Index Toe

I dislocated my toe on Thursday. It was a sparkling, blue-eyed day where all moisture snaps to crystaline attention. I was playing hooky, was listening to some unbelievable music in my car, and had pulled up to the top level of an eight storey parking garage. Don't you always go to the top - isn't it worth that extra time to stand on an open roof and see the world spread out before you?

I turned off the car, but left the music on, I was alone, and the steam rose in billowed columns all around the city. It was beautiful, I was singing, and I gleefully kicked a snow mound at my feet.

Except it wasn't snow.

It was a hard turtle-shell of ice, connected firmly to the parking garage. And I'd kicked with all my might. All of my tiny might. The mound didn't move. My toe did.

The second joint folded up on itself, like a lamb lying near its mother, and the pain blossomed through my foot like a blessing.

I was so shocked, so amazed, all I could do was say "Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD" and stare, laughing and wide-eyed. I don't remember feeling pain so...well...intimate. Superficial cuts and hammer hits, involving skin and nail and bruise and blood...hiss and breathe out and they're gone.

This was much more than that, it was like something was released in me that set my foot on fire.

My Favorite Prayer

Note: Must be chanted around a fire for full effect.

His is the House of Pain.
His is the Hand that makes.
His is the Hand that wounds.
His is the Hand that heals.

His is the lightning flash,
His is the deep salt sea,
His are the stars in the sky.

-H.G.Wells

Alexis is obsessive about Wells. It's made her start using words like "incontinent" in conversations not having to do with urine. Evidently it's a Wells thing - like "You're having a second helping? How incontinent of you." Meaning out of control or something like that. Makes me giggle, then laugh, then incontinence is not out of the question.

The Grossest Vomit Ever Puked

I was already late for the bus when the cat threw up. Now, we live in a multi-species, multi-level household. It's sort of like Wild Kingdom in here, where only the strongest survive. However, in this case, the strongest among us is a 2.5 pound bunny wabbit with a nasty temper and an uninhibited sexuality. This struggle to live is not what I'm talking about here, what I'm talking about is who cleans up after the crap/vomit/urine/hair that all of these little cuddlies produce.

Part of the deal we have with the dogs is that they clean up after the rabbit when he gets let out to play. The dogs have a great time, and they get snacks. Lots of snacks. Lots of little, round, dark snacks. The way they go after rabbit poop, it's as if I spread Bac-os liberally around the living room carpet.

My single thought this morning, then, was should I clean up the cat vomit or let the dogs eat it? It wasn't a hairball (which our cats, thankfully, seldom produce), but a patch of barely-chewed premium cat food that Grex placed neatly in a line. It looked, more or less, like canned dog food, which our puppies never get. Seemed like a treat to me. You can guess for yourself what I did.


Which brings me to the story of the day. Yes, this is a story about cat vomit, I call it "The Grossest Vomit My Cat Ever Puked".

I grew up on a farm, so there were always plenty of mice around. Our cats were fair-to-middlin hunters, and caught the wee mousies quite frequently. They liked to eat inside, and since I walked barefoot in the house, often found the remains of the day's meal with the sole of my foot (or between my toes). Imagine, if you will, stepping on a mouse organ, a mouse head, or, one time, only the very end of a mouse nose with the whiskers attached.

Nothing compares, my friends, to the day I found "The Vomit". This particular pile of puke was in the front room of the house, and had already grown cold. It had the requisite mouse parts in it: feet, nose, hair. What made this pile of puke so amazing was that the mouse had been pregnant, and from the look of the fetuses lying in digestive fluid, had been quite far along.

The fetuses had not been chewed.

Rather, they were simply swallowed whole and had been vomited up in a neat little line...looking for all the world like they were headed off to mousie kindergarden. I might have dressed them in little pinafores and played Madeleine. The cat, of course, would have been the nun.

Fois Gras - Just kill me now

We had fois gras in some form for the second time in two weeks yesterday. The first time was New Year's Eve, when we shared a particularly fantastic Hungarian Pate that Satadru had smuggled (I can only assume in his pants) across the Atlantic.

The second time was last night at Zingerman's Roadhouse...we had fois gras in a sour cherry reduction. Nowhere else can I get such fantastic food, drink wonderful bourbon (Woodridge Reserve, I need some at home), eat the best bread I've ever had, get bone-crushing hugs from some rock-star Zingernauts, swear like a stranded sailor and leave for less than $20? Love that Roadhouse!

Since it's the second time I've eaten diseased goose liver in two weeks, I had to beg the age old question "Is it cruel to over-feed geese to produce good fois gras?" To which Alexis deadpanned "Your liver looks like that, is it cruel to you?" It's good to know a doctor who can put things in perspective.

Well, I tend to be depressive and pessemistic, is this related to my oh-so-delicious liver? A goose liver is so tiny - imagine the feast one could have off of mine. With some very dry white wine and fresh bread, it would be such a lovely evening. Let's schedule it, right after Shannukah when my butterfat content will be particularly high.

Dawn Swim at Pickerel Lake

I have been dreaming of the warm water on skin, the call of the Cranes, the sun rising over the trees and the mist moving over the lake...


Thebany's Fable:

The sun had a million children, and when night came, she found she hadn't room to lay them to bed. She asked the Moon for help, but his cold halls were no place for children. She asked the stars, but they tittered and whispered and turned away to the dark beyond. Finally, the Sun asked the Earth, and though the Earth felt herself crowded and crawling with her own children, she nodded acceptance and raised the edge of her cloud blanket. The Earth lay the Sun's children to sleep in all the rivers and all the lakes and all the seas of the world.

During the night, while the cold moon and the fickle stars wheel overhead, the Sun's children sleep sound. And in the morning, when the Sun rises over the tops of the trees, her children rise from their beds and float over the water towards her, crying "Mama, mama."

Snowsaltslushmajik

Goddamn muthafucking Ann Arbor.

What the hell do I pay these unbelievable taxes for, anyway?? People, we shell out about $500 a month in city taxes to live in this MidWestern shit pseudo-college town, and THEY DON'T PLOW THE ROADS.

Seriously, I spent the morning grouting a bathroom in Ypsi, and the roads there had only a slight sheen of moisture. Once we passed into Ann Arbor, the roads were a slushy mess. Seriously, what the hell do these road crews do?? They don't like to start work before 10am, and they plow only the major roads (major roads, where the hell do I think I am?), leaving a ridiculous amount of snow on the ground, and retire to city hall. I can see them now, stockinged feet warming in front of the fire, sipping a soy chai latte in celebration of a job well done...while we slide through inches of slush and nast.

I don't think they salt. Perhaps Ann Arborites complained (hurts delicate squirrel paws maybe?).

Though, the town should certainly be able to afford the slightly more expensive option - urea. Which of course brings up the option of just going the hell into the street and peeing. Alexis had the fantastic idea of using the city's large homeless population for this purpose - a line of drunk men walking through the town, peeing in a snow-melting zig-zag pattern. Perhaps to repay the town for the $5 million dollar shelter?

147,000

What I learned in school

We are all the creators of our own lives.  There are an infinite number of ways that people choose to spend their time, design their space, create community, comfort themselves, etc.  And when people live away from the greater social network, the way they choose to do these things skews further and furtherfrom societal norms. Soooo...as we become more fragmented and more isolated, people are going to get weirder and weirder.

It snows, how does it?

Thus marks the end of my first official Christmas vacation in years. Before this, I only had a couple of days off a year, and usually worked the major holidays. Before that, my whole life was Christmas vacation, so I guess it evens out.

It's really important that I am not left to my own devices for more than a few days at a time. I begin to obsess about my home town (Watkins Glen) and about finding my childhood friends (Heidi, Kris, Rob, Phillip, Anthony). I watch lots and lots of television (LOTR, Aqua Teens and Home Movies), purchase expensive toys (digital camera), and go to Dim Sum on a Monday (Captain Sophia was scandalized - and said firmly "I'll see you on Saturday, right?!"). All the while, living off of Alexis' vacation pay - sweet!

Wait, wait, wait, I could do this for weeks yet! I don't want it to end! When am I getting my Ipod? Who's bringing the Crave Case?

I don't want to go deal with cranky, cranky clients and nasty Michigan snow. My house is warm, my tree is twinkly and my dogs are lazy - I don't want to face the world.