Free to a Good Home: Carnivorous Fish

Banded Leporinus needs a new home.

They should have warned me when I bought it. No, better yet, they shouldn’t sell these fish at all.

Banded Leporinus closeupIt’s a Banded Leporinus and when I bought it, it was only about an inch long. With black and yellow stripes around its sleek body, I thought it was an attractive addition to my fish tank. Unfortunately, it liked to hide in the 55-gallon tank it shared with other fish (much like the incredible Ghost Knifefish I spent $20 on about a year ago) and I didn’t see it too often.

When I did see it, I was surprised to see how big it was getting. It seemed to grow like a weed. Soon it was about 10 inches long.

And that’s when I noticed that the other fish in the tank were disappearing. They weren’t dying and floating around the tank waiting for a scoop to the burial ground in kitchen sink’s disposal unit. They were simply disappearing, like they never existed.

I was down to about three fish when I realized what was going on. The Banded Leporinus was killing and eating his tank mates.

Banded Leporinus in my TankBy the time I got my old 20-gallon tank set up for his new home, he had just one neighbor left. I managed to catch him and put him in the new tank. He was not a happy camper. He kept bashing himself against the tank walls. Finally, he settled down in a natural “cave” I’d created for him by stacking a few rocks with a big rock over the top. And that’s where he is to this day, two years later. (And yes, I realize that a fish this size needs a much larger tank to survive in, but I’m not about to let him have my 55-gallon tank for himself.)

When I get down to the Phoenix area, I try to stop at a pet store and buy him some feeder fish. Those are the poor, defenseless goldfish they sell for about 12 cents each. I bought him 6 the first time. They were gone in 2 days. Since then, he’s managed to devour a dozen of them in less than 36 hours. He does it at night, when no one is looking. I’ve never actually seen him eat anything.

Nowadays, I throw some bloodworms (frozen or freeze-dried) and shrimp pellets in there for him. I’m tired of him and want him to either die or go away. But I don’t have the heart to kill him.

He gets very angry when I try to clean his tank. He bounces off the tank walls so much and so hard that he stuns himself and then kind of just floats around. I always wonder: Is this it? Can I get rid of him now? But then he recovers and slips into his cave, looking out at the living room and shying away from anyone walking by.

Anyway, this fish is free to anyone who wants him. Just come with a bucket (with a cover; he jumps!) or big piece of Tupperware and he’s yours.

Amazon.com Wish Lists

A great way to let people know what you want.

I’ve maintained an Amazon.com wish list for at least a year now. I do it for two reasons:

  • To keep track of the books, DVDs, CDs, and other items I want. When I place an order with Amazon.com for something I need and I either need another item to get free shipping or want to piggyback a little gift to myself on that order, I pick something off the list and buy it in the same order.
  • To let other people know about the books, DVDs, CDs, and other items I want. This is especially useful for family members around the holidays, when they don’t know what to get me. But it’s also nice for site visitors. After all, I’ve bought Amazon.com wish list items for other bloggers and software developers. I thought maybe someone might want to surprise me.

My list grows. I add more things to it than I actually get. In fact, I added about 10 books today (after going through a back issue of Bookmarks).

My Amazon.com wish list didn’t help my mother buy me a Christmas gift this year. I sent her the link to my list and she e-mailed me back saying, “Is that all you have on the list? Books and movies?”

When I told her that was it, she didn’t reply. But the Friday before Christmas, she e-mailed me to let me know she’d sent my Christmas gift late. I still haven’t gotten it, but I know she didn’t buy anything on my Amazon.com wish list. I’m imagining a sweater (I live in Arizona) from Belk, a Florida-based department store. I distinctly remember the fruit trees she bought me for my birthday a few years ago. Yes. Live fruit trees. Apple and pear, I believe. (Remember, I live in the Sonoran desert of Arizona.) I sent them back to her in Florida. They probably died en route — she never mentioned them. The trees are one of the reasons I created the wish list.

I don’t get it. The wish list includes items ranging in price from about $10 to $75. A person can choose any number of things to buy a perfect gift for his/her budget. Shipping is usually free for orders over $25. And ordering is as simple as clicking a few onscreen buttons. (She even has DSL now!) I know my brother and sister would have used the wish list if they hadn’t bought us a wonderful set of Calphalon cookware for a combo Christmas/Wedding present. (Something else on a wish list.)

So apparently it’s up to me to eat away at the wish list by piggybacking items with other things I need to buy. That’s okay. The wish list is there when I need it, so I won’t forget what items I want.

Anyway, I recommend creating an Amazon.com wish list if you don’t already have one. Then keep the link handy for the next time someone asks what you want for Christmas or your birthday. But if your mom is like mine, add a few things other than just books and CDs. Otherwise, you might wind up with a sweater, too.

Christmas at Howard Mesa – Part I

I was dreaming of a white Christmas.

On the Friday before Christmas, Mike and I loaded up the truck with a bunch of things, including some furniture, food, tools, Jack the Dog, and Alex the Bird. At about 9 AM, we headed north, to our property at Howard Mesa.

In Wickenburg, it was raining. It was the first time there had been enough rain there to actually get your skin wet for at least a month. Part of me wanted to stay behind and enjoy the weather. But the other part of me knew that it was likely to clear up in an hour or two and I’d just be disappointed. We don’t get many good rainy days in the desert and Friday was not going to be one of them.

Our path took us up Route 93 to Route 89, through Congress and up Yarnell Hill. We stopped at the Cornerstone Bakery for some fresh baked goods to munch on in the car and enjoy on Saturday morning for breakfast. It was a freezing rain there, but nice and toasty in the bakery, which was filled with the usual collection of locals.

Back on the road, we took 89 through Peeples Valley, turned toward Kirkland at Kirkland Junction, got on Iron Springs Road in Kirkland, and followed that to the first traffic light in Prescott. Then Williamson Valley Road to the Pioneer Parkway to Willow Springs Road to 89A. In Chino Valley, we stopped at Safeway, where Mike filled the truck with diesel and I hurried through the store to get veggies and a few last-minute food items. By this time it was snowing pretty hard, with just enough wind to blow the flakes at about a 30° angle to the ground.

Back in the truck, we followed 89A to Ash Fork, where we got on I-40 eastbound. The snow was sticking up there, coating the road with a thin layer of snowy ice. Trucks and cars were taking it easy, preferring a self-mandated speed limit of 35 or 45 MPH rather than the legal 75 MPH limit. It was slow going, but I’m sure it was better that way. Alongside the road, a light dusting of snow covered fields and trees. It looked more like Christmas than it has in a long while for me.

At the exit for the Grand Canyon (the third exit, the one that’s really for the Grand Canyon), we got off and followed Route 64 northbound. There was a lot of snow on the ground there but very few vehicles. Still, we both felt relieved when we reached the turn for Howard Mesa and began our last five miles of the trip. 20 minutes later, we were pulling through our gate while the snow swirled around us.

The entire drive, including the two short stops, had taken about 4 hours.

Inside our camping shed, the temperature was hovering around 35°F — which was pretty much the same temperature as outside. Mike turned on the gas and I struggled a bit to get the heater turned on. He unloaded the car while I turned on the fridge and started putting things away. Jack the Dog immediately got to work terrorizing whatever small rodents had made homes in the fire pit outside. Alex hung out in the truck where it was warmer. He didn’t come in until the temperature had risen to nearly 50°.

My first main task was to clean up after our unwanted lodgers — the mice. The shed has a mouse problem that we’ve tried everything to solve. The last time we were there, we’d gotten desperate enough to leave poison around. I had to scoop up what remained of it (only one of four pieces) before Jack came in. Then I had to uncover the furniture and get the vacuum going to suck up the mouse droppings that seemed to be just about everywhere. I used a lot of disinfectant cleaner on the floor and countertops. I took my time about it — there really wasn’t any reason to rush; I had all day. I had my iPod sitting in the iHome base, playing Christmas songs. Within two hours, I was pretty much done.

In the meantime, Mike was working in the bathroom on the plumbing. On our last brief visit (by helicopter during snow showers), we had discovered that most of the pipes had frozen and cracked. Mike had brought along pipes and connectors and tools to replace the broken pipes with new ones. The job required that he cut away one wall to access the pipes and do a lot of disconnecting. There was no running water in the shed and wouldn’t be until the pipes were repaired. Even the 5-gallon water cooler jug was mostly frozen; I had to light a candle under its spigot to get the water to flow.

I made us a hot lunch of canned chili with scallions and cheese, then washed up using water I boiled on the stovetop. It reminded me of the old days at Howard Mesa, when we’d camped out in our pop-up camper. That camper was wonderful on warm summer nights, but it lacked basic conveniences, such as a refrigerator or toilet. We’d use the tiny two-burner stove to heat water in the morning for coffee and washing up. During the day, we’d use those solar shower bags to heat water for showering and washing dishes. (They really do work in Arizona; we once had the temperature of the water in one of those bags up to 110°F — too hot to shower in!)

After lunch, I went on mouse cleanup duty on the shed’s little loft, which is where we sleep when we camp there. I discovered a place where they might be getting in; I’ll work on closing it up this weekend. Outside, the snow was still falling lightly. Everything was covered with a dusting of it. Jack the Dog was still hard at work at the fire pit, with the fur on the lower half of his body soaking wet. Oddly enough, it wasn’t windy, even though the weather forecast had called for wind gusts up to 28 MPH. A low cloud hung over the mesa, cutting our view to only a few miles.

Before the end of the day, Mike had finished replacing all the cold water lines. He connected the hose from one of our water tanks to the shed’s water line, turned on the pump, and pressurized the system. That’s when he saw the cracks in the hot water lines. We turned off the pump and disconnected the hose, then let any water in the lines run out.

The sun went down and it got dark. We brought Jack in. I made leftovers from home for dinner. The heater, which had been set to 85°F, had gotten the temperature in the shed up to a high of 64°. It didn’t seem that cold. We settled down on the sofa with my 15″ MacBook Pro on a folding table in front of us. I popped in a DVD from the first season of 24. We watched two episodes. We’d heard a lot about the show but had never actually seen it. So I’d added it to my Netflix queue (along with the second season of Boston Legal) and we were checking it out for the first time. Not bad. I can’t imagine watching it with commercials, though.

I slept badly. It’s the stupid hot/cold/hot/cold middle-aged woman thing, combined with the sounds of sleeping someplace different. It was pretty quiet when we first got to sleep, but at about 3 AM, the wind finally kicked up, blowing from the west right at the loft’s only window. I’d left the window open a crack — I’m always worried about asphyxiation in a closed space with a gas appliance running — and Mike had to close it. Sometime during the early morning hours, the wind shifted around to the northeast, which is the back side of the shed. It wasn’t blowing hard enough to shake the building, as it sometimes does. Just loud enough to hear it rushing past in the piñon and juniper pines scattered over our 40 acres. The sky had cleared and there were billions of stars out.

In the morning, the temperature in the shed was 43&degF with the outside temperature 28&deg. This was a problem. The heater was turned up, still set on 85°. As we moved around, making coffee and tea, washing up with water heated on the stove, we started finding drafty places. Around each window. Where the water heater sits against the outside wall. Around the edges of the door. I got my assignment for the day: caulk.

Mike decided he needed something from the hardware store to keep working, so we made a trip down to Williams, AZ. The town was remarkably busy for the time of year. I think it’s because the Grand Canyon Rail Road is doing a special “Polar Express” to the Grand Canyon each day and that’s attracting a lot of families. The town also sets up a real Christmas tree on side street off Route 66 and blocks off the street so visitors can walk around it. Nice.

We took care of business in the True Value hardware store, buying about $90 worth of stuff that included a new front door mat and weather stripping. Then we hit Safeway for a few things, stopping at the Starbucks counter on the way out for mocha lattes.

By the time we got back to the mesa, before lunchtime, a lot of the snow had melted. Mike got back to work and Jack continued his vigil at the fire pit. Sometime during the day, he started barking at something — we looked out the window in time to see an antelope hopping away across the road. One of the open range cows also came by, but since we’d kept the gate closed, she didn’t get into our property. (Cows have done a lot of damage at our friends’ place on the other side of the mesa, making us very glad we fenced in our entire lot years ago.)

Soup and sandwiches for lunch. The shed temperature was in the low 60s while it remained in the 30s outside.

I went through a whole tube of caulk on the windows. The shed was built with window frames that they’d stuck standard sized windows into. Unfortunately, the frames were about 1/2 inch too wide and tall for the windows, leaving a gap on at least two sides. They’d finished the outside of the windows with trim, closing up the gaps a bit, but they were still drafty. And one window leaked. I’d fixed the leaky window during the summer but had never thought that the gaps might cause drafts in the window. So I went to work with the caulk gun, which I’m actually pretty good at using. I ran out of caulk before I’d finished all of the windows, but I’d closed up the worst of the gaps.

Mike, as part of his pipe insulation procedure, had sealed up around the water heater with Fiberglas and foam insulation. I used garage door weather striping around the front door. The door was made to fit the shed and it doesn’t fit quite right. You can see light through the cracks around the door. Even with the thick rubbery weather striping, you can still see light in a few places. But it’s a lot better than it was.

Mike finished up all the piping by sunset. Hooked up the water again, ran the pump, and pressurized the system. No leaks. He turned on the water heater. I washed dishes from lunch. He cleaned up. Then he was ready for a shower.

Unfortunately, he’d waited too long. The outside temperature had dropped and the hose, which had never fully defrosted from the night before, had thickened up with ice. The pump was unable to bring in enough water. His shower was very short-lived. He stepped out, cranky and miserable. I was just glad I’d let him go first.

Getting water from the tanks to our camping equipment had always been a problem in cold weather. In the spring of 2004, I’d moved up to Howard Mesa in our horse trailer with living quarters, which also had a pump to get water from the tanks to the inside plumbing. Unfortunately, during the night the hose would freeze and the pump would try in vain to get the water out. That would run down the trailer’s battery and burn up the pump. So I had to turn off the pump each night and use the trailer’s internal water storage system for water. Not a big deal. Once every few days, I’d fill the internal tank so there was always water there when I needed it.

But here at the shed, we don’t have internal water storage. All the water has to come from one of the big tanks. The closest one is about 40 feet away. Because this is not a permanent setup, we didn’t dig a trench and put in a pipe. We use a hose. And the hose freezes every night, even though we do our best to drain the water out of it.

At least it hasn’t cracked yet.

Anyway, we spent Saturday night much the same way as Friday night. A nice hot dinner and two episodes of 24 on my MacBook Pro’s wide screen. The shed was much warmer — it had gotten up to 71°F by late afternoon. I slept well, waking about an hour before dawn. Outside, the moonless sky was bright with stars.

This morning, the inside temperature was 57°; outside it was 31°. I like to think it was my excellent caulking and weather striping that kept the shed reasonably warm overnight.

Today, Christmas Eve, I’ll finish cleaning up the shed — didn’t get much done in the bathroom with Mike making such a mess in there. Then we’ll put up the Christmas lights. Later, when it gets warmer, we’ll go for a walk around our fence line, making repairs and looking for castoff elk antlers as we go. It’s beautifully clear outside — I can see for at least 50 miles in every direction — and, as I write this at 10 AM, its already nearly 40°. It’ll be nice to get out. And I’m sure Jack the Dog is looking forward to a good run. He’s been going nuts every time the coyotes start howling nearby.

This afternoon, after a nice hot shower (got my fingers crossed), we’re going up to the Grand Canyon to meet some friends for dinner at El Tovar. Then dessert at our friends’ house on the other side of the mesa.

I’m looking forward to driving back to our place tonight, to seeing those red Christmas lights all alone in the middle of nowhere.

[composed on top of a mesa in the middle of nowhere with ecto]

An Evening Out

We visit a friend above town.

Last night, my husband and I spent the evening with a friend who lives part-time in Wickenburg. His house sits on a ridge overlooking the town.

As I drove up the road that led to his home, I felt I was rising above the scum that floats just below the surface of Wickenburg, the scum of small-town politics, corruption, and business owners being threatened for signing petitions that support their personal beliefs.

Our friend, Tom, can’t live full-time in Wickenburg. He simply can’t get the things he needs to live comfortably. So he has a condo in the Deer Valley area of Phoenix, near where his business is based. He comes to Wickenburg to work on his house, which he’s systematically torn apart and put back together over the past three years, working with one contractor after another to get each job done. By the looks of things, he’s about 80% finished. He shops in Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods Phoenix before he comes to Wickenburg, bringing up organic groceries to stock his kitchen and incredible wines to stock his in-wall wine “cellar.”

I used to try to get Tom to move his business up to Wickenburg, to build a building in the town’s industrial park and operate out of there. But he would tell me that he has a great staff in Deer Valley and he knows they wouldn’t commute up here. He doesn’t want to lose them. Now, after thinking about it for a long time and seeing the hurdles a small business needs to jump to get set up in Wickenburg — I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to get an office at the airport for my helicopter charter business for more than eight months — I don’t nag him about it anymore. I wouldn’t want to push him to a decision that would make him unhappy.

Tom’s ridgetop home offers stunning views in every direction, marred only by the power lines APS recently strung along another ridge nearby. The poles and wires are a heartbreak to Tom, who bought the house because of the incredible views. He’s angry because APS had an alternative route, one that would have taken the power lines through unoccupied areas of town where they wouldn’t be such an eyesore to residents. But APS took the easy route, following the edge of state land. Although I agree that they hurt his view, the situation is even worse for the homes they pass near. Literally dozens of homes were affected by the power line installation. But although he’s complained to APS and the Town of Wickenburg, no one seems to care.

We spent the evening listening to classical music and jazz, drinking wine, making dinner, and looking out at the lights of Wickenburg far below us. Tom’s view of the town at night is just like mine from the helicopter as I come into Wickenburg at the end of one of my moonlight dinner tours. He remarked at how many more lights there are now than there were just three years ago when he bought his home. “Imagine how the difference is to us,” I told him. “We’ve been here ten years.”

At Tom’s house, I felt so far removed from town, like I was in another place. A place where culture, fine wine, and quality food were an important part of everyday life, not something to be treated to once in a while. The air seemed somehow cleaner up there, the political situation not so dirty, the conversation more educated and interesting. It was as if we’d left Wickenburg and stepped into a city home. Not necessarily a Phoenix home, mind you. Perhaps one in New York, high above Second Avenue and 60th Street.

The feeling stuck with me all evening as I sipped wine chosen by my host, minced fresh garlic for the garlic bread, and ground sea salt over my soba noodles. Less than two miles as the crow flies from my home, I was in another world.

Fine Dining — Not!

Or how not to serve wine in a restaurant.

My husband and I tried a new local restaurant last night. We’d asked a few friends who had tried it and they gave me the impression it was worth a shot. One of them said, “Well, the food is good.” That should have warned me.

The place is in a brand new building that’s quite attractive, although not quite the right fit for the Sonoran desert. It features big wood beams overhead and a stone fireplace. The kind of place that would work really well in Northern Arizona, in the mountains surrounded by tall pine trees. Or in Colorado. Not quite right when the biggest thing outside is a cactus. Still, open and very pleasant and quite a nice change from the usual places around town.

But it was a disappointment.

The biggest disappointment was with the wine. The restaurant, which is very new, has a small, unimaginative wine list. There were about a dozen offerings on the list and one of them was Sutter Home White Zinfandel. While I’m sure some people like that — my mother appears to be one of them — I can’t remember the last time I actually saw it on a wine list. A real wine list — one that’s in its own little hardcovered folder, like it has something of value in it.

The menu was kind of disappointing, too. A lot of beef, a single chicken dish, and two fish dishes. Some salads for the dieting or veggie crowd. The special was halibut, although how it was prepared was not something we were made privy to. Actually, very few items on the menu included a description of how they were prepared. The menu was a simple list of entrees; you picked two accompaniments to go with your meal.

So that’s the setup.

When we were seated, the waiter asked us almost immediately if we wanted to order a bottle of wine. Not having had a chance to look at the wine list or the menu, we told him we needed a few minutes. We then took our time with both small lists. About three minutes had passed when he returned. “Chardonay is good with halibut,” he said.

Okay, I though to myself.

Now keep in mind that the last two restaurants Mike and I had dined in where we ordered a bottle of wine had wine stewards. These are guys who know wine. Their entire job is to make recommendations on wine, take orders on wine, and serve wine. A statement like, “Chardonay is good with halibut,” would be ridiculous to one of these guys. They would be recommending a specific chardonay or other wine. And maybe it wouldn’t even be a white wine. But it would be a perfect match for the halibut, based on how the halibut was prepared, what it was served with, and what wines were available.

And, by the way, neither Mike and I had shown any interest in halibut.

Mike sent him away again. This time he stayed away. We had to flag him over when we were ready to order. Not a problem. Mike ordered steak and I ordered prime rib.

“And we’d like a bottle of wine,” Mike added. He looked at me.

“The Clos du Bois cabernet,” I said, reading it off the wine list.

The wine list offered wines by the glass, but the only red wines were the house wines, which I’d never heard of. So we’d stuck with a familiar mid-priced label that I knew would be fine with our meal.

Keep in mind that I am not a wine connoisseur. I love restaurants with wine stewards because I can learn from them. They always recommend something truly spectacular. But when you’re faced with limited options and no one to give good advice, it’s sometimes best to go with what you know. And I do like to drink wine — especially red wines.

He went away with our order. A few moments later, we were treated to the worst wine service I have ever witnessed in my life.

Now I don’t want to get our waiter in trouble because he’s a nice guy and I’m sure he was doing he best he could. The only problem is, it’s quite obvious that he was never trained to do his job. And I don’t think he’s had enough meals in nice restaurants to catch on to what’s expected.

Our waiter returned with a tray that had two glasses and our bottle of wine. He put the tray on one of those tray stands that he’d set up behind Mike’s seat. He then took a corkscrew — you know, the kind with the wings that anyone can use — and inserted the pointy part through the foil at the top of the bottle and into the cork. He struggled for a few minutes to twist the corkscrew in, then used the wings to lift the cork out, right through the torn foil. He put a glass in front of Mike, poured a small amount of wine through the foil, and waited for Mike to drink. While he waited, he used his fingers to tear all the foil off the top of the bottle. Mike tasted and told him it was fine. The waiter put the cork back in the bottle and put the bottle on the table, then put my glass in front of me and departed, leaving Mike to pour the wine for both of us.

Whew!

Call me a snob, but I could serve wine better than that — and I’ve never worked in a restaurant!

For those of you who don’t know what he did wrong, he’s a summary of how the wine should have been served.

  1. The waiter brings glasses to the table. He sets the glasses out in front of each person.
  2. The waiter brings the bottle to the table. (He could do this with step 1 to save time.) He shows the bottle’s label to the person who ordered the wine or asks, “Who would like to taste the wine?” The idea is for someone to make sure he’s brought the right wine.
  3. The waiter uses a knife or foil cutter to neatly cut and remove the foil from the top of the bottle, leaving the rest of the foil on the bottle’s neck.
  4. The waiter inserts the cork screw or other cork removal device into the bottle while holding it (not leaning it on the table), then removes the cork.
  5. The waiter places the cork in front of the designated wine taster. (The wine taster may want to check it to make sure it is wet; a dry cork indicates a bottle that has been stored standing up and air may have gotten in.)
  6. The waiter pours a small amount of wine into the designated taster’s glass.
  7. When the taster has confirmed that the wine is satisfactory, the waiter pours for the rest of the table, finishing up with the designated taster.
  8. The waiter leaves the bottle on the table (for unchilled wines — usually reds) or in an ice bucket within reach (for chilled wines — usually whites).

I also like when the waiter ties a rolled-up napkin (cloth, of course) around the bottle’s neck to catch drips when the wine is poured.

Does this sound like a ritual? It is. And it’s one that I personally enjoy, perhaps because it’s an indication that wine is an important part of the meal, one that deserves its own special ritual.

Now I really can’t blame the waiter. But I certainly can blame the manager of the restaurant. It’s obvious that he or she doesn’t care (or know) about what good service is.

Dinner last night, with tip, cost over $100 — and we didn’t have appetizers, coffee, or desert. The food was average — although I admit I really liked my sweet potato fries. My prime rib, which was supposed to be medium, was medium well on one half and medium rare on the other. (I’m still trying to figure out how they did that.) The horseradish sauce was just right. The bread was from Sysco — the big food purveyor company — the same stuff they use for sandwiches at one of the local coffee shops, but cut into quarters so each piece goes a little further.

To say we were disappointed is an understatement. A new restaurant in town, a nice looking, brand new building. We had our hopes up. But they were dashed by mediocre food, unprofessional service, and prices that are too high for what you’re getting.

But the place is new. We’ll give it a chance to learn some things. In a few months, we’ll try again.

And if my wine is served the same way, I’m going to get up and show him how to do it right.