Misheru

At some point, we will probably need to find homes for all our pets: two dogs, a turtle and several fish. If it were up to me, we’d have several herps and maybe even a tarantula (females live to be 25-30 years old and are very docile), along with a rabbit and a cat. And maybe a bird. And a hamster. And of course a guinea pig…

As you can see, Marti really has to put his foot down.

It’s hard for me to explain the joy I get from having animals around. I like to gripe and complain about what a pain they are, but then if they are sick or hurt or just seem miserable, I’m a total softie. Case in point: I was late to track practice the other day because the doggies NEEDED a walk. They just had that *look* that begged — please walk me!

Marti also likes to gripe about me and my animals, and I like to remind him that I am kind to husbands as well as dogs. AND MAYBE IT’S RELATED. After all, husbands are quite similar — they like to lay on you, eat your food and leave little messes for you to clean up. Marti needs to be taken for walks sometimes too (kind of — although we call it “date night”). And, even though I like to gripe and complain about husbands, whenever mine is sick or hurt or just seems miserable, I’m a total softie. I’m just sayin’.

So, back to the point here: my pet habit. I’ve already spoken with Ben’s teacher about taking the turtle. The fish seem easily transportable or giftable. Ewok will go to my mom. It’s Saffron that I worry about — our big, dumb, gentle, mean-looking dog that is cowed by our Shih Tzu. I’ve noticed that, once people see that Saffron isn’t eating Ewok alive, they are much less afraid of her. Ewok nips at Saffron’s head — he literally has to jump to do this — and Saffron could easily smack him down with a paw, but she doesn’t. Strangely enough, they are friends, and I worry about both of them when they are inevitably separated.

It’s one of those things that makes me dread going to my A-100 class for the foreign service, but for now, I’ll just keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best. And try not to adopt any more animals in the meantime…(although those captured feral cats really do need a home…)

Very occasionally, Marti and I have a disagreement about food. Mostly I know he doesn’t eat peas or mushrooms or Japanese yam noodles (he’s totally missing out there) and he doesn’t get me quarts of ice cream or cook bacon every night.

However, there is the milk. I like organic, Marti thinks organic is a waste of money. However, he does tend to buy these:

So, last night, for fun, I started crunching the numbers. I wanted to know how much lattes cost, per gallon, when I buy them hand-crafted at my favorite coffee shop.  Here is the cost of the milk: $56.11/gallon, plus $7.88 worth of coffee, for a total of $63.99 per gallon. A gallon of milk’s worth of lattes made at home costs me just $6 in coffee (from the same coffee shop and exactly what they use) + $6 in organic milk = $12.

Making my own lattes at home, using the espresso machine I bought for Marti last Christmas (two Christmases ago?) that has long since paid for itself, I can make a similar latte for $0.57 per cup — with organic milk. With regular milk, it would cost me somewhere around $0.35, although I didn’t check those numbers.

The point here, though, is this: MARTI, HE LOVES HIS LATTES. And when I mentioned just how much his lattes cost, per gallon, I noticed he didn’t balk when I got organic milk at the store. After all, $6.00 seems pretty paltry, now, doesn’t it?

I win.

Interestingly enough, for me the outside of a house is far more important than the inside. Take this house; our master bath is the size of a broom closet (except smaller) but we have a big backyard with spaces. I mean, there is a playground, and a fenced-so-the-javelina-can’t-eat-it garden, and a little rustic gazebo area with pavers. Yes, it takes 5 full minutes for the shower to heat up, and we have the world’s worst instant hot water heater (it takes such a volume of water to flip the auto-switch we have to run hot water in the sink in order for the shower to stay hot). BUT, I love the backyard, and I love this little bench, and I love the fact that I see desert — not a fence, or my neighbor’s rusted car, or an abandoned mattress — out my back yard.

This is a rental, and believe it or not I’ve seen some beautiful houses — inside — that have nothing more than bare dirt around it. Oh Tucson. Cactus is practically free here, and it’s green. I once had a friend who threw out a barrel cactus — yes, threw it out on its side — and it not only righted itself, it re-planted itself and grew roots again. That’s the kind of determination I can admire in a photosynthetic being. Anyway, we rented the house because of the yard, and I’ve spent quite a bit of time rocking in the back yard and attempting to draw things I will never show to another person. It’s amazing to me how different Tucson feels when I have nature nearby, and suddenly I realize why, all this time, people have raved about the place.

Life is different outside the concrete.