Someone Send Me Nine Fly Swatters & A Pair Of Blaze Orange Laces - It's Fall!

Flies ruin everything.



Seriously, for those of us on The Compound, the F in fall stands for flies: nasty, swarming little critters with the irritating tendency to give up the ghost all at once and die in mass graves on our tables, shelves, and window frames, just as if someone had poured a bowl of them out onto our furniture.  This massive crash landing only seems to occur when we have an unseasonable [not to mention, merciful] spell of warmth in this already wintry climate.  (Ice in September, yes.)

I hope the Hawaiian Islands have their own version of this sort of thing, because otherwise, that's just not fair.  Not only is the infestation disgusting, but apparently, it's also our fault.

Just ask the Log Doctor.  Yeah, you read that right: the Log Doctor.   This expert seems to think that we need to reseal the windows.  Or buy some fly tape in bulk, which i've been considering heavily.

Lest you think we have been bested by our kamikaze friends, rest assured.  These few and glorious warm days we've had since September have not gone unappreciated.  We've swam laps.  We've paddled rivers.  We've arched archery.

And we've run.  Shockingly, we've gone and run some more.

I run in spells, which is to say, in stretches.  Which I guess is also to say that I'm astonishingly undisciplined, and can't stick with a habit for more than a matter of weeks.  If you don't believe me, ask someone I hang out with.  I'll crochet twenty-five tiny hats in a week, then quit cold turkey.  I'll paint my fingernails a different color every three days, then stop for six months.  I'll start growing my hair out... then cut it to an inch and a half.  I'll wake up early to work out... then, a few days later when I realize that the other option is to stay in bed, I'll drop my ambition like an anchor and slam the snooze button.

So I guess what I'm saying is that I don't do long-term discipline, but I totally rock at being impulsive.

I'm sure I'll be back to my normal (read: lazy) self soon, but I've been in a bit of a running mood these last weeks.  This is fantastic, especially considering two things:

1)  C and I leave for our third annal Utah Camping Spectacular in just over a week.  The air is so much thinner up on those canyon ledges, and if there's any way that I can lessen the amount of huffing, puffing and splotchy-skinned embarrassment I will undoubtedly endure in view of the general public - well, it's a gift I'll take, thank-you-very-much.

2)   You might think this is premature, or that I'm just exaggerating again (Me?  Exaggerate?), but here's the truth: winter's a-coming.  And, based on some fairly consistent past experience, I tend to get a little "soft" during the snowy season.  You might call it getting "doughy", "jiggly", or even "squishy".  C and I just call it "having a little extra".  A little extra what, you ask?

A little extra of a lot of things, actually.  That's the problem.  It's like putting on one of these, only it's not a suit.

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It's just more of me.

So, even if I run in phases, i'll still count it as running.  And even if the Fly-pocalypse occurs only on floridian days, I'd still rather have the buzzing, balmy respite than submit to a seven-month period of looking more and more like I live in a network of underground tunnels.

Sometimes you can't win 'em all.

And sometimes you just can't win.   But on those rare occasions when you're in the lead - albeit, temporarily - don't complain.  Just bask in the glory.  Because that - that - is your moment.

Until a fly lands in your coffee. Then you know you're back.

And Then Suddenly, All In A Moment, We Realized How Good It Was

It's a wise practice, I think, to every so often remind one's self of the incredible nature of things.

So many things.  

Life.

Breath.  

Breathing.  

Gasping.

Whispering.  

Speaking.  

Hollering. 

Screaming.

Smiling.

Chuckling.

Laughing.  

Witch-Cackling.

Toe-Wiggling.

Walking.

Running.

Escaping.

Last night someone took a pastry cutter to the sky.  After pressing it to the darkness, twisting once or twice (for good measure and a clean cut) and peeling away the scraps, there was left a large, round, luminescent cookie.  A moon cookie.  Because we live miles and miles [and miles] from anything resembling a shopping mall, this very stunning moon cookie found no competition for its brilliance.  Here there is no streetlight to overpower (not a single one), no neon sign diminishing our view from the ground, and finally, up a three mile driveway surrounded by thousands (thousands) of acres of wilderness, there are rarely even any headlights.  So last night, ironically, in a world where too much is never enough, this powerful pastry moon bathed the entire forest in light.

This, this was enough.  

Enough to cast shadows.  Enough to see your footing on the dry, packed snow.  Enough to plainly observe with your eyes the incredible nature of things.  And - without the noise of cars, trains, sirens, or even logging trucks - enough to hear life with vivid clarity.

The fog of hot breath in 7-degree air.

A quick gasp before mounting a snow tube at the hill crest.

The whispers of children to their parents: Yes, it's SO fun.

Screams that ring like a bell choir through the naked birch trees.

A dozen gleaming smiles.  

A cascade of giggles.

The cackling of friends rough-housing in a soft, forgiving world.

Toes that wiggle in their boots, rousing one another... stay... warm....

Walking through a gap in the trees (how are the stars this bright?).

Running to catch a ride to the top of the hill.

Escaping all mind-clutter as we whoosh
          - downward, faster, spinning -
                 through the forest.

But no, this is not escaping. 

This is finding.  We are finding out that

things

are 

incredible.

Fat Friday (french for "the day after Thanksgiving")

What better way to celebrate Black Friday than to lounge in yoga pants (better known as "pajamas"), laugh with family, and eat the food of the gods (peanut M&M's) out of a holiday dish for the good part of an entire day?  If there is a more perfect method of cultural rebellion, I don't know what it is.  Retail warfare can kiss my ever-widening ham hocks - there is no doorbuster in America that can beat a quiet morning in the woods and hiding snug under a warm quilt past eight.

C and I are visiting with my in-laws at their lake house in the Adirondacks of New York, a place which practically hums with hospitality and radiates with cozy goodness.  The solitude of this small town along with the perfectly quiet atmosphere (no TV buzzing, no stereo cranking, no logging trucks releasing their air brakes) pairs seamlessly with the clarity of the cool blue lake, transparent window panes and as of Wednesday, the delicate layer of snow garnishing the not-quite frozen ground.  Think Call of the Wild meets the North Pole workshop meets HGTV's Dream Cabin.  It's brilliant.

I took a little walk with my mother-in-law this afternoon up the road a bit to a snow-covered beach.  The sun was so warm that we could've comfortably worn short-sleeves, while the snow crunched under our shoes as we stomped down the shoreline, picking up pieces of beaver wood and enjoying the sound of water lapping on the sand.  There is something astonishing about the collection of sounds, smells and sights that define this brief marriage of fall and winter.  It's especially stunning because I know that by the time that C and I get home, the bears will have already built their ice huts and the neighbors will be crawling into their dens to hibernate until June.  It's just another reason to savor these moments before we fall off of that proverbial cliff known as winter.

I hope that your day was as beautiful and inviting as ours was, but honestly, I doubt it was.  Better luck next year.  

I guess if you really think your day was better than ours, you can just go ahead and tell me off in the comments section.  I'll read it. 

Someday.

I'm Dreaming Of A White Halloween

The forecast for tomorrow night calls for evening snow showers.  Now, if I lived in Salt Lake City or Breckenridge or Tahoe or somewhere wonderfully ski-hill laden, this might be good news.  Unfortunately for all of us, I don’t, and the hint of impending white stuff is no lottery prize.  Halloween is next Monday, and I really like Halloween, but how can I celebrate in Bog boots and insulated Carhartts? 

Some college friends and I once made the rounds in 40 degree weather (suburban Chicagoland is prime candy-begging real estate, even when you’re a college junior), and let me tell you, my roommate Noel, who took the evening by storm as Lady Liberty, was quite literally shaking in her boots.  This was mostly because her costume was a thin grey sheet and [the coolest] aluminum foil crown [you’ve ever seen], and also she didn’t have any silver Carhartt overalls that would match her torch.  The group of us spent the night slowly shuffling through neighborhoods in the cold, receiving all kinds of suspicious expressions from moms and dads, but still getting their mini Snickers bars.  I don’t want to relive a cold Halloween.  And what about the children?!

Snow and cold aside however, I love costumes, and love to conjure up ideas for the old two-person dynamo.  Here is a sampling from my collection.

Our pet cat, Kiwi and box turtle, Lois - I’d wear black (already filling my closet) with face paint whiskers and a tail, while C could strap on our friends’ turtle sandbox cover. 

Vermont and New Hampshire – constructed out of cardboard, this is always on the list.  Even when you’re dancing in two separate rooms, everyone will know that you’re together.

Thing One and Thing Two – I  saw this done once in college, and it will live on in my mind for-e-ver.

A chicken and an egg – I like the idea of wearing a round suit.

A hunter and a moose – the only hazard being that one of us might actually get shot walking to the party.

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Moby Dick and Captain Ahab

We have some friends who are pregnant, and I’d personally really like to see them go as a bun and the oven.

Of course, I don’t actually have a party to get dressed up for, and I don’t imagine that we’ll really have any trick-or-treaters stop at our cabin, but hey – who needs a reason, right?  So if Monday night comes around and you happen to be a dromedary camel or bunch of grapes with nowhere to go, stop on over.  You can come watch the Chargers and Chiefs hammer it out with Captain Ahab and the white whale. 

Bring some chips.

Throw Another Log on the Fire

"Winter Storm Warning: 6-10 inches possible"

I don't even know what to say.  Or how not to vomit.

I suppose it could be worse.  I could be stranded on an ice floe.

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No, a smaller one.

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That's better.  With killer whales circling in the water.

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And I smell like fish.

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And it's sunny, and my ice flow is melting.

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And I chose this day to leave my rocket pack at home.

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Ugh.  It's even sunny on my imaginary ice floe.  Spring can't come soon enough.

Swiper No Swiping

I want to apologize for my absence yesterday.  We were spending time with family, but at least your mind got a break from trying to follow my thoughts, right?  Back to the headache...

-----------------------

This

Is

Ridiculous.

1.  It’s 48 degrees in the house

and

2.  There must be six inches of new snow on the ground. And the sky still has its winter wonderland on.

We are not at the cabin – we’re still 5 hours south – and up north, they are probably digging out of a foot or more.  They say that heaven is above and hell below, but I think there must have been some confusion this morning, because what is happening right now is definitely not nice.  Especially when we’re not using oil heat. 

I’ve built a fire though and am practically sitting on the woodstove as I write this, so I am beginning to be able to focus more clearly, which is to say, strap on your thinking caps because this is going to be another mind bending story hour with your friendly hookah smoking caterpillar.   

www.listoracle.com

Where do I find those shoes?!

By the way, I love this movie, even the new one.  And no, I’ve never read the book.  

I'm so sorry.

On the plus side, I think I just found our costumes for next Halloween.  Everyone will be screaming, and parents will ensure that C is not allowed near children.  Ever again.

www.guntheranderson.com

Except maybe his brother's.   We had one of our nieces “on loan” during the day of the funeral this week.  This only means that she rode with us for the three or so hours it took to get to there, and that she kept us entertained the entire way – we didn’t do any work all.  C and I have been striving for crazy aunt and uncle status, so our behavior is not always commendable when we’re around the kids.  I did my part by helping to get a chunk of my niece’s gorgeous golden hair stuck in the motorized wheel of her hamster Zhuzhu Pet.  Then, during our drive Uncle C picked a Wiggles station on Pandora that randomly included the pop tune “Soul Sister”.  I had never noticed any swear words in that song.  Until then.  Don’t worry though – we didn’t catch it in time to cover her chaste 4 year-old ears, so when she’s trash talking your kid on the playground next fall, you can come egg our house.  If you can find it.

During our drive, we also ate lunch at the Skylark Diner, which I highly recommend if you find yourself in Edison, New Jersey anytime soon.  Be forewarned though – this is NOT a diner.   It is a bistro that ate a diner.  So, it’s really a bistro.  You’ll love it.

Like I warned previously, this post is of caterpillar mind-bending caliber.  There is no train of thought today.  No flow.  No real story.  I apologize, and promise I will be back swinging next week.  But right now, my icy fingers are struggling with the keyboard, and my fleece pants are on fire.  

Please excuse me.

Make Like an Opossum and Die

I want to take the opportunity this morning to revel in the fact that where I used to live, aka “down south” they are getting snow today.  And I, in the frozen, quasi-Canadian tundra, am not.  Not.  Not.  Not. HA.

The view outside my window this morning is glorious.  There is fluffy snow still resting on the pine boughs since it fell yesterday, and it is shimmering from the reflection of a bright, beautiful sun.  It’s really something.  Here, I’ll show you. 

As I walked out to take this picture, I startled at least 3 woodpeckers busy probing the birch trees surrounding the cabin.  They quickly resumed the daily grind after they realized that I’m, well… me.  I’m only a threat to myself – a reality that is apparently clear, even to wildlife.

Speaking of threats, yesterday I was driving back to our cabin when I did what C and I do about 75% of the time.  I passed our street.  I don’t know what makes it so easy to do, but it seems increasingly pathetic when you consider that there can’t be more than five streets on the southern side that intersect with our main road. 

For another 30 miles.

Alas, I have done my service to lower the general IQ by missing our road again yesterday.  But, because I did so, I was able to have a nice run-in with the local law enforcement.  No, not the police.  A moose.  He was not too old, and was probably going through his first winter up here, just like me.   He was standing parallel to the double yellows, which means that I almost didn’t see his scrawny haunches, but luckily, the car driving opposite of me had their flashers on.  So our friend stands awkwardly in the road for a while and does some circles.  Then, things get a little more interesting.  He starts to walk to my car.   Awkward, clumsy, lumbering – moose do not seem intellectually formidable, however - I caution you -  they are still massive animals.  This young fellow was the size of a horse.  A horse who was coming to visit.  He got probably fifteen to twenty feet away from the car, with his ears buzzing around like antennae, then he finally jaunted off into the woods, post-holing the entire way.  Poor thing.

Anyway, I want to share with you some guidelines for fending off a moose attack.  Clearly, I was not in danger yesterday, but should you find yourself taking pictures of a trophy male on the highway or walking the woods during mating season, this could be very valuable information.

Here’s how you know that you are facing an aggressing moose:

Is it walking toward you?  Is it stomping it’s feet and pulling those antennae ears back?  What noise is it making?  Grunting?  (Bad news for you.)  Is it throwing its head back and forth?

If you answered yes, you better get right with God.   And in your car.

Now what?  Like you would if you faced many other wild animals, authorities say that you should back away slowly and put something large between yourself and the moose.  Moose will charge like a bear or a mountain goat (I’m guessing), so shielding yourself is the first essential move.  If you’re still in your car, get the heck out of the way or call your auto body to schedule a new paint job.  You’re going to need it.

But here are my two favorite pieces of information.  If you are faced with a near ¾ ton, seven-foot moose with a five-foot rack, the best way to defend yourself is to speak softly to it, like you would your 3 year-old niece.  That’s right - babytalk it out of maiming you.  Also, you should fake death by curling your body into a tiny (or not so tiny) ball, and become what common sense would tell you is an animal plaything. Try and be wearing a backpack for extra cushion, and cover your head if you have the wherewithal to remember.  You’ve become a human soccer ball with a Tammy-talks-a-lot voice.  And this is supposed to save you.

Knowing myself, if I were faced with this danger, I would only panic.  Remembering something about feigning death and fooling the animal, I’d roll over onto the ground and make like an opossum – mouth open, tongue out, eyes rolled back, limbs flailed – and be slaughtered by a vegetarian.  What a miserable way to go. 

www.theoffside.com

When you decide to visit, please bring this information with you, preferably on a cue card nestled on your dashboard.  You may come to need it, and when you do, I don’t want to have to drive out on the new snowmobile and drag your carcass off the road.  I’m not ready to ride that thing yet. 

And sister, please enjoy the snow today. 

I’m pretty sure it will be here tomorrow.