Do You Realize?

Photo Hunt Saturday--High

This week's theme is: HIGH. As I searched through my photos and giggled like a schoolgirl at the possibilities of representations of the theme, I decided against a single photo. Our trip to San Francisco in October 2003 presented so many opportunities to express the word "high." I only wish we'd had our digital SLR at that time. All our digital photos were taken with a little Nikon Coolpix. I want to go back with a "real" camera and shoot it all again; I really did leave my heart in San Francisco.

While we were there, we bicycled with Middle and Youngest across the Golden Gate Bridge, high above San Francisco Bay.

At the Palace of Fine Arts, there are angels high atop the columns.

The columns themselves are impressively high. (Note the people in the photo for size reference.)

We visited Muir Woods, named for John Muir, the preservationist who founded the Sierra Club. The Coastal Redwoods there are so ancient and grow so high, it is awe-inspiring. A quick bit of trivia about Coastal Redwoods: Under ideal conditions, they can grow 2-3 feet annually in height, though under extreme stress may grow a single inch annually.

No trip to San Francisco would be complete without a trip to the infamous Haight-Ashbury district. Although gentrification has taken a big toll (Ben & Jerry's now occupies THE corner), this was once the bohemian heart of San Francisco. I'm sure many a high of an herbal nature has been successfully achieved here.

Scenes from a garden...

2006 was a glorious year for our garden. We got all but one bed (and our whiskey barrel) filled with plants and/or flowers, and they all did relatively splendid jobs of delighting us. These are some photos from that gardening season.

The whiskey barrel full of flowers, and some petunias that looked so much like peppermint candies I always wanted to eat one:

Our beautiful red pentas:

And then there were the hibiscus (hibisci?). Their name was Rum Runner, and they were marvelous in that they bloomed with one color palette in the morning, light magenta and deep coral. The bloom changed colors throughout the day, and by the end of the day it was almost a deep butter yellow with a tinge of pale orange sherbet. One constant was their fearless glossy crimson throat; it looked like fresh, slick blood to me. Alas, I made the mistake of forgetting to winter them inside, and they didn't make it.

A Host of Hostas

I've been busy, busy, busy in the garden for a couple of days. My main focus is getting my hostas split. They grew to enormous sizes last year. It seems so barbaric, feeling the woody resistance under your shovel and forcing it down into the root ball, hearing a sickening crunch when it splits. I know they are one of the hardiest plants out there, but it's hard to imagine that being good for them. A couple of them had so many eyes, I even split those into thirds. I need to get them all back in the ground today. Here's what they looked like last year (a darker, "blue" hosta):

and in 2006 (two lighter, variegated hostas):

Each year I've bought two or three new cultivars. The new ones tend to sit in their pot for the rest of the growing season on the doorstep and then get put in the ground the next spring. I am a master procrastinator, you know. The newest ones, that were bought last summer but are just going in the ground this spring, are Big Daddy (a BIG blue variety, with puckered leaves), Fire and Ice (a lovely cream and green variegated), and Hosta Sagae (a medium to large green edged with cream/yellow). They are already poking their heads out... I can't wait to see them in all their glory!

6 Flags, 3 People, 250 Bucks, 2 Thumbs Down

Instead of "2 Thumbs Down," I was going to say, "1 Grand Ass-Rape," but I thought it might scare some people off.

I took Eldest and Middle to Six Flags Over Texas yesterday. For some inexplicable reason, my memory of Six Flags and the disproportionate equation between 'fun' and 'fucked' always seems to fade. It seems to need refreshing every couple of years. This entry, hopefully, will serve to remind me in two years: DON'T DO IT! For people looking for an honest review of Six Flags Over Texas; for people who want to learn what NOT to do in marketing in order to keep happy customers; or for people who just want to hear about my Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day; this post is for you, too.

I was seduced into thinking that a day at Six Flags wouldn't be so bad because they were running an Internet offer whereby everyone could buy a ticket at the "child's price" of $29.99 (as opposed to the regular adult price of $46.99). I also feel compelled to mention that their "child" pricing is based on a height, not age, scale. Anyone over 48" tall must pay for an "adult" ticket. According to growth charts used at Children's Hospital Boston and Colorado, that is the height of an average 6-8 year old. According to Six Flags' pricing, your average-sized 9-year-old should be charged the same price as an adult.

Total price so far: $100.00

We arrived at Six Flags at 10:30 a.m., thirty minutes after park opening. We paid $15 for regular parking in East Egypt. Our other option was $20 for "preferred" or $30 for "valet."

Total price so far: $115.00

After riding the tram from East Egypt to the front gate, we had our sunscreen taken from us at the front gate. Despite there being no mention of it on the website, we weren't allowed to take in our sunscreen because it was in a spray can. We had to buy sunscreen from Six Flags. (BTW, it smelled like Creamsicles... if I'm going to get greasy and smell like Creamsicles, there'd better be whipped cream and something sexual involved!)

Total price so far: $126.00

Immediately upon arriving at the gate, we realized how stinking busy this place was going to be. Saturdays are one thing, we've gone on a Saturday before, but this was Christian Music Weekend, there were church groups from all over Texas and Oklahoma there. Line waits were already outrageous. We rode one ride, The Flashback, and then it was lunchtime. Middle and I ate at Panda Express, Eldest had a pretzel, and we split one large drink. We waited in line for 30 minutes, and lunch cost $30.

Total price so far: $156.00

The three of us decided that we would eat a tiny, shared dinner in order to purchase Speedpasses, which ostensibly would help our chances of getting on rides in a more timely fashion. Since we had used Walt Disney World's FastPass system in 2005, we were naive enough to think we would receive the same benefits this time. However, there are two very important differences in The WDW FastPass system and the Six Flags' Speedpass system that affect your experience. First, there is no charge for WDW FastPass; it is included in your ticket price. Speedpasses will set you back, for the option that works most like the FastPass, $32 for the first person, then $17 per each additional guest. Second, WDW's return times on the FastPass is a one-hour window. As soon as your one-hour window arrives, you may make another ride reservation. This allows you to make a new ride reservation before getting in line to ride your currently reserved ride. Six Flags gives you a precise time to be at your ride, and you may not reserve another ride until after you have checked in to the line at your currently reserved ride. In the eight hours we had our Speedpasses, we were able to make 3 ride reservations.

Total price so far: $222.00

At each of the "main attraction" rides, you can no longer leave any personal belongings on the platform when you ride. You are required to purchase a ride locker (only good for 2 hours, so you can't even squeeze two rides out of a locker rental) for $1.00 per ride. We had to do this for Batman: The Ride, Mr. Freeze, and The Titan. We also shared a "Texas-sized" frozen lemonade: approximately 20 oz. for $5.25.

Total price so far: $230.00

We shared a dinner of amazingly tasty Johnny Rocket's fries and onion rings and a large Coke. Although this was about $11.00, it was far and away the tastiest food we experienced while we were there.

Total price so far: $241.00

After leaving the park, we stopped for food at Whataburger & Pizza Hut. We spent $9.00. Jeebus, shit in the real world is cheap! Heh.

Total price tag on the day: $250.00
Total time spent at Six Flags (including travel time): 14 hours
Total time spent on rides at Six Flags: less than 15 minutes

Worth it? Not on your life. My advice would be to spend your nearly-$100-per-person somewhere else.

We've decided that Six Flags is like getting a cheap hooker and Disney World is like a high-priced escort. With both you're getting screwed out of a chunk of money, but with one, you get a down & dirty experience and you're ashamed afterward, vowing to never make that mistake again, and with the other, you get seduction, foreplay, and thrills, and you want to go back for more. I feel like I need a shower.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Metal

This week's theme is: Metal. I took this photo on the University of Texas campus in Austin, just this month.

Frisco

Last week, I mentioned to my therapist (who is actually a psychoanalyst) that our family therapist has made the comment a couple of times that I exhibit a lot of signs of someone who has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and that she had asked if I'd ever talked to him (my regular therapist) about it. My therapist replied that, yes, indeed, he thinks I do. All of this stems from my first marriage to C. (Remember him? If not, you need to go here. And here. And here.) Honestly, that thought had never crossed my mind. I never really think of myself as a "victim" of anything, only sometimes an unwilling accomplice in some things; I believe in accountability, and I take responsibility for a lot, even things for which others would say I am not to blame. Things like Frisco.

C. came home one day with a surprise for the kids. (I don't know where he had been, but it couldn't have been a job; I didn't ask a lot of questions before we got married, and now I realize it was because I knew on some level I wouldn't like the answers.) As he pulled out this minuscule gray fluffball of a tabby kitten, tiny enough to fit in my two small-ish palms. Eldest's eyes sparkled like a diamond in sunlight. "His name is Frisco," she declared. We spent the next several hours playing with Frisco at my parents' house.

Then I had to leave for work. Oh, how I wish I'd never left. I tell myself, even today, that hearing about an atrocious act is different than seeing it happen, and that if I'd seen it happen, maybe my life would have changed for the better.

It was a weekend, I think, because I remember being able to talk for a while when my mother called me at work to tell me that Frisco was dead.

"How?"

"C. killed him." She was, understandably, distraught.

"What happened?"

And this is what she told me:

C. was watching the kids in the living room. All the other adults were in other rooms of the house.

Middle (again, at that time he was Youngest, but you know him here as Middle) was in his playpen, one of those contraptions with fabric mesh for walls. He had a particularly endearing habit of leaning his weight, face-first, into the mesh, contorting his cherubic little face into all sorts of hideous but adorable shapes.

Eldest was still playing with Frisco. She was in love. Frisco was digging Middle's playpen, a vehicle on which to propel himself with his little kitten claws.

What happened next will never be completely known, since the only three people in the room were C. and two toddlers, and a 6-to-8-week-old kitten. What we do know is that within seconds, this picture-perfect Norman Rockwell scene would transform forever. Frisco would lay bleeding and convulsing at the base of a nearby wall, where C. had thrown him.

C. insisted that Frisco had attacked Middle, and that Middle was crying and bleeding. (For the record,
Middle had a scratch on his cheek that was one quarter of an inch long, and my parents said that when they walked in, he was not crying.) C. reacted quickly, simply wanting to save Middle and get the cat off of him. He didn't mean to slam it into a wall.

What I believe to have happened is another story. I've played this scene out so many times in my head, I feel like I was there, and sometimes I have to stop myself from actually thinking that I was. I suspect that Middle had mashed his face into the side of his playpen at the very same time that Frisco decided to climb up the very same place. C., who was probably not watching very closely, heard a commotion, grabbed the vile, vicious kitten, and hurled him into the wall, killing him.

As with some of the other things I've related about C., I wish I could tell you this was the end. But it wasn't. It was only the beginning; we hadn't even married at this point. Why did I stay? Because I thought I was damaged goods, a young woman with two small children, and I thought my possibilities for a mate had diminished to the point that maybe this was the best I could expect. Why do any of us do things at the ripe old age of twenty that will later cause us to cringe with remorse? My fuck-up was just more grand than others.

See how blurred lines can become? Will we ever know C.'s reason for throwing that kitten? No. I've tried to tell myself time and time again that C. hadn't grown up with cats as I had, that he really thought the kitten was hurting Middle. I told myself that because the alternative was too painful to consider. What I do know is that I was expecting more than one tiny scratch on Middle, and that I was expecting some remorseful behavior. I got neither. To the bitter end, C. insisted he'd acted as a hero with quick instincts.

They were killer instincts, anyway.

Woofday Wednesday--Perkins

This is Perkins. He is our Prince Charming. He has the sweetest, most laid-back disposition of any dog we own. In fact, were it not for the fact that whatever Bozo dumped him out didn't have him neutered as a puppy, he would be an indoor dog; as it stands now, we couldn't de-activate his sprinkler system in time to avoid that nagging desire to piss on every immobile object.

He has one other terrible trait: his wanderlust. This boy was born to run. If he ever gets loose, he will lead you on a footchase to the ends of the earth (I've had to chase him a half mile before). One day a couple of years back, he took off, lost us in the footchase, and didn't come home. He always came home. We searched for days, we made reward posters, we got a few tips, but, ultimately, nothing came of it. We were heartbroken. Then, one day, more than two weeks after he went missing, a neighbor called & said she'd been hearing a dog bark near her house for a few days. She'd thought it was in a faraway yard, but it turns out Perkins was trapped in the crawl space of a house next door to hers that was vacant and for sale at the time. My husband had to crawl through a tiny hole to retrieve him. The vet said his body had started to break itself down from lack of food, and he was dehydrated, but blood tests showed no harm to his kidneys; Perkins dodged a bullet. We were so very lucky.

Love a stray; neuter & spay!

Dallas Blooms

Sunday Scribblings--Smorgasbord

This week's prompt is: Smorgasbord. From dictionary.com:

smorgasbord:
1. a buffet meal of various hot and cold hors d' oeuvres, salads, casserole dishes, meats, cheeses, etc.
2. an extensive array or variety

We can use either definition, and with the use of the second, choose from any previous week's prompt to use. I thought I'd take it one step further. I will offer some new writing using one prompt, then point you in the direction of a couple of older posts I've written that could easily have been used for other Sunday Scribbling prompts. (The rules say we are not to link from there to an old post. I think they simply don't want us to wimp out on actually writing something new. As such, I'm simply pushing the limits of vague rules, which is not altogether uncommon.)

Prompt: What's your sign?
I was born on July 13, under the sign of Cancer. Every personality trait attributed to Cancer is attributable to a tough outer shell protecting a soft and vulnerable inner core. I fit so well under the blanket of Cancerian traits, I shouldn't be getting cold anytime soon. This page has the most dead-on description of me, it's uncanny.

My good qualities, according to the astrological indications, are qualities of which I am proud. Tenacious, resourceful, defensive, loyal? Check. A homebody, intuitive, generous, emotional? Yeppers. Loving, sensitive, protective, cautious? You betcha. Purposeful, shrewd, warm, security-oriented. Most assuredly. Imaginative, romantic, creative, sentimental? Oh, yeah. Wise, warm, sympathetic, caring? True. Receptive, perceptive, instinctive, inventive? Affirmative.

I also have some bad qualities that are typical Cancerian traits, as well. Moody, overly sensitive, depressive, touchy? So what of it?! Dominating, devious, manipulative, overly dramatic? Why on earth would one think that of me? Eccentric, lacking in stability, tending toward lethargy, clingy? Don't hate me for it. Passive, non-self-assertive, unable to foster self-interests without feelings of guilt? Umm, is that okay?

There are a couple of traits I've read that don't necessarily apply to me: conservative, cold (but how can one be both cold and caring?). Hm. Mike Huckabee needn't get his hopes up.

Now, for a trip down memory lane, here are a few older posts which could easily fit into the smorgasbord of today's writing.

Prompt: Thief!
Post: Those Crazy Genetics

Prompt: Hotel Stories
Post: I'll tell on the hotel

Prompt: In the Kitchen
Post: Movin' to the country, Gonna eat a lot of peaches...

Prompt: Rooted
Post: Green Thumbs and Other Myths

Photo Hunt Saturday--I Spy

This week's theme is: I Spy. I love finding the extraordinary in the seemingly ordinary things. I took both of these photos in Utah in July 2006. I have used the first one before, but I love it, so I'll share it again!

Look closely. I spy a teeny tiny little red spotted frog. Do you?

In the second photo, I was amazed to realize that I spy a man who looks a little like Jesus to me. See him?