Bad Dream

The alarm went off this morning but I kept sleeping, though the radio was still playing. I was in that sleep/wake state that you have early in the morning when you really are not prepared to face the day -- sort of wishful sleeping.

I was still in that state when NPR began its story on the hypothetical Supreme Court case, McCain v. Obama. It is a project going at some university to help clarify election law in case of a 2000-esque result in the upcoming election. (I think that was what it was, I was asleep).

But as I lay there asleep, absorbing the story on the radio, I was convinced, CONVINCED, that it was the day after election day and we were still waiting for results. I really believed that. The weird thing about it was how it made me feel -- so scared and sad. Somehow deep in my sleep, I recognized all of those awful memories and feelings from 2000. The aftermath of that election was just the worst, most divisive time for our country, and even in my sleep I knew I didn't want to go through it again.

Ask Not What You Can Do For Global Warming...

Here it is, October 18 and I'm still hauling in tomatoes. Like, hundreds.

Last weekend, when it was obvious that the first frost was on its way, I went out to glean all of the green tomatoes I could find. I figured that there would be a few that we could set in the window until they ripened. It took me five trips to bring them all in and still there were a bunch on the vines. Not just green ones, but big fat, red ones ready to eat.

It isn't just tomatoes, either. The basil was still alive, and the rosemary looked positively robust. I chopped the basil down to an inch of it's life, and cut the rosemary down to half. The strawberries -- strawberries! -- were producing like they never did this summer. There were six little, tiny berries on the vine, each packing a wallop of flavor. And folks, in Colorado in October, I picked two huge, ripe cantaloupe.

I covered the plants this week to keep the frost from them. I had no time to get to them all week, but this morning I went out to see if everything survived. The basil was touched, but still fragrant, and everything else was still going strong. It took me three trips to bring in the tomatoes and I can't tell you how heartsick I was to find that I'd missed quite a few red ones last Saturday. Those tomatoes had over ripened and were squishy, but then there were others that were perfect, ready to eat off of the vine and perfectly red all the way through.

I've been spending a good part of my Saturday mornings these last few weeks chopping up tomatoes and freezing them for the winter. I dried the rosemary and basil for a few days in the fridge and they, too, went into the freezer. I'm wondering how long I can keep the tomatoes going by just covering them with our old sheets. It's going to be almost 80 today here. I know that we have always had beautiful Indian summers here, but I think the climate crisis is affecting Colorado. Calderoj and I are turning into urban farmers. Our tomato plants might just feed us through the winter.

Adam Smith's Invisibility Cloak

The financial crisis is the invisible hand giving us a slap down.

Sarah Palin is Running for First Lady, Not VP

Yep. She is. More about that later.

Renowned Social Sciences Magazine Makes Several Literary Allusions

The Economist makes three literary allusions in its September 20th edition. On page 19, in an article on the state of global finance today, can be found two headings taken from Yeats "The Second Coming," "The blood-dimmed tide," and "The centre cannot hold." But the real beauty of these headings is how they tie to the front cover, which is the crisis imagined as a "widening gyre."

Pestilence

So I am back to battling the Horseman of Pestilence. As alert readers will remember, I have been wrestling with God about this situation lately. Is my fitness, as demonstrated by my ability to use the information I read on the CSU extension website to defeat my enemy, moral? Am I justified in murdering moths and their larvae because that is the natural order of things?

This weekend at a family gathering, my brother and sister in law were talking about their mouse problem. They had mice last summer under their deck. They didn't do anything about the mice because, as they said, they thought they were "cute." Now that the mice have entered their home, B and S.I.L. don't think they are cute any more. They are, in fact, rather distressing. My brother put it this way: "They're not cute. Now when I set the traps I look forward to seeing their little backs broken."

Dear brother, I have felt the same way. Years ago in my married house, there were mice. They were everywhere. They ate the dog's food, they built a nest under the refrigerator. They darted out from dark corners when I was least expecting them. I was at my wit's end. But we had to live, and to do that, they couldn't live. We called in an exterminator.

Other "pests" have provoked reactions from me that are simply mammalian. At the same married house, there was a cactus in the garden. The puppy went out in the night and stepped on the cactus. We pulled the stickers from his paws. The next day I went out with rose gloves and pruning shears and cut the cactus to bits. Don't mess with my babies.

Recently, I came home to find wasps building a next just outside our front door. One came into the house. I panicked. I implored J to do something. He leaped to my rescue, smashed the inside wasp, then, using the only weapon he could find, sprayed WD40 on the nest.

Similarly, I do not feel sentimental about roaches. We don't have roaches, but occasionally I see a beetle that I've never seen before and imagine that we do.

So, here I am again, devising ways to conquer the moths. I am not sure what I am doing is right, I am only sure that it is animal.