Back to the Old

Although I love "The Website of Questionnary", I like "Life with Zephyr" better. I'm not mystical enough to write entries that would fit a blog of that name.

The other day, a friend sent me something she'd seen on Kijiji, posted by someone selling their patio furniture: shay's lounge.

Also an excellent title for a blog. Or an Irish bar.

I am the Angel of Death

The aged mother of a friend, when told by her daughter that she believed there was a mouse in her house, said: "You don't have A mouse; you have MICE".

First, some facts:

1. One mouse can eat eight pounds of food in a year. That's YOUR food: rice, frosted flakes, Swiss chocolate, Lays potato chips. Or your dog's food -- mice don't discriminate.

2. A female mouse ovulates every other day.

3. One mouse, on average, can deposit 36,000 droppings a year. I'm not going to work out how big a pile that is, based on the average size per dropping of 2 mm, but you can imagine.

4. Baby mice can mate at five weeks of age. Litters vary from four to twelve.

5. The average house mouse lives for one year, eating, pooping, and breeding the whole time.

Yuk!!!!!

However, they are cute:

So cute that people actually have them as pets!

I'm no stranger to mice in my house. In our Calgary home, which was next to a golf couse that was next to the river, the mice got so bad one year that sometimes the mouse traps sounded like castenets. I finally had to call in the exterminators, who wandered round, inside and out, and basically told us that we couldn't stop them coming in; we had to declare war. (I thought that by setting killer mouse traps, we were pretty warlike, but obviously it wasn't discourging our rodents, so we had to move on to something more serious.)

It turned out to be an arsenal of small, triangular boxes, which the exterminators filled with poison-laced grain, and placed strategically round the basement, and in the few places on the main level they pronounced 'mousey'.

It took a few weeks, but the problem was solved. I didn't want to think about the poor little corpses lying around -- maybe in our walls. I actually saw a tiny desiccated body in one of our window wells.

It was after this slaughter that Ian, my soft-hearted husband, bought the "live trap", also known as "the mouse B&B".

It seemed to work pretty well at first. Ian would gently carry the trap and it's occupant outside, open the lid, and out the mouse would scamper, warm and well fed, and usually only a few feet from the house. I pointed out to Ian that the same mouse might just turn right around and come back in again for some more of that great cheese, but he ignored me.

Then we moved to Ontario. And when the mouse trap was removed from whatever 'house and garden' box it had been packed in, it contained two dead, somewhat mummified mice.

"Oh God!", I said "The poor little things died of thirst". Ian looked very sad but said nothing. Bad things happen when you get too busy to check the live trap.

The people we bought our Ontario house from had a cat (see http://lifewithzephyr.blogspot.com/2009/08/) and for the first year, we didn't see any signs of mice. But last autumn, realizing that the coast was clear, they began to make their first, tentative forays into the house.

Out came the live trap -- this time with a small water dish included. I rolled my eyes. But again, it seemed to work pretty reliably, and as the winter wore on, fewer and fewer 'guests' took advantage of the hospitality.

Fast forward to August 2010. I see signs of the little buggers on our fireplace hearth. What would they be doing there? There's no food. Perhaps they're bringing their own. Perhaps they're sitting around the pilot light, roasting tiny marshmallows and telling stories. It's risky. It would be instant immolation if I turned on the gas fire.

The B&B is coming up mysteriously empty some mornings: no mouse, but no food either. Hmmmm. "Perhaps a large bug is eating the cheese" Ian offered hopefully.

A couple of weeks later, I was sitting in the TV room, calmly watching 'House' or some such thing, when I glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye. I waited, 'House' forgotten. A small mouse danced happily along the wall between the door to the deck and the TV. I watched as it climbed into Zephyr's toy basket (Zephyr was snoring comfortably on the sofa while this was going on).

Feeling a bit like the giant in Jack the Giant Killer, I picked up the toy basket and methodically removed the toys, one by one, until there were only a couple of toys and very frightened mouse in the bottom. I opened the back door and dumped the contents, catching sight of a tiny black shape streaking across the deck and onto the patio. "And don't come back!" I muttered futilely.

I settled back to continue my TV watching, and a second mouse made a dash for the relative safety of the tangle of cords behind the TV. God Damn!!! Luckily, the second mouse also climbed into the toy basket (following the trail of his mate I suppose), so I was able to repeat my 'giant' routine.

The next night, it happened again.

So that's when I became the "Angel of Death".

Off to Home Hardware. Home with something that the fellow standing by an impressive array of rodent-killing paraphernalia swore to me was "really good stuff". Hardening my heart, I loaded the trap. Next morning, I walked my captive down to the woods, far from the house, noting that it had eaten some of the deadly feast, and trying not to stare back into its innocent, questioning, rodenty eyes.

It got easier. Now I let them go, wishing them well for whatever life they have left.

Since I started my quest for a mouse-free house, I've caught at least 10 of them. I've also placed hunks of the poison in various dog-inaccessible places and been astounded to see it disappear.

I think they're carting if off in small wheelbarrows.

The new name

I wish I could say I made it up, but I didn't. I had I promised a colleague I'd do an evaluation of her for a course she's taking. She sent me the instructions for finding the site, which I followed, but when I got there, the button I was supposed to click to get into the evaluation wasn't there. So I enquired, using an email link the organization had thoughtfully provided. What I received was the following, along with a new version of the same instructions, in a larger font, and with smaller, numbered, more delineated steps, just in case I was a moron who couldn't follow the original instructions:

PLEASE NOTE THA WEBSITE OF QUESTIONNARY ONLINE IS OUT OF SERVICE UNTIL 3H PM, THURSDAY 7 OCTOBER

I was delighted! It was the nicest thing that had happened to me since I'd gotten up in the morning. (Up till then, it had been a day of cancellations, rescheduling appointments, and missed messages.)

My friend, who writes a wonderful blog you can find here: http://itsjustapie.blogspot.com
suggested it would make a wonderful name for a blog -- and she's right. Maybe she's already set one up!
I'd just like for more people to be able to enjoy it as we did.

The penguin and the oil slick

Overheard at the hairdresser's the other day:
Young hairdresser speaking to my hairdresser, who's been away: "Did you hear about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico?"
My hairdresser: "No, what happened?"
Young hairdresser: "Well, it's the biggest spill ever, and it's like, coming onshore, and they can't, they can't stop it for some reason. I forget why they can't stop it."
Hairdresser's assistant (even younger than young hairdresser): "Oh the poor penguins!".
Silence.
Hairdresser's assistant: "Wait. Do they have penguins there?"

I bet you he'll get off

From the OPP Media Release web site:

Date: April 26, 2010

MARIHUANA SEIZED DURING DRUG SEARCH WARRANT AT QUINTE WEST RESIDENCE
Quinte West OPP Street Crime Unit AND members of Project "Longarm" with the assistance of the OPP K-9 unit conducted a CDSA search warrant at a Quinte West residence in Sidney Ward north of Frankford today.
During the search a quantity of, [sic] processed marihuana, growing marihuana, cannibis resin, cash, and other offence related property were seized.
A 33 year old Quinte West man was charged with Possession for the Purpose of Trafficking Marihuana and Production of Marihuana contrary to the CDSA.

I'd say they could have nailed him for the cannibis resin, but he'll probably walk for for possession of 'marihuana'. I'm pretty sure it's not illegal....

Ephemeral

Lasting for only a short time; transitory.

At this time of year, before the leaves are out, the forest floor becomes filled with ephemerals -- those short-lived but beautiful flowers that spring out of the just-thawed soil, turn their faces to the sun, and disappear only a few, short days later. They have a special place in the parade of growth; they're first to come and first to go, reminding us that even though we have all of summer to look forward to, nothing is permanent, and all must eventually die.

Some people are like that: they are with us only briefly,
but we feel lucky to have witnessed their brightness
and joy in living.
















We take pleasure in knowing them, and are cheered by their enthusiam.

And when they go, too soon, we mourn their passing.

I miss you Linda.

I love our neighbours to the south!

Three weeks ago, Ian and I headed south on a reconnaisance mission. We were looking for dog-friendly places to rent so that next year we can join the thousands of other snowbirds and escape the winter -- or at least part of it. And obviously if we're going to be absent for extended periods of time we need to find a place that will welcome Zephyr.

First we went to South Carolina. We saw live oaks:

And big old houses. This one's for sale:
We saw drowned coastlines: And regular, undrowned beaches: In our room at the B&B were a selection of magazines. This one caught my eye:

Can you imagine this being published in Canada? Harrowsmith and Hand Guns? Canadian Living with Long Guns? Imagine the shock! Imagine the outrage!

You've got to admit: it's a great title for a magazine.

Everywhere we went, people were friendly, outgoing, and helpful. Their economy is the pits but they are still thoughtfully optimistic. One woman at a gas station told me to have a 'blessed' day. I said to Ian when I returned to the car: "That's got to be better than a regular old 'good' day.

We were told that alligators can be a problem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBJ-lo9AnF8

And while we were there, a man, jogging on a beach, was killed by a small airplane making a crash landing. Apparently the pilot couldn't see the man because there was oil spaying onto the plane's windshield, and the jogger didn't hear the plane because he was listening to his iPod. Is this a cautionary tale about the dangers of flying small airplanes, of jogging, or of listening to your iPod?

You just never know what's coming down the road.

After a few days, we moved on to Florida. We stayed with friends who have a place north of Tampa. We relaxed, picked grapefruit, and put in some beach time:

But this part of the world is crowded, and the only dogs we saw tended to be the type that fit into purses, so we headed northwest to the panhandle and a place called Cape San Blas.

Cape San Blas is essentially a 17 mile long sand spit with a state park at one end and vacation homes along the rest of it. Port St Joe lies 20 minutes northwest and Appalachacola 30 minutes east. Everything seems to be either for sale or for rent (in some cases, whichever comes first). It's quiet, especially in March. And it's dog friendly.

Horse friendly too.We saw brown pelicans and dolphins. We spend hours collecting shells and watching the birds. We sat through a spectacular thunderstorm while sipping wine on our deck.
We and Zephyr will be going back there for a month next year.

And the only alligator we saw was this one:

Just what does he see when he looks at me? (Or, men are strange)

On Friday I went to get my hair done. It's been three months since I had highlights and things were beginning to look tired. I'd gotten into the habit of routinely pinning my hair up with a clip, and because it's my hair (fine, but reasonably thick and very slippery) it was always falling out and lying in straggles about my neck. I'm thinking lank, as a word to describe it.

So I went for a shorter style -- nothing too dramatic -- but at least four inches shorter. A different look for sure.

I arrive home and enter the kitchen. Ian turns from his computer, looks at me, and says:

"It looks darker".

Me: "You always say that. I'm not blonde you know."

Ian: "I know you aren't. [He doesn't really. He thinks his daughter is naturally blonde, too.] It just looks darker that's all."

Me: "It will lighten up after a few washes."

The rest of the evening was uneventful.

The next morning we went out for breakfast as we usually do on Saturday (and often on Sunday, and sometimes on Friday too.) We went to our usual spot, and Jeni, the proprieter, took one look at me and said: "You've got your hair cut. I like it!"

Ian looks quizzically at me: "Is it shorter? Oh. I guess it is."

Men.

At least with Zephyr you know she won't notice. You could come home bald and to her you'd be just the same.

January's reading list

OK. It's January. It's grey outside. Winter's got a long way to go.

Here's what I've read to make myself feel better:

The Omnivore's Dilemma, by Michael Pollan. A fascinating exploration into what we eat and why we eat the way we do. Now I feel guilty about everything I put in my mouth, especially anything that had a face and came from a feedlot....

My Stroke of Insight, by Jill Bolte Taylor. A fascinating read about what it's like to have a massive stroke at the age of 37, and the eight years of recovery following. I'm walking around feeling as if my head is made of eggshells and might explode at any minute.

Still Alice, by Lisa Genova. A fascinating novel about a Harvard professor who comes down with early onset Alzheimers. I'm worrying about everything I'm forgetting.







And last but not least, The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. The granddaddy of depressive literature, but so beautifully written I couldn't put it down.

It's a wonder I can get up in the morning...

Actually, all of these books are a great read. I'm not finished Michael Pollan's book yet, but would recommend it, and all of the above.

Now what do you suggest I read next?

Magic Gate: an update

OK. Perhaps it's me. One string of solar lights is out, kaput, not functioning.

I went down a few days ago to brush snow off the collector. Perhaps I was too aggresssive with the broom?

I checked the "on/off" switch and it was in the "on" position. Just in case I wiggled it back and forth, being careful to check once more that the last wiggle had left it "on".

I'm sad.

In which I swear off Hawkins Cheezies™

It was a Cheezie Christmas. I, wanting to buy local (I'm such an environmentalist!), socked away a couple of bags of my favourite Hawkins™ to have on hand when my children came to visit. My daughter-in-law loves them, but the fact that I usually end up eating the lion's share I conveniently ignored. My sister sent a huge package, containing ten or more smaller bags: she called it "packing material". And they did work just as well as styrofoam beans.

I ate my first Hawkins™ cheezie when I was five, and I've loved them ever since. There was a moratorium on Hawkins™ for quite a number of years after my middle son nearly choked to death on one -- thank goodness for the Heimlich Maneuver! But after he grew up and moved away they would occasionally make their way into the house.

And when I moved here to Ontario and realized they were made just down the road, it seemed to me to be my duty to buy them, if only to support a local business. I now wear a ring of blubber around my waist that I think I can attribute almost entirely to cheezies. Such altruism!

So after Christmas I made all the usual noises about cutting out the junk food and losing 10 pounds etc. etc. But yesterday as I cruised the grocery store I found myself drawn to the chip and cheezie aisle. "Stick to the outside aisles! Stick to the outside aisles!" I heard a small voice cry out to me, but I ignored it and snatched up two bags of Hawkins™.

So half the bag disappeared yesterday evening....and the other half....this morning.

And then I looked at the "nutritional information" on the back of the empty bag. Hmmmm. 270 calories per 50 g. A 210 g bag.....Hmmmmm. That's 1134 calories. Oh. My. God.

I think it's a great testament to my metabolism that I don't weigh 300 pounds!

So that's it. The second bag was opened and the contents ceremoniously dumped into the garbage.

And I found out something interesting this morning. Hawkins Cheezies™ make great firestarters.

Check this out:

http://www.scq.ubc.ca/to-eat-cheezies-or-not-to-a-cheezie-combustion-paper/

If anyone wants to join "Cheezies Anonymous" I'm starting an online chapter.

Christmas here and gone

But the fat remains.

Why can't I get it through my head that my children and their significant others don't eat nearly as much food as I think they will, but I, like some giant, Eastern European factory ship, will scoop up all that's left because: a) I don't want it to go to waste, b) it's really good, and c) once I start it's very difficult to stop?

I guess I'm a Christmas cake, ginger cookie, shortbread, chocolate, cheezie addict. Not to mention nachos, designer crackers, special breads, and cheeses.

When you put all those things together on three lines they look disgusting, but place them out decoratively on nice serving dishes and I'm a gonner.

Oh well.

Back to the lo-carb, portion control drawing board...

I'm an idiot!

So the bus station lights lasted less than a week. They became dimmer and dimmer, and finally one night they refused to come on at all. I hauled the ladder down to the gate, and took them down -- no easy task, as the ladder wobbled on the uneven ground and I, ever the optimist, had asked Ian to string them rather thoroughly through the holes in the gate and roundabout the branches of the vine.

The company I bought them from returned my money, and all I was out was the return postage.

Almost the next day, my friend in Calgary informed me that Canadian Tire had stacks of solar lights for sale. I was excited. That weekend I bought two sets and, as my son and his wife were visiting, I took advantage of his good nature (Ian having decided by this time that he was not going to have any part of the solar light experiment) and asked him to help me set them up. He obliged happily and scrambled like a monkey onto the top of the gate in order to set the little solar panels at the best possible angle. (How to feel your age: watch your 30 year old son do something athetic that you couldn't attempt to do, even if your life depended on it!)

All was well for a couple of weeks. Then one set began to look much dimmer than the other. I checked the connections on both sets (I think perhaps breaking one -- I couldn't be sure: I didn't have my glasses on...). Two nights later the dim set refused to come on.

I was so disappointed.

But I was also determined.

Ah those solar lights. I went though four sets last year. I became embarrassed to walk into Canadian Tire. I was sure the ladies behind the counter were going to call in some officious manager, who would probably be not much older than my youngest son. He would examine my solar-light-returning record, and ask difficult questions, like: "How experienced are you in this technology?" or "Just where have you been hanging these lights?"

As it turned out, the last two sets of lights pooped out in January, and by the time I got them off the yew trees by the back deck (I'd given up on the Magic Gate now -- too difficult to string lights with frozen fingers, while teetering on a ladder in the snow, and I had no faith in their longevity) all the Christmas stock had been taken down and put away for the season. But the lady behind the Returns counter was the soul of helpfulness: "Just hang on to them till next November dear", she said. "They've got a year's guarantee!"

So I did.

Ian groaned when I returned, triumphant, from Canadian Tire this autumn with two brand new sets of lights. I put them up myself, having left the supports for the panels attached to the gate.

And strangely enough, they've worked without a hitch. Some nights they've been beautifully bright, and some nights they've been much dimmer. And on a couple of nights, one set hasn't come on at all. Because the panel was covered in snow....

One thing I've learned.

Solar lights need sunlight to work (Duh!). On cloudy days, they don't get a lot, and they use up whatever they've stored in their batteries quickly. After sunny days, they blaze away for a few hours.

I don't know if last year's lights were really broken, or if my antediluvian brain has taken a whole year to figure out how they work.

But the Magic Gate has its lights, for now at least.

I'm going to put off installing the solar panels on the roof for a few years....