Lyda Morehouse's Blog, page 115

Something Other Than Fish

I still have nine tetra but I'm not going to jinx them by celebrating their recovery too soon. After all, the three of us are heading out of town soon and the last time we did that with tetra in the house, I came home to a moldy clump of them wadded together on a plant. (Something about tetras and mold, I guess.) But fingers crossed, knocking on wood, and all that supersitous stuff until we get home again.

According to the moon app on Tate's blog today is New Moon and it is, apparently, not a g

Still Not... Dead

By all rights my tetra should be dead.

I was feeling pretty good about their progress yesterday. They all seemed chipper in the morning, enough so that they did their usual happy swarm when I dropped some food flakes at the top of the tank. I happily ignored them most of the day. Then, just before turning in for the evening, I looked at them to say good night and cried, "Oh my god!"

They had mold on THEIR EYES. EEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!

Like all of a sudden... they went from happy-happy to MOLDY EYE

OH NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Is Captain America Coming Back to Life?

WTF? Okay, I have to admit I stopped picking up my Captain America titles a few months ago when Dreamhaven moved, so I don't know what's going on here.... but dang it, I LIKED Bucky/Winter Soldier as Captain America. My only consolation seems to be that Ed Brubaker is writing.

Now There Are Nine

As I said in my comment to Dorian, one of my tetra died yesterday afternoon...and now there are nine. It was one of the new little ones who had the most damaged fins. S/he was lying on the bottom gasping, and I had one of those, "Don't die! This is totally all my fault!" moments, as I watched him/her suffer. I managed to hold back the tears, though. I had too much going on yesterday to have time to bleed as our former governor once said quite famously.

I was only stopping home yesterday for

Just When You Thought it Was Safe to Go Back in the Water

More tetra troubles.

I'm sure many of you are sick of hearing about the fishy woes, but if I don't vent here, my family has to hear me moaning day in and day out... and I've been told that gets old fast. In fact, while driving Shawn in this morning we had a conversation like this:

Me: "I think I gave the fish the wrong medicine."
Shawn: "Hmmm. When you talk to the car people, be sure to ask them if the front struts need to be done before we go to Indiana."
Me: "What? Oh, sure. I hope my fish are

Continued Fish Trauma... or the Third Bad Thing

I woke up this morning to a shout of horror from Shawn. I bolted upright, having been in that yeah-I-know-it-s-time-to-get-up-but-gimme-five-more-mintues semi-conscious state, and ran over to where she stood next to the five gallon tetra tank. She was staring at something on the floor and saying, "Oh, Lyda," in a rather pitying voice.

A tetra lie dead on the floor.

Apparently, sometime in the middle of the night, little tetra decided s/he could no longer live in that tank, and leaped to her/his

Fish Gods Must Be Appeased!

Apparently, the fish gods demand a sacrifice. Though Bob[3:] is alive and well (and the ten gallon tank has never been sparklier,) I came home yesterday to discover one of my beloved tetra stuck to the biofilter, dead as the proverbial doornail. Now there are six.

What's strange about the tetra is that, even dead, the fish had beautiful color. The neon of its blue glittered at the bottom the toliet bowl and its red stripe glowed vibrantly as I gave it the traditional "Gucci, gucci, you were a

Near Fish Disaster Averted (Fingers Crossed)

On Saturday, when Mason had an impromtu play-date with his friend Dalton, I happened to notice that Bob[3:]'s eyes were weirdly milky and he was floating near the top of the tank with his fins clamped tightly against his body. I did an immediate emergency water change, but that didn't seem to do much to help. After the everyone headed home, I looked through the various medications I have on hand, and thought perhaps we were having a case of "fin rot." (On close inspection a couple of Bob's fin

I Might Be a Trekkie

Actually, I KNOW I'm a Trekkie. Mason and I were staring, bleary-eyed at the box of frosted Mini-Wheats at breakfast, and I saw the Starfleet uniform shirts they had on offer. Mason thought they looked cool and I ended up spending the rest of the morning before school recounting the plots of some of my favorite OT episodes ("OT," of course, meaning Original Trek or Old Trek to those of us who used to be on the STREK-L listserv before I...er, killed it.)

Shawn turned to me in the car while I was

I dunno, I just miss the Cap pic

I did just go work out and was thinking about how I only have three more years to become Captain America, but really, I just kind of missed my cool Cap pic. In the "please don't hate me because I'm beautiful" category, I am extremely proud to say that I seem to have officially dropped one pants size. I now wear a 14. Whoot. Oh, and I sold (or maybe "resold," depends on whether or not the editor decides that the New Wyrd chapbook counts) my short story "Jawbone of an Ass" to "SHE NAILED THE ST