2012: Review and Resolution

 

Each year on December 31st for the past twenty-five years I have had a ritual where I review the year. In a small notebook on index cards I write the year and columns for GOOD and BAD. Some years I have put categories for INDIFFERENT, HMMM..., NOT SURE, NOT SO GOOD, REALLY NASTY or WORSE THAN HELL.  At times the same experience fits into both categories. For instance, in 2000 I have under the GOOD column "Fell in love" with an arrow drawn across the card pointing to the BAD column with the guy's name. HA!

 

I'm not sure why I started this. Maybe I was thinking if I make some kind of written assessment it will all even out because then I remind myself of the Good that happened when I tend to concentrate on the Bad. It's easier to dwell on the Bad. Of course, years later even the Bad column makes me smile. Time has a way of making the Bad seem funny. Thankfully.

 

In a way it's like a abbreviated diary, highlights of the past year. I've kept diaries since I was about twelve years old but because I use my writing as an emotional outlet, when the book is filled I wonder why I bothered. It's great therapy at the time, but also a self-violation of privacy. I don't want people reading my private thoughts so I throw them away.  One year I threw my diary in the garbage and the following week I found it on my evil step-sister's nightstand. I'm sure she was reading it for her entertainment pleasure. So I started destroying the diary before it gets to the garbage. I wish I still had them. Especially those I had when I was young. Oh well.

 

So, what about 2012?

Good: blog, Peter, garage remodel, garage sale, health improvement with diet, Jason Mraz concert, garden

Bad: construction worker hell

Looks like it's been a fairly good year. I hope in years to come "construction worker hell" will make me smile, but not today.

 

On the back of next year's index card I put my planned New Year's Resolution. Since most of them I don't keep, they are more like goals. I tend to write multiple resolutions in hopes of one being kept so I include some with positive advice like: Have Fun, Be Happy, Survive. In hindsight, the resolutions are fun to read as they often give the mood for how the previous year went. Survive said it all. Here are some of my more colorful resolutions:

No More Purses
Ask Out 100 Men
Avoid Office Jobs
No Flaming

So now I should think of a resolution...

 

What is your New Year's Resolution for 2013?

Santy Claws in Chicago

 

I read online trapping and relocating a opossum is like someone kidnapping you from your home, transporting you in a cage, dumping you blindfolded in the middle of the night in the middle of Chicago, and leaving you to fend for yourself. No home, no food, no money, no cell phone, no friends. In a bad neighborhood. Lots of subversives wanting to do you harm and not knowing where you can go to be safe.

 

Oh! That makes me feel so bad! So I'm torn. If I don't relocate the Santy Claws, he will either die from the neighbor's poison, another neighbor will shoot him, or best case scenario, my neighbor across the street will trap and relocate him. I'm thinking I don't have a choice.

But I feel very sad for Santy Claws. Too bad he can't be trained to live under the shed and stay out from under my house. I'd even feed him. Free room and board to guard my property against rats, mice, slugs, snails and anything dead. (They eat dead animals.) I think that's a fair trade if only I could talk him into it.

If I had a lot of property like fifty acres, I'd build a little opossum-proof house and have everyone relocate their opossums to my property.  I'd have to join the Society for Opossum Lovers.

The same website said to put ammonia in little bowls with cloth in the area where you don't want your visitor. I put five bowls of ammonia under my house...




Santy Claws Foils the 'Possum Wrangler, Again

He ate the blueberry trails. Both of them. He ate the blueberry positioned right at the top of the garbage can! He ate the tiny bit of banana at the other garbage can. He didn't get in either trap.

Drats....

I am perplexed. I think Santy Claws is an exceptionally wise and clever opossum.

Patience, 'Possum Wrangler'.



Santy Claws Has Disappeared?

R.I.P. Santy Claws

Either Santy Claws doesn't care for the gourmet meal I've laid out for him or he's lying dead under my house.

I hope he's not dead....

I heard him around midnight last night briefly and then nothing. He was not in either trap this morning. Maybe another neighbor caught him and hauled him off?

I hope he's not dead....

On the chance he is alive and well, I snagged some sweet smelling bananas, blueberries and tomatoes from the half-off and out dated stock at the grocery store. I left a trail of blueberries to the traps. If he's still around, I don't know how he will be able to resist such a fine spread.

I hope he's not dead....

Santy Claws is Winning

"I'm the winner...ha..ha..ha."

I doubt if Santy Claws even looked at the garbage can last night. I didn't go out into the yard this time because I wonder if last time I scared him too much. I didn't see him through the living room window.

In the morning I checked the hole entrance. The newspaper hadn't been moved so either he didn't leave all night or he has another hole somewhere. I've looked all over. I guess it doesn't matter if he has another hole. I just need him to get in a trap. I removed the newspaper so he has easy access to the yard and trap.

He didn't tap dance much last night either. Hardly any noise. I hope he's not dying under my house.

So...I added another trap. This time in the shed so it won't get wet with rain and located on the other side of the yard so he now has a choice.

A 'possum wrangler must be patience...

'Possum Wrangling (My New Winter Project)

I'm learning a lot about opossums. Did you know if you have a opossum on the property you won't have any rats, mice, snakes, slugs or snails? Opossums are an excellent pest control strategy. Still, I know he's under the house making nests out of my insulation and maybe even damaging my heat ducts. If I could train him to live in the shed and be pleasant, I'd let him stay.

Yum. Yum.

So, round three.

At first light I inspected the area behind the shed. Unfortunately, there is only about a foot between the back of the shed and the fence so it's hard to get at and hard to even see. There IS a hole going under the shed barely visible! This confirms he's using those old vole runs underneath the garden. Obviously the tunnels go under my house and come up somewhere in the crawlspace which gives me the willies. I read a website that suggests stuffing newspaper in the hole. When he comes out at dusk he will push the newspaper away and that is the indication that he is out for the evening. One is supposed to sprinkle flour around so as to see his tracks go in and out, but it's so wet from the downpour of rain, it wouldn't work here.

Hard to see but the fence is on the right (yellowy-brown)
and the shed is the off white on the left. Right in the
middle of the photo between the blackberry canes
you can see the bottom edge of the
shed and some of the newspaper sticking out.
 

ALSO, about two feet away there is a hole in the fence! Ah ha! He has been here a while making all kinds of secret escapes and passageways. This could be how he was disappearing so fast, unless he just went into the hole under the shed.

About the time of my first spotting of him, my neighbors who are not living in their house had a pest control company walking around their property. I wondered why. I found out today when I contacted them the pest control man screened off their house to get rid of him. Not sure how they knew if he was in or out since it was all done during the day, or maybe they entrapped the Mrs. Santy Claws and she died under the house? Maybe that's why they moved out of the house? Dead opossum bodies would stink to high heaven. Thanks a lot stupid, inconsiderate neighbors for doing a half-ass job and forcing Santy Claws to take up residence at my house! They also told me they have placed poison around the house. Idiots! I hope Santy Claws finds his way to my trap or he is doomed! If he dies under my house, I'm doomed!


My goal is to capture him before I seal off the hole. I want to make sure he's out. I've tweaked the trap to make it (hopefully) more effective.

 

First, I sheltered the garbage can with bigger and better plastic so if he does finally crawl in he won't be sitting there freezing in the rain.

 

Second, I've also given him a smorgasbord of food to eat to keep him busy while he waits for me to take him away. The food co-op I shop at gave me some overripe persimmons and I added some tuna. With the peanut butter, a three-course gourmet meal is waiting for him!


Now I just wait...

Santy Claws is the Wily Coyote

At 2 am right on the mark, Santy Claws is making noise. No more scratching. It sounds like something tapping on wood. When the noise stops, I get out of bed and look out the window to see if he's found my trap. I don't see him. I get impatient so I venture outside.

I hate going outside in the middle of the night with all the sharp-fanged wild beasts running around. I arm myself with a flashlight and head up the side of the house to the front. I SEE SANTY CLAWS! He's running the perimeter of my fence and coming toward me. AWAY from the trap. Drats! Again, he's blinded by my flashlight so he doesn't understand I'm connected to it. It's so freaky to have a wild beast running toward you. He runs behind one of my sheds and disappears. Hmmm...I need him to go the other way. To the trap.

I don't understand why the trap wasn't attractive, but I also wonder where the hell he went. I walk around the to other side of the shed and I heard a noise. Is he IN the shed? I have an open entrance for Peter, although Peter never uses it. I block the entrance. I get closer to the back of the shed and I can see Santy Claws between shed and the fence facing out away from me. I think he's looking for me and wondering if it's safe to leave. I scare him out and he runs away, along the perimeter of the fence and again, past the trap and disappears again. Damn.

I go back into the house and watch from the living room window because he's over by the trap and I don't want to stress him so he forgets he's hungry. Here comes Santy again, right past the trap. He totally ignores it. This makes me mad!

I head back outside to the front yard, he's slowly and cautiously waddling again around the perimeter of the fence toward me. I make some noise and he waddles at little faster. What do I do? Oddly enough, I have a cage over one of my plants to keep Peter from eating it. Ah ha! I grab the cage and as Santy is coming around the bend I THROW the cage on top of him!!

It would have worked wonderfully but he was in the garden and the mounds of dirt are not level so he quickly escaped through a space under the cage. He runs behind the shed again, but this time he totally disappears.

Now I have to say, I had a very large stick in my hands. It's actually the handle to an old shovel so it's less like stick and more like a bat. My weapon-stick. I could have beaten the life out of Santy Claws. Well, actually, I couldn't have. As frustrating as he is, there is a weird cuteness about him I rather like. This may change. It would be in his best interest to get into my trap voluntarily.

I decide the peanut butter isn't attractive enough so I open a can of tuna, take the juice and splash it on the ramp and in the garbage can. I go back to the shed hoping he's back to his hiding tricks, but he's not anywhere.

In the house I can hear him under the house again making tapping sounds! I think there must be a hole behind the shed that goes under and comes out under the house? Hmmm...I wonder if he's using some unknown underground system? I once dug up the garden right next to the shed in preparation for potatoes. For potatoes one needs to dig deep and about a foot down I discovered a huge hole, tunnel to be exact. I was told we have a problem with Thompson voles in this area. I guess they are like a cross between a rat and a mole and they tunnel under gardens to get from place to place, snacking on roots as they go. Creepy. At the time I poured garlic, onion, cayenne pepper into the tunnel and filled it with gravel. Did Santy Claws find an entrance and claim the passage way as his own?

I watch for him to come back out...he's got to be attracted to that tuna. Eventually. Hopefully before it rains again.

He's now  tormenting me with his incessant tapping. It's only 4am. One more hour before he retires for the night.

Damn...foiled again.

I'm not giving up! I think tomorrow I'll remove all the chicken wire since he can get under the house anyway. This might give him easier access to the trap.  The plan now is not so much to keep him out from under the house since he has secret passage ways, but to get him in the trap.

I am determined.

Note: At daylight I'll add some photos.

The Return of Santy Claws

As expected, Santy Claus returned Christmas morning at 5am. Twice on Christmas and he still didn't leave me any toys!

I need to get rid of him. Opossums are creatures of habit and I have a feeling he's made himself right at home and will return all the time to check if there is an opening. Or he'll make an opening. I'd also like to someday remove all that chicken wire and boards so it doesn't look so horrible.

While researching animal traps online, I read quite a bit on how easy opossums are to catch. They aren't real fast, smart or agile. When caged, as long as you don't scare them senseless causing them to hiss and defend themselves, they will sit quietly pretending they aren't there. There are videos online of kids catching opossums and try as they might they can hardly get the thing out of the cage to release it because it's cowering in a corner. I also read mothers with babies transport them in and out of their hidding places in her pouch or hanging off her back so they won't be separated.

On a website featuring how to make a homemade box trap, one commenter gave an easy trapping option using your garbage can. I'm intrigued! Directions:

1.) Set the garbage can where you know the opossum will travel.

2.) Place a board up the side of the garbage can as a ramp. Make sure it is long enough and strong enough to hold the opossum.

Yummy peanut butter.

3.) Put bait inside the garbage can: fish, ripe fruit, peanut butter. They like smelly stuff. I'm using peanut butter.

4.) Wait. They only come out at night.

The opossum will smell the food, crawl up the board, climb in and he can't get out! They aren't jumpers and the sides of the garbage can are too slick for them to latch on to anything and crawl out.

5.) Put the garbage can lid on top and relocate him far away.

So I'm going to give it a try! Problem around here is it rains too much so finding a dry spot to put the can is impossible. I've remedied it a bit by putting the can in the corner of the garden right next to the fence and hanging some plastic over. Might help a little. The fence also supports the board so it won't fall over when Santy Claus is crawling in. I know he likes this corner of the garden because it's his toilet. Grrrrr....

The things I do for entertainment!

Creatures Are Stirring...But It's Not a Mouse!

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Twas the night before Christmas...This began a few weeks ago when leaving extra early for my morning walk, at 5am, I encountered a very large rodent-looking visitor outside my house. I chased him down the driveway and around the corner, but I've been living in the country long enough to know that would only be the beginning of the Winter War. I became watchful, paranoid, ready to defend my home against all intruders. Opossums included.

I once saw a cat disappear under my house. For a long time I didn't realize it was a convenient shortcut to the other side of the property to slither under the shingles through a small opening hidden from view above the brick skirting. When I first bought the house I hired someone to nail screening underneath it so small animals couldn't get in. Unfortunately, he couldn't put enough screening at the crawlspace entrance or no one could get in for maintenance. When I saw the cat still using the opening, I ended up stuffing deer netting up under the shingles at that spot as a precautionary measure and adding a board in hopes of blocking the entrance.

Problem with this half-assed solution is it gave opossum something to play with, a challenge. I didn't realize this until the early morning hours on the day before Christmas when I heard scratch, scratch, scratch outside my window.

At first light I checked and the netting was adjusted just so and the noise I heard must have been from opossum scratching his way up the board and under the shingles.

All day yesterday I worried about what opossum might be doing underneath the house: destroying my heat vents for warmth, making a nice cozy bed out of the insulation, camping in the furnace? Although I knew what time he went in for bed, I had no idea what time he awoke. As soon as the sun went down, I was watching the driveway. Every hour I'd grab my flashlight, raincoat, rain boots and head outside into the cold. Nice way to spend Christmas eve.

At 2 am I wake to scratch, scratch, scratch. This is it! Creatures ARE stirring! I quietly grabbed the flashlight and ran outside. I can see where he has moved the netting. OH! THERE HE IS! Santy Claws has come to town!

Oh! You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you why, Santy Claws is coming to town.... This song has a whole new meaning for me now as I'm watching out, crying, and pouting about having rodents living with me!

 

Santy Claws (I think he's a "he", hopefully not a she with babies or she'll be more than determined to get back under the house!) was waddling away from the newly opened entrance about five feet down the driveway. I turned my flashlight on him and hissed hoping to expedite his exit, but it scared him, the light blinded him, he turns toward me and runs at me back to the entrance! Didn't expect that! If he gets back under the house, I might not get another chance! I run at him and meet him only one foot from where he came out and before he can jump in, I hit him on his snout with the flashlight! Santy Claws backs away and hightails it down the driveway away from the house.

This is my chance! I grab the chicken wire and unroll it across the whole side of the house, placing boards, boulders and heavy post pieces strategically along so he can't get under or over. Of course, I'm frantically getting this done in the pouring rain, in my pajamas, without a raincoat because I was in too much of a hurry.

Then I double checked the rest of the house. I did this earlier and didn't see anything, but I wanted to make sure as this was my only chance to barricade knowing (hoping) he wasn't under the house. I took more chicken wire and placed it around my deck. There is already lattice around, but Santy Claws isn't very big, maybe an adolescent, so I wanted to make sure he can't squeeze through somewhere. Heaven help me if he somehow slithered under the house on the far side before I got there and I've trapped him in!

More concentration-camp decor...

We'll see if that works.  Opossums aren't rats, but marsupials. You'd think he'd be a good friend for Peter. I've heard opossums not only kill chickens, but will go after a rabbit. Not on my watch! Peter is actually bigger than Santy Claws, but Peter doesn't have his sharp claws and fangs. If this doesn't deter Santy Claws, I'll have to invest in a trap and ship him far, far away.

 

All my neighbors have traps. One of them told me he awoke one night and found baby opossums in bed with him! I was hoping to move before I saw the need to purchase a trap, but I can also use it for raccoons and the neighbor's cat. Perhaps the time has come. A trap might be a cheaper solution to keep the cats out of my garden than all this chicken wire I use.


Can I go back to bed now?

What a way to spend Christmas!

My SFF

I used to shop all the time. Pre-chemical sensitivity I spent so much money at Nordstrom I'm surprised I don't own a stock majority. In an attempt to maintain my shopping habit, I even wrote Nordstrom letters about their stinky salespeople and smelly store. I once suggested moving the perfume counters to the top floor with state-of-the-art ventilation going out the ceiling. If 15% of the population are seriously fragrance-free, then that's 15% of the population who cannot shop at their store. You'd think they'd care. You would also think with a hundred or so employees working at one store they would at least restrict the amount of perfumes and colognes worn by the staff so the store doesn't smell like such a toxic waste dump. But they don't, so I don't...shop there.

Until today! This was the first time walking into a Nordstrom in ten years. I normally shop at cleaner smelling stores that have a variety of merchandise besides clothing and perfume. These stores can still be problematic, but for the most part there isn't a salesperson standing at every corner wanting to spray you with poison. Still, I can't find clothes that fit at these other stores and even if I do, everything is made in China. I'm also looking for a raincoat. Mine is fifteen years old and looks it, but try finding a raincoat not made in China. Grrrrrr.... So as a holiday reward after working for two months without a day off, I thought I'd go on a risk-taking adventure to Nordstrom.

Within ten minutes inside the door, my head started spinning, but the stench wasn't too bad.  I knew it would be the worst on the ground floor where the perfume counters were located so I headed upstairs immediately. I chose to go in the morning when it's fairly quiet with less people and less staff.


In one of the departments a incredibly perky young girl approached and asked if I need help. I immediately asked if she was wearing perfume. She stuttered a little, her perpetual smile quivered briefly, and said with squeaky cheerfulness, "Ah, no, but I do have lotion on." I assure you, I don't want her smelly lotion on the clothes I might buy so I asked her if there was anyone on the floor who was fragrance-free. I was hopeful, but realistic. I doubt it. My plan was to ask every salesperson I encountered. Eventually they would get the message they won't get a commission off me unless they are fragrance-free. My new mantra. And it rhymes!


Another young saleswoman approached me and asked if I needed help. If you understand the Nordstrom's sales process you know the key is to claim a salesperson as soon as possible to avoid being asked this question every five minutes. Thank you, someone is already helping me does the trick. Stealing another sales associate's customers will get you fired. Again with no expectation, I asked this girl if she was fragrance-free. YES! YES! SHE WAS! I almost hugged her! She told me when she was working at another Nordstrom location in a downtown area she had quite a few customers who were chemically sensitive. Hooray! I told her she was my salesperson of choice. My Salesgirl Fragrance Free. SFF.

I then explained I have a limited amount of time before all the stench would gang up on me and my tolerance would expire so we'd have to work fast. My preferences were natural fabrics, nothing made in China, preferably made in America, pants that fit and I was only going in the dressing room once. Go!

Nearly everything was made in China. I was disappointed. If I wanted Chinese manufactured clothing I'd shop at any number of cheap stores that aren't so smelly. This is Nordstrom. I expected a better class of clothing especially since the price is marked up 200% or more. You really had to search for the few items that were American-made and my time was limited.

My SFF found me jeans. Who invented stretchy jeans!? Good gracious I have been missing out all these years! And made in America!

We kept moving swiftly through the racks, my SFF and I, like a well-rehearsed team, reading tags, flipping hangers, murmuring hmmm and growling China.

Then SFF found me a raincoat! Bright red and not made in China. Not made in America either, but I don't know if it's possible to find an American-made raincoat. I've been looking for years. My SFF is wonderful.


SFF snagged me a dressing room in the lingerie department. She said that department has the least amount of salespeople and not as busy. She selected a room way at the end of the hall so smelly people wouldn't be constantly walking by. I love my SFF! As I tried clothes on, she brought me in more. Most of them were ugly, but that's how SFF was learning what I liked and didn't like.

Feeling quite satisfied, accomplished, and brave with a minimal amount of coughing, I decided drool over shoes. Unfortunately, shoes are downstairs right next to the perfumes. My SFF volunteered to go with me to help. Cha-ching. She was counting her commission. Smart SFF. Having once been a Nordstrom employee myself, I knew she couldn't help me in shoe department because it takes special training and knowledge to find merchandise in the stockroom. It's a jungle back there. And the shoe salespeople are very possessive. You don't wander out of your department and into the shoe department unless you had a death wish. SFF was a little nervous so I guessed she was new, but not totally oblivious to the rules. I spied some cool boots and asked my SFF about them. As we were discussing the pros and cons of style, a shoe salesperson approached me, glared at my SFF, and asked if I needed help. SFF looked frightened. I asked the woman, "Are you wearing perfume?" She squinted her eyes at me, defiantly placed one hand on her hip, and replied, "Yes."

I replied, "No, thank you." I turned to my SFF and said I would probably need to go to another store for shoes where people aren't wearing perfume.

Sarcastic shoe saleslady said with a smug sneer, "But it's Brad Pitt's favorite perfume!"

Is she serious? WHO CARES? Who would ever care what kind of perfume the Pitt would like? Is that really why she bought it? Does she think Brad Pitt will walk into this Nordstrom, give up his very fertile girlfriend who looks like a starving mannequin (that's "dummy" in French) and their twenty kids and run away with her because she was wearing his favorite stink?

 

My annoyed alter ego took over. I replied with a look that matched if not exceeded her sneer, "Brad Pitt is an idiot." Yeah, I know that was unnecessarily mean, but it had been at least a half hour or more smelling toxic air and my brain was feeling irritable. When being poisoned, the MCSer can't possibly be responsible for rude comments.

 

Too smelly to stay, SFF and I quickly relocated to the less toxic upstairs lingerie department where she rang up my purchases. She suggested I call her anytime and she would mail me merchandise with free shipping. So nice of her, but I told her I've tried that before and Nordstrom's merchandise is scented so I'd rather not. As I departed, I yelled back at her loud enough for everyone to hear, "And again, thank you so much for not wearing perfume or scented lotion. I so appreciate it." All the other salesgirls hung their heads in shame.

Well, I learned Nordstroms hasn't changed. They still stink. But I now possess a pair of stretchy, girdle-tight jeans and a new raincoat...and a non-stop cough and headache. Prior to my self-imposed exile, I would have run gasping from the store unable to breath and sick for a week. I'm not sure if the exile, my much healthier diet, or the lack of exposure has improved my reaction time and symptoms, but I'm glad I survived. It was worth it.

Now how do I unscent these extremely stinky purchases?

Merry Christmas to me!

Why?

Question of the Week: Who shoots a classroom of six year old children?

In the media we are seeing all kinds of assumed psychological profiles from mental health professionals trying to make sense of the senseless acts of the twenty year old who murdered a classroom of first graders as well as teachers and staff. They are saying he had a "personality disorder" or he was "mentally ill". And what about the shooter in the theater in Aurora, Colorado? Or the teenage killers at Columbine? Or the numerous other random acts of violence since the 1970s? Mental illness is the all-encompassing, easy answer. As soon as it is said, everyone nods and accepts. It's the "not-like-me" excuse that offers little explanation but gives us some rationality knowing no one in their right mind would do such a thing.

The latest article questioning why addresses all kinds of blame theories: lack of gun control, not enough guns, better options for parents with mentally ill children, media's role glorifying murderers, violence in video games, violence on television and movies, lack of religion in schools. Everyone has a theory:

http://shine.yahoo.com/healthy-living/newtown-connecticut-mass-shootings-blame-192700959.html

All these theories seem to add a different piece to the puzzle pointing to modern society as the culprit. There is only one theory missing and it can only come from someone with first hand experiences with chemical sensitivity.

A few years ago my fourteen year old neighbor committed suicide. I hardly knew him but for months with tears in my eyes I thought about him each day. Everyone in our little community wondered why? Did we miss the signs? Could this have been prevented?

In addition to asking why? I also asked why didn't he shoot anyone else? Why would I even ask such a question? Maybe because I'm an ex-teacher. I've seen rage in the classroom in the faces of the young and I have experiences with students who threaten to bring a gun to school to kill everyone. More importantly, I recognize the epidemic.

You might vaguely remember me mentioning this neighbor boy in my post titled "Chocolate is Evil". He was the one suffering from migraines at ten years old. The day I met him he was home from school and there was a large chocolate cake with bright red and blue frosting on the kitchen counter half eaten. His mother laughed when I suggest she keep chocolate and food colorings out of his diet. What I didn't tell you is I went home after our visit and told a health care professional friend of mine he was showing signs of chemical sensitivity at a very early age. I worried what will happen when he reaches puberty and his hormones, stress levels, and chemical exposures collide creating a volatile mix. I told my friend his mother won't take it seriously until he attempts suicide. This was not said in jest as I know how chemical-laced food and other toxic exposures can mess up a brain, but at the same time, I didn't take my own comment as seriously as I should have. For several years I would see this boy walking down the street looking sullen and angry. I never saw him smiling, looking calm or happy. I wondered.


After he died, everyone wondered WHY? Not me. I wondered why when he got home after his mother forced him to walk two miles to get there as punishment, he walked straight upstairs came back downstairs with his shotgun and shot himself in the head in front of his house for the whole neighborhood to see. I wondered what provokes that kind of self-destructive, public rage? He didn't shoot himself in the seclusion of the garage, the backyard, or in a private room. It wasn't some secret, hidden torment. It screamed RAGE. I wondered if his mother was wearing copious amounts of perfume as she often did. I wondered if he had sugary, chemically-colored cereal for breakfast, drank caffeinated beverages or ate chocolate earlier that day as teenagers so often do without any thought. I wondered why he didn't shoot his mother first and THEN kill himself.


Most MCSers tell me they have brain issues. Exposure to chemicals and their brain reacts badly. Uncontrollable irritability and unfounded anger. Those of us aware of the effects of chemicals know exactly what's causing it even if we can't control it other than exposure avoidance. What about those who have no clue what causes it and have been told they must have a mental illness?  A personality disorder? Depression? Bipolar illness? So many of our diagnosable mental illnesses are misunderstood and lack any reasoning or known cause. No one can say for sure what causes them and those who attempt to point the finger at chemicals are labeled as unconventional quacks.

Many of the chemically sensitive also suffer from respiratory dysfunction, anaphylaxis, and/or other debilitating symptoms. If we weren't stopped in our tracks with a debilitating symptom, how many of us would effortlessly escalate to rage? Is this epidemic of violence due to chemical sensitivity? Are these shooters experiencing uncontrollable, irrational rage due to chemical exposures? I find it interesting the lists of historical random acts of violence start in the 1970s, the beginning of the drug culture and fast food nation. Did shootings at schools, malls and theaters happen before the 1970s?

Modern medicine ignores chemical sensitivity. Instead of finding answers, we are told it's all in our heads.  How many of us are told to seek psychiatric care or have been diagnosed with some kind of mental illness because the doctor was so narrow-minded? I've learned anytime a doctor says "I don't know" the answer is chemicals. So...if we ask why someone would shoot a classroom of children and no one has a valid reason, is the answer...chemicals?

Is mental illness the easy, all-encompassing answer to a much bigger, more deadly problem? Is society being poisoned with the chemicals and rage is the by-product? Are the reasons for random acts of violence and unexplained suicides right in front of our faces? The chemicals we breathe, toxins we touch, and the poisons we eat? If we blame mental illness can we continue as a society to not be responsible for the problem?

Why does a person shoot a classroom of small children?

Ocean Adventures Part Twelve: I DID IT!

 

Today was my twelfth and last ocean adventure for my 2012 New Year's Resolution. Perhaps the only resolution I've made that I kept all year. It wasn't always easy, but I did it!

 

Hooray!

 

 

 

It was rainy, gray, and uneventful.

 

 

Desolate, quiet, and peaceful.

 

Cold, breezy, and wet.

 

All this driftwood was piled up on the beach from the last storm.

 

I always wonder what it's like here in the middle of a storm with dead trees flying around.

 

 

I did it! Resolution is over.

(Actually this is my 13th visit, but when I went clam digging I didn't take a camera.)

Fish Soup (Recipe)

I tweaked another former favorite recipe. Another way to eat fish. This one was originally called Fish and Pasta Chowder, but it tastes just as good without pasta.

 

 

6 ounces of white fish (I used cod fillets that were frozen.)
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 onion, sliced or diced
1 large carrot, sliced
1/2 red pepper, sliced
1/4 cup parsley, minced
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon dried tarragon
4 grape tomatoes, sliced in half
5 cups of water

In a large pot over medium heat, sautee the onion, carrot, red pepper, parsley,  black pepper, and dried tarragon in olive oil until onion is slightly limp, maybe five minutes. Add water and tomatoes. Bring to a boil on medium-high heat and simmer for five minutes. Add fish and cook until fish is opaque, about ten minutes.

The tomatoes are a cheat. The recipe calls for tomato juice. Any kind of tomato is not on the Paleo/Hashimoto's diet. Clam juice is also part of the recipe, and not on the diet. I also wonder if clam juice might have some gluten in it. I don't know that for sure. I could do without the clam juice, but I wasn't sure if leaving out the tomatoes would make it taste too bland and I have a small container of grape tomatoes in my freezer from my garden. As it was, the tomatoes gave it a nice sauce. It was perfect. Next time I'll try it without tomatoes.

This made about 3-4 bowls.

Yum.

Update: It's not as good without tomatoes...I guess this a Paleo recipe, rather than a Paleo/Hashimoto's!