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Gwen's Sententia

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Name: Gwen (Vass) Nicodemus
Location: Broomfield, Colorado, United States

I do a lot of everything as I work, www.ShinyNewts.com, educate the kids, and clean up after ferrets.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Thoughtful Gifts, 2

My husband does an excellent job of picking out presents. I finally picked one just as well as he did.

We recently celebrated my daughter's 7th birthday. Anna wanted a ferret themed party, and she was pretty strong in her weasel-themed decision. She told me she wanted me to make her a ferret coloring book, so I did. I printed the coloring book out and inserted one copy in each of the loot bags. She wanted a ferret stuffed toy. I found some relatively cheap plush ferrets and stuck one of those in each of the loot bags. In the weeks before the party, Anna expressed great interest in those stuffed ferrets and she kept telling me how she "needed" her stuffed ferret and how she was going to play with it.

Well, the day of the birthday came and this included the great present opening. I spent $7 on Anna's birthday present, a stuffed ferret. The birthday ferret was of a bit better quality than the loot bag ferrets. She smiled and giggled and showed the ferret each of the other presents she opened.


Whew!

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Monday, January 28, 2008

SSSSssss

mojave desertI’ve always had a snake phobia. I grew up in the desert (the Mojave Desert in California) and I had to watch out for snakes when I’d walk my dogs. I’d read articles on the Mojave greens (rattlesnakes common in the area) and how deadly they were, and that perpetuated my fear. It didn’t help that whenever I encountered a snake as a kid, the snake and I were both surprised. They’re long. They’re reptiles. They don’t have legs. That’s just…just wrong.

For quite a while, my phobia got worse. I once went to a Halloween party and saw a guy with a little bitty snake on his arm. It was part of his costume, but I ran from the party the instant I saw the snake. I was totally irrational about it. I mean, the guy wasn’t a kid. He wasn’t going to stick a snake in my face when he knew I was afraid of it. Phobia.

ValorSnakes seem to show up in the strangest places. About ten years ago, I lived in a basement apartment for six months whilst my house was being built. Walking down the steps, I saw a snake. I did what any normal snake-phobe would do and screamed. My Labrador puppy didn't scream. He decided to introduce himself to the snake, and that introduction cost $75.00. Apparently the snake wasn't ecstatic to meet the exuberant puppy and bit him. Valor was allergic to whatever snake it was, and his cheeks quadrupled. After sufficient screaming a neighbor came over with a shovel and carefully removed the reptile to a non-trail area. I was freaked and I failed to protect my buddy.

NadineI did manage to protect my buddies on our next snake encounter. I went hiking with my dogs, a Great Dane and a Labrador. My buds were off leash. They pretty much stayed in sight and more or less came when called, so I didn’t worry too much about them not being right at my side. That is, I didn’t worry until I heard the Great Dane barking. She found a rattler. She “cornered” it and wouldn't stop barking. The rattler kept rattling. I called the dogs to me, and my Labrador came. The Great Dane wasn’t about to come because she was busy barking. I leashed the Labrador and asked another hiker to hold him and skirted around behind the Great Dane. I managed to grab her, leash her, and move her away without the snake striking. (It's too bad our skunk encounter wasn't successfully avoided.)

For the most part my snake phobia isn’t a big deal. I’m a city girl, after all. However, if I wanted to hike or attend parties, I needed to get a slightly better grip on myself.

A few Discovery channel snake shows helped. A few trips to the zoo helped me a bit. Knowledge is power. Knowledge helps put phobias in perspective, right? Besides, the zoo has glass cages. I could be in a room with snakes in glass cages without running away immediately, and that was progress.

5536_coiled_rattlesnake_getting_ready_to_strike_an_animal.jpgMy next encounter was, fortunately for me, with a dead snake. My husband and I were traveling from my grandparents house to ours. I was seven months pregnant, and well, let’s just say I made my husband find a side road and pull over. I opened the door. I’m glad I looked down because there was a coiled rattler right now. I freaked a bit, but realized that the coiled snake was actually dead. I don’t know how that happened, but I’m glad I didn’t step on it anyway.

Whilst still pregnant, I took my little daughter on a mini hike around a lake. Toward the end of the trail, two-year-old Anna pointed and said “Snake, mommy!” Yes, sure enough, there was a snake. I couldn’t tell if it was a bull, gopher, garter, or rattlesnake. (Actually, I thought bull, gopher, and garter were different names for the same kind of snake.) The snake wanted to cross the trail. Despite the big rat-sized lump in the snake, I picked up the toddler and waddled my seven-month-pregnant body in reverse.

I had more snake encounters today. Fortunately, these snakes were in glass cages. Also fortunate for me, the volunteer at the Morrison Natural History Museum was not afraid of snakes, was sympathetic toward me, and spent a ridiculous amount of time answering my inane questions.

The first thing I learned is that the gopher snake, garter snake, and bull snake are three different types of snakes. They do have some things in common, though. They all survived the ice age (and were thus housed in the “survived the ice age section of the museum”) and they are all non-poisonous. A milk snake was also in the ice age section.

red_milk_snake.jpgI think I can now remember “If red’s next to black, you’re okay Jack. If red’s next to white or yellow, yer a dead fellow.” I might even remember it if I actually encountered a milk or coral snake. That was the first time the rhyme stuck in my head, even though I had heard it before.

The volunteer spent a lot of time telling me about the bull snake and the rattle snake. There were two bull snakes in the museum. She said the bull snakes have round pupils. Sure enough, I saw round eyes. She said the rattlers have vertical slits, but if you can see vertical slits you’re way too close. She said the rattlers have white on the outside of their brown spots and the bull snakes don’t. The rattlers have the “pits” on their heads and have boxier heads. I’m thinking that if I can tell the snake has pits or has boxy head that I’m too close. The white rings or not might be a method for me to distinguish bulls and rattlers at a distance. But, who am I kidding? I don’t want to differentiate the critters if I can avoid it.

The museum had two gopher snakes too. They have skinnier heads than the bull snakes. The male snake was dull and had glazed over eyes. The volunteer said he was shedding and couldn’t see until finished. She said that the male gopher snake had been in captivity for 40 years. They don’t know how old the gopher snake was when it was captured, but wow, I didn’t think snakes could live that long. Apparently, they aren’t hurt from not having their winter hibernation (due to the artificial lighting, warmth, and winter feedings provided by the museum) because they are still living lengthy lives.

Well, I feel more educated regarding snakes. I think I can keep myself from screaming, and protect my buddies and progeny next time I encounter a non-caged slither-er. This is good.

After we got home, Anna asked Leon why milk snakes were called milk snakes. “I don’t know,” said Leon. “Will you google it, Daddy?” As it turns out, there are legends of milk snakes milking cows. Now, that’s a disturbing image and I’m really glad my kids eat solid food.

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Monday, January 7, 2008

My family visits

My parents are on a long road trip visiting family. They just left my house after a three day visit. (Dad always pounded it into our heads that guests and fish smell after three days, so his visits are limited to three days.)

I arranged a play date for my mom. I called my Great Aunt Myrtle on the phone and asked if she wanted to come up for a visit. Myrtle, in turn, tracked down Becky (another great aunt of mine), her daughter Bea (my mom’s cousin), and Millie (another great aunt). Bea is probably less than 60 years old, and Millie is the oldest at 90. All of these ladies are in good health and have all their cognitive functions in tact. The visit was a hoot. Those four ol‘ gals are full of animated, funny stories. My dad spins a good yarn and he had a captive audience too. My three aunts, cousin, dad, and my two kids laughed and giggled, took pictures, and had fun. Everyone seemed to like our ferrets too. (It’s a good thing the sniffer works less well as you age, because no one complained about odor of weasel.)

Aunt Myrtle showed me a picture taken of my grandma (her sister) and her when Myrtle was about 16. My grandma sure was beautiful. The picture was tiny, about 1.5 inches square. I scanned it in at 9600 dpi and got a giant picture out of it. Myrtle specifically said “I’d like to see what this picture looks like bigger. You can do that, right Gwen?” I’m going to mail her an 8×10.

Everyone had fun, except my mom. This was a bummer because our relatives came to see her, and she was a no-fun lump of clay. She kept complaining about being cold and passed in and out of consciousness. Aunt Myrtle made an effort to pull mom into the world of the living for a while, and she did get a few sentences out of her. Mom fell asleep after each question and answer posed by Aunt Myrtle.

After nine blankets and a heater directed at her, Dad called my youngest sister, Sara. Sara’s a pharmacist and she seems to know things we don’t. Sara asked us right away, “What’s her temperature?” Dad and I felt like morons and decided a trip to ER would be a good thing when the thermometer bleeped 103F.

“Why would you go to ER for a fever?” you might be thinking. Well, my mom is a medical marvel. She’s had three strokes in the last two years, quite a few near misses, a boatload of surgeries, and several nasty infections. We had enough history with mom to think this wasn’t just a case of food poisoning.

My parents are used to hospitals and ERs in Los Angeles County. Those tend to be crowded and cater to an entirely different demographics than the hospital by my house. We went at midnight. There was no wait. Toward the end of the visit dad had to ask the nurse, “What about insurance information, the copay, and the like?” Everyone listened and helped.

My dad is an organized fellow, and he handed the triage nurse a list of surgeries and dates. He also handed them a list of all of mom’s medicines and dosing schedule. The doctor took the hint and didn’t just say “wait it out.” He ordered a chest X-ray, to rule out the possibility of pneumonia. He had a bunch of blood taken for various tests, and a urine sample.

Mom had a bladder infection that had spread into her kidneys. She’s one of those rare people that doesn’t feel it when she has a bladder infection. Mom was dosed with powerful drugs and hydrated with an IV. Dad and I were very happy that this was “just” a bladder infection.

The next day mom was warm, talkative, and in a good mood.

My parents just left. It was a good visit. My kids now refer to my dad as “the fun grandpa.”

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Sunday, October 28, 2007

Tunnels and weasels

We have ferrets now, and we refer to them as the “stinky weasels.” The name just stuck.

The whole family likes the ferrets. My husband, Leon, still gets a goofy look on his face when he plays with the ferrets. He laughed for a spell when I lost my wallet and he found it in the ferrets’ stash. He doesn’t seem to mind that they are de-stuffing our leather couch, and he doesn’t seem to notice the weasel smell. Both children love the ferrets. Quinn likes Mimzy the best, and Anna likes Simon the best. Being young children, they inadvertently torture the boys by holding them and not letting the ferrets ferret, but they’re learning.

Since the kids do play hard with the ferrets during the day, I frequently feel obliged to let the boys out after the kids have gone to bed. That way, the ferrets can ferret and Leon and I can be amused watching ferret antics. Mimzy, who is a pound lighter than Simon, likes to jump on Simon’s back and try to pin him. They both like to chase each other around the house, and they both like to crawl up pant legs. (Why does a wet dog nose bother my husband, but weasels crawling up his pants don’t? It’s one of life’s great mysteries.)

I don’t recommend ferrets for all households. Ferrets are ferrets and they ferret. They tip over anything they can, including trash cans and beverage glasses. They “steal” things, like my wallet, and put them in their stash. They “do business” in corners, so you either have to have litter boxes all over, or you have to only let them out for an hour at a time after you’ve witnessed a successful litter box operation. Mostly, ferrets like tunnels. A friend of mine told me ferrets were used to hunt rats in sewer tunnels in England once. Wikipedia says that they were used by the Romans to hunt rabbits. They can get into holes you wouldn’t believe. My husband refers to them as two-dimensional creatures.

Simon and Mimzy, our boys, have found ways to crawl into our kitchen cabinets. We had to try about four different instances of ferret proofing to keep them out of the upstairs. We are still working on proofing the stairs to keep them from going downstairs. The current mechanism works, if you remember to block the cat’s door to the basement AND remember that ferrets are two dimensional critters.

Two nights ago, I let the ferrets out after the kids had gone to bed. I failed to remember the cardinal rule and left about an inch of clearance by the cat’s door to the basement. After an hour of playtime, we put Mimzy back in his cage. Simon, on the other hand, we could not find. It was late, and Leon wanted to go to bed. I told him we couldn’t go to bed until all weasels were accounted for and safely tucked away in their cage. We searched.

I pulled apart the coat closet. We tipped over the couches. We searched the nooks and crannies, and eventually Leon saw the cat door. He went into the basement, and he heard Simon scratching.

We have two sump pumps in our basement, and Simon had managed to get into the sump pump pipes. Leon came and got me. He wasn’t able to get Simon out, but he did see him. I came down with him, and we spent a half hour trying to get our boy back. At one point, I told Leon to get the jigsaw and I covered my hand in yummy ferret vitamins. Leon sawed on one of the sump pump pipes, very close to my hand, while I kept my hand by Simon so he could lick ferret vitamins.

We “rescued” Simon. We were covered in basement gunk, and we thought Simon had to be traumatized. Traumatized or not, midnight or not, Simon earned a bath. I think the bath was scarier for him than being stuck all alone in sump pump piping for an hour.

As we put Simon to bed, we both agreed that we had to ferret proof the sump pumps, because while Simon had just scared us, he clearly had fun. Basement plumbing pipes are just too fun a playground for stinky weasels.

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