(Festive - ok it's a little Christmas looking, but it'll do pig)
All was right with the world. The house was relatively clean despite the power outage and the pipes freezing. Alexis had been cast some sort of spell and water had magically appeared out of the faucets last night.
(in Tom's coat wearing pjs - putting coats on goats during the middle of the night in the extreme cold)
(The goats are not playing Survivor - this is a full service barn - everyone is warmer now)
(Not nearly as stylish as my friend, Sandra - but staying warm during the power outage - when the house got to 42 degrees- the stove is gas so we can still make coffee)
The table was set, snow covered the ground and clung to the trees in Bing Crosby fashion. I’d cranked up the heat to 67 to keep my out of town guests’ teeth from chattering. The house was cozy and lively, people coming and going, cartoons blaring, hot coffee, sautéed onions and roasting turkey mingled in the air confirming it was indeed another Thanksgiving.
Toby had flown in with Dean the night before and had been up promptly at 6:30 chopping. No, she didn’t want to use a chopper, she’s Italian. The Donaldson’s had arrived with the prodigal son, Mike in tow and were laughing and chatting over a wheel of brie drizzled with our newest Stinger™ - “The Naughty Nana” a ginger and pepper blend.
(Toby in her apron and Bruno in his coat take a break from the meal preparations)
(Chris in the background - Toby Ann Forlenza)
(Clearly Dean has gone to the dogs)
Ayumi (pronounced “I-U-Me), Henry, Quinn, Dean and Phoebe’s old babysitter was bustling about cooking cranberriies while her 7-year-old daughter Kaya played 57 rounds of tick-tack-toe with Quinn on the whiteboard in the kitchen. It was wonderful so nice to have Ayumi with us - she and her high school friend Ilsa had been the kids sitters since Ayumi was 15 and Henry was about a year and a half. I'd leave him with Ilsa sitting and come home to find Ayumi. They both lived in the neighborhood and would just let themselves in, use the pool and hang-out.
"Ayumi you should move up here," Mike suggested emphatically as he shoveled in some rosemary bread slathered Naughty Nana. "This is by far my favorite flavor," he informed me.
"Well," she said cautiously, "I do want to get out of Los Angeles. Life is such a grind what with being three hours in the car everyday." She lamented.
(Ayumi & Kaya after sledding and building their first snowman)
(Kaya and Henry snuggle)
(Mike has been missing in action for two months - upon receiving death threats from me - he re-emerged for the holiday - Mike laughs easily - and is afraid of me - two of his best traits)
“Hey hon, can you get the second oven working?” Toby asked. “I have a few more things to put in.”
Taking a sip from my coffee cup I reached up to the cupboard and grabbed a box of stick matches. Absently I took the middle griddle off the old O’keefe & Merritt and began pressing and turning the red button Pablo my old plumber taught me to do. This is supposed to secure the ability to hold the flame.
Putting my coffee cup down on the counter took a nibble of brie and bent down and opened the broiler confirming the pilot was out. Striking the match I reached up with my right hand to turn on the oven. I guess someone had already turned it to 500 degrees. In split seconds it was all over. I heard the “whoop” and saw the plume of flame leaping toward me. Somehow I knew it wasn’t going to stop. I slammed my eyes shut. I could feel the flames reach my face and my hair crackling. Reflexively I turned my head pushing my self away with my right hand and throwing myself face down on the wood floor. I didn’t move a muscle assessing whether or not I was on fire. In between the screams of surprise that filled the kitchen I chastised myself for the crumbs on the floor now grinding into my cheek. I could hear my sister’s voice through the din. She was going to throw her scarf around me to put out the flames. Toby’s hand reached in. Everyone was asking if I was all right. My sister who I’ve lived through about a million tragedies with started making Michael Jackson jokes before I could confirm I still had my vision.
I was scared really scared.
I felt a sharp searing pain in my left eye and my right hand really hurt. Crumpled up, Toby and my sister lifted me to the sink. Lisa hugged me and Dr. Donaldson took charge, “Keep your hand under the cold water. Quinn, get her ice, Toby do you have any eye solution? Let’s get her upstairs.”
Once I opened my eyes and Lisa examined me asking all the familiar questions, “Does your eye feel scratchy?”
“No.”
“Thank God.”
(no more bangs :( -- the end of the world to someone who hides behind them - and what's left of my scorched and melted hair- although you can't tell - my eyebrows are crunchy)
“I’m grateful I can see.”
“You dodged a bullet," she said squeezing my hand, "and sorry my Michael Jackson jokes were perhaps a few minutes premature.”
“We’ve had worse Thanksgivings,” I said smiling as much as I could manage. She nodded knowingly thinking back to Thanksgivings past – our grandmother Irene died on Thanksgiving, and there was the Thanksgiving, we were held at gunpoint…"Ahh memories, this will be the Thanksgiving Denise burned her hair off."
Now that our medical fears had been assuaged, Quinn came bounding in to assess the cosmetic. Scrutinizing my hair she turned to Phoebe, “I think what we need is to first deep, deep condition, can you get some mayonnaise and conditioner in here?” She turned her attention back to me and said in her most consoling Quinn-tone, “Don’t worry, you still have a little bit of eye lash, your eyebrows are singed but some are still sort of there and your bangs? Well, hats are really in this time of year. I saw some really cute ones at American Eagle.”
(getting the treatment in my skull pajamas and towel)
(Quinn my hairdresser, me now in my pajamas and towel -covered in mayonnaise and conditioner all over and the lovely assistant - Phoebe - treating me in my yet to be renovated bathroom)
(with saran wrap around my head - we sat down and were grateful - especially me)
(Quinn is grateful for mashed potatoes)
(Everyone has fun playing games)
(Henry wins Apples to Apples)
(None of our farm turkeys were harmed in the preparation of dinner - before the snow - Frank looks a little motley, but Brad is coming into his own - Alice is his mate - Silence matches Frank)
It is with a heavy heart that I am writing you to tell you I had to put little sweet Lucky down. As you know, she was suffering with a mysterious leg problem for quite a long time now – almost a year. She did fairly well during the warm summer months, but was now hardly able to walk. She was balancing and hobbling around the pasture. At times I'd have to bring her hay and she would eat lying down.
(sad footage - of Lucky eating-some may not want to watch)
After a family discussion, we did decide to butcher. Wasting her meat seemed disrespectful and we have come to terms with the fact that if these animals are not used for food they will become extinct leaving only factory farm cows.
I held off as long as I could, but at one point I thought Lucky could no longer get up. She did, but barely. We were expecting a big snowstorm so I got Gnatalie out of the pasture and tried to get Petite. But when the butcher came, Petite just wouldn't leave her side - no matter what I did.
(Gaelen - the butcher)
I had them take Lucky away in a trailer - so Petite wouldn't have to go through anymore. Gnatalie mooed a mournful moo. It was hard on all of us, but I was terrified ice, coyotes or cougar would take her in the middle of the night and it would be far worse.
I know I never settled up with you regarding her - as she was the-add-on - and I feel miserable that this has been the way it went. I feel I have let you and her down. I just want you to know she was loved and snuggled.
She weighed less than 300 lbs. I don't know if this is normal or not - as I've never had to do anything like this before. Would you like her meat in exchange? Or is the money better?
Let me know what you're thinking –
Sadly,
Denise
Oh, Denise,
I am so sorry for you! It is so hard to do, even when you know it is the right thing. I have had to face this exact decision, and have done so mourning all the way. Even when it is butchering time around here, no one goes without me feeling sad for days afterward. You gave her a good end to her short life by caring so much, so I know looking back on this, it will be the small comfort we find. I was happy you elected to keep the family together, and consider that you have done more than your part in this sad situation. You do not owe me anything, and the meat is yours to do with what you wish.
Thank you for caring. Many people would not see what a toll caring so much takes on a person, but I believe that that very same thing is what also brings us our greatest joy. The fact that you can even love a headstrong red heifer to the point of catering to her every need when she can't get up makes you a very special person she was lucky to know.
I am bawling as I write this, because every one of my babies leaves a picture in my mind of moments spent, funny things witnessed, and character traits that had to be learned in order to train them easier. She was a sweet, stubborn girl that will be missed.
Take care, and please stay in touch!
Susie
Dear Susie,
I am crying too at your kindness, generosity and understanding. Lucky was the sweet one - as opposed to that troublesome but oh-so-lovable Gnatalie. I have tried to console Petite and believe she is now very connected to Gnatalie.
(Denise and Petite - just after Lucky's body was taken away)
I so appreciate our chats. Your words to me early in the summer helped through this. I can't tell you how many times I could hear your words of support and encouragement. It was wonderful just to talk with someone who understood the dilemma, the sadness and my hope she would recover. I will always wonder if there was something else I could have done. Penicillin perhaps? However, I do know that when the time came there was no other option. If she had been a dog - I wouldn't have let it go on as long as I did- and that was my final way of deciding. She deserved peace.
Rest assured she had a glorious warm summer and was able to keep up grazing and snuggling with her mom.
When things went from bad to worse, Petite would lick her face trying healing her and comforting her. I would stand watching them at the edge of the pasture, simply amazed at the love between them. Of course, there were other times when Gnatalie and Petite would push her when it came to food and I would worry she would fall down and not be able to get up. At the end she just didn't move around at all.
Thank you again; I am privileged to know you,
Denise
p.s. I have enclosed a picture of healthy Lucky for you.
Honestly, the last thing I want in this world is another animal. I know my sister won’t believe me, but I really have all the animals I can handle. After all, I have one precious pup dying of cancer and I already have the entire colonial farm animal collection – down to the very last snuggly little piggy, Midge. My barn is full and when I say full I mean love – and crap. A lot of work goes into keeping that place from falling apart. And in the winter they can’t just graze on the pasture. Hay costs money and chicken feed is not purchased for, you know - chicken feed.
On the other hand, I can barely take the tension filled now dark drive home every evening. My stomach is in knots wondering if there’s been a coyote attack or Frank is roosting on the barn, if Alice is sitting on top of the chicken coop. I hope Norton and Midge are cuddled up in their pigpen and Alexander is tucked in his corner of the barn. Safe.
(Silence stays safe in a tree)
Night after night, my sleep is stolen by the sound of Irish warning howling coyotes to stay away. I worry about Lucky down in the pasture unable to walk let alone run. Death by coyote pack seems horrific. The yips from the pack in the hills taking there prey keep me from getting any real rest. I am at the window several times a night listening – just in case I need to rush to the pasture and intervene. The other night I heard such chilling sounds I stepped into Henry’s boots and ran in my flannel pajamas with my air horn to the barn for fear a coyote had slipped under the gap in the sheep pen door. It was a false alarm.
There are three animals that protect a herd. First, is the donkey. To begin they will sound the alarm with an “EEEEEAhhhhh” that can be heard for quite a distance. Next they run and lure the predator away, kicking the unsuspecting culprit with deadly aim – They’re next assault, I call - the flamenco-dancer-stomp. They charge the intruder and stomp repeatedly with their front feet. Once they have their adversary pinned they go to stage three: the bite.
Miracle performed this three-pronged assault beautifully when she first came. She bonded with the sheep and goats and begrudgingly looked after the geese. She used her arsenal of defense many times and I felt she was in control. In three years, I never lost an animal. The game warden often mentioned this surprised him when I’d report a cougar sighting, “After all, you’re practically running a lunch buffet out there.” What could I say? Miracle was a – well – miracle. But she like many females fell in love – and quit work.
(lovebirds - Sir Edward and Miracle)
The next recommended herd guardian is an Anatolian shepherd. And as it happens I have one of these. Anatolians are fierce protectors. They can withstand the cold. Many live in the barn and stay with their flocks full time. But mine although interested in working part-time would rather spend his evenings on the sofa watching “Dancing with the Stars”. So he’s no solution.
(Irish enjoying Quinn's attention. - He uses that freckled paw to clock you if you stop snuggling)
At this point the only option left is to get rid of all my other animals, as they’re starting to get picked off one by bone. Or get a llama. What I don’t’ know about llama’s could fill a book so I began researching. Googling. And calling around. I spoke to Toby because she’d owned a couple. She told me about their feet, their feed and what she thought. I looked on craigslist because I didn’t want to spend a lot of money and figured I might be able to pick up a slightly used llama. Finally, I talked to a man who told me about a woman who didn’t live too far from me who was an expert in llamas. I called her.
Niki Kuklenski owned many llamas – none of which were for sale, but she said she’d love to have us over to talk about llamas and have us meet a few. She also mentioned she liked to help people find the right llama. So I got Henry, wrangled up Awesomez and headed out to meet some llamas.
“What do you think of your mom looking at a llama?” Awesomez asked Henry.
“When my mom says let’s go Look at an llama, that’s mom-speak for get a llama and take it home with us,” Henry said looking out the window.
“The ones we’re going to see today are not even for sale!” I protested.
“I know you.” Henry said without missing a beat.
“At least I know you can’t take one home in a minivan,” Awesomez looked over at me and chuckled.
We got out of the van and were introduced to about twenty different llamas. We were sniffed and scrutinized. Llamas it turns out have no idea of personal space.
We learned llamas are similar to cats. They investigate you when they feel like it. Not all are good guardians. Males are perverts and will kill the female sheep and goats they’re protecting trying to mate them. Llamas should only spit at each other or if really threatened. They should not just go around spitting at people that is the equivalent of having a dog that bites. Llamas need llama pellets, selenium and hardly ever go in a barn. They like being outside, need a bit of shelter and hardly eat a thing. Some breeds you sheer for fiber some you don’t. If you do sheer them then you do it about once a year. You trim their feet every couple of months. Llamas can cost thousands of dollars or even be free. “Oh and you can put them in a minivan,” Niki said off-handedly walking toward the tack room. “They’ll cush right down.”
I glanced at Awesomez who could barely keep from laughing. We did not go home with a llama in my minivan. But we did get some leads on free llamas.
A couple of days later, Henry and I were in the car on our way to meet “Breezy”. The drive we thought was going to be about three hours one-way. Henry didn’t mind he just popped in “Animal House” and leaned back.
After the main feature, the bonus features, the director’s commentary and the anniversary extras Henry asked sleepily, “ How much longer?” We were well past the three-hour mark, I looked at the exit number on the directions and glanced at the off ramp sign, quickly deducing we were only about two-thirds there. After some discussion, and the promise of a pizza, we decided since we already gone this far we’d keep going.
When the sign “42 miles to Portland” came into view I had to laugh. Had we known it was going to take us six hours we never would have gotten in the car, but here were. We got off the freeway and made our way to the llama place. Breezy was adorable. She had a beautiful face and a cream and camel colored coat. As we looked at her we wondered if she was going to be ours – “I just wormed her and did her feet. She’s ready to go he said as he went in her pen and tried to put her lead on her. I felt guilty. He’d obviously thought we were going to leave with her today. Suddenly I felt a little trapped.
(Breezy)
(Pretty Breezy)
Breezy pinned her ears as she threw her head back and worked up a good one. She spat and spat at the nice man who tried to brush it off. “She’s a little cranky right now,” he apologized, but she’ll settle down. I thought of my grandmother Irene – “Pretty is as pretty does” she used to say.
“Henry go on over there so I can get a picture of you with Breezy.” I suggested. Henry just glared at me arms folded not budging.
“Can we meet the babies in the lower pasture?” Henry redirected already done with Breezy. They were friendly, snuggly and sweet. From the moment we came to the gate they ran across the field to greet us. Their gate is so funny they look kind of like a camel when they move. It was hilarious to seen them romp toward us. Taller than us, they craned their necks over the tops of us. As I was speaking, to the owner I felt something - turning my head slightly I saw a llama face only ½ an inch away. I couldn’t help but giggle.
One llama considered abnormal – had defective blue eyes. He was Breezy’s son, which is why they were getting rid of her. Patches looked a little like a vampire llama. The other one was Rizzo. Henry fell in love with Patches. And although Patches was available he was a both a baby and a boy. And therefore out of the question. Just as Henry began to beg and try and convince me Patches wouldn’t be a problem, Patches made an un-godly gurgling sound and mounted Rizzo.
(Patches and Rizzo)
(there are the blue eyes)
“What was that creepy weird sound?” Henry laughed.
“That’s orgling,” the woman replied.
“Good name,” Henry confirmed.
"It's the mating sound," she explained.
"It sounds more like the date rape sound," Henry laughed again.
We went to yet another pasture and wrangled one llama to the side. This was Annabelle. She was ten years-old and much sweeter than Breezy, to be sure but completely uninterested in us. Of course, I knew she won’t be like a dog, but she still just didn’t seem right. I didn’t connect with her nor did Henry.
After that we were introduced to a few more llamas. One little girl named Cocoa who was a doll. And despite her youth we might have taken her, but she wasn’t for sale. So against all odds we left without a llama. Instead, I spent 6 hours listening to why I should get Patches despite his mounting and orgling.
(Henry holds still while Cocoa investigates)
(Henry and Cocoa)
That night I reported back to my llama mentor about the spitting incident. Appalled she ferreted up a few more - free llama possibilities. And two days later, Awesomez and I were on a ferry to meet more llamas.
“I noticed the seats are down in your van this morning,” Awesomez snickered. “Is there some possibility you’re going to attempt to bring a llama back in the van on a ferry? Do they allow llamas on ferries in Washington?” She said as she took a sip of her morning coffee the wind blowing as the boat sped across the bay.
(Awesomez on the ferry)
(me)
“It’s not a llama, it’s just a big dog. An exotic giant breed dog, Tibetan I believe. ”
“I see,” she said as we took in the spectacular blue sky the wind whipping our hair in ninety-eight directions.
When we drove off the ferry we head out of Port Townsend. “You mean you don’t know how to get there? We’re just supposed to look for a car on the side of the road?” Awesomez asked incredulously. I hadn’t told her this information, as she can be a little excitable. This was a need to know basis operation. She was also unaware at this point that if we didn’t find the llama of my dreams we were headed another hour or so south to one of the places they filmed “Twilight”. I figured I’d spring that on her later – if necessary.
“She said she’d be there, just think of this as an adventure,” I said. Soon after we spied a car lurking on the side of the road. The window slid down,
“Follow me,” she said and obediently, I fell behind her car. We wound up a rutted dirt road into the hills.
Bouncing around in her seatbelt like a rag doll Awesomez noted, “This is uhhhh way uhhh more remote than yourrrrr house.” And then, on cue, the forest opened and a lovely very suburban looking house sat in a clearing.
I parked and we got out greeting our newest llama-lady, Mikie. Without a lot of excess chitchat we head down the hill to the barn. Along the path we met a muddy old light brown dog with a limp who decided to allow us to continue.
As a bevy of llamas came into view, but one llama stood out. She was tall and goofy looking. I liked her immediately. They were all dark chocolate brown with various markings. I stood there hopeful.
(Masquerade- beautiful but not for me)
(Never and Belle)
“This one right here is Belle, she’s the proven herd guardian,” Tim told us. Sometimes you get what you hope for and this was one of those times. I couldn’t help smiling – Belle – maybe she wouldn’t mind Annabelle.
After she was haltered I took Annabelle for a little get-to-know-you-walk. The walk went ridiculously well. Annabelle and I were like two old friends.
“She’s really taken to her,” her owner, said to Awesomez as I walked by, “I’m kind of amazed.” Annabelle was giving me tickly llama kisses on my face.
“She’s really good with animals,” I could hear Awesomez singing my praises.
(not a fancy edited video but. it's better than nothing?)
“Considering how things are going I think we have a match,” Mikie said suggesting Belle might just hop in the van with me. We all walked over to the Odyssey to give it a try. I got in the back holding the lead rope. Annabelle peered in considering the situation. She stood there eyeing me wondering what I was doing. Sadly, Belle decided she really wasn’t up for a car trip and so I walked her back and put her in her pen with her friends. “You’re my llama.” I whispered to her. She nibbled my ear with her soft llama lips.
(the old dog, Stacey and Belle with my Honda Odyssey)
(Belle - kooky and sweet - now also known as - Miss Annabelle Lee)
When we were driving away, Awesomez said, “you love her don’t you?” I nodded surprised at how I felt. Who knew I was going to love a llama? Love is funny, you never know when it’s going to find you.
(Porcs dans une couverture -Norton and Midge do - pigs in a blanket)
Dearest Daddy,
Bonjour. I am sorry about this year’s Notre Dame football team but I suppose you're getting used to it. And I hear the cold Paris autumn is intolérable. I know I’ve been unusually silent since the spring, and I know too it makes you feel disconnected from everything that’s going on here. Again, I’m sorry. Forgive me if I repeat myself, but I’m just going to give you a broad update on what’s been going on.
L'actualité:
Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been on a big life improvement kick. As you know, it started with the around the clock renovations on the house. I just couldn’t take it any more – the constant mess, projects everywhere. It consumed me – and frankly, I went to and from school, Home Depot and Lowes. Alexis and I worked as I’ve said before, late into the night. Day after day after day.
(achem - my dirty little secret - the laundry basket of unopened mail - Awesomez is helping me - correction forcing me to open- ok I'm still lying she's opening it and I'm standing next to her)
(Alexis works and works and works)
Then Lisa and Lindsey moved in and the renovations that weren’t finished came to an abrupt standstill. Even now, pieces of window casing and crown molding stacked in the game room. But it was time to prepare for the fair.
Honey became the focus. We had to jar and then we had to buy shelves to put the jars on. Banners were designed, and created, business cards, t-shirts tables, tablecloths, infomercials, etc. Awesomez labeled day in and day out. The fair came and went.
Sales from the fair were underwhelming. It was exhausting trying to compete with deep fried Oreos™. The problem we face is that true honey lovers don’t like you to “do” anything to their honey and consequently, they don’t appreciate the idea of the Stingers™ line. Unfortunately, people who really like it don’t want to try it, because they think they don’t really like honey enough. I’ve been racking my brain how to overcome this problem and I keep thinking about the Life cereal campaign “Hey Mikey! You try it.” Moms were supposed to think it was healthy, but kids were supposed to think it was tasty.
(Honey packages -almost ready for mailing- we use hay - it's environmentally friendly - it smells good when you open it and we have a whole lot of it on hand)
(Henry mailing his honey)
A few stores are carrying it now and it seems to be selling, but we really need an endorsement from someone whom people admire, a food editor or someone. If only Ellen liked spicy food. Who knows? Maybe she does. Perhaps I’ll send her a jar. We did just get accepted as a member candidate to the National Association for the Specialty Food Trade, which means we may be going to their Winter Fancy Food Show in January. It’s in San Francisco and though it won’t be cheap, I think it’s the best way to help launch Henry’s Sweet Miracle Honey™ and Stingers™. Oh and by the way, we’re just now coming out with a new flavor! The Naughty Nana™. It’s a ginger/pepper blend. I can’t wait for you to taste it when you come in January. Chris says it’s his new favorite.
(getting ready to launch)
School started and life became complicated. Awesomez and I were trying to juggle the kids, school and everything else. Lindsey is very teen and thought living on the farm was fine in the summer, but it hampered her social life. So after much discussion, Lisa and Lindsey found an apartment in town near school. It was definitely the right decision. They have two dogs (Angel and Tasia- as in “Fantasia”) and neither got along with Irish. This made living in the house a bit more of a circus than usual. And having them in town is handy. I can go and spend the day at their apartment learning QuickBooks™ (a bookkeeping program) and not have to stay at a coffee shop all day. Awesomez can drop off or pick up something for me so it’s great in a lot of ways. Awesomez and I are actually spending more time together than when we were living together. I feel as though I got my friend back. Besides, blending two families isn’t easy. Heck, living with anyone isn’t easy, especially, since she's about as fanatic about football as you are.
(Awesomez and I work at taking the top fence post off - around the entire pasture - Alexis' great idea to save money and still be able to build a new section-Brilliant!)
The truth is though it hit me hard they were going to leave; I’d worked so long for them to arrive and spent so much time preparing. I had this picture in my head of snowy evenings with us around the fire watching some old movie. Alas, that was not to be. Lindsey won’t watch old movies. Awesomez is so allergic to pet dander she could barely sit on the sofa, proving life isn’t always a Christmas card. Selfishly, I’d also imagined Awesomez would be there to help me with all the winter stuff.
As luck would have it, just about this time Alexis mentioned he was looking for a place to spend the winter. His situation was coming to a close and he needed to move on. So without much hesitation I offered him the attic “penthouse” and he gladly accepted. We worked out a rent/work agreement and are happily preparing for winter getting heat lamps, checking water heaters and putting in wind blocks. There’s so much to repair on the loafing shed in the pasture. The little cows have pushed down planks all over the place and the round bale feeder leaks like sieve.
(back in my coveralls again - cleaning out the barn from Sir Edward's mischief)
I can’t tell you what a relief it is to come home and find something done that I didn’t do. Alexis has already reorganized the barn and prevented an electrical fire down at the pump house. It seems my cracker jack former contractor didn’t make sure the wiring down there was done properly and we had an accident waiting to happen. The water stopped one evening when I wasn’t home and Alexis went to investigate only to smell the smoldering. He changed it out and prevented a disaster.
Speaking of shoddy workmanship, my sink in the kitchen has sunk again. I don’t understand why, but I guess the guys who put in my new counters and sink never built the proper support beneath it. So the sink has separated from the counter again by about two inches – This is the second time in less than three years. Bless his heart Alexis is fixing that today. While I steal away this precious time drinking coffee and writing you. C'est la vie.
In addition to everything else, we’ve been asked to video document almost everything that goes on around here for a project. I feel a bit silly on camera, but I’ve been trying to comply. The idea is to inspire interest in Fort Flashback and the colonial living history camp. I know Dad I still dream. Rêver le rêve impossible. Perhaps the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree and all of that.
I haven’t slept well in months, which has been taking its toll on me. There is a reason why sleep deprivation is considered a form of torture. It’s the coyotes. My friend, Anna who has a turkey farm has lost a huge portion of her heritage turkeys this year. I worry every time I hear howling close by. During the day I worry about Frank, Brad, Silence and Alice - my silly turkeys and of course, Louise, my one kooky chicken. Norton and Midge seem to take care of themselves, but a pack could definitely take them if they tried. So I’ve been thinking seriously about getting a llama. I know, I know, another animal? And it’s not colonial. Although I can rationalize with the best of them and the llama actually originated in North America millions of years ago before moving to South America - so actually it's Pre-colonial. Right? Anyway, I’ve struggled with this day after day turning the options over in my head.
The thing is Miracle had just quit working. It seems this isn’t uncommon for donkeys they seem to work about two years and then retire. I guess she’s not unlike a lot of women, she fell in love and quit her job. What can I say? She’s an ass. Then of course, there’s Irish, but frankly he’d rather be curled up watching “Dancing With The Stars” than living outside guarding animals. So the only other choice is a llama. What with winter fast approaching and darkness being the order of the day, coyote attacks become more and more likely.
(just a little baby bear in the middle of Mosquito Lake Road -)
(a baby bear we saw on the way home- it was no bigger than Vivian and all alone - I hope Mama was close by)
If you can imagine, the nights are worse. You see, Lucky is still lame and I’m afraid they could easily take her down. I can’t imagine what a slow terrible death that would be. Irish does alert me to any trouble. So almost every night I get up and listen at the window to hear how close they are. If they are in fact, in the pasture I put on my coat and go down in the van. This happens so many times a night I’ve taken to sleeping on the sofa with Irish so I can get up quickly.
(Healthy Lucky)
I don’t’ know if you remember Lucky – she’s one of the little Irish Dexters I got from Pixie Forest Farms. She’s red like Gnatalie, Petite’s daughter and Gnatalie’s cousin. She’s a sweetie with a curly hairdo. Somehow last winter she injured her leg. I had the vet out last spring, but and he couldn’t find anything wrong with her that can be fixed. He told me to try putting her in the barn. Isolating her so she could get better, but she became insane and broke out of the barn. She doesn’t like being alone. Then back when Alexis and I were working on the house we built a corral underneath the Kubota barn. I thought maybe she’d be ok being outside if the other cows were nearby and she could see them. She broke out of there and limped back down to the pasture. So for the warm summer I left her grazing in with Petite and Gnatalie. I locked Abe and Andy out and let them roam the hills. The vet said they could try to mount her and that would be the end, so they contentedly roamed. For a while I thought she was getting better, but she isn’t. In fact, she’s atrophied so much on one side she looks strange. I fear she won’t last the winter. I don’t think she can maneuver through the mud and I can’t imagine what will happen with the snow and the ice. I’m looking for a sign that it’s time to put her down.
(Lucky just balancing. She doesn't walk much at all anymore)
Strangely, Henry, Tom and I are actually getting used the idea of butchering her if she does need to be put down. At this point after so many discussions, we feel throwing her away would be a sin, especially in these economic times. This has led me to think of Maryruth often. I don’t think I’m where she is, I don’t think I could just butcher Lucky to eat her, but I think if I have to put her down, I think I’ll be ok with it. What the heck is happening to me? Am I really a farm girl or what? The whole thing makes me want to crawl in a hole and go for a pedicure. If it weren’t for the money.
(Henry - the other guy)
On a different note, Henry got in a fight after school with a bully. I was extremely proud of him as he was protecting his friend, Dylan. I guess as usual it was over some girl. The bully thought Dylan had said something derogatory. He and Henry had been trying to avoid the kid during the day, but persistence paid off for the bully and he finally cornered them on the Village Green in Fairhaven. ( It sounds so Boston Massacre) Anyway, Henry said something right out some Clint Eastwood movie like "You'll have to go through me, first..." and the bully took him at his word disabling our hero with a blow to the neck. The bully was no stranger to street fighting. Henry on the other hand brought a knife to a gun fight. He had a perforated eardrum, a black eye, a chipped tooth,bruised ribs and a shattered ego. A vacationing pediatrician saw the whole thing and gave me the details. Chris was closer, left work and picked up his nephew who was embarrassed he hadn't even really gotten in a good swing.
He's been prohibited from playing his horn while his ear healed, but in any case he is probably giving up band this year. He’s going to finish his third year, but doesn’t really think it’s his thing. His ear has healed and he is back playing but he has informed me it’s not his dream. "I'm just not another Grandpa Horn..." Frankly, I’m just glad he stuck with it this long and hope maybe he’ll want to pick it up again in the future. I know he has your musical genes but honestly I can just about tell the difference between the piano and drums.
Henry’s turning into a teenager before my eyes. He’s not as helpful as he once was without my occasional screaming. And you know I can scream when the occasion calls for it. Toby’s going through the same thing with Dean. Dean is doing well in school and has a girlfriend – Her name is Fredleynn (that’s correct - Fred- a – lynn). He took her to the Burbank High Homecoming Dance where they had their first kiss “Right in front of the principal,” according to Dean. However, a real teenage boy Dean has been completely disregarding all rules of the home. He disobeyed Toby and left the house for school at 5:45AM in the dark to go to the park. She went ballistic. He doesn’t seem to be able to comprehend the danger he could be in alone in the park at that time of the morning and she doesn’t know why he would do this. We’re worried about someone taking advantage of him and he of course thinks he can handle anything. One night Toby came home from shooting “90210” and found Dean engrossed in some program with jelly all over the carpet. She said recently her head spins around on a normal basis and she is not exactly sure whether she goes completely Linda Blair. The smart money says she does.
(Dean and his girlfriend)
Henry hasn’t gotten that bad, yet - but he gives up on every chore without really trying. I never would have watched Mom do the kind of work he let's me do without helping. I brought the hammer down pretty hard the other day and I am seeing an enormous improvement. Just to make sure I know he's really, really trying to help out, he gives me a running dialogue as he does his 'good deed' Yesterday for instance I heard: “Gee, look there’s a box of my mom’s things that have tipped over. I think I’ll pick them up without being asked and set them somewhere out of the way so the dogs don’t knock it over again…” ETC. He’s a pain, but generally amusing so I still give him dinner.
Eying him the other morning, as he was pulling clothes of the top of the dryer and getting ready for school I noticed his clothes were way too small and fit like Jethro Bodine. We don’t get the hand-me-downs we used to from Trevor being all the way up here, so I’m going to have to go out and get him some bigger clothes. Otherwise, Quinn will inevitably go on and on about how socially unacceptable Henry is.
Quinn is actually trying to be helpful in her own teenage way. She is turning out to be a pillar of morality. I guess one of her friends is going down a bad path and she told her she couldn’t be friends with her if she continued doing some of the things she was doing. Quinn’s response when the girls asked her just to accept her and not judge her was, “I can’t be friends with someone I can’t respect.” I have to say I don’t think I would have had the insight to respond like that at her age.
When I ask Lisa about her she responds with “You know, Quinn is lovely and I adore watching her play volleyball. I sit in the stands and cheer for my daughter, but the moment she comes over and starts criticizing my hair and clothes and tells me to stop embarrassing her, I remember I have a teenager.”
(the eggs we learned how to do from Jim Roman - Chris's friend)
Oddly, we skipped Halloween this year for the most part. Oh, Henry wore a costume to school of course. He said to me one day Winnie the Pooh had an eating disorder, Piglett was OCD, Eyore had clinical depression and Tigger had ADHD - so that was the perfect costume for him. We had planned to do it up, but I just couldn't get it all together. Tom flew in and we went to the Donaldson's and learned to paint Ukrainian eggs. On Halloween we worked as a family on our gingerbread competition. The one at the Bellingham Ferry Terminal. This year we're finally going to enter. Tom’s been working on the mock-up and mechanics. I’m researching everything from the best gingerbread recipes for construction to icing for cement. Henry's been a baking fool. We’re going to go big! Everything has to be ready for Thanksgiving weekend when we'll assemble.
(Lovely Lauren, Quirky Quinn, Lizzy and our little Lindsey)
(Henry as T-i-doubleg-ger)
(Phoebe in the black widow) costume Lisa made for her)
Thanksgiving is quickly approaching and I’m having a houseful. Toby and Dean are coming so is Laura Miller, Ayumi (Henry/Quinn and Phoebe’s babysitter) and her daughter, Awesomez and Lindsey, Alexis of course Team Donaldson and Nana – and maybe Mike. You’re probably wondering about Mike. That would make two of us. He has completely dropped off the face of the planet. I have not spoken to him since September. I got one email confirming he’s not dead. He doesn’t call back he doesn’t write. I know money’s been tough and work has been hard. He hurt his back, which forced him to walk awkwardly causing his knee to act up. I don’t know much more than that. We’re all worried and have no idea what he’s doing or whether he’ll show up to Thanksgiving or not.
To answer the question I know is on your mind – NO, I’m not working at the Everybody’s Store, but I did apply for quite a few positions on including an assistant director at a daycare, a cleaning woman and a cake decorator. The assistant director position pays less than the cleaning position. I sent pictures of my Easter cookies and Phoebe’s birthday cake for the bakery job. Surprisingly, I got called back for interviews on all three so who knows what’s going to happen. Lisa is concerned about me getting the cake decorator job before we enter the gingerbread contest. She says if I get it we might have to switch to professional category. I told the woman I’ve never ever decorated cakes professionally, but she seemed to like my samples so I’m excited.
(Thankfully the other woman does the baking - and Lisa shouldn't worry professional-shesmesional - I still burn all my cookies - timer or not)
Stay tuned, you never know what’s going to happen next. . .we’re not sure if Midge is expecting piglets.
(is Midge craving pickles?)
Adieu pour maintenant, je vous aime,
Denise
p.s. Although Vivian is limping from the osteosarcoma, her quality of life is much better than I expected. I don't know how long she'll last, but she's older than Josephine or Gladys. In fact, she will be ten February 1st (and Luther 11 Irish twins) and I am grateful she is doing so well - here's a peek
