Forego Pogo

We have a lot of squirrels at our house. We try to keep them out of the house itself, though last year one or more found entry into our attic. They chomped their way through a weak spot in the eaves, and rampaged overhead as we slept, or tried to. So we bought a have-a-heart trap, to capture and relocate the squirrels unwary enough to take the bait and enter the trap. The other day, though, instead of a mild-mannered squirrel prisoner, the trap contained a possum, a big fellow, wedged solidly into the trap. A possum up close does not look anything like the furry and almost cuddly little things of storybooks or even nature magazines. Possums smell bad, they are made up largely of rows of sharp pointed vicious-looking teeth, they have bald and gnarly tails, and ugly dispositions. We decided to release the possum on the spot, having no desire to pick up the cage and certainly not to put it in the car for transport. Did I mention, they smell really bad. Possums do not want to cooperate in any sense. Unlike the squirrels, which quickly run for the nearest tree when the cage is opened, the possum did not want to move out of the opened cage, just wanted to bare its teeth and hiss or growl and look as ugly and forbidding as possible. When it was finally persuaded to exit, the possum had literally destroyed the cage, ripping and bending all the parts. Evidently, possums cannot move fast or maybe they just prefer not to, as it slowly ambled into the wooded area behind our house. And what a sight, its bulky, ungainly body preceded by a hissing mouth of teeth and finished off by its yellowish ropy tail, waddling off into the woods. "Remind me never to go there," breathed Ben, the nine-year-old who was witnessing the Great Possum Release from the kitchen window.

Toys, not food.

I walked into the room where the kids were playing with actual toys, having been denied their usual fix of electronic stupor. That looks like a peanut butter cracker, I said, pointing to a toy that looked a lot like the same. No, said the three-year-old, that's not a cracker, and you can't eat it. All of these things on the table are toys. If you eat them, you'll choke, or get sick. And that's why they're toys.

To shop or not

Today I dragged myself out of the gloom that was our winter and is now our spring to do a little shopping, though I didn't really need anything. Just thought I'd look around, so I went to a department store that was holding a seasonal sale, whatever that means. I brought my items to the check-out lane, which was in an area being re-designed "to better serve our customers." I entered as the sign directed, but a man also entered the same lane from the other direction, as also directed by a similar sign at the other end of the channel to the register. The cashier directed him to go the other way, and be behind me. I told the cashier that the sign really did tell customers to go that way also. She asked me if I wanted to go back into line. I said no, but just thought it would be easier for her and the custoners. She said she'd been putting up with the situation for the 2 months that the store was under construction, and she would have to tell a supervisor if she wanted the sign corrected. She didn't care about changing anything, even for the better. "I just want to go home," she said. So did I.

Sun dried---or just rotten?

Sun-dried tomatoes------I wonder how it came about that people started eating them. Were they picked up out of the garden as they lay spoiled from the sun and elements, and a hungry or frugal person decided to salvage them? I know sun-dried tomatoes have gotten a lot of press lately as a nutritious food, but they look really revolting and have a disgusting taste. I can't help but wonder how they could be evaluated for food value. People should just follow their instincts and allow them to return to the compost pile.

You're invited, well not really.

I got an email from my bank the other day, inviting me to join an opinion panel. "In an effort to enhance the overall offering to you, we would like to invite you to join the M&T Bank Opinions Panel, an exciting research community of customers like you..........Please take a few minutes to fill out our initial profile questionnaire." Well, OK, I thought: since I have opinions, why not share them. So I filled out the form stating my name, address, and for some reason, what age group I fit in, and pressed submit. But instead of thank you for your interest, the bank emailed back that I would not be a member of the survey panel because UNFORTUNATELY they did not need any more members who were in my category. So they don't need the opinions of any more old people, they might as well have replied. Why was I "invited" and then un-invited, albeit unfortunately. Maybe I should look for another bank.

O Lordy

It was one of the first nice days of spring, and I decided to do a little clearing out of the irises along the fence in front of my house. I was sitting on the ground working away, when a car slowed down as if to pull over near where I was sitting. Since I had no reason to believe I was going to be deliberately run over, I thought the driver was going to ask for directions. Instead he just looked closely at me, then drove away. He must have thought I'd fallen and I couldn't get up.

Who am I?

I am a provost. Who are you?