As The Butter Churns

April 10th A Pig And A Poke

 (I run a flop house- Scarlett, Emmett, Alvin, Tabitha)
  

    Early Saturday morning, I got up before everyone else collected some eggs, brewed some coffee and whipped up a batch of maple, brown sugar French toast. We had to get on the road because we had an action packed day. There was a noon appointment to have our reunification lesson with public enemy number one, Irish, then we were meeting Mike for lunch before heading out to Sandy, Oregon. Sandy is just outside of Portland where Henry would be competing in the 5 State gymnastic Regional’s (Men’s Region II). Sandy also just happens to be the home of some cute little piggies - American Guinea Hogs. I’d arranged a “Farm Tour” so Tom could see if he liked them too. We’d gone last year to the same farm with Awesomez so Quinn, Henry and I were pretty sure we liked them already.

    First we picked up Quinn in Burlington at the Starbucks we used as a family meeting point then headed down toward Centralia where we were going to see Irish. The day had finally arrived for our canine college student to graduate.

    When we arrived, I was instructed to stand with my back toward Irish and when Jim walked up from behind me I was to take the braided leather leash, give Irish the command to “Heel!” and head out. There would be no “greeting” period no snuggling. We would simply set to work and let Irish know things had changed. I had an hour lesson on how to interact with my newly educated hound. While Tom, Quinn and Henry watched. Irish was not perfect, but neither was I. We both learned how to correct our mistakes. Henry couldn’t take the idea that he couldn't go up and hug Irish and so he went with Quinn to sit in the car.

  (Jim, me and the big boy, Irish)

 (Jim teaching me - the procedure)
 
     At the end of the lesson, I put Irish on a small rug in the reception area for a “thirty minute down” while we: Tom, Quinn, Henry, Me and Mike who’d arrived to join us for lunch, all got instructions about how to behave around the big boy. Irish all the while lay on the rug whimpering. He could see us plainly and had to constantly resist the temptation to leave his floor mat and walk in the room where we were all seated. This got to be too much for him at one point and I had to go and “correct” him by putting him back on the mat. When I returned, Henry had his head in his hands, his eyes watery.

     “I don’t like seeing you yank on him,” Henry responded to my quizzical look. It seems he and Grandpa Horn are kindred spirits when it comes to doggy discipline.

     “Henry he’s a big dog, he’s fine, but if you don’t get his attention, he’s not going to learn anything. Look at him now, he’s just fine,” Jim said firmly clearly not wanting his hard work to be undone by an overly emotional pubescent pre-teen. Henry wiped his eyes, nodded and looked away.

     Normally, owners pick-up their dogs when they take this instructional lesson. I would have loved to put the big guy in the back and left with him, but I couldn’t see taking him to the hotel this evening and leaving him in the car while Henry competed, so we arranged to leave Irish with Jim for one more day. Crying could be heard from the kennel as we pulled away. “Ohhhhh, the Big-un is confused,” Quinn whimpered. “He probably thinks we’re never coming back.” Henry stared at the kennel fence. He said nothing, but in my rearview mirror I saw him wipe away a tear.

     “But think how happy he’ll be when we come back tomorrow,” Tom urged parentally.

     On Jim’s recommendation we made our way to Country Cousins for lunch we passed pasture after pasture filled with various cattle. Quinn gazed out the window for sometime before speaking. “You know what I love about cows? Cows are my favorite animal because cows, no! I mean elephants!” She giggled at her own mistake.

     “What?” Tom shot back as he collapsed into laughter. “What did you just say?”

     “Well, I love how cows, I mean elephants will nurse another elephant’s baby,” Quinn informed us. Quinn an uncanny knack for saying something completely goofy providing us with endless amusement.

    "Oh Quinn, you're never going to hear the end of that one - it's almost as good the time you said you had six toes and were worried about the cost of pedicures." Henry whispered.

    "Whatever," Quinn harrumphed.    

 (Centralia, WA)

 (Pea, Quinn, Mike and - Henry as the dog)

 (Henry- the flower dog)

 (Tom and Quinn)
 

     After a delicious lunch of yak burgers (yes - yak burgers) with Mike the van was racing south again. Tom pushed the cd button and our murder mystery, “Caught”, resumed. Occasionally, someone would call to pause the story making a prediction or asking for a point of clarification but other than that we listened without interruption until we neared Sandy when Quinn moaned she didn’t want the story to be turned off.

    “You’re obsessed,” Tom accused. “Don’t you want to see the elephants? I mean pigs”. Tom teased.

    “Ha-ha, you’re so funny. I’m afraid we won’t finish the story before I have to go home. That’s what happened with that other mystery, “Down the Rabbit Hole,” she explained. “I never did hear the end,” her voice trailed off as we pulled into the driveway of Cascade Meadows Farm. “Oooooh! Look!” She squealed.

     “Piggies!” Henry yelled. “Do you think I’ll find another soul-pig?” he asked.

     “Any pig you talk your mother into taking home will become your soul-pig,” Quinn countered as they took off down the muddy driveway. Tom turned to me and gave me the I-know-we’re-leaving-here–with–a-pig-glance.

     “What you never know? I don’t even have a carrier. We might not want one,” I said in mock innocence. He arched an eyebrow my way and pulled his farm boots on.

     “And I’m a cow, I mean an elephant,” Tom mumbled.

  (Quinn, Henry and Tom wait for the pigs)
 

When the all the piglets came down off the hill you couldn’t help but smile. Their tubby bodies scampering was a sight to see. There were only two girls. The bigger girl, Jason and Kirk were keeping for themselves. The other one was a teeny tiny shy cutie pie we couldn’t help but want to pick up. Her nose was wrinkly and her ears stood straight.

  (a bunch of baby American Guinea Hogs)

 (the little girl)

 (my girl)

 (Denise hugs the girl pig)
     “I want her don’t you?” I said to Tom.

     “Of course I want her,” Tom agreed. “She’s adorable, she’s so petite, we should name her Petitie -but wait Petite’s already the name of our elephant – I mean a cow”. Tom continued to poke fun at Quinn.

     “Ha-ha,” Quinn responded snidely although she was used to it.

     “Then we need a boy!” Henry said as he began assessing the rest of the piglets.

     “You want one without a notch in it’s ear,” Kirk informed us, “those are suitable for her to breed with. They’re not related.”

  ( the little girl and Henry)

 (the floppy-eared boy)

 (Kirk talks to Tom while Henry assess)

 (shy pigs)
 

After careful consideration we narrowed the field to a couple of friendly boys. There was one boy with floppy ears who seemed braver than the little girl and another with upright ears, who was a bit shy but went everywhere with the little girl. We marked them both with pink nail polish so we could decide later. The name discussion ensued, Henry and I had been prepared with Hamilton Bonaparte – “Ham Bone” and Margaret Suzanne – “Piggy Sue”, but those weren’t for sure. Quinn wanted Evangeline for the girl but she liked Hamilton for the boy. Tom liked Piggy Sue.

 (fuchsia OPI nail polish marks- our selects)
 

    We talked to Jason and Kirk, the owners of the farm. Henry got a lecture about factory farming. “You like bacon right?” Henry nodded not sure he wanted to admit this.

     “And ham,” Henry added sheepishly his voice still horse.

     “Well then you’re adding to the torture of animals,” Kirk spat. “Wouldn’t you rather eat bacon with out all those chemicals and know that your pig lived a wonderful life until it’s last moment? Wouldn’t you rather know your bacon had a good life and didn’t live in a box without sunlight?” Henry looked up at Kirk his eyes grew wide. “I walk up to my pig that’s grazing in the pasture just like this one. Point my gun right here,” he said motioning to the top of the pig’s head and BAMM! His last minute was a happy pig moment. No fear, no torture.

     “Just think of them as dogs you can eat,” Jason chimed in.

     “Dogs you can eat?” Quinn said quietly. “That’s not helping. I’ve been doing a social action project about factory farming, and it’s horrible, but seriously? Dogs you can eat?”

     “I agree, the dogs you can eat thing is tough, but Kirk makes a good point, he’s right.” I reflected as we got in the car to head out. “I mean why do we eat pigs that are tortured and we don’t consider our own? The answer is we’re weak. I don’t know if I can do it. We’ll see,” I said mulling the idea over in my mind.  “You know that’s why your mother gave up pork.”

     “I know,” Quinn acknowledged.

     “They hired someone to come out and do it for them at first. I don’t think we could ever shoot a pig or actually pop a whole pig in the oven like they do,” Tom confessed.

     We stopped on the way to the hotel and picked up a moderately-sized dog carrier. Little Midge (short for midget) or Piggy-Sue or Evangeline was only about seven pounds. “It’s just like Maryruth said, “happy meat” Tom remembered. “I can’t think of the name of the steer she said she fed him for two years and then he fed her for two years. Was it Homer? Or something like that?”

     “I found that hard to hear when she said it, but kids we can’t have forty-two pigs on the farm. We just can’t. Some are going to have to be sold as meat and we’re going to have to butcher some. That’s the plain truth of it. Otherwise we can get two boys.” I waited for their answer.

     “I think we can live with it. I know if they’re not used as food, they will become extinct,” Henry said. “But Kirk acted as though I was going to have to shoot them myself” he recounted in disgust.

     “And I know it’ll be really hard, but I’ve seen enough of the factory farming to understand what he meant. Henry I’ll show you it’s absolutely disgusting.” Quinn added. “It’s enough to make me a vegetarian again.”

     We were getting piggies I thought. And we were in quasi-agreement as we pulled into the Peppertree motel in Beaverton. Quinn’s phone rang. It was Lindsey. Again. She wanted her opinion on the matter of all things swine to be heard. And when Lindsey wants to be heard you can hear her. We had already collected the information that she in fact wanted the floppy-eared fellow.

     “Now she wants you to name the pig, Wilbur,” Quinn relayed.

     “Wilbur? That’s like namiing a llama, Tony or Dali,” Tom responded as we trudged up the stairs loaded down with our bags.

     “Wilbur? No!” Henry said. “I like Hamilton”. I was exhausted and knew we had another long day tomorrow but heck we had piggys coming home.  I’d concede the floppy ears, but I was not caving into to Wilbur or Babe or even Arnold Ziffle. Let’s face it, no matter whose soul pigs they were, the kids would go off to swim parties, the movies and dances. I would be the one who was going to feed them and clean up after them for years to come. These were going to be my piggly-wigglys. My colonial farm set was about to be complete.

     “You look so happy,” Tom said pulling me in close. “You really do love them,” he said softly. I nodded folding into his arms. I could check off another dream come true on my list.

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 13h Ewe Never Know

 (Sheryl - half Leceister Longwool and half Navajo Churro)

    Last night when we got home after gymnastics , we realized two of our sheep were missing, Apache and Sheryl. Henry and I drove around looking everywhere. Calling and screaming up and down Mosquito Lake Road until our throats were hoarse.

    “Mom, they wouldn’t have wandered this far” Henry informed me as we drove past the pasture again in search of two very large fluff balls.

    “Henry, they’re not here so they clearly did.” I explained the obvious. “I don’t know why they would leave the flock, but I know they would come back if they could.”

    “Do you think they’re dead?” Henry asked seriously.

    “I have to think there’s a chance they’re bed down for the night, but there is also a real possibility they’re dead honey, yes, 

    “What do you think made them wander so far off?”

    “I don’t know, I just can’t imagine,” I said, “But more likely a predator. I think there’s a chance because two are gone that they might be back,” I opened the barn door of hope.

    “It’s Apache. He’s so sweet,” Henry said sadly walking in the house. “Maybe they wandered over to Dave’s place?” Henry suggested.

    “Maybe, let’s hope,” I said trying not to show my deep sadness. We’d not lost any animals to predators in almost three years, but a new chapter might be beginning. I poured myself a cup of tea and called Tom. I knew he was attached to Apache too. I did not want to call Phoebe, but I knew I had to. Just in case this didn’t end well. She is particularly attached to him, so I called my sister and let her know what was going on.

    I went to bed and was woken up by Rattatttatttatrattattatrattatttat the sound metal being hammered jarred the dark early morning. I opened my eyes and jumped out of bed and excitedly went to the window.  He was back! I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was out there. Then I thought I was dreaming. Seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was really there. But no! Right in front of the barn facing the door as if they were willing the door to open were Apache and Sheryl, my two wayward sheep. I threw on Tom’s robe and ran to the barn almost scaring away Apache and Sheryl who were already skittery from their adventure. In minutes I had them tucked in the barn and snacking on some alfalfa pellets. I went back to bed after calling my farm phone chain of Tom, my sister and Awesomez to let them all know my charges were back. 

 (Nutsy - during the day - our resident Pilated woodpecker-why it took scientists so long to see a connection between birds and dinosaurs is beyond me.)

    Now I’m not mother of the year or anything, but I have a policy to try and sweep up the dirt, debris, dung and decapitated mice before any of  Henry's friends come over. I don’t usually begin housework before my first pot of coffee, but this morning I made an exception. After all, we both had someone coming over. Henry was expecting Kyle, to spend the night. And I had Mike who was in Bellingham to judge the History Day competition.

    We split up the chores, Henry opened the barn and dumped the trash and de-goose-pooped the walkway while I mopped the floors and tidied the inside of the house. I reminded Henry as he breezed through the kitchen with his ipod on that I wanted to take the gosling picture before Kyle arrived. Mike arrived and brought the sun with him. Until then it had been pretty grey and drizzly.

    I put on a pot of coffee so I had something to offer Kyle’s mother and was just about to throw a batch of cookies together when I realized Henry hadn’t cleaned his bathroom. I marched out the front door and called him to come inside.

    “ I’m just filling the baby pool for the geese! And the babies aren’t with them!” Henry yelled admist all the honking.

    “That’s odd,” I told Mike. “Why would they leave the babies? They wouldn’t". 

    “Well, two being gone is better than one I’d think,” he began considering scenarios as we headed outside. All of us thinking of looking for Colter last year and Alexis finding his little body.

    “If one were gone it could be an owl or an eagle or some other predator, but both? Very strange” I told Henry. “Let’s spread out”. I suggested as we all went our separate ways. Trying to listen for their peeping. Nothing.

    Henry and I thought we’d look over by the dog pen and the Kubota barn when I suddenly remembered “Henry just check over there, the old sunken bathtub’s over there maybe they’re in there. So Henry dutifully did as I asked.

“Mom! They’re in there!” Henry said his face contorted as tears began streaming down. “Why? Why? Why do I always find all the bodies? They're dead Mama!” He said burying his face in my shoulder as he cried.

    “Mike! I need you over here!” I yelled holding my sobbing boy and examining my own heart. Had I thought in the back of my head they might be dead and I sent Henry to do what I couldn’t? I didn’t think so, but the result was the same. Why hadn’t I just walked the few feet over there myself? I sent Henry inside to calm down have a glass of milk and wipe his face while Mike and I found a shovel to remove the bodies from the water. With heavy hearts we set to work.

    “You really think they drown?” Mike asked un-convinced. “I would think they could have gotten out. The thing is completely sunken,” he observed.

    “No, they couldn’t, the sides are slippery and there’s nowhere for them to rest. That’s why I put rocks in the baby pool. The other geese could have gone in and pushed them under I have no idea what happened but it must have been horrible. They must have desperately tried to get out. I feel so guilty. It was so preventable. I completely forgot about this old thing tucked back here. I just don’t come over here much. We’re really lucky this has been our first loss here. Luther or Bruno could have easily fallen in and that would have been a whole other level of pain.”  Mike just let me prattle on trying to cope with my role in their deaths. “I’m going to fill up this stupid thing with gravel as soon as I can.”

        “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Mike concurred.

        “You can’t Mama, not yet,” Henry had walked up behind us. “There’s a newt living in there and she’s laid a lot of eggs. You have to let them live,” he said sadly.

        When we walked back to the house we could see Kyle and both his parents approaching. I was glad Henry would have the distraction and I was glad we’d finished before they’d arrived. I don’t think Emily Post would approve of disposing of dead bodies while entertaining guests on their first visit. I smiled and shook their hands introducing them to Mike, whom I’m sure they thought I was dating. The father was friendly, well kept and polished. Actually, he looked like someone who might work for Arthur Anderson or Microsoft but for the fact he was clad in a pair of carmel Carhart™ overalls. I wondered if this was something he wore to come out to the county, a costume. The mom was warm and friendly. I invited them in for a cup of coffee, but they declined as their older son was going to the prom and they wanted to be home to take pictures. 

    Just as they were about to get in the car, she turned to me and asked "Did you ever find your sheep?"

    "You know, I did. They came home on their own," I said waving good-bye and remembering how grateful we should be. I'd almost forgotten.

 

 

February 27th Lucky Strike Extra

 (Nick and Lindsey get ready to leave)

     Lindsey and Nick left on a jet plane bound for Mammoth. Lindsey went home to her mom filled with stories, pictures and new friends. Nick on the other hand went home to his dad filled with anger, accusations and angst. Endings are never easy and this one was particularly hard. Nick who had chosen, begged to come and live on our farm to have a fresh start, was miserable now and felt it was time to go home. All things considered, I finally, reluctantly agreed. Lines had been crossed, things had been said, so I wished Nick luck and told him I hoped he would find what he was looking for.

“It’s all good,” he said and slipped away behind security while Lindsey stood waving goodbye.

After they left, the farm was unusually quiet. Nick’s sudden departure was traumatic. Henry was sullen and broken-hearted. It was back to just Henry and me and of course forty-six animals – give or take. Not much consolation when you feel as though you lost a kind of brother. All week Henry’s teachers and coach were asking if everything was all right at home. It wasn’t. 

The week dragged on, Henry continued to work out at the gym, his state meet looming near, but it was easy to see he found it hard to concentrate. On a bright note, our new tenants, Joe and Katie moved in with their dog, Rugby. But nothing seemed to ease the pain of Nick’s departure.

  (Henry works on his routine)

 (Henry works on his flairs)

 (parallel routine)

 (Henry swings)

 (Joe and Katie arrive)
 

 (Luther greets Joe while Kate works) 
 
 

 (Mike Senzer - for those who don't know - Mike is a science teacher who moved up here from Los Angeles)

 (Me and my little girl, Gnatalie- the cuddly cow I always dreamed of)
 

Mike drove up for a visit from Tacoma. We hadn’t seen him in a while and he thought he’d come see Henry for moral support and my dad drove out too just to fill the place with a little joie de vive. Tom called constantly, worried about Henry’s recent regression. We both knew Henry didn’t handle loss well, ever since his best friend, Harry, died.

            “Mom?” Henry said with a pitchfork in his hand. “There’s a trailer pulling up to the gate, should I go open it?”

            “Yeah, that’d be a good idea, it’s Susie and her husband” I said with a sneaky smile.

            “Susie? Doe she have Petite?” Henry asked wide-eyed, excitement spreading across his face.

             “Yep,” I said as Henry went running off.

          “There’s something else isn’t there?” Mike said assessing my demeanor.

            “You know me too well,” I admitted. I’m always in a good mood when Mike’s cleaning the barn. He takes off his squeaky white sneakers and puts on the farm boots Tom and I selfishly got him a couple of Christmas’s ago. Then pens in his breast pocket, he sets to work in his farm ensemble: worn khakis, short-sleeve button down, brown leather belt. Mike can’t stand an untidy barn. This by the way, has absolutely nothing to do with the conditions of the animal pens. Rather Mike can’t take the gestalt of the barn feeling unkempt. He likes the middle swept and the rakes hung in their proper locations. Hay bales should be stacked and water buckets arranged so as to be out of walk ways. “What can I say, some people buy strappy sandals in times of emotional crisis, I buy endangered farm animals,” I grinned.

            “You’ve about collected the whole colonial set,” he teased.

            “I’m still missing the pigs,” I reminded him.

             We walked out the barn doors and waved to Susie and her husband as they made their way down toward the pasture. Henry was running behind them trailed nimbly by Bruno who was leaping and darting here and there. Everyone was bursting with excitement.

 (Grandpa Horn -and Irish-- my dad is wearing his bandage from his latest cancer skin- his third type & once again he should be fine-The Luck of...)
 

  (Susie and her husband, Rex arrive from Pixie Forest Farm- specializing in heritage cattle Irish Dexters)
 

 (Gnatalie doesn't know how happy she's going to be)
 

            I opened the gates the gates to the pasture and Susie raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Should we unload?” She asked. 

            “Is that Lucky? I remember her!” Henry called. “We got two?”

            “Lucky is Petite’s daughter, Gnatalie’s aunt, Gnatalie’s mother Ladybug and Lucky are sisters.” I explained trying to appear rational, “Susie and I thought it would be a good idea to keep the family together”.

            “Do you think they’ll remember each other?” Henry turned to Susie.

             “Absolutely. It’s amazing what cows remember,” she laughed. “Sometimes you wish they’d forget things. The truth is, I had two cows, sisters, that were separated for more than a year and when they were put in a pasture of cows, they found each other in minutes and were inseparable. All my cows hang-out in family groups.”

            We brought Petite in first and then Lucky. Gnatalie began to lick and snuggle them immediately. The boys, Abe and Andy were not so happy. They began hollering and moo-oooing loudly.

“I suppose this is what they mean by having a cow” I surmised.

  (Susie and Petite enter the pasture while Henry watches - my dad is coming down the hill from the barn)

 (Gnatalie can't lick Petite enough - kisses and kisses for grandma)
 
  (The look of shock on Abe - left- and Andy is beyond consolation - in mid moo)

 (Happy cows - Gnatalie and her aunt Lucky butt heads)
 
  (Andy continues to Mooo his head off- is he welcoming or warning?)
 

            “Do you think they’ll hurt them?” Henry worried.

            “Nahhh, they’re boys and these are girls. Everyone should be fine in just a little while. Do you want me to let them go?” Susie asked. Mike not a lover of bovine, meandered back with his pitchfork in hand toward the barn. He had work to do.

            “Sure, I’d rather you were here for this anyway. Just in case. I’m big on just in case”. Susie untied the girls and off they went. Cows gone wild. Petite, Lucky and Gnatalie took off with Abe and Andy in pursuit. They ran and kicked up their heels checking out every corner of the pasture.

  (Petite, Lucky, Andy and Abe- Gnatalie is running to meet them)
 

 (a happy herd)
 

            “Today Gnatalie’s a happy girl Mama,” Henry murmured perched on the weathered cedar fence. “Rat-Bat Nooooo!” He yelled as I saw that darn dog race toward the herd of cattle. “He could get killed!”

            We screamed “Bruno! Rattie! Rat-Bat! Get over here! Come!”  And luckily he is fairly obedient or he realized he was about to have a near death experience so he came trotting back. Henry ran over and scooped him up just to be safe. The excitement over, we relaxed a little and chatted with Susie about her cattle rustlers and the legal battle about getting them back her cows.

  (Bruno and Henry - with Andy in the back)
 

 (Andy and Abe watch the girls at the feeder - looking like a Far Side cartoon)
 

            “If you need us for the round-up, Henry and I will be there,” I offered.

“I just might take you up on that,” she winked driving away with her husband.

After they left we went back to cleaning the barn and finishing the chores of the day. We made chili, watched and watched the Olympics with my dad and Mike. As Henry was going to sleep surrounded by dogs and cats of all colors and sizes, he asked me, 

“Mama? Do you think Nick is sad? Do you think he will miss me?”

“No,” I said honestly, “I think he won’t at first Honey. Right now, Nick is in his own sad world. He’s thinking only about himself. He’s unhappy with himself, but one day. Yes. He will miss you and realize how much you love him and how much we all love him and then maybe he’ll regret how things ended”, I said wiping away his tears. “But until then, you have Quinn and Phoebe and all of us and Lindsey and Awesomez and we all love you, and I know it’s not the same,” I said softly.

“I don’t even know why I love him so much,” Henry said. “

“My mom asked me a long time ago, what I thought love was. I remember we were driving down Mulholland. I told her I thought she was being completely ridiculous. Everyone knows what love is I mean c’mon. Now I realize what a complicated question it was. One thing I know for sure. Love never ends”.

“You know, it makes me think of Harry. Losing him. Every time I get close to someone they leave,” he said his eyes filling again with tears. I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him. I knew this was bringing back so many painful memories. I simply hugged him tight. “Mama, do you think cows feel a kind of love? I mean they search the herds for their families.”

“I do. Now it’s late. Good Night John-Boy,”

“Good-Night, and Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Lucky, might just be lucky,her ear tag is 13” he said sleepily.

“We could use some luck. You know, there was a time when my friends said if it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all,” I smirked.

“Then what happened?”

“I had you”.

 (Lucky - 13- daughter of Petite- sister of Lady Bug - aunt to Gnatalie- born at Pixie Forest Farm)
 

January 16th Come On Get Happy

 (relief map - showing Bellingham, Bainbridge Island and some of the other San Juans)

Fast and furious is Henry’s gymnastics season. We drive sixty-miles a day four days a week for his three hour work-outs and then, there are only about six to eight meets, but they are BAMM, BAMM, BAMM. Last weekend was the Washington Open and today Bainbridge Island.

    To get to Bainbridge Island on time we had to leave bright and early. Bright and early is neither an accurate term nor one often used in the winter in the Pacific Northwest. It doesn’t actually get light these days until about 8:00AM. However I digress; we picked up Phoebe and headed out. Sipping my coffee I smiled as I listened to the “Partridge Family” DVD blaring from the backseat. Another generation was giggling as Danny Bonaduce traded barbs with Mr. Kinkaid, and about every twenty minutes I could hear Henry and Phoebe break into:

 

C'mon now and meet everybody


And hear us singin'.


There's nothin' better than bein' together


When we're singin'.

Five of us and mom working all day.
…

 

(maybe a little corny or a little 70s, but ethics, morals and kindness abound)

We drove happily a long until coming to a stop. Phoebe looked up.

“Where are we?”

     “At the ferry terminal, why?”

     “Oh, I thought those were three-drive thru coffee kiosks,” she said inspecting the pay stations at Edmonds. I couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. I liked the way she looked at the world. I looked again, and wished they were coffee kiosks.

 (the ferry terminal pay booth - but could be a coffee kiosk)

    We were so early we made the ferry prior to the one we’d been rushing to board. I am my father’s daughter – terminally early. When we were kids well before the advent of Homeland Security and inspections my father was still five hours early for a flight. Awesomez called and wished Henry luck. "What's that music?"

    "The Partridge Family," I said unapologetically.

    "Seriously?"

    "Where did they get that?"

    "I own it."

    "Why am I not surprised."

     We parked the car on the lower deck and went above to enjoy the ride. The wind in our hair and the sun on our faces it was already a wonderful day despite whatever happened at the meet.

 (Phebe-zilla on the way to Kingston)
  (Phoebe and Mike wait for the meet to begin)

    We took our seats and gave Henry our last minute advice. Phoebe instructed him to smile and take off his bulky shorts when he was wearing his white paints. I begged him as always to point his toes if he loved me. Mike who’d met us there simply wished him good luck and we all settled into watch. Tom of course, was in California standing by with his cell phone awaiting the meet stats.

     Phoebe the official score keeper took the program and waited.  Henry’s warm-up on parallel bars was dismal. Legs bent, toes flexed I was fit to be tied. It didn’t look good for today. Muttering to myself I barely heard Kim, Austin’s mom, when she turned around.

     “I just love to watch Henry on the p-bars. That is definitely his event.”

     “He looked pretty sloppy though, don’t you think?”

     “Maybe for Henry,” Kim assured me.

     “Did you see his legs?” I asked incredulous, but Kim gave me a dismissive look. I wondered if I was one of those mom’s that could never be pleased.  I turned to Phoebe, “Did you think Henry looked good just now?”

     “He looked terrible.” Strangely, I felt relieved. “Did you see his legs” She asked.  We’re almost always on the same page.

 (Coach Gordy Bylin preps the parallel bars before Henry competes)

     The meet began and almost like magic Henry performed on the parallel bars. It was a stunning performance. Phoebe was almost out of her seat. Mike was clapping deliriously and Kim turned around and looked at me raising her eyebrows.

     “It was beautiful this time, he looked like a different kid,” I said as the score came in a 14.3  Next, he was off to high bar. His arms still visibly bent as he did his giants, I was nervous to see the score.

     “The routine looked good, but the judge can take off for his arms,” I cautioned Phoebe.  But the score came in at a rousing 14.6. Again, Phoebe was hopping up and down on the bleachers. Mike was slapping his leg and we were thrilled. And then something unusual happened. The judge called a conference. Henry walked somberly up into the stands and leaned over to me.

     “The judge changed my score. He added wrong.”  Worried about his bent arms I put my hand on his shoulder.

     “What did they lower it to?” I asked softly ready to console my boy as he broke into a smile.

    “Mama, he didn’t lower it. He raised it! I got a 14.8”

    “Really?” Phoebe squealed. Henry putting his hands on my knees and rubbing noses with me he nodded enthusiastically.

     “Really! He raised my score. Did you think he lowered it?”  He laughed.

    "I did. Did he really raise it?" Henry nodded again laughing. 

    "Oh Mama."

     The rest of the meet was much more relaxed. Henry either did his best score or just about on every event except the dreaded pommel horse. He miscounted and left out a rotation.

     “Did you video tape everything?” Tom hoped.

 “Uh, not this time. I just figured we had so much of him, I wanted to just watch this time.”

     The awards for level six were exciting. From the moment I heard the sixth place score I knew Henry would get something. Fourth place was called and third, his teammate Trey, then Austin took second. I held my breath. I looked over at Henry who seemed to be in a trance as “And your level six champion Henry Miller!” was called. He bounded up to the top of the podium with unbridled enthusiasim. “Gymnasts salute” I tried to take a picture. My camera battery was low and jammed.

 (Henry is in first place -this picture is just after the salute- oops)

    Leaning over to Mike who was at this point clapping so enthusiastically he barely noticed me, “Wouldn’t you know he wins and I miss the shot.”

     “Oh no, really?”

     “Has Henry ever won the whole thing before?” Phoebe asked.

     “Nope, never.”

     “I’m so glad I’m here,” Phoebe smiled and ran over to hug Henry.

     And then as if the day couldn’t get any better Mount Baker Gymnastics took first place in the team awards.

 (Mt. Baker Gymnastics wins Level 6 team award - Henry,Trey Davis and Austin Rudy)

 (Austin, Coach Gordy, Henry and a very happy Trey)     Afterward, we said good-bye to Mike as he headed back down to Tacoma. The kids popped the Partridge Family back in. "Now Henry, you're still going to have to work on pushing yourself away from the high-bar. The next judge might deduct for that you know." 

    "I know Mama," Henry placated me as he fiddled happily with his medal,"I will".

 

 

January 1st The Game of Life

 (Bruno trying to get a Monopoly- stretching out - from Luther's bed to his new one - )
 

    New Year’s Eve is a time for reflection. What got accomplished and what didn’t. I try to accentuate the positive, but after taking a tally for the year I have to say 2009 was not my year. Sure there were successes we built a chicken coop, the pond was filled with water again and we got a snuggly bovine not to mention that gentle equine rapscallion, but in the end – I’m more than ready to move on. 2010 for me is a hope for a better tomorrow.  A hope for a pig or two, the belief that I’ll be the hero of the family and make enough money so Tom can move here full time.

    To this end, I spent much of the day allowing my superior Virgo instincts to take control, stuffing my overly emotional Pisces moon to the side. I began by making my new daily schedule. The key to success is organization. I know this deep in my heart, just as I know butter is the secret to happiness.

    Tom, Mike and I sat around in the kitchen in our pajamas with big mugs a coffee as I held court. I began with goals for the first quarter. Goals for Henry’s Honey, goals for weight loss, goals for Henry, goals for Nick, goals for the house, goals for the farm, goals for Irish and goals for Tom. After all a Virgo girl knows everyone in our life needs us to take control and help each of them out a little bit, gently guiding each of them in the right direction. It was just as I was about done that I heard Mike slinking out of the room trying to escape. I have ears like a deer – ask any fifth grader whoever tried to tell a secret in the back of my classroom. “Not so fast Michael. I hear you skulking away,” I hollered into the hallway.

    “What?” He laughed. “I thought it best I exit about this time. It seems it’s about my turn.”

    “I’ll leave you alone for now,” I promised like a cat letting the mouse go – for a time.

    For dinner Tom thoughtfully cooked a delicious chicken potpie from my Weight Watcher’s Comfort Classics Cookbook. We rented The Sting, Julie & Julia and Four Christmas’s then built a fire and settled in for a comfy evening. We got a late start on the New Year by about twenty-five minutes. Snap, we were already behind schedule.

 (black-eyed peas for prosperity in the New Year)
 

    The next morning, I confirmed our plans with my sister “We’re making black eyed peas…”

    “We were planning to come over around noon if that’s ok.”

    “That’s great, but I feel badly. We rented an auger this weekend so we could get four days for the price of one and put up the arena fence down by the barn. I just don’t think we can stop working until later in the day.”

    “We’ll wear our work clothes then. Sounds fun. I’ve never used an auger. I’ll tell Mike and Tom and we’ll be there as soon as possible.”

    “Really?,” she said a little surprised.

    "You bet." I turned to Tom after hanging up. “The Donaldson’s need to put up some fence so we’re gong to help them. She thought we be bummed.” He laughed.

    “Do they know us?” He smirked.

    “I know right?” Henry interjected.

    “You mean we have to work?” Nick moaned, “That’s not my job.”

    “Finally, something really fun to do over there.” I chirped as I went to throw on my boots. I love a project.

 (playing the parts of Ma & Pa Kettle- a tired, rained on dirty pair of love birds - Chris & Lisa - )

  (Cody and Tom meet - while Phoebe cleans the corral)
 

 (Phoebe works hard)

 (Mike & Chris use the auger to get the posts in)

    We got there and got to work in short order. Quinn made dinner – chicken potpie from the Weight Watcher’s Comfort Classics Cookbook.

    “We just had that last night,” I laughed.

    “It’s OK, I could eat it for every meal,” Mike encouraged her.

    “Me too!” Henry agreed wholeheartedly.

    “I really like it, it has a good taste. The fennel really gives it a fuller richer flavor,” Tom concurred.

    I supervised the preparation while doing some other chores. Quinn chopped onion, sautéed garlic, baked and shredded chicken, measured broth, melted butter, combined ingredients and learned what a saucepan is.

    “I am never making a dinner that takes this long again,” she whined until it was served to a bunch of very hungry fence builders who loved it beyond measure.

    “Mom? Maybe I could make this again soon since you were looking to pay me for doing some of the cooking.”

    “Really? I thought you,” I started as Quinn jabbed me sharply in the ribs.

    Quinn, the quirky accident prone girl who thought she had a sixth toe one morning, because she counted wrong and was immediately concerned that she might have to pay a higher price for pedicures seems to have turned into a fairly multi-talented teen. She's determined to save enough money for a car when she's sixteen and so she' babysits and has a projected amount she needs to save a month for the next three years. So to add to her income she is teaching herself how to cut hair. She cooked dinner and then offered to cut Tom’s hair. She’s b has been practicing on Chris and needed some different hair.

 (Quinn is teaching herself)

 (a lesson from the book - Chapter Seven "How to cut short layers into the hair")
 

    “She gave me side bangs,” Phoebe said as she showed off her new do.

    “Well, your bangs aren’t at all even,” I pointed out critically. I hated to do it, but if I was going to consider having my hair trimmed I might want to wait until she’s had some more practice.

    “That’s not my fault. She’s just annoying she keeps sweeping that part over. She didn’t want me to cut it,” Quinn corrected as she leaned forward and fixed Phoebe’s hair.

 (Phoebe chatting and laughing about her side bangs and her sister)
 

    Tom took the risk as Quinn wrapped the towel around him. “Oh my, the drape doesn’t reach entirely around your shoulders, they’re so broad,” Quinn cooed.

    “She’s got the talk down. She’ll some make good tips.” Tom offered.

 (Quinn is ready to cut tom's hair)

 (Quinn hard at work on Tom's hair - he looks a little nervous)
 

    “Hmm. Let’s see do you think boys are going to pay five dollars to let Quinn cut their hair? Yeah, I’m going to say they’re going to line-up,” Mike concurred.

    “Your next Mike,” I laughed.

    “ I'm game”.

    “Considering it’s our Quinnie, I think she should call it Running With Scissors,” Lisa smirked.

    “That’s a great name, Running With Scissors.” Tom said enthusiastically. “Running With Scissors that’s it absolutely.”

After the men were sheared, we played the board game, Ticket to Ride, endlessly and about thirty-five rounds of Bingo.

 (endless hours of family fun)
 

 (Henry calls Bingo)
 

    “I hope you’ll all be here for Swingin’ Singles Night on Saturday – that’s B -4 as in before you get married,” Henry called in his velvety announcer voice.

    Tom won the lion’s share with his lucky card. Quinn was second then the Pheeb. Everyone played one card, but me. I had five. I figured I'd improve my odds.

 (Tom and his Bingo card)

 (Phoebe hates that Tom doesn't put a chip on the FREE section of the Bingo card)
 

    “Denise, you played a lot more than the rest of us. You must feel like five times the loser. Hey, great start to the New Year by the way,” Chris chortled snickering at his own joke in an asthmatic sort of way. "Hey you guys coming back tomorrow?

 (some of my cards -)
 

November 29th Forever In Our Hearts

 (Richard and Franklin - real Poofftas)
 

Thanksgiving took on a myriad of permutations this year. At first, Awesomez thought she might come up to join Nick, and Mike and Donna had considered joining us. Of course we expected Mike and then there was rumor The Gibb’s – Diane, John, Lauren and Jordan might attend in addition to all of us – Chris, Lisa, Quinn, Annie, Henry and me. We’d also invited Kim and Vivian to join us, but Kim wasn’t feeling particularly well so they planned to stay home. Nevertheless we were going to need additional tables and a couple of turkeys. Franklin and Richard seemed unaware of the potential hazards in front of them.

 (Silence wisely tucked in the back of the boys)

The best laid plans and all of that. Grandpa Awesomez wanted all the Gomez clan with him at his house in Palm Springs so that took out Nick and Lisa. Mike and Donna suddenly were hosting Mike’s daughter and their three grandchildren. Just days before Thanksgiving, we tragically lost dear quirky “Kim” aka Quentin  – Chris’ uncle, Annie’s brother to an aggressive form of Prostate Cancer.He had been valiantly been battling it for more than a year. His loss left us all grieving and a bit quieter in spirit. Annie went to be with Kim’s wife, Vivian for Thanksgiving in Stanwood. The gregarious Gibb clan did drive up to Lisa's from Eugene for the weekend and Mike drove up from Tacoma with his faithful feline, Monica.

 (Chris & Mike enjoy a glass)

 (Henry and Lauren play a game)

(Quinn quietly on the left with Henry and Lauren)

 (Henry and Lauren goof)
 

 (Diane thickens the gravy)

 (Lisa looking ready for the holiday in her chic scarf - I gave her)

 

 (best friends Jordan and Phoebe tilt a glass)

(Quinn not at all thrilled with my camera)

Brutally aware most Americans consume over 5000 calories in this one meal, I tried to be restrained after all I have to weigh-in eventually. I happily chose the two point glasses of wine over the nine point pumpkin pie. We laughed and chatted about how the Gibb’s were adjusting to Eugene, soccer, schools and Mike ranted about how to revamp the entire educational system, as we know it.

 (yummy food cooking in the oven)
 

 (Mike rants)

 (John and Chris listen to Mike rant educational policies and condemn social promotion)
 

 (and don't use Montessori in the same sentence as Mike's ideas - them's fightin' words_
 

 (Diane's pies and Lisa's tarts)

(Diane prefers Cool Whip™ but she's from the South) 
 

While the pies were being prepped with whipped cream, Diane told of her idyllic new neighborhood and how a group of families share dinner twice a week. Which means Diane eats Tuesdays and Wednesdays at one of her neighbors and cooks for twenty once every two weeks. In fact, their new neighborhood is so neighborly that their neighbors hung their Christmas lights while they were gone.

“I felt terrible, they sent their teenage son over and he was going to do it for free, but it’s not like John is an invalid,” Diane said.

“Oh my gosh! Your neighbors put up your lights? I could see if you were a woman alone,” Lisa was impressed.

As I listened, I turned and whispered to Phoebe who was sitting next to me. “It’s funny, they both assume a man is going to do it. No one but me has ever put up my Christmas lights. Or taken them down. It’s not that hard, I guess it’s tradition.”

            Phoebe smiled wide and nodded to me. She and I had a do-it-yourself kinship. This was the 3-year-old who poured cement with me. The eight-year-old who planted the corn field, the nine-year-old who screwed the fence together. One day, we’d put up her Christmas lights together.

            “Are you sure this place isn’t the next Stepford?” Chris cajoled.

            “It’s OK if it is,” John laughed.

The next day brought winter preparations. Mike and I tried again to get the generator going. I called a repairman who explained my financial options. “If you can get it to me, it would save you a lot of money.”

“I can’t. I just can’t lift it into a truck bed, even with a ramp. I’m simply not strong enough and I just don’t have enough help.” I explained a bit downtrodden.

Mike and I moved on to other matters like insulating the pump house.

“I’d like to say I’m surprised at what a poor job they did on this, but honestly everything they did is just like this.” Mike thundered. We used an entire roll of insulation, changed the light bulb, turned up the heat and screwed the door shut hopping for the best.

Next we began the traditional hanging of the Christmas lights. I wanted to get them up before Awesomez brought Nick back on Monday. So Mike unraveled and held the ladder, I strung and Silence, my faithful turk-a-lurk, supervised us closely. The work I’d put into screwing in hooks along the eaves last year paid off and the lights went up lickety-split. The ones that completely lit anyway. It seems there is some insidious plot devised by the Christmas light industry. They have perfected a solution to the revolutionary parallel circuit. Somehow they have managed to get a foot or two span of lights in the middle of a string to simply go out making it mandatory to purchase another set of lights to replace it. This sent Mike and me to Lowes for more lights. Twice. Thankfully they were on sale.

 (Mike works diligently)

 (Christina actually turned into a storybook goat and started chomping lights)

 (Mike and Christina)
   

 

 (Max returns to the farm)

 (Yours truly- getting the lights up)

 (Silence working hard)

 (Seriously, does anyone think they're going to have a pet turkey? Silence is so curious and interested in everything - a lot like Lloyd)

 (Silence lets me know who's boss)

 (Silence is one big ass bird)

 (Henry and I keep working)

 

 (Luther and Bruno assist)
 

(Emmett escapes)
 

All and all we did pretty well, but more afraid of heights then ever I had a hard time with the upper peaks. At one point Amy tied an extension cord around my waist and anchored me from the attic window while I dangled over the edge. My heart beating so hard I could feel it all over my body. Henry couldn’t watch so he went downstairs and turned on mindless TV. Some help he was.

That night, Mike and I sat up drinking tea and making lists of things we could accomplish in the morning. Mike had an appointment to take Monica to the cat clinic to see Lisa. She’d been acting a little funny lately and he’d been concerned. Lisa told him she could squeeze him around nine, so that was the first thing on the agenda. When he got back we’d continue with our chores, as I was eager to get as much done with my faithful assistant as possible. The adult company was invigorating.

 At about midnight we head upstairs. Mike went to Nick’s room – the room formerly known as “Maryruth’s room” and I went in my bathroom and flipped on the portable heater before changing into my flannels. I thought I heard knocking at my door, but wasn’t sure over the hum of the heater.

“I think she’s dying!” I heard Mike frantically yelling in the hall.

“What?” I screamed as I ran toward the door. When I opened it I could see Mike in his boxers and undershirt hurrying toward his room and Henry almost flying up the stairs. By the time I joined them I saw Henry had had the presence of mind to rush to the kitchen and grab a turkey baster from the kitchen drawer and shoved it down Monica’s throat and was now pumping air into her body. She responded, convulsing with each breath. I ran to my room got my makeup mirror and dialed my sister. Accustomed to emergencies she woke up quickly and started advising us. We held the mirror in front of Monica to see if she had any breath on her own. She did not. Henry heroically resumed emergency ventilation, but sadly to no avail. Monica passed away.

“Henry, I can’t believe how amazing you were. You were calm and really performed in a crisis.” I said completely impressed.

“Really. Henry, I can’t thank you enough for what you did. If anything was going to help that was. Lisa said it was probably a blood clot.” Mike relayed.

“But it didn’t save her.” Henry said quietly.

“But it made me feel as though we did everything we could.” Mike said putting a hand on Henry’s shoulder. Tearfully, Mike picked up his corpulent companion he tenderly called “Monica Morning Cat” and gently placed her in her blue cat carrier.

The next day, Henry dug a grave for Monica while Mike and I worked on the lights. Amy came home from Texas with Max and Andrew to find one of her glidies (sugar gliders) had died. One of the twins. Henry and I hadn’t known because they’d still been in their pouch when we fed them.  They don’t get up until about 9:00 PM. So we said goodbye to two friends and had two burials in our growing pet cemetery. Amy came by afterward explaining the horror of the death. It seems gliders can become cannibalistic and had skinned the poor thing. Amy was heavy-hearted having lost her third pet since living here.

 (Henry doesn't want Mike to have to dig Monica's grave)

 

 (Monica the cat was buried with her favorite towel - Mike got Monica about 8 years ago through my sister - her owner had died and she needed a home)

 

Hard work being the best medicine we all cleaned the barn thankful to sweep our troubles away laughing about the good times and funny stories.

 

July 6th Things Look Grimm

(baby barn swallows in their nest - I think they look a little like seals)

    I came home from work to find Phoebe sitting in the yard enjoying the sunshine. Mike was asleep in the family room no big surprise. Both had come out to the farm to see the new babies chicks and help me with farm chores.

    As Phoebe and I dove into a 2lb bag of super ripe red and yellow Rainier cherries I'd brought home from the Everybody's Store, Mike woke up and joined us in the kitchen. Phoebe and Mike exchanged a secretive look and the two of them started to tell me about their walk to the pond. It seems they’d gone out to to see the ducklings Amy had spotted a couple days ago. Only they didn’t have much to say about ducks, instead they told a story like something out of a fairy tale. They said the pond had disappeared.

    “What? The pond. I think you’re exaggerating. We were out there barbecuing just a month ago at Henry’s party. Sure it was a little low, but it wasn’t that bad”.

    “It’s that bad” Mike said somberly as Phoebe nodded in agreement.

    “Let’s go. I want to see,” I said in complete disbelief.

    “You absolutely have to” Mike said putting his work boots back on as Phoebe nodded again shoving a few more cherries in her mouth.

    As we walked across the pasture, with grass taller than Phoebe, I couldn’t help but think the two of them were a little negative. Sure we’ve had a lot of sunshine and some more than hot days, but seriously a pond doesn’t just disappear. Mike can be so absolute in his statements. Mike was certain Obama wasn’t going to be a contender for the nomination after Super Tuesday. Certain. He could be so completely annoying that way. What the heck did he know anyway?

    He knew an empty pond when he saw one that’s what. The pond was gone. In its place was a gaping hole in the ground. A scar on the Earth. I stood there in disbelief. I looked down at all the animal tracks in the mud looking for water only to find a swampy bog full of mosquitoes. Gone was the idea of having weddings out here. No one would even want to barbecue out here. Henry would be devastated. The beautiful pond is why I bought the property. Everything was ruined.

(the once inviting pond is nothing but a small mosquito riddled puddle)

(the pond as it was last November)

(bear tracks in the mud)

    I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to accept this I was going to have to fix this. I looked at Phoebe.

    “We can’t lose the pond. Let’s go up the stream and see if there is something blocking it,” I said marching toward the mountain.

      “I really don’t think there’s anything we can do. I don’t think it’s one rock or one place, I think it’s the depth of the sediment,” Mike said logically.

    I wasn’t interested in logic I was interested in results. This was my land and I was going to save it. I started moving rocks. Picking them up and moving them anywhere there was water the water was slow. Rock after rock, hour after hour. Mike and Phoebe took the lower part of the stream while I crawled up the middle of it toward the waterfall. I thought of pioneer women having to do the exact same thing to save their farms. I thought of Scarlet O'Hara and the land. I thought too how vulnerable I was with my back to the forest, all hunched over and small. It was almost exactly a year since the cougar incident and the fact that Mike was visiting again just like last year was not lost on me. But I had work to do. Four hours later I’d just about reached as high as I could go when I heard Mike calling.

(Strange rock formations were found along the stream - who comes back here and what do these mean?)

(Despite his opinion of futility, Mike  a true friend worked tirelessly with Phoebe on the stream)

(Phoebe just before she split her pants on the rocks)

    “Deeeeniiiiiiiise! Are you ok? Wheeeeeer arrre youuuuuuu?” He bellowed coming into view. He found me crouched down in the water my fingers had been rubbed raw from the rocks. Little drips of blood were staining the water.

    “I’m done. I can’t do anymore with my fingers like this” I said exhausted.

     “Duhneese! What happened?” Phoebe exclaimed.

    “Oh I just rubbed them raw from moving so many rocks” I said. “Did you see a big increase in the flow? I felt like I really got the stream moving,” I said proud of my work.

       “Uh, not really” Mike said in is defeatist voice again. I’d see about that, I knew how much the flow had increased every time I moved a boulder and removed a barrier. We started back down to the pond walking along the stream. It got smaller and slower until it just stopped. Nowhere near the pond. It seeped into the ground as Mike had said. My fingers were bloody for nothing.

(one little lonesome berry in the woods)

    Covered in mosquito bites from being near the pond we walked home dejected.  Phoebe had 80 and my back was covered. I had two under my eyes making me look like Droopy Dog.

    I called Tom but there was no answer. I didn’t want to leave a message. This was like a death I couldn't leave life altering news like this on a message. A few minutes later I called again. I hung up in frustration wondering where he was and how I was going to tell him. Suddenly, the emotion caught up with me. I hated this house, the land everything. The pond was gone and with it all my hopes. We couldn’t do much about it either; the landslide wasn’t even on our property. I couldn't take it anymore. I stood crying silently facing the wall shaking when I felt a little hand on my back. It was Phoebe. We just stood there like that for a while until the phone rung.

    It was Tom, “ I’ve got some really bad news”

    “Oh yeah, what Henry isn’t having a good time? Did he call?” Tom asked.

    “The pond is gone,” I declared.

    “What do you mean gone?”

    “I mean gone. Gone. Like ‘Holes’ gone. Seriously and completely gone. No water gone. The geese could standup in what’s left of the water gone.” There was silence on the other end of the phone.

     “Gone? How? Maybe when it rains,” He said hopefully.

     “Pea. Gone. Rain isn’t going to help at this point; it’s just going to mean more mosquitoes. Really I’m telling you it’s gone” I spat.

    “We were just out there a month ago for Henry’s birthday.”

    “I know. It’s looks like we’re on the set of the movie ‘Holes’. It's just a dry pit. Mike says it’s as if we’re under the spell of a wicked witch, only it’s for real.”

    “I just don’t know what to say. Gone huh. I’ll talk to you later” Tom said with a despondence I understood.

     Not knowing how to handle my grief, Mike and I went out to clean the barn while Phoebe watched some television and ate some more cherries. We got through the goat stalls when I realized I had to clean out the cow trough. It had been disgusting the other day so disgusting, the fish were dying. I’d scooped a bunch of dead goldfish out. The sun was creating havoc around here. The pond was drying up, the pasture grass was brown and the algae in the water troughs was taking over. I looked for the pump we’d used last winter when we’d gotten water out of the pond when the pipes froze. I thought it would make the job easier, but alas Henry’d left it out and half of it was gone, it was probably moved by a curious goat. I started to wonder who the evil witch was whose spell I was under.I had an idea. I reached for a couple of buckets bumping my bloody fingers on the side of the red one and winced. They started to bleed again. I didn’t want to get Giardia from some cow trough. If I was going to get some water borne parasite I should at least get it from a pond I thought.

    Solemnly, Mike and I walked down to the cow water only to find it full and crystal clear. We could see every fish in the tank. “I must have left the water on slightly, and the water continued to overflow until it cleaned the tank” I exclaimed happily. I was grasping for the bright side as we walked up to the house.

(clean water with happy fish)

“Well, the cow water is clean, the barn is clean, maybe things are looking up?”

“Denise, I hate to say it, but you’re experiencing bad on a Biblical scale and you’re happy the cow water is clean. That’s a bit pathetic. A little Pollyanna” Mike said with a grin.

    “It’s all I got” I said as we walked in the house. The phone rang. “Hello?” I said into the phone expecting it to be Tom.

    “Hello. This is your sanitation company.”

(my garbage truck)

    “Is something wrong?” I asked. I mean why else would my sanitation company call. I paid the bill. Maybe it bounced I thought. Or they were discontinuing service on Mosquito Lake Road because of the bridge.

    “Nothing’s wrong. You actually won a prize”  the happy voice said on the other end of the phone.

    “Really? Well, that’s great. What did I win?”

    “A food pail” she said. “You can pick it up at our office when you’re in town”.

    “Thank you. I will” I confirmed.

    “What was that about?” Mike asked.

    “I won something from the garbage company”.

    “Is that good?” He laughed. “What did you win? A month’s free pick-up?”

    “Some woman only twenty miles away in Ferndale won the Publisher’s Clearing House last week and I win junk from my garbage company” I laughed.

    “So what’d you win?”

    “She said a food pail”, I repeated.

    “Hey maybe that means you get a gift certificate to the Food Pavilion or something” Mike suggested.

    “Uh, I think it’s a garbage can” I said.

    “You think you won a garbage can?”

    “Yeah”

    “Things really aren’t going too well for you right now. I mean, things aren’t great for me, but you’re really not doing too well when you win garbage cans and there was that toad in the garage the other night that jumped at you” Mike reminded me.

    “You know when we got our Barbie names, I was Garbage Worker Barbie” I chuckled. It was funny until I thought of the pond.  I wondered briefly if I was supposed to have kissed that toad and where the heck was my fairy godmother? I thought this time it just doesn't look like there's  going to be a happy ending.

(my prize - a small food composter)

April 13th Kill Bill

   

(Luther crosses the log by the pond)

(Henry praising Luther for his efforts)


    The days are getting longer which means there’s plenty of time to play outside after school. Henry’s taking some time off from everything to do nothing. Time to just hang out and let his imagination take over.

    Mike stopped by on his way back to Tacoma, as Annie has now taken over the dog sitting duties until the Donaldson’s return from their Mexican vacation. We glanced outside periodically to see what Huck Finn was up to, with our afternoon coffee in hand we weren’t surprised to see Henry scurrying around the Kubota™ barn. It seems he was gathering old ski poles, left over PVC piping, detached garden stakes, duct tape and discarded metal pipe.

    Mike peeked again a while later. “Uh Denise, you’d better take a look.” I got up and went to the window just in time to see Henry launching a rickety spear through the air at a tree.

(Henry is no tree hugger)

    “Henry!!! Didn’t you read the ‘Giving Tree’? Please, please make your old mother happy and find something else to aim at like a target.”

    “OK Mama, but I don’t think the trees mind. I’m not really hurting them.”

    “Humor me.” I said flatly.

    Not too long later he’d roped Alexis into the act and the two of them were throwing spears at a spray painted bale of hay tied to the Kubota™ barn. The target was dubbed Billy. There were points for hitting Billy’s head, Billy’s heart and Billy’s family jewels – Henry was an apparent lock for the crotch shot. He’d hurl his spear through the air and BAMMM it would hit sticking right between Billy’s spray painted hay legs.

(Henry let's it fly-he must have attended the school Ed Ames school of tomahawk throwing on The Tonight Show)

(Alexis aims and throws)

(Mike scrutinizing Henry's form)

 “Oh Yeah!” Henry would yell leaping in the air as the other men nodded in approval. Mike had watched a bit but soon took off his jacket and handed it to Alexis as he tried lobbing a spear at Billy.

    “It’s not easy is it?” Mike remarked.

    “Why don’t you stand up here closer?” Henry politely suggested.

    “Because I want to stand back here.” Mike said indignantly.

    “It’s hard to hit unless you’re the crotch-master like the boy here.” Alexis said anointing Henry. After a while I tired and went inside to get some work done, but I couldn’t resist my hand at it when Henry came in the house carrying my own personal spear painted with a custom crimson tip. It was very long almost 12 feet.

    “I made this for the Mama.” He said proudly. Then seeing me eye its length Henry added, “I found the longer ones work better.” My own personal spear? It’s not something you register for, or even know you want. Heck, I’d never ever thought of having a spear before, but it looked like fun. It was fun, stress reducing and challenging. We spent the entire afternoon trying to hit our target.

(Mama gets in the act)

We aimed, chucked, propelled launched and manically plunged our makeshift spears into poor woebegone Billy. And in some base-level-mother-of-an-eleven-year-old-boy-Lord-of-the-Flies-way, I loved it.
(Henry and his arsenal)

April 8th The Miracle Of Life

  (Clara and her girls - one is tucked safely under her wing)

    The thick grey skies seemed to mirror our mood this morning. The death of Clyde has left everyone here a bit somber. We’re not running around crying all the time, but it’s sort of taken the wind out of our sails. Henry has forgiven Vivian for her crime, realizing she had no malintent, but it doesn’t take away the pain.

    We moped about a bit in the morning fixing breakfast. Alexis feeding and carrying around Colter who has yet to fully rejoin his family. Mike came out for a visit since he’s house sitting for Lisa & Chris who cashed in frequent flier miles and flew south for a sunny Cancun vacation with the girls. In an attempt to right the ship Mike Henry and I decided to go out to the barn to candle Ruthie and Mabel’s eggs wondering if there was even a possibility of more goslings. It was amazing how all the animals responded to Mike even Scarlett who harbors Greta-Garbo-ways came out to pay homage to the man who would supply her ham every morning when he lived here.

    To our delight quite a few of the eggs looked dark and filled with the promise of new life. Our spirits soared. “Mama we’re going to have more babies! I think they’ll be here within the week.” My little farm boy predicted.

    “I thin you’re right Babalouie.”  I said, “You know we’re really very lucky. We haven’t lost a lamb or a goat even though we’ve seen plenty of coyote and of course the cougar”

    “Of course we’ve found a lot of scat from bear under the apple trees even though we haven’t seen them. We know they’re there.” Mike added.

    “And bobcat?” Henry reminded me.

    “True there was the bobcat in the pasture, but we’ve only lost one little life in almost two years.”

    “From our own dog.” Henry emphasized.

    “Can you imagine how horrible it would have been if the first life lost was Riley’s?” Mike asked.

    “That would have been horrible, his carcass ripped open.” 

    “Mom!”

    “Well, it could have happened. It’s happened to a lot of people I’ve talked to. The game warden and I discussed it at length. So the loss of Clyde no matter how terrible has to be put in perspective. It’s really quite remarkable and the only reason is Miracle.” I said going over to give her the cookie she was begging for. “She’s turned out to be an amazing guardian.”

    Miracle stood there begging for cookies like an overgrown basset hound absorbing the praise, all the while her ears turning around tuning in every sound always alert.

Introducing: Miracle The Wonder Donkey with Tom accompanied by Grandpa Horn's music.

January 3rd Runs In The Family

(Laura's stocking)

       Laura, Tom’s only daughter and Henry’s sister is coming for her first visit to the farm. I’m a nervous wreck. She has one dainty cat and has lived with her mother who’s a gourmet cook in an immaculate house most of her life. I’m unemployed farm girl who burns chocolate chip cookies and whose culinary repertoire consists mostly of peasant food: casseroles, six different types of chicken, chili and spicy meatloaf; we have six dogs, three cats, no water and a broken sink. What’s to worry about?

    Unfortunately, or fortunately Henry and I weren’t able to go to the airport to pick her up because Henry had gymnastics. This gave Tom and Laura time to have dinner together, go home feed the animals, build a fire and get settled. It also gave Henry and I time to be nervous. Henry hadn’t seen her in years and although he absolutely adored Craig, having a sister was a different story. Henry couldn’t believe it when I pulled into the Burger King parking lot after gymnastics. "Chicken Fries and a Whopper Jr.™ Hen - Six or Nine pieces?"

    “Mom! Chicken Fries? You never let me have fast-food” Henry said with wonder.

    “Never say never. Nine pieces please.” I could waste time with the best with them. We drove home with "MacGyver" blasting.

    When we arrived, Tom and Laura were sitting in the family room watching some goofy movie. The house was freezing. I couldn’t believe Tom hadn’t turned up the heat. One look at her and I knew she was just this side of a Popsicle. I cranked up the heat to 68 degrees and got her the fuzzy cheetah blanket. Henry snuggled in with her immediately his fears disappearing in a blink. I felt better. I started making Henry chocolate chip/ butterscotch cookies for a snack at the meet tomorrow. Having scorched many a cookie and not wanting to embarrass myself in front of Laura, I set a timer as I popped them into the oven.

 (Laura and Tom)

  (Laura's Audrey)

     Laura was lovely, no longer the little girl I’d made a pink Christmas stocking for so many years before, but a talented woman in her own right. Proving the apple doesn't fall from the tree, she's an artist like her father. She showed me a spectacular painting she’d done of Audrey Hepburn for class. I was amazed. I couldn’t dream of doing such beautiful work. After a cup of Earl Grey and a bit of chatting, we all turned in early, as Henry had a competition in Seattle in the afternoon.

    We all got up and did our appointed chores, ate breakfast, collected all the various jackets, cameras, cell phones and bags. We piled in Tom’s truck and were about to head to Seattle when Tom asked me if we had any batteries for Laura’s camera. I ran in the house doubting I could find any. Despite all odds, I was in fact successful. 2009 was going to be my year. I got in the truck, put on my red glasses and turned to give Laura the batteries. To my surprise, she was peering back at me through her purple iridescent glasses. Yes, we were gong to get along just fine.

    Turns out we were late. Late, late, late – Pea and I were about at each other’s throats. He drives permanently stuck in turtle mode and I was about to burst worried Henry was going to miss the warm-up before the meet. Henry about came unglued thinking they might not let him compete. This being his first competition at level 6, a much more advanced level than he's competed before. I called Mike knowing he’d be at the meet early, and of course he was. He tried to help, but Tom’s navigational system took us to the wrong place and Mike didn’t know enough to help us find our way. Somehow, Tom got us there. By sheer luck, the session before us had run an hour late and Henry hadn’t missed a thing. The Donaldson’s strolled in before the anthem and all flowed smoothly from there. 

(Henry and Jesse during march in)

    Before Henry’s first event, he came running over with a couple of baggies of cookies I’d stored in his gym bag. I handed them out to Mike, Phoebe and Quinn. Lisa came over a little while later and asked for a cookie. Proudly, I handed her one. She took it, examined it and said, “They’re not burnt.”

    “I set a timer.”

(Henry with his coach on rings)

  (Henry again)

(Henry on parallel bars)

(Henry at the Washington Open - running toward the vault)

    Henry did much better than either Tom or I was expecting. Henry's a competitor like his sister. Laura played club soccer and then college ball. Tom has proudly saved countless newspaper clippings documenting her heroics. Henry, too, was suddenly out there fighting. In the end, he missed 10th place by just two tenths. Naturally, he was disappointed, but we were so pleased at his effort and gratified he was putting forth his best for a change. We've been used to him mailing it in lately.

    “Mom, I was so close!” He bemoaned his loss.

    “Henry, do you remember back a couple months ago when I said that if you didn’t put more effort in you’d be sorry later when you didn’t win? That day is today. The amazing thing is you did so well for someone who hasn’t tried too hard and I think with a lot of effort in the next couple of weeks you can probably get up on the podium.”

    Mike, Annie, Team Donaldson and all of us went to Sonrisa, the same delicious Mexican place we’d gone to last year. We all squeezed into one big booth ordered margaritas, calamari and lots of spicy food. Somehow Chris brought up that the game of soccer began by kicking around severed heads. Quinn didn’t believe him for an instant, so she turned to wise owl Mike.

    “Mike, did soccer start by kicking severed heads?” Quinn asked skeptically.

    He paused a moment to swallow and said, “Why yes, it did.”

    “Dad! You passed the Mike test!” Quinn said incredulously.

    “What is this? You doubted me? Of course, I passed the Mike test c’mon” He laughed.

    At the end of the evening, we debated whether we should take Laura to the Donaldson’s so she could wash her hair, but it was determined we’d heat up some water and she could wash it over the bathtub. She was now one of us.

    A day would not be complete lately without a game of Apples to Apples™ and so after Laura's official farm baptism, Wayne came down and the hands were dealt. Tom and Laura beat the rest of us to a pulp (our new favorite game of the moment)

(Tom makes a snow angel)

December 25th A Sinking Feeling

 (Lloyd and Clara all dressed for Christmas dinner?)

(our Christmas geese: Lloyd, Clara, Mabel, Ruthie, Alfred, Quackmire, Matilda and Cleveland)

Preparation for our “Walton Family Christmas” demanded more of me than shopping. It required putting into action “it’s the thought that counts”. To this end, I did several photo shoots of the kids to give as gifts to most of the people in my life. The project was so rife with problems I thought we’d never pull it off. The first weekend the girls came over we didn’t get snow. Then there was the Quinn problem. At twelve years of age, she is very self-conscious and silly. I must have taken two hundred photographs and Quinn ruined one hundred ninety-nine of them. She was too cold – primarily because she only wore a tank top under her turtleneck. Why anyone would do this when they knew they were going to lie in the snow remains a deep-seated middle school mystery. She felt weird smiling because of her braces; she hunched her shoulders because she felt too tall; her hair poofed up behind her head because she wiggled nervously; she leaned the wrong way; etc. I finally got the shot, but when Costco™ printed it they cut off Quinn’s face, so I had to reprint it. I then uploaded it again and re-ordered. I drove back to Costco™  - still only half of Quinn. So I repeated the process again and yet again until, at last, on Christmas Eve the photo came out right.
(Scarves on sale at Ross.  Shot to hang this way at the Donaldsons' - upside down at Tom's - and Quinn at the top for the grandparents)

    Henry is getting one real gift from Tom and me, an orange iPod™ Nano™. I thought that, given our finances, it was too big a gift, but try telling that to a father who only sees his son once a month or so. Tom got a real deal on it through work and ordered it engraved before I had a thing to say about it. It is the one thing Henry has been pining for. One present for each of us makes a pretty barren presentation beneath the tree and, so it wouldn’t look so sparse, I dove into a box of hand-me-down games my friend Kathy gave me. Her grandkids had never played with these games and I don’t know if Henry will either, but they were free and when wrapped up they would be something to rip open on Christmas morning.

    Christmas Eve we trekked down to Burlington to get the pictures and made another trip to Michaels™ for one more clearance frame. Then on to Mass and dinner at the Donaldsons for Tom’s favorite, Lisa's beef stew. We stayed way too late laughing and chatting, considering the wrapping I had ahead of me. And we all showered before we left since we were going on day 10 without water due to the still-frozen pipes.
(very merry with fondue)

(Chris and Tom wrapped up a little something for Henry to open Christmas Eve - a lemon. As a result Tom got an onion in his stocking and a warning from Santa not to cry about it.)

(Henry and Phoebe messing around - with the lemon?)

    When we got home, Tom looked bleary-eyed. He tried staying awake to help me, but his endless hours of driving to make it by Christmas Eve had caught up with him and he checked out. I dialed up Mike about 1:30 AM, knowing he’s almost always up for a late night chat and, wearing my hands-free headset, I wrapped pictures, cleaned the house and wrote the clues for Henry’s annual Christmas Treasure Hunt while we discussed everything from soup to nuts. 

    One clue is wrapped up or hidden on the tree. Once it is found, there are about five or six more clues leading to the big gift. Clue Number 1: "Let's face it, it's time to look for your present".



("You're almost there, you're steaming hot." leading to the tea kettle)

      Mike and I finally said good-bye and I went to bed around 6:00 AM, only to get back up and make my special occasion Chai French toast and bacon around 9:00 AM. After the stockings, the hunt and the trash pick-up we began preparing for our big waterless Christmas Dinner.

     Tom spent all day in the kitchen. He boiled at least thirty-two pitchers of snow as he washed days of dishes, while I tidied, made centerpieces, mopped and placed candles around the house. Henry did his share by changing the litter boxes, cleaning his room and vacuuming. Wayne gathered enough pond water so we could flush with abandon when the guests arrived
(my Target™ 40%-off runner, $ 2.00 hurricane lamps, logs from the woodpile, glitter from my teacher art box and pine cones from the yard)

(rose hips and a bow)

(ready for dinner)

    The actual dinner was a snap, really. I bought paper plates, cups, bowls and napkins. I even sprang for the fancy, shmancy plastic chrome-colored silverware. Annie bought the turkey ahead of time, washing and salting it before giving it to me. I made stuffing and popped the turkey in the oven. The salad came in a bag. The green beans were from Trader Joes™ as were the five boxes of frozen scalloped potatoes I put in a lasagna pan. The hors d’oeuvres and dessert were from Costco™. Not my culinary achievement, but delicious, nonetheless. We sat down in candlelight, thankful for all our blessings, our friends and our family. Yet the toasts ran to indoor plumbing, running water and flushing toilets. Cleanup was as easy as 1-2-3, at least until the sink unexpectedly separated from the counter top.
(disaster strikes)

    How that was possible after less than a year’s worth of use stunned me, but I’d have to think about it tomorrow.  We poured more sparkling cider, eggnog, rum, and wine, and played games by the funky Christmas tree. Little-bit-of-a-snippet, Phoebe, triumphed over all of us, but we gave her a run for her money.

     It wasn’t a grand Christmas, but I’ll wager it was one we’ll all cherish. Good Night and Merry Christmas, John-Boy.
(Exhausted from the Christmas festivities - Irish, Bruno and Luther settle in for a long winter's nap)

November 16th What's Happening

(Luther enjoying the sunshine)

    The phone rang Saturday morning.

    “Hello?”

    “Denise? This is Mike.”

    “Yes. I know. We’ve met,” I say dryly. Laughing.

    “What's happening? Has Alexis built a fence around the house yet?”

    “Well, since you asked, I’m in the sunroom and I can see him unloading wood in the pasture.”

    “You are kidding me.”

    “Nope. He’s making me feel lazy.”

    “And that’s saying something. I know.”

    Well, I’ve got to go. I can’t watch someone else unload wood in my pasture.”

    “I understand. Talk to you later.”
 
(Alexis hauls wood from one side of the pasture to the other)
(Alexis quickly learns how to build a jack fence)
) (Alexis, Andy and Luther)
    Sunday evening the phone rang again.

    “Hello?”

    “Denise? This is Mike.”

    “Well, at least you don’t say, ‘This is Mike Senzer’ anymore,” I say dryly.

    “What's happening? Tell me, what feat has Alexis accomplished? Perhaps he’s renovated the barn.”

    “Well, he built a portion of the fence, made apple cider, hosed down the cider press, cleaned the porch, hung an outside light, helped Wayne and I clean the barn. Now he and Henry are eating Toblerone™ and watching some action movie at his apartment.”
(Alexis learns to muck stalls from Wayne - now an old pro)
(notice my coffee cup)

(Henry runs the tractor)
(Henry -  hauling the 25lb bag of apples he picked - is transformed into the Apple Cider Santa)
(Alexis installing a temporary light to keep away very big kitty cats)

    “You know, back when I first cleaned the barn we didn't have the tractor, and Pancho and Lefty lived there."  

    "Don't forget the snowstorms and you having to forge your own tools," I said.

    "It's a good thing I like him or he'd be really annoying," Mike grumbled.

November 13th Turn, Turn, Turn

(Goat lips)

    Just about the time the sun came up, I heard Mike’s car roll over the rocks as he drove into the driveway. I handed him his coffee as he walked in the door and told him to keep his jacket on as he was just in time to help me feed the animals.

(Riley wating for breakfast)
He was glad to greet his friends, the Oberhaslis. I was amused to see Mike extend his big paws full of alfalfa pellets as the goats voraciously nibbled with their tickly goat lips. I suspect he favors Rachel as she seemed to get just a little more than the rest. Mike helped me toss in the hay as we opened up the doors and released the geese to mow the lawn. I was a little embarrassed at the state of the barn as I called to mind the barns at the fairgrounds. Hordes of children kept the place spotless; child labor in moderation is a very good thing.
(Bruno says "Good Morning")

I’m well-intentioned, but with trying to build a fence, attempting to find work, keeping the house from being a complete disaster and occasionally feeding Henry – regular barn maintenance seems to get left by the wayside. I keep meaning to clean more than the stalls, but it isn’t my highest priority. And, after all, it is a barn. We filled the water buckets, gave Miracle her morning hugs and returned to the house.

(Miracle saying howdy-do)

Mike and I had set aside the day to work on some of my stuff for Fort Flashback. I’ve learned over time that the business plan is a document that is constantly evolving and, thus, is ever in need of attention. Certainly, there are those who say at this point I should just give up trying to open an American History Camp for kids, especially in this economic climate. Honestly, this is when I think we need it the most. It would be an inexpensive escape for many people but, of course, I’m biased. Anyway, with coffee cups in hand we settled into our regular roles. When we work, we usually argue. Vehemently. We truly couldn’t be more different in many ways but, much like Irish and Bruno, we’ve figured out a way to be friends in spite of our differences, and I appreciate Mike’s willingness to drive two hours to come up here to argue with me. Then again, he went to law school and that sort of thing comes with the territory.

    We worked: I wrote and Mike ranted, edited and noodled my prose as we laughed at each other’s predictability. We were cloistered in the house all day until it was time to pick up Henry from school and begin my shuttle service triangle - home to school to gymnastics and back home again, home again jiggity jig. On a good day, I drive 120 miles and on a bad day – like today, I drive 150. 

    Knowing I wouldn’t be home until quite late in the evening and having intimate knowledge of cougars lurking nearby, we went out to the barn to feed and put the geese, goats, lambs and Miracle away. I figured Abe, Andy and Anna could go without grain for a day, as it’s unseasonably balmy. The Pineapple Express is blowing through here, heating things up.

    As Mike and I walked out to the barn I noticed something was different. The wheelbarrow wasn’t where I'd left it. Who’d been here? Was there an intruder? I walked cautiously into the barn filled with dread. Shock at what I saw washed over me like a wave. It took me a while to process what I was seeing. I glanced around. Every rake was hung up. The buckets were turned upside down and neatly lined up on a shelf.
  (neat and tidy- rats and mice can't get stuck inside) (All hung up)
(everything it its place)
The fly sprays and medicines were sorted and put away. The excess hay was swept up off the floor. The empty grain bags were thrown away, The hose was rerouted and strapped to the ceiling so it could fill the goats' water bucket without any problems. The whole barn was organized and immaculate. It felt like Barbara Eden had been there. Was this some new game show? No one was around, but I knew it was Alexis. My eyes filled with tears at the genuine kindness. He’d seen something and just handled it. (Ready to be used)

    “I can’t believe it. This is amazing.” I stood there in disbelief. “It’s like the maid came when you weren’t expecting it.” 

    “What?” Mike said, standing next to me.

    “The barn? It’s completely cleaned. Everything is put away, organized and swept up. You don’t see that?” I asked incredulously.

    “Oh, yeah. Now that you mention it, it does look a bit different than this morning,” Mike said, looking around.

    “You’re kidding, right?” But I knew he wasn’t. He didn’t notice until I said something. I could bleach my hair platinum and he just might notice. Just then Alexis walked up. I didn’t know what to say. I stumbled for something profound to express my gratitude, but all I could manage was a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
(Alexis being transformed into a farmhand)

    He smiled and said, “You looked like you could use a little help. I thought I’d pitch in. If you want, I could mend some of the fences. Or you could make a list.”   

    A list? I must be dreaming. Tears filled my eyes at this unexpected kindness.

    As I drove to get Henry and take him to gymnastics Mike and Alexis were still talking in the driveway.  I thought of my mother as I peered in my rear view mirror at them. She used to say, "As you get in your forties life gets easier. Younger people get so depressed because they’re not old enough to realize things never stay the same for long. Life is always going to change in some unexpected way.”

   I guess the Kaleidoscope just turned again.

October 7th Braveheart

(fall leaves)

    Mike came up from Tacoma today to visit and help me do some bookkeeping. We chatted a bit catching up before we hunkered down with matching coffee cups in the dining room and spread everything out on the table.

    Hours rolled by as we sorted, piled, noted, filed and recorded all sorts of information. We looked up and it was suddenly 2:00PM and we were starving. I knew Mike would never actually cook anything and I did owe him for diligently helping with this tedious job. I began grilling turkey melts when I heard a noise and Deli started barking fiercely. Not taking any chances I turned off the stove and went to investigate. Looking outside I saw Irish who is normally confined to the porch during his convalescence standing on the driveway wagging his tail looking down toward the creek.
 (career criminal)
    “Irish is out!” I cried frantically for many reasons. First, Irish might run in the road if a motorcycle came by. Second, he might re-injure his leg with too much activity and third, I remembered. “The geese are out! Where are the geese? Irish hasn’t been with the geese unsupervised. EVER. I don’t know if he’ll hurt them.” Mike came dashing out, as much as a man with bad knees can dash. Just as he was about to come down the steps, I called to him to get one of the air horns from the kitchen just in case. He disappeared into the house. I figured, the noise would shock Irish if he grabbed one of the geese. “He’s got them in the brush below the hill!” I was scared. I didn’t know how long he had been out. He’s not a mean dog, but he’s just so big and rambunctious. I raced down and started calling him toward me. He loped over to me tail wagging as bouncy as you please and at the last moment darted out of my grasp. If he could have laughed he would have. Happily he toyed with me enjoying his freedom. Dashing from me to the geese in the tall grass as if he'd read the Notre Dame playbook. I could hear honking, but I didn’t know if any of them were injured. And then just because Irish is truly still a puppy, he walked up on the porch and gave up. Game over. 

    Mike immediately locked him in the house while I went to see how the geese were. To my shock and dismay I only found one. You never find just one alone. I called. “Hey, hey, hey little geese, hey hey hey” and waited. I trounced down into the tall grass calling them over and over. Nothing. Just Quackmire came flapping up to the top of the hill walking around aimlessly looking for his flock. I scooped him up in my arms snuggling him. He stuck his bill in the crook of my neck. He seemed to be shaking a little. I whispered to him telling him he was ok now. Then I called to Mike, “I only can find one goose!”

     “Just one?” (Quackmire)

    “Yes!” Fearing broken necks, feathers and white fluffy bodies stained with blood strewn about the yard. I held onto Quackmire not budging. I’d have started looking if I had to, but Mike was there and I could see he was already searching the property. Had there been a massacre while we were sitting just inside working? Had I let them down?

     “Denise! I can’t find them. I don’t hear them” The latter being even stranger if you know anything about geese.

    “Do you see feathers?”

    “I see some, but not enough to indicate anything, I’ll keep looking.” I waited with Quackmire on the grass his breast feathers soft against my cheek. Would he be alone now? I thought of Dr. Coffee who wants to get goslings from me in the spring. We just sat Quackmire and I.

    “Denise! Denise!” Mike called frantically.

    “Are they alive?”

    " They’re in the barn!”

     “All of them?” (everything's ok)

    “I counted seven.”  I breathed a sigh of relief. As I walked over to the barn I realized that Quackmire is their leader and he probably lured Irish away from the flock. Knowing the barn is their haven they went inside. I looked at cranky Quackmire with a whole new respect. He had sacrificed himself for his family. He was no chicken, he was one brave goose. I mean gander.

September 10th Witness

(ten minutes of a goose poop free path)

Determined to finish the path once and for all, I began the morning sweeping and hosing down my cement stones. Once clean of extraneous goose poop I began applying the semi-gloss cement sealer. It’s supposed to make them look more like real stones. The whole process could have gone much faster if not for the toads. I was horribly afraid of shellacking the little fellas. They’ve been using the gaps between the rocks as safe passageways. To avoid them meant pounding on the rocks and stomping down the path every few feet.

When all was said and done, I think I lost one, maybe two little guys who hopped the wrong way. The rest were a catch and release - to more suitable housing. (applying shellac - while trying not to annihilate the amphibian population)

Later, I got ready and headed for town. Today, I was meeting Mike at the Bellingham Courthouse to fight my undeserved speeding ticket of Mother’s Day. Not wanting to speed on the way to traffic court and due to various other circumstances I arrived by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin at 2:57 PM for a 3:00 PM appearance. Luckily there is always parking to be had in Bellingham.

Court here is very different from Los Angeles. We were the only ones in the courtroom. I listened to the judge who gave me three options: to contest, to accept guilt with circumstances and to accept guilt but keep it off my record. Four different times he urged me not to contest as he “would more than likely rule for the state”. I thought about it and knew it would be safer to plea guilty and have it taken off my record. But I couldn’t. Not this time, I didn’t do it and I was going to stick to my guns regardless of the outcome. Dumb as that maybe.

The judge nodded and began by reading a two-page statement given by the officer. All I heard was blah blah blah, 100% sure, blah, blah, blah, Axton Road, blah, blah, blah. When he was finished, the judge turned to me and asked what I had to say.

I told my story simply without too many details. I did not deviate. I’m from Los Angeles, half my roommates had gone to Pepperdine Law School, my old beau had been on “People’s Court” and I had watched the entire OJ trial while my mother was in the hospital. I started by mentioning I was never on the road the ticket was issued for and went on from there. The judge listened passively. When I finished he asked me if I had any witnesses. I stated I did and Mike was sworn in. He told his version of the same story with a few different details. The judge listened.

I held my breath. He said the officer had even gotten the speed limits wrong and he dismissed the ticket. Justice! Freedom! The American way!

 Mike and I went out for a celebratory cup of coffee. We sipped and reveled in the obvious wisdom of this very insightful judge. Later, I continued the celebration by putting the final stones in my walkway.
(the finished product)

July 10th The Sounds of Silence

(Henry trying to teach the geese to fly) (Henry explains the finer points of flying - A little "Fly Away Home")

(The geese, Mathilda, Ruthie, Clara, Mabel, Lloyd, Alfred, Cleveland & Quackmire give it a try)

    Days that stain your memory forever, start out like any other day. You get up, eat something and benignly go about your normal routine having no idea what is to come. The day my mother died Toby was making lemon squares in the kitchen. The day I was raped Lisa and I had a fight while driving over Laurel Canyon.

    Today was Thursday and Henry went to gymnastics; I got a cut and color, went to Home Depot™ and applied for jobs online. Mike drove up from Tacoma to help me work on the front walk while Henry started his Tom Sawyer routine painting the fence posts white.

    Mike and I started about 3:00PM and worked steadily until around 9:00PM when we began to lose both our stamina and the sun. As we were pouring the last concrete mold I heard a loud “MOOO”. I stopped and listened; it’s not often the cows moo. They’ll moo at me if they want a cookie, but not if I’m not walking by. I didn’t hear anything else so I continued trowling.

    “MOOOO”. I looked up and scanned the field. Who was mooing? I couldn’t even see the cows. I wondered if they’d gotten out. Or if one of them did. I thought of Pancho and Lefty. When they’d gotten out the other cows had tattled.

    “Mike, I think something’s wrong with the cows. I hear mooing.”

    “I’m sure they’re fine. How’s the hay situation?”

    “Well, there isn’t much down there just some fragments, but they have an entire field of grass. I’d be surprised they’re mooing about that, but I did give them treats yesterday, maybe they just want some cookies or grain.”

    “That’s probably it. When are you getting hay? Do you know yet?”

    “Little Chris is bringing some out tomorrow. Mike? I don’t hear any bells. Nothing. Listen.” We stood there listening while the cement mixer churned rhythmically. Silence. Loud Silence.

    “MOOOOOO”.

    “Mike something’s wrong.”

    “I don’t know about the moos but the bell thing is eerie. No one is moving down there. I’ll go with you. We need a flashlight, it’s going to be dark quickly.”

    “I’ll get my headlamp Tom bought me, it’s in the chicken coop.” I put it on, grabbed a bucket filled with grain because you never know when you’ll need a bribe and started running toward the pasture. “Mike, Let’s go!”

    “Should I close up the geese?”

    “NO! We can do that when we get back, we’re losing the light.” Usually I would have had a dog with me, but they were all locked inside because they kept stepping on the wet cement.

    “I’m coming.” We started down to the pasture. Wearing my headlight I could see into the loafing shed. There was a pair of eyes reflecting back at me. Whew. One.

    “I see one in the barn. But where are the others?” We looked around.

    “Here’s one!” Mike called. “Anna is over in the barn, almost like’s she’s hiding.”
(Little Abie the Baby - wedged in)
    “I found the trouble! Abe is stuck in the round bale feeder.” There he was half in and half out. He looked relieved to see me. He seemed to relax. I gave him some of the grain and pet him. He calmly let me try and guide him out of his predicament, but he just couldn’t seem to really move in either direction. I ran and got a sledge. We banged away at the board as Abe calmly allowed us to aim above his head. I thought he’d get wild and hysterical, but he just stood there looking at me. Suddenly there was a huge rustling in the bushes.

    “That was a big animal.” Mike said solemnly. “I would be surprised if that was anything smaller than a moose. Keep working.”

     The sledge didn’t work, Pea had built this thing and with his do it right motto,  his structures aren’t comin down. I got the drill and began unscrewing things. I did get the upright piece out so Abe wasn’t wedged in. Now he had a couple of feet of room on either side of him to maneuver his body. I tried luring him with the grain, but he couldn’t seem to lift his leg high enough. I figured I’d have to unscrew the whole damn thing when I found the bolts Tom had put on either end. Big huge bolts I wasn’t going to be able to get out in this lifetime. Frustrated and cold Mike and I wondered what to do next. We decided maybe we could get him to step on a piece of wood and then he’d be able to get his foot over. So Mike left me with Abe and now Anna and Andy who were poking their heads through the slats angling for a bit of grain. (Abe free of the upright)

(Abe snacking while Andy tries to horn in)

I stood there petting Abe. He let me lift his foot and try getting it over the wood barrier, but it wasn’t going to happen. Mike returned and I put the pieces on the ground as Abe tried to step on them. He was not certain about this idea at all.

(In between 2nd and third slats - eyes appeared to the right)

As I was maneuvering the board in relation to his foot my headlight caught a pair of green eyes about fifty feet away.

    “Mike I can see eyes in the pumpkin patch.”

    “Well, forget about that we’ve got do this. Let’s hurry.”

    Suddenly, there was another pair of green reflective eyes. I figured it was a pack of coyotes. “Mike, there are now two. Do you see them?”

    “No. I don’t see them. I don’t see them.” He said with increasing intensity.

    “You can’t see them? Look. They’re right there.” I shined my light directly into their eyes.

    “I don’t see them. I don’t see them.”

    “Look right there."

    "I don't see them."

    They’re very close.”

    One pair of shining emerald eyes dropped down. It was crouched down in the grass. There was no question in my mind. We were being hunted. “Uh. Mike, one is crouching down in the grass” as I spoke, the other pair of eyes leapt four feet in the air. It was like watching Animal Planet™ or being on safari, I thought how graceful, just like a gazelle as it dawned on me, Cats. Big Cats. In less than a moment we heard a strange purr/chirping mind-numbing noise come out of the dark. They were communicating. It was an amplified version of Alvin and Emmett when they’ve found a mouse. I knew exactly how much danger we were in. They’d been in those bushes forty minutes and had decided to come within fifty feet of us. We were prey. I was only thankful Henry was safely in the house. My mind flashed back to a story I’d heard last Fourth of July. Some neighbors had told us of two cats that had annihilated all the animals on their farm. I thought of the other night when Irish had barked so frantically, I’d brought him inside. I remembered the cat scat we’d seen when we’d first arrived. I stood there my mind racing. Cats don't usually come out of the bushes with humans, we had a light, we were making noise, yet they were still approaching. There were two. Cats usually hunt alone. I braced myself. I wondered how much pain was to come.

    “Mike, they’re cougar.” I said quietly.

    “I know. I heard.”

    “What should we do? They’ve come for Abe.”

    “We’ve got to leave him. We’ve got to get out of here. I only have a pry bar.”  Absolutely. I knew he was right. He started moving quickly up toward the house ahead of me. I didn’t want to run and evoke some sort of prey response. My mind was clear as I walked slowly continuing to shine my headlamp directly at them. I knew I needed to appear as large and threatening as possible. I turned it around my head pointing my light at them despite my direction. We made it up the hill. I could see the light shining from inside the barn. The goats! I ran to the barn latched the front doors and called the goats and Miracle in. Every one of them ran into the barn as I slammed the second door and latched it. They were safe, hungry, but safe. As I came out, I could see Mike had secured the geese.

    We went inside I grabbed my air horn from under the sink gave it to Mike and positioned him on the porch in case of an attack on Abe. He sat there listening.  I went to the kitchen called Little Chris Donaldson and explained what was going on.

    “Denise, you need is another gun. A shotgun not just a rifle.” Yawned a sleepy Chris.

    “OK, we can argue that later, I don’t have a shotgun right now. I can't hit a cougar at night, I have an air horn. I have stuck steer and a couple of cougar. What do I do cowboy?”

    “That’s good you’ve got the air horn, you can also bang some pots and pans. Use a wooden spoon. But he’s not stuck. He’ll kick that thing down if he has to.” I thought of the bolts and wasn’t sure he could, Tom had made that thing to withstand Pancho and Lefty. He could move though now that we’d gotten the upright down.

    I called Tom, he sounded almost angry at everything I said. He told me he knew what was going on. He was short snapping at me telling me he heard. He said Henry had called while I was out on the porch. I knew he was just terrified and a long way a way. He couldn’t protect us. I thought of my mother’s safari. “I’m going down there in my van.”

    “That’s a good idea, go down there and shine the lights in the field. You wont’ get stuck. It’s been dry so there’s no mud.”

    “I think it’s safe. On safari’s you see big cats jump on vans and the people are safe.”

    “You’ll also have your horn.” We hung up.

    I started outside. “Henry?”

“Yeah mom?” I could see how frightened he was.

    “It’s ok sweetie, we’re ok. But no matter what you hear, do not come out of this house. Do you understand me?”

    “I do. I understand. I won’t, I’ll stay inside.”

    “Good, because I can’t help Abe if I’m worried about you. You’re safe. You have the dogs. If you need to, call Daddy or Lisa.”

    I informed Mike of the plan. He said he was coming. So armed with my headlamp, some pots and pans and the air horn we headed down to save Abe. But Abe was gone. He’d done just as Little Chris had said and gotten the hell out of there. Logic told me he’d have run toward the light and cookies– not toward the dark and lonely pond. Mike had been on the porch the whole time and hadn’t seen him, so he must have be back in the pasture. I tried shining my lights everywhere. No cougar. I could see pair of eyes in the loafing shed, so I knew some of the cows were inside. I had to believe Abe was too.

    I dropped Mike at his car and he shined his headlights for me as I walked gingerly into the house. I knew I was safe now, but I informed the dogs no one was going outside under any circumstances whatsoever. They could all pee inside tonight; I’d clean it up in the morning.

    Henry hugged me tightly. I knew the cats were probably long gone, and reason told me they’d never come in the house, but I closed all the downstairs windows anyway and took everyone of the cats and dogs along with Henry upstairs into my room closed the door and crawled into bed. The adrenaline rush and the terror had exhausted me. I listened for an attack. But it was dead quiet. No bells. I thought of all the times I went out by myself at night. I thought of the kids at the pond. I thought of the meeting about the turkey release when the woman from Fish and Game told us “You’d be shocked if you knew how many cougar are lurking around.” I started wondering why Abe had gotten stuck. Earlier in the evening I’d thought he’d just wanted to reach some loose hay, but as I thought back on it I started to see it differently. When we first went down the other cows were already hunkered down in the shed. Maybe the cats had been there and he’d gotten scared and bolted the wrong way. Maybe he was mooing out of fear. Then we came down and the cats had retreated into the bushes until they decided we weren’t a threat. I thanked God Mike had been with me and not Henry. What if I’d left him down there while I’d gone for the sledgehammer. I lay awake for a long time listening to the oppressive silence.

July 2nd Disney Endings

(July 2007)(July 2008- still needs shutters and paint)

(old kitchen with my stove

)

(kitchen as it was- can't really see mismatch of cabinets- gunk etc))

I woke up to the blazing hot mountain sun shining in my window. As I lay there I took a moment, today marked a year. I was a real Washingtonian. I’d paid taxes, gotten a speeding ticket, fought with city hall, made it through a winter and lived here when “Annie” (who lived in her truck) was relocated to highway 9 for feeding a bear and running tourists away. It was only 7:30 AM and my room was already feeling warm despite the fan churning over my bed. I peeked in Maryruth’s room. The bed was made. I went downstairs. Dean, who’s always been an early riser, was sitting in the kitchen. He said he was trying to be quiet so he wasn’t watching TV.

(kitchen with  new cabinets etc) As I brewed a pot of coffee, he chatted about his mom and how she wanted to take him to Disneyland™. I found this interesting, because Toby and I have never agreed on Disneyland™. She was always full of disdain when she spoke of The Magic Kingdom™. She had undoubtedly seen the error of her ways. Living in Canada had helped obviously improved her perspective. I was happy she’d come around when Dean announced he didn’t want to go. He felt at twelve he was well past Disneyland™. Stunned, I felt this kind this was bordering on child abuse. How could she? How did she transfer her petty Disneyland™ feelings to a child? It couldn’t be genetic as he is adopted. I would speak to her about this. Almost feeling personally insulted I poured a cup of coffee, sat down and calmly explained “Dean, Disneyland™ is for children of all ages. You are not too old.” Just then, as if on cue my brainwashed child walked in the room and said, “Yeah, have you ever been on Space Mountain™ or Indiana Jones™ huh?” Dean didn’t respond. He sat there blinking at us. He knew he was beat. This is a Disneyland™ home. We’ve got a framed “E” ticket on the wall – just like the Donaldsons (of course, Chris had theirs hanging by the toilet for a while, but that’s been remedied) and I have an Enchanted Tiki Room™ ride replica in the game room. I have this because Pea absolutely hates and despises the Tiki Room™, but he goes to demonstrate the depth of his love. He does not do this silently, he mimics the birds and the clacking of their beaks, but he does do it. I’ve not gone four-four times, but not far from it. We try to go every year – until now.

    (note: Enchanted Tiki Room)

I worked for the mouse for a while, I was in charge of the Princesses, you know Cinderella™ Pocahontas™, Snow White™ and Ariel™ and it wasn’t always an easy place to work. There are all sorts of nicknames for it like Mouseshvitz and Duckhow and The Tragic Kingdom- but that’s different.

Disneyland™ to me is a place where the details are thought of. In each of the different lands everything works together. The flowers, the railings, the costumes, the buildings, the names and the appearance of the restaurants and even the trashcans are themed. There are people who pick up trash in very small areas all day long to keep the place immaculate. I appreciate this. While working on Fort Flashback, I learned from one of the men who agreed to be a history consultant for us that several years back, Disney was attempting a similar venture. I think it was going to be named “Disney’s America”, a history-themed park where they would re-create the Boston Tea Party every hour on the hour kind of thing. Their misstep as I saw it, was trying to do it on the East coast on historic land. Why would you go to the Disney version when you could go to the real thing I wondered? I felt great knowing they’d thought so much of an idea and pursued it so far that we were truly on the right track. I sipped my coffee as Henry rattled off all the reasons I should take HIM to Disneyland™.

(The kids pictures done @ Disneyland)

    Mike arrived, had a cup of coffee, gave the geese fresh water and poked through all the trash, and old books he left behind. I guess I’m supposed to get rid of it all. I packed Dean a lunch for the road and Mike graciously took Dean to SeaTac for me. It made the books and trash a little easier but not much.

I poured another cup of coffee and looked out the window. It was dry as Lusk, Wyoming. Evil Evelyn stood in the middle of my dustbowl with her pink bandana flapping.

I stayed in my pink pajamas all day puttering about the house tidying things up and putting things away. There were a million projects to do and things to take care of, but I’d think about that tomorrow. Instead, I spent the day chatting on the phone with Barbara as I cleaned the kitchen. This was a day of rest and reflection. We arrived a year ago – today. So many things didn’t happen this year I thought would happen. But so many others I didn’t expect did. I guess that’s life in a nutshell. The house isn’t done, but it’s come a long way. Henry doesn’t want to go back to Los Angeles unless it’s to Disneyland™. He’s excited about school.

    My father has come and gone and now is living in France. Naturally, he’s landed on his feet and is residing in an entire third floor apartment in a house in Paris with friends. He’s been invited to play with a “hot-hot reed player” at Le Petit Journal St. Michel and seems Notre-Dame-stomping-S.C.-kind-of-happy.

    Mike got a call today after Dean took off. He has a great job opportunity and he’s only lived his new place two days, so he’s excited about the prospects and feels the move was exactly right for him. Maybe he’ll meet a nice woman in Tacoma; there are a lot of women in his apartment complex he can dazzle with all his Jeopardy knowledge. Hmm.

    My mother’s friend, Marie called wanting to know, now that’s been a year did I regret anything. “Are you sorry you moved?” She queried. Still in my pajamas, I sat in the sunroom looking out the window while we talked. I mulled it over. Did I regret anything? Yes. I regretted a few decisions early on, people I hired, people I trusted. Money I might have spent differently-things like that, but did I regret the move? No. Absolutely not. I love the farm, the animals and the work. Do I regret pursuing a dream? No.  My mother used to say physically she wasn’t strong enough she’d never made it as a pioneer – they’d have left her on the side of the Oregon Trail, but it occurs to me now that she assumed she’d go. I guess that’s how I’m wired, I have to try. If things don’t work out that’s OK. But I have to try.

   
(game room then) (game room now To celebrate our anniversary Henry and I decided to watch “The Golden Compass” as we’d finished listening to it a year-ago as we were driving up Mosquito Lake Road. Before we could watch a movie, the animals needed to be taken care of. Henry went out looking for the geese. “Mom! I can’t find them!” he yelled almost frightened. I ran outside as I had a hunch my apron-string geese hadn’t gone too far. Sure enough they were in the shop looking for someone anyone to supervise or talk to. They get a little clingy. We herded them in to their cozy enclosure. As always Quackmire was the last one in. We were just clipping the pen shut when we heard a crash in the barn. “The goats!” We both yelled. We ran to the barn. Pea’s big barn doors he’d made had been left closed all day to keep the heat out and provide a nice cool respite from the sun. Luckily, as I guess I didn’t close one of their gates all the way. We walked in and it was goat pandemonium. Riley was king of the hill on top of the round bale. Goat poop everywhere – Henry noticed this immediately as he was barefoot. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Miracle was braying her head off as if she’d been trying to tell someone all day about these hooligans. She wanted extra pellets for the day she’d had. No harm done as the packer pellet bin was still secure and all they’d done was eat hay.
  

    “Riley, you come down from there this instant.” I commanded in my teacher voice. Riley looked at me with his big brown eyes. Bleated a time or two and jumped down. I opened the gate and told them to get back in their pen. Sheepishly, they complied. They were full and ready for bed.

    “Well, I guess we don’t have to really feed them much.” Henry said looking on the bright side.

    The goats and Miracle closed up for the night, the geese nestled in the garage, Irish asleep on the porch, Emmett snoozing on the back of his chair, Vivian at my feet, Deli lounging in the sunroom, Alvin & Scarlet curled up in the cat tree, the cow bells clanging in the field and Luther snoring at my side, Henry sipping his cookie dough milkshake we were just about to pop the movie in when the phone rang. It was Lisa. “I’m just leaving work and I smelled a smell I haven’t smelled in a year!” She said excitedly.

    “What?”

    “You know that smell, the smell of rain coming down on dry, parched earth.”

    I went out onto the porch. “I smell it too.” Moments later, the sky lit up with lightening, thunder cracked “We have lightening.” Rain began to pour down. “It’s raining!”

    “Maybe your corn will make it after all. Don’t put a way those pumpkin seeds just yet. Maybe there’s still time.”

    “Maybe.” Maybe my friend, Gary did that rain dance I asked for.

    “Happy Anniversary.”

    “You too.”

June 30th Time To Change

Last July when Mike arrived we thought he’d stay a month or two until he got on his feet. He’d had some medical bills he wanted to pay and I was glad of the company out here in the middle of nowhere. Of course, that’s when I thought wishes came true, the small business administration gave loans to small businesses and Tom would someday live here.

    Time passed and although Mike was not exactly the “farm-type” in his permanent press slacks and pocket protector he did seem to enjoy the animals, the projects and the home cooking.

    At times, I could detect the bloom had gone off the rose. He’d come home just late enough that he’d hope all the animals had been taken care of. Luther seemed to be where ever he wanted to step and Irish, well Irish drove Mike to distraction.

    We kept making arbitrary dates for him to strike out on his own, but there always seemed to be another reason for him to stay, until now. Our small community simply hasn’t offered enough opportunity for full-time teaching positions and there is a teaching college in Bellingham which pumps out fresh and eager new teachers every year. Mike usually works as a middle school and high school science substitute and while he is always in demand, there isn’t enough demand with one small high school and one attached middle school. Therefore, after many discussions to and from Home Depot™ we decided, ready or not he had to leave for a more metropolitan area.

In no time flat he found a tidy place in Tacoma, just south of Seattle about two hours away from the middle of nowhere. He came home and told me he’d be moving out. I couldn’t argue, it made sense, it was affordable and it was available.
(Mike sorting threw his stuff with help from LLoyd supervising)

(Mike packs up) 

(Snow White sends helpers)

  (Tacoma's funky palms)

(Mike's new digs)
So, Henry and I packed Mike up and drove Mike down to Tacoma and helped him set up. Afterward, we all went to A&W to mark the occasion. I didn’t even know you could still find a carhop these days. The last time I’d been to an A&W with a carhop was in Medford, Wisconsin another lifetime ago. Henry was thrilled. We opened all the doors and windows because it was a sweltering 74 degrees. And as if Henry’s world wasn’t perfect enough at this very moment, I allowed him the 1/2-gallon jug of root beer with his cheeseburger for being so incredibly adept with a dolly, (the kid's strong). In fact, he was so happy he even tried mustard on his cheeseburger with out too much urging to eat like a normal human being.

    When we walked in the door, it was very quiet. But Mike’s visiting on Wednesday.

June 17th What Tomorrow Will Bring

    We waited and waited, my father paced and paced, finally I sent him out on the porch with a book promising to call him the moment the doctor phoned. We waited. The clock ticked. Nothing.

    "Maybe they didn't get the results back yet. That happens. The pathologist could have been slammed."

    “If I don’t hear anything in an another hour I’m going to call.” My father said in a tone that implied he was simply going to confirm he was death’s door. Another hour passed and another and finally he called. Nothing, someone would call him back.

    After about an ice age around 3:00PM the screaming phone broke the silence. We all froze. Henry and I were both upstairs without a phone. Henry dashed down the stairs on the level of Michael Johnson, but my dad beat him to it. We listened. My father stood there in silence, his eyes welling with tears, he hung-up. A sound like a wounded animal came from deep within him.

    "I’ve got it. I’ve got another cancer.”

    "Tell me exactly what was said.”

    “Well, it wasn’t the doctor. He’s on vacation, he’ll call me later, but of the two sites, one was malignant. Stage one bladder cancer. I can’t go to Paris. My chance is over.” He stood there crushed. Defeated.

    “Don’t panic yet. Remember - Mom’s was stage three and aggressive. I don’t think it’s going to kill you I think it’s an inconvenience.”

    I guess I should call your sister.” He said haltingly.

    “I’ll call her.” I did and she as usual had some interesting things to say. She wondered if he couldn’t be treated with oral medication and perhaps he could be checked at the VA in Germany, as well as great questions. She started my wheels spinning and I hopped on the computer ending up on a medical website giving full descriptions and statistics as well as treatment for bladder cancer. Over many bouts with cancer, I’ve learned you’ve got to be informed and ask the right questions. The more I read, the more I wondered if my father hadn’t already had treatment. The description on the site of TUR was identical to my father’s biopsy procedure and follow-up.

    “Dad, I think you’ve already had your first treatment. When the doctor calls ask him about this” I showed him the site. He sat down with a glass of scotch and began reading.

    When the doctor called, it was confirmed. He had done all he could do when he did the biopsy and no further treatment was recommended for four months.

    My dad announced with twinkling eyes he was leaving for Paris in the morning. “It might be my last chance. My last hurrah, who knows what the future will bring?”

    “In the morning?  You’re ready? You’ve cleaned out the apartment?”

    “I only wish I could have gotten the stove cleaner.”

    “I’m flying standby on Jet Blue so I might as well take a shuttle down to Seattle.”
I called Lisa. “He’s leaving.”

    “He is. When?”

    “In the morning.”

    “That’s dad.”

    “Yep. Grasshopper. He wants to spend the night at your house and have you take him to the shuttle at the ValuInn in the morning.”

    “Hmm. Tell him, I’ll take him to Seattle.”

    “He said he was going to take a shuttle, because he’s on standby. He got a pass from Erickson.”

    “No. I’ll take him and I’ll take the kids to the aquarium. We’ll make a day of it.”

    “I know Henry will be thrilled. He loves aquariums. Remember when he went on a date with Kemi (my friend, his second grade teacher) I think he wanted to marry her after that. I’ll have Mike drop him off at your house after gymnastics. I’ll throw a box of CapriSuns™ in his bag for the ride.”

    This meant, my father was leaving in less than an hour for his trip because he had a practice/good-bye session with some musicians.”

    He came over to say good-bye and give me last minute financial instructions. I was to deposit this and do that, and had I made his reservation on the shuttle yet? I explained the plan.

(giddy with excitement)

    "Well she better be able to get those kids out of the house on time. I want to be early.” This was stating the obvious. My father likes to be six hours earlier than anyone else for everything – after all he has a book.  For a 6:00 AM flight he’d leave the night before. I told him having had a flight attendant for a roommate; I knew you could check the flight loads. Shannon always did this because she flew standby a lot.  He called Jet Blue and checked. He didn’t need to be there at the crack of dawn. The children would live another day.

     It was emotional when he left. We both were stunned at how the day had turned around, but I was happy he was off to live. It was hard having him here knowing how unhappy he’d become. Smiling and waving promising to email he drove away. I looked over his apartment - there was much to be done. "didn't get the stove clean enough" In order to get it that way, you have to wipe it off. Our ideas of clean differ.

I consoled my self with the sod cutter I’d rented from Home Depot™. I was starting the new walkway to my front door. Maybe it was symbolic?

(Mike and friends)

The next day, having completed step one, I was in Lowes™ getting concrete for the path, when my phone rang. It was Henry they were having a great time at the aquarium he was going to get Lisa to send me a picture he’d taken on the phone we got him for graduation. ("Here is the picture of the skate I was telling you about. It  really was moving around  like it could see us and trying to get our attention. Looks like some alien child.")

    As Mike and I wound up the 9 with 800lbs of concrete in my van my phone rang again. I expected it was Henry over eager to dial someone.

    “Hi. I just wanted to tell you I’m sitting on the plane and they’ve just shut the doors. We’re going to taxi from the gate in a moment. I just want to say I love you and I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I know how hard you tried."

    "Do you know what you're doing after you get off the plane?”

    "No not yet. I'll figure it out."

    "Just be safe and have a great time."

    “I will Honey, I love you dearly. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you when I land. Au revoir.”

    "Bon Chance." Click.

June 1st And So On And So On And So On

        (hummingbird in the blueberry bushes)

    For the last several days I've felt as though I’m living the movie Ground Hog Day. Everyday I get up and put up the garden fence. It doesn’t seem as though I can actually finish this project. It looks like I’m just about to get the fourth side of my 50’X50’ area up and then something happens. This something has been, Irish.

    Trying to save a few pennies, the first fence was made of heavy-duty plastic netting and small green metal posts you pound into the ground with a sledgehammer. I bought the posts that were only about three feet high because I had some I’d found around the property and I figured I could alternate them. It never thought it would stop Irish on a rampage, but I never thought he’d want to get in the garden. It was meant as a deterrent from burying sundry bones and squeaky toys. It didn’t work.


    My dad went and got a batch of longer posts and I tried again.  I was more than a little surprised when he gnawed through it before I even got the last side up. I wondered why he didn’t just go around it? No matter it wasn’t going to work. I went back and bought 150’ roll of 4’ chicken wire. The rolls didn’t come in 200’ and I figured if three sides were strong he’d probably leave the back alone. Wrong again. I went and got the extra 50’.  Day after day we pounded and stretched. We dug trenches and piled dirt up. Finally, finally it was finished. By this time, Moaning and groaning, Mike who was now conveniently sick and sore said "This is either going to get me in shape or I kill me" took to his bed.

     Henry and I went on, we measured our rows, set our stakes and wound the string - our task nearly completed. Proud of our work we packed up our tools and decided to finish weeding and start planting in the morning.

    Our bellies full of Brown Sugar PopTarts™ and coffee respectively Henry and I gathered bucket of seed packets we collected from various places, including the ones Lisa got free at Whidbey Island Bank, and began. We planted row after row starting with the “rainbow collection” of carrots – they come in pink, purple and Lord knows what other colors. Henry had to plant those first. We decided to stay with roots and moved on to beets followed by broccoli and went through onions, peas and cantaloupe, black beans and ending with berries. We discussed germination, Thomas Jefferson and his beliefs about agrarian societies versus James Madison and the hummingbird that kept dive bombing us because we were too close to his blueberry bushes. (notice the tiny feet)

    I learned Henry wants to operate a zoo or become a crime scene blood spatter expert. Chatting as we worked the time flew by, but eventually we tired of bending and hoeing and took a break for lunch. I made sandwiches while Henry googled whether anyone had been born on Valentines and died on Halloween.

    When we returned we found the gate torn open and every string from every row lifeless on the ground. If Henry hadn’t been there I think I would have burst into tears. But he was so upset; I had to be the grown-up. We put one foot in front of the other and repaired the gate, made mounds for butternut squash, cucumber and zucchini and watered.

    This meant we could move on to our next project – bringing Wally’s logs to the pasture for Tom. Just as I was struggling and pounding the mowing attachment I saw Irish. He was eying a robin in the garden. Excited he started racing around the perimeter.  I screamed and charged him as he circled around the back where the ground gets higher and I had one little three foot stake. Then he did it. He put his front paws on the chicken wire and pushing it down. I screaming like an ax murderer at this point and so he stopped looking up at me as he folded the fence in half with his body weight. Fleetingly, I had visions of taking that menace to the pound and told him as much, but he wagged his tail and bounded after a butterfly knowing I was full of empty threats.

(Can you imagine two of them?)

    I went and got another stake, the ladder, and a shovel to repair the damage thinking: I don’t even like broccoli.

May 29th The Challenge

 
    Tom will be here in less than a week and there is so much to be done, not because I have to get the house tidy for him, although hopefully I will, but because I have to get all the supplies for his “honey-do” list. He’ll be working non-stop while he’s here, but for that to happen effectively I have to get all the supplies he’s going to need, as trips to Home Depot™ take half the day.

    His first assignment for me was to get some straight long poles to use as supports for the goat enclosure.

    Funds being tight, I asked if we could use some of the wood we had in the back by the barn. He said, “If you can find any straight ones then, yes. They’ll need to be buried in the ground at least four feet.”

    Armed with my tape measure , a cup of coffee and my trusty sidekick, Mike. Accompanied by Irish, Luther and Vivian we started for the woodpile. We found a few passable logs, but thought we should charge down to the pavilion by the pond as I remembered we had another pile of miscellaneous telephone poles and other wood down there. I stopped in to refill my cup and off we went.
  (Irish & Vivian lolling in the shade waiting for me to finish) -

As we approached I thought of Wally. Our logger extraordinaire, perhaps he had something we could use. Freshly mowed by my dad into a park-like setting I walked without fear of stepping on a snake over to Wally’s most recent downed tree. It was perfect. In fact, he’d cut it in two. We measured it and found one length alone was 35 feet and the other was at least 15’.  We walked on to a few more he’d taken. These he’d even removed the bark. They were all straight as an arrow ready to use poles. No decay as they hadn’t fallen they were logged. If I don’t watch Wally he’s going to clear-cut the woods. On the bright side he’s creating a nice open space full of light. (Wally's handiwork)



Well, now that we’d found our logs we were pretty proud of ourselves. This would save a lot of money. Using wood off the land, even better. It will look so rural and then I wondered -How the heck, are we going to get these really long heavy trees to the pasture? We can’t get the tractor back on this side of the pond.

Mike suggested we roll the logs into the water, get in the blow-up raft and push them across the pond, past the island, where the tractor would be waiting with a chain and then pull them onto the bank to the pasture. He added that because my father cut the grass they would pull nicely. It sounded like an immunity challenge on Survivor but I had to say the plan definitely had merit. I’d have to think this through and improve on the plan. 

Tom suggested rope and my newly acquired knot tying ability should be incorporated into the plan. Maybe I could tie the rope around the log. Henry could get in the raft and take the end across the pond where my dad could be waiting on the tractor to pull it into the water. It could be fun or I suspect at least calorie burning.

May 26th More, More More

    Jarred awake by the howling of a coyote. I practically levitated from my bed and flew to the window. Peering out and listening intently, I tried to decide which direction it was coming from, but I couldn’t be sure - the echo off the hills made it almost impossible.

    It was probably silly, but I threw my boots on and grabbed Vivian who was already sitting for her leash. By this time, Mike had his coat on and flashlight in hand. I just wanted to see my goats and donkey. I knew they were ok, but I guess it’s like checking your child in the middle of the night. You know they’re fine but you want to see them breathe in and out.
 

    I’ve learned over time that dogs don’t bark at coyotes like they do other animals; they don’t want to give up their position. So we made our way to the barn silently. Vivian was sniffing madly. Peeing here and peeing there. I hoped this close to the house it was because of Irish or a raccoon and not a coyote. We got to the barn and all was well. The goats and Miracle were indeed up and listening to the coyote’s carrying on, but were tucked safely in their barn, nice and safe. Everyone had an early snack and we headed back to the house. It was 4:00AM – it would be light in half an hour. I thought about staying up and, if Mike had mentioned it, I would have. But, luckily for both of us, he didn’t. Before I went back to bed I checked on Henry. He hadn’t heard a thing; he sleeps like the dead. When he was about three Tom and I were sleeping at someone else’s house. We heard a loud crash from the room Henry was in, but I didn’t hear any crying, which terrified me. Racing to the room I kept wondering what on earth had happened and why wasn’t he crying? It seems after we went to bed he woke and climbed up to the top bunk. The bunk beds were arranged in an “L”. He fell off the top bunk in his sleep and knocked down the roman shades, landing on the bottom bunk. When I arrived he was still asleep. The USC marching band could go through his room when he was an infant and he’d sleep like a baby.

    Three hours later I woke up to find my hands contorted into claws. The muscles were so sore it hurt to try and open my palms. The rest of me ached, but the pain in my hands was debilitating. Tom said I needed to put heat on them any way I could. First, I tried warm water. I looked for a hot water bottle, but couldn’t find one. Then it occurred to me. I warmed up my coffee in the microwave and wrapped my hands around it. It felt glorious. My hands were starting to relax. I stretched them and had another cup of coffee – for medicinal purposes.


(Luther with his geese)


(Luther and his gaggle)

(Henry finds another friend)
    Again, we worked in the yard all day. The sun was slow to come out, but it made an appearance around noon. Mike cut old barbed wire, freeing up some metal posts we needed to put up a protective fence around the vegetable garden. I learned from Mr. McGregor. And he didn’t even have Irish, who by now had eaten one of my Marionberry plants and ravaged one of my Early Girl tomatoes.

    Henry and I got our exercise trying to start the weed whacker. I would count in sets of ten. Together we got it going several times, but it either ran out of gas or the little cord would break and we’d have to try again. My dad came out and mowed some with the tractor. I felt like I had a whole yard crew.

    Three days of hard labor later and we still haven’t planted a gosh darn seed. We got a few things going in the flower garden. A few of my favorite floribundas - iceberg roses; a couple of rosemary plants necessary to a rural kitchen garden; and a Sarah Bernhardt peony I've always wanted, were put in the ground. Huzzah!

     Don’t get me wrong - it was a wonderful three days. The geese roamed about making nuisances of themselves, Irish clowned, Luther lolled wherever he would be most in the way and Vivian stayed cool underneath the front porch.

(These goslings never want to be too far away for fear they might miss something)

    When we were finished cleaning up, we all went to the pond. Mike sat on the dock while I floated in the little raft listening to the birds, reveling in the breeze and watching Henry skip stones, chase Irish and cast his line vowing to catch dinner. Henry laughed all weekend and forgot about his troubles with Kanisha until he went to bed and began to beg not to go to school in the morning.

May 25th Party Pooper

    (Our resident thief - Clara stealing a blossom- if you enlarge you can see her "teeth")

    Mike, Henry and I worked all day on the yard. The sun was blazing hot and although it was hard work it was great to be out in the yard. I thought we would have made much more progress than we did. It took us a couple of hours and a few calls to our tractor guru, Duane at Scholten’s to get the mowing attachment hooked up. Oh, I had a pretty good idea how to get it going after the tiller but Little Chris Donaldson had left the big heavy back hoe in the way and we could barely maneuver the tractor close enough to get it together. And once we over came that problem we couldn't figure out the "trick" to getting the driveshaft to click into place. In fact, without Henry’s help I’m not sure it would have happened.

    It’s strange for me that Henry has moved from a child I gave little chores, to keep him occupied and out of the way to a really helpful member of the team. I’m still stronger, but at the rate he’s developing muscle that won’t be for very l long.
    This weekend he really made me proud. He busied himself with weed-whacking the steep hill that is too scary to mow – even with the tractor, while Mike and I weeded and hoed the flower garden. Ripping out grass, digging out roots and scraping away debris. My hands ached. And to my disbelief I was sunburn. Not the reddish-brown of skin familiar to sun, but that red spattered sunburn with the pink tinge. The sunburn that hurts and makes you cold. I now have the classic farmer-tan. My upper arms and shoulders are as white as Phoebe while my arms from my sleeves down are crispy red.

    It makes me think back to high school. My mom had sold our house on two-acres for a place in Calabasas Park on the lake. She didn’t want to take care of anything. It had a lovely redwood deck that overlooked the lake with chairs and a Jacuzzi™. It was wonderful and as warm as Southern California is, it does get quite chilly in the winter. Our relatives from Germany Franz and Ilsa had come to visit one January. I woke up on a chilly morning in the forties and looked outside. There they were with blue-white skin in shorts and t-shirts sitting in lounge chairs gazing up at the sun. We laughed and laughed at those sun deprived Germans. There is nothing funny about looking like the under belly of a whale - especially if you're upper arms jiggle.

   (Mike and his fan club)

     At 9:00 PM, which is now just about sunset, we called it a day. We worked all day and haven’t planted one plant yet. So we’re hoping to get up and for sure get everything in the ground tomorrow. But "if you don't do it right it's not worth doing." Tearing through a newly planted garden full of weeds seems like a lot of silly work. I know Mike was sick of weeding, every few minutes you could hear him grown and he'd exclaim "Oh Boy." I think for Mike, it's sort of like Aloha. He can say "Oh Boy!" or "Ooooh boy."  He kept kevetching all day. Telling me he was tired at about forty-minute interval. I would tell him to go sit on the porch. Sometimes, he'd do it for a few minutes but eventually he'd come back and say he felt too guilty. Sitting there with his lemonade watching me work was making it too hard for him to really relax. I can really ruin a good time.

May 10th Let It Be

(Abe, Anna & Andy)

    I keep having this recurring nightmare the cows keep getting out of the pasture and running all over tarnation. The trouble is I’m awake.

    Every single time Pancho and Lefty got out of the pasture, the little Devons stayed right where they were supposed to be. They didn’t even walk out the open gate. But having excellent teachers, today they decided was the day to break for greener pastures. And greener they are.

    The Devons: Andy, Abe and Anna walked out the gate. How or why it was open no one knows. I could have forgotten to latch it when I gave them their oats last night, but I don’t know for sure. All I do know is they were in the pasture this morning while I was having my coffee and watching Andy play chase with a Canada goose. Andy would rush up with his horns down and charge the goose. The goose or gander would honk and flap its wings as it fluttered across the ground making quite a racket. Then Andy would stop and the goose would scold him for doing such a thing and then Andy would do it again. I was thoroughly entertained and poured myself a second cup, waiting to see if Abe would join in the game. While I was watching them I was contemplating how we could let them graze on all the unfenced land we have. It’s lush with grass and all our resident herbivores would love to get at it. I chatted with Tom about hobbling the goats, but he about had a breakdown and said that was like tying their shoelaces together and he didn’t want any part of it. So we’re back to fences. Maybe I can put up a hot wire or just a wire with flags to keep the cows wrangled, but that wouldn’t be enough with goats. Goats should be circus performers.

    Well, be careful what you wish for because as I set to work on my garden I heard bells. Not just soft bells ringing from the pasture, but bells up close and personal. I froze. It couldn’t be, Pancho and Lefty are in Wyoming. Slowly I turned, knowing what I’d see and, sure enough, there they were. Three Devons stampeding, complete with pounding hooves. Why were they running?  Because Vivian, self-appointed herd-dog, was chasing them at full tilt. As I watched I could hear the Bonanza theme playing in my head. I imagined Andy as Hoss riding towards me. Andy just seems like the Hoss type.

(Vivan herding)

(Abe Running)

(Mike and Andy)

(Anna & Abe grazing under the apple tree)

Mike, Henry and I made a half-hearted attempt to wrangle them when I said, “Forget it. Let them graze. Let’s just keep an eye on them and block the driveway.”

   

“Sounds good to me. Back to the garden then,” Mike said, relieved he wasn’t going on a cattle drive.

    “What should I do? How about if I get the cement?” Henry said excitedly.

    “Henry, we have a lot of work to do before we mix cement. We have to measure and dig the holes for the posts. We have to weed and then we can pour the cement.”

    “Oh. OK. How about if I get the cement mixer?”

    “Henry! Get a measuring tape.”

    “Alright,” Henry conceded.

    We set to work clearing out all the weeds and getting stakes to mark the garden. I decided to stay fairly true to where the dilapidated fence had been. Mike and I decided the flagpole would be the center of the width. And we measured, and we measured and we measured. I wanted it to be straight, but for some reason, perhaps the slope of the hill, the postholes weren’t straight to a gnat's eyebrow, so things weren’t coming out perfectly.

My father walked up, rolled his eyes and said, “What’s this -  Laurel and Hardy build a fence?”

“Well, Dad, I’ve got to cut part of the fence and I don’t want to cut the wrong amount. I’d rather measure three times than cut the wrong amount.”

“Ahh I don’t measure I just look at it,” He grumbled. Mike and I kept measuring. We were just this side of getting Tom’s T-square when my dad insisted we just start. Mike turned on me and agreed. Henry, hot to get the cement mixer, was already Johnny-On-The-Spot with the tractor and three bags of cement. I gave in. But stayed away from the phone fearing the conversation I’d have with Tom if it looked like crud. I can just imagine.

    Irish decided his building skills were essential to the project and started carrying around everything from the trowel to the hoe. He pulled at the string and almost ate the cement mixer so we tied him on a lead rope. He promptly chewed through it and was put in the mud room to take a nap.

(Irish decides to help)

(Vivian supervises)

(Luther opts out of the project)

    As it happened, with Irish out of the way the post hole digging went fairly well. We compromised; I got the level and checked to make sure everything was the same height and level in each direction. I took a section of fence and checked to make sure each one fit. Theory is theory and knowing the thing will screw together is peace of mind. Channeling Tom, I put stakes on each of the posts, as he would have instructed had he been there.

(Henry & Grandpa Horn)

(Irish will eat anything.)

doing his Farmer imitation)

When we were finished all the posts were in but one corner. We decided to leave that one until we got everything else up, in case we’d need a little forgiveness. I can always use a little forgiveness.

(before we started)

    While we were cleaning up and having what seems to be our weekly bonfire, I found another pile of junk under a tree. My dad put Deli on a leash and tied her to the flagpole. If she just roams around she's gone for hours. Well, he took a shower and got ready to go to the clubs to play jazz.

    "Where are you playing tonight?"

    "We don't know, we just stop in. The other night we went dancing at a couple of places with some girls after we were done."

    "You went dancing? Hmm. They must have been pretty."

    "Well, you know your old man."

    "Yes, I do."

    "Where's Deli?" My dad asked. I turned to look at the flagpole. The leash was there, but Deli and her freedom fighter, Irish were gone. Irish had chewed through Deli's leash to release her and now as we listened we could hear her howling intermittently in the hills. It was haunting.

If you enjoyed this, please click on subscribe so you'll never miss another post.

May 3rd The Right Answer

   

    I woke up this morning to Irish barking his head off. I put on my slippers, wrapped myself in my green fuzzy robe from Costco™ and headed downstairs to find out the cause for alarm. Irish was outside in the semi-enclosed mudroom. And the minute I opened the door, I realized the problem. The sound was immense, like a scene from Hitchcock’s “The Birds”. Tweeting, chirping and rat-tat-tatting. Irish kept leaping up and turning around, not knowing which way to look as the sound surrounded us. Amused, but tired, I went back to bed while Irish kept the house safe from attack.

    An hour or so later I woke up to a quiet house; all I could hear was the rhythmic sound of the rain on the roof. No Saturday morning cartoons blared from the family room as I came down the stairs for my morning coffee. Everyone was still sleeping. I checked the clock -  8:00 AM. Henry was already at the Math Olympiad in Mount Vernon. He’d slept over at his friend Kenny’s and Kenny’s parents had driven them and another math teammate, Noah, to the competition.

    My son is a card-carrying math nerd, just this side of a slide rule and pocket protector. He creates math problems for us to solve in the car on the way to school. I’m impressed and surprised that I have a math kid. It must come from Tom’s side of the family as I cried through fifth grade math the first time around. I have to admit I was terrified to teach math. I hadn’t enjoyed it in school at all and dreaded teaching it. But the truth is I loved teaching it. Aside from history, I think it is my favorite subject to teach. Oh, I liked science and all the drama it offered. I’m always one for blowing things up or lighting them on fire if I can. Cutting up cow hearts, etc. is always exciting and literature offers a chance to have wonderful discussions. But, if I could make kids understand a math process and keep them from going through some of the struggle I did then, I really felt great.

    The Math Olympiad is a big deal. Henry had to take a bunch of tests and show his standardized test scores from last year to get in. The kids on the “math team” go to a special class once a week and prepare for the competition. Henry loved it. I’d offered to go to the competition because I go to talent shows and gymnastics events; it seems appropriate to go to the academic events. After all, I am a teacher. But to tell you the truth, the idea of watching math problems being solved for five hours didn’t seem like much more fun than watching paint dry and that’s just about what Kenny’s father said as he told me for the 14th time to stay home. I just couldn’t. I didn’t mind sleeping in this morning, but I felt I needed to show my support. Henry thought the compromise was a good one.

    Just as I’d hung up with Tom, Mike stumbled inside yelling, “No, Irish. No! I said No!”

    “Where have you been? I thought you were asleep.”

    “No, I got up and picked up some of the trash outside and then I fed the animals and cleaned up the barn,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

    “Wow. And it’s not even leap-ye – oh, wait. Yes. It is. Uh, I’m going to Mount Vernon for Henry’s Math Olympiad, wanna come?”

     “Sure. We can return that movie Toby told us to watch, the one with Jennifer Anniston. You know, the movie we didn't like what was it?

    "Friends With Money" yeah, that's Toby's last recommendation I'm taking for a while."

    "Yeah that's the one, I rented it in Acme. What are you doing over there?" Mike asked.

     “Oh, I’m doing some research on the geese. I emailed a vet, and Dr. Walker who I got them from, but so far, I haven’t gotten much information.”

    “What exactly do you want to know?” Mike asked pulling up a barstool.

    “Well, someone told me goslings are not molting when they go from down to feathers. The term is incorrect.”

    “OK, what is the term?”

    “They didn’t say.”

    “Figures. Maybe they mean fledging. We can look it up.” So we did, but fledging refers to the acquisition of first flight feathers not the transition from down to feathers when they have bare pink skin. Checking every source we could think and not finding an answer, we decided to get ready to go we’d miss the awards.

    Our stop in Acme was brief. Acme is at the end of Mosquito Lake Road, just seven miles from my house. It’s one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of towns. Acme consists of the general store, which carries everything from propane to picture hangers to clothes to videos and, of course, ice cream. Next door is the Acme Café, across the street is the post office next door to the fire department and next to that is the church and, if you turn left at the corner, you’ll see the school.

(T-Shirt I think I have to get my father)

    As we wound our way down the 9 toward Mount Vernon, we couldn’t help but enjoy the quaint houses as well as the natural beauty. Mountains and farms divided by babbling streams. The pastures dotted with sheep, cattle and horses. At times it looks like the East and at other times it’s pure Midwest. The diversity is amazing. We did hit traffic. For several minutes, we sat behind a tractor carrying a trailer. The driver waved at us to pass and we finally did, but after sitting in umpteen sig-alerts I couldn’t help but be amused at having to wait for a tractor rolling down the highway.

    We got to the auditorium just as the kids were having lunch before the awards. We milled around a bit. I spoke to the math coach and met some of the parents. We took our seats and watched the awards. Henry’s team scored an "Excellent", which he was thrilled about. Afterwards, when we were about to leave, I noticed he was outside talking to a girl. I didn’t say anything. We all got in the car and headed home. Mike and I were babbling on as we sometimes do when I noticed Henry hadn’t said a word.

    “Henry? Everything OK?” I said with my antennae up and ready for action.

    “Yeah, I just have something on my mind. I’ll tell you later. It’s private.”

    “OK,” I said. Knowing spring is here and having taught fifth grade I wasn’t all that surprised. After all, the Puberty class was last week. Then I did what any mother would do. I pulled into Target™ and told Mike to go pick out a movie.

    “Mom?”

    “Yeah?”

    “Mom, I asked a girl to be a couple today.”

    “Is it the girl you said was really nice the other day?”

    “Yeah, she’s always really nice and she’s smart. She was in the Math Olympiad today.”

    “I saw her.”

    “I’m really nervous. What if she says no? She told me she’d call me and give me he answer.”

    “Hmm. I see. Well, there is a chance she’ll say no. But I think it was very brave of you to ask at all.”

    “Really?”

    “Oh yeah, When I was in fifth grade I liked Danny Bauch. Oh, I thought he was dreamy. I would never have told him or talked to him I used to just twist the top of my apple off and see if it matched his initials.”

    “Girls are strange.”

    “It’s good knowing that going in.”

    “I wonder what she’ll say? I wonder when she’ll call? Does your phone work here? Do you have reception? Is your phone on? Have you checked your messages?”

    “I guess. I don’t know. Look at my phone.”

    “Mom, it’s not on! You have a message.”

    “Go ahead, check it.”

    “It’s from Diane. They’re both from Diane.”

    The drive home was very quiet. Henry was in the back seat willing the phone to ring while I drove and Mike looked out the window. I couldn’t help but think of my mother when I was in fifth grade. I remember telling her that Leah Paulson was “going” with Bobby Crandall.

    “Going? Going where?” she said.

    “Mom, they’re not going anywhere. They’re just going.”

    “That’s ridiculous. They’re too young to actually go anywhere. So they shouldn’t be going.”

    “Mother!!! You just are trying to be annoying.” It’s funny, when my mother passed away, I thought she was gone and that the day she died would be the last time I’d really have any interaction with her. But through my memories of my childhood, I get to experience her in a whole new way as I parent. Certainly, I say many of the same things she did. Not all of them good, but I can imagine her trying to deal with the young version of me and I get an entirely different perspective of an old familiar exchange. God knows, she heard three years of Danny Bauch before I switched to Eric Fulton.

    Lost in my thoughts, I glanced to the side and saw some Toulouse geese. I pulled over to get a closer look and noticed a few sheep in the pasture with a donkey. Just then, a man walked out of the barn. He saw us and walked over. He introduced himself as Bob Baker. He seemed rough and tough, flying a US Marine flag in the yard as well as wearing a "Support Our Troops" button on his denim jacket. But two seconds into the conversation you could tell he was a sentimental fellow. Especially when it came to his animals. A great guy, he knew exactly where my house was, as he used to drive the school bus for twenty years. He told me all about his donkey and gave me the name of the guy who trims Diego’s feet. He said all sorts of Russians stop and want to buy his pet sheep for shiskabob. And there are also a lot of people from Seattle who want to buy Diego because he looks like Shrek. Bob said he's been offered over $1000.00 for him.

    “As if I’m going to sell my donkey. The guy follows me around. They’ve got to be kidding.”

    “Bob? What do you call the time when goslings are losing their down and getting feathers?”

    “Molting.”

    “That’s what I thought, but I was told I was wrong.”
When we got home, I decided we might need something to alleviate symptoms of possible heartbreak, so I started a batch of emergency fudge. Suddenly, just as I was melting the butter, I remembered I hadn’t told Tom. I dialed as fast as I could. Dang these rotary phones.

    “You won’t believe what happen at Math Olympiad.”

    “He didn’t do well?”
   
    “No. He did fine. Your son asked a girl to be a couple.”

    “A couple of whats?”

    “Oh my gosh, you’re just like my mother, cut that out, this is serious. We’re all sitting here waiting for her answer. I’m making fudge just in case.” BEEP. “Hold on. Hello?”

    “Is Henry there?” a young voice asked.

    “Sure, Just a second,” I said trying to sound motherly. “Pea?”

    “Yeah?”

    “It’s her! I’ll have to call you back. – Henry? Telephone!” Nervously, he took the phone and started pacing while he spoke. I went back to making my fudge. I was furiously stirring the marshmallows in the saucepan, when Henry walked back in the kitchen. I tried to read his expression. He didn’t seem too happy, but he didn’t look devastated either. Suddenly he broke into a huge smile.

    “She said yes!! She said yes!!!”

    “Oh, honey that’s wonderful. I’m glad you’re so happy. I guess now we need the fudge to celebrate. Call your father. He’s waiting to hear.”

    "I will, but, mom, she said she didn't like me because I'm cute. I mean she said I look OK, but that's not why she likes me. She likes me because I'm smart and she thinks I'm funny. And because I do gymnastics."

    "Well, she sounds like a pretty smart girl. I like her."

    "Why do you like her?"

    "She likes my son and she made him happy. What's not to like? Call your father."

    “Dad, I asked a girl to be a couple. -----Dad!” I knew he was pulling out that “couple of whats” thing again. I smiled, thinking my mother was with us.

    The rest of the evening, Henry would suddenly burst out with “I’m so happy” every so often. He had all sorts of ideas like "Miles and I can sleep at Zach's and then the three girls we like can have a sleepover and we can all talk on the phone." I cooked dinner while Henry planned and Mike did more molting research. We learned molting is actually the process of one set of feathers pushing out another set of feathers, kind of like when you lose your baby teeth because your adult teeth are coming in.

    Before it got dark, we went to the barn, did the chores, fed the animals and settled down with all the dogs and cats and Mike in the family room to watch a movie. Henry snuggled up next to me on the sofa and said, “Winter is cold for those with no warm memories. And Mama, I'm hot right now.”  Ahh, that’s my boy, he might have gotten his brilliant math skills from Tom, but schmaltzy classic movie quotes that’s all me. “Mom, she’s not my only girlfriend.” He said putting an arm around me as we started "Pirates of the Carribean - At World's End".

If you enjoyed this, please click on subscribe so you'll never miss another post.

April 23 Things Heat Up

     

    As scheduled, my dad took Henry to school so Mike and I could get an early start on the barn. Armed with our cups of coffee and a thermos® we dug in. At first, we didn't know exactly how we were going to manage the logistics of the barn cleaning situation. Currently, there isn't a working light in the area Pancho and Lefty are in, which in general isn't a problem, because there are doors open to the outside and there's a light in the main part of the barn.  Initially, Mike thought we should close the doors to keep Pancho and Lefty out of the way. We tried this, but it was simply too dark. One might think we should just change the light, but if it was that simple we'd have done it long ago. Several people have tried to change the light, but so far to no avail and I'll be darned if I'm going to hire an electrician to come out here for a light bulb.

    Hiring people out here isn't like what I was used to in Los Angeles. I would simply call my friend and contractor, Doug and he would tell me who to call. Then I would schedule an appointment and they either would show up or not, because workmen, especially in LA, can be rather unreliable. Once they did arrive the meter, so to speak, would start running.  Here, you first have to ask, “We live in the county, will you come out to the county?” Now you'd think this place was the end of the earth, but in reality it’s 20 some odd miles – without traffic. Most people in large cities are used to driving, it’s just part of life.

    Anyway, the meter starts running from their shop. So I pay about $60.00 before they arrive and, even then, when I have bitten the bullet and paid for a plumber to drive out here only to hear him say. "I don't know how to fix that. . ." (leak in the barn wall.)

    "So it's ok then?"

    "No. It's got to be fixed I just don't know how. You'll have to get someone else out here." (And I paid him to drive here and back for that kind of answer?)

    Back to the task at hand. We opened the stall doors. We determined our procedure: Mike would use the pitchfork and scrape the gunk while I drove the tractor. This meant I had to get off and on to open and close the gate so our two convicts wouldn't take a stroll down the road again.

    I figured I got off easy. Driving the tractor is fun. I offered half-heartedly to switch jobs once or twice, but Mike doesn't even like driving my van, let alone the tractor. Each time I went back to the barn for another load, I would jump off the tractor, open the door to the corral, race back to my seat and gun it because one or the other of those sly oxen would be casually "eating" right near the gate. I knew their dastardly plan. Now, I’ve bad-mouthed them and called each a “dumb ox” before, but really they're pretty darn smart. Once in, I jumped off again and closed the door, then I’d pull right up to the stall door where Mike was working steadily. I’d turn off the motor because otherwise I couldn’t hear a thing Mike said.

The boys loved the company. They would rub on the tractor and keep bumping into me so I’d scratch their heads.  I was surprised at how social they were. At first, Mike was annoyed, because Pancho kept getting in the way. Once he realized Pancho followed him wherever he went, he kind of liked the company. After a while, when I pulled up and turned off the motor I could hear Mike singing, "Home on the Range" to Pancho, explaining his relocation and the reasons behind it. He assured Pancho that he and Lefty would be happy in their new home with the Mellotts.

    While I drove the tractor back and forth, back and forth dropping off a mixture of cow dung and straw in the compost pile and then picking up fresh wood shavings from the adjoining bin, I had a lot of time to think. I realized this first year of living on the farm is a lot like my first year of teaching. The year I had my very first fifth grade class all the procedures seemed confusing. I think Donna and Margie in the office should be canonized for their patience. They didn’t even yell at me when I used blue ink on my register (the legal document you fill in to report attendance – It MUST be in black ink – why? Because Margie said so that’s why – past that I don’t care. Well at least I wasn’t as bad the teacher who used green ink.)

    Anyway, after going back and forth I realized that we had created a lot of this work for ourselves. Now I know you put hay and grain into the cow and out comes a big green pie, but that isn’t the hard part to clean up. The worst part of cleaning the stall was the leftover wet heavy hay. It gets tangled in a mat and is really difficult to lift. As I drove, I realized we needed to feed the animals in the covered area outside. It only took nine months or so to figure that out -  nothing gets by braniac me. What I really need is a farming mentor, When I was teaching I had a mentor, Anice, who teaches second grade, but I would go to her with questions like  “How do you grade the tests, look at the homework, enter the grades, help the kids, teach the class, fill out the paperwork, attend the meeting, talk to the parents and replace the napkins in the lunchroom so the kindergarten teachers won’t get mad as well as what’s a good gift for kids to make for the holidays and keep your sanity?" She then would tell me procedures to make life easier. The answers seemed simple once you heard them, but when you’re in the thick of things you don’t see the nose on your face.

   In the warm sunshine, I kept thinking as I passed the goats and Miracle on the way to the compost heap, that’s starting to look a little like Whistler, and realized what we needed was a bench in the goat pasture so we can sit down there and sip a soda while socializing with Rachel, Christina, Alexander, Riley and, of course, Miracle – The Wonder Donkey. We’re not spending enough fun time with them; we need to work smarter and enjoy them more. They love the attention and don’t just want their basic needs met.

    As I passed the pen, Miracle turned her back to me every time I drove by. She was jealous and sulking because we were in the stall with the big boys. She needs to feel like number one all the time. She’s a very high-maintenance donkey. Lately, she's turned up her nose at her treat bowl, she wants to be hand-fed.

    After five hours of steady work we were hot and tired, but Mike warned me if he took a break he'd never get going again so we didn’t stop until we finished.

    After we were done, I started getting melancholy about the boys' departure and sat with them until the vet from Kulshan came for their examination. He was amazed, and I was proud. He couldn’t believe Pancho came when I called his name and that I could use Lefty's horn as a handrail. The vet was nervous trying to read the number on their silver ear tags, but I just yanked at each of their ears and read it to him.

    As Paul was writing up their health certificates, we started chatting about the large pile of junk I had from the construction and, before he realized it, he was leaving with a lovely parting gift. One of my windows will now brighten his workshop. One less thing for me to throw away.

After he left, I got to thinking about the compost pile. In Los Angeles I’d gone to Griffith Park, where you can get these black plastic composters for your yard. In it you put table scraps, coffee grounds etc. you turn it and you're done. But this is a whole different story. My compost pile was over eight feet high. It was too high. And it is supposed to be turned regularly to be most effective. Toby said she uses a tool designed much like a molly bolt. You stick it in the pile of crud and, once at the bottom, it springs open.  Then you pull it up and it churns the mixture. – But it can only be a few feet high.

    Since I don’t have one of those and she’s already told me my pile is too deep, I decided to go John Adams. If one of our founding fathers could churn his compost heap by hand, well, then who was I? I got Henry suited up after school and we dug in.

    We began with pitchforks, taking the top of the mound and pushing it down to the empty space in the three-sided wooden compost area. By doing this we were taking the mountain and spreading it out more equally. I told Henry it was the same idea as chocolate chip cookies -  we had to fold the mixture so it could cook more evenly. All was going well; Henry complained a bit about the smell, but he took it in stride.

    What we didn’t know was how interesting this whole thing was about to become. Sure I was yammering on in review of the fourth grade science standards regarding decomposers, reminding Henry of the unit Ms. Elberfeld had taught him last year. Teaching is re-teaching. All the while we’re getting deeper into the pile. I knew things like worms lived there, but I had no idea toads aplenty would be leaping out as we scooped. We were both amazed at our giant science project. Another scoop and something brown and fuzzy scurried by. I thought it was a mouse and screamed. A mouse in a compost pile didn't really make any sense, then I thought it might be a teeny mole. Mike came over and suggested it could be a shrew, Henry thinks it's a vole.

    Now I knew the compost would be warm, as the energy created is what the whole process is based on, but I was unprepared for the intensity. The heat emitted was astonishing. I don’t mean warm, I mean hot, hot, hot steaming hot. In fact, when we were churning much of the hay that had been deep within the pile it was ashen – really appearing as if it had been in a fire. Would I just be insane to buy a thermometer for my compost heap? I never expected to be so happy shoveling shit. But I made the mistake of having a DietCoke™ and taking a rest. So  reluctantly Henry agreed to finish the project this weekend.

    We still had the bonfire Henry lit earlier to watch. Unlike the city, out here in the “boonies” (as the vet said when I heard him on the phone) we are allowed to burn our scraps. It’s strange just lighting a fire in your yard, but if you keep it with in the guidelines all you have to do is call a number and listen to the recording. You get what is considered an implied verbal permit which is free. I didn’t know this at the beginning and had the fire marshal come out and I got stuck for $50.00 bucks for his time.

    The fire burned for several hours and we didn’t want to leave it unattended so we ate dinner outside enjoying the warm glow.

    With everyone fed and put away I sat down to read a note from Maryruth. It seems she’s just purchased 75 Arcaucana chicks and they're living in her bedroom at home. (And my sister thinks I’m nuts.) She mentioned she isn’t doing much sleeping. And then she told me she's just started a worm farm because they’re easy. I wondered, are there heritage worms?

April 22nd A Day In The Life

   

    This morning I woke up and was more than a little relieved to see green grass in the pasture. Most people are expecting green grass, but this weekend we had more than three inches of snow each day. It all melted by noon or so, but it looked like a Nordic wonderland. I tried to see the icy beauty, but I really want spring. I want to clean. I want to organize and I’m not even pregnant. I made lunches while I sipped on my coffee. As I was making cheese sandwiches I could hear the now unrelenting “thwack, thwack, thwack” from upstairs.

    My dad walked in from his house and wanted to know when we were leaving because he’s hitching a ride.

    “What the hell is that?” He demanded. “It sounds like you’ve got flamenco dancers upstairs. Who is that? Is that Henry?”

    “No that’s the goslings.”

    “That loud?” And when my dad who, like most musicians, is audio impaired from years of playing music says it’s loud, it’s loud.

    “Yep. They never stop talking and they never stop moving. I don’t know when they ever sleep. Seven will be asleep and one taps around and wakes them all up. That’s why Henry started sleeping in Maryruth’s room.”

    “Well, I guess so.”

   Just after we left the driveway for school I realized I’d left my coffee on the counter. So, after I dropped Henry off, I stopped to grab a quick cup of coffee with my sister and her new BFF, Diane, who is a sharp-tongued Carolina girl who keeps even my sister on her toes. I sat down and my sister reflexively started picking hay off me. I felt like a chimp being groomed. I drank my coffee as she occasionally plucked a piece of straw out of my hair. It was unusually sunny and warm by the window; unthinkingly I unzipped my very cute sweat jacket I purchased for just these sorts of social occasions. My sister and Diane got wide-eyed. I looked down and saw a quilt of hay spread across my shirt. My sister held out a parental  finger and pointed toward the door.

    "Shake outside. Now." Without a word I complied as the two hens cackled.

    I then turned in some work applications, because money is money and I need some. I applied for jobs at places that seemed happy. I went to Trader Joes™. I never knew you had to take a math test to work there. Very interesting. I have actually mastered 5th grade math so I felt confident. I could pass the “if there are supposed to be thirty six cans of peaches on the shelf and 12 sell a day” restocking quiz. They were excited about me until they realized I had a teaching credential. I was over qualified. They’d keep me on file.

    Next, I tried Starbucks™. They required a few essay questions. Once again, I was surprised but up to the task. They wanted to know about my relationship with coffee. Perfect, I took the application home so I could expound. After all, coffee and I are good friends and I didn’t want to make light of our long-term relationship.

    Once home, I let the goslings out in the sun for a while before I started on the barn. The veterinarian is coming out and is going to examine Pancho and Lefty. And it feels a little like I’m having company. You know how you have to tidy up the house before the housekeeper arrives just so she doesn’t know you really stuff your laundry down at the bottom of the closet. Same thing. I started rearranging shelves and hanging pitchforks in more efficient places. Mike didn’t work today, so he swept the hay that manages to get all over the floor. Henry and his friend Miles did the same thing yesterday, but need a bit more practice. I remember when my mother would tell me to clean the kitchen and I’d load the dishes. She’d come in and I thought I’d done a fine job and I was so proud I’d done what she’d asked, but she thought I should know to wipe down the counters and scour the sinks after I swept the floor. And perhaps I should have, so I cut Henry a little slack because Miles was over.

    Tom and I purchased fifteen bales of hay just two weeks ago, but Pancho and Lefty had plowed through it in no time. So, while Mike was puttering around muttering to himself, I went and got a round bale of hay. All by myself I moved that 500 lb bale. I couldn’t believe it. I did it. I actually used the tractor effectively enough to tip it, load it and carry it over without any assistance. I felt so Charley Parker. This was a huge leap from when we’d first gotten the bales. It started me thinking about how far we have come in the last nine months.

    Last night, my father walked in the house a little out of breath. I was cooking dinner while Henry, his friend Miles and Mike watched “Murder By The Book” on tru™ TV.

    “A couple that looked like Ma and Pa Kettle just drove up in a truck wondering if we’d lost any cows with black and white faces. I told them we hadn’t and they told me there were two calves on the main road near the logging road at the end of the property. The calves had been in the road and they’d gotten them to go down the logging road.”

   

We all looked at each other for a brief moment. My dad shrugged, Mike exhaled and I wiped my hands on a dishtowel. We all knew we were going after those calves.

    “I’ll get my boots,” Mike sighed.

    My dad nodded. “I’ve got to get to some leads from the barn.”

    “I’ll go with you, I’ll get some packer pellets, a bucket and I’ll grab Pancho’s treat dish in case we have to lure them. Boys? Look at me. Look at me. We’re going to try and catch some calves, so stay inside with the dogs. We’ve got to go before it gets any darker.”

    We grabbed our gear and hopped in the Odyssey.

    “At least they’re someone else’s cows,” Mike said what we were all thinking.

    “The couple that made Ma and Pa Kettle look like Jolie and Pitt said they got them to go down this road.” My dad remarked thoughtfully, as he considered the logistics. As we drove slowly down the road, I couldn’t believe the three of us wrangling cattle without hesitation. Not long ago, we’d have looked up and said, “What can we do about it?”

    We got out at the metal barrier that’s been put up to prevent cars from going any further, but we clearly saw tracks that went around it. We walked and walked and looked and mooed quite a bit actually, but no answer. These cows don’t wear bells. I could really understand the importance of bells right at this moment, standing in the near dark mooing for a lost cow. After driving around and around in the hopes we’d spot them we gave up.

    “Well, it’s not like they’ll go hungry. There’s so much grass now and streams all around us so they’ll have water,” My dad conceded.

    “And if they’re yearlings they’re not really coyote prey unless they’re injured.” Mike also tried to make peace with our defeat.

    “Maybe they’ll find our little herd; they will want to be with other cows,” I chimed in, feeling disappointed.

    “Well, at least we tried; we’d want someone to help us,” My dad said.

    “Yep,” Mike and I agreed in unison.

    “Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t find them. What if we had and we couldn’t get them. Then we’d really feel terrible,” Mike said, rationalizing, a bit of the past emerging.

    Now, as I drove the tractor to the compost heap with the stuff Mike had cleaned up, I felt as though I was at Disneyland™ on Autopia™. The tractor had carved deep ruts making this trip over and over during the rainy months. The center between the ruts rose quite high, keeping me on the strange track. It made me uncomfortable and out of control. I didn’t realize it was like this because Henry usually does it. While driving out there with my pile of cow dung, I passed my little Miracle and you know how your mind jumps around. I started thinking about my friend, Dawn; she used to teach with me and I had received a little note from her. The reason I thought of her during this particular moment was that she, Noelle, Kristina and Bruce (Mike Brady & Reporter Number 1) would purposely and unmercifully tell crude ass jokes at the lunch table. Now, I don’t consider myself a prude, I simply would say I am not one who finds humor in bodily functions. Gas is what I put in my car. To Tom it’s his life’s blood. Give me a little decorum please. Yet, here I am no longer hearing their ass jokes, but instead I’m covered in excrement from my own hairy ass.

    Two hours of cleaning the barn later, I decided to finish in the morning. I started dinner and read an email from a couple who are interested in my dad’s place. They said it sounded great and  thought they’d really enjoy the relaxed laid-back style of farm life.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you go to the top right and subscribe to my RSS feed.

March 24th Stop The Madness

Knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss.

I woke up this morning to a beautiful blanket of snow everywhere I looked, if I’d known last night during the power outage that my pipes could have frozen I would have been a nervous wreck. Luckily, I had no idea of the plumbing peril I was in.

Later in the day, Little Chris called and said he won 4th place and enough money to cover his costs in his very first professional rodeo. Thrilled, I told him he’d have to come out with Steph and celebrate.

“We should wait until there’s really something to celebrate.”
“No. No. No. We don’t ever wait to celebrate, my mother always said ‘celebrate everything especially the small steps along the way.”

“I like that. OK, I’ll give you a call.”

Excited over Little Chris’s news I dialed Tom and relayed the news, while I chatting with him about the rodeo, I glanced outside and noticed almost all the snow had melted. And then I saw them. Pancho and Lefty were out again.

I checked the basketball schedule. My luck was holding UCLA wasn’t playing.  My dad in his slippers rounded up Pancho.

While generous of spirit, reluctant cowboy Mike in his permanent press slacks coaxed Lefty back to the pasture.

March 23rd Mike Brady alias Reporter #1

Tom's Easter Card to Henry

    Lisa called me at sunup as she does every Easter and said "He is Risen." I told her Henry was still sick this morning so we couldn’t go to church or her house for brunch,

    Henry and I stayed home. Disappointed we played the computer version of Life™ to pass the time. I came in third. To come in third with two players is a bit annoying. I took this as commentary on my current financial situation.

    Late in the afternoon a horrendous wind and hailstorm moved in. The power went out. I called my dad and Mike at Lisa’s to let them know and went about setting up the generator. I had no luck. It wasn’t dark so I didn’t worry. My dad would be home and I figured he’d get it started. It’s a brand new generator. I spent what I consider a fortune getting it and then paying the power company to put a terminal in so we just plug it in and voila. Light.

    My dad arrived not long afterward with a plate of food piled high with ham, salad and two different kinds of quiche made from a recipe she got from hillbillyhousewife.com. I took a quick taste and put it on the back stoop while we started fooling around with the generator. Nothing. It didn’t turn over it didn’t do anything. We went through the trouble shooting section of the manual standing there in the rain. Nothing. We turned every knob and flipped every switch twice. Frustrated and annoyed, I called Bill. I figured he’d have better idea about what to do than we did. The thing is brand new what the heck. Well, he didn’t have any better idea, but he did call the electrician we bought it from and left a message. I didn’t have much hope that was going to come to anything on a Sunday. Easter Sunday.

    We got out the paraffin lanterns and put on our jackets. When the power doesn’t work, as I may have mentioned before, the water doesn’t work. The well pump stops.  I wasn’t too worried, it was now pretty dark, but Puget Sound said the power would be on by 7:00PM. We went in the family room built a fire and apropos of the evening Henry got out the Worst Case Scenario™ game. Now here’s a game I can win.
Reading the questions by flashlight and drinking my Earl Grey®  – the stove works and I had water in the kettle. We were doing OK.

    Lisa called to see how we were doing. “ It’s not as if it’s December and the pipes are going to freeze.”

    That’s true. It’s a lot warmer, we’re fine. I’ve got my laptop.”

    “Well, tell Henry he didn’t miss anything with the egg hunt. Just as the kids were going out it started to hail like crazy and they all ran in screaming.”

    I indeed won the game. It was 8:30PM and Rob the electrician called. He’d just gotten the message about the generator and said he’d come out. I told him not to bother –

    “It’s too late on Easter Sunday and Puget Sound said we’ll have power in less than a half hour.”

    “Well, I don’t live far so if you need me just give me a call. I don’t want you to go without power.”

    “It’s not December.” I reminded him.

    When I hung up, Mike decided he was going to go upstairs and do his Thomas Jefferson imitation and read by candlelight.

    Henry and I decided we were going to try and watch a movie on my laptop. Luckily, I had a full battery but I warned him I didn’t think we’d make it through a whole movie. It was worth a try and long before that the lights would be back on Henry reminded me.

    We popped in “Speed”. Henry’s never seen it before and it’s made even better because my old room partner at Woodland Hills Elementary, Bruce Wright, is in it. He plays “Reporter #1”. Henry and I did a talent show with him a couple of years ago. Where we re-enacted a “Brady Bunch” episode during which Mike dressed in a tux does a dramatic reading accompanied by Greg on guitar – while Bobby and Peter drop props like rubber chickens, feathers, making it rain etc. When we did it, Bruce played the Mike character complete with tux, I did the dramatic guitar strumming  (as I have no musical ability) and Henry stood on a ladder behind the curtain dropping things on Bruce while Bruce feigned shock and outrage.

    The laptop was a trooper and made it all the way through the credits.  At 1:00AM the power came on.

March 7th Whistle While You Work

    Spring means change. And Henry has begged that I change our policy on guests at our house. One look at his pleading little face and I realized he was right it was time, but on one condition. We get this place looking presentable, somewhere we can be proud of.

    So for the last couple of days, I’ve been a one-woman cleaning machine direction my minions. I have stacks of rags, bottles of vinegar, 409™,Windex™, SoftScrub™, and hardwood floor cleaner. What I apparently don’t have anymore is a vacuum that works. So Henry and Mike have been issued brooms and dustpans as they transform into the grime fighting team better known around our home as The Sarcastic-Super-Sweepers. Determined to get this house in shape, I cleared each room of debris. Hung pictures, finally getting them off the floor. Then I hung curtain rods and curtains in four rooms. I’m pretty handy with a drywall anchor at this point.

(Emmett helping with drape installation)

    After that with the stuff out of the way I assaulted the house. Scrubbing sinks and toilets, wiping counters and cupboards. Sweeping the floors (again) and following up with a good old fashioned hands and knees mopping. Mike emptied garbage can after garbage can of stuff the workmen left behind. Henry took tools to the chicken coop, picked up trash and dog poop. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was cathartic.

    While all this was going on I handed my dad four dogs with four leashes and sent him on his merry way to the “Country Dog” groomer. Everyone is having a bath. I want to cut down on the sudden warm weather shedding and “eau de hound dog”. After all that was done, I sprayed the sofa’s with Febreeze™ to cover the drywall aroma, liberally applied lemon furniture polish to mask unknown stale odors and topped it off with Glade ™ Apple Cinnamon PlugIns which made the house smell surprisingly like apple pie.

    Exhausted from the race against the clock, my hands ache my knees bruised but I’m deliriously happy we’ve finally moved in.

February 25th Cookie Monster

   

    My dad called me on my cell as Mike and I were just dropping off Henry at gymnastics. We had planned to do something fun like see a movie since we had four hours to kill, but when my dad said Anna was roaming around loose. We quickly drove the 30 miles home. I told my dad, not to bother chasing her, as it hasn’t worked in the past. I didn’t know what we were going to do. I prepared for a long evening. On the way, I called Little Chris Donaldson and asked if he had any suggestions. My dad had suggested leaving her out all night as she generally stays right near the pasture. Mike was terrified she’d go down the road and someone might hit her. I called Tom, and he said he was pretty sure she’d stay near the pasture. Leaving her out was risky, but it might be our only option, He thought the only reason she went down the road before was because she was confused and didn’t know how to get in the pasture. I knew that would mean I’d have a sleepless night ahead of me.

    When we got there, I thought I’d give an idea a try. Mike went to go change into the boots Tom and I selfishly got him for Christmas. I went to the barn, got a bucket of grain a lead rope and a pocketful of cow cookies.

    I went down to the pasture where she was grazing. This time she was calm and curious. I called her name and she came toward me. I showed her the grain and she went to it easily. I tried to put the rope around her and she dashed away. Ok. I was nervous, as I knew I only had so many attempts before she’d be wound up and wild. I showed her the grain again. She came over. I tried to loop it around her horns. Nope. No good. This time I picked up the bucket called her name and gave her a cow cookie and started walking. More obedient than Irish, she followed me right up to the barn. I was walking there as Mike came out of the house. Seeing us he stopped so as not to spook her. We’re all developing some cow sense. A few moments later she was safely tucked in the barn. Disaster averted.

February 19th Hope

    Mike and I drove to Anacortes this morning so I can get a valid teaching credential in Washington. I need to earn some money and this seems the best place to start. I’m not giving up on Fort Flashback; I’m just trying to be realistic. I’m not proud; I’ll bag groceries, or whatever it takes to provide for my family.
It’s a lovely drive to Anacortes and on the way I got a call from the Cotton Patch goose breeder, Tom. He explains that he’ll send me ten geese for a hundred dollars. Plus shipping. He overnights them as day-olds. They mail quite nicely because baby birds live exclusively on the yolk sack for the first few days. They absorb it just before they hatch. I don’t really need ten, but he won’t ship fewer, because they need the numbers for the warmth. We should expect them at the beginning of April.

    Just as we finish and are almost to Bellingham, I get a call from Lisa. She’s agitated. It seems there is some reason to believe that Griffin has gotten into some rat poison. She’s missed the courier that would have taken it to Everett. She doesn’t know what to do, so I volunteer. It’s about an hour’s drive. Mike and I pick up the blood sample, a couple of coffees and head out for the lab.

    I asked Lisa how it would be possible for him to get into rat poison. She said he got out for a little while about five days ago and she’s not sure what the neighbors have around their yards. I said, “I hope it’s negative.”

    “No. I hope it’s positive. If it’s rat poison, I’ve already started treating him, but if it isn’t it’s probably some kind of cancer.”
    Mike and I make the delivery, I give the woman at the desk Lisa’s cell number and she says they’ll have results in an hour or so.”

    I call Lisa and report in. She tells me “Dad’s picking up Henry, you can meet them at the Gelato shop.”
While we’re there, we get the news. It’s not rat poison.

February 17th Wish You Were Here

    Anyone who has ever lived with a basset hound knows that basset hounds are silver-tongued master communicators, rivaling Reagan, when a basset hound starts aroo-roo-rooing, he will not be ignored. He is relentless; you might as well just give in and do what he says. They might be telling you a variety of things, from “I’m hungry”, “I need love”, “I want to ride in the car” to “I would make a good blanket if you’d hold still” to “You don’t really love me, if you really loved me I’d be sleeping on your bed”.

    I woke up to Luther moaning about needing to go out for his morning constitutional. For some reason, I popped up. Maybe because there was light in the sky and usually that means it’s 10:00AM, but I glanced at the clock and it was just quarter of eight. I laced up my boots, rolled up my green flannels with the pink on them and zipped up my new black down jacket with the fur-trimmed hood that I got for 70% off. Zapped a cup of coffee and was about to take Luther outside when I noticed the little boys, the Devons, were laying in the field. One looked odd and I thought something might be wrong so I headed for the barn to get some grain. If he didn’t get up for grain, I’d know there was a problem. I stepped outside and was amazed. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. And the sun promised to come up from behind the hill. With a song in my heart, I walked to the barn. While I was there I fed Rachel, Christina, Alexander and Riley, as well as, Anna and our girl Miracle, who is kind of sulky these days since I haven’t gotten her packer pellets. I filled a bucket of grain. I started thinking of my mom. It’s her birthday. She passed a way a while ago, but she is still so present in my life, that I always want to celebrate her day. The dogs came with me as I grained the boys. They were all fine. As I was about to turn and go back to the house, I thought of my mom again and I just knew she would want to go on her birthday and have coffee by the beaver pond and just enjoy the beautiful morning. I turned back and started for the pond. When I arrived I couldn’t believe my eyes. There swimming in the pond were Canada geese. I counted them and as I got to eight I realized these were the eight goslings from last year when we first looked at the property. At least I think they are. Geese come back to the site of their birth so; I hope it’s them. The dogs were fascinated but never seemed aggressive. We all watched each other for a while and then headed back, drunk on sunshine.

   

When I got back, Henry was awake and watching “Myth Busters”. I made a fresh pot of coffee, went out on the porch in the sun and chatted with Tom for a bit. While I wasn’t looking Irish came up next to me and took a big gulp of coffee out of my cup. Unbelievable. Next, I called Dan Cramer about that hay. I’ve decided against it, money’s really tight and we have enough round bales to make it until the end of April even if we use two for the barn animals. Dan understood and told me he’d loan me a cart for the fifth grade movie we’re shooting in May. He proposed marketing a two-day wagon train excursion between his place and here. He told me his son was going to do a workshop on driving horses Tom and I should attend, he mentioned he still has 30lbs of hamburger for sale and finally he asked me if I knew anything about receiving grants. I told him I knew you had to be a non-profit and smart guy replied, “Well, from where I sit Denise, you’re about as non-profit as you can get.” Oh he laughed a belly laugh then pleased with himself. I had to admit, it was funny. I consoled myself with my clean car. I’m a Virgo.

   

Then Mike, Henry and I headed outside to clean the barn, brush the goats and enjoy being outdoors. I took Tom’s camera and snapped some shots.

(Henry enjoying the sun while he waits for us to fill the tractor)

    We walked to the pond to get some pictures of the geese, but to everyone’s disappointment they weren’t about. I’ll try again tomorrow morning. Henry skipped some stones and we walked along the edge of the pond.

You could see the pristine bottom which was wonderful, because we’ve been worrying about what discarded old junk might be lurking down there that might hurt the kids if they stepped on it, but not a thing except the rocks Henry’s been skipping. And some beaver poop. It’s not often you see beaver poop, because it’s almost always in the water. The poop is very light because it’s the color of wood shavings after all it’s just little compressed wood pellet. So we all just stood there on the dock looking at the beaver poop awhile wondering if we could poke it with a stick. This made me think of my mom again. I suspect beaver excrement is not something that reminds most people of their deceased mothers on their birthday. However, my mother was the best of “Auntie Mame”, when she went to Africa on safari, she took pictures of animals pooping. In fact, she really quite proud of an action shot she got of a cheetah doing her business.

My mother said this one of the things nature shows always left out and kids should see. She taught second grade. Yes, my mother would have loved the beaver poop examination.

If you enjoyed this post, please go to the top right and click on subscribe to receive my RSS feed.

February 16th RSVP

    We left for Seattle about 6:30AM to be at the meet at Henry’s gymnastic meet promptly at 8:30AM like the paper told us. Unfortunately, the coach didn’t even arrive until 9:30AM. And the meet didn’t start until well after 10:00AM. Needless to say that’s a lot of waiting for the parents and the boys. Henry didn’t’ have a great meet. Not his worst, but not nearly his best. You can’t really blame him too much after a concussion the week before a meet resulting in missing your practices isn’t going to do you any favors. Nor did the ripped and bleeding blister on the palm of his hand.

    On the way home, we stopped at Lisa’s to let out the Griffin and Winnie out. And Henry really wanted to play the Wii without having to wait his turn. Lisa is away for the weekend in Los Angeles with Chris and the girls.

    Mike and I talked about the meet and decided since we were in town of Saturday night, we should go to dinner and a movie. Henry thought that was one our better ideas. We chose “National Treasure II – The Book of Secrets” It was great fun. I loved showing “National Treasure” to the entire fifth grade every year before their big East Coast field trip. So many people beat the excitement out of history it’s wonderful to see a movie put it back in. The kids would get so excited about knowing the clues in the movie, because we’d learned that stuff.

    I wish someone from that film would consider helping us fund the camp. But trying cold calls is disheartening. I did it for a student I’ll call “Bobbys” who came from a horrific family. They didn’t send him to school he failed 2nd and 4th grade just from absences. His mother was in prison, and wanted him to come live with her there. The rest of the other six children were adopted out. The list goes on, but the point was, “Bobby” was bright, personable and very funny. He had a chance, so I wrote to anyone I could think of from Jodi Foster to Dolly Parton to Oprah to Bruce Willis to Dr. Phil, etc about just helping this one kid into a boarding school. Only one person even responded, Bruce Willis. I got a polite letter saying his funds were otherwise allocated. I know there are a lot of “Bobbys” out there. But that was an important moment and I couldn’t get that to happen for him, I don’t know that a history camp is going to make a bigger impression with a cold call or letter.

February 15th Friday Night At The Movies

    No school today. It’s mid-winter break so Henry’s up in bed recovering from his head injury and reading. He can’t put down The Subtle Knife he got for Christmas from my dad, Grandpa Horn. It’s the sequel to The Golden Compass. He’s been in tears since last night. The story seems to have taken a dark turn. He doesn’t know, but that’s usually the way of the second book in a trilogy, but I think you have to come to that on your own.

    Chris, the plumber, came by to try again and figure out why the ceiling in the little room in the barn is still leaking. After a great amount of cutting into walls and climbing around it was determined, to be a mystery. He agreed I had to fix it, but he didn’t have any suggestions as to what I should do. Fabulous. Now what? Oh well, I guess I’ll have to think about that tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll make an evening gown out of my drapes while I’m at it.

    Henry has now finished The Subtle Knife and is crying in a heap at the injustice of the book. He must start the Amber something right away. I told him to go and change for gymnastics first. Then he can do what he must.

    This evening when Henry was safely practicing his routines in the gym, Mike and I thought we’d go to a movie. Alas, all that was playing was “Step Up 2” and Mike said he absolutely would not see such a movie. That “was not dancing”.  I’m not that picky. I’ll see just about anything, unless it’s a slasher movie. Anyway, now we had almost three hours to kill, we stood there not wanting to go into the mall and spend money when suddenly I had a brilliant idea if I do say so myself. We hopped in the very immaculate van and went to the Fred Meyer’s™ got a DVD; hit the Starbucks™ for a non-fat latte, drove back to the gym, took a peek in at Henry and spent the next couple of hours relaxing in the van enjoying our own private showing. This was just like going to a drive-in with better sound and more comfortable seats. I have to admit there was some delays in getting the thing started, as I usually only listen to the movies the kids are watching. Until now I’d never started a DVD, but after a few false starts and turning on and off the lights to figure the thing out we got it going. My only concern was my battery. I didn’t want to run it down so I’d just start the engine every once in a while and run the heat. It was a great Friday night for $7.99 plus drinks.

February 12th One Adam Twelve

    My van has hauled hay, dogs, doors, plywood and goats. It’s had milk, juice and coffee spilled its been thrown up on and it’s been through the dirt, the mud, the snow and it is by anyone’s standards filthy. But it doesn’t have any deep stains, and I did have it detailed a year a go because I like to keep cars a long, long time. Poor thing it’s been my farm truck. Now that we’re going to get things cleaned up and try to live a more organized life it’s time to clean it up.

    This morning I took it to the 9:30AM appointment I’d made at Northwest Honda and handed them the coupon for the cleaning detail I purchased at the Humane Society Gala. The men smiled at me and assured me that they’ve cleaned dirty cars before. I felt better. They knew I needed it at about 3:00PM so I could pick up Henry from school. Fine they said, until they went out and looked at it. The next thing I knew he told me they were going to have to send it out, because and I quote, “If we sent it to the guys in our detailing department, they’d cry like little girls.” Now don’t you think that’s rude? Lord.

    Anyway they said they were sending it to their industrial used car detailer. Ok, whatever, just so it’s clean. They asked me how long it had been since I’d cleaned it. I said six months. “What? You got it THAT dirty in a year?” – I didn’t like his tone. Yes, I told them I’d been here only since July and prior to that I just drove to gymnastics and back. I came clean about transporting the goats. The guy almost fell down. He kept calling people and telling them – “This lady hauled goats – IN HER ODYESSY- GOATS” Really, he was making a scene. One of the other men suggested I think about a Ridgeline™. I nodded politely and went out to wait for Lisa. An hour later my cell phone rang and I was informed they’d need at least two days to get my van clean. Fine, fine, FINE. Lisa just laughed. Oddly, Tom called and told me he was at the dealership in Thousand Oaks and what did I think of him getting a Ridgeline™.

    After school, Lisa and I met with Henry’s teacher. She’d like to make a historic movie with the class and so we started ironing out the details. We’ve been emailing for weeks about what’s involved and she’s a bit overwhelmed with all that goes into the production, which is why I brought Lisa along– She used to work as a production assistant, second camera, coordinator, craft service etc. (Chris was Art Department, Toby, script supervisor, Eric a gaffer etc.) And between the two of us we’ve had a lot of experience.

   

It was suggested by the class that they do a movie of Longfellow’s poem “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere”. It’s great, because it’s a good length and all the kids can read a part, but there is historical inaccuracy that concerns me, but we’ll come up with a way to deal with that. We set a tentative shoot date of May 3rd and set our next pre-production meeting for next week.

    Since, I have no vehicle, Mike came and retrieved us from Lisa’s. When we got home we carried in the bags of dog food and that’s when it happened. Irish, the dog from Jurassic Bark got into it with Luther, the food guardian. It didn’t last long, but Irish’s tooth scraped Luther’s ear and there was blood everywhere. I applied pressure to the ear, Mike dialed Lisa and Henry got the first aid kit. It was a superficial wound like a long paper cut, but once Luther was bandaged up he looked like the Flying Nun. The lessons learned were, we need more first aid supplies in case we have a true emergency and it's time Irish was neutered.

(Culprit - Seven-Months-Old)

   (Victim - Sleeping Comfortably?)

    After everyone was neatly tucked in the barn and the boys in the pasture had their grain, Henry was painting his valentine box while Mike read aloud, I decided a little shortbread cookie with a cup of Earl Grey was in order as I chatted with Toby about the casting of Anna Paquin as Sookie Stackhouse a character from Charlaine Harris’ Southern vampire series. Good chewing gum for the eyeballs as my aunt, Lana, used to say.

February 5th Calgon Take Me Away

    Took my car into the Honda dealership. It is a Honda, so you don’t really expect to have to do anything to it. Gas and go that’s it. But even a Honda needs to be serviced from time to time.
Self-conscious about the mess that is my van, I flinched when Dan asked me the color of my van after going out to write down my VIN number. “Is that a crack about the dirt on my car?”

    “No, he replied I’m not even going there. My son drives one of our cars, we call it ‘the dumpster’. Yours is nothin’.”

    Mike drove me home. Henry stayed at Lisa’s 1/2 because he wants a chance to play their Wii and 1/2 because we have a huge storm predicted with 10” of snow predicted and I didn’t know if we’d be able to get out in the morning to go to school. We only live about twenty miles east, but the climate change is incredible.
Once I got home I realized that three boards had blown down in the cattle barn. As the wind howled, looking like a coal miner with my head-lantern strapped on below my ponytail, bundled in my warmest coat, gloves, boots and my sage green sparkle scarf that I love, I went to the chicken coop/tool shed; picked up a screw gun, some screws, a hammer and some nails found a ladder and together with my sidekick, Mike carrying the cattle grain we headed down the gavel path to fix the cattle barn on this dark night, I really felt like farmer gal Sal. I fixed it. It wasn’t a “if you don’t do it right it isn’t worth doing” kind of fix. It was a
I-can’t-feel-the-tips-of-my-fingers-and-at-least-Abe-Andy-Poncho-and-Lefty
-won’t-turn-into-cattlesicles-because-there’s-a-wind-tunnel-in-their-bedroom-type fix.”
I warmed up a Jenny Craig™ Turkey with gravy, put on my wool socks, fuzzy Christmas slippers and flannels, brewed a pot of Earl Grey, portioned out some Trader Joe’s™ chocolate meringues for a treat turned on the Super Tuesday Election Results and cranked up the heat to 64 degrees. I deserved it.

January 31st Live Long And Prosper

    Today is Mike’s birthday.

We spent the day at home doing chores in the barn for the most part, but we decided to meet Lisa and the girls for dinner at Stannellos. None of us had ever been there and so we thought we’d give it a try. Everybody readily found something, but Quinn. She is a vegetarian, making her choices sometimes a bit more challenging, but they clearly had options for her. She said she was going to eat when she got home. It seemed odd. Lisa took her to the Ladies room and when they came back Quinn ordered.
It was great food. The ambiance isn’t stellar, but it’s fine. The view on a clear day would be amazing, you’d be able to see the islands, but this was not a clear day.

    We ordered a bottle of Chianti among the three of us and Mike began opening packages. Henry gave him a pair of gag “nerd” glasses with a full-scale nerd test on the back. There were more than a couple questions he had to answer - yes , but we were all relieved to find he had never owned a "Star Trek" uniform. Although he did admit he’d been to a convention – just to see what it was like. (Funny, because he isn’t really a fan)Anyway Mike's a great sport and we made many jokes at his expense. He laughed the hardest of all.

    The nerd glasses were a big hit, everyone tried them on. Quinn loved them and with Mike and Henry’s permission she planned to wear them to school the next day with a promise to relay her experiences. She did put in the caveat she was not going to wear them in the 8th grade section she would don them she got to the 6th grade area. She said she didn’t need that kind of attention.
Everyone settled into cheesecake.

January 29th Table For One

    A long time ago, in a place far. far away, Toby-Ann (as her mother called her) made me a fabled dinner back before men and children, I’ve always thought fondly of that dinner over the years. You know one of those meals where everything is just right. I’ve never made it myself, but a couple of days ago when I was in Trader Joes™ I thought I should stock up on some meat so I could really put together some nice recipes. I spied the pork chops and instantly I was craving Toby’s pork chops with cherry sauce. I thought, “I’ll give everyone a real treat and cook something special”. I called Toby from the meat section and asked if she remembered the dinner with the cherry sauce and of course, she did. You’ve got to love a friend that can follow your train of thought so quickly. Without hesitation she told me the other ingredients to get and then added in a very epicurean way, that in order to complete the meal I should really serve the pork chops with butternut squash so I picked one up and threw it in the basket.

    Fast-forward to today, I’ve been mentioning making these pork chops off and on for several days now and I finally got around to fixing them this evening. All along, I’ve known, it will be an uphill battle to get Henry to do more than give a touch of his tongue to the sauce, but at least Mike and I can have a good meal. When I finally got to the preparation, I had to simmer the sauce for a while and it took a little longer than I thought. Everyone was hungry. Just as I’m about to serve it up, Mike informs me he doesn’t want any. He HATES cherries and in fact, he’s “allergic”.

    Are you kidding me? Allergic? I know this kind of allergic; this is the kind allergy you say you have when you don’t want someone to get you to try something. I taught 5th grade. I know these little tricks. Of course, once Mike opened the “not going to try it door” Henry wanted to join him. My blood began to boil faster than the reduction sauce. I slammed around the kitchen served them their bare pork chops and went to my room. No butternut squash, they got peas.

    Seeking solace, I called Tom and told him if he were here, he had better eat the pork chops like it or not. From three states away he safely declared that he would love to be eating pork chops with cherries and balsamic vinegar. He noted they were just a couple of ingrates. I felt a little better. I called Toby, she was just sitting down to dinner that was apparently inedible and would have to call me later. I called Lisa, she was busy helping Quinn with her math homework, but seven-year-old Phoebe was available to listen to my woes. She was appropriately outraged. She being a desert-atarian, I told her I was skeptical she would try my pork chops with cherry sauce if she were here. She assured me if I worked that hard on her dinner she would at least try it. Good girl, she knew just what to say. And then she really got going, she said and I quote “Mike’s a grown man! He should make his own dinner! And what does he make for you? He doesn’t even make you a cup of coffee!” I love Phoebe. At this point, with the support of my niece, I savored my dinner in my room before going down and telling them I was never going to cook them another meal again. It’s true I am prone to exaggeration, but I was really, really stomp-my foot-slam-the-door-mad. And hurt.

(Mike - I mean  Miracle)

January 18th Ships Ahoy!

    Mike isn’t working at Mt. Baker High School today, so we’ve decided to go on a search and destroy mission. I’ve lost one of the presents Henry gave me for Christmas: A “Nuns Having Fun” 2008 wall calendar. I figure it’s buried in some pile somewhere, but I can’t stand not having a calendar anymore until I find it. We know he bought it at a kiosk the mall. One day before Christmas I gave him the money he’d earned and saved and let him spend an hour walking around the mall budgeting his money for different gifts. He bought Quinn a book and Phoebe art supplies and Tom some molding clay. It was almost three weeks into the New Year; I was worried they might be sold out.

    The kiosk was gone. Undaunted, we started at Target™ and made our way around the mall. This was not as time consuming as you might think; this is not Mall of America, or a Westfield Shoppingtown property. There was a bookstore that looked promising. We walked in and asked if they had any calendars. She pointed to a row of boxes on the floor stuffed with them.

    “All we have are right there, they’re from the kiosk.” The sign on the side said, “All calendars a $1.00” Perfect. Mike has bad knees so he chatted with the saleswoman as I rifled through box after box. By the sixth box I was losing steam. But perseverance pays off and I found one.

    Our next, mission was to locate some miniature 18th century ships for Henry's class movie we are going to shoot. I'm really excited we're going to get a chance to work with a class in Washington and of course , am ever hopeful this will bring us closer to opening Fort Flashback.

    Henry had an idea that we could do the Boston Tea Party in miniature and or the Royal Navy descending on Lexington. This seemed like the harder project, but you never know about these things. With in minutes we located two different ships at the Dollar Store and out the door we went feeling very accomplished indeed.

January 14th Bainbridge Island

This weekend we all, Lisa, Chris, Quinn, Phoebe, Mike, Henry and me went to Bainbridge Island for Henry’s gymnastics meet. We decided to go on Saturday take the ferry over and spend the night because the meet was first thing Sunday morning. The drive to Seattle was nothing special. Henry watched “Star Trek” episode after “Star Trek” episode. Including the one where Kirk battles the giant reptile thing, alligator Gorgon guy. I don’t know, I’m not an official Trekkie by any means.
    The excitement began when we boarded the ferry. I’d never driven onto a ferry before. It felt so East Coast. We left our car and went up to the snack bar, Mike and I got a cup of tea and Henry got a stale pretzel with processed cheese. He was disappointed with the food, but we all enjoyed the view. As we began to cross the sun was setting majestically over the Seattle skyline. It was stunning.
    The Donaldsons got a later start than us and therefore missed the ferry and had to wait for the next one. Once on the island we found our motel and started looking for a place to have dinner. We dined at the “oldest” restaurant on the island. We were expecting something like 1800 or something; instead we saw that it was established in 1982. Hmm. We tried to go to a movie, but the show times were wrong, so we went back to the motel and played cards. I didn’t want Henry to stay up too late, so we all went to bed around 9:30PM. Mike despite his denials went straight to sleep. How might I know this you ask? His room sandwiched between ours, Lisa and I could both hear snoring through the walls. Henry couldn’t sleep he was giggling so much. He kept saying we had to buy Mike a pack of BreatheRight™ strips for his birthday. Finally, I had to wake Mike up so Henry could go to sleep. I felt bad, but Mike could read for a while and go back to sawing logs a short time later.
    The next day, when we arrived at the competition we were all pleased to see a Latte truck in the parking lot. This was a high-class operation. We cheered, calling Tom before, during and after each event. Henry did well, getting a 9.1 on the rings and coming in second all around. The highest he’s ever placed in all around.
    Afterward, we decided to walk around Bainbridge window-shopping. Quinn, now suddenly a reader needed a book. And the rest of us enjoyed looking around. We went in to one shop where everyone found something they liked and had to have. I restrained purchasing the red chinoise china buffet I salivated over. Henry found a beautiful chess set that was unbelievably cheap. I wasn’t going to buy it, I didn’t want to spend any money, but I could hear Tom and what he’d have said in the back of my head. I knew without question he’d have bought it in a second. It was ornate, unique and quite lovely, the price was right and so to honor Tom’s wishes because he couldn’t be here and to make Henry happy I bought it.  We’d have something to tangible to always remember his second place finish. Chris kept saying we were “burning daylight” he had something he had to work on and needed to get back. So we headed home.
    Very, very early this morning Lisa called and told me to check my email. Begrudgingly, I did it as I barely had my first sip of coffee and was trying to manage opening my eyes in the darkness. There was a link:

I clicked on it and tears started streaming down my face. Cranky Chris had stayed up late and made a video of Henry at Bainbridge. It was so sweet I couldn’t believe it. No wonder Lisa married him. I emailed the link to everyone I knew before I took my next sip. Then I called Tom and woke up Henry.
    Henry called Chris and excitedly told him “Chris, You Rock!”

December 31st Whooo! Whooo!

   

    Mike, Tom, Henry and I set to cleaning the house up for our “guests”. Ok we were only having Chris, Lisa and the girls, but we pretended they were company. We swept, and moved piles in attempt to confine the junk to a few places.

    We decided to have Mexican food for dinner followed by another one of Paula Dean’s recipes. Her Sour Cream Cake. Yummy in my tummy. 

    The Donaldsons arrived and helped us do the chores. Chris went on a walk with the kids while Lisa chatted with Tom and me while we fixed dinner. After we ate we all sat down for a Mexican Train tournament.

    There was yelling, laughing and barking. Tom barks at times, I don’t know how to explain it. It all started when his older kids’ high school mascot was the Bull Dogs.

   

    When it neared midnight, Chris got some fireworks out to set off. But first, we went in turned on the TV and waited for the worldwide displays that usually ring in the New Year i.e. Times Square. The local network shifted to Seattle where they were supposed to have some big display that due to some kind of technical difficulty didn’t happen.

   

    Chris decided enough was enough and went out to set up the fireworks, while he was doing that Emmett slipped unnoticed out the door. I looked out the window and saw Emmet standing on the snow. I didn’t know what to do. We all went out and started calling him, he freaked out. He dashed under the porch and just as I thought all was lost, he’d never come in. He suddenly hopped up on the porch and walked in the door. I don’t think being a Southern California cat he bargained for the cold, the crunchy frozen snow or the sound of predators looming close by in the hills.

December 30th Pretty In Pink

    The past few days have been filled with a myriad of fix-it projects, old movies and Nerf™wars. Tonight, I’m painting the sunroom or as I like to call it the soon-to-be-living room, fuchsia. I love watching it go on the wall. It looks like a summer lipstick or nail polish that you pick if you’re a winter. One of those colors bright that really sets off a tan. It’s so dramatic, so satisfying, not at all like painting beige, but then again, I don’t think I’ve ever painted beige. I did paint my hallway vanilla latte once, but that’s as close as I’ve come.
Henry, Tom and Mike are watching ‘The Lord of the Rings” trilogy and I’m listening as I convert wall after wall into a scrumptious pink.

    Now I know, very few people like the colors I pick when the room isn’t finished, but when everything is put together usually most admit, that I’m not a lunatic. I have to say; many say they could never live with this much color.

    I don’t know what it is about color, but most people are afraid of it. When I bought this can of pink, the man said “Are you sure that’s the color you want? We’ve never actually sold that color before.” Maybe that’s why I like it. I don’t know. I’m hurrying to get it done so the color will be up before the Donaldson’s come for their New Year’s Eve sleepover. That’s my goal. I’m not going to sleep until I finish. - Eventually all the trim in the house including the doors will be black.

November 19th Grey Is For Goose

    Mike has been humoring me and so has my dad for that matter. I’m bent on getting the kitchen and the dining room painted before the Toby, her husband Eric, Dean and the Donaldsons come for Thanksgiving. It’s not that they’re really company, but I work well on a deadline. I need a goal and company coming is the best one for me.

    My dad painted primed the kitchen, which really helped. Mike and I labored over the ceiling and then we painted the kitchen a soft butter cream, which I think will go great with the new red cabinets. The dining room I was going to paint a Mt. Vernon green, but because you can see the pool table from the dining room and I think the greens clash, I’m going with Purple Fantasy. Yep, purple, with black wainscoting. All the trim and doors in the house will eventually be black. I know, I know, everyone freaks about the colors I choose, but I love color. It’s grey outside and my eye needs the color.

I’m proud to say, it looks we’re going to make our deadline wainscoting and all.

October 23rd Duty Calls

    Rachel doesn’t like get poked with a needle. She doesn’t like it at all. Mike and I look like rodeo clowns trying to wrangle her into a corner. We start with pellets to keep her in one place, but she’s a goat.
Her skin is tough and it’s hard to push the medication through the needle into her, and it seems as if it hurts. Lisa says it shouldn't but it sure seems as though it does. I feel terrible. I feel like I’m torturing her, but I know I have to do it. I know it, because I called Lisa and demanded to know how long must this go on. She informed me a full week. I suppose I should take solace that I’m helping her, but I just feel cruel. Did I mention I have to do warm compresses? If you think a goat stands still for this, you haven’t met a goat. First, she wants to eat the compress. She's fairly certain this might taste better than anything else she's ever had. Once she figures out it's not a food item, then she wants to wiggle and wriggle and do anything and everything she can to get you to stop. This is fairly effective. But I am tenacious and I know that I’m supposed to do this or my sister will not be happy. If she tells me to follow procedure she expects me to follow procedure and she doesn’t want excuses. However, she usually has helpful tips so I’ll call her in the morning and see what I can do to get better at this.

October 7th Things Heat Up

    Looking forward to a lazy Sunday morning I was just pouring my first cup of coffee, when Mike remarked, “Wow. The cows are sure running around and playing a lot this morning.” I went to the window to take a peek at my cows frolicking in the field, but that wasn’t what I saw.  Anna was very obviously being chased by a herd of deranged cattle. Why this was, when all the boys were neutered I had no idea. You see, a bull is an intact male, a steer is a neutered male under two years of age and an ox is a steer with an education - over two years old. Whatever the reason, Anna was running for her life and the others looked like – raging bulls. It would have been one thing for Andy or Abe to mount her they were the same breed and the same age, approximately 700lbs. But Pancho and Lefty are said to be 2,500lbs apiece. They could kill her, or break her leg, which would result in the same thing. You don’t exactly put cows in leg casts. I called Kulshan Veterinary Clinic; their ad says they do cats to cattle. I spoke to a doctor who told me that yes; they’d kill her if I didn’t get her out of there. He told me that even cows would mount other cows in heat. Apparently, this can cause a great problem for some dairy farmers. What? Horses don’t do that. Dogs don’t do that and I know goats don’t do that. Why didn’t anyone tell me this might be a problem? Lord help me.

    I pulled on my already muddy coveralls and boots and ran down to the field and Mike came stumbling after me in his tennis shoes, slacks and permanent press shirt.
We tried to catch Anna with a lead rope, but she was otherwise engaged.
After a while we were able to get the big boys locked in the loafing shed, which according to Laura Ingalls Wilder I now know is a barn with three sides. Our immediate threat handled, we took deep breaths and tried to come up with a plan. Thankfully, my father had seen us from the window and he now joined us and the three of us went at trying to round up the cattle. Two hours later we were exhausted, and still empty handed, but Mike’s shirt was still tucked in. I had new found respect for Hoss Cartwright.
    In a desperate attempt we let Anna out of the corral. We logically figured she’s a herd animal and won’t stray too far. We were right on some level she stayed close by, but we still couldn’t get her. We couldn’t come anywhere close to getting her. Billy Crystal came to mind and I wished Jack Palance were going to come out of the woods at any minute. That didn’t happen.
    My sister once told me that cattle crossings keep cows in certain areas because they don’t like to walk over things. Remembering this, we came up with a new plan. Mike and I held a long rope between us while my dad came around another side as we tried to get her back in the pasture. She JUMPED the rope. The rope was almost three feet off the ground! She quite literally flew threw the air. And suddenly all we could think of was the cow that jumped over the moon. We were all so astonished and laughing so hard from disbelief and frustration it took a while to recover from the shock. Well, that plan wasn’t going to work.
Mike kept muttering something about he never thought he was going to end up chasing some cow in a field in Washington when he got put in my study group, and was glad this wasn’t being video taped. My dad kept yelling “This is just horseshit.” And while they were carrying on, I just kept wondering how many calories I was burning running all over the field. After all you have to look on the bright side.
    After a couple hours, the Donaldsons arrived and we all tried again. Anna was tired and we had fresh help. Soon with everybody and a bag of cow cookies, we got her safely to the upper barn with the goats and Miracle.

 

I was certain I deserved a snack after burning all those calories and it goes without saying, a second cup of coffee.

October 1st In Stitches

    In the morning my mood was dismal, another dark morning. Another day of hearing “No, I’m sorry, it sounds like a great idea, when you get it going, let me know, I’d love to come.” Another day of hauling bales of hay down to the cattle in the wheel barrel hurting my back and getting covered in slop.
    My mood improved as the day progressed. I did chores around the house, had lunch with Little Chris, cleaned the barn with Roxy, and worked on commands with Irish the giant puppy. I think he grows an inch a day.
    Mike isn’t home during the day because he’s substitute teaching almost every day at Mt. Baker High School. He loves it. He comes home filled with stories of the students and excited about the next day. I’m just hoping he can find some nice woman and get married. If someone doesn’t prepare his food he’ll eat microwave cheese sandwiches, yogurt, chips and shredded wheat. He won’t even make a pot of coffee; he’ll drive ten miles to get one to go. Whatever.
    He called me after he got out of school said he’d pick Henry up from school and drive him to gymnastics. I was thrilled. Things were really going my way now. He called a little later and said he was busy doing things in Burlington and he’d wait for Henry to finish and bring him home. YES! I was really getting a treat. I started dinner. I thought I’d make a roast so there would be a nice hot meal when they got home.
    The phone rang. It was Mike, he started with “Don’t get upset” When people start with this phrase, you know something bad is coming. “Henry’s chin is ripped open and I think he should go to the hospital.”
    “What happened? Can I talk to him?”
    “Hi Mama,”
    “What happened, Boo-Boo?”
    “I hit my knee on my chin when I was on the tumble track. It hurts and it’s really bloody. My coach told me to just put ice on it and close it with duct tape like when he was a kid.”
    “Let me talk to Mike.”
    “Yeah, uh Denise, I can see it’s hanging, I think he needs stitches.”
    “Ok. Ok. I have to throw something on; I’m already in my pajamas. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
    “I don’t know where it is.”
    “Yes, you do, it’ the same one you took me for my eye.”
    “I wasn’t driving, you were.”
    “Right.”
    “Get off at Sunset and go left. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
    We prepared to sit in the waiting room for a while, as Henry’s injury wasn’t life threatening and he wasn’t in too much pain. He was more than a little annoyed that the nurse seemed to think he was two when she was examining his chin.
    “Now, Henry, I’m going to put some magic water on your chin so it doesn’t hurt when I touch it. OK?” She said extra smiley.
    “Do you mean anesthetic?” He asked slowly as if he was talking to a three year old and he gave me a look. I wanted to pinch him.
We ate dinner out of the vending machine while Mike made small talk with three quarters of the people in the ER including those who only spoke Spanish.
We finally got out of there at about 11:00PM with three well placed stitches by a very nice doctor who said they would keep Henry from having a scar.

September 10th Mater

    Lately, it’s come to my attention my Honda Odyssey has turned into a farm truck. I no longer keep all the seats in the van so I can haul doors, drywall, lights, hay, alfalfa, grain as well as other livestock and building supplies. Although I have to say it’s performed admirably, it’s not what I had in mind for “Loretta” (that’s her name- well it's really the navigational systems name,- anyway). She’s really an urban creature with her navigational system and DVD player. I want to keep her nice, as I’ll probably drive her until she poops out, and given that she’s a Honda that could be a very long time.
I’ve decided I need a real hearty farm truck, a beater, something inexpensive with some character like, Mater, from “Cars”.  I found a real doozey on craigslist and we’re driving out to Concrete to take a look at it. I know. Why would anyone name a town in a rural beautiful setting – Concrete? I have no idea.

    The truck was cool. Phoebe, Mike and I drove out to see it. Phoebes adored the mint green dump truck and we all agreed it’s got tons of personality. I didn’t buy it yet, but I’m thinking about it. Ok, the windows don’t roll down and it needs some work, but I’m seduced by it’s charm. Mike ever the pragmatic thinks it’s the wrong decision. Tom of course, is salivating at the pictures on craigslist and encouraging me.  He thinks he could really fix it up. The question is, do we have the time for one more project? I' don't think so, but you never know what Tom can talk me into.

August 9th The Eyes Have It

 Toby, Dean and the Donaldsons had all gone home, but Mike and I were still continuing to scour the shelves, and the floor. The layers of grime kept coming off and the color of wood got lighter and lighter. The black streaks were disappearing.

    All was going well. I was thinking how powerful this cleaner was, eating through the grease so quickly. I leaned way in to get at the back of a corner cupboard when it splashed in my eye. I reacted immediately, yelling at Mike to read the label and call Poison Control. With the carelessness of overconfidence and the rush to get things done I hadn’t put my safety goggles back on because they kept fogging up. Mike read the bottle and it didn’t look good. I was flushing my eye while he calmly talked to the woman at Poison Control. Henry was frantic. I could hear in his voice how scared he was with every, “Mama, are you ok?” I was scared, too. You don’t really think about your eyesight until you face the prospect of losing it. My eye burned and I kept imagining it being eaten away by the grease-cutting-wonder.
    Mike relayed the information that I had to get in the shower, open my eye and flush it for thirty minutes and then call Poison Control back for the next steps. This was serious. I asked him to ask the woman if we should immediately to the hospital since it was over forty minutes away. She said no, I had to do this now. It was not a relaxing shower. Mike kept yelling from the hallway how much time had elapsed. Henry kept coming to the door to see how I was. After the shower I had to lie on the bed and keep my eyes closed for twenty minutes. This is when you really start to imagine the worst. I was terrified to open my eyes at all.
    We called Poison Control again; by now Mike was chatty and familiar with the woman. I could hear him saying “Oh yes, it’s me, Mike. Yes, she’s out of the shower, oh uh huh, yes, oh I’m fine, just a moment . . .“ I lay there thinking they’re awfully chummy. You’d think they’re going to exchange recipes or something. Mike commanded me to open my eyes. I didn’t want to, but I did. I could see! We were all relieved, especially me. Mike handed me the phone and the lady began asking me questions. I said it didn’t hurt any longer but, yes, it felt like I had an eyelash in my eye. This was what she was afraid of. Great. This meant I had to go to the hospital. One question. Where was the hospital? Neither of us really knew Bellingham. We were lucky to find Home Depot™ and the Iwanamoka drive-thru coffee kiosk.

    Mike is not at all comfortable driving my van so I drove. Lisa looked up the address of the urgent care clinic we took Phoebe before we picked a pediatrician. I plugged that into my navigational system.  I call her Loretta. And off we went. Forty minutes later we arrived and found the urgent care clinic closed.  Now what? It was about 10:J0PM and we had no idea what to do next. I called Lisa again and she sent me off in another direction to St. Joseph’s hospital. When we arrived it turned out we were at the hospital’s adult convalescent campus. It was all locked up for the night. Desperately hoping this was the right place, we circled the building several times. Too frazzled to think I called Lisa again. She called the hospital and got the correct address for the Emergency Room.

    Being from Los Angeles, I expected to wait. And I suppose we did wait for a while, but only for a fraction of the time I would expected. But the most amazing part of my experience was that they took my symptoms – (Poison Control had called ahead – she really was a nice woman) and treated me without seeing my insurance card. What? I had never heard of such a thing. I couldn’t find my insurance card in my purse and was getting extremely anxious. The woman told me to relax, gave me my case number and told me to give them a call in the next week. I love this place, how civilized.

It turns out I have an abrasion that will heal itself.  

August 8th More Cleaning

 Mike, Henry, Dean and I drove to Home Depot™ to reload our cleaning supplies. A forty mile drive round trip. When we got home, I decided the cleaner was too dangerous for Henry and Dean to handle, so I sent them off to the pond with the dogs to skip rocks. They went merrily.

    The Donaldsons, who still don’t have a house of their own, came again to “move this place forward”. Toby showed up to collect Dean and came prepared to make dinner while Chris painted. Lisa cut shelf paper (it’s always good to have a surgeon around) while Mike and I lay the shelf paper down. Cooking in this mess was a little disconcerting, but Toby is rarely ruffled and kept right on roasting vegetables. We hadn’t all been together since Halloween at my sister’s a year and a half ago.

    Everyone moaned about the mosquitoes.