Sharing the World with the Undead

A small play, offering a slice of life in Turnerdom. In this trenche de vie, Shasta and Mommy are sitting on the dead couch. The new puppy has been having fun with the couch, already used as a cat tree by Whiner cat and a launch site by the younger Ginger puppy. The new puppy Lady has been trying to dig into the stuffing, and has been pulling out stuffing along an already broken seam. Towels and sheets have secured the stuffing but this is an ex-couch. To paraphrase Monty Python:

Jocelyn T: I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it, my lad. ‘E’s dead, that’s what’s wrong with it!

Albert T: No, no, ‘e’s uh,…he’s resting.

Jocelyn T: Look, matey, I know a dead couch when I see one, and I’m looking at one right now.

Albert T: No no he’s not dead, he’s, he’s restin’! Remarkable couch, the Brown Hulk, idn’it, ay? Beautiful leather!

Mommy is comfortable in her gray, cotton Severus Snape t-shirt with her Target jeans. Shasta, the giant, invisible slug, is settled against mommy, her head on mommy’s knee. Shasta’s brown slug body is covered by an indigo blue and forest green cloak, the colors interwoven into a soft plaid with long, blue fringe at the bottom and a tall indigo collar above a tied, blue-green bow. For Shasta, she is conservatively dressed. Her eyestalks are covered with black goggles attached to the collar of the cloak.

Mommy: OK or perhaps OMG or WTF. ADIH? IDC? SSDD.

Shasta: ADIH? IDC? What do all those letters mean?

Mommy: Another day in…Hades. I don’t care. Same s***, different day.* One of those days, darlin’.

I found the heater was out when I woke up, a bright red panel on its metal body saying, “Stand by” and the more ominous “HELP.” The 24-hour appointment line for Perfect Temperature Control was not working.  Their perfection is in doubt, especially since they sold us the regularly crippled boiler and then the extra “boiler buddy” to fix the boiler’s quirks. But I suppose a name like “Intermittent Temperature Control” would not work for them, accurate or not. I photographed the water puddle and sent the photo on.

Shasta: Not good.

Mommy: Nope. My cyborg boiler appears to have peed on itself in the basement while pleading for help, and that help certainly won’t come free.

Shasta: (Knowingly) Even white knights charge for their services, don’t they?

Mommy: (Smiles) Even white knights have to pay for their groceries and lodgings, sweetheart.

Shasta: And this water puddle is a big problem?

Mommy: Unfortunately, the water’s supposed to be inside the boiler, not out, Shasta. No one will fix that with a quick wave of a wand over the control panel. I see green rectangles with Andrew Jackson’s face on them flying away en masse.

Shasta: Flying to Something Temperature Control.

Mommy: Yes. I do trust those guys. If you could see all those old pipes down there… That radiator system is nightmarish and the Temperature Control people did not put it in. But long ago, they were the first firm that managed to figure it out. Old houses and old hotels. It’s no coincidence, Shasta, that “The Shining” ended with a boiler explosion.

Shasta: (Doubtfully) Umm, mommy…

Mommy: So you want to hear the latest? Lady’s last intermediate training class was this morning. Oops number #2,304 for April. The Acura battery was once again dead as a coffin nail, deader even than the couch. I transferred Lady dog to the Toyota van. Backing out, I hit the garage door somehow, a painful, grinding metal scream. The door had stopped more than a foot below the top of the garage. Yet the garage door is working. Minimal damage to the rack on top of the van, I suspect, but nothing that stands out. And Lady passed Intermediate puppy class. Still, if one worries about threes, this might have been the place to shut down the day’s adventures — park the car and go pick up my book.

Shasta: But you didn’t stop, mommy. You never do.

Mommy: No, I couldn’t, and I think we lucked out. The third misadventure may be behind us.

Shasta: (Nods vigorously) I saw Daddy Albert.

Mommy: Yes, Daddy Albert had a hair appointment with Anatoly at Oscar’s (Intermittent) Hair Salon. I think Anatoly might have been upset that daddy was late. Hair was flying everywhere. Anatoly left poor daddy a hairy mess. He had more hair in his lap than on his head. Fortunately, cat rollers are everywhere in Turnerdom, thanks to Tiger Cat and Lady Dog. I am a master of hair disposal. And with luck, I am free of the Russian Strip Mall Barber! Great Clips would have done better for less than half the money. Hell, I would have done better.

(Shasta giggles.)

Mommy: (Grinning) Scary thought, huh?

Shasta: Oh, mommy, it sounds like a bad day.

Mommy: Yes, and meanwhile, the dragon journal has disappeared. I have walked most of the house. I pulled out drawers. Looked on top of things and inside and under the bed. It’s still missing.*

Shasta: (Supportively) You’ll get there mommy. You will find it.

Mommy: Next year in Jerusalem. (She sighs.) Me and all the other pilgrims looking for our journals.

Shasta: Well, organization is the Empire’s weapon. The Rebellion kind of sucks at it.

Mommy: (Wry smile) True.

Shasta: Mommy, do you think organization itself leads to the dark side?

Mommy: (Nodding agreement.) Good question. Maybe it does. Yet organization has much to recommend it. We can’t always blame weapons malfunctions or large, dangerous reactor leaks, and we can only shoot the intercom so many times.

Shasta: We can try, mommy. We can try.

Mommy is not sure if Shasta means try to organize, or try to keep blaming reactor leaks and weapons malfunctions, but she sets the question of organization aside for the moment.

Mommy: Let’s just watch our show. We can tackle the big questions later.

Shasta and mommy watch “The Player,” a fine, 1992 film that explodes with cameos.

(Our play ends as Shasta settles down for a nap and Mommy goes to heat a pot of delicious homemade chicken noodle soup, thick with sturdy noodles, carrots, celery and big chunks of chicken. Mommy knows that Monday will be eaten by the Aged Fiona, the dead Acura who must be fixed, but Fiona comes later. That car is in its own malignant, battery-sucking time loop, a loop that is not Fiona’s fault. When 180,000 miles you reach, run this good you will not, she thinks, channeling Master Yoda. Mommy stirs the soup.)

*The journal was located hiding in the car eventually.

Radioactive

Monsters attack en masse

Not all rockets win.

My little haiku captures a truth worth remembering. Sometimes the good guys lose. Sometimes identifying the so-called good guys can be tough. Who is inside that rocket? Is Godzilla defending his home? His culture?

That last year teaching, teachers used to look at me. Say something! Their eyes said. But I was done. Crazy is crazy and does not respond to reason. Sometimes the good guys lose.

I feel the same way as I watch politics now. My ballot is in. I retweet to help certain candidates. But if you are waiting for a secret microchip to kill your vaxxed relatives, I have nothing to say to you. You missed a boat somewhere so long ago that I doubt you know what a boat even looks like now.

Still I wonder — what happened to actual thinking? There’s a great scene in the old film “War Games.”

Stephen Falken : But does it make any sense?
General Beringer : Does what make any sense?
Stephen Falken : [points to the screens]  That!
General Beringer : Look, I don’t have time for a conversation right now.
Stephen Falken : [Falken speaks as he approaches]  General, are you prepared to destroy the enemy?
General Beringer : You betcha!
Stephen Falken : Do you think they know that?
General Beringer : I believe we’ve made that clear enough.
Stephen Falken : [face to face]  Then don’t! Tell the President to ride out the attack.
Colonel Joe Conley : Sir, they need a decision.
Stephen Falken : General, do you really believe that the enemy would attack without provocation, using so many missiles, bombers, and subs so that we would have no choice but to totally annihilate them?

What are we to say to people who think their own government is preparing to wipe out millions of its own citizens using mysterious nanotechnology? To wipe them out for doing what the government tells them to do no less. That’s not to say we should buy everything the government says or does. It’s reasonable to have doubts about new science. But…

Damn, there is a lot of crazy out there right now.

Zombie phrase for the day: Elon would be delicious with sriracha sauce. Eeeewahhn ooohhd eee wishshhhuhhs wihd reerahzhaah zahhhzz.

2018: Reflections on Me and Dad, sandwiched between random thoughts, while Dad Explains the Universe in Red, Redder, Reddest Sound Bites

(That’s not Commie Pinko Red, that’s Republican Red. This man was meant to take his guns to rural Montana or Idaho, closing the chained gate behind him.)

Old. So old, my dad. Anti-Trumpers? EVIL. Shoot them? He’s not quite sure yet. Incarcerate them? If they get in Donald’s way, then…  Whatever. Deport them. Bleach them. Let the zombies have them. Dad Limbaugh Hannity’s on, explaining life inside his bubble.

Mom: Quiet. Small words. Short thoughts. Peace and ice cream. Red velvet muffins. Cookie trail crumbling across ancient threadbare carpets. Smile. I’m here. Gloats zip by, forever monologue. White noise world.

Morning. Porch. Bricks hold the door. Nuclear heater blasts silent heat. Solar sun-catcher pilgrims wobble wobble wobble. Radio NOISE. Breadcrumbs. Woodpile. Squirrels, and probably racoons and big, fat Norwegian rats; shred more bread. We don’t waste food here. Seagull. Crows. He holds out his hand. Vitamin C, C, C. The crew of the Good Ship Tacoma House may go deaf from that radio, but no one will get scurvy. Pliers. Why? (Jocelyn: very old dog.com/net/org attempting new tricks) Drip drip drip; dad monologuing endless politics in the dark. I get him more coffee; I wish I could drink that much coffee.

Meanwhile, I think rest, teaching, students, friends, randomness and projects. Endless open lakes, dragons, unknown games and gamesmanship, ice cream (one whole freezer, full), ears, white noise, tinnitus, blah, blah, talking, without even knowing the way, open tired, Priscilla, Samuel, Ben, Shaun, Dan and Mike, Ginger, Jason, Ronnie, boxes, box cutters, way finder, any finding, days, sweats, cotton, stuff so much stuff, panic, pressure, release, freedom, Jon Kabat Zinn, feet, therapy pool, massage, nails, hair, lips,  blankies, mommies, time, time, time, zebras, hoofprints, trackers, zoos, zombies, freedom, bleach, bleach, spray nozzle, dead ants, roaches in boxes, education, permutations, emasculations, desecrations, footwear, bona fides, authenticity, forcefulness, use the Force, Luke, find the tomatillos Luke, faces, races, where will it take us? Darkness, I-5, bears, pain, fix pain. No gain. Time inside out.

Later, lovingly, I will doordash my aging parents the shrimp fried rice they love. Or maybe a sausage omelet with extra gravy on the hashbrowns. I go to check the coffee pot, then cut mom a delicious chunk of Costco chocolate muffin.

Zombie phrase of the day: You can make a brain latte with a blender. Ooohhh gahhh bahhhgg uhhh bain ahhhattay ihh uhhh behhhdehrr.

Only three masks here

A church manifesting faith

I’m not sure in what.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Covid has come and seemingly gone, though it remains to offer an occasional lesson. Here is mine for today: When someone posts on social media to say, “I have Covid, please cheer me up,” the right response is not, “I had it. I still can’t hear or taste although taste is getting a little better. The big problem is I am still foggy and can’t think.”

That’s an ironically non-thinking response or perhaps a narcissistic one. I immediately thought of pregnancy disaster stories. “My sister had to be life-flighted to (Big-City-Here) because she was hemorrhaging so badly. No one thought either one would survive!” is not an appropriate share. Not even with best of intentions. Not until well after the baby is born. Maybe not even then.

Here’s a question to start with before speaking or hitting the send button: What will make my friend/acquaintance feel better right now?

Yes, we all screw up in conversation sometimes, especially when we listen in order to talk, rather than listening so we can learn. But sharing with a kindly purpose in mind, instead of a desire to rack up “likes” or other cybertokens of popularity, can help this one-upmanship from blasting off in a blaze of misplaced self-aggrandizement.

Another starter sentence:

How can I help him/her/them/ze/per/this person?

As we story and journey, sometimes it’s good to just gobblefunk a little with words.

Reader, maybe make a list of words that capture how you feel right now. I’ll start:

I feel like an armadillo (got to get across the road but somehow that sense of urgency is just not there…)

a message in a bottle bobbing down the the time stream

weary pilgrim, tired of lifting my heavy staff

slug giving virtual hugs and advice to overly complicated vertebrates

ent staring up into the rushing waters

astronaut mouse tethered a tiny spaceship staring at billions of stars

magnifying glass watching the sun turn paper below me into a soft shade of brown

cork-stopped jar etched with a fairy whose lantern is waiting for a match

thin voice dissipating in an expanding political void

secret dancer straining to hear the music, making up new lyrics as she goes.

Some days just flash by

Scent of burnt time descending

Toward dreams we forget.

Book of mindfulness

But mindfulness does not hide

Inside little books.

Life is what you get

While episode five unfolds

And the phone goes ding!

How odd to think that an era of this length has ended. Elizabeth was queen forever. She knew Churchill. She met thirteen US Presidents. She ruled for the entirety of my life, day by day, crisis by crisis. And her people loved her.

What next? She can’t be replaced. Charles is … well, Charles. Camilla is So-Not-Diana. William’s stiff upper lip might as well be made of granite and Kate just barely seems like more fun than William. The more lovable younger brother moved to the US with his indulged wife, who has been making a fair amount of trouble for the stiff-upper-lip-we-do-it-this-way crowd. And Andrew… oh, Andrew. I can’t say the royal family is a mess exactly, but it’s hardly ready for Prime Time.

Still, I guess we are not in position to raise much of a fuss here.

And then there’s the issue of the pee tape that Putin may or may not have in his possession. This blog supports Better Leadership All Over the Place. We will miss Queen Elizabeth.

Ingredients

Ample pinch of saffron – approx ½ teaspoon if you have longer, wavy threads

Marjoram, oregano, thyme, turmeric and a bay leaf. See below

4-5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

(Additional olive oil as needed.)

1 onion, medium sized, diced

1-2 cloves garlic, minced

1 1/2 cups short grain rice

3 cups chicken stock

1+ red, yellow and/or orange pepper, medium sized, diced or cut into strips. I prefer small strips.

1 chicken breast or 2-3 chicken thighs, cut into larger pieces (keeps it moister) then coat with flour, paprika and garlic powder before cooking in 1 tbsp oil)

1 pound sausage, cut into 1/4 inch or slightly larger rounds – andouille is more classic, but I like a sweet chicken sausage. A good Polish sausage is fine too!

1 pound cooked shrimp, peeled and deveined, tails on – med large or larger. If using frozen, they must be thawed first.

½ cup frozen peas or peas and carrots

1 lemon, cut into wedges

Salt and pepper to taste

Directions

If you want to be fussy, take a generous pinch each of marjoram, oregano, and thyme and then cook (but don’t scorch) these in oil to bring out the flavor. Add a bay leaf. (You can just throw all the spices into the chicken broth, though.)

Take the chicken pieces and add to a bowl with 2-3 tbsp flour, 1 tsp paprika, garlic powder, salt and pepper to taste. Mix chicken with flour mix until chicken is coated. Then add 2-3 tbsp olive oil and mix chicken again until coated thoroughly.

Pull out a large frying pan. The one above is 14 inches. Add about 1 additional tbsp of olive oil to pan. Cook chicken only until pink is gone, turning with tongs. It will cook more in broth later. Remove chicken.

Over a medium to high heat, add 1-2 tbsp olive oil to the frying pan. Then add onion and cook until translucent.

Add garlic and cook for 2 more minutes.

On medium heat, add all of the rice and stir frequently. This technique is known as ‘parching’. By heating the rice for 3-5 minutes prior to adding any liquid, the rice will essentially become “thirstier,” and soak up more broth. Add one teaspoon turmeric.

Once the rice is hot, CAREFULLY add half of the chicken stock and the saffron and other herbs/spices. The pan is hot and liquid could spatter/vaporize quickly. (My husband would add three tablespoons tomato sauce. I would skip the tomato sauce.) You want the liquid to completely cover the rice.

Stir occasionally and bring to a boil. As the liquid is soaked up, add more stock.

While slowly adding stock to keep the rice ‘wet’, add in the bell pepper. I use red, yellow and/or orange peppers. You could use green peppers, but I’m not a green pepper fan. Spouse is OK with green, though.

Add in the sausage and chicken. Stir occasionally and be sure to bring back to a boil to ensure the meats heat all the way through, about 10-12 minutes. Add broth to keep rice hydrated. (This time can be shorter with cooked sausage since you already cooked the chicken, but you do want to get the rice to the right consistency. I’d go by whether the rice seems right. You want the rice to be soft with a tasty brown crust on the bottom of the pan.)

Lastly, add the shrimp and peas or peas and carrots. I embed the shrimp in the rice and sit the peas on top. The shrimp will only take about 3 minutes to cook thoroughly. As soon as it is done, remove the pan from the heat. Let it rest covered for at least another 5 minutes.

Garnish with lemon wedges.

Piece of advice for today: Don’t buy the first year of the new or better product. The first year of the new boiler, dishwasher or hovercar should be tested by People Other than You.

Not that we haven’t met some nice guys while they fixed the new boiler problem. Did you know there is a “boiler buddy” that will fix short cycling of your boiler? Here’s the blurb:

“Boiler Buddy buffer tanks are designed to be used in heating systems with low-mass boilers, geothermal, chilled water, or low-mass radiation. The Boiler Buddy tank is a factory insulated and jacketed storage tank that adds mass to the system and provides the necessary buffer to prevent short cycling of the heat source. It also serves as a hydraulic decoupler, separating the boiler loop from the system loop and provides an excellent location to eliminate unwanted air. “

Ummm… Should have bought the old-fashioned standard boiler or waited a few years until they worked out the kinks of that new thing in the basement. But kudos to the persons who took advantage of the marketing opportunity that demanded a “boiler buddy.”

Zombie Phrase for the Day: I need glasses but the eye doctors always run away.

Ahhhhhdeeeedd adddusss buhhduhhh ayyyydahdah ahdihhhd uhhhhnnnnndd uhbay.