the wet

As I've said before and am likely to repeat repeately, the dog must be walked.

But not today, maybe. See, it's not just the rain. The rain, I can take. I know that my thighs will get soaked because my raincoat acts like a giant gutter, but that's of no consequence. I need a good hot shower anyway.

No, it's not the rain. It's not even the wind, which brings down huge alder limbs. I'm not afraid of the wind. Or, when I am, I just go walking on the beach. Problem solved.

No, today, it's the sleet and snow. Or whatever that chunky white stuff is that's coming down with the torrential rain (and though it's been raining a lot here, it's not been this kind of deluge). Well, to be honest, it's the sleet and snow and wind and rain all at the same time. That's why the dog might not get walked. Or maybe she will, though I'll have to put on my reflective vest to walk around up here, since it's dark and there are no sidewalks or streetlights and the beach is likely to be even snowier, even sleetier, certainly windier, and generally just a lot less pleasant than up here back from the bluff.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Now, if you speak caninese, please let Inti know that, because she's getting pretty pissed off.

geek

Let me just say that today's lecture (basic botany) had a few little gems for me. One was an explanation of the capillary action in trees and other plants, and how the xylem gets water from roots all the way up to the highest leaves. It involves chemistry and the charges of the various atoms that make up water, but it was the clearest explanation that I've ever encountered and I doubt I'll forget it. In a nutshell: water is sticky (it is attracted to itself), and as water exits the leaves from the stomata during transpiration, it pulls water up behind it. Cool, huh?

Well, it was to me. Nyah.

The other gem was an explanation of a plant's response to light, and the difference between short-day plants (which flower as the days become shorter) and long-day plants (which flower during the long days of mid-summer). Which basically was a lesson to me on how to force flowering - in houseplants, anyway - when I want to. I think I might just be able to put that into some practical use.

We got out early today, so I rushed home to remove the apical leaders of the plants I want to get bushy. They didn't need that meristematic tissue, did they? 'Cuz I need more rosemary.

a wee bit of wind

Ya know, the dog has to be walked. Doesn't matter if it's raining, windy, or if Mt. Rainier has decided to belch its guts all over the surrounding terrain. Well, maybe we'd skip the walk if that happened.

Today it was a bit breezy. Not enough to knock limbs out of trees, like it was a few weeks ago. Or so I thought. At the beach, we had sustained winds in the 25-30 mph range. With interesting gusts. How do I know? Well, hobbitt bought me an anemometer.



I think that 43.4 mph gust was, well, brisk. I'm still getting sand out of my ears, and I desperately need to wash the salt spray off my glasses.

So now you can picture me walking down the beach this evening in my long down coat, purple scarf, and Reinstock baseball cap (with my coat hood pulled closely over) like some weird, puffy, dog-crap carrying Pete Townsend-style Statue of Liberty, except it's not a torch but a Skywatch Xplorer I anemometer.

what if

I was talking with a friend earlier today about love, marriage, commitment, etc. We were thinking about our friends who are struggling in relationships and/or marriage, and during my evening walk I realized some things.

I got married at the age of 24. For the next four years I struggled mightily with my marriage. It wasn't good. C. was a good guy, but way too wrapped up in his studies - and way too unaware that I existed, except for his intimate relationship with my credit card and automobile - for anything good to come out of it. Then I spent another four years trying to cram my spirit into the idea that this unhappiness, this craving for something more, was just going to be my life, forever. I spent zero time at home, and lots of time in the company of vodka or wine.

The only way I can explain how it was to be me at the time is this: insanity. You know the definition - doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.

So I think, and I don't believe I'm all that far off, that if I hadn't separated from C., I would be dead now. Really most sincerely dead.

My separation and divorce were unbelievably painful, and it was a mutually agreeable decision. I can't imagine what it's like for folks who aren't on the same page about it. My hat is off and my heart goes out to them.

Anyway, the point of all this is that I believe I'm here today because I didn't swallow my upbringing and simply bear it in that marriage. Because I rebelled, I survived.

I'm not proud of this. But I am clear about it.

what you can cram into a single day

That would be 8 hours of lecture in class, first on pesticides (do you know what LD50*, regarding pesticide toxicity, is?), and in the afternoon, on herbaceous garden plants, including a whirlwind tour of roses.

The sun was out today, all day. But the lecturer was wonderful. I'm not all that thrilled about the rose thing, though. (Sorry Angela. Yours are beautiful, though. I have to admit that.) Still, I didn't feel the need to run screaming from the room as I wanted to last week with the houseplant fiasco, which was nothing more than an unprepared (and I'm being kind here, since I could have made up plausible answers to some of the questions he couldn't) nurseryman's rant. ("Why are tropical plants shipped in refrigerated trucks?" "Golly, Timmy, what do you think would happen to your palm if it wasn't refrigerated for 5 days while being shipped from Mexico?" and "How do growers force flowering?" "Well, let's think back to our days of trying to grow pot in the closet, shall we?")

Ahem.

It was sunny, all day. When Mrs. Pandammy and I finally left the building, as if shot out of a cannon, our first thought was to head to the beach and see what the paddling opportunities were like. They. Were. Good. And so within 15 minutes we were out on the water, though with only one seal today, and a very, very large one, at that. We only paddled for about 30 minutes, or until her new cocker Teddy decided he'd had enough of merely watching birds and jumped out of the boat to get himself one. He proved a bit too slippery to haul easily back into her boat, and he was slipping out of his floatation jacket, too.

But we had amazing views of the Cascades, and Baker and Rainier in particular. It was good. Our menfolk came down when we hauled our boats in, and the four of us with our canine companions took a long stroll in the twilight.

You really ought to come visit, don't you think?

*LD50 is the lethal dose of a pesticide, expressed in mg of product/kg body weight, that will kill 50% of the test subjects. Which is to say, rats. And we're talking acute poisoning here, not chronic. No lingering deaths for these damned rats!

Pesticides with an LD50 dose (oral) of up to 50 mg/kg body weight are labeled DANGER. Those between 50 and 500 mg/kg are labeled WARNING. 500 and up, CAUTION. Now you know what those signal words on a bag or bottle of weed/rat/insect/fungus killer mean. Personally, I won't consider touching anything labeled DANGER.

This has been your JeffCo Master Gardener (intern) moment. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

first things first

We came to the decision that we needed major yard work before considering a hot tub or spa. We have no appropriate area for one right now that is pleasing to us, and it's not like we can just pick it up and move it after it's installed.

I also came to my senses about a spa that has enough jets to peel the skin off my back. Yes, it might have been sweet once or twice, but we can spend a little more than half what that bad boy would have cost us, and still enjoy ourselves. Which gives me a lot more money to work on the yard.

Or have professionals do it.

Which is the only way my garden will ever be on the tour.

Well, all righty then! What should I freak out about next?

more of the regular crap

So Mrs. Pandammy and I drove out to Sequim today to pick up some necessities (which is to say, nobody around here sells Pur water filters, hence a trip to Mal*Wart). We stopped at the shop in which she just bought a new hot tub. The place had a couple of 2005 models on sale. She wanted me to see one of them, and so...

It was nice, but aggressive looking. It had something like 92 jets, some of which appeared as though they could take the finish off furniture. It was big - way bigger than the one we had at druid labs east - and it can be mine for a mere $$$$, including steps and hydraulic cover lifer, delivered and installed (excluding the concrete pad and electrical work, and any necessary permits). This one has had water in it, as it was a floor-model (though not a bathing model) for the past year. I don't care so much about that. Heck, my last spa had been used by any number of reprehensible human beings before we bought the house.

Sheesh. That's a lot of money. But more importantly, I've never bought a hot tub before. I have no idea what to look for. hobbitt and I generally used to float, late at night (midnight-ish) before bed, sometimes take coffee out there on an icy morning, or just warm up after a late-afternoon swim. We rarely turned on the jets. We liked the quiet, the sound of the wind in the pines, and a calm view of the stars. Mostly I think that if I need my neck massaged, I should see a massage professional, and not rely on my hot tub for therapy. But I digress.

Our yard has no privacy. (This isn't entirely consequential, since there are no street lights out here and our nights are seriously dark.) Our deck is miniscule, and we've had ideas about expanding it, but it is made of Brazilian walnut and any expansion will be pricey. The yard is a blank slate and needs some major landscaping, and we do not yet have a plan. The drain field runs through the middle, and we're not entirely sure where.

This is where my inner Pisces kicks in. I can't make a decision. I think this is a decent price for a well-made, well-regarded hot tub. And maybe it isn't such a bad idea to plan the entire yard around this fixture, and maybe starting anywhere is better than doing nothing. Or is it?

son of disclaimer

Well, that was the New Joy Sea coming out in me. You know, the posturing, the grabbing of crotch, the calling out of the probable felon brother-in-law as the target of unspecific rage?

Wasn't that cute? Really, wasn't it?

No?

Yeah. I didn't think so either.

I have to learn to call disappointment, kinship with my sister, a strong sense of injustice, or outrage at irresponsible behavior, simply what it is. The world doesn't operate according to my rules or sensibilities. But I shouldn't let the dramas bring out the worst in me: that judgmental and demanding self-righteous blowhard.

We are what we are. We triumph, we fuck up, we move on, or not. This life is the whole catastrophe, and we cannot pick and choose our personal plays. What we can do is inhabit our body and spirit fully, walk with integrity, and wear our compassion exposed. Or try. Sounds good, doesn't it?

I'm on it.

disclaimer

That sounded harsh, didn't it? That my nephew is in big-time trouble and all I care about is that I live 3000 miles away.

But if I look someone in the eye and say, "I'll always love you and respect you if you tell me the truth, no matter how ugly it is. Just respect me enough to not blow any more smoke up my ass," and that person looks me in the eye while blowing smoke up my ass, all the while knowing that I know, well, what can I say? I'm done.

I've offered my home, mentoring, friendship, trust, meals, money. No offers were taken, other than meals. And money, though it wasn't mine, but rather an early distribution from the inheritance. By the time that happened no money of mine was ever going to head M.'s way.

I'm really sad. I know it's not always possible to help someone. Sometimes you just have to wash your hands and move on. Hopefully I won't have to learn that one again. His mother tried to get him to some psychological evaluations long before he quit his third or fourth year of 12th grade, but the sperm donor refused permission since he didn't want his child "stigmatized" by having that on his school record.

To my ex-brother-in-law, Mark R. of Neptune City, NJ, I'd like to say this: it's a damned good thing that heroin possession doesn't have any social stigma attached to it. Good job!

Ooooh. That was even harsher. Stay tuned for disclaimer, part II.

why I'm glad I live out here

I just found out that my oldest nephew (24) was arrested in New Joy Sea on New Year's Eve for heroin possession.

He's a (thankfully non-custodial) father, a tattoo artist, and a gang member. He thinks we're too stupid to know why he's got a tattoo on his face.

He blew through his inheritance in a matter of two months in 2004, when I finally got Mom's estate settled. And no, he doesn't have a fully-loaded luxury car to show for it.

Part of me wants to be angry about this. Angry with his male parent (calling him a father would besmirch the word for eternity), and not entirely ready to let his mother off the hook. The kind of chaos in that house, when my sister was still not ready to leave, has taken an amazing toll on the psyche of all her children.

Maybe M. will learn, finally, about consequences. Lucky for me I'm totally not attached to that outcome for him, because it's unlikely.

What I'm a bit more attached to is the idea that the other kids, including the next two who also never got their high-school diplomas, and the last two who are still in high school, might learn something.

The only thing I'm asking the universe for is this: next-generation relatives who wouldn't rip me off blind if they visited (like they do to their mother). How sad is that?

curious

Today my neighbor Danny went paddling with me. We spent about an hour and a half a quarter mile off-shore, chilling. The harbor seals were busy, but took some time to follow us around a bit. The bigger two didn't come closer than perhaps 50 feet, but this young one was more curious. Danny and I were still and didn't speak much, other than to alert one another where the seals were popping up. And this little guy kept hanging around (usually coming up behind us), eyeing us and snorting softly. It was sweet.

Eventually the breeze picked up and began pushing us further out into the bay, so it was time to paddle in. But I wanted to stay out there all day.

I can have it all!

It's true.

I can get up before dawn and have enough time for coffee before going off to class.

I can listen to an exciting, stirring lecture on the natural history of this area, and then go home for lunch and even have time to take the dog for a walk on the beach.

I can listen to a dreadful, pointless lecture on houseplants, not chew my own leg off (because during that dog walk on the beach I noticed there was no wind and the water was like glass, which is to say, perfect paddling weather), and still have time for a nice 45-minute paddle afterwards.

And after I put my gear away, I still have time for another wonderful long star-lit walk on the beach with my amazing hobbitt.

If my lucky stars are really with me today, I can also have time for a fun night out on the town with hobbitt. And dominoes. And maybe some fiddlers practicing at Sirens. But this is all optional.



If anyone had told me a year ago that I could be this calm and unstressed, I would have called that person a big fat liar liar pants on fire. Of course, now I have to work on centered and focused.

mindless day meme

Alison didn't ask. Screw her, I say.

Four jobs I have had in my life:

diner waitress
chairside dental assistant
college instructor
barmaid

Four movies I actually watch over and over:

Twister
Men in Black
Independence Day
Groundhog Day

Four places I have lived:

Center City Philadelphia
far west surburb of Chicago
the Pine Barrens of New Joy Sea
the Quimper Peninsula of Washington

Four TV shows I love to watch:

Law & Order, multiple channels
Doctor Who
Hatching, Matching & Dispatching
Getting Along Famously

Four places I have been on vacation:

Oz
Vancouver Island
Long Beach, WA
some remote cottage in northern Ontario

Four websites I visit daily:

various news sources
my bank
whatever blogs light up on my sage feeds
Dictionary.com's crossword puzzle

Four of my favorite foods:

roasted red peppers
cheese, grommit!
cippolini, heaven help me
white chocolate

Four places I would rather be right now:

kayaking

Four bloggers I am tagging:

all 4 of them

ten

First, calculate the area of the garden. In this case, it's 500 s/f.

Then, calculate how much fertilizer we need to get a pound of nitrogen. In this case, since the product is 5% nitrogen, it's easy. We'd need 20 lbs. (1 divided by 5%, or .05) of this product to get one pound of nitrogen.

Since the recommended rate is 1 lb. nitrogen per 1000 s/f, then the answer is to use 10 lbs. of product for the 500 s/f garden.

I swear this crap will trip me up every flipping time. Heaven forbid I have to calculate this with 8-12-12 or 33-5-5. I think I'll need a calculator inserted in my palm.

ah. okay. right.

I have been assured by my neighbors that the blooming activity is quite normal. And I do recall that when we were here last March 5, the heathers and fruit trees were in full bloom, and bees were busy. The folks in the Master Gardeners class speak lovingly about a thing called "year-round gardening." I don't believe I understand the concept.

The grasses dried up this summer, both up here at our house (because I don't believe in watering turf grass) and down at the beach (because there simply wasn't any rain this summer). As soon as October hit, everything started to green up again. Our so-called lawn is in really good shape. In mid-January. Luckily, it's not growing tall, because I'll be damned if I'm going to mow a freaking lawn in January.

Or maybe I will. Who knows? Whatever the case, I'm loving it here in spite of having to get up at a god-awful hour to get to class on Tuesdays and Fridays.

Okay, a quiz: how much 5-10-10 fertilizer (that recommends an application rate of 1 lb. per 1000 s/f of garden) would you put on a 20 by 25 foot garden?

EDIT: That's a recommended application rate of one pound of nitrogen per 1000 s/f of garden. Aalln gets another try at this. *wink*

I'm so confused

It's January, right? Early January.

My neighbor's tulips and daffodils are coming up.

The pandammy's garden is starting to bloom all kinds of things.

And oh yes, weeds are starting to emerge.

WTF?

cycles

Yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of my Mom's passing. It was an interesting day in 2004. I'd spent the previous night on the floor of her bedroom. I got home in the early morning, went outside to play with the dog, and a poem came into my head.

My bones tell me spring
is out there, pensive, hidden.
It’s a knowing that cannot
be explained. The deer are
mindful of this fact even
in November. Of course
I understand the seasons,
and the calendar gives clues
but that’s not the spring
I’m thinking about – this
cycle, the turning, something
deep within speaks of life
and miracles. Maybe broken
hearts are better receptors,
or my fatigue draws the
curtains open to that light,
but how else can the
perfection of tall white oak
begin with nothing more
than what fell, heedless,
and gathered by squirrels,
stashed, forgotten, put down
roots in the cold earth
and reach toward what
it does not know? I ask you
this: how? I am so tired
in what should be my time
of rest, and still I know
that spring is out there,
that roots will plunge,
fawns will emerge,
and step into the light
with gratitude for all
that is made, and for
whatever mysteries await.

I probably posted this last year, too. Anyway, I am continually amazed at the calibre of character of the folks with whom I've had the honor of walking some of their last steps. My sister-in-law was one of those amazing individuals. Her dearest friend in all the world made her memorial service such a loving tribute - with excellent music and wonderful words said to an overflowing room - and I'd like to honor not only Lisa but her loving partner in crime, Trudy, by posting the beautiful words Trudy had to say at the service. She got through this without losing it. For that alone, she has my unending admiration.


For Lisa

As children, our minds and hearts are open to new friends and we see the world with great wonder. We explore, we imagine, we play. Children make friends so easily. Spend a few hours at a playground with a child if you don’t remember. A half hour of observing another child close to your age, inching in closer and closer until someone says “Do you want to play?” A few swing rides, monkey bars, and short time later someone says “Do you want to be my friend?” Before you go home at the end of the day you have a NEW…BEST…FRIEND.

As we become older, our focus narrows. We become more suspicious and choose our friends over a longer period of time. By the time we are adults, we meet significant others or lovers, work companions, and acquaintances, but seldom do we establish close friendships. Why is it so difficult? The necessity to have good friends doesn’t change from childhood to adulthood, yet our inhibitions and busy lives seem to limit our ability to develop these friendships.

I met Lisa during a golf outing for Davenport College when she was finishing her degree and I was an adjunct instructor. We clicked in the 18 holes of golf and talked of playing on a league together. It reminds me of those childhood days when someone says “do you want to be my friend?” Making friends with Lisa is just that simple.

How many times as an adult have you met someone you really enjoyed spending time with and missed the opportunity to develop that friendship? Well we didn’t. Lisa and I have played golf together every Wednesday night for many years now. I say played golf – but in reality – we simply laughed and had fun. I knew that every Wednesday night we would unload our stress by the first few holes, re-focus, and laugh our way through the rest of the round.

Starting out the league golfing in the high 60s, our goal was to always be in the very bottom of the league – because we were convinced that meant we had more fun than all those who stressed over their golf game. I know we did. I can hear the name calling now when a competitor shot a bad shot when battling it out for last place.

Amazingly, our golf games have improved over the years. Not because we tried – our focus was always on the perfect cocktail to go with the right snack. (how nice to have a former bartender as a golf partner). Every week was one adventure trying to top the previous. Together we created some crazy fun nights for the Ladies Teed off Golf League. We had the Happy Gilmore drive, wore orange life jackets on the water holes, the champagne hole, slingshot drive, toilet seat putt, and many others. The team of Lisa & Trudy & Lisa & Kim had a lot of fun sponsoring themed holes for several years. No matter what happened – it was fun. There was always an adventure. We never finished writing “The Balad of Hickory Ridge” and ,”Coon Up my Shorts” after an freak coon fur incident where I dragged Lisa down a hill after she jumped out of the cart and still hung on - but we had a lot of fun creating the lyrics after everyone knew she was ok. We’ve stripped off our shirts and teed off shirtless on a hot summer day.

Unlike the childhood day at the park, it took a few years for Lisa to become MY BEST FRIEND! Like children, we explored, we imagined, we played. We also drank a lot of wine.

What fun we have had!

Lisa was a founding member of the GKAA. We started out with a golf outing of 8 original women and some golf balls labeled G.K.A.A. that had fallen off a semi. This is no fly-by-night organization. We have membership certificates, initiation rites of passage, meetings, sisterhood, and nicknames for everyone. Mike has named us “Sisters of the Moon”. All in fun, but very serious about our members. Lisa, being Lisa, was our biggest recruiter and was always bringing people into the fold. She would call me up and say “I think she is GKAA material”. Basically a woman of intelligence, sense of humor, independance, moxy, drinks a bit, and she has to be open to a nickname. Lisa has recruited the Southern and Midwestern constituencies. Basically this organization is about supporting each other through laughter and fun.

How privileged I have been to share my world with this intelligent companion over the years. I talk about all the fun we have, but there is so much more substance to this person.

Lisa is always open to a new experience, new friends, new places. She loved to travel with Mike and take family vacations with Niki. Their European trip was the highlight of her life.

While I killed all of my plants, I had to hide them from my Master Gardner friend who could take a seed off an ornamental grass and get it to root.

As a mentor to Matthew for many years, Lisa always set aside the time to get together with him and coach him through his schoolwork along with other life skills. She enrolled him and transported him to baseball, cooking classes, drawing classes, and a few others. Matt’s successes in life will be due in part to this person who generously donated her time to make his world better.

Lisa has the uncanny ability to remember everyone’s name.
I know, that as we speak today she is greeting all of those you have spoken about in loss, and calling them by name as she meets them and tells them that you miss them.

From planning our golf fun night with ridiculous antics to watching her bravery through cancer, I have witnessed and shared her incredible sense of imagination and courage. What a wonderful, peaceful, spirit!

Children are not afraid of saying goodbye. They don’t regret one moment. Lisa was the same. She has lived life to the fullest with every breath. She was always positive and supportive – consoling us even when she was the one with cancer.

Not many people have the opportunity to say goodbye, and even then they may miss the chance because they are afraid. Lisa embraced these opportunities to share special moments with Mike, Niki and little Emily, her family, and her friends.

For those of us left behind, our teeth will eventually be replaced with dentures; our joints with titanium, we’ll wear hearing aides, take blood pressure and cholesterol drugs. Our memories will slip, our careers may fail, and we may become cranky during the trials of our lives.
Lisa will always remain young, beautiful, sharp as a tack, successful, fun loving, and full of laughter.

As I close on this final tribute to my friend, I would encourage you to honor her memory by

Making a new friend
Trying a new experience
Living moments in life with
Childhood abandon

Explore . . . Imagine . . . Play

Success

To laugh often and much;
to win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others;
to leave the world a bit better,
whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch
or a redeemed social condition;
to know even one life has breathed easier
because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

take a break from that closet, please

Yes, I stole the image from Allan. I first got the idea from Rude Cactus, and he's up to 143 comments (I can only dream!), but it seems to be spreading. And evidently, I've caught it.

Okay, here's the deal, as I understand it. This is National Delurking Week according to somebody. Which means, if you have stopped by to read this blog, would you please leave a comment, and maybe even reveal yourself as something other than anonymous? And while you're at it, add yourself to the Frappr map.

I swear on my mother's grave I am not a stalker.

a view back on a good day

a regular friday in january

It's dark and gloomy here lately. Imagine that.

Today I cooked up some stuff - I never know what to call these dishes - with leftovers and about-to-be-tosseds. Basically this amounted to chicken andouille sausages, sauteed onions, peppers and cabbage, a shot or two of white wine, and some Cajun seasoning. It. Was. Good.

Then I took a nice long walk on the beach with Inti. It was low tide, calm. I didn't rush our walk but as soon as I got back home I packed up the car with the accessories for a little paddling trip. Then as soon as I got down to the beach again, it had started to rain.

Plan B was to take Inti up to the Laundro-Mutt in town for a bath. We both got soaked, but she actually got dried.

When I got home there were two surprises: one, a phone call from dear friends in Akron Ohio who are planning an Alaskan cruise and who would like to visit with us for a while afterwards! Woo hoo! I've known this family for more than 20 years now. We became friends back in the ex-husband-and-dog-show days.

The other surprise was a package from Archie McPhee. There was no doubt what was inside. I have little doubt about who sent it.

The card reads: New house...new rubber chicken. It's the law.

This is no ordinary rubber chicken. Oh no, this is the Lamborghini of rubber chickens. It's deluxe. This is America's #1 rubber chicken, inspected by the U.S. Department of Fowl Play, for wholesomeness. It is made of only the finest latex rubber.













































So I'm cracking up and remembering all the rubber chickens I gave as gifts back in the day, all the folks who commented on the chicken I had hanging over my kitchen sink in Downers Grove, Illinois. This is better than a gift. It's a legacy, in a very surreal and somewhat juvenile way.

Which pretty much describes me to a T.

So fess up P! And thanks! We'll take good care of this rubber chicken, right up until the day its feet crumble from dry rot like all the others.

flogging? tar and feathers?

ALBANY, N.Y. - Hidden cameras recorded nursing-home patients being left in their own waste while staffers watched movies, and 19 workers at two facilities have been arrested, prosecutors said Thursday.

Attorney General Eliot Spitzer also filed civil charges against the owner of one facility, saying it received state Medicare money for care that wasn't provided.

Videotape from that facility, the Jennifer Matthew Nursing Home in Rochester, showed a patient and other residents who hadn't been repositioned to avoid bed sores and were often left for hours to lie in their own urine and waste, Spitzer said. Medications and treatments were not provided as prescribed, he said.

Staff had moved call bells away from patients and stopped doing their rounds so they could socialize, watch movies, sleep or leave the building, Spitzer said. Some employees were also accused of falsely filing records that claimed they provided required care.

The arrests involved employees there and at Northwoods Nursing Home in Cortland.

Eight former licensed and certified workers at the Rochester home have pleaded guilty to charges involving neglect and false records.

The civil charges came against its primary owner, Anthony Salerno. Spitzer said the home had received $10 million in Medicaid funds in the past several years.

The cameras were placed in patients' rooms with their relatives' consent, Spitzer said.

Investigations were continuing at the Cortland facility and other nursing homes statewide.

I have only two words to say: death, and penalty.

Okay, I don't really mean that. But having cared for a few elderly and infirm, and a few terminally ill loved ones, I have come to one easy conclusion. Caring for our elders and caring for the helpless is holy work. It's hard. It sucks. There is no reward. But if you have even a vague interest in the Golden Rule, there's no other choice. Few are cut out for it. The folks who are, are woefully underpaid and underappreciated. My mother's caregiver, Eunice, was an angel. I believe that literally.

I'll only be 50, if I'm lucky, in one year and 52 days. Yet the time is fast approaching that I might have to consider passing my last days in a facility. My mother was 100% sure she didn't want that, and after visiting with Aunt Grace as she recuperated in such a place, and listening to a staff member say, "I told my son that if he ever put me in a nursing home, I'd haunt him for the rest of his life," I was completely in step with my mother's wishes. She had a fortune, of course, to pay for home care, which isn't exactly the norm. But I'd have dug deep in my own pockets to make sure she was always safe; there's no doubt about that.

There are myriad ways which twisted people inflict suffering on the innocents in their care. Given my recent life experiences, this particular offense wounds me quite deeply.

attitude

So last night, as I was getting ready for bed, way later than I'd hoped, I had a moment of panic. I had to get up today at 7, to be ready to get to the Master Gardener program interview and orientation. A familiar cold feeling of resentment, mostly regarding my morning doze fests, crept in. Damn! What was I thinking, to sign up for this class?

Then my brain paused, reflected, and shifted my thoughts.

This morning I get to start my new year right, with an early rising. I get to go with my neighbor, my friend, to a class that will fill these winter days with learning and maybe even comaraderie and connection. I get to study stuff that I love, for cheap. I get to begin making my life over into the better image I've had in my mind for years.

I understand why I would automagically resent anything that even hints of responsibility, but I'd better start the work of giving that resentment up. It's perfectly within my power to get to bed earlier, and it's even within my power to take afternoon naps. Is sleeping really what I'd rather do than become a part of life here? I think not.

Anyway, wish me luck with the attitude part.

happy new food - uh, year!

We had a small party here at the labs last night, after a day of hiking out in Deception Pass State Park, up toward the San Juans. It didn't rain on us like it did the day before, when our houseguest Marjorie the Wonder Chimp from Chicago and I slogged around the batteries at Fort Worden. We had great views of the San Juan islands and on our return to the ferry, amazing glimpses of the Olympics.

Anyway, we ushered in the new year with a few neighbors, many bottles of champagne, and food. Lots and lots of food. We had swiss almond dip with apples. We had sushi and pumpkin flan. We had artichoke dip. We had spinach balls, pecan cheddar bites, veggies with "bloody Mary" dip, a relish tray, crab souffle, and chocolate mousse. We toasted the new year in each time zone. We almost had sesame chicken bites and pineapple blue cheese pizza, but got distracted by conversation and bubbly.

This has been a good year, in spite of losses, heartache and the uproar of moving. We've come to a good place on our journey, and we've arrived with good cheer, good health, and good friends. I have few expectations for the coming year. It will be what it will be.

Sometimes, in small ways, the world is what we make it. I have my work cut out for me in the coming year. May it be a happy labor.