Ennui

My next door neighbor is the local mail carrier. Last week, he came to my door with a package I had to sign for. While I was doing so, he mentioned that he had taken some photos of my cats visiting his yard:

"I got this great shot of the grey one--she climbed a tree and sat on the birdhouse there while she watched the bear prowling around."

This is why my cats do not go outside unless it is A) during the day and B) I am at home. Since I work five days a week, and the days have naturally shortened, this limits the opportunities for a feline saunter in the New Hampshire woods. The cats are certainly aware of this, and they make their collective protests felt every morning I walk out the door and every night I return home again.

Worry not, the cat population is no where near bored.

The focal point of their interest and attention has shifted to the centerpiece on the coffee table in the living room. There are many unique and interesting elements to this self-created attempt at decorative art--sand, a bowl of water with floating candles, rocks, fake leaves and berries--it is almost too much for a cat without anything to do for eight hours five days a week.

When this became apparent to me, I attempted to ensure that the resulting mess didn't reoccur. However, I've discovered that the different ways I've addressed this issue have been approached as puzzles for the cat collective to work around.

The L.L. Bean Box:
Destroyed. Multiple sittings bowed the flaps adhered down the center of the back to the point that a few claw-sharpenings and tooth-applied shreddings later, the flaps were free from their adhesive, and they were raised in order to allow access to the coveted bowl of water.

The J. Crew Box:
I just rotated this replacement out. When I first looked the box over, I thought "there is no way they'll be able to pull this apart." I was wrong--entirely. First, they pulled apart a corner so a little borrowing would lift it just enough over a cat-sized body to get at the water. After taping that up again, they resumed their original approach to the previous box, with the same result.

The Milk Crate
When the crate fit perfectly over the square plate of decorative sand upon which the bowl of candles rests, I thought I had finally found the answer. I placed a set of books on top of it to make sure no one could shift it. Later, I discovered the evidence of an attempt at the bowl--sand was all over the table--cat paws fit comfortably through the grate in the crate, and pawfuls of sand had been scooped out and distributed on the table surface. I am sure it is only a matter of time before this method also is retired.

I can't blame them--classes were created around the Rubik's Cube puzzle. And, I'm sure the participants were equally without amusement.

Relaxing? Not Quite

Upon deciding to take today off yesterday after work, I thought it would fit the fairly typical mould--catch up on rest, do some reading, look over that magazine that I purchased a week ago.

Instead, I got up at 8 and moved furniture, completely rearranging my house.

Of course the exercise started rather innocently. At some point this weekend, I was going to have to clean the house, and this train of thought naturally led to the consideration of the underused space that is my office. My main problem was seating--a very nice desk actually lacked a chair of any kind, and there was literally nothing else to sit on in the room unless one counted the floor. I was sitting on the couch in the living room when I thought this out, and it didn't escape my notice that a chair, purchased as part of a set with the said couch, sat infrequently used on the other side of the room.

Hmmmmm.....maybe I could move that.....

My first attempt was entirely unsuccessful. The chair had legs screwed onto the bottom, and with this attached, it was impossible to push the chair through the doorway into the office. After removing them, the job transformed into a breeze, and the chair was reassembled in the office.

I tried to place the chair against the different, available walls in the room. None of them offered an ideal location, and most made the new addition appear out of place in its new environment. This made moving the office furniture around a necessity, the desk, filing cabinet, and stereo system took entirely new places in the room.

And then, naturally, the living room had to be reorganized to make up for the large, open space that the chair left behind.

I stopped short of wallpapering that section under the window in the kitchen that has been bothering me....just barely.

Parental Hidden Talents

My father exemplifies the adjective "formidable." My brother, familiar with our father's place of employment, reported that he is "respected and feared" there. In one of our few moments of mutual harmony and agreement, my brother and I both asserted that if we were ever unfortunate enough to be caught by the police and forced to either spend a night in jail or call our father to bail us out, we would enthusiastically choose the former option.

Of course, this isn't a complete picture of him by any stretch of the imagination. He is also incredibly generous, sensitive, and comical. What I didn't know about him until recently is that he is completely unintimidated by, and even able to relate to, teenagers.

Last weekend, my mother was involved in an event in our hometown, working for a nonprofit organization that needed to raise money for its activities. I agreed to spend some of the weekend at home to help out, and later in the afternoon, my father appeared at the festivities. My mother was in a state of exasperation--there was a competition due to commence at 5:30 pm, and the implements for the race had not been assembled. My father agreed to stay around and find a solution to this problem. A table was set up, and at first, a group of adults, my father and I included, attempted to rectify the situation. Then, a group of middle school students came by to help.

Most teachers will agree that middle school is the most difficult age to teach in class. The sight of a pack of preteens brought about the retreat of some of the adults, whether moving off to some other activity or engaging in conversation with each other. To my great surprise, my father arranged the students in two lines and showed them how to quickly get the work done, instructing and encouraging them along the way. He was familiar; he was unintimidated. He was the one of the only adults among at least half a dozen that engaged these kids and stuck with the project, only a few others excepted.

Who would have thought?

My Pills, My Problem

One of the little momentary annoyances of life occurs in the pharmacy. Whether you're on a regular medication or you have to pick up a prescription to treat something localized and temporary, in order to acquire the small bottle of essential pills, you have to go through the inevitable song and dance at the counter.

I've rarely been thrilled with the service offered at my local drug store. With a few, but certainly notable, exceptions, most of the staff during the day is lacking in professionalism to say the least. On one occasion, I desperately needed a prescription for a steroid filled quickly because of sudden, unexplained swelling n my throat. In the interests of time, the doctor I saw for the problem immediately faxed the request to the pharmacy. When I got there, they hadn't seen the request at all, and after I explained it had been faxed over to them, one of the employees went over to the machine and picked up what had to have been a stack of ten similar prescription requests, none of which had been looked at, let alone filled.

Earlier in the week, I returned home from work with a message on my phone from the doctor's office. Apparently this time, the pharmacy had done it's part--they had called the office to get authorization to start a new round of refills on a regular prescription.

The young lady in the office called me to ask me what the prescription was.

Huh?

She didn't recognize the name, and she had somehow consulted a reference book on the matter, which didn't list or identify the prescription. She was in an office full of doctors she could have asked, I presume she had access to the Internet and its wealth of databases on the topic, and the number for the pharmacy was clearly listed on the fax. Instead of any or all of these avenues of authority, she instead chose to call me up during business hours at my home number to ask me.

The next day, I called the office, and a completely different person answered the phone. I explained the message, answered the question, and asked her why I had been called about the issue given how many other options were available to answer the caller's question.

"Well it is YOUR prescription."

Yes, point taken. But come on.

Fatal Accident Caused By....?

I have come to the conclusion that there is one thing far more distracting, and therefore, far more dangerous, than text messaging while driving.

It's the mosquito in the car.

I'm sure it surprises no one who has at least seen the moth photograph that I live in a slightly remote area in northern New England (where else would one find a moth with a twelve-inch wingspan who could easily audition for the next X-Man movie?). A combination of mild temperatures and lots of rain resulted in a spike in the creepy wildlife category out here this year. For example, one night upon taking out the trash, I noticed that there were at least five frogs on my car.

Nothing beats the mosquitoes. Absolutely nothing. I haven't been able to walk across my lawn once without dousing myself in a hefty dose of Deep Woods Off. While this is inconvenient, reentering the house generally disperses the cloud of noisy bloodsuckers, and those that are unfortunate enough to make it indoors are quickly hunted down and consumed by the cats.

The car is another issue entirely. It's trapped; you're trapped and belted to the seat. At first, it bounces along the dashboard, on and off the windshield attempting escape through the glass. Then, it may drift over to the window where you make a desperate dash to open it to let it out. When that's not successful, you lose sight of it somewhere, and patches all over your skin start to tingle and crawl. Wherever you think you've been bitten, you've only managed to whack unadulterated skin, but when you get out of the car, you notice at least two or three welts where you least expect them to be. And, if you're unlucky enough, it will be waiting for you in there, probably eager for another meal, when you get back inside the car to drive home again.

All the while you're engaged in a battle of wits with an insect no larger than a fingernail shard, you drift around the road, cross the yellow lines a few times, and tailgate that guy in front of you to near a rear-end job.

I wonder how many accidents may have been caused by the simple mosquito in the car. I am certain, however, that there are no statistics to report on this phenomenon.

Giant Moth

In keeping with the nature-oriented turn that this blog has recently taken, this appeared on my living room window the other night. I presume that this isn't the culprit that continues to knock my trash can over every night. One never can tell.

I think these are wild strawberries growing in my front yard. As they could also very easily be something poisonous, I certainly did not sample them.

And somehow, Anne climbed up the frame and into the roof of the carport. I'd rather not have to call the fire department to ask for assistance with this one.