The Garden of Impending Doom

We have several gardens that we put together last fall and planted this spring.  Prior to our vacation in July, the gardens were producing beautifully on a daily basis.  At least as far as the cherry tomatoes go.  Those things were crazy prolific.  I'm talking three or four dozen tomatoes every day.  And they were awesome.  I don't know about you but I've never thought store bought tomatoes were all that great.  They're okay, but they're fairly nondescript.  But these things were downright spicy (comparatively speaking).  Long story short, Mister C was thrilled with his daily allotment of cherry tomatoes and I was eating them every time I walked through the kitchen (which is apparently a lot since my weight loss is at a standstill, but that's another story.) 

Anyway, other than the cherry tomatoes, the only other pre-vacation producers were the cantaloupe and watermelon plants and there were just a few of those.  The strawberries had been fairly choked out by the cantaloupe vines from hell by this point.  The red and green pepper plants were about three feet tall and had several small peppers on each plant.  The day before we left on vacation I had decided to pick the sole cucumber even thought I didn't think it was quite ripe.  My assumption being that since we were going to be gone for nine days it would go to waste if I didn't pick it.  It was actually pretty good, although fairly small.

Upon returning from vacation, the first thing I did was head to the garden to see what remained.  I gleaned several dozen cherry tomatoes, two cantaloupe and several watermelons.  The peppers weren't doing well at all, most of the fruit had rotted on the plant.  There were also several cucumbers.  Or at least what were supposed to be cucumbers. 

Instead of the cucumbers being a nice, dark green and of reasonable size, they were huge, yellow, slug-like things.  I'm not even kidding, I was looking at those things trying to figure out where their eyes were.  They were downright horrifying.  So I pulled them off the vine and brought them into the house for an autopsy. 

I've been watching a lot of "Dr. G, Medical Examiner" on the Discovery channel and I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing here.  So I take my alien cucumber and I make the classic Y incision in it's...chest...in anticipation of figuring out what went wrong with the little bastard.  Instead of nice, firm, cucumber flesh, I have mushville (it's a word.)  An "off" scent came rolling off the deceased (I can only assume the cucumber was using some sort of illegal fertilizer) almost knocking me off my feet.  And then my beautiful Y incision kind of collapsed on itself due to the mush factor.  I'll be honest, I didn't see a need to continue the autopsy at this point since the end result was that this particular vegetable was uneatable (and that actually is a word.)  So, into the compost it went.

We've now been home for just over three weeks.  I've pulled a few more cantaloupes and watermelons off the vines and they've been awesome.  Nothing else seems to be producing right now (no berries, no grapes.)  The cantaloupe plants current have a half dozen more melons getting ripe which is great, although their vines have gotten much more aggressive.  Several of the vines are aiming for the air conditioner (it has been consistently over 100 degrees lately) and one pioneering vine has made it's way over to steal nutrients from my orange tree.  But that's not all...

This morning I went out to see if anything was available and after picking another dozen cherry tomatoes, I thought I would check to see if any new cucumbers have shown up.  They have...

Thank goodness we have them caged!

Eeek!

So I've got a new addition to my tank. I went out yesterday in search of an electric blue ahli to replace Elvis. When I was sick a while back, Mister C decided he just had to move my fish tank two days after I had done a huge water change. He put Elvis, along with way too many of his companions, into a five gallon bucket containing about three gallons of water. And then he put the lid on tight. He didn't insert an aerator. By the time I came out several hours later to see what was going on, most of my fish were dead. I was left with my five clown loaches (The Ross Street Gang), my over sized plecostomus "Yuck!", and Vinny the venustus.

Vinny's mate was gone as were Elvis and his mate Priscilla. It was a very sad tank for a while there. Since Mister C accepted full responsibility for the untimely demise of my tank denizens, he's been very accommodating in my search for replacements. I've started referring to the newcomers as "the school of guilt fish".

Anyway, I've been searching for a new Elvis but having a heckuva time with it. Either they're too young and small to survive in my tank, or they just look sickly. I finally made a trip to my favorite little shop in down town Phoenix to see what I could find. Unfortunately, they didn't have what I wanted. But I did find something cool.

World, welcome "Eeek!", my new eel.

















Is that the most horrifying thing ever? I know, awesome right? So here's a fun fact: Eeek! will only eat krill. Which I need to thaw out and get as close to him as possible since he's fairly blind. I tried using a skewer to get it to him but the krill kept breaking up and he couldn't find it. Today I resorted to using an extra set of grilling tongs to get him his meal. Which would have been a whole lot easier if I wasn't having to wave off Vinny and Frank (my small spot starry night cichlid) to prevent them from snagging the krill before I could get it to Eeek! Good times.

The only other issue I will be having is that Eeek! will grow. Big. He could get up to two feet long. Which could be a real problem in the future. Because as you can see in the photo series above, he eats things that are bigger than his head, whole. I'll have to keep a good eye on him and the rest of the tank to make sure he doesn't end up an only child.

Amazing cichlids

Do you see the little yellow fish in front of the big yellow fish? That's a baby electric yellow (or Labidochromis caeruleus). It's also one tough little fish. There are two more just like him/her. Why do I think they are so tough? Because they are survivors extraordinaire.

On Friday I realized that one of the two filters I have on my big tank was running pretty poorly. It wasn't pushing out hardly any water from the outflow and I knew I needed to clean it out. The thing is, I hadn't cleaned it out in quite some time and in addition, it's been getting a tad overcrowded what with all the breeding going on in the tank. The thing that pushed it over the edge for me was that one of my females had apparently died and someone (or someones) had disemboweled her. Which is horrifying enough in it's own right, but in this situation was even worse because she was full of eggs. So, yeah, eggs everywhere and a filter that's barely working forced the issue. I shut down the filter and removed it to the kitchen sink where I could work on it.

To say it was "dirty" is kind of like saying a Hell's Angel is a tiny bit anti-social. It was filthy, disgusting, filled with sludge and downright abusive to my fish. So I spent about forty five minutes completely cleaning it out before putting it back together and starting it up again. After spending an additional fifteen minutes cursing at it to get it to start back up again, it worked a whole lot better.

At this point, I knew I needed to clean out the other filter. I mean obviously it's in the same tank and was most recently cleaned at about the same time as the other filter. But I was tired. It takes a lot out of you to curse out a filter while trying to get it started. So I decided to wait another day and tackle it Saturday.

Saturday rolls around and I spent the better part of the day avoiding the inevitable. I just had no motivation to deal with that filter. I knew it was going to take another forty five minutes to an hour to do it. I knew I was going to end up smelling like fish water. I just. had. no. desire.

Eventually though, I run out of other things to do and start the process all over again. I shut down the second filter, detached it from the hoses and got it to the sink. I pulled the lid off and was greeted with the same horrifying mess as the previous day. I cleaned the motor part up and then started on the next layer. These filters have three layers of "baskets" that hold filter media. Each layer holds filter media that is more dense than the one above it in order to get more filtration. I pulled off the top layer and start running water through the big rocks that are this levels media.

As I'm running the water I see something moving and my first thought is that some bug has flown into my filter. It only takes a second to realize it's actually a baby electric yellow. I immediately call Mister C because he is the fish catcher, not me. I love to look at my fish, but I don't generally touch.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes obvious that I'm going to have an easier time catching the little guy than Mister C, so I force down the skeeviness factor and gently start working. I get him out from between the rocks and take him back to the tank and toss him in. He swims off kind of spazzy and hides in a plant. Awesome! I am so happy he survived his little adventure!

I start up the cleaning process again while Mister C and I discuss the amazing fact that the little guy even survived his trip through the filter. I pull out each remaining basket and clean out it's media, checking carefully to be sure no other babies are in it. When I look into the bottom of the now empty filter case, I notice movement. Looking carefully, I realize there is not one but two more babies in the filter. We try to net them but that brings up too much filth. Mister C suggests pouring the water through one of the baskets and then plucking the babies out by hand. That works very well and within about a minute we have two more confused babies hiding in plants.

I finished cleaning up the mess and as I'm putting it back together I realize that there is no way those three fish got through the filter's lid & basket at the size they currently are. Not alive anyway. The only possible way for them to be the size they are, in the location they were, is if they went in smaller than they currently are. Which means they most likely have been living in my filter for at least two weeks and possibly up to a month. Those poor babies!

Which brings me back to the beginning where I refer to these babies as being tough. To have survived the vortex of the trip into the filter itself was amazing enough. To have thrived on whatever food debris came through the filter and actually grown while they were trapped is beyond amazing. Then to be tossed into the big tank with all the bigger fish and still be swimming around today like nothing happened? Incredible.

I haven't done a thorough check yet, but I'm fairly certain these little guys probably have tattoos of a bulldog and pin-up girls somewhere on their little fishy bodies. I'm not sure how else to explain it other than these guys are the Marines of the fish world. Tough and resilient, thriving where they had no business being and coming out of the ordeal with an attitude.

Why I hate the dentist

Back in December, I finally got around to scheduling all my appointments that I had been putting off for almost two years. I got my physical, pap, mammogram and dermatological check (for moles). Everything came back normal so that was a huge relief.

After Christmas, I made an appointment for a dental cleaning and to check what I thought was a loose filling. That was last Thursday. Turns out I was sort of right about the filling. I have very few in the first place, but one of them on my back molar is cracked and coming up. And yes, I most likely caused this with my jaw clenching just prior to Christmas. So tomorrow I get to go in and have it replaced. I cannot tell you how much I hate having my teeth worked on. I know, I know, nobody loves the dentist (except for Master J, but he's a goofball). But I REALLY hate going.

About seventeen years ago, I had a horrible experience that nearly killed me and forever turned me off dentists. I am not exaggerating about that either. I ended up in emergency surgery to remove a rather large abscess that had formed in my throat and was slowly suffocating me. And before you ask, no, that is not why I am such an airhead. I've always been this way.

This whole situation was caused by an incompetent dentist that pulled an infected wisdom tooth and then "forgot" to treat the infection. My first indication of his incompetence was when he asked if I'd ever had the nitrous gas before and when I said "no" he replied that it was "just like smoking pot". Oh. My. God. Unfortunately, by the time I finished that thought, the mask was on my face and it was too late. Plus, the tooth hurt like hell and I really wanted it out. Bad choice. That pain was NOTHING compared to the pain that was to follow.

Once the Novocaine wore off, my tooth started throbbing. I was taking the recommended dose of Tylenol and, when that wasn't helping, I started taking Advil. By the end of the next day, I was still in such pain that I went back to the dentist where I was told that I had dry socket. He packed the hole with medicated gauze and sent me home. The next day it was worse so back I go again. He treats me again for the supposed dry socket and sends me home. Sometime that evening, around 10:00 pm, I was in really bad shape so my (now ex) husband called the dentist and he agreed to meet my husband in the parking lot to give him pain medication for me. That's right, 10:00 at night, in a parking lot. And the medicine he gave him? Percocet. With someone else's name on it. But at that point, I didn't care whose name was on it, I just wanted the pain to stop. The dosage was 1 pill every six hours. By the next day, I was taking two pills every four hours and it wasn't touching the pain. I wanted to die.

By now my jaw would not open. I had to stuff the pills through what little gap remained between my upper and lower jaw and chase it down with water through a straw. The next day, my husband decided that he'd had enough. Apparently, I had kept him up all the previous night, moaning in pain. First thing in the morning he made an appointment to have an oral surgeon look at me. His mom agreed to take me in since I was in no condition to drive.

I remember sitting in the chair and having them try to pry my jaw open. I remember more pain than I have ever had before or since and then just bits and pieces of the next 12 hours. They had an iv line in just in case they needed it so when they pried, and I screamed, they knocked me out. My mother in law, two rooms away heard me scream and came running. Once they got my jaw open and saw the abscess, they called the hospital that was right next door and told them they were bringing me in. They wheeled me through the parking lot, straight in to surgery where they removed the abscess and put a drain in my throat. I woke up some time that evening to the sound of my (then) brother in laws voice asking what would happen if they turned my bed around to face the wall. Other than being very confused as to where I was, I felt immensely better. My throat was a little sore from the surgery & the drain, but the pain was almost gone. I stayed in the hospital for two days on antibiotics and got sent home with a bag of medicine and instructions to do a bunch of jaw exercises until I could open my mouth normally again. I waited a full year before I had the other three wisdom teeth pulled and I've hated the dentist ever since. So tomorrow, before I go in for what should be a relatively minor repair, I get to take some medicine to help me relax. And that's just to get me into the office. Wish me luck.

Karma, she is a bitch!

Several weeks ago Mister C was cutting up an apple using a specialized slicer I have that cores and slices the apple into wedges. It's a very useful little tool, but used improperly it can be dangerous. Well, Mister C used it wrong and got a small cut on his finger. I made fun of him. Ah, yes, I did. I harassed him for his inability to use a simple kitchen gadget properly without hurting himself. I cut him no slack. Yeah, that was probably a mistake. Because this morning while I was getting James' lunch ready, I decided to use above mentioned tool. I put it on top of the apple and pushed it down like you're supposed to but for whatever reason,it didn't cut all the way through. So I flipped the whole thing over and started to push the first wedge of apple the rest of the way through. While I was doing this, I kept thinking to myself how stupid what I was doing was. My brain was in overdrive screaming "Stop! Stop! Stop! What the hell are you doing? Stop!!!!" And my hand was going "look how easy this is to push through!" And then it happened. The wedge of apple popped through and the blade went into my thumb. And the blood started flowing. I pulled back but it was way too late. I grabbed a towel and started pressing on my thumb while pacing around my kitchen going "Well that was stupid" out loud. Master J was eating breakfast and when I looked at him he had his spoon full of cereal halfway to his mouth and was staring at me in horror. Oh, I know, good time for a lesson on sharp shit right? Nah, my brain was still freaking out so I just showed him my wound and told him that even adults can get hurt if they aren't careful. End of lesson. Anyway, the stupid thing bled like crazy for the first 30 minutes and then slowly for the next three hours. I now have a nice cut across my right thumb that is 3/4 of an inch long and about 1/8 of an inch deep. And the worst part is how badly I feel for making fun of Mister C for doing the exact same thing. Yes, Karma is a mean and vindictive bitch with absolutely no sense of humor.