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Author: lissajohnston@gmail.com

Published on Leave a comment on DIY: Doing It to Yourself

My current favorite tool

It's official: the Do It Yourself craze is out of control. It's the biggest scam perpetrated on the American public since Valentine's Day. As you probably suspected, it is a vast middle class conspiracy designed to generate billions for the big box hardware stores and the niche cable channels. The infuriating part is HOW it generates the billions. It's not by inspiring you to try the latest fads in 'updating' your home. Oh, no. it's more insidious than that. The DIY trend is designed to make you THINK you can do things yourself. But of course this is a damnable lie on par with the Prince Charming myth disseminated by the Feb 14 people.

Listen to me carefully here: You Cannot Do Any Of That Stuff Yourself. You don't have the expensive precision tools. You don't have the hot studs/studettes and their two dozen lackeys, each of whom have won the renovation equivalent of the Oscar in their respective fields (Woodworking, Tilework, Plumbing, Electrical, and the big kahuna, Home Staging). Most importantly, you don't have a CLUE how to do any of this stuff. If the extent of your experience before tackling a project is watching an HGTV show on said project, that 22 minutes per episode means bupkus. You need to accept this and be at peace with it.

So here's how they get us - they convince us we can do this stuff. We head to the big box store, happily lay out the cash for tools and materials because we know we are saving tons of money on labor by doing it ourselves. But when we fail miserably (and we will), they know we will head back to the big box at least one more time to try and fix the big mess we just made. Cha Ching! And yes, sadly, most of us end up calling the professionals anyway, once we realize the ugly truth and cannot in fact get the water supply shut off after the toilet is already ripped out of the master bath. Double Cha Ching!

Do I sound bitter? Oh, yes, I am one of the millions who have drunk the DIY Kool-Aid. But they make it look so easy, dang it! Even the packagers are in on the deal. How many times have you read on the side of a package, "No Tools Required!" or "Easy Installation"? Even the ones that have the little rating system, "Easy, Medium, Difficult" are a scam - never attempt anything above Easy and if you do, be sure to have your handyman's cell phone number at the ready.

Can you tell we have owned a few homes that were a bit of a fixer? Some were move-in ready and didn't need much work other than a coat of paint here and there. Easy! At least that is something I know I can do (except for the time I cheaped out on paint and it took me four coats and four hours before I gave up and bought the good paint to get decent coverage - lesson learned).

Other homes we've owned, on the other hand, have had oodles of projects. Most were maddeningly, temptingly DIY-type tasks. But nothing is ever that easy, is it?

In one place we lived, I'm guessing the previous owners were avid DIYers, judging from the variety of can light styles throughout. Could we not get more than two of a kind that match each other, people? Can Light Project #1: the can was missing its trim. The light worked fine, except for the 1/2 inch gap all the way around. Classy! So I'm thinking, no big deal, just go buy a piece of trim and plop it up there. Problem solved, right? Picked up some trim, got it home no problem. Where/how to attach trim to existing can? Big Problem. Took the can out of the ceiling to see if there was some sort of attachment further up the can, and found it was the wrong kind of can for that slot. Specifically, it was a can designed for a space with no insulation and of course there was nothing but loads of pink cotton candy insulation in the space. Ruh Roh! Back to the big box store for the correct type of can that Won't Burn Down My House.


The Root of All Evil

As if that wasn't enough - right as you walk in the door, there were three recessed light fixtures, or at least there are supposed to be. There are two fixtures and a third hole but no fixture, just wires dangling out of the ceiling, which brings us to Can Light Project #2. WTF?? How hard is it to just buy the other can and put it in? Funny you should ask. Turns out the hole is one that has very little clearance between ceiling and roofline, so not just any can will work there. On the third try, managed to find a fixture that not only would fit in the space, but would sort of match the other two that were already up there. We're talking within 2 feet or so, so it would be nice if they matched.

By this time, the big box store people have my picture on a poster in their break room due to the number of return/exchange items I am racking up.

So anyway, I am ecstatic about finally finding a fixture that appears to be the solution. All that is left to do is white to white, black to black, ground to ground and we are in business, right? Of course the house wiring is stiff as a board and does not want to bend into the correct shape to fit into the little j-box of the fixture, so we have the usual drama and cursing to get the wires joined. Finally get everything copacetic, fool around with the stupid little metal clamps that keep the fixture more or less in place in the hole, shove it in there, and it's Go Time - screw in bulb, turn on switch, mission accomplished. The excitement is building. Turn on switch. And . . . nothing happens.

Of course it doesn't.

Remove bulb, pull fixture out, assuming stupid wires have become detached somehow in the process, possibly in the shoving portion of our show. But all is well with the wires . . . (head scratching here) . . . is bulb faulty? Go find other smallish bulb that definitely works in other fixture . . . still nothing . . . then realization dawns.

Did I mention this house was lousy with light switches, the purpose of which approximately 25% of which have not been identified? So I'm giving the stink-eye to the single switch that operates the other two lights that are in proximity with the one I am working on, and I start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this one light is on a different switch?

Yup.

Why in the name of all that is holy, I don't know, but two of the three lights are on a single switch, and the third one is on a three switch fixture around the corner. Of course it is. So I throw one of the three switches while the can is still dangling from wires out of the ceiling and Eureka, the light comes on. Do a little celebration dance, get the correct bulb in there, shove it back in place, turn it on, Nada (insert cursing here). Take can out of hole, disassemble, re-attach stupid white wire that became mysteriously disconnected (see 'shoving' above), reconnect, shove can back in hole, put correct bulb in, throw switch, and a frickin' hour later stupid hole has stupid fixture in it, like it was supposed to be when they cut the stupid hole in the stupid ceiling in the first place.

Lord I don't want to be that girl, the one that leaves a bunch of unfinished projects for the next homeowner. That's just wrong.


My future favorite tool. It's a Dremel MaxSaw.

I don't know about you, but I am exhausted. I have decided rather than try to save a bunch of money doing all these future projects myself, I am going to work extra hard on generating some income to hire the pros to come in and do this stuff. The DIY Kool-Aid has worn off and I don't want to do anything around here more complicated than flushing a toilet. Did I mention we bought a new toilet? It's sitting out in the entryway, still in its box, pretty as you please. Can't wait to see how that project turns out.

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Published on 2 Comments on To Eavesdrop, or Not To Eavesdrop?

So I'm out to dinner with the hubs (in a happier time when it was both safe and normal to go 'out' to dinner), looking forward to a casual evening on the lake. My needs are simple: enjoy a hot burger (that I did not have to cook myself) and some cold beer without being disturbed. Is this too much to ask? Apparently, sometimes it is.

We were at a local joint, outside on their lakeside deck. Unlike the dank restaurant proper, the deck was quite pleasant, perfect for watching sunsets and the boat traffic traveling thither and yon.

I didn't need ears this big for this one

Although it was a weekend evening, the weather had been a little sketchy earlier in the day, so the place was less crowded than usual. The deck was not large, maybe the size of a two-car garage. There was a family group over at one side, but they appeared to be finished with their meal and were busy watching a pastoral vignette of ducks and turtles in the water below. Another foursome sat at one of the tables. That was it. We chose the nearest empty table, which happened to be adjacent to the foursome, and waited for our waitress.

My first clue that my wish for a peaceful evening was a little overly optimistic: when one of the foursome retired to the deck rail behind us for her cigarette break. The cigarette was no big deal. I mean, we were in South Carolina. Just about the last place in the country that is clinging to the Right To Bear Butts with both gnarled, tobacco-stained hands. But the friends Smoking Woman had left behind at the table across the deck were loath to leave her out of their conversation. So their convo continued, shouted across the deck so that Smoking Woman could still be included.

Okay, this was annoying but I could handle. Makes it way easier for me to eavesdrop! Plus, how long could it last? About the time it takes to smoke one ciggie, right? Plus plus, this group had high potential for My Personal Amusement. Let's just say although their table had been cleared, we didn't need their pile of Bud Light bottles to figure out they had been there for a while.

I honestly don't recall much of what they were saying. Part of me was trying to be considerate and block it out, like that one time I was in the grocery checkout line and the gal on the phone behind me was relating (in full voice, mind you) that she is freaking out because her boyfriend is demanding a paternity test and she knows he won't be happy with the results.

Ahem.

Back to the Bud Lite foursome. My initial Personal Amusement transformed into Pearl-Clutching Mortification as their shouted conversation ended when one of the non-smoking ladies yelled across the deck, 'yeah, cuz she SWALLOWS!'

As I mentioned, there weren't many of us out there at the time. Besides the foursome, it was just the two of us, and a LARGE FAMILY GROUP with half a dozen kids under the age of 10. Obviously someone at the foursome's table had forgotten they were using their Annoying Drunk-ass Outside Voice. Heads swiveled. Birds stopped chirping. I swear the massive, ancient air conditioner at the rear of the building even stopped roaring for a tick. I double-dog dare any of you out there to exercise the amount of self-control it took me not to turn and stare, mouth agape; not to mention, laugh out loud. My husband, bless his heart, chose this moment to excuse himself on the pretense of going to retrieve our sunglasses (we had left them on the boat since the skies were overcast). So foolish of us. Who knew I would soon need them to camouflage my facial expression and keep me from getting rousted by the locals for laughing at their drunken antics?

As that eternal few seconds of silence stretched on, someone in the foursome chastised the other three, reminding them about the little kids in the audience nearby, and so forth. Things calmed down. I thought I was home free.  With any luck, they would be gone baby gone by the time the hubs returned with the sunglasses, and we could enjoy our dinner.

Smoking Woman returned to her seat. Someone at their table had the foresight to change the subject, whatever hot mess that conversation had been. So they began discussing what half of the civilized world had been talking about for weeks - a certain best-selling trilogy featuring sex, sex, and one other thing, I think it was . . . sex. Great. Just what I want to overhear from the already-blitzed-and-a-little-bit-ticked-off foursome.

For those of you who were behind the door when 50 Shades of Grey was handed out to every over 30 female south of the 30th parallel, this is an X-rated - okay maybe R17 - book about a rich guy who ensnares an innocent young college girl and volunteers to complete her sexual education with plenty of lube, handcuffs, and things that shall not be mentioned here in order to keep me from getting kicked out of the major search engines. Couple questions:

  • I want to know which one of the brain trust at the Bud Light table thought this would be a palatable subject?  Among the gal pals, sure. But out on a double date? Okay, maybe it was their kink?
  • Do these guys look like they spend a lot of time reading?
  • and for those guys who DO spend a lot of time reading, which of you reads soft porn masquerading as romance aimed at the middle-aged female demographic?

Sweet Mother of Pearl. Talk about out of the frying pan. We were close enough and they were loud enough, there was no sense pretending I didn't hear every word. There I sat, now clearly angled away from their table so that in case my self control slipped, I didn't want them to see my facial expression. Thank dog the hubs had returned with the sunglasses by now. Innocent lamb that he is, he kept asking me questions about what they were talking about. So I was trying to run a low volume commentary for him, but he could't hear me, so everything got whispered twice. Now THAT didn't appear a bit awkward.  I dared not look over there. Might as well pull up a chair to their table and ask for clarification as the convo progressed.

It was obvious neither of the two men in the foursome had read the book. The women kept making this or that reference to this or that naughty bit. I think they thought if they kept it light and used plenty of euphemisms, the guys would have no clue. But there were no flies on those guys. They were on the scent. They knew something was up. They wanted details. The conversation went something like this. My thoughts in italics.

Man: So what's the big deal about this book? What's it about?

Dangerous question. Tread carefully here.

Woman: It's a story about a guy and a girl. It's a fantasy. If you haven't read it, you wouldn't understand.

Good answer. Way to sidestep the touchy subject of sexual fulfillment (or lack thereof).

Man: So if it's a fantasy, what's so interesting? I read technical manuals all day at work. If it isn't real, I'm not interested.

Woman: Sometimes it's nice to read about people whose life is different from yours.

Meaning, I sure wish you would read this book and pick up a few pointers.

Man: If you like it so much, how is it different from your actual life?

Oh, he is clever. Notice how he has circled back to his original question: what's it about?

Woman: It's WAY different. For one thing you would need a bigger . . . wallet.

Skate save! She almost blew it! Right now she is feeling pretty clever that she narrowly avoided the excruciatingly delicate topic of Size Matters.

Man: Oh - so it's all about the money. Well, let me tell you something: money isn't everything. Are you saying I don't make enough money?

Ruh-roh. Almost makes me wonder if the truthful answer about the 'wallet' might have been better. That might have had a bumpy start, but would have gotten them thinking about sex instead of money. At least there's a potentially mutually satisfying solution to that particular argument.

Woman: No! I said it's a fantasy.

Man: But you said you really liked it and you wished your life was like that.

Woman: Forget it. I'm going to the boat.

And . . . we're done. Off they went in a sulky huff. Thank dog - at least I could take off my sunglasses and not worry about making eye contact. They were wearing me out!

A part of me felt sorry for them. I mean, who hasn't had a wee bit much to drink and ruined what was turning out to be a pretty entertaining evening? But then I thought about what idiot brings up the topic of an awesome sex fantasy  you couldn't put down to your partner/mate unless you think they are receptive to new ideas in the boudoir? Otherwise there's only one way that comes off: you're not cutting it in the bedroom, so I am finding satisfaction elsewhere. Granted, it's harmless satisfaction from a trashy beach read, but still - that has to sting a little bit. I hope they went home and had mad makeup sex. Either that, or Googled the nearest AA meeting.

As for me, the chili burger was great and the Yeungling was cold. If it's not about beer, burgers, ducks, or turtles, I don't want to talk about it without my sunglasses.

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Published on Leave a comment on El Camino Real
photo from this site

I used to have a fairly long work commute. I remember at one point, there was cause for celebration as a construction project scheduled for completion finally removed its last traffic cone, only three months late. Ahh, blessed relief! as this reduced my commute from 55 pressure-filled minutes, to 48.

I shouldn't be so stingy in my appreciation. After all, I had the luxury of choosing well-paved interstate or paved two- or four-lane thoroughfares (including shoulders!) both ways, cones or no cones. But a simple walk through the nearby wooded state game lands recalls a time when 'roads' were little more than well-trodden walking paths, which were previously well-trodden goat tracks, which previously had been muddy sluices created by rainwater seeking the path of least resistance. Only a few generations separate highway from wildlife trail, and the El Camino Real is proof.

2014 marked the ten year anniversary designating Texas' El Camino Real as a National Historic Trail. The 'Royal Road' has been guiding travelers from Mexico through San Antonio and Nacogdoches into Louisiana for more than 300 years. Modern roads still follow its general path, including Texas Highway 21.

Looking at the map, it is easy to take the USA-centric view and assume the road sprang from Louisiana and expanded southwest. Quite the opposite! It expanded from Mexico as a means to connect with Spanish outposts bordering French-held lands in Louisiana.

El Camino Real was witness to hundreds of years of history. Thousands, if you consider its pre-Spanish origins as Native American trading path. It is also a focal point of some of my historical interests:

Spanish exploration: it was an outgrowth of the Spanish pushing north after the conquest of Mexico by Hernan Cortes in 1521. My first published book was a children's biography of Spanish explorer Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca. What a story! His expedition shipwrecked near Galveston. He spent many years wandering Texas and Mexico. He may have crossed El Camino Real in his quest to make it back to civilization.

French exploration: El Camino Real also has a tangential role in the saga of French explorer Robert La Salle, who may have been murdered near where the road passes the Trinity River at Keechi Creek. This might also be a good time to mention one of my works-in-progress (working title La Belle) is partly inspired by the story of La Salle's doomed Texas colony, and therefore also has an El Camino Real connection.

Archaeologist Al McGraw's article on El Camino Real has tons more info. Now that I no longer have a commute, I can go down that rabbit hole.

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Published on 1 Comment on The Brits Are Through Horsing Around

One more post about hair, and I'll stop, I promise.

Have you heard about the TV series, Rake? It stars Greg Kinnear as a ne'er-do-well Los Angeles lawyer. No lack of material there, amirite? The show is pretty funny, but I discovered it is the American version of an Australian series (tagline: 'the bar has been lowered'). So I gave the original a look as well, which is also a scream. Because it features a lawyer, naturally there are many courtroom scenes. And here's the connection to the hair topic:


He has a curious craving for a bag of oats, guaranteed

What on earth is up with those ridiculous wigs the British empire lawyers, or 'barristers', wear in court?? A courtroom should be a scene of solemn dignity. Yet the most powerful guys in the room are all wearing what looks like a child-size vintage Easter bonnet. I should know - I had one (bonnet, not wig). Might as well have the President deliver the State of the Union in a Davy Crockett-style cap. Or an amateurish orange combover.

How can one be expected to maintain decorum and focus while wearing a hot, itchy, not to mention comical, remnant of a 400-year-old tradition on top of your head? For comparison, imagine wearing one of those Viking horn helmets the next time you give a PowerPoint presentation at work.

Turns out the wigs are a holdover from the 17th century wig craze. The Brits and the Aussies have given up wearing them except on special occasions. I'm sure they are all thrilled. Not only do they look silly, they were expensive and a pain in the tuckus to maintain.

The barristers aren't the only ones who are thrilled. The wigs are made of horse hair. I guess those donations from Manes of Love will have to go somewhere else.

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Published on 4 Comments on You Gotta Start Somewhere

I've written a little bit previously about what inspired my current writing project. I'd like to fill in a few blanks today. To recap, it's a YA trilogy. Here's my logline:

An unsuspecting teen is drawn into a resistance movement determined to expose a powerful but secretive group that is controlling the public through the food supply.

I guess I should clarify that it is fiction. But the more research I do, the more I wonder if I should also include an 'inspired by true events' line in the front matter of the books. Because it certainly is.

For the past few years, I've been on a processed food intellectual journey of sorts. I started at Curious, then quickly transitioned to Informed. Eventually I got to a level of Angry, which almost immediately morphed into Fury Of A Thousand Suns. Today I guess I would describe my present state as Inspired. Sorta in the same way that a blast furnace inspires coal to become steel.

Here's how I got to now.

Curious

Several years ago, I watched Morgan Spurlock's now-infamous 2004 documentary, Super Size Me. If you haven't seen it, you should (watch here now for free). Spurlock pledged to eat nothing but McDonald's food every day for thirty days. He could order whatever he wanted, as long as he ate each item on the menu at least once. I won't spoil it for you. But let's just say, I found it inspiring.

At the time, I was still a fan of fast food. I knew in my heart that McDonald's made the best french fries. I frequented drive-throughs often enough that I had 'my usual' at Taco Bell (Burrito Supreme Combo), Whataburger (#7 with jalapenos), and Sonic (#1 with jalapenos and tots). And yes, I agree Whataburger has better burgers than Sonic, but until Whataburger goes nationwide, Sonic's tots make them a perfectly acceptable substitute IMO. It's probably no surprise that at that time, I was also 15-20 pounds overweight and on the verge of needing medication to treat high cholesterol.

Super Size Me spelled the end of my McDonald's trips. I mourned their fries, but their other food was always mediocre IMO. My kids had long outgrown the Happy Meals marketing juggernaut. So it wasn't too hard for me to slam that door shut.

Next up, a copy of Skinny Bitch entered my orbit. I found it hilarious in parts, if a little extreme. If animal cruelty is a trigger for you (and if it's not, what the heck is wrong with you?), you have been warned.

Informed

Clearly there was more to this business model than charming old-school marketing strategies like venting fast food kitchens in such a way that the aroma of burger patties and fries lures customers in like grizzlies to a salmon run. In Eric Schlosser's eye-opening Fast Food Nation, I learned much about the industry, not the least of which is that we wouldn't even be able to stomach their mediocre fare, if it weren't for a handful of chemical factories located off the New Jersey turnpike working their asses off to improve the taste of low quality food.

Angry

In Michael Pollan's most excellent The Omnivore's Dilemma, I learned about the political shenanigans in the 1970s that drove thousands of small farmers out of business (and caused more than a few to commit suicide); and the (very obvious in hindsight) link between today's processed food behemoth and the obesity epidemic currently overburdening our health care system.

Can you tell I was building up a head of steam?

Fury of A Thousand Suns

By the time I discovered Michael Moss' Salt Sugar Fat, I was ready to go to war. It is truly despicable the lengths the processed food industry goes to to addict and entrap us into unnatural consumption patterns. From Moss, I learned that many food industry execs migrated from the cigarette industry. Is it any wonder they are all about addiction, and value their bottom line over the health of the consumer? And the hypocritical icing on this very unhealthy cake: I learned many food industry executives will not even consume their own products. Oh, the infuriating irony.

And here we are today, in the midst of a global pandemic that is especially devastating to folks who are already in poor health, perhaps because of poor diet. A poor diet often foisted upon us by greedy corporations more than willing to sacrifice consumer health at the altar of the almighty dollar.

So I crushed my fury into a tiny, tiny ball and compressed all that mad energy into determination to do something about this wretched state of affairs. But what can one person do against an army of corporate and political will?

Not much, I guess. I stopped drinking soda. I stopped eating fast food.

I started writing a book.

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Published on Leave a comment on That Sweet, Sweet Broccoli Salad

Here we are on the brink of summer in Texas, and that means one thing for sure: my beloved slow cooker is taking a hiatus. Just not in the mood for chili or vegetable beef soup, ya know? To fill the cooking void, I dragged out Ol' Trusty, my Southern Living cookbook. I use it like a hardbound Ouija board, gliding my hands over it and letting the pages fall open wherever they may.

I have the 2002 edition

I hadn't made this salad in a while, and had sort of forgotten about it until the cookbook opened, rather dramatically, to that exact page (274). The first time I had ever had it was when we lived in Minnesota many years ago. It was known up there as the Dayton's salad (or maybe Marshall Fields salad, depending on what corporate takeover had occurred most recently). You've probably enjoyed it under one of its many other aliases. It's the one with the broccoli, raisins, and creamy sweet dressing similar to a coleslaw dressing.

It was love at first bite! Not just because it's delicious. Whenever I eat this salad, I feel like I'm gaming the system. With salads like this, you can offset the guilt of using such a sugary dressing by telling yourself how much benefit you're getting from the broccoli.

As usual, I was lacking at least one of the ingredients and had to wing it. I was quite certain I had just taken a pound of bacon out of the freezer to thaw in the fridge, but alas, it was nowhere to be found. All other household members proclaimed innocence.

Am I the only one who is always surprised at how well raw veggies go with fresh fruits? Really must think to combine them more often.

Pro tip: if you're using fresh broccoli, don't discard the stems. Just chop them up really small, more like a dice, and toss them in; or save them for another salad. Chopped small, they remind me of a sweeter celery with just the right amount of crunch.

Here's the one I made

The SL version of this salad includes mandarin oranges. I don't recall the oranges being in the Minnesota version, but I could be mistaken. I love the addition of dried cranberries rather than golden raisins. And I used walnuts instead of almonds, cashews, pecans or any other nut I have seen included in this recipe. Whatever nuts you like/have on hand will be fine.

p.s. It was just fine sans bacon - crisis averted.

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Published on Leave a comment on Biting Back: Nature’s Mosquito Repellents

The second of two posts about everyone's favorite insect. Here's the first.

photo via Terminix website

Flipping our calendars to the month of June brings thoughts of summertime, vacation, fun in the sun – and mosquitoes. Mankind has been battling this flying menace for thousands of years. We now have potions and lotions and sprays and devices designed by modern science to keep mosquitoes away. But what about Mother Nature’s own weapons? Dragonflies, bats, and purple martins all have a reputation for being effective against mosquitoes. Are they worth a try?

Dragonflies: YES

Dragonflies and their cousins, damselflies, have existed for more than 300 million years. This is longer than the dinosaurs lasted, and much longer than human beings have been around. Beautiful and beautifully engineered, dragonflies are capable of incredible flying maneuvers at impressive speeds. Their legs, wings, and jaws have interesting features custom-made for catching flying insects for dinner. Best of all, their favorite food is mosquitoes. Even at the larval stage of development, dragonflies feed on mosquito larva. In fact, some of the larger species are known as ‘mosquito hawks’ for this very reason. One estimate is that a single dragonfly is able to consume 600 mosquitoes per day. Dragonflies do not sting, bite, or otherwise intentionally harm humans. They appear to be most effective in controlling mosquitoes during the larval stage. However they are very enjoyable to watch in the adult stage, as they come in an almost endless supply of bright colors and are very entertaining in flight. Unlike many other insects, dragonflies do not feed on, nor are they attracted to, flowers or plants. Because they spend the majority of their life span as larvae, they require a clean and permanent source of water nearby to make them feel welcome in your yard. If you live within a quarter mile of a body of water, this is sufficient. If not, you may create an artificial source of water for them.

image by Magical Soulz via unsplash

Bats: YES

There are many types of bats that feed on insects in North America. Bats are not likely to harm humans. They eat their share of mosquitoes as they hunt in the early evening hours. It is estimated that an average bat can consume 500-1000 mosquitoes each night. Bats have been used in metropolitan areas as a natural and safe way to control mosquitoes, which sometimes carry diseases harmful to man. If bats are likely to live in your area, you can attract them by installing a bat house in your yard.

A 1980 renovation transformed the Congress Avenue Bridge in Austin, Texas into an ideal bat cave, soon attracting migrating Mexican free-tailed bats.  Info and photo from https://www.austintexas.org/things-to-do/outdoors/bat-watching/

Purple Martins: NO

The purple martin, a bird and member of the swallow family, has a reputation for eating lots of mosquitoes. While it is true that the martin and other swallows do eat a lot of insects by swooping through the air with their mouths open, mosquitoes actually make up very little of the purple martin’s diet. Martins tend to feed during the daytime and at fairly high levels above the ground. Mosquitoes, on the other hand, are more plentiful later in the day and into the evening, and are found close to ground level. Martins are fun to watch and many people enjoy attracting them to their homes by building birdhouses especially designed for them. But they are not an effective way to combat mosquitoes.

Purple martins returning to their roost at Bomb Island on Lake Murray in South Carolina.

Even the most effective of nature’s mosquito eaters cannot solve the problem entirely. A creature that can eat thousands of mosquitoes sounds very efficient, until you realize that the mosquito population is easily numbered in the millions. In addition, dragonflies and bats will probably eat other insects as well, or may wander away from your yard to pursue their dinner. In the case of dragonflies, they are dinner for someone else (birds, frogs, spiders) -  their presence in your garden is not always guaranteed. Nevertheless, if you are interest in a more natural way of reducing your mosquito population, consider giving Mother Nature’s repellents a try.

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2

Published on 2 Comments on Gallinippers*, Be Gone!

The first of two posts about everyone's favorite insect. Here's the second.

Long before the dawn of man, the mosquito was around, anxious to make a meal of him. In the 21st century, we have many years of scientific research providing us with a variety of complex chemical sprays and lotions to keep the pests away.

Alas, these modern products have only been available relatively recently. Early cultures had to 'make do', as we say here in the South, with other methods.

STRONGLY recommend reading this article about the Karankawas at the Texas State Historical Association website https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/bmk05

One of the first mosquito repellent methods consisted of smearing something on the skin. Early peoples didn’t know that only the female mosquito feeds on blood, or that she is attracted by a combination of aroma and temperature. All they knew was that the little buggers had an annoying, itchy bite. Therefore, if one could come up with something that would keep the mosquitoes off their skin, the battle was won. No one can know for certain how they decided on what to use, but it does make sense that they settled on something that smelled absolutely awful. After all, if it repelled their fellow humans, wouldn’t it work the same way on mosquitoes?

Journals of early European explorers in America relate the use of rancid bear grease, alligator grease, and even shark oil. The grease was simple to find – it was the layer of fat just below the skin of animals killed in a hunt or perhaps found already dead. The shark oil comes from the shark’s liver. The natives smeared the grease or oil, sometimes combined with dirt, over all exposed skin. As they often went with very little clothing, this meant they were usually covered head to toe with the smelly mixture.

Primitive cultures also figured out that if they built smoky fires, this seemed to keep mosquitoes away. Some cultures preferred a certain type of tree, such as black mangrove. Others were not so picky – any green wood was acceptable. The secret was to get the wood smoking while not allowing it to achieve a full burn. During the summer months when mosquitoes were in full force, much time and effort was spent collecting wood specifically meant to keep mosquitoes at bay. It is difficult to say which was more unbearable – being covered with dirt and animal fat, or withstanding the heat of a smoky fire in the middle of summer, complete with stinging eyes and choking breath. Clearly mankind was willing to do almost anything to keep the mosquitoes away.

This effect is easily achieved by forgetting to open the damper in your indoor fireplace. NOT recommended.

Less offensive methods evolved with the passage of time. Early peoples were very knowledgeable about the properties of the plants growing nearby. They soon discovered that plants with pungent or strong smells seemed to be effective against mosquitoes.  Many of these plants are still used today for the same purpose. One of the most familiar to modern culture is citronella. Lavender, eucalyptus, and garlic are just a few of the plants that have some effect on keeping mosquitoes away. Before glass windows or wire screens were commonplace, people often constructed window boxes in order to grow some of these fragrant plants just below the window in the hopes of steering the mosquitoes away. Even today, in many countries where mesh screening is not widely available, window boxes still serve this purpose. These plant remedies have never been quite as effective as smoky fires or animal fat, but they are certainly more pleasant.

Modern man is still battling with the mosquito. We are still very interested in keeping those hungry females from biting us, no matter how unpleasant the solution. But the next time you complain about applying one of those high-tech creams, lotions or sprays, just remember – it could be worse. It could be alligator grease.

  • “gallinipper” is another word for mosquito.

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6

Published on 6 Comments on 50 Shades of Pandering

A version of this post originally appeared in 2012.

If I have to experience 50 shades, let's do these, please

Yeah, I'm old enough to get a daily dose of AARP emails. The fact that I no longer mind admitting that should also tell you something about my age. So I'm giving the daily email a quick once-over and slam on the eye brakes at an article about book recommendations. I love to read. Since my escape from the mass produced, over-hyped tree pulp spoon-fed by the Doubleday Book Club, I freely roam all forms of media looking for my next favorite book. And here's how the AARP article started:

AARP's antireview of 50 Shades:

. . . know what's in store for you: paper-thin characters spouting middle-school dialogue during mechanistic scenes of sex, bondage, sex, punishment, sex, spankings and yet more sex in a "playroom of pain." But if, instead, you're a fan of gripping, well-crafted tales about complex relationships . . .


. . . and on it went to talk about other books. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. So, they apparently hate the book, but they lead their summer reading review mentioning it? Do they want us to read it or not?

Seriously, I get it. They want to cash in on the hype, but they don't want anyone to think they actually approve of it ,or (heaven forbid) might have even read the thing.

Man, someone's SEO geek is really earning her salary. I appreciate the cleverness, but their shameless bid for youthful relevance ticked me off. And I am totally ripping off the concept for future blog posts. Here are a few ideas in draft mode. Let's see if they benefit from this new strategy.

As per Branding 101, I am planning several blog entries about evergreen topics, including the Olympics. How's this for a cruelly misdirected lead?

The wonders of network broadcasting technology provide us with nearly limitless opportunities to watch athletic competition. But they are not without their pitfalls. An innocent search for tennis programming may land you in Kardashianville. Beware the segment featuring the gals and their mom taking to the tennis court for a little R&R. If you were looking for an environment of etiquette and courtesy, look again. After approximately the fourth minute of pedestrian on-court hacking, trowel-applied makeup and disrespectful adolescent mockery, you will be desperate for something less soul-killing - like the Olympics!

See what I did there? I casually name-dropped a hugely popular trend (whose appeal completely escapes me) that had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH MY PREFERRED TOPIC, and used it to shill for said preferred topic.

Genius! Let's try another one!

Maybe I should re-think the intro to a previous blog entry featuring a recipe for chicken salad:

Found here

Have a hankering for some chicken, but tired of standing in line for hours behind a bunch of intolerant ignoramuses? Consider dishing up this homemade wonder that will have your family cheering for more (and spare you the overpowering compulsion to shower as soon you leave the Chick-Fil-A parking lot). 


I think the trick is to find the broad generality one loves, like books or chicken or tennis, and pinpoint the inevitable handful of unbelievably annoying fringe elements who have tainted it with their 15 minutes of fame. Quick! Glom onto their media-bloated coattails before the trend passes like black beans at a vegan potluck.

It just wouldn't be a proper blog post published in the spring of 2020 without a nod to the 800 pound gorilla of news topics, now would it? I'll wrap this up with a shameless attempt at some SEO traction:

Welcome to Day Whatever of the Covid-19 shelter-at-home order. What initially appeared to be a blessing in disguise (no work commute! loads of quality time with loved ones!) has quickly morphed into a real-life version of a prison apocalypse movie. Ready to escape? Check out my latest book. It's set in the 19th century Texas frontier, so social distancing is a piece of cake. The only people wearing masks are the ones holding up your stage coach. And there are no toilet paper shortages, because it hasn't been invented yet.

No kidding. You can actually buy my book here.

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6

Published on 6 Comments on Want Writing Success? Just Push That Button

Here at the Johnston household, we're beginning Week 5(!!) of mostly total self-isolation (by choice; no health issues, thank dog) during the Covid-19 kerfuffle. Some of us are losing our minds (yes, extroverts, I'm looking at you). Others are making hay while the sun shines, baby! I've finished the first draft of the second book in my current WIP trilogy, and have begun Janice Hardy's most excellent 31-day DIY revision workshop. I've used it before and highly recommend.

Image by @clarktibbs via Unsplash

If you're having trouble getting inspired because of all the other craziness going on, I feel ya. Here's a handy trick I use when I'm having trouble getting motivated to write: nothing brings me out of a writing funk like a great success story. Specifically, a writing success story.

I've put a few of my favorites together for you. There's a variety of genres here, but they have a few things in common - not the least of which is BIC time (Butt In Chair). So what are we waiting for? Read this, get inspired, and get busy.

Fantasy

Amanda Hocking - my favorite line from Ms. Hocking's experiences: she wrote constantly, took writing classes, and marketed her booty off, 'only to be rejected until she was already a self-made millionaire'. The self-made millionaire part resulted from her decision to e-publish her stories. They have since been purchased by St. Martin's Press and are available in traditional paper format as well.

Kid Lit

Rachel Renee Russell - Russell began writing in middle school but gave up her dream after being told by a writing class teacher she had no talent. She took his advice, got a law degree, raised a family. But after a mid-life dumping by her (now ex-) husband, she returned to her passion and submitted a manuscript. Bam! The Dork Diaries were born (Simon & Schuster).

WhoDunnit

Kerry Wilkinson - perhaps the most nonchalant backstory ever. Wilkinson's detective story e-books topped Amazon's e-book sales for 2011. Wilkinson claims he simply turned 30 and decided to do something with his life, so he wrote a story. After he finished the story he noticed a 'publish your book with us' button on his computer screen, so he pushed it. And the rest is hi$tory. Now why didn't I think of that?

Romantic Suspense

My favorite part of this podcast is at about the 41' mark where Marie Force talks about the difference switching to indie publishing made for her. 80,000 books sold. In ONE YEAR, people! Cha-CHING!

Here's hoping you are making the best use of the unexpected excess time you may or may not have on your hands now that most of us are doing our part to battle Covid-19 by staying at home as much as possible. Your Future Self will thank you.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this post, I hope you'll take a minute to subscribe to my blog (the subscribe box is near the top of the right sidebar).