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February 06, 2010

Prompt Writes: Bud

Crocus bud
Nubile wisp
Seeking light
Finding cold mantle
And hesitating
Just below
Before bursting
Past snow
Past ice
As courage
softly leads
Sweet elegance
To wilting,
Bitter death.
Alas! Mourn
This crocus
A spring
Harbinger wasted

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Snow Weasels

A glimpse of the snow weasels:



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February 05, 2010

Back East Ohio Snow | Day One

It is the kind of winter where clear and snowless days are a rarity to be marveled at. The most recent round of snow rolled in hours ago and every last thing outside my windows has been obscured by heavy silver and blue drapery carelessly tossed to the ground by an irresponsible giantess cloth monger.

The conquering flakes have invaded as swiftly and silently as a mythical army; even the tree branches bows towards the earth in humble protest of their combined weight. It is a siege and we are the hapless townsfolk.

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Captured images of my Weather Channel desktop.




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Nutmeg is far too big to be bothered by the light stuff. She runs into trouble around 10:30 PM, when the snow becomes think and difficult to transverse.





These views are important. The first is a glimpse out of the bathroom window. It is the beginning of the siege.





The freshly shoveled driveway





The same view, two hours later.






The snow is almost too deep for the small dogs. They bound around in it, looking like fuzzy snow weasels. Truffle, the Pomeranian, collect snow balls on her underside. She does not like them removed - she saves them for later, and snacks on them as they melt. Piper, the Chihuahua mix, loves the cold.





The bird feeder, groaning under the weight.

February 03, 2010

Smelting!

Smelts: sweet and succulent Osmeridae that gaily don their egg-and-flour bathing suits before easing into a Jacuzzi of hot oil; in the hands of a Greek or Southern person, they are utterly orgasmic to the palate.

What is smelt? They are popular little fish found in the Great Lakes region and a staple here.

Of course, they are best when they are served at festivals: This is Piper when she was eight weeks old, in my small camera bag. The smelts are in the container next to her.


Fish does not last long in this house. Jeff (my fearless Better Half) had them dipped, cooked and patted dry in record time tonight; the Fish Prowler of Pembroke, made short work of them. (Okay, not all of them. A huge container beckons to me from the refrigerator but I am ignoring it.)


Getting onto a new (yet smelt-related) tangent:

Jeff and I worked in animal husbandry at the Colorado Ocean Journey Aquarium years ago (before they were taken over and reorganized into the Downtown Aquarium – and before they went wickedly commercial with Landry’s.) Smelts were a staple for the otters.

There is nothing quite like hauling yourself down the back passageways of an aquarium at 4 AM, the heavy smell of fish mixing with Clorox bleach (kitchen cleaning) as you shuffle towards your department. We had a variety of shore and tropical birds, reptiles and amphibians, two tigers and two different species of otter.

Squid and smelts are otter food, as I said. I can not eat a smelt without thinking of Gunny (my favorite northern river otter) and Gracie (the sea otter.) The tigers preferred horse meat, which has a distinctly pungent smell. I always brought in coffee and sipped it throughout the morning, and so I still associate the beverage with horseflesh and Sumatran tigers.

The animals learned to distinguish our polo shirts from those of the tour guides and tourists. We’d stroll down the paths (the aquarium was divided up differently back then) and the animals would see us and surmise that a meal was on the way (which is was not!) They became lively, which pleased the visitors. (They were fed away from public view, using a target method that allowed for routine examination and behavior reinforcement. Small bits of food were placed in their enclosures as enrichment.)

Blah blah, yadda blah. The snow outside had coupled with the smelts, spawning a senseless desire to reminisce.



Meanwhile, this poor woman contemplates the empty plate in front of her. What a pity that she arrived late to dinner. Had she but known that I was ravenous after rearranging my living room (new couches arrive on Monday), she would have come early and avoided the carnage.

January 31, 2010

Adam's Salt Lick

- Or - Interview with a Bible Vampire. Reprinted by request from another one of my blogs.


“Did you know this water was sodium free?” Donna asked, brandishing the plastic bottle in front of my face.

“That’s lovely,” I replied, internally cringing. Donna the Evangelical “fundie”, otherwise known as The Bible Vampire, had cornered me.


“Most bottled water has sodium,” Donna continued. “God didn’t create water to have sodium in it.”

Oh boy. “He didn’t?”

Noooooo! Man puts it there.” She said this even as she crinkled up her nose, a toddler’s vowel sounds drawn out and quartered. I noticed that the makeup had caked into the new lines around her nose, giving her permanent whiskers.

No indeed. NOOOOOOOOO. Please God, anything but this. God, if you’re listening, please send angels to rip my ears off.

She smiles, having assumed that I am an eager pupil. “Uh huh. Haven’t you noticed how unhealthy sodium is? It’s in the news. God didn’t want us to have sodium. That’s why he created water for us to drink, and he wouldn’t put that stuff in there.”

“The ocean has salt in it. It’s salt water. Sodium is salt.”

She pauses and snorts. “Haha, you almost had me. Sodium isn’t salt. Salt comes from the earth. The bible talks about the salt of the earth. Not salt of the water.”

Hello God? It’s me again. Forget the angels. Send a plague.

“Salt is part of our diet,” I reply. "Too much or too little consumption of salt on a regular basis is found to lead to muscle cramps and fatigue. If not taken seriously, fatal irregularities such as neurological imbalances are also likely. Drinking too much of water, without sufficient salt intake, might lead to water intoxication termed as hyponatremia."

Foolish me, always wanting to volunteer information in the form of big words that Donna cannot process.

“No, you’re wrong,” she said, tossing her bushy and overly sprayed hair with a hearty shake of her head. (It isn’t fair to say that the individual hairs actually moved. The entire teased rat’s nest knocked about her cranium like a bleached-blond football helmet.)

“Actually,” I continue, “our ancestors received their salt through animal blood. Later, when agriculture was essential to survival, they would supplement their paltry dietary salt intake by consuming clay or other substances known to contain salt. Many animals do.”

“Humans are NOT ANIMALS.”

“Actually, we are. Primates, to be exact.”

“God created people, male and female he created them. People aren’t primates and they don’t eat rocks.”

“I didn’t say 'rocks'. The human body will die without salt. It’s an essential mineral. We require five to ten grams of salt per day. God must have created us that way, you'd think? Anyway, what did Adam and Eve do to supplement their salt intake? You told me last week that they didn't eat meat until after they had left the Garden. They didn’t have a way to, um, make table salt yet, obviously. Where did the salt come from?”

Very long pause.

Long indeed.

More nose crinkling.

She stares at me as if I were something spawned in the pits of hell. She purses her lips. She speaks.

“God gave them a salt lick.”

Mmmmkay.

“I would imagine that it was in the form of the clay found in Africa,” I said.

“Oh jeepers no!”

“What? You don’t think it was a 'formed salt lick', do you?”

“It would have to be, wouldn’t it? God wouldn’t want us licking the ground. It isn’t good.”

So is this because the ground isn’t kosher, or is it because God would see it as a form of mud-man cannibalism? I was afraid to ask.