Cats, rats, and other things with tails that aren't dogs: Gospel #10

I don't know how people blog so frequently if it's not their job. I'm not too worried though, since I think about 5 people ever read this blog, and well, that's plenty.

That being said (my excuse for another long absence), we just emerged from holiday weekend #1 in Eugene. Thanksgiving was swell, and I'm still eating leftovers (is that gross?). Today's offering is really the gospel of my mom's friend Kathy, as a result of her teaching Brenda how to deal with creatures that make her nervous. Sample species include: cats, rodents, smallish mammals of basically any kind except rabbits.

In our family it's a genetic print that has caused us to not like cats, and I mean REALLY not like cats. There's just no other excuse for it, except that they are creepy and unpredictable. Over Thanksgiving weekend we went to our family friends' house (Kathy) to visit. They have two cats: Steve and some-other-name-that belongs-to-an-adult-man. While my mom lounged casually on a big living room chair, the cat whose name I can't remember came over to visit--hopped up on the arm and my mom slithered carefully from the chair so as to not have to interact with the cat AT ALL. In response, Kathy sat down in the chair and showed the Kame'enui women how it is done: "Here, just WHACK! the cat off the arm of the chair." Now TOUCHING the cat is something my mom has yet to do, but the whole scenario taught us something very valuable: cats, in their apathy about the world, are resilient. And good thing.

This of course follows an email from my mom earlier this fall that I've saved for weeks because it captures just why my mom is NOT the gospel on dealing with cats and rodents and the like:
"HOW DID I GET A MOUSE IN MY HOUSE??
Large. Last night I watched him eat some peanut butter off the trap and escape before it snapped shut.
This morning the mouse (the same big one, I think) was head in, done in."

Just imagine the shrieking...

Bricks: Gospel #9

Geez, summer came in and I lost blogging. It hasn't been for lack of inspiration, more like--I'm lazy.

This weekend I spent time in Eugene after a work trip and it was a rare moment where it was just my mom and me. Lately there's been that pesky niece around, or somebody's husband or boyfriend, or something, so it was nice to just have the two of us to do what we do best, and together: Fussle. That's fuss and bustle together; you know, messing about with house projects and ideas and paperwork.

Saturday we biked around town, went to see a movie, and hissed at raccoons on the bike path on the way home. Then there was Sunday. My mom used craigslist for the first time and I'm impressed because a) she didn't call me to ask how, b) she posted and deleted an ad, and c) she was not unaccompanied to meet "Alan" at the sketchy, edge-of-town warehouse. We met Alan Sunday afternoon to see about some bricks. The bricks are to be used in a path to my mom's new little bunkhouse/garden shed out back. It's a darling thing that will help us deal with the overflow in the house on busy family weekends and a spot to read, sew, meditate, etc. My mom has created the building with primarily recycled materials (windows, flooring, lights, and so on). So, we went to see about a pile of old bricks for the path. Bear in mind that our meeting time and date was with Alan--whose partner was unavailable because a) he doesn't have many teeth left, b) "wrecked his car last night," and c) lost his cell phone in the car debacle and was therefore difficult to reach. So, we met Alan. I made plans for how to escape the warehouse area quickly, while my mom made sure we had hats and water to keep us out of the sun and hydrated.

What was a grand pile of bricks was no longer. It was some bricks, buried, and broken. But we spent two hours digging through the pile and finally came out with about 220 bricks. So, foolish as it may have seemed to simply save $275, we had a great time and my biceps are all the better for it.

At one point, my mom stopped and said, "There are only two people in the world who would do this with me. My sister and you." And she's right; furthermore, this means someday my kid will be blogging about me.

Towing: Gospel #8

A few weeks ago our car was towed, for basically no reason. After worrying that Kabir was in a ditch, limbless for a few hours, he finally arrived home at 2:30am and about $150 poorer. He and some friends all parked their cars in a quiet side street while playing late night music at a local bar. When they emerged from the music, they discovered that three out of three cars had been towed. The reason/s remain mysterious.

Of course, the gospel has come up with an answer. As it turns out my mom just read an editorial about predatory towing. Apparently, there's a bill in the Oregon legislature about it, because towing companies go out and search for cars to tow. "I had no idea. Now they'll have to take photographs that indicate the law that's being broken. How about that. And they can't tow from lots without the owner's permission, unless a car is blocking other cars. There's justice."

BEES! Gospel #7

"Hi. Are you at your office? Science Friday is on OPB and they're talking about BEES! Okay? I love you."

A common, everyday phone call.

Encouragement: Gospel #6

With Mother's Day just around the corner, it seems appropriate to honor the Gospel with a little tribute to words of encouragement...

This week Bree, she's the first born, started an early morning outdoor workout program. She emailed us after day one looking for props for her 5am rise. Naturally, the Gospel said:

"You have to go back every day and soon it will get easier and you can do two pushups and even a sit-up and then you'll be ready to climb the stairs at the office and give your heart a real workout and I'M SO PROUD OF YOU FOR GETTING UP SO EARLY TO WORKOUT. Good job! Did Metztli say, Where's my mama? Where do you do all this? In the park in the dark?"

Thanks Mom.

One of many randoms: Gospel #5

In January, my mom dropped a real gem in my inbox, after we'd recently returned from a great trip to Patagonia together.

From BioBio Patagonia

On our last day in Argentina, on our way home, my mom's bag was stolen from the hotel. Big bummer. In the end we were glad it was hers, not mine, where I'd irresponsibly left my passport. This bit of background provides some context for the purchases and missings noted below:

"My six-day headache is almost gone, so I think my brain tumor is shrinking. (I need a new alternator.)

My sprained ankle from tripping in tall grass in someone else's unsecured sandals is better.

I had to buy a comb and nail clippers and tweezers.

I'm saddest about my perfect down coat and old Columbia khakis and brand new Columbia white blouse from the BA airport (!).

And Gaza is burning. WHAT am I talking about?

What are you going to do Monday, on the new National Day of Service?

ilu and apparently needed some attention."

At least she's honest.

Ocean trash: Gospel #4

Luckily I got to hear about this depressing news piece three times between Friday and Sunday, when my mom was in Portland for a visit. The news, and Brenda, report there is a mass of trash in the Pacific twice the size of the state of Texas. More specifically, the "Pacific Garbage Patch" is made of 80% plastic from those bags, etc. that migrate down your sewer drain and mine, or fall off ships. The Patch weighs about 3.5 million tons. Mom also reports that it is as deep as a mile in some areas, making it impossible for marine life to pass, as they get entangled in the trash.

Biologists are monitoring the trash island, but thanks to the gospel, this continues to be nothing short of depressing, all of three times I heard the story. Moral of the gospel: Take your own bag to the store.

A little education about DNA and Meryl Streep: Gospel #3

I have a good bit of catching up to do, so when I think of it, I'm going to keep at this blogging thing...

On Ash Wednesday of this year, my mom sent me the most fantastic email. I decided it was too personal to publish, but felt no remorse about reporting the following:

"Today one of my 6-year-olds said to the two kids sitting next to him: 'I have some of your DNA and some of your DNA, smart and cra-a-a-zy. I'm also part Irish. I'm part a lotta things.' Another 6-year-old said, 'My mom and dad were fighting last night and my dad yelled at my mom and she pushed him and he called the cops.' And they came.

Did you see President Obama walk into the joint session last night? What an event. It was thrilling and I cried. And the high school girl sitting next to the lovely first lady. What a story!

Isn't Meryl Streep the classiest?

I love you, Mom"

Something we must all understand is that a woman's brain, and even more so, a mom's brain, and EVEN MORE SO, my mom's brain, is able to multi-task. It's phenomenal. She greets struggling kids with open arms and then has the brain space to remember how classy Meryl Steep is. I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast.

The Gospel Continues... Gospel #2

It's been a while since I posted on Brenda's latest word. More accurately, it's been a year and a half, but who's counting. We have a grandchild in the family now, so blogging has taken on a whole new meaning.

I'm starting again though, consider this a new beginning...

I've just returned from four days in New Orleans. It was a fantastic trip, but I didn't have much time for family conversations, which means that I returned to some real gems in my inbox.

A few words on brown fat straight from the horse's mouth:

"Maybe Bree or Ani read about brown fat cells or heard it on NPR. Babies have brown fat cells to keep them warm, because they don’t have enough muscle mass to shiver. Until now, they (THEY) thought adults didn’t have brown fat cells, because they searched in the same place that babies have them: up and down the back bone.

Some adults have them, just a very few, in the hollow between collar bone and neck. They are literally brown. They work for you. They help metabolism. Perhaps explains why people my size are always cold and some others aren’t."

Now, don't you feel so much better about shivering?