Jean's Memoirs has moved to a new blog platform that allows a continuation feature to make navigation easier around the site. Please visit at the link below and add your comments. The new blog, Under the Maine Sun, is the basis for a new book and I welcome your input.
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Jean, Somewhere in Maine
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
BATS
Living in an old house one often comes up against the problem of bats. When I first learned that they were living in the walls and attic of my old 1832 house, I innocently thought that renovating the entire house would result in their moving out. Ha!
Over the ensuing years I have learned to live with them -- I don't bother them and they don't bother me. I did learn from my contractor Steve that I have small brown bats and they migrate in the winter, returning in May to raise their young. It is the females that usually reside in houses, the males preferring hollow trees and similar locations. I did have him plug up any exits that we found in October after they had left, but they found a way in next year. I also made him put up six bat houses in tall trees around my property, but I've never seen any evidence of bats having taken up residence there.
Three out of four summers I have had one bat zig when he should have zagged and get into the part of the house where I live. The first summer, I came home after dark and soon saw a tiny bat flying around my kitchen. The cats were quite excited. After my initial panic I assessed the situation. I noticed that on his trip around, the bat swooped into the little room off the far end of the kitchen that I use as an office. I crept over closer until he again swooped into the office, then I jumped in after him and closed the door. Keeping low to the floor, I crawled over to the window with the bat flying frantically above me. I opened the window as wide as I could and pushed the screen out onto the ground below. Then I backed toward the door. In seconds, the bat swooped out and away. At the time, I figured that the bat had come into the house when I opened the back door. That was the only bat incident the first summer.
The second summer there was another bat flying around the kitchen when my daughter Sarah and I returned home one evening. Her boyfriend Joe might also have been with us. This time the bat was flying through the dining room as well and the cats were going wild, batting at it. I couldn't wait for the bat to decide to swoop into the office, and went after my little frog net that was just outside the back door. I used that when relocating frogs from my ponds to the marsh for the winter where they could safely burrow into the mud for their dormant stage.
When the bat briefly settled, I was able to clap the net over him and escort him safely out the back door. When I returned home the next evening, Sarah and Joe were there ahead of me and told me that the bat had returned. They had come home to find Sarah's cat Luci staring intently at one of the DVD cabinets. Sure enough, the bat had crawled out from under it at one point in an attempt to make its escape. Luci was ready to pounce, but Sarah quickly got the net and rescued the bat once again.
After that episode I noticed that in the kitchen where the old cross beams in the ceiling joined the length beam on the outside wall, there was an opening. It was close to the soffit on the outside where I had seen bats going in and out, probably from a location in the upstairs bathroom wall. I figured that one of the young ones had missed a turn when leaving for the evening. The next time Steve was there to do a small job, I had him plug that hole and stain the spot to match the beams. He was a bit dismayed that the work he and Lee had done to try to seal the entrances had failed, and that the bats were not residing in the bat houses that he had spent a morning installing. Anyway, there were no more bats in the house that summer nor were there any the following year although they were clearly in their favorite wall and in the attic.
This summer I had become quite complacent about the bats and thought nothing of it when I heard rustling after turning out the light at bedtime the other evening. Steve and Lee had been back to reshingle a large section of the roof and I figured the bats had been disturbed and wandered into the portion of attic above my bedroom. As I tried to settle into sleep the rustling grew louder and was now accompanied by fluttering. It sounded too close to be in the wall. I turned on the light. There was a bat swooping around the room. Abu, the white cat who was with me picked up his ears and began swatting at it as it sailed over his head.
I had read that you have as much chance of being struck by lightning as you do of being bitten by a rabid bat so I was not too concerned about the safety of Abu or myself. However, I was worried about the bat injuring himself knocking into walls or being tormented by Abu, and I didn't look forward to trying to sleep with the bat's frantic activity above me. I watched him dumbly for a moment while I formulated my plan.
The frog net was out by the ponds where I had been scooping algae. Did I really want to go way out there in my nightshirt to fetch it. Yes. I crawled off the bed, keeping low, Abu running ahead of me. By this time he had lost interest in swatting at the bat and just wanted to get away from this creature that was divebombing him. He zoomed ahead of me down the stairs. I closed the door to keep the bat contained.
I returned a minute later with the frog net, and remaining close to the floor crept over to the bottom of the bed. The bat continued careening around near the ceiling until he finally settled on the drape. I slowly approached him, net poised. I looked at him and he looked at me. I brought the net up over him and he fluttered into it. Success. Now I just had to get him down the stairs, through the big living room and out the back door. He was slowly crawling up the inside of the net.
If I had been smart, I would have put a magazine over the top of the net to keep him in, but there was none handy. I raced as fast as I could down the stairs, watching the wiley bat creep upwards. I was almost at the back door when he made it to the top and flew off into the kitchen. At that point I found a magazine to cover the top and went in search of him again. All the cats were now engaged in tracking the bat. I anticipated a lengthy chase but within minutes found him settled on the beam near another hole that I had missed previously. It was within a few feet of the back door and I slipped the net over him and transported him to the door and out. Within seconds he was gone, off into the night on his mosquito quest.
I would have been happy if this were the end of the story. The next night there was no bat when I got home from work and I figured that was it for the year. But the next morning when I came downstairs to feed the cats, I saw a small bat lying dead on the floor of the little front living room. He was not eaten but his wings were bent. With my frog net I gently picked him up and carried him out to the stone wall -- hoping that he was only playing possum. It was sad, but I had to conclude that he was quite dead as I placed him in a niche.
The question remains. Was this the same bat who lost his way again and was killed by the cats before I came home? I had not seen the bat land on the beam the night before. Had I rescued a different bat that night? Was this the bat I had originally caught and that had climbed out of the net? Had he still been at large somewhere in the house, but not caught by the cats until the next night? He was not on the floor after the first night. Last night there was no bat and no evidence of any this morning. The next time Steve or Lee come I'll have them patch this second hole.
Over the ensuing years I have learned to live with them -- I don't bother them and they don't bother me. I did learn from my contractor Steve that I have small brown bats and they migrate in the winter, returning in May to raise their young. It is the females that usually reside in houses, the males preferring hollow trees and similar locations. I did have him plug up any exits that we found in October after they had left, but they found a way in next year. I also made him put up six bat houses in tall trees around my property, but I've never seen any evidence of bats having taken up residence there.
Three out of four summers I have had one bat zig when he should have zagged and get into the part of the house where I live. The first summer, I came home after dark and soon saw a tiny bat flying around my kitchen. The cats were quite excited. After my initial panic I assessed the situation. I noticed that on his trip around, the bat swooped into the little room off the far end of the kitchen that I use as an office. I crept over closer until he again swooped into the office, then I jumped in after him and closed the door. Keeping low to the floor, I crawled over to the window with the bat flying frantically above me. I opened the window as wide as I could and pushed the screen out onto the ground below. Then I backed toward the door. In seconds, the bat swooped out and away. At the time, I figured that the bat had come into the house when I opened the back door. That was the only bat incident the first summer.
The second summer there was another bat flying around the kitchen when my daughter Sarah and I returned home one evening. Her boyfriend Joe might also have been with us. This time the bat was flying through the dining room as well and the cats were going wild, batting at it. I couldn't wait for the bat to decide to swoop into the office, and went after my little frog net that was just outside the back door. I used that when relocating frogs from my ponds to the marsh for the winter where they could safely burrow into the mud for their dormant stage.
When the bat briefly settled, I was able to clap the net over him and escort him safely out the back door. When I returned home the next evening, Sarah and Joe were there ahead of me and told me that the bat had returned. They had come home to find Sarah's cat Luci staring intently at one of the DVD cabinets. Sure enough, the bat had crawled out from under it at one point in an attempt to make its escape. Luci was ready to pounce, but Sarah quickly got the net and rescued the bat once again.
After that episode I noticed that in the kitchen where the old cross beams in the ceiling joined the length beam on the outside wall, there was an opening. It was close to the soffit on the outside where I had seen bats going in and out, probably from a location in the upstairs bathroom wall. I figured that one of the young ones had missed a turn when leaving for the evening. The next time Steve was there to do a small job, I had him plug that hole and stain the spot to match the beams. He was a bit dismayed that the work he and Lee had done to try to seal the entrances had failed, and that the bats were not residing in the bat houses that he had spent a morning installing. Anyway, there were no more bats in the house that summer nor were there any the following year although they were clearly in their favorite wall and in the attic.
This summer I had become quite complacent about the bats and thought nothing of it when I heard rustling after turning out the light at bedtime the other evening. Steve and Lee had been back to reshingle a large section of the roof and I figured the bats had been disturbed and wandered into the portion of attic above my bedroom. As I tried to settle into sleep the rustling grew louder and was now accompanied by fluttering. It sounded too close to be in the wall. I turned on the light. There was a bat swooping around the room. Abu, the white cat who was with me picked up his ears and began swatting at it as it sailed over his head.
I had read that you have as much chance of being struck by lightning as you do of being bitten by a rabid bat so I was not too concerned about the safety of Abu or myself. However, I was worried about the bat injuring himself knocking into walls or being tormented by Abu, and I didn't look forward to trying to sleep with the bat's frantic activity above me. I watched him dumbly for a moment while I formulated my plan.
The frog net was out by the ponds where I had been scooping algae. Did I really want to go way out there in my nightshirt to fetch it. Yes. I crawled off the bed, keeping low, Abu running ahead of me. By this time he had lost interest in swatting at the bat and just wanted to get away from this creature that was divebombing him. He zoomed ahead of me down the stairs. I closed the door to keep the bat contained.
I returned a minute later with the frog net, and remaining close to the floor crept over to the bottom of the bed. The bat continued careening around near the ceiling until he finally settled on the drape. I slowly approached him, net poised. I looked at him and he looked at me. I brought the net up over him and he fluttered into it. Success. Now I just had to get him down the stairs, through the big living room and out the back door. He was slowly crawling up the inside of the net.
If I had been smart, I would have put a magazine over the top of the net to keep him in, but there was none handy. I raced as fast as I could down the stairs, watching the wiley bat creep upwards. I was almost at the back door when he made it to the top and flew off into the kitchen. At that point I found a magazine to cover the top and went in search of him again. All the cats were now engaged in tracking the bat. I anticipated a lengthy chase but within minutes found him settled on the beam near another hole that I had missed previously. It was within a few feet of the back door and I slipped the net over him and transported him to the door and out. Within seconds he was gone, off into the night on his mosquito quest.
I would have been happy if this were the end of the story. The next night there was no bat when I got home from work and I figured that was it for the year. But the next morning when I came downstairs to feed the cats, I saw a small bat lying dead on the floor of the little front living room. He was not eaten but his wings were bent. With my frog net I gently picked him up and carried him out to the stone wall -- hoping that he was only playing possum. It was sad, but I had to conclude that he was quite dead as I placed him in a niche.
The question remains. Was this the same bat who lost his way again and was killed by the cats before I came home? I had not seen the bat land on the beam the night before. Had I rescued a different bat that night? Was this the bat I had originally caught and that had climbed out of the net? Had he still been at large somewhere in the house, but not caught by the cats until the next night? He was not on the floor after the first night. Last night there was no bat and no evidence of any this morning. The next time Steve or Lee come I'll have them patch this second hole.
Friday, June 20, 2008
FRIENDS and BOOK TOUR
What a wonderful time I had on my book tour. At the first stop in Clinton, New Jersey I saw people I hadn't seen in years who came out in sweltering weather with thunderstorms threatened, just to say hello. Eminent domain was a hot topic. I also learned that they are reading my blogs! It's nice to know someone is out there. Welcome, welcome friends. Please comment and let me know what you think. This is a great place for a dialog.
The next stop was at my sister's library in Barnegat, New Jersey. The only people I knew there were my sister, Nancy Gallagher, writer extraordinaire of mystery novels, and her friend Lorraine. But the room filled with people and the questions flew. Another great discussion of eminent domain and various writing issues ensued.
The next morning Nancy and I headed for Pittsburgh -- our two stops being Neville Island where my ancestors lived and lost, and Carnegie Library. We were meeting some of my cousins and their spouses for the celebration of STOLEN FIELDS.
Some of the others were already at the hotel when we arrived and I distributed t-shirts with the book cover on the back that everyone would wear to the concert in the park on the island that evening. We did, and while we were there we finally met Denise in person after all the help she has given, and Chief Micklos of the local constabulary who promised the support of his officers. Unfortunately, Officer Kevin Thornburg was not able to be scheduled for the next day, but those who were would be of great assistance by their presence (and cute, too). We also met a descendant of the Hamilton family and pointed out that we were related.
After the concert the family went to dinner at an Outback near the hotel and gorged ourselves on steak.
The next day it poured rain. I was certain no one would come to the celebration of the book, but we went forward anyway. We ended up holding the celebration in the Municipal Building instead of the gazebo, and everyone found their way there. There was standing room only and all were eager to meet us and ask questions. A contingency from Neville Green was there to let us know about their new book coming out in the fall -- a pictorial history of Neville Island that dovetails with STOLEN FIELDS. We had a warm welcome from not only the people from the island, but from surrounding areas as well. And of course, several officers were in attendance. We hated to see the afternoon end.
It was a different audience at Carnegie Library. Several students came from the nearby colleges along with a more mature audience. This group was more subdued and less inclined to ask questions and discuss, but they did listen intently to what I had to say about eminent domain and the Cole family. Cindy the librarian was very welcoming and helpful.
All in all it was a very gratifying experience, and tomorrow I'll tell you about the car!
Jean
The next stop was at my sister's library in Barnegat, New Jersey. The only people I knew there were my sister, Nancy Gallagher, writer extraordinaire of mystery novels, and her friend Lorraine. But the room filled with people and the questions flew. Another great discussion of eminent domain and various writing issues ensued.
The next morning Nancy and I headed for Pittsburgh -- our two stops being Neville Island where my ancestors lived and lost, and Carnegie Library. We were meeting some of my cousins and their spouses for the celebration of STOLEN FIELDS.
Some of the others were already at the hotel when we arrived and I distributed t-shirts with the book cover on the back that everyone would wear to the concert in the park on the island that evening. We did, and while we were there we finally met Denise in person after all the help she has given, and Chief Micklos of the local constabulary who promised the support of his officers. Unfortunately, Officer Kevin Thornburg was not able to be scheduled for the next day, but those who were would be of great assistance by their presence (and cute, too). We also met a descendant of the Hamilton family and pointed out that we were related.
After the concert the family went to dinner at an Outback near the hotel and gorged ourselves on steak.
The next day it poured rain. I was certain no one would come to the celebration of the book, but we went forward anyway. We ended up holding the celebration in the Municipal Building instead of the gazebo, and everyone found their way there. There was standing room only and all were eager to meet us and ask questions. A contingency from Neville Green was there to let us know about their new book coming out in the fall -- a pictorial history of Neville Island that dovetails with STOLEN FIELDS. We had a warm welcome from not only the people from the island, but from surrounding areas as well. And of course, several officers were in attendance. We hated to see the afternoon end.
It was a different audience at Carnegie Library. Several students came from the nearby colleges along with a more mature audience. This group was more subdued and less inclined to ask questions and discuss, but they did listen intently to what I had to say about eminent domain and the Cole family. Cindy the librarian was very welcoming and helpful.
All in all it was a very gratifying experience, and tomorrow I'll tell you about the car!
Jean
RAT UPDATE
Laura is home from jail having survived an unfair incarceration. I have heard that Goneral stated in court that Laura tried to break down her door. That would be some feat given Laura's physical disabilities, but the judge believed the fairy tale. It's said that there were other misrepresentations of the truth as well.
One of the dogs did not fare well in Laura's absence, being a one-woman dog, and might not survive. The accuser requested that Laura not be allowed to return to her house -- which she owns -- and never come to the neighborhood again. Fortunately, there was some intervention and that request was denied. There's no telling what revenge Goneral will attempt for that!
It will be interesting to see how this plays out in the next round.
Jean
One of the dogs did not fare well in Laura's absence, being a one-woman dog, and might not survive. The accuser requested that Laura not be allowed to return to her house -- which she owns -- and never come to the neighborhood again. Fortunately, there was some intervention and that request was denied. There's no telling what revenge Goneral will attempt for that!
It will be interesting to see how this plays out in the next round.
Jean
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
RATS
It all began with the rat wars. Early last fall I had a call from my neighbor up the road inviting me to come over to her house to meet with her and another neighbor about a situation with rats at the house of my friend Laura who lived across the street from them. Now, I don't know much about rats -- I think I've seen one or two in my life, but they didn't sound like something I'd want running around my yard. I'd heard about rats in New York City when I used to teach there -- rats bigger than cats. The purpose of the meeting was to talk gently with Laura about "her" rat problem and offer help. Believing that to be the case, I went. Please keep in mind that there had recently been quite a bit of renovation in the neighborhood. Rats had been displaced.
We met in the leader's living room. I'll have to give her a name -- Goneral might suit (think one of King Lear's evil daughters). I didn't know her very well, having only spoken with her twice before; once when she almost set fire to the woods behind her house, and the other time when she kindly came to tell me there was a young moose ambling through my driveway. I had no reason to doubt her intentions. I listened to her story about how she and her husband had seen rats over on Laura's property, and how they feared the rats would make their way over to their house. (The question is, where did the rats originate?)
I have to tell you a little bit about Laura. She moved into the neighborhood shortly before I did. She had bought a little bungalow that had seen better days. The previous owner had rented it to a string of drug addicts and other riff raff who had trashed the place big time. There was dog shit everywhere.
Some years ago, Laura had gone through a rather seamy divorce that was well-publicized as she and her husband were well-known in the general area. She ended up destitute. Of a good family and well-educated in private schools, she found herself living hand to mouth on disability. She had owned a well-run kennel, raising prize-winning Irish terriers. She has retained her beneficent outlook on the natural world with an innocence of mind that is dangerous to the self in these times. She is an advocate of peace and environmental responsibility which she pursues with a naive faith. Unfortunately, she is not well-organized in her thinking, whether as a result of the divorce and foreclosure trauma or due to an inborn proclivity.
She has broken the law. She once stole a sandwich giving the reason that she was hungry, ignoring alternatives she might have chosen, saying she's too proud. She also tends to drive unregistered cars. It used to be the Maine way from times she remembers, but it's dangerous to cling to it now. She views the world around her with kindness, wondering why it has used her so ill.
She lives in her little house, wanting peace with her neighbors, generous with her time and her meager possessions, and making a home for the few dogs she has left and around whom her life centers. She chose to live independently in order to provide a home for the dogs although she has disabilities that make this difficult. She does what she can to get along. You or I might not always agree with her methods, but she manages to stay mostly within the law and does nothing seriously illegal. Nothing that would hurt anyone. Limping along with bad knees and bad feet, occasionally gasping with the asthma that plagues her, she struggles on.
When I moved into the neighborhood, she befriended first my daughter Sarah who was here ahead of me, and then me. She was one of the two people who stopped by to say hello -- welcome to the neighborhood. When I was renovating my house, I gave her various appliances that I was getting rid of to help her out with her own efforts to improve her house. I occasionally invited her to dinner. I like to cook for people, and we had many interesting conversations. We would often watch a movie -- by sharing my passion for movies, I found it rekindled an interest from her early years. I was amazed to find how knowledgeable she was about the movie world -- much more so than I was. She was far from ignorant. We often disagreed but the discussions were lively, not hostile. I must also confess that I sometimes dictated advice on her life from my safe vantage point.
Getting back to the day of the rats -- Goneral, the other lady, and I agreed to go together to present our offer of help in cleaning up Laura's yard and shed, and her woodpile which was a haven for rats. We knocked on her back door several times before she came out. She looked at the other two, then at me, suspicion and dismay clouding her face. Goneral was the spokesperson. She explained our mission in what I now perceive as a condescending tone. Laura was visibly upset, rejecting the help, assuring us that she was handling the situation through natural means, and politely expressing appreciation for our concern. She looked at me as at a Judas. I felt like a Judas. Goneral persisted in her offering, giving more rationalizations and becoming more adament that Laura should accept. I jumped in trying to soften things from the direction they were headed. At this point, Laura began crying and stumbled back into her house.
The three of us -- Goneral, Madame X and Judas -- looked at each other. We retreated to Goneral's driveway to discuss the follow-up. Goneral had given Laura a week to clean up the yard at which point she said we would return to check her progress. We decided to wait the week and see what happened. I was already feeling very uncomfortable after Laura's reaction.
The next morning I received a phone call from Goneral. She was upset due to the fact that while cleaning out trash from under her front porch, she found rat holes and evidence of rats. She was calling to inform me that she had called the Town Office to organize a meeting that evening of residents of our road to deal with "Laura's rat problem" and wanted me to attend. I said I would but asked if she had notified Laura of the meeting. She had not, stating that she was afraid to tell her. It was starting to smell like witch hunt. Shades of Arthur Miller's "The Crucible." I informed Goneral that I would call Laura and tell her as she had a right to know and to be present. Goneral hastily ended the conversation.
When I called Laura, she was tearful and hurt. She said Goneral had called her and caustically thanked her for sending her her rats! I told Laura about the meeting that night and she was even more upset. I calmed her and told her I would go with her. She had another friend who would also accompany us so she would be flanked against hostility. Laura went on to tell me what she was doing about the rats. It seems there was an owl -- notorious enemy of rats -- hanging out around her woodpile. This would be a natural solution as opposed to poison and vicious traps proposed by Goneral.
I spent some time on the internet researching rat control, and made copies of a lot of materials that I dropped off to Goneral and the other neighbor. Owls were prominently mentioned as a viable method of rat control.
That evening, Laura and Marian -- her other friend -- met at my house and we proceeded to the Town Offices. The other neighbors were gathering and Goneral was there with her husband. The meeting was being run by a Selectwoman and the attendees took their seats quietly.
Goneral presented her case. Several other neighbors spoke up, asking questions pertaining to what to do if they saw rats on their property. No one was unduly concerned or upset, and no one was blaming Laura -- except Goneral. When it was Laura's turn to speak, Marian and I edged in closer to support her. I had a pad ready to write notes to shove under her nose -- which I did a few times, culminating in STOP! On the whole, Laura presented herself very well, relating her own efforts so far and her intentions. She expressed appreciation for Goneral's concern but stated she did not see that it was necessary to have called this meeting. When she started to get defensive, I wrote STOP.
At the conclusion of the meeting the neighbors were quietly filing out, Goneral rushed to the Selectwoman's side and engaged her in urgent conversation, and Goneral's husband came up to Laura. He took her hand in both of his and apologized. He promised to bring back some expensive tools he had borrowed. Still flanking Laura, the three of us left and returned to my house for the post mortem.
It was clear that the other neighbors had no interest in a witch hunt but that Goneral was intent on it. However, the Town subsequently offered some help to Laura in filling the existing rat holes, and any advice she might feel she needed.
That should have been the end of it. Someone from the Town did bring something to fill the rat holes, and also discovered some problems that Laura was having with heating her house. The Town assisted in obtaining a better heating system for her. Things should have improved.
But Goneral and her husband sat in their house, staring across the street at what they seemed to perceive as the root of all their problems, and hatched their next plot. For some reason, they decided that this peaceable creature, who wanted only to live in harmony with her neighbors, was a danger to them. It seems they woke up one morning and decided, "Let's get a PFA!" That is a legal protection from abuse. They somehow managed to convince a judge that Laura was a dangerous threat to their lives and safety.
Laura was upset at this action, as well she might be. She called me, tearful. I told her to ignore Goneral and her husband, and not fall into any traps they might lay. I told her to think of them as the worms they were. She promised to try that approach. It worked for awhile, but they would watch her from their porch or from behind their curtains while she worked in her yard. She took to talking loudly to herself for them to overhear. She tried to think of them as worms.
The winter came and wore on. It was a hard winter -- enough to try anyone's patience and resolve. Goneral wore on Laura's nerves. I was safely insulated in my house and didn't see what went on. I only heard from Laura from time to time when she came for a dinner and a movie.
I was often annoyed with Laura for her inability to approach her problems in a more effective way, and was in one of these phases when I returned home from my nursing job at midnight one night and saw car lights up the road in front of her house. Maybe I should have driven up there to look for myself, but I turned in to my driveway and went on about my business. It had been a busy shift and I was tired.
I heard nothing from Laura for several days, then a man came to buy some garden equipment I was selling. Laura had placed the ad for me and I mentioned her. The man then told me that he knew her -- had known her for 20 years. He said she "didn't get it then and apparently doesn't get it now." He had seen the notice of her arrest in the local newspaper!
The next day I called Richard, our other neighbor who sometimes helped Laura out with the dogs, and asked if he had heard anything. He told me about the arrest and that most of the charges were false. One was that her car was on Goneral's lawn, breaking the PFA. He saw that it was not when he walked up there. (I would have seen it, too, if I had driven up.) There was a bunch of other nonsense as well, the only true accusation being that she was again driving an unregistered vehicle. She had been allowed one call to him in order to ask him to care for the dogs.
I cannot say how I saw Laura a couple of days later, but I did and she told me more of what happened. Apparently, she was on her way out into the night to help with the search for a missing demented man whose elderly mother she knew. She had been in touch with the police about doing this and received advice on how to proceed. She set out with the intention to help. Unfortunately, her car, not in the best repair, and unregistered, got stuck on the road and wouldn't start up again. Foolish creature that she was, she called Goneral to help her. The reason she did this was that a short time before, Goneral's little dog had run onto Laura's property and Goneral's husband was agitated on the road not knowing what to do. Laura had given him permission to retrieve his dog -- more than once (why wasn't the dog on a leash?) She, in her naive way, thought they might return the favor. Instead they called the police and reported (falsely) that she was on their lawn.
The responding officer was a young fellow not long out of officer training. He would show this dangerous woman not to meddle with the law -- this woman on disability, with bad knees, who walked with difficulty. He accused her of throwing a dangerous missile at him -- a tangerine. According to what Laura told me, he threw her to the ground and handcuffed her. She showed me her bruises. He carted her off to jail.
There she remains. It's been a couple of weeks. Richard is trying as best he can to care for the dogs. We don't hear directly from Laura. She told me she has thought of putting the dogs to sleep, then herself if the alternative is to lose them. I believe her.
All this has arisen because Goneral's nose was out of joint after losing the rat wars. This is her revenge on Laura as the scapegoat for her own humiliation at the meeting at the Town Office. She has caused pain and suffering, and possibly cost the lives of the dogs for whom Laura sacrificed her own well-being. If Laura makes good her plan to end her life, at whose door will it lie? No man is an island. Send not to ask for whom the bell tolls -- it tolls for thee. John Donne
Oh, yes. Laura has told me that Goneral and her husband have stated that they have bought guns since they fear for their lives!
We met in the leader's living room. I'll have to give her a name -- Goneral might suit (think one of King Lear's evil daughters). I didn't know her very well, having only spoken with her twice before; once when she almost set fire to the woods behind her house, and the other time when she kindly came to tell me there was a young moose ambling through my driveway. I had no reason to doubt her intentions. I listened to her story about how she and her husband had seen rats over on Laura's property, and how they feared the rats would make their way over to their house. (The question is, where did the rats originate?)
I have to tell you a little bit about Laura. She moved into the neighborhood shortly before I did. She had bought a little bungalow that had seen better days. The previous owner had rented it to a string of drug addicts and other riff raff who had trashed the place big time. There was dog shit everywhere.
Some years ago, Laura had gone through a rather seamy divorce that was well-publicized as she and her husband were well-known in the general area. She ended up destitute. Of a good family and well-educated in private schools, she found herself living hand to mouth on disability. She had owned a well-run kennel, raising prize-winning Irish terriers. She has retained her beneficent outlook on the natural world with an innocence of mind that is dangerous to the self in these times. She is an advocate of peace and environmental responsibility which she pursues with a naive faith. Unfortunately, she is not well-organized in her thinking, whether as a result of the divorce and foreclosure trauma or due to an inborn proclivity.
She has broken the law. She once stole a sandwich giving the reason that she was hungry, ignoring alternatives she might have chosen, saying she's too proud. She also tends to drive unregistered cars. It used to be the Maine way from times she remembers, but it's dangerous to cling to it now. She views the world around her with kindness, wondering why it has used her so ill.
She lives in her little house, wanting peace with her neighbors, generous with her time and her meager possessions, and making a home for the few dogs she has left and around whom her life centers. She chose to live independently in order to provide a home for the dogs although she has disabilities that make this difficult. She does what she can to get along. You or I might not always agree with her methods, but she manages to stay mostly within the law and does nothing seriously illegal. Nothing that would hurt anyone. Limping along with bad knees and bad feet, occasionally gasping with the asthma that plagues her, she struggles on.
When I moved into the neighborhood, she befriended first my daughter Sarah who was here ahead of me, and then me. She was one of the two people who stopped by to say hello -- welcome to the neighborhood. When I was renovating my house, I gave her various appliances that I was getting rid of to help her out with her own efforts to improve her house. I occasionally invited her to dinner. I like to cook for people, and we had many interesting conversations. We would often watch a movie -- by sharing my passion for movies, I found it rekindled an interest from her early years. I was amazed to find how knowledgeable she was about the movie world -- much more so than I was. She was far from ignorant. We often disagreed but the discussions were lively, not hostile. I must also confess that I sometimes dictated advice on her life from my safe vantage point.
Getting back to the day of the rats -- Goneral, the other lady, and I agreed to go together to present our offer of help in cleaning up Laura's yard and shed, and her woodpile which was a haven for rats. We knocked on her back door several times before she came out. She looked at the other two, then at me, suspicion and dismay clouding her face. Goneral was the spokesperson. She explained our mission in what I now perceive as a condescending tone. Laura was visibly upset, rejecting the help, assuring us that she was handling the situation through natural means, and politely expressing appreciation for our concern. She looked at me as at a Judas. I felt like a Judas. Goneral persisted in her offering, giving more rationalizations and becoming more adament that Laura should accept. I jumped in trying to soften things from the direction they were headed. At this point, Laura began crying and stumbled back into her house.
The three of us -- Goneral, Madame X and Judas -- looked at each other. We retreated to Goneral's driveway to discuss the follow-up. Goneral had given Laura a week to clean up the yard at which point she said we would return to check her progress. We decided to wait the week and see what happened. I was already feeling very uncomfortable after Laura's reaction.
The next morning I received a phone call from Goneral. She was upset due to the fact that while cleaning out trash from under her front porch, she found rat holes and evidence of rats. She was calling to inform me that she had called the Town Office to organize a meeting that evening of residents of our road to deal with "Laura's rat problem" and wanted me to attend. I said I would but asked if she had notified Laura of the meeting. She had not, stating that she was afraid to tell her. It was starting to smell like witch hunt. Shades of Arthur Miller's "The Crucible." I informed Goneral that I would call Laura and tell her as she had a right to know and to be present. Goneral hastily ended the conversation.
When I called Laura, she was tearful and hurt. She said Goneral had called her and caustically thanked her for sending her her rats! I told Laura about the meeting that night and she was even more upset. I calmed her and told her I would go with her. She had another friend who would also accompany us so she would be flanked against hostility. Laura went on to tell me what she was doing about the rats. It seems there was an owl -- notorious enemy of rats -- hanging out around her woodpile. This would be a natural solution as opposed to poison and vicious traps proposed by Goneral.
I spent some time on the internet researching rat control, and made copies of a lot of materials that I dropped off to Goneral and the other neighbor. Owls were prominently mentioned as a viable method of rat control.
That evening, Laura and Marian -- her other friend -- met at my house and we proceeded to the Town Offices. The other neighbors were gathering and Goneral was there with her husband. The meeting was being run by a Selectwoman and the attendees took their seats quietly.
Goneral presented her case. Several other neighbors spoke up, asking questions pertaining to what to do if they saw rats on their property. No one was unduly concerned or upset, and no one was blaming Laura -- except Goneral. When it was Laura's turn to speak, Marian and I edged in closer to support her. I had a pad ready to write notes to shove under her nose -- which I did a few times, culminating in STOP! On the whole, Laura presented herself very well, relating her own efforts so far and her intentions. She expressed appreciation for Goneral's concern but stated she did not see that it was necessary to have called this meeting. When she started to get defensive, I wrote STOP.
At the conclusion of the meeting the neighbors were quietly filing out, Goneral rushed to the Selectwoman's side and engaged her in urgent conversation, and Goneral's husband came up to Laura. He took her hand in both of his and apologized. He promised to bring back some expensive tools he had borrowed. Still flanking Laura, the three of us left and returned to my house for the post mortem.
It was clear that the other neighbors had no interest in a witch hunt but that Goneral was intent on it. However, the Town subsequently offered some help to Laura in filling the existing rat holes, and any advice she might feel she needed.
That should have been the end of it. Someone from the Town did bring something to fill the rat holes, and also discovered some problems that Laura was having with heating her house. The Town assisted in obtaining a better heating system for her. Things should have improved.
But Goneral and her husband sat in their house, staring across the street at what they seemed to perceive as the root of all their problems, and hatched their next plot. For some reason, they decided that this peaceable creature, who wanted only to live in harmony with her neighbors, was a danger to them. It seems they woke up one morning and decided, "Let's get a PFA!" That is a legal protection from abuse. They somehow managed to convince a judge that Laura was a dangerous threat to their lives and safety.
Laura was upset at this action, as well she might be. She called me, tearful. I told her to ignore Goneral and her husband, and not fall into any traps they might lay. I told her to think of them as the worms they were. She promised to try that approach. It worked for awhile, but they would watch her from their porch or from behind their curtains while she worked in her yard. She took to talking loudly to herself for them to overhear. She tried to think of them as worms.
The winter came and wore on. It was a hard winter -- enough to try anyone's patience and resolve. Goneral wore on Laura's nerves. I was safely insulated in my house and didn't see what went on. I only heard from Laura from time to time when she came for a dinner and a movie.
I was often annoyed with Laura for her inability to approach her problems in a more effective way, and was in one of these phases when I returned home from my nursing job at midnight one night and saw car lights up the road in front of her house. Maybe I should have driven up there to look for myself, but I turned in to my driveway and went on about my business. It had been a busy shift and I was tired.
I heard nothing from Laura for several days, then a man came to buy some garden equipment I was selling. Laura had placed the ad for me and I mentioned her. The man then told me that he knew her -- had known her for 20 years. He said she "didn't get it then and apparently doesn't get it now." He had seen the notice of her arrest in the local newspaper!
The next day I called Richard, our other neighbor who sometimes helped Laura out with the dogs, and asked if he had heard anything. He told me about the arrest and that most of the charges were false. One was that her car was on Goneral's lawn, breaking the PFA. He saw that it was not when he walked up there. (I would have seen it, too, if I had driven up.) There was a bunch of other nonsense as well, the only true accusation being that she was again driving an unregistered vehicle. She had been allowed one call to him in order to ask him to care for the dogs.
I cannot say how I saw Laura a couple of days later, but I did and she told me more of what happened. Apparently, she was on her way out into the night to help with the search for a missing demented man whose elderly mother she knew. She had been in touch with the police about doing this and received advice on how to proceed. She set out with the intention to help. Unfortunately, her car, not in the best repair, and unregistered, got stuck on the road and wouldn't start up again. Foolish creature that she was, she called Goneral to help her. The reason she did this was that a short time before, Goneral's little dog had run onto Laura's property and Goneral's husband was agitated on the road not knowing what to do. Laura had given him permission to retrieve his dog -- more than once (why wasn't the dog on a leash?) She, in her naive way, thought they might return the favor. Instead they called the police and reported (falsely) that she was on their lawn.
The responding officer was a young fellow not long out of officer training. He would show this dangerous woman not to meddle with the law -- this woman on disability, with bad knees, who walked with difficulty. He accused her of throwing a dangerous missile at him -- a tangerine. According to what Laura told me, he threw her to the ground and handcuffed her. She showed me her bruises. He carted her off to jail.
There she remains. It's been a couple of weeks. Richard is trying as best he can to care for the dogs. We don't hear directly from Laura. She told me she has thought of putting the dogs to sleep, then herself if the alternative is to lose them. I believe her.
All this has arisen because Goneral's nose was out of joint after losing the rat wars. This is her revenge on Laura as the scapegoat for her own humiliation at the meeting at the Town Office. She has caused pain and suffering, and possibly cost the lives of the dogs for whom Laura sacrificed her own well-being. If Laura makes good her plan to end her life, at whose door will it lie? No man is an island. Send not to ask for whom the bell tolls -- it tolls for thee. John Donne
Oh, yes. Laura has told me that Goneral and her husband have stated that they have bought guns since they fear for their lives!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Blackberry
Webster's tells us it's a small edible, dark fruit. It's also a small, inedible electronic machine, capable of creating the greatest frustration!
I purchased my Blackberry some months ago, being sure that my younger daughter Sarah would help me learn how to use it. Of course, my computer-expert son-in-law James would be able to initiate me quickly into the intricacies of the Blackberry electronic labyrinth, but he is in London. Fat lot of good that does me!
Well, the long and the short of it is that my lovely Blackberry languished in a pocket of my purse until today, several months after purchase, when I ran down to Portland for a visit with Sarah and some book marketing activities.
On the way I got stuck in a little traffic on Route 3 between Belfast and Augusta. No problem. Whip out my trusty Blackberry (I was sure to charge it the evening before) and call Sarah to let her know I'll be late. Can't even figure out how to make a call! I had made one test call to Sarah when I first got it and activated it. Couldn't remember a thing. So much for that.
OK. Sarah and I finally sat down for a Blackberry lesson. Fine. I mastered sending and receiving calls. I even think I understand voice mail. Now it was time for the big test -- internet and email. I'll need to be able to retrieve my email messages from my home computer while I'm away at the BEA Expo in LA at the end of next month, and while on my first book tour in June. Of course, I'm sure Baker and Taylor (book wholesalers) and Amazon are going to be placing mega orders during this time. I have to know about it to be certain that my assistant, Gretel, ships any orders that come in while I'm away!
Well forget it. Outlook Express isn't built in. We did manage to establish a Blackberry email account, but no connection yet to Outlook. Not to worry. When I got home, there was a message on both my Outlook accounts (personal and business) from Blackberry with how-to instructions. The next chapter will tell if that succeeds!
I purchased my Blackberry some months ago, being sure that my younger daughter Sarah would help me learn how to use it. Of course, my computer-expert son-in-law James would be able to initiate me quickly into the intricacies of the Blackberry electronic labyrinth, but he is in London. Fat lot of good that does me!
Well, the long and the short of it is that my lovely Blackberry languished in a pocket of my purse until today, several months after purchase, when I ran down to Portland for a visit with Sarah and some book marketing activities.
On the way I got stuck in a little traffic on Route 3 between Belfast and Augusta. No problem. Whip out my trusty Blackberry (I was sure to charge it the evening before) and call Sarah to let her know I'll be late. Can't even figure out how to make a call! I had made one test call to Sarah when I first got it and activated it. Couldn't remember a thing. So much for that.
OK. Sarah and I finally sat down for a Blackberry lesson. Fine. I mastered sending and receiving calls. I even think I understand voice mail. Now it was time for the big test -- internet and email. I'll need to be able to retrieve my email messages from my home computer while I'm away at the BEA Expo in LA at the end of next month, and while on my first book tour in June. Of course, I'm sure Baker and Taylor (book wholesalers) and Amazon are going to be placing mega orders during this time. I have to know about it to be certain that my assistant, Gretel, ships any orders that come in while I'm away!
Well forget it. Outlook Express isn't built in. We did manage to establish a Blackberry email account, but no connection yet to Outlook. Not to worry. When I got home, there was a message on both my Outlook accounts (personal and business) from Blackberry with how-to instructions. The next chapter will tell if that succeeds!
Friday, March 28, 2008
THE BOOKS, MY DENTIST, AND OUT AND ABOUT
Well, folks, I have recovered from unloading and storing the 2000 books. I've already managed to throw away two cartons -- some sold, some given away as review or complimentary copies. Progress.
A couple of weeks ago I was at my dentist's, Midcoast Dentistry, and I promised that I would write a blog entry about my visit. To be fair, I didn't tell them that it would be about how I sat staring fixedly at the light, just praying for it to be over. I did tell Kayla, the technician, that I really miss the old swish and spit cups as I sat there clutching this suction gadget, ineffectively running it through my mouth periodically, then swallowing heaven knows what. Now, Dr. Randy, did you really think I was going to say it was really fun and what a wonderful time I had? Be reasonable. That's just not in the nature of dental beasts! Let me end by saying that, as horrifying an experience a trip to the dentist's is by nature, Dr. Randy and Kayla do what they can to make the experience less painful.
The really big news this week is that I finally pried myself out of the house and started visiting libraries and bookstores in my area. The result has been fantastic. Most of the bookstores have taken the book or are seriously considering it, (we're talking about STOLEN FIELDS in case you're wondering or have been living in a cave for the last few months), and the libraries have been receptive as well. The old actress in me is stirring and I'm looking forward to meeting and greeting, and telling stories to a rapt audience. The experience is whetting my appetite for the upcoming book tour in June and subsequent appearances. I feel like Norma Desmond! (See "Sunset Boulevard").
A couple of weeks ago I was at my dentist's, Midcoast Dentistry, and I promised that I would write a blog entry about my visit. To be fair, I didn't tell them that it would be about how I sat staring fixedly at the light, just praying for it to be over. I did tell Kayla, the technician, that I really miss the old swish and spit cups as I sat there clutching this suction gadget, ineffectively running it through my mouth periodically, then swallowing heaven knows what. Now, Dr. Randy, did you really think I was going to say it was really fun and what a wonderful time I had? Be reasonable. That's just not in the nature of dental beasts! Let me end by saying that, as horrifying an experience a trip to the dentist's is by nature, Dr. Randy and Kayla do what they can to make the experience less painful.
The really big news this week is that I finally pried myself out of the house and started visiting libraries and bookstores in my area. The result has been fantastic. Most of the bookstores have taken the book or are seriously considering it, (we're talking about STOLEN FIELDS in case you're wondering or have been living in a cave for the last few months), and the libraries have been receptive as well. The old actress in me is stirring and I'm looking forward to meeting and greeting, and telling stories to a rapt audience. The experience is whetting my appetite for the upcoming book tour in June and subsequent appearances. I feel like Norma Desmond! (See "Sunset Boulevard").
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