featherynscale: Schmendrick the magician from The Last Unicorn (Default)
[personal profile] featherynscale
Yesterday it was nice enough out that the three human denizens of EHQ and their intrepid canine companion set off in the early evening in search of fungus. It seemed promising -- the temperature was right, it had rained significantly in the last week (though not significantly enough to flood the Den of Iniquity), the trees were in bloom, the may-apples were up. We went down the river trails near the house, where the ground was reasonably moist. But no mushrooms mushroomed. [livejournal.com profile] triadruid found two LBMs, but nothing else.

It was put forth that it's a shame we don't live somewhere where truffles grow, since the chaos hound has natural predilections for digging, and for finding things that are round and/or stinky. He'd be an ideal truffle pig. He'd eat the truffles before we could get to them, but that's another issue entirely.

So the quest for fungus continues. Perhaps we will have some time for mushroom hunting when we're out playing with the druids at the park later.

Also,
I dreamed last night that [livejournal.com profile] kittenpants and I had had a big fight, to the point where we felt that we needed to draw up lease agreements if I was going to continue to live at EHQ. It started with some uncharacteristic behavior on her part, which provoked me into attacking, which then spiralled in a dramatic downward fashion for quite some time, until I was pissed at her, she was pissed at me, and [livejournal.com profile] triadruid was pissed at me on her behalf. I was certain that if we could all sit down and talk about it, then we could fix the problem. However, it came to pass that on that day, we were supposed to lead a tour group somewhere east of Kansas City, where there were a lot of painted cows, a museum dedicated to art inspired by painted cows, and possibly a water park. We were split up, guiding tour parties, which included a lot of explanation of the significance of various cows. Result, we were unable to be together in a room with nobody else for an entire day. By the end of the day, I had forgotten what the fight was originally about, and was completely unable to make any sort of steps toward resolution. I hate that.

I suppose it's okay though. The night before, I dreamed that we lived in a place where there was an alley behind the house that led to a sort of nomadic tent market. We had rented out the alley to a group of artists who were creating pieces to protest the liberation of Palestine (but I was never sure if they were for or against). One of them was working on a huge canvas, apparently painting with baba ganoush. He kept coming into our kitchen and asking to borrow the paprika. Blech.

Date: 2005-04-19 03:42 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] featherynscale.livejournal.com
Yeah, we had thoughts of taking this up as a hobby, but [livejournal.com profile] triadruid has lost his GPS tracker. Ironic, no?

Date: 2005-04-19 04:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] diermuid.livejournal.com
So were those your caches?

The new Magellans are only $130 at costco... and invaluable for finding your way to Heartland or through downtown.

Date: 2005-04-19 04:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] featherynscale.livejournal.com
Nope, wasn't me.
Really, I'm torn between thinking the GPS device is a pretty neat toy and thinking that they're somehow horrifying.

Date: 2005-04-19 04:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] diermuid.livejournal.com
They only receive, not send. No one can conceivably track you with them. (That is usually where people get fearful of them)

On-star systems are capable of sending coordinates when you hit the onstar button, but that's like a walkie talkie. GPSr units are more like radios.

Date: 2005-04-19 04:50 pm (UTC)
ext_3038: Red Panda with the captain "Oh Hai!" (calvin flailing - from atke_icons)
From: [identity profile] triadruid.livejournal.com
The irony is killing me. I'm hopeful that this spate of house-cleaning will lead to the revelation of the hiding place de GPS.

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