Late Night Visitor

Of the many things I love about living in the country, the vast variety of Critters is at the top of the list. Among them: Red Tailed Hawks, assorted owls, quail, songbirds, woodpeckers, turkey vultures (which, by the way, are very handy to have around; they'll clean road kill off the street in less than an hour. Way quicker than any county worker will. Nature's sanitation workers.), all KINDS of insects, and, of course, snakes. We have rattlers, and garter snakes, and some others I don't know the names of. The rattlers are the only ones that concern me, mostly because Sophie is such a curious little scamp. I'm pretty sure she'd want to know what it is. And that would not end happily. But I digress...

I don't much worry over Mother's creations. I trust Nature and all its splendid diversity. Even the spiders don't bother me. However, just because they don't bother me, doesn't mean I want them in my house. I don't kill them. I trap them and bring them back outside where they belong. I like to think they appreciate that. Sometimes, though, they can startle. When that happens, it helps to not react. If one can manage that...

Last night, right in the middle of Jeopardy (oh yes. you KNOW I watch Jeopardy), I saw Sophie pawing at something right in the doorway of our French doors. She likes to lie there, half in, half out of the living room. It's a good spot from which to watch the beautiful, wild world. So, I'm watching Jeopardy and Sophie jumps up and starts pawing at something I can't see. At first I thought it was one of Pavo's fluffy butt feathers. It was too dark to see clearly, so I grabbed my flash light and shone the beam on the mystery invader. Sophie moved away (very unusual for her) and I asked her to sit/stay. She did. When I saw what it was, I was more than grateful I'd looked before picking it up.

The poor little guy must've been pretty scared because it didn't move a muscle. I told Sophie to stay put (again, she did. thank god for a smart puppy!) while I dashed into the kitchen for a bowl. Grabbed a greeting card off my desk and went back to see if it was still there. YES! I carefully placed the bowl over the Critter and slid the card underneath. I watched to see if it jumped (they do that when they're scared). It was still as a statue. Said a little prayer and went outside to find a good spot to set the little fella free. Opted for the mass of oleanders about fifty feet from the house. I watched as it first sat there, and then scurried off into the bushes. Another prayer for all of us...and back into the house where Sophie was sitting right where I'd left her. Good Girl, Sophie! GOOD GIRL! 

After I had a little giggle over the whole thing, I closed the door (I might not be scared of them, but I sure don't want to sleep with them either!) and sat on the floor with Sophie, telling her how happy I was that she listened. How happy I was that she didn't try to eat it (she does that sometimes with the ginormous beetles that cruise around), how happy I was (am!) that she's here to alert me to furry, eight-legged visitors. She gave a huge wag and a smooch. 

And then...she got cookies.

neat-freaks and other curious folk

Been thinking about the whole 'neat-freak' thing lately. Mostly because the person with whom I share a kitchen is probably one of THE biggest slobs I've ever known. Add his house-guests to the mix, and it makes for quite the challenge for a neat-freak. Up until a few months ago, I would just clean up behind them. I'd walk into the kitchen, see the disaster, and just get busy. Of course, this only led to my ever-growing resentment. On top of that, it all went unnoticed (my cleaning up, that is). So I created this pattern of YOU make the mess, I'LL clean it up. My bad. It never occurred to me that I was teaching him (and his slovenly guests) to make as big a mess as they wanted and Camille would clean up. Like I was the household slave. SHEESH!

A few months ago, just before yet another group of guests were to arrive, I told him outright: "I will NOT be cleaning up after you OR your guests. If they use my things (which they ALWAYS do) I expect for them to be put back where they belong. It's not my job to clean up after your guests, so you're on your own." He followed with, "I don't expect you to." Gee. Really? Howz that again?

I did realize at that point that it was my own doing. I was the one who created that expectation (even though he denied having it). But the thing was, I just couldn't stand the mess. It drove me NUTSO. I figured it was 'easier' to clean up than to put up with the anxiety of seeing that stinking mess. I was SO wrong.

What I've come to understand is that one part of my neat-freak-ness has to do with my on-going control issues. I like things to be where they're supposed to be. I like things to be clean and orderly. I like things the way I like things. Why is it so hard for people to honor that? Why do they insist on making it so difficult? Why, why, why? WAH WAH WAH. Lord have mercy on us!

And then there are those blessed moments of clarity. When you finally see it for what it is and you ask yourself, "what took ya so long? ya knucklehead." Immediately followed by loads of laughter and a long shaking of the head. GEEZLOUISE. You'd think that somebody who is supposed to be so dang smart would've seen that long ago, right?

Not so much.

Neat-freaks are very often control-freaks. They kinda go hand-in-hand. I've always known I was a control-freak AND a neat-freak, but I never put two and two together. Until this week. I got home from running some errands the other day, and the kitchen was...you guessed it...a DISASTER. When I'd left the house, it was spotless. One of the guests had made a scrumptious dinner the night before, and I'd been invited to join them. So, as is my norm, I cleaned up afterwards. That's how I was raised. But not everyone was raised that way. To me, it is disrespectful to go into another person's home, make a mess, and not clean up after yourself. To them, it's "nothing". They don't even consider the fact that there is another person living in this house. They use my stuff, eat my food, and never say a word or lift a hand. You call that good manners?

Apparently, my expectations are way out of whack. Because I was still hoping for someone to step up and clean up. I was absolutely out of my mind on that one. People are not going to adhere to 'rules' that they have no clue about. And it's not my job to teach them manners, right? So the dilemma came right back on me. Am I going to allow this to bug the bejeebers outta me or just let it go? Why do I torture myself with what they do or don't do? Why should I even give it one moment's attention? Because it's for damn sure they're not. So...what I ended up with is this:

First: this is NOT a "forever" situation. There will come a day, in the near future, when I will NOT have to share a kitchen. So, take a breath Little Missy. RELAX!
Second: make it clear to said house guests what belongs to whom the moment they step into the kitchen. Tell them the 'rules' and let them decide what they're going to use. It became quite obvious that the roommate didn't have the balls to do it, so that part was up to me. "These are my things. You are welcome to use them so long as you care for them properly and return them to their specified places." End of story. You'd be surprised how many won't touch the stuff after that. Must be too much pressure. (grin) Either way, I don't much give a rip. My stuff, my rules. Period. (bet ya didn't know I was such a tyrant, huh?)
Lastly, it's pretty easy to just not use the kitchen when they're here. So...stay outta there. Then you don't have to git yerself in a tizzy over it. Just leave it be. They won't be here forever. As for the roommate...well, he is who he is. I'm not gonna change him or his habits. I can stay and shut up about it or I can find another place to live. Easy.

Control-freaks are a curious breed, doncha think?