Monday, May 7, 2012

dijon ketchup

Last week while we were getting dinner ready we watched some of the Blue Planet ocean stuff that's on Netflix.  Have you seen those movies?  I love them!  I love all movies about the ocean, even though I hate being in the ocean.  Watching Jaws when you're eight sort of takes the bloom off the rose.  Just thinking about what it would be like to be an aquatic mammal makes me feel like I'm suffocating.  Anyway, there was a part where some orcas attack a gray whale calf.  It was terrible.  So brutal and sad, and I felt a childish sense of anger about it.  Don't the orcas know that whales are endangered?  Don't they know they're related?  Don't they know how long it takes to grow a baby whale?  And then after all the fighting, after they separate the calf from its mother, repeatedly ram the baby and drown it by holding it underwater, the orcas eat nothing but the calf's tongue and jaw.  So awful.  I sat at the dinner table sobbing, while my children looked at me like I was crazy, which I am. It was the most difficult thing I've watched in a long time.  It's frightening and heartbreaking and maybe you should watch it, but it will make you hold a grudge against orcas.

One of my kids has a book that explores a hypothetical showdown between an orca and a great white shark, and they determine that the orca would win.  I concur.  That big brain will take it every time, burn to you Carcharodon carcharias

I've been looking at land and house plans because I'm so afraid of what terrible neighbor I'm going to end up having someday.  But I don't want a new house!  I don't even want a new Craftsman, built in the old way, with lath and plaster walls.  I want this house.  I love this house.  Even with its stupid basement that looks like we've experienced repeated shelling.  John and I were talking about it last night, about the feeling that old houses have, the spirit, for lack of a better word.  Our house has ninety years of happy memories in it, and that can't be reproduced with anything but another ninety years, no matter how much money you spend on it. 

So before we pull up stakes we're going to try to get the zoning changed to commercial, and hopefully help the city council understand that the right zoning to attract the right kind of businesses will increase revenue exponentially more than whatever short-term gain we get from a nasty business that no other business wants to be next to.  Proper zoning will get us new houses AND new business, which in the long run will be much better for the city.  Listen to me!  I am chock-full of knowledge about planning and zoning!  Even if they won't change the zoning, my mom and John both believe that we won't have any problems for a long time yet, because it's a podunkety little town where nobody wants to build.  Why don't they put a tiny little grocery store behind me?  And turn Janice Nicholas's house into a little coffee shop where farmers could sit and drink their coffee and have a slice of pie?  That would be so great.  Ugh, if I had a million dollars I'd buy that land, and the house, and the apple orchard, and I would hire people to carry out my vision, and it would be splendid and I would buy a green dress. 

I had to put the cats' food and water outside this morning, because it seems that they were consorting with (fighting) a skunk during the night.  I didn't know cats did that.  I hope they don't start fighting porcupines, too. 


Tori said...

Houses totally carry the energy of the lives lived in them before. I agree 100%. Sometimes that is not such a great thing. Our house in Charleston was built in 1814 or something ridiculous like that, and the energy was kind of iffy. I never went so far as to feel "haunted" but it was kind of just...unsettled.

The house we're in now is a split level from the 70's with only one previous owner (not counting my sister who owned it directly before us) and it has about the most pleasant energy of any house I've ever inhabited. The subdivision was originally a farm with an orchard and I wonder if some of the energy is carry-over from that.

All around us people have torn down the little houses and built those giant bungaloid neo-craftsman homes. I am not a fan.

Tori said...

Oh yeah, and thanks for warning me about the Blue Planet thing. That is precisely the sort of thing I want to avoid seeing. Although if it makes you feel better, you can compartmentalize and hate Transient Orcas but love the Resident pods we have up here, who are sweet and gentle and never hurt baby animals but keep getting bombed by the Navy.

Layne said...

I am eternally in your debt for your gift of the word "bungaloid." Those houses are the architectural equivalent of Lorax merchandising. Like, way to miss the point, guys. (On that note, I sometimes wonder if the Widow Geisel forgot to read any of Dr. Seuss's books.)

It was on a whale-watching tour in the San Juans that I first learned about rogue orcas. Grim. I do love orcas, but I want them in family groups killing fish, thanks.