As The Butter Churns

December 1st Dog Day Afternoon

   

(centenarian Helen surrounded by Vivian, Luther and Henry)

    After school today Henry and I rushed over to the post office so he could finally mail the “Dear Sasha and Malia” Obama letter. I spent over a week or so trying to find an address for their father. It was like trying to send a letter to the Easter Bunny. I sent emails. Made phone calls and left messages before finding where to send it. Sure Santa’s address is easy The North Pole. So is the President’s – The White House. But Mr. Obama isn’t the President – yet. He’s the President Elect and the President Elect does not receive mail at the White House. Mr. Obama is also not a Senator. He resigned his Senate seat, so you don’t send it to his Senate Office. Mr. Obama is also not running for office. He won the election so you don’t send it to the now defunct campaign office. So where do you send it? Well, you won’t be able to find the address anywhere on any of the websites. Oh they’ll tell you specifics about what to send including that they return anything not sent in a #10 envelope. But strangely, they don’t include an address. You have to be a bit more resourceful and call regarding employment. Then you can actually speak to a human being who will in fact give you the address. It seems, you send it to the Transition Team Office. Wouldn’t that be just perfect, Luther gets a job and I’m still unemployed.

    With relief I licked the envelope for Henry who can’t believe anyone can lick an envelope and like it. A big check off my to-do list.

    Afterward we dashed over to Summit Assisted Living for our monthly visit. The residents were gathered in the lobby near the Christmas tree listening to Christmas Carols when we arrived.

    The visit began as always with one of the residents asking “How many dogs do you have?”

    “Six at home.” Henry answers as the dogs walk around greeting the people finding a spot to sit down and be loved. Vivian is a hit with those in wheel chairs who prefer not to have Bruno sit on their laps and can’t reach Luther without risk of falling out of their seats. Luther on the other hand goes between performer, explorer and foot warmer. The new Social Director walked in smiling with Helen who’d just had her 100th birthday over the Thanksgiving Holiday. Helen was smiling as she pulled up.

    “Helen is quite a dog person,” the Social Director explained.
(Helen and Vivian)

    “I was so worried I’d missed the dogs today. You see I had a visitor and I thought she’d never leave and I’d miss the dogs.” Helen said as she reached out to pet Vivian. “Oh what a beauty. You know, I’m so happy to see the dogs. I always had dogs. My mother made us have little dogs like Pomeranians, but I like all dogs. I live here, but the hardest part is not having a dog. A house isn’t a home with out dogs. They bring true love. What’s his name?” She said looking at Bruno.

    “Bruno” I said handing him to her.

    “What?” Helen asked.

    “Bruno!” I said louder.

    “What? Benny?” She asked. While the Social Director was making megaphone gestures in the background encouraging me to speak even louder.

    “No. Bruno!!!”

    “Spell it.” She commanded.

    “B-R-U-N-O!” I shouted.

    “Oh. Bruno. I knew a Bruno years ago. I’ll never forget him….” She drifted back to some warm memory.
(Vivian and one of the residents)

    Just about this time, Henry who is not so slowly becoming my father, decided to bring out cornet in and play a tune or two. So he began his performance by just trying to hit various notes sp Luther would howl. Once that was accomplished, he went on to play a rendition of “Jingle Bells.”
(Henry blowing his horn - Jingle Bells)

    “I hope I didn’t hurt anyone’s ears. I know I sound like a wounded moose. My teacher thinks maybe I should give up the cornet and try the tuba instead.” Henry apologized. Over my father’s dead body I thought to myself silently.

    “You’re just a little low Sweetie. Your fingering was quite good.” The Social Director said kindly.

    “Would you like to have Bruno sit on your lap?” Henry turned to one of the women who come every time.

    “Well I don’t know. I don’t think I want him right on my legs.” Wanda said

    “I can put a little blanket down if you’d like” Henry suggested.

    “Well, that would be nice.” Wanda decided.

    So Henry reached over and began to lay Luther’s winter coat over Wanda’s legs when suddenly her wheel chair spun out of control doing a quick circle and veering directly into the Christmas tree where she crashed knocking out the lights and toppling it to the floor. We all sat in disbelief. It would have been funny, but knowing her general age and how fragile they all are it was harrowing. Luckily, she was fine. She was smiling and laughing with in seconds ready for Bruno to finally sit in her lap. (Henry, Bruno, Luther's jacket, Wanda and the tree being repaired in the back)

(Bruno ready to relax in Wanda's lap)

    I’m a completely awful person, I sat there stunned resisting the thought of taking a picture and hearing “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” playing in my head.

    “Did I do that?!” Henry panicked.

    “No. Honey, I think I did it.” Wanda took the responsibility.

    “Are you sure? I think the blanket; I mean Luther’s jacket might have caused it when I put it on your lap. I put it over the controls. I’m so sorry if I did that.”
(Wanda and Bruno - finally enjoy each other)

    “How many dogs do you have?” Wanda asked again.

    “Six at our house.” Henry answered again.

    As we were leaving, the Social Director came up to me and said, “You should have gotten a shot of the wheel chair crashing into the tree! Now that would have been a shot.” Perhaps, I won’t be damned to hell after all.

November 22nd Out on a Limb

(The bathroom project drones on - note new coveralls)

(I'm quite the little charmer with a very tolerant Pea)
(Denise behaving better - Tom still tolerant)

    Saturday was a blur. Projects being done everywhere you looked, which is tough because we have a no purchase policy. Meaning we can only do projects for which we have all the supplies on hand. Tom was mudding drywall and working around the house trying to mend things I can’t or haven’t. Henry jumped as chief errand boy. Poor kid made three trips to the chicken coop trying to fetch the correct screwdriver before Tom just did it himself.
  (Henry in the headlights)

    At the close of the day, we were all ready for a little adventure. So, heavily armed with blankets and flashlights, we hopped into Alexis’s jeep and went out to the beaver pond to see what we could see. Which, when Alexis turned off his headlights, was absolutely nothing. Total darkness.

    It was so dark that we knew we wouldn't see Wally. We whispered to each other to roll down the windows because we figured gnawing wood had to make a significant sound. We rolled down the windows and waited. Shushing each other. Well, truth be told, I did most of the shushing and the boys did most of the yapping. I simply couldn’t believe three males had so much to say. Generally, it’s like pulling teeth to get them to talk and now, out in the middle of the wilderness on a stakeout, they wouldn’t shut up.
(Peabrain, Henry-boy and giant-sized Costco flashlight)

    Not being able to sit there and do nothing, the men got out the flashlights. Big and bigger. Alexis put his arm out the window and did a police swoop around the pond. Just as he said, “You know, there could be something right by us and we’d never even know it,” his beam hit a doe. She was walking right toward us, undaunted. We all jumped, as she was about 20 feet away. We sat there thinking she could have been Karen, but she wasn’t. And she was a sign that all was calm.
(doe in the dark)
    Alexis and Tom continued their spotlight sweeps lighting the bushes, trees and edges of the pond but we saw nothing. Disappointed, we decided to head home, where we popped open a bottle of wine for the adult explorers. Having just been introduced to Mel Gibson in “Lethal Weapon”, Henry was now prepared for his continuing movie-vernacular education in “Lethal Weapon 2”.

   As Joe Pesci is just about to deliver his infamous line about not getting the correct order at the drive-thru window, Irish starts barking. I excuse myself and go to investigate. Nancy Drew is on the case. Grabbing my puny flashlight, I stand snuggly next to Irish for reassurance and begin scanning the tall grass, apple trees and hillside for gleaming eyes. I see nothing, but I trust Irish to tell the truth so I keep looking as, in the background, Mel Gibson shoots up half of Los Angeles . And then I see a pair of amber eyes looking back at me from a tall pine tree. Is it an owl? Knocking on the window to signal my crew, I motion for them to come outside. The house falls silent as the movie is put on pause. Alexis, Tom and Henry file out with enough flashlights to light up Dodger Stadium. It doesn’t take long to establish the eyes aren’t an owl’s. I light up two more blinking pairs. My flashlight does not compare to the flood of light Tom shines. The beam lights up the field beyond the cow pasture - a;most a`thousand feet away. He aims it up in the tree and there they are - three little masked bandits. Raccoons. They watch us and we happily watch them.
(neighboring family)

November 21st Wait 'Til Your Father Gets Home

(Fairhaven Middle School - early in the morning - on a band rehearsal day)

    When I got home after taking Henry to school, I got a call. “Hey, what’s for dinner tomorrow?” Tom asked strangely .

    “Whyyyyy?” I responded, hopeful.   

    “I thought you sounded down lately and so I cashed in some Alaska miles to surprise you and Henry.”

    “Seriously?” I asked, knowing he was completely serious.

    This wasn’t my first surprise like that. I thought back to a phone call I got years ago in Minneapolis. It was the anniversary of my assault and I was feeling alone. I was at a photo shoot when the photographer’s assistant said there was a call for me.

    “For me?” She nodded, and handed me the phone.

    “Hello?” I answered, completely bewildered.

    “Hey, what’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” Tom answered in a cheerful voice.

    “Hey. I’m just at a photo shoot,” I answered, figuring he had no idea what day it was.

    “What are you doing later?” Tom asked.

    “Going home. Nothing special," I said, feeling sorry for myself.

    “Well, I thought I’d take you to dinner,” he said with a smile in his voice.

    “WHAT? How is that possible? You’re in Santa Monica and I’m here.”

    “Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’m at the airport and will be there in a few hours - if you don’t mind picking me up. I have to be at work tomorrow, so we can go to dinner and I’ll fly back in the morning. With the time change it’ll work out fine.”

    “Do you know what day it is?”

    “Of course..”

    Back to today and this surprise:

    I asked for details.

    “I’ll be there at 8:00PM,” Tom informed me.

    “Drat. I’ll be in Burlington with Henry, finishing gymnastics. Do you mind if Alexis picks you up?” I asked. I hoped it didn’t sound like I didn’t want to pick him up.

    “Sounds great; he’ll probably be on time.”

    “You think you’re funny.” He knows how to shoot the zingers.

    “It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”

    “I’m so excited. I can’t believe you're coming.”

   
(transformation begins)

    (no more salon for me)

    I didn't say a word to Henry, but I had less than a day to transform myself back into a girl. I colored my hair and bought lipstick and a bottle of "Out the Door" topcoat at the beauty supply - just in case I had time for a pedi. Knowing I needed a new outfit, I went to "Whistle Work" with Lisa and picked up a brand new pair of navy coveralls. She said they looked like they could be my Sunday dress coveralls. When we were just about ready to walk out the door for Burlington, Henry looked me over carefully.

    “Mama, you look awfully nice to go to gymnastics.”

    “I just thought it would be a nice change from my farm-wife look.”

    “Oh.”

    Alexis offered to feed the animals, and I took him up on it as it was raining and I didn’t want to ruin my hair graining the cows.

    Bursting with excitement while driving to gymnastics, I had to stop myself from dropping hints.I was  barely able to contain myself and almost blurted it out a couple of times. But I knew it would completely distract Henry from his workout and, with competition only weeks away at this point, I tried to be maternally selfless. I ran some errands and tried to keep myself busy.

    Henry watched “Baby Boom” with Diane Keaton in the car on the way home. I’d forgotten how funny the movie was and how much I’d relate to it at this point. Diane Keaton’s character loses her big job because her long-lost cousin leaves her a baby and abrupt motherhood interferes with her “Tiger Lady” reputation. So she purchases a place out in the country. The workman at her 62-acre Vermont home  keeps telling “J.C.” that "it will be just another $7,000 dollars." Her well goes dry, her roof leaks and she goes from loving to loathing the place as her bank account dwindles, all of which helped keep my mind off the surprise and my mouth shut.

    I called Tom from the road and found out his plane was a little delayed, so I knew we’d beat them home.

    When we arrived, I tried to tidy up a bit and get the dogs fed. When I heard the dogs barking, I called Henry downstairs. I imagined the wonderful moment when Tom would walk in and Henry would see his daddy. What I got instead was:

    “God damn it! IRISH! DOWN! God damn it! What the. . .,”  erupted from the pitch-black game room. Tom continued his tirade in complete frustration, ignored by an anxious, overgrown puppy who kept leaping in the air, trying to lick the long-lost daddy and managing to knock off his glasses.

    Tom was home.

    “Daddy! You sound like Grandpa. Mom, Daddy’s here! Mama?” Henry shouted, and then he turned to me in sudden realization. “Wait a second; you wanted to look nice for gymnastics?  I don’t think so. Mama, you bought that new cranberry lipstick for this guy?”
(guilty as charged)

November 19th Nothin' But A Hound Dog

(Henry and Luther Zacharia - from Daphneyland Basset Rescue)

    As we were driving home a few nights ago, Henry heard on the radio, as most people did, that the Obamas were going to get a puppy from a rescue.  He heard about their inexperience as dog owners and the allergies. It was then that Henry decided he needed to impart some of his experience as a dog owner to the Obama family. And weigh in on the canine appointment - The result follows:

"Dear Sasha and Malia,

    Hello I'm Henry Miller I live on a farm in Western Washington. I think your dad will be a great president and your mom as first lady, but what I want to talk to you about your puppy.
    I know a thing or two about dogs considering I have 6 - an Anatolian shepherd, Rottweiler, Coon hound, lab, rat terrier and last but not least my basset hound Luther. Obviously you don't need a guard dog.(Henry and a few of his dogs)

    I love my basset hound very much because he is loveable and affectionate. My mom says basset hounds are such clowns that if everyone had one there would be world peace.  (Luther and his gaggle of goslings)

(Luther flies through the pasture) (Luther & Emmett snuggle)

    Here are some reasons why you should have one, bassets can take all the pressure in the world, they love to play and sleep so they'll play when you want to and sleep when they feel like it,
  (Luther curled up in the laundry)

they're very obidient, you don't need a heater because if they lay on your feet it's very comfortable
(Henry and Luther sleeping)

plus they double as a foot rest, they're also extremely funny to everyone, you can even teach them to howl on command as long as you howl with them, also they're ears feel like velvet. I also know your allergies and I know that when people with allergys are around the things their allergic to they can grow out of them. Basset hounds live long so he or she will be loved a long time.
    Whatever you get, I hope you have the same connection with your dog as I do mine.

(Henry & lovable Luther)

Sincerely,

Henry Miller age 11

  (Click on letter for pop-up window - to Malia and Sasha Obama)


  (Click on letter for pop-up window -letter to Malia and Sasha)

  (Just riding in the car -  Luther, Bruno and Henry)

November 10th Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

  

  (Gerber-type baby Henry)

    I wasn’t much of a child-lover growing up. I never really wanted children. Toby, she wanted to be a mom from the moment I met her thirty years ago. She worked as a nanny and always doted on little tots. Not me. In college, my friends used to have little kids come up to me just to annoy me. When I did acknowledge the idea of children, I would say, “When I have a baby,” but what I meant was “When I have a girl.”

    My grandmother from Wisconsin, Irene, used to visit us during Christmas break. And almost every day she’d have to watch her story “All My Children.”  Over the years, my mom and sister joined in and we could discuss the characters like they were neighbors. Although I only watch it every few years, I’ve always turned to Tad Martin in times of trouble. This was the kind of relationship for my daughter and me.

    I didn’t glow when I was pregnant. In fact, I had toxemia and almost didn’t make it and I knew in my heart I would probably only be able to have one child. So, after twenty-five tedious hours of labor, Tom and I were anxious to welcome “Amelia” into the world. Then out popped Henry. I was devastated, a crummy old boy. What do you do with a boy, anyway? I wanted a baby I could understand. I wanted a girl. I wanted to share pedicures, make-up and soap operas. I wanted to watch “Now, Voyager” and wallow in the drama. I wanted the kind of relationship I had with my mother and sister. I cried off and on for days, my mother continuously telling me,” snap out of it.” After all, I had a healthy baby. What did she know? She had two daughters.

    About six weeks later I was sitting in a park with my friend Lisa Weisbrod and her three children when a woman walked up to our blanket and said, “A boy! You’re so lucky.”

    “Really? Why do you think so?” I replied suspiciously, figuring she had been hired by my mother, who had wanted a boy in the family forever.

    “Well, boys are simple. They don’t ponder, worry, brood, think, mope or fret the way girls do.” Hmm. I hadn’t considered this.

    “But I don’t really know what to do with boys. I never had a brother.”

    “It’s easy. Do you have dogs?”

    “Yes,” I replied slowly.

    “Well, they’re just like dogs. You run ‘em, feed ‘em and hose ‘em down.”

    “I can do that. Just like a dog.”

    “Remember - simple commands,” she said as she waved over her shoulder.

(Josephine, Henry & Gladys)

   Years later my sister Lisa heard me telling this story to another woeful, girl-less mother.

    “Hey! You do say, 'Henry, Sit! Henry, Come!'” I did and I do.

    Although a reluctant mother of a son, the smelly thing that deposited “crappacinos” in his diaper won me over. Bit by bit. Oh, he’s all boy, but around age six a little Becky Thatcher emerged from Huck Finn. While accompanying me to a pedicure, Henry glanced up from the book he was devouring and said, “That looks relaxing. Can I have one?” And so he enjoyed a pedicure as he read his Magic Tree House. Not wanting to be too feminine, he got dark blue and orange on alternating toes - as those were his gym colors. The manicurist, Cindy, whispered to the woman in the next chair, “He’s one of us,” as the amused woman smiled. Spa Boy was born. Suddenly, I would find my coveted tangerine scrub from Trader Joes™ in among his floatie toys. He developed a taste for Toblerone™ and wanted sheets with a high thread count. “The other sheets are scratchy.” This wasn’t what I envisioned at all.
(Henry in my bathtub on Califa St.)
    Don’t get me wrong; he’s a football-loving, haircut-ignoring boy who finds immense humor in the emitting of foul odors. He thinks his smelly feet “keep the coyotes away.” The kid was a kook from the start and I fell for him hard. He’s a great farmhand, lets me pick out his clothes, has a wicked wit and is quickly becoming a good fisherman and gaining skill as a carpenter like his father.
(Henry working on creating a sword)
    This all comes back to me on days like Sunday when I get my wish and have a bunch of girls over. It is my chance to be around all that remarkable female energy. They truly are more of everything. They are delightful, expressive, entertaining, obedient, helpful and exhausting. They are bundles of oversensitive emotions ready to explode without warning. They tell you what is wrong with your outfit and they let you know how you could improve your hair. They are too much like me. And frankly, I don’t know how my mother did it.
  (Henry, Irish and Bruno watching TV)

   

    Flash forward to today, Veterans Day, and our day off. Henry surprised me by TIVOing “All My Children” and suggested we have a mother-son snuggle session in our pajamas. We sipped tea as I explained how Tad was actually the adopted son of Pine Valley pillars, Joe and Ruth Martin, but also has a relationship with his biological mother, Opal, who also had a daughter Jenny, whose best friend was Jesse Hubbard before she died, and who is now chief of police and friends with Tad. Henry listened attentively as if I were imparting some sort of oral family history.

    I guess it’s true. You don’t always get what you want, but you do get what you need.

.(My stinky, smelly, sleeping son)

October 22nd Tippecanoe and Tyler Too

  

(A replica Tom made of the actual voting tally board that hung in Carpenter's Hall during the Second Continental Congress - used by the delegates of the 13 colonies in the vote for Independence)

      I received my ballot and voter pamphlet in the mail a couple of days ago. Washington is very different than I’m used to -- in Washington, except for two counties, there aren’t any voting booths left. All voting is by mail. This seems strange to me. I’m used to going out, standing in line, having one of my neighbors (usually John from next door), cross my name off a list and give me my ballot, which I would then take over and  insert in a little contraption to punch out my choices. Afterward, I would hand it back in my secret envelope, deposit it in a box and a nice volunteer would give me an “I voted” flag sticker and a smile.

    In Minnesota, I would trek out in the snow to a modest church where I’d wait in my galoshes to go into the secret booth to cast my vote. There was a bit of sacrifice, a little romance, a communal feeling as I stood there on a November day shivering with my fellows as I thought of Valley Forge and all the people  who had given their lives to create this country. Knowing people like me all over this country also waited to say who each of us felt was the best man for the job.  Hmm. I’m still a little bitter about Hilary. 

    Anyway, aside from voting in October in my kitchen, my ballot looked strange to me, too. Instead of a punch I was to connect two lines that would, if you were voting for that candidate, form an arrow. As I was looking things over, considering the measures, reading over the literature, Henry walked into the kitchen  and grabbed my voting pamphlet and read the cover. (Washington Voter Pamphlet)

    “That’s ridiculous. One vote doesn’t really matter. What difference is one vote going to make with so many people?” Seriously, the child is lucky I wasn’t armed with a frying pan. I was amazed at how quickly my blood began to boil. Communist, Fascist, or had he simply spent too much time in Canada? I couldn’t decide which. Indignant, I answered him.

    “My vote certainly does matter. This year is especially important -- there are going to be big changes. Either we'll have a woman vice president or a black man will be president for the first time in our history. And, frankly, I believe if you don't vote, you shouldn't have the right to say anything for the next four years. After all, even a landslide victory starts with one vote."

     "True, but how do you know whose?"

    "You don't. It is what makes this country worth living in. My vote is my right and my privilege. I have to admit though, George Washington and John Adams and even Ben Franklin would have a breakdown if they thought every average Joe had the chance to vote. Or especially me. Well, Adams might have been ok with it -- Abigail took care of that. They said equality, but they really meant for elite white men.” (Lincoln, George & Franklin)

    “Hmm. Well, I guess, but one vote among so many, you really aren’t going to change anything.” Wow. I was surprised at his feeling of insignificance. I was about to go on a tirade; I could just feel it.

    “Why are you so cynical? You’re only eleven. Honey, casting my vote to me means I hope. It means I believe this country can change at any time. And while you’re right, if I feel differently than the rest of the country, my vote won’t matter, and that’s ok if I don’t agree with everyone else. But there have been people who’ve endured beatings to cast a vote; there have been people who have died to cast their vote; it took an amendment to the Constitution to allow women to vote. So, if everyone felt the way you do, then we as a people would never make our feelings known. You know they offered George Washington the chance to be King. How many men do you think would turn down King? Think about how amazing a person he was to put this new country before himself. How about Jefferson? He was a terrible president. In fact, he felt so little pride in his presidency he didn't even put it on his tombstone. Then there's Lincoln, the politician's politician. He gave speeches pro and against slavery to crowds only seven miles apart -- of course, you couldn't do that today. And after the Civil War we had a bunch of presidents in a row from Ohio because it was considered North and South and no one else could get elected. This country isn't all good and it isn't all bad, it's just people.  Henry, do you remember watching "Roots"? How Kunte felt different, special and filled with pride?”
("Roots")

    "Mom!"

    "Yes. It's because he had his heritage. He knew who he was. He knew that his connection with the past was important. It isn't just capitalism that we stand for -- which is what a large part of the world thinks. It's sacrifice and ideals."

    "Mom! I think I'd feel better if there were fewer people."

    "Then move to North Dakota - there are about three."

    "Really?"

    "I'm exaggerating -- just a little. But if they made it a National Park I think their numbers would increase."

    “Has there ever been a president who won by the people, but still lost the election?”

    “Yes.”

    “That’s just wrong.”

    “Well, it’s more complicated than just wrong. We’ll have to sit down and I can explain the reasons behind the Electoral College. Some people believe we should get rid of it, but we are a Republic.”

    “Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve gone over this and over this.” Great, I’ve jaded my own son on his personal freedoms. “Mom? Can I fill in the ballot for you?”

    “Absolutely not.” He looked at me quizzically.

    “Why not? You can tell me what to do. I’ll just fill in that line that makes the arrow.”

    “Sure you can, when you’re eighteen. This is my ballot, my vote and I’ll fill it in, thank you. Besides, I thought you said it wasn’t worth doing.”

    “Well, you make it seem pretty special so I want to do it, too.” That’s a bit better.

    The next day, I waited until I was alone with my coffee and filled out my ballot. No sacrifice involved.  I signed it. Sealed it up and drove to City Hall after I picked Henry up at school. I parked my car, told Henry to wait and ceremoniously walked over to the voting box and dropped it in.  I waited there a moment feeling the crisp air, looking at the flag flying, feeling like an American. Several other people walked up to drop in their ballots. We nodded to each other, smiling. We’d voted, securing our right to complain.

October 14th The Trickle Down Theory

(A big 'un)

    Henry and I leashed up Irish and Deli and took all the dogs for a walk to the pond to get a little fresh air. Henry’s been sick and I’ve been sick with worry. Worried about money, worried about our future, worried about what’s going to happen. Worried about whether or not the 750 billion dollar bailout will ever reach the people who need it. So, should we give up on Fort Flashback? Sadly, I think the answer is yes. We, like most people, have got to concentrate on the basics, paying the mortgage, gas and food.
(Deli and Henry in their fall coats)

    In the beginning, I talked to banks until I was blue in the face. Although encouraging, the bankers were mainly helpful only in passing me on to the next banker, who could not loan us the money either. At the time I didn’t know the economy was on the verge of collapsing. Back then I spoke endlessly to venture capitalists who were interested -- if they could have a quick exit strategy. There really isn’t a quick buck to be made in a colonial living-history facility. I was told to try and get grants because my cause was altruistic, but I’m no grant writer and, frankly, the ins and outs of nonprofits elude me. I’d need help. I’ve spoken to potential investors who say the plan is viable, but time marches on and nothing happens. Financial consultants want me to become a Bed & Breakfast. Which I suppose is still a possibility but, honestly, I hate doing my own laundry, never mind other people’s.

    I know I’m not alone. My friend, Doug, told me of a man in Porter Ranch so despondent he killed his whole family because of his financial situation. And the other day I sat next to a teary-eyed woman at gymnastics who was speaking on the phone to a friend about walking away from her house and starting  over completely. It seems they were going to have a big family reunion in Italy this summer, but now no one can make it. She was going to try and sell their computer to buy food. Strange that we’ve come to a place where this doesn’t shock me. Is this peek through time? Is this how it felt in the '30's?
(Henry swings -)

Will we look back and call this the second Depression? As we walk along, I push back my tears. The dogs racing around with tails wagging, the cool crisp air on my face, and Henry’s laughter seem to melt my worries away. 

(Henry swings)
(Vivian dares Henry to play)
(Vivian makes sure Henry knows she's still fast)
(Vivian wins)
(Vivian dives in for kisses)

(Bruno - the rat bat dog)
(Luther being pursued by the rat thing)

     Bruno races around the other dogs like a bat out of hell. He seems to have springs in his legs as he jumps over Luther, dashes around corners and squeezes himself under just about anything. Irish is fascinated with him, watching Bruno’s every move. Anticipating where he’ll be, Irish tries to block him. He loves playing with Bruno, but Irish is still recovering from his July motorcycle injury and must remain leashed until he gets the pins out of his leg. (Bruno leaps) (Irish still recovering)

Deli, on the other hand, is always leashed or she’s gone, gone, gone after some enticing scent. Luther and Vivian are very easy, taking turns racing, rolling and investigating. They come running at just the mention of their names and are never far from sight.
(Vivian and Luther enjoy the day)

    The pond was not as we expected. Wally (the beaver) has completely dammed the pond. Again. This time he has done an unbelievable job. There isn’t even a trickle flowing past his dam. The pond level is high and the water is stagnant. Wally's taken down more trees around the bank, stripped the bark off others and cut some trunks into manageable pieces to move. We inspected his work, amazed at his craftsmanship and diligence. I really need to set up a beaver-cam with night vision.
(Wally's work is never done)

(Always a new project) (Some of Wally's trees, the pavilion & Lu)

    Not quite ready to go home, we circled around the pavilion and walked on. At the end of the path we were surprised again. The barbed wire fence marking our property line was gone. The creek just beyond it had been filled in, with just a tiny stream running through a buried tube. Where trees used to be someone had bulldozed a gash in the forest. Pushed-down trees were strewn about like giant pick-up  sticks. (trees on the sides pushed almost, but not quite, over)

Stunned, we walked on. The path kept going and going until finally we came upon the instrument of destruction. Obviously, this was the noise I’d heard at times in the mornings. I’d thought it was loggers taking down cedar, as we’d been asked if they could selectively log some of our trees.

    “Mom, they annihilated the creek.”

    “ I know. I can’t believe it’s just gone. I can’t believe they had permits to do this. That was a wetland.”

    “You mean they’re sneaking?”

    “That’s exactly what I mean. This place looks like “Over the Hedge” where the men come in and recklessly chop down the forest and fill in the water source without a thought. I really can’t believe it.”

    “Should we tell someone?’

    “Well, it’s a little late.”

    “Yeah, they can’t ever put it back.”

    “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.”

    “Is that what people think?”

    “Sometimes. You know, I don’t know for sure they didn’t have permits to do this, but it just doesn’t seem right. I am not allowed to have our cows come within a hundred feet of the creek that runs along our property.”

    “You mean the one Wally dammed up?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Are you going to call someone, Mama?”

    "I think I am. I don’t really like tattling, but this just isn’t right and if I don’t say anything, then I’m part of the problem, too. I don’t think anyone can build here because of the wetlands. I think this will just be for hunters.”

    “Just great! More gunshots. Who are you going to call?”

    “The County.” We started walking back, surveying the damage. Deli was on high alert. I wondered what animals were displaced. “Henry, we’ve got to come back with a shovel and open up that stream Wally blocked.”

    “OK, but what’s the big deal?”

    “Well, there isn’t even a trickle getting through.”

    “I know, but he likes it that way; he lives there and he keeps doing it. Why don’t we just let him?”

    “Well, what about all the animals that depend on that stream as it winds to the river? That’s their drinking water. Toads, frogs, raccoons, bear, deer and who knows what else.”

    “Well, they can come to the pond.”

    “Henry, we don’t know how far into the forest it goes before it meets the river. They can’t all come across the road to our pond. Wally has shut down that stream just like the bulldozer.”

    “Why that ..., he didn’t have a permit. Call the County on his beaver butt.”
(Wally's dam)

October 9th Charge It

   

(frosty leaves)

    Overnight the temperature has dropped. Suddenly there is frost on the ground and weather reports predicting snow flurries. All this means looking for warm socks, jackets and a hunt for our cache of gloves. It also means a little extra food for the animals.  Preparing the barn for winter and making sure the cattle have a warm dry place. This evening, I scooped out a couple of scoops of grain for each Anna, Abe and Andy.

(chilly morning in the pasture)

    “It’s been a long time since we’ve used this” Henry commented.

    “It still smells good though.” He took a big whiff to verify my statement.

    “Yeah. It still smells sweet. Vivian wants it. But Mom, I think you’re giving them too much for their first time. They might get tummy aches.” Realizing I was trying to show them love through food. My M.O. I silently complied and put back three scoops.
(loafing shed)
    We walked down to the pasture. All three Devons were in the old barn. Henry quickly scampered over the fence to check their water supply at the open end of the three-sided barn. While I went in the gate and found their black rubber grain dishes just about where they were the last time I filled them.
Abe heard me pour the first dish and started mooing like mad  . Not long after he came trotting around the barn to where I was on the other side.  Anna quick on his heels was trying to eat the oats out of the bucket as I was pouring her dish.
(grain is good)
    Now Andy, the head honcho, the big kahuna, the chow-hound of the bunch was still in the barn for some reason, but could see and smell what was happening because the two boards I repaired last winter in the snowstorm had fallen down again and he could peek right through the gap in the wall. I saw him look on jealously. I heard him snort.  I could see his little cow brain thinking little cow thoughts and I just knew, I just knew what was about to happen, but there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. And sure enough he came crashing through the wall knocking down two additional boards on either side to accommodate his generous girth.  It was quite dramatic as the wood cracked and fell away. (Andy)

    Henry came racing around laughing. We decided, Andy could have done Merrill Lynch advertising back in the day. - they probably aren’t hiring at this time.

    On the way back up the hill Henry said,” Mom look on the bright side, If it had been Poncho, he’d have taken down the whole barn.”

October 6th Living In The Moment

   

(October!)

    An entire month has rolled by and it was time again to go to Summit, the assisted living facility. To prepare, I took Luther, Vivian and Bruno to Ferndale to see Lisa at Glacierview Animal Clinic. Bruno needed his rabies vaccination. After being weighed and discovering Bruno was a hefty 13lbs. He really doesn’t look an ounce over 7lbs.

    After I did a sweep of schools I had Quinn, Phoebe and Henry with dogs ready for our 3:15 appointment. What a difference a month makes. We weren't having popsicles outside, it was icy cold. Unfortunately, the director, Stacy wasn’t there so things were not organized like last time.
(arriving at Summit)
    I had prepared the girls on how to answer repeated questions and they were fabulous. Phoebe patiently answered, “Which dog is your favorite?” the same way maybe eight times.

    “Well, I love them all, but I’ve known Vivian and Luther the longest.” Quinn was gracious taking Vivian around asking if they wanted to pet her and assuring them she was gentle. While Phoebe took Bruno around to people’s laps. Once he landed in one lady’s lap, she wouldn’t let him go. Bruno got very comfortable and it made me wonder if they shouldn’t get a permanent dog for the facility. Not Deli.
(Phoebe & Bruno) (Phoebe shares Bruno)
(Bruno is almost stolen) (Bruno gets comfortable) (Bruno and the ladies)
    The visit was far from perfect. Bruno peed on one of the Halloween decorations and was scolded by some nurses. Vivian after an hour of being loved by the residents and eating plenty of vanilla creme cookies from one man’s room growled at a visitor to protect her new people. (the cookie man cometh - you could never get a picture of Vivian catching her cookie as there isn't a shutter speed fast enough)

Luther almost jumped in one woman's wheelchair when she offered him a cookie. And then when Henry had him on the leash he almost took one woman down when it got wrapped around her from behind. (freshly peed upon)
(Luther also got his rope wound in a woman's wheelchair)

    Henry didn’t see Franz. He waited and looked but Franz didn’t appear. So Henry anxious to see his new friend took Luther and went to his room. Franz didn’t remember him. He wondered how Henry knew so many things he knew about him. Henry told him and they had a pleasant time, but it was hard for both of them.
  (Vivian enjoys the attention)
    The truth is, I don't think anyone remembered us, but they enjoyed themselves. And we enjoyed ourselves chatting and laughing with the residents. One woman in particular captured Quinn's heart. She was funny asking Quinn all sorts of questions, telling her to play basketball and making interesting observations. They were fun to watch.

     After we left, Quinn always looking on the bright side said "Maybe it's a blessing they don't remember. Then their days don't seem all the same."

   

September 29th A Frightening Note

 (the fall pasture)

    Dry hot sun and crackling crunchy leaves. What better time to patch the barn roof? Ready or not the rain will come again. Tom got out the caulking gun and snipped the end of the epoxy. Just as he was about to climb on the metal roof he realized it might not be sturdy enough. Henry and I were called in to finish the job.
  (while we're working, Tom and his girlfriend are fooling around) (more shenanagans)

(Miracle can't resist Tom's beard)

    The roof was wobbly and very slippery so we took off our boots and socks to get a better grip. Tired of the buckets and drips every time it rains we moved seam by seam across the sides of the roof meticulously sealing every one.
( a little of my waning gecko tatto) (farm-boy Henry patching the barn rooff)

    Afterward, Tom and Henry went in the house to clean up as they both had things to do for work and school.  The unemployed freeloader in the family, I stayed to put the animals up for the night. While I was doling out hay, I heard a terrible cry. It sounded like one of the cows was in distress. I rushed outside to see if I could identify which one. I heard it again. It sounded painful. I ran farther worried I was going to see a cow on the ground covered in cougar. As I got to the top of the hill that overlooks the pasture I heard the cry again. This time I could tell it was coming from the house not the field. I stood there shaking with laughter as I realized it was Henry practicing the cornet. (not your grandfather's cornet)

September 27th When You Get To The Fork In The Road

    (from our apple trees)

    While the morning coffee was brewing, Toby hopped in her van still in her fuzzy socks and pajamas. She made a quick run to the lady down the road who sells Aracuana eggs so Pea could have a big farm breakfast. Toby's a good wife. She does my laundry she makes breakfast, I don't think she should ever leave.

    After all tummies were full, we dispersed. Everyone had work to do. Dean, Henry and Tom began the morning with the barn. They worked tirelessly to clean the barn. Every mat was scraped, every piece of donkey dung removed every goat gooberlet taken to the compost and replaced with warm clean straw. The boys tried to cut corners, but were inspected by the “Do it right” man at every turn. Dean complained Henry wasn’t working hard enough when Henry went in the house to get a snack. Naturally, the moment he got back Dean left leaving Henry to sing the same sad song. Tom continued to crack the whip. The barn has never been cleaner.

    Tom and Henry moved on to another project. Dean completely lost interest and went inside to see if he could help Toby with the pies she was making from the apples she’d picked off our badly tended to trees. I promise to get to them this year.

\ (apple pie in the making)

    While they were tending to my regular chores, I scraped the third floor windows free of paint. Renewing my trapeze career by doing a backbend out the third story window so I could do the black trim. I wanted things to be as nice as possible today as my friend, Laurie was visiting from California. She was my mentor teacher, Realtor and friend. Coincidentaly, she was visiting friends up here and was going to stop by for the full tour, chili and of course margaritas.

    I spoke to Laurie about 2:00PM. She said they would be here around 4:00PM as they were leaving Bellingham around 3:30PM. I told Tom and Toby we’d be lucky to see them by 5 o’clock. I know people around here and they don’t believe anyone lives farther out than six or seven miles. Sure enough about 4:30PM I got a call. That she was in cell range meant I still had time to run the vacuum. Once again, I gave the directions:

“Yes, pass the casino, keep going about three miles. When you think you’ve gone too far, keep going. Like I told you when you get to the. . ”

“OK. I remember.” Came the shaky reply.

    Now Laurie is the manicured sort who wears skirts and high-heeled sandals everywhere. I felt it prudent to warn her about the potential for snakes and mud between her toes. Over and over I stressed sturdy footwear.

(Little Chris Donaldson delivers round bales and goes riding with his friend)

When it was just about 5 o’clock the phone rang again.

    “We can’t find you.”

    “If you’re in cell range you haven’t gone far enough.”
“We’re not in cell range. I’m at somebody’s house.”

“What?”

“We stopped and knocked on someone’s door. There’s a big barking dog.”

“OK, have you gone over the one lane bridge?”

“Yes. That was a little scary.”

“Scary? I think it’s charming. Whatever, turn around and look for the GIANT wooden entrance and the BIG WHITE HOUSE.” Seriously, I don’t know how they missed it and personally, I wouldn’t knock on anyone’s house here. This is the county, they are all armed and they’re fine until you step on their property. Two miles away we call it – The “Deliverance” Compound.

“Can you walk down to the end of the driveway and wave us in?”

“Sure.”

    A few minutes later they arrived safely. I quickly glanced at her feet. They were fashion boots with a chunky heel, but they’d do. We laughed, hugged and giggled through a tour of the place, cornbread, chili, the apple pie Toby made and a few pitchers of margaritas. It felt like a real home. Here I was with my friend from high school, Tom, and Laurie. Henry of course, chimed in and Laurie, a Henry fan, egged him on. Henry not needing much encouragement launched pell-mell into his stand-up routine and one-liners about our old principal and various other topics. Laurie has an infectious laugh and howled at his antics with abandon. (feeding the cows some cookies)

Laurie’s friend, not particularly an animal person was being fairly tolerant of having his crotch sniffed on numerous occasions. He was interested in Fort Flashback and the principles behind it. He looked at the business plan, the coffee house proposal, and excited to hear about Tom portraying William Bradford in schools as he is on the school board in Bellingham. (Bruno in the round bale feeder)

(Laurie & Abe)

“This is a terrific idea, why doesn’t it get done?”  He asked as so many have before.

Our new benefactor said he was going to speak to some principals about getting Tom into to some more of the local schools. He was hopeful that this might generate some local support. He suggested starting small and just doing farm tours. The problem I explained is - free or not, you must have a certain amount of bathrooms per child and appropriate hand-washing facilities, parking, as well as handicap parking. You must have permits and liability insurance to cover any problems. These things aren’t negotiable when it comes to servicing children. And these things cost money. Money we don’t any longer have due to the funds we’ve spent on engineering, architectural plans, septic, geological studies, septic permits, wetlands delineations, land surveys enhancements, well water etc. (a few fall leaves on the pond)

    Just as they were about to leave, Irish, Deli, Luther, Vivian, Bruno and Luther came unglued. Racing to the windows they barked with a ferocious intensity I hadn’t seem the use in quite some time. Tom and I went outside with our super duper light up the world flashlight, my friend Teresa had insisted we purchase. But we saw nothing. The barking abated. And the two city dwellers walked nervously to their car.

September 8th Henry's Heroes

 (Luther meeting residents at The Summit in Fairhaven)

    Right after school, Henry and I headed over with Luther for our first visit to Summit Place, an assisted living community. Luther was the star attraction. I was signed up with Henry as a volunteer, but Luther was the one who was going to do a little snuggling, tail wagging and if called upon, warm their feet. Henry and I were really along for the ride.
(Luther makes the rounds)

    When we arrived, Stacy, the director, and several residents had assembled out on the patio to enjoying raspberry popsicles and the warm sunshine. Luther trotted up and greeted everyone, roaming from one person to the next. Henry began nervously mumbling answers to eager questions about Luther. After awhile, the ham in Henry began to take over and he became louder and more animated. Fifteen minutes into our visit he wanted to set up a monthly schedule to insure our return. He howled with Luther and made sure every one got a chance to feel Luther’s velvety ears. Luther not known to shy away from a good scratch was happy to oblige.
  (Luther howls for the people) (Luther is a ladies man)

The doors to the facility opened and a man appeared in the doorway. Luther, never one to forget his manners trotted up to greet the man. Stacy introduced him as Franz. I'd dated a Franz. German. I thought. He spoke with the same laughter in his words and the same thick heavy accent of my grandfather. The sound of apple strudel, starched white shirts, Black Forest Ham, prescription pads and antiseptically clean refrigerators. (Stacy - Franz meets Luther - Henry)

I asked him “Where are you from?”

“Austria.” He replied.

“Ahh, my grandfather’s favorite country.”

“Where was he from?”

“Berlin, my mother too.”

“We were part of Germany – in ’38. Hitler you know” He said turning to Henry.

“Those were dark days.”

“Ya, ya.”  He nodded.

“Your ring,” Henry interjected. “Your ring, it looks like - the jewels look like the Olympic rings. Were you in the Olympics?” Henry said wide-eyed.
(Olympic ring from the President of Austria)

“Ya. St. Moritz 1948 and then in 1952 and 1956 as a coach for the Canadians”

“For what?” Henry inquired.

“I don’t understand him. He mumbles. My hearing is not too good.” Franz said looking at me.

“He wants to know what event you were in.”

“Ahhh. Alpine, There is only Alpine.”

“Did you, uh, um did you get a medal?” Henry asked cautiously not wanting to take away from his accomplishment, if he hadn't.

“Ya. Silver.”

“WOW! MOM! He got silver. Were you for Austria or the United States?”

“Honey, I think only Austrians win Alpine.” A kind man, Franz laughed at my pitiful national humor.

"Oh, the Americans, they're good now." He conceded.

"I told my mother. If I ever went to the Olympics I'd get a tattoo of the Olympic rings. She said if I went to the Olympics she might get an Olympic rings tattoo. Did you watch the Olympics on TV this time?"

"Some, but it's not so exciting as the Winter Games. In just two years it will be here."

After that, Henry and Franz became fast friends. Franz told Henry he was born on "da" skis. Henry did gymnastics for Franz.

    As the afternoon went on we heard about going skiing after dinner and climbing up hills. Franz spoke of dedication, commitment and sacrifice for a dream. He encouraged Henry and told him to pursue his dreams. Henry was fascinated and asked a zillion questions. Henry found out, the president of Austria gave Franz the ring he wears. His medal is in a safe somewhere.

Franz told us, he’d written several books and offered to give Henry a signed copy, so off they went to Franz's room. Henry, Franz and Luther trailing behind, leaving me there to pick up popsicle wrappers. (Henry, Franz Gabl and Lu)
(Franz Gabl - 1948)

On the way home, Henry started the book Franz gave him, and learned he'd fought in World War II and was a prisoner of war in Russia. Afterward, Franz was so poor he had to beg for food. Later, when he’d won his silver medal the same people who’d given him food, came up and asked him for his autograph.
  (Henri of France - Gold --and Franz Gabl - Austria Silver 1948 St. Moritz)

“Mom, wait 'til you read this, Franz is amazing. Did you know, the guy who beat him was named Henry? He was from France and did the race in under three minutes actually 2:55. You see, no one back then had really come close to doing it under three minutes. No one. Franz couldn't believe it. He thought that race was going to put him in the hospital, but he got the silver instead and he beat three minutes too. He did it in 2:59 He won the first downhill medal for Austria -EVER. The first one! Can you believe that? He wasn't just an Olympian, he did all kinds of stuff. Isn't that amazing?  He's amazing. His son lives in Deming. - I can’t wait to go back and see him again. Talking to him was so much fun. Everyone was nice, but I liked him the best.”