Harpers Ferry Nat’l Historic Park

June 25, 2006

Wow, is it June 25 already? Just six more months to do your Christmas shopping, folks.

Yesterday was my friend Rashmi’s 29th birthday. (I told her it’s all over for her now.) Man, to be 29 again. . . .

Anyway, for her special day she wanted to go to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia—a town rich with history. Harpers Ferry is nestled in a beautiful valley where the Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia borders meet. The small town is surrounded on two sides by rivers – the Potomac and the Shenandoah. Driving there on Route 340, one minute we were in Maryland, the next minute we passed a “Welcome to Virginia sign,” and immediately thereafter we found ourselves in yet another state.

This might have been my first time in WV, I’m not sure. But I must say, my visit there shattered my stereotypical illusion that this state is not worth seeing - you've heard all the jokes about WV being nothing but a hillbilly state with lots of inbreeding. Me, I always thought of it as that place on the map to the left of beautiful Virginia. But, from what I saw and learned yesterday, WV is a beautiful place that played an important role in this country’s formation and the establishment of “free states.”

This little town was once a booming metropolis, famous for its role in the Civil War as one of two armories in the nation. Thomas Jefferson wanted to preserve its natural beauty, but President George Washington had an opposite plan when he established the U.S. Armory and Arsenal there in 1794. The armory employed up to 400 men who worked 10 hours a day for 20 cents per hour. Eventually the town was heavily polluted by coal smoke from arms production. It was plagued by disease and an astounding number of floods.

Harpers Ferry is also famous as the location of John Brown’s raid in 1859, when the abolitionist and several of his cronies holed up in the tiny fire engine house in an effort to steal weapons from the nearby arsenal at Harpers Ferry. Much blood was shed and, although wounded in the neck by the slash of a Marine’s sword, John Brown survived the ordeal—only to be hanged for treason and other crimes less than two months later.

The event is considered to be one of the major precipitators of the Civil War and Lincoln’s emancipation proclamation. And although many men were killed or murdered as a result of John Brown’s actions, his efforts contributed greatly to the freeing of the slaves.

So, I learned a lot yesterday. Rashmi is quite the history buff. Later she wants to visit Antietam (just 20 miles north of Harpers Ferry), the battlefield that saw the bloodiest of Civil War battles, as described on the Web:

“To view the magnitude of the losses, consider that Antietam resulted in nine times as many Americans killed or wounded (23,000 soldiers) as took place on June 6, 1944--D-day, the so-called "longest day" of World War II. Also consider that more soldiers were killed and wounded at the Battle of Antietam than the deaths of all Americans in the Revolutionary War, War of 1812, Mexican War, and Spanish-American War combined.”

In Harpers Ferry, we toured the town. Most homes were built in the 1800’s, and interns walk around in period dress performing reenactments—like the musket demonstration given by a bright college Senior working on his History major and Civil War minor). Unfortunately, because it was such a muggy day, the actors were unable to get the musket to fire, even after three or four attempts. No spark, no fire.

Can you imagine being a soldier in a ground war where you couldn’t be sure your rifle would fire? And then, if it did fire and you managed to hit your mark, it would still take you another 60 seconds to reload and fire the next round? Man, you’d feel like a sitting duck most of the time. I’d be petrified.

It was interesting learning how the guns were made and used, how a disgruntled ex-employee of the armory shot and killed the Superintendent in his office when he was denied return to employment, and other historical facts.

We ate a birthday lunch at the Hilltop House Hotel, where they serve a buffet complete with dried coconut cake (and a hostess who acts like you're impositioning her by dragging her away from her dishwashing duties so you can be seated: "Ugh, can I wash my hands first?")

The restaurant view of the Potomac, with its kayakers, tubers, and rafters, was just gorgeous.

Happy Birthday, Rashmi! :)

Cat Scan

It was June 2nd when prancy little Miss Madison left our unhappy little family (with Martin in distress and me in shambles over his anxiety attacks). And it wasn't until June 20th that Martin had a "breakthrough" (as shrinks call it) and was cured of his overwhelming anxiety of the previous two months.

Up until that point, he was very careful when upstairs (in the vicinity of Madison's old room). He still wouldn't go near her room, despite my pathetic attempts at trickery to lure him in. And every time he entered or left my room, he did the whole slinking, neck-stretching, head-bobbing with eyes dilated routine, carefully scanning that doorway down the hall to see if Madison would suddenly appear and chase him down.



Is she under the bed?







Behind the door?













On the bed?
Over here?















Over there?













Is it really safe in this room now? I don't believe you. Bye.

So that's how he was for nearly three weeks. Then, on June 20th I was working in my home office (adjacent to Madison's room) when I heard a thump and saw Martin had jumped off of something and was in the hallway behind me. I went into Madison's room and checked for his body heat on the ottoman and the bedspread. Sure enough, he'd been sleeping between the pillows, right on Madison's bed!

That's when I knew he was cured of his mental ailment. My Martin was back to being his old self again. I was so happy I picked him up and hugged him.

(Meanwhile, I'd been begging Madison's evil adopter via email to please return her to me. She was such a hateful, selfish woman. I wanted to make sure that my precious baby was placed in a good home instead of with the wicked witch of the east, and I couldn't live with myself until I'd accomplished that. What an ordeal. But that's a whole other store for another blog. . . .)

New York: The Most Polite City

This is what I’ve been saying all along: New Yorkers are wonderful people. See for yourself. The results of an undercover poll completed by Readers Digest are posted in this article: New Yorkers are polite? Yes, says mag. The article also mentions which international cities have the rudest residents. (Not including Maryland - ha!)

One of the things that amazed me about New York was that, even with all the hustle and bustle and everybody being in a hurry to get where they're going, 95% of the time, a man would step back to let me step off the elevator first. It's true. I used to think that maybe chivalry wasn't dead after all.

And yes, in the Big Apple people routinely hold doors open for other people, and whenever you need directions, usually someone will offer before you have to ask.

I love New York. Maybe one day I’ll get to live there again. Or within a short drive. I'll keep buying Lotto tickets. . . .

Maryland: the "Put-Off" State

“Free state” is a misnomer. In Maryland, you’re lucky to get something that you’ve already paid for.

Just to name a few of the things that I waited months for and gave up on: chaise from Ethan Allen (ordered 2/26), washer/dryer from Sears (due 3/11), sideboard from La-Z-Boy that came in missing a shelf and brackets, entertainment center from Whats In Store (ordered 2/25), deck, patio, and fence (ordered 4/6), sofa from Jennifer's Convertibles,… and the list goes on. The worst part is the exhausting, repetitive efforts I've had to put into getting my money back after finally giving up on some of these merchants. I've sent four certified letters this past week alone.

The only place I’ve ever lived that I disliked strongly was eastern Tennessee. (Near where my sister lives – but I can get away with that statement because she doesn’t have time to read my blog, what with jetting off to Paris and Italy....) New Orleans ran a close second to Tennessee. But Maryland takes the cake. It’s not the state, either – it’s the people. It’s as if everyone here skipped the day in kindergarten when you learn the Golden Rule.

National Deck and Patio (NDP) finally started work on the deck, patio, and fence that I gave them a hefty deposit for nine weeks ago, with a promise of a “four-and-a-half week turnaround” from the sales guy. Sales Guy still hasn’t been able to offer me a valid excuse for the repeated delays, and neither did my Homeowners Association. It took the HOA six weeks (with me begging and kicking) to finally approve my “architectural change” request.

[Note to self:
Do not buy another home that is involved with an HOA. You've broken that promise twice already and look where it got you: stuck in the Put-Off state.]

Our HOA is temporarily being run by a management company called Riden-Bringhurst Associates (RBA), headed up by a woman named Judy whom I'd met at our first HOA meeting, that glorious day in May when I was elected to the board by the "cool" people in Montjoy.

Judy told me the architectural change approval would take 2-3 weeks. First, they sat on my application for three weeks. That's when I started calling them about it. Much later, they finally came back and told me that I owed them a plat drawing. But the plat is so tiny that drawing the deck on it would only take up a quarter inch. They instructed me to blow up the plat and resubmit my drawings—via email. Faxes would not be accepted. As Judy said, “We can’t sit here and take faxes from homeowners all day.” I'm thinking, "...and we're paying your salary for....what?"

They also would not approve the fence, even though my paperwork stated that the fence would be “the exact same fence” that the builder had already installed on several properties. My contractor (NDP) had referred to this fence as “shadowbox” in my HOA paperwork. Because the HOA calls this same fence "board-on-board," they denied my application. Worse, they argued with me over the name of the fence, despite the fact that I had expressed in writing, in a drawing and with a photograph exactly which fence would be installed. They kept saying, “It’s called board-on-board, not shadowbox.” It was like a broken record that I couldn't stop. I really didn't care what it's called.

So Sales Guy wrote up an addendum for my HOA, expressing that NDP was putting up the "exact same fence" and that “this fence is sometimes called shadowbox, or board-on-board.” Meanwhile, I spent half a Saturday enlarging the notarized plat given to me by the builder (which took several iterations using the copier at Staples), and then doing the drawings myself. To scale. I scanned in every single document, saved each as a file, zipped them up, and emailed them to the HOA. I also put them all in an envelope and drove to the post office to mail them that Saturday so that they'd have them Monday. I'd already waited five long weeks.

On Monday I contacted the HOA late morning. First the woman (Maryann) denied receiving my mail, and said that all my emails came with corrupt files. (I’d cc’d myself on every email, and the files opened up fine for me.) Later she changed her story and admitted to receiving my U.S. mail that morning, but said she didn’t receive the plat. I told her that the drawings I mailed to her were done on the plat. She said, “That’s not a plat.” (I'm thinking, and maybe the Wizard can get you a brain, Maryann.)

I'd followed their special instructions exactly: The plat I used was a photocopy of the notarized plat that the builder gave me at settlement – the exact document they told me to use that I spent an hour photocopying and enlarging.

Beyond that, she had the gall to once again deny my application because “shadowbox fencing isn’t the same as board-on-board." Oh my god. All my paperwork clearly stated that I was putting up a board-on-board fence "identical to the panels already up" on each lot. I even included a photo of the fence, but because NDP wrote that this fence is "sometimes called shadowbox" they wouldn’t accept my application.

“We can’t even consider shadow-box fencing” Maryann (who doesn't know a fence from a curb) insisted. I said I didn’t want them to consider it, that I fully intended (as indicated in writing) to put up the exact same fence that is already up in the community. Which part of that didn't she get? It was clear that she wanted to argue semantics with me, further delaying my application. This was all happening over email, and it didn't seem like Maryann had a grasp of the issue, so I asked her to please call me instead. But she responded in email. Aaaaaaaagh!

So I called RBA and got Debbie, whom I asked if I could please speak to Judy. She said Judy was out. I said, then I need to speak to someone else who can approve this application. But there was no one backing up Judy who, it turns out, was home sick. I said I don’t want someone who is out sick to call me. But they had her call me anyway.

I told Judy that the continued denial of my application based on semantics was unacceptable. I had already waited patiently for weeks. My neighbors sided with me 100%. I suggested to Judy (as a board member myself—and the only elected member, at that), that we get this thing straightened out and avoid treating the rest of the homeowners this way because it will only make the homeowners unhappy. She responded snidely, “Well if you’d turned in the right paperwork to begin with…” I said, “Whoa!” She was like, "Whoa nothing [young lady implied]... blah, blah, blah...."

She jumped down my throat big time. (They do that a lot here in Maryland.) That’s when she started calling me names and insulting me (not unlike Saab bitch who can park anywhere she wants "because it's a public street," despite HOA rules to the contrary that she signed off on at closing).

Seriously, RBA was being absurd about the whole thing – for no apparent reason other than the fact that they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. I was rightfully protesting their illegal relentless denial of my application. So Judy told me in her motherly tone, "You're being belligerent.” Belligerent?! OH. MY. GOD. Then she went on to accuse me of “bullying” her staff. I was stunned.

I didn’t know what to say for several moments. I would’ve defended myself, but she suddenly had to go - because she was home sick she "shouldn't have to deal with this." She obviously resented me because she chose to call me on her sick day.

My god these people are from another planet. I’m telling you, passive-aggressive behavior is the norm here.

Rule #2 for surviving life in Maryland: When faced with a conflict, use name-calling as an attempt to gain resolution. And then run away before the other party can respond.

The next day I researched fencing on the Internet and sent Judy and Maryann a matter-of-fact email containing links and photos showing that shadowbox and board-on-board are in fact the same fence. In the email I also mentioned that I’d spoken with “my attorney” about this ridiculous fiasco (when really I’d only spoken with my attorney’s paralegal, who's just as smart).

And that’s all it took. Three hours later the HOA emailed me my architectural change approval.

Rule #3: Remember that two most effective words in the human language are “my attorney.” You will need them here.

My next-door neighbor Dan didn’t submit his contract and application until five weeks after I submitted mine. Dan's deck was started yesterday morning and finished today, before mine, which had been started over a week ago. Funny, Dan's fence guy had also used the word "shadowbox" to describe the fence on his proposal - but I guess by then Maryann knew better than to argue with another homeowner over something she was clueless about.

To make matters worse, yesterday when I tried to leave for work, I discovered that some elves had mysteriously dumped a load of decking materials on my 7’-wide driveway in the middle of the night. My driveway was blocked. Jesus, what next? And, of course, no one is available at NDP at 7:45AM. I was dumbfounded that anyone could do something that stupid. And I was certain to make mention of that on the voicemail I left them.

I need to go back up north where the intelligent people live and work.

When the deck workers showed up at 8:20 (twenty minutes late), I went out and asked, “Who’s idea was this?” I got a blank stare. “Why would they leave these materials in front of my garage?" Nothing. My voice was rising, "When were these left here?” No response. “Do you speak English???”

“Non. No Englais.”
Great. I have no idea how to yell in Spanish.

To make matters worse, today I noticed something weird. The fence boards didn’t look as wide as the HOA-approved fence boards. So I went outside with a tape measure. Sure enough, NDP is installing the wrong fence. They are using one-by-fours instead of one-by-sixes, even after all of Sales Guy's blatant promises that he would put up “the exact same fence.” At this point, I had no reaction. I am numb to the whole concept of "exact same fence." It surely does not exist in the universe I inhabit.

I called NDP and told a woman in the office that they were installing the wrong fence and needed to come out, tear it down, and put up the right fence. (Sales Guy had the sense not to call me back at that point, I grant him that much.) They need to remove each and every slat (over 200 of them) and replace them. The loss to the company is $2 a board, according to Rudy, one of the workmen.

Maybe one day something in my life will go right. It hasn’t happened in recent memory. For ten straight months I've suffered serial bad luck. We're talking non-stop Murphy's Law speeding downhill with no brakes.

At least Martin finally has his deck and can go outside for the first time since we left Seattle in October 2004. (My nine-thousand-dollar present to my sixty-thousand-dollar cat.)

He's a happy camper again. No more Madison and now a new deck to replace her!! "Yay. Thanks, Mom! Meow."

Slogging

Too sad to blog. Momentarily, I thought I’d come up with a new word , but as it turns out, slog is already in the dictionary:

slog
1 : to plod heavily : TRAMP
2 : to work hard and steadily : PLUG

The truth is, I miss Madison. Although I adore Martin, losing one kitty of two isn’t unlike losing one of your two children. Having a second child doesn’t make losing the other any easier. I wish there was some way we could have worked this out where both kitties could live in harmony. I can’t help but wonder, should I have given it another month? Should I have put Martin on Paxil? (Believe it or not, several folks suggested anti-depressants for my cat.)

So, on top of my grief, I’m struggling with the cognitive dissonance of whether or not I made the right decision.

Meanwhile, Martin is on the mend. He acts like his old self whenever he is on the first or second floor of my town home. But on the third floor, he is still fearful of that room – the guest room that became Madison’s. He won’t go near it. And, even though the staircase is at the opposite end of the hall from Madison’s room, Martin won’t come all the way up the stairs by himself, meaning he doesn’t sleep with me at night unless I carry him up to bed.

Earlier in the week I tried coaxing him toward Madison’s old room with treats and a plastic grocery bag (he loves to eat plastic). He considered it and stepped closer, but in the end he stayed away. Today I picked him up and slowly brought him toward the open door of Madison’s room to show him that it is empty. He hissed, and the rear claws came out. So, clearly he is not convinced she is gone.

You know, I read somewhere a while back that cats are “very emotional” animals. I didn’t know how true that is until now.

Remember when you were a kid and you’d pitch a tent in the living room? Well, I guess cats share that same adventurous spirit. Here is Martin in his new kitty tent from IKEA.


(Note the look on his face that says, "You think you can buy me. Think again. But I'm still going to enjoy my new tent. So there.")

Bye, Bye Madison

This was a bad week. I was forced to give Miss Madison up for adoption yesterday, a decision I'd struggled with for weeks, and I miss her terribly. My sweet, sweet little girl. Last night was my third night without sleep this week.

Last week, on Tuesday I think, I’d decided to try a new tactic to help Martin get over his fear of other kitties. When I went to work, I let them both out in the house to fend for themselves. I thought maybe the lady at Animal Control was right – they needed to finish a fight. Boy was I wrong.

Everything seemed fine when I got home that evening, Martin staying in his bed behind my easy chair in the basement. Madison hung out with us in the same room and did a lot of sitting and looking at Martin, but nothing else.

That night when we went to bed, I left the bedroom door open a quarter of an inch and locked Madison up in her room down the hall. At midnight, Martin hissed at the door as if Madison was out there. He went under the bed and basically stayed there for 24 hours. Same thing happened at 2:00am the next night, even though the door was fully closed. It's as though Martin was hallucinating.

Under the bed became Martin’s new haven. I was heartbroken. And the rare times that he came out from under the bed, he stepped lightly, crouched, and slinked. He wouldn’t wander the house freely and hardly ate. I was devastated. I couldn't sleep at night, especially without Martin on my pillow.

I debated whether to take Madison back to the pound that Saturday, but I just didn't have the heart and decided to give it one last try. I went back to square zero and kept them separated 24 x 7. But Martin didn’t get over it. He stayed under the bed most of the time. My vet told me that if he wasn't over it by now, he'd probably never get over it. I decided I’d have to take Madison to the pound this weekend. I was emotionally spent. Even though the thought of giving her up made me cry, it was the best thing for Martin.

My friend Jasmine suggested I post an ad on the electronic bulletin board at work – which I didn’t know about. I did that, and within minutes I had several potential takers. The woman who ended up taking Madison had lost her kitty to cancer two months ago and I could tell she was a true cat lover who would love Madison as much as I do and take good care of her. Madison and I had truly bonded over the past eight weeks. As painful as it was, I gave my baby up last night after work.

Man this is hard. See, this is why I gave up dating years ago. The breakups are just too painful!

Oh, I did learn from several people who saw my posting that Madison is a quality breed cat – she is a Maine Coon. In fact, the photo of “Triple Gr. Ch. Cajun Coons Brun Matou of Blazers” at http://www.blazerscats.com/maine_coons.html could be a photo of Madison. Maine Coons are beautiful cats with wonderful dispositions. It’s a shame I couldn’t keep her.

As of this morning, Martin is already starting to come around. He still isn’t convinced she’s gone, and is afraid of that door to the guest room, even though he witnessed her exit out the front door in her pink bag. But I don’t think it’ll take long. He’s already “out and about” in the house today, more so than any time over the past few weeks. This morning while I was tossing and turning, he finally got in bed with me for the first time in days, snuggled up and purred. That’s the Martin I’d been missing.

Where America's Dumbest Drivers Live

A friend in Charlotte sent me this timely link today:
Test scores are in: Northeast still has dumbest

What did I tell you? Washington state has some of the best drivers, and the Washington D.C. area has some of the worst (second only to Rhode Island). The proof is in the pudding.

Marylanders

I feel like an alien living in Northern Maryland. The horrible way people treat each other here, I’m ashamed to say I was born in this state. New Yorkers are so much nicer. When Google’s quote of the day came up as follows a couple days ago, it hit the nail on the head:

The fact that man knows right from wrong proves his intellectual superiority to other creatures; but the fact that he can do wrong proves his moral inferiority to any creature that cannot. - Mark Twain

People here are downright mean. They get really ugly with you if they don’t get their way. It’s got to be the most selfish, thoughtless group of people I’ve met. Not only that, but Marylanders are the worst drivers. I’ve been flipped off twice on the road in the past week alone. What did I do to piss someone off, you ask? I’ll tell you what – I was driving just a tad over the speed limit. Yes, I admit it. I was driving safely and, for the most part, legally. Apparently that is not acceptable here. (Makes me miss the polite, slow drivers of Puget Sound.)

One flip-off occurred as I was doing 60 in the middle lane of a 55-zone. A huge semi barreled down on me, and stayed right on my bumper. I couldn’t get in the right lane because my left exit was coming up in 1/2 mile. Couldn’t get in the left lane just yet because of the cars screaming past me there. So this jerk behind the wheel of the semi decided to play chicken with our lives and drive as close as possible to my bumper, at 60mph, in an effort to intimidate me into speeding like he was. How dangerous is that? When I exited, I happened to look to the right, and there was the finger and an ugly stare.

So, Rule #1 (for surviving life in this state): In Maryland, you get punished by your fellow human beings - (dare I call them human) - for not breaking the law. You must break the law in order to live civilly and not get run over.

The next flip-off was Monday morning, as I was happily driving to work on a 30mph road . Good hair day. I turned left at a light, and next thing you know, Fat Guy Driving a Hyundai was on my ass - in a school zone. What’s the hurry? I just kept going and ignored him. I turned right into a merge lane on Waterloo Road, just minding my own business. This is one short merge lane.

Anyway, I was merging left when Fat Guy comes flying around me out of nowhere, trying to squeeze in between me and the car in front of me. I laid on the horn and that fat bastard cut me off! Then, get this - he SLAMS on his brakes just to scare me! I was right behind him. How dangerous is THAT? I had to hit my brakes unexpectedly, and everything in my car went flying. I had a huge sheet cake in the back of the car, for some co-workers’ birthdays. (Originally I had placed the cake on the back seat. But, at the last minute, I got out of my car in my driveway to move the cake to the hatch area “just in case.” Thank goodness.)

We got to the next stop light at the same time (ha ha, fat guy!). I was right behind him taking down his license plate number and dialing 911 on my cell. (Finally, a good use for a cell phone.) He sat there looking in his rear-view mirror, the finger standing tall and unwavering. Talk about road rage. Geez!

Funny thing was – I was on that left exit again this evening, coming home from work, and guess who I saw in my rear-view mirror, barreling down on me as I slowed to turn off? Mr. Fat Guy himself. I’d recognize those chins anywhere. So he lives in my neighborhood. How pleasant.

If it’s not one thing it’s another. Today I had to contact the MD Attorney General’s office Consumer Protection Division because a furniture store owner in historic Ellicott City won’t refund my money for a piece that I ordered on February 26 and was supposed to have by mid-April. Not only did the furniture not arrive until this past Monday, but it’s damaged. I told them I simply don't want it and they need to refund my money. Mr. Chester, the owner of What’s In Store, doesn’t know the law and actually demanded on the phone today that I write down the details of the “implied warranty” law that I’d researched and email it to him. I think not.

And I don’t even want to get into the extremely unprofessional attitude of the woman who is temporarily running the Montjoy HOA until construction is completed in my community. I'll save that for another blog.

I'm not sure how much more anger and ugliness I can take from people here. Dale Carnegie must be rolling over in his grave. Why is everything a fight? I posed that question to my friend Peggy today. I’ll leave you with her thoughts. I couldn’t have said it better myself:

…you are right.......why is everything a fight? People in general are just unhappy I think and therefore it is showing up everywhere. USA is over-worked and we have no leisure time anymore. It's always work.......even just to take care of daily stuff is work.......hassle at the grocery store, Target, getting gas, etc. NOTHING is simple and easy anymore and that is why people are like they are. We need to return to the 50's where when you left work.........they had no way of getting hold of you (because NOBODY published home phones.....except the military of course), no cells, no email, nothing. You worked 8-5. PERIOD. You had a life and leisure time.......ALL gone with email and cell phones.

The Da Vinci Code

May 20, 2006

I’ve found over the years, (ever since my truck accident in 1985), that having a terrible memory requires a lot of extra work. You have to write everything down, or do something as soon as you think of it. Otherwise, you forget.

This is probably why I rarely sit down – I’m always jumping up, doing something I just remembered I need to do.

There’s one advantage to this problem, however. Seeing a movie based on a book I’ve read is just like reading the book for the first time again, only quicker. I have to disagree with the New York Times assessment that “‘The Da Vinci Code' is a code that takes longer to watch than read.” Last night my friend Rashmi and I used some free movie tickets that I had (leftover from a Microsoft Christmas gift a couple years ago) to see the movie on its opening day in Columbia. We're glad we did.

I was unaware beforehand that my favorite actor from “Das Boot” (Jürgen Prochnow) plays Andre Vernet in the movie – so that was a pleasant surprise. Also, the lead female, Sophie Neveu, is played by Audrey Tatou, the adorable actress that who starts in the light-hearted romp of a movie called "Amelie." Of course, I don’t recall Tom Hanks ever making a bad movie—nor Ron Howard, for that matter. “The Da Vinci Code” is definitely worth seeing in the theater.

I won’t say much more than that, for those who haven’t seen the movie yet. And I won't say anything about how the ending compares to the book.

So, my kitties are still battling it out. Madison is getting better, I think. If Martin didn’t hiss at her when she invades his personal space, I don’t think she’d bother him much at all - except maybe in a quest to get him to play with her. ("Martin" and "play" don't belong in the same sentence together.)

Last weekend I gave her a stern warning to be nice to Martin or return to a life of incarceration – and it’s as if she heard me. The next couple of confrontations she had with Martin, she just sat there looking at him from a safe distance of about six feet. She never pounced, and never hissed – good little girl that she is. :)

So we’re still trying.

What is it about cats and catnip? I got some fresh catnip out for Madison last Saturday (right after vacuuming the entire house). She proceeded to sit in it like a kid in a sand box. Her long hair was soon coated in little green flakes, which she managed to leave all over the house. When I came back, there was catnip everywhere.

Man, I wish I was a cat. Humans don't get the pleasure of jumping into, say, a big vat of chocolate. Cats get away with everything.

Kitty Update

May 13, 2006

Man, this kitty business is taking a lot out of me – mostly emotionally! Martin is not a fighter. Even since Miss Madison came on the scene, my sweet adorable Martin has not gone into attack mode. His defense is to retreat. Every time. He’s a lover, not a fighter, I swear!. (Notwithstanding the evil kitty pictured here. . . .)

It all started with normal hissing. Martin is simply warning her that he is king and she shouldn't mess with him. Over the past 5-1/2 weeks, Martin has added this alien deep, throaty growl to his hissing - it's a scary sound I've never heard before; while Miss Madison has decided that pouncing upon poor Martin while he’s cornered is the best response. Ugh! That’s not what I want her to do!

Honestly, I don't think she's being mean. I think the pouncing is all a front. I am pretty sure she just doesn’t know what to do with this big Tom cat that outweighs her by 4.3 pounds. (Originally I thought he was twice her weight, but after their vet visits I found out she’s a lot bigger than I thought – 11.5 pounds – and that Martin had lost a few pounds since New York. He's down to 15.8, his lowest weight yet since I got him. He's my lean, mean, fraidy cat machine.)

The attacking has been tearing me up because Martin seems petrified of Madison. I broke up every fight as soon as she pounced on the innocent Martin. And, event though the nice lady at Howard County Animal Control told me to let them finish a fight, I’ve had a really hard time not protecting Martin – so there’s been no resolving anything!

Unfortunately, Martin was about six months overdue for a medical check-up, so last night I took him to the vet. It turned into a disaster. He was so agitated when they tried to get his blood pressure that he hid in the crevice on the floor behind the examination table and wouldn’t let anyone go near him. He even hissed and bared his teeth at me! I'd never seen him like this before and attributed it to the stress of Madison's advances added to the terror of going to a vet (and a new vet at that). I felt badly for him – as did the doctor.

Finally, I distracted Martin, and the assistant pulled him out by the scruff of the neck. (I read somewhere that cats hate it when you do that to them.) We managed to get him back in his carry bag. . . all but his head. The idea was to calm him down enough to finish the exam. Everyone left the room but me, and I petted his exposed head and tried to soothe him for several minutes. He was so upset. Eventually, he had enough of that crap. He wanted out of that bag and out of that room so badly that he hissed at me – in a gentle, warning sort of way. I pushed him all the way into the bag and zipped it up.

When the doc came back in, I told him that Martin wasn’t going to let him go anywhere near him. So he sent us home at no charge, and we rescheduled for June. I felt terrible for poor Martin. At that moment, I decided that Madison had to go back to the shelter. No matter what, I wasn’t going to let her out of her room last night so Martin could regroup.

But later when I went in to play with her and comb her, she purred and nuzzled her face against mine over and over. So I got all teary-eyed at the thought of sending her back to animal control today. I couldn't bear the idea of incarcerating her again. I'm such a bad mom! I had to leave the room just to stop crying. (Now who's the big baby?)

Today I got up early and got Madison's papers in order. I planned to take her back to Animal Control when they opened at 10:00. But I thought about it some more and decided that I’d probably regret giving her up without trying one last time and actually letting them fight it out at least once, as advised by an expert.

Ugh. So today while Martin was up in his perch I coaxed Madison into the room. She got within about eight feet of him, saw him, and said nothing. He saw her and hissed. She meowed back at him and hissed a little. Then she sat down for a bit and just looked at him, not going a paw closer. Finally she gave up, turned around, and walked away. Progress! For once she didn’t jump him. (I think that’s because he was higher up than she was – which gives him an offensive advantage.) She has spent the rest of the day minding her own business, even though all doors are wide open.

Martin has been in one of his kitty beds behind my TV chair in the corner of the basement. At one point, I couldn't find Madison in the house. I went up and down the stairs calling to her a couple times. Usually she comes when I call. Finally, I saw her walking out of the TV room! But there hadn't been a fight (I would've heard it). That means she was in the same room with him without pestering him. Either that, or she didn't know he was in there, which I find hard to believe.

So we’re trying again. I’ll give it a little more time. Maybe we can break Madison of this habit after all. Martin seems to have recuperated from the vet disaster. In fact, last night , he repeatedly visited me while I was watching TV in the basement. Each time he'd look me right in the eye as if to say, “Do you forgive me?”

My poor baby.

"That's right, Missy. You'd better stay where you are."

Mean Girl

May 11, 2006

Well, things aren't going so well with the two kitties. My poor sweet Martin. He just wants to mind his own business, (sleep and eat all day - between belly rubs, that is). He does everything he can to avoid Miss Madison. She, on the other hand, is an instigator. She seeks him out in one of his hiding places and deliberately antagonizes him. He sits there growling and hissing at her in a very stern and controlled manner, as if to say, "Don't even think about it, little girl." Sometimes he pretends he's sleeping. He never advances. If in a position to run, he retreats. But if he's backed into a corner, she insists on moving closer and closer to him, (in plain site, no less!), eventually pouncing.

Ugh. Martin's had enough. I feel badly for him being in hiding half the time. After all, this is his home. She's the intruder. And yet he's being indifferent toward her. Actually, I think he's been pretty big about the whole thing. Madison is like the bratty little sister who just doesn't know any better than to antagonize big brother. (I can relate.) As sweet as she is alone with me, she holds no affection for Martin.

So on Tuesday I called animal control and spoke to the woman there who handled my adoption of Madison. She has eight cats at home, so she has experience in this arena. She told me that, now that five weeks have passed, it's time to unleash them upon one another. Open all the doors whenever I'm at home, and let them "resolve their issues." I'm supposed to spray water if they get into a tussle paw-on-paw. So I've let her roam free most of this week - except that I still find myself trying to prevent her attacks on Martin. I've never actually gotten as far as using the water bottle. I must harder to let them work this out themselves.

Martin is so passive. He won't even fight back. He wants nothing to do with that behavior. He's tried verbally warning her, but she is nonchalant. Here she is, stalking and provoking a cat who is 50% bigger and twice as old as she is. I don't get it. Is she brave or just stupid?

Unfortunately, some articles I've read on the Web say that it can take as much as 18 months for cats to begin to get along. I don't think I can stand by as Martin is tortured this way for that long. Although I've become attached to the little "mean girl," as Peggy calls her, my loyalties are to Martin first. So I'm giving her another couple of weeks to get her act together. Then I'll decide if this is worth all the aggravation to poor Martin. It would break my heart to send her back to animal control, but it's killing me more to see Martin pinned in a corner, crouching in fear.

The whole idea was to get him a little playmate. I'm beginning to believe that he was much more content to have the place (and me) all to himself.

Meanwhile, I've never had such bad allergies in my life. The sneezing and itchy nose is driving me nuts. I had to rinse the pollen off my recently cleaned car after work yesterday. Maybe I'm just allergic to Maryland.

I also figured out something else that is strange about where I live now - it's that I miss having big things to look at - whether it be volcanoes, skyscrapers, or even vast bodies of water. Suburban Maryland does not have these marvelous wonders. . . . I give myself another year before I'm outta here and back in a real city. I'll try to last longer. We shall see.

Dullsville

May 9, 2006

This weekend my parents came up to visit me after a visit with my brother’s family in Virginia. They got here Saturday evening, so it was too late to go anywhere. I planned on showing them a couple of local “sites” on Sunday morning.

So, Sunday around 9:30 we set out for historic Ellicott City – a quaint 1800’s town with lots of antique stores, art shops, and the like. We got to Main Street, and everything was closed. I was so disappointed. So we drove through town, and then headed south to the town of Savage so that we could tour historic Savage Mill. Well, we got there, and they were closed too! A sign said that the mill opens at 11:00am. It wasn’t even 10:15 yet.

Ugh. There just isn’t that much to see here, and the only two ideas I had were closed. Mom and Dad didn’t want to go to Baltimore or D.C. or Annapolis, so I suggested we go to the outlet mall in Hanover. Mom needed a dress for a party, so she liked that idea.

We showed up at the mall at 10:40 and guess what? The mall was closed until 11am! How frustrating. My mom was like, “Is this the Bible belt?” I told her I didn't think so. Heck, I know I'm not THAT far south of the Mason-Dixon line – about 45 miles (as the crow flies). Sheesh!

Wrong I was. My neighbor Nancy told me this morning that Maryland is a Blue Law state. Because the Christians have to be in church on Sunday mornings, they expect the rest of the world to be in church, too. God forbid anyone go shopping when they could be in church!

So much for separation of church and state. My ex-husband used to call Virginia “the communist state.” I guess that goes for Maryland too.

I gotta get back to a real city. This whole fantasy of making my birth state my future home is just that now - a fantasy. Ain't gonna happen. You pay half a mil for a townhouse here - and for that, you think you'd get a mountain view or some exciting places to shop or some serious culture (museums, theater, concerts....). But no-o-o-o-o-o. You get squat. Bupkes. Your half a mil buys you screaming kids riding their scooters through community stop signes and selfish bitchy neighbors who don't care about blocking their neighbors' driveways with their Saabs, Beamers, and Mercedes. I guess rednecks come in all income brackets.

I want my money back.

Needless to say, Mom and Dad and I spent Sunday afternoon and evening with the Deluxe Scrabble board and a bottle of Scotch.

Play Ball!

April 30, 2006

What a coincidence that my friend Rashmi would get free tickets to an Orioles game for a day that the Mariners were in town. And what better luck than to have the perfect spring day for the game yesterday. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky the entire day. It was baseball weather.

Baltimore is about a 20-minute drive from my home. We went down and found parking near the convention center. Ten dollars. I was in reverse sticker-shock! Just $10 for all-day event parking? If we were in Seattle, parking that close to the stadium would start at $25 or 30 (and I don’t even want to venture a guess for the same in Manhattan).

We walked down Pratt Street and over to the famous Inner Harbor – Baltimore’s main tourist attraction. Visiting the harbor has been on my to-do list for weeks. The cool thing about going there with Rashmi is that she was raised in Maryland, so she makes a great tour guide. One interesting fact she pointed out was that the first casualties of the Civil War occurred right there on Pratt Street.

The harbor walk was packed with people walking around, renting paddleboats, taking harbor cruises, walking aboard the tall ships, and visiting the aquarium. We ate a delicious seafood lunch and then walked and shopped until game time. The views from Federal Hill Park were great.

I hadn’t been to a baseball game since my friend Tom used to take me to M’s games at Safeco field in Seattle. I learned a lot about baseball from Tom in 2001-2002 (when the Mariners were top of their league), and came to love the game. Very few people wore M’s caps or shirts at Oriole Park at Camden Yards yesterday, but I was one of them. Another cool thing about Rashmi is that she knows baseball. And she enjoys it as much as I do.

When we got to the gate, Rashmi handed me my ticket. I took one look, saw the five-dollar price tag and laughed out loud. Neither of us could believe how cheap the seats were. (If you were familiar with the company Real Interface that gave her the tickets, you'd understand.) Rashmi noted that one ticket was less than the price of parking! What can I say, I’m a cheap date. Granted, they were nose-bleed seats, but for that price I expected bleachers, not actual seats. The seats were actually pretty good. Behind home plate and slightly over on the 3rd base line side. Our view was excellent. We were almost able to call balls and strikes ourselves.

By the way, you young single men out there: Rashmi is single. Late 20’s, college degree from Boston, owns her own home, works at the F.B. I., and is something of a technology geek (but you wouldn’t know it unless you sat in the same office with her). She’s super-bright and has a warm, generous personality (and great sense of humor) to go with it. You couldn’t ask for a better friend. Oh, and she doesn’t take crap from anyone.

So that’s my plug for Rashmi (a.k.a. Tech Writer Girl). :)

Anyway, it was a weird feeling being in the opposing team’s stadium. When the 34,000 fans there cheered the O’s, I felt out of my element. And I was disappointed in the M’s. First of all, it wasn't the same Mariners team that I used to know. I didn't recognize most of the players. And the majority of them were named Jose, Luis, Ramon, Hernandez, Lopez, or Gonzales.

My Mariners did nothing for the first five innings – one hit, and that was it – while the O’s racked up runs. As soon as I got out of my seat and went to use the restroom in the 6th inning, the tables turned, and the Mariners started scoring runs right and left. I should've left my seat sooner! I missed out on Ichiro stealing a base or two and getting a run. By the time I got back to my seat, the score had gone from 4-0 to 4-3. And the O’s fans were not happy.

Every time a Mariner scored, the fans booed. I found this to be in very poor taste. Of course, by the 7th inning most fans are drunk, but that’s really no excuse for poor sportsmanship. And some 11-year old kid a few rows up behind us screamed his annoying head off the entire time. I kept thinking, “Where is his mother?” Combined with boo-ing fans, and rude fans in front of us who spent more time standing than sitting (because they kept getting up for beers and bathroom breaks), I am not sure I’m inclined to become an Orioles fan after all. We’ll see.

In any case, the M’s won 8-6! It was an exciting finale, as the closing pitcher for the Mariners kept loading up the bases, keeping me on the edge of my seat. He finally struck out the batter, and the game was over. Whew.

Baltimore is a neat city. I definitely want to go back and do some more exploring.

Petspectations

April 25, 2006

Well, the kitties are still separated. I must say, I’m proud of my Martin. He’s gotten much better about this new kitty in the house business. His recovery time after seeing, hearing, or otherwise sensing Little Miss Madison is much quicker now than during the bathtub ordeal.

Last Wednesday was the two-week mark, and Martin and I were in the kitchen. I was fixing dinner. Miss Madison had finally started displaying some real fear of the other, bigger cat - (all an illusion, trust me) – and wasn’t coming out of her room. So I left the door cracked and kept an eye on the stairwell in case she changed her mind.

My back was turned mere moments when I heard a scuffle and some loud screeches on the other side of the kitchen island. Madison had snuck in and pounced Martin! Both were surprised, I’m sure. Next thing you know, he’s running for his life down the stairs, and she’s pounding after him. I chased after and found him in a corner under a table hissing at her in the basement. I immediately took her to her room for a time out.

I was surprised at how quickly Martin recovered that time. I thought I’d never see him upstairs again. But he was wandering around in no time, being extremely stealthy when approaching the top level (where her bedroom is). He’s been good that way ever since.

So, as of a few days ago, now I leave her bedroom door opened an inch or two at all times. I have a door stop and large rubber band keeping her from opening it. Martin will carefully peer in there from a distance, never going too close.

I let several days pass before I tried another introduction. Tonight Martin was sleeping in “his” swivel chair in the living room on the middle level of my townhouse. I let Madison out. Slowly she ventured downstairs, keeping an eye out for the big ‘fraidy cat that Martin is. She went around and around the room a few times, never noticing him in the chair. I stayed between them. Finally she spotted him and hissed. He hissed back. I turned the swivel chair so they couldn’t see one another and removed Miss Madison to the stairwell. She thought about it for a minute and decided to go back to the safety of her room.

I consider that the first quasi-successful intro between the two. No major fight broke out, and I praised them both profusely.

Tomorrow will be three weeks. Slowly, but surely, I plan to make this work! My boy needs a girlfriend. (Or maybe, like me, he knows he’s better off without any complicated male-female relationship in his life.) We’ll see.

Ceiling fan is hung, and just in the nick of time. It’s warming up here in Maryland.

Reunited with Mona

April 22, 2006

Wow – hard to believe that April has nearly come and gone. It’s raining today, so I’m spending the weekend indoors, doing more home chores. I have to hang a ceiling fan in my bedroom and several IKEA shelves in the other two bedrooms. I’m finally getting settled in. All of the boxes have been unpacked, broken down, and recycled. I even came across some items from storage that I had been afraid were lost forever - the most important of those being Mona.

When I moved from Bellevue, WA, to Manhattan in late 2004, I had to box up of a number of things for storage. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fit it all in a New York apartment. The problem is, after I moved, I couldn’t necessarily remember what had been stored. When something came up “missing” in my life – I didn’t know if the movers had lost it, or if it had ended up in storage.

Mona was one of those items. Mona was a gift from my sister-in-law Judy and brother Dave a couple Christmases ago. 2003, I think. I adore her. She's my Martini-drinking, cigarette-smoking, slutty-dressed alter ego. Since I don't drink or smoke any more (or wear slutty outfits), she does it for me. It wasn’t until I was getting ready to move to MD that I realized that I hadn’t seen her in over a year. I worried about her. Was she in a box somewhere? I dug through boxes looking for her, to no avail. Finally, after a few weeks of searching, I unveiled her from one of the very last boxes I had left to inspect. I was so happy to see her.

Things seemed much better then. Life was whole again. Mona and I were reunited. The universe was in order. Whew, that was a relief.

Kitty Adaptation

April 10, 2006

It’s been almost four full days now since I brought Little Miss Madison home from the shelter and put her up in her own guest room. According to all the literature I’ve read, you should keep a new cat separated from the existing cat for 5-14 days, introducing them slowly during that time.

A couple of times I’ve let them see each other through a cracked door. Each time, Martin has hissed at this new kitty invading his territory. That’s normal. My fear has been that Martin wouldn’t be accepting of the new cat, not vice-versa. It never occurred to me that Madison wouldn’t accept Martin. He's so docile and lazy that I figured it would be easy going for him. Boy was I wrong!

Today I tried a quick introduction to see how things would go. Martin was in the master bedroom, and I let Madison see him from the hallway with the door open. He hissed at her, and to my surprise, this little girl ran at him at full speed, chasing him under the bed! I quickly separated the two, and put her back in her room.

But poor Martin. He went into the bathtub and cowered in there for an hour. I finally took him out and put him on the bed where he cowered in the same spot, unmoving, for another 20 minutes, his eyes glued squarely on the master bedroom doorway. Finally, I picked him up and carried him downstairs so he could eat, which he did. My baby! I feel terrible. It just breaks my heart to see him so fearful in his own home. I never imagined him to be afraid of a little kitty that weighs half as much as he does. This is why you have to be careful introducing a new pet into a household that already has pets.

So, I will keep trying. Poor, poor Martin. He's my baby. I've always been so protective of him, and now I feel like I've let him down allowing this intruder in his home. I hope it works out in the long run. I really want him to have a playmate.

Madison is back in her room, purring away like nothing ever happened. Last night when I went in to play with her, I brought the little laser pointer that I’d gotten for Martin a couple years ago. Martin never showed the least bit of interest in that toy. But Madison is his polar opposite when it comes to toys. She’ll play non-stop until I’m too tired to play. The laser light is a fun toy. She thinks she’s caught the little red bug, then it disappears out from under her paws. Hee-hee!

Too Cute for Words

April 6, 2006

Martin and I have a new addition to the family. She’s a 7-year-old tabby cat from the Howard County Animal Control shelter. She was given to an 11-year-boy many years ago. That boy grew up, the parents divorced, the 19-year-old young man went to live with his father, and his dad said “No” to keeping the cat. Hence, she was dropped off at the shelter on 3/31/06. For a long time I’ve thought about getting a companion for Martin. I met this new kitty on Monday and brought her home this afternoon. She didn’t have a name.

She seemed a tad aloof when we met. A very pretty, thin girl with long hair, green eyes, and feathery feet, she immediately made me think that she should be pussy-footing down Madison Avenue. Hence, Martin and I will call her Little Miss Madison.

I had to sneak her in the house quickly before Martin could figure out what was going on. I ran her up to a third-floor bedroom, and Martin’s been hanging outside her door ever since. When you introduce a new cat to a multi-cat home, you have to do it very slowly. That means that Madison will have to stay in her own room (the guest bedroom) for several days while both cats get used to each other's smells.

Most cats take one to six months to adapt to a new home. I remember when Tom gave me Martin in late 2003, he spent most of the first several months sleeping on a comforter folded up in the bedroom closet. It was a long time before he’d let me pick him up or scratch his ears.

Madison is quite different in that respect. She purrs like crazy every time I go in her room, and she rubs up against my legs. She loves to be combed. She reaches up and rubs her face against mine. So precious! She’s a very sweet girl. I’m sure Martin will be a great friend to her. Tom (Martin's previous owner) told me that Martin lived with his sister his first 8 years, before both were given up for adoption and (unfortunately) separated. That was when Tom adopted Martin in 2000. So I think he’ll get along just fine with Madison.

I'm finally done unpacking all the boxes from our 3/3/06 move. Now I just need to finish furnishing the new townhouse and then shell out about $15K for a deck, patio, and fence. After that, the only big project is window blinds. Then I'll be done! I'm ready to be done moving.... I think Martin is too. He seems to have adjusted well and is already losing weight from running around and going up and down the stairs. That's my boy!