As The Butter Churns

November 6th As Luck Would Have It

  (The house from a cougar's perspective) 

    This morning started out very dramatically. Henry yelled that Emmet had killed one mouse and had another mouse in his mouth. “It’s not dead!” Great. I couldn’t think about that now, we had to get to school. With a firm grip on his green collar, I walked Irish past the dining room table where Emmet was torturing his most recent victim. Lord, have I changed.

    “Mama, the mouse got away when you took Irish to the bathroom. Now he’s behind the dining room chair in the corner. Emmet doesn’t know where he is.” I glanced over, figuring the poor thing was terminally injured, but no. There he sat looking up at me as cute as anything. Whiskers twitching. He wasn’t going to last long, but late or not, I couldn’t leave the poor thing to be hunted down. After all, he wasn’t a rat. If he had been a rat, there would have been no reprieve. I’d have walked out the door without looking back.

    A mom on a mission, I didn’t have time for squeamish. I put Emmet in the laundry room and the little rat dog as well as all the other dogs in my room, except for Luther. What’s Luther going to do, but make friends with it? I instructed Henry to go get a bucket. He came back with an old kitty litter bucket. We blocked the little guy with the screen Scarlett had popped off the window. He ran into the bucket. I yelled for Henry to lift the handle and voila! Our makeshift mousetrap worked pretty well.

   “You are one lucky mouse,” I told him. Henry took him outside and he scurried away as we sped off to school, hoping not to be late for the before-school band percussion practice.

    When I got home, I divided my time between looking for jobs and cleaning the house, adroitly avoiding the pile of laundry. The house was so quiet, the only sounds I was aware of were Luther’s snores and my shoes on the wooden floor. The entire menagerie was all snug in bed.
(Bruno yawns as Vivian snuggles)

    I was excited when the phone rang because Wayne had just given me a headset to wear around the house like an operator. I always laughed at my old neighbor Steven DiMarco who wore one. Now, I was thrilled to be wearing one.

    “Hello?”

    “Hi, it’s Tob,” The tone of Toby’s voice sent off alarm bells. It was harried and secretive.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Well, just about everything. Starting with six policemen who were just searching the house.”

    “What? Who are these people? Is it the drunk?” Toby’s been staying with a woman, Fran, who is really very nice. Although she is an enabler. She divorced her drug-addicted abusive husband, but now allows him to live with her because he’s no longer using drugs. He’s just a falling-down sloppy drunk.

    “No. That’s what I thought. I thought Ricky had finally killed himself or someone else. But no, it’s the daughter. She moved in recently with her boyfriend. And, actually she’s really nice and sweet. Always doing thoughtful things like helping Dean or buying flowers. She’s been looking on craigslist and tipping me off when she sees some job I might be right for.”

    “So what was it for? Drugs?” I was fairly sure.

    “Well, yes, and, apparently, fraud. You know how I told you she’s been on craigslist? It turns out she and her boyfriend have been conning people into believing they have a rental. She asks them for a $2,500.00 deposit and they give everyone a different move in date.”

    “Toby! That’s so evil. How can anyone knowingly prey on innocent people looking for a place to live and clean them out? It's never right, but I can understand some crimes.”

    “I know. You can get the ones where the crime is a nameless, faceless corporation and they don't connect a person with it. And she’s so nice, friendly, and cute doing all these nice things, but remember when Fran stayed with me for that year a while back? Well, I don’t know if you remember, but it was because her daughter caused so many financial problems and drained her grandmother’s bank account, causing the grandmother to have to move out of the home she was living in.”

    “She’s just this side of Ted Bundy if you want my opinion. OK. I know she didn't kill anybody, but you know what I mean.” These were real vermin - rats, not mice.

    “Fran tried to do what was best and bailed her daughter out. But she just kept bailing her out and so she never learned consequences. Recently, they moved in here because they got busted for a check cashing scheme.”

    “What does Fran think now?” I asked, while I mopped the game room. I was riveted, like I was watching TruTV.

    “She just sat in a chair asking what she was doing wrong while the police searched the house, seizing evidence. She was going to try and bail her out again, but the bail is set pretty high. She can’t afford it. Ricky was drunk by 10:00AM and he keeps moaning about bailing out his little girl. Miller, I have to tell you I can barely stand it. But I don’t have the money to leave right now. I was asked by the police over and over what my relationship was to them. They think I’m one of them. Dean just watched TV and talked to the police about his show. He hasn’t asked me any other questions yet.”

    “Wow. Well, now what? You don’t really have any choice right now. You have to stay.”

    “I know. I did get work for this weekend in Big Bear, so Dean and I are going to get away and have some time away from here. Ricky is just a nightmare stumbling around. I keep my door locked. He went to a detox place for a couple of days and had the shakes, vomiting - the whole bit - but he just left there and went to a bar. I memorized his license plate so I can call the police.”

    “How does Fran deal with that?”

    “She says the bar is only two blocks away and he drives really, really slowly,” Toby laughed nervously. “As if that helps. You know we’re surrounded by three schools.”

    “She’s obviously never lost anyone to a drunk driver. I have and she is going to be as responsible as he is when he kills someone. You’re living in a snake pit surrounded by felons. Honestly, I don’t know anyone like that. The daughter is horrible, preying on people. And you're living with them. You know, right now, if it weren't for bad luck you'd have no luck at all.”

    “You're telling me. She obviously has no moral compass. It drives me crazy. They worked so hard devising this scheme. If they'd put that energy toward getting a job, they wouldn't have to do this. She’s so charming. Dean adores her.”

    “That’s scary, but I guess con artists have to be charming. It’s a job requirement. I’m worried. You don’t want Dean thinking bad people are nice. That could be very confusing for Dean,” I worried as I swept up mounds of dog hair.

    “I know. He just doesn’t have the ability to understand this. He thinks bad guys are just bad guys. And he can so easily be led down the wrong path. I told him the police were just doing a check in the neighborhood, because they thought there were bad guys around.”

    “Well, that’s good,”  I sighed as I pushed dog hair into the dustpan.

    “On the upside, the daughter and the boyfriend are going down for sure. And will probably be gone for about six months or more. So there are two less people in the house.” More nervous laughter.

    “That is definitely a benefit.”

    “Well, I’ve got to go. I’ll let ya know if anything else happens.”
(From the driveway)

    I was drained after that. I couldn’t imagine Toby living there with Dean, getting him ready for school every morning and trying to pretend Ricky was just another nice man. Meanwhile, these scheming con artists were bilking people out of money and Fran tolerated all of it. I couldn’t manage to feel sorry for her. She just let it all happen. In fact, she’s responsible. Without her, they couldn’t commit their crimes. No, I didn’t feel sorry for her. I was reminded of the old saying, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
(The pond switching from fall to winter)
    Wayne came home and we took a walk to the pond, enjoying the crisp day. We didn’t take any of the dogs with us, just in case we got a glimpse of Wally, the beaver. We didn’t see him, but we inspected his lodge and tunnels.

(Wally's entrance) (Wayne works on Wally's masterpiece)
(A breakthrough)

We tore down his dam because we’re expecting rain. The forecast says four to eight inches tomorrow. Seeing the pond always lifts my spirits. I felt lucky to be here in this special place. All my troubles and Toby’s troubles drifted away. The beauty of the hills relaxed me.
(some of the last leaves of fire) (water droplets)

    On the way back, we looked at deer trails, inspected cougar paths. It was so quiet we could hear the “whoop, whoop, whoop” as a hawk’s wings pushed the air and a field mouse skittered away through some branches. I wondered if that was our lucky mouse being lucky again.

September 30th Rumplestilskin

    (homemade wool drying contraption)

    Toby arrived intending to stay two days and now she’s been here twenty. Funny, she keeps thinking she’s intruding, but I’ve never eaten such well-balanced meals and had all my laundry washed and put away and my bathroom organized complete with tea candles by my bathtub. Of course, she can be snarly and cranky, but I love her anyway. As far as I’m concerned she can stay forever, but alas she feels it’s time for her to move on in the morning
. (Bruno having stolen Luther's special spot)

    One last hurrah to go, she’s decided to spin some of the lambs’wool. First, she washed it and made a funky contraption over the stove to dry it. Then broke out the spinning wheel. It’s a newer looking thing, not exactly what I would get if I took up spinning because it doesn’t look colonial. (Toby carding the wool in her egg buying pjs)

Nonetheless, everyone was fascinated. Henry wanted a turn, I wanted a turn and mostly Irish wanted a turn. He couldn’t keep his nose out of it. Thrusting his snout in the wheel to make it stop. Stomping on the pedals. Trying to taste the newly spun thread. Pawing the tools Toby uses to card the wool; he couldn’t get enough.
(Irish carding wool)

    Irish is a funny thing, truly a mimic. I wonder if it comes from so many years of breeding to live with different livestock. Perhaps it’s part of the breed to take on the characteristics of animals around them. The other day, I heard spooky music coming from the game room. Knowing I was the only one home I bravely went to investigate. Only to find Irish on his hind legs playing the piano presumably while trying to catch a moth. When he’s with the cattle he tries the hay. When he’s with the cats he starts to knead the rugs and now he’s a spinner.
(Irish take note of how Toby does it)

    The thread Toby spun was very pretty. She did some “regular” wool first so we could see the difference in the different textures and lengths. She’d feed some wool in and then slowly lean back and let it pull. Over and over it was almost hypnotic. I thought I should consider spinning although I’ve never been a capable knitter or had any aptitude for crocheting. My grandmother, Irene tried endlessly to teach me, but I didn’t have the patience I guess. Bye the bye. I think I dying the wool and spinning it would be fun.
(Irish paying close attention)

    So in the morning, Toby and Dean will move forward on their adventure to who knows where. Somewhere in Los Angeles where Toby can resume work as a script supervisor and Dean can attend a special day class. As for Eric, we think he’s leaving Canada tomorrow, but then again we’ve thought that every day for more than three weeks now.

(Learning new things can be so exhausting)

September 28th I Want My Mummy

   

(Halloween has arrived early)

    I’ve had a dream. It’s not a big dream like world peace or even a lofty dream like financial independence.  I simply want to park in my garage. It’s not something I thought would happen, after Wayne moved all his bikes and and tools and stuff in, but I clung to it nonetheless.

    Just after lunchtime while I was painting - what else but trim,  Wayne came to tell me there was something big in the garage and he didn’t know what to do with it. He and Tom were putting together some shelves and they needed to know where to put this. I was stunned to see my “mobile barn” transformed into a normal suburban vehicle sitting in a ship shape garage with shelves. A newly painted garage I might add. (Wayne makes my dreams come true)

    Like the garage, I know little by little things are improving around here. Last year we were so overwhelmed we were completely holiday free. No Christmas tree, no stockings, no Easter eggs and certainly no Halloween decorations were ever so much as lifted out of their storage boxes. And we have decorations. A plethora of skulls, Marcus the Carcass various mummies, black cat silhouettes a giant witch for the top of the house and best of all our graveyard perfect to complete the haunted house feel.
(Henry and Pea get going)
    Tom announced since he could now access the Halloween decorations out of the garage he was getting out all the tombstones. A few years ago we made tombstones for the front yard. Tom constructed them out of foam core, I did the research – as they’re all actual tombstones – Henry and I burned the letters and did some of the “stone” painting, but as you might have guessed, Pea did the construction and little flourishes. During the move and subsequent storage they’d incurred some damage and needed repair.  So as I went back to my new career – painting the trim on the house, they set to starting Halloween.
  (Miracle helps Tom)
    There was much discussion as to what to put where. We all walked up and down the road to find the best position for the graveyard. Should it be facing the road or the pasture. Should the witch be put on the house or the apartment? Toby, Bruno, Henry Pea and I stood there staring. Envisioning. Dean thought the whole thing a waste of time because who would ever drive down Mosquito Lake Road and see it? He had a point, but we ignored it as he was spoiling our fun. We came to a group consensus and were walking back when we saw fresh bear scat.
(Henry,Pea & friends make repairs)
    “Well, now we know what the dogs were barking at last night.” Tom laughed at the thought of Laurie running into a black bear on the way to the car. We looked around and found a well-worn path from the road to the apple trees. (Dean relaxes by Zeke) (one of the tombstones) (another tombstone)
(and another) (Pea give Alexander a hand)

    Almost out of hay, we let the goats, sheep and Miracle graze in the yard as the graveyard progressed all afternoon. First repairs, then lighting, then the timer ad to be rigged. The skeleton was strung over the entry and the mummy put into place.
 (graveyard)

(skeleton hanging from the entry)

 (Our Halloween House)
(Ahh finally my Mummy)
    The final touch? The doorbell was changed from the cougar scream which was set to torment me after my near death experience in July to a more appropriate ghoulish ghost moan. Our nightmare before Christmas was now complete.

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

    (from our apple trees)

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

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

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

\ (apple pie in the making)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “We can’t find you.”

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

“What?”

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

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

“Yes. That was a little scary.”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

(Laurie & Abe)

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

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

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

July 27th Abbey Road

The weekend flew by.

   Since Kristi moved in to Grandpa Horn's old apartment, she hasn't had a good night's sleep. It appears there were a few squatters already in the apartment. Kristi really didn't want to use traps or poison. This left ferret pee as the only option from what she told me. I was a little taken aback you could actually purchase ferret pee. Exactly how do they collect that? I'm thinking it's not good for the ferret. Looking for a way to make some spare change I told her I'd sell her some of Henry's. In lieu of this, I suggested we enlist the services of Emmett.

    Emmett is fierce, he runs the house and he is the only thing Irish has the good sense to be truly afraid of.

(Irish and Emmett meet in the kitchen)
  (Emmett asks that Irish bow to the king)
(Emmett begins to turn his back in disdain)
(Irish realizes he is supposed to do the full body bow which seems to satisfy Emmett- for now)

Henry packed a cat carrier poured some litter in and sent the assassin over for the night. By morning, he had presented Kristi with his prize on the kitchen counter. I would have been grossed out, but Kristi praised him as a hero and now she and Olie are sleeping just fine.

The assasin demonstrates his prowess)

   

On Saturday, Toby arrived with Dean and two bleary-eyed stowaways, Sam and his sister Kimona. Sam and Henry were like peas and carrots when they both went to Woodland Hills Elementary. So Henry begged me to beg his mother, Julie, to let him come up and stay for a few days or a few weeks or a few months or forever. We threw the lovely Kimona in for good measure and it’s a good thing; Kimona was the only one who helped me feed the animals in the morning while the two boys stood around grinning and punching each other.

(Evil Evelyn has a party out in the pasture with a couple of deer - Abe and Andy join in - my neighbors wave to her, but the deer are unimpressed)

   Toby and Dean only spent the night on the way back to Canada after working on a few episodes of “Monk”.  They took off just after breakfast. She was heading to Trader Joes™ to stock up on some goodies before crossing the border and catching the ferry back to Vancouver Island. She called after crossing the border and you know my feelings about he border. It had taken her over an hour and forty-five minutes. I thought she was calling to complain about the international red tape. To my complete surprise, she was calling me to tell Canada had given her two weeks to pack up her house and leave the country. The whole thing is very complicated, but the long and the short of it is – she and her husband were on work permits. Their farm isn’t doing well financially, so she left the country to “work”, however she’s not allowed to get another job. It gets complicated, but Canada feels that despite the fact their not really earning money they are “working” on the farm and that permit has expired – anyway there are other factors, but in the end, none of it matters. I think we were both in shock.
(child labor- Kimona, Sam and Henry)

    Back here, we all walked around in a daze reeling from Toby’s news and wondering where they’ll go and what they'll do. They won’t have time to sell their house or anything. We’d have to think about that later, we had to get a round bale down the cows. We all thought it would be a little tricky because it was unwrapped, but we wound chicken wire around the bale and the four of us, Sam, Kimona, Henry and I pushed the bale over and got it loaded.

(taking a break-) (Henry and Sam hitch a ride with Lu)

(Kimona gets to know Abe, Andy & Anna)

(Sam learns the meaning of "dialing" a number- shocked and confused, he asks for help)

    The rest of the day was clearing out the attic, feeding the cows’ cookies, and laughing at the geese. The kids went fishing with dogs while our friend Wayne worked hard all day clearing brush away so no pesky predators could get too close to our unsuspecting cougar snacks Henry, Sam, Kimona and Quinn.

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.”

July 1st On The Road Again

(they glitter gold in the sunshine)

   

Toby has been working away on Monk these past few weeks and has been offered yet another episode. The money’s good and the surroundings familiar, so she’s taking the gig, but she misses her son, Dean terribly. To remedy this, Dean’s coming down from Courtenay, BC to vacation with his mama. Go to Disneyland, the movies and hangout. The only problem is getting him there.

    The plan is, Eric drives him to the ferry at Nanaimo and he takes it to Horseshoe Bay where Henry and I pick him up and drive him to our house. In the morning, Mike comes and drives him to SeaTac where he will take a flight to Burbank where Toby Ann will be waiting with open arms. Clearly, there is a lot that can go wrong with this plan.

    First, Eric missed the ferry – it seems he didn’t realize he needed to get gas and didn’t leave early enough. Secondly, he didn’t check the ferry schedule and so Dean was not leaving until we thought he was arriving. This didn’t seem tragic – at first – it simply meant the boys would have less time together and they get to paint as many fence boards that I’d planned for them to paint. Lately, I’ve really gotten into child labor.

Meanwhile back at the farm, I was trying to take care of business, paying bills etc. I opened the mail and almost had a heart attack. It was a notice from the Department of Licensing telling me my driver’s license would be suspended in August. WHAT?! It claimed that when I got a speeding ticket on Mother’s Day that I never responded. I about had a breakdown. I didn’t deserve the speeding ticket, as I was going the speed limit. I did respond to the ticket and went to the court to request a court date. I found out the officer said I was on a different road than I was actually on. I told this all to the woman at the Department of Licensing. She humored me, but clearly didn’t believe me. She told me I could fax a letter to the judge requesting my license not be revoked. WHAT?! I explained again. She put me on hold for about ten minutes.

    “I looked into your ticket and it seems you're correct. You did request a court date, but it was given to another woman with the same name.” WHAT?!

    “I see.” I responded calmly. “Now what do I do to rectify all of this?”

    “Nothing. I’ve handled it. You’ll receive a court date in the mail.”

    “I don’t have to write a letter?”

    “No.”

    “May I have. .. “ Click. She hung-up.

    Completely shaken and upset at the injustice in the world and my victimization, I picked up my keys, camera, passports and told Henry we had to leave to get Dean. I didn’t want to be late.

As we drove, I thought of Barbara, she told me I had to change my attitude about Canada. Perhaps, I’d gotten off on the wrong foot. After all, years ago when I traveled with my mother, I remember meeting many Canadians in Europe and we always struck up lovely conversations. I was in my twenties and I remember I could spot them in a crowd. They were the only other women wearing nail polish other than Americans, at that time I was sporting acrylics.

(Sumas Border Crossing)

    So, as I drove up to the border I decided I would enjoy this picture postcard country and start over. The woman who checked our passports was terse, but not obnoxious – so far so good. We were making good time as Henry watched “Star Trek” in the backseat.

We knew we were going to be quite early, because Toby called and told us Dean’s new arrival time, but I didn’t want to stop before we got there. He’d be alone if we didn’t arrive in time. I called Lisa to verify my route to Horseshoe Bay as Toby was called to shoot a scene. I asked her to call up the Google Map just in case I ran into trouble. My “navi”, which we call Loretta, doesn’t work in Canada. Tom’s looked into getting me another version, but so far we haven’t wanted to spend the money. No matter, Lisa handled it without much trouble.

We were definitely headed correctly. You simply follow the Maple Leaf to Horseshoe Bay. Today, we noticed quickly is Canada Day. The country seemed joyous and today seemed like a good day for new starts.

We traveled along without interruption until we came to a tunnel. We sat in the tunnel for over an hour and a half. I heard all about the making of Star Trek. I know that Dr. Spock was intended to be red, Captain Kirk’s character is based on a combination of Hamlet and Captain Horatio Hornblower, Scotty didn’t really have an accent and Spock’s ears were almost monster ears but for the foresight of the make-up artist who went around the reluctant network. I now know more about Star Trek than some Trekkies. The traffic didn’t move. We inched forward as I studied the tile. I wondered why so much effort was put into a monochromatic pattern few people would notice at normal speeds. Did this happen often? We started out early and now we were almost late. People were getting out of their cars and walking around. But no one seemed to know what was happening because there wasn’t any reception in the long tunnel.

When we finally emerged from our prison I noticed we only moved a car length at a time. The bridge up ahead was completely empty in both directions. We couldn’t figure it out. We rolled down the windows and asked the punk in the car next to us.

“My ex-girlfriend is going to jump. They’ve closed the bridge.” He callously laughed jiggling his sunglasses.
I rolled up the window. Henry was incredulous. “Is his girlfriend really going to jump?”

“No. Honey. He’s making a joke. There must be someone who’s threatening to jump on the bridge.”

“Why would he say that then? Why would he laugh? It’s not funny, someone might die. Someone is so sad she might jump and he’s laughing? He’s a creep.”

I called Toby to update her on our lack of progress, but she must have been shooting a scene. I left a message. I didn’t know the ferry name, or if Dean had a cell phone or what else to do.

As we came to the front of the line I tried to ask the workman which direction I should head to Horseshoe Bay as I had to pick up my friend’s child.

“Lady, just get off and figure it out.” He barked. Canadians are so friendly.

I got off, Henry called Lisa and I stopped at the first gas station I saw. The men behind the counter gave me a fast list of streets and turns I should take to get to Lionsgate Bridge, the only alternate route. I wrote it down on a receipt and got in the car. Glanced at the time again and almost couldn’t breathe. Dean arrived twenty minutes ago. I had to just get there as fast as I could.

The directions, the men gave me were wrong and we were thoroughly lost and I was completely frustrated and overwhelmed with a child standing there waiting for us. Henry said Dean most likely had his GameBoy™ and didn’t even notice we were late.

(tour of the city) “Now if his battery dies, his whole world will implode, but until then we’re good.”

Oddly, this calmed me down slightly. Henry dialed the phone and barked directions being relayed from Lisa as she found the city map on the Internet. We were living a giant video game. I turned down streets that were dead ends and Lisa re-routed me. We went through Historic China Town, passed Gucci and saw the Vancouver Museum of Art. Thwarting me at every turn were the Canadians. They don’t adhere to pedestrian instructions. They simply walk in front of your car as if it isn’t a weapon of death and destruction. I started wondering if they’d run, but I kept my composure.

“Mom! They’re going to bolt across the street again watch out!”

Toby called, she'd gotten my message and reached the ferry security. They'd found Dean and would keep him until I arrived. Everyone was aware of the jumper. I relaxed a little.

    Under normal circumstances, Vancouver is probably a lovely city. There are beautiful parks, interesting architecture and gorgeous scenery. On the other hand, being lost in Vancouver is like being lost in Century City or Beverly Hills. There are lots of people, tall buildings, honking cars, shiny BMWs swerving impatiently from one lane to another. I suddenly felt like a girl who belonged on the farm. Oh, I could do this, but I didn’t want to.

(Historic Chinatown) (Art Museum) (Driving through the city) Sitting in standstill traffic is not un-familiar to me. I likened this to when PCH is shutdown and you have to go Sepulveda. We sat and sat and inched forward. Two and a half hours later we got Dean.

Unfortunately, the way back was just as arduous as the “jumper” was still on the bridge.  Like too many rats in a cage, people were going crazy tired of waiting they were completely abandoning the rules of the road. Luckily, as I drove in a foreign country, I was grateful to have a valid driver's license.

    We had to make our way back, Henry had to get out and pee in some bushes because there wasn’t anything else we could do. The man in the next car who was by my side for hours laughed. I felt a kind of kinship to him after a time. Luckily, Henry’s a boy. Just like a Canadian, he made his way through traffic back to the car. Once in, he pondered what he’d have done if he were Quinn.

(Back through China Town) “She’d have some perve looking at her.” I was glad he was beginning to understand the plight of the female. As we crossed the bridge, I nodded goodbye to my Canadian friend.

Four hours after collecting Dean, we finally arrived at the US border. Without a note from Toby, it proved challenging. As a mother, I was appreciative of their caution. We'd just about answered all his questions, but the agent wanted to go over things just one more time.

“So he’s going to see his mother in Los Angeles.”

“Yes.”

“And where’s his father?” He asked pointing to Henry.

“Los Angeles.” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“No. They’re not together.” He laughed.

The agent then decided to ask the boys all sorts of questions including their favorite video games and finally determined we were a benign group doing just as we claimed to be doing. He waved us on.

As we passed flourishing American cornfields the sight soothed me. “Almost knee-high by the fourth of July” It was only the first, but I officially gave up on my cornfield and pumpkin patch scheme. It just wasn’t going to happen this year. I haven’t had a drop of rain since Pea left and my plants haven’t even germinated. The pumpkin seeds say they’ll last two to three years so I’ll just hold on to them

 In the final stretch on Mosquito Lake Road, the boys complained of empty stomachs and we were discussing farm chores when I had to hit the brakes hard.

“What the heck? Mom, what happened?”

“That bunny hopped right in front of my car.”  I pointed, without hesitation Henry rolled down the window and screamed,

“What are you? Canadian?!”

May 21st Morning Till Night

         I woke up bright and early to get ready for my day on the tractor tilling the fields. As I padded down the stairs I stopped suddenly. I know I live on a farm and things will never be pristine. There will always be some amount of dust, dirt and mud tracked in, but as I stood there in my farm house I saw a farm mouse scoot across the floor chased by my farm cat. He caught it, released it and off it went again. I went back up stairs and called Tom.

    “I don’t want to go down there while Emmett’s got a mouse. What should I do?”

    “Go back to bed.”

    “What? Go back to bed? That’s your advice?”

    “Yep. That’s what I would do if I was there.” He went on, something about carpal tunnel syndrome from the computer and some big meeting he had to get ready for, Craig was arriving early this morning and I don’t know, I wasn’t really couldn’t concentrate on his problems when I had an episode from the Discovery Channel playing out at the bottom of my stairs. He hung up. I sat there a moment feeling trapped. Then I knocked on Mike’s door.

“Mike! Wake up! There’s a mouse! Emmett has a mouse and I need you to get it ok?”

“OK.” I heard stumbling and grumbling from behind the door but out he came groggy with a plastic bag ready for action. I didn’t tell him it was still alive. But as luck would have it, Emmett had finished off the poor thing and Mike disposed of the body.

    It rained almost all day. I was on the tractor from 10:30AM until 8:00PM with a couple of bathroom breaks during which I canceled all my plans for the next day, as it was evident I was going to need to spend it on the tractor.


    I got a voicemail from Toby she got a couple of episodes work on her old job, “Monk”, and would be coming down to spend the night en route tomorrow.

    At around 8:00PM I stopped because I literally could barely keep my eyes open. I was surprised at how physically exhausted I was. Mike and Henry had fed the animals; I took a hot shower and rolled into bed before dark.

    The next day, was much more fun. I knew what to expect, I had mastered the tiller and felt confident. Irish accompanied me to the field and spent forty minutes chasing a butterfly around the field as I went back and forth, back and forth across the field. I tried to be mindful of critters. I didn’t want to slaughter anything so I would go up and back in my same track then pivot and go right next to the track I just made. I figured the animals would hear the noise and feel the vibration and instinctively move in the opposite direction, which is why I didn’t make a big rectangle and move around the perimeter.

    Riding a tractor is the anti-internet. On the computer you can look at lots of things, but you don’t really actively have to think. On a tractor all you can do is think. I spent most of the day replaying “Field of Dreams” in my head. Humming along in my soon to be corn field I kept imagining James Earl Jones and Kevin Costner. I could envision baseball players tossing the ball around my new cornfield. “Plant it and they will come. Plant it and they will come - I keep hoping.

       After a while I thought I should make the most of my time and I did tummy-tightening exercises, kegals, meal planned and in general thought about what else I could do to make something happen out here. My idea for a corn maze grew. We could have music and and Tom could paint cut outs. We could have every one here dressed in colonial and we could put trivia cards in the maze, then have a trivia quiz after the maze. Like "What was George Washington's dog's name" etc. I thought about a pumpkin patch. I’d considered growing Cinderella pumpkins after reading an article in Hobby Farm™ Magazine. I figured I’d need to grow a couple varieties. We could do cider pressing, and kids could buy little bags of food to feed the goats, cows, sheep but I don’t think Miracle will play ball. She’s awfully shy. I continued to go back and forth over and over again. Irish got tired and went to a small hill to watch me. The cows came over to the fence intermittently to investigate my shenanigans. A raven arrived. I started considering scarecrows. I bet Tom could make a fabulous one, maybe with a tricorn hat. Back and forth. I watched the raven as he walked through the tilled soil completely unafraid of the tractor. When I got closed he sort of half flew and half hopped a few yards away. I kept watching him, he was looking through the soil and suddenly reached in grabbled a snake and flew off with it wriggling in his talons. I ducked afraid he might drop it on me like in some sort of horror movie.

        I ran out of gas. So I drove the 10 miles to the gas station filled up the diesel can and drove the 10 miles back and started again. Every pass over the field I thought, it ‘s really starting to look good now. And then I’d do another pass and think the same thing. The grass was about 18 inches high when I started and it needed to be all chopped up kind of like chopping onions. You just have to keep going until their minced or you’re recipe isn’t going to come out right. I wanted to have pretty fields. I noticed as I went back and forth that every time a car did pass by I saw brake lights. Every one was curious which is why I didn’t pee in the field as was suggested by some -too many potential onlookers.

Toby arrived, but I wasn’t done so she waved and went in the house. Henry came out and helped for a while Mike and I took measurements to see how much more I had to do. I’d tilled a little more than an acre. It looked like a huge expanse to me, but I’d done research on corn mazes and many of them are 12 acres or at least 3-4 acres. Of course many of these people live in Iowa. And after all, what else is there to do in Iowa? I’d have to be happy with an acre; it was already 7:00. But I didn’t think I could plant my pumpkins in the same space as I’d originally planned. So I hopped back on and started to punch out another field for my pumpkin patch. I was hauling. Up and back, up and back – as I was quite experienced by this time. Suddenly, the tractor sputtered and stopped. The tiller was smoking and wouldn’t lift. I sat there stunned. I got off looked at the tiller and found that I’d gone over a some wire buried in the grass left there from who knows when. Worried I’d not only broken the tiller but the tractor too I went inside to tell Toby. She’s a farm wife she’d know what to do and I thought I should just let everything cool down. Just then my dad walked in as did Mike, collectively we all agreed farm equipment had to be designed for these sorts of mishaps and we got our coats back on, a couple of flashlights as we were starting to lose light, it was 8:30PM.

    Luckily, the tractor had cooled down, started right up and the tiller lifted. I was done for the evening like it or not. We disconnected the tiller and were amazed by the size of the cable.

    “You could practically support a bridge with that thing.” Mike said in disbelief.

    We loaded it up on the truck and I went inside for a much-deserved glass of wine and chat with Toby. Bless her heart she had dinner ready. We talked laughed, researched corn mazes discussed pumpkins and laughed about all the changes in our lives. We’d come a long way from Calabasas High. She said when they called her for “Monk” they’d asked for that “organic farmer”. Exhausted we talked until we couldn’t keep our eyes open and said good night.

    In the morning, Toby was up drinking her chocolate almond milk when I got up. I took one look at her and glanced down at the floor.

    “A mouse.” I stated. Living with the assassin, Emmett, this becoming a daily occurrence.
   
    “Where!?”

    “It’s right there by your foot. A severed head, and over there is the body.” My dad walked in. “Dad can you get that?”

    “Sure,” he got some toilet paper and picked it up. As he was just about to put it in the kitchen garbage. I yelled.

    “Not in there! Outside!” He looked at me like I was a kindergartner and went out side.

    After things had settled down Toby noticed I was walking kind of funny.

    “Are you all right?”

    “Well, I can’t believe it, because I didn’t hurt on the tractor, but my back has been killing me since I stepped off it.”

    “Oh, there’s a name for that, you have what’s called ‘tractor-back’ it’s a condition farmers get.”

    “You mean like carpal tunnel from too much time sitting in an office at the computer?”

    “Exactly.”

    “Huh.”

February 28th A Mile In My Shoes

  As anyone who has ever had a child knows, getting out in the door in the morning can raise your blood pressure. Lately, Henry has been tossing on dirty or ripped clothing forgetting to fix his hair and it’s miracle if he remembers to brush his teeth without twenty-seven reminders. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for him to get ready, feed the dogs and eat his breakfast. We had a talk about it the other day and I told him as I have many fifth graders that he must take some responsibility and do for himself. It’s time. He’s going to be in middle school soon and shouldn’t be going to school with lion breath. He should select clothes from his dresser and not from the dirty clothes hamper, who does he think he is anyway? Uncle Chris?
Lisa thinks I have it easy, and in comparison she’s right. I don’t have to deal girls and their coordinating outfits, favorite blouses, braids and tears. Henry truth be told doesn’t mind if he looks homeless.
This morning, I was implementing my philosophy. I didn’t say a word. When it was time, we got in the car and headed for school. Chatting on the way I glanced over to pick up my coffee cup and couldn’t help but notice, he was wearing the indoor outdoor slippers Tom bought me for Christmas.
“Where are your shoes?”
“Oh my gosh! Oh no! Oh no! Turn back!”
“You’re kidding right? We don’t have time to turn back. How may I ask could you get in the car without your shoes?”
“I put your slippers on while I was getting ready and I guess they were so warm I just forgot. Mom, Mom, I can’t go to school in your slippers!”
“Oh yes you can.” Almost gleeful I took a sip of my coffee. Is it wrong to take pleasure in your child’s impending embarrassment I wondered. I called Toby.
“I’d stop and buy him something at Target™”
“We’ll be late.”
“Denise, c’mon he can’t go to school in slippers.” Hmm. I called Tom.
“Should I send him in the slippers or should I let him wear the boots I’m wearing? We’re about the same size and they are covered in cow dung. I stepped in some when I fed Anna this morning, so it’s nice and fresh” I ran my options past him.
“I’d say which ever ones would bring him the most embarrassment.” I knew I loved that man.
“My thinking exactly.” Receiving the support I was looking for I kept speeding toward school.
“Mom, Mom, listen to me. I know I should get what I deserve, but what good will it do if you have to come back because slippers are against school policy.” Henry was thinking on his slipper covered feet. I had a worthy opponent.
“You have a point.” Slippers would have been against the rules at Woodland Hill Elementary. I knew that for sure, and I didn’t want to be the one punished. Hmm.
“OK. You’ll wear my shit-kickers.”
“OK. Can I at least wipe them off with a paper towel?”
“NO! You go as is buster and next time remember to get dressed. Is that asking too much?” We changed footwear.
Just as I drove off I remembered I had to stop at Lowes™ Doh! I sure taught Henry a thing or two. Snap! Standing in the checkout line feeling like a fool I noticed the woman in front of me was wearing the same slippers.   

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)

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.  

August 1st Land That I Love

 This morning I drove to Canada. I’d arranged with Toby that I’d pick up Dean from camp at noon, drive to Horseshoe Bay, get his passport and bring him back with me to play with Henry. And give Toby and Eric a childfree week.

    It was a bit strange driving in Canada. I felt different. I felt like I had a bright neon sign on the top my car that said AMERICAN.

    Kilometers-Shmemometers. Now, I’ve taught the metric system for years to fifth graders and I know how much more logical it is, but c’mon, give me an old fashioned mile any day. A mile has more romance. You’re supposed to walk a mile in his shoes, not a kilometer.

    I have to say, though, the place looks like one huge gorgeous postcard. Everywhere you look there are amazing mountains and sapphire blue bays; the landscape is stunning. Having lived in flat-as-a-pancake Minnesota for a while, I greatly appreciate the striking beauty. But give me a field of wheat and the good old U-S-of-A thank you very much.

    Crossing the border is always unnerving whether it’s to Mexico or Canada. You wait and wait and wait in line and then as you drive up to the window the border guard somehow immediately makes you feel like an international smuggler. You find yourself babbling on as if you’re hiding something, which you aren’t, but you feel you must be. These are not funny people. He or she never cracks a smile. When you finally finish running the gauntlet and get to the other side and drive off there is an amazing sense of freedom.