Jan Dunlap's Blog, page 10

Allergens, beware!

What does it mean that I’m finding self-identification from the back of a cereal box?

“Can you name the eight most common allergies?” I asked my husband at breakfast one morning.

He dug into his bowl of oatmeal. “Wheat, peanuts, cats, mold…that’s four,” he offered.

I read the back of the cereal box. “It says that this cereal does not contain any of the eight most common allergies,” I explained. “Not only is it gluten-free, but I’m happy to tell you that Maple Sunrise doesn’t have any cats or mold in it, either. I know I’m relieved.”

He picked up the box and examined it. “It says ‘allergens,’ not ‘allergies,’ Jan,” he pointed out.  “You need to wear your glasses. That type is pretty hard to read, though. They probably have a lot of people thinking it says ‘allergies.’”

I took the package back. “Okay, allergens. Let’s see: wheat, peanuts, tree nuts, soy, eggs, fish, shellfish, and milk.” I looked at my husband. “Everything I like to eat. I’m a walking allergen.”

“Good thing you work at home,” he said. “The less you’re around other people, the safer they are.”

“I could wear an isolation suit when I go out in public,” I suggested. “I’d walk really slowly and breathe through a filtering device.” I made a Darth Vader-like loud breathing noise to illustrate my point.

“Oh, yeah,” my husband solemnly agreed. “That would definitely keep people away from you. You might be onto something there, Jan. You know, for the good of others, and all that.”

He smiled and left for work.

Wait a minute…

Managing those pesky house guests

It’s that time of year when many of us find surprise guests turning up in our homes.

No, I’m not referring to the holiday rush of relatives. I’m talking about mice. Mice, you can get rid of. Relatives – not so easy.

One friend of mine has a virtual invasion of the rodents every fall. She sets out traps and disposes of little mouse bodies every day. Though she’s not fond of the task, she’s learned to grit her teeth, pick up the sprung trap and its cargo, and toss it in the trash. What she really hates is when the mouse in the trap hasn’t quite kicked the bucket and is desperately thrashing around trying to escape.

Eew.

“I want to kill them quickly and be humane about it,” she explained to me. “They’re suffering and I want to end it for them. But I can’t stand to kill them myself. I tried throwing the trap in a bucket of water once to drown the mouse, but it didn’t work very fast. I finally decided to use New York style.”

I gave her a blank look.

“You know I’m originally from New York, right?” she asked.

I vaguely remembered her saying that once. “What is New York style?”

“I run it over with my car.”

Not being from New York myself, I wasn’t sure what the appropriate response to that might be, so I just continued to give her a blank look.

“I put the trap out in the driveway, and backed out my car over it,” my friend continued. “But the darn mouse was still flopping and slapping the trap around, so I kept missing it. I went back and forth over it, trying to kill it, and my neighbor came out and asked me what the hell I was doing, and I told her I was trying to kill the mouse that was in the trap but it wasn’t dead yet.”

I still wasn’t sure what the appropriate response was, although for a moment I thought I might throw up. Then I imagined my friend frantically driving her car back and forth in her driveway in an attempt to be humane, and I couldn’t help it – I laughed.

“I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I know it must have been awful. But it sounds like a bad cartoon, like Wiley Coyote trying to drop an anvil on the Roadrunner.”

“I know,” she said, laughing too, “it’s funny now, but believe me, at the time, it wasn’t funny at all. So now I get those really sensitive traps that spring so fast the mouse is killed instantly. I still have mice in the fall, but not nearly as many as I used to get. At least I don’t get snakes,” she added. “My neighbor has snakes in her house in the fall.”

Snakes?

All of a sudden, relatives look pretty darn good for surprise house guests, don’t they? Unless they’re from New York…

Becoming one with the orchid people

Last month, I went on a bus trip to the Chicago Orchid Festival with the Orchid Society of Minnesota. For years, I’d been promising my husband – the orchid enthusiast – that I would accompany him on the annual club jaunt once our last child was gone to college. And since said child left home in August for school, I found myself on the bus in September, determined to make the best of the next 56 hours with a bunch of orchid-obsessed adults.

And I mean OBSESSED with orchids.

We played orchid bingo, did orchid crossword puzzles, orchid word searches, and watched orchid-growing films on the bus’s little movie screens. (We did not, however, sing any orchid songs. Either there aren’t any, or all the orchid people are just too busy orchiding to even think about writing a song about it.) Some people had photos of their home orchid collections on their phones and passed them around for general viewing. Watering schedules and low-level lights were hot topics of discussion. It was all so exciting I almost fell asleep before lunch.

But lunch was the highlight of the day for my husband: we shared a table with a fellow and his wife who have taken the leap from hobby to livelihood.

They grow orchids from seedlings and sell them all over the world. My husband was enthralled. I was totally lost.

This is what the conversation sounded like to me, the non-orchid person:

The new grower: “My stiglione familiaris occipital juveniles just aren’t responding to the two mil like the brachiosaurus Amerinda did. Stegosaurus tyranosaurus rex. Catleya parlez vous?”

My husband: “Phragmapedium zolche hydroponicism. Do si do?”

Grower: “I’ll have to try that. I’ve just started angraecum oxcidium Ecuadorius Ellen DeGeneres. Paphiapedalums diverticulitis angina stereumnikas. Do you use halogen?”

My husband: “Yes. The cats like it. Masdevalleias mazeltof.”

And so the whole weekend flew by. I did a lot of smiling when spoken to, offered some thoughtful “ah” noises when I guessed someone wanted me to say something and stuck my nose in the throats of a million blooming orchids to catch their scent. By the end of the 56 hours, I had a new appreciation for the flowers, and a whole new perspective on my husband’s consuming hobby. I’m even learning a little orchid-speak.

May all your paphs be pretty!

“A Murder of Crows” takes flight!

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American Crow by Erik Bruhnke 2012

It’s an exciting week in Bob White Birder Murder Mystery land! Our FREE Kindle offer at Amazon.com is rolling along – as of this morning, we had almost 2000 downloads of the A Murder of Crows, including almost 300 in Europe. Still two days to go, so I’m excited to see how far this Birder Murder will fly! (And a big thank you to my friend Erik for this beautiful picture of a crow on the wing!)

Drumroll, please….

North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc. and I are delighted to announce

a very special promotion of the Bob White Birder Murder Mystery series:

[image error] Click here for your FREE Kindle copy!

Bond. James Bond…forever

Dunlap.

Jan Dunlap.

Okay, maybe I don’t have a martini (shaken, not stirred) in my hand, but my heart is in the right place: tomorrow, Oct. 5, is Global James Bond Day in honor of the fictional British secret agent’s fifty years on the big screen, and I’m going to observe it by watching a few of my favorite Bond movie clips. If I had an alluring evening gown or string bikini to wear, maybe I’d even dress up as a Bond girl.

Or not.

Let’s face it: even though I was only seven years old when James Bond made his movie debut as a licensed-to-kill servant of the Queen, the big-screen James has certainly aged way better than I have. Of course, if I’d had seven different people playing me over the last fifty years, I might be looking a lot better now, too.

Although that might have been pretty traumatic for my kids.

“Who’s that lady in the kitchen?” my children would have wondered every time a new Jan appeared.

“That’s your mother,” my husband would have said.

“No, it’s not,” the kids would insist. “Mom doesn’t look like that.”

“Sure she does,” my husband would have reassured them. “You’ve just been so busy with school and playing with your friends, you haven’t taken a good look at your mother in a while. She’s constantly re-inventing herself, you know.”

On second thought, maybe the kids wouldn’t have noticed. When I look through photo albums from the last 50 years, I do look pretty different every decade. And during their high school years, it seems like I barely saw my kids between their studying, part-time jobs, socializing, and typical teenage dismissal of parental attention.

I bet James Bond wouldn’t let his kids ignore him.

“Empty your wastebasket or I’ll shoot the miniature shock dart I’ve got hidden in my right shirt cuff into your arm,” he’d say.

“No, you won’t,” his daughter would tell him. “Mom took out all those darts years ago. I saw her throw them away. She said you have to stop playing with toys and grow up. I mean, come on, Dad, you’re what? Like eighty years old now?”

Kids. Don’t let them get you down, James. After all, you’ll always be thirty-something to me and all your fans, even on your fiftieth anniversary.

Learning never stops

I’m an advocate of life-long learning. Not only did I get my own advanced degrees after I turned fifty, but I have many students in my online courses that are my age and older. Their experiences bring a maturity and richness to the class discussions that nineteen-year-olds just can’t match. So, in celebration of unending learning, I want to share with you three things I learned yesterday:

Car batteries can unexpectedly die, even when you’ve just had the whole car tuned up within the last month. Yesterday, my husband stopped for coffee on his way in to work, and when he returned to the car, the engine was as dead as a doornail. Luckily, he only had to wait five minutes before a tow truck appeared to take him to work and the car to the shop. Now we know that when a car battery approaches twelve years of age, you should probably think about replacing it. Preferably before it unexpectedly dies. At least my husband was stranded at a coffee shop and not in the middle of the interstate. I guess a caffeine addiction isn’t all bad.
My dog does not eat dead shrews. That’s all you need (or want) to know.
Common Flickers are now called Northern Flickers. I grew up calling this particular type of woodpecker a Common Flicker, but I was informed yesterday that the birding authorities have renamed it a Northern Flicker. I have no idea why, but that’s its official name now. And since I am a life-long learner, I can learn to call it a Northern Flicker. Just like I had to learn that Pluto is no longer a planet. I still don’t quite understand why that is the case, but that’s the official word. I have to admit, it makes me a little nervous about the permanence of knowledge if birds can be renamed and planets can be reduced to not-planets. The next thing you know, someone is going to be telling us that recession doesn’t mean recession at all…

Countdown to apocalypse…and a disclaimer

Hey, did I miss the big end of the world thing?

I know it was supposed to be in 2012, but I’ve been really busy the past few months with my two oldest children getting married, and sending my youngest daughter off to college, so I’m afraid the end of the world thing has been on the bottom of my ‘to-do’ list.

Let’s check it out.

(googling…)

No, I didn’t miss it! Here’s the official website, and it’s got a really helpful countdown going on that says we’ve got 84 days, 17 hours, 20 minutes, 36 seconds left. Good. I’ve got time to make some tea.

Oops. I just lost two seconds.

Oh my gosh. This website lists celebrities who believe in the Mayan prophecy that started all this apocalypse-watching: Brittney Spears, Shirley MacLaine, Li’l Wayne, Mel Gibson, somebody named Jack Van Impe, and Smashing Pumpkins, to name a few. Somehow, those particular names don’t inspire a lot of confidence in me when it comes to predicting the end of life as we know it. If you ask me, I think those folks have already gone beyond life as we know it. Except for the Jack guy. I don’t know anything about him. Yes, it’s true: I don’t know Jack.

But apparently, not all life is going to end, because right here, on the site, is an ad for the Survival Store, which is featuring a 72-hour survival kit. So I guess we can all plan on being around at least 72 hours after the end of the world. That’s also good to know.

But if I buy ten kits, can I survive for 720 hours? A hundred kits for 7200 hours? How does this end of the world thing work, anyway?

It looks like I have a ton of reading to do on this site if I’m going to truly grasp the coming apocalypse. There’s something about a Planet X, web bots, Bolivia banning Coca-Cola, and a network disclaimer.

Ah. A disclaimer. Let’s see what it says, shall we?

It reads: “The content of “The 2012 Network” is for general information purposes only and does not constitute advice. “The 2012 Network” tries to provide content, news and information that is true and accurate as of the date of writing; however, we give no assurance or warranty regarding the accuracy, timeliness, or applicability of any of the contents. Visitors to “The 2012 Network” should not act upon “The 2012 Network’s” content or information without first seeking appropriate professional advice.”

Note that it does not state what kind of ‘appropriately qualified professional.’ But I think I can make a reasonably accurate guess…

 

About the nose…

My husband recently had surgery to remove a small melanoma on the side of his nose. Afterwards, the doctor applied a sterile dressing and bandage to the site and told my husband to keep it on for 48 hours so the skin could begin to heal.

My husband dutifully did so. He also told everyone who asked about his nose at work the next day a big fat lie about what had happened to him.

He told them that he and I were play knife-fighting in the kitchen and it got a little out of hand.

“You did not say that,” I said when he told me.

“Yes, I did,” he gleefully assured me. “You should have seen the looks on people’s faces for that split second before they realized I was joking. One of my co-workers said after I told him that, he couldn’t concentrate on anything for the rest of the day – he kept imagining you and me pretending to knife fight and couldn’t stop laughing.”

“Oh, great,” I moaned.

“Really, everyone thought it was hilarious,” he continued, then paused for a moment. “Except for a couple people who don’t know me very well. They weren’t quite sure what to make of it, I think. They gave me an odd look and walked away.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “If the police show up at the door to talk to me, I’ll have you to thank.”

“No thanks required,” he replied. “I knew people would be curious, and some would be too uncomfortable about asking, so this way, I could make a joke out of it and relax them.”

“If that was the case, you could have just written right on your bandage: Ask Me About My Nose,” I suggested. “Or you could have printed up flyers to hand out when people asked.”

He gave me a long look.

“That’s a great idea,” he finally said, a big smile on his face. “I’m going to do a flyer.”

“What’s it going to say?” I asked. “‘Don’t let this be you – use sunscreen to prevent skin cancer’?”

He sat down at the laptop and began typing his flyer. I looked over his shoulder to see.

“ABOUT MY NOSE,” I read aloud. “My wife and I were play knife-fighting…”

Free copy of newest Birder Murder!

Today I’m pre-empting my regularly scheduled funny business to make an important announcement!

You can win a FREE copy of my newest book!

There’s still time to enter the drawing for a FREE copy of “A Murder of Crows,” my newest Birder Murder Mystery that just came off the press last week. The drawing is being held at Goodreads, and if you haven’t discovered this readers’ site yet, give it a try. If you love to read, or want to keep up with who’s writing what and what everyone else thinks about it, Goodreads is the place to be online. I really like keeping track of what I’ve read there and what I want to read next – okay, it’s a little (maybe a lot!) OCD, but it makes me really happy….

AND it’s where you can enter drawings for FREE copies of books. What’s not to love? Entries for my drawing are only open till tomorrow, so get over there and enter.

In the meantime, I’m busy promoting “A Murder of Crows” all over the internet and around the Twin Cities, with lots of events coming up in the next few months. It looks like I’m also going to be interviewed about my books on Wisconsin Public Radio in the near future! Guess I better polish up my radio voice, huh?