The Gulf Between (Us)

Peanut has bid this world adieu

Ode on the death of a favorite cat

Thomas Gray

Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
    The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
    Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
    The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
    She saw; and purred applause.

Still had she gazed; but ‘midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
    The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armor’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
    Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
    With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
    What cat’s averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
    Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
    She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
    Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard;
    A favorite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
    And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
    Nor all that glisters, gold.

*****************************************************

I thought it only fair to bridge the gulf between us and let my dear readers know that I'm still kicking in Southern Illinois and Peanut the Grand-Cat in Florida is no more. She gave us much love, was a source of joy and laughter, and comforted us in times of sadness and loss. Her illness came on quite suddenly (shallow breathing, loss of appetite) and occurred right after being boarded at an animal hospital in Tallahassee where she had received regular exams, vaccines, and previous boarding. Of course, we suspected some sort of nosocomial infection, but the vet told Daughter that x-rays showed a mass near her heart and lungs filled with fluid. The vet was fairly certain that the tumor had been present for a while, slowly compromising her health, and that the stress of being away from home and family was the proverbial nail in the coffin for Peanut.

 A nasty thing, STRESS is. Just look at the word--a serpent that swallows up serendipity and slithers across our serenity. It robs us of life's pleasure and enjoyment and ultimately of life itself. It must be a close cousin to Malignant Fate, and I hope they both soon drown in the Lake of Fire.

How Great the Art?

Twist but don't shout at Bonnet House in Fort Lauderdale

In a recent twist of fate, SAM and I were invited to stay at a distant relative's condo in South Florida. As fate would have it, this invitation coincides with our 35th wedding anniversary. The place is ours to enjoy for the time being, and what a place! I won't post a picture of the inside of the condo since it's not mine to show off, but I will say that the art it contains is inspiring.

Daughter, don't sit under the camellia tree with anyone else but me

 Before we traveled that far south, though, we made a pit[hy] stop in Tallahassee to visit Daughter and her hubby and to deposit Peanut.

Peanut makes herself at home while visiting Daughter and Son-in-law

She (the cat--and possibly I--not the daughter!) has/have put on quite a few excess pounds whilst living up north. Is it the stress of the cold or just living in Illinois that "comPounds" the problem of weight gain? If Peanut could talk, she would probably tell me to take a chill pill and relax. You can't make the wheels of Illinois' state government turn any faster than they are used to moving. Just because Florida could issue a professional license in short order (10 days) doesn't mean that Illinois can or will do the same for me (9 weeks and counting).

Speaking of wheels turning, while waiting on the license, I've been working on a train song. I always have liked that genre for some reason. Daughter gave me a guitar for Christmas in 2013, and I am finally trying to learn how to play the darn thing. Since we gave him a guitar this past Christmas, Grandson and I have been taking lessons together from a teacher employed by Mike's Music in Carbondale, Illinois. Ever since I saw Tommy Emmanuel in concert, I've been wanting to try my hand(s) at the art.

"Trunk art" at Bonnet House in Ft. Lauderdale

I wonder...If this tree we saw at Bonnet House Plantation in Ft. Lauderdale could be turned into an instrument, what song would it sing?

But Soft! What Twilight Garden?

Peanut by twilight garden

"But soft! what [Twi]light [Garden] through yonder window breaks?"

The gardener softly shuts off the light and out of doors her way she makes.

Daylight fades and night begins to fall but just before it does,






The gardener takes the cap from off the camera lens and blows away the Peanut fur and fuzz,

'Cause camera obscura is not the tack she wants to take
as flowers show their peak.

The gardener's figure softly hides in twilight's cloak,
and softly does she sneak

To savor and to archive twilight's bloom for future garden plan.
Whilst present, pleasant, daytime life is fat and full and may be whipped up cream,

"O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all [that] this is [we've learned from life thus far may be nothing]
but a dream..."

(Words in quotes, it's true, are gathered from bits and pieces of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet,
but those in brackets and all the rest come from Walk2Write, direct to you, via blog and Internet.)

Quiet, Blueberry Blessings for Early Morning Gardening

If a man loudly blesses his neighbor early in the morning,
It will be taken as a curse.
(Proverbs 27:14)

When SAM and I first purchased our property, our neighbors to the south had a rather ugly wire fence that separated their mostly empty lot from our narrow side yard. Back then, we owned a small environmental drilling company. The drilling equipment was mounted on the back of a large truck with a loud diesel engine. We also owned (still do!) another large, diesel-powered pickup truck that hauled a heavy-duty trailer loaded with supplies for drilling. In order to access the supplies which were stored in our backyard barn, SAM and our son, our only employee at that time, needed to drive carefully along the edge of our property so as to avoid running over the septic tank and drain field as well as the ugly fence. We asked the neighbors if they would be interested in selling their extra lot, but they declined. Over a period of a couple years--although it wasn't pleasant for SAM especially because he had to trim along our side of the fence--we learned to live within our narrow boundaries. The neighbors, for their part, learned to live with our early morning "blessings" of diesel engines running as SAM and son prepared to head out for work.

Blueberries on our bushes, the new fence line

Eventually, the fence came down. I'd like to think it happened because we developed a warm regard for our elderly neighbors as they did for us. The old man had made his fame and fortune as a heavy equipment operator when this area was first being developed, so I guess he understood the value of those noisy vehicles and early morning work mobilizations. He also loved to garden, though he had pared down considerably the size of it from his former glory days of gardening. His gardening triumphs and failures were shared along with the abundant produce he still harvested. We ate so many collard and turnip greens then that I swore I would never plant them in my own garden. Once the old man passed away, of course I got to missing those greens. I miss the stories too. Gardeners can usually think of some dandy ones.

Casualty of an obese and greedy mockingbird

For instance, I'm imagining one right now involving what I might do to "dispatch" a certain mockingbird that likes to rest itself on and peck at the top of fruit-laden branches. To Kill a Mockingbird? No, that title's been taken already. I'll have to think some more on that one.

Peanut, in a rare moment of garden guarding

Remember Mars, the garden guardian, who was supposed to keep an eye on things for us in the garden? Turns out, he only shows up when he's hungry for a hand-out. He must have discovered that Peanut is spayed and not interested in his affectionate attentions so he usually doesn't stick around for longer than it takes to eat a bowl of dry cat food. It's a shame because the birds are getting bolder and Peanut is getting older. She prefers to either lounge by the pool or stay inside the air-conditioned house on these hot summer days once early morning is past. Guess what? So do I.

Herb of Remembrance: Rosemary in the Garden and on the Brain

The skies have been leaden and
Some palm fronds are dead in
The tropical garden, you see.






No, spring time's not here yet
Vernal Equinox is its outset--
This fact--I have known it for years.

Still, the bulbs and some rhizomes
Pop some color into my home's
Drab winter garden and pots.

But the best thing in bloom now
Isn't showy or highbrow
It's the Herb of Remembrance; it's Rosemary.



This quite humble herb
Is used by cooks quite superb
In dishes with fishes and chicken

But the way I prefer mine
Is smelled like fine wine
With a waft of the scent to my brain

(It helps me work on my thinking
Instead of wine drinking
Too much in the afternoon warmth.)

Rosmarinus officinalis 'prostratus'
Is friendlier to visitors than the "Catus"
As it won't mind a pinch or a snip or a tug

So give it a try
If you chance to stop by--
Your brain and I
Will be ever so glad that you did!

Summertime Sound Bites: Curious Cat in a 'Lunch Pail Tree'

With food prices ever increasing, SAM and I have been working on turning our landscape into more of an edible one. As part of that effort, the Loropetalum tree--not edible as far as I know but too beautiful to cut down--that shades the front porch now holds pots of herbs. Can you spot the Cuban oregano (Plectranthus amboinicus) in one of them? Not a true oregano, also called Indian Borage, it has large variegated leaves, is very aromatic, and tastes wonderful in just about any dish that calls for oregano. I purchased it earlier this year at a Santa Rosa County Master Gardener plant sale. After watching its vigorous habit in a pot, I'm not about to turn it loose in the landscape. It might get carried away and cover everything in sight with its aromatic self, at least until freezing weather knocks it out. It's more suited for much warmer climates. 

The Loropetalum might as well be called the Lunch Pail Tree now. Remember that unusual tree in Frank Baum's story Ozma of Oz (you might have seen it in the film Return to Oz)?  It seems that Peanut the cat would agree that lunch is right at hand, only it's not herbs she has a taste for. The mockingbirds attracted to our edible landscape delight in taunting her. Now I'm not encouraging her to "thin their herd," but I won't discourage her from putting the Fear of Gardener into them.

Shortly after we moved back here, I noted that the local mockingbird population had exploded. We had already made great progress on the edible landscaping with the addition of blueberry bushes and plum trees a few years ago, and then pear and persimmon trees were planted shortly before we moved away. A few weeks ago, I told Peanut that I would be very disturbed if all of our work were fruitless on account of the birds. At least this time, she must have been paying attention to me.

Schwarmerei or Wrought Irony?

It might not look like it here, but Peanut the cat is exhibiting a severe case of Schwarmerei ("extravagant enthusiasm," the losing word in the 2012 National Spelling Bee). She is usually more demonstrative, but it's about 6 p.m. in this picture, and her action has run down for the day, I'm sorry to say.

She prefers a little morning light to be shed on her behalf. I'd say it's preferable to what she sheds on our behalf. Cat hair is everywhere to be found on the new tile floor. But it blends in quite well with the new color scheme, don't you think?

SAM chose the flooring, and it's no surprise to me why he picked this particular color and style: Now that he's working from home, he and I share the cleaning chores--it's so easy to overlook those hair balls lurking underfoot...

and there's a piece of picture sandstone placed prominently on the great room wall near the front door. That piece of rock is not the only geological feature in this house.

SAM's rock garden has outgrown its former, more humble home (seen here and in the second pic in this post, way at the back, where it holds my German china).

SAM is not particularly Schwarmereic when it comes to gardening outside, but he did design the tropical garden where we buried all of that exhausted cardboard.

It's funny how things have turned out: I'm now working away from home, building my massage practice. SAM's become quite adept at garden design and cleaning the house, among other things. The rocks have a nicer home than my china. Age before beauty, I guess.

Occupy Destin(ation)--A Christmas Visit to the Redneck Riviera

Peanut, the Christmas tree occupier

Peanut occupied the space beneath the Christmas tree where the presents usually go. Her food and water bowls were full, the litter box was clean and ready for use, so what did she care that the presents were loaded into the car instead of piled up on the tree skirt? She didn't so much as wave a paw as we shut and locked the front door behind us.

Instead of the usual gathering at one of our homes, this year for Christmas we decided to occupy Destin, also known as the World's Luckiest Fishing Village. This being the off season, hotel rooms were cheap. We stayed at a fairly new, very nice one not far from Harbor Walk, and the cost was only $59 a night (plus tax). You don't have to wait for your ship to come in to enjoy a weekend stay here in winter.

There were plenty of things to see and do to keep a busy boy occupied and still for a few minutes.

Grandson would gladly have lent a hand in this catch but perhaps not so eager to help with the cleaning of the fish. He thinks he's already old enough to go on a deep sea fishing trip. Maybe next year.

We were fortunate to have a warm, sunny day for Christmas Eve. Grandson's other grandma had come for a week-long visit and said this was the first really nice day they'd had all week.

One of Grandson's favorite places to go in Destin or in Spanish Fort, Alabama is Bass Pro Shop. His daddy has been to the original, flagship store in Springfield, Missouri. He was just as fascinated by the fish swimming around the huge tank there, even though they were bass and catfish instead of redfish and jack cravelle.

While Grandson went down for a much-needed nap in his parents' room and his other grandma prepared a wonderful Peruvian meal for us, Daughter, SAM, and I took a walk on the beach. You can find snowmen even here in Florida, though they tend to sag a bit. Sand doesn't pack as well as the stuff the real ones are made of.

Sometimes they decide to get a suntan on the beach. This one was sans bathing attire. I guess he doesn't know this ain't the French Riviera. It's the Redneck Riviera, buddy, and they don't allow that kind of thing here. Count your blessings...

Walk2Write's Lasagna Theory of Social Penetration or How to Break the Ice

By now, most people are aware of the Onion Theory of Communication or Social Penetration Theory. As someone who enjoys preparing and eating good food, I have to wonder why the theory, originated by social psychologists Irwin Altman and Dalmas Taylor in the early 1970s, relies on the lowly onion to reveal such a complex idea. Maybe because it's now such a universal root, cultivated and eaten throughout most of the world? Given the current globalization and resulting complexity of everything, including cuisine, perhaps the time has come for consuming a new, more elaborate metaphor: Walk2Write's Lasagna Theory of Social Penetration.

I've been preparing this dish for more than 30 years so I know a thing or two about how it can spark a conversation and cement relationships. We (SAM and I) were newly wed, and it was the first dish I prepared for "important company," namely SAM's first boss and his wife. It made a favorable impression on them, and I was even asked for the recipe. I was overjoyed that it turned out so well, but why should I have been surprised? The recipe has only failed me one time, and that was when I prepared it in someone else's kitchen using her not-so-fresh ingredients. Yes, the quality of the ingredients make a big difference, so don't even think about using ancient pasta or cheese that's a little green around the edges. Conversation will fall flat on its face in a hurry.

The recipe (discourse) begins (I hope!):

1 pound of lean ground beef, turkey, or chicken
1 medium size onion, chopped finely
1 green pepper, chopped finely

Combine the above ingredients in a saucepan on medium heat until most of the moisture has evaporated. This step is important, and I'm guessing it's because the other ingredients' unique flavors would be lost in excess vapor when they are added later on. Have you ever noticed how the same kind of thing happens when someone or a select few dominate the conversation?

Add to saucepan:
28-32 ounces crushed tomatoes
12 ounces tomato paste
1 tsp. dried thyme
1 tsp. dried marjoram
1 tsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. dried basil
A few bay leaves
1/8 to 1/4 tsp. dried chipotle or other red pepper
1/2 cup dry red wine
1/3 cup honey (more or less depending on how acidic the tomatoes are)

Simmer for at least one hour over low heat with the lid slightly ajar. Remove bay leaves if you can find them. If they're as old as the hills, they can crumble and get lost in the sauce. It's sort of like what happens to an elderly statesman these days in a room full of freshman lawmakers.

Prepare a 13 x 9-inch glass pan by coating it liberally inside with olive oil. Ladle enough of the sauce in the pan to cover the bottom of it. Arrange dry lasagna noodles (I use whole wheat pasta) over the sauce to cover it. Reserve the rest of the meat/tomato sauce for the final layer.

Combine:
32 oz. small curd cottage cheese
2 large eggs
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Spread just enough of the above ingredients to cover the noodles. Cover with grated mozzarella. Repeat with another two layers (noodles and then cottage cheese mixture) but without sauce and without mozzarella. The final layer will consist of noodles, cottage cheese mixture, and the remaining meat/tomato sauce. I haven't mentioned the exact quantity of noodles required for the recipe because it varies. The brand you buy, the size and thickness of the noodle, the number of layers you decide upon: all of these factors determine how much you will use. It's much safer to speak in generalities at first anyway. People think you're weird if you get too specific or seem to know everything about a subject. There's no room for discussion. They think you think you're an expert, and the relationship is over before it begins.

Cover with heavy duty aluminum foil (necessary to cook the dry noodles). Bake in 375-degree (Fahrenheit) oven for at least one hour, maybe 1 1/4 hours, depending on the number of layers. Uncover pan (carefully! the trapped steam is very hot) and add enough grated mozzarella cheese to cover sauce. Return pan to oven and bake uncovered at 400 degrees for another 15 minutes or until cheese browns.

This is a dish suitable for guests, best served with a mixed green salad, some French or Italian bread drizzled with olive oil, and a bottle of dry red wine. Of note, it also works fairly well with the Chronobiotic nutrition plan that SAM and I are trying. It's a "shrub" dish (please see my earlier post). The eggs and the onion are the only exceptions to the rule of "shrub" since they're both considered "roots."

Peanut, the Skate-on-the-Stairs Cat

I must say that since I started on the Chronobiotic plan I've gotten a little lighter on my feet, to the tune of about four pounds, which is a very good thing. Peanut certainly keeps me on my toes, and I've gotten more adept at sidestepping things in my path. That includes conforming to the Onion Theory. I'd rather talk about lasagna.

The laminae have more stamina
The lamellae aren't as smelly
These layers are oh-so nice
When you're trying to break the ice

Counting Chickens: Superstitious or Intuitively Cautious?

Peanut "counting" Daughter's friend's chickens

Remember when mom or someone older and wiser used to advise against counting your chickens before they were hatched? I can't count how many times while growing up that I heard the warning. Or, "don't put all of your eggs in one basket. You never know what might upset it." More often than not, when I failed to heed the warnings, something did happen to alter my plans or tip the basket, sending those eggs crashing to the ground. And it's not easy for me to just go with the flow like so many people are capable of doing when something doesn't go according to plan. I tend to kick against the goads, so to speak. Stubborn, that's what I am.

I'm wondering if I'm also becoming superstitious. Lately, those old words of caution are reverberating in my thoughts. I am keeping certain plans and dreams for the future close to the chest or vest now. What I'm hoping is that superstition isn't playing me for a fool but that intuitive caution is taking over as I get older. I don't want to be pessimistic, just not overly optimistic. It's a delicate balance. Gardening is one way I keep things in perspective. I've learned to not say anything about planting seeds but wait until the harvest. And I'm certainly not going to spill any beans about writing works in progress (WIPs). How about you? Do you lay out all of your cards on the table or keep a few facedown?

Disclosure: The author had nothing to do with this chicken incident but can verify that no chickens were harmed in the making of this post. The cat, however, may have suffered some psychological or emotional trauma. She is being monitored and will be treated appropriately.

Teach a Grandson to Fish and Get Hooked on His Lines!

Walk2Write and I head to the far reaches of the western Florida panhandle for another much anticipated weekend at home. Son, grandson Micah, and I plan a fishing trip for Saturday morning. For me and the better half to get our weekend fix of the grandson, we offer to keep him for a while Friday afternoon. During our time together, Micah finds out it is my birthday next weekend and immediately proclaims, “Grandpa! I know what I want for your birthday! I want a party barge with brownies and cupcakes and lots of fish everywhere!” Who knows where he came up with that concept, but it sounds like a good deal to me.



Saturday morning, I meet son and grandson at our usual boat launch, where a nearby meandering tributary of the Escambia River flows into the bay. For the first hour, we do only fishing and no catching (my normal modus operandi). Finally Micah convinces his dad to bait his Diego fishing pole (a kiddie pole about two feet long with four pound test line) with a stiff, long-dead minnow, one of many saved by Micah from a previous fishing trip, and bagged in a zip-lock baggie as a precious commodity. After a few minutes of trolling, the pole jerks a few times and Micah starts reeling it in as quickly as his little hands can create a repetitive, circular motion. He cranks and cranks on the tiny reel, and within less than a minute we spot a giant redfish on the end of his line. It takes out line a couple times, but amazingly he hangs onto the pole and continues cranking. We see the fish about three feet from the boat; it’s large, estimated 22-27 inches (the fish, not the boat). The net is readied by son, and we think this river monster is destined for the frying pan just before the 4-pound-test line breaks. Grandpa and son are more disappointed than grandson. Micah just smiles and exhales a big “Whew!”





Another dead minnow is acquired from Micah’s zip-lock treasure bag and baited on a jig head. Son rigs the tempting morsel on a sturdier grown-up pole, equipped with 40 # braided line and 30# mono-leader. Within a few minutes of trolling, the pole starts its up-and-down dance and Micah tries to pull in the fish but can’t handle the larger rig. Grandpa takes over the task with grandson’s robust approval, and within a minute or so a 22+ inch redfish is ours for the keeping. After landing the catch, Micah excitedly exclaims “Grandpa we had teamwork!” and we give each other a high five. A few more nice size speckled trout are landed, but the redfish have gone back to sleep; no one is disappointed, especially grandpa.



Micah looks up at the sky and says, “Grandpa! I see a dolphin in the sky. Do you see it?” I scan the shapes formed by the clouds, but have to honestly reply that I really don’t. Micah says, “I can see his face!” I have to think we may have a little artist on our hands. The clouds dissipate, but Micah’s enthusiasm doesn’t.

After a long period of trolling, Micah puts his Diego pole down on the bow of our little plastic boat. Son uses his fatherly voice and says, “Micah, put it back in the rod holder. A fish could pull it right out of the boat and into the water.”

Micah matter-of-factly states, “No Daddy, they’re not so strong.”

Son reiterates with a little more emphasis, “Micah, put it in the rod holder. A fish could pull it in.”
“No daddy, they’re not so strong.”

“Micah, do it now! You don’t know what size fish you might get. It might be small or a really big and strong one that can pull your pole in the water.”

“No, they aren’t so strong, daddy.”

Grandpa interrupts the dialogue and addresses son, “You know that you are getting payback." Son looks puzzled.

“What do you mean, payback?”

“I mean, your three-year old son already knows more than you do. Sound familiar?” Son just grins.






Back at the ranch (house), Peanut enjoys a peek and a sniff at the catch-of-the-day. Can we keep it? From the way she licks at it, you'd think she's either made a new friend...or developed a taste for sushi. Paws up and step away from the fish, cat!

Breaking Wind, Anyone? I'd--uh--Rather Not!

Turn on the television today in Northwest Florida, and you are likely to hear reports of "Breaking News, Breaking Weather..." The disaster preparedness people in Florida take their storms seriously, and I'm glad. People living in flood-prone areas can find shelter in various public buildings, but guns and alcohol--according to one of the spokespeople on the news--are not welcome. We have taken our own precautions in preparation for what is now Tropical Storm Ida by putting up storm shutters, securing loose items in the yard, and taking pictures of items that seem to take their cue from the approaching storm. This Camellia sasanqua "Yuletide" has already dropped some blossoms but would be well-advised to cease opening any more buds for at least another day or so.

Yesterday afternoon--no kidding--I found another snapping turtle, Chelydra serpentina, taking a break in the middle of our backyard, on its way to higher ground. It appeared to be traveling away from the retention pond constructed by one of our neighbors. The wind might not be breaking too loudly, but the rain promises to break out in abundance.

Peanut, Daughter's cat, decides to investigate the snapper against my advice. She does whatever the heck she wants anyway, like someone else I know. That trait must be a dominant one in this family.

We had heard a few days ago that some kind of storm was imminent, and Peanut must have been sensitive to either the potential "ethereal blow" or the gathering tension in her humans. She hasn't attempted this feat since she was a young'un.

This morning, before the breaking wind and rain prevented a walk, I decided to chronicle the demise of a house down the road from us. It looks like it needs one of those "No Trust Passing" signs I posted about a while back. When SAM still had his real estate license a couple of years ago he contacted the owner of this property about listing it. The owner said he wanted to wait and see about the market going up some more so he could list it for a hefty sum. The house ain't worth much, but the land sure is prime. He might be out of luck for a while.

He fumbles at your Soul

As Players at the Keys

Before they drop full Music on--

He stuns you by degrees--

Prepares your brittle Nature

For the Ethereal Blow

By fainter Hammers--further heard--

Then nearer--Then so slow

Your Breath has time to straighten--

Your Brain --to bubble Cool--

Deals--One--imperial--Thunderbolt--

That scalps your naked Soul--

When Winds take Forests in their Paws--

The Universe--is still--

*************************************

a poem by Emily Dickinson, c. 1862