Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Consubstantial-icious-ness

It's 100 bazillion degrees outside, so it seems like the perfect time to write a blog. I've been putting it off, goodness knows why.  Blogging is perfect for global warming weather.  It hasn't been very exciting in the Addiverse, which for all intensive purposes, is a very good thing.  This is our exciting evening:

The wife:  "What are you doing tonight?"

Me: "Writing a blog."

The wife:  "About what?"

Me:  "I dunno. Whatever I type."

This is the beauty of my blogging.  I don't pre-plan.  I just sit down and type.  That's why the grammar tends to suck. I don't edit.  I don't go back.  I just do.

The wife:  "Did you see? They cut down that green ash down the street."

Me: [Stabbing pain in my chest.]  "WHAT?"  [I panic.  That tree is less than 1/4 mile away.]

The wife: "Yeah, the one next to the one that looks sick."

Me: [Gasping for air.]  "They cut down the healthy one?"  [Head is spinning.  Why would they cut down the healthy one? The other one looks terrible.]  "Why would they cut down the healthy one?" 

The wife: "It was split right in half.  I don't know what happened.  They cut it down. The other one is still standing there."

For those of you wondering why the hell I would care about a neighborhood green ash tree getting chopped down, go back and read about my love for our personal, beautiful, glorious green ash tree.  It's been terrible.  I try not to worry about it but I am obsessed.  Those two green ash trees down the block grab my attention every time we walk the dogs past them.  They look like they've been stricken with the green ash borer. I'd walk the other way, but the tree up the street about a block away (opposite direction) also looks sickly and borer-like.  This is really bad news--we are in a borer sandwich.  Shudder.

I go out into the bazillion degree heat and take a gander at our tree.  I do not like what I see.  There are a whole lot of dead branches in there...but, it doesn't look as sickly as the neighboring trees, so I consider this.  I don't know, I don't know.  I return inside and verbalize my fret.  The wife cajoles me: "Our tree is fine.  Is that all you're going to do? Then, let's cut it down."

I decide a different topic would be prudent.

Let's talk about what the hell happened to Catholic Mass. That's a heck of a lot better thing to worry about than our most beloved tree having bugs.

We went to a baptism on the wife's side--in the Cheddarlands, of course.  It was a Catholic baptism, which means you get to sit through an entire Catholic Mass and then attend the baptism after the mass.  This event was complete with four newborn, getting-baptized babies and a 12 year old priest in training. (One of the babies was decked out in a white tuxedo and sporting a gel-formed Mohawk.  That rocked!)  So, I settle in to the pew, feeling quite comfortable--after all, I was raised in the Catholic church and I am comforted by the familiarity of the Mass.... 

Well, that familiarity when right out the window mighty fast...I'm standing and sitting and standing, like always, when it strikes.  What the hell? They've changed the wording! 

Who the heck changed the wording of the Catholic Mass and when did this happen????  I was flummoxed. When someone says, "the Lord be with you," you answer, without fail, "and also with you."  

Well.Not.Anymore.

Now when someone says, "The Lord be with you," you answer,  "and with your spirit."  

WTH is that???  I dont' even know what that means.  With my spirit?? Seriously? Am I at cheerleading camp? Am I spirited? With your spirit? I can't say that.  I have to say "and also with you." I'm not saying "with your spirit."

It hasn't been THAT long since I stepped foot into a Mass, has it?  With my spirit???

It got worse. I actually looked around at the wife's family while reciting the Apostle doohickey and the people said, "Jesus is the consubstantial with the father."  Consubstantial? Is that like a sub-contractor?  Is that unsubstantial to be consubstantial? What's the difference between insubstantial, unsubstantial and consubstantial? WHERE IS MY SMART PHONE? I need to google this! I need to google this!

And, poor Mary.  She, according to the new and improved Nicene Creed, no longer gave birth to Jesus.....she was incarnate...or was Jesus incarnate? Someone was incarnate. What the heck does incarnate mean?  The baby Jesus and that good friend, the holy spirit (who I always call the holy ghost) "was incarnate of the Virgin Mary." 

Go figure.  Incarnate.  That doesn't sound good.  I mean, I'm picturing incarcerated, even though I know that's not what happened to Mary.  Then, I'm picturing Jesus as a reincarnated baby.  That can't be good, either.  Does the Catholic Church suddenly believe in reincarnation? If you are not re-incarnate, are you "just" carnate? Why, why, why didn't I bring my smart phone into Mass with me?

There seemed to be less kneeling, which is good....and, more standing, which isn't good or bad--just different.   I decided my confusion had to be nothing in comparison to what the people had to live through when they changed the Mass from Latin to English.  That must've been something.  I'm sure people were much more than consubstantial-ated when that happened.  

I have since learned that the changes happened in November 2011.  I felt better after learning that.  I'm not that behind the times.  I may not be a practicing Catholic but I like to stay in touch with my peeps.

Thankfully, the baptism script was the same.  The only thing different--besides having a 12 year old practice priest giving the homily--was that the "real" priest seemed to possess a need to soak each baby with a full pitcher of water.  I'm not kidding--an entire pitcher per child. He shoulda just dunked them head first into the tub and called it a day.  I must say, it got the babies who were crying to stop crying.  I think they were so stunned that they were literally stunned into silence. Of course, this means the one non-crying baby started screaming.  Ah well, one screamer out of four ain't bad.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I'm going to take my spirit out to the yard and hope the tree gets consubstantiated or carnated or incarnated or incarcerated or something right before my eyes. Be gone, ye bugs of doom!  And, if you say, "the Lord be with you" while I am standing by that tree, I am SOOOO going to say, "and also with you."  
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Thursday, July 19, 2012

Bugged

Last night, I started to write this blog when suddenly a storm blew into town.  Usually, this would not be a problem; but, in this case, we were out of practice as it hasn't rained since May and there have been no storms.  Instead of finishing the blog, I had to walk around looking for candles (we need some), wondering if I should get chocolate out of the freezer or not (in case the power went out), unplugging electronics (hence no computer to finish the blog) and reassuring the wife, who looked absolutely terrified.  We did indeed lose power for three hours, which is nothing.  Just ask my sister who didn't have power for three DAYS during the 100 degree spell a few weeks back.  All is well now, so back to the blog.

I'd like to talk to you about a subject of which I learned much about when getting my master's degree...in fact, I had several courses on the topic.

Somewhere during those theory, research and philosophical masters-level degree classes, I must have learned about what to do when clients experience crises such as this.

Okay, no one said anything about bed bugs. They didn't talk about scabies, lice, ring worm or even jock itch, for that matter.

I am here to tell you: Bed Bugs happen.  Bed Bugs mean business. Bed bugs are trouble.  Bed Bugs living in your clients' beds make for a whole new level of fun.  Once the bed bugs arrive, they are in no hurry to leave--in fact, they are almost impossible to move along.  

Someone should have taught me about bed bugs in relation to my chosen profession.  I mean, don't you picture bed bugs when thinking of a professional counselor or master's level art therapist?

I hear bed bugs are the norm in Europe--no one pays them much attention.  Thanks to international travel, Bed Bugs have infested the majority of New York City hotels, including the upscale hotels. Here in po-dunk Midwest mental health field, bed bugs are quite the news and are not welcome.  I've dealt with bed bugs before but not on the level we are now talking.  The local housing authority high rises are infiltrated with bed bugs--and, I mean swarming. It's disgusting. We've had to move the majority of our clients out of there, because the bugs were so bad our clients were covered with bites and there wasn't much happening to address the problem.  (Problem? What problem?)  When you move someone with bed bugs, you basically leave everything behind.  Those puppies can squeeze in anywhere and can live a year--A YEAR!!!--without feeding on anything (meaning: me or you).  MJagger has seen many a day filled with bed bugs, as it's her clients that live in the community.  She thought she had seen the last with them when one of the last remaining clients in a housing authority high rise got a crop of his own critters.  Poor MJagger--it was almost too much.  I'm sure she was thinking, "for THIS I went to college?" followed by chest pain and angst.  So, when she was faced with yet another round of bed bugs at our place of employment, I couldn't stand by and watch her suit up on her own: I had to suit up and throw myself at the mercy of the buggers.  I donned a bed bug suit (or, at least that is what we call them) and bellied up to the bar.
I admit, my dedication to my job and my friend was quite limited--I only gave her one hour and fifteen minutes of my time, because that is all the time I had available on the day she needed help.  Although I tried to do whatever I could, there is only so much I could do in an hour.  I like to think that I was more of a moral support than anything else.  After all, misery loves company.

If you've never seen a bed bug suit, here is what it looks like.  (I added the mask because the client's apartment was very smoky and dusty and I can't take smoke and dust. The mask is not part of the ensemble.  You don't inhale bed bugs.)  It's awesome because bed bugs are red or brown and the suit is white; hence, if one latches on, you can probably see it.  The suit keeps your clothes bed bug free and the booties go a long way to keep your feet free from dragging some friends along for the ride. I kind of felt like an astronaut pre-flight.  And, yes--that is duct tape on my wrists and ankles--after all, do you want bed bugs getting into the crevices of your suit? I think not.  The rubber gloves are duct-taped to my hands, which also kept my hands "clean." The problem? It was so hot in his apartment that my gloves literally filled with sweat.  I think that was more disgusting than the bugs.

Bed bugs don't really jump all that much.  Okay, so they jump.  But, it's not like they are flying around the room and it's not like they are falling off the ceiling.  I felt pretty comfortable about the whole operation.  The only time I worried was when MJagger pulled a pile of clothes off a shelf that was above her head and the whole pile fell onto her head.  That was rather traumatic.  

Our clients live in horrific poverty, so throwing away the few belongings they have would usually be heart-breaking.  Not in this case.  Throwing away a few bug-infested possessions isn't hard at all.  You don't throw it away, you don't get rid of the problem.  Oh, the housing authority has now decided to spray, but it's a half-ass attempt and they aren't emptying the apartments and they aren't getting rid of things like mattresses and they aren't even moving anyone for a day, so the bugs aren't going to be eradicated.  It's a fact.  Just ask those upscale New York hotels how much fun it is for them to get rid of the bugs.

So you know, you need to be careful when staying in any hotel.  (I'm terrified when staying in a hotel.  Just ask the wife.  I have a lot of "staying in a hotel rules.") Don't ever put your suitcase or clothes on the bed, on the floor or in the drawers.  Never.  Keep your suitcase on the suitcase rack (usually a metal, fold up thing), as bed bugs can't crawl up metal (well, at least not very well).  Keep your stuff in the suitcase on the suitcase rack. Better yet, leave your stuff in the trunk of your car.  Me? I leave my shoes on when in a hotel room.  Don't even get me started about the carpeting. (Shoes are a great mode of transportation for bed bugs so you best check your shoes before putting them in your stuff--it'd be awesome if you could put your shoes in the freezer for two weeks but you probably don't have time to do that on vacation.) Before getting into bed, take a gander at the sheets and mattress cover.  Go ahead, don't be afraid.  If you see any little red dots or suspicious brown specs--especially in the corners--leave.  (Well, unless you are European--then, you can think, "hey, this is a really clean bed--looks much better than mine at home.")

Or, you could sleep in a cocoon.  Seriously.  They have these mesh cocoon things that you sleep in, head and all.  Trust me, if you've seen bed bugs and bed bug bites, cocoons don't sound that crazy.

Or, you could sleep in your car, but then you really don't need the hotel room, do you?

Now, for the horror of MJagger's story.  Remember how that pile of clothing fell onto her head? Well, when she got home from her de-bugging of the apartment, she took a shower.  When she unbraided her hair (she has really long hair), a bed bug fell out of it.  A big one.  A big one filled with lots of blood.  Lest I think she was kidding or making it up, she took a photo of it and texted it to me.  Yup, that's her bathroom floor.  Yup, that's a bed bug. Yes, the wording in her text suggested that a bed bug had indeed fallen out of her hair.  

Thankfully, she smooshed it and it was dead by the time she took the photo.  I think she may have saved it and mailed it to the housing authority.  If she didn't, she should have, along with a nice, big bill.

She announced that she will NEVER, ever clean a client's beg-bug-infested apartment again.  Ever. Even if she were in a cocoon.  She.is.not.doing.it.

Who can blame her?  

I don't plan on helping her, either.  We'll stick to going to Madonna concerts and leave the bed bugs to someone else.
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Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Oh My Achin' Ash

This is a sad tale of woe,
An ode to a local tree I know.

When we moved in to our brand-spanking-new house in the mid-1990's, we were given a twig of a sprig of a green ash tree. I was taller than the green ash gift and I can't say that it looked very hearty. The tree was a gift from two of the nicest, most thoughtful people on the planet: my cousins.  It had popped up in their backyard and thus they thought we might want it for our new house. I was skeptical--after all, it was barely a stick-wide--but thought it the perfect gift; after all, we had zero landscaping and nary a tree to be found. Who can't use a free tree when there is not a stick of shade on the property? We planted the tree on the side of the house and hoped for the best.

I have GOT to find a photo of the tree during its first year in our yard.  I guarantee you'll laugh.

I love green ash trees.  I can spot them anywhere.  I particularly like our personal green ash tree...of course I love ours because of what it represents; but, I love them in general.  They have this awesome shape, interesting bark, quick growth. I love them because they seem to lose their leaves in the Fall in one big CRASH to the ground--I swear all the leaves fall off on the same day. They are the last to get their leaves in the spring and always keep you wondering if they are still even alive long after the winter has moved along. There is a beautiful line of them along Lake Michigan on the Summerfest grounds.  It's a wonderful thing to sit on the rocks and look up at the ash trees.

Fast forward seventeen or so years from that first new-home summer and you'll find our little twig has grown into one big, magnificent green ash tree. It's so huge we can barely believe it. The mighty ash keeps the south side of the house shaded nicely in the summer, makes the perfect "sit under a tree" place to sit with the dogs, serves as home for several bird families.  The thing is so tall that this year we had to have large branches taken off (by professionals) because the limbs were resting on the roof and several branches were scrape-scrape-scraping along the siding.

Our tree has served as the perfect place to sit with the gaybors on a hot summer night.  Bitty, Brown Dog, Freckles, Lucy, the wife, the gaybors and yours truly would gather around in "the park" between our two houses and sit under the tree, wait for the cool summer breeze to bring us relief. (Damn those neighbors for moving!) I can envision us plopped down under the tree--dog beds, lawn chairs, bugs, bug spray, little bowls of water, lots of early evening laughter.    Here's a candid photo of three of the four dogs (as usual, Lucy is nowhere to be found because there are other dogs involved--Freckles is looking at her, wondering what the hell is wrong with her) sitting under the tree on a hot summer day.  Notice that no one is using the dog beds.  Ah well, at least they were there for the taking....

Now, you may be wondering why I'm sounding all maudlin about a tree that is just fine and is still growing leaps and bounds in our yard.  I am sad because I know what is coming.

I know what is coming and I can't find one blessed person to give me even one one-billionth shred of hope.  


Thanks for nothing, tree-huggers.


The most-dreaded green ash bore is creeping closer and closer.  It's in our state. It's in neighboring towns. It's in our town. An infestation of these shiny green bugs kills the tree in one to three years......and, it kills all ash trees in its path.  No matter what money you put into saving the tree, the tree (at least at this time in history) gets consumed and dies. The experts say all the green ash trees will be dead in five to seven years.

All of them.


As for our ash, I don't see any signs of infestation, but I'm no arborist.  The tree looks healthy, even in this drought.  There are no borer marks, nothing looks dead and we haven't had an influx of woodpeckers.  I'm going with it.  I am sticking to my belief that the tree has not been infested and that it has many wonderful years of tree-dom left in it.

Here is a photo of me hugging and kissing the tree.  I'm hanging on for dear life.  The last thing I want to do is cut this tree down.  It doesn't look as majestic in this photo as it does in real life. I think it's the angle of the photo or something.  Trust me when I say it is majestic.


We already lost one tree to bugs this year--those damn Japanese Beetles OF WHICH I HATE--killed our blossoming cherry tree.  That kinda sucked.  (What IS it with shiny green bugs?) I hated to have it chopped down but it was pretty dead and so I didn't argue.  It was a beautiful tree but it wasn't huge and it wasn't tied to such fond memories....in other words, it's not like I had to have the green ash chopped down.

I've heard from several sources that we should cut the green ash tree down NOW and not wait for it to get infested (assuming it is not already infested). Reasons vary--from "cutting down the tree before it even gets bigger will save you money" to "you'll stop the spread of the borer" to whatever--but, it all ends up with the same last line: "your tree is going to get infested and die."

There is no "if."  It is always "when" when talking to people, reading literature, studying data.

I suppose that's not a very positive attitude to embrace.  So, I am not going to embrace that attitude.


I surround the tree with a little bubble of love and light and tell it to be strong.  I tell it to fight back and not let the shiny green bug in.  I tell it it is loved and thank it for all it gives to us. I envision the universe sparing our tree because why not? Anything is possible.

 I plan on hugging and kissing my tree quite often this summer, so if you drive by and see me kissing the tree, you'll know why.  You are welcomed to stop by and hug this tree, too.  Maybe take a photo with it, maybe say a few kind words.  Feel free to sit under it and enjoy a cool summer evening with us and the dogs. Catch a firefly, listen to a bird or two, slap a mosquito.  Take a moment and feel the love.


Piss on you, green ash borer.  Me and this tree are in no hurry to meet you.

Saturday, July 07, 2012

Honey-Don't List

The wife is on her annual "Tour of the Cheddarlands," this time making her way to Oshkosh to hang out with Tom.E.Hilfiger and family (that's a nickname, not the actual guy--long time blog readers know this). Every year she tortures herself--er, I mean enjoys some quality family time with siblings and their offspring.  I stay home and go to work every day.  Sometimes, I am pretty sure I've got the better end of the deal.

This year, the wife left me what I would consider a "honey-do" list.  I couldn't believe it!  She's never done anything of the sort before, so it was very confusing to get one. I suppose I deserve it because I don't really listen when she is telling me what she needs to do.  Interestingly, the list is a more of a honey-DON'T list, which fits my personality better than a honey-DO.


The list is relatively simple and designed so a first grader could follow it--which is good for people like me.  I need simple and direct and matter of fact.  I don't need any flowery descriptions or platitudes.  The only issue is that some of the things seemed like they were going to be much more challenging than usual. Take, for instance, directions about watering the plants.  (Note to self: do not let wife go out of town during a drought and/or hot spell--too many plants to worry about.) The first assignment was simple in itself: "Water vegetable garden, plants, front lawn." I can do all those things and I like watering things, so I was feeling very confident about this...until I read the second sentence:

"Try not to water the windows."

The wife has a thing about clean windows.  They possess her.  She goes out in 30 below to clean them.  She'll hang off a ladder to get that one last spot. She has a special squeegie and this special soap and a method that rivals the pros.  She HATES water spots.  HATES.HATES.HATES.

I steel myself for this job.  I can do this.  I will do this.  How hard can it be not to water the windows? I fret just a little about this because I really, really, really don't want to hear about water-drop-spotted windows.

So, what do you think the first thing I did was?

I went out to the sprinkler, aimed it where she aims it, turned on the hose and.....

.....all over the front windows.  Yup.  Water, water, water slapping on the windows.

It was too late to panic--after all, the damage had been done.  I'd love to say I went out there and fixed the problem but it's of no use--I can't clean the windows like the wife.  She'll know.  In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't have a shudder while sitting at breakfast this morning.  She'll probably ask her brother, "Did you feel that?" and realize something is amiss in the Addiverse.

Since I screwed up in the front yard, I thought I could do better in the back....


God bless those garden hoses, they have a mind of their own.  Not only did I end up spraying one of the windows, I splattered the piss out of the sliding glass door.  This is what I get for trying.  Day one and I was already unsuccessful in following the first Honey-Don't assignment.

I take a look at the half full glass: this will make the next several days easier, as I figure all bets are off and I can just water at will now, not a care for a window in the world.


On to assignment two: garbage.  It's garbage day.  Lots of specific, picayune directives about the garbage and recycling and dog poop and such.  I do not foresee a problem with this until I go to take the poop bag out of the can. Not only did I splatter the windows, I've been filling the dog poop can with water.  

I decide this watering thing sucks.  So does garbage.

I decide to skip assignments three, four and five.

My last assignment is to find a home for the shoes that have been on the bedroom floor for the past three months. This is a snide commentary on my lack of action in relation to these shoes that really don't fit.  I thought about selling them on eBay, I thought about selling them in a garage sale, I thought about giving them away.  I only wore them three times and they look brand new....but, since I never did figure out what to do with them, they've been lounging on the floor in front of the closet, not bother a soul....

....well, one soul was bothered.  Those shoes drive the wife bonkers.  She scowls at them.  She remarks about them.  I don't really see them, I don't think about them, I don't really care about them.  I could shove them back into the closet but then nothing will ever get done with them.  It's not like I'm going to wear them...

Hey, I have an idea! Why don't I wear the shoes while I am watering the plants?  Win-win, two assignments in one....genius!


Stand back: Honey-Don't One and Five are in motion!  Maybe she'll be so excited to see that the shoes are gone that she won't notice the water spotted windows.


Who.
Am.
I.
Kidding?


Well, one out of five ain't bad.