Could use another day or six....is it 2012 yet?

I did manage to decorate a bit this year, but it never really seemed like Christmas with that capital "C." Suddenly it's over and now I have to decide to take them all down again.

I'm relieved that New Year is a week after Christmas. I feel like I have another whole week of Christmas-past to finish up the holiday tasks that I, blessedly, actually did get started.

Not finished yet, though, so I'm glad that I can mentally stretch Christmas out until next Monday. There will be people who are clearly getting their Christmas cards, not just after Christmas, but MAILED after Christmas.

I am putting all the addresses into databases this year, so that next year should be far simpler. Once again I'm putting on the big girl pants. Here I am, pushing 50, finally getting a Christmas card list in order.

The fence never looked quite right without snow!

The three black bundles of energy are still here. Tortellini was nearly adopted but the home visit didn't pass--a first for me. They are driving the older cats absolutely crazy. It's a good thing I can keep them in the upstairs bedroom at night so the house cat can have some peace and relaxation. They are such lovely cats. I'm going to have to pull out the stops to get them homes.

I almost considered putting up a tree in the house, but I decided the stress of keeping it upright and the ornaments unbroken would ruin the holiday. Instead I installed a smaller tree on the front porch. Since I had no guests for Christmas, far more people enjoyed it out there, anyway. I know I did.

The cats aren't the only ones who get presents from adopters. I'll post more photos when there is better light, but these are the ones that made me laugh. I stole a cat toy from Mary's stash, because I thought the mouse was too cute to get chewed on (he'll go in with my tree ornaments), and Christy and Gordan gave me a tiny fiber optic Christmas tree that is powered off the USB on any computer. It changes color and it makes me smile.

Lynn in NJ sent me these...my favorite of all the silly gifts...

I'm awfully glad they don't have udders and teats! And they are WARM!

Digging out

I have Wed and Thursday off. I work Friday, then have Saturday-Tuesday off.

I'm not sure I can cope with so much time off in a row! Not to mention the upcoming holidays. I have to make sure I don't let these days slip by. I have kittens who need homes, and projects throughout the house that need to get finished. I've been tripping over lumber in the upstairs hall, and yards of fleece for winter curtains, for weeks---nay, months.

There are also tasks in the cat facility. If Faith sticks in her new home, I plan to move Arthur's big cage into the cat room where it is warmer. If I can find a home for Gawaine, then I would only need to heat the run room and the cat room. I would need to put a cat door in the vestibule door, so when the cats are at liberty they can go into the unheated section.

But first and foremost, the kittens need to get re-homed. The activity level in the house is way too high, and frankly, the senior cats are miserable. I've had eight cats before, but never three young cats at once.

I haven't received a single inquiry about them, which is absolutely out of character for this close to Christmas. Normally I am flooded with emails from people who want to get a family member a gift cat.

I have a creative idea to get them some more publicity. I won't share it now, but I hope to before the end of this weekend.

Tommy, Jewel, and Arthur are off to the veterinarian on Thursday. Tommy especially needs a special home--preferably with no other cats. He just wants to be someone's one-and-only.

One more trip out to the cat facility and then to bed.

Squeak is sick

Squeak stopped eating awhile ago. He's a tubby, furry cat, who is comfortable lounging around the house, but isn't one for being cuddled and petted unless it is on his own terms. I didn't not notice his weight loss until I managed to pass by him one day and run my hand down his back. He purred and rolled, like he normally does. I could feel his spine--in that way that felt harsh and unfamiliar under my hand. Uh oh.

I was traveling for work two weeks ago. It was a longer stretch--five days. Bear was in the house instead of being allowed to wander outside during the day, and he's a jackass when it comes to Squeak. Squeak is a jackass when it comes to Bear. Instead of just popping Bear in the nose like all the other cats do, Squeak stares. This makes Bear stare back. Stares turn to a confrontation, and Squeak always runs. Bear chases him. There are no outright fights, but it has made Squeak less than his normal happy self. Squeak also dislikes the foster kittens, hissing when they go by. He especially dislikes it if I raise my voice to the kittens, telling them "NO" to get them off the counters, etc. If I raise my voice, Squeak thinks I'm yelling at him, and off he goes.

The other cats are all able to tell when a command isn't directed at them, but Squeak and Molly-the-dog always take it personally.

People are sometimes surprised to learn I have "only" five cats (in addition to the 14 cats for adoption in the cat facility). I've had as many as eight, and in my opinion any more than three cats begins to cause stresses in the household. Two to three cats is optimal.

Some people might say that a few stare-offs "aren't that bad" as long as there are no fights and everyone is using the cat box. But constant harassment, even if no claws are involved, can make life miserable for a shy cat like Squeak. And for a fat cat who already has health issues, five days hiding from an irritated indoor-outdoor cat who can't go outdoors can cause real problems.

I noticed Squeak wasn't coming down to eat treats with the other cats. After a day or two of me tracking him down and laying a pile of Fancy Feast dry in front of his nose, he began eating again with gusto, and I figured all was well. I made sure Bear was out during the day, and even closed Bear up in the great room at night so Squeak could be comfortable hanging out by the fire.

Squeak got skinnier. He began turning up his nose at treats and Fancy Feast.

So, off to the vet we went, and his kidney and liver values are a mess. It looks like Squeak has fatty liver disease. I have been feeding him by syringe, and he hates it. Now any time I look at him sideways he runs away. If I shut him in a room he digs frantically at the door. When I put him in a cage he just howls.

He still loves the wood stove, and he is still drinking, so I make sure I have his food ready to go so when the opportunity arises to scoop him up without trauma, I can feed him. I have hung the screen door that I normally use when I want to keep kittens in the den, so he can't hide upstairs.

I've made more sleeping spots by the fire so they'll be less competition, and Squeak has managed to stake out the dog crate and the ottoman whenever he likes.

We'll see.

Taking advantage of the "over-50F" weather

When nature gives me weather over 50 degrees, I give myself a paint brush, because it's the last chance I'll get. If I don't get things spruced up now, I'll be staring at them all winter.

Paint for the bench mom gave me last year, and stain for the birdhouse she passed onto me this fall.

Farewell, broken shutter.

And another coat of stain for the steps, cellar doors, cat enclosure, and picnic table before the snow flies.

Well, this is fun...

Nasty weather just misses us

I was supposed to help my mom out, cleaning out her gardens for the winter, but the threat of bad weather kept me on my home turf. Of course, this meant the storm would just miss me, although it has made a mess out of Binghamton, so wouldn't have been able to get to mom's easily unless I took the northern route through Cortland.

I did get my snow tires on, fed the Fast Food Ferals and stocked Kat up with food for them for the week. I stopped at Agway for fatwood for the fireplace, and picked up cat food. With the tires in the car there was no room for cat litter, so I'll have to pick that up next week.

I stopped at Kia to get the "required" Kia USB cable to use my iPod in the car, and ordered the window trim piece that flew off on the PA turnpike when I drove to The Animal Law Conference in Philly a few weeks ago. $118 for the part and $91 (one hour) labor to put it on. I think I'll do it myself, thanks, or pay Craig. The cable rang up at $59 until I pointed out it was $38 online from Kia, then suddenly, surprise, it was $42. Computer error! Right. I no longer believe in the goodness of man when I comes to commerce, I'm afraid, especially after my recent experience with fuel oil companies this past year.

I did stop at the West Danby craft fair (the roadside signs worked on me!) and picked up a few small Christmas gifts.

By the time I got home, the snow began to fall, and it's still sifting down. The online scanner for Binghamton bears witness to cars sliding around crashing into things, so while I feel like a wimp, I'm just as glad I didn't go out.


I'm very happy to have the heavy tires back on the car again, and when I buy new summer tires to replace the weenie dealer tires I have, I'll probably buy snows (without studs, of course). As soon as I turned the steering wheel onto Rt 13 it was like driving a different car. It is stable, nimble...and loud, unfortunately. The tires grab the pavement and that little car moves right out.

When I'm in Kost Tire I have to waste some time, which usually means a cheap breakfast at Manos, a stop at the bead store, and a stop at Salvation Army Thrift Store. At the Thrift Store I scored three huge new-looking blue totes that I can turn into cat shelters to give away, and a rather tacky wall hanging of six large wood hearts that I can sand down and put to other purposes---namely "don't let the cat out" signs to hang on the porch, to give away or sell. I'm not big on hearts myself, but the quality of the wood, and the cheap price was too good to pass up. I learned I would be losing my bead store stop, alas, as she is moving to Dewitt Mall (a cool old school in downtown Ithaca) where she'll get much better traffic. Then my cell phone buzzed, and my car was ready.

So much for excitement for the day. It's just me, the scanner, the cats, and lots of housework for the evening.

Loving my screened porch

I wish I could have done it earlier in the year, but I'm glad I can enjoy these last few nice evenings. The screened porch has cut a lot of work out of my life. There are no pine needles, no leaves, no bugs. I can sit out here with Molly (not with the cats yet...I don't have all the corners fastened down) and rest easy knowing that if a raccoon or bear came trundling up, I'd probably have time to grab her before the critter ripped through.

Molly is a bit more protective and growly now that she can't go busting down the porch stairs on her tie-out to check out every little rustle. She growls at the wind, at pine cones dropping...things she could go investigate before. And I have to say, I leave her on the tie-out, even though she is on the porch with the door shut.

Because I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and sometimes that shut door might not be latched.

It's kind of hard to explain how much more secure just a flimsy bit of screen can make you feel. The porch used to feel exposed--part of the outdoors. I very rarely sat out here after dark. Now it feels like it's part of my territory.

I dread the day I know will come, when windstorm sends a stick flying through it, or one of my cats decides to launch himself up on it. I plan to only let my senior pet cats out here. No crazy kittens. I know what they'll do, and they can have the cat enclosure which is of good solid wire.

I have discovered that there is a veeeery large spider living in one of the tubes of my wind chimes. I never noticed the very small web she had built until this evening when I discovered a spider filling a quarter of it. Yeesh! I've been moving those wind chimes around all week, from hook to hook as I worked putting up the screen, not realizing one of those metal tubes was occupied. I think I shall leave them be. Were it spring, the chimes might get attacked with spider spray. But in a week or two it will be winter, and those cold metal tubes are no place for a spider. It seems somehow sinful to rob a spider of her last warm days on earth, just because I have the heebie jeebies. So I just slowly moved my chair back.

I toyed with the idea of taking a photo tonight, but it would just be harsh with the flash, and I could not convey the sound of the creeks...still full and running, and the unknown things who are peeping, and the owls who call every now and then. Then there are my facility cats, who know I am out here, and periodically they let out a sad meow from their personal windows, still open, hoping I might come over before bedtime.

Some odd bird is calling. It's dark! Who would that be! Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep!

I don't know. I don't mind. I'm just happy to be out here.

In Norwich, as a teenager, I used to sleep on the porch and worried somewhat about passersby wandering up on me behind the heavy vines that grew up the wire trellis. Bear and raccoon were not a concern. It occurs to me I could hang a hammock out here to sleep the night away. I have no worries about humans out here.

I'm not sure what would concern me the most. The bears that might wander by (Molly would bark) or the spiders that could dangle on down. I doubt Molly would have much to say about them.

FINALLY...a screened porch

A screened porch has been on my list of "dream items." I even had a local contractor come out to give an estimate (plus $3000), and a neighbor/carpenter come out to give an estimate just on framing in the door I'll need. Both were out of my range (although not unreasonable for the work that would be done) so I gave it up.

Then, as a wedding gift, I did some hostessing at the wedding reception of my friends Gail and Jennifer. Their back porch is screened in, and they just put it up themselves without fancy attachments. It looks great. Gail mentioned that they still had a large roll of screen in their basement, and I asked her to come up with a price and I'd buy it.

A few weeks later, she messaged me on Facebook that, because Mark and I had given her a set of dishes EONS ago, they would give me enough screen to do my porch, for free.

Well, there you go. Never underestimate the power of a simple favor.

This weekend I went at my porch. It's not quite done, but it's already reaping benefits. I've been able to sit on my porch without being swarmed by bugs, and after last nights' torrential rains, my porch is dry! Rain has always been blown across the porch so that it is sopping, even though it is a large, roofed porch. Apparently the screen will help keep rain at bay.

Now I will no longer have to rake the leaves of my porch in fall, or shovel it in winter.

I didn't do it all alone, of course. I had help.

Once it's all buttoned up, we'll see how my house cats feel about being able to have morning coffee with me.

LOVE flashmobs...

Thank you, Nancy!

Busy summer--and it's almost gone!

Tomorrow is August 1. 30 days and we'll be hitting September and what, to my mind, is fall. I've taken a look at my to-do list and my still half-painted house, and in a fit of determination (I almost typed "desperation") I have taken a day off every week through September, to try and get things done before snow flies.

One thing I must do immediately is go out with the loppers and cut down the burdock scattered around the property, before it stops being pretty, and starts being a nuisance.

I did not get a garden planted this year, technically. I started some seedlings...too early, as always. I tucked them into my flower garden instead of the back veggie garden, so I could keep an eye on them. I've been eating grilled zucchini and zucchini bread, and I surely wish my tomatoes would do more than flower!

I had been waiting for my zinnias to blossom in great anticipation. They were supposed to be purple. Well, they ain't. They are pink. Perhaps the soil wasn't right to bring out the blue.

My mother upgraded her sewing machine, and made a present to me of her old one. I have two kicking around here that are old, and have been jammed since our work party a few years ago. It's wonderful to have a sewing machine that's not older than I am!

The sun beating in the front windows of the cat facility is an issue I've been meaning to deal with. I need curtains, and store-bought ones won't do. So I ran out to Joann Fabrics a week or so ago and picked up some bright fleece to help cut the sun, and also hold back the cold this winter. Fleece is the most cat-proof fabric available, and my lazy self also liked the fact that you really don't need to hem it because it doesn't unravel.

However, when I was making the curtains (and I'm no seamstress) I told myself it was time to put my big-girl pants on and do something right for a change, rather than half-assed. So I did sew the seams on all four sides of the curtains, and maybe they'll look a little better and last a little longer.

My swallows have been dive-bombing me for the better part of two months now, without a single baby-beak peeking out of the new nest they built on my pole saw in the barn. I was beginning to believe it was going to be a bad year for the swallows (perhaps insects were killing the fledglings) when I notice little heads peering out at me the other day. Bear is now banned from the outdoors until they have joined their parents in the sky.

It wouldn't feel like summer without a whole line of swallows sitting on the phone line outside.

Beautiful weather. Long to-do list!

With the arrival of hot and humid weather comes some of the "uck" that goes with cat rescue. Molds and fungus grow, maggots breed, cats shed profusely. Wet food can't be left out. I have become friendly with bleach again, both in the cat facility and my home. Currently I'm giving my kitchen floor it's ten-minute wait under bleach and water. After do the some cat laundry tonight, the bathroom will get the same treatment. Iget complacent over the winter when everything is chilly and bone-dry. It's easy to put off mopping and satisfy yourself with sweeping. But once the furnace or heaters are off the the humidity begins to climb, it's time to stock up on my friend Clorox. All of us in the animal welfare profession keep waiting for that magical day when someone discovers something else that works so well. So far, we are still waiting.

Some people can't abide the smell of bleach and luckily I'm using it in well-ventilated areas, so the smell has dissipated in 24 hours after a serious cleaning, and within an hour or so after a wipe-down. Gone as well are the hundred or so other little sordid smells that we did not notice until they were gone. "Wow, it smells CLEAN in here."

I have been using a small pump-style pesticide/fertilizer sprayer in the cat facility to spray bleach and disinfectant, and it works so well I purchased one for in the house. No more hand-cramps from trying to use a re-purposed glass cleaner bottle. In the cat facility, I can bleach down the falls without a fuss, and then pass over them the next day with a spray of hot water. It means mopping up the floor afterward, but a little more bleach and water never hurt a floor.

The cats are PO'd because I have to restrict their wandering until everything is dried off. Currently poor Tyler is shut out in the cat enclosure because I didn't realize he was out there when I closed the window to cut down on cat traffic.

Trash has to get emptied more often (discarded cat food and summer heat are not compatible), and the trash must be taken to the solid waste facility each and every week.

When I start cleaning floors, I have to cast a critical eyes on what's ON the floors, and whether it's anything worth keeping. I thump-thump-thumped old cat furniture down the stairs to the bottom of the barn. I've re-wrapped the sisel rope on them enough that it's time to say goodbye. Old cat toys---outta here. Old cat beds--also history. The best of them are going through the laundry twice with bleach to be bagged up, awaiting winter again. The cats in the facility prefer stretching out flat on towels, or sleeping in their slings, when the weather is warm.

So that is my July 4 weekend. Tomorrow, the 4th of July holiday, I'm working as a hostess at a lake party, flipping veggie burgers and keeping things picked up. Then Tuesday it's back to work!

Three-day weekends go fast.

Rain by buckets

It began as a beautiful, although cloudy, morning, and has become an afternoon and evening of pouring rain. Sheets of it, straight down.

I have a trap out for the Shelter Valley kitty (who hasn't been seen since I touched her last week. I guess I should have netted her). I may as well go close it. I doubt she'll venture forth from shelter tonight.

I find myself at a loss for words. I keep thinking "Oh, I should blog," and throughout the day I can "see" myself blogging. But when I have a few minutes that I might sit down, weariness sets in. Boredom. Overwork. Blah, blah, blah. I roll through the real estate ads for houses in Owego, thinking what I need is a life with humans in it, but then I sit here on my porch and realize I'm barely hanging on to a dream. Would I really let it go? I could do cat rescue probably more efficiently and more within my means in a cheap house with a nicely redone garage (although you never know if people might freak and yell "hoarder!" if they see cats peering out of windows. Can you blame them? Opening "to the public" to alleviate those fears would probably require zoning requests that would not be granted.) But from here, should the opportunity arise, I could one day build my small education center and surgery suite for spay/neuter.

I keep thinking there must be a way to put more hours in the day and more money in the bank. Time, especially, seems to drain through my fingers.

I was looking forward to the SACA conference in Jekyll Island this July. The idea of three or four days with good people, and a quiet bike ride on the long empty beaches sustained me through this winter. Unfortunately, the conference has been cancelled--something I only noticed when I visited the web page to verify the time to book my flight and send some shelter visit ideas off to my supervisor.

So I guess I'll just sigh wistfully over last years photos.

The rain is ending. I think I'll jump in the car and go check that trap and close it for the night. Maybe Molly would like to go for a ride.

What have I been doing for a whole month?

Watching this...

Fed up with looking like hell

Getting another cat dumped on me sort of made me snap. I need to find homes for these nice family cats, and in order to do so, I need to have space for nice families to come see them. The rooms in the upstairs of the house worked to some extent, but if the person can't climb stairs, they are out of luck in both the house and the cat facility. And while the downstairs of the barn is painted, it still looks like...a barn. I've grown increasingly sensitive to having people see me as a "cat lady" first and foremost, but I can't help but feel everything LOOKS cat lady-like. Over time, things get shabby, and after you've fixed them six or seven times, it gets old.

However, it's not old to the people who visit. If they walk in and see rope unwinding on the cat furniture, they don't see the six times you've cut it all off and replaced it, or thrown out old cat trees and purchased brand new ones. They see only THAT shabby cat tree.

Today I was walking up to the barn, privately lamenting that the windows, once again, needed to be scraped and painted. A piece of glass fell out of one window awhile ago. It looks like hell.

I walked inside the first floor and the crumbling concrete by the door met my eyes. Sure, I'd done some creative spatter-paint work to disguise the stained 80+ year old floor. Still. The wind whistled around the door itself. It was a barn floor, and a barn door.

Enough.

Cricket and Pauli (the new cat) went into the vet today, and when I drove back into pick Pauli up from his neuter, I went to Lowe's to price sheet vinyl (it'll be $400) and Home Depot for windows. I decided to do the windows first and picked up four. Once I got Pauli settled in at the cat facility, I went into demolition mode and discovered old barns aren't so easy to tear apart. However they do finally succumb to a crowbar, hammer, and Sawzall. Then I discovered the opening were larger than the windows. I only managed to tack the windows up to make sure everything would work out before it got too dark. I'll have to take them down, flash them properly, paint the trim on both sides, and put it all back up again. But they already look so much better. And INSIDE. Wow. What a difference.

Four windows, vinyl on the floor, a new door, and a vestibule so cats can't sneak out. That's the plan.

Tea, Portia, and blogging

The porch kitty who showed up here awhile ago is now Portia. She had been staying downtairs in the barn cat facility, but I brought her inside to the boarding rooms while I was traveling. It's quiet as heck up here (time to add a radio) so tonight I came up with the camera, a mug of tea, and my netbook to get a photo of her and spend some time.

When I took Portia into the vet to be spayed, I asked them to check for a spay scar. Her fur was entirely too glossy for an unfixed adult female. Sure enough, they found one, so after a combo test and vaccinations, home she came.

I put an ad in the Broader View Weekly (thank you, Karen!) and called Stray Haven, but haven't heard a peep.

Tonight, I finally convinced her to stop rubbing, rolling, and purring and come up on my lap to lay down awhile. As we sat here, I suddenly realized her paws were awfully soft...

Portia is declawed!

What is your story, little girl? How did you get here? Do you belong to one of my neighbors who has not thought to stop by? Did some pissed off boyfriend dump you here because his girlfriend loved you too much? Did your owner die and at-a-loss relatives figured here you'd "find a home" (if the elements didn't kill you first)?

Being declawed will make her much more adoptable. I just don't want to adopt out someone's lost and beloved cat.

Grumble, grumble...more snow

So, it all melted (well, most of it) and it all came back.

Just in case you were wondering if the truck could get buried even worse than the last storm, the answer is "Yes."

Mental Health Day

Work has been hectic? How hectic? Hectic enough that I have been told to TAKE A DAY OFF! As if on cue, the Demons of IT decided to demand payment for this generosity by eating our work inbound mail. I spent two days wrestling with the Mothership to get it back, and other coworkers leaped in to answer the resulting backlog.

I have resolved that today will not be wasted staring numbly at the walls, or falling asleep on the couch. This has been a soul-sucking winter, and I cannot let it win. There are so many little things I could do that would remove tiny hurdles that make my day-to-day life incrementally more difficult. Getting rid of them would make my days incrementally better. It is within my ability. ;)

This positive outlook was launched by the adoption of Sir Morgan. Yes, the sweet and Pudgie One found a home, and someone is home all day! So he will have more affection than he will know what to do with. Now if only Tiger Tom could find a similar home. It is good to see Sir Morgan's cage empty. I was going to move Portia upstairs (the black cat who was recently abandoned here), but frankly I think she would rather have all of the first floor to herself and come upstairs for periodic visits, than be caged for half the day upstairs. I'm thinking about moving Coyote downstairs to be with Portia (the black cat the was abandoned before Portia appeared), because it's clear that she doesn't enjoy sharing space with a colony of cats. She's thriving (glossy and fat!) but she's not the laid-back affectionate cat she had been, and I think she would get more adoption notice downstairs as well.

The weather has been brutally cold. We get an occasional sunny day in the 30s, but our days of "thaw" have been limited to one 50-degree day, which is atypical for a NY winter. Normally we get a good 3-5 days of freakishly warm weather some time in January or February. Not this year.

I'd best not waste too much time blogging until I actually have something to blog.

PostNote 10:47 am: After cleaning the cat facility, I left Portia loose upstairs with Coyote, Morgaine, and Gawain. I'd like to get Portia and Coyote used to one another, then Coyote can move downstairs once the weather is warmer and they can greet visitors and hopefully get "first dibs" on folks who would take an adult cat. It's so hard to be a black cat--even a black cat with gorgeous copper eyes like Coyote or the perfect affectionate soul like Portia's.

I am now making cinnamon rolls. Don't get impressed--they are the Pillsbury pop-up type.

Three-day weekend--and trying not to waste it

Note: I put this in "draft" and never completed it. Sigh.

I think anyone who lives in a snowbound state will admit that February is a pretty lousy month. There is always that hope that winter will miraculously melt away and not come back. Reality, however, keeps knocking, with repeat snowstorms and harsh winds--often the day after a rare gorgeous day in the 50s.

Like today. The harsh day, I mean, after the beautiful warm day.

Not the warm day. That of course fell on a Friday, when most folks are working and wishing they weren't working.

When you work from home, owning a dog is rather like being a smoker who works in an office building. You get free breaks. For some reason, an instant message that "I have to clean the cat box" ("why don't you wait until after work to clean it?") doesn't have the same get-out-of-jail-free impact of "Walking the dog, brb!" You don't have to ASK to walk the dog. You just announce it in IM, and go.

Should I ever part with Molly, I don't think I'll tell anyone she has been adopted into a family with three dog-loving children. I'll still announce "Walking the dog!" and then go cuddle with my cats for fifteen minutes instead. ;)

To be a cat-owner working from home is rather like being an overworked non-smoker at the office, enviously watching those smokers pick up their pack and say "Be just a sec!" on a beautiful sunny day.

Creative fundraising: The Syracuse Symphony Orchestra

Sometimes you have to pack the old "woe-is-me" away in a box and realize other people have bigger monsters looming. For my sister Linda, this monster is the financial need of the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra, which is on the verge of going under. Linda plays piccolo and flute for the SSO.

The symphony has always been a part of my life. All members of my immediate family played instruments when we were young, and I think Linda embodies all of our dreams. There are those who continue playing--and there are more who do not. But we dream of having done so, we embrace and admire those who have.

There were many years it seemed the only time Linda and I ever had a chance to get together was when she was playing in a concert for the SSO or the Society for New Music, and we would rendezvous afterward. Symphony positions are not easy to get. There is only one piccolo. It's not like, if you lose your job, you can just put your resume out on syracusehelpwanted.com It means auditioning (and investing in travel) all over the U.S. should a position open up. It means competing against other incredible musicians who are also fervently seeking the position (Auditions are blind--the judges do not see who is playing, so unlike the Presidency, a pretty face or good interview clothes get you nowhere). It means selling everything you have and moving should you be fortunate enough to get the position. IF you get a position.

You don't make a ton of money in a small-city symphony. You are certainly already doing other things--teaching privately, at local colleges, playing part-time with other orchestras or ensembles--to make ends meet. This all requires incredible organizational and time-management skills, and a damned good car. Not to mention instruments! You don't buy a clarinet in college and play the same one your entire life. No, there will be the progressive moving-up-steps to better instruments (and multiple instruments). There will be wear and damage. There can be theft. It's not a cheap profession by any means.

And then there is the insurance--or rather, the lack of it. As a musician, if you are not lucky enough to have a full-time symphony or college or school position, you are not insured and must pay for this yourself.You will also fall apart a bit. You will sit a lot. Stand a lot. Your hands will suffer from repetitive movements. If you have a toothache and your instrument is a wind instrument, you are in trouble.

The SSO rolled out a "Keep The Music Playing" fund-raising campaign, and have so far have been met their first goal. But it is a huge set of goals. Local businesses have been stepping up with special events and fundraisers (something I hope continues even beyond the campaign--who doesn't want to dress up and socialize before a weekend concert?).

Linda has always been supportive of my work. She adopted two cats from me. She has pitched in for work weekends, and basically has helped keep me sane. When the SSO said "We need money" I went over to their web site and made a donation. It was a drop in the bucket when compared to the need.

When you aren't in a position to give a huge donation to a campaign, one thing you can do that is VITAL--is be a "body." Seriously. If an organization can show photos of a full house at an event, or market "buzz" on the web (generating news articles and keeping the campaign before the public) or say "XX people attended"--someone else will give another donation because they know they are supporting something their community cares about. While the $25 to participate in small events doesn't seem like much, when you multiply it by 100 attendees (bring a friend!) it becomes a sizeable donation. I try to be a "body" when I can. When you are a participant, you almost always get some benefit in return. A meal, the company of other like-minded people you never would have met...

or a tattoo.

The SSO put on Facebook that BioGraphix Tattoo Studio would offer music-themed tattoos for a mere $25 with 100% of the proceeds going to the SSO.

I mentioned to Linda that I was going to come to Syracuse to get one. Linda mentioned this to an SSO marketing person. The SSO marketing person said "Wouldn't it be great if one of our musicians would get one!" Linda said "I will!" Then I got an email from her with the subject line "It's all your fault!"

Now Linda is "inked."

(photo from the Post-Standard)

I wasn't able to get free  to join her on Wednesday, but this Saturday I did the morning chores and drove out to Syracuse. Mike, the owner, talked about the other successful fundraisers they have had for autism, cancer, and now the SSO. He and other artists also talked about their children and their musical talents. These guys LOVED their kids. They positively beamed when talking about them. Mike said the fundraiser has been very popular so far, and that one day there were ten people waiting when he arrived. The whole hope, of course, is that people will give a bit more than $25 for their tattoo (I did) and tell others.

So here I am, telling! Maybe a tattoo isn't your style. There will be a lot of future events to choose from. Look around your own community for your own art organizations, historical societies, and other cultural organizations. How many times have you thought "Oh, I should go to that...but maybe next time?"

Perhaps you'll discover, tomorrow, that there are no more "next times."

Linda's is the classic black tattoo with the treble clef and eighth notes (very "piccolo" I thought). When she arrived to see me getting a pair of bass clefs she joked: "Mandolin...Not exactly bass?" I replied that it wasn't likely I'd ever be a good enough mandolin player to make a distinction. I made my choice entirely on the pretty factor. (Apologies for blinding you with our winter-white legs!)

We then navigated the huge Syracuse snowbanks to a local watering hole, where we drank, ate, laughed and had a wonderful time, enjoying a rare evening of brightness in a long and dreary winter.

After we stopped by her house to feed the cats, of course.

I'm happy to look down at my ankle the rest of my life to smile and think of my sister. Let's hope the music never stops playing.

Things I've been meaning to do...house history

About five years ago (or more) Mark and I found our way down to the Spencer Historical Society (no web page). The volunteer docent on duty took us to their records room and looked up photos and information on our house and the Ferris family who lived here. Woodbridge Ferris was born here.

The docent, who I am fairly certain was also an officer of the Society, said we could have copies for cost. We did not expect them to deliver them right to our door, which they did. We gave them an extra few dollars and also became members. I've tried to keep up the membership since then.

The photos kicked around in a plastic sleeve and we would pull them out from time to time for visitors. One day we got concerned that we might bend or accidentally spill something on them, so we filed them "some place safe," meaning to one day frame them and hang them up. We filed them so safely I was never able to find them again.

Yesterday I was digging through files, getting ready to box some up, when the pile slid over on its side and the sleeve fell out and I snatched them up and scanned them for safekeeping. Later, I was in Ithaca, and went wandering through the Dollar Store. As I passed through the frame aisle, my eyes fell on a frame that, for a mere buck, fit the "feel" of the photos perfectly. Before the photos could turn into yet one more task that I put off, I bought two frames, brought them home, and put the photos up on the wall.

The raccoon photo was given to me by a wonderful older couple in Groton when I was first starting out in wildlife control. They had raccoons living under their bathtub, coming in from under their porch. In addition to paying me, the gentleman gave me the raccoon photo (taken by trip-wire at South Lake in the Adirondacks in the early 1900's), an old oil lamp, and a potted spruce tree which, sadly, did not survive transplanting in the spring.

I put the family kitchen things mom had recently given me up on the shelf since they seemed to fit the theme. I think I'll frame up some other photos of old houses I've lived in and prop them on the shelf as well.

Here is my house now. Well, in warmer times, that is.

The lilac by the gate in the buggy photo is still here, along with the hole for the gate post. I think next spring I'll pound a new post into that hole. Maybe I'll top it with a solar light and a little brass plaque about the lilac and this place. I'd love to get a NYS historical sign announcing the old Ferris Farm as the birthplace of Woodbridge Ferris, but I can't afford $895. Maybe when I retire. ;)

Insta-food for singles

For a long while I have lamented the fact that frozen and canned food, for the most part, does not come in single-serving sizes. If you buy a frozen bag of broccoli, for example, you better find a way to use all that broccoli in about two weeks, before it starts to get freezer burned and just a little bit stale tasting. Chances are, you may forget about it for a month or more, open it up, look at all the ice crystals, and toss it (unless soup is the intended use).

I often work overtime. I'm supposed to get off at 6:00 pm, and that seldom happens. If I finally shut the computer at 7:30, and the cats also need care, and my  house needs cleaning, chances are good I'm not into cooking for a half-hour and washing dishes after. That's when I tend to rummage around for something I can open up, warm up, and eat. Three-quarters of the time, I end up eating half of it, and throwing out food that won't taste so great as a leftover.

It has always peeved me that I could not find spaghetti sauce in small jars or cans. There is nothing more depressing when you've spent half your life using a whole jar to serve two people, to now pour half into your saucepan and put the other half in refrigerator. "Hi!" it says. "By the way, you loser, that guy you thought loved you, well, he's not here any more! He would have been eating this!" 

Food should keep it's mouth shut.

Historically, single-serve food has come wrapped in so much trash, eating it is depressing. Here is your little frozen dinner, and over there is all the crap you are throwing out that it came in. I don't need plastic and paper containers to cook out of and eat out of.  I own pots and plates, thank you.

Happiness, however, has recently crept in. A few months ago, Lean Cuisine came out with single-serve steamable bags with dinners that are, quite frankly, very good. No plastic bowl. No gobs of unidentifiable half melted "stuff."  Well, maybe a little "sauce"--but far less. And less than $3 a dinner. BirdsEye and other brands have done the same. Even the more unhealthful versions (cheese sauce, etc.) at least have vegetables, which is more than you are going to get out of boxed macaroni and cheese or one of those dried rice packages with the bits they call vegetables.

Then last week I discovered that BirdsEye came out with single-serve steamable veggies. Corn, brussels sprouts and the like.  Now I no longer have to open up a whole bag when I only want one dinner. When I warm up canned soup, I can throw in a serving of corn and get yet another serving of veggies in that day. When I make something veggie-less (pasta and sauce), I can cut up a serving of sprouts and roast them in the oven or toss them in the wok if the fresh produce in the refrigerator turns out to be less-than-fresh. No one says you have the steam the things. You can treat them just like regular frozen vegetables. In fact, with the brussels sprouts, I would recommend it.

Hunts, happily, has small cans of tomato sauce! Perhaps they always have, and the stores where I shop have not carried them until now.  Last night I made spaghetti for myself, rinsed out the empty little can to recycle, and banished the damned talking Prego jar forever.

Then there is the insta-comfort food. Pillsbury makes frozen biscuits. Yeah, yeah, I know you purists out there are rolling your eyes and saying "do you know how easy it is to make biscuits?" Yup! And do you know how depressing it is to make a batch, eat three, and then realize two days later you forgot them and now they are not-so-great tasting? If I decide at 10:00 pm that a biscuit and honey would taste quite nice right then, I can put two frozen biscuits in the oven for 25 minutes and they come out tasting better than anything I could ever make. I was sure they would be flat hockey pucks when I purchased by first bag. No one was more surprised than I when they actually tasted like...biscuits.

Checking ingredients on the bags--most of the "dinners" have additives. Some, most notably the plain vegetables, do not. I'm not sure I'd want to live just on this stuff every day, but it's a step up from what I was eating for "busy food."

Also, life can get pretty meaningless if you never really cook fresh food. Cooking is definitely part of the dinner process. Yes, I'm glad that when I'm busy, I'm not now eating some hideous dried thing out of a box that turns back into food with boiling water and a huge hunk of butter (scary!). But I still find that food tastes better when I've chopped up the kale, and sauted it myself.


I'm not sure if I'm just being more observant, or marketers are getting wiser. There are a lot of single folks out there, and things are too expensive to waste. Less packaging, and decent food without too much crap in it.


Nonetheless, I can't wait until spring, when I can just go out back to pick some dinner fixings. No bags involved.

So, like most females, I am a woman of ups and downs.

I don't pretend to know how males are. I think my past has proven that I should just give up on that field of knowledge.

I believe that life ought to be a steady movement toward improvement, with periodic setbacks. Because, as we know, there will always be setbacks. We may as well accept it. Life is not all roses.

But sometimes the lack of forward progress isn't due to a "setback" per se. It's not a sickness, or a breakup, or an unforeseen financial disaster. It's just that an accumulation of tiny things seems to impede any sense of improvement, and in fact, seems to be pushing you farther and farther behind. That type of lack of momentum seems to be particularly destructive. It's a slow, inexorable, "why do I even bother" sort of feeling.

The tiny things seem to thrive off one another. Last weekend I decided "OK, enough of this" and I cranked out a really good blog post on what makes a great newsletter. I t was my first issues-type post in a long while. But I was logged both in my Feral By Nature blog in one window, and the Wildrun blog in another, and when I hit "publish" some cruel technological misalignment caused the post to be eaten. I normally can save almost any eaten online data by a skillful dance of windows...but not this time.

So after that wasted hour, I was a victim of "why bother anymore."

Then I've had a couple of good adoptions. Hey, progress! I was out in the cat facility evaluating who might come into the house. Allie? Morgaine?  Then I got an email. A kitten I adopted out mid-summer is coming back. I'm glad the adopter reached out to me (we have a no-questions-asked return policy), but once again...

..."why bother."

I received inquiries from people who want to visit to adopt, so I know I'm not in some dead dark hole by myself, stuck with a zillion cats. There are a number of tasks that wouldn't take too much work do do (clean out the old trucks, shovel them out, pull out the titles, and make them go away) that would give me an enormous sense of accomplishment. I know that.

It's a demon we all fight. The "why bother" demon.

When in doubt, bake chocolate cake

Sometimes, when you feel like you just aren't getting things done, the best thing you could do is bake your favorite thing. In my case, this would be unfrosted chocolate cake.

When I last visited Mom, she made me a gift of some of the old baking tools we had when we were kids, and even another generation before that. When she pulled out the pan, it seemed to me I DISTINCTLY recalled making brownies in that pan in the house in Earlville. Perhaps it was a made-up memory. Perhaps it was some other pan.

Nonetheless, it made me happy, and I was glad to take it home with me. She also gave me a family measuring cup that I was sure I would never use due to the many chips around the rim. But all my measuring cups were dirty because I had made this decadent soup yesterday, and it was carefully pressed into service for water and oil. (A note on the soup, follow the recipe, but add 3/4 cup of mild/medium salsa. Oh, and no rotisserie chicken. I just bought two big chicken breasts and roasted them with salt, pepper, and a little hot sauce. OK, so don't follow the recipe!).

In taking these photos I realized I had photos on my camera that I had not posted yet, so I may as well play clean-up. Gretchen and I hiked up the hill the weekend she came up and helped with the back rooms.

Molly loves a good walk, but her brain cells get a little unhinged on the trip back down the hill, and she did indeed run off into the woods for a good four or five minutes. I finally started to blaze my way into the woods to find her tracks, and asked Gretchen to call her (because Molly loves the attention of other people) when the little monster came zooming back. She got carried the rest of the way down the hill, and from now on, the flexi-leash comes along and she'll be leashed the whole way back home.

Anyone who has ridden a horse knows the syndrome. The horse listens to you while headed away from the house, but once his nose is turned back toward the barn, you'd better know how to ride, because if not, that horse is going where he wants to, not where you want to.

I've decided that there will be no more hunting on my property. I believe in meat-hunting, but frankly, I have yet to find a meat hunter. So far everyone who has hunted here has said they would shoot doe, but they always seem to come down the hill with bucks. The only reason I permit hunting is to reduce the number of doe, and therefore reduce the spring population by three (the doe, and her spring fawns). I don't want my bucks dead. I don't need dead bucks. So--no more. If I find them dead in the snow in the spring, I guess I'll just accept it. The herd seems to be stabilizing anyway, likely due to coyote predation on fawns and sick or starving deer.

The cabin is, therefore, no longer a hunting cabin. I'll have to decide if I'm brave enough to camp up there alone with the bears and other snufflers.

So winter is here. It has been cold. I've watched my wood pile slowly dwindle, and I'll have to give in and order a cord off of somebody before spring.

Enough delaying. It's time to tuck the cats in, and write some thank-you notes. The chocolate cake has served its purpose.

Getting a grown-up house

Owning a big house can be both a challenge and a blessing. A challenge because you need to fill it with something, and to have nice furniture costs money -- money you may not have. It is a blessing because if someone wants to give away something large, other folks may turn it down due to lack of room, and you get it simply by virtue of having the largest space.

My mother is downsizing the size of her furniture in her house, and she has a beautiful kitchen table and chairs. She would like a smaller set so she has more room to move around it. Lucky me, I was the daughter with the space for a table. I was skeptical that it would all fit in the Kitty Kia Soul, but can you believe it all did? That little car is amazing.

Molly's dog crate was going to be too large to remain in the kitchen, so what to do for a door-side stand was an issue. I didn't want to spend $100 or more on a side table, or clutter up the room. Then it occurred to me that I could just match the cubby I had on the other side of the room. Believe it or not, the Unfinished Furniture Store still carried the same cubby 10 years after I purchased the first. I'll paint it to match the wainscoting, like the other. Molly's crate went into the den to replace her bed there, and she seems to like it. She'll probably be happier not being next to the kitchen door when I'm out, anyway, although I liked having her bark when people came to the door.

Just the wood and tile table top probably weighs in at around 125 pounds (or more?) I was barely able to get it into the car and out again.

Here is the new improved kitchen. My house gets closer and closer to looking like a good old middle class American farmhouse.

Thanks, Mom!