Things that go slosh in the night

The guy pulled in mid-afternoon. Just parked his car in the space, rolled a sleeping bag out on the picnic table, sat on top of it and started drinking. He sat there, drinking, at least until dark. Kinda weird, but you see all kinds when you camp.

Before we went to bed, we tidied up the camp supplies and secured the food (a lesson well-learned earlier in the week, which is a whole 'nother story). Then we took the dog and retired to our ancient cabin tent, hoping to get a full night's sleep - local wildlife allowing.

The wildlife we expected was a mixed herd of javalinas. Having been forewarned by the state park service that these characters were in the area, we were forearmed with a 9mm semiautomatic handgun (the dog had occasionally issued challenges she wasn't prepared to follow through on, and we didn't want one of these grunters charging through the tent to get to her). We usually took it on trips where we were going to be away from "civilization," and although we had never needed it, it was comforting the way an umbrella is - you hope you don't need it, but are glad to have it just in case.

After a long day of hiking in the bracing air of the West Texas mountains, it didn't take any of us long to drift off. However, I'm a light sleeper and an out-of-place sound had me bolting out of the sleeping bag. My husband, while not a light sleeper, is usually at least half-woken when I make sudden moves like that.

"Huh? Whazzut?"

"Shh. I think someone's out there. It's like they kicked the tent or tripped over the peg and it woke me up." I barely breathed the words, I was so scared of who might be waiting to pounce on us.

Well, this got him a little more alert, so we were silent a minute, listening for Bigfoot or similar. He was listening for something to disprove my theory; mainly animal-type sounds that would tell us the javalina pack was back. I was listening for footsteps or breathing that would indicate Jack the Ripper was outside our (suddenly very thin, very vulnerable) tent. Just as my husband started to speak, I heard it - that distinctive, hard-to-describe sound of someone taking a drink from a bottle, and the liquid sloshing in the bottom as the bottle is lowered. I squeezed his arm and listened another minute.

"I'm telling you, there's someone out there. I just heard a sloshy sound, like someone drinking from a bottle." I was still whispering, but since I was agitated, it was a lot harsher.

That got his attention.

"That guy down the road - the one with no tent - he had a bottle." I was still processing whether this was a relief (someone we had seen, who maybe lost his way in the dark) or even scarier (weird drunk guy who could jump in his car after murdering us and be gone hours before anyone knew we were dead), when suddenly my husband was moving, pulling out that rainy day friend. He said, in a completely different tone, at a normal volume, "Well, if there is someone out there, they won't be for long!" And with that, he cocked the gun - a very distinctive sound, and in these circumstances, very reassuring to me (and hopefully terrifying to anyone who might be prowling around outside).

My hero!

We listened another minute, but didn't hear anyone bolting wildly away. We didn't hear anything else, either, so Hero saftied the gun (unchambered the bullet? Made it not-imminently-fire-able? I don't know this gun lingo), and we went back to sleep. You might be wondering where our bold canine companion was all this time, and why she wasn't barking her head off if there was really someone out there? She was sitting on our bed, alert but unconcerned. Some watchdog! (Or, if you're My Hero, proof that I was probably dreaming.)

Next morning: I got up to feed the dog and start breakfast. At that time, we had the older Coleman campstove - the kind that used liquid fuel and you had to pump it up. I knew that after supper the night before, it needed to be refilled so that it wouldn't die halfway through heating the water and cooking the eggs, so I reached down under the table to grab the can. As I did that, I thought "I know I put that up on the table last night to keep it from the javalinas." I turned to my husband, who was just coming out of the tent, and said, "Why did you put the fuel back on the ground last night?"

He was barely awake, so he just looked at me. I was like, "Yeah, I put it up on the tab-" I stopped. When I turned to point to where I had put the can of fuel, I noticed that it was still there, right where I put it the night before. I looked at the can of fuel in my hand.

"Where did that come from?" My husband was starting to realize something wasn't right.

"It was just...right here. Under the table. It's almost full."

We looked at each other, realizing that at some point in the night, there HAD been someone in our camp. Someone with almost a full can of kerosene near our very-flammable canvas tent. But whether they had been scared off by the gun, or were just being friendly and leaving an extra supply, we had no idea.

Oh, and the guy with the sleeping bag? Gone. Sometime before dawn.

So that's how we almost shot the camp fairy. I think the story is better told sitting around a fire, just before going to bed in a tent, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

Senile Citizens

"I used to do drugs. I mean, I still do, but I used to too." - Mitch Hedberg

I used to have a problem with Old People. I still do, but what defines "old" has changed. I think now it's more based on actions and attitude than age. I've seen 28 year olds just as bitter and crotchety as any WWII vet. (ADD kicks in: I love the word "crotchety." It's so uncomfortable and inappropriate, which is perfect given its use.) I once asked my husband's grandmother how old she felt - keep in mind she was in her 80s at the time - and she said 16. She acted like it too - out there picking up pecans, making jelly out of home-grown grapes, attending every church event, and she and Grandad went everywhere together. That's the kind of Old Person I want to be.

Weren't they adorable? They were like this the entire 67 years they were married - adventurous and in love.

But mainly, my issues with Old People stem from two things. The first one is driving.

WHY DO THEY HAVE TO DRIVE 45 MPH? ON THE HIGHWAY? Or, if they're my in-laws, 30 on the side streets (because they won't drive on the highways. Which means going anywhere takes twice as long as it should). With two feet, so the damn brake lights are always on. Or slow down half a mile before they make a turn? I totally don't understand it - they theoretically don't have that long to live, so they should want to get where they're going, get done, and move on! You know how there are those special HOV lanes for people that carpool? I'm thinking they need a special OPV lane, for Old People's Vehicles. Then they can peer over their steering wheels, drive 20 MPH below the speed limit and leave their blinkers on to their hearts' content. The only people who will care are other oldsters, who are stuck behind them. And truthfully they probably won't even notice, because they can't see farther than their steering wheel, because (at least in my state) they renewed their DL by mail despite the fact that they're 88 years old.

My second issue with Old People is Senior Citizen Discounts.

I'm sure I'm going to catch a lot of flack for this, but here's the thing: they've had their whole lives to save up. I get that a lot of them are on fixed incomes and social security is smaller than a dwarf's winkie in a winter storm, but that's what all those IRAs and other tax shelters are for. They can't get money out of them until they're old anyway, so now that they are old, they should take advantage of that! What are they waiting for? Saving it for the day when they're a little older, but then they up and die before they ever use it, and all that's left is for the kids to fight over who gets what. They EARNED that money; they should SPEND it! The people that REALLY deserve discounts are college students. Have you seen the price of a college degree lately? It's really a poor -- OK; that's another post. My point is, a lot of people struggle while they're paying for school, even if their parents help out (which fewer and fewer parents are able to do). I know some places offer student discounts, but they don't hold a candle to what the Ancients get. How about, instead of rewarding a group for eating dinner at 4 PM (seriously? Just move to England and call it Tea), give kids a discount for their meal after 10 (when serious Eating starts). Or, take the National Parks Pass: for $10, anyone 62 and over can get into any national park for free. With their spouse and kids. Plus 50% off fees like camping, etc. But how many of them are really getting out there and exploring the wilderness? Or if they are, they're driving those bus-sized RVs, which...see above re: Old People driving. College students, however, are naturals at camping, hiking, and communing with nature. Why should they have to pay $75/year when they are a demographic that would take more advantage of those resources? Plus, it would encourage foreign students to visit! Other countries have all kinds of deals for traveling students. Come on America! You're behind the times!

So, those are my main issues with Old People. I'm sure as I age, my thinking will evolve. But I hope when I reach Old Age (whatever age that might be), I remember to stay off the roads and pick up the tab for a starving student every once in a while. If I can also remember my name and where I live, I think I'll be doing pretty well.

Queen for a Day

I want a tiara

It's common for the young people here to pin money to their shirt on their birthday. The idea is, your mom, sister, BFF, etc. gives you money first thing in the morning and you pin it on. Then when other people see it, they know it's Your Special Day and they give you money too. It's not unheard of for people to seed their cash corsage with a twenty of their own to impress, but mostly other people go along with it and by the end of the day you have a respectable little sum pinned to your shirt.

But today I saw something new: a birthday girl had a tiara. She was also dressed up in a cute little ruffled dress with a jacket and some killer leopard heels, but it was the tiara that drew everyone's attention. Ironically, I have a tiara. My grandfather gave it to my mom for her birthday (16? 18? I don't know. One of those milestone ones). But a middle-aged woman walking around with a sparkly tiara is going to draw a lot of looks, and not the ones that girl was getting today. More like a isn't-she-sad-for-not-knowing-she-looks-like-a-fool-I-wonder-if-she's-homeless sort of look. Especially if I paired it with leopard heels. The only times someone my age can get away with a sparkly crown that's not an ironic statement are if she's getting married (people are very forgiving of what drunk bachelorettes do, whatever their age) or if she is part of this outstanding parade

which I have a goal of someday attending, if not actually participating in.

Maybe pointy party hats and cupcakes (or cupcake martinis) for everyone could make a comeback in the office culture. We need SOMETHING to look forward to now that birthdays are losing their zing.

You have something in your teeth

My husband and I just got our fourth dog in our life together. It's interesting to see what characteristics this one shares with her "older sisters." Some things she is unique in, and she has some cute puppy-type behavior that's common, but she seems to be developing one habit that we had hoped to not see again.

That's right. She's a shit eater.

To be more accurate, she's a shit carrier. Oh, she'll eat it all right. But she seems to have just as much fun picking up a big log and carrying it around. She'll bring it in, drop it on the dining room rug, and run off to play with something else if we don't watch her carefully. She's been known to leave them outside the back door, like a love offering. We've tried keeping the yard meticulously scooped, but that's not always practical, and if we miss even one little piece, she's sure to find it. Or if no dog offerings are available, she'll track down one left by the neighborhood cats.

We went through this with our second dog, but she was much worse. She'd go so far as to hover over the other dog in order to "get it while it's hot." We had well-meaning friends tell us that it was because of a diet deficiency and to try this or that supplement. Someone else suggested we add some all-natural something-or-other to their food to make the poop taste less appealing.

REALLY? Is that possible? I mean, I've never eaten shit myself, but going by the smell of it when it's on my shoe, I'd say it can't be any LESS appealing! If they're willing to eat it au naturale, I'm pretty sure there's nothing I can add to food or feces that's going to keep them away. So here's hoping she grows out of it.

Hot Mess

I'm pretty adventurous about food. I'll try most things once, and one reason I love to travel is because I like to try new food. I've eaten chocolate covered ants, kangaroo nachos, quail eggs, blue corn blue cheese grits, and some Pakistani food I can't even spell. I like (some) sushi and IMO buffalo or venison is the best meat for chili. One of my favorite desserts is apple cobbler with hatch chiles. I say all of this so that you'll know I'm not a food weenie.

Since I'm not a food weenie, one of my favorite places is our local gourmet grocery store, where I can buy eighteen different kinds of apple, spices come out of bins and I can get a tsp. or a pound, depending on what I'm cooking, and I can buy 700 different cheeses from who-knows-how-many countries (and animals. Oxen milk cheese, anyone? For $25/lb., it can be yours). This store frequently has "festivals," where they feature different types of food. One weekend it might be fresh seafood; a month later they're showcasing different marinades for meat. I have been looking forward to this weekend in particular because it was Eat the Heat - a chile festival, with lots of spicy stuff.

(An aside - if you're going to read this blog you need to get used to these because I'm a little bit ADD, especially when I'm telling stories - I'm from Texas, and I'm Getting Older. Both of those things mean that I tend to like spicy food more often than not. I find myself adding jalapenos to sandwiches, putting red pepper flakes on pasta, and looking for excuses to add wasabi to things.)

They had some great samples, and I bought a few things I sampled, like the jalapeno bread, or the Rattlesnake olive oil with chipotle. I looked faithfully for the little "Eat the Heat" signs, so that I could be introduced to new, spicy temptations.

Then I saw it, at the end of the aisle. In the freezer case. EAT THE HEAT ICE CREAM.

Let me make the disclaimer: I am a whore for ice cream. If it's frozen, I will eat it. Yogurt, gelato, sorbet, homemade, chunky, whipped, low carb, made from pig fat, whatever. So to combine ice cream and spicy...I was pretty excited. This particular flavor boasted sweet cream, chocolate chips and jalapenos. I've incorporated habanero powder into cookies and (as mentioned) chiles into cobbler, so this seemed like a fine idea to me. I even ate salad for supper so that I wouldn't spoil my dessert. As it turns out, I needn't have worried.

That ice cream was NASTY. Like, I only-had-a-small-dish-and-I-let-most-of-it-melt nasty. I tried eating around the jalapenos, picking out the chocolate chips, but it didn't really work. I think the problem is, the jalapenos were candied. If you're going to put spicy peppers in something sweet, don't dress them up and pretend they're candy. That makes me think of those refrigerators that masquerade as cabinetry. Don't be ashamed - it's a pepper! It's supposed to have a bite! But I am struggling towards a Goal, and I am not going to waste calories on some half-assed "gourmet goodie" that tastes like a good Mexican meal on the way back up.

Anyway. Tonight's agenda includes checking out the corn-flavored gelato in the upscale shopping district. I'll let you know how it turns out.