Sometimes I think I’m living in the Twilight Zone. A few nights back, as I was sitting my room, I got a text from YA. Getting a text from YA isn’t all the bizarre, although getting a text from her when she is in the next room strikes me as a bit on the weird side.
However, this was the text:
“Will you get some kitty treats and put them under the bathroom door?”
If you want to get my attention, that’s the way to do it.
Turns out she had decided that Nimue needed a bath and it was the point in the process in which Nimue was indicating that her patience had been worn out. In addition to trying to open the bathroom door from the inside, she wasn’t cooperating with the blow drying part of the evening.
As you can see from the picture above, kitty treats weren’t her highest priority right then. She was not a happy wet kitty.
And it got worse from there because then there needed to be brushing. Nimue can tolerate brushing on her head and her face and even down her back but she draws the line (and occasionally blood) if you get near her back haunches. Those are strictly her territory. I didn’t hear any actual howling or hissing, but I did hear some grumbling and growling. Luckily all her bad humor was for YA and as soon as she escaped the bathroom torture chamber, she was very glad to sit on my lap and get petted and cosseted.
Are you a bath or shower person? Or just a quick dunk under the hose?
Our daughter has two cats, and is entirely besotted by the younger one who she named Percy. He is a handsome tuxedo boy, He is very naughty, knocked over her television and busted it, and likes to make huge leaps into her garbage can because he likes the way the lid swings back and forth. He gets a lot of baths as a result, since he gets so dirty. He hides his toys in her bed.
The other day, daughter was expressing how much she loved this cat, and described him as her “Alpha and Omega”. I was surprised and gratified to hear her say that, only because it confirmed for me that dragging our children to church all those years was worth it. I guess she was listening and I didn’t even know it. I suppose I would rather she describe the Lord, and not her cat, in such terms, but it is a positive start.
What naughty animals have you loved in spite of themselves? Who has surprised you in a good way lately? What or who is your Alpha and Omega?
At this time of year when you wake up to ice and snow, you have to work hard to find the fun in it. I’ve been very crabby the last week (due to work) and boy, did the crummy weather not help. All morning I was kind of fuming about it.
YA goes into the office on Wednesdays (although starting next week, we both have to go in on Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday). When she drives, she turns her car around near the garage so that she goes headfirst down the driveway. When I went out over lunch to do a couple of errands, the tracks that her car made in the ice were kind of pretty, like the work of a modern artist working in an unusual lmedium. It was just the lift that my spirits needed.
Have you seen anything that struck you as “artsy” recently?
Girl Scout Cookies came up in conversation yesterday. I sold GS cookie as a kid and was the Cookie Mom for several years when YA was in scouting. I am aware that as cookies go, they are extraordinarily expensive, but I’ve always thought of them as more of a charity than a fair purchase. Any time I see Girl Scouts selling cookies, I buy a box or two. The grocery store, the hardware store, at my office and from the grand-daughter of a friend of mine.
This year that habit netted us well over 12 boxes of cookies. We tried all the new ones (none of them passed the “we’ll buy them again next year” test). YA’s favorites are Thin Mints and PB Patties. Mine are Samoas and Shortbreads. But clearly neither of us are as enamored of the cookies this year as we have been in the past. I still have 2 boxes of the Shortbread sitting on the counter and have googled what I could do with them (I did get a good idea for something to put in spring baskets this year – I’ll take a picture in April when it happens). YA has a box of PB that has been opened but clearly not touched for at least a week and there is a half a package of the Lemonades in a ziplock that no one has touched for quite some time. (Don’t get me started on the packaging for the Lemonades and the French Toast – it’s criminal!) I’m pretty sure the Lemonades are going to get tossed.
It’s making me re-think my strategy where GS cookies are concerned. Maybe if I run across Girl Scouts who are selling, I should just buy one box. And buy fewer from my friend’s grand-daughter. And maybe pass on signs I see up at the office. Because even if I just think of them as a charity, it bugs me to throw out cookies or to finish a box just because we have too many of them. At least I have a year to refine how I’m going to handle this next time.
Do you have too many of anything in your house because it’s a good cause?
Cold again this week. The farmers’ spring excitement has tempered a bit this week. Next week it will be back.
Tuesday was such a nice day, Kelly and I went out and took down the snow fence we so carefully put up last November. The mid- December storms shredded up 80% of it and the weather turned too cold to fix. We had more snow in the road this year because of it, and it made me realize how useful the snow fence is and why we put it up every year. I was tired of looking at the remains of it and we got it picked up. The dogs helped.
The ducks have split into their summer groups; Mostly the fliers and the non-fliers, but there might be some other sort of grouping that I haven’t figure out yet. It makes it hard to get a good count on them. But I did see 6 mallards take off and then 7 more took off. And still got 2 poufs, 3 cream, 4 black… and some others.
The chickens are enjoying the grass again. And leftovers. And they like when I fill the bird feeders.
Kelly and I saw ‘Hadestown’ last week at the Orpheum. Boy, was that good. And my friend Jerry and I saw Colin Hay at the Pantages. Colin Hay was the lead singer for ‘Men at Work’ way back when. I saw them in concert way back when.
I should have found this picture of the barn for Wednesday’s article about selling the cows.
Dinner at Olive Garden Wednesday night was yummy
I know some of you read ‘Independently Speaking’ by Brent Olson. His latest article is in the same vein as I’ve written about lately. Getting machinery ready and being in town before the stores are open. We’re both still farmers at heart. www.brentolson.online He’s also on FB as ‘Independently Speaking’. He’s got great stories. Colin Hay told some stories too.
Pies, donuts, chairs, cows, dogs. We’ve had it all this week.
What’s in your fridge and what are you making for supper? What do you WANT for supper?
I wrote this story 18 years ago when I sold the milk cows. Been a lot of changes since then. I don’t regret any of them. I notice I wrote my knees and shoulders hurt back then. Can’t imagine what they’d be like today if I was still milking. I just couldn’t; I’d have never physically been able to do it this long.
Nevermore
Today I’m not a dairy farmer anymore. Sold the milk cows. The cows were my friends and I was sad to see them loaded into the truck and leave… but it was just time. And I have to say that now that it’s over and done, I feel a million pounds lighter; a giant weight off my shoulders.
The cows were a big part of my life–and had been since, like, forever; I was always down in the barn growing up. Started helping Dad with milking when I was 10 years old. I was the fourth generation to be milking cows here. My Great Grandfather came to this farm in 1896. Built the old barn we call the granary in 1899. The first part of the dairy barn was built in 1924. Dad added onto it a couple times in the 1940’s and 50’s.
Mom and Dad built a silo in 1968, built another in 1976, built the pole barn, tore off part of the granary, built a couple machine sheds, and knocked down an old smaller silo. Mom and Dad also tore down the old house and built a new one.
You all know I gave my cows some rather… esoteric names… The auctioneer has a list of the cows coming in and sometimes he could read the ear tag and know who’s selling and other times I’m calling out names as they’re coming in: Erica, Louise, Lynnette, Kaylannii (auctioneer shakes his head), Comet, Antigone — which, of course he pronounced ‘Annti – gone’ and I had to say (phonetically here), “An-tig-o-knee; daughter of Oedipus from Greek mythology.”………. silence in the ring………. auctioneer says, “Ohh-kay…” Guy in front of me turns around and says “I don’t think they got that…” And Lynne Cow. The cow I named after Lynne Warfel-Holt, classical music host at Minnesota Public Radio. I told who she was named for and asked whoever bought her to please contact MPR and let Lynne know they were the new owner. They worked pretty hard at selling her. Kept saying she’s the only radio cow in there today. Ya know, I may not have had the best cows, but they sure had personality! And the auction people had more fun selling my cows then they did the rest of the cows!!
It was just time to do it. Kelly and I had been talking about selling, and weighing the pros and cons; definitely more pros to selling them than cons. (But the little voice way in the back of my head keeps saying “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”) Hey, supper at 6:00, vacations, maybe my knees will still function in a few years, doing more things with the kids, maybe my shoulders will feel better, VACATIONS, etc.
Primarily it was a financial decision. Milk prices have been in the toilet the last two years. I was low on cow numbers the last 6 months and the price of replacement heifers is — and has been for the last couple years — just insanely high and getting higher. Supply and demand principles for cattle I guess. I have bought some cows, and got some bargains, but there’s no guarantee that a $1700 heifer will milk any better than an $800 heifer. I bought 3 cows and 1 heifer last spring; paid between $600 and $825 for the cows, $1150 for the heifer. All three cows turned out to be duds and two were gone by fall. I still had one of the cows, but she had to have a C-section and would not be bred back. The fancy heifer I still had but she had been bred back 4 times and I don’t think she was pregnant yet. And in the milking world it all comes down to getting pregnant and producing milk. Last week was a new high price for heifers in Zumbrota; $2260.00 for one pregnant cow. The previous high price was set just the week before. [2004 pricing]
I went to Zumbrota last week to see how cows were selling and to let them know I was interested in selling mine this week. I met with the sales manager and he escorted me into the front office, shut the office door and took my information (how many, herd averages, stanchion cows (as opposed to parlor cows)) and then he made several comments about how this is what they were expecting now and my name wouldn’t be on any of the presale publicity lest we trigger any ‘radio bandits’; people that would try to buy them before the sale to avoid the sales barn commissions. I got the distinct impression that he was trying to emphasis how confidential all this was. I went out and talked with a trucker I know about bringing my cows in and he acted the same way. It was very surreal how he kept scanning the parking lot, talking very quietly; even surreptitiously gave me papers behind his back. … very strange.
I’ll miss that big glass jar in the milkhouse called the receiver jar. It’s what the milk would come into from the pipes in the barn, before being pumped over to the bulk tank. When I was growing up and Dad and I would go to other farms, it was that glass jar that I was just fascinated with; watching the milk rush into that jar, I knew I had to be a dairy farmer so I could have that big glass jar. When we installed a different pipeline system about 12 years ago [1992] the dealer wanted me to put in a stainless steel can. I said no way; I want that glass jar! If you haven’t seen it, it’s a tempered glass globe about 18 inches in diameter. There are four glass inlets molded into it about 6 inches long; one at the bottom that the milk is pumped out through, the one at the top is the vacuum inlet and one on each side connects to the milk pipeline that runs into the barn. The deal is you don’t mess with the connections between the glass jar and the other pipe; don’t want to break that outlet off the glass jar. Dealers were supposed to have an extra jar, but I never wanted to find out. Bad enough when a motor would quite at milking time and you had to call the dealer to make a ‘barn call’. Like a plumber in the middle of the night; it wasn’t cheap.
The night the cows sold we all went to Olive Garden for supper; that in and of itself no big deal. But we went at 6:00PM; ate like normal people. Got home it was only 7:30 and the kids still had time to shower and do homework. I took the kids to daycare before school this morning. Then went to Barnes and Noble (closed until 9:00) so got license tabs for the car, went to the chiropractor who was very pleased to hear I had sold the cows, filled the car with gas, went to Best Buy (closed until 10:00).
Finishing up here with aphorism’s that seemed appropriate for the time:
—One door never closes without another opening.
From the Tom Petty song ‘Into the Great Wide Open’ these two phrases:
—The future is wide open. —The skies the limit.
3/23/2004
What were you fascinated by as a kid that influenced you in your adult years?
Even though I didn’t celebrate Pi Day the way I would have preferred (lots of pies, lots of party), I did pull some pie dough out of the freezer and picked up some frozen blueberries last weekend. My plan was to make a blueberry pie – YA’s favorite – on Monday over my lunch. Blueberry is about the easiest pie out there – no slicing of anything, no fancy ingredients, nothing that needs to marinate or rise. If you cheat, like I often do w/ pre-made pie dough, it’s about a 10-minute project before you’re slipping the pie plate into the oven.
Unfortunately last week was a little stressful to say the least and my lunch “hour” on Monday ended up being an 8-minute cheese sandwich (that includes the making and eating of said sandwich). So pie didn’t happen. And you all know that when I’m busy at this time of year I don’t have much energy at the end of the day. Daylight savings helps a little but not enough. YA asked about the pie a couple of times the next few days and finally on Friday I told her I’d work on it over the weekend.
Friday night I was wallowing after a 10-hour work day, in my jammies at 7 with a book in hand when I smelled the aroma of baking wafting up from the downstairs. YA likes to do her cooking and baking in the evening and it smelled good but I didn’t wander down to see what she was doing. I was actually a little surprised when she came upstairs later and announced she had made a blueberry pie. I don’t remember her ever making a pie on her own; actually I don’t remember her ever even being involved in pie making. Of course, I can’t trust my memory on this – heck I can’t even remember the Wordle word an hour later!
I asked her if it tasted good and she said she had put it in the fridge to cool down. When I got up on Saturday I was surprised to see a whole pie in the fridge; I assumed she would have a piece before she went to bed (which is always later than me). But it was still whole and gorgeous. Not only did she weave the lattice crust, the lattice pieces were really even; she had clearly used one of my pastry cutters. Sure enough there is was in the sink (waiting to be washed).
She knew I had a pastry cutter for lattice work? I had a quick thought that maybe aliens came down and helped her, but I do actually know better. So may surprises with YA. And among all this fun news – the pie tastes great as well!
If an alien came to help you, what project would you like assistance on?
Husband was highly gratified yesterday to get an email from a local soil scientist who works for the FPAC-NRCS office in town. That is the soil conservation branch of the US Department of Agriculture, and they work with local ranchers and farmers to promote soil and water conservation. The sender of the email had heard through the local grapevine that Husband was a passionate proponent of urban agriculture, and she needed his advice putting together some soil health teaching/demonstrations to help local urban gardeners improve their garden soil and increase their production. She explained she was new to the area and was more familiar with the soil issues of area ranchers than she was with those of urban gardeners and the peculiarities of our local urban soil. Husband replied he would be happy to help.
We are usually asked for our expert opinions by the Court regarding rather sad and troubling situations. This was a delightful change. Also delightful was figuring out how on earth she got our email. It involved a tangled pathway from former clients, the Food Pantry, a pastor of a Lutheran church we don’t attend, and the pastor’s mother in law who is one our our fellow parishioners. Living in a small town can be quite interesting.
What could you provide expert advice on? What are the informal pathways that news and information travel in your family and community?
Husband has a sentimental attachment to the old wooden spoons he likes to use for cooking. I think they are filthy havens for germs and bacteria. He thinks I am cold hearted and unreasonable. I have tried enticing him with attractive, laminated bamboo ones. He likes them, sort of, but we can’t find them in just the right size to replace his smallest wooden spoon. The same goes for the silicon spoons- they are just not the right size.
I suppose I have sentimental attachments to silly things, too, like my mother’s old costume jewelry that I never wear, or my father’s china pug figurine. I would think Husband cold hearted and unreasonable if he wanted me to get rid of them. There was a very funny article in the New Yorker this week by Patricia Marx about ways to get rid of your possessions. She laments all the possessions we Boomers have, and how our children don’t want them. I do hope my children don’t have a sentimental attachment to the wooden spoons just because their dad did, and they toss them when we are gone if I haven’t managed to toss them out first. That pug figurine, now, is something special!
What silly things so you have sentimental attachments to. What do you look for in a kitchen spoon? What is your favorite kitchen spoon?
You probably all know that I’m a bit of a grouch where movies based on books are concerned. And for some reason especially where Agatha Christie is concerned (I’m not really sure why). The Albert Finney Murder on the Orient Express is good, very close to the book. The Kenneth Branagh version – meh.
But my favorite AG movies are the Peter Ustinov Death on the Nile as well as the David Suchet version from the PBS Poirot series. The PU leaves out the secondary plot but the DS messes with the characters’ motives. But I love them both and we won’t discuss how many times I’ve seen them (great background for while I’m in my studio).
I’ve known for many months that Kenneth Branagh’s Death on the Nile was looming and the trailers that I found online were a bit alarming but nonetheless YA and I ventured out last weekend to see it. Maybe I would be pleasantly surprised; after all it’s a fabulous story, how could you mess it up?
As YA and I drove to the theatre I promised her that I would not talk during the movie as I know she hates that. Then she said “and if you don’t like it, no big sighs”. Guess she’s been to that rodeo before! We bought our snacks and settled down in our seats.
I knew in the first 5 seconds that we were in trouble. It won’t be a spoiler alert to say that Agatha Christie NEVER gave Hercule Poirot a backstory. And a jazz nightclub in Paris? Nope. And I can’t even talk about how far off script the various characters were. I suppose there is something to be said about bringing a fresh coat of paint to something, but Branagh completely disassembled the furniture before adding paint. And I’m pretty sure that no tourist boat in Egypt in the 30s was staffed with scores of young, white women in shorts.
I will say that the visuals were stunning. And I will give the movie makers their due on Abu Simbel. They show the temple right at the water’s edge, which is the original location. (The temple was moved to higher ground in the mid-60s.) The PU version didn’t get this right and the DS version didn’t even have an Abu Simbel scene.
It was SO hard not to sigh and then it turns out that I could have. As we left the theatre, YA said “who was the murderer”; she had fallen asleep. When we figured out how far back she had fallen asleep, I could have sighed for at least 20 minutes!
Any remakes that make you shudder or that you like better than the original?
Trail Baboon 