets weren't birds either.  I finally had to ask just what kind of pets did they have."

Kelly stopped and stared at me.  I shook my head; I had no idea.

"Snakes," she whispered.

"Snakes?" I whispered back.  I was trying not to shriek.

"Yes," she said.  "They said they had $10,000 worth of snakes.  They had just been to a convention. They couldn't leave them in the car overnight; the snakes would die.  They had to be in a climate-controlled space."

"Snakes?" I said.  "More than one?"  I was getting a real creepy feeling all over my skin.

"Yes," she said.  "They had 15 of them.  All boa constrictors.  Some were babies, most were small, but there was one large snake about 6 feet long."

"15 snakes?" I said.  I should be a detective with these kinds of interviewing skills.

"You should have seen it," Kelly said.  "They brought in all these plastic tubs and containers and stacked them over by that wall."

I jumped and looked at the wall.  There was nothing there, but just the thought of what HAD been there...

"You let them check in?" I said.

"All the snakes were locked in the tubs; they even had bungee cords around the tubs.  Most of the snakes were also in cloth sacks.  You couldn't see them through the plastic; you wouldn't even know what was in the tubs unless someone told you.  Besides, they had already paid for their reservation," she said.

"I know," I agreed.  Sometimes you just have to say yes.

The guests were a married couple who had just been to the Reptile Breeders Convention in Daytona Beach - evidently a HUGE event.  They raised boa constrictors and sold them.  They were on their way home to Louisiana.  Well, THAT explained a lot.  (No offense, Louisiana, but when a large portion of your area is  bayou a.k.a. swamp, you know that you're going to be lumped in with snakes.  Besides, did you ever see that show The Exterminator on A&E?  Filmed in...Louisiana!)

Once they had permission they brought the tubs in one or two at a time and stacked them in our lobby.  Kelly said the creepiest part was after all the tubs were stacked, you could hear the snakes hissing. HEEBIEJEEBIES.  No one else seemed to notice; a few other guests checked in while the tubs were stacked in the lobby and just ignored them.

"So where are the snakes now?" I asked while I rubbed my hands up and down my arms.

"They stacked all the tubs in the closet in their room!" she said.  "They went out to dinner, had a nice time, and had a nice quiet evening at the Inn."


The process was reversed that morning after the couple had their breakfast and packed to leave.  They brought the tubs down the three flights of stairs one by one and stacked them in the lobby.  They showed one of the babies to Kelly and some other employees who were crazy enough to want to look.  I stayed in the kitchen and peeked around the door.  Then they took the tubs - one by one - out to their car.  They really were very nice people and there was no mess or any problem with the extra visitors.  In fact, they had such a good time I bet they'll want to stay with us next year after the Reptile Breeders Convention in Daytona Beach!  I'll be taking that day off....

That afternoon Kelly and I were talking about our unique visitors.  She said, with a perfectly straight face, that she was glad there was no problem, because she had to get ready for the ghost-hunters who were renting the entire third floor for the next two nights.

15 boa constrictors one night and ghost-hunters the next - just another day at the Inn.

*pronounced Dum-mit - named for the Dummett family who owned the Inn in the mid-1800's.

NOT REALLY A SEPTIC TANK STORY

This is part of my backyard.  What look like small rolling hills are actually part of the septic tank systems of my building and the building next door.  In some parts of Florida the drainfields have to be raised because the water table is so close to the surface.  You don't want the drainfields draining directly into your water table, do you?  I guess the extra 4 or 5 feet of soil and rock make a difference.  Hmm.

So what's with the BUCKET?  The bucket covers an electrical outlet that pokes out of the ground; an underground wire goes from my building to the outlet. The septic tank pump is plugged into the outlet.  Oh yes, we have to have a pump because the drainfields are elevated above the tank and the...uh... liquids in the tank have to be pumped up into the drainfields.  The outlet has to be protected from rain and lawn mowing equipment and a bucket has proven to be better than the plastic covers the septic tank companies install.  The bare space next to the bucket is where a septic tank company recently dug up the yard, opened the lid to the septic tank, and replaced the septic tank pump.  yummy.

Since I am the only condo-owner in my building - the other 2 units are rented - I have taken the responsibility of insuring that the pump is plugged in and operating.  Since I installed the bucket last spring - blatantly copying my neighbors - the bucket has done a wonderful job of protecting the outlet.  I've checked it several times over the past several months and the outlet and plug have been undisturbed.

Late last month my toilets were flushing reluctantly and there was an awful....AROMA...in the backyard, so I stomped over to the bucket in my bare feet and picked it up.  The pump was plugged in, but there was a lot of...water...all around the area.  I then stepped carefully to our building about 20 feet away and opened the circuit breaker box - AHA!  The breaker had flipped off.  I flipped it on.  Sparks flew and it flipped itself off.  I screamed like a banshee.  Luckily the ground was dry by the house or I might have fried myself.

After I recovered from my brief trauma AND scrubbed my feet and legs with antibiotic soap, I called the septic tank people.  The next afternoon a repairman came out and dug up that small portion of the yard.  He got the job done in about an hour.  When I was writing him a check for the new pump, he asked me if I'd ever seen the snake living under the bucket.

What?

"Oh, yea," he said.  "He's got a burrow under that bucket.  He's green and brown and kept peeking out at me while I was working."  My hand shook as I finished writing the check.

I don't care if we get 24 inches of rain.  I don't care if water erupts from every drain in my home.  I don't care if I have to use the public bathroom in Publix for the rest of my life.  I am NEVER NEVER NEVER going near that bucket again.

NATURE VS NURTURE: PART DOS

Just 2 or 3 weeks ago I was in the kitchen where I work fixing a cup of coffee to take back to the office.  Carolee is the kitchen assistant and part-time chef.  This particular morning she rushed into the kitchen in an absolute frenzy.  She looked possessed.  

"I don't know how I'm ever going to get home," she muttered.  "Is it on me?  Do you see anything on me?"

"No, you look fine," I answered.

"No, I mean, do you see anything ON me?" she asked.  She was brushing her hands up and down her clothes and running them through her hair.

I checked her over.

"No, nothing," I reassured her.

"Good," Carolee said, but she wasn't convincing.  "That means he's still in the car.  How am I ever going to get home?"

Bit by bit her story emerged.

Carolee has to be at work at 7am when she is the kitchen assistant; that means leaving her home in Flagler Beach before 6:15.  This time of year it is still very dark at until almost 7:00.  That morning she got into her car and headed north on A1A to St. Augustine.  A1A runs along the ocean part of the way, then veers inland through the Hammock, a heavily wooded area, then runs back along the ocean. For most of the trip it is dark; there are few lights until you enter St. Augustine Beach.

Carolee was zipping along just minding her own business when she passed a an open and well-lit gas station.  Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something on her rear view mirror.  A second horrified look confirmed that it was a ... banana spider!  
 

At nearly the same instant that she identified the THING on her rear view mirror she passed into the darkness of the Hammock. She careened along A1A terrified that monster was going to jump on her.  She couldn't stop.  What was she going to do?  It was pitch black on the two-lane road; she'd get run over!  (Besides, if she stopped in the woods in the dark and got out of the car how many BUGS, SNAKES, GATORS, ETC. would be waiting for THEIR CHANCE to attack her on the side of the road?)  She squeezed over against the door and kept staring back and forth between the road and the dark rear view mirror.  Was it still there?  Was it looking at her?  What if it was gone?  Where was it?

She rocketed out of the Hammock, past Marineland, and into the brief spot where A1A widens and has street lights next to 3 high rise condominiums.  THERE HE WAS!  He had spun a short web and was HANGING FROM THE REAR VIEW MIRROR.  OMG!  If she took a curve too fast he would start swinging and swing RIGHT INTO HER FACE!!!!

The street lights disappeared behind her; she and her passenger were thrown into pitch darkness again.  She slowed a bit so she could navigate curves without causing the spider to sway or swing.  She couldn't see him at all and hoped against hope that she wouldn't FEEL anything for the next several miles while she pushed ahead in the dark. 

When she entered St. Augustine Beach and the accompanying street lights she looked for the spider; he was gone.  GONE?  Where was he?  She looked all around and twisted and fidgeted in her seat; one minute tensing because she thought she felt something, the next minute brushing herself off frantically.  For the next terrifying 6-8 miles she looked in vain for that spider - and dreaded feeling him on her leg or in her hair or on her arm, or ON HER NECK or ON HER FACE.

The sun was rising as she crossed the temporary bridge over the Matanzas  River into St. Augustine and there he was!  He was scuttling across her headliner "about 90 mph!".  Thank God, he was running AWAY from her.  She hurtled the last couple miles through town and down the cobblestoned and very bumpy St. George Street and into our parking lot.  She slammed on the brakes, turned off her car, opened the door, and tried frantically to get out of her car.  SOMETHING WAS HOLDING HER IN AND WOULDN'T LET GO!  It was her seatbelt.  She jammed the release button and almost fell out of her car.  She slammed the door shut and stood there for several minutes, just glad to be alive and spider-free.

I really tried not to laugh, because it could have been me and I would have been just as upset, but, the truth is, it wasn't me and I started laughing and couldn't stop.  That morning she didn't see any humor in the situation.  She demanded to know how she was going to get home; I suggested she leave her windows down so he could get out.

"NO!" Carolee said.  "Do you know how many creepy-crawlies live in the parking lot?"

I didn't have any more suggestions so I patted her shoulder and took my coffee back to the office.  I ran my fingers through my hair and brushed off my arms a couple times on the way.

I don't want to say Carolee was obsessed with this banana spider, but she admitted later she asked everyone that morning for an answer to her dilemma.  I don't think she met with too many sympathetic responses.  After breakfast service ended she asked Mike, our maintenance guy, if he had any bug spray.  He gave her a big can of Raid.  Carolee opened the hatch of her Yarus, aimed and fired.  She DRENCHED her car.  She said she could see the spray clinging to some webs in there, so she knew the banana spider had been busy.  She shut the hatch, then opened her driver's side door and DRENCHED her car in poison.  She sprayed until the can was empty.  Then she shut the door and went back to work.

When it was time to go home she took a couple of rags and used them to wipe her seat and the steering wheel.  She rolled down her window, but left the others up.  She drove home with her interior reeking of poison, one window down, and the air conditioner blowing full blast.  She didn't see the spider.  (That much poison probably disintegrated him!)  She had been home for about an hour when her significant other Russ said he was going to take the car to run an errand.  "OK," she answered.

When Russ returned he wanted to know what the HELL happened to her her car!  His hands were all sticky from the door, the steering wheel, the controls.  The interior was covered in something sticky and gross!  What was it?  She told him that if he ever LISTENED to her that he would know it was RAID and that she had bombed the car's interior to kill a spider.

Russell took the car to a car wash place and the rumor is he used the high velocity spray to clean the interior.  He never saw the spider.

NATURE VS NURTURE: PART I

There are many good things about Florida.  There are many bad things about Florida.  Pictured to the left you see one of the VERY BAD things about Florida.  This Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake was found in a neighborhood in St. Augustine a couple weeks ago.  This picture was on the front page of the St. Augustine Record and, after seeing it, I had the most incredible case of heebie-jeebies I've ever had.  The heebie-jeebies lasted about a week.

If you are unfamiliar with this particular disorder, heebie-jeebies manifests itself as phantom caresses on your legs, the urge to brush your fingers through your hair 476 times a day, nervous tics, and unexplained shudders.  In addition to the physical symptoms the victim also experiences severe psychological fears and behaviors such as:

• Fear of getting in your car in the dark, so you turn on the overhead light to make sure you are alone; you then peer in the back seat, and under your seat, and up near the gas pedal until you start to feel foolish;
  
• Fear of missing what was hiding in your car in the dark and is now slithering or crawling out from its hiding place, so you turn on the overhead light while you are driving AND talking on your cell phone and nervously look on the floor near your feet where you can't see anyway;
• Fear of stepping on some creature while walking your FLB* (your beloved terrier Harley) so you carry a flashlight and shine it where you are going to step, but still shriek when you almost step on the large brown and gray toad who lives near the back door;
• Fear of a tree frog (with little suckers on the end of its legs!) springing onto you as you enter or leave your home so you watch for tree frogs (several live on my back wall) and dash in or out if the heebie-jeebies is especially strong that evening.   Of course the FLB* (your beloved terrier Harley) doesn't help you dash as he is sniffing the large toad sitting near the door and you trip over him and almost fall onto the walkway thinking all the time that the toad is going to leap on your leg while the tree frogs leap onto your head and STICK to your HAIR.
  

Don't pooh-pooh.  The week before this HUGE MONSTER RATTLESNAKE was found, a young woman in Jacksonville rented a car and, when she opened the door and started to slide in, discovered a 3-foot-long red snake lying on her dash sunning himself in the window.  The car rental company had no idea how it got in there.  (HEY STUPID! SOMEONE LEFT THE DOOR OPEN OR THE WINDOWS DOWN!)

Excuse me; I'm hyperventilating.  (nice yoga breath) (again)

To finish the above stories and not leave you hanging, the young woman received a replacement rental car but was very uncomfortable driving it.  (Beginner's heebie-jeebies.)

The 7'3" rattlesnake (the record size is 8'...what a bummer right?) was killed by a trapper who "rolled it up like a hose", stuck it in a sack, threw it in his truck, and drove off.  The trapper was found a couple days later by a reporter and, when asked why he killed the snake instead of capturing it, said, "I was always brought up that the only good poisonous snake is a dead poisonous snake."  I wonder if he is married....   He took the dead snake to a muffler dealer who makes things (ew.) out of snakeskin and traded it for a future car repair.  (I take back the married comment; the darn snake was worth $100 per foot to some dealers.)

This evening when I walked the FLB* (sweet baby Harley) I opened my mailbox and started to pull out the one envelope that was in there.  Suddenly I realized SOMETHING WAS RIDING ON THE ENVELOPE.  I know there are people out there who will not believe this, but I did not scream like a wounded hyena and leap around the mailbox!  I calmly flicked the envelope so that the small frog - yes it was only a frog - hopped off the envelope and out of the hole in the back of my mailbox.

I hope the FLB* (my precious darling terrier Harley) can hold it until morning; I'm twitching and jerking too much to take him out again tonight. Can we say RELAPSE!?!

*FLB=freakin' little bastard

Growing Up with Kinsey

Kinsey (my granddaughter) is spending the night with me tonight.  Her 3rd birthday is this Thursday and I have really seen a lot of changes in her in the past few months.  Her vocal skills have gone from gibberish to clear sentences.  The "why" questions have started; they're almost a reflex with her now.  The big surprise is the fear that has shown itself at unexpected times.

Since she was a teeny tiny thing she has loved the carousel and always ridden on a horse with an adult standing next to her and holding her tightly.  That is until a couple months ago when she and I picked out a horse and suddenly she didn't want to ride it.  We tried another one, but that didn't work either!  For the first time in her life she wanted to ride sitting on one of the benches and me holding her tightly and reassuring her that she was OK. 

Last week I met my daughter and Kinsey at the park and we went right to the swings.  Again she has loved the swings and always wanted to go really high.  Her mom put her in the swing and started to push her and she freaked out, "No!!!!!!!!"  That afternoon she only wanted to swing very slowly and have "little pushes". 

I seem to remember this "stage" with my own girls- it's like all of a sudden their awareness of the world around them kicks in and they realize the world is a big, scary place.  Tonight we went out to my car after dark to put the roof up (it's a convertible and it was sunny and in the 80's this evening so we cruised a bit after dinner....) and we were talking about seeing the moon and stars and all of a sudden she had her face buried in my waist and she wanted to be picked up.  She hid her face in her hands like she was scared of the dark.

What a conundrum for her!  Just as she is truly mobile and vocal and ready to explore the big, wonderful world, the world becomes a very scary place!  It's a tough job for parents to guide them through this stage - too much protecting and they may remain timid and tentative throughout childhood - not enough understanding and kindness and they are now scared and can't count on anyone to protect them.  Glad I've already been through the parent thing.  It takes a LOT of patience.  As her grandmother (or Grenah as she calls me) I can listen to her and love her and cajole her - and then in the morning give her back to her mom.

I can so relate to her fear.  As an adult it seems ridiculous that last week she was fine outside after dark and tonight she was clinging to me like a tree frog.  Yet it seems ridiculous to me that I can have feelings of anxiety - vague feelings of dread - when I'm driving home from work.   Or even at work.  Or anytime.  So I am learning to listen to myself, love myself, and cajole myself...and not INDULGE or OVERINDULGE myself.

It's almost bedtime and I've got to put a waterproof mattress pad on my bed, so I'll be going.  But will share a couple pics from tonight.