Midterm madness: agriculture and libraries and cats

I focused my recent editorial on agriculture, which fits right in with my life the last couple of years: gardening and garden expansion, the Alaska Food Policy Council (which I got involved with via my job at SNRAS), the Alaska Community Agriculture Association (ditto), the Sustainable Agriculture Conference, and most recently, my class with Craig Gerlach on sustainable food systems and farming. It's a giant editorial, three pages. But the midterm is going to be a monster, probably around 24 to 36 pages. It's grueling, and I don't know if I'm going to be able to get it done in time!

And then there's the new kittens, who are wildly energetic, and the grantwriting workshop that Susan Willsrud and I are doing for the Ester library, and the new plans for it, and who knows what all.

Right now, my life is so frantically busy I can't keep up with myself.

Cats and cancer

Last year, our cat Archie developed a fatal cancer, and we had to have a vet come out to give him a lethal injection. We buried him in the garden and this year grew huge bunches of catnip over his grave. Now our big rangy ditz of a feline, Hexer, also has cancer, this time of the intestine--and quite probably throughout his lymphatic system. It's fatal also, and so we will be putting him down later this week too. Not only am I greatly upset by this (and Hans is too), I am afraid for our other cats and for ourselves--I suspect that we may have a radon problem.

This really sucks.

Archie's eyes

I created this for my InDesign class last year, basing it on the photo of Archie, below.

Archiecat

Well, yesterday was a bummer. Our twelve-year-old cat, Archie, had to be put down. He had, it seemed, developed a tumor on his layrnx, which led to slightly louder snoring and a little bit of whuffling over the last few months (not really noticeable), and then yesterday a sudden inability to breathe. He sounded like he'd swallowed a kazoo--every breath was an effort. The tumor had reached sufficient size that it flopped over and practically closed his trachea off, and the pressure made a vibration which came out like a musical wheeze or honk.

We contemplated driving him down to Anchorage for surgery, but after the vet here consulted with a surgeon down there (no one in Fairbanks is qualified to do this type of operation, evidently), it was pretty clear he was a goner. So we took him back home, and a kind veternarian from Mt. McKinley Animal Hospital stopped by on his way home from work and gave Archie a lethal injection.

Then we made him a casket and buried him with some catnip in the garden. It seemed the right thing to do. Simply burying him in the ground wasn't right. It would have messed up his fur. Hans went and got a bunch of big stones and made a ring around the grave, and we will fill it with good garden soil next year and plant catnip. Archie was an intelligent, friendly cat, and a companion, and it makes me cry to think about all this.

A while ago, I put the photo above onto Wikimedia, into the public domain. I also used this photo to create an illustration of his eyes. The photo is one of two that I have of him. I painted a portrait of him that sold to the Aurora Animal Clinic, I think, many years ago when he was only a couple of years old. So he'll be around.

"I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"
Death thought about it.
"Cats," he said eventually. "Cats are nice."

--Terry Pratchett, Sourcery

Moved, sort of

Well, after much lifting and hauling and shoving and tossing and grunting and straining, the gadzillion piles of papers and books have been thrown into boxes and transported to what used to be our new (unfinished)bedroom/studio/junk collection spot. Monique Musick, Raz, and Mayor Hannah, along with Wayward Truck Collector Scott Allen and Noble Spousal Unit Hans, and myself, did some seriously heavy lifting and got everything into the New Office and Shipping Room in our house. Whew. I managed to create a nifty little office with desk and computer (no Internet access, though--I'm writing this from the local cybersaloon) and a shipping table and storage for books, papers, and packing materials. There's actually still leftover room for a studio/sitting area.

It's still full of boxes and piles of art papers and curious cats all over the place (they REALLY like it that I'm hanging out in the house all day), but I'm sorting and chucking leftover crap and filing and whatnot, so the space is getting more manageable. I was actually able to work today, filling orders and entering data and (gack) paying bills. The Ponzi scheme I've been running (otherwise known as yer normal publishing biz) is catching up with me. Thank god some of my debtors are paying up. I sent off the rest of the money owed on Nuggets, plus the check for the March Republic. It's just amazing how fast the money flies out. But I do have a few cool books coming in to show for my effort.

Today Jorgy and Jean Lester and I had lunch and went over our contract, and a whole passel of folks stopped by our table to say hi. It was great. One of them, a Mr. Hupprich, was carrying around a copy of Like A Tree to the Soil, and he was able to identify the kids in the Potato Club photo from 1937 (he was one of them). I was delighted to be able to point to the book and say, "I did that, I designed it." And took it from manuscript to book. Made me feel pleased and proud, like I'd done something that meant something to people, that was worthwhile.

I just LOVE things like that.

Moving

Well, it's been an exciting week here in the old village. Let's see: Jorgy off to the printer, Nuggets being bound, Long Winter in press, the March Republic at the printer, preparations for the Mired Loon Splash on Monday next, Hans stomping out of the Emma Creek West meeting (see his opinion piece on this in the next issue), and, due to an emergency housing crisis on the part of a good friend, the Republic will be moving back into the Helfferich/Mölders living room this weekend.

My, my, my. Well, at least my cats will appreciate this, and I can go to work in my bathrobe.

O tannenbaum

Okay, the cats have figured out that it's Christmas. Archie keeps getting up on the table (which is covered with tissue paper, wrapping paper, ribbon, books, dead flowers, mugs, bills, movies, more books, junk mail, and dishtowels) and batting all that wonderful crinkly-sounding stuff about. Miss Puss and her brother Hexer are prone to sudden dashes about for no discernable reason. Luciano just woke up. Betsy is wandering around eyeing the bows. I've just fed them all some catnip.

Now think about that. Every horizontal surface in the living room, kitchen, studio, office, and entry is covered with really cool stuff that makes the most delightful sounds when you bat it across the room or slide into it at high speed. And all those ribbons are shimmery and move in unexpected ways.

The only thing that is saving our house from destruction via stoned feline is the fact that we don't have a Christmas tree that they can knock over and start a fire with....

The fun is beginning, on the stairwell. Now I have a couple of looming stoned cats, one of whom seems to be thinking about whether he can make the other jump really high by sneaking up on her when she's not looking...

Merry Christmas and Happy Solstice, everyone!