Suzy Says

Yesterday, Megan and Rob came by, bringing Princess Schatzi for the first time.

Henry declined to appear – he has a dim view of society in general and visitors in particular – and June retreated to the top of the stairs so she could look down on the intruder.

Adventurous Audrey, on the other hand, sat on the leather bench in front of the couch, where Schatzi was sitting between Meg and me. The cat and the dog sniffed each other, but there was no growling or clawing. Possibly all we need to do to settle that little problem in the Middle East is to have the Palestinians and Israelis come to my house. No fighting ever seems to go on here. It’s like a Mystery Spot of peace.

Later, Audrey sat on my lap, napping and purring, with Schatzi right beside me, just inches away.

Post office cows

If you mail me a present – and I hope you do – I’ll pick it up at the local post office, about five miles from my house. It’s in the same building as the hardware store, and beside the grocery store and deli, where you can also get propane* for the house and gas for the car. It’s one of those old school gas pumps where you have to flip down the handle before the gas comes out. I wish it was still accessorized by a team of attendants rushing out to fill ‘er up, clean the windshield, and flirt – those were the days.

Though lacking in gas pump jockeys, it’s not lacking in bucolic charm. Across the road is a field full of cows (see above), and across the highway is the Pacific Ocean. Slightly more attractive than the BART station of death.

Over the post office door is a swallow’s nest, with a thoughtfully provided cardboard shelf underneath. Every spring, there are peeping babies and proud parents greeting everyone who enters the post office.

Post office apples

This time of year, when there’s an abundance of apples, people drop them off at the post office, so those who are apple-deprived can pick them up. Not everyone is as lucky as we are, having a tree to pick apples from and make into pie for Sunday dinner. Last Sunday, we had a barbecue, roasted potatoes sprinkled with herbs (both from Megan’s garden), salad, and apple pie. It was so fun! We have decided that we’ll all have dinner together every Sunday from now on.

*I already got a bill for the tankful of propane. Guess how much it cost? $435! To paraphrase Eric Clapton, she don’t like, she don’t like, she don’t like…propane.

It took a while, but Henry finally decided to venture outside. The weather’s been gorgeous lately, sunny and in the 70s, and I’ve had every door in the house open. I guess Henry finally couldn’t resist. He’s been slinking in and out all day and enjoying the sun. I saw him playing with June, too.

I was surprised that it took him so long to go out, but maybe he felt that he had both been there and done that. Or he thought that if he went out, he wouldn’t be allowed back in. All I know is that we’ve made great strides in our relationship.

When I woke up in pain the other night, I went to sit on the couch, unable to risk the risky stairs (I haven’t been up them since, though Rob is working away at Suzy proofing them). Henry took the opportunity to ask to be petted, which I was happy to do, despite the fact that he kept bumping his head into my book. Eventually, he crawled into my lap and sat there for at least half an hour. Can you believe it?

Well, the adventures in gravity finally caught up with me.

Last night, I woke up in horrible pain on my right (non-bruised) side, around my back lower ribs. I managed to crawl carefully down the stairs, practically howling, and called Megan, who was at work. She asked me a series of questions, and I guess I answered them correctly, though she called our brother (also at work) to double-check with him. They think I might have bruised or even broken a rib or two in my fall, or maybe done something bad to a muscle or two.

It was a long night. Meg called to check in with me several times, and came to see me as soon as she got home, setting me up more comfortably on the couch and giving me still more of her stash of pain meds. She looked at it and couldn’t see any breakage or “lack of symmetry”, so it’s not as bad as it could be, but it sure ain’t fun.

I’m marooned on the couch until she wakes up this afternoon to check on me. Notice that I’m still blogging despite the pain, so maybe I really do have a problem. Is there blogging rehab?

The cats kept me company all night. Henry even sat on my lap for an extended period of time, sleeping and purring. Maybe they were worried about me, or knew something was up. Animals can surprise you. And comfort you.

I have to wonder if there’s some lesson here for me, something I’m supposed to learn from the constant pain and accidents ever since I moved. Any ideas?

Megan and I brought blankets, pillows, etc. with us to Lu’s party, in case we wanted to stay overnight. We didn’t, in the end, and my pillow was my undoing.

I brought it upstairs on my way to bed, but dropped it on the landing at the top of the stairs. Bending over to pick it up, I tripped over a wayward cord and fell to the floor beneath, with a resounding crash.

It was about seven feet, and I managed to break the house, though, amazingly, I didn’t break Self.

When I got up, I saw the hole in the floorboards, plus two long cracks. Rob came over the next day and repaired the hole, so it’s even better than it was (he also hid the cord catalyst), and Mark is going to put up a railing to stop any further gravity-related experiments. I honestly don’t know who was more horrified, Mark or me. I felt like the Worst Tenant Ever, smashing a big hole in the floor after living here about a week, and Mark felt terrible for not putting up the railing sooner. We all knew it was dangerous, but we reckoned without the powers of Calamity Suzy.

So other than being incredibly embarrassed and spectacularly bruised, I’m OK. Megan says her bruises were worse when she fell down the stairs at our brother’s old house a few years ago, right in front of his appalled eyes. But now the bruises and pulled muscles are keeping the housemaid’s knees company, I still can’t do much of anything. I couldn’t go Trick or Treating with Jessica, for example. But there’s always next year!

Schatzi in her “Happy Halloween” sweater, which glows in the dark!

Megan and I ventured to Lu’s new house for a party on Friday night.

The new house is near a small town called Gualala (variously pronounced Gwa-la-la and Wah-la-la). It’s about an hour’s drive away, on twisty and turny roads (there seems to be no other kind around here). It was so foggy most of the way that I was spared the horror of looking down the precipitous cliffs to the ocean below, and it had an appropriately horror movie feel, with the fog drifting out from wind-bent trees. Megan, having often driven the ambulance down this road in storms and icy roads and other adverse and perverse conditions, was unperturbed as usual.

On the way, she pointed out the sign for the Beacon Bar. Apparently, it’s a guy who turns his barn into a bar when he feels like it, and when he feels like it, he lights a beacon to alert the drinking and driving public. The fog had cleared enough by the time we came back to see the light.

En route to the party, we stopped off in the charming little town of Point Arena for coffee. It has a nice old movie theater showing new movies, some cafes and little shops, including, surprisingly, a record store.

The sun came out as we approached Lu’s house, which is set on four acres in the woods. We were greeted enthusiastically by the humans and canines, including little Harlow (aka my puppy), who Lu and Rick adopted a couple of weeks ago. Harlow helped to carve a Jack-o-lantern:

while wearing a ballerina costume. Later, she managed to get out of the outfit and had a nap in her fancy bed:

I think she’s done pretty well for herself.

The party was fun. Lots of people, kids and dogs running around. Rick had made his famous jambalaya and beer bread, and we ate at a bonfire near the house. After dinner, we went through the haunted house Lu and Rick had made in the woods. I thought it was great, though they have made much more elaborate ones in the past. The perfect touch was added by one of the kids jumping out and yelling “Boo!” at me, making me jump and scream in a satisfying manner.

Up next: experiments in gravity. Turns out ol’ Isaac Newton knew what he was talking about.