We have nothing to fear but puppeteers

And fear itself, and giants and fairs, oh my!  But we might be overreacting about dirt.

Been a rough couple weeks with very anxious preschoolers.  One little guy was totally freaked out by a visit to the State Fair of Texas, and could not nap for days. I don't think he was sleeping much at night, either, as he was in tears most of the week and barely able to function.  And no, the little dude did not witness Big Tex going up in flames.

I have my own state fair anxieties. What are normal fears at age three, four, five, fifty+?  Growing Up Brave: Expert Strategies for Helping Your Child Overcome Fear, Stress, and Anxiety, by Dr. Donna Pincus, was a good guide on this topic.  Good reminders for the Halloween season, too!

Normal fears for preschoolers, ages 3-5:

• Costumed characters
• Ghosts
• Clowns
• Monsters
• The dark
• Sleeping alone
• Separation anxiety
• Specific fears such as dogs, bugs, water, blood, or elevators

And for all ages, debilitating anxiety and excessive stress make kids unable to store and retrieve information, to focus, and therefore to learn.

A second student is absolutely terrified of puppets.  She can play with a puppet herself, but seeing a puppet show sends her into a massive panic attack. Just anticipating an upcoming puppet show sets her into terror. Rather than remove her before the puppet show, we are trying to give her the coping skills to ride it out and the cognitive tools to understand the situation.

As for dirt, I'm just beginning An Epidemic of Absence: A New Way of Understanding Allergies and Autoimmune Disorders, by Moises Velasquez-Manoff.  The hypothesis is that medical elimination of bacteria, viruses, and parasites has brought a new slew of ailments in the developed world.  Ignoring the evolutionary functions of these "bugs" may be contributing or causing the skyrocketing rates of peanut allergies, autism, inflammatory bowel diseases, eczema, rheumatoid arthritis, Type 1 diabetes, multiple sclerosis, and asthma.  The costs of these diseases are in the billions of dollars each year. 

The book reviews in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal and Kirkus have been very intriguing.









© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Little black spots before my eyes

The headcold came on slowly, just raw throats in the nighttime for a week.  Easy to blame on ragweed pollen.  Mild earache and slight stuffy nose, just job-related germ-sharing in the preschool room.  Dragged myself through a day at the library Saturday, cursing students and hanging on for a round-the-clock snooze.

Sunday the spots started.  Fell asleep while doing the crossword puzzle to wake up with newsprint on my cheek.  Fell asleep on the couch until a text message from my boss woke me:

We found this snake on our walk, 
caught in the erosion control netting. 
We set him free. Can you ID?



Just a bit of groggy field guiding and googling to identify the speckled king snake. It's a mighty handsome snake I don't really want to meet. Or maybe I do, ah-choo! King snakes are constrictors that eat other snakes, lizards, rodents, and birds.

Things deteriorated from there despite a Skype session with my intergalactic stellar grandbaby. My youngest texted asking what movie he had watched as a child with a silver spaceship and time travel. 
That would be "Flight of the Navigator".

I wondered why I was seeing zipping black dots while I stared out the patio window for a couple zombie days. Was this headache a migraine? Brain cancer? Decongestant side effect? Orange juice overdose? The slow-moving green specks that occasionally jumped from fence to plant were anole lizards, not side effects.

First sick leave day with zinc therapy, vitamins, cough Rx, inhaler, saline solution, ibuprofen and decongestants I was only able to nap and play online Legos at Build With Chrome. Second sick day, I'm lots more perky, still snozzy, but able to see that those rushing black dots are tiny scurrying mice on the patio. No OTC meds will get rid of the mice. Maybe I can borrow the speckled king snake!


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

The scratch that itches

Is it okay to scratch where it itches?  Is it okay to scratch your head continuously while spending your day at a public library?  Why are you scratching?  Do you have head lice?  Are you off your anxiety medication?

What is the evolutionary function of itching?  How does scratching relieve an itch?  Why does watching someone else scratch make us feel itchy?  How does scratching send a signal to other people? Do we want to sit where a scratchy person has been sitting....?

I have two jobs.  Monday through Friday I work with preschoolers. Most Saturdays I work at a public library in an affluent neighborhood.  Still, we have regular library users who may not have a permanent home address, timely hygiene opportunities, or who may not be taking medications regularly. They may offend  sensibilities of the local residents. While these users may be eccentric and entertaining characters, the library staff worries and prays for their health and safety when they leave the stacks. In most public libraries users only need to be residents of the area to obtain a library card for borrowing privileges.  Libraries offer many services for non-borrowing visitors. And those visitors using internet computers and restrooms, reading newspapers, drinking coffee with sugar, and staying in air-conditioning on 100+ degree days are part of the marvelous, civilized, public-supported concept of libraries. Sometimes those visitors itch and scratch. Other times the privileged local kiddies have head lice. Itching crosses economic borders.

Back in the Monday-Friday classroom we attempt to teach children that nose-picking, hair-sucking, underwear-exploring and other scratching habits are socially unacceptable. We watch for the telltale scratching that signals a case of head lice. If a case is suspected or reported, the lead teacher straps on her spelunking head lamp and begins searching every student's head for nits. While she does this, I try to maintain normal class routine. Usually I begin to wonder if I might actually have head lice. Sometimes I want to scratch all my hair right off my head!

If you read these words, can your refrain from scratching?

• mosquito 
• eczema
• chicken pox
• stress 
• anxiety
• fleas
• lice
• crabs
• hives
• jellyfish
• chiggers
• poison ivy
• poison oak
• diaper rash
• Oklahoma*

NORRIS: Is there such a thing as sympathetic itch, just by talking about it, you can actually trigger that sensation?

Dr. YOSIPOVITCH: Oh, that's an excellent point that has been shown in study where people, healthy people, sitting in a auditorium seeing a patient scratching and itching, about 60 percent of the people in the audience started scratching themselves. And it was documented

*The months between Thanksgiving 1987 and Thanksgiving 1988 are my Year of Itching Dangerously in Edmond, Oklahoma.  My three sons had chicken pox in succession, inside their noses, ears, and every other orifice. Our rental house was infested with fleas and then mice. I was pretty sure I was stressed to the max and  lousing my mind....  No, I meant losing my mind! Typo alert. Take Benadryl. 

 

 © 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Lung toenails and twitchy ear canals

Al Veoli.  Wasn't he that brown-eyed kid who sat behind me in Mr. Stith's 8th grade American History class? No, that kid was Dougie Something.  Al wasn't in The Godfather, either

Al is the guy sitting beside the dusty elephant while it clips its toenails in my lungs.  Al is the kid trying to slide into second base during the third grade coach-pitched sandstorm.  Al is the hyena rock star growling and prancing like Mick Jagger on the arid Serengeti.  Al is my sister's first fiance who waxed his chest hair.   Aarrrgh... It is spring allergy season here in the blog. Why, oh why is dear little Susie picking up paw paws in my ear canals with those spiny echidnas?

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

New growth on prickly pear

I love the tension between sharp greens and heavy-laden grays of spring,.  I love the sprouts and the storms, the dang piccolos versus kettle drums, Peter Rabbit vs. Old Mr. MacGregor on Pay-Per-View.  The contest gets me through the sinus headaches and aggravations of sticky, green pollen coating my windshield.  The pollen defies the washer fluid and gets smeared by tired wipers. The cobalt violet of blooming redbuds adds the neon shock of pain and ecstasy, much like the time the otorhinolaryngologist rammed his scope into my deviated septum.  This is spring.

en garde  (ä gärd)

interj.

Used to warn a fencer to assume the position preparatory to a match.

---

[French : en, on + garde, guard.]

[Disc 3 of my "Carmen" cd is damaged right where Don Jose and Escamillo fight.  And I dreamt I forgot to shave my legs.  Knew the crossword puzzle answer for the clue "Gillette blade" though--ATRA]

Felt like I'd been through the woodchipper even before arriving home from work.  The elementary students did the printmaking for the music festival invitations, and the results will be totally awesome.  Tonight this art teacher will have a bad case of brayer shoulder and should go to bed early.  Thanks to the glittergoods blogger for this perfect spring green brayer illustration:

The lawn service guys for the condo are sending today's prunings through a real woodchipper.  The high-pitched whine makes the hairs on my arms stand straight up and shriek.  Yup.  Spring.  Now 'scuse me while I ice my March madness injury! 

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Sports medicine

Piggie pink frosting removed from two dozen grocery store birthday cupcakes and collected in a Baggie is a tad creepy.  With the securing twist-tie in place, the 1.5 pound blob reshapes into a football pigskin* you wouldn't want to catch.  Hail that, Roger Staubach!

I am not the Decider at school regarding extreme frosting, thank heaven.  The cupcakes delivered this week were clearly across the line into flagrant frosting violation, and would not be served to the kiddies.

Luckily, too, I am not in the frosting-scraping position.  With the mounds of frosting removed, the cupcakes sitting on their festive birthday napkins reminded me of obese sunbathers on a nude beach early in the tanning season.  Not a pretty sight!

Whoever thought of putting cheapo plastic Disney Princess rings into mounds of frosting on bad cupcakes packaged in clear, molded plastic must have made several fortunes by now.  Who wants to wear a sticky ring?  Who wants to bicker over the favorite princess? 

My walking buddy told me I had to get myself to a clinic Sunday to get meds for my bronchitis.  She told me I could not Pass Go or Collect $200 unless I went right away.  I like Minute Clinic inside a nearby CVS drugstore.  The nurse practitioner works through a computerized checklist.  It's a convenient, quick, efficient, inexpensive way to get help for basic medical needs.  Good to know my cough is due to allergies, and an inhaler is needed, not antibiotics or more Robitussin.  The inhaler is working.

Feeling rotten and waiting to see the nurse, I stared at the large display of robotic Zhu Zhu hamsters, Kung Zhu hamsters, hairstyling hamsters, racecar hamsters.  They reminded me of  Harriet, the hamster that would not die.  Maybe if Harriet had been coifed and driving racecars she would have been more sociable.  A battery operated hamster would have been much more appropriate for my 1987 stress level.

This pretty planter was a teacher appreciation gift.  Hope I can keep some of it alive!

While the Mavericks were shooting three-pointers like crazy to sweep the Lakers, I gave my Mother's Day bear its annual dusting.  We brought the new baby Woolly Mammoth** home from Methodist Hospital on Mother's Day 1987.  His dad and older brothers presented me with a glass teddy bear that Mother's Day.  It wasn't really my style, but it made me teary-eyed then, and it did again this Mother's Day. 

* The official NFL Wilson football weighs 0.91 pounds.

**The new baby Woolly Mammoth weighed 9.3 pounds.  That would be a whole lot of pink cake frosting.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Arkady Renko and the allergy sinus funk

Into the Moscow pothole I happily sunk, ready for the ever-inefficient and corrupt Putin-era cement to be scooped into the bottomless pit.  What a treat to have Martin Cruz Smith's Three Stations to read while Dad or the class rabbit napped nearby.  Book over, I pulled back to a redbud-blooming Texas spring against my will.  Back to driving the rusty Buick Skylark instead of Sergeant Victor Orlov's Lada.

Definitely the shortest of the Arkady Renko novels, Three Stations is not Smith's best.  But weak Arkady is better than no Arkady at all.  Wolves Eat Dogs is on my mind because of the Japanese nuclear reactor situation.

Gray, pollen-filled sky, too-warm and humid air with no hope of rain, this day signals the beginning of tornado season.  Squeezy head days make me want to nap, but was too agitated to actually curl up on the couch.  I'll regret it tomorrow, but I went to hike at the Heard Sanctuary near McKinney. 

Grandma babysitters were trying desperately to tire out Spring Break children, walking them all over the refuge.  A few older children had escaped to the parking lot to sit in warm minivans with their stocking feet on the dashboard and an electronic game in their hands.  Smaller children played Hansel and Gretel, leaving a trail of crunched orange Goldfish crackers. 

My father leaves similar crunched Cheez-It messes and a trail of used Kleenex.  His blinds are closed and he bashes his wheelchair into the wall while he demands his coffee.  At least Dad isn't in Arkady's Moscow, wheeling into the perpetual pothole of the Putin era. 

Sightings today at the Heard:

• Great blue heron adding material to its nest

• Canoeing kids watching the heron = great

• Carolina chickadees improving a hole in a tree
• Wrens skipping on exposed tree roots
• Indigo buntings just blew me away
• Cardinals

• Hairy woodpeckers in the wetland
• Snowy egret
• Pair of bluebirds
• Titmouse
• Blue-gray gnatcatchers

• Camera-shy goatweed butterflies (this one has its head under the whitish leaf)
• An out-of-focus funnel spider
• Too busy crescentspot butterflies
• Teasing falcate orangetips
• Two yellow swallowtails too early in the season

• Mossy red-eared slider turtle snoozing.  No novel.  No nap?

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

What is this peculiar sensation?

Mark the calendar!  I feel relaxed.  Wow.  I can't remember when last I had this feeling.  How can I replicate it, bottle it, maybe sell it like a magic elixir on eBay?  What is the recipe for feeling this relaxed? 

• No spa massages or lovers' trysts were involved.  I did spend five dollars in quarters to experience the good vibrations of the self-serve car-wash wand and brush.  The Buick Skylark may have had an orgasm.  Just removing the petrified bird poop and snow slush to achieve a clean car was a peak experience.  Engaging in work that makes an obvious difference is very satisfying.

• Relaxation does not derive from an absence of labor.  I worked at the library Saturday reading book reviews and taking photos to document the appearance of the building prior to the upcoming renovation and expansion.  Work, yes.  On the clock, yes.  Delightful, completely.  I took 141 photos to document the building from every angle possible without a helicopter.  Then I spent four hours in intense Photoshopping to edit the photos down to sixty useful records.  All time spent "in the flow" to the best I can understand Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.

• Sunshine and sixty-something temperatures helped enormously.  Pulled on Janie's big boots for a second effort at creek clean-up, wading in the shallow water and collecting ugly litter.  Hauled three bags full to the dumpster.  Wade in the water...

• Tried something new without allergy anxiety.  Just pulled the onions out of my lamb kebab sandwich from Fadi's. 

• Took Dad an old-fashioned root beer float from Sonic.  Tasted so good, but Dad's coughing and choking informed me that was his last root beer float.  We laughed together and shared family news.  He was completely sharp and in the moment.  Then suddenly he was talking about the little boys playing leapfrog behind his bed.

• Spotted Eeyore the tailless squirrel near my condo.  Could there be a whole gang of tailless squirrels?  How big can Eeyore's territory be?  Don't get around much anymore.

• Fooled around with the design for this blog.  This was play without expectations for an outcome.  In the big scheme of things it doesn't matter if there's an Itty Bitty Blog Roll. 

• Walked, vented, and lunched with a friend. Ritual and habit bring their own stress reduction.

• None of my problems are solved, but it's O.K.  All is good.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

We did not quibble over tokens

Dividing a houseful of personal property isn't going to be pretty.  You will need allergy pills and eye drops for the dust.  You will need an industrial strength sense of humor, and a tolerance for spiders.  Buy the three-pack of Office Depot packing tape.  You won't believe how much tape you will need.

The process brings out the best and worst in siblings, but we made it through with only one big misunderstanding. My third of the loot is now in Texas.  The curse of generations continues.  Someday my sons and their ladies will have to deal with this stuff.  They will roll their eyes.  I know because I did some major eye rolls with my sister over my parents' incredible random acumulations. 

My living room is filled with boxes.  One of those boxes holds the green houses and red hotels from a Monopoly game.  My sister thought I would need the Chance cards, but not the deeds.  She wants me to broker a deal where I send our brother the race car token so he might send her the iron or thimble token for old times' sake. 

Another box holds marbles, dominoes, and Mom's Scrabble game.  Quibble starts with a ten-point letter.  Avoiding major arguments is priceless.  

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

No plagues for me, thank you

My walking buddy is rarely so happy as when she has a juicy book about a plague, horrible medical condition, or natural disaster (preferably with egotistical males trying to prove they are smarter and stronger than Mother Nature). I cannot read these books. I shouldn't even read reviews of these books. Onset of symptoms is rapid.

Except for arterial bleeding, I could currently have every condition covered by the first aid/CPR instructor at our certification class this morning. Okay, maybe I haven't been poisoned by plants, snakes, insects, as we sort of skipped over them. I'm not actually choking, and the instructor helped me understand and feel confident about using the Heimlich. It was when he got to concussions and objects poked into eyeballs (don't pull them out) that I started to lose it! Instructions in using Epi-pens for severe allergic reactions hit too close to home. We still had to get through major burns (spray foam shaving cream over the entire burn area to prevent airborne infection--no gels), bones protruding through the skin, and seizures.

I did everything wrong when I suffered a back injury this summer. Asking a friend to lift him probably made my dad's hip breaks worse.

Am I sweating profusely and experiencing confusion yet? Is my smile crooked? Is there a great weight on my chest? Does your Kroger have a defibrillator?

Geez, the recommended way to treat a nosebleed has even changed. Lean forward, not back. Pinch the bridge of the nose. Fold a brown paper bag over and over until you have a tiny square, then place it between your top front teeth and inner lip. I kid you not.

After all that, the resuscitation and chest compression practice was comparatively easy, but the damage had been done. My head is throbbing. The usual restorative beef burrito did not help at all. It may be time to take the preventive measures of putting on my pajamas and hiding under the blanket until a new day dawns.

© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder

Charmed & Charmin

My annual ragweed allergies have crossed over to the Dark Side. My sinuses feel jam packed with steel wool and rubber cement. My ears have sharp twingies, and my throat is raw. My hearing is impaired by stuffed Hostess Twinkies. I'm hot, chilled, drowsy, and unable to sleep. My over-the-counter pills let me watch multicolored floating discs battle the forces of evil whenever I stand up too fast. Still, it's better than watching "Charmed" on TNT at the beauty salon.

"Charmed" airs on TNT at the afterschool hour, no doubt attractive to preteens. An alleged tale of three sister witches working for good in San Francisco, it is the only show that has ever made me wish I could change channels to "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" for something more realistic. The sisters beam themselve up, conjure masseuse demons, and battle star-throwing hypnotized hellions in bustieres.

At the beauty salon you are trapped watching t.v. while listening to AM radio full blast. The stylists speak Chinese, and the salon owner carries on about hunky Dallas Cowboy football players, jet skis, and her mother's inoperable conditions.

I long for wholesome Samantha of "Bewitched", Captain Kirk, and Hostess Cupcakes. Many parents may long for the same now that over-the-counter cold medicines have been banned for kids under the age of six.

© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

Ragweed, cantaloupe, and OAS

Oops! I set myself up for allergy problems this week, although I should know better by now. Cantaloupe was a bargain at the grocery store, so I bought one to snack on this week.

Much of the year I can eat and enjoy cantaloup, but not in the fall. This time of year, eating cantaloup gives me a prickly tongue and itchy throat. It probably didn't help that I've been putting sunflower seeds on my salads instead of croutons.

I've known since I was three years old that bananas are not my friends. At three I knew bananas made my mouth feel itchy, and I've been refusing to eat them ever since. I stood up to the very adamant neighborhood mom, even though I risked being sent home for this rebellion. I would cave to her demands and eat bread crusts or apple peels, but not bananas.

As a thirty-something adult, I had my first allergy skin prick testing. Vindicated at last, I had a huge itchy reaction to the banana prick. I wasn't surprised to have prick reactions to the cucumbers and chamomile tests, either, as they were suspects in the two times I'd had severe hives.

I'll add an explanation about cross-reactivity from the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma, and Immunology in the hope that someone with itchy eyes and throat will remember next fall to skip the melon:

Itchy mouth may be tied to produce, ragweed

MILWAUKEE-Does your mouth or throat become itchy after eating fresh fruits or vegetables during this time of the year? For the 36 million people suffering from ragweed allergies, it is important to know about pollen-food syndrome, also known as oral allergy syndrome (OAS), caused by allergens such as ragweed, according to the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma & Immunology (AAAAI).

Each year, ragweed begins to bloom around August 15. "The pollen released from ragweed is the airborne allergen most responsible for the onslaught of allergy symptoms at this time of year," said Suzanne S. Teuber, MD, FAAAAI, chair of the AAAAI's Adverse Reactions to Foods Committee. "In addition to sneezing and itchy, watery eyes, and symptoms of OAS, ragweed allergies can take a heavy toll on the allergy sufferer's quality of life."

Oral allergy syndrome results from a cross-reactivity reaction between allergy antibodies directed towards pollen proteins with similar proteins that are found in other parts of plants. Itchiness of the mouth and throat with mild angiodema (swelling)immediately after eating fresh fruits or vegetables are common symptoms of OAS. Individuals with ragweed allergies might experience these symptoms when consuming foods such as:

Banana
Cucumber
Melon
Zucchini
Sunflower seeds
Chamomile tea
Echinacea

And, since I know you're wondering:

cantaloupe
1739, from It. Cantalupo, former Papal summer estate, near Rome, where melons were first grown in Europe after introduction, supposedly, from Armenia.

ragweed
1790, from ragged (q.v.), so called from shape of the leaves. Applied to a different plant, ragwort, from 1658. Ragwort itself is attested from c.1450.

Ragweed, Giant (Horseweed)
An annual broadleaf weed reproducing from seed that has a strong vigorous stem that under fertile conditions can grow 8 to 15 feet tall. Leaves are large, with three to five deep lobes. Male flowers on long spikes at tips of stems release large amounts of pollen. Readily controlled with a good herbicide or mowing program.

Take Back Your Mink!

Take back the drapes.
Take back the rod.
I fixed the blinds
With a paper clip, aren't you awed?

The vertical blinds had only been broken for a fifteen months. I tried to fix them back in aught-five with only brief success. After a few months I settled into a state of acceptance that the blinds would swivel but not open. It was annoying, but not life-threatening.

For unknown reasons the annoyance resurfaced today at Level Orange. I blame it on Bush, and on the fluff downfall from the mimosa nuisance trees. I found a curtain rod that would adjust to 96" (it's a big sliding glass door), and some white twill drape panels that didn't make me gag at Target. I don't really like drapes or blinds, but there are privacy and energy-efficiency issues to be considered. People who live in small condos shouldn't throw stones.


This is not my condo. It is Philip Johnson's famous Glass House.

When I got ready to take down the old vertical blinds to put up the new curtain rod, I could hear my dad telling me to try once more to fix them. I could hear my mom reading The Little Engine That Could. "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can," I huffed and I puffed (but that might be a different story). The paper clip did the trick! Hooray. I can take back the drapes...

Not long ago I saw "Guys and Dolls" performed by ten-year-olds. It was quite a feat, and I applaud them. When "Take Back Your Mink" popped into my head today, it was in those preteen Texan voices doing New York accents. Can't quite imagine Adelaide or Sister Sarah, Sky or Nathan Detroit spending much time fixing vertical blinds. Of course, I'm not your normal Hot Box Girl, either!

He bought me the fur mink five winters ago
And the gown the following fall
Then the necklace, the bag, the gloves, and the hat,
That was late '48 I recall
Then last night in his apartment
He tried to remove them all
And I said as I ran down the hall:

Take back your mink
Take back your pearls
What made you think
That I was one of those girls?
Take back the gown
The gloves and the hat
I may be down
But I'm not flat as all that.

Quick Acting Peter Doig

Expected to spend the whole weekend being miserable, waiting for the antibiotic and decongestant to cut through my evil ragweed allergy turned sinus infection. Shazam! These drugs work much faster than the ones I got back in Oklahoma in the late Eighties! Twenty-four hours of moaning and trying to sleep sitting up, then 10-9-8-7-6- blasting off with cleared eustachian tubes and a mega-fix of pseudoephedrine!

The Peter Doig: Works on Paper exhibit at the Dallas Museum of art is not only rich, luminous, immediate, romantic, expressionist, and haunting. It is also a visit deep into the working process of an artist using color, composition, excellent figure drawing, and a collection of glorious influences. The DMA sneaks a peek at related paintings in the southeast quadrant gallery with Rothko, Stella, Motherwell, Still, and Gorky. The Doig works bring Diebenkorn and Thiebald, Winslow Homer, and Gauguin to mind. Doig cites Hopper, Munch, and Matisse as major influences. I laugh, thinking Gauguin has done a study of frisbee players on the beach. And there's even a pirate under a palm tree!

Adopt a Word

The trouble with pets is the whole pooper-scooper issue. We have a small and skunky tank of ridiculously hardy tropical fish. No matter how much we neglect them, they refuse to die. That is my pet history in a nutshell. Harriet the Hamster was also known as The Hamster That Would Not Die. For all I know, she is now six feet long, and living along the Salt Creek Watershed in a west Omaha suburban community, feeding on small children and poodles. Our fish refuse to die unless they can leap out of the tank and get smelly on the carpet behind a son's bedroom headboard. Hermit crabs scuttle under the piano and starve to death rather than come back out into the savannas of the open free-range wall-to-wall carpet.

Don't get me started on cats and dogs. I am unable to comprehend that many people find these creatures cuddly and amusing and worth the trouble and the itchy eyes. People actually walk around with their pet dogs collecting warm feces deposits in plastic bags. These same people get squeamish about slimy papier mache glue!

I've seriously considered adopting a zoo animal in the past. Pride of ownership without hairballs and scooped poopering for my kids. Unless I wanted to sponsor Madagascar hissing cockroaches, this sort of pet was out of my price range.

Give this etymologist a butterfly net! Online Etymological Dictionary now offers users the option of sponsoring a word for six months for only ten buckaroos. You never have to take a word to the vet for shots, or clean its habitat. One still has the problem of selecting the cutest, fuzziest, most loyal word to sponsor. I want one that is playful, but never gets fleas, and cleans up after itself. You can the word pet's pedigree. Afterall, that's what etymology is all about!

Don't smoke that Oobleck!

Spent a luxurious weekend in Austin being totally pampered as the guest of my cousin and her husband. It lulled me to a level of relaxation I don't attain often. For years now as a single mom I have been the Parent On Duty, the Official Decision-maker/Worrier/Driver/Enforcer/Grocery-Shopper/Chief Cook, Bottle-Washer and Scullery Maid. It's part who I am, part my situation, and part how I got in this situation (if I have to be honest). In short, this weekend was like being transplanted to Xanadu where someone else takes care of me, makes the plans, feeds me well and often, and I just have to show up, ride along and enjoy.

Back at Dallas Love airport this afternoon, fifty-two hours after I left, I was half dozing, half reading the NY Times Book Reviews. On the shuttle back to the "Parking Spot" I observed my fellow passengers through gritty, runny eyes. Having parked the old Buick in the cheapo part Friday, I was the last dropped off, and by then I was getting really groggy. Threw my bag in the car, figuring if the flower vase inside hadn't already broken it probably wouldn't.

Ran late driving to the airport Friday morning, and didn't stop for gas. Had to head for the first Chevron to fill up, and squint through the two-day tree pollen accumulation. Instead of fixating on the dollars, cents, and gallons whirling past at the pump ($2.19/gallon), I washed the windows. And washed. And washed. Adding water seemed to reconstitute the dry green scum into a gooey green film that resisted my efforts like Slimer in the old Ghostbusters cartoons.

The king of Didd would be so pleased. He was tired of snow, rain, fog, and sunshine in Dr. Seuss's Bartholomew and the Oobleck. He had his magicians create something different--a green and gooey all-new form of precipitation. Wreaked havoc in the kingdom of Didd, as I recall, much like the time little Bradfinkel brought Silly Putty to preschool art class in the pockets of his McWee Schwisms, but on a global scale.


Drove on home, and my pool shark son entered, stage right, reporting that "something was on fire down by the mailboxes". We each carried a pitcher of water down to the other end of the condos. Someone had tossed a ciggie butt into the drifts of dried yellow-green tree fluff, and it was smoking and spreading. Didn't smell like sage or incense, but more like punk for lighting fireworks.

Remember, only you can prevent Oobleck fires.

Catwoman I'm Not

I'm allergic to onions, bananas, and cats. I'm careful to avoid all of them in my diet. I'm not allergic to coconut, artificial cheese-flavored alleged food products, or black jelly beans, but I would be if I could. I'm equally careful to avoid them in my diet. You don't want to know why I have these intense aversions, but I will say that two of them involve chain-reaction carsickness on hot vinyl backseats.

Back when I still lived in "the house" with the boys, we were visited by Danger Kitties. I hadn't thought about the Danger Kitties in years. They kept trying to climb the screen of our sliding patio door, and would get stuck several feet off the ground, and mewl at surprising volume until unhooked from the screen.

The Danger Kitties were born in the rotting storage shed across the alley. The Boat Boys who lived in that house were oblivious to the presence of feral cats in their shed. The Boat Boys used to sit out in the large motor boat parked in their driveway, drinking beer and listening to loud music. One morning I got all three boys buckled into the Mazda MPV minivan, opened the garage door, started backing out to drive them to school, and found the motor boat blocking the alley. No Boat Boys were home, of course, only feral Danger Kitties incapable of moving the motor boat. Hadn't thought about that particular weirdness in years.

My youngest is in the college scholarship savage jungle hunt. It's part tsetse flies, and part high stakes Texas hold-em poker. We have to play the odds to hit the big money. He's the third child of divorced parents. If you think there's a big chunk of wisely-invested college savings socked away for him, you would be seriously deluded.

In fairy tales it is often the third son who manages to convert the inheritance of a cat and a burlap bag into marriage to the king's beautiful daughter. This son will land on his feet wherever life throws him. He will respond to my anxieties and micromanaging with smug detachment from the warm hearth in front of his computer screen. He will trick the giant into becoming a mouse, and charm the miller's daughter into driving him around town in her dad's new Mini Cooper. Plus, he will have thick, luxurious hair without even earning it. He's already clawed up the couch, and I still let him live here.

Antibiotics are Our Friends

One of my kindergarten students informed me that she needed a Kleenex because she has a "Sonics infection". Man, oh man! I've had those before, and they are the pits. When I lived in Oklahoma, I had one massive Sonics infection that took six months of super-antibiotics to smite.

My Hungarian allergist insisted that I snork on a piece of aluminum foil, then rush it to her office for analysis. She referred me to a German Nose Guy, who x-rayed my Sonics several times. Sure wish I had those x-rays now for collage purposes. The Nose Guy did an otorhinolarangoscopy, which is like having Lewis and Clark drive a Humvee through your nasal cavaties only to crash into your deviated septum at a remarkable speed for such a heavy vehicle. I fainted, which further convinced him that I was a truly pathetic specimen of a woman not fit to bear his sons. Next he sent me for a CT scan. Whoa. I really wish I had those images for a collage!

The Nose Guy looked like an older version of an evil hospital orderly on "Edge of Night" named Sharkey back during my soap addiction of 1981. I am proud to say that I've been soap free for twenty+ years, one day at a time.

Just when the Nose Guy was planning a surgical assault my Sonics cleared up. He was crushed, but couldn't show it, of course. He was really looking forward to using a laser weed whacker* to enlarge my sinus openings, and breaking my nose to straighten it just for fun. He asked me how and when I had broken my nose. I didn't even know I had broken it, but I'm pretty sure it was when I rode the saucer sled over the retaining wall.

It's not beans

The magical fruit is the one that can help get my mom back on track, or tract. I have great faith in bananas even though I am personally allergic to them. They are the very best things for babies and grownups with upset innards. They are also the thing to eat if you want to weigh enough to get into the Army.

My dad ate a bunch of them before he went for his Army physical. He was very cute and skinny in those days. He was the age my own sons are now, so I worry a lot about our Rummy's No Exit adventure in Iraq.


This is how to make gluten-free smoothies:

Place one peeled banana in the blender. Add 4 oz. or more of plain yogurt. Add 1 T powdered milk for extra protein. Add 4+ oz. milk or juice. Throw in frozen fruit--5 strawberries or 8 peach slices or 20 raspberries (any combo). You can also throw in one peeled kiwi, or 1/2 peeled orange, 1 ring of pineapple, 1 fresh mango, or just about anything fruititious. Make sure you added the milk or juice.

Start with the low speeds on the blender, then slowly accelerate through all the speeds. Baby, you were born to be wild! Eat it with a spoon or sip through a straw. Freeze the extra for a home-style sherbet.

Corduroy

Capistrano has the swallows. Oklahoma has the scissortail fly-catchers. Nebraska has forsythia bushes and pussywillows.


In Dallas I look for signs that fall is returning even if it brings the dadgum ragweed pollen. North Texas has about two days of classic fall weather each year. You have to pay attention so you don't miss them. Since shorts weather goes from Valentine's Day to Thanksgiving some years, I was delighted to spot the first corduroy of the season today. It's not even Halloween yet, so this is very encouraging. I saw a Longhorn orange long-sleeved corduroy shirt and a yellow corduroy mini-skirt with hot pink "Smiley Face" tights and groovy pink patent leather Mary Janes in my preschool class this afternoon. I haven't been so excited since that time I saw the Painted Bunting down at Enchanted Rock State Park.

Preschool teachers love the official switch to long pants for students. Shorts season is very long here, and provides children of all genders many opportunities for self-exploration. There are those two days of classic fall weather. Blink. Tedious pseudo-winter will kick in before we know it. Then preschool nasal mining operations shift into high gear.

There's a shortage of flu vaccine. Still, the best prevention is frequent and thorough hand-washing. Hanging out with kids makes me wash my hands a hundred times a day. Ewww.