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Catalog dreams

2/10/2014

Each year about this time an avalanche of gardening catalogs cascades into my mailbox. I avidly pour through them, folding back page corners and circling items to order. In Mazama, where the temperature can stay below freezing for weeks on end, seed catalogs are a promise of good things to come.

It comes as no surprise that January is National Mail Order Gardening Month. An estimated 24 million American households spent over $3 billion on orders from garden catalogs last year. I know I’ve done my part to add to that statistic.

I’m a sucker for the catalogs’ gorgeous photographs and enticing descriptions, especially in the dark of winter. The flowers are so lovely I want every one of them. The vegetables look so appetizing I order double what I need and can take care of. Every spring when planting is completed I have quantities
of unopened packets, which join dozens of other seed packets in a box in the basement.

Each year I swear I won’t order any new seeds till I use up the ones I have. But come another gray winter day and another new catalog, garden fever strikes again.

I’ve made my share of purchasing mistakes. Whatever made me think I could grow peanuts in the Methow? There was also the time I fell for the “gopher-proof” tulip bulb promotion. Not only did the varmints eat all my expensive bulbs, they destroyed the lawn too. Most catalogs have abundant
information on how to grow a successful garden. None of that advice helped the summer I tried sweet potatoes and okra. I guess when they said “hardy,” they didn’t mean Mazama hardy.

But after seeing the cover photo on the new Burpee catalog I’m seriously considering that super giant tomato they claim is the world’s largest. It is described as loaded with true heirloom tomato flavor and head-spinning fragrance.

Who can resist? Especially in the dead of winter.

I desire everything in every catalog: the novelty vegetables, the exotic easy to grow orchids, the peach trees laden with juicy fruit. It is spring and summer I want. And for a few minutes the garden catalogs make it seem so near.

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Seeing Red

12/9/2013

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Once again the great cranberry debate is underway in our family. Every year it starts before Thanksgiving and continues till the last person leaves the table at Christmas…and sometimes beyond as everyone argues about which kind of cranberries are best with leftovers.

The small red berry has been included in American holiday fare since the first harvest feast in 1621. There were a limited number of native fruits in the new land, and transplanted Europeans were pleased to include cranberries as a side dish with wild turkey, eel and venison.

At least back then nobody bickered about whether canned or fresh is best.

There’s one faction in the family that contends only canned cranberries deserve a place on the festive table. They believe the classic sauce with perfect cylindrical wobbliness is what Grandma served and turkey doesn’t taste like turkey without it.

But wait, it gets worse. The canned crew has a further feud. Some of the members claim the smooth jelly type is the only way to go. They point to the satisfying “ploosh” as the sauce slides from the can onto the serving plate, and to the lines left by the can that aid in cutting off the perfect sized slice.

The canned whole berry people prefer that style’s lumpy yet gooey texture and its visual effect on a plate next to the turkey and gravy.

I wonder if they argue about stuff like this in Wisconsin, where cranberries are the state fruit. Wisconsin produces more cranberries than anyplace else in the nation and more than half the world’s supply. Fact: Wisconsin cranberry growers annually harvest enough cranberries to supply every man, woman and child in the world with 26 cranberries.

According to fresh sauce advocates in the family, serving canned is a treasonous offence. My mom had her time honored heirloom recipe from the back of the Ocean Spray bag. It’s just cranberries, a chopped orange and some sugar, with the added advantage of being, according to my brother, awesome on sandwiches.

In another corner are certain relatives who want to fancy up when it’s their turn to bring the cranberry sauce. They add nuts, fruits and liqueurs, which strikes everyone else as an insult to the whole tradition. If Mother Nature intended for cranberries to taste like peach schnapps and cashews, she would have made them that way.

So we end up having two or three kinds of cranberry sauce on the table. Everyone is happy and we can move on to more important conversation. Like whether or not there should be oysters in the stuffing.

This first appeared in the Wenatchee World.

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When is old too old?

11/17/2013

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Did you see that news item about the 16-year old can of soup found in the back of a refrigerator at the Chicago EPA office? I can beat that. The other day, while sorting though a box we’ve been storing for a grown son, I came across a Milky Way candy bar with a sell-by date of 1985.

But it turns out I don’t hold the world’s oldest chocolate. Even though there is evidence chocolate was made in ancient times, not much actual candy has been left uneaten long enough to become antiquated. There is a small box of chocolates in Scotland that was made especially to commemorate the coronation day of King Edward VII in 1902. The chocolate passed from the original schoolgirl who abstained from
eating it, mother to daughter, until it was donated to the St. Andrews Preservation Trust in 2008. The chocolates look a bit withered, but what else can you expect after 111 years?

The one food that never seems to go off is honey. Archaeologists in Egypt heated up three thousand year old honey, stirred it a little, and found it tasted just about like the honey they had at home in the
pantry.

The oldest bottle of wine still in liquid state was discovered in Germany in a tomb. After 1650 years of aging the contents were waxy and silty, and the alcohol content was long gone, but it still had a decent bouquet. Recommended pairing is spit-roasted oxen.

I have spices from my grandmother’s kitchen which are at least 40 years old. I hold on to them because of their interesting containers. Unfortunately, I’ve also got spices nearly as old in my own cupboard. After paying $7.95 for a bottle of ground cardamom, it’s hard to throw it out even many years later. Who knows, another recipe may come along that requires cardamom and I don’t want to have to put out another $7.95.

A friend is still feeding her cat cans of liver she bought in preparation for Y2K. The apocalypse never happened, and she hasn’t had to buy cat food for years. Everything turned out just fine. Does make me wonder though, how many people are holding on to stuff until Y3K.

As for that soup can at the back of the EPA refrigerator, I’m glad nobody checked my fridge lately. It could be downright embarrassing.

This first appeared in the Wenatchee World.

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What Goes Around Stays Around

10/25/2013

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I saw my pink and orange striped sweater on a lady down in Twisp last week. Haven’t seen it since the day I donated it to the Little Star School yard sale seven years ago…proving again that once something arrives in the Methow Valley it never leaves.

There’s always a little twinge of jealousy when I see my former clothes looking better on somebody else. “I should have kept that,” I inwardly fret, forgetting how bad it looked on me.

When it gets really fun is when I show up at an event in something that once belonged to somebody else and she shows up wearing something that once belonged to me. Sort of a reverse rummage encounter.

Part of the reason stuff stays here is because there is only one reliable way out. You can exit the Valley south at Pateros all year, but Highway 20 going north is only open when the DOT decides the road over Washington Pass is safe, usually about six months out of the year. Once things get here, they are generally stuck.

Those of the “cosmic consciousness” bent, and there are plenty of those in the Valley, might say there’s a special magnetic field here holding all the good stuff in place.

The other point is that people are reluctant to send anything out that might be useful to their neighbors. We all know how much gas and time it takes to get to Wenatchee or Omak, the closest shopping centers. Better to give it away or sell it locally and save somebody a trip.

Clothes aren’t the only things that rotate. I still see my old Isuzu Trooper around town, and it’s gone through three more owners that I know of. Furniture changes homes too. There are a couple of classic sofas that are still around after close to 30 years. Maybe that’s explained by a Valley notion that function is always more important than fashion. Who but your neighbors are going to see it anyway?

When it does get a little embarrassing is when you go to a yard sale or the senior citizens rummage room and without recognizing it, buy back something that you donated a few years before.

Hand-me-downs and hand-me-arounds are a way of life here. The watchword in the Methow Valley is this: If it’s new to you, it’s as good as new.

This first appeared in the Wenatchee World.

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Delish or Disgusting?

3/11/2013

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If offered, would you eat horsemeat?

According to the USDA, horse meat is not only high in protein, but a good cut has about half the fat, less cholesterol and twice as much iron and Vitamin B as beef. It also contains fewer calories, and significantly higher omega-3 fatty acid concentration (that’s the good fat)—with 300 mg per 100 grams serving, compared to just 21 mg in a beef steak. It also tastes good.

In South America, China, Japan, and many European countries including Italy and Switzerland, horse meat is just as common on the dinner table as any other meat. The eight most populous countries in the world consume almost 5 million horses every year. But most Americans wouldn’t eat horse meat even if you paid them.

The consumption of horse meat has a long, odd and intriguing history. Catholic prejudice started back in the eighth century when Pope Gregory III prohibited eating the meat because of its association with pagan sacrifice. The ban was temporarily lifted several hundred years later when Icelanders refused to convert unless they could continue to eat horse meat. After the pontiff conceded their right to consume whatever they wanted, Icelanders adopted Christianity en masse in 1000.

The Catholic ban was removed and re-instated several more times over the centuries until it was finally dropped for good. Still, in some Catholic minds there remains a religious ambivalence about eating horses.

The French date their taste for horse meat to the Revolution. Peasants felt a certain glee consuming horses the aristocracy had recently paraded around to show off their wealth. First the rabble cut off their rulers’ heads, and then they ate their horses.

During World War II, when beef was in short supply and rationed, many Americans got their protein boost from horse meat. Again in the early 1970s when beef prices went through the roof, cash-strapped shoppers were happy to buy cheap horse meat. The practice was so common it showed up as a subplot on a 1973 episode of “All in the Family.”

But Americans generally consider horse meat off-limits, while the rest of the world consumes it with relish. They eat horse meat in Canada and Mexico, why not here?

Maybe it has to do with Roy Rogers. Before the invention of the automobile, horses were needed for labor and transportation. When they got too old or lame for work they were slaughtered and their parts turned into useful products. About the same time as cars replaced horses, motion pictures made heroes out of cowboys and their steeds. As western mythology grew, interest in eating horse meat declined. It’s difficult for most Americans to develop a taste for something formerly named Trigger.

Also, eighty-five percent of horse owners are women. As youngsters they read Black Beauty and watched National Velvet, not to mention collected piles of My Little Ponies. Their sentimental attachment to horses is both personal and cultural. They can’t imagine eating such a noble creature.

There’s one thing I don’t hear much amid the outcry about butchering Black Beauty. More Americans are hungry now than at any time in living memory, particularly children. They aren’t getting the nutrition they need, partly because of the soaring cost of fresh meat, including beef, pork and chicken. Given most American’s hesitancy to eat horse meat, we can assume the price will stay low. If they were provided the opportunity, the poorest Americans might be able to eat lean fresh meat more frequently, and it probably would be a lot better for them than the processed food many currently consume.

The whole issue of eating horsemeat has been in the news lately because of a labeling uproar in the UK. In our country there’s no opportunity to eat horse meat because six years ago Congress took away funding for USDA horse meat inspectors, forcing closure of all facilities that slaughtered horses in the US. However, in late 2011 that funding was restored after a GAO report found the ban caused a large increase in horse neglect, abuse and abandonment, as well as put financial stress on cities and counties left to feed and care of animalsdumped in public places and on private land. A new slaughter facility is due to open in New Mexico soon.

Passionate horse lovers think eating equine meat is barbaric. Nutritionists say it’s a shame such a healthy protein is not available to those who want and need it. Most of the world shakes its head in amusement. What do you think?

Are you ready to eat horsemeat?

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Barbie has a tattoo. What about you?

9/25/2012

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Are tattoos a fad or the new normal?

I started wondering about this during dinner with a woman who is in the middle of a project to get an Alice in Wonderland-themed tattoo from the top of her shoulder to her wrist. At the same time she looked lovingly at the new art on her arm, she griped about several old tattoos on her ankle and calf.

“I hate those old tattoos. I wonder why I ever got them. Wish it wasn’t so expensive and painful to get them removed.”

I couldn’t help but wonder how long it’s going to be before she feels the same way about Alice.

Tattooing is an art form that’s been around since about 5000 BC. Tattoos have served as rites of passage, marks of status and rank, and symbols of religious and spiritual attachment. They have used as decorations for bravery, sexual lures and marks of fertility. In various cultures tattoos have been used as protection, punishment, and as the marks of outcasts, slaves and convicts.

But it wasn’t till the early 1990s that tattooing really took off in Europe and America, becoming a widespread form of self expression.

For all you number junkies out there, here are some statistics. According to the Pew Research Center is a study released in July, 2012:

Total number of all Americans with at least 1 tattoo: 14%
Those between 18 and 25 with a tattoo: 36%
Those between 26 and 40 with a tattoo: 40%
Annual amount of US spending on tattoos: $1.5 Billion.

And here’s something else that’s interesting. According to the Pew Center, 31% of those who have tattoos say it makes them feel sexier, 29% say it makes them feel rebellious, and 5% say it makes them feel more intelligent.

Another significant statistic, this from the skin art industry: Tattoo removal is up 32% over last year.

That’s what makes me wonder if this isn’t just another fad. How long will it take the fickle fates of fashion to declare tattoos “so…yesterday?”

The next generation will likely view tattoos as something belonging to old folks, the mark of a “has been.” As the tattooed generation
ages, young people will reject tattoos because they don’t want to look anything
like their elders, be it hairstyle, clothing, or sagging, fading
tattoos.

A couple of decades ago, a person with a tattoo stood out, and skin art was authentically rebellious or menacing. Now grandmothers sport tattoos. Americans of all ages and life styles are getting tatts, joining the club because it’s the cool thing to do. There’s even a Barbie with an exotic flower tattooed on her chest and a dragon curling up her neck and around her back. In 1999 and again in 2009 Barbie had stick-on tattoos. Now she’s gone to permanent ink.

Also on the market is a junior tattoo parlor, including a vibrating “ink pen.” Little Tommy and Tilly can pretend to scar themselves for only $14.95. Antibiotics not included.

Generally when any style or trend moves from the outliers to the mainstream to kids, its demise is not far off.

Another factor playing into all this is a tight job market. According to the website Patient Guide, run by a collection of skin care magazines, in a struggling economy many people looking for work are getting rid of their tattoos in an attempt to look more professional or get a leg up on the competition. These include college students who have finished their education and now regret permanent skin displays, and those who’ve lost their jobs and are trying to get back into the workforce.

I hesitate to bring up religion since people can be so touchy about it, but since permanent skin marking has been a part of religious belief for many millennia, it seems pertinent. There is a fascinating debate within today’s Christian community whether tattoos are acceptable. A number of websites discuss this issue at length.

Those who disapprove of tattoos quote Leviticus 28:19, which says “You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh, not tattoos or any mark on you: I am the Lord.”

The other side claims the New Testament abrogates the laws of the Old Testament and some of the old laws, including the one forbidding tattoos, can be ignored. Another camp contends tattoos are only acceptable if they are of Christian design and“glorify God.”

So I guess that one is a toss-up.

There’s one thing for sure: every tattoo tells a story. What’s hard to know is how folks will feel about that story when tatts distort as gravity takes its toll; the colors loose their sharpness and eventually muddle; and designs, terribly fashionable at age 22, become silly or embarrassing. Forty or fifty years is a long time to have the same design on your skin and still like it.

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So why don't these jeans fit? Making sense of sizing.

5/5/2012

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Recently I went out to buy a new pair of jeans. I found a nice pair in my size but when I tried them on, the legs were too tight and the waist too big.

Put on another brand. This time the 10 was way too large; the 8 had a waist that would accommodate a wine barrel. The 6 came closer to fitting, but was about 6 inches too long.

I walked out of there wondering why, oh why, don’t clothing sizes make sense?

The Federal government did take a stab at it back in the early 1940s. Before that, as far back as the Revolutionary War, men’s clothes had been sized based on a single measurement, the chest. Military uniforms were standardized under the assumption that if you knew a man’s chest size, you could figure out pretty much how the rest of his body was going to be proportioned.

So in the early 20th century, when women’s clothing began to be mass produced, women’s sizes were based exclusively on one measurement: the bust. But, as we all know, not all women’s busts are equal. Some large women have small breasts, and some small women come with very large ones. Bust measurements obviously were not a good indicator of the rest of a woman’s proportions.

By the late 1930s, annoyed that so much of their merchandise was being returned because of poor fit, the Mail Order Association of America appealed to the government to set up national standards for sizing.

The Feds came up with a new scheme based primarily on height and weight. The fatal flaw of that effort was women were reluctant to reveal their weight when they went shopping. The Bureau of Standard eventually devised another system that added bust size, but assumed all women had hourglass figures. And it didn’t help that the data used by the government to create standardized sizes was based only on the measurements of white women. Women of color who came in were measured, but their measurements were discarded.

It took until 1958 for a national standard to be put into effect. At first the industry was enthusiastic, especially mail order companies like Sears and Montgomery Ward. But the steady flow of returns continued unabated and soon they were calling for the government to get out of the clothing business.

Today there’s a voluntary industry standard which is mostly ignored. Sizing numbers have evolved over time to accommodate a very real trend….women are getting larger. Most women would rather not think about their actual size, so manufacturers re-label bigger sizes with smaller numbers. A size 8 now is the rough equivalent of what a size 14 or 16 was in 1958.

More expensive brands often offer larger versions of a given size. For example, the Gap’s three brands, the namesake Gap, Banana Republic, and Old Navy have different sizing. A size 8 hip in the low end brand equals a size 2 in the most expensive.

It appears some women are willing to pay whatever it takes to get their size 8 bodies into a pant labeled size 2.

“Everybody who shops knows you have to try things on to see if they fit," one researcher notes. "But it's a thrill whenever you get into a smaller size number. I know people who have bought things that didn't fit because they were the right number. And I know people who won't buy something if the number is too big, even when the fit is perfect."

It’s not only that women are getting heftier—they’re also changing their shapes in other ways. Implants, body contouring, and various other additions and subtractions have radically changed the potential for how well clothing fits. To deal with this, Victoria’s Secrets has modified some items in its underwear line to take into account the various configurations of customized bodies.

As much as women would like to blame manufacturers, they aren’t entirely at fault. It’s true that sizing has traditionally not been based on the actual figure types of women, but it also has a lot to do with the feedback that manufacturers receive from salespeople in stores. If smaller sizes sell better than larger ones, that’s what women are going to find, even if the fit is iffy and the label size is ridiculously small compared to the amount of fabric in the garment.

There’s also the issue of brand loyalty. A woman who identifies herself as a Calvin Klein kind of woman wants a different fit than the gal who thinks of herself as a Chico’s girl. Fit is a type of identity. Flowing, structured, tight or baggy…the fit of the garment helps tell the world who we are.

In a country so diverse it may be impossible to define any national average body. The most we can probably hope for is our favorite brands to remain cut the same way they have in the past.

But don’t count on it.

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This week in Vegas: Paul gets the hooker vote & the Alien Cathouse

1/18/2012

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As most of you probably know, prostitution is legal in all but two counties in Nevada. The sex industry is big business here and is regularly reported in the media. A couple of items this week caught my attention.

The ladies at the Moonlight Bunny Ranch are actively campaigning for Republican presidential candidate Ron Paul. According to a report in the Las Vegas Weekly, they’re asking each of their Johns to donate to the Paul campaign.

As one sex worker explained, their support for the would-be president is his belief that government should not police “victimless” crimes such as prostitution. It appears that Ron Paul has captured the highly non-sought-after prostitute vote.

So far his national campaign headquarters is not announcing the endorsement.

In other business news, the owner of the Moonlight Bunny Ranch has hired Heidi Fleiss to help him design his newest bordello. You may remember Heidi. She was known as the “Hollywood Madam” back in the days before she was jailed for running a prostitution ring for wealthy clients ~ and not paying her taxes.

After serving her sentence, Heidi moved to Pahrump with plans to open another brothel. But she ran into a number of problems regarding licensing. She then announced she was leaving the sex industry to focus on alternative energy. Fleiss next opened a laundromat called “Dirty Laundry.” That was followed by a dog grooming business, until it was shut down by a judge as part of a civil lawsuit…she wasn’t paying her rent.

In July, she and her 25 macaws appeared in a pilot reality show on Animal Planet called “Prostitutes to Parrots.” Haven’t heard how that went.

But Heidi still consults for brothels as well. And that’s where the Alien Cathouse comes in. Owner Dennis Hof purchased a rundown bordello 95 miles northwest of Las Vegas and put Fleiss in charge of interior design and costumes. The brothel will cater to those who have ever dreamed of traveling to a distant planet, meeting exotic alien women and having sex with them.

“She’s the chief alien design queen,” said Hof.

He’s also converting the nearby bar, gas station and mini mart into an Area 51-themed Alien Travel Center. It could be a goldmine.

Brothels in Nevada have been struggling financially for nearly a decade, mostly due to the internet, but this new Alien Cathouse might change that. Beamed up for a romp with an extraterrestrial with blue skin and five breasts? It could be out of this world.

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Bolo ties ~ new west, old fashion

1/14/2012

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The bolo tie is the official neckwear of Arizona,New Mexico and Texas. Who knew! I’ve heard of state flowers and birds….but a state necktie?

This came to my attention after a reader of a blog entry on neckties asked for more information specifically on bolo ties. So here you go:

The most common story about the origin of the tie came from a fellow named Victor Cedarstaff. He claimed to have invented it in the late 1940s. He said he was riding his horse one day near Wickenburg, Arizona when his hat blew off. Afraid of losing his silver-trimmed hatband, he slipped the band around his neck. His riding companion joked “That’s a nice-looking tie you’re wearing Vic.”

After thinking about it for a while, Cedarstaff took a strand of braided leather and added decorative metal tips to prevent the ends from fraying. A problem immediately became evident: there needed to be a way to hold the string together at the neck. A knot was too bulky. He experimented with a variety of slides until he perfected the design he patented in 1959.

According to one account, Cedarstaff first called his tie a“piggin necklet.” When that didn’t work out too well, he changed the name to bola tie because of its resemblance to the baleadora, a lariat used by Argentine cowboys.

But wouldn’t you know….Texans decided to call it a it a "Texas tie."

Historians say that various versions of the bolo were in use a long time before Cedarstaff’s hat blew off. Part of the dispute over the roots of the bolo tie stems from its variations. The Argentines had a version with leather straps. Native Americans used a shell or a silver conch to clasp bandanas around their necks. There was a British version made of bootlaces. Some experts assert the bolo tie is a pioneer creation that first showed up between 1866 and 1886. There’s a tie on display at a trading post in New Mexico which dates back that far.

The pop culture history of bolo ties is easier to chronicle. They’ve been seen on the silver screen for at least 50 years. The Cisco Kid, Hopalong Cassidy and Roy Rogers all wore bolo ties in the movies and on TV. In the 1980s bolo ties were revived as part of the rockabilly look. And John Travolta wore one in “Urban Cowboy,” which sparked another round of popularity.

Since the 1990s bolo ties have been big in Japan, Chinaand Korea. Part of their attraction is their association with Native Americans. Zuni, Hopi and Navaho silversmiths are well known for their elegant designs...though I’m not sure how many Chinese actually wear bolo ties.

My husband, who grew up in Nevada, has a whole collection of bolo ties which he never wears. I thought maybe I could sell them on ebay and make a few bucks. Unfortunately there are already over a thousand bolos up for grabs at prices starting at a penny. Looks like I won’t be getting rich any time soon.

Currently bolo ties seem to be most popular with old guys in Arizona, western state politicians, and stars walking down the red carpet. But you never can tell when they will become a red-hot fashion item again. It has already happened a couple of times in the past 70 years.

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They just keep coming

9/22/2011

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The packrat relocation campaign has entered a new phase. Last night I caught #22 and decided I need to do something different.

Marc has had several helpful ideas. One is to name each one before I take it away, so when I catch another packrat I can ask, “Hey, isn’t your name Joe? Haven’t I seen you here before?”

He next suggested I paint their toenails so I can identify the ones who don’t speak English...and that I start a packrat re-education school. After all, they’re very cute little critters and the only thing wrong with them is they stink and destroy everything. So why not put them in a classroom and teach them not to build nests in my car or invade the house.

I’ve been looking into packrat predators, which include coyotes, fox, owls and snakes. So the little guys do have their place in nature providing food for other animals. For a while I was asking myself exactly why I wasn’t just shooting or drowning them as some have suggested. But the whole process is just too grisly and I don’t want to unbalance nature, do I?

I started wondering just how many packrats there are in the world. Never did find that out, but discovered there are 10,000 trillion ants, one million ants per person.

Or to put it another way, if you put all the ants on one side of a scale and all the humans on the other, they would weight just about the same.

Anyway, back to packrats: I read online that the only way to keep packrats out of your vehicle is to leave the light on at night. Packrats are nocturnal and won’t venture where there is bright light. So I left the lights blazing in the garage and set the trap beside the car to see what would happen. Voila…another packrat in the trap in the morning. So much for that bit of internet advice.

Then a friend told me the way packrats navigate in the dark is by following their own urine trails and the trails of other packrats. Dumb me. I’ve been putting the trap in the same place next to my car for days….thereby giving them a strong trail to follow. So I scrubbed down the garage floor…twice…poured Clorox over the whole thing and moved the trap out to the pole barn. So far no more droppings in the garage.

I’ve been doing research about how far packrats travel, trying to figure out if I’m getting the same animals over and over. Experts say they stay within 300 feet of a nest, but will travel many miles to find a new place to build. One woman noted she put an identifying mark on a packrat and took it a mile away. It was back in a week and a half. She found she had to go five miles before they stayed elsewhere.

Just to be sure they aren’t coming back from where I’m dropping them off, I modified Marc’s painted toenail idea and marked the tail of #22 with rose colored nail polish (the only shade I had). Tomorrow I’m thinking about trying orange spray paint.

I really don’t think the packrats are coming back. When they run out of the trap they have a choice of going in four directions, so there’s only a 25% change they’ll even head my way. And there are hundreds of really nice nesting spots among the rocks below Goat Wall before they get to our house.

But we’ll just have to wait and see.

Last minute update: Caught #23 overnight. Marc has a new idea involving a cell phone. Does anybody know how much weight a packrat can carry? And how small they make cell phones?

More later.

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Catalog dreams

Seeing Red

When is old too old?

What Goes Around Stays Around

Delish or Disgusting?

Barbie has a tattoo. What about you?

So why don't these jeans fit? Making sense of sizing.

This week in Vegas: Paul gets the hooker vote & the Alien Cathouse

Bolo ties ~ new west, old fashion

They just keep coming

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