Roses are Blooming

I wish I could take some credit for these, but I can't. All I do is cut the bush down a couple of times a year and toss a little fertilizer on it, if I remember.

BAD Snake

My brother says that the only good snake is a dead snake. I always argue with him, remind him of the benefits of the good (nonvenomous) snakes, like king, rat, and garden snakes, who keep down the rodent population; king snakes even prey on venomous snakes, doing two good deeds for us humans. I am always the one to argue that he should just leave the snakes be. Even the venomous Eastern Diamondback rattler offers some serious benefits to humans: it's an excellent rodent hunter and its venom is used, not only as an anti venom for rattlesnake bites, but to treat stroke and to prevent the growth of some cancerous tumors. This is the one I am most familiar with, having grown up in Middle Georgia and spent a good bit of time in southeastern Georgia, where my parents have property. Really, it's probably the main reason that every woman in my family knows how to manage at least a shotgun. The men, of course, all know because besides being expected to defend the womenfolk against snakes and whatever else they may see as a threat, they also tend to like to hunt. But I digress.
This morning, as I looked out into the yard, I thought I saw the head of yesterday's snake peeking out of the cross tie again. Jujuu, photo time! By the time I got to the sand pile, I saw this snake.
I was immediately anxious. First, his markings are all wrong for a good snake. Second he didn't slither out his tongue and try to get away from me. His head had the triangular shape of a viper. And his pupils, instead of being all nice and round and innocent looking, were tiny black vertical lines. It didn't move when I moved. It just sat there, as Thomas says, like a Nazi. A quick call to my mother and search on the Internet confirmed my suspicion: Copperhead Moccasin.
Copperheads bite more people per year than any other U.S. snake though their venom is less potent than that of most species. Almost no one dies of copperhead bites. But, and you know there is one, this snake was in my sonny boy's sand pile, where he often plays, and this sand pile is in our yard where we have all been playing Frisbee for the past several days. And, well, we got a shovel and chopped the snake's head off! No way I'm going to let something threaten my child. Maybe it's an Irish thing: Mess with me and mine, and well... . My father says, "It's a GOOD snake now."

Waiting for the Snake

This is the black rat (milk?) snake which I have been seeing about once a year for the last few years. It is condsiderably larger than it was the first time I saw it when it was just a tiny thing curled in the top of one of the shrubs in the front yard. It is now more than a meter and half in length. Today it slithered across the sand pile and into the little herb plot. I startled it with the camera, then spent nearly an hour playing peek-a-boo with it as it tried to re-merge from the railroad crosstie and I tried to video it. I like this snake and the fact that it chooses to live in our yard. Maybe it likes it that we don't use fertilizers or pesticides in the lawn.

Am I Spoiling Him?

Ivan asks if I might be spoiling my sonny boy, and has even suggested that my parenting may in some way make my son weak. Don’t worry, I am fond enough of Ivan to not be offended by his questions about my mothering. But for Ivan, and the rest of you who think I’m spoiling the sonny boy, here is my official response.

The very worst of America is that the greedy, grasping, me-first individualism which used to be frowned upon by people with good sense is what is advertised, packaged and fed to us by just about everything in our culture now. It is, I think, capitalism untempered by human sympathy. It’s hard knocks and me-first gone terribly awry. Individualism isn’t an approachable ideal without a learned respect for the thoughts and feelings of others, and a democracy cannot flourish without individualism. Having spent some time abroad, I have had opportunity to think about what it means and what it should mean to be an American, a good American, the best American. To have some idea of what this is, I had to think about what it means to be a good citizen and a good person, to rear a child who will be these things at home and abroad.

I parent my son with two ideas in mind. One: Like every human he has needs which if not met in childhood will manifest themselves as unhealthy appetites and anti-social behaviors in his adulthood. (This is a part of attachment parenting). Two: The best way to teach him a respect for others is to show respect for him. And so far, it seems to be working. Though he has a tendency to ‘get his Irish up” in the presence of any perceived injustice (he has after all, quite a lot of Irish blood in him), he is almost unfailingly polite, thoughtful and considerate of others. From his first experience in preschool, we have gotten regular reports from teachers and other parents about his sympathetic nature, his willingness to share what he has, to protect the weak, to do the right thing. Will he grow up to be a ruthless lawyer, politician or businessman or greedy someone about whom people will say, “he wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire”? I doubt it.
So, often enough, and in the estimation of some folk, I am rather indulgent with him: a little Pat a Mat on a tired morning, singing him awake on his birthday, a trip to the candy store from time to time, listening to him complain about his problems, hugging and holding him when he seems overwhelmed by his troubles. And in return, he tells us that he loves us, will put a blanket on his father or me if we are napping, will offer to hug and hold us when we need it, and he will share his last piece of candy with anyone who hasn’t any.
As for whether I am making him tough enough to go away from home or to fight when necessary, I don’t think I need to worry. I know my boy. He has enough Irish in him that I don’t need to give that part of his nature any nurturing, only a bit of discipline. I hope I am helping him to live up to what we have told him since he was very young: Be the better man.

The Bag Thing

Here are the results of the latest test of the shirt bags. Twelve kilograms in one bag and five kilograms in the other. The bags stayed where I put them in the trunk of the car, and nothing slid out into the trunk while I drove home even though I didn't tie the tops of the bags. Yes, I drive like a maniac, so this may not be an issue for the less sanguine driver.

Now if I could just convince the bagboy that I don't want any of those stupid plastic store bags, and that's the reason I bring my own. The bagboy is the person who puts our groceries into the bags after the cashier rings up our purchases. "Bagboy" is probably no longer the correct name for this person; it's probably "bagger" or "packer" some similar gender and age neutral term. Or maybe something as outrageous as "customer service facilitator" or "endline packing engineer". Very few American stores expect the customers to bag their own purchases, though ringing up and bagging one's own items is a possibility at the "self-check stations" of some of the bigger stores.

Eco Bags: Test Run

I finally got around to making some of these T-shirt bags yesterday that I learned about from Gwen . I made a few changes in the basic instructions just for the heck of it. I added a strap from the long sleeves I cut off so that one bag will go over the shoulder and across the chest like a messenger bag. I used the little belt from one shirt to make a shoulder strap for it, and put a pocket on one. I really don't care much for toting things in my hands because I am too likely to set them down and forget where I put them. I made one little draw string bag without straps, and five or six of the 'basic' bags. This morning I used three of my t-shirt bags at the grocery store. The bags worked great and were a lot more pleasant to hold on to than the usual plastic ones or my canvas bags. I liked the stretchy striped one the best; it will expand to hold a lot and then shrink back small when it's empty. The cashiers at the store liked the bags, too. Bram rather likes this idea since it means he can now use his favorite dinosaur shirt as a bag and save it from the yard sale or the rag bag.

Tuesday/Wednesday

Tuesday: We payed the mechanic and picked up our van. $2855. I don't know how many koruny that is. The less I think about the cost of the new engine, etc, the better. I've already figured how many trips to Brno that amounts to. The mechanic seems like a very nice guy, honest, and genuinely interested in his work, something that is a real rarity in any profession these days. I took the van to a self serve carwash and gave it a good cleaning inside and out; I even shampooed the carpets.
Wednesday: This was how I spent my day.
Up at 6:30am
Got Bram ready for school. He was having a hard time wanting to go, so we watched a little Pat a Mat, which improved our moods.
Had two cups of coffee and checked my email.
Called my mother.
Called the insurance company about the van (no, they aren't paying for anything).
Started watching Kolya.
Stopped watching the movie to make a cake.
Went to lunch with Thomas at Five Spices, the Indian restaurant, to celebrate the 20th anniversary of our first date. I confess, this was Thomas's idea. I'm afraid I'm not even good at planning special activities for our wedding anniversary, but Thomas always remembers such things.
Bought new windshield wipers for the Toyota.
Took a nap with Thomas (We're practicing for retirement).
Checked my email.
Took burritos from Taco Bell to Bram's art lessons.
Came home and watched a little more of Kolya.
Put the icing on the cake (strawberry in the middle, cream cheese on the outside).
Washed dishes.
Picked Bram up from art lessons.
Had a piece of the cake.
Started dinner (Vegetarian chili).
Poured a glass of wine and finished watching Kolya.
Dinner.
Watched the Obama/Clinton debate.
Pondered, as usual, the predicament of me and the other Yellow Dogs

The ONLY Sensible Thing

We went to the video store yesterday to check out a little entertainment only to find that our beloved source of movies is going out of business. We have been paying about $15 a month for what amounts to a subscription for the privilege of checking out unlimited DVDs (3 at a time, we chose the cheapest plan). It was cheaper, by two thirds than basic cable TV and the quality is a million times better. So, it isn't a happy thing for us. I insisted that we do the only sensible thing; drive straight to the grocery store to buy ice cream! A half gallon (about 2 litres) of all natural butter pecan for me, and birthday cake flavor for Bram. Thomas opted to just share ours. I had to try Bram's since I am such a big fan of birthday cake (Really. I insist on it at least 3 times a year). Birthday cake ice cream... . Well, I am happier now. To be honest, though, I have to admit that my having a happiness may have more to do with our coming to Brno than with the ice cream. Can you say, "non-refundable flight tickets"?

Is Your Mailbox Lonely?

Or is it just quite crowded with mail you don't want? We've successfully stopped just about all of the junk mail that used to fill up our mailbox, and now except utilites (gas, electricity, water), and cable internet and insurance, we hardly even get any bills anymore. As enamoured as I am of the internet and the ability to stay in constant contact with many of my friends, I rather miss 'real' mail now that I get only about a half dozen letters a year. There is something very gratifying about getting a handwritten letter from someone. Holding the paper and seeing the ink of feelings and thoughts from one heart and mind to another makes the whole communication more intimate and somehow more real. It's quite gratifying to hold in my hands a missive from a friend. And when I get a card or letter, I get the added pleasure of deciding whether to delay that gratification. Should I choose to set it aside, I can revel in the anticipation of opening and reading it. It assumes the status of a gift. And who doesn't love presents, right?
At postcrossing.com, you can sign up to send and receive postcards from random 'postcrossers' from all over the world. It isn't the same as getting a letter from a friend but it beats spam in your email and junk mail in your mailbox. And maybe it will appeal just a little to the romantic in you, the idea of a card chosen for and written and addressed to you from a stranger a quarter or a half way 'round the world. Even if it doesn't, the cards are nice and the stamps jsou hustá.