More, etc.

I started another blog, one under the auspices of the local newspaper, The Virginian-Pilot. Check out the truly splendid faux toe of Porque Choppe at the top.

The Clean, Lavender-Scented Domicile

This was Leona's day to clean my house. She no longer employs the person assisting her last time. Today she showed up with three new helpers. She brought two of them indoors, took them over the house, top to bottom, instructing them what to do and what not to do. Carried in several buckets of cleaning implements and products. Then she and a third new assistant left for another house up the street. She whispered to me, "Please keep an eye on them. They're new." Hm.

I had things to do so I pretty much ignored them since I could hear them working upstairs, the vacuum going, etc. I tied little Porque on the porch since one lady claimed to be afraid of dogs; she'd been bitten.

After a while I took all my bedding out of the dryer where it was finally done. I carried it upstairs and left it on the bed, went back downstairs.

Mostly I worked on origami bats. I'm making white origami bats with red sequin eyes. Depending how a bat is folded, it can stand up, stand upside down, be in horizontal flying position. I was busy making decorations for the dinner here on Sunday evening.

After a few hours the ladies seemed to be nearly done. The one woman asked me where I go to church and when I told her I'm Episcopalian, she told me very sternly that I should obey the Bible where we are instructed to, "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord." She added that she knows of scripture references which obligate us to dance before the Lord, too. She asked, suspiciously, "What do Episcopalians believe?"

I told her that Episcopalians believe pretty much what all other Christians believe, that our main difference is that we like a liturgical service, nice and quiet and restful.

Whacking the dust rag around wrathfully, she told me that this is not good enough. I need to put some energy into my worship or it isn't right. I told her that once I tried to visit a church with a three-hour service, plenty of noise and dancing, and it took me a week to recover. I've got to stick to the more soothing, quiet type of service. She shook her head admonishingly. Clearly, she thought I was about to go to hell because I attend a church where it's too darn quiet. She gave me a hard look and told me that her brother is pastor of a store-front church a few blocks away where people know how to do things right. She repeated the name of the church and added, encouragingly, that it's across from the hardware store. She thought of another good point, "It don' us'ally run mo'den' two oh free owuh." I replied, "Way too long for me." She looked disgusted.

After a while the hubub died down. The vacuum quieted. The ladies dragged all their stuff out onto the porch, then came back in looking uncertain. I thought they were waiting for Leona to come back and critique their work, so I told them to sit down and be comfortable...and I got diet Cokes for them.

Sitting there, both ladies told me horror stories about their physical and family problems. One woman has had so much surgery that she's a regular Frankenstein. More interestingly, she's lost 40 pounds and is still losing...and looks like she should continue along those lines for about another 100 pounds. The other lady told about awful trouble with rheumatism, broken bones that didn't heal right, pain and agony with each step she takes. Yeesh! I began to feel like Simon Legree, causing these folks to work and hurt themselves.

Finally, they stood up and left, telling me that Leona would return to get her cleaning supplies, but they had to get to their homes.

They were gone. The quiet was nice. The house looked good.

Shortly Leona came back. She looked around and blew up, "I knew it! Those two! Look at this floor!!! Look at the baseboards!!" Her helper ran upstairs and yelled, "They didn't make this bed!" The helper did that and some other things upstairs while Leona redid quite a bit of the other work downstairs. I paid Leona and she and her helper went home. That lady has a hard life. She works like few other people I've met.

Anyway, when everyone was really gone, I put pasta in the microwave, set a lavender-scented candle in the sink after running some water. I ate the pasta. The candle soon scented the entire house. Every surface gleams. It's all good. Ahhhhhhhh. I like cleaning-lady day.

Hold The Videos

This morning for several reasons I watched videos which show the president making a fool of himself. At first I wondered if these were modified electronically to make Mr. Bush look really bad. For instance, there were three in which clearly he was drunk at press conferences. There were two where he was picking his nose almost up to his elbow. In a number of videos he did verbal bloopers. After a while it occurred to me that these videos span quite a bit of time. Then something else...I reflected that anyone caught on film as much as this man will surely be at a disadvantage from time to time. Finally, I found myself thinking that he's kind of a likeable guy, no pretense, none of that pompous ass stuff one finds so thick on the ground in the presence of politicians. He may be a corn pone, a drinker, a nose picker, a person who gets his tongue tangled, but he does laugh at himself. I had to quit watching in case what I saw influenced me to stop scorning the man.

The theme of each video was that President Bush is mentally defective. Hm...maybe so, but he's more likeable than John Kerry. God, please, don't let the Democrats pick another undead candidate like that. Such people may be worthy, they may be intelligent, they may not embarass us in public, but I don't like them. So, in the interest of electing Democrats next time, I hope these videographers give it up, stop, let it go. The thing is that even when he's being a dope, President Bush, in all these videos, comes across as a human being, not as a detestable blowhard. Watching him I got an Alfred E. Neumann-went-to-Washington kind of feeling, but it wasn't entirely a bad thing.

Kazakhstan, cont.

Searching for info re. Kazakhstan, I ran across a blog by a fellow who has spent ten years working in Kazakhstan through a United Nations subdivision. He recorded several English-speaking people telling their experiences. Most made an effort to be PC. Two did not.

BREAD...One of those said that to the non-urban Kazakh, bread is almost a sacred substance due to the rarity of non-meat foods. There is no such thing as wasting even a scrap of bread, should one be lucky enough to get some. Living in the city, Almaty, she did have access to bread and each morning after breakfast, she fed bread crumbs to the birds outside her door in the street. Neighbors remonstrated with her earnestly that this showed disrespect for the struggles of Kazakh people some of whom never even get to taste bread. She ignored the rhetoric and continued to feed crumbs to the birds until one day when a peculiar chain of circumstances began with her strewing crumbs and ended with her going to a doctor to have her wrist stitched where she'd sustained a serious cut. The neighbors assured her that this turn of events was a judgement on her for wasting bread.

T P...Another speaker told of the shortage of toilet paper and warned that visitors to Kazakhstan should bring with them all the toilet paper they might need during their entire trip. On the one hand, they could possibly encounter a bit of TP, but likely not. In restaurants/hotels, none is in the bathrooms. When you want some, you must call down to the desk which might send up one small sheet off the roll, if they admit to having any at all. Most Kazakhs live out and about on the steppes, mobile with their herds. They have no indoor plumbing. For city people, the quest for toilet paper usually begins and ends with newspaper/pages of magazines and a waste paper can beside the toilet. Can't flush newspaper. Travelers to Kazakhstan are urged to bring with them a product called Urinelle, a funnel-like thing a woman can use to more easily access the hole-in-the-floor type of toilet common there. With this type of toilet, there may be no way to insert paper of any kind into the toilet, so, once again, travelers are encouraged to bring little one-sheet wipes to use as potty paper and then to carry away with them. How do you carry around used "toilet paper"? Well, travelers are instructed to bring lots and lots of zip lock plastic bags to use in keeping TP until there's an opportunity to dispose of it. What do natives use? No mention anywhere.

Make Do

The Borat movie opens in about a week. Suddenly information about Kazakhstan abounds in the media. For people like me who consider the movie a spoof, this recent flood of info comes as a shock. Except in bigger cities, Kazakh food seems uniquely, horribly different. Kazakh natives eat mostly meat and they prefer portions which in the USA would never even make it into the grocery store. For example the head of a sheep, especially the brain. Another appreciated item; fried camel offal. Huh? Offal? Here you go: offal is the viscera and trimmings of a butchered animal often considered inedible by humans. We're talking ears, noses, guts, genitals, organs, eyeballs, etc. Fried camel offal. Well, now. Here, for example, is a camel kidney looking like, like, like...a camel kidney.

These people eat the animals they have, which are horses, camels and sheep. They eat dairy products derived from horse, sheep, and camel milk. Without refrigeration anywhere along the way. And they sluice down their meals with vodka, which, the more you think about it, makes perfect sense. Women, the offal of the human race in that part of the world, drink tea, must face mealtime stone sober. Sentenced to a stretch in Kazakhstan, I, certainly, would lose weight. An Asian nation as one big spa, you might say.

On the one hand, it's admirable that Kazakhs do not sit around pining for fruit and vegetables, but make do with what they have...which is meat. On the other hand, oy.

Precautionary Principle

The stuff still sitting on my porch after six uninterrupted weeks is there owing to my deference toward the precautionary principle. What it is, a person's got to question, "If I carry that laundry stuff we used at the beach back into my home laundry, what might be the result?" According to the precautionary principle, if there is no evidence to support the notion that something is harmless, then we should assume that the product is harmful. I could only know that lavender-scented laundry products would not trigger migraine in the neighbors if I went door to door and asked questions. Not having done this, I shouldn't just go ahead and swamp the neighborhood in lavender smell out the dryer vent. The precautionary principle applies the reverse of innocent until proven guilty to products, policies, and behaviors.

OK. I lied. That stuff is just on the porch because I don't want to carry it in. The box will probably still be there on the porch when I drop dead at some future time. I just wanted to use the words 'precautionary principle' in a few sentences. I finished reading Michael Crichton's book State of Fear a few minutes ago and he really does not like the 'precautionary principle', a concept I'd never heard of until reading this book. I've got to find a way to introduce those words in conversation soon. "The fact that you've made a practice of pottying your dog in my yard leads me to believe that you've applied the precautionary principle to the notion that allowing your dog to potty in your own yard will not result in your children picking up dog parasites through their bare feet." Something like that.

Brisk!

It was chillier last night. I dug around in the closet and found two extra blankets which Porque and I appreciated. This morning at 5:00 A.M. Porque's potty trip outdoors beat even her suer-speedy trip yesterday. Now, this feels like fall up north. Except that up north they're experiencing unprecedented snow. Anyway the yellow mums on my porch and the India corn hanging on the door combined with the red geraniums on the steps, it all looks seasonal and cheery.

Another cheery thing is the kids/Lydia/Dan doing their annual migration to Disney for the pre-Halloween costume fun and, of course, to hit all the rides. Last year Benny was Dash Incredible. This year he's Buzz Lightyear and Sadie is Ariel, the little mermaid. Yesterday after lunch they put their dog in the kennel and left for a week of whooping it up. I'm so glad that Dan took time off. He does a wonderful job of providing for his family, works insanely long, frustrating hours. He needs to spend time just playing with his adorable little children and laughing with his wife. Lydia needs to get off the homeschooling mom treadmill which she takes very seriously.

This week I have three projects; to make Benny's 1607 outfit, to finish my Halloween chihuahuas, and to make dinner party decorations. The outfit for Benny is going to take a real wrench of my will to get off the drawing board. I do not like to do something for which another person made the pattern. Once I get started, though, it will be interesting. The Halloween chihuahuas...well...no pattern for that. I began the heads a while ago and need to get them done. Then I can just drape fabric below for the Dracula, the ghost and the witch.

Yesterday I started to get ready for my dinner party a week from tonight, the vegetarian club at my house. I began to make decorations...origami bats that stand up resting on their toes and wingtips. I decided to dress them up with bead and sequin eyes. They are quite cute. Here are online directions if you'd like to make some of your own....and, yes, it is someone else's pattern, but most origami is over my head without directions. I'd also like to do rats and moveable vampire fangs if I have time. Hunting for patterns, I ran across this darling little kids'-fold project which I'll try when Benny gets back home.

Thou Shalt Not Bark At Bikes

Porque Choppe has mellowed considerably in the time I've owned her. However, she still barks savagely at bicycles. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the person on the bike. It's the bike. Today we were out and about for a while and Porque spotted two boys coming toward us on bikes. She launched a ferocious barking offensive. The boys stopped to ask about her. I took the opportunity to question whether they were in a hurry...they weren't. So I asked if they would mind riding back and forth past my house until Poprque stopped barking. They agreed to do this. I sat on the bottom porch step and held onto Porque's harness. In the other hand I had the end of her little nylon leash and when she refused to hush, I snapped her until she got the idea. After a while she calmed down and watched the bikes quietly. Then I asked the boys to get off the bikes and come over to meet her. She sniffed them suspiciously but wasn't hostile. It was a good first lesson in, "Thou shalt not bark at bikes." The boys promised to come back again soon to help give Porque another lesson. Very nice boys. Very naughty Porque.

Fireplace

This morning when I came downstairs at 5:30 A.M., it finally felt like fall. Porque Choppe broke the land speed record for going potty outdoors, did a U-turn, and shot back up the porch steps and into the house. I turned on the fireplace in the dining room for the first time since last winter. That was my best home-improvement idea to date, gas fireplaces. It's not exactly cold, so no point in turning on the furnace, but it wasn't comfortable either, so the fireplace was just right.

You Never Know Until you Try

This morning on the drudge report something I read sent me on a search which produced this information...The larva pictured is eaten by indigenous peoples of forested areas of Western Africa and South Africa as well as in the heavily forested areas of Central and South America. This occurs where it is possible to buy beef and pork as this larva is a preferred food although not always available...it has its annual season. When it is on hand, sales of beef and pork temporarily dry up while the natives enjoy their annual treat. I read that ounce for ounce it contains two thirds more protein than beef and one third more calories. The caterpillars are roasted until the skins become crispy and pop open. They are a finger food as you first have to brush off the little appendices before putting the rest into your mouth. Westerners who have had the nerve to try this item claim that it is delicious, having a creamy, buttery taste. The smell while cooking is highly appetizing. When you go to South America, plan to try this delicacy.

Also I read that there is a rising market in Asia for crickets as a protein increment of diet. They are fried and served atop salads. I saw pictures of cricket farms where crickets are raised year round and sold by the pound to restaurants.

Bottom line: I am reminded of the line in Scripture, "God has given us all things necessary to life and Godliness." And in another place, "Your Heavenly Father knows what you have need of before you ask."

We, in the West are fond of shrimp which, as Lydia points out, look just like insects. It's a world full of God's provision. We just have to be ready to accept what is placed before us. No, I don't need to accept worms, but I'm thankful for what does come my way in my situation. And I need to start looking differently at the ways God provides for me other than via food. Quite likely there are good things I'm not taking advantage of because of short-sighted prejudice.

High Water

On Sunday Benny and I left church early, exited via the side door of the church hall. An usher standing there warned me, "Pretty high water." I wondered what he meant. Asked if there'd been significant rain while we were in church. He said that an unusually high tide brought the ocean up around the building; this happens a couple of times/year; as a child he'd lived across from the church and he always loved high water time although his parents didn't appreciate a basement full of brine. I looked out the window and sure enough, the street flooded up over the curb and into the park. So I took off Benny's shoes and socks, rolled up his pants. Since I wore old sandals, I kept them on. We waded into the water which at one point rose 2/3 of he way up to my knees. I drove very slowly and carefully, to Benny's disgust. He wanted me to create a wake like a boat. Benny thought it was wonderful that the church temporarily became an island. He said, "Wow. We're almost at the beach." I thought it would be comical to stick around and watch all the well-dressed people come out of church, remove their shoes and wade, but we had to hurry to the Art Walk.

No Trespassing

Norfolk police do not have discretion to roust bad guys off your porch/out of your yard absent a clearly displayed No Trespassing sign. I made one featuring a drawing of the lovely Porque Choppe.

Clean

Yesterday I got up determined to exise from the floor anything which might prevent the cleaning ladies from doing their thing. So I went from this to that, removing, sorting, putting away. Someone once told me that when the cleaning lady comes, she first cleans house. I didn't do that, but I did spend all morning putting away and so forth. Then Lydia called to suggest a trip to Sam's Club. Lydia goes there once/month in order to cheaply buy those all-the-time items like paper products, cheese, kids' snacks, diet coke, bottled water, etc. Occasionally, I go with her.

It took about exactly three hoours. Sam's Club is formidable. I saw a lady who had run in to buy a tray of cupcakes and she was on her way out with the cupcake tray in hand...wow. That's the living definition of restraint. Unlike that worthy citizen, I bought a cart load of stuff; two bushel basket-sized yellow chrysanthemuns, cheese, printer paper, a pair of Tommy Bahama sandals, chips, Sharpie markers, South Beach high protein bars, and so on and so on.

Once back home, I got Benny situated in front of Noggin Channel on the TV and then the cleaning ladies arrived. They began upstairs. I could hear that bathroom getting a trip to the woodshed. Someone was spot-treating places on the stairway carpet. Lotta banging and thumping around in the front office. I tippy-toed up the stairs to see and Leiona's helper caught me. She said, "Where's Leiona?" I disclaimed knowledge. The lady got mad and began to slam bang things around. She said, "Well, then you get up here and tell me is this bathroom good enough so I can move along." What? Huh? A woman with issues. I soothingly remarked that whatever she had done, I was sure the bathroom looked better than it had to begin with. I went back downstairs.

Leiona came in the door with a big bag of cleaning supplies and a special reach-high duster she'd left at the last house they did. She went upstairs. I heard the angry woman. I heard Leiona's very sweet voice. The angry woman clumped downstairs and left. It sounded to me as if the bathroom job began all over again. Then the vacuum started up. After about an hour, Leiona came downstairs and began on the blinds.

I asked what happened to her assistant. She stopped working and told the sad tale. Leiona is a reach-out artist. She has a big heart for women with no hope and no chance to get up and out. However, she expects those she helps to show some sense. She now and then goes to one of the local homeless shelters to talk to residents, offer training followed by work. Every person she has ever helped in this way eventually falls off the work wagon. Said Leiona, "The last girl after a few weeks of showing up late or absent every day with endless excuses, finally just truthfully told me, 'I don't WANT to work. As long as I got a baby, I don't have to. They'll give me money to live. And I can always make another baby.'" Sadly, Leiona's present assistant is such a person. This woman has stuck with Leiona for a couple of months but she is troublesome on the job and frequently avoids the job. Always something. Last night her son had a problem that kept him out as a run-away all night and she stayed up to worry and today she was too tired to work. Like that.

I checked the clock. It was after 6:00. I said, "Well, I most certainly do not expect you to work here at this late hour. You've got to be exhausted. Why don't we just call this a day and you can decided on a time next week to come back and finish up?"

Leiona said, "No. I would rather see if I can finish today, if you don't mind. I think I can do it by myself. It will just take some time." When she said this, I kind of sighed internally thinking that she intended to merely hit the high spots. I had so hoped she'd do a deep cleaning this time, but I could not expect that in the circumstances.

Let me say that three hours later when Leiona left, she had done every window, baseboard, blind, floor, under each piece of furniture no matter what size. Also she'd shampooed the carpet on stairs and front office upstairs. Worse, she'd gone back to re-do what her helper did in the upstairs bathroom since it did not meet her standards. Leiona is one of a kind. She is a piece of work. I'm not going to put her whole name or her number on here because I don't want you to call her to clean your house. There's only one of her and I want that one to keep on cleaning MY house. I thank the Lord that I met her and that she agreed to put me on her list.

Now. We just have to get busy and find her some really good assistants, the kind who will not let her down. She pays entry-level workers $7.50/hr, so there should be no problem about the money side. Also she does all the necessary training and transportation and she works right with her helpers. If you know of a strong, healthy young woman who needs some income and who is willing to work for her money, please e-mail me. I'll let Leiona know. Another thing. If she had reliable helpers, she could do more houses...including yours. Seriously, y'all. Let's help Leiona find help. Next week I'm going to the Rescue Mission and to the Dwelling Place to talk to people there on Leiona's behalf to see if I can find some ladies for her to train. And, please, let me know if you know of a good candidate.

Leiona lost one helper who told her, "I can't do this kind of work. It's the same thing as enslavement. It's like going back two hundred years." This from a person living on the streets with no skills, education or income of any kind...a woman who had enslaved herself to poverty by a complete absense of good sense. Leiona, herself, has 7 years of higher education, but sees the cleaning industry as a way to earn money with flexible hours and control over her own work situation. The way she does the job elevates it to an art form. I really want to locate some good help for her.

Pain-In-The-Posterior New People

Last night I actually slept for a while but at 3:00 A.M-ish was awakened by the sound of someone breaking a big pane of glass. I jumped out of bed sure that someone had smashed my windshield. Oh. Mz Edna parked in my drive last night. She does that sometimes and it's perfectly fine. However, I hoped that she was not now minus a window pane. Put on my sandals and went out to see...and to water the dog. Hm...no broken glass.

This morning I walked all over the place trying to see where someone broke glass. I guess all my windows are intact. What caused that sound?

Before I came in this morning, Mz. Edna came out ready to go to work. I told her about the sound. She confided that the new people next door are not working out to be good neighbors. Lots of night noise. According to Ronnie, they sleep all day and stay up all night. Last night they woke her a couple of times with sounds of loud crying. The first time it was a woman. The second time it was the small boy, howling loud enough to wake the neighbors at 4:00 A.M.

Well, I don't like them. The daughter is out and about at all hours up and down the street loudly quacking into a cell phone. Every time Mz. Edna's good looking great grandson shows up on her porch, this girl is out there up and down the sidewalk. The mother is never visible. The littlest ones play right beside the street. I saw them out with a basketball that was within inches of the busy street and no one was out watching them. The only time I saw the dad, I thought he was drunk. He was sitting on the porch floor with his back against the house, a bottle in his hand. Ronnie was out at the time and tried to introduce the guy to me. Fellow just made some sort of sneery-faced remark and then ignored me. According to Ronnie, the dad is just out of the military and hasn't been able to find work. At night over there it sounds like fighting drunks. Not good.

These characters just rent that house. The owners worked all summer to renovate the place really well. Did a beautiful job. Now these yahoos are in there acting up.