6.07.2005

Mistress Mosquito Thwarted

The original Invasion of the Body Snatchers was on Turner Classic Movies tonight. Memories of one Halloween weekend in high school, while I hastily made a Roaring Twenties flapper dress from remnant fabric, flooded back to me as I half watched it tonight while browsing Amazon.com for books on Egyptian heiroglyphs.

I have this clear memory of standing in the dining room ironing my costume, watching the later version with Donald Sutherland on TBS (when it was still a UHF channel in Atlanta back in the day). The original is better. Twenty years on (eek), I sit with my information-age laptop watching the original 1950's version, having memories from two decades ago when I watched the remake, while searching for books to teach me how to read a 4,000 year-old language. And so life folds in on itself again, even in the dawn of the 21st century.

Our A/C unit is making horrible clunking noises as it shuts off, followed by a bizzare high pitched wizzing noise. As I write this, it has just come back on, and the house is thankfully still cool and yet I am troubled that I can smell burning plastic. Perhaps it is only my laptop protesting at all this use of a sudden, when I had left it alone for so long.

Loki has taken to whimpering in the morning. I cannot decipher this behavior. Food, water, affection, time outside to take care of business- all these things are provided him. But as soon as I sit down to eat my breakfast and drink my coffee or check my email or iron my shirt or any other task, he begins the low-volume whining. Being a dog, he has no vocabulary to articulate the whining, and so I am left to wonder what it means- we call him old man these days. He will officially be 9 years old in just a couple of days; I begin to wonder if he has arthritis or some other ailment that affects him in the mornings? He only does it in the morning. I think I may have to take him to the vet and see what she thinks. Poor old guy. Such a capital dog Loki is- I will be completely brokenhearted when he passes. I hope he'll wait for me on the other side when he gets there. In the meantime, if he all of the sudden acquires language and tells me what all this whimpering is about, I'll report in immediately- and then check myself into the nearest asylum. I only mention this because sometimes he really does look as if he's about to speak.

The tomato plant I started back in February just recently yielded another six tomatoes. Last night, to celebrate Charles' major promotion, I made bruschetta from these tomatoes, and also made pesto from the basil that I finally cut way back. Given the weather recently, I have a feeling it will spring back up pretty quickly. For dinner, I tossed the pesto into some angel hair pasta and served that with a caesar salad (I count chopped Romaine and Newman's Own Creamy Caesar dressing as a Caesar salad) and bruschetta from homegrown Roma tomatoes. I served it with DaVinci Chianti, which Charles didn't really like but I thought was a pretty good accompaniment to the food. He said one of the rules about purchasing wine is never buy a bottle with the name of someone famous. Oh. Oops. Well, I'll be sure to avoid the Einstien Pino Grigio and the Michaelangelo Merlot next time. I'm no connoisseur, but I know what I like (said the woman who actually really does like the Dogs Playing Poker paintings, much to her mother's horror).

The astroturf now lining our freestanding "back porch" is a welcome addition to our Redneck hacienda. It is the beginning of hurricane season around here, and the summer afternoon rains have started, so it's a 50/50 chance that we actually get to sit on the 'porch' in the evenings. This morning I drank my first cup of coffee and watched the male and female cardinals at the feeders- this is the first year since we moved to south Tampa four years ago that I've seen them in my neighborhood, and I'm delighted to see them in my backyard.

I noticed a mosquito darting and smacking against the outside of the screen, desperate to get through to my sweet sanguine flesh. I couldn't resist shooting her a bird. Our addition isn't completely bug proof, as evidenced by a random mosquito and some interesting beetle species I've noticed inside the screenhouse, but hey it's better than nothing. Our kitchen gecko isn't chirping tonight. I hope he hasn't abandoned us for greener pastures. I read somewhere their favorite meal is roaches and in spite of keeping a pretty clean kitchen- well, this is Florida, after all and I'm not a fan of the Orkin man. My coworker, in spite of fifteen plus years of Florida living, still screams bloody murder if she sees one (a roach that is, not the Orkin man)- even across the room. I feel sorry for her- I got over that particular heebie jeebie after a year of living off campus. As to hurricane season, I hope they pass Tampa by- I'll be pretty sore at Mama Nature if I have to dismantle my newly constructed porch. But She's in charge around here this time of year, so que sera sera.

I woke up this morning just before dawn to the sound of a mockingbird singing its heart out as it perched in an Arbor Vitae just outside our front door. I read they love to eat beetles and wasps. More power to them- and they sing prettier than the Orkin man too.

1 Comments:

Blogger andi said...

Ah the memories of off-campus living. Sheesh. I hate roaches, too - you'd think I'd be over it by now, after my own time in Florida low-rent spaces, not to mention an interesting experience with the German cockroaches that were flourishing in our third-floor walk-up in Queens. Ick.

8:23 AM  

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