Author: NouveauSoileau

Optimistic mother, devoted lover, careful writer

Say hello to my little friend

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Deep in the mysterious depths of the fathomless jungle, there lies a fearsome creature. He goes by the name Argiope aurantia. He is yellow and black.

OK, maybe not so deep, maybe not so mysterious. This is our New Best Friend, the Black and Yellow Garden Spider (bet you didn’t see that one coming) and he lives off our back deck.

Spiders, not unlike insects such as bees, are a popular topic among the 5-year-old set at my house. For the last week, our nightly reading has consisted of I Can Read About Spiders, a book I picked up for my son Christopher at a yard sale years ago.

I brought it out a few months ago when spiders seem to strike terror in Trassie’s young heart. Education, I believed, was the best way to combat his fear of creepy-crawlies.

I am pleased to say this mission has been a success. We inspect all corners of the garage for other new friends. We discuss spiders’ two body parts: the cephalothorax and the abdomen (just ask him: he’ll tell you) as well as the animal family to which the spider belongs — arachnids. Tarantulas fascinate him. He has a great curiosity, mixed with fear and respect, of the brown recluse. We captured, for a day, a little Daring Jumping Spider I found on the wooden blinds a few months ago, and kept him prisoner for a day as we learned all we could about him — including all about his iridescent green jaws.

I don’t have any plans to bring in Argiope aurantia for similar close inspection; field observation, in this case, is close enough.

Be still my heart

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Clogging an artery near you

I spent several hours at the state fair last week, and while the reprehensible sights one can behold at such an event are usually so numerous they could fill at least one, hair-raising book, this vision leaves them all far, far behind.

Behold: The Donut Burger. Forgetting for one moment that the spelling “donut” alone makes me spit up a little, let us take a few minutes to contemplate this frightening foodstuff.

According to the Courier-Journal, which paid one of its reporters to actually eat one, the Donut Burger packs a hefty 800 calories per sandwich. And unlike the affront to culinary sensibilities served at the Wisconsin State Fair, which plated its cheeseburger demurely between a single, horizontally sliced donut, the Kentucky version brazenly slapped its cow patty between two whole fried-dough confections.

If the combination of doughnut and beef isn’t enough to stop your heart, the intrepid diner can also add cheese and, that most sinful of all foods, bacon. Approximately four slices, if my field observations are to be believed. Of course there is lettuce and tomato which can be piled upon the foul mix as well — although with a heart attack like this going, I have no idea why anyone would introduce anything as close to health food as vegetables into the mix.

It should probably be mentioned at this point that there is no way in hell that I would ever eat a Donut Burger, so if you got this far looking for a review, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Perhaps your misguided curiosity can be placated with my favorite part of the Courier’s story:

Two bites, then three and soon it started to taste like a regular cheeseburger with a hint of sugary glaze. By the fourth, fifth and sixth bites the doughnuts had flattened from trying to handle it and the grease was starting to mix with the glaze, creating something that doesn’t really have a name. Let’s just call it “glease.”

The booth where I spent my hours at the fair wasn’t far from the Donut Burger stand, and at no time during my stay did I ever look donutward and not see a line of similar length to the one depicted before you. It was generally made up of persons of girth commensurate with the main bulk of the population; that is to say, people lining up to get at this thing were thin, average and alarmingly overweight.

I myself indulged in a pork-loin sandwich and, I must admit, strayed into Donut Burger territory, grease-wise, in my choice of sides: a mighty plate of deep-fried, freshly cut spiral potatoes. An entire paper-plate full. I ate every one. I am certain that this indulgence would rarely lead to cardiac arrest; I am not so sure of our pal the Coronary Burger.

Will each of the fair-goers who succumbed to its greasy siren song do penance this week on the treadmill — or add it to their list of sins when seeking the solace of the confessional? I have to admit, while my one  greasy plate of tates did launch me into a renewed burst of cholesterol-fighting energy on my walks over the weekend, I did stop short of frightening our parish priest with my tales of state-fair sin.

I wouldn’t be surprised if someone did, though; it’s so rare to see, in the wild, a victual so heinous and so sinful that it’s literally heart-stopping!

Class of 2023

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You remember the first day of school. New clothes. New pencils. Fresh packs of filler paper and the pungent odor of plastic-bound three-ring binders and fresh ink.

No matter what your age, you can always remember the butterflies and the backpacks, the calculators and the cafeteria food.

It being August in Kentucky this morning it was 80 degrees Fahrenheit at 7 o’clock. The scene here is the first First Day of School for young Trasimond, class of 2023 and kindergartener extraordinaire.

The class of 2023. Wait — can that be right? It sounds more like a science fiction movie than something that applies to this little scoot, standing there with a Pop-Tart in his hand.

I have the distinction of having three children enrolled in the public schools this year, and naturally enough, they’re spread out all over this end of the county. Trassie joins the march of public education in elementary; Christopher toils as an eighth grader; and Claire is in full sophomoric glory at the high school.

Would it be too much to ask that all schools start at the same time? Yes. Yes it would. Elementary begins at 7:45 am, high school at 8:30 and middle school at 9:05! Fortunately, Claire can ride the bus and Christopher can walk and we’ve only got one kid to drop off. Join me now in the classroom, won’t you?

There were no first-day tears, from either the pupil or the parents. Thank God we got that over with last year in preschool. Of course, at the time I was 800 miles away in New York City, and left the drop-off to poor Tras, who was completely new to the delicate art of nudging a fledgling out of the nest. It was harrowing to the two of them — but mostly for me, who had to listen to the post-dropoff sniffing and snuffling via cell phone four states away.

Due to the disparity in school start times, we weren’t able to get a shot of all three children ready for school; the hair gel and other products were still being applied before anything audacious as a group photograph could be taken — but here is Claire and two of her friends at band rehearsal, which has rapidly taken over our lives. Claire’s in the color guard, which back in the day we called flag corps.

And then we have my dear boy, Christopher. So easygoing, so helpful. First-chair in the middle-school band … an eighth grader who’s been asked to participate this year in the highly competitive high school band. My little marcher, voted Best Mohawk last week at the end of band camp.

So that’s the State of the Household here in August 2010. Who knew starting school would be such a hair-raising experience?

Bee mine

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Incredible though it may seem — given the level of vermin consumption of my flowers this spring — I’ve got quite a few sunflowers blooming right outside my kitchen window today.

I stepped outside yesterday afternoon to take a photo of this beauty.

I was thrilled to discover a bee who’d been busy as a … well, you know. See him there toward the bottom?

What was even more exciting — if you count tiny insect sightings as among the exciting events of your life (and I do) — is that his knees are just covered in pollen.

It’s the bee’s KNEES fer chrissakes!

Bees are something I know a little about. The emphasis here is on a little. And the reason I’ve gotten so smart lately is because Trassie is pretty interested in natural science and I just picked up a National Geographic book, shockingly titled Insects.

Insects, as I’m sure you know, are the only animals in the world with six legs. Beside birds and bats, they’re the only thangs that can fly. And those legs? They’re really weird, man.

On page 4 we learn that a fly tastes things with its feet. A katydid HEARS through tiny holes near its knees. And honeybees, as you can see above, carry pollen in baskets on their legs.

Insect mouths are fairly interesting, and gross too. Flies again. “A fly soaks up yucky garbage. Its mouth is like a sponge,” I intone nightly. “A mosquito sucks blood. Its mouth is like a needle.”

These factoids often are perfect set-ups for 5-year-old based humor. Pretend you’re a katydid and yell into each others’ knees. Put a sponge in your mouth and head for the kitchen trash.

There’s no reason to be bored when you’ve got preschoolers and bugs around!