muddyknees

2010-06-01T18:50:00.000-07:00

In harmony with global warming, we pushed Spring vigorously. Vegetables in the ground in early April: kale, leeks, cauliflower, broccoli, lettuce, spinach, chard, Italian parsley and basil. Were we mad? Off our rockers? In some instances, probably yes. The first week of April was really too early to put the poor little kale plants out, and they certainly sulked, but are lively as all get out now. The cauliflower had eight plants in a 4-pack and didn't appreciate being disentangled, but is lovely today. Get over it or croak is my motto - tender sentiments, don't you think? The leeks certainly seemed happy from the start; maybe they cheered up the other guys.

The chard, broccoli and Italian parsley went into a raised bed, which was quite a bit warmer than the not-so-raised bed. They didn't seem to even notice being transplanted. And the rest of the veg are in really fine shape because we now have a glorious, big, marvelous, wonderful

custom made while I was safely out of town (and his hair). We're messing a with temperature-activated opener so it will vent when it gets too hot. So that's where the basil, lettuce and spinach are growing. Oh, and tarragon, which hasn't been doing particularly well in the ground, so it's getting a trial in the spa as well.

We also used the frame for growing on the tomatoes until it was settled enough to move them "outdoors". Then we loaded the frame up with peppers and Asian eggplant, to maybe get ripe ones before October for a change... In the ground, we have onions, potatoes, 6 kinds of squash and two of beans. The raised beds also got carrots, basil, cabbage and more lettuce.

So, our gamble paid off - this time. We pushed the season, and have been eating lettuce and spinach for a month or more. But we aren't kidding ourselves that it couldn't have gone wrong in about 73 ways. And every bite of veg tastes better for it...

Lion & tigers & bears? No, no...

2009-09-06T15:13:00.000-07:00

It's more like, tomatoes & eggplant & basil, oh my!

I've been in a tizzy picking, freezing, drying, cooking this wonderful, glorious produce!

Not to mention zucchini, apples and blueberries, oh my.

Next week will be peaches - a good crop Clyde says. And the last messy project is applesauce. It's been so much easier doing these sloppy, drippy foods outside, since we picked up a free picnic table at a neighborhood "estate" sale. And the food dryer can just be out there, too. I love cleaning up with a HOSE! I do have qualms about the dehydrator, but feel better since I ordered an adapter for the vacuum sealer that will do mason jars - no more plastic bags!

I don't fuss about the squash,

because all they ask is a cool corner to nap in until dinner time. But where will we store the potatoes? Hmmmm.....

Kudos maximos to Emily for recommending the Alton Brown tomato sauce recipe. That's, hand's down, the best sauce we've ever had. I couldn't quit tasting it while we waited for the pasta, and could probably eat a bowl of it all by itself.

Will I have time to roast enough tomatoes to free us from tin cans? Tune in next time...

Ass Over Teakettle

2009-05-13T10:52:00.000-07:00

So, in an amazingly inept move, I stumbled over the doorstop in the woodshed and while my body pitched hard right, my foot stayed put. I went down like a glacier calving. Except I didn't splash. Oh, and I didn't break into a million pieces.

Fortunately, there was no one home, because I turned the air midnight blue. Yes, it DID amaze the cats; they were curious as... well, you know ... walking around me with wide eyes and switching tails. Hmmmm, now I wonder if they were circling for the kill...

I'm pretty good at falling, due to lots of practice. I'm not clumsy; I just don't always remember to tell my feet where my head is going next and then we have to sit down, have a meeting, and try again.

This time, we got to sit down for a nice looong time. One part of my brain was shrieking that I'd never walk again, and then there was the part that was shouting profanities out loud, so it took a while for the rest of us to restore order. That done, All the King's Horses and All the King's Men (the rational part of my brain) quietly suggested ice, ibuprofen and elevation, which had me only muttering intermittently by the time Bill got home.

Today? A little swelling, a little tenderness, and a new respect for our doorstop.

Spring madness

2009-04-17T09:31:00.000-07:00

Reading E's rant about hormone-drunk birds' attacking her house made me think happily about the dear boys, whose behavior is amazingly decorous for three-year-old male cats. They don't fight; they rarely speak; they walk in single-file to the door when we tell them it's time to go out... You get the picture. But they aren't wind-up cats; once in a while they surprise us.

Last Fall, we turned our compost pile and now have another 170 sq. ft. of vegetable garden. (We don't turn the pile very often, obviously!) The boys were happy to have a new, larger litterbox until we covered it with old alfalfa. But when they noticed great dingy poufs of aged wool we'd picked up with the hay... Oh, joy!

They roll; they root; they loll on their backs, clutching a tattered wad, in ecstatic trances.

I guess, sometimes they are just little boys who need their loveys.

Pink snow!

2009-04-11T11:54:00.000-07:00

What have they done?

2009-03-17T09:14:00.000-07:00

I've been watching flickers

for weeks now, poking deep into the soil, leaving so many holes behind that some places look like someone fired a shotgun. Although the flickers are around all the time, it's only in late winter that I see them working over special areas together. Then, today, I look out to see: newborn leaves on the roses, lilac, crabapples and flowering currants, glossy maroon buds on the horse chestnut,and suddenly there are more things blooming than I can easily list.

I think I know what the flickers were up to: they tore a hole in winter so spring could get in!

Dear World...

2009-01-30T21:26:00.000-08:00

This pretty much sums up my feelings.

Some gifts are just scary

2008-12-31T18:38:00.000-08:00

My daughter sent me a link to this story in the NYTimes: It brings back memories of walking into the hospital breakroom and finding huge tins of Danish butter cookies with giant multi-color stickers: "Prozac" or "Viagra" or something else that clearly was never meant to be ingested as food. I was rather leery of these "gifts" - although I really did (I'm embarrassed to say) like the pens that looked like hypodermic needles.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh

2008-12-23T07:23:00.000-08:00

At 5:30 this morning I was burrowed into the comforter, enjoying the considerable chill on my nose when Bill came upstairs and said those magic words, "The power's back on." You can have your sonnets, your novels, your lyrics, your children's laughter... nothing could have sounded sweeter than those few words. We were 48 hours without electricity, which now looks like an adventure but I must admit I was getting prEtty bored with pioneer living.

The stove kept the downstairs warm when we closed off two spare rooms. Our room got darned cold, but thanks to the miracle of down, we only suffered that momentary shock of slipping into the sheets. So, it was 40 degrees instead of 60 - the temperature of a nice camping trip, right? And is there anything nicer than coming back to bed in the middle of the night (with cold toes because you're too sleepy to put on slippers) and sliding back into that cozy cocoon? Baby birds are sooooo lucky. Think of little penguins!

The hardest part of the power outage was losing connectivity. We watched in horror as our batteries ebbed and died...first the UPS on the computer, then the laptop, then the radio, then the cell phones...and we were cut off from all but the morning paper (snort!). Of course there was plenty of snow shoveling to do (repeatedly), wood to fetch, candles to change, books to read, walks to take and each other to pick on. We weren't bored.

The boys, who love the snow, also love to hog the best spot in front of the fire:

When the roads thawed Sunday afternoon, we picked up our nephew and went to town for supper, not because we couldn't find food, but we hoped they'd let us charge our phones. Alas, the only open outlet was up by the ceiling (for a TV?), and our hopes were dashed. Good fish, though! Yesterday we went in so we could both work a few hours, and brought home take-out from Willamette Noodle. We carried it in one of those insulated, zippered shopping bags, and it was still warm after we drove 11 miles at 30 mph. Mmmmm!

We won't thaw for another four days or so, but we'll just keep the bird feeders full and make fun of the cats until things get normal and soggy again. And take showers, and bake rolls and blog and, if we're realllly bored, clean house.

Merry Christmas to all.

We owned the night...

2008-10-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

I've been reading a favorite blog; the post is about trick-or-treating, where the blogger posed the problem of knowing whether or not her apartment-house neighbors wanted/didn't want little gremlins knocking on their doors. There ensued the usual lengthy, and always interesting, discussion about how families work it out today.

The big question was, how do you know whether or not someone wants kids to knock on their door? In an apartment house, there may be a pumpkin-shaped Post-it on the door; in towns, it's often the porch light that signals "Gremlins Welcome Here!"

It used to be easy to tell. When I was in grade school, the week before Halloween, the teacher would ask, "Who needs a Maltese cross?" It was our responsibility to know who in our neighborhood should not be trick-or-treated. Miss Hager liked the kids to come around, but her renter, Miss Potts, was off limits; C. Madison Landaker was too easily confused; and the couple up on Walnut didn't speak English or understand Halloween. So, we asked for the orange stickers with the black cross:

The cool thing about this was that it was the kids who picked the houses to avoid, and who delivered the stickers, AND who defended those houses from any kid who tried anything funny. No parents went out with their kids. The neighborhood was ours, all ours, all evening.

In balance? Or teetering on the brink...

2008-09-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

Happy autumnal equinox, everyone.

Astronomy Photo of the Day

Depending on your outlook, you may see that as delightful or ominous. For glass-half-full folks, it's the best of both worlds - warm days and cool nights, gardens still bearing and sheds full of firewood, the landscape mellowing into the richest palette of the year.

I try to be both the ant and the grasshopper: I make sure the shelves glow with jars of peaches; bags of tomatoes jazz up the freezer; and I see there are raspberries enough for a batch of jam, BUT I spend a good hour lying in the shade of the redwood, snuggling with a couple of purring cats, watching birds and animals in the amusement park that is our woodlot.

I like to think it's a matter of achieving balance in all things, but I know I'm just lazy and happy.

Skip this is you don't like snarky political digs...

2008-09-10T14:46:00.000-07:00

Ran across this on http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/

Maybe it's funny; maybe it's mean-spirited and stupid.

You decide; I've listened to so much partisan claptrap that my moral compass is spinning out of control.

Free at last! Free at last!

2008-09-09T17:13:00.000-07:00

I see a day when he can have his hotcakes without my having to make them! Check this out: http://www.batterblaster.com/

And thanks, Moxie, for alerting the waiting world to a life-changing product!
Never mind about the aerosol can; nothing's perfect, and at least the batter's organic and the propellant is ozone-safe.

Seriously, I think I love this, and I haven't even tried it. I know I'm a slow-food kind of woman, but golly, this is just too darned sweet! Be sure to watch the video; I can't wait to watch him shake it like they do in the ad...

I wanted it all, and I have no regrets!

2008-08-05T10:07:00.000-07:00

This is a tale of trying to do it all and ignoring the tell-tale signs of impending doom.

First there was the sesquicentennial of the farm, celebrating Bill's family's 150 years in this place. The house was full of family for a week, and on the big day we had 117 guests, music, food, drink and general gaiety. Joy abounded, although man-colds kept husbands and the toddler a little down, which should have been a warning.

After the last houseguest left, I had a day and a half until the reunion of my cousins, on the Metolius River - one of the prettiest spots in Oregon. Joy again abounded, long walks and long talks and the first signs that trouble wasn't content to just lurk.

I only was supposed to have four days at home before leaving for Chicago to babysit darling grandson. But as my throat became searingly painful and I made foghorn sounds when I inhaled, I decided I wasn't invincible, after all, and dragged my sad ass home from the reunion a day early and took to my bed.

After a loading dose of antibiotics I can face life again, and my NP promises I'll be good to fly. I enjoyed sleep uninterrupted by bouts of strangling coughs, and greeted the dew-bespangled morn chastened, but grateful to have so many lovely people in my life.

Thank you all; this is a great summer!

I thought he was a goner

2008-06-11T09:03:00.000-07:00

... but the cat came back. It just wasn't on the very next day. Or the next day. Or the next day.

While we were skylarking all dank, dreary weekend at the beach, he decided the rules (like being home before dark) didn't apply. The pet sitter called and searched, but nothing. We weren't really worried - he's got this odd sub-routine that makes us wonder if he's really, really deep or just simple. Something seems to click off and he goes into his own furry world, oblivious to everything but the iterations of the loop in his code.

But when we got home, he hadn't been seen for 24 hours, and Sunday turned into Monday, turned into Tuesday - and we gave up hope. I'd poked under bushes and peered into sheds, always fearing I'd find a puff of orange fur - wanting to know what happened, but dreading what I'd see.

The other two boys were, meanwhile, needier than they'd ever been - following us everywhere, refusing to go outside without us, and acting as if they hadn't slept since we left. I thought of the matriarch in "Cold Comfort Farm", who took to her bed after she "saw something nasty in the woodshed".

And then Bill came up the stairs this morning carrying the big orange doofus, who's a little slimmer (no harm there!) and VERY glad to see us. He's overfilling my lap right now, making me S-T-R-E-T-C-H to reach the keyboard, and making me type one-handed when he's too relaxed. I think his bones melt and he starts to ooze - and at 17 lb., that could be a real mess!

We'd been trying to console ourselves that at least we still had two cats, but we felt like the mother in Father Fox's Pennyrhymes,

I have seventeen children, and none can I spare.

A visitor from Alaska

2008-04-19T10:40:00.000-07:00

When I went downstairs in the middle of the night, I thought it was a full moon, except (even without glasses) something seemed wrong. Sure enough, we woke up to

. . . in the middle of April!

It's not a record, but I can't remember snow after Valentine's Day. Out in the raised beds, the baby spinach, lettuce and chard are snug beneath their row cover and should be fine, but I'm not so sanguine about the pears and cherries; it's supposed to freeze again the next two nights.

The boys were delighted by snow when they were half-grown kittens, but they've decided, after a couple of early forays today, to pile up inside and wait for better weather. They'll be evicted soon, but we're not letting on.

We're keeping extra warm burning the scrap wood left over from the flooring. It's amazing how much heat you can get from kiln-dried oak tidbits - and how little ash it produces! Maybe we should start toasting our firewood in the oven. We'd only have to do a few sticks a day, and we could bake bread or do a roast at the same time . . .

I'm not grousing . . . really!

2008-04-09T22:07:00.001-07:00

It's just that I was supposed to go to class this morning and a volunteer gig this afternoon, but stayed home because Corey & Kevin came a day early to start sanding and puttying the floors. That wouldn't have been a big deal, except that:

they needed two 220v hookups, so I couldn't dry the last load of clothes for our trip tomorrow;
then, it turned out that our flight was cancelled (yeah, American Airlines), so I didn't need those clothes, after all;
Corey & Kevin ran floor sanders (LOUDLY), filling the entire house with very, very, very fine sawdust, including the clothes I had managed to dry before they started;
so, I set up a table in the woodshed with my laptop, a cell phone & a giant latte;
after four hours on the phone, I got a delightful American agent who got us booked for Friday instead of Thursday - disappointing, but not tragic;
she suggested we could move our return a day, without charge, to make up for leaving a day late;
I spent another three hours on the phone trying to make that happen;
at 6 PM, I snapped and went out to Burgerville (you've got to try their Yukon Gold fries!);
I got an automated phone message that my flight had been cancelled (the new one), and would I like this lovely one on Saturday? I said, "No!";
Richard came on the line (by now it's 7:30 PM), and asked would I rather fly tomorrow?
the new flight is actually better than the original one, for us and for our family;
I said, "Yes, please!", opened a beer & started packing.

Where did you say we're sleeping tonight?

2008-04-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

Once again, the queen-size bed is in the attic, and we're "sleeping" in the double in the spare bedroom/living room/den. I say "sleeping" because one of us is longer than the bed, and wakes us every time his feet encounter the foot rail - umpteen times a night - and the other needs an astonishing amount of space to throw off all covers, lie on her back and radiate excess heat (which apparently emanates from either the core of the earth or our wireless modem).

To go to bed, we move two easy chairs & an end table as far from the bed as they'll go (three whole feet!), and try to clear a path to avoid wee-hour collisions or stubbed toes. Then, to get dressed, the bed and chairs have to huddle together so we can get to the "dresser". (I hereby apologize abjectly for pretending that piece of furniture could have ever been adequate storage for a teenage girl's clothes! We're paying for that now.)

Our real dressers are in the attic - such a treat first thing in the morning when I really have to have that wool sweater. Bill's office is stuffed with furniture, filing cabinets, a piano, the houseplants, and a cat who thinks it's a perfect refuge. My office is the kitchen counter, which means a constant mess of bits of paper and magazines that Bill straightens up when it gets too overwhelming. We've moved so much, so many times, that we have to think where we are when we wake up, and can't DO anything without asking, "Where did we put the ...?"

I'm not even going to talk about last month when I shut myself in the laundry room while guys stomped in and out, banging and crashing for a week. (Well, I'll only talk about it a little...) It's all going to be worth it, and in a few weeks, we'll post the results of all this dislocation.

No more grousing

2008-04-05T20:16:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, we had a fellow put in a new door and some windows and a few other odd bits. Generally, it was fine, sound work, but the trim he did just looked completely wrong to me. Since it didn't bother Bill, and there was plenty of other stuff going on, I've just groused about it all this time.

Today, in preparation for repainting the living room, we bought the trim that had to be replaced after the flooring went down. Bill put up it up around the door this afternoon, and suddenly, I'm at peace! Oh, the floor still needs sanding and sealing and the room has to be painted . . . but it looks right to me now. I know it was really a little thing, but it sure makes a big difference to me.

I wonder what I'll start grumbling about next?

It's great when it works

2008-03-24T16:00:00.000-07:00

I just talked nonstop for three hours to the senior center "Introduction to Computers" class. You'd think I'd take a breath once in a while, but here's the deal - Dick & I decided it would be cool to have both the beginning and advanced classes at the same time. We figured the advanced ones could follow the manual and work most of it out between themselves.

With the beginners, there's a lot to explain, right? "What you see on your screen right now is called the 'desktop'. These small pictures on the 'desktop' are called 'icons'. The 'icons' with small arrows in the lower right corner are called 'shortcuts'..." Some folks have never heard this vocabulary, and some have misunderstood it. Most of them have questions - good ones.

And then, of course, the advanced students have questions, too, don't they? So, there I go, talking some more until they are ready to forge ahead on their own again, and I'm back to the beginners. It's a bit like juggling, but never knowing how many objects are in the air.

Could it be the sun?

2008-02-23T19:22:00.000-08:00

Sitting here in the evening, I feel my cheeks glowing pleasantly. My default assumption is that it's just a hot flash or the beer, and yet... We were outside from noon until dusk, and it was t-shirt weather (well, if you were working, and I'm here to tell you we were). So, couldn't it be a little sunglow? OK, I know we're not supposed to ever let the sun's rays touch our skin, so I'll try to feel a little bit guilty. But truthfully, I just feel really, really good, because we got so much done.

There are now 20 Oregon white oaks across the north property line, and 14 new table grapes marching up the other side of the driveway. These are seven new varieties, one of which is supposed to make great pie. Grape pie! I can't even imagine it. We've selected more limbs in the locust stand for posts in the vineyard, and we figured out where the other 35 trees are going. We planted Nootka rose, ocean spray, cascara, snowberry and Western spirea along the roadside.

A lot of the rest of the planting (incense cedar, ponderosa pine and sequoia) is forbidden me because it's in the poison-oak zone. But thrills abound, regardless. Although we've already mowed once, it's time to go around again; the weeds are going gang-busters; and every bed on the place needs tending.

I can tell we're really having fun, because we have to run extra loads of wash so we'll have clean jeans again.

I don't see how that would help, really

2008-01-26T18:05:00.000-08:00

Flying Up

2008-01-25T18:02:00.000-08:00

A million years ago, when I was in Brownies, there was a ceremony in which we "flew up" to become Girl Scouts. It was my first inkling that ceremonies were human constructs, and (to my mind) therefore suspect, although not altogether bogus.

Last night, a dear friend's mother died, and my friend became, as I did some years ago, the matriarch of her family. She "flew up". And it's not a piffling thing to be the ranking woman in the family.

Not having been endowed with much in the way of "gravitas", I wear this mantle lightly. That's not to say I don't appreciate it. It just seems to me that taking it too seriously would disrespect the "office", and ill serve the daughters watching and wondering how we do this aging and dying routine.

Let's make it as much fun as we can, ok?

0 for 2

2008-01-24T13:56:00.000-08:00

Strike One: I falsely accuse my dds of being ungrateful wretches (it turned out to be His sock!).

Strike Two: I jinx dd #1 by telling her how lucky she is her enchanting son has never really been sick. An hour later, he wakes up from his nap and (literally) tosses his lunch.

Time Out! If I'd known the cosmic pranksters had me targeted, I would have predicted, in smug pontifical tones, that there's no way he could learn to [read, say his grandparents' names, change his own diaper] at this age.

Hope you feel better, wee one . . .

How sharper than a serpent's tooth. . .!

2008-01-21T16:41:00.000-08:00

Some thanks I get these days for just trying to be a good Mom! I innocently ask if anyone has lost a sock and One Of Them (guess which!) says, snarkily:

"what kind of a question is that? sure, i'm missing socks. probably including a brown one. you expect me to keep track of these things?"

To which The Other One replies, with a pathetic sympathy play:

"do I have some brown cotton socks without mates? Yes. But, after a recent sock drawer analysis, I have concluded I have more unmatched socks than I do matched ones. Sigh."

I give up! This sock is hereby offered free to the highest bidder.

Slept like a baby...

2008-01-05T09:31:00.000-08:00

Once again, we're having howling winds and lashing rain. To watch Fox News, you'd think we're all pinned under collapsed buildings and fallen trees. But compared to the last storm or the one last year, this one seems less destructive by far. Easy for me to say, isn't it, when it's not my house that was crushed by a fir tree? Nor was my garage blown out onto a highway, as happened near Brooks.

Normally, when the wind sounds like a train going by, I can't relax and sleep is fitful at best. Too many huge limbs have fallen from the cedar tree and missed (or kissed) the house. But after beheading it last year (yes, I know it's sad and ugly) we're pretending it's no longer dangerous. Sure, the whole thing could go over - it's still fifty feet tall and five feet in diameter, after all. I think it's just that we did all we could to make ourselves safe, and now we give ourselves a pass on worrying.

Tempting fate? Maybe...

Oldtown

2007-12-05T10:13:00.000-08:00

I have this habit of agreeing to do things that sound good, but actually scare me witless when I really have to do them. Like canvassing this October for the Yes on 49 campaign. Why would I think I'd be comfortable knocking on strangers' doors, talking to them about a highly controversial ballot measure?

When Sarah and I parted ways, and I started down Main Street toward Oldtown, I seriously doubted my resolve. Talking to acquaintances is tough enough - and forget about strangers! But I took my clipboard, literature and map and a deep breath, then looked down the street. It was a glorious warm afternoon, and at least it would be 2 1/2 hours of good exercise.

And then the familiar magic happened. It was like stepping into "State & Main" where all the people I met were friendly (even the one who gleefully told me she'd voted against the measure!). So, what was I so reticent about?

Icing on the cake? The measure passed 65%/35%, and our little county effort accounted for 8% of it - huge for a not-so-populous, usually conservative, rural area. We have vote-by-mail, so by 8:00 on election night, counties from the smallest to the largest reported results in couple of hours, and suddenly all the walking and phoning seemed well worth it.

And next time, I'll be just as reticent, and get just as big a surprise, because some things don't change very much.

Some days are better than others

2007-10-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

Maybe I can blame this on the cat. He was pretty pissed off that he couldn't go back outside after his supper (as if that's a new rule!). We forgot to keep an eye on the little bugger and maybe you can guess what he did . . . again

You think part of this roll can be salvaged?

I think he may have missed that last sheet that's glued to the core.

What makes it hard is we secretly think this is really funny, because we imagine him lashing his tail and thinking, "I'll show them! When I get done with their toilet paper, they'll mew like kittens and beg for mercy! HA, HA, HA, HA..."

I was cooking when this happened, and I was in sort of a hurry, because we wanted to go to a movie. Let's say the cat distracted me, ok, because what happened next was just so completely stupid, I can't believe I did it all by myself.

See, I had onions and mushrooms sauteeing in one pan; the turkey cutlets were browned and lounging casually nearby, and there was this great big ceramic casserole on another burner, ready to saute the rice a bit and then combine everything, right? I looked down into the casserole and thought, "Hunh! That looks hot."

Ok, you're not going to believe this, but I then - oh, yes! - reached into the casserole and touched the bottom - really fast, because just as four of my fingertips touched the ceramic, it occurred to me that the reason it looked so hot was because it really, really was.

There was this tiny Pffffffttt! as flesh met searing pan. My fingertips were a funny shade of white, and after I ran cold water over them for 5 minutes, they felt fine, but sort of like they had white glue dried on them. No pain - none at all!

I know this isn't a good picture, but here's what the bottom of the pan looked like:

There were parts of four fingerprints in that casserole. You can pretend to see the two biggest ones.

I'm really not sure what more to say about all this. Was it a bad day or a good one?

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig

2007-10-20T20:54:00.000-07:00

I'm back from grandma-land again. It's as cold and rainy as it's supposed to be in October, which could be depressing, I suppose, except that when I look out the window I see all this rich color and texture

and think what a nice day we're having.

It helps a lot that we finally found pizza that is worth the drive! Because of the dearth of edible pizza here, we've been making our own - with pretty stellar results:

But now we have Apizza - no, not the one in Portland - it's in Stayton, and it's well worth the drive (like going all the way to Morton Grove for Burt's pies). Their pizza crust is crisp, yet tender, and the toppings don't crowd and jostle, but greet our palates a few at a time. The beverage list is twice as long as the pie menu, with Busch Light and fountain drinks, organic wines and beers, pear cider (hard) and cane-sugar sodas (like Coca-Cola as it was made before about 1970).

I'd put in a picture of their pie, but then I'd have to stay up all night worrying you'd come sneaking around looking for the two pieces we managed to save for tomorrow.

At the bottom of the menu it says, "We do not accept tips. Money left at the tables will be donated to charity. Thank you." No; thank YOU!

Unabashed promotion

2007-08-28T12:40:00.000-07:00

Seems we're all about phones today. While I drank my coffee this morning, I was musing over how much time I'd spent on the phone lately and decided I'd better check my minutes. Panic struck when I saw 556 of my 600 were gone! Downside of giving up the land-line? Not having it as backup for just this situation. Chances of getting Bill to hand over the iPhone for the next few days? I'm sometimes mean, but it would be nasty to even ask!

So I called Working Assets and told "Julie" I needed help. "OK!" she said, "You can buy 'Talking Liberally' minutes for $5 to cover any minutes over your plan until the end of the month." Best of all? I can do it any month! Great name, too . . . Yes, I am devoted to Working Assets, and will refuse the blandishments of all other carriers.

If you're tired of pouring your telecom charges into the pockets of Big Business, and would like some of your long-distance, cell phone, or credit card charges (not profits) to go to progressive causes, take a look at Working Assets. You can round your payment up a bit and increase your (tax-deductible) contribution, and once a year we get to vote on which organizations we support. It's an education just to read about all the candidates!

The network has contributed over $50 million to causes like Doctors without Borders, Planned Parenthood, Amnesty International, and the ACLU. And through the political action program, some 80,000 calls, emails and letters are sent free on our behalf on social and political issues each month - to Congress, the White House and to business interests.

Oh, and if you do switch, let them know I sent you. We might get some Ben & Jerry's!

The Cat IS the Hat

2007-07-23T11:08:00.000-07:00

When the boys were little (see picture) I decided they should always live inside. I think I'd found one too many surprises in hay bales, and wanted them to live long, if dull, lives.

For months the plan worked well. They were happy chasing yarn balls and could spend a whole afternoon playing with a single sheet of tissue paper.

But, as they grew, the yarn balls lost their charm and a sheet of tissue lasted about 15 seconds. We learned their new games, which involved emptying the bookcases, patrolling tabletops and counters, and savaging innocent household objects . . .

The new plan is that they go out during the day and come in for the night. It's a simple plan, and it works pretty well most of the time. Even when the grass-seed field was being swathed, we thought it would be easy to keep them inside for a few hours. But it took until noon, while the boys suffered, hanging out by the door, complaining that we were sooooo mean. Their pitiful cries would have melted Voldemort's heart (if he had one). It wasn't a fun morning. The only peace was when I showed J and B a slender stream of water in the bathroom sink, which kept them busy for half and hour (and left lots of muddy little footprints for me to wipe up).

Even when we can let them out first thing in the morning, there are glitches. If Maybe hides in the back bedroom for a long afternoon nap, he's going to want to stay out all night. If Jerome is in at 8:30 or 9:00, he suddenly remembers a shrew carcass he needs to bring us. If Bungee's the only one inside at curfew, he'll put on his sweet-kitty look and volunteer for duty: "I know where they are! I'll get 'em quick! I promise I'll be right back!" Riiiiight....

Sometimes, if we're outside at dusk, we've been able to find them and bring them in without much fuss. Other nights, we've gone hunting, and found ourselves carrying one or two squirmers a long way back to the house. But then Bill (how?) came up with a hold that immobilizes/tranquilizes them. No writhing, no complaining; just placid acceptance - even purring:

The man's either a genius or seriously demented. Either way works for me!

OK

2007-07-23T00:04:00.000-07:00

You can bother me now. I'm done reading.

Don't bother me

2007-07-21T12:26:00.000-07:00

. . . I'm reading.

Full of wonder

2007-06-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

One May day, on the theory that I might be getting bored with grandbaby business (as if that could happen!), Ella sent me looking for the Bohemian National Cemetery. I'm good at getting lost, but they've made it pretty easy to spot if you can get within a mile . . .

As I drove in, it looked pretty much like your average nice, old cemetery on a lovely spring day.

As I walked around, I felt like I'd stepped into The Orange Fairy Book or the land of the Ents.

Who were these Bohemians? What was all this tree symbolism? Broken trunks and limbs (life cut off?), lots of ivy, and here and there a squirrel or so.

And what about these with their hefty, hefty anchors?
Were they riverboatmen, or did they go off to sea?

After a stroll about the cemetery, I found a parkland a bit farther on. In the woods were a pair of placid deer who looked me over with the barest flicker of interest. I was glad they didn't disturb the bird on the branch near me. I was trying to see which of the warblers it was when it hopped a little closer, tipped its olive-green head down and flashed a brilliant red-orange patch as if to say, "Hi! I'm an orange-crowned warbler! What are you?"

That's my idea of big-city fun. Chicago really does have whatever I'm looking for.

Worlds collide

2007-05-22T14:52:00.000-07:00

They're repaving our road, so I came the loong way home. Cunningly, I chose a road that was blocked by housing construction, and had to detour through the new streets surrounding piles of dirt and weeds. When the huge belly dumper and roller got out of the way, I was just about to pull back onto the main road. But a little flurry caught my eye just ahead.

A mother duck was walking her brood of six chicks from the construction site, down across the road to the creek. What she didn't see was that a red-tailed hawk was stooping on her/them. What the red-tail didn't see was that two blackbirds were dive-bombing him/her. What the blackbirds didn't see was the car coming from the opposite direction.

I flashed my lights. The car stopped. One of the blackbirds whacked the hawk. The hawk flew off. The blackbirds went on about their business. The duck family continued waddling across the road and disappeared into the grass. The people in the other car stopped when they came abreast of me and said, "What do you think of that?"

I think it was good luck they were paving our road. Well, not for the hawk.

Close call

2007-05-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

In fits of spring fever, we've gorged on new plants, and are tucking them into their new beds as fast as we can, and not without problems. There were a pair of salvia I bought impulsively, thinking they'd bring late summer color to the edge of a bed. The tag wasn't alarming, but yesterday - after I'd planted them - I looked them up on a lark. They grow up to six feet tall! Not so much of a foreground plant, after all - but easily moved still.

I'm always doing that - I pick out something that seems like a good idea when I'm at the nursery, and then wander around (sometimes for weeks) wondering why I thought I'd want another four cistus when they already seem to be in every spot one could conceivably grow.

Or, worse, I finally find the one plant I've been after for years, and find that all the spots it could go are filled with the pale imitations I bought in a moment of despair over ever finding the one perfect one. So do I euthenize perfectly good plants? Try to fob them off on unsuspecting friends? Move them somewhere less high-profile?

And, at the Saturday Market where I'm trying to decide whether four types of basil are enough, and he says, "Did you want chard?",Chard Bright Lights

I don't hesitate. I'm a goner as soon as he hands me the tray of seedlings. Are six plants too many? Sure they are, but I know I'll find room for them somehow, because they will dazzle both in the vegetable bed and on the dinner plate, never mind what they'll do at the cellular level.

The real reason people have babies

2007-05-07T20:34:00.000-07:00

Because they do funny things like this when they're sleepy.

I think it will take more than 12 steps

2007-05-05T09:50:00.000-07:00

I'm restless, distracted, moody... I reach for the phone every 10 minutes. If I don't get help I'll soon be dressing the cats.

Do I miss my grandson and want to be around him all the time? You bet I do. But he's being mothered and fathered most tenderly. Although it conjures unfortunate strains of "McArthur Park", we grandparents can only be the icing on a grandchild's cake - delightful in modest amounts.

No, it's the mothering I'm missing - taking care of the new mother and father as they find their way to being a family. They will certainly be fine without me around; it's my need I'm speaking of, not theirs.

This is what I'm talking about...

2007-04-14T21:33:00.000-07:00

Calum R. MacAdam

He said, "Hi, Grandma!"

2007-04-12T22:30:00.000-07:00

... and I knew that Calum Robert MacAdam was born! Did my dear son-in-law sound just a little smug? Deservedly so, because it's a stunning achievement. Never mind how many billions of organisms reproduce on any given day - birth is a bona fide miracle; I am filled with joy and awe.

You can have your basketball, your football, your marathons; they pale in comparison to nine months of pregnancy culminating in labor and delivery! Maybe if Peyton Manning blew that football out his ass, I'd pay more attention.

For the statisticians and genealogists:
Born on 4/12/07 at 11:44 PM, weighing 7# 15 oz. Mother, father and baby doing well, thanks.

Funny old brain

2007-03-13T11:13:00.000-07:00

I've never kept a job that was truly aggravating, and I was often flip to the point of insubordination. But at my volunteer gigs, I just don't get aggravated - things that would make me crazy if they were paying me just roll right off. I don't give a rip about all the dopey little things other people do or don't do, which makes me realize what a hell of a lot of time I've wasted stewing about work.

I'm not talking about glorious, foaming-at-the-mouth rants; they're great recreation and some (like Emily's) of considerable literary merit. I mean my bleak, turgid, dismal thoughts that swirled and eddied about, gumming up my mind and frizzling everything they touched. It's when I began to believe that people were idiots that I got in trouble. Maybe they were idiots, but it worked out best to give them the benefit of the doubt when I had to work with them.

And now, magically, most of the time, I can let go of that shit and just think, "Hunh! That sounds stupid. Whatever." And not feel compelled to endlessly analyze the idiocy, and crusade to eradicate it.

Except when someone loads the dishwasher wrong. I'm mellowing, not going completely dim!

Ode to John Denver

2007-03-02T10:39:00.000-08:00

OK, I know "Country Road" is sappy, but after 27 hours in airports, jets and departure lounges, I was humming it under my breath as we turned off the highway at 4:30AM into the dark stillness of Greenwood Road. (Note to self: flying in February ... a bit fraught.) I'll spare you the details except to say that when a block of seats finally opened up in Miami, there were cheers each time a name was called. From a high of 93, the standby list was finally shrinking!

We brought two pilgrims home - Jemma and Dana still needed to get to their luggage and car in Eugene, and then home to Roseburg, but needed sleep even more. Bill, who is a saint, had been making hotel reservations along our flight path (and then canceling them) and brought us home to a lovely fire and freshly-made beds. After we slept a few hours and had breakfast, we picked up all our luggage at the Eugene airport, had a lovely Thai lunch (thanks, Jemma & Dana!) and dropped J&D off at their car. We were home "for good" by 5:30. Fire up the grill and I'll pour the wine!

If you're wondering, gentle reader, if it was worth it, look at the pictures and then decide: Guatemala album. I've sipped neon-pink wine high on a tower above a piss-elegant composting toilet at Candice's enchanted organic acreage by Santiago Atitlan, hiked four hours up hill (I mistyped it "hell"!) and down dale birding with Josue at Tarrales Reserve, walked my ass off looking at ruins all over Antigua with Debby, was bitten by a gorgeous macaw in Honduras, near Copan Ruinas, and was conked on the head by a little boy with an eggshell full of confetti. Luis made me speak Spanish for over two hours, and I found out I could!

At the elementary school where Luis teaches, we delivered our supplies to each teacher and spent a happy hour in L's class. The kids tried out their English and we tried out our Spanish (the kids did better than we did). I showed them a finger game and Morocco juggled a soccer ball and two rolls of toilet paper (use what you've got!). Soon they'll be raising brine shrimp (sea monkeys to you) to watch with their new microscope.

And I met the weavers, Johanna and her mother, whose work left me drunk and stumbling. This little piece is meant to be sewn together at the blue ends and then have the top edge gathered together for a baby cap. Don't worry! It's not for young master MacAdam! The ones I found for him won't get him beaten up on any playground!

Everywhere we went, we met Americans, but no ordinary tourists. A few were in language schools, but most were in Guatemala to serve. We met doctors, nurses, Habitat for Humanity teams, and masons. These last are installing simple, high-efficiency low-emission stoves,like this oneto replace the open fires inside many homes. This stove uses 1/4 the wood of an open fire, too, which may relieve some of the pressure on native forests while making less work for the family. At Candice's we had a gourmet meal for 16 cooked on one of these, including banana cream pie!

So, maybe it's windy and cold and wet back here at home, but I've got triple-tasty memories, a bunch of new friends, and - best of all - I'm back in my sweet baby's arms!

Now I´m the one far from home

2007-02-17T17:41:00.000-08:00

This post is from Antigua, Guatemala, where I´m typing while watching the Cody Banks movie dubbed into Spanish and eating pupusas or appetizers - Salvadoran cornmeal pancakes filled with cheese, pork, mushrooms, chorizo, etc., and a cabbage salad that kicks ass.

When I´m done here, there´s music in the town square and I expect to find the other 11 crazy women who thought this would be a good way to spend February. They were soooo right!

This morning we had breakfast in the ruins of a convent (Santa Domingo) built by the Spanish in the sixteenth century. Beautiful young Mayan women drift about in garments that make nuns habits look like high fashion. The gardens glow against the massive stone walls and there are breathtaking art exhibits around several corners.

Of the women, I only know my cousin, and we haven´t spent more than two days together at a time since we were children. A week ago, my new best friends were strangers to me, but now I know details of their lives that would have taken years to learn in the real world. I have to say I was verrry apprehensive about subsuming myself to an estrogen borg, but I needn´t have bothered my pretty little head. If we have a fault, it´s that we bend over backward to accomodate one another. Weird, hunh?

Sorry I can´t upload any pictures. I´ve taken hundreds, but didn´t bring the cable. Later for that. And now I really have to go. I can hear the music over the TV and I hear there´s dancing in the streets.

My final note: these are the sweetest, most gentle people I´ve ever seen - the beggars, the street vendors, everyone one the street - with no exceptions. EVERYONE greets EVERYONE with a face-splitting smile, and now they are greeting us with hugs! It´s crazy and I love it.

Hasta luego, amigos . . .

The End is (Not) Near

2007-01-27T15:34:00.000-08:00

It's the end of January, and you'd think we'd be done messing about with trees from the December storm. But we had the arborists out Friday to make four big new messes - two of them where we'd already spent hours cleaning up!

Oh, be very careful, tiny man!
That can't feel very safe
Sure it's less stately, but the house is safe

Since then we've spent three days picking up sticks and making firewood around three of the trees, and I need to take some time off before doing any more. We've got the area around the house looking tidy (after our fashion), but plenty of work lurks a little way away.

The only property damage from all this was the barn across the road, so we don't see devastation every time we look out a window or step outside any more. But it's amazing how wearying it is to have all this to deal with. I know it pales in comparison to - oh, say, Katrina, or Baghdad, or even our Columbus Day storm. Why doesn't that make me feel better than it does?

It's true that when we're out there in the sunshine, warmed up and working together in that companionable way, I feel great. It's just that when I get tired and sticky with pitch, and there's still another hour's work before it gets dark, I have trouble with my inner two-year-old. And like spoiling a bad child, we went to a movie Saturday and Sunday night! A little popcorn shut her right up, the little hoyden...

Heat Wave

2007-01-20T16:54:00.000-08:00

We woke up early this morning because, for once, the sky didn't just go from black through infinite shades of grey, but was clear and blue with perky clouds in Martha Stewart shades that harmonized nicely. For a moment, I wanted to slip into a peignoir and fluffy mules so I could trip downstairs and whip up some beignets. Then, I snorted derisively, pulled a sweatshirt over my tshirt and found a pair of not-too-gross jeans in a heap on the floor so I could make it to newspaper box and get a bowl of cereal. (OK, I did have a huge cafe au lait after, and the milk was steamed just right.)

Because I live with a genius, we made progress on two projects at the same time today. He made racks for the pickup so we could clean out the top of the broken barn, and we dumped four loads of the straw in a row where we'll plant the grapes we started last year. If it kills some of the grass and weeds, that's great. If it just rots into the soil, that's great, too. I can just hear the worms now: "Hey, Frank! Get a crew together. There's a bunch of stuff up there we gotta get to work on!" Go, little buddies, go . . .

And it seemed really warm, too. I guess it was only 44 or so, but with a long-sleeved shirt (and a job to do) it felt lovely.

Tag, hunh?

2007-01-17T11:14:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I played tag, but here goes:

I was tagged by snarkapuss.
The game is to list six ways in which I'm weird and then tag six other bloggers who each are to write the six weird things about themselves and then go to six other blogs, leave a comment saying "You are tagged", and tell each to read the tagger's blog for details. It's a chain letter, see, only without the warnings of dire consequences for not passing the challenge along. That's a good thing, because I would have to pick bloggers at random, since I don't actually read six other blogs. Hey! What a good idea!

Here are the six I've tagged:
Banana Theory
Ameliorable Logorrhea
Teck on the Web
Crimes & Corruption of the New World Order News
Reset
string theory

Yes, nearly random . . . There was one, I admit, that scared me, so I just "accidentally" clicked "Next Blog" and hummed a little tune. And I stuck to blogs in English, on the off chance that any of them take up the challenge. I'd like to be able to read their responses (I think).

And how, you ask, Ms Snarkapuss, am I weird? Heck, I should let you guest this post - you could point out a few that I hadn't noticed (or had my face rubbed in) yet. Let's see:

1. When I have a conversation of more than a minute with anyone who has an accent or speech pattern much different from mine, I end up talking like them. They probably think I'm mocking, but really, I don't even notice I'm doing it. And there's a hangover. I'm still getting over spending five days with a woman from Min-a-SEW-da.

2. I count things. Lots of things. Useless things. I don't have to count; often I don't even notice I'm doing it until something interrupts me and I stop. And I almost never remember how many telephone poles there are between here and the highway or the number of steps from the front door of the State Library to the Reference Room. I just count them.

3. I can't look at birds on the ground or sitting in a tree without seeing their "arms" folded behind their backs. It was crows at first. They look like men in dark suits walking bent over, pondering deep stuff. Now all birds look like that, except most of them dress more casually. And a lot of them walk funny, too.

4. I can bend the tips of my first three fingers without bending the second joint - on both hands.

5. Although I don't even look at the price of the coffee beans and have been known to tell the shoe clerk to just bring me something comfortable, I will not pay someone to cut my hair. (I can just hear you saying, "Ohhhhhh! That explains it!") The first four items only seem weird to other people; this one seems weird even to me.

6. I keep a pretty light grip on reality. It's not that I believe in fairies or chi or God or anything; in fact, I don't really believe in much at all. It's nice just to let reality rest on the palm of my hand so it has room to flex a bit from time to time.

That was fun.

Lemonade

2007-01-10T15:36:00.000-08:00

Our exercise program is back in gear. Bill's chain saw has a shiny new part, and we can get back to cutting oak. Well, he can cut; I can drag limbs and pile brush.

We've been trying to decide whether to make it all into firewood and sell it ourselves, or just sell the logs and let someone else do the commerce. A third option seemed appealing but had about 47 questions to research, not the least of which was cost.

Then, Monday, it all fell into place. We have a trucker, a miller and a moulder, who will take our logs and, Presto!, instead of firewood, we'll have oak flooring! How sweet is that? Instead of going up someone's stovepipe (and adding to global warming), the trees can come inside and play.

Drive, drive! Go, go!

2007-01-07T19:58:00.000-08:00

We're in the first throes of buying a new car, and for once I'm not looking forward to the dickering part. It's a shame, because we've had such a good time playing with car salesmen over the years. Bill usually gets to play Mr. Nice Guy and I get to be the bitch (typecasting) and we've made some fine deals. But I just don't have the stomach for it this time.

The web has spoiled me rotten. I like surfing for as long as it takes to get the features and price I want and then watching the product wend its way to us. Before Christmas we were visited by UPS, DHL, FedEx, and USPS package handlers all in the same day! After service like that, going to a car dealer seems like something out of the 19th century.

I have a couple of disturbing dreams that I torment myself with from time to time. One is that I'm secretly a couple of credits short and have to go back to high school. The horror is that I've forgotten my locker combination, can't find my gym shorts, etc. The other one is that I find myself with a lit cigarette and an ashtray full of butts - proof that for twenty years I've lied about quitting. That one makes me wake up with tears in my eyes.

But worse than either of those would be to dream I'm selling cars.

Cardamom

2007-01-04T18:27:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with spices; I just like the word.

I think I'm getting the hang of this retirement thing at last. I'm starting to flash back to how life was when Bill was off farming and I was around the home place or just working part-time. It's like rummaging through the closet for a more comfortable pair of shoes and coming across that pair I loved twenty years ago - still comfy and just right for today.

I am a little disappointed, though, that when I reach for a real pair of jeans my choices ares still those soft ones (with a few stains), the thick warm ones (all ragged at the cuff and a dingy grey), or the one pair I swore I'd only wear for good (definitely pale at the knees). Why do I still not have a decent pair of pants?

Oh, yeah . . . I still hate to shop. Doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon. Sigh.

Oh, what a relief it is!!!!

2006-12-26T20:08:00.000-08:00

e-NOUGH!!

2006-12-16T19:09:00.000-08:00

Have we paid our weather dues yet? Surely we've finally gone through the final indignity, and get some respite. Here's the latest: winds over 65 mph Thursday night. The cedar tree shed most of its top across (just missing) the front of the house. One-third of the horse chestnut fell across the driveway - the third that held one of the yard lights. The cedar Bill raised from a seedling was uprooted - again across the drive. The last of the ancestral fruit trees was felled. An oak limb fell exactly across the area we've been planting to Japanese maples. Another blocks the drive into the woodlot. A third one landed in the neighboring orchard.

Have I forgotten anything? Oh, yeah, there aren't even words for this one:

So rich, so moist, so tender

2006-12-03T19:03:00.000-08:00

Given that we had about 12 inches of rain in November, it might surprise you to hear this was a great week in the garden. All that rain left our soil the consistency of gingerbread - moist, crumbly, and smelling a lot like heaven. Those rooted cuttings we tucked into the nursery bed back in March survived the hottest, driest summer we've ever seen, and we planted 55 lavishly-rooted native trees and shrubs this weekend.

All the posts for the vinyard are cut and curing in the shed, too! They came from the black locusts Bill planted 30 years ago - posts on demand and reproducing faster than we're cutting! There were adventures involving most of our vehicles and lots of cable, but no one got hurt, no equipment was smashed, and all the trees in the orchard are still standing. You say it would have been easier to just buy posts? Sure, but where's the fun in that?

It was that tricky kind of weather all weekend - freezing overnight, and the house got cold in all the corners. But when we were outside in the sun, working, it felt balmy. OK, it would have seemed warm inside if we'd been cleaning house or something, but that's not the kind of dirt we like! And I secretly don't mind the shorter days when it starts getting dark just about beer o'clock. Seems about right.

Read the *&%$# label!

2006-12-01T10:01:00.000-08:00

. . . or, How I Nearly Killed the Kitten

So, Bungee, the elastic kitten, has an eye infection that's responding s l o o o w w l y to treatment. The vet thought an antihistamine might bring down the swelling and itching (and give me more practice pilling a whirling dervish).

Yesterday was a busy day, but there was a moment in the early evening when Bungee was calm (asleep) and there was an extra pair of hands available to pinion him for me. This is not an excuse; it's just what happened. I didn't read the label carefullly. It said, "GIVE 1 / 4 TAB . . ." and I gave him a whole one.

For some reason, I looked at the label again (too late) and saw my mistake. While Bill googled "chlorpheniramine dosing in cats" I paged the vet. We watched our dinner plates cool to unpalatability while waiting for the call back, and I imagined horrible outcomes, several of which were patently impossible.

Long story short: Bad or life-threatening reactions were only possible during the first few hours, and all he did was act sleepy and a little out-of-sorts. He'd get stuck in really impossible positions - all stretched and twisted - and apparently too stoned to adjust. You know how cats tuck their tails when they're frightened or miserable? Bungee's was stuck in a lovely spiral against his flank until about 10:30 when he joined the warmups for the 11PM heat of the cat olympics.

It was great to come downstairs this morning and find him right there with the other two at the foot of the stairs, tail up and purring, this morning.

Sleepy thought on the way to the bathroom at 2AM looking at those long tails waving about with handy curls at the end: isn't it nice cats have handles?

The Hirsute Henchmen

2006-11-20T15:39:00.000-08:00

As you will recall from yesterday, we are monitoring, with increasing alarm, the activities of a race of pink-skinned aliens whom we believe to be bent on our destruction. They, however, are the least of the problem. It is the belief of the scientific community that without their overlords, they would be no more of a threat than dust-mice or the pubic hair in the sink.

The real threat comes from a second type, distinguished by their furry appearance*.

*While scientists debate whether this is fur as we know it or iron filings, such questions can only be answered when we are fortunate - or unfortunate - enough to examine one closely. Note: until we have more details, the exterior will be described as "furry".

There are two forms of these larger, darker creatures. One looks like a cross between a raccoon and a bear, with dark "fur" and large, rather morose, yellow eyes. Several of our field staff have witnessed it roughing up MoleRats and Tripods, and even stalking Bulge. These attempts have been rebuffed by the frantic efforts of the apparently lower-ranking MoleRats and Tripods. Such attacks have led us to label the attackers "Guidos".

Late-breaking news: One of these Guidos has been captured, affording our research team an invaluable opportunity for close study. To our surprise, this individual, which was caught while bitch-slapping a pair of Tripods, was quite docile when held - see illustration, below.

Unfortunately it escaped just after this picture was taken, but we were able to definitely determine that it is not covered in iron (or any other metal) filings. Lab results on the "hairs" left behind may give us valuable information about this bully from scientific-inquiry-wants to-know-where. Clearly its passivity was a ploy to lull its captor into inattention, thus enabling its escape.

Speculation is that it has rejoined its brethren or gone back to report to the creature we feel certain is directing all Guidos. This most monstrous being seems to be covered in similar "fur", but has none of the dull stupidity of the Guidos. On the contrary, the one which has been sighted by our field staff is uniformly described as eerily malevolent and menacing. All indications are that it is worshipped by Guidos, Tripods, MoleRats and the Bulge alike. That this adulation is based in fear and oppression cannot be questioned. We feel it our duty as persons of conscience to warn humanity and mobilize the necessary force to crush this threat to all we hold dear.

If the evidence thus far reported does not suffice, consider the single extant photo, and experience the dark aura of . . . Zygadenus!

There are threats unknown to the Bush administration

2006-11-19T22:52:00.000-08:00

Our hidden cameras have documented the presence of mutant life forms bent on our subjugation. Wily and secretive, they are difficult to study, but we report our preliminary findings here in order that you may be alert to signs of their presence in your homes, too.

There appear to be two distinct types. One has pink skin and from zero to four appendages, which we have codenamed Bulge, MoleRat and Tripod. MoleRats, although blind, are the most mobile. They may communicate with their sighted cohorts for directions.

Tripods are sighted, but less mobile than MoleRats. They achieve locomotion by balancing on what appears to be a pointed abdomen and swing their "legs" forward or back. They are able to turn in limited fashion, but attempts to do more than about 30 degrees cause them to fall and thrash about violently until aided by allies.

MoleRats and Tripods seem to take direction from Bulge, who appears incapable of locomotion, but whose vision is hyperacute. Presumably the need for motion is obviated by the ministrations of the less senior members of the cohort, namely Tripods and MoleRats, although this has not been verified. There is some debate among researchers as to whether Bulge is equipped with night-vision goggles or is just a fashion victim.

These are the three skin-clad life forms under study at this time. Please report sightings and document their activity. Your cooperation is vital to understanding and neutralizing this threat to our way of life!

TOMORROW: The Hirsute Henchmen

What have they done to the rain?

2006-11-17T20:53:00.000-08:00

I know it's supposed to be a good thing to eat organically-grown food but, honestly, sometimes the things our health-food store sells just scare me worse than eating pesticide-laden, over-processed goods from the local chain supermarket.

Case in point:

Fractals enchant me, but I'm not sure we're supposed to EAT them! They say we can eat this "broccoli romanesco" raw, but it looks dangerously pointy - like it could start drilling through our gizzards!

Tears for breakfast

2006-11-14T14:41:00.000-08:00

At 7AM I had a thick quilt pulled up to my chin, a hot-water bottle in one hand, a heating pad on my chest and "Shadowlands" on the DVD player. This is the setup for donating platelets at the Red Cross Apheresis unit: the heat to keep everything flowing and the movie to keep from going starkers, because it takes me about 90 minutes to pump my pint.

Choosing the movie is a very big deal. There used to be one VCR for every two donors, so the first one there got to choose. That's how I once got stuck watching "Milk Money" - a disgusting bit of drivel. Now that there's a player for each donor, we only have ourselves to blame for poor choices. For me, a poor choice is a generally a thriller or a weeper. Emily will appreciate that "Singing in the Rain" works perfectly, but then so does "Twelve Monkeys" and "Antonia's Line", so figure that out. And "Shadowlands" is both a weeper and one of my favorites.

The donors I knew used to avoid weepers because we had to keep both arms still throughout the procedure (whole blood out one arm, everything except a pint of platelets back in the other arm). So, when tears leaked out, a nurse had to mop them up or we let them dry itchily on our cheeks. My donation site has changed over to mostly one-needle machines, so now I can wipe my own eyes, blow my nose, scratch my ear . . . oh, my gosh! I just realized, I can read a book!

Anyway, today it was "Shadowlands" for the sixth or seventh time. There was a group of writers called "The Inklings" that included C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and Charles Williams. I couldn't get through the Narnia books, found the four books of Tolkien's trilogy exciting, but am still awed by Williams' novels. Fortunately, "Shadowlands" isn't about the Narnia books; it's Lewis himself, nearly fossilized in academe, doubting just enough to risk his comfortable life and finding he was capable of great happiness and crushing pain.

Oh, yeah . . . I love this movie. And when it was over, I got juice and cookies and still had the whole day ahead of me!

Fish on bicycles???

2006-11-07T17:53:00.000-08:00

We've had a warm, sunny, dry Fall. It finally got dark and wet, but the warm got left behind, and we found ourselves waltzing into November with 70-degree days and buckets of rain. We call that "the pineapple express" because it comes to us from Hawaii (I can almost smell the coconut tanning lotion).

I lay awake the night the wind picked up. Like a child with a toy flute, the wind played the cedar tree - long on vigor; short on finesse. It wasn't the fury of the wind that kept me awake, though; it was the temperature. Even with all the heat turned off, the thermometer wavered between 72 and 76 for the next three days! Talk about stewing in your own juice!

Our neighborhood is fine, but it's flooding, especially at the coast - roads collapsing and houses being washed away, too. I don't wish the people of Gleneden Beach ill, but if they had the wits God gave a goose, they wouldn't have built there in the first place. Why do people respond to places of great natural beauty by plunking down a house or a hotel? Do they think it's a game of Monopoly? Then they shouldn't whine when they draw a bad Chance card.

Here's a great little video that gives you an idea how off-kilter things are. Don't mind the ad; it's short. You'll have to copy & paste the link, because I couldn't embed this one. Sorry. http://www.katu.com/home/video/4593501.html?video=YHI&t=a

I'm rich! Rich!!!

2006-11-01T11:38:00.000-08:00

We got a load of compost today and I think it's humming something deep and soft and warm - a siren song for the garden's best friends. Over the years, I've tried tilling in some of this and spading in some of that to loosen up our fertile-but-heavy soil, but it was when I quit thrashing the ground (and myself) that I discovered we have a full-time gardening crew who, for a few yards of compost and a good rain will work over each planting bed without disturbing a single plant, incorporating all that organic matter, loosening the soil and aerating it to a faretheewell. You call them worms; I call them my gardening staff.

Other things that make me feel RICH:

a stack of clean clothes

jars of peaches cooling from the canner

change in my pocket (!!)

having a new book I haven't started reading yet

quail talking in the bushes

being outside at night with Bill

Money in the bank? (Yawn) Sure, it's nice. I just can't get very interested, though. I guess it's that momentary feeling of absolute goodness, rather than the total of a column of figures, that makes me feel well-to-do. Would it be different if I were hungry or homeless? Yeah, some . . . but I'll bet I'd always stop to bathe in a perfect sunrise or love the feel of 87 cents in my hand.

Like a pig

2006-10-21T12:41:00.000-07:00

After a couple of months of me zigging when Bill was zagging, we're back in the garden together. Sweet.

Pop Quiz: How do you know your rosemary is out of control?
Answer: When you need a chainsaw to prune it.

We slaved like - well, slaves - this morning, freeing the granite from the rosemary's clutches, weeding, mulching and reducing the sumac thicket to what we laughingly consider a manageable size.

But here's the best part - we had a nice big pile from clearing the orchard and today was a burning day. By the time we were tuckered out from gardening, there was a bed of coals - I kid you not - six feet long and three feet high. We cut filbert suckers for skewers and sipped a cold beer while our sausages sizzled. A great horned owl lit on the top of the little fir tree, silhouetted against the western sky. It looked like a really big black cat (except for the flying part).

We went back long after dark and sat watching the sky and the glow of the coals. Even with fire-glazed eyes we saw the Milky Way clear across the sky. It was a nice respite from the thundering feline horde in the house, but we couldn't stay out too late. We think they've figured out how to use the internet and I caught Bungee with my credit card yesterday . . .

Breakfast at Tiffany's it ain't

2006-10-16T20:14:00.000-07:00

I spent yesterday on a clear liquid diet and then spent the evening drinking ONE GALLON (I kid you not) of a product jokingly named "GoLYTELY", and then shitting my guts out. The prize for all this was getting a colonoscopy this morning (good report!). I am, of course, overdramatizing (blame the anesthesia) - it's not really terrible, just mildly undignified. Luckily, as we age, we learn a) to maintain a modicum of dignity at the worst of times and b) to care less and less about maintaining a modicum of dignity.

And the hits just keep on coming

2006-10-13T21:14:00.000-07:00

So, as I said, the wedding was a romp, a rollick, a fest o' good spirits. The day after, we woke feeling smug and laughed about having a blank calendar ahead of us. That lasted about an hour. Then our sneaky firstborn and her equally sly husband, who had been keeping the secret for three months, finally got to tell us we'd be grandparents in the spring!

One minute I'm smiling over one couple; the next I'm grinning over the other; and then I laugh out loud because life is good.

On the road again . . .

2006-09-30T06:21:00.000-07:00

Ahhhhh. . . One of the joys of traveling through PDX is clearing security and finding Aero Moka just beyond. Laptop connects and life is good.

All was not, however, beer and skittles. Here's an airline first for me: after waiting nine (9) hours for the connecting flight (including a whole hour to find a flight attendent!), they called us to board and then mentioned the plane had been "downsized" (apparently they didn't notice this before boarding started) and half of us would not be going on tonight, after all - oh, but our luggage was leaving. Sheesh!

I'm falling for Oneonta in a big way. I'm staying a few blocks from the kids and a few blocks from "The Latte Lounge" which, in spite of its unfortunate name (how would a lounging latte look, anyway?), is a great place to read the paper after a nice long morning walk. The weather gets clearer and brighter each day and the trees are making up new colors for themselves.

We're trying to be tense and irritable about the wedding, but we're all too happy to pull it off. Everyone we work with is pleasant, thoughtful, courteous and prompt, so we can't bitch about vendors. And Mike's family is just great. Emily is so lucky to have Connie for a mother-in-law! And I'm far enough away that Mike shouldn't suffer too much, either.

Late note: the wedding went off BEAUTIFULLY. The one teeny, tiny little problem was handled before the guests noticed, which is the same, in my book, as no problem ever happening. The room looked great all filled with happy people, and the newly-married couple finally got to relaaaaaaaaaaxx.

Corn pudding and cheesecake

2006-09-24T23:52:00.000-07:00

Today was the community potluck at the grange hall, and we had so much fun we hung the last dog. Unbeknownst to us, interesting people have infiltrated the neighborhood! I base that judgement on both the food they brought and on how witty their repartee - with style points for sassy children or comments like, "Oh, I've always liked your house!"

What I don't like about such gatherings is catching wind of some local conflict, but not picking up enough of the details. So, I come away with the impression that she thinks it's a crime and she's 100% with whosis, and we sure hope what'shisname doesn't bring it up today, because it will just start an argument. Arrrgghhhhh!

We were encouraged to wear name tags with our addresses, which lead to conversations like,

"So, which house is 2140 Oak Grove Road?"

"It's right near the top of the hill past the big power line."

"Oh, you mean the Griffith place?"

"Well, the original Griffith place was on Orchard Heights. The one on Oak Grove was built . . ."

You get the drift.

As the day wound down I remembered the first potluck I went to in that hall, about 35 years ago. All the men gathered in the hall or outside, and all the women were in the kitchen. But now we all break down the tables and chairs, then we end up together in the kitchen until the last teaspoon lands in the drawer. Then the hall is empty again and we chase the last few yellowjackets out as we lock the back door.

Fuzzy slippers

2006-09-18T20:42:00.000-07:00

Ahhhhhh . . . I slip on my snuggly wool slippers and give a tired but happy sigh to be home again after ANOTHER trip. My God, do those people ever stay home?

After a looong weekend in Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia, I think we should all take a hint from the disarming friendliness of our Appalachian peers. What passes for normal grumbly chit-chat just seems churlish in their midst, and after a Mason jar or two of hard lemonade, it's hard to think of much to grouse about. Note to self: save the snarky comments for your first novel.

While we were having perfect warm days and cool crickety nights, it was (at last!) raining at home. In fact, it snowed on Mt. Hood - we saw a news report of a bunch of people at Timberline Lodge in shorts and flip-flops tip-toeing across the parking lot. They looked pretty silly.

When we came home tonight, the kittens came prancing up with their pointy little tails at attention, looking unbearably sweet - for about 30 seconds. They're enormous; I think they learned to read while we were gone and it looks like a couple of them may have started smoking.

some day my guts will be fiddle strings

2006-08-27T22:54:00.000-07:00

Our reward for feeding Mehitabel, the stray who appeared this spring, is a litter of kittens. They're soft and silly and very cute - what are the odds of that? One, at the tender age of four weeks, is a tiny lion stalking his patch of savannah - our woodshed. His opposite is a solemn, yet savage, panther, as quietly deadly as the wee lion is brashly lethal. When they're all asleep, I know there are three others, but awake they are like spilled mercury - scattering and regrouping in unpredictable, sort of sinister ways.

I'm looking forward to long winter evenings with a good book and a warm little furball or two in my lap.

Stayed too long at the fair . . .

2006-08-25T19:50:00.000-07:00

There was a parks department picnic at Spencer's Butte when I was about six. I'm sure there were all sorts of healthy things to eat, but I went for the cupcakes, cookies and pop, and ended up tossing it all in the bushes and spending the rest of the evening lying on the back seat of the car feeling sorry for myself.

A billion years later, on the last morning of two glorious back-to-back vacations, I woke with that ominous feeling. It wasn't going to be a very good day, and I had a couple of hours of driving before I could pull the covers up over my head.

The irony this time was that I had eaten wisely, exercised and slept well, and drinking? OK, I'd had two glasses of wine instead of one some nights - not exactly a binge. No, this was a bug. My cousin's wife fell to it first, and then my cousin the next day. They blamed the crab. But what they ate on the way to the hotel didn't cause my malaise.

Did that take the glow off the week? No, siree! We stuffed enough fun into those seven days that I'd do it all over again - next year.

Redeeming qualities

2006-08-13T11:37:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm woman enough to admit there are things I do like about summer.

It's nice to roll out of bed, pull on whatever, grab the pocket radio, and ask for a ride that will leave me a respectable distance from home in that flat morning light I so enjoy. Walking back, I'm dazzled by those wild oats glowing white-gold beside the road, with their seeds a-dangle in the breeze. At the far end of the filbert rows are diminutive arches framing a buttery-yellow field. A song sparrow flits along ahead of me, drawing my attention to the the fencerow - a tangle of wild roses, hawthorn, poison oak, wild apple, snowberry, and blackberries already warm from the early sun. And all the while, the voices of NPR overriding my mental prattle, and April Baer from OPB giving periodic updates on the traffic for Portland. Ahhhhhhh. . .

There's that half-awake state, somewhere between 2 and 4 AM, when I feel a cool breeze across my face and put my toes out to play for a while before snuggling back to sleep. The voices of a few coyotes or the whistle of the train tell me the night crew is at work and all is as it should be. And whoever is in the cedar tree is welcome, however odd the sounds it's making.

Long summer days as we're mooching about the place - sometimes working, sometimes just loafing - we find the treasures only summer can provide. Under huge leaves in the old tank there are strawberries dangling coyly. Weeding the end of the pine bed where the bindweed grows thick, there are blueberries to keep our spirits up. At the raised bed, a Black Plum tomato between two large basil leaves is a refreshing snack, or young carrots which taste especially good with just a little dirt still clinging to their tender skins. Picking raspberries is an exercise in patience, moving slowly and carefully among the bumblebees who are so graciously pollinating them. Then apples and grapes and walnuts and filberts . . . oh my!

The games people play

2006-07-25T09:14:00.000-07:00

Those evenings when it just wouldn't cool off we ate dinner at the patio table with a sprinkler at our feet. And this time, there were no bad children making up reasons to leave the table so they could stomp on the hose "by AC-cident!" (Actually, someone did kick the hose about two more times than I think could qualify as accidents.)

We celebrated my birthday by doing a butterfly hike up Horsepasture Mountain with an very pleasant group of strangers. Even though we knew the terrain, the birds and the plants, it all looked completely different from the point of view of butterfly and moth ecology.

The mountaintop only has a few remnants of the lookout my parents manned during the summer of ‘42. They packed all their supplies in by mule and weren't resupplied all season. It's hard to imagine having to anticipate everything you'd want to eat, wear, read for an entire summer! I have trouble remembering keys, debit card and grocery list for a simple trip to town!

I'm watching tractors, trucks, cars go by these days and trying to figure out whose is which. It's a matter of waving, see. When I ask whose pickup that is, I swear he just picks a name at random. Then I'll say, "But Merle's pickup is blue, isn't it?" and he'll laugh. "Yes, it was - ten years ago." I think he can actually see the driver, which gives him an unfair advantage.

We're watching five kittens to pick out a couple to make housepets of. They're such lumps at first, but a couple are starting to see a little, and their ears are popping up, too. Some of them hiss like little snakes when I come talk to them, which is just silly - as if they could carry out that threat! The mother, who wasn't much interested in us until this litter, has decided I'm her very best friend, and she'll hang out with me when I'm weeding, so I can talk to myself out loud and pretend I'm talking to her. Who am I kidding?

Plunk your magic twanger, Froggy!

2006-07-21T13:16:00.000-07:00

My cousin, Pris, reminded me of the radio shows we grew up on, and I've been in a reminiscent haze all day. To get myself in the mood, I listened to the Stan Freberg Show called "Orville Arrives from the Moon". It's the one that made catch phrases of "Turn off the bubble machine!" and "Gee, Dad; it was a Wurlitzer!"

I liked "Bobby Baker of the B-Bar-B", "Big John & Sparky" and "Tom Corbett, Space Cadet". This was probably coincident with my crush on Sunny Jim, the Seattle peanut butter company trademark. Staying home with the measles, mumps, chicken pox meant getting to listen to "Don McNeil's Breakfast Club" that came, I think from Chicago. The weirdest part of that show was when they all got up to "march around the breakfast tables!"

But best of all were the grown-up shows, often listened to in bed with the covers pulled way up and the volume way down: "The Green Hornet", "The Whistler", "Let George Do It" and "The Shadow". "X-Minus One", with it's sci-fi stories, alternately creeped me out and thrilled me. A geek is born.

My radio was a brown metal affair that boasted a spectacular antenna. I clipped the lead right to my bedsprings, which were conveniently unobscured by padding and fabric. If there was a signal out there, I could pick it up!

TV, which had to be watched communally, lacked both the intimacy of radio and the personal control. As the youngest and least assertive viewer, I tended to watch what someone else chose. Still do . . . But radio hasn't disappointed me; it's still there, and still has worthy shows. Fewer? Perhaps, or maybe I just haven't found them yet. And don't get me started on podcasts. . . Wow, what a goldmine!

Poor, pitiful Pearl!

2006-07-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

I'm going to do some preemptive whining, so I'll be able to just grit my teeth and get through the next few days. I hate heat! And when I say heat, I mean anything over 80 degrees F. So, you can just skip this post, and go on about your daily life.

Heat makes me cranky and lethargic. I suffer agonies over the garden and the wildlife. Heck, I even put out water for the bees! And it's supposed to get really hot. Well, ok; not hot like it's been in Chicago and New York. We don't have that humidity problem, but it's going to be really hot - like, over 100, ok? All I want to do is lie on the cool floor and drink beer. I always envied the dog, who could wrap herself around the chilly porcelain of the toilet.

I love it that Spring can last clear through June and that we can't count on summer weather until after the Fourth of July. If it's 65 and overcast, I'm one happy chica, because it's really the SUN I don't like; the heat is just an unpleasant side-effect of too much sun. So much for astrology . . . I'm supposed to be a Leo, for Pete's sake!

Shhhhhh! There's a California quail at the water dish! I'd take a picture, but Mrs. Stupid left the camera . . . outside! Oh, well, maybe the quail will take some pictures.

OK, that cheered me up a lot. I'm going out to set up the teeny-tiny hose with the misting nozzle to give the critters a mini-spa.

Sweet summer nights

2006-07-16T13:25:00.000-07:00

In July it's so hard to come inside to sleep. As the evening fades so slowly into night, it feels like things are just starting to get good outside - cool breezes, new animal sounds, and fragrances that get lost in the heat of the day. I can forget about sunscreen, and quit worrying if I should drink more water. Without my hat, my visor or my sunglasses I can see the sky, the mountains and the fields as a panorama again.

So, we've put up this screened canopy where we can't see the neighbors and will go "camping" within easy reach of flush toilets and the espresso machine. What would Sarah Isabel Fawk think of that, do you think?

Ch... ch... ch... changes

2006-07-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

So, while I waited for Bill to come out of a surgery that turned out to be sublimely uncomplicated, I had some time to think. I'm not a worrier, but I could see several possible outcomes, and considered them one at a time, a little like pondering different places I could go for a vacation, except without the thrill of expectation.

First, I thought, what if he dies? And I thought about paralyzing grief, affairs to reorder, being alone, the rest of the family . . . Yes, that's what that would be like, all right, and then some. Second, I thought, what if he takes weeks or months to recover? I'd take a lot of time off work, ferrying him around, caring for him and the house and all. Then, what if he's permanently disabled? He might need more care than I could manage alone, or even need to be in a care facility. While I ran the scenarios through, I kept thinking, "OK, I've looked at that and I'm not afraid to face it." But I kept coming back to how I'd need to take good care of myself.

Then I thought of another scenario: what if he recovered beautifully, and didn't need heroic efforts from me? Well, then all I was left with was taking care of myself! When I looked as frankly at my situation, I dared myself to do the same what-iffing. Like: what if I didn't have to carry a pager 24x7? What if I didn't have to commute 106 miles round trip? What if I admitted to myself that my dream job wasn't such a good dream any more? What if I retired?!?

So, I did.