If It's Sin To Kill A Mockingbird, Where Does That Leave An Emu?

2 months ago, I moved to Easton, MD.

All in all life in a small town has been good. Easton is a lovely little town and it is listed as one of the Top 10 Small Towns in America. I often wonder who comes up with that list. How does a town make the cut? For instance, Easton, MD and Mt. Vernon, OH are roughly the same size and both have a Dairy Queen, but something tells me that Mt. Vernon, OH didn’t even make it past the first round. Too bad, because Mt. Vernon has a “Friendly’s” restaurant and Easton does not. And even though you may not always want a Fribble and a Friendly Frank – it’s nice to know it’s there. Just in case.

I’d like to take a moment here to discuss something that I didn’t have to deal with, on a personal everyday basis, while I was living in New York City. Republicans. Lots of Republicans. OK – now you would think that because it’s a small town it’s just the usual redneck, gun-toting, religious-right wing-nuts. I mean, if that were the case, I wouldn’t even mention it, because really – there’s no accounting for white trash. Hell, at this point, I’d be happy with some good old fashioned Goldwater Republicans. But you see, Talbot County has more millionaires per capita than most places on earth – and we are just a hop away from the nation’s capital. This means neo-con wing-nuts. People who believe that we are actually winning the war on terrorism, that the GOP has our children’s best interests in mind and that George W. Bush is an eloquent man. Yes folks, I find myself living in the same county that Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld have decided to set up house for some country living. Kill me now.

But I digress...When I lived in New York I loved to read the NY Times Op-Ed pages. The same is true here in Easton and I have to say that Maureen Dowd’s got nothing on The Op-Ed pages in the Star Democrat. First of all, I happen to find it reassuring that contrary to the assumptions of some of my over-educated liberal compatriots, smart people live in small towns, too. But also because it often bears up lovely little everyday reality checks that remind me that not everything is about terrorism, school shootings or Congressional pedophiles. It's about the little things. Things that happen through the course of the day that make our lives unique. For instance, just last week the hot topic of the pages was the plight of a local emu.

That’s right, an emu. Kin to the ostrich, indigenous to Australia, winged bird without flight and evidently a recent resident of the woods neighboring the Caroline County Country Club Golf Course. I have no idea whatsoever how this bird got from the Australian outback to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, maybe it thought it needed to work on its short game and thought Caroline County was just as good a place as any. All I know is that it decided the golf course was a nice to place to live.

But sadly, some of the local residents, concerned for the beast’s welfare (after all, hunting season is upon us) placed a call to the local Humane Society in hopes they could return it to whatever zoo/preserve/farm it had escaped from. Evidently, this was not a good idea. The Humane Society, accompanied by the local sheriff, arrived on scene and attempted to apprehend the wayward bird – not with a net, or even with a tranquilizer gun. Instead, they decided to use a taser on the poor beast. When the first shot didn’t subdue it, they just kept on shooting it. And then it died of a massive coronary. All of this took place in plain view of several area residents and a few foursomes out for a quick nine before lunch.

Can you imagine? You're just hanging out, maybe you've just let your buddy take a mulligan for like, the fifth time that day when all of a sudden a freaking emu tears by, chased by some crazed animal rights freak with a taser and the local sheriff?

So came the letters. People are outraged. Horrified. Oh the humanity! Oops...wait a minute...According to the Humane Society the goal was not to kill the bird but merely to subdue a potentially “vicious” bird so that it could be moved to a more appropriate “emu”-like environment. have you ever seen a picture of an emu?

click here

Are you scared? No, of course not. Because it’s the goofiest looking thing ever to grace God’s green earth. He wasn't bothering anyone, he was just trying to get through the day just like everyone else. Maybe eat a few worms - flap his wings (just in case!). You know, just living for the day. And so it goes.

I’ve been reading about this bird since last Tuesday. Life is good.

At Least In Italy, Gravity Is Not My Friend

OK, so last month I had the fantastic opportunity to travel to Italy for a week to celebrate Cary’s 40^th birthday. We stayed in a gorgeous villa in Tuscany, rode in a hot air balloon, toured a vineyard, ate some of the most delicious meals ever, wine was flowing – it was simply fabulous. A dream come true. Seriously.

Everything was perfect except for one little hitch. On the very first day about 12 of us took off on mountain bikes for what was (ostensibly) to be a lovely hour long bike ride through the Tuscan countryside. The plan was to end up in Monterrigioni where we would meet up with the rest of the group for lunch. It was about 25 minutes into the ride that it dawned on me that this “leisurely ride” was more like a spinning class gone horribly awry. Nonetheless I was going to suck it up and make it to Monterrigioni even if I had to cough up a lung. Ya, not so much. It was somewhere at the 45 minute mark that we came to the top of this hill that was at about a 45 degree angle. The path down the hill was gravel and at the bottom of the hill was a hard right turn on to pavement.

It’s about 1/4 of the way down the hill when I come to appreciate that, in cases such as these, gravity is not my friend. Here’s the dilemma – do I stick it out and take my chances making the right turn on the pavement? Noooooo…if I don’t make the turn I could careen over an embankment – possibly run into a tree (ouch!). OK, so I decide to slow down a bit using my rear brakes. Oh god, now I am fishtailing…must get off bike now….shit…slow down…head for the dirt…big rock…and there I go, over the handlebars. Holy Shit! I am totally fucking injured and wow – it hurts like hell. I open my eyes and I am staring at no less than 4 gay men, all of them impeccably dressed for a day of biking in Italy. Me, I am covered in blood and dirt. I can hear 5 more on the way. Everyone is remaining very calm and for that I am grateful. However, here I am with all of these professional, successful, over-educated men and not single doctor among them. Why don’t I know any doctors?

Next, I am greeted by Hot-Italian-Bike-Tour-Dude. He moves my wrist around – determines it is not broken – and then rings up his Hot Italian Wife and asks her to come fetch me and my damaged bike. I am such a dork and this moment is rather embarassing - fierce pain notwithstanding. I mean, this the 1st day of our vacation and I've already completely spazzed out. OK, so after I reassure everyone that I am fine to go back to the villa by myself I am left sitting on the side of the Tuscan country road with Hot-Italian-Bike-Tour-Dude. Hmmm, I am usually pretty good with the casual conversation thing but, he is like well, super hunky hot, and I am covered in dirt and blood and about forty pounds overweight weight sitting in the blazing tuscan sun in unearthly pain. So I took a pass on flirting with Hot-Italian-Bike-Tour-Dude.

Fast forward through the rest of the week: I fashioned a lovely sling from a lovely lavender faux-pashmina that I brought along, co-opted every pain-killer in the villa (which were considerable, mind you), drank a lot of red wine and successfully ignored the fact that while my wrist seemed to be OK it was really my elbow that was causing me the most concern and pain. It wasn’t until I was stuck in security in Frankfurt in line behind some dumb American who evidently hadn’t gotten the memo that we had just recently declared war on mouthwash and lens solution that I realized I was fucked. The pain at this point has become ungodly. By the time I got to the Lufthansa gate for my connection to JFK I was in such a hysterical state that the creepy German lady from Lufthansa totally managed to make me cry even while she upgraded me to Business-class for free. The flight attendants in business totally rocked though. They were so nice and helpful and even got extra pillows for me for my arm. I wish everywhere was like Business class.

When I got back to Maryland I went straight to the ER in Easton. Easton Hospital has got a lot of problems, let’s face it, it’s not exactly the Mayo clinic. However, the one thing the country hospital has over the city hospital is the wait in the emergency room. As in, there wasn’t one. I was in & out with X-rays and an appointment for the ortho specialist in less than 3 hours. Good stuff. Even got a script for Vicodin. Nice.

The 1^st ortho doc I went to took one look at my X-rays and immediately referred me to one of his partners that specialized in “unique” breaks in the forearm and elbow. Evidently, the fracture of the radial head in my left elbow was so severe that it completely freaked out the ER doc and the 1^st ortho doc. Thankfully, the 2^nd ortho doc was a bit more reassuring and indicated that my fracture could be remedied in some manner (though there goes my pro tennis career – darnit!). Long story short: I had surgery where he took the broken bits of my elbow out of my arm and decided that was the best solution. Now I have to go to physical therapy for 2 hours/day, 3 days/week. My PT is very impressed with my committment by the way.

Did I mention that it was my left elbow that was broken and that I am left-handed? Bummer.

The good news: After the surgery – there was no longer anything in my arm that was broken. So no cast! The bad news: I have a nasty scar from my surgery and it’ll be a few months before I get meaningful mobililty & strength back in my arm. Was it worth it? Hell yes. I love Italy and can’t wait to go back.

True, these last few weeks have been at best inconvenient and at worst painful and aggravating. Particularly when it comes to the little everyday things that I cannot do or have trouble doing. Here’s a list – just to give you an idea.

Things You Can’t Do With One Arm – or – Why It Sucks To Break Your Left Elbow When You Are Left Handed

• I cannot put things in my hair, at least, not very well. Barrettes, ponytails, shampoo. I have now resorted to wearing my hair in a scarf everyday. Gray roots have completely taken over. Thank goodness I can carry off the “natural bohemian” look.
• Eating - so much for table manners. Here’s a test for you righties out there. Tie your right arm at your side (use a scarf or a belt) and then try eating a bowl of cereal using only your left hand. Suddenly, I am 3 years old again trying to master the art of using a spoon. Thankfully, roasted chicken is an acceptable “finger food”.
• Wear jeans. Again, keeping your right arm at your side, try putting on your favorite jeans.
• Sign my name. The expression on the nurse’s face after seeing the look on my face when she asked me to sign my surgery release is particularly priceless.
• A good night’s sleep. Can’t sleep well if every time you move into a new position you potentially put yourself into excruciating pain (see final note).
• Put on deodorant. If you can’t bend your elbow – you can’t put on deodorant. It’s just that simple.
• I cannot open things. Anything. Bottles, doors, windows, bag of chips, prescription bottle of pain killers.Kill me now.

Unemployment – Day 5

Behind schedule in the packing department, though I must say I have achieved previous goal. Bathroom and kitchen are shockingly clean. Today I will conquer the living room and foyer. Must admit I’m a bit concerned – it’s a bit depressing to have to go through Milly’s things and face the reality that I do, in fact, spoil my dog more than most people do with their children. She must know that there is a big move on the horizon – she keeps pulling out toys that I haven’t seen in months. Where she finds them – I couldn’t possibly imagine.

I dropped off 45 lbs of laundry this morning. It pretty much consisted of all of my towels and linens. Of course, I’m still going through a major underwear shortage. TMI, sure, but I don’t really care. I’m just looking forward to doing my own laundry without walking 2 blocks to get there and worrying if I left my dirty bits somewhere on West 4^th Street.

Very depressed to discover the reruns of “Charmed” have been pre-empted by the British open. Stupid boring golf show. It’s barely even fun to watch in real life let alone on TV. At least if you’re watching at the club you can toss a few G&T’s back to pass the time. Otherwise, G&T’s in front of the TV during the middle of the day is just plain pathetic.

I’ve been avoiding the news lately – because it’s depressing and irritating. Of course, last night after a spin ‘round the internet it’s no surprise to see that not much has changed. Our president is still a complete fucking idiot. I mean, we’ve all met his parents, right? I may not agree with their politics but I always assumed they were good mannered folk. So what the fuck happened with their son? Talking with his mouth full of food, using the word “shit” to describe what could possible evolve into WWIII and then groping a world leader like she was some temp from the steno pool. Who is this man? Why ? Why ? Why ? Why is he still the president ? Note to self: Stop watching the news.

Ready for my afternoon nap now.

Unemployment – Day One

Have watched 4 episodes of “Charmed” today alone – can only imagine what’s next in store for the Charmed Ones.

Have also become obsessed with The Learning Channel. The episode about “The Shrinking Woman” is fascinating and grotesque all at the same time. She lost over 400 pounds and then had the final 40 pounds of “extra” skin removed surgically. It’s insane. Between TLC and the commercials for Relacore, Nutri-system and something called “Hoodia” – must make note to self: Join Y when I arrive in Maryland, maybe start running again, at the very least forego the late-night ice cream runs.

Have begun detailing the bathroom and kitchen. When I am done with them they will be shockingly clean. Question: Why do I have so many cans of evaporated milk and split-pea soup? And why do I have so many bars of soap? I never use bar soap and don’t recall ever buying any.

Still ignoring “land of the misfit toys” by the front door. It has become a landing area for any and all dirty laundry. Have resorted to wearing boxers under my skirt since I haven’t had a clean pair of undies since last Thursday. It’s just too damn hot to even think about doing my laundry.

Electric bill arrived today. $150 for June – only $15 of it was for the gas stove. Hmmmm….can only imagine what July will be like with A/C running 24/7.

Scrounged up every single coin and bit of foreign currency laying about the apartment and cashed them in at the bank. Made $60. Good times.

No really, I can explain....

1. I slept with my hair in pin curls and setting lotion to achieve this look.

2. I loved, loved, loved that Holly-Hobby-Laura-Ingalls-Patchwork dress. Wore it everyday if they'd let me.

3. What's with the neon green barette?

4. Dig the way the Kool-aid mustache sets off my dimples.

5. Freckles or dirt? or Grape Jelly? Possibly all three.

I Promise, It's Not Just About The Dog

So I've decided to join the blogosphere. Finally, right? Well, I'm not going to lie to you. It's a bit scary. There's just so much pressure...Pressure to be funny, pressure to be witty and topical..and funny.


Lord, grant me the strength to post photos that are more than just a picture of my dog hiding under my bed and looking oh so freaking adorable. And Lord, grant me the strength to post more than the usual weekly rant about that fucking asshole George Bush.


And Lord, thank you for providing us with people smart enough to come up with the internet and spell check and all that other groovy gadget shit that makes it possible for dorks like me to randomly drone on and on for forever and a day about absolutely nothing while at the same time still being able to feel as if I'm actually a half-way literate human being. Run on sentences, split-infinitives and sentence fragments notwithstanding.


By the way - here's a picture of my dog.

Cute, right?


Her name is Milly, and though, as promised, this blog will not just be about the dog, expect many Milly photos in our future together. It's an addiction - and while I'm willing to admit to it - I'm not quite ready to kick it.


I feel the same way about handbags. And that hottie actor who plays Warrick on CSI.









He is so fine.