Hedging My Pets

I feel as if I go on and on about Charlie and Cashmere without saying much about Sylvia the Hedgehog. Partly that is because they are learning a lot lately (I hope to get a video of them walking on their hind legs and a better video of them jumping through their hoop), but mainly it is because Sylvia and I keep very different hours so we rarely see each other. However, last night we had one of our rare encounters, and she must have been happy to see me because she snuggled right up to me.

I may not give Sylvia enough credit. I figured she didn't care if it were me or Hardingfele filling her food dish, as long as it was filled every night; but when I returned from New Orleans she covered me with kisses. I always think she is not as smart as the rabbits, and certainly she has no "social intelligence" like they do - they understand a surprising amount of what I say and are very good at getting their thoughts across to me while she never communicates anything - but now and then I wonder if she is secretly brilliant. Perhaps her name should be changed to "Houdini" (she came with the name Sylvia, after her previous owner's prickly professor) since she can escape from anything. And I mean anything. She has gotten into, out of, over, around, and through (?) all manner of barricades, cages, and blocked-off entryways. When she first came into my house, Cashmere was terrified of her although she is a fifth of the size of the rabbits, so I kept her (or tried!) in the back half of the house. Forget it - Sylvia would not be denied her freedom to explore every, and I mean EVERY, inch of my house. She likes to hide under things, and it's amazing some of the spaces she has squeezed into!

I always joke that Sylvia is the bratty kid sister who follows the bunnies around and does whatever they do, which is certainly true as far as the litterbox goes - if they decide for some reason that some patch of the carpet suits them better, she does too. (Which is very annoying since their little pills are easy to clean up, but hers is like miniature dog stuff.) And she is a diva. Once when I was doing the dishes, I heard a blood-curdling, ululating scream right behind me. After I got over my shock, I looked below the stove and found Sylvia sitting beneath it as happy as could be. Maybe she felt ignored...?

Perhaps the strangest stunt she has pulled is the Mealworm Breeding Program. The local pet shop has been unable to get mealworms, which are Sylvia's favorite treat, for months now. I thought she would be disappointed, but apparently she saved one and started a breeding program in her cage (which she hardly uses herself) because one day I found all sorts of them in there, and an adult bug as well. Argh! But I collected them and now she has mealworms to last until the dry spell is over.

Watch this space for video footage of Sylvia getting stuck in a sock or a toilet paper tube (if she will fall for it again), trying to turn herself over, and running. That is never not funny!

Famous Hat

Remembrance Poppies? Forget It!

My officemate, who is half Canadian and has spent time in Canada, is even more into World War I than I am. She collects vintage posters and other WWI memorabilia. The two of us decided that, since the hospital we work at is adjacent to a VA Hospital, we would go buy some poppies to commmemorate the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. And if you could find Remembrance Poppies anywhere, you'd think it would be a Veterans' Affairs Hospital, right?

We went to the VA Hospital on our coffee break, full of optimism and soon full of coffee as well. (There are many coffee shops all over the hospital complex, but our favorite is the one in the VA Hospital, Etes-Vous Pretes Coffee.) Off we went to the gift shop, which sold toothbrushes (teethbrushes?) but no poppies. The gift shop suggested we go to the front lobby.

In the front lobby we saw yet more coffee and an information desk, behind which were several gentlemen, one wearing a Remembrance Poppy. When we asked where he had gotten it, he said a town halfway to the next state over! Not the answer we had been looking for. He suggested we go up to Volunteer Services, so off we went.

When we walked into Volunteer Services, the people in there (who all looked like vintage WWII era) looked up in surprise and asked what we wanted. When we said poppies, we wondered if they thought we were looking for drugs or something. (In my childhood we had next door neighbors who actually cut the buds off our ornamental poppies because they thought they were opium poppies. Surprise! They never made that mistake again.) Volunteer Services stared at us like we had three heads, until we started to wonder ourselves. Finally one of them said Remembrance Poppies are only sold on Memorial Day, not Veterans' Day. So back to our office we went.

Our solution to this deplorable lack of poppies was this: we found a picture on the Internet (see above), printed it on a color printer with the poem "In Flanders Field" below it, and hung it up prominently in our office. I don't want to hear anyone saying how the younger generation doesn't care about the sacrifices made by our elders! When two Gen Xer's try to find poppies and can't do it, how would you expect anyone younger to remember what they have never been told? My officemate says they had to memorize "In Flanders Field" in Canada, and I remember poppies being sold when I was a child, but have we all forgotten? What a terrible thing to do, when even now young men and women are being sacrificed in this deplorable war (not to mention all the Iraqi civilians!). Let us never forget what any of them have done for us.

Famous Hat

Take This Job and Hex It!!

Here is the voodoo doll I gave to Hardingfele to thank her for watching my bunnies while I was in New Orleans. I did it as sort of a joke, but sure enough if she then didn't get a new job. Now everyone wants to borrow this little guy! (I don't know if he has a name; Hardingfele never said if she named him so I've been calling him Voodoo Head.)

Perhaps Voodoo Head will work for you as well. Being a practicing Catholic, I don't actively endorse such nonsense, but if you are looking for a new job or hoping to improve your current position, feel free to download this image of Voodoo Head. (He scanned pretty well, don't you think?) Voodoo Head is a very photogenic guy, and who knows, maybe he will bring you good luck in your job search too.

Famous Hat

Bunny Yoga

This is either the Side-Facing Rabbit or the Sun Shining Upon the Lotus Blossom as the Fern Unfurls, I'm not sure which.


Famous Hat

Stickers I've Bumped Into

Here are some random bumper stickers I've seen and my commentary on them. First the ones I love:

"Some people who plan to repent at the 11th hour die at 10:45." Ain't it the truth!

"My boss is a Jewish carpenter." Get in good with him, and his old man will love you too.

"Where am I going, and why am I in a handbasket?" A question many of us should ask ourselves.

"Pro-accordion... and I vote!" This one is so random that you have to love it.

And here are some either illogical or offensive ones:

"Opposed to abortion? Don't have one!" Opposed to slavery? Don't own slaves! There are some human rights questions so basic that society has an overwhelming interest in overriding the opinions of the individual. It is always wrong to own other people, and it is always wrong to kill except in extreme cases of self-defense. (Invading other countries pre-emptively does not constitute self-defense, as both recent Popes have attested.)

"If you can't trust me with a choice, how can you trust me with a child?" False dichotomy. What about adoption?

"Get your rosaries out of my ovaries!" This one is so disgusting - it makes me feel like they consider women nothing but their reproductive organs - not to mention the religious bigotry. Can you imagine a bumper sticker that starts "Get your yarmulkes.." or "Get your turbans.."? Proof that anti-Catholicism is still a socially accepted prejudice.

Any mean-spirited spoof on the Christian fish, like a shark, a fish skeleton, a Darwin fish with feet (as if no Christians accept the theory of evolution), etc. See above. If any other religion were skewered in this way, the driver of the car would probably be arrested.

Famous Hat

Southern Fried Post

I live in that strange limbo:  too far south for Tim Horton's, too far north for Waffle House.  My godparents once gave me some coupons for Tim Horton's that could only be used in the US, which is like giving someone coupons for Waffle House that can only be used in Maine.  Everyone knows Tim Horton's is in Canada and Waffle House is only south of the Mason-Dixon line.  You can tell you've left the South when you no longer see those yellow and black signs everywhere.

People will ask me, "Do you like (Chinese, Italian, Thai, Mexican, etc.) food?" and I say, "Take away that first word and you've got it."  However, I do have a special place in my heart for Southern food.  You have to love people who take healthy things like okra and collard greens and then deep fry them or add pork fat to completely ruin their nutritional value.  Not to mention taking something inherently evil like a Twinkie and making it even worse by deep frying it!  (I have never personally tried a deep-fried Twinkie; it's like gilding the lily, if lilies were utterly revolting.)  

The other day a friend and I went to a so-called "Southern" restaurant, and do you know they did not have okra OR collard greens on the menu??  Nor did they have turnip greens, mustard greens, or even grits.  At least they had corn bread and several things on the menu that contained sweet potatoes...  But no hush puppies!  What could be better than deep-fried balls of cornmeal?  Talk about a completely useless food item.  I LOVE them!!!

Once a coworker and I were speaking fondly of Southern food, and she asked me, "Did you used to date a black guy?"  She was surprised that a northern white girl would even know about such things.  Although I think calling us black and white is kind of silly, because even if I had the basic box of crayons, I'd still color her brown and myself pink, and if I had that deluxe box, she would be raw umber and I would be apricot.  I have actually never dated a black guy, although I have no problem with the idea.  I have just never been asked out by a devout Catholic black guy who could build a house from scratch.  If this sounds like you, and you can grill catfish, give me a call.  My sweet potato pie is out of this world!

Famous Hat

RESPECT Yourself!

Between the ages of 19 and 23 I was madly in love with a boy who was everything I would not be looking for in a man now: a drinking, smoking, atheist Virgo who was apparently on the 26-year plan to get through college. I was his backup girlfriend whenever the girl he really loved told him to get lost, and he was always calling me at 4:00 am to tell me his ulcer was killing him because she was cheating on him with his best friend. Why didn't I hang up on him? I suppose partly because I was young and stupid, and he was very good-looking, but maybe it is because Society makes us women feel like anything is better than being alone, so we should put up with unlimited crap from men.

I did buy into that myth at the time. (Then again, I was also "pro-choice but personally opposed to abortion," which is as logical as saying, "I would never personally own slaves, but I can't impose my views on other people.") Now I am older and wiser and realize looks are meaningless; the most important thing is whether a man could build a house from scratch. The Ideal Man would be something like Richard Bonomo (though I only require weekly, not daily, Mass attendance) - if he had been on Gilligan's Island, those people would have been stuck for about three seconds. Then again, they probably would have wanted to stay there because RB could get cable reception and running water going, and why leave a private tropical island if you have all the amenities?

Sadly, there are women my age who still have no self-respect when it comes to men. I know one who fell hard for someone who just wanted a green card, and she is still in love with him even after he found some other fool girl to marry him so he could stay in this country. It is both frightening and pitiful to see how sure she is that they were meant to be together. Sure, I once thought that about my youthful mistake, but he married the Other Woman and I got on with my life. Are they living happily ever after or is she still cheating on him and giving him ulcers? Not my problem. I wish I could help my acquaintance get over her Green Card mooch, but she only wants us to tell her that she is right, and one day he will return to her. How I wish I could give her some self-respect! It's a wonderful feeling when you love yourself enough not to let others take advantage of you, and I wish it for all my sisters.

Famous Hat