Soul Thumping

Running for the Roses (Oh, and Frostbite)

Tomorrow I'm running a 5K, the 30th annual Run for the Roses.  A portion of the proceeds go to Carolina Canines for Service, which is a good cause.  I'm doing the run because I enjoy running now, and it feels good to set a short-term goal.  As with my previous race, my goal is simply to finish, and not focus on my timing (although I know it has improved since my last run in June).

Why does anyone care?  They probably don't but I'm taking the time to blog about it for three reasons:  

1.  I'm quite proud of myself for making another short-term goal and sticking to it.  For me, that is an accomplishment of cyclopean measure.

2.  My brother jumped on board the running train and is going to run with me, and I'm very proud of him.

3.  The third and most important reason to blog about my event is that this could be my last blog entry for a while (here comes the drama queen from behind the curtain...enough already).  The high tomorrow will barely be in the 40s.  Now, I know this is above freezing and all, but it's cold.  My legs could freeze (not literally, I'm talking figuratively now) up on me and I could trip and fall, and roll right into the ditch on Blount Street and no one will stop to pick me up.  I could trip and crack my ankle, splintering it into a thousand pieces and roll into the ditch on Halifax street and no one will pick me up.  What if I slip on an icy patch, land on my head, knock myself out and roll into a ditch behind Peace College and no one picks me up?

Hmmm, I don't think I'm worried so much about getting hurt, I think I have abandonment issues.

--Fortuitous Observer

Thieving Squirrels

I was hoping to enjoy a teeny bit of snow and bird watching early this morning, but it was too warm and snow rarely graces North Carolina with her presence, and the squirrels have stolen my bird feeder, again.  Yes, the little bastards literally stole it.  Chirp, chirp, chirp?  Nope.

The "burglary" happened a couple of months ago and I've been too cheap to spend money on another bird feeder because this latest theft is the second in what appears to be a desire for absolute neighborhood domination.  Poseidon found a feeder that is guaranteedto be "squirrel proof" but I'm skeptical.  I'm skeptical because it has a price tag of almost $90, but mostly because the manufacturers of this guaranteed squirrel proof bird feeder haven't met the sly kleptomaniacal rodents with fluffy tails bunking in my backyard.

I have blogged about these bugger squirrels in the past.  They don't give up, and I have to respect that, I truly do.  It may take them weeks or months to filch the bird feeder, but they will.  They will attack it, poke it, pull at it, and chew at it until it cracks open like a pinata full of sunflower goodies.  I've personally witnessed them involved in acrobatic feats that would stun the most avid viewer of the Animal Planet channel, just to break open that feeder.

I miss watching the cardinals, the blue birds, the finches, and even the woodpecker who used to pop in for a snack.  I miss them and their beauty and grace and the rave reviews they gave my seed in the "Uptown Birdy Times" but I'm not ready to spend $90 on another feeder (I also think I'm still too young to become a birdwatcher, but having lived in urburbia for many years, I forgot what they look like so they are a bit like a circus freak show to me...I can't help but watch).  Anyway, until such time I decide to shell out the bucks, I will have to enjoy squirrel watching instead of birdwatching and allow the score to stand for now:  squirrels - 2, birds - zip.

Damn, I wish it would snow...

--Fortuitous Observer

Just What Makes That Little Squirrel...

September 1, 2009.  I have my windows open on this beautiful Carolina morning.  I'm confused, however, because it should be humid and in the upper 80's at 10am.  I'm a sun bunny, and I don't mind heat and yes, even a little humidity, but I have to admit I'm digging this morning, and so is that pesky little squirrel who keeps trying to get into my anti-squirrel bird feeder (of course I had to snap a pic).

I have to hand it to him, he is a trooper.  He doesn't give up.  I'm going to learn from him today.  I had a not so great day yesterday.  Being unemployed for 6 months can sometimes sneak up on me, even though I try to stay active and upbeat, the mean blues (or according to Holly Golightly, the mean reds) creep up on me unexpectedly from time to time.  Having suffered from chronic depression most of my life, I am still sometimes overwhelmed when it hits.  One would think by now I would be used to it, but no (though I am medicated!!!!  Yeah for meds).

Anyway, getting back to the squirrel.  He doesn't give up.  He is out there everyday, rain or shine, trying to claw his way through the metal wiring on the bird feeder.  He doesn't care that it was made specifically to keep rodents like him from stealing seed rightfully belonging to birds.  He will not hear that.  Nay, he will have those sunflowers!

Remember Laverne and Shirely?  When Shirely would be feeling down, or not wanting to go along with one of Laverne's schemes, Laverne would sing the song "High Hopes" to her, you know the one about the little ant thinking he can move a rubber tree plant?  The squirrel reminded me of that, so that will be the song stuck in my head ALL DAY LONG.  I found this version on youtube today, so everybody sing!!

--Fortuitous Observer

Hives, Fireflies, and a Good Old Fashioned Electric Shock

I broke out in hives this morning.  It happens from time to time, though the hives have been making more frequent appearances lately because whether or not I want to admit it, I am stressed about being unemployed.

Usually the hives appear on my forearm, or down the side of my neck.  They hang around for a day or two, then skip away quietly.  This morning was different, however.  They appeared on my stomach.  I would be irritated about them except this time they reminded me of a childhood experience that I thought would be great to share.  Let's face it, sometimes fodder for my blog hits me out of nowhere.

When I was around 6 years old, we were visiting some of my parents' friends for the evening.  Their kids were older than I was, in their teens, but they played with me.  They were rather cool.  They lived on a farm.  It was a small farm, with a couple of cows, a horse (maybe two), lots of dogs, some chickens, and maybe a goat (or that could have been my little brother, it's kind of fuzzy now).  I remember we were catching fireflies (a.k.a. lightning bugs), starting at early dusk.   We we were putting the fireflies we caught into a jar with a lid, but air holes were punched in the lid so as not to kill them (though I don't understand that logic because the older kids were taking the bugs and smashing them on their shirts so their shirts would glow, killing the bugs anyway).

I was so excited.  Mainly because these older cool kids were playing with me instead of ignoring me.  I ran around like a little pixie, running and jumping and laughing and catching the fireflies.  I saw a HUGE firefly, the largest one I'd ever seen.  His light was the twice the size as the others.  I had to have him damn it!  I chased him, and just as he flew over the fence toward the horse, I jumped, grabbed hold of the fence and reached...wait...I've just grabbed hold of an electric fence!

My entire body was shaking and jerking, and my teeth were rattling like a bag of marbles!  I couldn't move.  I couldn't let go.  I was captured like a fly in a web (only this web was belting out some powerful jolts).  I remember the bigger kids trying to pry my hands off of the fence, and it wasn't easy.  After a few seconds though, they had finally freed me.

They carried me into the house where the adults were and I was shaking and my speech was a bit slow and stuttering.  I had welts all over my stomach and arms an legs that looked like I'd swallowed a bunch of rats and the rats were trying to scratch their way out from the inside.  May hair was standing up straight (yes, that really does happen) and I felt like I'd just come back from the dead.

I don't remember much after that.  My parents and their friends had brought some cool clothes in to put on my head (oh, yeah, I had a headache too), and they were cooing over me and so sorry about what had happened.  I remember thinking that I was like a superhero now or something.  I'd survived being shocked and I could probably shoot gamma rays from my eyes, hitting my sister and brother and melting them into oblivion if I wanted.

Turns out I didn't acquire super powers, just some minor scratches and welts that healed within a few days and my hair didn't stick up the next morning.  I can tell you that I did not even consider catching fireflies after that, and when I see those greenish-yellow lights in my backyard now, I shudder.  I myself was a "firefly" that long ago night so I have walked in their shoes (or flown in their wings...) and that's as close as I ever need to get to them again.

--Fortuitous Observer

Joggers Beware: Geese are NOT Vegetarians...

Several weeks ago, on my daily run around the lake near my home, I was chased by a goose.  I didn't fault the goose because the goose's babies, or goslings to be correct, had just hatched, and I'm sure they were concerned that I was up to no good, and that I would do something sinister, like eat their babies, kidnap them and put them up for sale in the underground goose market, or kick punt them into the lake.  I love animals, but they didn't know that.

Now that the goslings are a bit older and stronger, you would think the geese would leave me alone.  I run around that lake almost every day, and if I haven't touched the babies by now, I'm not going to.  That isn't good enough for these geese.  I'm still a potential rapscallion, out to do harm.  Today, while doing my usual 2 mile run, I spotted a goose in the running path ahead of me.  He seemed to be hanging out, minding his business, and as I got closer, I slowed my speed a bit, just in case the goose wanted to cross in front of me.  He didn't.  He wanted to eat me!  OK, maybe not exactly devour me, but he squawked and ran toward me, beak wide open!  I didn't think geese attacked unless provoked, or if they are protecting their babes.  Maybe I scared him.  I also thought geese were vegetarians and that I would not be a likely meal.  Not the case (I looked it up when I got back home:  http://www.poultrypages.com/goose-facts.html)!  They like a little meat in their diet.

I talked to the goose, assuring him I was not going to hurt him, his mate or his children.  Even though I'm unemployed, I can still pay for food, explaining that I was not out foraging for dinner and uninterested in goose liver pate at the moment.

He seemed to accept this and backed off to let me pass.  Whew.  I ran what was left of my 2 mile trail, headed back home, made sure I had no fowl in my fridge, and spent the rest of the afternoon contemplating a stiff drink rather than job searching.

--Fortuitous Observer

If I Were a Cricket...(More Ramblings from Unemployment Land)

For two nights in a row I’ve heard crickets chirping madly outside my bedroom window.  After a bit, they start to grate on my nerves.  The way they communicate sounds almost like Morse Code.  One has a high-pitched chirp and the other responds with a very low-pitched chirp; or maybe it is just one cricket making high and low chirps.  Maybe it is a cricket talking to himself.  I wonder if crickets do that.  Maybe he is schizophrenic!  If humans can have mental diseases, why can’t crickets?

At times, this continuous chirping conversation can be annoying, but it does make me start thinking strange thoughts that then spiral of out control.  Could it be possible that crickets find us annoying?  Maybe they grow irritated after listening to a group of children playing outside in the summer dusk (who doesn't).  Crickets probably mark their calendars off, day by day, counting down the days until kids have to go back to school in the fall.  Then they have the outdoors to themselves again.  I would be annoyed if I was a cricket if I just wanted to jam with my cricket friends and a bunch of loud little rug rats were screaming and stepping on me.

Why stop at crickets?  I mean, if it’s possible that humans annoy crickets, then I’m sure we annoy all other insects and animals.

Sometimes I wish I was a cricket.  Think about it.  They live simply to exist.  They don’t worry about paying bills, job searching, exercise, money, if I could only win the lottery, etc.  They just eat and chirp and breed.  They don’t have to figure out their place in the world.  Ah, to be a cricket.  I have not realized my place in this world, and unemployment keeps me feeling out of sync, off track if you will.  Maybe I’m only off track by a quarter of an inch.  Incredibly frustrating to be so close to realizing my path, yet nothing seems to push me enough to get into that track.  How simple things would be...if I were a cricket.

--Fortuitous Observer

The Idiot Homeowner, Gardner, etc.

I just bought my very first house in September of 2008, so I've been a homeowner for nearly 8 months.  I know nothing about owning a home, except that I'm responsible for everything, and I don't have to throw away money paying rent anymore.  I know nil about home repairs, property taxes, lawn care, landscaping, pest control (except the insects that my cats maul, leaving them near death and in pain flailing about on my floors each morning), trash collection, leaf collection, keeping the driveway clean, etc.  I've lived in urburbia for the past 16 years or so.  I had "people" (a.k.a. landlords and maintenance staff) who took care of such things.  Now, it's just me.  I'm solely responsible.  I've discovered something:  I am an idiot.

I wouldn't give myself the title of idiot unless I was sure it fit.  I'm sure.  From the very beginning, before I even closed on the house, I should have realized that I was in over my head.  When I was checking rates for homeowners insurance and they asked me what kind of pipes were in the house, I said, "I don't know, round ones."  I wasn't trying to be funny.  I honestly believed that to be a helpful, sufficient answer.

Once I signed the papers and moved in, the first thing I wanted to do was paint.  I bought primer, brushes, rollers, paint, etc. and thought I was all set!  It turns out that when priming, you don't actually have to put a solid coat of primer on the wall, and, you should either go side-to-side or up-and-down, not both.  My brother informed me of that after paying a visit to my home while I was out of town for work to check on my cats.  I'm glad I wasn't there when he saw it because his laughter would have been entirely too much for me to handle.  I'm sure he is still laughing about it now...several months later.

A few weeks after moving into my new house (after the painting fiasco), several of the electrical outlets stopped working.  I searched the attic for chewed wires because of the plethora of squirrels who congregate on my property.  I searched the crawl space, sweeping past spiders and other creepy-crawlies I couldn't identify, looking for chewed wires there.  My cousin Anthony (thanks Anth) put the idea of squirrels in my head.  Turns out, a breaker had tripped.  I swear, I looked in the box and saw nothing.  I called electricians and they simply flipped the breaker, and left with a check for $65.00.  Oh, but they did tell me this happens to a lot of people.  Yeah, sure it does, but I appreciated them trying to make me feel like less of a dumb ass.

Two months after moving in, my heat was no longer working (and it was cold and snowing).  Fortunately my soon-to-be-sister-in-law phoned her ex-husband, who happens to be an electrician (and lucky for me, they are on speaking terms) and he rushed right over to diagnose the problem.  He asked me where the heating unit was and I took him outside and showed him the outside heat pump.  He looked at me a bit strangely and said, "Umm, that can't be everything.  I need to see the actual heating unit."  I thought that was the heating unit, but I showed him the crawl space under the house that had other pipes and ducts, and bingo, that was it!  Hopefully he didn't share that episode with his other electrician friends.

It turns out the heating problem started with the thermostat shorting and melting, which melted other things, which caused the heat to stop working.  He bought me a new thermostat, the new kind that's programmable (of course, I paid for it).  He cut me a deal in the price I believe.  The next month, my energy bill went from $239 to $570!  Turns out I was using what is called auxiliary heat.  I was wondering what AUX meant on the thermostat.  Now I know.

When I mentioned to my boyfriend that I would like to put some more plants in the front yard, he suggested we go to a nursery.  I thought he meant to pick out babies.  He meant plants.  I'm not good with plants.  I've killed plants that other people have told me are impossible to kill such as aloe and cacti.  Yup, I've killed them.  I don't have a green thumb.  I don't even have a green finger nail.  I accidentally "broke" one of the rose bushes planted by the previous owner.  I touched the stem to look at it, and it snapped it.  The rose bush is dead.  I'm guilty.

Now that I've been here for 8 months, I'm finally comfortable with changing light bulbs, pulling the trash and recycling containers to the curb on Monday nights, and watering, but not touching my plants.  That's about it.  I did order the Gardening for Dummies and Home Maintenance for Dummies books.  They are on the book shelf in my study, gathering dust.

I thought being unemployed would give me time to do things around the house and learn to garden, but as it turns out, I probably shouldn't...

Visit this great blog I found for DIY information:  http://mydiyhometips.com/.  I spend a good deal of time there.

--Fortuitous Observer

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Childhood Tales of an Aging Gen Xer - Part I

Today I noticed, for the first time in years, the small scar on my left kneecap and it brought back some amazing (albeit dangerous) memories from my childhood.  The shenanigans I found myself involved in as a child leave me bewildered that I'm alive today!

I am in no way condoning the crazy stunts that my sister and I (and sometimes our younger brother), along with friends, tried as children, and if my mother is reading this, she may actually pass out or have heart palpitations.  Looking at my old scar (and it is old now), I'm enjoying re-living those crazy, fun memories.  I've named this "Part I" because the list of tour de force antics from my early childhood could easily be a book and I'm feeling quite nostalgic these days (unemployment gives one time to reflect), so I could go on and on in other posts.

Anyway, this particular scar was acquired around the age of 7 while zooming down my friend's concrete driveway in a red wagon. This was an activity we did every time we got together at her home.  I'll call her Alice as I've lost touched with her and wouldn't want to use her real name without her permission.  Our mothers would be inside Alice's house drinking their 3rd cup of coffee and going on and on about whatever it was they went on about without paying too much attention to us.  This red wagon became a propulsion mechanism to Alice, my sister and myself, the likes of which could only be duplicated by NASA.

We would position the wagon at the very top of Alice's incredibly steep driveway.  This driveway was so steep that you couldn't see the bottom of it standing at the top.  The three us us would climb in the wagon, and the "designated driver" (we took turns) would take the handle that would normally be used to pull the wagon along (at very safe speeds).  This handle we used as the steering apparatus.  Once we were all in, the "driver" would push off with one foot and we would go barreling down the driveway, approaching speeds I'm sure were close to 30 miles per hour.  The problem with using the wagon as a rocket was the brakes...there were none!  In order to stop, the driver would have to jerk the handle very hard to the side, which meant we were slung off the driveway, at a very fast speed, through the air and into the bushes.  We loved this!  I can still recall the feeling of exhilaration speeding down the driveway, everything blurry due to the speed!  One of us always got hurt.  It was given.

We were told on several occasions to stop doing this because it was dangerous.  Of course it was, that's why we did it!  The thrill was in our blood and we weren't going to stop.  On one particular launch down the driveway, we cruised so fast that we sped off of the driveway, down a dirt path, overturning on a bed of gravel just before sailing out into the main road.  This is the launch that game me my scar.  I lacerated my knee.  I don't remember crying.  I just trekked back up the hill, up the driveway, went inside (blood pouring from my gaping wound), got some iodine and a bandage, then went back out to see if we could brake even harder on the next trip down.

Maybe it was because we grew up during the cold war and there was the possibility of being bombed by the Russians at any minute (according to propaganda) so subconsciously we felt we should live life to the fullest, or maybe we just had a childish sense of being invincible, but as a child, I attempted (and usually succeeded) some really imbecilic feats without thought of consequence.  Looking at my scar right now makes me think, "Those were the days!"

-Fortuitous Observer

Note:  I'm taking the weekend off!  Be back Monday.

An Impasse - the Moth and Myself

I cringe at the crunching sound made by a roach as it's being squashed.  I nearly suffer from spasms when I accidentally step on a ladybug or a beetle when I'm outside.  I used to separate sparring ants with sticks or blades of grass when I was a kid because I didn't want the ants to fight and hurt each other.  Spiders skeeve (I don't even know if that's a word) me out beyond explanation, but I go to great lengths to keep from killing them (including pretending I don't really see them, that I'm just having a "flashback").

In my early to mid-twenties I studied Buddhism for a time, and having a good grasp of karma, I don't like the idea of taking the life of another living creature, no matter how much the creature gives me the willies, lest we meet again in another life!  The other day I had my boyfriend Pat kill a roach that was crawling on my living room floor because I thought I would hyperventilate.  He did it, not me!  I'm safe.  When I visit my parents in Florida, they like to go fishing in the ocean.  I break out in hives thinking about hooking a fish and being responsible for it's death, so I usually decline to fish and just stick to reading while on the boat.  I'm not a vegetarian, and I love seafood, but I don't want to be the actual executioner.

It is this disdain for killing that allows the ugly gray moth in my bedroom to continue to live.  He came through an open window during the night last week and he can't seem to find his way out again.  I keep the window slightly cracked (enough to let the moth out, but not my less-than-brilliant cats--I don't have the screen in the window and I doubt they would land on their feet from the 2nd story window) in order to precipitate his departure but he hasn't picked up on it yet.  So, for the past several nights he has parked himself on my bedroom ceiling, right above my bed.  I stare at him, noticing how ugly and creepy he is and wishing he would leave.  I won't kill him but he doesn't know this.  His only instict is to survive and he doesn't know how long I will allow that, so he makes as few moves as possible, unable to get back outside.  I don't want him to leave the ceiling and land on me, so make as few moves as possible at night so as not to startle him into flying around.  The moth (I've started calling him Harry), I am sure, does not want to be in my room anymore than I want him in my room.  We are at an impasse, he and I.

-Fortuitous Observer

Memories of Springs Past

Spring has sprung, and I can't even begin to explain how wonderful it feels to sit in the open breeze of early evening, sipping a nice cold micro-brew, jotting down my thoughts and feelings as they blow through me with each subtle gust of warm air.  Spring is inspirational to a writer (I'm sure most writers would agree with me), and having just purchased my first home in October, I've had such a fantastical time waking up and discovering what plants and flowers are springing to life in my backyard this early in the season.  The almost daily surprise of spring wildlife (both the plant and animal varieties) at my doorstep leaves me awestruck at times, really.  I'm a huge fan of Mother Nature, and this time of year, she reigns supreme.

Mother Nature holds us captive during spring.  Even the most hardened of hearts can't help but feel inspired and at peace when the warm winds blow (some may not admit it of course, depending on how "hardened" those hearts really are) as we silently beg for renewal.  For me, though I'm unemployed and having a hard time finding employment after having just purchased a home, I am somehow able to put the stress aside and enjoy the spring.  I have a smile on my face now as I think back on some of my fondest spring memories.  I'll share them, though they may not seem significant to most, these small memories of mine may provoke some wonderful memories in others and that makes it worth the typing effort:

• Playing outside until after dark with my siblings, Melissa and Sean when we were kids
• Building tree forts at the end of our street in Social Circle, GA with my sister Melissa and best friend Jenny at age 8 or 9
• Hiking in the woods behind my grandparents house and discovering a mass of purple/pink trillium when I was 12 or 13
• Driving downtown on Saturday nights with friends to watch the midnight showing of "Rocky Horror Picture Show" at the age of 17 and 18
• My first Durham Bulls baseball game with friends and beer at the age of 21
• My sister Melissa and I at an outdoor Peter, Paul and Mary concert; under the stars, soaking up the sounds, when we were 23
• My friend Liz and I during an early, unusually warm Raleigh spring, trekking around the park and goofing off when I was 26
• Outdoor restaurants in Philadelphia with friends when I first moved there, getting to know the city - age 27
• Stepping outside of a yoga class during the first weeks of spring, feeling renewed and alive! - age 33
• My first spring living in downtown Nashville, going out to dinner with Melissa and friend Shay
• My very first spring, back in Raleigh, in my very first house, watching the birds from my sun porch and thinking life doesn't get much better than this - age 40!

Re-live your own spring memories now!  Go ahead, it won't hurt and I guarantee a smile bursts across your face.  Go out and enjoy spring.  It doesn't last long, but maybe you can make a memory of this one that will last you forever (even if you are unemployed and miserable).  Please feel free to comment on your own spring memories.  I would love to hear them!