As The Butter Churns

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.