I've gone in search of my muse(s), who appears to have taken lengthy leave. If she gets back while I'm gone, ask her to hang out until I return will you? I'd like to have a word or two.

Back soon. I'll send a postcard and promise to bring you a present.

An Eddie Albert Memorial Post.

Gather 'round the campfire, boys and girls. Auntie Marsha would like to tell you a story about innocents abroad. Well, not abroad exactly, but certainly in unfamiliar parts. And what happened to them in their ignorance.

Now then. A few weeks ago my husband began scratching at what seemed to be bug bites. No See 'Um bites, to be specific. I've suffered No See 'Ums in the three summers we've lived here and it seemed odd to us that he'd only begun to be afflicted now. But then again, he's been getting allergy shots and he's a bit thinner so perhaps, we figured, his blood chemistry had changed just enough to be attractive to the little beasties. Eventually we all exhibited signs of attack. Huge welts, creeping hives, and the tell-tale scratch marks of attempts at self-relief.

Now the thing about No See 'Um bites is that they are killer. They itch for weeks and make welts much larger than the size of either the bug or the bite itself may seem to warrant. Sometimes there are little blisters along the bite site, which can pop open and spread the bite love around. It's not unknown for people to die from (large numbers of) No See 'Um bites, a fact that has given me more than one shudder over the past couple weeks.

Over the period of about a week our bites got worse and worse and more and more numerous. In an attempt to keep them out of the house we caved to the heat and upped the A/C, closed the doors and windows (the bugs can fit through the little squares of screening mesh) and sprayed both us and our bedding repeatedly through each day. We burned gallons of citronella oil. To no avail. Sleeping became an bleary ordeal possible only with copious amounts of benadryl and calamine.

And then we bombed the house. I hate the idea of bug killers in general. But I hate itchy welts covering my kids' bodies more. So we vacated the house for a dreadful four hour outing and returned to wash the bedding anew and hope for a better night and more sleep (that, ultimately, was not forthcoming).

Flash forward a few more itchy, scratchy days. So we had a guy over earlier today to help us prioritize some DIY home repair stuff. As he and my husband (hereinafter referred to as Brainiac) were walking along our picturesque brick path he pointed to a lovely groundcover (that we inherited from the house's previous owners) and said, "With a little one wandering around, you're gonna want to get rid of this poison ivy as soon as possible."

Let's pick up the convo from there, shall we?

Brainiac: Uh, poison ivy? There, bordering the walk?

The Guy: Yeah, all that stuff here, and there and there and there. All poison ivy. What did you think it was?

Brainiac: Uh. Um. Hm. Poison ivy, eh?

The Guy: Do you have stuff to deal with this?

Brainiac: Uh, sure. Let's go inside.

So they came inside where The Guy took one look at the welts and hives along my legs and forearms and said, "See. Poison ivy. Wow. You got it bad."

And so, little ones. The innocents in the country believed their poison ivy patch to be a lovely little groundcover. Green Acres, indeed.

RIP Eddie Albert. ...just give me that countryside

Turns out I don't have a new job, as the hiring manager and I were unable to come to terms on the details. I won't say more, mostly because I have reason to believe that part of the background check involved a lengthy examination of this here, my little corner of the Internet. However, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that everyone who works at the University of Virginia ("The #1 Public University in the Country!"), especially those in the Human Resources office, are not only exceptionally bright and good looking, but they sure know how to keep a little red tape from getting in the way of a good time.

Still here.

Things have been very, very, uh, odd around here, in the Chinese curse kind of way. I may have been offered a new job or maybe not. I may be going to Minneapolis tomorrow or I may not. We may be listing our house or we may not. I may keep my new shoes or I may not. You see where I'm going with this, right?

The only thing even remotely on topic you're going to get from me today is that I am actively looking for and evaluating dilly and/or spicy (or both) zucchini relish recipes. Most of the relish recipes you find are sweet-spicy, which I hate and not just in zucchini. Any kind of sweet pickle offends me tremendously and no matter how much other people might like them I simply will not make any. Even for gifts. That's just the kind of girl I am.

Luckily I've come across a whole subset of preserving that is completely new to me and may be just the ticket for avoiding sugary pickle abominations: Atkins canning. I know of the basics of Atkins, of course - eliminate and/or reduce dietary carbohydrates (i.e., sugars) and increase intake of proteins and certain vegetables (which, regretably, often leads to the attempt to camouflage cauliflower as rice).

Anyway, my point is that there are lots of Atkins-ites out there who are working out all kinds of recipes to meet their new found dietary and nutrional needs. Within their ranks I have found dozens of recipes for non-sweet relishes. Finally! It took Atkins-mania to do it but I think I can reasonably say that I am freed of Piccallili forever!