A former colleague of mine would often say Mercury was retrograde when things went pear shaped. Astrologers suggest making sure things are in order before these retrograde periods, as breakdowns are apt to occur.
Winter is coming soon, and this time of year, I usually check to make sure I have enough on hand to see me through the weather. It's easier, for instance, to get the coal and unload it now than it is when the snow drifts are 6 feet high, and realizing I needed at least one pallet if not two, I decided to borrow my neighbour's trailer and pick up some coal.
Neighbour Bob's trailer is rated for 2000 lbs (1 ton or tonne if you're across the Pond). A pallet of coal is 2400 lbs, so most times when I've done this, I unload a number of bags from the pallet and put them in the bed of the truck. One time I didn't and everything was all right, but I don't like to make a practice of overloading trailers.
He wasn't home when I went to borrow the trailer--everyone on the street's allowed to use it, but still, I do like to give word that i'm taking it for a little while. His next door neighbour saw me, waved, and glimpsed only for a moment as I hooked it onto my truck's hitch.
The hasp and lock were hard to open and close, so I sprayed them with some PB Blaster to loosen them. I noticed the trailer seemed a bit noisier than usual as I pulled it. Not a scary noise noisier, just that it rattled more.
I got to the hardware store, nearly 20 miles away, and after consulting with the loading man, he was able to get the pallet on the trailer. He looked a bit nervous, mentioned that the tires were nearly flat, and I thanked him for letting me know. Neighbour Bob is meticulous about maintenance, and i'd not given a thought to check the tire pressure. I probably tow the heaviest loads with his trailer. He usually tows brush or hedge clippings. I didn't see anything in the hardware store to help me get air in the tires, so I drove off, going slowly and decided i'd get air at the first gas station on the way home.
The first gas station was on the left side of the road, about 2 miles down. I noticed it seemed harder to pull the load than before, so getting air in those tires was clearly the right thing to do. The air pump was in front of the parking spaces, and I took up four of those spaces as I got out and then needed to check if the air hose would reach all right. It reached the left tire, but the right was iffy. As I made my way around to the right tire to check, I saw the tire had torn away, leaving the rim. Oh, my. No wonder why it pulled funny.
I hadn't a clue what to do. Neighbour Bob wasn't home, so I couldn't call him. There was no spare on the trailer. I wasn't sure where I could get a new tire, or even if the rim could still be used. I walked into the convenience store, and when the woman behind the counter asked if she could help me, I opened my mouth and "I don't know what to do" came out.
I related my story; she thought she should call her husband. I didn't see what help he could provide, but then my brain started working. I had Triple A, maybe they could help with this tire. I let her know, thanked her for listening, and dialled. The Triple A woman informed me that while Triple A could help with the car or truck I was driving, trailers weren't covered. She gave me the name of a local towing company and phone number. I dialled and the man who answered sounded as if he'd been napping. I knew he wouldn't be helpful, so I thanked him for his time and hung up. I called Neighbour Bob to see if he were home yet, if he had a spare, and to let him know what was happening. He answered the phone, no, he didn't have a spare, did he need me to have him come to where I was. I didn't see that solving anything so told him no.
The owner of the convenience store had come out, and helped me to take some of the load off the trailer and put into the bed of the truck. His barely teenaged son helped, too. He asked if there was a spare, mentioned a place where I might be able to get a tire, although I wasn't sure where that place was. I was thinking Plan B would be to load the truck as heavily as I could, take the first load of coal home, unload, pick up a tire for the trailer, and drive back. The owner went back inside to wait on people and another man showed up. He wanted to jack up the trailer and see about getting a tire.
I asked if he were the man I spoke to on the phone, although this man sounded a lot more awake. No, he hadn't spoken to me, his wife worked here and had called. And he made quick work of noting the tire size, extricating the jack, lifting up the trailer, and looking at the rim. He told me he'd run up to the tire place as he knew right where it was and upon his return, he'd take the rim and put the tire on at his house, since he had a tire changer there. I wondered if he were a mechanic, as he had on a dark green work shirt, typical of one a mechanic would wear.
I thanked him, and while waiting, I went in and ordered a sandwich. I felt bad for taking up four of the parking spaces, but it didn't make sense to move anything. The owner was nice about it, made small talk with me, and I thanked him for his kindness. I also asked him the name of the man who was helping me, and he gave me his name and phone number. He also said I was welcome to use the rest room if I needed it and I could wash my hands at the sink, and he motioned to the sink on his left. I did make use of both and thanked him once again.
The Angel man returned. They had one tire that size left in the store, and it would take him a few minutes to get the rim off, go home, and put the tire on.
He returned within 15 minutes and put it back on the trailer for me. The owner was watching, told me not to forget to fill the other tire with air, and I nodded. I hadn't forgotten and while some may have thought him a bit patronizing, I know he meant it kindly.
Their generosity and kindness deeply touched me. I asked Angel Man how much I owed him. He looked away a moment, took a breath, and said, "Seventy-five dollars."
The way he said it led me to believe he thought it was a lot of money. There've been times in my life where having to fork over an unexpected $75 would have been a great financial hardship. Thankfully, it wasn't on that day. It was easily worth double that to me. He saved me a lot of hassle. I thanked him, told him it was worth more and I was going to include a tip, which I did as I wrote out the check. I had tried using the ATM in the store to get out cash, but it wouldn't work. I rarely take out cash with my card so i'm unsure if my PIN had changed when they sent me a new card or if it was just Mercury being retrograde.
On the way home, I was grateful for so many things. For the man at the hardware store noting that the tires were really low. For being able to get the trailer safely off the road. For people i'd never seen before willing to help me. The rim could be reused. I had enough financial resources to pay for everything. I found the convenience store had a great sandwich shop I didn't realize was there, and although I was wildly unprepared, everything worked out okay.
I got home without any complications, backed up the trailer the easiest I've ever done (it's usually quite amusing for onlookers to watch), unloaded the coal, and returned the trailer to Neighbour Bob's house. He was glad to see I was all right and wanted to reimburse me for my out-of-pocket tire expense. I told him he needn't do that, I've borrowed his trailer numerous times, and this happened on my watch. He insisted on repaying me, and as I looked into his eyes, I realized he was thinking of me as a daughter. My dad's been dead many years, and it's been a long time since I've seen that look. I told him the amount Angel Man told me.
Mercury may be retrograde, but kindness transcends that.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Phoebe update
Phoebe had her one-month follow-up vet visit today. I captured her quite easily as she had been napping, and noted on the 10-minute drive to the vet, she meowed very loudly, in a way I haven't heard for some time. So, clearly, she feels better.
She's better with her litter box usage (less peeing outside the box), the contents in the box look more normal, she's vomiting less (four times in the last two weeks, and "normal" cat vomit like hairballs and undigested food), and she's more active.
They took another blood draw to see what the numbers showed from last month and weighed her again. She's down 3 ounces (~90 g) which is a bit troubling, one out-of-range parameter went down although is still high, and the other rose at a faster rate than the vet expected.
I did ask some of the harder questions. What's the prognosis? Are we looking at one or two months?
The meds are obviously doing something favourable, as she's more active, her coat is shinier, she's vomiting less. The higher creatinine level indicates that she needs to eat the low-protein food more often. I'd been working it in once every three days, but once a day at least may really be needed.
And what if she doesn't like the low-protein food once a day? If she doesn't like something, she WON'T eat it, and she can't afford to lose more weight. What's the best course for me to take? Food she'll eat that's harder on her kidneys but will stave off weight loss or food she doesn't want to eat that's easier on her system but results in weight loss while she's turning up her nose? And she likes variety and is used to that. The vet mentioned there are different kinds. Yes. Two. She's used to getting about 12 different kinds and i purposely mix them up so they don't get bored eating the same thing.
There is no easy answer. We can try and see how things go. Similarly, there's no clear answer on prognosis. While this jump seems a lot in a month, it could be that it now stabilises for a bit, or things could go into a quick decline. Clearly, she's feeling better, so if she's logy all of a sudden, that'll be a better indication than anything.
I did say first and foremost, i want quality of life for her. As she loves the pocket pill treats, it's not hardship to give her meds, she and JoJo both love getting the fish oil everyday, so again, that's not a problem. But, i don't see her being willing to sit still while i give her a needle for subcutaneous fluids (something the vet said could be available) or how successful i'll be chasing her about the house to give her a phosphorus binder if her phosphorus levels go out of whack (currently they are okay).
He did say her genetics may be programmed to say, "Once you hit 15, your kidneys will start to fail, and there's not much we can do about that." He did chuckle as she scratched on each door in the examination room, hoping someone would open up the door and let her out. She also meowed quite loudly when her door scratchings did not give her the desired outcome. I told the vet as noisome as that was, this was in a way music to my ears because she had this much energy to complain, just like before. She complained most of the way home, too, but within an hour of being back home, she looked quite pleased with herself and welcomed the head rubs i gave her.
I have a plan in place, which i know is subject to change. I shall endeavour to juggle what's best for her with what she wants and to let go when it's time.
She's better with her litter box usage (less peeing outside the box), the contents in the box look more normal, she's vomiting less (four times in the last two weeks, and "normal" cat vomit like hairballs and undigested food), and she's more active.
They took another blood draw to see what the numbers showed from last month and weighed her again. She's down 3 ounces (~90 g) which is a bit troubling, one out-of-range parameter went down although is still high, and the other rose at a faster rate than the vet expected.
I did ask some of the harder questions. What's the prognosis? Are we looking at one or two months?
The meds are obviously doing something favourable, as she's more active, her coat is shinier, she's vomiting less. The higher creatinine level indicates that she needs to eat the low-protein food more often. I'd been working it in once every three days, but once a day at least may really be needed.
And what if she doesn't like the low-protein food once a day? If she doesn't like something, she WON'T eat it, and she can't afford to lose more weight. What's the best course for me to take? Food she'll eat that's harder on her kidneys but will stave off weight loss or food she doesn't want to eat that's easier on her system but results in weight loss while she's turning up her nose? And she likes variety and is used to that. The vet mentioned there are different kinds. Yes. Two. She's used to getting about 12 different kinds and i purposely mix them up so they don't get bored eating the same thing.
There is no easy answer. We can try and see how things go. Similarly, there's no clear answer on prognosis. While this jump seems a lot in a month, it could be that it now stabilises for a bit, or things could go into a quick decline. Clearly, she's feeling better, so if she's logy all of a sudden, that'll be a better indication than anything.
I did say first and foremost, i want quality of life for her. As she loves the pocket pill treats, it's not hardship to give her meds, she and JoJo both love getting the fish oil everyday, so again, that's not a problem. But, i don't see her being willing to sit still while i give her a needle for subcutaneous fluids (something the vet said could be available) or how successful i'll be chasing her about the house to give her a phosphorus binder if her phosphorus levels go out of whack (currently they are okay).
He did say her genetics may be programmed to say, "Once you hit 15, your kidneys will start to fail, and there's not much we can do about that." He did chuckle as she scratched on each door in the examination room, hoping someone would open up the door and let her out. She also meowed quite loudly when her door scratchings did not give her the desired outcome. I told the vet as noisome as that was, this was in a way music to my ears because she had this much energy to complain, just like before. She complained most of the way home, too, but within an hour of being back home, she looked quite pleased with herself and welcomed the head rubs i gave her.
I have a plan in place, which i know is subject to change. I shall endeavour to juggle what's best for her with what she wants and to let go when it's time.
Monday, September 14, 2015
lost and found
When last I mentioned Twig, my missing dinghy that was basely stolen, I mentioned that I got another dinghy to take her place. And, as sad as I was to do it, a stout lock to deter thieves looking for an easy-to-take-and-use-or-sell item.
I was slated to go on a week long sailing trip with friends: it's a trip I take most years, and Himself decided to stay behind, feed the cats, and work on a few house projects.
On Saturday evening, he mentioned wanting to walk the breakwater Sunday morning. Should he wake me, or let me sleep? It's been ages since I walked the breakwater, and I agreed that he should wake me. Himself is a naturally early riser; I am not.
So, he awoke me gently on Sunday morning, and seeing that he had already tended to the cats, we set off for an early morning walk. There weren't a lot of people walking the breakwater at that time, and the day was brilliantly sunny.
About a third of the way out, there's a small floating dock, and as I glanced at it, I thought of a photo I had seen recently on Facebook that the local historical society had posted, showing this dock or more likely its earlier relative from a photo circa 1910. Like the photo, the dock that morning was empty and waiting.
We got to the end of the breakwater, took a moment to enjoy the view, and started back. Himself and I were having easy conversations about everything and nothing, when he stopped suddenly.
"Look left," he said. I did and saw nothing on the water as I gazed straight out.
"Look at the end of my walking stick," he said, after he noticed my gaze staring straight out. Like an obedient dog, I started at the end of his stick. Looked the same to me as it always had. Then again, i'm not a morning person and didn't have a cup of tea before we had gone on this walk. Realizing he needed to be Captain Obvious he said, "No, look beyond my stick."
We were just past that little floating dock, and I looked over. There was Twig. She was tied off along the cleat, and the only difference I could see since i'd seen her last was that three of the small fenders I had on her port side were off. The three on the beam of her starboard side were still there, as was the two on either side of the bow. There was a pair of shoes with socks stuffed in them on the dock. I also noticed a single oar in Twig. I blinked a few times, but she was not a mirage.
Himself had his cell phone, so I used it to call the police. I couldn't remember the non-emergency number so called the emergency one, explaining it wasn't an emergency, but I needed to notify the police. The dispatcher was very kind, took down the phone number and told me someone would call back.
Meantime there was a young man fishing on the other side of the breakwater opposite the floating dock. I noticed him looking over, but didn't think much about it. We had taken Himself's car, and he was telling me his car wasn't wide enough for Twig, I ought to go back, take his car home, and come back with the truck. I ought to have my cell phone with me, too, in case he needed to call. We usually call it good if only one of us has a cell phone between the two of us if we go somewhere, and I hadn't bothered checking for mine. The last I recalled, it was in my purse, which was at home.
On the ride home, which seemed to be fraught with slow drivers, I needed a tissue and reached into my pocket. My cell phone was in there. So, I called Himself to let him know I was nearly home. He had heard back from the police. They said we had the right to re-appropriate our stolen property, and that I needed to bring some extra line.
Once home, I grabbed my purse so i'd have my driver's licence. I was thankful I hadn't gotten pulled over for anything silly. I also grabbed the oarlocks, my pfd (life preserver), and a set of oars so I could row her to shore. It was low tide, so we'd have to drag her a bit and I wondered if the path from the shore to the start of the breakwater was wide enough. If so, it would be just barely.
I was still in a bit of shock, and I was hoping Himself didn't have any run-ins with the person who'd rowed it there. After I parked the truck and made my way towards the breakwater, I broke out in full run. The first honest-to-goodness run I've done in over 10 years since breaking my leg. It wasn't until I ran up to Himself on shore that I realised I had run without nerve pain, and I mean without even a twinge. Perhaps it was endorphins. At any rate, I was glad of it.
Himself managed to walk Twig along the edge of the breakwater to shore, so I didn't need the oars or pfd. Two men who saw us carrying her came down to the beach and offered to help us carry her. We were glad for the help, and in no time had her by the truck.
Himself relayed the story to them as he had to nearly everyone who had passed by on the breakwater while he was waiting for the police to call him back. Our dinghy had been stolen, and today, voilà, there she was. We waited for the police to call us back, and they said it was fine for us to take it.
On the way home, after we had strapped Twig in for the ride, Himself mentioned the young man fishing. How he seemed really uncomfortable and suspected that he was the one who stole it. I said that might be true, or he may have bought it from the thief, and was now wondering how he'd get back to wherever without a dinghy. Neither of us checked to see if he had the missing oar in his possession, and frankly, I didn't care. I just wanted my dinghy back. I didn't want any kind of showdown incidents or posturing. Himself said I was too generous with my thinking. Perhaps I am. I just didn't see the point of making a Big Scene. Finding that which was lost and taking it home was plenty for me.
Twig is currently safely stowed for the rest of the sailing season. The new-to-me replacement dinghy will finish out the sailing season, and I'll decide whether it be best to keep her as well or sell her. As each dinghy only seats two, it may be nice to have a second dinghy on hand for the times we sail with four people on Retrouvé. Certainly not the worst problem to have.
Twig does have some bright yellow paint that wasn't there before and few new scratches. Other than the missing fenders, everything else was I left it. I did notice a lobster boat near Retrouve sporting three small fenders that were exactly the kind of Twig, and on the side of the boat, I saw some bright yellow trap markers. Now, these small fenders are as common as grains of sand, but seeing them along with the bright yellow paint did make me look twice and feel funny.
Before I shoved off on my sailing trip the next day, I managed to talk to Tug and let him know my dinghy had been found and reclaimed. He immediately started reeling off names to the lobstermen with him after I mentioned the fisherman who seemed fishing for ?? bait maybe? Or mackerel? I also quietly told him about the three small fenders I noticed that seemed new and the same yellow paint, pointing over to the boat's mooring, the boat itself now gone out to work. I acknowledged that it could be coincidence and didn't wish to implicate anyone. But, it does give one pause for thought.
I thanked Tug once again for looking at the security tapes. He was looking at the mooring, and I could see his mind working. He thanked me for letting him know, told me if I needed a skiff I was welcome to use his any time. I thanked him yet again, said my new-to-me dinghy was still on the float around the corner and I hoped I never had to take him up on his generous offer.
I am still amazed. Happily so.
I was slated to go on a week long sailing trip with friends: it's a trip I take most years, and Himself decided to stay behind, feed the cats, and work on a few house projects.
On Saturday evening, he mentioned wanting to walk the breakwater Sunday morning. Should he wake me, or let me sleep? It's been ages since I walked the breakwater, and I agreed that he should wake me. Himself is a naturally early riser; I am not.
So, he awoke me gently on Sunday morning, and seeing that he had already tended to the cats, we set off for an early morning walk. There weren't a lot of people walking the breakwater at that time, and the day was brilliantly sunny.
About a third of the way out, there's a small floating dock, and as I glanced at it, I thought of a photo I had seen recently on Facebook that the local historical society had posted, showing this dock or more likely its earlier relative from a photo circa 1910. Like the photo, the dock that morning was empty and waiting.
We got to the end of the breakwater, took a moment to enjoy the view, and started back. Himself and I were having easy conversations about everything and nothing, when he stopped suddenly.
"Look left," he said. I did and saw nothing on the water as I gazed straight out.
"Look at the end of my walking stick," he said, after he noticed my gaze staring straight out. Like an obedient dog, I started at the end of his stick. Looked the same to me as it always had. Then again, i'm not a morning person and didn't have a cup of tea before we had gone on this walk. Realizing he needed to be Captain Obvious he said, "No, look beyond my stick."
We were just past that little floating dock, and I looked over. There was Twig. She was tied off along the cleat, and the only difference I could see since i'd seen her last was that three of the small fenders I had on her port side were off. The three on the beam of her starboard side were still there, as was the two on either side of the bow. There was a pair of shoes with socks stuffed in them on the dock. I also noticed a single oar in Twig. I blinked a few times, but she was not a mirage.
Himself had his cell phone, so I used it to call the police. I couldn't remember the non-emergency number so called the emergency one, explaining it wasn't an emergency, but I needed to notify the police. The dispatcher was very kind, took down the phone number and told me someone would call back.
Meantime there was a young man fishing on the other side of the breakwater opposite the floating dock. I noticed him looking over, but didn't think much about it. We had taken Himself's car, and he was telling me his car wasn't wide enough for Twig, I ought to go back, take his car home, and come back with the truck. I ought to have my cell phone with me, too, in case he needed to call. We usually call it good if only one of us has a cell phone between the two of us if we go somewhere, and I hadn't bothered checking for mine. The last I recalled, it was in my purse, which was at home.
On the ride home, which seemed to be fraught with slow drivers, I needed a tissue and reached into my pocket. My cell phone was in there. So, I called Himself to let him know I was nearly home. He had heard back from the police. They said we had the right to re-appropriate our stolen property, and that I needed to bring some extra line.
Once home, I grabbed my purse so i'd have my driver's licence. I was thankful I hadn't gotten pulled over for anything silly. I also grabbed the oarlocks, my pfd (life preserver), and a set of oars so I could row her to shore. It was low tide, so we'd have to drag her a bit and I wondered if the path from the shore to the start of the breakwater was wide enough. If so, it would be just barely.
I was still in a bit of shock, and I was hoping Himself didn't have any run-ins with the person who'd rowed it there. After I parked the truck and made my way towards the breakwater, I broke out in full run. The first honest-to-goodness run I've done in over 10 years since breaking my leg. It wasn't until I ran up to Himself on shore that I realised I had run without nerve pain, and I mean without even a twinge. Perhaps it was endorphins. At any rate, I was glad of it.
Himself managed to walk Twig along the edge of the breakwater to shore, so I didn't need the oars or pfd. Two men who saw us carrying her came down to the beach and offered to help us carry her. We were glad for the help, and in no time had her by the truck.
Himself relayed the story to them as he had to nearly everyone who had passed by on the breakwater while he was waiting for the police to call him back. Our dinghy had been stolen, and today, voilà, there she was. We waited for the police to call us back, and they said it was fine for us to take it.
On the way home, after we had strapped Twig in for the ride, Himself mentioned the young man fishing. How he seemed really uncomfortable and suspected that he was the one who stole it. I said that might be true, or he may have bought it from the thief, and was now wondering how he'd get back to wherever without a dinghy. Neither of us checked to see if he had the missing oar in his possession, and frankly, I didn't care. I just wanted my dinghy back. I didn't want any kind of showdown incidents or posturing. Himself said I was too generous with my thinking. Perhaps I am. I just didn't see the point of making a Big Scene. Finding that which was lost and taking it home was plenty for me.
Twig is currently safely stowed for the rest of the sailing season. The new-to-me replacement dinghy will finish out the sailing season, and I'll decide whether it be best to keep her as well or sell her. As each dinghy only seats two, it may be nice to have a second dinghy on hand for the times we sail with four people on Retrouvé. Certainly not the worst problem to have.
Twig does have some bright yellow paint that wasn't there before and few new scratches. Other than the missing fenders, everything else was I left it. I did notice a lobster boat near Retrouve sporting three small fenders that were exactly the kind of Twig, and on the side of the boat, I saw some bright yellow trap markers. Now, these small fenders are as common as grains of sand, but seeing them along with the bright yellow paint did make me look twice and feel funny.
Before I shoved off on my sailing trip the next day, I managed to talk to Tug and let him know my dinghy had been found and reclaimed. He immediately started reeling off names to the lobstermen with him after I mentioned the fisherman who seemed fishing for ?? bait maybe? Or mackerel? I also quietly told him about the three small fenders I noticed that seemed new and the same yellow paint, pointing over to the boat's mooring, the boat itself now gone out to work. I acknowledged that it could be coincidence and didn't wish to implicate anyone. But, it does give one pause for thought.
I thanked Tug once again for looking at the security tapes. He was looking at the mooring, and I could see his mind working. He thanked me for letting him know, told me if I needed a skiff I was welcome to use his any time. I thanked him yet again, said my new-to-me dinghy was still on the float around the corner and I hoped I never had to take him up on his generous offer.
I am still amazed. Happily so.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Home, a poem by Warshan Shire
Home
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border...
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbours running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here
—Warshan Shire
The poet Warshan Shire was born in Kenya in 1988 and raised in London to Somali parents. She has read her work extensively as an internationally touring poet.
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border...
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbours running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here
—Warshan Shire
The poet Warshan Shire was born in Kenya in 1988 and raised in London to Somali parents. She has read her work extensively as an internationally touring poet.
Monday, August 24, 2015
Meanwhile, back at the ranch
Every blog post I've tried writing the past month or so is shite or depressing, so I haven't posted any of them. I do think there's enough dreariness in the world without banging on about it. And sometimes, through no fault of our own, the black cloud hangs over us and seemingly stalls. Then, equally as random, it moves along.
Summer is galloping along at an alarming rate here. It's been quite dry, which should mean that I've had lots of time for sailing. But, no. Work stuff has been galloping along, too, and my idea of going for a quick sail after work has been dashed because i'm so mentally tired by the end of the work day, that I don't feel all that safe going boating.
My neighbour up the street, M, who's been a marine electrician for years and who rewired Retrouvé for me finally had some time to go sailing. He had started a seasonal business about three years ago, but it didn't take off as he had hoped, so he's called that a day and found a part-time job doing something else. He's a new grandpa, and his granddaughter thinks he's the most wonderful thing ever, so he has been babysitting and visiting a goodly bit. Finally, we had a Saturday where we could go sailing, and the weather co-operated. We got down to the shipyard, and only when he asked me which dinghy was mine did I realise that the last time he went sailing with me was quite a while ago indeed, since this is my third summer with my dinghy Twig. I know, not nautical sounding in the least, but that's the name that came to me when I got her and asked what her name should be. Some things you just don't question.
I walked over to the edge and looked down at the floats. Twig was missing. I blinked and looked again. She was still gone.
I went over to the shipyard's office to notify them, but the door was locked. Next, I went into the dock house where my friend has her schooner. SFB was there with the office manager for the schooner, and I blurted out that Twig was stolen. I felt sick to my stomach. The first mate offered me use of one of the schooner's skiffs, and I took it. He also said I should talk to Tug, the guy whose business shares the other half of the dock house. SFB said I should notify the Harbor Master. He was right, of course, and once M and I were out on the water, I decided to radio the Harbor Master. Only my radio didn't seem to be sending out a signal. When it rains, it pours.
I had my cell phone and got a signal so called him on his phone and let him know. He said no one had reported finding a missing dinghy, and I gave him the particulars. He said I ought to call the police and file a report.
M and I turned around a bit early when we heard thunder. Well, actually, we heard thunder, M's wife called M and said that it was thundering at the house, were we still on the water? M would have stayed out longer, but about five minutes after the phone call, I thought it best if we turned around.
About two minutes from the house, six raindrops splashed on the windshield, so we beat the rain.
I talked to the police. Sadly, they've had a number of reports like mine and in most cases, by the time the owner sees the item's been stolen, it's already been resold. Twig is a really nice dinghy and could be resold in about five minutes.
When I was able to talk to one of the owners of the shipyard the next day (the office manager would be in the day after), he told me I should talk to Tug and see if he has anything on his security camera. Tug works pretty much Monday through Friday.
I was busy all day at work on Monday, but found some time Tuesday to talk to Tug. He kindly agreed to look at the tapes to see if he could see anything, and would put the word out about my missing dinghy. He related that a number of times, items that suddenly sprouted legs and walked away, suddenly walked back. He also mentioned that the last time he caught a thief red-handed, the thief was taken off the premises via ambulance. Tug is not someone i'd want to have as an enemy.
In the meantime, I wanted a dinghy on hand. If I singlehand, I can take my kayak, if there's one other person, then that person can use Himself's kayak if Himself is not going, or we could have the other person wait on the dock and I can sail over from the mooring and pick that person up. But there are a few people who like to help at the beginning and end of the sail who would not be able to pull themselves out of the kayak easily and onto Retrouvé. Some balance and upper body strength is required, and two sailing chums, who are more portly wouldn't be able to do it at all.
I decided to search Craig's List and I found a used dinghy, same brand as Twig. The poster had a picture and said that boat was that model. Same model as Twig. Naturally, I was suspicious and hated that I was. But, I had to know. So I emailed, asking if he could send a picture of the actual boat. He did, and it wasn't Twig, so I was quite relieved. The asking price was less than the deductible on my boat insurance and I figured it was probably in my best interest to get this one. Should Twig magically reappear, having two dinghies wouldn't be so bad. I could sell one, of course, or keep two in case four of us go sailing on Retrouvé as both dinghies carry two adults.
I picked up the new-to-me dinghy on Saturday. She's been well maintained, but she is used and looks it. She has seen a lot of water. She's well balanced, easy to row, and is less tippy than Twig. She is at the float in the same spot Twig had been, and she's got a sturdy lock and chain.
I've mostly moved past it, and there's a part of me that never wants to find out who did this. If I see that person or group of people in public someplace, i'm not so sure that i'll behave with decorum. I may have a bad day and decide to slap the shit out of them; yet I know they're not worth the jail time.
In other news, Phoebe decided to pee outside the litter box. Repeatedly. Even when I made sure I scooped regularly, and even when she was quite near the box, so I called the vet. I don't want this to be a battle of wills, and I don't want to be held hostage by cat urine. But, just in case there was something physically wrong, and besides it was time for her yearly rabies shot.
So, I took her. She was very good at the vet's. He listened as I told him about her new behaviour, but otherwise everything else was pretty much the same, except she was sleeping more. But, I figured, she's 15 and I have to remind myself that's middle geriatric age for a cat. She provided urine and blood samples. Urinalysis looked good, except it was a bit watery. The blood test results would come in a few days.
The data show that she has kidney disease. The vet was surprised at how high her numbers were given what I told him about her activity level. He said there was a slight chance that she had an infection and suggested an antibiotic as a prophylactic, and then talked about kidney meds. A pill given twice a day. Special food that was low protein and rather bland. I wrote down what he was saying but went numb.
Pills twice a day? He's got to be joking, and I've told him before how when I tried feeding the cats "better" food (READ: healthier), they looked at me as if to say, "What IS this swill?"
Of course, once I made the vet appointment, Phoebe stopped peeing outside the box. That suited me just fine because i'm okay with not having to clean it up off floors and carpet.
I went to the office to pick up the antibiotic--one full syringe once a day for a week, the pills, which need to be split into two and one-half given twice a day, three cans of the special food available only at the vet's--two of these are the "less boring" kind and one of the "boring" ones, and I also picked up "pill pockets" which are treats with holes in them where you can put the meds in and give it to the kitty.
They told me that if Phoebe did not eat the food to bring back the unopened cans, and they'd refund my money. The vet said that if she absolutely refuses it, then to give her the food I have been all along. After all, he said, it's quality of life. He didn't add, "Giving her the food she likes will give her less quantity," but I'm certain he was thinking that.
I got home and cried. Cried because of stupid people who take things that don't belong to them. Cried because i'm sure Phoebe tried telling me again and again she wasn't well, but I'm apparently as thick as mince.
I have tried giving her the antibiotic. I have been unsuccessful. She runs away at a pace that qualifies for the Olympics. Even my one-dimensional nose can smell the antibiotic, so it's little wonder she's off to the races when i'm within ten paces. For a bit, she was running away from me any time I approached. This was not how I wanted our last months to be, so I gave her a day where I didn't do anything out of the ordinary. No weird food, no syringes, no pills (hadn't tried those at all). And once she settled down, I tried giving her the pocket pill treat. She was having none of it. I decided to put it in her dish. Still nothing. After a bit, I took four of the crunchy treats she likes and studded this pocket pill treat, put it back in her dish and walked away. Success.
Subsequent pocket pill treats have been gobbled eagerly. I could kiss the person who made those. Yes, they're spendy, but they make giving pills unbelievably easier.
The vet said that Phoebe should also have fish oil. They had some at the surgery that was likely eye-wateringly expensive. He said if I liked, I could get the gel capsules and break one open as that's the perfect dose. JoJo could have one, too, and I was glad he understood the "I want what she's having," thing that goes on in multiple pet households.
On the day I got my new-to-me dinghy, I knew I might get back later than their usual lunchtime, so I tried one of the little cans of the special food for Phoebe and a can of regular stuff for Jo. Phoebe has taken to eating either upstairs or in the kitchen, and Jo likes eating outside when the weather's nice. So each had enough food and happily ate it. Phoebe looked a bit at the new food after a bite or two, sniffing around it, i'm sure to see if I had hidden anything in it.
I returned a bit after their usual lunch time, and both were eating up the last bits of their larger than usual breakfast. So, all was well.
I've decided to work the special food in on rotation. As time goes on, I may have to give Phoebe only that and nothing else.
The vet wants to take another blood sample in a month's time to see if the meds appear to be doing any good. They won't reverse the kidney damage she has sustained but ideally, the medication will retard its advance.
I hate to take any sort of pills, even vitamins, and I figured i'd need to give myself this month to get used to the new routine for I need time to adjust as much as Phoebe does. If all goes well, then we'll see if we can keep to this. If she doesn't show improvement, then we need to have a different conversation. I did tell the vet that first and foremost, I want Phoebe to have good quality of life. Although she's sleeping more than before, she doesn't appear to be in pain, she's still interested in what's going on and doesn't seem ready to go. Winters are long here even for a mostly indoor cat who loves basking by the coal stove.
For the moment, although she still stares at my hands to see if i'm hiding anything (I show her they're both empty to put her mind at ease), she has forgiven me for taking her to the vet and for being thick as mince. She approves of the treats and thinks the fish oil a treat. And i'm holding on to every one of these days, knowing that they may be the last of the good days and end all too quickly.
Summer is galloping along at an alarming rate here. It's been quite dry, which should mean that I've had lots of time for sailing. But, no. Work stuff has been galloping along, too, and my idea of going for a quick sail after work has been dashed because i'm so mentally tired by the end of the work day, that I don't feel all that safe going boating.
My neighbour up the street, M, who's been a marine electrician for years and who rewired Retrouvé for me finally had some time to go sailing. He had started a seasonal business about three years ago, but it didn't take off as he had hoped, so he's called that a day and found a part-time job doing something else. He's a new grandpa, and his granddaughter thinks he's the most wonderful thing ever, so he has been babysitting and visiting a goodly bit. Finally, we had a Saturday where we could go sailing, and the weather co-operated. We got down to the shipyard, and only when he asked me which dinghy was mine did I realise that the last time he went sailing with me was quite a while ago indeed, since this is my third summer with my dinghy Twig. I know, not nautical sounding in the least, but that's the name that came to me when I got her and asked what her name should be. Some things you just don't question.
I walked over to the edge and looked down at the floats. Twig was missing. I blinked and looked again. She was still gone.
I went over to the shipyard's office to notify them, but the door was locked. Next, I went into the dock house where my friend has her schooner. SFB was there with the office manager for the schooner, and I blurted out that Twig was stolen. I felt sick to my stomach. The first mate offered me use of one of the schooner's skiffs, and I took it. He also said I should talk to Tug, the guy whose business shares the other half of the dock house. SFB said I should notify the Harbor Master. He was right, of course, and once M and I were out on the water, I decided to radio the Harbor Master. Only my radio didn't seem to be sending out a signal. When it rains, it pours.
I had my cell phone and got a signal so called him on his phone and let him know. He said no one had reported finding a missing dinghy, and I gave him the particulars. He said I ought to call the police and file a report.
M and I turned around a bit early when we heard thunder. Well, actually, we heard thunder, M's wife called M and said that it was thundering at the house, were we still on the water? M would have stayed out longer, but about five minutes after the phone call, I thought it best if we turned around.
About two minutes from the house, six raindrops splashed on the windshield, so we beat the rain.
I talked to the police. Sadly, they've had a number of reports like mine and in most cases, by the time the owner sees the item's been stolen, it's already been resold. Twig is a really nice dinghy and could be resold in about five minutes.
When I was able to talk to one of the owners of the shipyard the next day (the office manager would be in the day after), he told me I should talk to Tug and see if he has anything on his security camera. Tug works pretty much Monday through Friday.
I was busy all day at work on Monday, but found some time Tuesday to talk to Tug. He kindly agreed to look at the tapes to see if he could see anything, and would put the word out about my missing dinghy. He related that a number of times, items that suddenly sprouted legs and walked away, suddenly walked back. He also mentioned that the last time he caught a thief red-handed, the thief was taken off the premises via ambulance. Tug is not someone i'd want to have as an enemy.
In the meantime, I wanted a dinghy on hand. If I singlehand, I can take my kayak, if there's one other person, then that person can use Himself's kayak if Himself is not going, or we could have the other person wait on the dock and I can sail over from the mooring and pick that person up. But there are a few people who like to help at the beginning and end of the sail who would not be able to pull themselves out of the kayak easily and onto Retrouvé. Some balance and upper body strength is required, and two sailing chums, who are more portly wouldn't be able to do it at all.
I decided to search Craig's List and I found a used dinghy, same brand as Twig. The poster had a picture and said that boat was that model. Same model as Twig. Naturally, I was suspicious and hated that I was. But, I had to know. So I emailed, asking if he could send a picture of the actual boat. He did, and it wasn't Twig, so I was quite relieved. The asking price was less than the deductible on my boat insurance and I figured it was probably in my best interest to get this one. Should Twig magically reappear, having two dinghies wouldn't be so bad. I could sell one, of course, or keep two in case four of us go sailing on Retrouvé as both dinghies carry two adults.
I picked up the new-to-me dinghy on Saturday. She's been well maintained, but she is used and looks it. She has seen a lot of water. She's well balanced, easy to row, and is less tippy than Twig. She is at the float in the same spot Twig had been, and she's got a sturdy lock and chain.
I've mostly moved past it, and there's a part of me that never wants to find out who did this. If I see that person or group of people in public someplace, i'm not so sure that i'll behave with decorum. I may have a bad day and decide to slap the shit out of them; yet I know they're not worth the jail time.
In other news, Phoebe decided to pee outside the litter box. Repeatedly. Even when I made sure I scooped regularly, and even when she was quite near the box, so I called the vet. I don't want this to be a battle of wills, and I don't want to be held hostage by cat urine. But, just in case there was something physically wrong, and besides it was time for her yearly rabies shot.
So, I took her. She was very good at the vet's. He listened as I told him about her new behaviour, but otherwise everything else was pretty much the same, except she was sleeping more. But, I figured, she's 15 and I have to remind myself that's middle geriatric age for a cat. She provided urine and blood samples. Urinalysis looked good, except it was a bit watery. The blood test results would come in a few days.
The data show that she has kidney disease. The vet was surprised at how high her numbers were given what I told him about her activity level. He said there was a slight chance that she had an infection and suggested an antibiotic as a prophylactic, and then talked about kidney meds. A pill given twice a day. Special food that was low protein and rather bland. I wrote down what he was saying but went numb.
Pills twice a day? He's got to be joking, and I've told him before how when I tried feeding the cats "better" food (READ: healthier), they looked at me as if to say, "What IS this swill?"
Of course, once I made the vet appointment, Phoebe stopped peeing outside the box. That suited me just fine because i'm okay with not having to clean it up off floors and carpet.
I went to the office to pick up the antibiotic--one full syringe once a day for a week, the pills, which need to be split into two and one-half given twice a day, three cans of the special food available only at the vet's--two of these are the "less boring" kind and one of the "boring" ones, and I also picked up "pill pockets" which are treats with holes in them where you can put the meds in and give it to the kitty.
They told me that if Phoebe did not eat the food to bring back the unopened cans, and they'd refund my money. The vet said that if she absolutely refuses it, then to give her the food I have been all along. After all, he said, it's quality of life. He didn't add, "Giving her the food she likes will give her less quantity," but I'm certain he was thinking that.
I got home and cried. Cried because of stupid people who take things that don't belong to them. Cried because i'm sure Phoebe tried telling me again and again she wasn't well, but I'm apparently as thick as mince.
I have tried giving her the antibiotic. I have been unsuccessful. She runs away at a pace that qualifies for the Olympics. Even my one-dimensional nose can smell the antibiotic, so it's little wonder she's off to the races when i'm within ten paces. For a bit, she was running away from me any time I approached. This was not how I wanted our last months to be, so I gave her a day where I didn't do anything out of the ordinary. No weird food, no syringes, no pills (hadn't tried those at all). And once she settled down, I tried giving her the pocket pill treat. She was having none of it. I decided to put it in her dish. Still nothing. After a bit, I took four of the crunchy treats she likes and studded this pocket pill treat, put it back in her dish and walked away. Success.
Subsequent pocket pill treats have been gobbled eagerly. I could kiss the person who made those. Yes, they're spendy, but they make giving pills unbelievably easier.
The vet said that Phoebe should also have fish oil. They had some at the surgery that was likely eye-wateringly expensive. He said if I liked, I could get the gel capsules and break one open as that's the perfect dose. JoJo could have one, too, and I was glad he understood the "I want what she's having," thing that goes on in multiple pet households.
On the day I got my new-to-me dinghy, I knew I might get back later than their usual lunchtime, so I tried one of the little cans of the special food for Phoebe and a can of regular stuff for Jo. Phoebe has taken to eating either upstairs or in the kitchen, and Jo likes eating outside when the weather's nice. So each had enough food and happily ate it. Phoebe looked a bit at the new food after a bite or two, sniffing around it, i'm sure to see if I had hidden anything in it.
I returned a bit after their usual lunch time, and both were eating up the last bits of their larger than usual breakfast. So, all was well.
I've decided to work the special food in on rotation. As time goes on, I may have to give Phoebe only that and nothing else.
The vet wants to take another blood sample in a month's time to see if the meds appear to be doing any good. They won't reverse the kidney damage she has sustained but ideally, the medication will retard its advance.
I hate to take any sort of pills, even vitamins, and I figured i'd need to give myself this month to get used to the new routine for I need time to adjust as much as Phoebe does. If all goes well, then we'll see if we can keep to this. If she doesn't show improvement, then we need to have a different conversation. I did tell the vet that first and foremost, I want Phoebe to have good quality of life. Although she's sleeping more than before, she doesn't appear to be in pain, she's still interested in what's going on and doesn't seem ready to go. Winters are long here even for a mostly indoor cat who loves basking by the coal stove.
For the moment, although she still stares at my hands to see if i'm hiding anything (I show her they're both empty to put her mind at ease), she has forgiven me for taking her to the vet and for being thick as mince. She approves of the treats and thinks the fish oil a treat. And i'm holding on to every one of these days, knowing that they may be the last of the good days and end all too quickly.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
The First Days of Spring
Today, a really nice thank you note arrived from the latest houseguest. I can only hope that as he works through his grief, he can start feeling those first days of spring in his heart. I cried as I read the note, and was so thankful that I listened to that inner prompt that told me to call to see how he was and to extend an invitation to visit.
Why do i bother?
A few years back, I bought some asparagus crowns, dug up the old asparagus bed that had been started years before but now lay fallow, and planted the crowns. I did it a tad too early, seduced by a warmish, early spring day, and the crowns struggled to survive.
Then, when the boat was being transferred from the jack stands to the trailer, a sailing friend was helping me and when the truck driver with the lift asked if he could back up a bit, sailing friend said, "Sure, there's plenty of room," and ignored me saying no, as he backed up right on the asparagus bed. A few came up next year, but most decided to abandon the attempt, and I bought more crowns and waited.
Last year should have been the year that I could collect a small supply of asparagus safely, but the spears that came up were still quite spindly.
This year, disgusted with my patient waiting being fruitless, I decided to plant in the rows between where the asparagus should have been, just a few vegs.
I got some tomato, pepper, musk melon, watermelon, pumpkin, and squash plants. Also six kale plants. Added a couple of scarlet emperor runner beans, which were seeds I had and wasn't sure how viable they were. Planted some radishes and beets.
And the asparagus grew. Not thick enough to really collect, but I guess word on the street had reached them that it was now or never.
After I planted everything, we had a bit of a cold snap, and the pepper plants have been pouty ever since, except the cayenne pepper plant.
Slugs decided to come and nosh, so I sprayed an organic spray and outlined the plants in diatomaceous earth. The slugs denuded a few of the marigolds, which I had planted around the plants as protection.
sigh.
The squash and pumpkin plants have flowered, but then the flowers drop off and there's nothing. Unsure if it's because nothing decided to pollinate it. The beans are climbing the trellis. The lone cucumber plant I got so I could make some pickles flowered and the teeny cornichons were coming along nicely. A bright spot in an unpromising bit of ground.
The tomatoes flowered and some plants have green tomatoes that look good.
The kale had gotten to a pretty good size. I planted them a bit too close together and thought today would be a good day to cut some of the leaves for a meal.
So, I awoke to brilliant sunshine, and after hanging a load of wash on the line before starting my work day, I took a walk over to the garden.
I noticed some of the volunteer violet plants had their leaves shorn clean off. The tomatoes were untouched. And I went down the line. The tops of most pepper plants chewed, more violet volunteers neatly trimmed, beets dug up, with one small one left. The cucumber plant is half its size and sports three small cukes. The kale was the hardest hit: among the six plants, there might be ten leaves left.
Two more new sprouts of asparagus waved in the light breeze as I surveyed everything.
I consoled myself by picking raspberries and eating about half as many as I picked.
Then, when the boat was being transferred from the jack stands to the trailer, a sailing friend was helping me and when the truck driver with the lift asked if he could back up a bit, sailing friend said, "Sure, there's plenty of room," and ignored me saying no, as he backed up right on the asparagus bed. A few came up next year, but most decided to abandon the attempt, and I bought more crowns and waited.
Last year should have been the year that I could collect a small supply of asparagus safely, but the spears that came up were still quite spindly.
This year, disgusted with my patient waiting being fruitless, I decided to plant in the rows between where the asparagus should have been, just a few vegs.
I got some tomato, pepper, musk melon, watermelon, pumpkin, and squash plants. Also six kale plants. Added a couple of scarlet emperor runner beans, which were seeds I had and wasn't sure how viable they were. Planted some radishes and beets.
And the asparagus grew. Not thick enough to really collect, but I guess word on the street had reached them that it was now or never.
After I planted everything, we had a bit of a cold snap, and the pepper plants have been pouty ever since, except the cayenne pepper plant.
Slugs decided to come and nosh, so I sprayed an organic spray and outlined the plants in diatomaceous earth. The slugs denuded a few of the marigolds, which I had planted around the plants as protection.
sigh.
The squash and pumpkin plants have flowered, but then the flowers drop off and there's nothing. Unsure if it's because nothing decided to pollinate it. The beans are climbing the trellis. The lone cucumber plant I got so I could make some pickles flowered and the teeny cornichons were coming along nicely. A bright spot in an unpromising bit of ground.
The tomatoes flowered and some plants have green tomatoes that look good.
The kale had gotten to a pretty good size. I planted them a bit too close together and thought today would be a good day to cut some of the leaves for a meal.
So, I awoke to brilliant sunshine, and after hanging a load of wash on the line before starting my work day, I took a walk over to the garden.
I noticed some of the volunteer violet plants had their leaves shorn clean off. The tomatoes were untouched. And I went down the line. The tops of most pepper plants chewed, more violet volunteers neatly trimmed, beets dug up, with one small one left. The cucumber plant is half its size and sports three small cukes. The kale was the hardest hit: among the six plants, there might be ten leaves left.
Two more new sprouts of asparagus waved in the light breeze as I surveyed everything.
I consoled myself by picking raspberries and eating about half as many as I picked.
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