The war is over!

"Get up! Get up!" General Katz yowled as she sat on my chest. "It's time to finish off the war!"

It was only 6:30 on a Saturday morning and it surely wasn't time to start the day. Unfortunately, the little general wasn't backing off. Reluctantly, I waddled out of bed to get her breakfast and get her off my back. Or rather, my chest.

But it was time. She was right. I looked outside to get my bearings on the day ahead. The ground was soft from a nice rain the night before. Clouds filled the day. Yes, this was the day to end the war that had been waging in my own backyard.

The war on crabgrass.

For years, I was resigned to the war. Hated the backyard because it was just so dull. I'd neglected it and paid for it heavily as the years took their toll. As the years passed, I was mowing less Bermuda and more of the crabgrass. It hit my knees at times it got so tall. Finally this spring I decided to attack.

In early March, after what was supposed to be the last freeze, I hit the backyard with roundup. Hit it hard. There was a bit of St Augustine grass that had been trying to move its allied forces in from neighboring lands, but it could never take hold of much but the edges. Where it stood, it stood firm. I allowed it to continue. But the nasty crabgrass got a full napalm-like explosion to kill it all. It worked. In a matter of weeks, it was crippled and dying.

But even in death, the crabgrass held onto its territory. Never letting go or relenting. I needed to get new reinforcements in to help the fringe army from next door. But to do this, I had to remove the decaying army still holding ground.

It took me 3 days of battle to finally pull the last of the dead crabgrass from the ground, all by hand and most of it holding tight in its roots. I took away 10, 30-gallon sized bags from the yard and sent it along to the trash. All the while General Katz was watching from a distance. It was exhausting but the war is over.

As the final hours of the battle were waged and the reinforcements brought in in waves (the transporters only held about 60 sheets of sod at a time), Katz patrolled the new territory, surveying the land, and sniffing it all out to make sure it was just right. She sighed, then as any good general, laid down in the sun, blissfully snoring in the sun.

All is good in the backyard lands these days. The new troops are standing tall and holding steady. As time goes on, these troops should propagate and take over the rest of the land.

Freedom reigns in St Augustine!

Jake

It's been over 2 years since I had to let Big Jake go. My 22 pound orange chatty cat with a head the size of a softball was part dog, part human (he'd belch and snore with the best guy), but mostly an obnoxious cat. And I loved him. The day I had to put him down, he had been sick for nearly a month and down to 14 pounds, which on him, was emaciated. Many times, mainly when he was "talking" to me in the middle of the night I threatened to shoot him, but I never really meant it. I was a blubbering mess for several weeks afterwards.

But why do I bring this up?

Yesterday I was flying home from a fabulous bit of tropical therapy in Belize (another blog) and the airline had Marley and Me playing. I'd read the book and knew the ending. I remember laughing through the whole book, then actually crying in the end. And this was before I lost Jake.

The movie was good, but not nearly as good as the book. But I knew about the ending. I kept a napkin from my drink back just in case I teared up. What I wasn't expecting was the outright rush of pain as the final scenes were coming up. It got to a point where I couldn't see anymore through the tears and that I thought I'd start sobbing if I continued watching. I unplugged my headphones, grabbed a book, and refused to look at the screen until we were on final approach. I never did see the ending, but know what happened. Just thinking about it kept my eyes wet.

How is it that 22 pounds of fur can still affect me so much several years later? As much of a pain-in-the-ass my boy was, I loved him dearly. I can't believe I still miss him so much.

Random stuff

Much like watching elementary school kids, it's hard not to laugh at the lineup of carpool vans at 4pm outside one of the entrances at SWA each afternoon. Each van is waiting for its charges before hitting the roads for home.
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I leave the door to my backyard open sometimes when I'm home and it's warm enough to do so. My cat, Tweak, enjoys rolling around in the dirt and hunting lizards. The other night the winds were high and something obviously spooked her. She came tearing through the door; into the hous, tail poofed out like a bottlebrush. At that exact instant, the wind blew the front door open (I didn't have it shut all the way apparently) and she took the opportunity to continue her tear through the house and out the front door. The door immediately slammed shut behind her. It all happened so fast, it didn't seem real.

In my laughter filled with tears, I wandered to the front door to find Tweak's fur completely blown up and pupils dialted to the fullest. She scampered back inside, then gave an insolent sniff in the air as if she meant to give that show.

It still makes me giggle thinking about it. Dumb cat.
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I also giggle when the cat snores. Sometimes it's a slight wheeze. Other times, it's a tiny snort. Either way, it's just so dang cute!
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The wind in north Texas is awful this time of year. It's just so dang gusty in the spring. Not a week goes by without a trip down the alley in search of an esacped garbage can. You'd think I was beating it or something. Sheesh. I'm ready for May and the wind to die down so I can ride more.
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It's almost time to start riding the bike to work again. I noticed on the drive in to work the other day that there was a bit of light on the horizon at 6:30ish. This is a great sign! One check with the sunrise/sunset tables and sure enough, the nautical sunrise, which is the glow on the horizon before actual sunrise, will start to be between 6:15 and 6:30 starting next week. Yay!
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I've had nothing but junk food this past week. Birthday celebrations are bad for the ass.
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There are 4 more days until I'm in Belize again.
There are 61 days until the Danskin triathlon in Austin (gotta seriously start getting ready for this).
There are 110 days unti RAGBRAI (7 day bike ride across Iowa - google it) kicks off, and yes, the getting ready for this also applies.
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Our RAGBRAI team is made up of mostly people from my flying squadron. Okay, they're still in and enjoying the flying time, but I'm retired. Yay!

Over the years, we've spent many days worth of St Croix per diem on Cruzan Rum, mine mainly on Mango rum. In honor of that, we named our team "Cruzan Around".

Thinking that we had a great opportunity to get the word out, I've been trying to get hold of either the company or a local distributor to see if they'd sponsor us by helping us with jerseys or donate rum to the cause. Surely we'd give some away to the other 10,000 people cycling across Iowa? No luck.

Fortunately, yesterday I got a text from my great friend, Greg, who said that we were now being sponsored by Boudreaux's Butt Paste. Wow, what a change, huh? Sadly, I think there will be just as many cyclists excited about this as they would've been for the rum. Either have a way of soothing the chafing.