Keep an eye out for predators

March in Florida is when live oaks, who have shed their leaves all winter, produce catkins. These slim, cylindrical flower clusters begin their annual flowering, letting loose pounds of yellow pollen that fall from the trees as new leaves push them out. The sound it makes as it falls is like rain. Stand on my front porch by the second or third week of March, and you will think the skies have opened up. 

Pollen coats everything nearby--cars, fences, driveways, windows--leaving behind yellow-green streaks. Clean it, and as quickly as you've finished, it's time to do it all over again. It's maddening, and by the end of April, we're over pollen. 

Spring also brings out the leafrollers, little green harmless worms, who get displaced from their oak homes by the wind and are left dangling, hanging on for dear life clinging to a silk line. They are pretty translucent, and often we walk through them without knowing we've dislodged them until we spot them in our hair or on our clothes.

After a week of 80-degree February temperatures (which is why our oak thinks spring has sprung), we got a respite with lows in the upper 50s. This coolness sends my dog outside to lounge on the front porch, and this morning I joined him. 

As we exited the door, a leafroller dangled directly in front of the entrance to my front porch, and had I not seen him, he would've ended up on me and probably would've been transported into the house. But, Elliot chose not to exit the porch, thus saving the silkworm--and me.

So, just in case Elliot did go into the yard, I sat in my porch chair and kept an eye on the little fellow as he swayed in the gentle breeze. He held on as the wind carried him to the right and back again, and then he began his climb up the silk thread. He'd work for several seconds, stop and hold on as the breeze carried him to the left, and when it died, he'd begin climbing again. He'd get several inches up in the air and then suddenly drop as if he'd lost his footing. I'd cringe, thinking of all the energy he'd expelled. Now he had to start all over again.

And he did--crawl, crawl, sway, sway, crawl, crawl.

It reminded me of the song High Hopes that Penny Marshall and Cindy Williams would sing on

Just what makes that little old ant

Think he'll move that rubber tree plant

Anyone knows an ant, can't

Move a rubber tree plant

But he's got high hopes

He's got high hopes

He's got high apple pie

In the sky hopes.

I had to give it to the little fellow. He was determined. After about ten minutes, he was probably six feet off the ground, and then BAM, down he went, hovering a mere inch from the ground. My heart hurt for the little fellow, and if I could've helped him, I would have. 

Instead, I thought I should be taking this as a metaphor for my own life. 

Get off my ass and get moving!

About the time this flitted through my brain, he'd struggled up, up, up to my eye level. He took a breather as the breeze did its thing, and then, just as he resumed his climb, a bird flew out of nowhere and gobbled him down.

Mid-flight.

It startled the hell out of me--a bird flying so near. So, I was a little slow on the uptake. 

When I realized my little silkworm was no longer anywhere to be found, I was horrified, then annoyed, and then I SnapChatted a video of the entire story, and I couldn't stop laughing.

So any time your feelin’ low stead of lettin’ go

Just remember that ant

Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant

Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant.

But keep one eye on the lookout for predators

Nature Tuesday

 

Cock-a-doodle-do

What to do if your heifer eats his award ribbon *

Sunday, I went to the state fair. The last time I remember visiting here was with a young Madison, and we watched the birth of an animal. (If I was working harder at my NY resolutions, I might know the date, time, and animal, but ten chores in a year are going slowly.) The other memory I have was the fear that she'd wander off or get snatched by someone in the crowd. 

This visit was quite different. First, I accompanied a participant, which meant I was behind the scenes. Second, I was not responsible for any children, and lastly, it was not scorching hot as I recall from my first trip.

SueG's daughter, Sydney, the local FFA chapter president, showed a heifer. I went to cheer her on. Which I learned later was a no-no--zero shouting or cheering. They really could've used me to liven things up a bit. The announcers were mumblers and offered zero entertainment. The south does not know exciting rodeo or 4H events. 

We left at dawn. Before the event, the two participating students needed to bathe and groom Salem and Bambi, and with temperatures in the early fifties, it was quite the chilly shower. Poor Bambi shivered through the entire experience, making me wish I could knit her a sweater. Or buy one at the craft exhibit. 

Once the heifers were fed and watered, we gained entry before the gates opened to the public, and we wandered about smelling fried food and visiting the other barns housing different animals. I spoke to many noisy critters and took excellent photos with my new iPhone. We had a large group of family and friends, and we consumed corn dogs, steak bites, chicken tenders, fries, pretzels, glazed donuts, peanut butter fudge, kettle corn, spicy nuts, pork rinds, iced tea, pineapple mango drinks, root beers, teas, and iced coffees. Somehow we did not get elephant ears or funnel cakes.

I didn't start eating right away and wandered alone, taking in all the sights and smells until I suddenly spotted a giraffe in a large tent erected between two food vendors. 

A giraffe???

The tent also housed llamas, goats, miniature horses, and two zebras, but the majority of the tent, running from one end to the other, was a raised pen for the giraffe. Two ladies sold a plastic sandwich bag of cut carrots to feed the zoo animals, and in the time I spent fascinated by a giraffe at a fair, the guy probably downed fifty carrots. At one point, he left the front of his pen and mosied to the rear. I thought for sure he was going to puke, but apparently, all he needed was a moment of quiet. 

He took a few deep breaths, centered himself, and wandered back to the front where his adoring public awaited with their bags of chopped carrots. If you were tall enough, you got a quick touch of his face before he pulled back with the carrot. I could've stayed all day watching the guy. Or maybe it was a girl. I did not obtain that information.

But, alas, my friends caroled me, and we headed back to the cattle barn. Salem and Bambi shared an area with a bred heifer from the Gainesville area, two heifers from a middle school in Lake City, and another heifer of who we weren't privy to her information. 

We had chairs among the tackle, hay, feed, and water station on the open end of the stall. That put us across from the public walkway where visitors could also stare at us if they chose. The barn was gigantic, housing more heifers than I could count. They surrounded us. Kids and owners walked them past us on their way to the bathing station, arena, or wherever, and occasionally they'd have to stop if others were in the way. This made me quite nervous. Not only were these animals HUGE, but they didn't care where they were when it came time to poop or pee. I wore my phone out Googling cattle information, starting with "do cows kick?"

The answer is yes, both to the side and the rear, and they do so when frightened or nervous, especially if one is in their blind spot areas. 

I opted to stand most of the time as this allowed me to get the hell out of the way. 

Eventually, we made our way to the arena for the show, where I did not cheer. I wondered whether a participant got docked points if someone cheered, and I suggested we applaud her opponents, but no one took me seriously.

Salem was not as agreeable as he'd been the day before in his event. He began the show following nicely, but then he said the hell with this and tried desperately to head back to the barn. He kept pressing his head into Sydney's side and protested with several loud moos, but Sydney kept her head and practiced what she'd learned in the last two months of caring for this leased heifer. She took fourth place out of thirteen young heifers. The judge's comments were about wishing Salem's ribs stuck out more, and we took that to mean Salem was fat.

Back to the barn, we trooped. Salem put up quite the fuss in the stall, objecting loudly to picture taking, pats, and nearness of humans. I Googled mooing. Cattle moo when:

• They are searching for their friends
• They want to make a baby
• Have lost their mother or their calf
• They are hungry or need to be milked
• They are stressed

Since our little heifer was too young to know about sex, I discounted all but the last one. I left her alone. 

The kids went off to enjoy the fair, and my friend and I sat with the heifers. We left once to get food and tour some exhibits, but most of our time was spent among the cattle, and we did our best to look like we knew what was what as the public strolled by. 

The other participants/owners enjoyed the fair, and we were worried some about the pregnant heifer (bred heifer) not having water. She was a hoot. I spent a lot of time chatting with her since she was the closest to me. She pushed her food bowl under the fence, and when one of the kids pushed it back, she waited until he'd turned his back, and she pushed it out again. She was my kind of gal. 

Sydney told us they weren't allowed to attend to the other animals, so we had to suffer as Nala (as I later learned her name) did, although we did discuss slipping her some water.

I lamented that our two heifers didn't have printed information displayed on the fence like the middle school heifers, and I suggested hanging their ribbons. The two girls decided it was too much effort, and while Salem and Bambi were closer to the public walkway and adored first, the two middle school heifers, who had their four ribbons proudly displayed next to their lamented information, received the "oohs" and "aahs."

SueG: "Next year, we will be better prepared."

Bambi, who placed eleventh in her division, took a nap. The two middle school heifers joined her. Salem chilled after a while and happily posed for photos and allowed some head patting before she too lay down to nap. 

As we sat, questions arose, and I continued Googling the answers. I now have a lot of knowledge concerning cattle, starting with that. They aren't cows; they are cattle. A cow is a female bovine who has given birth to at least one calf. We learned all the terms. When Bambi began licking the fence, I investigated that. Cattle do that out of boredom. We were learning a wealth of information.

The kids returned to feed their heifers one last time. The school leased the two animals for two months, and they were to return to their dairy farm on Monday. While they were doing this, I talked to Nala, and SueG watched the two middle school heifers who'd suddenly stood up. The heifer on the outside looked around and then leaned up and pulled down the white show ribbon. She then proceeded to eat the two trailing ribbons, spitting out the rosette. Heifer #2 then picked up the rosette and started munching. By now, I'd been alerted. We shouted for Sydney, and she rescued what was left. Heifer #1 enjoyed her meal so much she attempted to pull down another ribbon and the lamented information sheet, and we shouted and clapped our hands until she stopped misbehaving.

SueG: "Good thing we didn't hang our ribbons."

Me: "Please. Our heifers are smarter than these two."

I Googled "heifer eats award ribbon." It was the only piece of information for which Google had no answer. I worried for half an hour until Nala's owner appeared, and then I quizzed her. She said the owners should look for it to pass, and if it didn't, they'd need to see a vet. 

I shall title this blog entry something helpful now in case someone like me is searching for this information. Not that I can speak for the results, but let's go with the aforementioned information. Nala's owner was quite impressed with what information we'd picked up in our barn time.

Before we left, the middle school kids returned, and we tattled on their heifer. They were nonplussed. Hmph!

Before dusk, we said our goodbyes to the heifers and the fair and headed home. I had shavings and hay everywhere, and my dog refused to allow me into the house until he'd sniffed every scent on my shoes and pants. I assured him I was not going to begin raising heifers.

But I'm already looking forward to next year's fair!

*Apparently, check tomorrow's poop pile for the ribbon. Wash and display if you choose, but do so high enough that your heifer can't pull it down and consume again.

Good & Plenty shortage

One evening heading off to do errands, Oleg asked if I needed or wanted anything. I told him I needed some Good n' Plenty. He had no idea what that was, nor an idea of black licorice. I could not wait to educate him.

Unfortunately, there was no Good n' Plenty to be found. I thought he was kidding until he sent me a picture of the empty shelf above the price in the grocery. I sent him across the street to the Walmart grocery because I had a craving. A yearning for those little pill-like pink and white candies had consumed me for days. Now, I was giving in. 

I wanted the damn candy!

And there was none. NONE anywhere in our vicinity. The damn pandemic has caused a shortage of Good n' Plenty?

Not at Publix. Not at Walgreens. Not at Walmart. Not at Dollar Tree. I thought I might have to go to the movies just to get the candy, but Oleg found some the next morning on his way home from working out. How I enjoy corrupting that kid. 

A few weeks later, the craving returned and I had the same problem finding those little suckers. This week my Walmart grocery got them in stock, and I hoarded five boxes. But in planning to write about it, I researched if there was a Good n' Plenty shortage, and found instead an FDA warming on consuming black licorice. Apparently, people over 40 years of age, and especially those with heart and liver ailments, should not consume more than 2 ounces of black licorice in a day.

Uh...

Delving into that further, I gave a sigh of relief because in America we only reproduce the smell, taste, and scent of black licorice and do not have the glycyrrhizic acid chemical found in natural licorice. Or at least the amount in the 2% of extract used in Good n' Plenty isn't enough for concern. But still, since I do have heart issues, maybe this FDA warning will knock out my craving, although researching further found that Good n' Plenty is good for relieving heartburn. 

Which reminded me of the time I brought in some Good n' Plenty for our recreation leader at work. I left the bag on her desk and went outside to guard. When I returned, I found she'd consumed the entire bag, had an allergic reaction and drove herself to the hospital. 

For weeks I had to put up with everyone reminding me how I tried to kill Veronica.

Now, I guess I'll go back to chewing gum. Or maybe I'll chop on a stalk of celery.

Nature Tuesday

 

Valentine Rose

CrossFit Gal

During my youngest's last year of school, she discovered CrossFit during the pandemic. I can't remember now if she accompanied someone to a class or needed an outdoor facility to work out in, but she went, and then she fell in love. She is relentless in training, waking up at 4:30 some mornings just to squeeze in a workout before work, and if she's unable to do it in the dawn, she's there in the evening after work.

This past week she and her bestie competed in a Crossfit competition. The whole family rolled out of bed at an ungodly hour to be their cheering section. She kept telling us it would be like going to a soccer match: bring chairs, sit outdoors, cheer from the sidelines.

Madison: "It is sort of like that. But it isn't the same. It's missing Jan and you making all your sideline comments."

I texted that to my bestie Jan. 

Jan: "I miss our soccer days...SHOOT IT...RUN FASTER...KICK IT HARD...NOT IN THE MIDDLE...WATCH YOUR TEETH...PROTECT YOUR HEAD!!!"

I mentioned it was starting to rain, just like at soccer, and she commented with something about me being prepared. I laughed hilariously at that because...

• Tech Guy threw away the soccer chairs. I rescued one from the trash. He threw it out the following week. (He also threw out the beach chairs. I saved one of those and threatened to purchase more if it got tossed again.) I had to bring the plastic chairs from my front porch that he'd like to throw out.
• Our soccer blanket was MIA. We suspect #1.

I started out in shorts but luckily had the foresight to bring long pants "just in case." I changed into those on the field within forty-five minutes. I also had coffee. Oleg later made another coffee run and purchased donuts, which made me laugh because we were totally surrounded by buff, muscular men and women who probably never let sugar touch their lips. I ate only one.

The competition itself was awesome. I don't really know much about CrossFit, and while I've seen my daughter's body change since she began this fitness regiment, I was not prepared for how strong and impressive she was in these events.

They entered the novice division. There were nine teams. The first round required running and then tossing (I think it was a 20 lb.) medicine ball over their shoulders fifteen times. Then they picked it up, ran, and performed it again. Next, they had to do hanging knee raises several times. As soon as one finished that, the other sat and lifted twenty-pound weights several times, and then they switched positions. Lastly, they did everything all over again two more times. They finished in fourth place after round one. 

They were in fifth place after round two, which was indoors and required bench pressing, back squats, hang cleans, and burpees. The third and final round was outdoors again and required running, rowing, wall throws, some type of ring pull-ups, and toting this rack on your back.

Everything had to be done within a certain time limit, and in the final round, the last few minutes (or seconds) were all rowing and burning as many calories as possible. Darcy took that leg and rowed the hell out of her machine even though I knew her muscles had to be burning.

Each couple had a judge who followed them, and an announcer kept the crowd and athletes going with his commentary, a lot of it making fun of Darcy and Sofie's team name. They were the Crackheads. We are told they called themselves this because they had the energy of someone on crack.

When it came time to announce the winners in the novice category, the announcer was thrilled to death because the Crackhead finished in third place overall! They weren't expecting that, and they were thrilled and excited. So, excited that they've already signed up to enter another competition in May.

I've marked it on my calendar to have the donuts ready.

Nature Tuesday

 

Stand Tall

Where is the Fuller Brush Man when you need him?

In 2004, my mother purchased an Oreck vacuum cleaner from a door-to-door salesman. Or at least that's how I remember the story, which included the sales guy telling her that people loved Oreck vacuums so much and they lasted so long that they put them in their wills to leave to their children. It became a running joke.

I ended up with the vacuum.

Despite a recent "tune-up" at the Oreck repair shop, it is malfunctioning. The machine weighs 9 lbs. It does not hurt my back. I want the damn thing fixed, or I want another Oreck.

Tech Guy (my new name for the hubby) did what he always does when I request what he considers a big-ticket item. He researched vacuum cleaners and bought the one he wanted. It was a Shark Vertex Pro, which he told me was over $300. It was actually over $400, and I know this only because Alexa informed me of that price when Amazon refunded our money after the return. I mean...$469 for a vacuum cleaner? 

I have a whole list of items I'd rather have for that price.

The vacuum arrived in three boxes, and I insisted that we read the instructions before Oleg put it together.  There were 42 instructions we were to read before even using the vacuum, most beginning with DO NOT in bold, capital lettering, with helpful advice like:

DO NOT handle plug or vacuum with wet hands.

DO NOT leave the vacuum unattended while powered on.

DO NOT place vacuum on unstable surfaces such as chairs or tables.

DO NOT allow to be used as a toy.

I stalled at number 8: This appliance can be used by persons with reduced physical, sensory or mental capabilities or lack of experience and knowledge if they have been given supervision or instruction concerning use of the appliance in a safe way and understand the hazards involved. 

I had to reread that sentence multiple times.

Darcy: "I can't use it because I haven't been supervised properly."

Madison: "Who is supposed to offer this?"

Me: "I think we're being educated by reading these 42 instructions."

Darcy: "I just don't understand."

As I stated earlier, we did not keep the vacuum. Who invented these stick vacuums with the debris collection canister placed by the handle? It immediately hurt my back, but in fairness, I made everyone take a spin with it. 

Darcy: "It wrenched my shoulder out of the socket."

Oleg: "Well, you'll have one toned bicep after vacuuming."

Madison: "I don't think I'd like this appliance even if I had the proper instruction. It's a miserable vacuum."

I now see why people leave their Oreck vacuums to their loved ones. Hopefully, I'll be able to fix or replace mine so I can get it into the will. 

Nature Tuesday

 Healing Powers

Tech Guy is demoted

A month or so before Christmas, one of my desktop monitors quit working. Or at least I thought it had. Before I alerted Tech Guy (a moniker I stole from an author instructor), I turned the monitor off and then on again in a sort of reset. If unplugging and replugging hadn't required a lot of crawling on the floor under my desk, I might have done that.

Hubby strode into the office, asking his usual aberrational questions, and the monitor worked with one touch of his finger. After several tit-for-tat and the beginnings of what might have turned into a huge argument, he admitted that the monitor was fairly old and probably on its last legs.

Him: "The problem is the video card might also be bad."

I heard that statement in bold capital letters like this:

THE PROBLEM IS CATASTROPHIC!

His explanation only increased the problem until I'd come to the conclusion that to replace the monitor with a new one would result in me losing everything on my computer, including my two and a half-written novels. (Even though they are on jump drives)

Because anytime Tom works on a computer, it is at least a day, usually several days, of ripping the innards, and when everything is up and running again, I'm left with searching for files and programs that are forever gone.

Now, I've concluded he makes these off-the-cuff remarks to deter me.

For Christmas, he gave me a new monitor. It has sat in its box in my dining room, and every time he sits down to eat, he asks if I want him to replace it with my old one...this weekend.

Then, the weekend comes and goes without monitor replacement. Oleg and I play the game of how many off-and-on flicks it takes to ready my monitor for use every day.

The answer? Anywhere between 3 and 11.

Finally, on one of those days where it was 11, Oleg decided he would attempt to replace the monitor, and if it didn't work as Tom kept threatening, we would pack it back up into the box and wait for Tech Guy to do his magic. After dinner, and long before Tom came home from work, Oleg moved out file cabinets, junk, chairs, etc., to crawl under my desk and unhook the old monitor. He removed the new one and hooked it up on the floor first to make sure it would work.

It did. BAM. No problem.

Like...no problem. It took maybe half an hour from start to finish, which included vacuuming the crap accumulated under my desk, Clorox wiping my desk, and rearranging everything back under the desk. Oh, and I did that part, not Oleg.

We put the old monitor on Tom's desk, and while he was a tad chagrined when he came into my office to see the new monitor, I don't think he minds that he is now Tech Guy #2.

Nature Tuesday

A frolic before lunch

 

How is the day already over?

Before I begin my daily writing, I like to check my email and then the news on Yahoo. Today, I caught up on how close Russia was to the Ukraine border, how COVID vaccines would be given to my great, great, great, great-grandchildren, and I read about Steelers quarterback Mason Rudolph's mental state with regards to Ben's not yet declared retirement. 

Then I saw that Louie Anderson and Meatloaf had died. 

Me: "Whoa. Meatloaf died."

Oleg: "Meatloaf?"

Me: "Yes."

Oleg: "Is that a rapper?"

Me: "You don't know Meatloaf?"

Oleg: "I do not know Meatloaf."

Immediately, as I do when singers die, I popped on Amazon Music and started playing Meatloaf's hits. Oleg had heard I'd Do Anything For Love but not Two Out of Three Ain't Bad. He went back to his Zoom work. I went back to work.

Well, that's what I should've done. Instead, I began playing my oldies playlist. I started with 1970's country hits, and when I realized that the first ten songs were all by now dead artists, I looked them up on the Internet. I wasn't sure about some of them. I knew the status of Glen Campbell, Charley Pride, Eddie Rabbitt, and Kenny Rogers but wasn't sure about Johnny Paycheck, Jerry Reed, and Crystal Gayle. 

FYI, the first two are dead. Crystal Gayle, and her sister Loretta Lynn, are still alive and kicking.

But I was fascinated to read that Crystal moved and lived in Wabash, Indiana, that Johnny Paycheck had a sexual assault charge against him, and that Jerry Reed married his wife of a zillion years when she was seventeen, and he was twenty. That led to me checking out the others' married lives. Most of them were married only once and still with their spouse when they died. 

I investigated the lives of Olivia Newton-John, Donna Fargo, Luther Ingram, and Marie Osmond. From Marie, I was horrified to see that Dan Seals had died. I'm sure I knew that since he died years ago, but I was still bummed. But then, in reading about his life, I learned that he was ENGLAND DAN!

I did not know that. Nor did I know he was the little brother of Jim Seals from Seals and Croft.

England Dan and John Ford Coley! That was a name I hadn't heard in years.

So, I had to play all of their hit songs and sing along. Poor Oleg. We share a workroom. He is good about indulging me when it comes to my music. 

Then Darcy's friends showed up to visit her from a distance outside. I had to know if they'd heard about Meatloaf.

Me: "Did you guys hear about Meatloaf?"

Them: "We don't know who that is."

Darcy: "I know! He died. Poor Meatloaf."

Her friends immediately got online because if Darcy knew who he was, why didn't they? My youngest knows how to play the game. She hadn't a clue who Meatloaf was, but she'd read the news. Thank god, Madison arrived home from work because she knew Meatloaf and Two Out of Three Ain't Bad. We proceeded to sing it for the crew.

Wait. How is Madison already home from work? Is it already 4:00 p.m?

I headed back to the computer to write. I put on my Dan Seals Greatest Hits album to compare his shift in personas. From there, I switched to my 1980's country hits playlist where Barbara Mandrell sang about how she was country when it wasn't cool. When she said she put peanuts in her coke, I stopped typing.

What?

I had to look that up. How have I never heard about this living in Florida? Now, I just want to try it. I mean...right?

When John Anderson started swinging, I wondered what famous person he'd married. Turns out, that wasn't true. But he's from Apopka, Florida! 

It's now 5:00 p.m. I'm supposed to be wrapping up my day because I have to be at dinner at 5:30 p.m. I've been at this since noon, and I can honestly say that besides the above information, I have nothing to show in my romance writing.

Okay, not true. I have jotted down a somewhat romance plot based on Meatloaf's song. Whew.