Sunday, September 28, 2014

Fantasies

I've been thinking about fantasies lately, and realized mine have gone a little rogue.  I used to have the normal ones - variations on love, sex, sucess, the lottery.  Not so much anymore.

A prize-winning key chain collection at the fair
I woke up groggy from a nap the other day, the way I do at this time of year (by "this time of year", I mean all of it except for July and a wee bit into August), and had that disembodied vague feeling, like I have to get up again?  How many times must one rise up in a single lifetime?  And then I realized that I didn't have to get up, I could stay in bed for a few days, possibly a week, before anyone would notice -- no one counts on me for anything timely at this point in my life, so I laid there for a while trying to determine whether that's freedom or failure, all the while hearing Janis Joplin is singing in the background of my mind.  As I considered the options available, I realized that all I wanted is to be in a hardware store.

I wanted to be around people who are moving forward with their lives, people who need supplies and tools because they have stuff going on, things to build and repair.  The hardware store is so soothing and optimistic.  But sheesh, getting from nap position to a hardware store, yikes.  Mount Everest.  But I put my oxygen tank and crampons on, suited up, and dragged myself to the little hardware store in town.  I walked up and down all of the aisles, but it wasn't really what I was looking for.  Too many people like me in there, people I know or should, people who seem more nappish and confused than industrious.  And there's no lumber, and not many power tools either.  Lumber.  I needed to be around lumber.

I got back in the car and drove to the big box store, another 20 minutes, and ahh, there it was.  I walked around looking at stuff for about an hour, maybe two, I lost track.  I fondled stuff I don't need and don't know how to use, but I wish I did.  All the people around me were super-focused; they were oblivious to everything but the project at hand.  People even absent-mindedly bumped into me, they were so distracted by their industriousness.

I restrained myself from buying a kit to build a workbench, which wasn't easy.  It mostly came down to the fact that I can't carry 9 8-foot long 2 x 4's in my car.  Oh, right, and that I don't need a work bench.  That's the other part.

Some people dream of being rich and having a theater room or a swimming pool in their home.  All I really want is a small bedroom with a hotplate attached to a Home Depot so I can hitchhike on the industriousness happening in there after a nap.  That's it, my big fantasy.  No trench coats and leather, no flowers, no being seduced by a stranger on a bus.  Just to live near a giant soul-less big box store full of stuff I don't need and people I don't know.  Does that seem okay?

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Morning has broken

I was having a dream this morning where I had been dispatched (?!) to interview an elderly author; I was supposed to write a book about him, so I timidly knocked on the door, but he was napping right on the other side of the door; he and his famous wife were sitting right there and they
acted like I should have known better than to knock in the middle of the day or something, and I acted like, sheesh, we had an appointment! How am I supposed to know that he's ALWAYS napping RIGHT BY THE DOOR in the middle of the day?

So the wife, who I knew a little bit about because he'd written 25 books about her, his only subject, the great love story of all time, that wife -- she looks at me and says, "So, do you have dolls?"

And, in my dream, I said, "No! I'm a grownup! Can I write the book now?"  And I laughed so hard that I woke myself up.  It's not that funny in the gloom of morning, but in my dream, in my head (russian doll-ish stuff going on here), I was laughing because adults who have dolls tend to be super fussy -- they collect dolls and keep them all perfect,  so in a way it's an extremely adult-like pursuit, one that I couldn't be trusted with.  If I had dolls I'd actually play with them, they'd be tattered and dirty and stained.  I'd set up little situations, "Ok, Mabel, now we're going to study the bones!  Let's sit on our little carpet square and find the the greater trochanter, shall we?  Oops, Sorry Cindy, I spilled beer on you!  Ainsley, now we're going to put on our bee suits, and then let's make popcorn, and then it will be nap time."  They'd be tiny little friends that would tag along on my day with me, which would cause them to get tired and dirty and cynical, but still, they'd look for signs of hope anyway, like it was an actual thing one could spot.

Anyway, in the gloom of morning it wasn't funny enough to wake me up so  I wanted to crawl back into the dream and talk to her more.  "What's it like have 25 books written about you?  Does it feel like love, or is it just annoying, like sheesh, famous guy, get a new topic!"

The other reason I wanted to go back into sleep is because in the middle of the night, there was this REALLY LOUD NOISE, and I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.  One reason I was so uncharacteristically on it is because there's been what I call a situation in our town, a situation in which some illegal dumping occured.  GASP.  And someone posted it to FB, and I made the sorry mistake of commenting once, just a simple, "here's who you call to take care of that" thing, and now it's like I've accidentally subscribed to the inner and outer thoughts of all the people who care about dumping, one way or another.  6,000 e-mails later, it has been resolved.  But I digress.  The important point in all of that just before said sitaution, there was a loud truck dumping noise in the middle of the night, so when I heard my loud noise, it seemed like I should also spring from my bed like all of the other amateur detectives in town.

It turns out we had a power blackout.   I was able to deduce this by how dark it was.  I know.  Even my alarm clock, which I cover with a pillow case each night like a little bird in a cage, was darker than usual.  And the noise turned out to be an extremely loud generator that's activated at my neighbor's house the instant the power goes out.  I spent a long while during the night wondering what's going on over there, why it is that they can't endure even a millisecond of power interruption, as if it's the situation room or something.  (Do you like how I've been able to sneak the word "situation" in a few times here this morning?  I know!)  In my weary middle of the dark night musing, it seemed like they must be spies.  Right?  What else could it be?  And if they're spies, well, who would they be spying on?  This made me wonder if, unbeknownst to me, I'm actually living a secretly interesting life, and they can't miss a single moment of data.  Ok, Mabel and I are going to yoga now.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Small Town 'Scopes

Sheesh, it's beautiful here.  One could weep.  Yes, one could.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20)
:  The other morning when I came out of yoga, I heard a loud noise, sort of garbage truck-ish, and realized it was the sound of mail being poured into the mail trucks.  It suddenly seemed crazy. Like, there's one truck that goes around delivering garbage into our mailboxes, and another truck that comes to collect it.  It made me tired.  But it also made me wish I was the kind of person who wrote little notes and mailed them, made pretty envelopes with sweet contents.  But I've thought that before, and it hasn't really taken root.  Pisces, maybe you could be that person?

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  When R. was in first grade he was assigned to mentor a kindergardener, a little 5-year-old girl who wasn't quite ready for school.  He took his job seriously, and tried to show her the ropes, but she was a challenge -- lots of tears and tantrums and misery on her end, and lots of explaining about how it goes down at school on his end.

One morning, she got up from her desk in the middle of class and headed towards her backpack to get her lunch.
"It's not lunch time yet," R. explained.  "You can't just go get your lunch.  We're doing Math now."
"But I'm hungry."
"In a few minutes it will be snack time.  A parent volunteer will come around and put a handful of pretzels on a napkin for each of us.  Lunch happens later."
"But I don't like pretzels."
"Look," he said, finally losing patience, "this is school.  No one cares if you don't like pretzels."
I know some people reading this could find it an example of what's horrifying about public school -- really?  No one cares? -- but I was infinitely proud of R., because he already understood what some people never learn:  there are lots of people on the planet, we don't always get our way, we need to compromise, wait our turn, figure out the deal and go along with it if it's not wrong or too terrible, and if some nice lady comes around with pretzels, well, lucky you, even if pretzels aren't your first choice.  We need to mold to the world a little bit.  I think, Aries, that your horoscope is wrapped up in that somewhere.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Yesterday I was on my way to The Field, as we call it, and I needed to use the internet [sheesh, can I not drive 25 miles without needing to look something up?], so stopped to find it.  While I was sitting on a concrete sidewalk near a stripmall using my laptop, a woman asked if I could help jump her truck.  I like to think she asked because I was sporting kind of a bad-ass lesbian look (carharts, tank top), the look that says, "I don't give a shit how I look - I'm capable."  But its probably just because I was the only one around and she had a baby in the car.  We rounded up cables, did complicated maneuvers with my car, pushed her gigantic truck into position, and were just about to hook up the cables, which, by the way, isn't rocket science, and some guy walks up and starts telling us how to do it.  "Uh, you'll want to start your car before you hook it up, or your battery will go dead instantly."   The woman and I were both polite (well, she was.  I was silently gritting my teeth), and he took the cables out of her hand and connected them.  The instant he clipped to the battery, he told her to start her truck.  I suggested we wait a minute for it to charge, but he insisted, so she did, and it almost started, and then ground down.  Duh.  So he said maybe we should wait a bit, like it was a new idea.  And so on. 

I tried to imagine how it would go if the genders were reversed.  If two men were in the middle of a perfectly smooth operation of jumping a car -- would a woman arrive and start telling them how to do it and demand to handle the cables?  if she did, would the men politely let her take over, and stay silent while she shared misinformation?  I'm pretty sure not, Taurus.  See what you can do about that this week.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21)
:  Every Wednesday at noon, a weird disembodied voice comes floating through the air, warning us about the possiblility of a dam breaking.

This summer, it seems ike every week I've been in the woods by myself when it comes on, and each time it feels like I'm in the Hunger Games.  I wait for a basket of bread to gently float down, or for the score to be announced.  Hasn't happened yet, but I guess I'm still in the game.  Gemini, stay in the game with your whole self this week!

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I used to blame the fact that I never mail actual letters on the fact that getting to the post office was hard, but now I go every day, sometimes twice, for two main reasons:  1.  That's where the money arrives, and 2.  That's where all the death notices and other quirky items appear.  For example, last week there was a sign advertising a potluck to celebrate a dog.  I guess they were going to have the party, say farewells, and then, um, put him to sleep at/ after the party?  Everyone in town was invited.  I didn't know the dog so I didn't go, but jeez, that's sad.  And then there was this long, hand-written obituary about someone, I couldn't really read the writing but it was surely sweet.  But you can see why I go to the post office a lot.  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  There's a hilarious FB page, a free-form discussion for and about our town, and OMG, it's crazy funny.  I won't go into the whole thing, but there's been a lot of discussion, for example, about the free couch that I mentioned here a few weeks ago.  Some people feel that the couch should have been removed after 3 days, others wonder what has happened on and to the couch, and others digress further to talk about The Ways of The Hill.  Other posts announce that in the next town over, 5 guys dressed as clowns knocked at someone's door at 2 in the morning.  Another guy saw a bright light, causing others to comment on where they were when the bright light happened.  I don't know what to make of it all, but I think it's mostly good.  Leo, your week will also be mostly good.  Enjoy.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I went to a comedy show last week at a huge venue with 20,000 people, I'm not making that up.  20,000 humans were herded into an enclosure, all paying money and hoping for a costly laugh. As we trudged into the venue with the other grim and serious humans, tickets in hand, I had a flash-forward (or was it back?) to the apocalypse.  I slept through much of the show (awkward!) because it turns out I don't really like stand-up comedy.  All punchline, no story, all the while making fun of the audience.  Why is it funny to pick on the guy with crutches?  Virgo, make your week all story, and don't worry about punch lines.  And be especially tender to the guy on crutches.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Many years ago, I found a skull in the woods not too far away.  I took it to a wildlife biologist friend of mine, and I sat with him while he keyed it out.  At the end, he got a sheepish look and said, "um, it says it's a polar bear?"  He wasn't feeling particularly confident because he'd just survived a terrible head injury and it had been only a short while that he'd been out of a coma.  That, and the fact that polar bears don't live here.  We laughed and dropped it, and I've called it a black bear ever since.  I found it back when the internet was young, and I mostly stayed inside the safe boundaries of AOL (remember that?), and didn't venture out looking for pictures of skulls.  

But a young friend was visiting recently, and he always examines the skull when he comes over:  pulls out the incisors, and asks what kind it is, and I always say black bear.  But this time, we googled images, and wow, it may well be a polar bear!  Looks just like the picture.  Anyway, Libra, question assumptions, and be surprised!

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  So I'm in school to be a massage therapist, which is fun and a lot of work, and my biggest fear is that I'll have to play and listen to tedious music, which isn't the worst problem to have.  I'm not even very concerned about back hair, which apparently is a thing that massage therapists talk about.  Talc.  Who knew?  I think there might be other problems solved by talc, or at least tact.
Each of the squares is one inch, and each of
the black dots is a mite.  Yikes!

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  I'm treating my bees for mites, because that's a pretty big problem for the honeybees.  It's a single-celled parasite fungus (I know!  Fungus?  How does that work? Walking fungus?)  Hundreds of mites are dying and dropping onto my little piece of paper, and I don't know what to make of it all.  I hope the parasite evolves to be a little easier on the host, because right now it's pretty ugly.  

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  And poof, just like that, the summer's over, we've put away our seersucker suits, and  I'm a little terrified to head into the dark times again, but I guess we keep making it through.  We will again, Capricorn.  Hold the flashlight when you can, and draft on someone else's light when you need to.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  The thing about this year is that my body is so achy and tired.  I woke up this morning after a day of splitting wood, banging up my hands and tweaking my back and getting stung by a bee on my ankle so that my foot is very large, Sasquatch-ish, in fact.  I am swollen and stiff, as if I went to bed as me and woke up as a really old person. Oh wait. . . 

Did anyone read that short story, of course I can't remember the details, but it's about a guy who steals younger people's bodies, told from the point of view of a guy who's body was stolen?  I think that happened to me.  Anyway, I just tried to use the internet to find the story, and came upon a news article about a 24 year old who was pronounced dead after over-dosing on insecticide (?), but woke up in the mortuary 15 hours later.  In 2014.  So much here to be disturbed by, but I'll stick with insecticide?  Was he a man dreaming of being a suicidal butterfly?

Have a good week, everyone.



Friday, September 12, 2014

Women are not from Mars

I was talking to my dear friend A. this morning, telling her about something I'd heard last night, and suddenly, it sounded ridiculous, like a dream.

Sometimes it's hard to tell dreaming from wakefulness; it all blurs together in a haze of podcasts that fade into dreams that fade back into podcasts, and it isn't until I have contact with another human that the distinction becomes important.  Is this TRUE, or MADE UP?  That's important to know, unless you're just in your head all the time.

I have a bunch of new podcasts that I listen to and they're all so interesting, or maybe it's the dreams that are interesting, I can't really tell one thing from another.  That might sound kind of horrible, but it's really better that way.

So here's how it went:
Me:  I heard this podcast last night about a woman who applied to be on the Bachelorette [the tv show] and also to go on a one-way trip to Mars [the planet]
A:  [Looks at me like, "you're kidding, right?"]

It's good to use graph paper when you're plotting to leave the planet.
Looks smart, like you know how to do it.
And suddenly it did totally sound made up.  I think I just accept things without scrutiny or skepticism at night, which is good.  But not so good when you have trouble telling day from night.  But I looked it up, and indeed, the mission to Mars part is true!

Anyway, the woman wasn't selected for the Bachelorette, but she made the cut for the mission to Mars.  Now I'm obsessed with trying to conjure the frame of mind you're in when you're willing to either be on a tv show where I think you have to marry a random contestant, or go to a planet that we haven't lived on (at least recently).  It's unclear whether either option supports life.  Is she just one big metaphor / inside joke for how messed up things are?  Now I wish I could remember what the podcast was because I'd like to talk to her, maybe be friends, at least until she goes to Mars.  I wonder if she's taken that "Men are from Mars" thing a little too literally?  


Thursday, August 28, 2014

A handful of random things.

1.  The city is proposing new rules to regulate honeybees due to complaints about.... poop!  You knew that, though.  Every single tme I mention to someone that I have bees, I get asked the same damn thing:  "What do you do with all the feces?  Can I get some for my garden?"  Those of you who've ever had a butterfly garden know what I'm talking about here.  Attract butterflies and soon enough, you have a huge waste problem, and before you know it, you'll wish you'd never grown a flower.  Same thing with bees.

2.  There's a wee bit of excitement around the two new named corners around here.  In addition to Throw-up Corner, we have Butt Crack Corner, named when my guests were shocked by the sight of the twelfth man and his low-riding pants. "OMG! Don't look now, but did you see that?"  For those in the know, this is the corner next to the house that's surrounded by 8 foot tall pot plants, near that pole strung with goat skulls and topped with a pentangle.)  The other new corner is my personal favorite, Nap Corner, where people come from afar to drop off couches and beds.  It's always best when the price is spray-painted right on the item.

3.  I was with a friend at the river last night, and saw this, a column of flying insects that extended up the flagpole and beyond, to the heavens.  It looks like time-lapse photography of stars, but it's really just bugs.  Think about that for a while -- because if the bugs are actually stars, um, what does that mean for everything else?

video


4.  I just had a spectacular visit with my family, and we laughed and cried and ate and drank, and generally felt glad to be alive among the living.  It was kind of like this: And this: 

5.  I have a new customer who's building project will be part of a reality tv show.  I know!  Who knew that the humans would be interested in watching a show about the permit process?  I'm angling to get a big part.


Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Horoscopes: things to worry about


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  The woman I saw at a coffeeshop, wearing high heeled cowboy boots, bleach blonde hair, and tight shorts that didn't cover her ass completely.  Which is worrisome enough, but she was with a pale-faced schlub wearing baggy gym shorts down to his knees and a gigantic wrinkled tee shirt.  How does that work?  There's a lot to worry about in this story, Pisces, but the worry I'd like us to focus on is the "women against feminism" movement.  Really, people?  "Um, yeah, I think equal opportunities are a bad idea -- I would prefer to have limited choices, make less money for the same work, and most especially, have no control over reproducing!  (Have I mentioned that my boss, a high-fiving, 6-figure income white guy, asked me what the double helix is?  How do you explain that it's one of the greatest scientific mysteries solved in the 20th century without making someone feel out of the loop?)



Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  The other day, I found a note in the wall in a missing brick in this building.  I hope to contribute notes myself.  This will be an important tool for communication in the near future, but I worry that someone will fill in the hole, or no one will read the notes.  Aries, do what you can.  Even a thimbleful of something is good.  (I think that's what the starfish said, right?)  


Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The CDC, which seems to be a little cavelier with stuff.  Diseases and the like.  For example, were others disturbed by how they accidentally shipped the most deadly strain of bird flu to some unsuspecting chickens in Maryland, and that anthrax business?  How about the live polio that was found in someone's desk drawer or something? Sheesh.  No problem, Ebola.  Welcome to the Americas.  You're in good hands.


Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  The possiblity that random, unpredicted things will occur.  Like, the orbit of the earth will change -- our planet will go off in some new direction that doesn't involve a 24-hour day, heat from the sun, or people in gorilla suits wearing headphones, dancing to advertise a mattress sale. 


Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  My favorite LA, who had this conversation with me the other day:
LA:  There's something I need to talk to you about.
Me:  Yes?
LA:  I think you should consider women.  For dating. Etc.
Me:  Um, I think it's been pretty well established that sexuality isn't a choice....
LA:  I know, I know.  I understand that it's not your first choice.  But it could be your second choice!
Me:  Um.. 
LA:  Look, just keep an open mind.  Second choice isn't bad!  Open your heart to that possibility. 
Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The fact that conservative, non-scientific people are procreating earlier and more abundantly than the thinkers.  I was going to say, "follow that out for a few generations", but I think we're already there.  Ok, but Leo, I have another worry to share.  People here in our town are arguing over this building.  Right?  One group has been interested in protecting it for a decade or more; they started before the blue tarp was weathered into useless shreds and the barn was beyond repair.  A new group has recently become interested, and bickering has ensued.  Arrgh. 

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I'm worried about turning into one of those people who just, oh, how do I put this --- well, for a shy person, I seem to be inviting strangers to do stuff.  Example:  I invited a woman I'd met about 3 minutes before to go have a drink.  Right?  (SEE, LA?  That's an open mind! Although really, it's not like that.  It's just that you meet nice people, and you shouldn't let them slip away.)


Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  
Lawns.  WTF, people?  I've grown so weary of the loud, polluting, tedious chore required to keep the stuff short that naturally grows tall.  I've always found this disturbing, but I just learned that Americans spend $40 billion a year on lawn care, compared with $47 billion on childcare.  I have an idea!  Let's quit with the lawns and pay the people who raise the children twice as much.


Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was hanging out in proximity of a bunch of young people last weekend, and every time I came upon one, I would say, "Do you have a passport?  Show it."  Why, you ask?  Because I am a patriot!  And that's what we do here in America (pronounce that like Sarah P. does, okay?  I don't know how she would spell it.)  When young, hungry, scared children knock at the door of our country, rather than offering stuffed animals, food, shelter, goodness, we ask to see papers, and if they don't have them, by golly, we get them involved with our court system.  So I'm starting that right here at home.  
Summer in a bowl.  To be captured in a jar,
and released when the time is right.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Benjamen Walker, who I have a huge internet crush on.  He's brilliant and funny and quirky-smart, and gets to have a plural name.  I'd like to hang out with him and listen to the radio together.  (Benjamen, I hope that doesn't sound too creepy.) But I do worry that harm will befall him, because that happens.  People die every day.  Listen to the podcast:  Benjamen Walker's Theory of Everything.


Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  One thing I am absolutely not worrying about is botulism.  Because I'm doing all this crazy fermenting, capturing all manner of summer in a jar and adding salt from the ocean and whey from the cows, and I can hardly believe how fun and easy it is.  No boiling jars and pectin and blah blah blah fear of death.  Just food and bubbling and pure creativity in a jar.


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Okay, another thing I worry about is E. Readicker-Henderson, because I have a minor b0ok crush on him/her (See, LA?  OPEN TO WHATEVER. ) Ok, never mind, there's a pic and he's a he.  Or at least he passes, beard and all.  He's the kind of writer I wish I were, the book is packed with words like this: 
"To make their honey, the bees have endlessly sampled the landscape, pulling the best moments from growing flowers and the warmth from the sun.  For us to do any less, to put any less care when we are choosing the honey for our table, would simply be ungrateful." 
Big sigh.  That's the kind of sentence I wish I had written.  And I so hope no harm befalls E. R-H.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Mysteries

The wrap up:  116 people have taken the quiz - I don't know whether to feel pleased or alarmed by that.  I was hoping that at least four or five people would click the link and answer the questions, but I see you are a curious (or bored) bunch.  And here are the results, which does seem to resemble the distribution in an actual garden.  Ish.



Okay, florascopes.
The purse!  ish.
Dahlia:  What I remember about the moon landing is this:  the rest of the family was in the family room (is there still such a room or was that only in the 60's? Oh.  I just looked it up.  First mentioned in 1945 in this cool book).  Meanwhile, I was upstairs in my bedroom gluing rhinestones onto a big ugly purse.  It was a craft kit that my grandfather's wife, whom I only met once, gave me.  (I guess I met her twice if you count the time she was still living with husband #7, but I don't.)  They lived in a strange senior citizens mobile home park in the desert near LA, and we had to get special permission to visit because children weren't allowed.  It was the first time I had been in a house that had a license plate on it.  Anyway, she gave my sisters and I and each a kit to make a cardboard purse with a plastic rhinestone peacock on it.  (Can you get any more fake than rhinestone?  YES!  Imitation rhinestone!)  My sister's purses were turning out exactly like the picture, but mine was gloppy with glue; the fake jewels slid down the side of the purse to create a jeweled glob of shiny plastic disappointment.  I decided to use the time when everyone else was occupied with the lunar landing to try to catch up and see if I could make mine look like a real peacock.  So I missed the moon landing.  I've seen the movies though.  Dahlia, don't miss out this week!  Stay tuned.

Indian Pipe.  So many mysteries!  Here's one:  I received another mysterious package, this one with a honey bee theme, a sweet but anonymous note, a small china hutch, and 5 tiny beer cans that seem denser than most substances on this
planet.  I've set up a little white trash doll house situation (tiny cans of beer in a tiny china hutch isn't something that occurs in nature).  Oh wait -- maybe there was something like that in my grandfather's mobile home in the desert; I don't remember.  I gather there's a message in all of this, but I'm not sure what it is.  One of my friends thinks the sender is a reader who lives in his/her parents basement, and this blog is his/her only contact with the outside world so it's taken a bizarre importance in his/her life.  I don't really know whether to find that comforting or creepy, but I'll go with comforting.  From one lonely basement dweller to another, sans the basement?  Another theory is that the recent package is a copy cat, someone who followed the example of the sender of the steins (SOS).  Of course, that idea appeals to me, because it would mean more packages for me....


Kalmia.  We're going to use science to solve this mystery, because that's what we do.  But before I go on, can we all take a moment to love science together?  It's the only discipline in the galaxy that is both humble and curious, never dismisses information, never assumes beyond the data, and ultimately, gets to the bottom of things in the most elegant, proveable, repeatable way.  Oh, science, how we love thee.  Here goes:

Let me know your theories, Kalmia.  We'll put on our gloves and get out the bunson burners and Erlenmeyer flasks and start researching!


Columbine.  Here's another mystery:  I found a long strip of bark in the garbage can right in the middle of town.  Who does that?  As I was searching the can for clues, a neighbor walked up; I think he assumed I was looking for a new wardrobe or something, but nope.  I went in to the flower shop to see if the proprietor had seen anything suspicious, but nope.

It's a rainy day here, which is good because it will give my bees a chance to be housebound with their new queen and see if they can grow to love her.  I'm not supposed to look in there for a bit but I like to imagine that they're in there, a bit restless, playing monopoly and eating crackers with their little tiny bee mouths.  Maybe building a fort.

I guess that's it.