I Don't Smell Anything, Do You?

This past week, we noticed a faint odor emanating from somewhere unknown near our back door. It wasn't the dogs, as Howard assumed, and it wasn't Charlie the rat. Days passed and the faint odor became a bit more rancid, and still we had no idea what it was - until my husband discovered the plug to the freezer had become separated from the wall. The proof of that particular pudding hit me in the face when I walked in after a hard day's work.

"Ok then," I said. "Let's haul this outdoors and bag all the stuff so we can get rid of it." (Thank heavens there wasn't a lot of food involved.)

"No," he said. "I just plugged it back in. The stuff will freeze, the smell will disappear, and we can just put it out with the garbage on Wednesday."

Well, that sounded like a great idea, from a clever shipwright who is full of great ideas. However, the smell didn't quite disappear, although it did settle down a tad. Just keep the lid on til Wednesday.

Garbage day came, not soon enough. Howard was smart enough to skedaddle off to work without doing the garbage thingie, so it was up to me to tackle the job. I hauled in a huge breath, and grabbed a plastic baggie that used to have un-decomposing meat in it.

Oh oh. The top of the baggie came off in my hands, leaving its contents, along with the rest of our yummies, frozen solid to the bottom of the freezer. I thought maybe I would need a jackhammer to loosen this mess. Down goes the lid again, and I run outdoors to get a good intake of cool fresh air, thanking the gods that I had to go to work in a little while.

So this morning, I dragged the smelly offender outdoors to await another thaw, at least a partial thaw, that would allow me to double-triple-quadruple garbage bag the remains.

Life is good.

By the way, if you know anyone who wants to buy a freezer, let me know. It's going cheap.

The Dandelion - by Tamar

I'm glad they never told me

When I was just a seed

That I'd be growing up to be a weed

-----

For if I'd known my future

I might have hid my face

And now I wouldn't be here in this place

-----

A little bit of summer

And it's not even Spring

I'm glad of all the smiles and hopes I bring

Pre-Olympic Wanderings - by Tamar

Everything is coming up red and white. Richmond, as well as Vancouver, is starting to bloom with the Canada colours, getting ready for the Olympics. Yesterday I saw some creative person had the Olympic rings made out of Christmas lights on his front lawn. That was pretty cool, much cooler than the few souls who are still displaying full Christmas get-up(do they not realize it’s almost the end of January?)

On Saturday we decided to walk around Richmond and see what pre-Olympic stuff was going on, plus take a look at, as well as pictures of, the strange looking sculptures that are presently implanted in our beautiful city – Vancouver doesn’t have the dibs on odd, it seems.

Howard wasn’t very pleased when I gave him shit for parking in the mall parking lot while we walked – I could imagine coming back to an empty parking stall as our car was conveniently parked under a sign that warned us if we left the lot, our car would be towed. Then before we actually walked off the lot, I happened to ask him if he had the camera, which he hadn’t. Needless to say, neither did I.

No one spoke a word as we drove back to the house for the camera. The air was pretty staticky though. One wrong word and the car would have exploded.

This time he didn’t drive to the mall, but headed out in search of a place we could park with no threat of being impounded. Ha. I don’t know where the people in charge of the Olympics found them, but everywhere we looked had No Parking signs planted. We drove by some spectacular looking objets d’art – a huge head of Lenin with a crossbar-carrying dancer on his head – no, I’m not kidding – and a gigantic Inukshuk made of these huge boxes they use to transport goods. How impressive can you get.
The Olympic Oval was screened in with double fences and security guards, but I did manage to get a shot of the weird red thingies that hang in front of the building. The Oval is a gorgeous building. The weird red thingies look like oversized sieves. Words cannot express.

I’m looking forward to the Olympics, to the thousands of people milling around (and hopefully spending money at our store), to the Ozone, which is a 24 hour Party Zone sponsored by the Netherlands and is a couple of miles away from where we live. I’m hoping to meet lots of people, discover new things, and hopefully have fun – you’ll be sure to hear about it!

So if you get a chance to watch some TV coverage of the Olympics (besides the competitions, who the heck can afford to go to the events?) keep an eye out for me. I’ll be wearing a camera, carrying a notebook, and hopefully not bumping into flagpoles. I’ll wave!

Roxie-Annie Oakley by Roxie

The year was 1992 or ’93. I had made a run to the ranch with Rocky in tow. He was my companion, my guardian and protector. It was summertime and the kids were visiting their father in Arkansas so I was pretty independent at the time. I don’t recall where Randy was but on this particular outing Rocky and I were alone.

The ranch’s immediate neighbor to the east was The Perdanales Falls State Park and we would often get trespassers hiking along the river even though we had ‘no trespassing’ signs posted at the border and had even managed to put up a large STOP sign so there would be no confusion as to the intent of the owners. Apparently some people either didn’t see the sign or were blatantly ignoring all warnings about hiking up the river and onto our property because on this particular day Rocky and I had visitors.

We were lazing around down by the screened porch taking in the sun’s rays and dipping in the river occasionally to cool off. It was a magnificent day and Rocky and I were having a wonderful time. I had brought along the 357 Magnum just in case I needed it. It was my weapon of choice at the time because it’s big, accurate and I know how to use it. Being on 1,200 acres all by yourself can be scary and I didn’t want to be caught unaware and vulnerable. Between Rocky and the pistol I figured I had it under control.

By and by I heard voices coming our way and knew that several people were walking up the river and destroying my peace and quiet. I didn’t take too kindly to it. I was enjoying my solitude and the sounds of nature all around me. The river’s gentle lapping and birds singing soothed me. The last thing I wanted to hear was human voices.

As the intruders approached I strapped the 357 in its holster over my bikini and stood up. I could see them by then. Rocky’s hackles were up and so were mine. As the three men approached I felt somewhat apprehensive but pretty secure in my ability to get at least two of them before they even knew what happened. Rocky was growling and I had to put him on his leash to keep him by my side. That’s about the time they saw me. They stopped dead in their tracks and stared at me for a moment. I must have looked fierce with a gun on my hip and a snarling dog tugging at his leash by my side. All I had to say was, “Do you realize you’re trespassing on private property?” for them to change their direction.

They took one look at us and decided it was time to head back the way they had come. One of them quickly said, “No, I’m sorry. We’ll head back now. Please don’t shoot us.”

I said, “I won’t if you hurry along and I won’t let this dog go for about 15 minutes so you’d best be on your way. Please don’t ever trespass on our property again and tell your friends there’s a crazy lady and her dog patrolling up this way.”

They immediately turned around and quickly hiked back the way they had come. I was relieved. But the incident destroyed my tranquility so we packed up and headed back to Austin.

I made a point from then on to always have a pistol and dog with me when I ventured to the ranch alone. It’s a good feeling to know you can protect yourself if the need arises.

My only regret is I don’t have a picture of what I must have looked like with a rather large holstered pistol strapped over my bikini bottom and a wild and crazy dog by my side.

2010 by Roxie

2010

How can that be? I mean, I was just asking how it could be 2009 and it’s already a year later. What happened last year? Did I really blithely go through an entire year unaware that time was passing, living my mundane little life, paying bills, doing chores, shopping and writing and going to classes and cooking and walking the dog and loving my family and friends and simply living my life? I guess that’s what I did because now it’s 2010 and I seem to have made it through another year virtually unscathed. Except for these new grey hairs, I like to call them Abe … or Randy. Ha-ha

By the way, what is the shortened version of 2010? Oh-nine worked for 2009. Do we just say ten? That doesn’t sound quite right. Twenty-ten? That’s better I guess but seems to be not very short. Shish, I really can’t believe it’s 2010.

Resolutions? I resolve to write more, complain less, eat less, exercise more, have more fun and clean house less, uh, that’s it, more or less. Hehe

What are yours? Resolutions, that is. Some people, like Tamar, resolve not to have resolutions and that’s ok. Whatever works for you is what works for me.

I’d like to travel more in 2010. I love to travel. 2010 brings Randy and I to our 20^th anniversary in December. That’s a milestone. I’d like to go somewhere tropical at that time of year, but we’ll see how it goes.

Do you have any big plans for 2010? I plan on voting a bunch of assholes out of Washington if I can. But other than that I really don’t have anything major going on.

Anyway, just wondering if there’s anybody else out there that simply can’t believe it’s 2010! I sure don’t see how it’s possible. But it is what it is and we can’t go back, just forward.

So let’s enjoy 2010 and live it to it’s fullest and wring every drop of fun and love out of it that we can.

I wish each and every one the best year ever. I’m really kind of glad that 2009 is over and done. I have a whole new calendar full of blank pages to fill with happy moments and good times. Let’s get started!

Christmas Blues - Tamar

It’s eight o’clock in the morning, I’ve been up for two hours, and Christmas is three days away.

Last night we had our staff Christmas dinner, and everyone made fun of me because I pronounced Daiquiri wrong. Our dessert waiter knew the four of us from the craft store in Steveston and is coming in the New Year to take crochet classes. And why not? Lots of guys crochet now. Pauline ended up under the table; I’m sure everyone wonders how the hell that happened, but I’m not telling. Some things are best unknown.

I can’t type this morning, my head is all stuffed up and my throat is sore and scratchy. I don’t have all the gifts bought yet and am not looking forward to heading to the mall with my husband after work, to fight the crowds and have him waiting impatiently while I check every store for the perfect presents for two of my girls.

I have nothing wrapped, I have nothing baked. Did I mention Christmas was three days away? I have to work for the next two, my bank account is overdrawn already, and I can’t breathe through my nose.

It’s raining with the promise of more rain, I have no bus tickets and am only hoping and praying that there is enough coin in my purse to scrounge up bus fare, my feet are cold, and I would rather be in bed.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Ha ha happy new year! See you at the Olympics!

Stuff I Learned From My Brother - Roxie

I am the youngest of three in my immediate family. My brother is four years larger and my sister, in the middle, is older by two and half years. Being the youngest and having both brother and sister was ideal for me. I could be a tomboy with my brother and do girly things with my sister like play with Barbies and paper dolls and dress up in our mother's old clothes and high-heel shoes.

Some of my fondest memories are of being a tomboy. My brother and I often took advantage of living out in the country in Spring, now a suburb of Houston. Back then it was twenty miles north of that sprawling metropolis. We moved in 1964 when I was nine and Daddy commuted back and forth to work in Houston. I believe he wanted to raise his family where it was safe and easier to keep track of us. There were only two other houses in the entire subdivision when we moved in. Our development was of the large lot variety where the minimum lot size was an acre. When my grandparents moved into the area we split the acre behind both of our houses allowing an acre and a half for each of us. My stay-at-home Momma planted a huge garden year round on that half acre. We had corn, bell peppers, watermelons, cantaloupe, green onions, sugar snap peas, ornamental peppers (those were hot and looked way too much like bright colored candy!), tomatoes, lettuce and even potatoes and radishes. We ate very well! She was a great cook and gardener, my Momma.

Our one-story red brick home was on Haydee, a dead end street. Nestled amongst tall loblolly pine, sycamore, and live oak trees, it was perpetually in shadow. My favorite was the sweet gum with its stickery gumball fruit. In the summer, being the tree-climbing monkey that I was, you would often find me swaying in the small branches at its highest point. Probably hiding from my brother. I would torment and bug him endlessly until finally he would chase me up a tree, usually the sweet gum. Since I was a teeny little nine-year old girl and he was a strapping thirteen-year old boy he couldn't follow me to the highest small branches. From my perch, toes and legs firmly wrapped around the tree, I would throw gumball fruit and occasionally even spit on him. I know, I know, I was a brat.

I was an accomplished runner and could shimmy up that tree faster than you could say "I'm gunna getchoo fer that!" We'd be yelling and cursing each other the whole time. I learned some of my favorite words from him. I'm fluent in curse.

“You little brat, can’t you just leave me alone.”

“Why? You’re not doin’ anythin’ anyways.”

“Yeah, but I want to do the nothin’ that I’m doin’ without you hangin’ aroun’. You can’t follow me ev’rywhere, you know.”

“Why not? Don’chu like me?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you’re just a big fat meanie then.”

“If you don’t go away I’m not goin’ to take you huntin’ tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you will. I’m yur good luck charm, you said so.”

“Right now you’re bein’ a lil’ bitch!”

“Ah-um, I’m gunna tell Momma you said that.”

“Go ahead, my word against yours.”

“She’ll believe me, I’m not a liar like you.”

“Jus’ get the hell away from me.”

“Fine, I’m goin’ then, butthead.”

That’s when the chasing would begin and I could simply run faster than him. He hated that.

We would leave early on a summer morning, b-b gun in hand and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches stuck in pockets and not come home ‘til sunset. We'd pick blackberries that grew wild and swim in the man-made lake at the front of the subdivision. Tall reeds along the edges and a thin layer of algae on top, we'd plunge right in amongst the snakes, turtles, bass and who knows what else due to the murky water, I don't even want to know. Someone had made a raft so you could pole your way to the middle of the lake and dive to your heart's content. That's where my brother taught me to swim. By teaching me I mean one day when he was utterly tired of me hanging around his neck, the proverbial albatross, he picked me up under my arms, swung me around a couple of times to get momentum and threw me off that raft as far as he possibly could and said, "Now sink or swim." He had, of course, taught me what to do prior to that act of rebellion but it was always easier to simply hang on to him, right? That's the day I learned how to swim. I believe I eventually got even with spit.

A red boy's bike was my means of transportation. I demanded to have a boy's bike and, of course, it HAD to be red. I believed it was a sturdier bike being made for a boy and all, so that's what I wanted and got. We'd fly up and down those mostly deserted roads and I became adept at balancing, not even touching the handlebars. Hands flung wide, hugging the wind; I'd compete with him to see who could go the farthest hands free. You never knew who would win our daily races on the long straightaway main road. We were both so eager to be the victor, I remember us being pretty evenly matched, although he may have let me win sometimes so I'd continue to play that game, one of his favorites.

My brother also taught me to shoot his b-b gun. We'd set up a paper target under the sweet gum tree and practice, practice, practice. Sharp shooters had nothing on us. I pitied the poor squirrel, rabbit or bird that was unfortunate enough to come into our sights. We rarely missed. Sometimes when my brother was particularly irked with me … again, he'd shoot me with his b-b gun in the back. The back was all he could hit because I'd be running as swift as a deer away from him. It never hurt; I think he waited until I was far enough along before pulling the trigger. Perhaps he was using me for target practice. Spit comes to mind again, not sure why.

Growing up in Spring, Texas, was an exceptional way to begin my life. My brother prepared me for many trials and tribulations that have been set before me. I'm a stronger woman because of him, I get along with the male species in ways that some of my female friends envy and have even been considered "just one of the guys", a compliment I cherish. PLUS I can spit pretty dang accurately, an asset I've yet to figure out how to use to my advantage, but when I do I'll show my big brother how it's done.

Saturday Morning at the Aberdeen Centre - Tamar

Yesterday morning, DH and I decided (well, I actually decided) to check out The Aberdeen Centre in Richmond. Now, one may think this is a place where one could buy a kilt or listen to the bagpipes, but one would be quite wrong. This is actually a huge Asian mall - surprise surprise!

(One store stood out from all others - on the third floor, a place called Strawberry Cones. Guess what they sold?)

When we first came to Richmond, we went to the old Aberdeen Centre, which was a very Asian mall, full of Asian smells like dried fishy stuff that cured all sorts of diseases and other fishy stuff from the food court. We were followed around by Asian security guards who thought maybe we were there with the sole purpose of stealing Asian things, which of course we weren't. We were just interested in the many cultures our new hometown had to offer, and ready to try new things - except of course for the smelly things that either cured or sustained life. My little Scottish mother felt quite uncomfortable in these surroundings, so we left promptly, with the guards nipping at our heels like little shi tsus.

(No, not ice-cream...)

Now, 15 years later,a brand new block-long building replaces the old mall, with three stories of shops, and glorious views of the mountains from the huge food court. Parking was relatively easy, which was not surprising when we realized that it was only 10:15 and the mall didn't open until 11:00 - on a Saturday morning.

(Not frozen yogurt, either...)

At 10:40 we both got tired of waiting and decided to head out. It's amazing how many vehicles were now looking for a place to park, most of them in the wrong lane and getting very friendly with each other. Howard couldn't back out right away as one lady and her van were just sitting behind our rear bumper, having a wee chat on her cell phone with someone about something. She finally pulled over into the correct lane, and we exited the mall - for some reason I was thinking about the bumper cars we used to ride in at the carnivals of my childhood.

(And not fruit and veggies...)

The mall was interesting enough for me to plan another visit, but next time I will go by bus and leave my poor little car at home! And I may even stop at Strawberry Cones for a big slice of pizza!