Tatt's All Folks!

My husband, Bruce, and I were invited to a friends house for a barbecue this past weekend. It was a small informal get together, but still I wanted to look my best, so I slipped into a nice pair of jeans and a T-shirt. To complement my sporting outfit I chose one of my favorite pairs of earrings.

Although my ears were pierced more than 20 years ago, I've always had problems with my left ear. The cosmetologist who did the work must have been having a bad day because the back side of the hole in that ear doesn't match with the front side. Putting an earring in it is next to impossible. I always end up in a rather unique contorted wrestling match with myself. In the end, without fail, I always have to ask Bruce for help.

Bruce doesn't mind helping, but he's always afraid he will hurt me, so the procedure takes longer than it should and wears on both of us. My ear was particularly resistant that day, so after struggling with me and the earring for about 20 minutes, Bruce decided we should maybe try to reopen and align the hole with a darning needle.


Bruce was about to start his armchair surgery, when a couple of friends that we had made arrangements to go the barbecue with arrived. Seeing my dilemma they did what any good friends would do...they joined Bruce and alternately took turns poking, prodding, pulling and pushing a very large needle though my ear.

In the end, we managed to open the hole and insert the earring, but I arrived at the party with a very large, unsightly, red and swollen left earlobe .

After we had eaten Diane, one of our friends, abruptly stood, grabbed my arm and announced that she and I were leaving for a little while in my vehicle because we "had an errand to run." I didn't know where we were headed until she directed me to pull into the parking lot of one of our local "Bottle Shops" that sold beer, wine and liqueur.

I couldn't imagine why we were there since neither of us drink . When I asked what we were up to she grinned and said "Get out..you'll see"

As soon as my feet hit the ground she grasped my upper arm firmly and said "Come on, we're going up there" I followed her hand gesture toward a fairly steep set of stairs that led above the Bottle Shop to one of our many local Tattoo parlors.

Now, state of California pays ex-felons for their rehabilitation when they are released from prison. I honestly can't say how many vocational choices they are given, but from the number of shops in the area I'm guessing maybe there are only two. Harley motorcycle repair shops and Tattoo Shops.

Interestingly enough you can always tell the shop owners and employees by the way they dress. The Harley shop owners and employees regardless of the season always dress in black leathers and have an obsessive fondness for silver. Silver earrings, silver chains, silver belt buckles, silver everything. They glisten in the warm California sun.

Tattoo parlor owners and employees dress in as few articles of clothing as possible and have an obsessive fondness for displaying their wearable artwork. They are covered from head to toe in brilliant graphics. They too glisten in the warm California sun as it reflects off their numerous body piercings.

When I questioned Diane's motives she smiled coyly and said "Come on..you'll see." Although I was slightly apprehensive I concluded that she wanted to get tiny tattoo on her left ankle to match the one on her right. Diane is impulsive but at the same time very conservative.

As I followed her up the stairs we passed a multitude of young people leaving the shop. As they passed they each in turn showed us their new works of art. One girl stuck out her tongue and said something like " oook I jus gop ma tun possed " I smiled and said "Ahh, very nice. Congratulations!" I wondered why anyone would want to do such a thing. I'm not judgmental, just a coward. It looked like it hurt.

As Diane opened the door to the Tattoo parlor we were nearly knocked down by the ear shattering rap music that engulfed us along with a billowing cloud of incense. I gave her a look that I hope implied "Girl are you out of your mind?" I concluded she was when she slipped behind me and shoved me though the door.

From somewhere behind a beaded curtain a deep baritone voice bellowed "Park your butts Dudes I'm inkin' " Diane plopped comfortably into one of the two vacant chairs that somewhat resembled barber chairs and motioned for me to take the other, "Aww come on" she pleaded "lighten up, relax this is all good." It didn't feel or look good to me, but I slipped onto the edge of the chair.

In a couple of minutes a burly bald man whom I guessed to be 8 feet 94 inches tall tossed back the beaded curtain spread his arms and said "'Sup Dudes ? Look at you!" I assume he was surprised to see two over the hill ladies sitting in his victims chairs. "Aaaah right" he continued "who am I inkin' first?"

To my absolute horror Diane leaped from her chair and shoved me all the way back info mine and said "We are going to re-pierce her ears!" The chair must have had suction cups attached to it because before I could pull my self up and out of it, the moving art show pressed one of his big hands gently but firmly just below my throat and looked at first one ear and the other. My heart raced in terror.

I must have passed out from fright at that point, because the next thing I remember Diane was leading me back down the steep stairs. I had a serious headache and both of my ears felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to them. The throbbing pain caused tears to truckle down my cheeks.

As we drove out of the parking lot I glanced longingly back at the "Bottle Shop." I secretly wished I could imbibe just a little . Diane is a good friend, and neither of us drink, but at that very moment I considered dumping a friend and taking up drinking as a new hobby.

Mrs. Magoo and the Friendly Fawn

The cartoon character Mr. Magoo has been around since long before I was old enough to see him on the big screen in movie theaters. While most people find him amusing and endearing, I've always had somewhat of a standoffish attitude toward him. Even as a young child I always thought that no one could be so crotchety or so nearsighted that he'd get himself into the outrageous fixes that Quincy Magoo did. Yesterday, however, I developed a rather sudden fondness for the old coot.

Here's what happened:

Early yesterday afternoon I had an appointment with a retina specialist for an evaluation of an on-going annoying problem in my left eye. I've had many eye examinations over the years, but I've never gone though such an evasive one as I did yesterday. I don't know what they used to dilate my eyes, but it had to be some powerful stuff. Within minutes everything went fuzzy.

After the doctor did a brief first glance he asked his assistant to add some different drops to my eyes. Those drops were followed up with a dye compound and another dose of drops. By the time I walked out of his office I felt like I was maneuvering in a dense fog. I seriously have never had such obscured vision.

Since the back office nurse told me the effect would quickly wear off, I made my way out the door and attempted to find my vehicle. I knew I wasn't seeing well enough to drive, but I thought I could sit awhile and listen to the radio until the blurriness cleared.

After stumbling around the parking lot for an undetermined amount of time and setting of a wild crescendo of numerous car alarms while trying to insert my key into various vehicles that I mistook for mine, I was escorted by some unknown person or persons back to the waiting room.

A disjointed female voice came out of nowhere and said "We thought you were here with a caretaker who could drive you home... who can we call for you?" Well it's true my husband, Bruce, was with me at the onset of my appointment. He had taken an extended lunch hour to sit in on my exam however he had to leave and return to work long before the intense exam was finished. No one told me they were going to send me out into the world completely blind, otherwise he would have made other arrangements and stayed with me.

I had them call a friend who, by the way, is still giggling over the ruckus I caused in the parking lot while trying to find my vehicle.

Once I was safely deposited in the confines of my home I wandered around aimlessly trying to find something to entertain myself until the effects of the drops wore off. That gave me a new appreciation for blind people. How do they do it? Since I still couldn't see more than about a foot in front of my face I decided to listen to the television.

That idea was short lived. As soon as I settled myself in front of the t.v. with a cold Pepsi, I heard a loud fracas coming from the chickens in the pen out back. I tried to ignore it, but it grew in intensity as the ducks, geese turkeys, and guinea hens joined in. I knew something was terribly wrong..but what to do?

Finally I decided that since I had made the trip out to the pens a multitude of times in the dark of night it wouldn't be that difficult or different with my current visual impairment. I was right. I followed the path out back with relative ease. The only problem was that I couldn't see what was causing the commotion with the birds.

I opened the gate to the "free range chicken park" and felt my way along the wire fencing toward the back. I heard several branches snap in the woods beyond the pen, but I couldn't see a thing. It was like trying to drive in a blinding white-out snow storm. Everything beyond a few feet was a consumed in a complete fog-like blur.

When I heard another branch snap I knew the intruder was fairly large. I surmised it was a deer snacking on the blackberries that grow wild on bushes in the forest on 2 sides of our property. Since the birds were still in an uproar I thought I should do something to scare the deer away. I bent down and felt around on the ground until I was able to find a few rocks and short twigs which I tossed toward the sound in the woods.

Satisfied that I had frightened the deer away I returned to the house via the same path. However, as I settled back down in front of the t.v. the birds once again became hysterical. Silly birds, I thought, afraid of a deer...how ridiculous is that! Unable to ignore the bedlam, which continued to grow in intensity I once again felt my way to the back of the pen.

By now the drops had begun to wear off slightly and I was able to see something brown about 15 feet beyond the boundaries of the "chicken park." Once again I grappled around for things to throw at the deer, which I now decided was a young fawn because it showed no fear of me.

When poor little thing continued to show reluctance to leave, I accompanied my projectiles with a loud "GRRRR Get out of here! Go on..Get!" The fawn stood its ground for quite sometime while I continued to yell and toss bits of rocks and twigs at it. At one point, it moved a bit closer to me so I jumped up and down and waved my arms while I shouted in an attempt to look more menacing . At last it nonchalantly turned and walked unhurriedly deeper into the woods.

Bruce came home about an hour later and I told him the chickens and other birds were driving me nuts by over reacting to a fawn in the woods behind their pen. I asked him to handle it if they started up again.

Within twenty minutes the birds once again sounded a shrill alarm and Bruce went out to take a look. We had decided that maybe the fawn was injured or abandoned since it was so reluctant to move off when I tried to intimidate it.

Within minutes Bruce breathlessly returned to the house and loudly announced "Jodi we have a problem!" As I stood and felt my way blindly toward where he stood panting I asked "What's going on? Is it injured?"

"No" he huffed "But it's a wonder YOU aren't! .... It's NOT a FAWN Magoo it's a big Black BEAR!"

In the words of Quincy Magoo..."Ohhhh Lucy Magoo, you've done it again! "

Just Like a Man !

Now there are a lot of good things about living in the country. There are also a lot of things that are not so good about living in the country. One thing is the country scents ( ironically, and justly so, the title of my blog.)

Since we live in the country and our property backs up to woods on two sides we have an ongoing problem with skunks who wander onto our ranch. This time of year, the wandering of skunks is actually more like a mass pilgrimage . You see , although skunks are pretty much solitary animals, they always return to the den in which they were born to hole up for the winter. They also birth their young in these dens. It works like this... 5 or 6 skunks enter their communal den in late summer or early autumn, and in the spring 20 or 30 skunks emerge.

At some point back in the annals of time a few pilgrim skunks decided to hole up under where one of our small barns is now located. Needless to say our balmy country evenings more often than not waft noxious perfumes through our open windows.

Since this particular den of skunks has most likely been here since the time when cavemen roamed these hills you'd think that some men would learn to give them a wide berth. Perhaps I should narrow that down a bit and say that I should think one man in particular would learn to give them a wide berth. That man, of course would my husband, Bruce.

For the last week we have noticed an increase in acrid scents mixed in with the usual sweet perfumes of night blooming Jasmine and Nicotina. Now some say that women are smarter than men. I can't say for sure if that is an accurate statement or not, however once I noticed the obvious signs of our winter resident skunks were returning to their den I did my best to avoid crossing their path. The man in this house did not.

Let me give you an example as to why the saying: Women are smarter than men may have some merit.

Late Friday afternoon just as the sun was bidding us adieu I settled into our lawn swing to watch it slip behind the tall oak trees in the forest. I tried to coax Bruce to come and sit with me but being the self-appointed advocate of lawn care, he decided instead to mow the lawn. So off into the sunset he rode on his mower.

Being the perceptive person that I am, I immediately noticed that he had riled at least one skunk during his first orbit around the lawn. Amazingly, it took Bruce about three and a half laps before he finally stopped the mower and walked back toward me.

As he approached I slipped off the lawn swing and told him I was going inside...(and here is where the possible difference in intelligence comes into play.) Bruce looked around for a minute and then said "I think it must be under the dog house in the vegetable garden."

I agreed and suggested we make a fast retreat to the interior of our own house. When Bruce made no sign of moving I said "Are you coming?" When he didn't answer I knew he was going to have to satisfy his curious mind.

"Seriously, I think we need to go in now." I said as Bruce continued to use his nose and eyes to scan the area. When he turned and headed toward the vegetable garden I knew we were in for an interesting evening.

"What's your plan?" I asked with a knowing grin on my face. "I'm just going to see where it's hanging out so we can set a trap out a bit later" he replied. I grabbed my camera.

A few steps later we were both standing in the vegetable garden looking at the old abandoned dog house our ranch dog used when he was a puppy. I wisely stood about 15 feet back from it while Bruce cautiously approached. I did my best to discourage him from getting too close... really I did. Looking back at the whole thing, it's possible that maybe I didn't speak loud enough for him to hear me. But seriously did he really need me to tell him not to lift the dog house to see if a skunk was under it?

The obvious answer is yes, he apparently did need for me to shout "NO! STOP! DON'T LIFT THE DOG HOUSE UP... THERE IS A SKUNK UNDER IT!" because before I knew it (although I stood camera in hand and ready) he muttered something that sounded like "I don't think it's under here" and lifted the dog house.

Are women smarter than men? Well, at least one was on that particular evening.