Cuppacafe

Beewildered

Nothing like being out in the field with your handheld GPS device trying to take some measurements in the tall briars when you step on a bee. Okay, a lot of bees. The bees probably started going after my legs and worked their way up, because the first sting was on my high inner thigh. I had some boots and some snakeproof leggings on, so the inner thigh was my first vital spot unprotected.

I yelped. Dropped my handheld GPS, having failed at adding a makeshift lanyard only an hour earlier.

The bees now own my GPS device. I hope they got as frustrated working with it as I did.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, running from the asshole bees. These bastards were big ones. I can now say they were bumblebees for reasons I’ll go into in a moment.

At first I thought it was a stinging nettle, a type of plant. It was on the second sting I realized it was something flying around me, because this one was on my wrist. My right wrist. My left would get stung later. Sometime after my left index finger (twice there) and after my skull stung behind my left ear.

After I ran a bit, still not seeing my attackers, I turned, still in the high grass, rapidly turning this way and that to see what got me. Large, and ponderous, most of them hovering around the ground nest I must have disturbed. My stings were smarting now, but I had dropped my GPS device, and was curious how close the drop was to their base of operations. One or two of them charged at me, but I had on hand an umbrella because a) it was getting ready to rain and was already spattering some drops in a decent breeze, and b) even though I had snake proof leggings, I know to use an umbrella to form a temporary shield between angry snake and self. I opened the umbrella and shook it about, hoping to — well, almost immediately a gust of wind flipped my umbrella inside out. I shook the limp umbrella about anyway, thinking that might confuse them, and they’d get back to minding the obviously excited bee nest…

I took the time to call my lovely wife, to tell her I had been attacked, and was waiting the bees to calm down so I could get my GPS device back and

– then all she heard was my screams.

Not only were the bees NOT fooled by my umbrella, they flew around it, and around me, and attacked me from the rear. It was a joint attack, and I felt like I had been stalked like the prey of some much smarter pack of animals than simple bees.

It was then I fled the field for good, and bidding my GPS a fond fairwell, made it out of the tall grass and weeds and quickly walked back to the car, a good 75 yards away from the original site of the attack and — OWW!!

Yeah, vindictive trackers. Nailed again, right before the car. I hop in the car with my recently flipped back to normal umbrella and realize that HE. COULD. BEE. IN. THE. CAR. HIDING. IN. THE. UMBRELLA!!!

I opened the door and threw the umbrella out, and whether he was in the umbrella or not, he was right there, about to sting me again.

I thought these bees only could sting once or something? Well, bumblebees don’t have barbs, so they keep their stingers and they can let you have it multiple times. So, I wasn’t looking at scores of bees sacrificing themselves… Just three or so from the initial attack… and one punk ass bee who followed me. I was still smarting, sitting in the car at this point, and there the bee was… lying low… I just knew it. Waiting for me to get out of the car.

And ya know what? He was.

I wanted my umbrella back, at least. It had been some five minutes or so since I threw out the thing, surely even the most stalwart bee would have gotten the message and gone home. I opened my door and, sensing a trap, quickly closed it up again. Yes. He was RIGHT. THERE. Nearly trapped him in my car door jam. He knew the jig was up, and flew up and then straight at me — and hitting the driver’s side window in the process. He flew around, and tried flying through my windshield next, with the same results. I had my camera out by this time, trying to take his picture. As slow as they seem to fly, between the breeze from the nearby storm (it never did rain hard) and him trying to angle in another attack, I’m sure all I have in my camera’s memory are panic shots of the inside of my car.

UPDATE: One of the shots did capture his image. He looks scary even through glass, made worse by the blur caused by the autofocus trying to decide what I wanted to take a picture of.

He’s prolly 1 inch from wingtip to wingtip. And you’re looking at the business end of the bee, trying to sting me right through the glass window…

– — –

One day, when I least expect it, I’ll hear the doorbell…

“Who is it?”

“Candygram”

“I didn’t order a Candygram”

“Uh, UPS guy delivering your new GPS unit”

“Oh! In that case let me open the door and …”

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

“Aaaaaaieeeeeeeee!!!”

[cue the horror movie music]

Cat & Mouse

I’m a cat person.

To be sure, I like dogs, but I’m a cat person. Never owned a Dog, but have lived around, and with cats much of my life. Had one when I was a kid, my girlfriend had one which came to live with us when we got married, and then we acquired a couple of more when her cat passed, and we had kids.

I love cats, they are affectionate, you don’t have to train them were to poop, and they don’t sit at the foot of the table and watch you eat. A cat will let you know that it loves you by allowing you to sit under it while it sleeps. For the record, cats used to be worshiped as gods, and they will never let us forget that. I was once told that our place in heaven is determined by how we treat cats here on Earth,and I have seen nothing to dispute that kernel of truth.

Currently, we have two cats, both female. Peanut (which “belongs” to my son — you don’t actually own cats, they own you), and Zazu which is my daughter’s.

I bring all of this up because today, after years of cat “ownership” I finally had one of the cats earn its keep. I came downstairs this morning, and discovered one of the cats (Zazu, the younger of the two) crouched down by the coffee table in the living room and staring intently at something. From the way she was perched, I could tell that she was stalking something. I figured that there was either a crumb of food under the table or a bug. So I moved the table.

Well you can imagine how surprised I was by the sight of a tiny gray field mouse scurrying across the floor towards the lounge chair. True to her nature, Zazu scampered after her quarry. Unable to hide under the chair, the mouse rushed back for the coffee table. I moved the table once again, and watch the mouse rush for a new hiding place. Then I went to get something in which I could trap the mouse, so I could toss it out of the house.

By the time I got back, Zazu had already dispensed with the pesky rodent. So I scooped it up into a container and tossed it out back into the woods behind my house. 30 years (give ot take) living with cats, and I finally had one catch a mouse in the house, rather than catch one outside and then bring it to me as tribute.

Remind me to give Zazu an extra treat later. She’s a good girl.

The Perfessor

I’ve been away

mentally, anyway.

I’ve been busy trying to make a buck, and things got away from me, and for that, I apologize.

News wise, it’s been fairly slow, so there’s not a whole lot to talk about. I have several thoughts to put to paper/blog, but none of them have much in the way of well researched links behind them, so they’ll end up coming across as mere subjective opinions, and I’m not sure you want to see me use this space to idly spew up random chatter.

Since it’s mostly my space here, you’ll have to learn to live with my spew.

And lack thereof.

Building the new server begins today

I’m still planning to put up a dozen or two pictures from the Salt Grass Trail Ride, but a few other things are grabbing my attention this morning.

First up, I’ll have to do research on Alison’s monitor. Her LCD screen just went south.

Blinked out without a sign of trouble. Thank God she finished up her latest manuscript yesterday and sent it off. I mean, we do have a spare monitor around here, and she’s got her laptop, and then there’s always (gulp!) THIS machine… but the spare monitor is smaller than what she’s been used to (a paltry 15in!) so I’ll have to fix or replace her LCD monitor quickly to get things back on an even keel around here. There’s always another manuscript due it seems… and the muse must not be interrupted!

Secondly, the parts for DreamForge Media’s new server are due today, via UPS. The UPS guy is used to just hauling small boxes from Amazon to our door… he’ll have a nice server chassis for us this afternoon! I already have some of the parts, and so I’ll start building it today, and flick the power switch later on tonight. More on the whole server thing later, I think. I don’t want to jinx things before I know all the hardware works…

In the meantime, keep your eyes open for the photo dump I’ll be doing with the horses I played paparazzi to yesterday. The Salt Grass Trail Ride is one of several trail rides, and they all converge at Memorial Park this evening. The parade of all the trail riders occurs tomorrow morning, rain or shine.

In the meantime, check out this picture. What’s the white stuff around that one nostril? Someone using Colombian Marching Powder??

Heaven save us from Little Girls!

This isn’t what it looks like.

To be sure, I’m not entirely sure what it looks like, but it isn’t that.

My beautiful and lovely daughter is 13, and well, totally a girl (whatever that means). I’ve always described my son as my Zen child. few things faze him, and he simply exists in a world that swirls chaotically around him. My daughter, she’s another story altogether.

The world around her is so full of daily drama that it is a wonder that she can get anything done. I love her dearly, but I am deeply confounded by her, well, girlishness.

Let me backtrack. I do the laundry in my house (don’t faint ladies, it arose out of expedience). Something that was established very early on in our relationship; my wife, you see, goes to work, while I (as a freelancer) have worked mostly out of the house. Hence it simply became easier for me to toss a load in the laundry, and let it run while I wrote.

Over the years, laundry simply became one of my chores. No big deal, especially as I used to help my mother out with laundry, and other household chores when I was younger (I was the daughter that she never had, and I love saying that because every time I do, it pisses off my sister.)

I’ve long since learned to go through the pockets of everyone’s clothes, because, well, stuff that shouldn’t be washed often gets left in them. Some years back, I established the custom that any money I found in the pockets was mine. (Hey, I was doing the laundry, wasn’t I?)

Anyway, as a parent. I also established that I have the right to open and read my kid’s email, know their passwords, and monitor their web visits, TV watching, and musical tastes, along with their friends and every other aspect of their life (I could snoop in their rooms if I felt it necessary, all thinks I reserve the right to do, but mostly don’t have to, you parents understand).

It seems that my daughter has finally found her pockets. Well, I found the note at the top of this post in her pants this morning as I was doing the laundry. Being the previously- established parent, I read it (as stated, I just like knowing). I was hysterical in the reading, and felt that it was so funny, that I wanted to share it.

Oh yeah, the baby pic I’ve posted, that’s Kayla Rose a month old, the gold bracelet on her hand, that’s my wedding band. Yes, you read that right, that’s my wedding band.

She was born a tad early (8 weeks), and tipped in at 2.5 lbs. Today, she is fine healthy, and will ultimately be the death of me.

I carry that pic in my wallet to keep me from killing her.

The Perfessor

Turkey Toy, Shredded [pic]

Snickers demonstrates how she sneaks up on turkeys by wearing a shedded turkey toy on her head.

Sitting On The Dock Of The Tank [pic]

Watching Goldfish, Eating Goldfish