Be Not Idle

Presidential hopeful Sen. Obama took a shot at Republicans by mentioning the huge numbers of lay-offs in Michigan. (The Labor Department just announced that 39,000 auto-related jobs were lost in August.)   According to the Detroit News:

“These numbers are unacceptable and are just one more reminder of what is at stake in this election,” Obama said in a statement issued just before McCain and Palin arrived in the state. He reiterated his support of $50 billion in loan guarantees for domestic automakers to help them “retool their factories to make the next generation in fuel efficient vehicles.”

“Re-tooling” isn’t the same thing as “re-engineering.” Nor is publically acknowledging that automotive workers continue to bear the brunt of industry changes the same thing as acknowledging that political policies, including those of Gov. Granholm (D), have contributed a great deal to our one-state recession. 

I don’t recall ANY politician addressing the question of changing our nation’s infrastructure to support the transportation of the future - although they legislate lower carbon emissions even if they occasionally back down when reality strikes. The truth is that there’s a disconnect between political catch phrases and reality.

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When I mow the lawn or weed the garden behind the house, I always watch for Mr. Toad, the amphibian that suns himself near the garden. It’s not unusual for him to leap suddenly from the grass or scurry into the flowerbed.

So today when I was coming around the side of the deck, I wasn’t particularly surprised to see movement in the grass head of me. But it was too fast and furry to be a toad and too slow to be a chipmunk. It was followed by a small explosion of other bodies running away from the horrible Mower of Earsplitting Doom.

Bunnies! Two itsy bitsy rabbits went hopping through the grass and into the garden along the privacy fence. One remained in the grassy nook between the trunks of the maple cluster until it, too, lost its nerve and made a run for the greenery. Since I like the lawn is little longer and my yard is relatively dog-free,  the backyard must have looked like a little sanctuary (until I began mowing).

I figured that their mother had left them in what she thought was a safe place, so I kept mowing.  Then she burst from the garden and ran away, leaving the three little ones behind. I got a nice look at them, since they weren’t sure at first if I were evil, too.  They are very young, so that their ears are more round than long, and I could hold them in one hand (which I wouldn’t). Then they voted that although I didn’t make a lot of racket, I was clearly a Hateful Beast. They hid in the mums.

Mother took several hours return.  She was none too subtle, either.  I looked up and there she was in front of the deck, scratching her ear. I moved and she hopped over to the corner of the deck, “hidden” by a statue of Our Lady. I could see one exquisite black pool of an eye staring at me. Once in a while the long fuzzy frond of an ear would twitch into view. 

While she waited, the three youngsters came out from the garden. I left the deck and moved to the bedroom to get a better view from that window and saw something unusual: a wild rabbit grooming her brood while they nursed.

I took some nice photos before she spooked and hid in the sedum. Then I realized there were FIVE babies. Cute ones, too. 

The Clamster (aka Kasia) and her readers were talking about the consequences of consecutive rainy days in the urban landscape, and I was filled with nostalgia. A kind of “Thank God that’s past!” sort of nostalgia, to be sure, but it’s nostalgia nonetheless.

 I used to live in Warren, first by myself and then with the Baby Brother (and older brother, and friend M’e, and BB’s buddy Rob, and any other pal who needed to crash on the davenport for a few weeks or months**).  Days of heavy rain meant the storm sewers would overflow onto the road. If it didn’t happen on the commute to Troy, it happened before the commute home.

 On two non-consecutive years, I drove my car through an enormous puddle and stalled it until the engine compartment dried out. When it rained heavily for a few days, ants would come up from cracks in the slab, trying to escape the water. Once I woke up to a sound like irregular dripping from the bathroom. It wasn’t water but hundreds of winged ants flying and then falling back into the bathtub.   Come to think of it, that was just before the mouse moved in and the Baby Brother moved out, like a mini-Pestilence drama.

Now I live in a floodplain, but only because FEMA decided to extend it after I bought my house. My neighbours and I won’t buy the insurance because FEMA doesn’t pay unless over 50% of the house is underwater. The only way for that to naturally happen would mean the St. Clair River had flooded miles (or km) of inland Ontario and Michigan and overwhelmed the islands.

UNnaturally it would mean that when the Channel 4 chopper came over the area, they’d find me and my neighbors pumping water INSIDE our towering walls of sandbags to make the FEMA percentage requirements.

Seriously, the wetlands are intact here, so there are seldom standing puddles. The only downside is the high humidity near the marsh and the state park, as opposed to surrounding areas.  But that’s okay. I haven’t had to water my lawn yet and, so far, the mushrooms are minimal.

 **crash on the davenport = sleep on a fold-bed in a full-size sofa or couch) Sometimes my colloquialisms are indecipherable without footnotes!

Like many other Midwesterners, I lost electricity when weekend storms rumbled with trees and powerlines.  The power went out Sunday afternoon. It was restored briefly on Tuesday - long enough to do a load of laundry - then went out until early Wednesday morning. 

A power-outage is a great reminder that most material goods aren’t that important. My TV and PC became to large paperweights. The furniture formed an obstacle course.  Everything else impeded the hunt for bare basics: an emergency radio, the crank-powered lantern, and a can-opener to break into dinner.  

The things I missed the most were the fridge, the washer, and the dryer.  Going to bed early was no heartache. I read and wrote while there was natural light, then I fell asleep. The weather’s been unusually warm, so I was comfortable. 

I’ve had problems lately with appliances, so I’ve come to appreciate basic devices.  I had a cordless phone/answering machine combination. It hadn’t been holding a charge, so I bought a new battery.  No use. Sometimes it charged; sometimes it went dead.  I went to a resale shop and bought a phone for $5. Its a plastic relic with huge buttons, including two mysteriously labeled “FLASH” and “AUTO”.  I suspect it was an office phone, since it has a speakerphone option and a hold button. The latter plays a deafening electronic rendition of Fur Elise. But it works, even when the power’s out. (More on that below.) I also dragged out the cheap answering machine that I couldn’t GIVE away two years ago. When I got home this evening, I had a message from a high school pal - in other words, it works perfectly.

Thank God for Mr. Bell and his amazing invention.

When my washer died a clicking death, I ended up washing one load of clothes in the bathtub. I used a washboard and a small paddle. Afterwards, I felt tremendous admiration for my grandmothers. It took a lot of upperbody strength to wash and wring a single load of schoolteacher clothes. Those ladies washed work clothes for farmers and miners! 

I told my friend Karen that I needed a new washer, and we discussed local retailers. Within a few hours of our conversation, she called me back. Her family friends had recently moved and were selling a dryer (circa ‘89) for $50. Daniel and Tim were kind enough to handle the delivery and installation (including finagling space for it in dinky utility closet).

 Why doesn’t anyone offer a Nobel Peace Prize to Whirlpool factory workers?

One of my teachers, Sister Agnes Edwina, loved the hymn “How Great Thou Art”. We kids used to sing it on her saint day and the anniversary of her vocation. I liked best the verse about “when I hear the rolling thunder” (or “mighty thunder”, depending on the version).

I enjoy weird weather, even the somewhat dangerous sort like thunder blizzards and seiches. Today was a weird-weather day. The temperature rose to 74 degrees Fahrenheit, with sunny skies and blustery winds. The weather service called a tornado watch from early afternoon until 8 pm.

I had business in Port Huron, so I watched the yellow light in the North with some misgivings until it faded to gray. I don’t know how Lake Huron affects the signs of a tornado. However, in my hometown, I learned very early that when the air grew thick and the light changed from yellow to sickly green, it was time to take cover.

As I arrived home after dinner, the rain began falling as sprinkles, sometimes heavier. A little after 8 o’clock, thunder pealed in the distance. By a quarter to nine, the rain was coming down heavily and the wind picked up. Then hail came. It beat against the roof and set my chimney rattling and banging like nails pouring into pie tin.

Now, at half-past nine, it’s over. Ice pellets no bigger than rabbit droppings litter my deck. The wind has died, the thunder has passed, and the loudest sound is the chirrup of frogs.

This is a fun story about a Kettering University student who built a mini-tank with the help of his frat brothers. Its ammo includes paintballs, golf balls, and empty Red Bull cans!

The story (both written and video) are at the Flint Journal, here:

http://blog.mlive.com/flintjournal/newsnow/2008/04/post_moto _kid_death_story_here.html

It reminds me of the frat house at the University of Michigan that had the highest GPA in the Greek System, Phi Kappa Tau. Many of them were engineering students, and there was also David, the budding entrepreneur who started a perfume factory in the basement.  “Nerds” have fun hobbies.