Well, lately I've just been taking films and shots and posting them.
For just photos, you want to check out: www.flickr.com/photos/stinz
For films, the following:
For Chito Beach Resort's moment in film history (hi, Pat!): http://www.youtube.com/?v=Ft0P39nzE-w
Makah Days! And me dancing: http://www.youtube.com/?v=IDbMulREqOw
Smoking Fish: http://www.youtube.com/?v=OvS9vAEm7PE
Bone Gaming: http://www.youtube.com/?v=M_wtfl41Xbc
Or you can just go to www.youtube.com and search for "Rummelhart."
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Dead Fish
Okay... so now the seals are catching our fish for us.
Before you ask, just consider that our old cat Spuds needs raw fish to make him happy. He's old -- as said -- he has a growth on his nose. So he gets when he wants.
So I was down at the beach yesterday, gathering mussels off the reef to catch him fresh greenling in the evening. The tide was mass out, so I wander a little further out, in search of scallops. Whoops. The summer seaweed growth soon stopped that -- I was asking for a broken neck horsing around on anything that slippery.
I was heading back when I spotted a 15-inch fish floating in a clear tide pool. With absolutely none of my old city squeamishness, I went and picked the fish up. No head -- had been ripped off, and took all the guts, neat as neat. Seal job. They'll take the head and guts sometimes, leave the rest to feed other predators, or the plankton (no waste in nature). I scrubbed off the body and pulled out excess membrane still clinging to the white flesh. Smelled of it, inside and out -- nice and fresh. Why not? It had probably been beheaded that morning, and floated under the surface of icy water ever since.
When I got it home, we quickly identified the fish with the fish book. Pacific Hake, or Whiting. Filleted and skinned it. Soft flesh. Yup. Hake. Put the raw fillets on a plate in the fridge.
Since then, everybody in the cat tribe has had a nip at it -- but they got tired of it. And it wasn't drying as well as the greenling fillets I already had on a towel on a plate in the fridge. So figured I better cook what was left.
Cooked up nice. Really white, sweet fish. Mixed it with noodles and lentils, hot sauce, tomatoes, olive oil, vinegar. Tasty.
So now the seals are catching our fish for us.
Okay... so now the seals are catching our fish for us.
Before you ask, just consider that our old cat Spuds needs raw fish to make him happy. He's old -- as said -- he has a growth on his nose. So he gets when he wants.
So I was down at the beach yesterday, gathering mussels off the reef to catch him fresh greenling in the evening. The tide was mass out, so I wander a little further out, in search of scallops. Whoops. The summer seaweed growth soon stopped that -- I was asking for a broken neck horsing around on anything that slippery.
I was heading back when I spotted a 15-inch fish floating in a clear tide pool. With absolutely none of my old city squeamishness, I went and picked the fish up. No head -- had been ripped off, and took all the guts, neat as neat. Seal job. They'll take the head and guts sometimes, leave the rest to feed other predators, or the plankton (no waste in nature). I scrubbed off the body and pulled out excess membrane still clinging to the white flesh. Smelled of it, inside and out -- nice and fresh. Why not? It had probably been beheaded that morning, and floated under the surface of icy water ever since.
When I got it home, we quickly identified the fish with the fish book. Pacific Hake, or Whiting. Filleted and skinned it. Soft flesh. Yup. Hake. Put the raw fillets on a plate in the fridge.
Since then, everybody in the cat tribe has had a nip at it -- but they got tired of it. And it wasn't drying as well as the greenling fillets I already had on a towel on a plate in the fridge. So figured I better cook what was left.
Cooked up nice. Really white, sweet fish. Mixed it with noodles and lentils, hot sauce, tomatoes, olive oil, vinegar. Tasty.
So now the seals are catching our fish for us.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Goodbye, Spuds
When we moved to Clallam Bay, the former owner begged us to take her old grey and white cat, "Spuds." We did, and we love him dearly. He is such a very sweet purry old character.
But Spuds spent a lifetime lazing in the sun, so now he has what our vet very much suspects is a squamous nasal sarcoma (and research on the net turned up photos that look the same for the condition, or rather, much more advanced cases).
Our vet says he hasn't the capabilities for the surgery. The nearest veterinary surgeon he could refer us to for this treatment is in Seattle. Clallam Bay is far out on the Olympic Penninsula (www.mapquest.com), and we don't have a car right now (working on that!), and I have to go to Boston for major dental surgery, myself.
We're keeping Spud's condition down with steroid shots and antibiotics, just for the tissue damage, and the vet is going to give us some cream to keep down the pain and infection. But it doesn't look good.
Spuds is 17. He's not suffering yet, but we don't want him to, either. If a month or two more of decent life in front of the wood stove is all he's got, we can accept that, too. We want to do what's right for this good old cat (we've got a number of cats, and have gone through several animal deaths, including those from old age and various traumas). And any treatment we've found will either endanger his eyes (radiation) or make him vomit (chemicals). That's not how to spend the last days of his life. Hell, Dan and I have living wills so no one will do it to us.
So Spuds is out in the yard, basking in the sun, waiting for winter.
When we moved to Clallam Bay, the former owner begged us to take her old grey and white cat, "Spuds." We did, and we love him dearly. He is such a very sweet purry old character.
But Spuds spent a lifetime lazing in the sun, so now he has what our vet very much suspects is a squamous nasal sarcoma (and research on the net turned up photos that look the same for the condition, or rather, much more advanced cases).
Our vet says he hasn't the capabilities for the surgery. The nearest veterinary surgeon he could refer us to for this treatment is in Seattle. Clallam Bay is far out on the Olympic Penninsula (www.mapquest.com), and we don't have a car right now (working on that!), and I have to go to Boston for major dental surgery, myself.
We're keeping Spud's condition down with steroid shots and antibiotics, just for the tissue damage, and the vet is going to give us some cream to keep down the pain and infection. But it doesn't look good.
Spuds is 17. He's not suffering yet, but we don't want him to, either. If a month or two more of decent life in front of the wood stove is all he's got, we can accept that, too. We want to do what's right for this good old cat (we've got a number of cats, and have gone through several animal deaths, including those from old age and various traumas). And any treatment we've found will either endanger his eyes (radiation) or make him vomit (chemicals). That's not how to spend the last days of his life. Hell, Dan and I have living wills so no one will do it to us.
So Spuds is out in the yard, basking in the sun, waiting for winter.
Nose Cancer
Oh, man. It looks like that cat I was talking about -- Spuds, with the nose problem-- has a nasal squamous sarcoma. In other words, a cancerous growth in the nose. Pink-nosed cats who lay in the sun all day long until they are bleached -- like Spuds does -- get this.
Our vet can't just cut it out. The only oncologists who can are in Seattle. No, we don't have a car, yet.
And Spuds is 17 years old. Any treatment at all may allow survival from a month to 36 months, according to what I can find on the net. And of course, it costs an arm and a leg (one does not ignore the $$ problem on health care).
He's still cheerful, but these things can get ugly and painful fast. The photos on the net are UGLY. This poor old cat does not deserve this.
Oh, man. It looks like that cat I was talking about -- Spuds, with the nose problem-- has a nasal squamous sarcoma. In other words, a cancerous growth in the nose. Pink-nosed cats who lay in the sun all day long until they are bleached -- like Spuds does -- get this.
Our vet can't just cut it out. The only oncologists who can are in Seattle. No, we don't have a car, yet.
And Spuds is 17 years old. Any treatment at all may allow survival from a month to 36 months, according to what I can find on the net. And of course, it costs an arm and a leg (one does not ignore the $$ problem on health care).
He's still cheerful, but these things can get ugly and painful fast. The photos on the net are UGLY. This poor old cat does not deserve this.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Update
Okay. Now we need a new roof.
BUT --
I got Dan working on that one. He's supposed to be finding estimates and looking up $$ on www.grants.gov Hey, I said I would do the roof and just pay for the materials (Hartnagels Truevalue Hardware in Port Angeles has a Pink Tool Apron program in which women who do a project and take photos and do descriptions for their website get the materials for contractor's prices). But Dan, who has done work with his Dad, said NOOOOO, that would leak. Rini Duncan next door said she did a roof when she'd never done any such thing, with -- was it her brother? - and a female friend - and the guys' side of the roof leaked, and the girls' side didn't. Well, of course, females are detail-minded. Or anal. Picky picky picky gets you a dry roof. But Dan is insisting we hire a crew and I said, "Okay, you want a crew -- YOU FIND THE MONEY." Deal.
The car is fixed (clutch was shot -- but it had a billion miles on it!), and Bugmasters in Seattle is working on finding a buyer. I've got it up at www.craigslist.com under Seattle and Cars.
Working on getting a new car -- that's in the pipeline. In the meantime, using the incredible Clallam County bus system. From now on, in the summer, it's the bus. TOO nice, and no messing with vacation traffic.
New fridge! Neat little apartment size one, that uses $20.00 less a month in power. Full of beer, bait and smoked salmon.
Mouth is a mess -- ancient rotting hole in my face from a dead nerve UNDER a crown (why do I never feel these things?) and busted another tooth. Local doc gave me antibiotics to hold me, and said the busted tooth was fine -- the filling is still good.
But -- I need an endodontist.
Working on flying to Boston where endodontists are MUCH cheaper, and staying with friends who want me there, too (and make incredible fried chicken) -- fix the mouth, have loads of fun visiting (publish a book while I'm there, because I'll be forced to work on it, having no other computer access. Use www.lulu.com), AND -- if it works out -- set up a book signing tour for Permanent Party (www.booksurge.com). Oh, and go to horse shows to learn more about this incredible new camera.
I need to be cloned.
Did I tell you about the camera? A reader went a little crazy and got me a Nikon CoolPix 8700 and a full kit -- including extra lithium batteries, storage disks or whatever those are called, tripods, fancy carrying cases -- JEEZE! I'm still in shock.
And all he wants in return is I learn to be a photographer. John Brewer at the Penninsula Daily News says that as soon as I get a car, he'll buy me lunch. Because with a car and this camera, I can even take FILMS. I'm going to figure out how to get those up on the blog.
AND learned how to smoke salmon with little work or mess -- and it's the best smoked salmon EVER. And my smoker is a bunch of old two-buy fours and broken concrete brick and some cedar shakes and some old racks, and I use little bits of driftwood to smoke.
Just picked up free advertising with a publisher who ain't much now but I'm convinced is going someplace.
And demanding stock options.
Things are pretty good.
Okay. Now we need a new roof.
BUT --
I got Dan working on that one. He's supposed to be finding estimates and looking up $$ on www.grants.gov Hey, I said I would do the roof and just pay for the materials (Hartnagels Truevalue Hardware in Port Angeles has a Pink Tool Apron program in which women who do a project and take photos and do descriptions for their website get the materials for contractor's prices). But Dan, who has done work with his Dad, said NOOOOO, that would leak. Rini Duncan next door said she did a roof when she'd never done any such thing, with -- was it her brother? - and a female friend - and the guys' side of the roof leaked, and the girls' side didn't. Well, of course, females are detail-minded. Or anal. Picky picky picky gets you a dry roof. But Dan is insisting we hire a crew and I said, "Okay, you want a crew -- YOU FIND THE MONEY." Deal.
The car is fixed (clutch was shot -- but it had a billion miles on it!), and Bugmasters in Seattle is working on finding a buyer. I've got it up at www.craigslist.com under Seattle and Cars.
Working on getting a new car -- that's in the pipeline. In the meantime, using the incredible Clallam County bus system. From now on, in the summer, it's the bus. TOO nice, and no messing with vacation traffic.
New fridge! Neat little apartment size one, that uses $20.00 less a month in power. Full of beer, bait and smoked salmon.
Mouth is a mess -- ancient rotting hole in my face from a dead nerve UNDER a crown (why do I never feel these things?) and busted another tooth. Local doc gave me antibiotics to hold me, and said the busted tooth was fine -- the filling is still good.
But -- I need an endodontist.
Working on flying to Boston where endodontists are MUCH cheaper, and staying with friends who want me there, too (and make incredible fried chicken) -- fix the mouth, have loads of fun visiting (publish a book while I'm there, because I'll be forced to work on it, having no other computer access. Use www.lulu.com), AND -- if it works out -- set up a book signing tour for Permanent Party (www.booksurge.com). Oh, and go to horse shows to learn more about this incredible new camera.
I need to be cloned.
Did I tell you about the camera? A reader went a little crazy and got me a Nikon CoolPix 8700 and a full kit -- including extra lithium batteries, storage disks or whatever those are called, tripods, fancy carrying cases -- JEEZE! I'm still in shock.
And all he wants in return is I learn to be a photographer. John Brewer at the Penninsula Daily News says that as soon as I get a car, he'll buy me lunch. Because with a car and this camera, I can even take FILMS. I'm going to figure out how to get those up on the blog.
AND learned how to smoke salmon with little work or mess -- and it's the best smoked salmon EVER. And my smoker is a bunch of old two-buy fours and broken concrete brick and some cedar shakes and some old racks, and I use little bits of driftwood to smoke.
Just picked up free advertising with a publisher who ain't much now but I'm convinced is going someplace.
And demanding stock options.
Things are pretty good.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
FareStart
Last meal I ate in Seattle was at FareStart. It's a hotel/restaurant that gets homeless back on their feet by helping them to be chefs.
A pretty nice place. Cool, pleasant, sleek black furniture.
I had the Gypsy Soup and Sourdough Bread. Both very good.
The coffee was awful, but it was Starbuck's, and they'd donated it. So put up with the bad coffee, or order the tea.
Good prices, nice people. If you're going to be downtown, eat there.
If I hadn't had that tooth problem, I would have tried one of the scrumptious-looking deserts.
They feature Seattle-area gourmet chefs once very week -- reservations recommended. August 14, it will be David Bramer, from the 35th Street Bistro.
In Seattle, go to:
1902 2nd Avenue
Seattle, WA 98101
11 am to 2 pm, Monday through Friday. Clean kitchens and restrooms.
206 267 7601. And they do parties.
Last meal I ate in Seattle was at FareStart. It's a hotel/restaurant that gets homeless back on their feet by helping them to be chefs.
A pretty nice place. Cool, pleasant, sleek black furniture.
I had the Gypsy Soup and Sourdough Bread. Both very good.
The coffee was awful, but it was Starbuck's, and they'd donated it. So put up with the bad coffee, or order the tea.
Good prices, nice people. If you're going to be downtown, eat there.
If I hadn't had that tooth problem, I would have tried one of the scrumptious-looking deserts.
They feature Seattle-area gourmet chefs once very week -- reservations recommended. August 14, it will be David Bramer, from the 35th Street Bistro.
In Seattle, go to:
1902 2nd Avenue
Seattle, WA 98101
11 am to 2 pm, Monday through Friday. Clean kitchens and restrooms.
206 267 7601. And they do parties.
Friday, July 29, 2005
I'm HOME!
Yup, made it home on Olympic Van Lines. Oh, what a pleasure. A break on the Kingston Ferry, and 45 minutes between the dropoff and the Forks bus. Took me not a moment more of travel time, cost very little more than driving and all that gasoline and wear and tear on a car. From now on, I leave the area, I'm taking the bus.
Left the car at Bugmasters in Seattle. We're negotiating. I'm done with cars for a while. Seattle's bus system is stupendous, and the Clallam County system ain't half bad. I can do anything I want without owning my OPTMI (Own Personal Three-Mile Island, or car).
And let's face it, with oil prices going up, America will have to do what it always does -- face the music and improve. We always wait until the last minute, when it's much more expensive, but we always manage to do it.
Teeth are still horrible. I wasn't sure if it was an abcess or stress, but now I'm pretty sure it's the former. Had to get home and rest and sleep with my bite guard to make sure. Of course, the free or sliding-scale clinic in Port Angeles (What health insurance? I'm an artist -- and is this Canada?) is being renovated until September. We'll see if we can't hold off with pain-killers and antibiotics until then. I've done it before -- let a root rot for 8 months, and then just had the dentist flush out the clean cavity, with no intrusion or scraping, and nothing to heal. This was my last dentist's idea, and a good one. Doesn't work for kids, of course, but an obsessive adult (know any of those around here?) does it fine.
And we have a new fridge. A little mini apartment compact. About 4 feet high, 3 feet wide or so. The old one had a lot of wasted space. This one has room for ice and my cold packs and a few hot dogs. What else do we need? First thing we put in it was a 6-pack of beer and mussels off the beach.
I showed it to the neighbor: "Hey, look! Bait and beer! A fisherman's fridge!"
She thought that was pretty funny. And this thing does about $32.00 a year on power. Scaling down on everything.
Got Spuds to the vet for antibiotics and steroid shot, on the bus, just fine.
So, things are working out. Cross your fingers we won't have to cut off an arm for dental fees...
Yup, made it home on Olympic Van Lines. Oh, what a pleasure. A break on the Kingston Ferry, and 45 minutes between the dropoff and the Forks bus. Took me not a moment more of travel time, cost very little more than driving and all that gasoline and wear and tear on a car. From now on, I leave the area, I'm taking the bus.
Left the car at Bugmasters in Seattle. We're negotiating. I'm done with cars for a while. Seattle's bus system is stupendous, and the Clallam County system ain't half bad. I can do anything I want without owning my OPTMI (Own Personal Three-Mile Island, or car).
And let's face it, with oil prices going up, America will have to do what it always does -- face the music and improve. We always wait until the last minute, when it's much more expensive, but we always manage to do it.
Teeth are still horrible. I wasn't sure if it was an abcess or stress, but now I'm pretty sure it's the former. Had to get home and rest and sleep with my bite guard to make sure. Of course, the free or sliding-scale clinic in Port Angeles (What health insurance? I'm an artist -- and is this Canada?) is being renovated until September. We'll see if we can't hold off with pain-killers and antibiotics until then. I've done it before -- let a root rot for 8 months, and then just had the dentist flush out the clean cavity, with no intrusion or scraping, and nothing to heal. This was my last dentist's idea, and a good one. Doesn't work for kids, of course, but an obsessive adult (know any of those around here?) does it fine.
And we have a new fridge. A little mini apartment compact. About 4 feet high, 3 feet wide or so. The old one had a lot of wasted space. This one has room for ice and my cold packs and a few hot dogs. What else do we need? First thing we put in it was a 6-pack of beer and mussels off the beach.
I showed it to the neighbor: "Hey, look! Bait and beer! A fisherman's fridge!"
She thought that was pretty funny. And this thing does about $32.00 a year on power. Scaling down on everything.
Got Spuds to the vet for antibiotics and steroid shot, on the bus, just fine.
So, things are working out. Cross your fingers we won't have to cut off an arm for dental fees...
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Goin' Home.
Well, I hope I am, soon. On the Olympic Bus Line.
Car's gas tank utterly blew. Peterson's Automotive had it ready to go Tuesday -- my flight day to San Diego.
Picked up the car ($500.00!!) and on the way it began to struggle on hills. Barely got it to a friend's condo, where I parked it while I was gone.
Got back (trip report will be on another site). Towed car (AAA) to Bugmasters in West Seattle. I'd asked Paul there to find me a truck.
Have not been able to contact Paul and my bug sitteth in Seattle.
I'm going to put it on Craig's list -- in hopes of finding an enthusiast who can take a basically sound bug and cherry her up.
I think I'm done with cars. Considering that the oil shortage will force us to develop our public transport, I'm doing busses and my bike. And occasionally giving somebody a few $$ to borrow their truck.
And a scooter. Anybody in Forks or Port Angeles with a scooter for sale?
Well, I hope I am, soon. On the Olympic Bus Line.
Car's gas tank utterly blew. Peterson's Automotive had it ready to go Tuesday -- my flight day to San Diego.
Picked up the car ($500.00!!) and on the way it began to struggle on hills. Barely got it to a friend's condo, where I parked it while I was gone.
Got back (trip report will be on another site). Towed car (AAA) to Bugmasters in West Seattle. I'd asked Paul there to find me a truck.
Have not been able to contact Paul and my bug sitteth in Seattle.
I'm going to put it on Craig's list -- in hopes of finding an enthusiast who can take a basically sound bug and cherry her up.
I think I'm done with cars. Considering that the oil shortage will force us to develop our public transport, I'm doing busses and my bike. And occasionally giving somebody a few $$ to borrow their truck.
And a scooter. Anybody in Forks or Port Angeles with a scooter for sale?
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Sneezers
Aw hell.
I knew I shouldn't have sat on the beach and watched the fireworks at Fun Days the other day.
Across Clallam Bay, you could see them in Sekiu.
But I was surrounded by kids. Nice kids. But - somebody had germs. Don't they always?
Now I have a bad head cold. Dan has offered to help me get the suitcase the 1/4 mile to the busstop.
The car is still in Port Angeles, but it's ready to go. So I ride the bus to get it.
At least I'm not trying to drive around Lake Crescent with a headcold. You want to be in good shape driving that road. http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/66547_car15.shtml Oh, and they did find fragments of Russell.
Aw hell.
I knew I shouldn't have sat on the beach and watched the fireworks at Fun Days the other day.
Across Clallam Bay, you could see them in Sekiu.
But I was surrounded by kids. Nice kids. But - somebody had germs. Don't they always?
Now I have a bad head cold. Dan has offered to help me get the suitcase the 1/4 mile to the busstop.
The car is still in Port Angeles, but it's ready to go. So I ride the bus to get it.
At least I'm not trying to drive around Lake Crescent with a headcold. You want to be in good shape driving that road. http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/66547_car15.shtml Oh, and they did find fragments of Russell.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Lyndon Gets HIS.
What? Lyndon Larouche is back out of jail, huh?
Oh, I just had the greatest moment on the phone. You ever been wanting to chew somebody's ass and out of the blue a victim shows up?
Witness:
Phone rings. Dan picks it up.
Dan: "Hi. Well, she's kinda got her hands full right now."
Me: "I'm making salmon patties! Who is it?"
Dan: "Somebody political."
Me: "Tell 'em just a minute while I get these in the microwave."
By this time Dan has found out it's from the Lyndon Larouche gang. And you should understand I've got beer in me. So I put the patties in the 'wave, and wash my hands.
Me: "Hello! Whatcha need?"
Larouche Woman: "Hi, I'm calling from Larouche (something). Have you heard of us?"
Me: "Oh, yeah, I've heard of you."
LW: "Well, you know that for the last 30 years, LL has been warning everyone how our system will collapse, and now it is -- "
Me: "Well, d'uh! What do you expect, if you follow capitalism?"
LW: "Well, exactly --"
Me: "I mean, capitalism is based on cheap or free resources and cheap or free labor, and once you run out, it is goin' to China!"
LW: "Yes, and we've been talking to members of the senate -- "
Me: "The SENATE? I'm hoping everybody on this continent will dry up and turn to ashes and blow away."
LW: "Well, that's not very Christian of you."
Me: "Damn right it's not. Do NOT get me started on Christians!"
Pretty soon Missy Right-Wing Serf Twat is trying to get off the phone.
Me: "Yeah, you people think YOU're radical, you haven't met ME!"
Oh, there are just some days it feels GOOD!
What? Lyndon Larouche is back out of jail, huh?
Oh, I just had the greatest moment on the phone. You ever been wanting to chew somebody's ass and out of the blue a victim shows up?
Witness:
Phone rings. Dan picks it up.
Dan: "Hi. Well, she's kinda got her hands full right now."
Me: "I'm making salmon patties! Who is it?"
Dan: "Somebody political."
Me: "Tell 'em just a minute while I get these in the microwave."
By this time Dan has found out it's from the Lyndon Larouche gang. And you should understand I've got beer in me. So I put the patties in the 'wave, and wash my hands.
Me: "Hello! Whatcha need?"
Larouche Woman: "Hi, I'm calling from Larouche (something). Have you heard of us?"
Me: "Oh, yeah, I've heard of you."
LW: "Well, you know that for the last 30 years, LL has been warning everyone how our system will collapse, and now it is -- "
Me: "Well, d'uh! What do you expect, if you follow capitalism?"
LW: "Well, exactly --"
Me: "I mean, capitalism is based on cheap or free resources and cheap or free labor, and once you run out, it is goin' to China!"
LW: "Yes, and we've been talking to members of the senate -- "
Me: "The SENATE? I'm hoping everybody on this continent will dry up and turn to ashes and blow away."
LW: "Well, that's not very Christian of you."
Me: "Damn right it's not. Do NOT get me started on Christians!"
Pretty soon Missy Right-Wing Serf Twat is trying to get off the phone.
Me: "Yeah, you people think YOU're radical, you haven't met ME!"
Oh, there are just some days it feels GOOD!
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Flu dee doo
Remember Penny came up here with the flu?
Now I have it. I've spent all day in bed, too weak to move, on a heating pad. And we're praying to kitty gods that Dan is well enough Monday to take Spuds to the vet. The steroids are holding off on the rodent ulcer, but it still looks ugly.
We SHOULD have the car by Tuesday -- or it's riding about 6 busses and the ferry to Sea-Tac for San Diego. 4-5 hour trip. Oh, well, it would be 4-5 hours with a car, anyway. And at least on buses I get to SLEEP all the way if I want.
I like buses. Sit and read and pay no attention to anything but the scenery. Earplugs are great against mouthy riders. Admittedly, one of my worst memories is riding from Arizona to Seattle on a Greyhound with a migraine most of the way -- but that wasn't The Dog's fault. And other than wanting to put my head through the window and PULL, it was a pretty good trip. It was also the trip where my meals consisted of coffee and pie -- I'd decided to sample pie at all the stops, and didn't feel like anything else. Huh. Migraines ARE supposed to be linked to diet, aren't they?
Does this column sometimes read like Life Of The Scarlet Idiot?
(But.... speaking of things as they stand....I've had proof again that my bestest friends in the world are my readers and colleagues.
Well, WOULDN't they be?)
Remember Penny came up here with the flu?
Now I have it. I've spent all day in bed, too weak to move, on a heating pad. And we're praying to kitty gods that Dan is well enough Monday to take Spuds to the vet. The steroids are holding off on the rodent ulcer, but it still looks ugly.
We SHOULD have the car by Tuesday -- or it's riding about 6 busses and the ferry to Sea-Tac for San Diego. 4-5 hour trip. Oh, well, it would be 4-5 hours with a car, anyway. And at least on buses I get to SLEEP all the way if I want.
I like buses. Sit and read and pay no attention to anything but the scenery. Earplugs are great against mouthy riders. Admittedly, one of my worst memories is riding from Arizona to Seattle on a Greyhound with a migraine most of the way -- but that wasn't The Dog's fault. And other than wanting to put my head through the window and PULL, it was a pretty good trip. It was also the trip where my meals consisted of coffee and pie -- I'd decided to sample pie at all the stops, and didn't feel like anything else. Huh. Migraines ARE supposed to be linked to diet, aren't they?
Does this column sometimes read like Life Of The Scarlet Idiot?
(But.... speaking of things as they stand....I've had proof again that my bestest friends in the world are my readers and colleagues.
Well, WOULDN't they be?)
Saturday, July 09, 2005
HALLELUJAH!
The nice lady's husband said, ya know, we got 90K on that Subaru...
and she said, yup, can we split the costs on the clutch 50/50?
Somebody's prayers to Bastet must be working.
Holding up little paws over my head and saying many kitty thanks.
(No, MY little paws. It's not like I'm holding a cat over my head and using it as a prayer puppet or anything. Then I WOULD go to hell).
The nice lady's husband said, ya know, we got 90K on that Subaru...
and she said, yup, can we split the costs on the clutch 50/50?
Somebody's prayers to Bastet must be working.
Holding up little paws over my head and saying many kitty thanks.
(No, MY little paws. It's not like I'm holding a cat over my head and using it as a prayer puppet or anything. Then I WOULD go to hell).
Gods On Steroids
Okay.
Chapter two (or is it 22?):
While surfing for "rodent ulcer" on the net and thinking, yup, that's what Spuds has, I saw the name of the steroid usually used.
And remembered Belle had needed a steroid for a mouth infection and we'd bought two syringes with dosages, but we hadn't needed to use the second shot...
And went and read it on the site and it was the same steroid...
And the still-useable steroid syringe was in the failing fridge...
The gods must be fucking bored today.
Okay.
Chapter two (or is it 22?):
While surfing for "rodent ulcer" on the net and thinking, yup, that's what Spuds has, I saw the name of the steroid usually used.
And remembered Belle had needed a steroid for a mouth infection and we'd bought two syringes with dosages, but we hadn't needed to use the second shot...
And went and read it on the site and it was the same steroid...
And the still-useable steroid syringe was in the failing fridge...
The gods must be fucking bored today.
Just Shoot Me In The Head
Tuesday I have a plane to catch from Sea-Tac, to make it to San Diego Comicon. ONLY 80,000 people in one room for a week. ONLY the biggest convention of any sort in the western hemisphere (2 years ago we topped the Republican convention). A booth to run. My books to turn over to the San Diego State University. People to see, signings to make, face to put on and KEEP on.
So this week, the car's gas tank collapses like its water broke. The 2-hand refrigerator's freon unit failed. Spuds, the oldest cat, gets a rodent ulcer on his nose, from baking his pink nose in the sun for years -- hell, the damn grey cat bleaches BLOND every summer. The nice lady who does the kite-flying says at the last minute she needs a guest room (NOT a huge problem but... we have a newly-spayed wild cat, "Iki," in the guest bathroom, and you can imagine she thinks people are out to gut her, because we nearly did.).
It's not quite a Sherman Alexie novel, but I just emailed his site www.fallsapart.com and hoped the Indians would not only not stop dancing now they'd started again but that they would KEEP DANCING REAL HARD. Which you have to read Indian Killer to get the reference.
Let's just say that between treating this like I was fighting snakes and refusing to lay back and be patient, I managed to end up wasting two whole days on the bus system AND blowing the clutch out of somebody else's car.
Which is weird, because I've been driving automatics and sticks and loaners and trucks and tractors all over the country for the past 5 years and not having any problem. But trying to sneak around the Fun Days parade up a steep hill and having an excited cop trying to talk to me through my window while I tried to find the gear in a Suburu Outback kind of blew my concentration...
And I admitted what I did to the nice lady who trusted me with her car (Oh, the kind and foolish people among us), so when the smartass drunk I drove 400 round trip miles to Seattle for biopses last month began to get on my case, I buttonholed him and said, "You got about 500 laughs on me you don't get to have after what I did for you last month. You OWE me."
But -- I only had a few minute's cursing stomping fit across one non-populated parking area and one crying jag after I got home. Which is pretty good for me.
So....
Dan says he's taking the cat to the vet Monday on the bus (poor Spuds!), because if I do it the day before the Seattle trip -- which may or may not be on a series of six buses and a ferry -- I will get shell-shock in somebody else's living room in San Diego AGAIN. Just a fact of life. Sometime in my life I blew out my lymbic system, and it barely takes being glanced at, let alone pushed. So we're praying the car is at least something I can pick up by next Tuesday.
We've cleaned out the fridge and we're just going to turn it off and buy a new one, because it will cost about the same anyway. I swear, when I get older I'm just eating out of cans. If I want ice cream, I'll pick up a cone. I do now, anyway.
The spayed cat is getting used to people. All that fish we had to thaw and feed raw to cats -- well, that didn't hurt any feline feelings, Spuds's and Iki's included.
My kite-flying friend got the flu and had to go home. Which is probably just as well, I was ready to beat my head against a few walls. I hope she's feeling better, in her own bed -- you don't want to be sick in somebody else's, lemme tell you.
Okay, okay, so everybody else here is dealing with funerals and I'm not -- I don't care, I was still looking to do some short-term cradle-head-flattening.
I'll pay for the damn clutch. And if it blew it's because it was about to blow anyway. So she gets a new clutch anyway. I'D be happy....
AGH. And now they're blowing up London. Well, like my mom used to say, "And what did you do to the CAT?"
Oh. That's right. Iki says she nearly got gutted. So she's been sitting in that bathroom for a week HATING US.
Very mad cat magic.
That explains THAT.
Tuesday I have a plane to catch from Sea-Tac, to make it to San Diego Comicon. ONLY 80,000 people in one room for a week. ONLY the biggest convention of any sort in the western hemisphere (2 years ago we topped the Republican convention). A booth to run. My books to turn over to the San Diego State University. People to see, signings to make, face to put on and KEEP on.
So this week, the car's gas tank collapses like its water broke. The 2-hand refrigerator's freon unit failed. Spuds, the oldest cat, gets a rodent ulcer on his nose, from baking his pink nose in the sun for years -- hell, the damn grey cat bleaches BLOND every summer. The nice lady who does the kite-flying says at the last minute she needs a guest room (NOT a huge problem but... we have a newly-spayed wild cat, "Iki," in the guest bathroom, and you can imagine she thinks people are out to gut her, because we nearly did.).
It's not quite a Sherman Alexie novel, but I just emailed his site www.fallsapart.com and hoped the Indians would not only not stop dancing now they'd started again but that they would KEEP DANCING REAL HARD. Which you have to read Indian Killer to get the reference.
Let's just say that between treating this like I was fighting snakes and refusing to lay back and be patient, I managed to end up wasting two whole days on the bus system AND blowing the clutch out of somebody else's car.
Which is weird, because I've been driving automatics and sticks and loaners and trucks and tractors all over the country for the past 5 years and not having any problem. But trying to sneak around the Fun Days parade up a steep hill and having an excited cop trying to talk to me through my window while I tried to find the gear in a Suburu Outback kind of blew my concentration...
And I admitted what I did to the nice lady who trusted me with her car (Oh, the kind and foolish people among us), so when the smartass drunk I drove 400 round trip miles to Seattle for biopses last month began to get on my case, I buttonholed him and said, "You got about 500 laughs on me you don't get to have after what I did for you last month. You OWE me."
But -- I only had a few minute's cursing stomping fit across one non-populated parking area and one crying jag after I got home. Which is pretty good for me.
So....
Dan says he's taking the cat to the vet Monday on the bus (poor Spuds!), because if I do it the day before the Seattle trip -- which may or may not be on a series of six buses and a ferry -- I will get shell-shock in somebody else's living room in San Diego AGAIN. Just a fact of life. Sometime in my life I blew out my lymbic system, and it barely takes being glanced at, let alone pushed. So we're praying the car is at least something I can pick up by next Tuesday.
We've cleaned out the fridge and we're just going to turn it off and buy a new one, because it will cost about the same anyway. I swear, when I get older I'm just eating out of cans. If I want ice cream, I'll pick up a cone. I do now, anyway.
The spayed cat is getting used to people. All that fish we had to thaw and feed raw to cats -- well, that didn't hurt any feline feelings, Spuds's and Iki's included.
My kite-flying friend got the flu and had to go home. Which is probably just as well, I was ready to beat my head against a few walls. I hope she's feeling better, in her own bed -- you don't want to be sick in somebody else's, lemme tell you.
Okay, okay, so everybody else here is dealing with funerals and I'm not -- I don't care, I was still looking to do some short-term cradle-head-flattening.
I'll pay for the damn clutch. And if it blew it's because it was about to blow anyway. So she gets a new clutch anyway. I'D be happy....
AGH. And now they're blowing up London. Well, like my mom used to say, "And what did you do to the CAT?"
Oh. That's right. Iki says she nearly got gutted. So she's been sitting in that bathroom for a week HATING US.
Very mad cat magic.
That explains THAT.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Showin' Off Eagles and Gay Support
Over at www.straittalk.blogspot.com, one little comment or two has people pouring their hearts out all over the place. Man, you touch people and they just burst like pimples.
Eagles.
Okay, for those of you from Alaska, you probably won't see this: but on Bear Kill Ridge there's only room for so many eagles. One major nest. Mated couple. And one horny young male.
He's been flying around with headless greenling now and then, but nobody's noticed him, no matter how much he screams and shows off. Nobody's leaving any nests for dipweed.
Then.... he hit the water off Slip Point, and when he came up this time, what he had glinted silver in the sun.
About a five pound King salmon.
Oh, the screaming. Oh, the flying in circles around the nest. Then the crows' nest. Then dipped down to fly over OUR heads. He got the top eatin' fish in the area, and he wasn't too proud to show it.
You'd think he'd found diamonds.
But then, maybe he'd found the eagle equivalent.
Over at www.straittalk.blogspot.com, one little comment or two has people pouring their hearts out all over the place. Man, you touch people and they just burst like pimples.
Eagles.
Okay, for those of you from Alaska, you probably won't see this: but on Bear Kill Ridge there's only room for so many eagles. One major nest. Mated couple. And one horny young male.
He's been flying around with headless greenling now and then, but nobody's noticed him, no matter how much he screams and shows off. Nobody's leaving any nests for dipweed.
Then.... he hit the water off Slip Point, and when he came up this time, what he had glinted silver in the sun.
About a five pound King salmon.
Oh, the screaming. Oh, the flying in circles around the nest. Then the crows' nest. Then dipped down to fly over OUR heads. He got the top eatin' fish in the area, and he wasn't too proud to show it.
You'd think he'd found diamonds.
But then, maybe he'd found the eagle equivalent.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Gay Bashing In Clallam Bay
I just want to throw up.
I thought Clallam Bay was above this. I expect such things in Port Angeles -- I've heard horrible racist things while sitting waiting to serve on a jury -- but HERE?
I heard this crap in the bar last night while the Seattle Gay Pride parade was on TV. Maybe I shouldn't have pointed it out, but I was missing it. I've ridden in cars sponsored by gay groups, doing the silly parade wave.
"Oh, look," I said in delight, sort of generally toward my husband and sort of just thinking out loud. "The Pride Parade!"
Two people at the end of the bar started up:"Oh, those people! That's just disgusting!"
Me: "What? Those are nice people! That parade is a lot of fun."
"Why don't they have a parade for the rapists and murderers? What if my kid saw that?"
I know these two nasty arguments. They come straight out of church pulpits.
Of course I shot off my mouth, too, and made everybody even more uncomfortable:
"What if your kid IS gay? Do you want to make him commit suicide? What if there are gay people in this bar?"
I don't understand it. Sit in public and say ugly things about race or gender, and expect everybody to agree with them. I mean, if I sit with my mouth shut, it means I agree with them. I'm free to excercise my free speech -- and I mean to use it to show that I am a MUCH nicer person and NOT ONE OF THEM. If they want to split people into groups, then they can be the Nasty People, and I can be the Nice People.
I know what I'm saying next time (I have to always think about these things):I'll point at the parade and say, "EVERY SINGLE PERSON in that parade has been persecuted or bullied or oppressed for being gay or having gay relatives. This is their declaration of freedom from the cruelty of their pasts.
"And they were oppressed and persecuted by PEOPLE LIKE YOU. So the next time you see a gay couple holding hands or kissing -- JUST LIKE STRAIGHT PEOPLE DO ALL THE TIME -- it's because people like you made them refuse to hide any more. So if you don't like it you can go home and look in the mirror and blame yourself."
And while we're at it -- nosing into what your children will ultimately do with their genitalia as sexual adults -- is just plain sick. What is WRONG with you?
Now I know why I've had to tell the kids on the beach that if they use the word "gay" as an insult they can't go fishing with me. I've also told them that they can't be with me and torment the fish, either -- "Those fish died so you could eat. Respect them. Kill them quick and don't pull their eyeballs out while they're alive."
Bullying gays. Tormenting fish. Bragging about using kittens for target practice.
Kids got this from adults in the community.
You know who you ARE. And yes, I resent you, because you make my world uglier and stupider and more cruel. YOU are the reason life can be brutal, nasty and short.
The next generation of kids in Clallam Bay are smart, kind, alert, talented, and thirsty to learn. Get out of their way. Don't infect them with your poison.
And why can I say this?Because someday they won't just be YOUR kids -- they'll be MY fellow citizens. And I don't want to have to deal with YOUR baggage.
I just want to throw up.
I thought Clallam Bay was above this. I expect such things in Port Angeles -- I've heard horrible racist things while sitting waiting to serve on a jury -- but HERE?
I heard this crap in the bar last night while the Seattle Gay Pride parade was on TV. Maybe I shouldn't have pointed it out, but I was missing it. I've ridden in cars sponsored by gay groups, doing the silly parade wave.
"Oh, look," I said in delight, sort of generally toward my husband and sort of just thinking out loud. "The Pride Parade!"
Two people at the end of the bar started up:"Oh, those people! That's just disgusting!"
Me: "What? Those are nice people! That parade is a lot of fun."
"Why don't they have a parade for the rapists and murderers? What if my kid saw that?"
I know these two nasty arguments. They come straight out of church pulpits.
Of course I shot off my mouth, too, and made everybody even more uncomfortable:
"What if your kid IS gay? Do you want to make him commit suicide? What if there are gay people in this bar?"
I don't understand it. Sit in public and say ugly things about race or gender, and expect everybody to agree with them. I mean, if I sit with my mouth shut, it means I agree with them. I'm free to excercise my free speech -- and I mean to use it to show that I am a MUCH nicer person and NOT ONE OF THEM. If they want to split people into groups, then they can be the Nasty People, and I can be the Nice People.
I know what I'm saying next time (I have to always think about these things):I'll point at the parade and say, "EVERY SINGLE PERSON in that parade has been persecuted or bullied or oppressed for being gay or having gay relatives. This is their declaration of freedom from the cruelty of their pasts.
"And they were oppressed and persecuted by PEOPLE LIKE YOU. So the next time you see a gay couple holding hands or kissing -- JUST LIKE STRAIGHT PEOPLE DO ALL THE TIME -- it's because people like you made them refuse to hide any more. So if you don't like it you can go home and look in the mirror and blame yourself."
And while we're at it -- nosing into what your children will ultimately do with their genitalia as sexual adults -- is just plain sick. What is WRONG with you?
Now I know why I've had to tell the kids on the beach that if they use the word "gay" as an insult they can't go fishing with me. I've also told them that they can't be with me and torment the fish, either -- "Those fish died so you could eat. Respect them. Kill them quick and don't pull their eyeballs out while they're alive."
Bullying gays. Tormenting fish. Bragging about using kittens for target practice.
Kids got this from adults in the community.
You know who you ARE. And yes, I resent you, because you make my world uglier and stupider and more cruel. YOU are the reason life can be brutal, nasty and short.
The next generation of kids in Clallam Bay are smart, kind, alert, talented, and thirsty to learn. Get out of their way. Don't infect them with your poison.
And why can I say this?Because someday they won't just be YOUR kids -- they'll be MY fellow citizens. And I don't want to have to deal with YOUR baggage.
Fishing....
Went to the beach to relax a bit, and throw bait at the fish.
Wild waters, throwing high waves, mist in the air. Didn't, of course, expect anything.
WHAM! they acted like food was gonna be banned tomorrow.
Before they figured out there was a hook out there, and got picky and started playing hook games (dragging the bait down the beach, wrapping it around kelp, all the stuff that makes me respect greenling as having a fish sense of humor) -- got two of the biggest girls I ever pulled off the beach. Couple pounds a piece. LOADS of beautiful white meat and a big meaty backbone. And bunches of scraped raw fish from the skins for the cats -- and big livers and roe sacks for the cats, too.
Greenling look like big golden-brown and bright yellow and orange versions of Mr. Limpet.
The males have pretty black-rimmed silver spots, too. Rarely catch males, and they're not very big. I don't think they're as daring as the big girls.
We got more meat than we know what to do with.
How to prepare greenling:
They're kind of mushy and grass-tasting fresh. So -- gut and rinse. Put in 'fridge overnight to firm and dry a bit. When you skin 'em out the next day, they peel easy and look like lingcod. Don't discard the backbones -- they got loads of meat on 'em. Freeze filets and backbones on trays to lose the grassy taste. Glaze 'em individually with cold water, don't freeze 'em in a lump.
Thaw, and dredge in cornmeal batter.
Fry up. Use the left-over batter for hush-puppies. Serve with cold beer.
Oh, Lawdy. Maybe there is a god.
Went to the beach to relax a bit, and throw bait at the fish.
Wild waters, throwing high waves, mist in the air. Didn't, of course, expect anything.
WHAM! they acted like food was gonna be banned tomorrow.
Before they figured out there was a hook out there, and got picky and started playing hook games (dragging the bait down the beach, wrapping it around kelp, all the stuff that makes me respect greenling as having a fish sense of humor) -- got two of the biggest girls I ever pulled off the beach. Couple pounds a piece. LOADS of beautiful white meat and a big meaty backbone. And bunches of scraped raw fish from the skins for the cats -- and big livers and roe sacks for the cats, too.
Greenling look like big golden-brown and bright yellow and orange versions of Mr. Limpet.
The males have pretty black-rimmed silver spots, too. Rarely catch males, and they're not very big. I don't think they're as daring as the big girls.
We got more meat than we know what to do with.
How to prepare greenling:
They're kind of mushy and grass-tasting fresh. So -- gut and rinse. Put in 'fridge overnight to firm and dry a bit. When you skin 'em out the next day, they peel easy and look like lingcod. Don't discard the backbones -- they got loads of meat on 'em. Freeze filets and backbones on trays to lose the grassy taste. Glaze 'em individually with cold water, don't freeze 'em in a lump.
Thaw, and dredge in cornmeal batter.
Fry up. Use the left-over batter for hush-puppies. Serve with cold beer.
Oh, Lawdy. Maybe there is a god.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Makah Clout
Okay.... Imagine this. Contentious, hairs-up library/funds meeting. County councilmen, leaders of Friends of Library and Library System and pissed-off citizens. Nearly over when --
Makah tribal representative introduced from the back of the room.
Medium-tall thin guy with iron-grey hair slicked back, in a brand new black/white/red Makah Whaling Commission t-shirt.
Total double-takes. Hair on end. Mouths fall open. Shock and awe.
You can practically hear it.... "The TRIBE!!! is here!"
Everybody is -- well, not scared of the TRIBE -- but the TRIBE might as well be our Mother. "What will the TRIBE say?" "Can we get the TRIBE in on that?" "What does the TRIBE want?"
When the spokesman said that the TRIBE sided with what the citizens and the FOL wanted, it was like -- well the Navy had hit the beach. In cedar conoes.
In the course of siding with us, he said, "I will take your words back to my council."
Twice.
So we are all doing this little white-eye war-dance, cuz the TRIBE is on OUR side. With alder-smoked salmon. "Here come the Indians!" is the line up here.
Everybody else can just take their nasty dried fish and go home.
Okay.... Imagine this. Contentious, hairs-up library/funds meeting. County councilmen, leaders of Friends of Library and Library System and pissed-off citizens. Nearly over when --
Makah tribal representative introduced from the back of the room.
Medium-tall thin guy with iron-grey hair slicked back, in a brand new black/white/red Makah Whaling Commission t-shirt.
Total double-takes. Hair on end. Mouths fall open. Shock and awe.
You can practically hear it.... "The TRIBE!!! is here!"
Everybody is -- well, not scared of the TRIBE -- but the TRIBE might as well be our Mother. "What will the TRIBE say?" "Can we get the TRIBE in on that?" "What does the TRIBE want?"
When the spokesman said that the TRIBE sided with what the citizens and the FOL wanted, it was like -- well the Navy had hit the beach. In cedar conoes.
In the course of siding with us, he said, "I will take your words back to my council."
Twice.
So we are all doing this little white-eye war-dance, cuz the TRIBE is on OUR side. With alder-smoked salmon. "Here come the Indians!" is the line up here.
Everybody else can just take their nasty dried fish and go home.
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