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Cats and hairballs

Living with four cats, it’s not surprising that I have to periodically deal with hairballs. None of our are considered long-haired, though Diane and June do have slightly longer fur than Arwen and Zuko. Hairballs are part of their natural process since they constantly swallow fur, June more than the rest because she frequently bathes the other cats. Rest assured, there are no photos included on this post.

With only two carpeted rooms, unless the cat is on furniture, we mostly stand back and wait for the hairball process to be finished so we can clean it up. Well, to be honest, I mostly lay in bed, listening for the general location and assessing which cat is providing the hairball. For some reason, they mostly happen in the early morning hours. This is actually preferred, since it means they’re at the furthest point in the day from having eaten and the content is not likely to include food.

The listening phase is pretty important (if I can’t see it happening) as each cat has a different hairball style. Yes, really! Zuko seems surprised, leaving just a small spot, whereas June usually has more water with hers. The more distinctive ones that I have to watch out for are Diane and Arwen. Diane always produces two spots, the second one just a smaller follow-up to the main event, usually within a couple feet. Arwen… well, she’s unique, I have never seen a cat hairball quite like her. Where the other cats stay still for the process, Arwen actively backs away from what she’s producing, almost as if saying “What is this and why is it coming out of me?”

Needless to say, this affects my morning routine. I consider my room and bathroom to be safe zones – I generally wake up to that sort of noise in my room. I don’t step foot in the hall until I’ve turned on that light and checked the floor. I flip on the spare bedroom light to check that floor, though to be fair, most of that floor is currently being used as a storage area. At the other end of the hall, I assess the few paces between the hall and dining room light switches, looking for that reflected light glistening off liquid before I turn off the hall light. Taking as few steps as possible, I turn on the dining room light. It’s not that there are hairballs that often, I just don’t like finding them with my bare feet.

Appreciating my talented friends

We attended the Bristol Renaissance Faire over the weekend, which is always delightful… once we managed to get there, after spending an hour between the highway exit and the parking. If you plan well, the food line you stand in for too long will be near a show, or near an empty stage so you can sit down and catch the next show right after you eat. (That’s how we found a new act this year.) We also caught part of a Cirque du Sewer show and found great seats for one of Dirk & Guido’s shows.

But those aren’t the talented friends I want to talk about. Not that they aren’t talented, just that I don’t actually know the performers. I want to talk about the delightful creations available at the Bast’s Garden Menagerie, around the corner from the second set of real bathrooms.

When I began attending conventions in Chicagoland, these lovely ladies were almost always present with their adjustable shoulder dragons, winged plush, and beautiful, mostly anthropomorphic, drawings. We have some of all of those in our house.

In more recent years, they began experimenting with polymer clay, creating delightful dragons and cat versions of weeping angels. Then they started playing with their food, which inspired me to sing Cthulhu Sleeps Tonight.

Until this week, I didn’t own any of their amazing food sculptures. When I saw Nessie on Instagram last week, I hoped she would still be available when we made it to their booth. Looking at the bowl, a tiny blue and white Loch Ness monster is sitting in a bowl of soup, with corn, celery, carrots, and noodles around her. Nessie and every one of those food items is handmade, down to the crinkle cuts in the carrots. The opossum on the edge of the bowl is also one of their wearable creations – a pin combining polymer clay and fake fur.

If you can’t visit Bristol or one of the other faires or conventions they attend, you can find their amazing creations on Etsy here and here during the off season. Why not take home a bowl of ramen you’ll never eat or a squid-filled cup of tea?

Behold! Other people’s flowers!

I was out of town over the weekend and took photos of other people’s flowers, including one in the median – that’s the yellow one. Yes, I could look up what type of flowers they are, but really, I just enjoyed them for being colorful and summery.

It's a yellow flower growing in mulch. It looks like a daffodil, but it's awfully late in the season for those.

White flowers with some green pods above them that are likely to open soon and presumably reveal more white flowers. There are some pink and white flowers at the bottom of the photo.

Pretty solidly red flowers growing tall and in clusters.

Pink and white flowers with darker pink speckles throughout.

Things I like about sunflowers

It’s no secret that I like sunflowers, especially in my own garden. They’re one of several plants that encourage me to smile when I look out the window. The sunflowers I planted this season are taller ones, though there’s a scattering of smaller ones planted by squirrels throughout the yard.

Up close and personal with a large sunflower and its' palm-sized leaves

I’d like to say they greet me every morning, but they’re actually facing away from my living room window, searching for that morning sun. That just means I have to step outside for the best vantage point, which is a prime opportunity for walking through the garden and checking on other plants, like the many pumpkins that have already formed and tomatoes that will hopefully ripen soon. I’m a bit dismayed that there are no flowers on the okra plants yet, hopefully that will change soon.

A small sunflower with narrow petals near a potato plant and some catnip

There’s a surprising amount of variety in sunflowers. This little guy, well, is little, and the petals are much narrower than their sunflower cousin in my previous photo. And it’s not just because they’re sharing space with a potato and the largest catnip plant in my garden (which has since been harvested to allow sufficient space for said potato and a couple tomato plants). What is missing, at least in my yard, is some more color variety in my sunflowers – there are some brilliant red ones, so I may look for those seeds next year. I’m sure I’ll still have yellow ones, between the leftover seeds I have and whatever volunteers and squirrel plantings I have.

The epitome of resilience, this sunflower was bent by a storm to the point where most of the leaves are touching the ground, still supporting multiple flowers, only one of which has opened so far.

This sunflower though… it’s the epitome of resilience. This sunflower was bent by a storm to the point where most of the leaves are touching the ground, still supporting multiple flowers, only one of which had opened when I took the photo. I have another sunflower with a stalk that looks like a chair, bent – but not broken – and then growing up from there as if it were undamaged. Short of having stalk gnawed off near the top (yes, I have a couple of those too), sunflowers put forth their best effort to open their blooms to the sun. It amazes me and always makes me smile.

Let’s talk about sex.

More specifically, let’s talk about how we talk about sex.

I read a fantasy novel recently (shocking, I know) that had some fairly explicit sex scenes between consenting adults. The scenes were well written, except for the male character – who has already acknowledged his promiscuity – periodically referring to his partner as aberrant or amoral because she was interested and actively engaged in their sexual encounters. And every time he did, it wrenched me out of the scene I was reading.

I can break down what bothered me about this into two main categories:

Barring any religious or personal beliefs on the participants’ parts (and there were none at play here) that restrict when they have sex or who they have it with, it is a natural process and should not be viewed as aberrant or amoral.
There’s the inherent sexism of a promiscuous male referring to his partner that way when they were both clearly enjoying themselves. Frankly, the concept that women don’t enjoy sex is outdated and detrimental to the survival of our species.

As a society, we need to accept that there are people who enjoy sex, just as we should understand that there are some people who have no interest in it. There should be no shame in either choice.

Thoughts on Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

Last year, I briefly mentioned Brandon Sanderson’s amazing, record-setting Kickstarter for the four secret books he had written during the pandemic lockdown. (This was in addition to the books he was openly working on.) Not surprisingly, I bought into that Kickstarter, receiving a digital copy of each book on the first day of each quarter this year. I recently finished the third book, Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, and realized I hadn’t mentioned any of them here. Brandon Sanderson states that this is his personal favorite of the Secret Projects; mine (so far) was the first one: Tress of the Emerald Sea.

In this novel, the protagonists Yumi and Nikaro (aka Painter) both have fantastical jobs, which means they have jobs that are specific to the world the story is written in; these are not jobs that are recognizable in our world. Yumi is a Chosen One, one of fourteen young women who through ritual rock stacking can summon spirits and bind them to different uses for society. Nikaro is one of many nightmare painters, tasked with guarding a city from the living nightmares that creep in and feed off people’s fear while they sleep. Nightmare painters capture the nightmares by focusing on them while capturing them on canvas as something harmless. Through a spirit’s cry for help, Yumi and Nikaro are linked magically and tasked with helping each other’s world through their struggles.

This is an easy book to read, especially if you have time to read it all in one sitting. It has all the unexpected twists and fantastical worldbuilding that fans have come to expect from Sanderson, all built on the “what if” concept of fantastical jobs, accented by Aliya Chen’s amazing artwork. It’s okay if you missed the Kickstarter, all of the released Secret Projects books are also available through his website.

A banana crisis

One recent morning, I turned around after washing my breakfast dishes and realized that several of our bananas had partially peeled themselves, falling from where they had hung on the banana stand. A single banana, I could have handled as a snack, but I was looking at four bananas with a stripe of peel removed. I had an early appointment, so I grabbed the entire bunch (including one unpeeled) and shoved them in the fridge. By the time I got home, the collection was down to three open bananas, which is a workable quantity.

Whole wheat French toast topped with caramelized bananas and mulberry compote

As I’ve said before, when life gives you lemons, make lemon meringue pie. In this case, life handed me a trio of bananas that weren’t overripe yet. Typically I wait for overripe before making banana bread. Instead, I considered banana pancakes or crepes for breakfast the next day, but ultimately decided on French toast topped with caramelized bananas and a mulberry compote.

My berry compotes are super simple: berries, a bit of water (add more as desired during cooking), and a dash of salt. Berries are naturally sweet, so I don’t bother adding sugar. They cook on low, stirred occasionally, while I prepare everything else.

The caramelized bananas are similarly simple: a tablespoon of butter and a banana. Melt the butter, add the sliced bananas, flip once or twice. Turn down the heat when the bananas start looking like they’re going to melt.

French toast has always been a bit of a challenge, finding the right mix between the egg and milk mixture and the absorbency of the bread. I ended up using three eggs for four pieces of wheat bread. I was eyeballing the milk, so I might guess a quarter cup per egg.

And that’s how I resolved my banana crisis.

Exercising indoors in the summer

One of the joys of summer is being outside, whether it’s gardening or visiting the zoo or having a picnic with friends. Some of that is outdoor exercise – in my case, mulching or walking through the neighborhood, which are both easier to do in the summer. So far, this summer has been a little different. First we had a couple warm, dry weeks, where we avoided going outside after the early morning because of the heat. Now we have air quality concerns in Chicagoland because of smoke blowing down from wildfires in Canada: the last three days have had an air quality index over 200 (the annual average is 23). I’m a huge fan of breathing, so I’ve been staying indoors as much as possible.

The remains of my mulch pile sits on the driveway, waiting for that number to drop. My Pokémon Go mileage has dropped, though not all the way to zero because I do have some indoor options that involve the right type of movement for my tracker. Those are options I usually reserve for colder weather: Beat Saber on my Oculus, using the treadmill or elliptical (which help my Pokémon Go mileage), or a Centr.com workout. They’re all valid options year round, but I hate to waste good weather by being indoors.

That said, I know I have to move; I know from experience that sitting all day for work causes my muscles to tighten up, and the pain from that is comparable to the hip pain that sent me for an MRI earlier this year. I need to stick to low impact exercises, which still means doing some kind of exercise. And I know there are many unexplored options online still that would serve me indoors.

Cooking like a pirate

When you learn to cook, you typically follow recipes – whether in writing or instructions from someone else – usually as precisely as possible. I recall a kids’ cookbook growing up that included basic recipes for things like scrambled eggs and grilled cheese sandwiches, and I do mean basic: bread, American cheese slices, and butter (for the outside of the bread). As I grew more comfortable with each recipe, I began to alter it. The American cheese became a combination of cheeses (typically Havarti and Pepper Jack), I stopped buttering the outside of the bread, and began adding vegetables or even sandwich meat. Yes, you could argue that it then becomes an “[insert sandwich meat] sandwich” instead of a “grilled cheese sandwich,” but the important part isn’t the name… it’s the fact that I enjoy eating it.

Rice buried under sauteed shrimp, asparagus, and a yellow bell pepper, garnished with feta cheese and a sliced lemon-stuff olive. The olive is only there because we haven't found any other way we like that particular stuffing option.

Now, when I find a new recipe, I treat it more like the pirate’s code in Pirates of the Caribbean: “the [pirate’s] code is more what you’d call ‘guidelines’ than actual rules.” This shrimp bowl, for example, is very loosely based on a shrimp bowl recipe from Centr. (To be fair, I have made their recipe as written.) Theirs is almost certainly healthier, deliberately balancing the appropriate carbs, greens, and protein. My approach was more cobbled together with ingredients currently available in the house, including leftover rice. Thus the recipe became simply guidelines.

Ultimately, my goal when cooking is to make something we enjoy eating and that we have the ingredients for. Not every meal has to be a fancy attempt to follow a recipe precisely; it’s more important to have a fairly balanced meal that can be assembled in a short period of time.

Well, that’s not good…

When I was in high school, my father attended the curriculum night every year, meeting my teachers and getting an overview of what I would be studying that year. My last year there, I signed up for the Introduction to Poetry to class. I’ll be honest, I’ve never enjoyed analyzing poetry, but the teacher, Mr. Dan Bowden, only taught that and AP English. Mr. Bowden was a distinctive figure at my school, popping his head into our English class to ask a question, then reciting from whatever Shakespearean play we happened to be reading at the time, or stepping into the auditorium and joining the girls’ gym class for a minute or two as we attempted aerobics. After two years at the school, I knew I wanted to take a class with him before graduating.

My father, as I mentioned before, had a degree in English Language and Literature. It was still a bit of a surprise when he handed me a book of poetry the next morning with a page marked to show to Mr. Bowden. The brief poem was Lord Finchley by Hilaire Belloc, who seems to have been a fascinating character, and reads as such:

Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light
Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.

Water near the base of our new water softener, a black cylinder next to our blue water tank. And, of course, a cat - Arwen - checking on the situation.

While I am by no means wealthy, I have kept this poem in mind mainly in the last decade as I’ve navigated home improvements and repairs. And so this morning, when I walked into the garage and found water emerging from the newly installed water softener, I immediately rushed to fix it. And by fix it, I mean call the water softener company to repair it… you did just read Lord Finchley, didn’t you?

While there are some projects I’ll handle inside the house, I have a strict rule about not messing with any appliances that integrate with the utilities: water, natural gas, or electricity, and the water softener touches two of those. For now, I have a towel down in case it leaks again – it appears to be related to when it cycles, which is about once a week. The towel is dry enough that Zuko sat on it for a while.