Gitmo for Scorpions

When Patrice's parents were here, some time in late November I believe, we went with a couple other friends to the restaurant where he proposed to me. It was a lovely dinner and a pleasant trip down memory lane. Our delightful evening ended when we returned home and I found a scorpion in the kitchen. I captured it in a jar and sealed it up. We watched it for a few days, and each day we were surprised to see it kicking around, deprived of air, food, and water.

A few weeks later, we had a Christmas dinner party at our house with the other employees of Patrice's working house. I put the jar away in the laundry closet because there were some kids coming too, and I heard that at least one of the kids is a handful and I didn't want one of them to accidentally break the jar, releasing the scorpion among our guests.  I didn't throw the jar away at that point because it wasn't Friday and I didn't want the jar to break in our garbage can and allow the scorpion to escape into our yard. Then I forgot about it.

A couple more weeks went by and I had to refill one of my cleaning bottles and I rediscovered the trapped scorpion, still alive. It was still alive when my in-laws left two and a half weeks ago, and it was still alive yesterday when I was telling Diana (and Duncan in the background) that it was still moving after several weeks of being trapped and deprived of all needful things for survival. Not only was it deprived of food, air, and water, but whatever moisture was in the jar from the air and whatever substance may have been expelled from the scorpion's body was starting to mold. Also, it looked like the scorpion's tail was in the beginning stages of decomposition.

I kept a dead scorpion in a jar for a while this summer to let Nicco watch it, and when I finally decided to throw it away, the stench from the jar was overpowering and disgusting. I think I was on the phone with Diana when I opened it and started gagging and dry heaving into the phone. Poor Di. So, I can imagine the putrid stench currently trapped inside the jar. I don't plan to open it.

Today is Thursday, so I went about the house gathering trash to put out for collection tomorrow. I decided that I'll finally give up and throw out my science experiment scorpion. I shook the jar to see if it was still moving and alas, the small monster died sometime in the last 24 hours.

Diana expressed a small amount of pity when I told her about my prisoner. She said she would kill it and throw it away, not keep and torture the poor thing! Pfft, I say. Poor thing...scorpions in my territory will be starved, dehydrated, and forced to eat their own bodily excretions and rotting flesh if they hope to survive. Let this be a warning to all scorpions who come in my house. (and can read and work a computer)

Local H.O.G.

Some people associate the word hog with Harley Davidson because they think that Hog is just a nickname Harley owners have given their bikes. This is an accurate association in the sense that H.O.G. stands for Harley Owners Group. Another thing people associate with Harleys is their special sound. These are two things I know from my association with Harley owners. Years ago, Patrice rode around on a Honda Shadow. He liked that bike. It served his purposes. He said that while he would like to one day own a Harley, he didn't feel compelled to get one. His bike was good enough.

Then, he got a Harley. I remember him asking me one day what I thought about the revving and rumble of that engine. I probably said something totally vague and non-descriptive like "it's nice." He smiled and got a certain look on his face...a look I imagine I have on those special days when he brings home a chocolate mousse he made for a party or something. When my response was insufficient for the depth of emotion fitting the roar of a Harley motor, he said something like "What is the ONE thing people think of when they think of Harley-Davidson?" I think I shrugged my shoulders and said something like "live to ride, ride to live?" Patrice rolled his eyes and said "The noise, baby, the noise." Okay. Sure. The noise. Of course.

Which brings me to this afternoon. I was driving Nicco home from swim lessons and we pulled up at a stop light next to a (non-Harley) motorcycle. The bike was yellow-ish sparkly gold and Nicco oohed and ahhed and said "I wish Daddy's bike was like that, it's really pretty." I imagined Patrice cringing. Nicco immediately redeemed himself by saying, "but it doesn't even have the same sound."

This and That

I'm glad that my husband and I are friends, and that when he asked me to spend my life with him, it didn't come with the condition that I get medication.

I'm glad that "cold" is 65 degrees.

I'm glad that Patrice brought a harmonica home for Nicco the other day. It's awesome. ("Awesome" is open to interpretation.)

Of Cats and Scorpions

When our scorpion invasion began last spring, Patrice's landscaping friend (also the provider of the heavy duty industrial strength scorpion killing poison) said "get a cat." I asked if cats hunt and kill scorpions and he said they hunt them and catch them, so we can kill them. I remember watching my cat hunt and "catch" a mouse once...she tossed that little critter back and forth and up and down all over. I immediately replaced that memory with an image of Frankie doing the same thing...tossing and batting a scorpion about the house. Umm, no thanks! I would not want to be present (or let my kid be present) when the cat tosses a scorpion into the air.

Our friend also said that cats are immune to scorpion stings. That sounded good...if she will hunt the little buggers and corner them so I can kill them with no danger to herself, she'll earn her keep. I did a little research of my own. Turns out, cats are not, in fact, immune to scorpion venom, they just have a natural instinct that guides them to catch, dismember, and kill the nasty little buggers, all the while avoiding the tail (and hence the stinger and the venom.) I read several testimonials from people who live in scorpion country, all of whom confirmed the fact that cats are mighty and effective hunters of scorpions. On the few occasions when the cats were stung, it was generally due to human interference (read: screaming like a little girl, thereby distracting the cat and providing the scorpion an opportunity to strike.) I watched several videos on youtube of domestic cats killing scorpions and wild cats killing snakes. They use the same methods, clever kitties.

All the people I read about said they would not live in the desert without a cat, period. One woman said that her cat cornered a scorpion and it went into its freeze defense. She captured the scorpion and let it go in the desert. What the what? That's way too nice. I captured two scorpions when we had a heat wave in December. I sealed them both in canning jars. I sprayed our bug killer into one jar, hoping to see my prisoner writhe and convulse in its final death throes. To my great disappointment, it just seemed to fade away into non-existence over night. I kept the other one and have been observing it ever since. Without air, water, or food, that nasty little critter is still alive. So not only do I think that re-releasing the monsters in the desert is way too nice, I have kept and tortured the ones (mwah ha ha) that crossed the line.

Also, watching the kitties catch, torture, dismember, and kill scorpions is the best argument against declawing that I've come across yet.

Fin

In Praise of Laziness

I was very excited to see an e-mail from my newly reelected Congresswoman, Gabrielle Giffords, saying that she was holding a public reception at the Safeway nearby. I was excited and interested to see what she had to say and how the crowd might respond to her in her first meeting with her constituents. I was planning to go, considering that my in-laws are here and could watch the kid while I went out for an hour or two.

When the actual moment came for me to put on my shoes and gather up my stuff, I changed my mind. I was just too lazy to get off my little tush this morning. At the town-hall type meet and greet, Ms. Giffords and others were shot at. Apparently, she was shot in the head and so far they are saying 12 others were hurt. At this point, details about who the shooter is and his motivation for this horrific act have not been released.

This morning, I am grateful for my character flaw. Thank goodness, thank goodness, thank goodness. I'm so glad I was not there.

Fun Fact

"If we had a mole, it would eat up all our flowers."

Hollywood in the Desert

We went to Old Tucson Studios yesterday, a.k.a. Hollywood of the Desert, a.k.a. Cowboy Town.

As cheesy as it is, you really do get a sense of what life was like in the west back in those days. It is not surprising that the men (and women) were rough and crass and dirty and worn out. The little village still had some original buildings, but there was a huge fire that destroyed most of it. The renovation was mainly for movie filming purposes, and that is what most people come to see. Patrice made a comment as we looked through the Hollywood museum section that people come here to relate to Clint Eastwood and John Wayne more than the real history of the town. (Which is why I would still like to go to Tombstone some day...)

The school house is a reproduction rather than an original building.

The taxidermy was orignal. I liked the windows and porch light.

The fancy hotel, across from the not quite so fancy hotel. I imagined Al Swearingen and Sy Tolliver issuing subtle and not so subtle competitive threats to one another from the balconies of these two buildings...(so I guess I related to the movies and tv more than the history too...)

The magic elixir salesman's podium.

Every old town needs a gallows

Rules and wanted men

A crusty old cowboy offered Nicco a pony ride, but he was too intimidated to accept the offer. Darn.

We did take a carriage ride though, and he liked the bumpy, rocking ride.

I don't think he would have enjoyed the 50 cent ride from Tucson to Sacramento that took 3 weeks to make. The 10 minute ride around the lot was just about right for him.

A warning...this is what happens to horse theives in these parts!

Of course we took in a few shows with gunfights and crazy stunts.

Nicco in jail

"Crooked Creek" cemetery

At the can-can review...I think Patrice liked this particular view.

Papi, Nicco, and the fancy ladies. People who take their children to such shady places should go to prison...

hee hee

Happy trails!

Belote

At the risk of jinxing my winning streak, I must tell the Epic Tale of Belote.

Belote is a card game, very popular in France in general and among my family and their friends in particular. One evening after we put the kid to bed Patrice asked me if I'd like to learn a game. I'm a good sport (usually. not always. okay, sometimes.) so I said sure. You play Belote in teams, and unfortunate Papi was stuck with me as his partner. As expected, the first few rounds went poorly. I was scolded (in French) on nearly every hand for breaking some rule or making some foolish play. This was extremely frustrating for me, but remember, I'm a good sport. Sometimes. The winners in Belote are determined after 2 games of 1000 points and a third, called the "belle," of 1500 points. By the third round of our first game, I wasn't completely incompetent and I saved Papi from complete shame by complementing his hand enough to win the Belle. Nevertheless, I told them "Tomorrow, we play Hearts."

Days went by and games went by, and I continued to struggle. Patrice and Mamie won most of the games, but Papi and I managed to win one out of every three. All the banter before, during, and after the games was in French, so much of it escaped me, but the cocky arrogance spewing profusely from my dear husband was unmistakable. The combination of his bravado and my frustration inspired a little bit of pity from my in-laws (mostly Papi, who was probably mostly just tired of losing...) and there were a few small hints and reminders to me throughout the play as to what I should do and when. I started to catch on a little better, and when Papi and I started winning a little more frequently, Patrice and his mother defiantly opposed any talking. (I think they were getting nervous...)

As I became a little more competent and confident, the tone of the games changed. There was no more sympathy for the beginner. I started to actually take hands. There were a few that I hesitated on and Papi said that he, with his years of playing, would take them, but I in my inexperience was wise not to try. Sometimes, when I realized I made a mistake, Patrice would mock me and tell me it was too late if I wanted to change my card. When a card is played, it's played. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.

Papi and I were still the clear losers overall, and one evening Patrice said you're probably getting tired of it, but would you want to play Belote again? Now, remember, I'm a good sport. I sighed and said sure. I caught Patrice trying to take some hands that we actually won, (accidentally, I'm sure, and probably just out of habit) and at one point, Mamie changed her card. My eyes got wide (and probably wild) and I said (in English...) something along the lines of "you are kidding me! You people..." Then Patrice's eyes got wild and he stopped the game and said "What." Being a good sport was getting tiresome for me, and I said "Nothing. Nevermind. Let's just play." He said "No. You said 'You People.' What." So I said, "If it were me, you would not allow me to take a card back. You People with all your years of playing shouldn't be able to change cards when a card is played." So, he made his mom put her card back, Papi and I ended up losing, and I ate all the chocolate Mom and Dad sent us right in front of him. I shared with Papi and breathed my dark chocolate breath in Patrice's face. So much for being a good sport. My inner bad loser was starting to come out. She has been repressed in my maturity for the most part, but she can only be contained for so long.

Needless to say, we took a break from Belote for a little while. But, with Patrice taking lots of days off and spending lots of time at home, we needed to fill our time with some activities together instead of the boys going out to the garage all day every day. Even losing at Belote was preferable to me than trying to be a gracious hostess to my mother in law all day while the boys abandoned us. Patrice told me I could choose a game if I wanted. I said that we can play whatever everyone wants to play, meaning I was conceding to more Belote. He said if I don't choose anything different, we will play Belote. So, I sighed and we played Belote. We split the first two games, but once again, we lost the third. The arrogance of Patrice and Mamie was stifling. The teasing and the mocking was incessant. We played again that evening and...

Papi and I won. All three games. The next day, we won all three again. In the third game, we won two out of three. Patrice and Mamie were considerably less bombastic. Accusations of cheating were suddenly being thrown around. "Lucky" was muttered frequently. Suddenly, they had never seen any game where one team had all the luck and all the good cards. Since that turning point and up to New Year's Eve, I think that Papi and I won 10 out of 12 games. But I lost track. It might have been 13 out of 15.

As I mentioned earlier, on the Eve of the New Year, we played two games and were split evenly, 3-3. After midnight we played one game to 2000 to break the tie. Papi and I won. Last night, my people asked if I wanted to play and eat some snacks before dinner. Oh, certainly! I said. Let's continue the way the New Year began. When we reached 1000 points of the first game, Mamie asked who won. Pshh. Who won. We did, and we won the next one, and the next one too. So far in 2011, Papi and I are undefeated.

Patrice and Mamie won most of their games when I was just learning. I really wish I had kept all the score cards to see how many games we've each won, but by now I think it is safe to say that Papi and I are the "plus fort." It is a little surprising and crazy the dominance of our recent play, or "lucky, unbelievable, and crazy" as our opponents claim. It maybe is "incroyable," but as Papi said, "incroyable, mais vrai."

Bonne Annee, Bonne Sante

Nicco has stayed up to ring in the new year with us for at least 3 of his 5 years. We didn't especially plan to make him go to bed early this year, but at about 10:30, his eyes were looking tired and we were playing a card game, so we decided to go ahead and light some sparklers a little early and send the boy off to bed.

It was cold outside...I put on a winter hat and scarf and Patrice wore a fleece jacket! You know it's cold when Patrice puts on something fuzzy.

We toasted at midnight, then because our card game was tied at 3-3, we played one last round to determine the "plus fort." (Papi and me)

January first means it's time to put away Christmas. Frankie had zero interest in the tree when it was lit and decorated, but as soon as all the lights and ornaments came down, she couldn't stay away. Also, I'm the first victim of her claws. As I rolled up the strings of lights, she climbed my leg like she climbed the tree. Ouch.

Speaking of ouch, Nicco's dead nail came off. Yay.

And, we spent the chilly evening in the hot tub.

Not a bad way to begin the new year, I say.

A Note From The Grammar Police

Tomorrow, the New Year begins. Tonight is New Year's Eve. As in the eve of the new year, you know, the eve belonging to the New Year. The 'year' in  New Year's Eve is possessive, not plural. We are only celebrating one New Year. You may celebrate two years, as in ringing out the old and ringing in the new, but there is only one New Year.

May your NEW YEAR'S EVE celebration be festive and fun, and may everyone have a happy NEW YEAR!

Before and After

Remember when I said it was going to be cold? It is...see?

It was wildly windy and pouring rain all night, and we had snow on the mountains this morning. There was even a point in the day when the rain looked a little lighter than rain. Almost like snow. Apparently it did snow up at the boss' house. {{brrr}}

This is just a few hours later. Bright blue skies and sunshine. I still want a blankie and some hot cocoa though.

Airplane Museum

We can't really get away with having a new visitor here without going to the Airplane museum. Last time, we didn't think about the fact that to tour the boneyard on the base we need ID and Mom didn't have her driver's license and got stuck digging in the sand on Mars with Nicco while Dad and I rode the bus around the base. This time, I made sure that Papi and Mamie had their passports so nobody would miss the tour.  We got there just in time for the last tour of the day, but alas, it was sold out. We all missed it. Next time...

I'm running out of things to say about this place. They did rearrange things a bit, and had a step ladder next to this plane so that you could get up close and look inside the cockpit, which was new and cool for Nicco. They also added some vending machines placed sporadically throughout the museum, inside and outside. They also added a restaurant, which I think is a great idea. If you do both the museum and the base tour, you can be there for quite a while. Last time with Mom and Dad, we survived on cheese and crackers, m&ms and coke.

In the control tower...the airplane that you could climb into was no longer there. Nicco liked to be in the control tower and "talk" to the pilot in the other plane. He was pretty disappointed that the plane wasn't there. I was not.

Nicco's favorite aiplane

Papi, Mamie, and Patrice in the outside part of the museum.

Playing peek-a-boo with Papa

And this is how you do the limbo...you just duck under the stick.

Flight simulator

Digging in the dirt on Mars.

It is always impressive to see all the military planes in one spot like that. Being near the base we also get treated to flyovers sometimes when we visit. I wish that my in-laws would have been able to see the boneyard, but I'm not sure I care enough to go back to try again. Besides, it's going to be cold for the next few days!