Me and the Rat

I have an aversion to rodents.  Not jump-up-on-the-chairs-holding-my-skirts-and-shrieking drama, but, while they are cute, I just don't care to hold or cuddle the little things.

Flash back to me, age 5 or 6.  We had rabbits in hutches.  I have not confirmed this with either parent, so this is childhood memories we're going on here, but I do seem to remember that there were a series of rabbit cages in our tiny shed-like garage, with bunnies in each.  Bunnies that my brother Jason and I would feed... mom would give us carrots or celery or lettuce and we would scamper out to the garage and feed our "pets".  

The rabbit I considered mine (sadly its name has been lost in the sands of time) was always happy for a treat and would hop over to nibble whatever tidbit that was given to her.  I loved watching her little nose quivering and, one day, I couldn't resist and stuck my finger in the cage to stroke it.  

As you can guess, she mistook pudgy little-girl finger for a carrot and bit me.  It was not much later the rabbits all "went down the road" as we say in my family.  Some of them my dad butchered for food, and the others a man with a truck full of rabbit hutches came by and picked up.  So much for "pets".... these bunnies had been raised as a food supply (I only state this so no one thinks my being bitten had anything to do with it.)

Ever since the biting incident rodents and I have walked separate paths.

Until this week.

I took my youngest sister to a local pet store so she could return a fish tank sealant that she no longer needed.  On our way there she told me about this cute rat she had seen in the shop the week prior and about how it didn't bite, but licked people and gave the sweetest of "little nibbles".  

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

We arrived at the shop and while she was busy with her return I located the rat in question.  He was cute, in a beady-eyed sort of way, and he was certainly affectionate.  He kept hanging from the wire-mesh cover of his cage where he could stick a nose out and beg for someone to pick him up.

Against my better judgement, I lowered a finger.  Sure enough, licks and nibbles.... and no bite.

My sister came over, followed by "Barnacle" Bill, the owner of the shop.  Bill reached down, opened the cage, pulled out this bundle of rat and set it in my sister's hands.  Promptly the rat scurried up into her hair where it seemed perfectly happy to stay (not that I blame it, my sister's hair is currently a glorious shade of Autumn Fire that I could never pull off).  He then started climbing back and forth from one shoulder to another, acting as if he was the happiest little rat on the planet.

I stroked its soft baby fur and thought to myself, "okay, maybe not all rats are bad".  After all, my other sister had kept rats in the past, so how bad could it be?

Lets zip ahead an hour and change the scene to my sister's house.  Brisby, as the rat has now been named, is now climbing on my shoulders and snuffling in my hair, when all of the sudden there comes this.... smell.

"Ugh", I said, handing the rat over.  "I think it peed on me."  Funny though, I couldn't feel any wetness, but boy did I stink.

I couldn't wait to get home... in fact, I would swear the smell was getting stronger with each passing moment.

I got home, stripped off everything I was wearing and went to jump in the shower when something fell out of my hair and hit the floor.

Please be a piece of lint, I thought.

Oh no, the fates were not that kind. 

I HAD CARRIED A RATTY POO BALL HOME WITH ME IN MY HAIR.

EEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!

And with that I took the hottest shower I have taken in years.  My hair was shampooed several times, and there was not an inch of me that was not scrubbed and scrubbed again with my mesh loofah.  Even after my shower I still felt gross, even though I was certainly clean.

And thus ends my short truce with all things rodent... 

I think I need another shower.

Nostalgia

image borrowed from Flickr

Anyone around here old enough to remember The Pop Shoppe? It was a wonderful slice of my childhood.... I would remember walking with mom and my brother into a store that was nothing but bottles of liquid goodness. You would pick up a 24 slot plastic tray at the front of the store, and then my brother and I would carefully select the flavors that were our allotted portion. Flavors were weighed and discarded.... lime? cream soda? root beer? ooh, maybe grape or orange or black cherry..... the rainbow colors of the sodas enticed and promised sweet and refreshing moments in our summer to come. With 30 flavors to pick from, the possibilities seemed endless......

We had to keep in mind that whatever we picked, there was no suddenly changing your mind and walking down the street to pick up a new flavor.... if you took a chance on a soda and didn't like it you were stuck with it.... not that I remember ever finding a "bad" flavor! The reason for this was that it was a good hour-and-a-half drive to Spokane, where the Pop Shoppe was located, and I admit that going to the "Big City" was a thrill in and of itself.

The Pop Shoppe was a Canadian based company that had its heyday in the 1970's, before closing up their shops in 1983, thanks mostly to Pepsi and Coca~Cola who were beginning to hit their stride.

When The Pop Shoppe went out of business it was a sad moment....

Why do I bring this up? Well, someone started it up again.... sorta. The flavors are limited, but are now available (in the same glass bottle, but you don't get to bring these ones back for a credit against your next purchase) at your local grocery. I was looking around the cold soda and bottled waters the other day, when I spotted the familiar bottles, looking a little out of place amongst the plastic bottles of Dr Pepper and Sprite. A wave of nostalgia came over me and I found myself tucking a Lime Rickey and Cream Soda into my cart. (Funny, but I don't remember the cream soda being cherry red, but a little online snooping confirms that yes, the original was a bright red....)

I admit that when I got to the cash register and discovered those little bottles were $1.19 each (ouch!) I had to firmly remind myself that it was a cheap price to pay for a moment of my childhood back. I took the bottles home and tucked them into the fridge for later (later turned out to be nearly 2 weeks later as they somehow were shifted behind the milk and I forgot all about them!)

I pulled out first one and then the other, debating on who I should drink first. Cream soda drew the short straw and while I managed to make it last by taking small sips I was surprised at just how delicious that soda was. The Lime Rickey turned out to be very good as well, but it was the cream soda that had me remembering long summer days, kicked out of doors by a mom who insisted that my all-day reading-in-the-house habit needed a break for fresh air and sunshine. (By the way mom..... I forgive you!) I would sit outside, breathing my prescribed dose of "country air" and enjoy my soda (this being the days where a soda was a rare treat.... not a daily requirement that my adult addictions have thrust upon me!)

So would I buy another? Maybe.... if I was feeling especially nostalgic. It was good enough for it... but glass bottles are a bit delicate to be lugging around in my lunchbox! There's a website for The Pop Shoppe in case you are interested... you can find it here.... it gives you a listing of where you can find their soda in your area!

Tis the season for reminiscing

Let me tell you about an experience I had a long, long time ago...so long ago that I was still in the somewhat strange state of considering myself happily married, but I digress.

In order to tell this tale properly, lets go back a wee bit further:

When I was little pipsqueak, my mother would have us make homemade butter in a 1 gallon mason jar every Saturday morning. Whoever was sloshing the cream back and forth for that particular half-hour got to pick what cartoons we watched, then the jar was passed to the other sibling and it was their turn to choose and slosh the cream around.

Fast forward a few years ago to a grown-up me. I had an assignment in my college lit class to write about life in Medieval Europe and I decided to make some unleavened bread and homemade butter to share with the class.

I borrowed a gallon mason jar from a neighbor and sat in my living room for several hours just sloshing the cream back and forth. When I was done I called my mother because I wasn't sure what amount of salt to add to the mix. It was then that she asked what method did I use.

Method? I wondered. I explained I had sat there with the jar and sloshed until my arms about fell off.

There was a small silence before she quietly explained I could have made it in about 15 minutes using my blender!

My mother had decided that her kids were going to get at least some form of exercise instead of vegetating in front of the television! Hours and hours of wasted time just sloshing, sloshing, sloshing while my brain turned to mush!

Needless to say, I got an A on the report...and I garnered a skill that still is a conversation stopper in any conversation. "Hey, I know how to milk a cow and churn fresh butter by hand...wanna see?"

...oh yeah, you know you want to!

Standing in the Rainbow....

My roomie and I went out after work yesterday to grab some food (mmmm....Nathan's hot dog sliders at Marleys) and to pick up some paint for the bathroom and a project I am doing with a wall of my bedroom (which will post next weekend once it is done).


I debated about bringing my camera and decided against it....silly me.....I should remember that's when the best shots show up.


First: Marley's is inside the local Harley Davidson dealership/repair shop/retail store/I'm-a-yuppie-but-want-to-be-a-bad-boy hangout. The building is all steel girders, rust and old mill wood. Fantabulous. I HAVE to go back and get some shots.


Second: We get to Lowe's under somewhat cloudy/sunny skies and waited FOREVER for our paint to be mixed up (that's what we get for being girls and wanting 3 different colors for the bathroom walls and me doing the same for just ONE wall of my bedroom (again...I'll post it when its done....it should be kewl!) Anyhew, we left Lowe's, paint containers in hand, and walked out into a deluge; I half expected Noah to go sailing past as we walked out to the car! In the time it took to walk 50 feet to the car we had water streaming off of us....


Now why is this second item "photo worthy"? Because the rain was rushing down and the sun was still out in enough places that there were literally rainbows everywhere you looked. On the drive home the rain eased up enough that a glorious double bow stretched across the front of the Wastach Mountains...it probably would not have made for a good shot, considering all of the buildings that would have worked their way into the shot, however it DID remind me of something.


Have you ever had a dream from your childhood that lingers into your adult life? Actually I've had a couple...some have happened (if in unusual ways but I can consider a few of those dreams as realities now) and some have yet to come true.


Take the rainbow. Ever since I was little I have wanted to find the end of the rainbow....not because of some mythical pot of gold (though the money wouldn't be a bad thing necessarily). No, I always wanted to stand at the end of the rainbow and cradle the colored beams in my cupped hands...watching as it danced across my skin and bathed me in its light. And before you mention it....no, rainbows from crystals are NOT the same thing....I've tried and it just isn't the thrill that I imagined as a child.

Lately rainbows look closer than ever....I was in my car a few weeks ago and started chasing one. It kept dancing a few streets over from where I drove and then finally ended somewhere in bracken and back lots that I couldn't access.


Stupid rainbow.

While I didn't realize my dream that day, I was filled with the satisfaction one has in chasing down their dreams. That same feeling came over me yesterday as I watched that glorious double bow on my way home....

Maybe some day.......

A blast from the past.....

Wow...high school hit with a thud this morning.

A guy I went to high school with sent an email this morning to my facebook account, mentioning he was posting videos to a play I was a part of in the way back when....Tom Jones. We sent a few messages back and forth and then I decided to jump over to his youtube account to see the play.

It starts with the narrator's long monologue....and then I come out.

Oh. My. Goodness. I had to remember it was the 80's and yes we had poofy hair back then and really bad taste in clothes. Mr Maggart told me I should have worn a plain dress instead of what I wore on-stage but did I listen? No.....enjoy the mermaid skirt guys, it was high fashion when I was in high school.

I am only in the first few minutes of the play so no one has to suffer through a lot but if you want to see what I looked like my senior year of high school here you go. You only have to watch from timepoint 1:54 to 6:06...trust me, I don't come back on again after that point. Tt is wild watching this...I used to have such a crush on the guy who played my brother in the play....I loved that fact that with every performance I got to give him a little hug!

You know, looking back I see that while that outfit (and my hair) are hideous, I wasn't the absolutely huge hippo I thought I was in high school. I'm not even close to thin, but I don't look as bad as I remember either. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all that David posted this video.