So?

Yes, of course I want to write something profound, some smart idea with good words to express it. This daily recounting of my activities is superficial and tedious. To write and to read.

But here's what's wrong.  To write deep thoughts requires deep thinking. I'm not up for it. Obviously.

So we get instead a report of how hot it is at 8:38 p.m.--102 degrees. Or what I had for dinner. Or that I'm tired after a long day.

Hence my title.

From the experts at Zamzow's

Today I went to Zamzow's to see if they have anything effective for raccoon repellent. The woman who helped me said I should call the state. That's the state of Idaho. They'll come, she said, set a trap, haul the animal away afterward. She didn't know which agency.

My experience with the "state" is that they will do none of those things. Instead, they will say things like, "Yes, that sounds right. That's an area where raccoons have been seen in the past." And, "No. You cannot kill them. That's against the law." Or perhaps, "They were in that area before humans, you know." Maybe even, "They'll be gone in the winter."

I didn't say this to her, although these are actual responses from the "state."

In fact, I was pondering her use of a word I hadn't heard. She used it four times, thrice for my benefit and once more for the benefit of a salesman and me.

The word is deprivate. Raccoons deprivated her chickens. More than once, apparently. (I think she means they killed her chickens, but can I be sure?) And that is why she thinks the "state" will come and help me--because raccoons are deprivating my house.

When pressed, she wasn't sure. Wasn't sure about the "state" and what they might do. She was sure about the deprivating that happened to her chickens. Mind you, she never said deprivation or deprive.

What do you suppose really went on with the raccoon and her chickens?

And when pressed, the salesman who started out knowing everything actually didn't know anything except that raccoons can be dangerous.

To quote Axel, Duh.

I'm Afraid of Raccoons

I spoke to my new neighbors this evening. She, Michelle, answered the door, and I said, "If I say the word raccoon to you . . ." and she interrupted me.

"Yes," she said. "I saw one on that fence."
"Last night?" I asked.
"No. The night before. I got my camera to try to take a picture of him, but that scared him and he dropped into your yard and ran."
Oh great, I thought. But I said, "Well, he was on that fence again last night. I opened my window and yelled and scared him, and he dropped down into your yard."
Oh great, she must have been thinking. But she said, "Really?" And she looked slightly alarmed.
"Yes."
"He is a big one," she said.
"Yes." I mentioned where there's one raccoon, there are more. I mentioned they are very destructive and can be dangerous. I was thinking of their two boys and their two girls, and those boys might not know to stay away from a raccoon, if they saw one.

And then I told her a capsule of the story about when the raccoons had their nest under her front porch. Of course, that was years ago, when Phil Jones lived here. I told her about his trap, his catching a cat and then a raccoon that was really mad in that trap. I told her about the places under the high eaves on my house where the raccoon is trying to scratch his way into my attic.

All the things I told her were clearly new concepts to her. She called to her husband. "Jason. Come here."

He was incredulous--close to scoffing--about the possibility that raccoons had ever nested under their porch. "It's all closed in," he said. "There's no way they could get under there."

I showed him where. And, because anyone could see the possibility in that place, he could see it. I told them I had seen the big raccoon three times come from their yard into mine and, when I scared him, he moved into my other neighbor's yard. I told them I want to get rid of the raccoons but don't know if anything works very well. I said, "And you can't kill them." She said, "No. Animal rights."

Sidebar: I went across the street earlier today and told Shirley I was trying to figure a way to send the raccoons over to her side of the street. Just kidding. Sort of.

But truly, I'm not sure what to do. I read a lot online today, and the consensus is that traps rarely work. Witness: The trap, complete with the marshmallows and whatever else he said that raccoons love, that Rudy put in my yard and removed a week later. Undisturbed.

Repellant, bright lights, loud noises all may work for a while. But raccoons are smart. They figure out that those things are really no danger to them. And they keep coming back. But just in case, I sprayed all along that fence today with chlorine bleach. I have no idea if it will any do good at all. But it's something.

I'm not making this stuff up, you know. I didn't say that to them. I'm just saying it to you.

To them I said, "I'm not sure why I'm telling you, except so that you'll know."

And then I said, "Welcome to the neighborhood." We all chuckled. Guardedly.
 

This gripes me

The other day I bought some Nalley Tiny Whole Dill Pickles. I noticed that under the name the label read Garlic & Dill Flavor. I put them in the fridge to chill.

Today I had one of the pickles. Hmmm. Dill flavor, you say. I say, not really.

Then I read the ingredients. I know. I should have done that before I bought them.

The garlic is from dehydrated garlic flakes. No mention of dill or dill seed or dill weed or even dill flavor. 

I won't be eating them. I'll be searching pickle brands for the real deal, or the rill dill.

For the birds

Baby sparrows. They are squawking. And the parents are flying down to the ground and back up to the bird house with food. Many times a day.

A sparrow can fly from across the yard or from a neighbor's tree and go straight in that small hole--entrance to the nest--without stopping to make sure he doesn't crash into the house. It amazes me.

Mostly the babies squawk when the food comes. That has puzzled me. Because they are otherwise pretty quiet. Maybe the babies are jostling one another, trying to get the most to eat. Or maybe they're saying, "That was good but not enough. Bring more." I suppose they could be saying thank you. I doubt it.

One source I read says baby birds squawk to blackmail their parents into feeding them, and feeding them now. The loud squawks could attract predators. The babies know this. (Really?) So they know the parents will want to shut them up. Food will do it. That's what the expert says.

Anyway, sparrows are likely no one's favorite bird. They are so plentiful. But I watch every year and hope they'll come back and make that birdhouse their home. Yes, I enjoy them. They're right outside my bedroom window.

Probably you knew that.

This just in from Texas

"Gov. Rick Perry on Thursday signed a law protecting Christmas and other holiday celebrations in Texas public schools from legal challenges -- but also stressed that freedom of religion is not the same thing as freedom from religion.

"Dubbed the 'Merry Christmas bill,' the bipartisan measure sailed through the state House and Senate to reach Perry's desk.

"It removes legal risks of saying "Merry Christmas" in schools while also protecting traditional holiday symbols, such as a menorah or nativity scene, as long as more than one religion and a secular symbol are also reflected."

And now Alabama is considering a similar course. Sounds like a good thing to me, so I say thanks to Texas, more power to y'all and Merry Christmas to all y'all.

Up In Smoke

While at Curves this morning I saw a young man walk over to the tavern next door (it's closed during those morning hours) and rummage through the cigarette butt depositories outside the place. I do not know if he found any he could smoke. Probably. 

The incident brought much to my mind. He did not look "down and out" and Audrey said he looked too young to buy his own. So age could be the reason he looks for butts.

Audrey asked me if I had ever been tempted to smoke. I said yes, I had been tempted. I did not tell her about the time behind a bush in the vacant lot across the street from our house in Santa Monica. I was probably seven or nine or ten, and I tried smoking. Lucky Strike. You know, I likely believed the ads L.S.M.F.T. Lucky Strike means fine tobacco--as if that might be all a person would want or need in life. Fine tobacco.

My experience was not nearly as wonderful as the radio ads said, with their promises of good taste and pure smoking pleasure. I don't remember any taste. Mostly it was just hot in my mouth. Besides, I didn't know what to do with the smoke, didn't know to inhale--thank goodness--only knew to blow it out. I think I may have taken two puffs. That was plenty. Besides, someone from the house might have seen me sneak behind that bush, might have seen a little smoke. When I got back in the house, no one said anything, which meant to me that no one saw anything. Anyway, I was cured, or close to it.

When Audrey was a kid, she got in big trouble the day she took her dad's pack of cigarettes and tore them all up. She didn't want him to smoke. That didn't stop him. I suppose he smoked all the rest of his life, until he died a year ago. I can't know if smoking shortened his life. He was in his 80s.

I told Audrey about Michael Sklarski, who smoked in 5th grade, which would mean he was 10 years old. She asked why. I said probably because it was a grown-up thing to do. Isn't that why young people start smoking today? Audrey wondered if it was that people didn't know how bad smoking was for them. Maybe. We always knew, we in our home, that it was bad. And I can remember Edgar Bergen's puppet Mortimer Snerd saying that smoking would stunt your undergrowth, a play on the notion people had that it would stunt a person's growth.

This little confession worries me.

Kiss Today Goodbye

This morning's song was What I Did For Love. From 3 a.m. until I left my house for the mammogram. Did I write about that? I often wake with a song in my head. (See today's Widow's Chronicle.)
Some songs I wake with I like, some I don't. This one, by Marvin Hamlisch, I love.

It's from A Chorus Line, which Lola and I saw on Broadway many years ago. 
Here are the words, so you can remember.


Kiss today goodbye,
the sweetness and the sorrow.
Wish me luck, the same to you.
But I can't regret
What I did for love,
What I did for love.

Look my eyes are dry.
The gift was ours to borrow.
It's as if we always knew,
And I won't forget what I did for love
What I did for love.

Gone
Love is never gone.
As we travel on,
Love's what we'll remember.

Kiss today goodbye,
And point me t'ward tomorrow.
We did what we had to do.
Won't forget, can't regret
What I did for love.
What I did for love.

Gone
Love is never gone.
As we travel on,
Love's what we'll remember.

Kiss today goodbye,
And point me t'ward tomorrow.
We did what we had to do.
Won't forget, can't regret
What I did for love.
What I did for love.
What I did for love.

Re: Yesterday's visit

On the other hand, she asked about Paul, my son Paul, and made appropriate comments as I told about him and his family.

That is positive. And positive is what we look for.

Yes, it's hard to visit

I went to Caldwell to see my friend today. She and her husband were at the home of a widow in the ward; he was mowing the lawn; she was sitting on the porch with the widow, talking. When I arrived my friend got up and walked out to meet me. That and a few other things--she remembers Lola, she remembers we have been friends for a long time--say to me that she knows who I am. Or she did today.

But

• I was shocked by her appearance. Smaller, thinner. Yes, we all shrink, but this is pronounced.She used to be a statuesque 5'9".
• Her walk is more a shuffle. 
• She has certain little things she says, half under her breath, that seem to be designed to make her seem normal. That sounds weird, I know. I don't know how else to explain it. 
• She can converse in a very limited way. 
• She doesn't know where her only daughter lives. (In Salt Lake.) She tried to tell me but talked in circles. She knows her daughter doesn't come up to visit much. Or at all. 
• She grumbles about her son's family living there in her home, although at first she did not know which child was living there, and doesn't seem to know why. (They're building a house.) She complained the children are loud and destructive. "They scream like girls." Destructive was my word. She said, yes. 
• She knows where her youngest son lives and what he does and that he and his wife are very much in love. 
• I asked where they had gone on their mission. She answered quickly. "Russia, then we came back and went to south, the south part of." The widow lady finished the sentence, "Minnesota." I said, "So you were there for the winter." I don't think she really answered that. June, the widow lady, began to talk about winters she has known. My friend and her husband have been on several missions, the first to Albania, then to Hawaii, then to Russia. Maybe somewhere else. I don't know. This last one to Minnesota, cut short, is the last one. Period. Of that I'm positive.
• She has dementia, that's sure, and I'm pretty sure she has Alzheimer's also. It sounds like an accusation, but it's not. There is no shame in it, just sadness. She was such an excellent person.
• She says people act like they are afraid of her. No one ever visits. The is a refrain of hers. And it may be true, or it may be she does not remember the visits. I said nothing. What I think is that they simply do not want to see the changes in her. I think it's good I said nothing.

·         I hugged her a long time before I left.

·         It is not possible for me to describe what I see and feel.

There's Help

How to Be Cool

It's today's WikiHow, in case you need help in this area. You can click on it.

I have looked through the instructions--this is the longest how-to I've ever seen except for when somebody writes a whole How-To book, longer than How to Bake an Angel Food Cake or How to select the right paint colors--and I know that some of you could benefit from them, the instructions.  Here are just a few, for instance,

• Don't Be Needy
• Practice Self-Disclosure 
• Remember that People Are Your Equals.

Could that be true?

Well, it wouldn't hurt to pretend, I guess. It's only for a day, you know.

Eat at home

When I was young it was a treat when we got to go out to eat. These days, not so much.

The other day I took myself to Jimmy John's for a sandwich. Lola is always telling me how good their sandwiches are. 

Enh. That's my personal critique. I had a turkey with avocado sandwich.

I mean, when their sign says a particular sandwich will have avocado on it, I expect avocado, not some green pasty stuff from a tube. Okay, I guess it's a fast food place. No time for slicing avocados. But shouldn't their sign say the sandwich has avocado paste on it?

Today at home I fixed a salmon burger. A little lime juice on it, a little hot sauce, a little grated cheese, a little lettuce, a little mayonnaise on the bun, and a pickle or two on the side.  Good is what is was. 

Yes, I know. I've already written here about the fact that I get weary of cooking my own food. So? I'm a complicated person. Aren't you?

Visit, not quite

I went to Caldwell yesterday to visit my friend who has dementia/Alzheimer's. They are home from their mission after only five months. Reports say the early return is because of her. I am sorry but not surprised. I suspect one hard thing for her was not knowing where she was, Minnesota not being familiar surroundings.

They were not at home yesterday. They were out helping a widow in their ward plant a garden, so my friend's husband told me when I called. I had not been sure it was still the right number, but it is.

So I spoke with her by phone. She seemed to know me, but I can't be sure. She said the same things about not being able to find my phone number, which may be a standard thing for her to say. Or it might mean she would like to call me, or it might mean she thinks I expect her to.

She asked where I live. I said still in Boise. She asked if I still lived in that beautiful house. These are things she might have said to anyone. She did not call me by name. She did not sound quite like herself. I wish she were quite herself, of course.

I said, "Are you okay?" She said, "Yes, I'm okay."

Stupid question maybe. Because do I really know anything from her answer?

I said I would come back to see her next Saturday and I would call first. My visit will not be to see how far down the dementia road she has traveled. Not entirely. Mostly it will be to keep in touch, let her know she still has friends. I hope she will know that.