mosker

Protective footwear

When I was little, there was a public safety display at the entrance of the Base Exchange with several pairs of shoes with the toes cut off. I didn't understand that at all, and when one of my parents, my dad probably, explained that they were encouraging the use of steel-toed boots, I was horrified and riveted. If that happened while mowing the lawn, as my dad suggested, what happened to the victim's foot? The idea of it ricocheted in my head--how did his foot get caught in the mower? Why would you get that close to the blades? And the shoes? How could you display those shoes after such a horrible accident?

I realize now that the shoes had to have been cut specifically for the purpose of the display--they were cut too cleanly and I don't remember there being any blood. And that would have been pretty ghoulish. I don't know if the message made an impression on any of the airmen who wandered through that entrance, but obviously it stuck with me. I haven't gone so far as to purchase steel-toed boots, but I would never consider mowing the lawn or working with power equipment without proper footwear.

I mention this now because when I was driving home from work last night, I saw a woman mowing her lawn with bare feet. How is that a good idea? Even disregarding the whole spinning blade issue, what about all of the stuff on the ground that is just waiting to be stepped on? Ewww.

Power of suggestion

The fall semester started today. Last week the building liaison forwarded a reminder from the campus police about personal safety. It was common sense stuff: pay attention to your surroundings, secure your belongings, make sure anyone who claims to be maintenance has the proper identification. It was all stuff I already do, but for some reason it really struck a chord with me and I started feeling almost paranoid, like it's a scary-dangerous journey from the building to my car. Why do I bring my bag to work with me every day? Maybe I should just shove what I need in my pocket? Yeah, right. I'd need Mary Poppins pockets.

I was still kicking myself for being so silly when I went into the office this weekend to put in a few extra hours. I like the quiet when I work by myself--no calls, no interruptions--but I still wanted a little background noise and found an Internet radio station to keep me company. About a half hour in, there was a commercial for some locksmith or lock company and at the end they talked about how even the best lock won't do you any good if you don't use it. Lock? Did I lock the back door after I finished mowing the lawn? I just knew disaster was going to strike while I wasn't home. My laptop is on the dining room table! What if they take my backup drive? When's the last time I even did a full backup? I thought about leaving right then, but I still had work to do and who can afford all those trips back and forth when it's going to turn out you locked the door after all, right? And besides, if someone's going to go to all the trouble of skulking around my backyard (which is, after all, exposed to the entire neighborhood) they're not going to let a locked door stop them anyway.

Of course, when I got home I found everything where I'd left it.

"That's how you end up in the hospital, honey!"

I didn't grow up in the Midwest, so one of the first things I had to learn (quickly) when I moved to the region is the attitude that motorists have about pedestrians (and cyclists): at best they are irritants who don't understand they should stay out of the way. At worst, they are obstacles who should expect to be targeted. (I know a woman gets really angry about having to share the road with cyclists.) Fortunately, even aggressive drivers seem to recognize, albeit grudgingly, that they have to yield to pedestrians in the walkways in store parking lots. After all, they too will probably exit their vehicles at some point and will be forced to rely on the same courtesy.

I was a bit surprised, then, when I was almost hit by a truck as I exited Wal-Mart a few days ago. An older couple driving a late-model large pickup--the kind with the matching camper shell--drove into the striped pedestrian crossing area immediately outside the exit. The vehicle was moving slowly and stopped for another pedestrian, so I started to cross until I realized that the driver was not going to allow me to pass. I stopped abruptly and gestured with my free hand to indicate my surprise. (I didn't flip her off or anything.) Then the passenger rolled down his window and told me, rather patronizingly, "That's how you end up in the hospital, honey!" I'm sure he meant to intimidate me, because he looked pretty surprised when I retorted "Hey, I'm the pedestrian!" I'm guessing his wife recognized the signs of an imminent blow-up, because she pulled off right away while he continued to rail at me through his open window. I'm fairly certain I heard several words not typically used in polite company, but considering the source, it's not like my feelings were hurt.

One of the privileges of being an aunt...

Artwork from my niece.

What do you mean "regularly"?!

I got new neighbors this year. I'm delighted the house sold to a family who planned to live in it rather than rent it out because that's better for the neighborhood, and while it's probably safe to describe them as unconventional, they seem like a nice couple. I'm beginning to suspect, however, that adapting to home ownership and all its accompanying demands is proving a bit overwhelming. Before they moved in they redid the kitchen, painted the walls, and did a thorough clean-up, but the rest of the ambitious plans they described (replacing a broken section of fence, finishing the basement, cleaning the siding) have slid down the list of priorities. I get that, of course, because the to-do list for my own house is much longer than the done list, and they've had a second child since they moved in, which is a job in and of itself. But seriously? He really needs to figure out that lawn mowing must be done...regularly. Where I'm mowing my lawn once or twice a week at the highest cutting level or one step down, he waits until the grass is almost tall enough to swallow his first child, and then cuts at the mower's lowest setting. At 9 pm. In the dark. Who mows the lawn in the dark? How is that safe? It's a power tool for goodness sake, and one that can hack off a few fingers or toes without even bogging down.

Mostly this isn't any of my business, of course, expect that one of the important facts about living in a neighborhood is that how one person cares for his or her property affects the value of all the surrounding properties. Not only does the tall grass part of the cycle look bad, scalping the lawn means he is damaging the grass and inviting weed growth, which then spread vigorously to my yard. And because this is all about me (it is my blog, after all), I don't want him making extra work for me by undoing all the mowing and fertilizing I've been doing. Regularly.

That, and I hate to think of him cutting off his toes over there in the dark.

Where I've been spending my time

Kokak: Where "free" means $175

Behind the scenes

I took my camera along on the Fourth hoping I could get some shots of the fireworks crew as they set up the display. When we headed across the dam (where the fireworks are fired), a man immediately headed toward us and told us we had to leave because the area was off-limits. Frankly, I would have left without a word, but Linda explained that she lived right around the corner and could we have a look and take a few pictures? Remarkably, he seemed delighted and escorted us through the work area as he explained what they were doing. The crew seemed a bit surprised, but as he was the boss they didn't say a word. I think we probably went at a good time. It was late enough that they'd finished unloading everything but early enough that we weren't interfering with the last-minute work.

It was a good show, but it would have been more enjoyable if a young man visiting the house next door hadn't been blasting an airhorn throughout the display. I was a bit surprised the fireworks lasted as long as they did considering how expensive it must be, but maybe it just seemed like a long time because of the horn.

Happy Fourth of July

I can't tell you how happy I am that it's the Fourth of July. I know my recent schedule is probably light duty for someone with children, but I am delighted to have a morning when I don't need to rush off somewhere. I've got a front row seat for fireworks this evening (set off from the dam pictured above). That, along with some barbecued veggies and walk around the lake, has all the makings for a great holiday.

Here's wishing you a happy and safe Fourth of July.

There's no time for that!

Last week's CSA basket: chard, broccoli, lettuce, and bok choy. I realized I didn't post this after I picked up this week produce, which was essentially the same. Expect this week instead of lettuce there's an unidentified item that I think could be kohlrabi. I don't actually know what kohlrabi is, unfortunately, but that's the word that popped into my head when I saw it and I'm hoping the random bits of information that buzz around my brain will prove useful this time. And zucchini too, but I ate that before I thought to take a picture.

We're well into summer session now, which is both project season and vacation season. I don't have vacation planned--the last time I took a vacation day I spent my freshly banked stimulus payment on home repairs, so it's safer this way--but I am in the midst of a project that requires careful planning and coordination, and lots of heavy lifting. I suspect I may get a bit cranky about the heavy lifting part before long.