Suzy Says

On Saturday, I took Star to the beach. Megan felt that her remaining dog was being neglected during the Great Schatzi Search and was overdue for some fun.

Star hopped happily into Miss Scarlett – I remain convinced that she remembers this is the car that rescued her – and sat beside me in the passenger seat. It was great to have a living, breathing dog beside me after so many days desperately searching for one who wasn’t, and Star was wonderful company. The only drawback was her tendency to lick my face, which can be hazardous while driving.

We stopped at the hardware store to see if they could copy the flyer I had made. They could, but only in black and white. Better than nothing, though, so I asked for 20 copies. The cashier had had the same experience with her own dog many years ago and sympathized with what we were all going through. I have to say that this crisis has really made me appreciate our neighbors and little community more.

Back in the parking lot, our postmistress – who brings her own brindled pit bull Ginger* to work every day – was washing the post office windows, even though they are officially closed on Saturdays. She said, “I think I have a package for you” and went in to get it. She returned with my package and a cookie for Star. I said that she probably wouldn’t eat it, but to go ahead and try. As predicted, Star rejected it, being used to a much higher caliber of treats (I kept this comment to myself). A neighbor came by and petted Star through the open car window, and I could tell she was enjoying the attention.

We headed to Big River beach, the site of my brother’s fearlessly frigid Polar Plunge a few months ago. It was early enough that we had the beach almost to ourselves. Star was incredibly excited when we turned off the road toward the beach. She wasted no time in exploring:

leaving Star prints in the sand:

She happily sniffed the beach flowers:

We admired the tide pools as we headed toward the bridge:

This is where the river meets the ocean, and the water is so clear you can see all the pebbles and seaweed:

Star avoided the water itself, but she was definitely happy to be at the beach. I really enjoyed my time with her. I should do it more often.

*Ginger may well be Hooterville’s most popular resident. Megan and I often stop in just to pet Ginger, and we are far from the only ones.

Megan and Schatzi at Little River Inn, December 2012

Schatzi disappeared two days before the eighth anniversary of our mother’s death. Is there significance to her leaving on the 8th day of the 8th month near the 8th anniversary of Mom’s death? Or that the 8th plus the 10th equals the 18th, when we lost our father?

Or is it all meaningless?

That day dawned like any other. I was on a conference call when I heard Megan clapping for Schatzi, the best method of summoning a nearly deaf dog from the quiet woods. When she was still clapping after the call, I went over to Megan’s house. Schatzi was conspicuous by her absence, and Megan had a bad feeling.

We spent the rest of that day and all of the next literally and figuratively beating the bushes, clapping and calling until our hands were sore and our voices rough. Schatzi was never gone for more than an hour, and she normally made a loop from Meg’s house to mine and through the haul road behind my house and back. We soon discovered that the other people on our property rarely saw her.

The next day, a clerk at the store told us that she had seen Schatzi about 9 am on Thursday morning, trotting down the Ridge heading toward our brother’s place. Another person said a friend of his had seen a dog matching her description that morning. We went back and searched the area again, and I made a flyer which we posted at the store and post office.

Megan and our friends Jennifer and Dave searched all day on Saturday. All we found was that our neighbors are super nice and helpful. Everyone took a flyer, and everyone called their local friends, relations, and neighbors to put out the word. The kindness of our little community was a ray of sunshine on these dark days.

The search goes on today, but after so many days with no food and no meds since Wednesday night, it’s only because our hearts can’t catch up with our heads. That’s going to take a long time, if it ever happens.

We hope that she chose to leave us rather than thinking that she got lost. She rarely left the property, and she has lived here for 12 of her 15+ years. She knew it like the back of her paw. And she was always a very stubborn dog, as well as one who was always more of a wild animal after her difficult start in life, abandoned in the desert, so it makes sense that she would follow her instincts to die alone, however hard it is for us to accept. The lack of crows and other such birds leads me to believe that she is resting peacefully in a little nest under brush so dense that no-one can find her. She knew those woods so well.

The first night she was missing, Megan dreamed of her all night, and Schatzi was happy in every dream. I think it was her way of telling Megan she is happy where she is. It reminded me of how I dreamed of my grandfather laughing after he died, glad to be reunited with his adored wife of more than half a century. John always said that dreams were visits.

Schatzi in a field of clover, Spring 2010

Gordie: All right, all right, Mickey’s a mouse, Donald’s a duck, Pluto’s a dog. What’s Goofy?

Teddy: Goofy’s a dog. He’s definitely a dog.

Chris: He can’t be a dog. He drives a car and wears a hat.

Vern: Oh, God. That’s weird. What the hell is Goofy?

— Stand by Me, 1986

Megan has always wondered what the hell Schatzi is. When our mother pulled the princess to be out of a dumpster in Southern California, she thought Schatzi was a black dog. After a bath, her beautiful brindle coat appeared. Mom already had two dogs, so she took Schatzi to the local shelter, where they informed her that Schatzi was a pit bull and would therefore be euthanized. No chance of adoption, no nothing. Canine racism in action. The death penalty just for the crime of being a certain breed struck our mother as unjust and intolerable, so she took Schatzi home. She named her Schatzi, which means “treasure” in German, because one man’s trash is another man (or woman’s) treasure*.

Schatzi turned out to be at least two women’s treasure. Mom and Schazti moved in with Megan shortly after this, so Schatzi has been part of Megan’s life for most of her 15 years. And I think we can all agree that Schatzi owns Megan rather than the other way around.

I gave Megan a DNA testing kit for her birthday so she would finally know what Schatzi is (besides one of the most beloved and spoiled dogs in America). She got the results back, and….

….drumroll, please….

Our Schatzi is at least 50% pit bull. As Megan observed, the Evils that Be at the SoCal shelter were correct in their identification of her as a pit bull, or at least a pit bull mix. The remaining 50% is unknown, though some of their suggestions seemed odd to me. White German Shepherd? Chow? Really?

Megan is dying to know about the mystery 50% and is thinking of getting a blood DNA test, which has a wider database and more accuracy. I don’t think she’ll have much trouble taking Schatzi’s blood. When Megan was thirteen, our father had Megan dissect a bird in front of his scientist colleagues at the University of Siena in Italy. They were all impressed. Dad just took it in stride. Hardly surprising that his youngest child is looking for scientific answers to a mystery.

*It can also mean “sweetheart”. When Dr. Carl, who is German, first met her, he exclaimed, “She is a Schatzi!”

When I got home, it was clear the kitties missed me. Clyde came running up to me meowing, and climbed up my (always) left arm to bury his little head against my neck, purring*. Roscoe slunk into the house and let me pet him before stalking off, and Audrey sat on my lap and went to sleep, relieved of being in charge. All three cats slept on the bed that night.

It’s not only the cats who missed me. Luna came running up, wagging her tail and rolling around on the ground in welcome, and Megan told me that Schatzi patrols my house more than usual when I’m gone. Both Megan and Rob found Schatzi hanging out in my garden, which she doesn’t usually do when I’m here. She prances by several times a day, but she never stays. I think I have honorary pack privileges in her eyes, since I often try to get her to eat and/or take her medicine. It’s nice to know that there’s extra protection while I’m gone, and it’s surprising that Audrey didn’t chase Schazti away.

On Saturday, I had my slightly delayed birthday BBQ (or, as my brother called it, my Suzy Q). My sister spent hours making chicken tikka masala and grill bread, as well as the magic Lu salad. My brother made cherry crumble from scratch – not from their trees, but that day will be here in a couple of years. The peach trees already have teeny, fuzzy peach-ettes on them, and some of the apple trees have mini apples. They gave me a ceramic chef’s knife, which is supposed to be diamond hard and not need sharpening (hopefully I will be able to avoid Calamity Suzy episodes with it). The handle is a lovely, translucent turquoise. Apparently I have yet another present which Erica has. Megan and I are trying to plan a sleepover at Erica’s this month, though it’s been challenging with our crazy schedules.

Back at the jobette, my desk was covered with cards and presents, among them a Hello Kitty magnet set and glittery Hello Kitty socks. Megan took one look and said, “Do they know you, or what?” Nothing like feeling appreciated, is there?

*Also his signature move when I first saw the boys. He did that while Roscoe watched aloofly, such things being beneath his dignity even at two months of age. Sometimes I tell Clyde the story of how he convinced me to take them both home, and I swear he purrs louder.

It’s my birthday eve and I am off to San Francisco to celebrate.

The city seems to be my celebration theme this year, since I also kicked off the new year by going there. This time, I’m attending a seminar on my actual birthday, and then the seminar hosts are grandly taking us all to see the Giants play the Toronto Blue Jays – from a luxury box. How’s that for a birthday party?

I’m hoping that the cats have used up their naughtiness quotas for the week, though this seems unlikely.

Yesterday Clyde went over to Megan’s house to cat burgle – or attempt to cat burgle – Harriet’s and Ramona’s food. The weather has been beautiful lately, so Megan’s doors, like mine, were open. Clyde took this as an invitation to check out what the neighbor cats were eating. Megan’s dogs, however, had a different opinion.

Small, stripy Schatzi, who is the most polite dog ever to all cats, has been chased away from my house by the small, stripy Audrey, who has done the same thing with the much bigger Luna. But let one of my cats turn up on Schatzi’s home turf, and it’s a different story. Megan was drinking coffee on the couch and said it was all over before she realized it was happening.

There was a scuffle in the kitchen, a water bowl went flying, and Star joined Schatzi in the feline eviction with such enthusiasm that they almost knocked Rob over in the driveway. Megan said it was like “Scuffle! Sploosh! %@#@$%^#%$^!” and then all that was left was the dust in the air (and the water on the kitchen floor).

Not to be outdone, Roscoe decided that my last night at home for most of the week and the one right before a four hour drive the next day was the perfect time for him to stay out all night. I saw him slink under the house, so I was pretty sure he was nearby, and tried to vanquish thoughts of how the beautiful June disappeared on my birthday three years ago.

Needless to say, sleep was sporadic, and I kept getting up and calling him. All the outside lights were on to try and keep the marauding monsters at bay, but you know that I am a Worrier. At last, around 4:00 am, Roscoe came calmly out of the darkness and into the house, where he had a snack and then curled up next to me in bed, so I couldn’t be mad at him.

Let’s hope they behave better for Megan!

Yesterday, Megan and I headed to the Big Town to run a few errands before meeting Monica for a drink at what is rapidly becoming our usual place, the Whale Watch Bar at Little River Inn.

Monica and Joe had to put their dog Drew to sleep this week, so Megan thought that buying Monica a drink was the least we could do. I think the venerability of the aging Schatzi makes Megan really empathize with Monica’s situation. Drew was 16 years old and had cancer, so he had a good, long life with a family who loved him until his last breath, but it’s still hard to say farewell to a beloved family member. As John observed when my father died, you always want one more day.

As we were just about to pull out of the parking lot at the garden center, someone honked at us, a rare occasion here on the Coast. It turned out to be Lu! She came with us to the next nursery – Megan was in search of tomato and bell pepper starts – and then took off on her own errands while we finished up and then met Lu back at her place. Star was thrilled to see her BFF Harlow, and they dashed off to play together while Megan and I admired the garden.

Lu has a whole wall of fuchsias:

I have to ask her how she did it. I suspect the answer is that she can plant directly into the soil instead of having to container plant the way I do. I love fuchsias, but mine are looking a little leggy despite fertilizer (I probably should have cut them back in the winter. My father always used to say you have to prune ruthlessly). She also gave me a cutting from her hedge of rose geranium, which smells absolutely heavenly.

Lu came with us to the Inn, where Monica joined us, carrying a nice article about Daisy Davis in the local paper. She was doing about as well as anyone can do in that situation, and I think it did her good to be with her friends. Here is the view from our table:

Lu, Monica, and I all have birthdays in June, and Monica is having a party on the beach a couple of days after hers, so I’m looking forward to that later this month.

As for today, it kicked (or splashed) off with aqua zumba with Megan, followed by work, and tonight a barbecue at our brother’s place with our neighbor who has been having a tough time lately. We’re hoping to cheer her up and let her know we are here for her, whatever she needs. Sometimes that’s all you can do.

Megan is so special and her birthday is so special that we celebrated it twice – last week, and on her real birthday, this past Saturday.

In the interim between the two barbecues, my brother had not been idle. He made a Waltons sized picnic table:

I mentioned that seeing him working on the table reminded me of Dad, and he said that this was the kind of carpentry Dad really enjoyed: making something useful and practical. He built bookshelves in every house we ever lived in, and Megan still has – and uses – the coffee table he made when she was a baby.

My brother wasn’t idle on Megan’s birthday, either. A woman fell about 55 feet from a cliff and Jonathan and his fellow firefighters rushed to the rescue. The woman had multiple fractures but was otherwise in pretty decent shape. Jonathan got to package her up and see her helicoptered away, and then got to be helicoptered up himself “at the end of a string”, as he put it, but really in harnesses and other safety gear:

He loves this and says it’s a good day when helicopters are involved.

Megan was busy rescuing me, unbeknownst to me. She came over to my house to pick up barbecue supplies while I was at the jobette, and discovered Clyde with an undead rabbit in the living room. The rabbit clearly wasn’t going to survive, so she dispatched it (I didn’t ask how and I still don’t want to know), putting the poor thing out of its misery and me out of the misery of finding rabbit bits all over the house.

I know it’s their nature, but I can’t help being horrified when the cats show up with birds and bunnies. I find it hard to reconcile the cuddly Clyde I love with the murderous beast he appears to be outside, though perhaps that’s what you get for naming your cat after one of America’s most (in)famous desperadoes.

Meanwhile, back at the birthday BBQ, Jonathan surprised Megan with a Swiss Army knife – equally useful to gardeners in the rugged environs of Hooterville as in the Alps (do the Swiss actually have an army?) and by replanting her grandiflora magnolia tree onto the family property:

Lichen the professional landscape gardener supervised the transplant, and the tree looks pretty happy there.

I gave Megan a dog DNA kit so she can finally find out what Schatzi is, before it’s too late. The Schatz is over 15 years old now, and some days her legs look pretty draggy, but on the whole she is hanging in there in her stoic Schatzi manner.

Erica and Jessica were there, and our friend Carrie from Oakland, as well as couple of Jonathan’s friends from the fire department, and it was so fun to eat at the big picnic table, talking about old memories and making new ones.

Evening at the historic Little River Inn

I’ve been so busy with one thing and another that I totally forgot my own blog’s 12th birthday on April 20. Not to mention Star’s 5th birthday on Cinco de Mayo (5/5). Happy belated birthday to both of us!

On Friday, Monica texted me to suggest that Megan and I meet her for a drink that evening at Little River Inn. I checked with Megan and she was free, so we went to town and ran some errands and then headed to Little River.

Miss Star had come along for the ride, so we took her for a walk in the cemetery before we met Monica. We waved at our brother, who passed us as we were getting Star out of the car. I think it’s a very pretty place:

It’s not very big, but it’s peaceful and dotted with very old stones. You can walk all the way to the ocean if you know where to go. On this occasion, we just wandered around closer to the road since we didn’t have a lot of time before meeting Monica.

This stone commemorates someone with the remarkable name Dreeme Life Ball:

He or she died in 1917, so it’s not (as you might think) a hippie name. The stone bears the lovely inscription “To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” Tied for coolest name in the graveyard is Haskett Severance. I like the wheat sheaf:

Sadly, this lovely rose-carved stone commemorates Haskett’s only daughter, Mary Ella, who was only 16:

At the bottom of her stone, it touchingly reads “Though lost to sight, to memory dear.”

The Bretts, whose tomb is quite magnificent, lost all five of their children in the 1800s:

It must have been pretty hard up here in pioneer days. Sometimes I think about how it must have been for families back then. It’s still a relatively isolated area.

It was time to meet Monica, so we loaded Star back in the car and headed to the historic Inn. We perched at the bar and ordered drinks: a mojito for Megan and a Margarita for me. Monica soon joined us, and it was great to catch up on each other’s news and spend some time together.

As we headed home in the fading evening sun, I thought about how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place, and to have such good friends- one of which is my sister,

But it hasn’t all been divorce and (melo)drama. A couple of weeks ago, we had a lovely Friday evening.

Megan and I went to the Village to look for books for Jessica’s birthday, which, as every right-thinking person knows, is every April 15. Originally we were looking for books on Hindu mythology, but we struck out on that, so we headed across the street to Out of This World, which is. It didn’t take us long to snap up a make your own bath bomb kit, a book on science experiments, and, what every ten year old girl needs, a do it yourself lemon clock (lemon not included).

After that, it was time to take Star for a stroll and admire the ocean, which was feeling pretty that day:

Star gets perturbed when I wander off and take pictures. She stops and looks for me, clearly thinking, “The pack should stay together at all times!” Once I rejoin the pack, she trots along happily, tail wagging and ears perked up. Star gets extra credit for totally ignoring the (many) barking dogs in cars. I finally understand why Megan trained her dogs to never, ever bark in the car. If only more dog owners did the same thing!

We met Rob for dinner at Frankie’s, where we sat outside with an ever-alert Star at our feet. And she was right – of course she got some dinner, too!

In the background, you can see the famous statue of Time and the Maiden on top of the bank:

It was made in 1866 of a single truck of redwood and is one of the most famous and best-loved landmarks in the Village.

After dinner, we made our way to the theater, which was festively lit up for the occasion:

The play was called Boy Gets Girl, written by Rebecca Gilman in 2000, but set in New York in the 1990s. It’s a dark tale of a successful young journalist who is set up on a blind date with a man who seems to be innocuous at first, but soon becomes obsessive and terrifying.

Here’s the set when we first came in – it serves as the bar where the couple first meets, the journalist’s office, and her apartment:

During the play, the journalist has to interview an aged filmmaker who specialized in B movies featuring voluptuous women and who continues to be, as the journalist puts it, “a breast buff”. The posters for his movies are pretty funny:

I was delighted to see one of the actors from Farragut North, which I saw last fall at the same theater. And one of the actors was the guy who owns the wine shop on Main Street. We all had a great time, and I think we’ll do it agin. Soon, I hope!

Well, yesterday was not fun.

It kicked off with a series of conference calls at 7 am which ran until 1:00 pm. When they ended, I headed to the Big Town to meet with the Family Law Facilitator again. She is in the Big Town one day a month; otherwise, she’s at the county seat, which is about a 4 hour round trip drive. And she won’t be in the Big Town next month, since it’s Memorial Day, so it was now or the end of June.

Fortunately, my valiant sister took me to the courthouse, along with a dopy Star. Star’s day was almost as enjoyable as mine, starting with an early appointment with Dr. Karen. Star needed some shots and tests and other unpleasant things. Star’s murky past makes these things more stressful for her than the average dog, so Dr. Karen prescribed dog valium to help make the ordeal more bearable.

It helped, but Star still stayed on Megan’s lap as much as she could (all 54 pounds of her), shivering with terror as the kind vet staff took care of her. So she was glad to crash on the duvet in the back seat of Megan’s car as we went to the courthouse.

Much like Star (though not actually sitting on my sister’s lap), having my sister with me made a big difference. It was good to have her there while Deborah explained the paperwork to me. It turns out that what the clerk told me last month is inaccurate. I still have a package of paperwork to send to John for him to sign and have notarized and send back to me. When I get it, I have to sign and get my signature notarized, and then send it to Deborah, who will file it with the court.

Deborah has filed the paperwork we have so far with the court, and apparently everything flows from the day that John signed the first thing she “served’ him with, which was April 1. According to Deborah, I can get married again on October 2. When she told me that, I instinctively cried out “No!” without even thinking about it, to her amusement and Megan’s. It’s beyond me why people who get divorced ever get married again.

I still don’t really understand how it all works, but Deborah assures me that it’s proceeding well and that we can handle the rest of it by mail. Megan and Rob are going to the county seat one of these days to see Rob’s eye doctor, so if I do need to see Deborah in person I can ride there with them.

On the way home, I said to Megan that although this is a remote area, it certainly attracts amazing people, like Dr. Karen and Deborah, who used to be a public defender in LA. I don’t know that I could find people like this in a big city, and I feel lucky to have them in my life. And as always, I’m thankful for my sister, who makes the bad times better and the good times great.

As always this time of year, Dad has been on my mind more than usual. Having said that, not a day goes by that I don’t think about him, and I don’t expect that to change.

On Thursday, Megan and I shared a glass of wine and toasted Dad: “Here’s to the Old Bear. He wasn’t so bad!” This was a joke Dad used to make – he said that he’d leave us his wine collection in his Will, and every year, we should drink some and toast him in this way. I think the wonderful Margaret inherited the wine – and I hope she drank it – but my siblings and I do toast Dad this way, more than once a year.

On Friday, Megan and I ran a few errands in town and then took Star for a walk on the headlands. It was a beautiful day:

Dad loved the ocean, and he loved to walk. And he loved to walk with dogs. I’m sure he would have appreciated how Megan rescued Star and how happy Star is now:

After all, his beloved dog Jesse was rescued* by Megan as well, and Dad adored that dog:

Not too many people would have paid a couple of thousand dollars to fly and quarantine a 9 year old mutt so he could live out his golden years in golden splendor in Wimbledon. But Dad was a special person.

We enjoyed the sunshine and each other’s company and the smell of the ocean. In a way, he was there with us. After all, he is always in our hearts.

*You can read about Jesse’s rescue here.

At the vet’s

Megan and I took the 15 year old Miss Schatzi for a check-up last week. It’s been over a year since Dr. Carl alerted us to the Swiss Cheesiness of Schatzi’s bones, and five months since she last saw Dr. Karen, so it was time for a check-up.

When a dog gets to this age, a girl has to wonder how much time her dog has left. Dr. Karen did some blood tests, which revealed that Schatzi is perfect, other than her fragile bones, arthritis, and a little heart murmur which was noted on the last visit and which has not gotten worse. Basically the only thing that’s really wrong with her is what the ER staff around here call TMB (too many birthdays).

She prescribed some new meds for Schatzi’s dementia – apparently loss of calcium in the bones affects the brain as well, at least in dogs – and renewed the many other drugs which allow Schatzi to go prancing by my house every day. Megan is very dedicated and careful about Schatzi’s diet and pain management, and it has paid off.

Schatzi is still enjoying life, playing in the woods, sometimes with her boyfriend, Yellow Dog, napping in her hay bed, or basking in the sun and sniffing the smells. Dr. Karen is pretty sure that Schatzi will make it through the summer and we can revisit her situation then.

Dr. Karen said, “She’s a surprising animal.”

She doesn’t know how surprising, though. Last week, I was getting ready to leave for work when Megan called, saying that Schatzi had taken off on her. She’d been seeking her for half an hour with no luck. I hurried off and we met up over at our brother’s property, where Megan walks the dogs after getting home from work and before going to bed.

We split up and started looking for the missing dog. It’s hard to find a deaf dog in a densely wooded area. My hands were aching with clapping for her. We had been looking for about half an hour when I saw her trotting merrily down the driveway as if nothing had happened. I managed to get her in the car and then found Megan.

I was afraid that Schatzi would be sore from racing around so long, but she was fine. Surprising, indeed.

Growing Up!

I know you’ve all been wondering about how Jarrett and Archimedes, the World’s Cutest Puppy, are doing.

The answer is: great! Archi had doubled his weight by the end of December:

I think this dog is the best thing that has happened to Jarrett in a long time.

They have a great routine. In the morning, Jarrett takes Archi for a walk, plays with him and feeds him. Archi then retires to his enormous crate, which fits Archi’s bed (but doesn’t fit in Jarrett’s giant, 1970s vintage car) and naps while Jarrett heads to work.

At lunch, Jarrett comes home and walks Archi again, before taking him to doggy daycare, where Archi is a staff favorite and welcomed with joy. Archi likes playing with the big dogs – yes, the ones that are four times his size – and they like playing with him, too.

At the end of the day, Jarrett picks up Archi. The daycare is about five minutes from their home – about as far as Archi can walk after playing most of the day. As Jarrett says, “Picking up a tuckered out puppy after a long day of work – priceless!”

I’m so glad that they found each other and are so happy together.

Farewell, 2012

It’s really fun going back and seeing what happened during the year, even if it wasn’t that great a year, like this one. Pay cuts and grand jury summons do not make for a good year. Hopefully the new one will also be improved.

Power outages: 6, including one in October due to someone driving into a power pole at 8:30 am – go figure – and two from a big storm in late November.

Rainfall: 24.20 inches for the season so far, vs. 11 inches this time last year.

Books read: 103 (vs. last year’s 118). Working more means reading less.

Favorites this year were Damien Echols’ astonishing, moving memoir, Life After Death; Gillian Flynn’s clever Gone Girl; William Landay’s surprising Defending Jacob; James M. Cain’s just-discovered final novel The Cocktail Waitress; Jess Walter’s Beautiful Ruins; and the beautifully written and moving Stoner (it’s not what you think).

Trips to San Francisco: 3. I went 4 times in 2011, but one of those was to keep Megan company while Rob endured more spinal surgery, so that doesn’t really count. I’m starting the new year off right by heading to San Francisco tomorrow morning for a few days to meet up with my boss/partner and make some plans for the future. And maybe do some shopping…

As for this year:

January: Hockey, Suzy-style. Little did I realize there wouldn’t be any when October arrived. Or December, for that matter. The case of the ransomed Christmas cards. Ordeal by utility company. Technological difficulties. Why I’m here. Outs & ins. One man’s trash…an unexpected visitor.

February: Cops and a movie! Third power outage of the season. Musing about one grandfather…and another. Coffee break. Finally, a break for Rob! In which our heroine learns that she is just as annoying as everyone else. Maybe more. A surprise wedding.

March: Small town moments. Home repairs. A visit with Jim (and other things). Dad’s 81st birthday. A date with my family. Getting a jump on spring. Suzy the screwup. Surprise present!

April: Megan’s new (to her, anyway) car! Mom’s 80th birthday. Spring planting. A rainy trip to the City. Impersonating a responsible adult. San Francisco storm. A lovely last day in the City. Jessica’s ninth birthday. The arrival of Digit, the Office Cat. Kitty update. A girls’ day out. With my favorite girl.

May: A new (well, to me) couch! My 12th blogaversary, among other things. Festive. A dilemma. License to drive. Scarred for (or by) life. An eclipse, and other things. Rob’s epic trip to see his Mother one last time. My considerably less epic trip to San Francisco. Farewell to Rob’s Mother.

June: A magical evening with the Beach Boys. Fabulous fifty! An unexpected trip. Birthday party. Dilemma solved. Birth of a garden. A wonderful tour of artists’ studios. The arrival of my first (and I hope only) subpoena.

July: A belated and fabulous birthday present. Erica and Jessica are back! My first crown. Sadly, not the Queen kind, though almost as expensive. The looming trip to Detroit makes my humble home look like paradise. The unlovely itinerary. The trip does not go according to plan. Finally in Detroit. Court of horrors. Home at last. Changes at home and at work. Time for an engine check. The neighbors stop by. A snake in the grass. I mean, house.

August: A quick trip to San Francisco. The splendid pool reopens. My 2,000th blog post. And Roscoe’s mystery injury. A lousy day with a better ending. The 11th anniversary of Dad’s death (post won’t link; it’s August 18). A new home for the adorable Digit (who is very happy there). First day at the new office – and more car problems.

September: The money fairy stops by. First foray into retail, and an update on Digit. Two very sad losses for two very dear friends. A fabulous County Fair. A check up for the Schatz. Could, woulda, shoulda – or not. Appreciating the simple things.

October: A small town moment. A very special event. A great evening with family and friends. Swimming lessons resume. Now with Jessica! The 15% pay cut rears its ugly head. So does winter. An eventful day. The Giants win the World Series again! Oh, and we go to the circus.

November: A happy Halloween. The President is, thankfully, re-elected. This campaign was brutal – I can’t believe we have to go through it again in four years. But I won’t think about that now. A beautiful way to remember. An evening at the theatah. A look around the garden. Some new beginnings. Getting ready for Thanksgiving. A wonderful Thanksgiving. Jarrett adopts the World’s Cutest Puppy.

December: Christmas decorations. Church concert. Getting ready for Christmas. A happy holiday. Lighting up the night.

Thanks for joining me for another year of adventures. I wish you all a very happy and healthy new year!

Weather’s comin’

It was a winter wonderland this morning, Northern California style: hard frost on the grass by the road; the Ridge glittering with frost and puddles frozen. The ocean was shades of pewter and lavender, and the wild, white-crested waves told of storms to come. It looks like we will get another series of storms for about a week, which should be finished in time for Christmas Eve. I hope.

Christmas Eve will be Christmas day for us. Megan got the day off from work, but Jonathan is working. He is going to bring his client to dinner and then head back to work. They are both working on Christmas day, and then I am working until the 30th, so it was Christmas Eve or forget it.

It shouldn’t be quite as busy as Thanksgiving. Paul is staying in Florida after his epic trip home in the wake of Superstorm Sandy. Catrin is visiting her sister and family in New Jersey. I’m not sure if Jarrett (and puppy!) or Lichen will be there, but Erica and Jessica will be. Yay!

I’m pretty much ready. We just have stockings instead of presents – mostly – and last weekend, I went through everything to see if we had enough for everyone, and it looks like we do. It might have been the weekend before that when Megan and I met up with Monica and her crew of cheerful volunteers at the historic Little River Inn to make Christmas tree ornaments.

We brought Schatzi with us, so we could make an ornament with her pawprint in it. She was the very first customer on this beautiful day. Here you can see her with her adoring Megan, after her pawprint was immortalized, Grauman’s style:

Being nearly 15 years old, Schatzi tired pretty quickly of all the ornament festivities, so I took her back to the car, admiring the view on the way:

I have to say, Megan’s careful regimen of food, supplements, and medications have kept Schatzi in remarkably good shape, especially considering that it was nearly two years ago that Dr. Carl told us about her secretly Swiss cheese bones. Nearly every day, she comes prancing by my house in her bright sweater, looking like a five year old dog having an excellent day.

We made an ornament for Jarrett’s puppy, and later I found out that Monica also made them for Roscoe and Clyde:

and Audrey:

On our way out the door, Megan asked me how Monica came up with all these wonderful fundraising ideas, and I said, “Because she’s Monica.”

Jarrett and Archimedes

The day after Thanksgiving, Jarrett met his new puppy, Archimedes*. Monica met us in the Village, with the puppy, his crate, blankets, a leash, and a package of information.

Everyone who adopts a dog from Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue gets a package of information about the breed – misconceptions, history, facts – and a dog who has been fostered with a loving family and is well socialized and happy:

In addition to all this, there was a letter from the foster family, who just happened to include two of the child artists from the wonderful Farm to Table Dinner in October (if you follow the link, these girls’ painting is the second one, blue and orange). The letter told everything they had learned about Archimedes during his stay with them, and I thought it was a really sweet gesture.

Like so many modern couples, Jarrett and Archi met on line.

One Saturday, Monica stopped in to see me at the jobette, carrying a just-rescued Archi. I fell for him on the spot and took some pictures, which I posted on Facebook in the hopes of helping to find him a good home. Jarrett saw the pictures and fell for the little guy, too.

After spending some time in serious thought, talking to Megan, and checking into daycare and training options, he filled out the application and was approved. I never saw it and still don’t know what his responses were to Monica’s detailed questionnaire, but she is very thorough and careful with every application, so I’m proud of Jarrett for passing the screening all on his own.

It happened that Megan had an appointment set up with Star to see her trainer that day – they meet once or twice a week, weather permitting – and Archi came along. He is a very smart dog, quick to learn, and Star made real progress in tolerating the puppy.

Jarrett and Archi stayed at my house:

and it was fascinating to see how the kitties reacted to the invasion.

Audrey: “You are disgusting. Get out of my house.” ~death glare~

Clyde: “Mommy! Save me! Eeeeek!” ~slept on my head all night~

Roscoe: “Whatever, man.” ~yawn~

*Named for the great scientist, mathematician, and inventor of antiquity. I find it rather delightful that the original Archimedes was from Syracuse in Greece, and Jonathan and I were born in the New York Syracuse. Also our friend Clayton. It kind of seemed like a good sign.

It’s a blustery day here in Hooterville – the kind where the wind chimes sing merrily of power outages, and you wake up to find that your purple honeysuckle has been swept off its feet. I will need to borrow a cup of Rob, like I did a few days ago when the sliding glass door in the studio came off its moorings. Fortunately, the glass didn’t break, and Rob was able to reinstall it by the light of the silvery flashlight, but I’ll use one of the other four doors for a while…

Thanksgiving is approaching rapidly, and we have a couple of new reasons to be thankful.

One Saturday when I was at the jobette, Monica stopped by so I could meet someone:

It was the world’s cutest puppy! I fell pretty hard for Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue’s latest member, and I posted pictures of him on Facebook to try and help find him a good home. Imagine my joy when our nephew* Jarrett adopted him! Jarrett will be here for Thanksgiving and will pick up the puppy then. I can’t wait! And I’m so glad that I will get to watch Archimedes grow up.

A couple of weeks ago, a small, starved, mangy-looking kitty turned up at our brother’s place:

We estimate that she is somewhere between 6 and 8 months old. We have no idea how she got there – Jonathan lives alone on 68 acres, and across the street is a further 100 uninhabited acres – but somehow, she found him. He’s been catless and dogless for a long time, so it’s a win-win.

I hesitated to post about it before, because it took a long time to get close enough to pet her and get her to come inside for the night, and we were all afraid that she would take off and take our hearts with her. But fortunately, she is enjoying the food and the pets, so we’re hoping that she will be a permanent member of the family.

She has the loudest meow and purr, sometimes both at the same time. She’s quite the character.

*We have known Jarrett since he was four years old. He and his Mom lived on a boat at Pier 39, as did Megan, Rob, and Jonathan. They took the fatherless kid under their wings, and he lived with Megan and Jonathan during his last two years of high school, like Megan did with me.

Long ago and far away

I have been keeping in better touch with my former neighbor Patrisha since she lost her beloved dog Hamish, so I have recently learned more news about my old neighborhood.

As you may remember, I used to live in the woodworking shop of a Victorian coffin factory. My front door opened onto the building’s courtyard, and to get to my place, you passed through a slightly creepy brick passageway like the carriages of old. Living in an old factory had its advantages. The brick walls were thick, muffling the city sounds while keeping in heat in the winter and coolness in the summer.

In the picture below, you can just about see the passageway leading to my place on the far left:

The former factory was home to a thriving and eccentric community of artists, filmmakers, photographers, architects, woodworkers (though not coffin makers), and, well, eccentrics. It is also enviably located within walking distance of the Lake and in sighting distance of the CN Tower, not to mention its proximity to the delights of Queen Street and King Street West.

Shortly before I moved back to California, a building of fake lofts began construction at the corner of the street, to the horror of the coffin factory dwellers and those in the Victorian rowhouses beside it. How ridiculous is it to build a building of pseudo lofts across the street from a building of authentic ones – thus ruining the very artistic atmosphere and look they were trying to imitate? I had a feeling even then that the coffin factory’s days as an artist community were numbered, and they are.

The owner of the building is planning to build two huge, hideous towers where the (very modest) parking lot for the building is and in the secret garden overlooking the train tracks where the lovely Rita and I used to play:

Then the whole building will be made into condos, so adios to all the artists who currently live there. Apparently many have already moved. Patrisha is so sad at the changes to – I almost wrote “destruction of” – the street that she is seriously considering moving back to her native Scotland.

Ever since the recession, or economic downturn, or whatever you want to call it, especially in an election year, I have often thought that I should have stayed in the coffin factory, surrounded by friends and neighbors, within a pleasant train ride of Kelly and Joy and a streetcar ride from Mike and his lovely family, where I would have medical coverage and access to delivery food of any ethnicity you can think of. True, there are the sweltering summers and the freezulating winters and the whole ridiculous liquor store business, but still…it’s sometimes hard not to feel that leaving might have been a big mistake. Sometimes I think of how my life might have been different or better if I had stayed. Coulda, woulda, shoulda – can anyone ever resist playing that game?

But hearing this news, I realize that if I had stayed, I would be homeless in a very expensive place – not notably cheaper than San Francisco, as far as I can tell – and that would be very scary indeed. At least as it is, I can always camp on my siblings’ property and they will always be here to help me out whenever I need it. Maybe I’m not such a bad decision maker after all.

Star (left) and Schatzi (right)

On Friday, Megan and I went to the Farmers’ Market in the Village.

I have to admit that the Farmers’ Market has become somewhat less exciting for us since Megan and Jonathan created their amazing garden. Pretty much everything they have at the Farmers’ Market, we already have, though there are some exceptions, like the fabulous Herbes de Provence mustard and delightful sprouts (we got lentil this time). Megan also picked up some organic pork roast, because our good friend Paul is coming to visit soon. Her plan is to slow cook it over the barbecue at the garden party palace while he’s here.

I took the opportunity to ask the makers of Seasoning Sand (as seen in the September Oprah Magazine) and Sea Smoke how to use the Sea Smoke. We sell this, along with other local products, at the new and improved jobette*, and people always ask me how to use it. I had no idea! Apparently the correct answer is to use it on everything. According to the makers, it’s good on everything from vanilla ice cream to Chinese food and sliced apples. He says you just need a pinch and that he takes some every time he goes out to dinner, in case he needs to improve his order.

So now I know.

After the Farmers’ Market, we took Schatzi to the vet for a check up. You may remember that she is a vintage 13 years old, and also that her old bones look like Swiss cheese inside. However, Megan’s careful drug, food, and supplement program has resulted not only in Schatzi smiling as she prances past my house every day, but in her kidney and liver numbers actually improving. I just hoped that her numbers wouldn’t be worse – I never considered that they might get better.

So that was a welcome surprise, especially when Dr. Karen told us that Schatzi has developed a heart murmur. Apparently, this is not as alarming as it sounds, and it’s a mild one. We should be concerned if we hear her coughing, so we’ll have to keep an eye (or ear) out for that.

It was a lovely, sunny day – even lovelier with the good Schatzi news – so we picked up a bottle of wine** and toasted Schatzi as we sat in my garden in the early autumn sunshine. I figured we should enjoy the garden while we can – the winter rains can’t be far away now.

I guess my version is “drink wine while the sun shines” instead of “make hay.”

*I was surprisingly upset to discover today that someone stole one of the bookmarks, decorated with a little glass vial of sand, beach glass, and shells, that we sell at the jobette. I’m still sad about it, hours later.

**The jobette CEO just gave me a bottle of wine and one of extra virgin olive oil from his trip to Italy, with a lovely card thanking me for my hard work. How nice is that?

I woke up to a 54 degree house this morning. I’m beginning to take the birds seriously.

First the migrating cranes have indicated that we will have an early winter – and unlike human weather forecasters, the cranes have never been wrong yet – and then there have been alarming reports of robins sighted locally.

Now, those of you who live in other places probably think of robins as a happy sign of spring, but here in northern California, they are a depressing sign of winter. These pretty (and possibly not too smart – why don’t they keep going until they hit Mexico? Or at least the OC?) avians spend their winters in Hooterville like more fashionable people spend them…well, in more fashionable places. The fact that they are already turning up is another sign that winter is coming sooner rather than later.

On Friday, I had my one day off of the week. I spent the time not wearing makeup or brushing my hair or talking to the general public, either by phone or in person. There was reading and movie watching, and that was about it.

I think the kitties – at least the boys, anyway – have missed me, because they hung out with me most of the day, instead of playing in what’s left of the summer/fall weather. Clyde sat on me and purred in his patented manner (always my left shoulder), and this morning, I woke up to find him sleeping on my head and Roscoe sleeping at my feet. As I write, Clyde is perched on me, purring and getting in the way as much as felinely possible.

However, when I finally got home yesterday evening, the boys were nowhere to be seen. They almost always come in around 6:00 to have their dinner, but not yesterday. I went out and called them to no avail. I was making my own dinner when I heard Clyde’s distinctive voice behind me. I picked him up, and instead of smelling like the woods, he smelled like rust and mildew, so who knows what he was up to.

I went out and called Roscoe, who finally appeared from the haul road, making his distinctive sound, which is oddly small and plaintive, unlike his rumbling purr (and giant personality).

Audrey, on the other hand, did not show up until 1:30 am.

I wonder if the cats all thought, “Well, if you aren’t going to be home, we won’t be, either! See how you like it!”

I definitely didn’t.

Over the past week or so, two of my dearest friends have lost two of their dearest friends.

Kelly’s Jazz, the most elegant and dignified dog I have ever met, left us on September 4 at the age of fifteen – a long life, but as we all know, it’s never long enough. Jazz was loved her entire life, from her first breath to her last, and how many of us, animal or human, can say that? Here she is in adorable puppyhood:

Patrisha, who gave me the priceless gift of June and Audrey (and who still has their mother, Quince), lost her handsome gentleman Hamish yesterday, also at the age of fifteen. I can’t imagine Patrisha’s vine-covered front fence without Hamish peeking through the bars, or her cycling down the street without him in her flower-decked basket. Of Hamish, Patrisha says, “Strong will & bold Scottish spirit to the last.”

Farewell, dear friends. You are missed. And loved.