Sad news to report: the gallon tank of opae ula had a system crash. I transferred them from their flower vase to the new tank, and they died a few at a time, over three days. I tried to stop it but nothing I did worked.

Dead now

This served to feed my compulsion as a shrimp owner. I would worry about them at work, talk about them to my friends, and research shrimps for a half hour at night, in my free time, before I went to sleep.

At first, we had a burial in the yard. Olivia and I took the first few shrimp out and had a mini-ceremony. Claus and Jul happened to be home and chose to attend the last rites. It was a decent turnout.

However, over the next couple of days more and more would die. One morning I woke up and six died overnight. I was quite bummed.

Two were left alive; one, barely. One big one was swimming around looking normal, the other was lying on its side, convulsing. (That's how the others looked before they died, too.)

I pulled them out and put them back in the old vase, which I hadn't cleaned out yet. I mixed a fresh batch of brackish water and put them in. To my relief, the sick one rehabilitated! From lying on its side paralyzed, it managed over the hour to stand up and start trying to do normal shrimp things (swim, eat).

When I returned home, it was doing even better. It was swimming more. I've been monitoring him in the days since and I think his nervous system is still (permanently?) impaired, as he swims erratically- jolting, like a stroke victim. To my surprise, he is a fire red and doesn't seem to change color anymore. I wonder if the trauma he suffered affected his ability to camoflauge?

I feel badly about injuring sentient beings. I can't believe I killed 23 shrimp!

The gallon tank sits empty now. I'm sure I'll fill it up again soon, but not immediately. Let me see if Will & Bill make it through the week.

I've decided to enroll in a sewing class to learn how to sew better. Why? Because for years, I've been sewing my own hems and darning my own rips and tears.

Now and again, I want to sew something custom-made that I can't find in a store (usually a cover for something) and at my few stabs at it, I've found it nearly beyond my skill level. My guesswork creations are rudimentary and hard-earned, if they succeed at all.

Simplicity pattern

Lately, the mommy in me has wanted to sew pretty clothes with fancy embellishments for my daughter - and a little matching outfit for the dog and/or cat, because it would delight Olivia to wear an outfit that matches her pets.

I can do straight lines. My mom forced me to take it up in high school, so one summer I enrolled in a short course in which I produced a few skirts and tank tops. I was never that interested at the time, but she insisted it was a life skill.

Later, my junior year Home Economics class reinforced the skill by having us all make shorts. OK, score one for Mom. She was right to make me do this.

Decades passed, and my interest sparked in 2000. After 11 years of toying with the idea (who ever said I wasn't a procrastinator?) I researched a few sewing classes and enrolled in one that fit my schedule. (I actually had to take vacation to achieve this.)

I wasn't sure what to expect, but at this particular class, I found it to be more like a paid club of crafters who get together as their schedule allows, to have access to a nice workspace and a skilled seamstress who acts as a resource/ mentor.

The teacher doesn't stand at the head of any classroom and lecture from a lesson plan. In between helping students she works on her own projects as well as the store's other service, alterations.

I prepared my supplies and had bought a pattern for a girl's skirt. Once at class, I whipped it out and explained my background, my goals and what I was trying to sew for this project.

The teacher, a very nice Japanese lady, reminded me more of a mother, as she looked at the pattern and said, "OK, cut here and here." Over the next three hour session, we would have this back and forth dialogue in which I would say, "What next?" and she would tell me what to do.

The good thing about this method is that I really learn by doing. Without a lot of chatter, I was able to 90% finish a skirt for Olivia in the first class.

The drawback is that I don't have a comprehensive overview of what I'm doing. I could not independently sew another pattern without assistance. Each method has its pros and cons.

I'm sure that over the years, students drift in and out, while a core group remains. On my first day, there were four other "regulars." In talking to one of them, she mentioned she has come every Monday for the past four years because she likes to have the teacher there to lean on for occasional advice and feedback.

I enjoyed myself and was very proud of my progress - I had not expected to get that far in one session. I had fun, too.

The next day I was ready to return, but I was having a heck of a morning: I had found a huge box of supplies at my mom's and put it in her driveway. My intention was to drive up with my car, and load it up before I went to class.

However, it started pouring heavily, so by the time I returned, the cardboard box and first layers of fabric remnants were soaked. The box was heavy and in the two minutes it took me to get out of the car and put it in the trunk, I was drenched.

I also realized I forgot to brew myself coffee before I left. I drove back to my house to change clothes, dry my hair, and make coffee. Ever had one of those mornings when nothing goes right?

Then I decided I wasn't going to kill myself to get to class. I called to let them know I wasn't coming today, and after I dried myself, I sat down with my cup of hot coffee and the newspaper. That's just as good a morning, too.

I love the shrimp so much, I think it makes a perfect pet for kids. We've had two childrens' birthdays to plan for, and I asked the parents if it's OK to give their child shrimp as pets. Both sets of parents have said yes.

Each time, I run down to the store to buy shrimp. They come in a tiny cup of about nine or ten for $7 at Shirokiya, which is the best deal I've seen so far. The pet stores charge $1/shrimp.

I already have the bottle of spirulina, which I transfer to a small container with a toothpick to scoop it up with. I give food along with the jar of shrimp, and a strong suggestion to not overfeed. I've seen someone else's jar full of dead opae because they were overfed and the water got polluted.

At Shirokiya, there are little containers of snails alongside the shrimp. They're black nerite snails, or pipipi, found commonly in the tidepools of Hawaii. They're promoted as algae cleaners to discourage heavy buildup on the tank walls. Unless you are OCD about collecting shrimp, as I admit I am, in which case there will be two dozen tiny mouths scouring the tank walls for the first sign of algae to eat.

The most recent time I was at Shirokiya, I decided to buy myself a cup of two snails for $1. I had Olivia with me, and I handed her the cup to hold. She immediately shook it like a rattle. "Hey! That's not very nice!" I chided, and asked her to hold it gently.

We got home and I put the snails in the ecosystem. One flipped over and started crawling up and out of the water. Olivia named it Brownie, because it looks dark like the brownies we made earlier that day.

The other laid where it fell. I suggested we not name that one, because I suspected it wouldn't need a name. When it was still lying the same way on its shell the next morning, that confirmed it was dead.

I didn't think the living one would stray that far from the water, but in the morning, it was gone. My counter is black (and cluttered) so I didn't immediately see it, but I finally found Brownie a foot away from the tank.

I picked Brownie up and dropped him back in the water. He started crawling right up again. Claus got some plastic wrap to cover the top of the tank.

I mentioned this to the pet shop guy (who doesn't sell the snails), who'd heard similar things from other customers. It doesn't appear the snails like that type of environment. Apparently everyone's snails try to commit suicide.

I'm not sure what to do about Brownie. Maybe I should return him to the ocean rather than risk him continually running away from home?

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. In this case, an affinity for all things aquatic has finally caught on with me.

I grew up around hundreds and hundreds of fish and marine life of all kinds, in fresh, brackish, and salt water. My father is more than an avid aquarium hobbyist. He is mildly obsessive-compulsive.

I should really know a lot more about fish, based on this upbringing, but I don't. My mother discouraged his hobby because she found herself a fish widow, eating dinner alone at 9 p.m. because my dad was still cleaning "one more tank" or whatever people with 1,000 gallons of fish tanks do.

I can commit to pets; I've almost always had a cat, dog, mouse, rat, hamster, rabbit, guinea pig, turtle or something around my residence. My commitment to a water animal has been limited to my water garden outside or one solitary fighting fish.

Then, I recently got these Hawaiian red shrimp, opae ula. The tiny red shrimp have captured my interest in a big way, which is surprising even to me. I love sitting down and watching them. I can spend a long time staring at them.

For my viewing pleasure, I wanted to upgrade the experience to a larger tank, where a larger plane of glass and a bigger swimming area would surely increase the enjoyment. My cousin had a 10 gallon tank she was giving away, so I took it.

I discussed this at length with my father, who recommended I go to one of his favorite pet stores for gravel and other decorations. (I could practically hear my mother rolling her eyes in the background.)

Once there, I saw a lot of different sizes of tanks, and they were all pretty affordable, so I selected a more manageable size - a one gallon tank. It's perfect. It's a good step up from the flower vase they current inhabit, but not as huge as a 10 gallon.

Then, I got some gravel and a plastic plant - one that Olivia would approve, as it has a flower on it. Lastly, I took the clerk's recommendation to buy a Japanese moss ball (Cladophora aegagropila) to add to the tank.

This adorable puff ball cost nearly as much as the tank ($10) but he said it cleans out the impurities from the water. When I got home, I dropped it in the vase (this was before I put the tank together) and all the shrimp congregated on it.

My dad was quite excited that I was finally taking up his hobby, so he called over to the store and provided his credit card. At check out time, the clerk handed it all to me and said, "Your dad just paid for it." Cool!

Later that day I showed my parents the goods. "This is really cute," my dad said. "I might have to get one of these and start a shrimp tank, too." Now retired, my dad gave up his indoor tanks, but cultivates five water gardens outside and inside, two big bowls of swordtails and 14 vases of Bettas. And maybe, to my mom's dismay, one starter tank of opae.

My life goes at 100 miles per hour during the work week, and then some, leaving me ready for down time by the weekend. It's not just the job, it's the whole enchilada- the family, the house, several extra curriculars I am active with, sad attempts at socializing.

My goal for weekends is to stay at home. I don't even want to go anywhere that I can't get to on my own locomotion, but if a car is required, then I prefer to stay within a five mile radius. Claus is kind of the same so our values align.

Now and then, on a quiet Sunday, I will get a wild hair, as a I did last weekend. "I'm going to run a quick errand at the mall," I announced. "Want me to take Olivia so you can have some quiet time?"

"Are you just going to the one store?" he asked. He hates going to the mall with me. He hates waiting.

"Well... depending on energy, I might go to the pet shop to look at more opae ula," I said.

He likes to be together. "I'll come too," he offered. And then he got all ambitious on me and threw in a couple more errands, including this: "Let's go to the new Safeway on Beretania to look at it!"

"Ooh, good idea. Let's check it out," I agreed. We piled in the car and left.

The new Safeway was all big, clean, and gourmet inside, with an elevator and a fancy escalator that accommodates shopping carts. So 21st century. Wow! It wasn't as Whole Foody as we thought it might be, but we still liked it. It's better than our old Safeway on Beretania, if you recall that one, which was in need of a makeover.

It made grocery shopping more exciting, so nearly three digits later, we were walking out with all kinds of Iron-Chef-aspirational things to try for dinner that night.

I laughed to Claus that this trip was an amusing indicator for our life stage, one in which checking out a new grocery store is a planned outing, perhaps even verging on date material. I recalled with a little nostalgia the days where the standard for excitement was higher - a new restaurant, wine bar opening, or to go really  crazy, a music concert on a weeknight.

Then I realized: I've become my parents. In fact, they did check this place out on its opening day!