talking too much, laughing too loud, snacking all the way
Sara...
...is a happy, ordinary, middle-aged, suburban woman who paints odd pictures, gardens in a straw hat, lives with the love of her life, is owned by one cat and the ghosts of several others, and walks a little funny 'cause she has a fake leg. She started this website because there's more to life than what we lose, and we need to let each other know what's possible, even if it's only a happy, ordinary life.
Make sure the subject line of your correspondence is clear and specific. I do not open e-mails from strangers unless I can tell in advance that I want to read them.
Sam the cat had his one-month-post-radioactive-iodine-treatment checkup yesterday. No doubt you will be relieved, as we were, to learn that he is doing quite well. (Click to enlarge.)
When we first brought Sam to the vet the day after he consented to allow us to adopt him off the street in September, he weighed 6.2 lbs. We quickly were able to pack half a pound onto him just by feeding and watering him, but his thyroid level was 23, which is terrifyingly high. He had a pronounced heart murmur, first ear mites and then just continued horrible ear wax build-up from the hyperthyroidism driving him nuts, he was feverish, he was constantly ravenous yet vomited every single day, and he was antsy and anxious and unable to rest comfortably in any position for very long. He loved to play, and he would leap and jump until he fell into a heap panting, but then he would still be antsy and anxious and unable to rest.
Yesterday, Sam weighed 8.2 lbs. His thyroid level is down to one-or-two-point-something-or-other (can't remember precisely), which is normal. His heart murmur has quieted to the point where there were times when the vet couldn't even hear it in his stethoscope. His kidney levels, which were normal going into the hyperthyroidism treatment, are now elevated to slightly abnormal, but he has been on atenolol for over a month now and just had his last dose yesterday, so we are hoping that this will normalize, too, with time and the absence of medication.
As you can see, though he still exhibits symptoms of separation anxiety and though the Angell vet found evidence of arthritis in his hips, possibly as the result of some physical trauma, he is a great deal calmer and more comfortable. (Click to enlarge.)
His next check-up is on February 19. Barring complications in the meantime, I will report on his progress then.
Okay, it's bigger. Lots bigger, maybe as big as it has been yet, maybe bigger still. Something about being previously swollen seems to have increased its ability to absorb water quickly, possibly by stretching its innate porosity. We will find out over the coming months whether it is able to get even larger than this.
But tonight I know you are only here to see what's going on with the Santa clones. So without further ado, let me show you:
As perhaps you can discern, the clone formerly known as "Tiny Santa" (henceforth "Tall-Hatted Santa") has in fact gotten taller than the clone formerly known as "Big Santa" (henceforth "Wide Santa"). Taller, however, is not bigger, and even if it were, it also does not necessarily equate to dominance. (If you don't believe me, ask any giraffe. Ask it how it feels in the presence of a hungry lion.)
Both Santa clones have outgrown their ability to flip inside the bottle. A quick glance at their position last week will show that they used to both be able to stand upright in the bottle with the bottle laying on its side. This is no longer possible.
Unfortunately, Tall-Hatted Santa achieved his current height, largely hat height, while standing on his head. If I'd noticed in time, I might have done something to prevent this, perhaps shaken the bottle until both Santas were oriented with their heads pointing bottle-capward, but as noted previously, I am not the most skilled mad scientist ever. I am also busy with many things besides mad science, making me not the most focused mad scientist ever. Hélas.
What has made Tall-Hatted Santa grow so much, so fast? Did he feel the need to outstrip Wide Santa in the consumption of resources? Did he fear there wouldn't be enough for both of them? Or was it more personal? Did he feel like less of a Santa clone if he wasn't "winning"? Maybe it was all just vanity. On the other hand, perhaps he felt physically threatened or overwhelmed by Wide Santa's wideness. Was Wide Santa bullying him? Or maybe Tall-Hatted Santa just felt thirstier in the past week than Wide Santa. Who can say?
The Santas are not talking, at least not to me. My true love says they hate me, something about being stuffed in a bottle full of water where they are at the mercy of my idle hands when I feel like shaking something, where they are constantly peered at and photographed in undignified positions, and yet doomed to wear cheery little smiles on their faces no matter what. Eh, whatever.
Regardless, from now until such time as I may choose to drain the bottle and allow the clones to deflate, one clone will always be on his head, and since the bottle, subject to being knocked over by the resident kitty or an occasional stray breakfast-hoisting elbow, will not ever be stood on its cap for any significant amount of time, it looks like it's usually going to be Tall-Hatted Santa.
Perhaps there's another way to think about this. Perhaps Tall-Hatted Santa is actually made for this, what with the tall, ostensibly cushioning hat and all. Perhaps he is fulfilling his nature.
What do you think? Is Tall-Hatted Santa stuck, or is he just different? Is he pitiable, brave, or just living his life his way? I mean, we might assume that this fate would be any other Santa clone's worst nightmare. But maybe this Santa clone would have a thing or two to say about that. Maybe he's just happy to be floating at all.
If you were Tall-Hatted Santa, would you want want to be "fixed," or would you rather continue to grow unimpeded, with your own unique view of the table (and your bottlemate's ass)?
It's the season when more people think about gifts than any other in Western civilization. And here I am wondering what constitutes a gift vs. a dilemma.
Again.
Ho ho ho. Here's hoping you're enjoying whatever you've got as much as you can, and that things just keep getting better for all of you.
This week, the fraternal twin cloned Santas seem to be getting on quite well --
-- really extremely well, I think --
--so let's leave them for now and go back to the limb project.
Uncharacteristically continuing our experiment by daylight, which as you know is not always considered the best environment for mad science but the deleterious effects of which in this instance were mitigated by the muted silvery light of a massive snowstorm, I went to check on our test subject.
The subject had shrunk a little more, I think (again failing to take measurements, not really seeing the point in starting that at this stage). While not quite as small as it had begun, its texture was quite dry and foamy, very lightweight. I decided the time had come.
In preparation for this moment, earlier in the week -- but not on a Sunday night when the only store open would be CVS, whose selection of beverages contained in clear plastic bottles we have already found to be rather limited -- I purchased a clear plastic soda bottle containing something I felt would be less of an insult to my personal biology than anything containing high fructose corn syrup or phenylalanine.
That's as it may be, but what I did not expect was the profound insult my tongue would suffer. This stuff is really quite vile tasting. And yet somehow it has been produced, packaged, shipped and, ostensibly, sold to more than one person. I am curious to know whether anyone has ever tasted it without the probably ameliorating influence of vodka. Anyone beside myself, that is.
Naturally, needing a clear head for mad science, I tasted it without vodka, and this was the result.
(By the way, do you see that pretty little handcrafted blue ceramic sponge holder? You can get your own for a very reasonable price at Mud Stuffing Pottery on Etsy. Though it is definitely inhibiting the number of ecosystems our kitchen can support at one time, we've only owned ours a few months and it's already saved us money on scrubby sponges and reduced the number of unpleasant smells in our kitchen. But I digress.)
Even the residual fragrance of the "flavored" seltzer was disgusting, so I washed the bottle quite thoroughly with extremely hot water, hot enough to slightly deform the bottle shape, and grapefruit-scented detergent. Then I filled it with clear, cold, filtered water.
It was time to introduce the test subject to its new environment.
Voilà! The next phase of the experiment commences! Are you not excited? I know I am.
This week was actually quite inspiring in a number of ways. While waiting for the car to have a new headlamp installed at the mechanic, who was kind enough to squeeze me in without an appointment, I took a stroll around West Concord, through the tiny Christmas tree lot set up temporarily down by Nashoba Creek, and breathed in its incredible forest scent while hearing from the proprietress that all she could smell was the incredible bakery all day long. I went to the post office and mailed off our Netflixes and a couple of other items of interest. I wandered over to Debra's and stuffed my tote bag and, sadly, two other paper bags (don't worry; I recycle religiously -- no, really, religiously; this is even more important to me than chocolate suffragists) with organic produce and a few other needful things. And then, needing a new cheapo frying pan for our morning scrambles, I visited the home of all our test subjects, the West Concord 5 & 10, where I bought three frying pans, plus a cookie cutter, two spatulas (because you can NEVER have too many spatulas, and these were quite inexpensive) and a small wire wisk (see note on spatulas). And then a most wonderful thing happened: I was permitted to photograph for you The Hand, the very hand which has inspired the current stage of our experimentation.
Allow me to present it to you now. (Click to enlarge.)
I am informed by the owner that this is an extremely popular but also well traveled hand, having accompanied the owner to a variety of rock concerts including some by the Grateful Dead and possibly the Allman Brothers. (A third band was mentioned but, fittingly, I can't remember what it was. Equally fittingly, it may have been The Who.) I am further informed by the owner that a favorite pastime of The Hand's transporters to these venues has been to ask concert security whether it "could use a hand...because there's one strapped to the roof of the car."
Another inspirational event occurred on either Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, whenever the program Wired Science plays on the local PBS HD station. It was during the airing of this program that I discovered that there is actually a name for this particular field of mad science that we are messing with in my kitchen and dining room: "regenerative medicine." Even better, many people don't think it's mad at all.
Well, perhaps they would think it was mad if they saw how we are doing it. But you know what's really mad? "Printing" new organs grown from a person's own tissue using a simple inkjet printer. And yet...and yet...it's happening. Now.
Oh, yes, I simplify. But I am not making this up, and this is only one of the things happening in this amazing, dynamic field. Go visit the Wired Science website, or just watch this excerpt, courtesy of Wired Science and KCET (Los Angeles):
Mad! Wild and mad! And too, too wonderful for words.
(Even that first guy, who makes me pity the poor porcine for about the eight bazillionth time -- and also think of pigoons.)
What a motley assortment! Whatever could it all mean? And what is it all doing on my laundry rack?
One of these things was very much expected. It is, of course, the scarf claimed by Jana when she won my Second Annual NaBloPoMo Midway Contest! It is a long scarf crocheted of Araucanía handspun and kettle dyed wool from Chile. It was going to be crocheted of something else, but when I was at the local yarn basement, two skeins of the delicious stuff, and then a third simply leapt into my hands, and I couldn't possibly put it back. It would have been rude. And we have already discussed how rude it is to put back things which leap into your hands or your shopping cart. It is not kind to reject inanimate objects.
Another of these things, or so I am told, has been sent to warm the neck of a neighborhood eccentric in North Carolina who dreamed of something exactly like it. In the photo above, it looks like it's made of fire engine red wool. In the snippet at left, it looks like it's tomato soup red. Actually it's neither. Actually it's a pure, true gummy bear red. I don't think that's what Brown Sheep Company named this color, but I went to the store and bought some gummy bears to be sure. (This was after I'd put the scarf in the mail, but I know I'm right. I know it.) Regardless of what kind of red this really is, I know it will be warmer because it is red. And as a neighborhood eccentric myself, I am very much in favor of warming the necks of other eccentrics.
Now what on earth could that last item be? Have you ever seen anything like it? It's a bag, yes, a drawstring bag, flat and empty in the top picture, but filled at right with a beer bottle just to demonstrate capacity. I'm not sure whatever possessed me to make such a thing, and I also have this immense urge to mail it to Canada. (The only thing keeping me from doing that is lack of a destination address -- ahem.)
The slender pink satin ribbons are such a delicate pink that it's hard to tell they are pink in this photograph, but pink they are. The yarn is a combo of Cascade 220 in black (8555) and white (740) Nature Spun by Brown Sheep Company. X definitely marks the spot here, over and over again, but which spot exactly is something I will leave up to the future owner.
So just as I was packing these items up for mailing -- the ones that I could mail already, that is, not the poor, homeless mystery bag waiting to discover its own future address -- the oddest thing happened. An Alphabitch destashed all over my studio!
Doesn't that sound perfectly awful? But you know what's really sad? I've been cackling over the idea of writing that sentence all day. It's very true that I have a very small life.
In fact, everybody should be so lucky. Check out my booty (not that booty; honestly):
First, eight glorious skeins of handspun recycled silk in every brilliant color all at once from Nepal. The photo seriously fails to do it justice.
It's like a party in a plastic bag. Amazing stuff, brilliant jewel colors, like the world's richest confetti only put into a form you can weave into fabric.
And that would have been a perfectly splendid gift for anyone. Really.
But wait. There's more.
Next came two ziploc baggies (and no, the drug imagery is not lost on me) filled with Indiecita alpaca fleece in a joyful assortment of earth and flower colors. Again, my photography fails to render the beauty of this fine, impossibly soft, deliciously brilliant stuff.
So beautiful! And all by itself it is a gift to delight in. So luxurious. So cheerful!
Please remember that it came to me as part of a completely spontaneous gift that I did absolutely nothing to deserve. Please bear in mind while you envy me that I know how completely undeserving I am.
But wait. There's more.
And this is a funny one. Remember how I said that Jana's scarf was almost made of something else? Guess what it was almost made of. Guess.
You give up?
Ha. It was almost made of Lamb's Pride. Just like this.
Not exactly like this, because the stuff I was looking at was a range-of-blues colorway, mostly light blue since Jana had requested light blue, and it was worsted weight, not bulky. It was 85% wool and 15% mohair. I was thinking of picking up two or three skeins when I was forced -- forced! -- into choosing the Araucanía instead.
But I really liked the feel of that Lamb's Pride. I remembered how soft it felt and thought I would just have to find another project in which to use it. And look, now I have some, right here in my studio. And I love these colors a lot.
Oh, Alphabitch, I salute your instincts! I love it all so much! And I cannot thank you enough. Goodness gracious, what a completely nice thing to do.
Of course, now you have room for more. (This is how addicts think.) So I know I'm doing you a mitzvah. (Heavy rationalization, we addicts use, all the time.) So that's all right then.
I was standing in Trader Joe's this evening, waiting for an employee from California wearing a knit In 'n' Out Burger cap and shorts to get back to me about the dried fruit ends and pieces packs they used to sell when I noticed a woman engrossed in picking the exactly right candy package kicking over a tiny living Christmas tree for sale and on display on the floor in front of the candy tower. She didn't even notice she'd done it, and rolled her cart away, frowning obliviously.
I went over to right the little tree, and a strange thing happened. Maybe it was the red tin bucket. Maybe it was the glitter. Maybe I'm just a magnet for downtrodden but attractive strays.
What difference does it make? Now we have something to sparkle under the holiday lights, to plant out in the spring, and maybe to feed a merry flock of cedar waxwings some other December to come.
What a motley assortment! Whatever could it all mean? And what is it all doing on my laundry rack?
Another of these things, or so I am told, has been sent to warm the neck of 
Now what on earth could that last item be? Have you ever seen anything like it? It's a bag, yes, a drawstring bag, flat and empty in the top picture, but filled at right with a beer bottle just to demonstrate capacity. 
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