The "Discussion" That Will Never End

My husband and I, like many couples, occasionally have our disagreements. We rarely argue, but when we do, it's usually over something pretty major. Fortunately, it doesn't last for more than a couple of hours before we offer the olive branch to each other. We just don't enjoy arguing, least of all with each other, so we generally talk things out before it becomes a fight.

Except for when it comes to the proposed project of covering our well and filtration system.

We have been in the process of deciding how best to cover and protect our water system now for about 8 months. Why? Because county regulations are driving us insane, and we cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel.

First, we thought about a carport. We thought it might be the simpliest solution, because all your do is put it up. No construction necessary, no concrete slab to pour, etc. Except our county building department said that in order to comply with hurricane code, we would need to dig four holes, pour concrete into the holes, then place the four pole corners of the carport into the holes. In theory, this will prevent hurricane force winds from pulling up the carport and whisking it away. In order for us to pour the concrete, we would need to level the ground dirt, which means taking apart the whole well system. If you have ever dealt with a well system, you would know why (1) that's a bad idea and (2) it's never going to happen.

Then we thought about putting up a shed. Just enclose the whole thing, and a shed is exempt from hurricane code as far as securing the sides in concrete. But county doesn't seem to realiize that it won't be used for storage, only for protecting the water system. They just can't wrap their heads around the concept of a shed being used for something OTHER than storage. And so we must through many more hoops.

Anyways, the other day we sat down and really hammered out our ideas and came up with what I thought was the final word on the matter. My husband said, "I've been looking at this thing from every angle, I have discussed all the options with the builder and county, and here's two options. You pick the one you think is best, and we'll go with your choice."

I hesitated, because I've been caught up in this scam before. "Whatever you choose" has always been an iffy statement with us, because no sooner do I make a decision than my husband starts bringing up new ideas and new options, and we then start a whole new dialogue.

So I sat there quietly for a few moments. Then I asked, "So you are positive these are the two routes you want to take, and you don't care which one we choose, so long as I do the choosing?"

He nodded. "That's right. I'm tired of looking at this, and I want this task to finally be done. You choose, and we'll go with whatever you think is best."

I tried again. "So you have absolutely no opinion on this matter whatsoever. You have no preference, no inclination, no leaning towards one solution over the other, is that correct?"

He sighed. "Just pick one. Let's just get this done and over with."

I sat quietly again. I was pretty sure where this conversation was going to go, but I took a leap of faith, took a deep breath, and said, "Okay, based on everything we've thought about, our budget, and the need to get it done quickly, let's do this option." I tapped the appropiate sheet of paper.

My husband smiled and said, "Okay, I'll call the builder and let him know. It'll be good to get this done."

I smiled. That was easy, I thought. Then I became suspicious. That was too easy, I thought.

This morning my husband came up to me and said, "Well I thought about what "we" decided, and after I called the builder, I was doing some recalculations, and I think we may have some other options to consider."

I said nothing. I just put my face in my hands, and did a silent scream inside.

I can hardly wait to render my next final decision.

Early Morning for a Dark Knight

There comes a time in a marriage when you must do something you don't want to do -- even something you swore you'd never do -- all in the name of marital harmony. Arguing will not get you out of it. Compromising will not work. Reason will not triumph. And so, for the sake of your partnership, sometimes you must do the unthinkable.

For me, that moment came last night.

Big Dave made me go see Batman: The Dark Knight. At midnight. Opening night. In a large stadium theatre with A LOT of teens and kids.

I know what you are thinking. You're saying to yourself, "so? It's the most talked about movie of the summer. It's a sure blockbuster. What's the big deal?"

And I would say, "Stuff it where the sun doesn't shine."

I am not a night person. By 10:30, I am ready for bed. We saw the midnight showing. The movie is three hours long, plus all the previews and advertisements. You do the math.

Our show was sold out. We were surrounded by teens with cell phones who apparently did not have the ability or the inclination to turn off those cell phones. They also did not have the ability to remain quiet during the movie. And I'm not talking about quiet brief whispers. I'm talking about full blown conversations with each other and on their cell phones during the movie. This is a main reason why I don't like going to the movies during peak times. The more crowded the theater, the more likely I will be seated next to these freaks. Those are the times when a taser or a paint ball gun could come in handy. Unfortunately, neither are allowed in a theater.

Earlier in the day I tried to reason with my husband. I encouraged him to go by himself. He replied he really wanted me to come. I asked why it was so important that (1) I go with him, and (2) we had to go opening night at midnight, when we could just go the next day at a more reasonable hour. He replied that since Batman was his favorite superhero, he had never missed seeing a Batman movie on opening night, and he didn't want to see his favorite character on-screen without his favorite person sitting beside him. So, stiffling my inner feelings, I just smiled and told him to buy the tickets. But inside I was thinking, "Damn the man. I hope he chokes on his popcorn."

But despite the late hour, the talkers, and the crowds, it was worth going just to see the smile and enjoyment on my husband's face. He had been looking forward to the movie for a long time, and his Batman viewing streak continues unblemished.

Bottom line: I'm happy he's happy.

Now where's the #&%!@# coffee?

My Garden... My Nemesis

Some people are born with green thumbs. They have gardens that thrive and bloom and are a joy to behold. My mother is one of the green thumbs. She's a miracle worker with plants. This genetic marker, however, did not get passed on to me. I have a black thumb. Not literally, of course. But I am horrible with plants. I can kill them just by looking at them. I can do everything right (water, fertilize, etc), but somehow my plants will still die. I think they can sense my ineptitude. They know they're dealing with an amateur, and they torment me accordingly. More often than not, my plants wilt away into the abyss of nothingness. In order for a plant to survive on my property, it has to be VERY rugged and durable. In short, it has to be nearly indestructible.

So, imagine my surprise when, almost a year later, my front garden is still doing very well. I have 5 rose bushes that bloom almost every day. My hibiscus bushes are coming back nicely after being beaten down by some winter frost. Of course, it doesn't hurt that we've had a lot of rainfall in the last month. It also doesn't hurt that we've had more cloud cover than normal, so the plants don't get baked in the sun nearly as much as they would ordinarily. I should have known better than to get my hopes up, though. Yesterday, I was congratulating myself on a job well done, and enjoying my roses. Today, I am vigorously cursing mother nature.

I have been invaded by caterpillars. They seem to really be enjoying my rose bushes -- a little too much, in fact. I started spraying my plants with bug spray, but I'm finding out this was a bad idea. You see, we have a lot of birds on our property. Birds, it turns out, LOVE catepillars. So when the bird eats a catepillar that has been poisoned by my spray... well, lets just say the result is not pretty. So I am back to square one. How do I get rid of the catepillars without harming the birds? After a couple of weeks, I may not have to worry about it, as my roses will be nibbled down to little stubs. Apparently my black thumb has reared it's ugly in-grown nail once again.

Maybe I should just stick to cactus plants.

What a Difference 20 Years Makes!

When I was a kid, my dad grudgingly allowed us to have a cat. He didn't like cats all that much. He's more of a dog person. because the dog responds to him when he calls. A cat pretty much ignores him, which he doesn't appreciate.

But because my brother and I really wanted a cat, he allowed ONE (and only ONE), but there were strict rules attached to having the cat. The cat could not stay inside at night, no matter what the temperature was outside (because he refused to have a cat litter box in the house). The cat could not stay in our rooms if we were not in them (I guess to prevent "accidents"). The cat ate the cheapest cat food, because he didn't believe in spending a lot of money on pet food. The cat had to have a bath at least once every two weeks, even in winter, to help control fleas and pet dander. Vet visits were few and far between, mostly because Dad didn't believe in spending money on a vet for yearly wellness visits or any other "unnecessary" expense. His philosophy was if the cat was sick, it was cheaper to get another cat from the SPCA rather than spend a lot on vet bills. If the cat was eating well and pooping well, there was no need for it to go to the vet for a checkup.

Fast forward 20 years. The self-proclaimed cat hater now has TWO cats. They stay inside at night. They have a litter box in the house. They go for yearly vet visits. THEY SLEEP ON HIS BED AT NIGHT, and HE MAKES ROOM FOR THEM ON THE BED. He always shares a bit of his dinner with them. If he has tuna for lunch, guess who gets half the can? He has bought them chairs because he thought they were the most comfortable chairs for the cats. If a cat is lying on the chair he wanted to sit on, he'll move on to another chair, rather than disturb the cat! He lavishes affection on them. They have special comforters they lay on while they sleep on the bed. in short, these cats live a life of luxury.

All I want to know is: Who is this man, and what did he do with my dad?

My Protector... most of the time.

Today, I want to introduce you to my guardian and protector: Koda. He's a 67 pound Australian shepherd/Rhodesian Ridgeback mix. He's on guard 24/7, and alerts me to anything out of the ordinary, which usually ranges from a person walking by the house to an aggressive squirrel ransacking the bird feeders. He's extremely protective of the house and the humans in it (he could care less about the cats, though), and usually he does an outstanding job in carrying out his sentry duties.

Except when there's a thunderstorm.

If he hears ANY thunder, he becomes the biggest wuss you've ever seen. He starts off by barking at the lightening, probably to show it who's boss. Then he progresses to howling, which can make you deaf in about 2 minutes. As the storm gets closer, he starts to panic. He has to be in the same room I'm in. His body must be in contact with my body at all times. If I'm at my desk, he must be under the desk, behind my legs. If I'm in bed, he must be at the foot of the bed, safely tucked between my legs or resting by my tush. If the thunder is loud enough, he will start shaking. His ears flatten out, the fur on his back will go up, and his tail will remain between his legs until the storm passes. The transformation between pre-storm dog and post-storm dog is incredible. Suddenly, I'm HIS protector. Only Mommy can keep the storm at bay. Only mommy can chase the bad thunder away. Cute, right? Yes, but only if he's not anywhere near anything breakable, such as computers, electronics, furniture, etc. Then, it's not so adorable.

I suppose I should be happy that he believes I could protect him. This means he accepts me as the Alpha female, which makes me the boss. But I would be a lot happier about it if I wasn't deaf right now.

There's another storm brewing for today. I've already put his dog bed underneath my desk, in preparation for the next panic attack. Am I a good mommy or what?

My New Bumper Sticker

Driving around during my daily errand run, I see a lot of different bumper stickers. Some are political, some are humorous, and almost all of them reflect some character or personality of the driver. Naturally, this got me to thinking about the bumper sticker that I should put on my car. And I came up with the following:

"I made an Australian girl cry. Ask me how!"

There are two reasons for this idea. 1. It's eye-catching, even a conversation starter. 2. It's true.

Now let me explain. For some reason, when I travel, I get an excess of bodily toots (aka gas). I don't know if it's the food I eat, the stress that goes with traveling, or a combination of both, but I have been known to lay some real stinkers. The real problem is that there is usually no warning or indication that they are coming, so one minute I'm standing around and everything's fine. The next minute, I toot (usually in the proximity of some poor unsuspecting person), and the green gas spreads it's way through the crowd with some unpleasant results. While in the providence of Queensland, I had just finished breakfast and was walking out of the restaurant to meet up with Big Dave. Suddenly, a toot escaped. You couldn't hear it, but within a minute you sure could smell it. I happened to be passing by a family, and the little girl was the closest one to me. As I passed her, she sniffed, crinkled up her nose, then said (loudly), "Ewwww. Mommy, that stinks!" She then held her nose with one hand, and started to cry. Needless to say, I hurried out of the area. I don't know if they ever discovered it was me, but it was the first of many times that I have had similar reactions to my toots. I have made children cry in many different cities, in different parts of the country, from San Francisco to Savannah.

Now, I am not proud of this "talent". I know there has to be a way to get it to stop. But on rare occasions, it does come in handy. Take, for instance, last night. I was curled up on the couch with the dog. His head was towards my feet, and his tush was pointed at me. With no warning, he let let out a toot, and it was the nastiest smelling thing you can imagine. Like rotten eggs stewed in sulfur water. Not to be outdone, I reciprocated. He sniffed, recoiled, sneezed, then jumped down off the couch and tried to bury his nose in the hallway carpet -- probably to help his nose get rid of the smell. I then had the couch to myself for the rest of the night.

Hey, it may not be ladylike, but it does have it's advantages.

The Great Outdoors

Well, we survived our trek into the Appalacians. What a gorgeous part of the country! Fortunately, we went early enough so we avoided most of the summer heat (although it was still quite warm due to the East Coast heat wave). We hiked, we rafted the white water rapids, we rode a train through the Great Smokies, and just generally relaxed and enjoyed the mountains. And, we ate our way through Bryson City, Cherokee, Gatlainburg, and Maggie Valley. In addition to some souveniers, we bought back with us some great stories.

First, let me tell you about Uncle Charlie. Uncle Charlie was our tour guide while rafting the rapids. He's a young-at-heart 78-year old part time resident of Bryson City, NC, who proudly wore a tee shirt which stated, "You don't grow old because you raft the waters, you grow old because you STOP rafting." He is one of the coolest people you will ever meet. He knew that river like the back of his hand. Because of his knowledge and guidance, we stayed in the raft the entire trip down the river (instead of getting flipped out like many of our fellow rafters). After our trip down the river, I talked to him briefly about his life and his experiences on the river. He summed it up by saying, "I've been rafting these waters for almost 35 years. I know it better than most of the people who have lived here all their lives. Everything that could happen to you on that river has happened to me. That river and I have an understanding. When it's time for me to stop, she'll let me know." He then told us about the local history, the local people, and local legends. I could have talked to him for hours, but there was another boatload of people waiting, so Charlie had to go. But the two lessons he taught me: (1) age is just a number, and (2)your experiences keep you young, so never stop trying new things.

We met up with an old Cherokee tribe member while visiting the Cherokee museum. He was also in his '70s, had lived in Cherokee all his life. He talked to us briefly about the town's renaissance from neglected reservation to bustling tourist town (thanks to the new Harrod's Casino, which is owned by the tribe). The pride he felt at seeing his people finally self sufficient was obvious. They now had quality medical care, new schools, improved infrastructure, and money to put towards ongoing projects. It tickled him that tourists drove hundreds of miles to learn about his culture, tour the museum, and enjoy the local art shows, when he could quite clearly remember when Cherokee children were put in boarding school to make them more "white", so they might fit in with the world around them. He now saw the world trying to fit in with the tribe, and he was enjoying every minute of it. As he now stated, with a big teasing smile, "We don't scalp the white man anymore. We just send him to the casino, and he'll scalp himself."

That's probably the best thing about traveling. You get to meet all sorts of people you might otherwise have never met. Well, that, and the Indian bread. That's pretty good too.