Do-over

   If I were ever to get another cat, which seems highly unlikely, I would get a cat with the shortest hair possible. We have owned 4 cats in 45 years, well 5 if you count Tiger, who we had only a few months  before  he escaped the house and became a highway casualty.  And, oh, there was the black cat that Ma gave us when we first moved into this house.  We never named that cat, it preferred Dave, hiding out somewhere all day, and only appearing when he got home from work.  That cat  was an indoor-outdoor cat before it was road killed  after only a year or so.  But the 4 later cats, which we kept indoors at all times, were all long haired:  Roger, Nike, Napster and Maybe, our present cat.   Maybe, being half Persian and half Maine Coon,  has the longest, thickest, and therefore most matted coat of all the cats, and the next-to-worst disposition, second only to Nike, who was a full  Maine Coon with a scary nature.  Maybe's hairballs and dingleberries are becoming more problematic  over the years, as she gains years and loses tolerance for being groomed.  We have learned that taking  a cat to the vet's for hygiene-associated  grooming  problems is a costly venture indeed.  I blame Dave for the problems because he overfeeds her: she is so overweight she can't reach all of her body, so that's when the hygiene problems develop.  At least that's the theory I'm working from.  I googled and found that PetSmart will bathe long-haired cats for only $35, so maybe that will help.  Her birthday is June 9,  I think in the year 2004, though possibly 2005.  So with her age and my age, I probably will not be in the market for a shorthair, though you never know, do you?

Holy Crepitus

     Today was Annual Spider Plant Resuscitation Day.  That means bringing the spider plants from the basement where they have spent the winter to the front of the house where they spend the summer suspended from the branches of the evergreen trees.  They look like released prisoners, yellow, scrawny and thin and half dead.  I snip off all the dead parts, which is about half of the plant.  The plants never die; they are revived in time to go on with their lives.  One plant started it all; I must have  had about 50 or 60 of them over the years.  My goal is to hold at 4 plants; they're said to help in purifying the air, and while I don't have room for them in the house, I figure it can't hurt to have cleaner air in the basement.  They reproduce like crazy; each plant puts forth a number of  babies, and when I transfer them from cellar to the great outdoors, the shoots break off, and each is ready to grow into a new plant.  Over the years,  I have given many away--to the Democratic Committee fundraiser, to the Valley Falls Library and to friends and relatives.  I have to wait until fall to do so though, because that's when the plants look green and healthy, unlike their puny condition now.
     Last fall, I gave a number away, 6 plants I believe, and kept only 4 of the original plants, including one which Greg entered in the Schaghticoke Fair and won a First Place Ribbon and $5.00.  I think I have 7 or 8 plants now; those little broken suckers thrived and grew.  I used to transport 2 plants at a time from downstairs to out front, but last year carried only 1 at a time.  This year I asked Dave to do it.  I just trimmed them and hung them from the trees.  Next year, who knows?  Crepitus, crepitus. 
   

Floss

  I understand dental floss was invented in the late 1800's, but I don't think I ever heard of it until at least the 1950's.  I knew of Mary Ann Evan's novel, "The Mill on the Floss," where Floss was the name of the river, but I never made the connection that perhaps the river was so named because it wound like a silky thread, or floss.  My aunt had a dog named Flossie long ago, maybe because its coat was silky.  Who knows?
   It seems strange now, but back in the days of my childhood, it was rare for anyone to receive any kind of dental care, and especially not of the prophylactic sort.  I think that may have been different in the city, but in rural areas, there were few if any dentists, and the father of the family  worked full time; there was little thought to dental care, except in cases of painful toothache, and even then home remedies were the order of the day.  Most adults of all economic straits were resigned to wearing dentures as they got older.  Children were fortunate if their teeth came in straight  and if they were not overly prone to decay, especially as involving the front teeth.
My first dental visit was at about age 11, because of a severe toothache in a molar;  my father drove me to a dentist in Schaghticoke who had hours on Saturday.  He was an elderly dentist and he allowed his pet green parakeet to sit on his shoulder while he inspected your mouth.  He tried to pull my tooth, struggled, broke off the tooth at the roots and said I had soft teeth, and when I got older and the tooth hardened, the extraction would probably be easier.  My father ended up later driving me to another dentist in Mechanicville, who was horrified, but must have helped in some way I can't remember.
    Back to flossing:  While my mother always had us brush our teeth when we were little, I don't think we had dental floss in our house until probably the 1960's, when it was beginning to be promoted.  I used to floss occasionally, then regularly, and now I must say I floss at least 5 or 6 times a day.  With the availability of Floss Picks, I can't understand why anyone would use the spool variety;  that takes 2 hands, a lot of grimacing and, Heaven help us, the expulsion of a certain amount of debris into the atmosphere, or onto  the bathroom mirror.  A floss pick requires only one hand, a mostly closed mouth, and no outwardly expelled effluvia.  The cost is only about $3.00 for a hundred.  Well worth it, say I.
    

Da Vinci and Me

    Leonardo DaVinci, not in complete accord with the Catholic religion, was charged as a heretic, and in line for some pretty nasty treatment if he did not confess to being otherwise.  Taking the word of a trivia master, I'm led to understand that Leonardo denied being an atheist (if that's possible),  when confronted with the instruments that would be used to torture him. 
     My beliefs may have grown somewhat tepid, and I am not famous enough for any religion to be interested in claiming my genius, and furthermore, I have committed no acts of heresy, so torturing me would gain nothing for anyone.  Nevertheless, I share with Leonardo the experience of impending torture. I don't know what instruments of torture they waved in front of him, but I know what would be effective in having me confess to anything.   While I was awaiting  what was purported to be relief from pain, a tray of menacing-looking instruments was positioned right in front of my face.  Not to the side, nor above, where it would be out of my line of sight, but at eye level, just inches away.  I could clearly see among the array the sturdy handles of at least  half a dozen large tools, which resembled those found in my father's old toolbox.  They were graduated in size, so if one didn't do the job, on to the next, and the next....shouldn't there be some realization of possible effects?  The torture maven commented if it was a bothersome sight to just close my eyes.  Too late--the image is forever emblazoned on my brain. 

Way Back When

Don was coming out of the Massachusetts Avenue apartment he shared with his brother when we pulled into the driveway.  He was carrying in both arms a large cardboard carton filled with some kind of stuff.  When he saw us, he smiled and  immediately lifted his arm to wave, letting the carton fall to the ground, where its contents spilled all over the driveway.  I thought he had a great sense of humor.    "Ain't it funny how time slips away?"     

C'est moi.

"Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead"     Bring on the juice.

Shelter-in-Place

   That's exactly what I've been doing for some time now.  I haven't heard any all-clear yet.