Bzzzzzz

We had a tornado. Then a flood. Then our basement filled with water. Then we lost our air conditioner. And power. Then there was a trampoline on my truck. Then I rescued a baby starling from the flood and the rain. Then my sister had a baby. Then they said don't use the water. Then they said, "We're going to cut the water supply." Then they said, "We're not. Just use fifty percent less." Then the water receded and the electric company came in the middle of the night and reconnected our power two days later. Then someone said, "There's going to be a gas shortage, get your gas." Then someone else said, "Don't drink the water. Three people have died from drinking it." Then someone else said, "That's a lie, I contacted the water company." Then I went back to work and the toilets keep flushing for no reason. Then I said, "Hey, does someone want to STOP these toilets from flushing for no reason? We're supposed to conserve water!" And no one listened. Then some people were WASHING their cars at the car wash and they said, "Hey, I paid for it. The truck needs to be clean. Gotta be seen in a clean truck." Then I couldn't concentrate. Then I drank too much caffeine and began to emit a high frequency buzz as my nerves vibrated.

That brings us today. I'm still buzzing. Those events didn't happen in that order. They're sort of out of order, but I like the order in which I wrote them.

Looking again, the order is pretty accurate.

It's been pretty crazy. Someone said to me that they didn't want to rub it in that they haven't suffered, that their house is nice and dry, that they had electricity the whole time, that Nothing Really Happened to them. But I'm glad. See, then they can help out. We can all help out. But if we were all without homes after the flood and the wind, then we'd all just lie there in the mud like mud beetles, helpless, and drowning or burrowing. There is such a thing as a mud beetle, isn't there?

Anyway, a bunch of ants were coming into my house Monday night, and I felt kind of bad for them. Did the water get them too? But the ants come out every spring, sending out their little soldiers looking for food sources. So I killed them. Sorry ants. But if I don't kill them and they find a crumb or something that I somehow missed under the couch, then they keep coming in. The way they know to not go back to That Spot is if the soldiers don't return. Ask E. O. Wilson.

To balance out my ant genocide, I saved a baby bird. The bird will live and grow up and eat the ants. It's the circle of life. The girl at Walden's Puddle told me the featherless hatchling was a starling. I thought it was a robin, but either way, I don't discriminate against which birds I'll help.

Initially I put the bird in the dove nest in my barn. It snuggled up to the dove babies and I had such high hopes that it would be one of those amazing stories about some inter-species triumph a la ugly duckling and all that. I think it worked for one day. The next day the baby was on the ground and the mother pigeon gave me a really dirty look, as though to say, "Ha. You really think I'm that naive? I don't take care of interlopers, my dear. I've got my hands full with these two. Next time I'll peck its eyes out!"

I returned the dove's stare as though to say, "Listen, where do you think that bird seed comes from that you munch on every day? Bird seed doesn't grow on trees*?" Still, her steady, unblinking stare made me a feel a twinge of guilt.

But try as I might, I can't be as heartless and unfeeling as Mother Nature. I tried to leave the bird alone, hoping it would just die and go on to loftier things in heaven, but it was too rough on my heart and mind. Like killing a part of myself.

So I fooled my neighbor into taking care of it. Ok, that sounds terrible. I didn't really FOOL her. She's not a dummy. But she's got a terrier rescue already, so I kind of knew she had a big heart for animals.

Plus she had electricity. And time. And I had neither. So we worked it out and she fed the bird Monday night, then I took it to Walden's Puddle the next morning.



*I realize that many seeds DO come from trees. But bird seed doesn't just drop into a nice pile of food for a bunch of doves hanging out next to the bird bath. I admit I've trained the doves to think it does. And I know they'd survive without the seed I put out for them. I help them through the winter, that's all.

Save the Wolves

I have a free wolf calendar in my cubicle. I accidentally let it get to me and I went to their web site to adopt a wolf and maybe a snowy owl. I sent a letter to the governor of Alaska about aerial hunting . . . I'm pretty much a sucker. But can you blame me?



Take action online at http://www.savewolves.org/alaska

I couldn't help myself. I'm an animal lover and all that. I made sure to let the Governor know that I support the rights of Americans to bear arms and to hunt for subsistence. But I'm violently against trophy hunting. And I'm sure she'll read the letter, just like I'm sure it will all make a difference . . . but one has to try, right?

Running in 100 Degree Heat and Other Stories

I went running in the hottest heat ever. I mean, hottest for me. It was 104 degrees yesterday. It might have been 103. And some parts of the run might have been even hotter because the blacktop's always hotter. I avoid really black blacktop roads as often as possible.

But the people of Tennessee have a thing for resurfacing roads. And the roads around my apartment are the blackest and the hottest because landscaping is the most important thing to the management. Not quality walls and paint on the inside of the apartments (our walls are like fax paper -- bump the wall and it leaves a black mark), rather things you can see like the gorgeous pool and the willows and pines.

On the run I thought to myself that if it was going to be this hot and this long without rain, I might as well move back to Arizona, where the plants and animals have adapted for survival in such extremes. Here in Tennessee the trees are dropping their leaves, the grass is brown, and I don't even want to wonder if the animals are surviving. But I do. In fact, because of my concern I've put a big bowl of water on the deck in case the birds get thirsty. Lame, I know, but the water in the nearby pond looks poisonous to me. I bet it's full of anti-freeze and vile green algae.

I'm not really sure if the birds are using my makeshift birdbath, but I hope they are. I worry about them. On my run it was the quietest it's ever been. Once in a while I'd hear a cricket, and at one point I heard a rustling in the woods. I stopped and looked for what was causing the noise. It was a gray squirrel (speaking of, check out this funny blog entry about an urban squirrel at war with humans) climbing around in the dead leaves. I wonder if he was looking for some water, because . . . I know a deck nearby . . .

In case anyone (anyone?) has been tracking my running progress for this month's goal, I haven't done too well. For about two weeks it's been extremely hot and uncomfortable. The heat is so draining it's sapped my desire to run. Yesterday I drew the line. To hell with caution! And I put on my running clothes and headed to the clubhouse to run on the treadmill.

But my apartment complex sucks! They closed the pool AND the workout room, because, you know, the indoor portion of the pool is closed too and blah blah blah. As soon as I move out, I'll be sure to post the NAME of the apartment complex so people who are moving to Tennessee and need an apartment, will know just how inhospitable the employees are at this particular joint.

So anyway, I was in my running clothes already and that's why I ran outside. There were only a few diehard runners like myself out there. Rain, sleet, snow, 104 degrees . . . that's us. We'll run in any temperatures, at any time of day!

It's not too bad, you know. I prefer 100 degrees and 30% humidity to 85 degrees and 50% humidity. I ran with my ice water and poured a good portion of it on me instead of in me. Good advice for running in extreme heat is to have two water bottles. One for drinking and one for splashing on your face and back.

And Then The Mother Raccoon Shreds the Insulation, Making a Nest for Her Babies . . .

I really think a family of raccoons lived in the house at some point. We almost bought it. We came this close to buying it. Then we had it inspected yesterday and we were lucky enough to get a thorough and honest inspector who charged a fortune, but can you really complain when he saves you from purchasing a former raccoon's nest? Do raccoons live in nests? Is it only rats who live in nests?

I know it was raccoons by the names of Angel and Sheila because those were the names written in the circuit breaker. They also seem to have operated a barber shop somewhere in the house. I imagine it was in the room with the black disco ceiling fan. Though it could have also been in the little room next to the closet and the master bathroom. I had thought there used to be a vanity in there. But now that I've put more of my deductive reasoning powers to work, it's occurred to me that one of the raccoons was a barber and he cut hair in the little room by the master bathroom. No vanity. Just a barber chair and maybe a mirror (both gone now, of course). Of all animals not in the homonoidea superfamily, the raccoon is the only one I can think of who could brandish clippers and a comb.

Angel and Sheila seem to have been fond of jury-rigging important household items like the water heater. They enjoyed storing their treasures in the ventilation ducts for later use, items such as nail files, crayons, and pogs. It was also extremely necessary that every room in the house be cable friendly, thus the six way cable splitter dangling from the house like a fly caught in a spider web.

Angel and Sheila also loved nestling in the insulation in the attic, or when it got too hot up there, down in the crawl space. The crawl space insulation was a little more tricky because first they had to rip it away from the air conditioning ducts. But that was actually convenient, as they could then tear a few holes in the duct and instantly cool the crawl space at the same time. And why have your dryer duct carry dryer heat and lint to the outside world when you could make another perfectly soft nest in the crawl space with all that heated lint by not connecting it to the dryer vent? For the winter of course. When the attic was too crowded.

The crawl space was the perfect spa for two raccoons.

Only raccoons would think a Lowe's emergency jack would really support a structure, when they realized their kitchen was sagging because it didn't have a finished foundation. And that was the biggest mistake of all. That was the real kicker. That's why we won't be buying that house. I could live with all the other crap. Rather, I could fix all that crap. But the sagging kitchen? No way.

To make a very long story short, I guess if you don't take care of your house while you're living in it, when you move out you realize you've been living like an animal. Or you never realize it and simply move on to the next house and destroy that one through neglect, too. It depends on your level of enlightenment. Do you collect crap and store it in the vents like a rat? Do you tear things apart and leave them a mess like a raccoon? Do you feel comfortable and cozy wallowing in your own filth like a pig? Or, are you more like a cat, bathing all the time?

So it's back to the drawing board for me and Stoker. In our defense, the house looked pretty good.

Pictures to come. Maybe. If I feel like it. If I get around to it.

Death in the Morning, Death on the Highway

I came across a juvenile rat snake on my run this morning. He was coiled on the side of the road, near the grass. What I love best about running outside is all the other lives going on around me. I keep track of the animals I've seen and where I see them. It's like knowing who your neighbors are and understanding what your neighborhood is about.

Snakes are beautiful, quiet, and invisible until I almost step on them. Some people would say they're sneaky and dangerous, and while some snakes are, others are simply another life trying to make a go of it in their little niche.

When I come across a snake in my path, I like to stop and look at it, to admire it's beauty. I also wait for it to get off the path so I can be sure that it doesn't get stepped on or run over by a bike, or in some instances, a car. Not on my watch, at least.

This morning I stopped near the rat snake. He looked gorgeous and fine, until I saw the ants crawling around his mouth. I touched his body with my shoe and he still felt soft, but he didn't coil up or move away from me. So I touched his side with my finger, and he was really soft. I don't know what happened to him. He must have been run over even though there wasn't much evidence of that. Except for the ants, his body looked perfect.

I continued on my run and when I passed the snake again, I picked him up by the tail and moved him into the grass. He wasn’t stiff at all, like I had imagined he would be. I wished I could show him more respect, but at that time that was the best I could do. As a child, my sisters and I often buried the dead animals we found in our yard. But when I was young, I had seen little of death. Now I see it everywhere and if I buried all the dead animals I come across, I'd be burying something every day.

It always hurts when I see an animal that has needlessly died by human hands. I feel responsible, even though I haven't personally killed them. I'm responsible in that I use the roads that move the cars to and from places and it is on the road that I see the most death. Nearly every day there's an animal crushed beyond recognition on the side of the road. I don't understand why it is always on the side of the road.

But my mind plays it out. Driver spots possum crossing the road, driver swerves to the right to miss the possum, at the same time the possum darts quickly to the right to escape the car. That is where they meet, on the side of the road. It never ends well for the possum, but the human can drive away. I hope the driver cries, at the very least.

When I see the dead, I wonder who they have left behind. Have they left reliant young? Nature is cruel, I know, and as an old friend once told me (a Navajo), "Things die, Nik." Still, I can't help but wonder—as Barry Lopez expresses in "Apologia," found in the book, About This Life—"Who are these animals, their lights gone out? What journeys have fallen apart here?"