Suzy Says

What else is there to do on a rainy day?

Not much has been happening here in Hooterville, other than the seemingly endless rain. I have the heater set at 64, and it keeps coming on and burning luxurious propane alarmingly often, since the temperature refuses to get out of the 40s outside. It’s dark and depressing, too. Even the cats don’t want to be out there.

Hopefully, Game Two of the World Series, which is scheduled for 5:00 this evening in beautiful San Francisco, will not be rained out. The Giants have never won the WS in their California incarnation, and the last time they won the title was way back in 1954 and way back in New York. So here’s hoping.

I voted by mail the other day. Even if it’s not raining, I’m too lazy to go and wait in line. My natural impatience and slothfulness forbid it. But my grandmother, who did not have the right to vote until after she married, impressed on me the importance of voting, especially for women. So I’ve never missed an election, even when I lived abroad.

There were the usual passel of murky propositions to wade through. It’s remarkably time-consuming to read all the pros and cons and make up my fluffy mind. I had no hesitation, however, in voting for David Eyster to replace the District Attorney who gave poor Aaron Vargas nine years in prison for killing the man who molested him for years. Or in voting for Jerry Brown. If Meg Whitman buys the governorship of this great state, I’m moving to Canada.

You have been warned, Canadian readers!

As for Thanksgiving, we may have a change of venue. Lu is heading to Arizona to visit her family, and Megan is going to stay at her house and take care of Lu’s dogs. We’re trying to decide whether to have Thanksgiving at Lu’s place instead of mine.

In favor of Lu’s place is that it’s a real house, with real heating and a real kitchen. There’s even actual high speed internet and cable! Imagine! And there are three bedrooms, in case some or all of us don’t want to drive home. Also, it’s about five minutes from the Safeway, always important when dealing with T Day.

Against it is the longer drive for Erica and Jessica, the difficulties of making a big dinner in an unfamiliar kitchen, and the sentiment of having it in your own house, however humble.

What do you think?

My grumpy Sunday (and my house) improved dramatically after Rob’s arrival.

With Megan at work and the rain pouring down outside, it was a good day to work inside.

Rob installed the propane heater in the studio, which involved more than I expected. Lots of pipes and doodads, turning the gas off, and other things that are far beyond my limited ability to understand. Not for the first time since moving to the country, I wish I’d spent more time learning practical things like plumbing and wiring and less time learning impractical things, like irregular French verbs.

Here’s the new heater in all its glory:

Rob painted the wall behind the heater before putting it in. And yes, that is a tea chest being used as a stair.

He also put shelves in by my desk:

Here’s the other side:

The silhouette is my mother as a young girl. Through the window, you can see the new passion vine.

The barometer fell off the wall and slightly dented the brand-new floor:

Notice that Rob added baseboards. When he does something, he does it right.

He fixed my faulty barometer hanging, and also the loose glass in the clock, which he also rehung:

They’re made of galvanized steel and I bought them with my Dad in Greenwich a long time ago. I guess my decorating scheme could best be described as sentimental.

After all that home improvement, we had dinner together and watched “Viva Las Vegas”.

All’s well that started badly!

A year ago today, I moved to Hooterville.

Last year, it was warm and sunny. This year, it’s cold and rainy*.

Last year, I had my beautiful June Bug and my sweet little Henry Etta. Now they are gone, and I have the two rambunctious kittens to make me laugh, drive me crazy, and ease the aching of my heart. My precious Audrey is the same as ever, thankfully.

Last year, I had the moving-related knee injury and the gravity-related full body injury. This year, I’ve managed to remain major injury free (touch wood), though of course there have been the occasional Calamity Suzy incidents. It just wouldn’t be me otherwise.

Last year, I was too injured to go trick-or-treating with Jessica. This year, try and stop me. Erica asked Jessica if she’d rather go with her friends this year. Jessica said, “But Mom! I need my entourage!”

Last year, there was a lot to do in the house and garden. This year, there’s just the bathroom floor to paint, the new heater to install, and plans for the garden for next year. I’d like to have a table and chairs in the garden, and some lounging chairs on the balcony, as suggested by Jessica**.

Over the past year, I have come to appreciate and love my little family even more than I already did. Last night, I thought about how many things that make my house more comfortable and livable were brought to me by Rob. The Suzy proofed loft; the curtain rods; the CD shelves; the cat doors; the towel bars and shower curtain rod in the bathroom, to name a few. Looking around, I am surrounded by love.

*Everyone is blaming me for bringing down some kind of bad weather curse on Hooterville. Maybe Christine O’Donnell can help.

**While doing her homework the other day, she asked her mother if she had spelled “manifest destiny” correctly.

Inside the hive

Megan and I checked on the hive yesterday with our brother. There isn’t as much honey as we hoped, and Jonathan thinks that maybe the Queen isn’t very productive. It’s hard to know, since these bees just volunteered, taking over the hive after the Italian Blondes died out last winter.

This year, the bottom of the hive is sealed, so they won’t freeze like the earlier batch-o-bees. I’m looking into feeding trays for the winter, and pretty soon it will be time to start making sugar water for them again.

We talked about mite control. We don’t know if mites contributed to the earlier bees’ mortality rate. We’re reluctant to start medicating them, so we’ll probably get some special sticky paper to put in the bottom of the hive and see if any mites fall onto it. If they do, we’ll deal with it then. I wonder if these bees are mite resistant, since they are local and just turned up.

We also might get a new Queen and bees in the spring and set them up in a separate hive from the first one. Decisions, decisions!

The boys have been busy working on a solar array, which is a frame to hold solar panels. They have invented a way (out of found materials) to make the frame tilt at different angles for different seasons, to get the most out of available sunlight. My brother gets all his power from these solar panels, whose energy is stored in giant batteries. And he gets all his water from the well the boys dug last winter. I don’t think there are too many people in this country who could live as spartanly as he does.

Living on the edge

You may have noticed that I rarely complain about work, when I can and do complain about almost everything else. If there were an Olympic complaining event, I’d be clanking with gold medals, a living legend. Though I’d probably still complain about the Olympics and how they’re constantly on TV*.

Part of this has to do with the fact that my boss is a comfortable 200 miles away, and has no idea that I’m wearing pajamas during conference calls (or doing them at the beach while walking dogs). Also, he’s been my friend for fifteen years, and we sometimes go to ball games** and plays together.

My commute is pretty easy, other than the kittens getting underfoot as I lurch down the stairs in the morning. Sure, I often end up working at night or on the weekends, but I don’t have to go to an office from 9 to 5, or brave the perils of BART.

My sister, however, doesn’t have it so easy…

She worked for 14 hours on Monday, arriving home late Tuesday morning. She didn’t sleep well in the sunny, warm day (it was probably 85 here, and it was a scorching 103 in Santa Rosa and 113 in LA), and woke up, sleep-deprived, to face another 12 hour shift on Tuesday night.

To make matters worse, she discovered that her car’s steering mechanism had gone on a sudden French-style strike and refused to work. You really don’t want to be driving the switchbacks around here with no steering. I don’t think Megan was that anxious to meet her old buddies on the ambulance.

So she borrowed my car to go to work. She was already late, and had to stop and pick up a car part so our brother could work on the car today. Halfway there, she realized that she had left her cigarettes in her car. She arrived at the store about five minutes before the store closed, and said she was picking up a part.

“What part?”

“I don’t know. It’s a steering thing.”

“For a ’96 Saturn?”

“Yes!”

“Your brother called and said you wouldn’t know what the part was.”

$114 later, she was out the door and on her way to Starbucks. She took one sip – one sip before a 12 hour night shift – of her expensive coffee before it spilled all over due to the stupidity of the cup holder design in my car. Minutes ticking away, she cleaned it up as best she could and went to get gas for the car, since the gas station was right there.

She pulled up to the pump and discovered she was on the wrong side. Turned the car around, put in her credit card, and discovered that the pump was broken. Went to another pump, and discovered that she was on the wrong side again. She gave up and went to buy cigarettes – a necessity at this point – and rushed to work.

As she went through the ambulance bay, she asked one of her former colleagues to pick up a coffee for her, which he cheerfully did.

This morning, she dropped the part off at our brother’s place, and he and Rob will hopefully be able to fix the car in time for tonight’s night shift.

*My cure for Olympic boredom? Make it all pay-per view. Then all of you who really want to watch it can pay for the privilege, and the rest of us can go on with our lives, uninterrupted by the seemingly endless ennui that is the Olympics. That, or restore to its original semi-nude form with only original games allowed.

**Go, Giants!

Early rain, early morning

Wow. Has it really been almost a week? What have I been up to, you ask?

Well, there was unseasonable rain the night of Rob’s birthday and into the next day. I attempted to capture the rain drops on the trees (see above) with the new camera, which I am learning how to use. I even shot a movie of the kittens’ feeding frenzy (complete with plaintive, loud meows), but am trying to figure out how to save it. QuickTime 7 doesn’t support this and in order to do so, I’d have to buy the “pro” version, which I really don’t want to do. If/when I do, I’ll see if I can post it here.

So far, the hardest thing to get used to with the new camera is the lack of viewfinder. Instead, there’s a giant screen thingie, which you have to use to frame the picture and then take it, something of a challenge when you have bi-focals and bad vision. So I’ve been practicing, and you’ll be able to enjoy my homework as this post rambles on.

For example: the driveway was unable to withstand the rain:

Post-rain driveway

We nearly got stuck in the mud, and I have to admit to some concerns about the upcoming rainy season. Mark had a guy here today smoothing it out and applying more gravel, but I’m not convinced that the problem is really solved. I guess time will tell.

Gratuitous photo of the “Rust Room” in my garden

I’ve been busy with work, which is good. I like feeling efficient. It’s such a novelty! But it doesn’t lead to blogging. Neither does helping my brother clean out the house he lived in for fifteen years. You can acquire a lot of things and stuff in fifteen years, especially if you’re a part-time mad scientist. For example, I am now storing a giant and valuable Tesla coil in the studio, wrapped carefully in blankets.

The tiny picture above is the only one I could find of my brother’s house. It’s at the end of the driveway, and Mark is now fixing it up, adding a bathroom and the like, since there is currently only an outhouse and a bathtub, which is in the livingroom. It has windows on three sides, looking at the woods, and the fourth side is open to the livingroom, which may not be to everyone’s taste. Same goes for the stairs, which have risers well over a foot high, with a stump as the final stair at the bottom and a post at the top carved into a phallic shape. James was an eccentric builder, to say the least*.

So after I was finished work for the day, I’d head down there and help clean up. As you know, I find manual labor distressing. And it’s even more boring than regular work and even less blog-worthy. By the time I got home, had a shower, and put on my PJs, it was all I could do to mix a cocktail and read Style Rookie before falling asleep with wet hair. Which makes me glad that most of my work is done on the phone.

*When Rob was finished adding the bathroom onto his and Megan’s house, James offered to do the tilework in the shower. Megan said okay, providing that the tilework was devoid of any human anatomy or even the suggestion of it. It’s a lovely abstract design. If there’s any subliminal messages there, they’re very subliminal.

Despite having no maternal instincts whatsover, I seem to have been baby-sitting a lot lately.

On Friday, I looked after Star for about half the day, giving me time to get work out of the way before settling in to watch “Love Story”. Star and I agreed on how romantic the snow looked, not to mention how cute Ali MacGraw’s hat was, and wondered why they never put the top up on their convertible, even when it snowed. When I had one, I have to admit that I had the top down unless it was actually raining, but I would have drawn the line at snow.

When Rob came home, we all sat in the garden for a while and chatted in the sun before I headed home. If you’re wondering where Megan was, she was called in to work during the day on Friday. When I expressed dismay at her working so soon after finishing her 36 hours of night shifts on Thursday morning, she said it was “only for eight hours”.

Only?

On Saturday, Erica was working at a wedding, so Jessica came for a visit.

She was charmed by the balcony, and kept asking to go up there, despite the fact that there’s nothing on it. Jessica recommends that I get some lounge chairs and an umbrella for next summer, and if I can get Mark to move the wire that’s about a foot off the floor of the balcony, I just might follow her advice. We’ll have a stunning view of James’ junk collection from that vantage point.

We went to see if Mark’s daughters were home, but it turned out the entire family had decamped to the beach, so we played for a while on their playground, swinging on the swing, jumping on the trampoline, and giving Jessica rides on the tire swing zipline.

Back at my house, Jessica looked through my nail polish collection and selected my new favorite, Calypso (“it looks so good with my skin tone!”) and confided her ambition of being a spa scientist when she grows up.

Megan dropped by to say hello, and we all picked huckleberries, which reminded us of how much we all loved “Blueberries for Sal” and how at one point, it was the only book Jessica would have us read to her. I told Jessica that I learned how to read so I could read stories when Dad wasn’t around, but I always hid the books so he couldn’t catch me reading. In case he wouldn’t read to me anymore if he knew I could read by myself. As it happened, he read to me for the rest of his life.

We made muffins from the huckleberries, and in my responsible fashion, I let Jessica eat so many that she was pretty uninterested in dinner. I was concerned about this, and Jessica observed that “You’re the worrier in the family.” Even seven year olds can tell. Later, she asked me for a glass of milk, and I asked her about six times if she really meant it, the idea of voluntarily drinking milk being such a foreign (and disgusting) one.

We watched both Stuart Little movies, and found them charming. I’m sorry to report that Jessica was wide awake when her mother came to collect her sometime after 11:00. Jessica told her mother that it seemed like she was only at my house for seconds, words to gladden any baby-sitter’s heart.

We’re not kidding

Well, Megan completed her first full week back at work on this cold, sunny morning.

While she was off, everyone she worked with called to check in on her, including the janitors. Working the night shift brings you close to your colleagues. They know all about each other’s families, ups and downs, and take care of each other on the job. You can imagine her heroine’s welcome back to work last week.

The board showing who was working each night had her name decorated with stars, hearts, and firecrackers all this week.

While my sister was getting back in the swing of things at work, my brother was ignoring his tooth pain to climb down a cliff and rescue an unwitting tourist who got a little too close to the edge of a bluff. Jonathan said that the guy was “broken”, and when I asked what he meant, he listed both shoulders, ankles, legs, etc. The poor guy must have looked like a marionette. Jonathan got a lift by helicopter to the top of the cliff before they took the rescued man to Santa Rosa. I hope he’ll recover from all those injuries.

I’m so proud of my sibs for making a difference in our little community. There’s something truly inspiring about neighbors helping neighbors.

Well, we’re 0 for 3 in the birthday department.

Megan’s birthday barbecue got rained out for the first time in living memory, and was almost immediately followed by a serious knee injury and simultaneous root canal. My birthday continued the rained out barbecue theme, and was capped off by the tragic disappearance of the Beautiful June Bug. When I called my brother on Sunday to ask him about his birthday barbecue, which had definitely not been rained out, he told me that his tooth had blown up in an agonizing manner and all plans were off.

He called the dentist, who agreed to meet my brother at his office after church. Jonathan was in too much pain to drive, so Megan took him in, and acted as the dentist’s assistant, much as she acted as the vet’s assistant when I took the kittens in for their shots. The tooth was drained, and there’s a root canal in my brother’s future. Megan settled him in at home with pudding cups and movies, and later in the evening he called to say he was feeling better, which in turn made us feel better.

Maybe we can have a celebratory barbecue when the root canal is finally over.

When Megan was a baby, one of our father’s grad students moved in with us. His name was Gilbert, and he was from Tanzania. Due to political unrest and other unpleasant things of that nature, his wealthy family was unable to get money out of Africa and into upstate New York.

I’m guessing that his stay with us outlasted his temporary financial embarrassment, since he lived with us for a couple of years. He may even have stayed with us until he graduated and went home.

We stayed in touch over the years, Gilbert-style. No writing, no emailing, just the occasional phone call saying “I’m at the airport – can you pick me up?” or, memorably, “Can you buy a truck for me and ship it? Here’s the money.” Gilbert took Dad with him on safari, negotiating prices for lodging and then explaining to the surprised hoteliers that Dad was his brother. He introduced Dad to the Maasai, who called him “The Old White Man Who Walks Far”. And that was before his knee replacement.

Gilbert sometimes cooked for us – in retrospect, I imagine Dad was quite relieved not to have to cook for seven people every night – and one of our favorite recipes was his Chicken Pilau. I made it this week for our Thursday dinner, perhaps inspired by the very thoughtful gift Megan made for our brother’s birthday. She copied the cookbooks (and accompanying drawings) Dad made for us girls, and made Jonathan one of his own.

Here’s the recipe. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed that little stroll down memory lane.

Chicken Pilau

1 cup white rice
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
2 stalks celery
3 cups chicken stick
Cooked chicken, equivalent to 1/4 bird, cut into pieces
2 sticks cinnamon
15-20 whole cloves
2 tablespoons oi

Chop the onion, garlic, and celery finely. Sauté in large frying pan until tender, increase heat, add uncooked rice, and continue sautéeing until the rice is golden. Stir well to avoid burning. Turn down heat, add chicken stock, and simmer for ten minutes, then add cinnamon and cloves and chicken – this is the recipe of an African friend and there the amount of meat per portion is small. [Note: I just put everything in at once, and it was fine.] Simmer for another ten minutes – when the rice should be tender – or transfer to the oven (medium heat) in closed dish, where it can remain for some time.

Porchscaping

Megan had a good first shift back at work, though it was very busy. Among other things, a healthy, happy baby girl was born. By the time the twelve hours were up, both Megan and her knees were glad to go home. She was also glad that I was on hand to make dinner that night.

Star was a good girl. Even when Erica dropped by for a quick chat, Star didn’t bark at her! Erica stayed long enough for me to admire (OK, covet) her fabulous shoes, and then went to pick up Jessica from school.

Today I had conference calls starting at 6 am. Audrey kindly woke me around 5:00, making the alarm clock unnecessary and me cranky. When most of the day’s work was out of the way, Rob and I put up the hanging baskets you can sort of see in the picture above. It’s hard to see the purple one off to the right, but I promise you it’s there. I also potted the geraniums and marigolds for the pots on the steps. I think it’s a big improvement on the way it used to look:

Today is sunny and beautiful, as it should be for my brother’s birthday. He and Rob will be the same age for two weeks, until Rob’s birthday rolls around on the 18th. Jonathan is working late today, but we’ll have a barbecue for him this weekend. I already have champagne.

I’m so happy that I can celebrate my sibs’ birthdays with them. When I lived in the city and in Oakland, I didn’t want to brave the traffic, since Megan’s birthday is near Memorial Day and Jonathan’s near Labor Day. I still remember getting stalled in traffic on the Waldo Grade after visiting Megan for her birthday. I was there for 45 minutes, my sunburn (I had my 1966 Mustang convertible in those halcyon days) getting redder and my patience shorter by the minute. Now all I have to do is walk across the driveway, or drive less than a quarter of a mile. That’s a much better commute.

Essential baby-sitting equipment

So I’m baby-sitting Star. As previously noted, this consists of avoiding the heat in Megan’s shady house, painting my toenails (Calypso!), catching up on work and correspondence, and also Season 3 of “Gossip Girl”. There may be the occasional Otter Pop, but Star won’t tell.

Between Star and the kittens, I may well become an egomaniac. Or more of one. The kittens greet my ungroomed, uncaffeinated appearance in the morning with joy, barely able to wait for me to pour coffee before jumping on me and cuddling up and purring. I wonder what they’ll do when they’re too big to sit on my shoulder?

Star spent about ten minutes jumping on me, kissing me, and bouncing around after I first arrived. She was so thrilled to see me I could hardly believe it. I honestly think she loves me more than anyone on the planet, and for no particular reason. As I write, she is leaning against my leg. I guess that’s the dog version of the shoulder purr.

It’s been in the 80s the past few days. September and October are often the warmest months of the year. Last night, I slept with the balcony door open for the first time since trapping Audrey inside at night. Rob found a suitable piece of Plexiglas which he fitted above the baby gate he found at the dump, and also found a heavy pottery mold, which he placed against the baby gate to keep Audrey from pulling it out of the doorway. It worked, since she was ready to go out on schedule at 6 am. You can see why I was delighted help him out by baby-sitting Star, though it’s probably literally the least I could do. It’s the Suzy way.

Yesterday, Megan came up with a bright idea. She had a physio appointment in town, so she suggested that I accompany her to our friend Lu’s house and work there.

Lu’s house has the advantage of being significantly cooler, since it’s closer to the ocean, and also boasts high speed internet (sigh*) which (gasp) actually works. Lu and Rik were at work, so I’d have the place to myself. What’s not to love?

I packed up my laptop and overdue work, and Megan packed up the dogs. They love going to Lu’s, where there are two fenced acres to play on, and (usually) two dogs to play with. It was nice for them to get away from the heat and be able to play, even though their buddies Harlow and Marco weren’t home that day.

Megan made sure I was all set up before she left. It was delightful to sit in Lu’s sunny, spacious kitchen (a delicious 68 degrees, and proof that yes, it can be sunny and not be hot – I’m talking to you, Ma Nature!) and enjoy the speed of the interwebs. I’m used to waiting for things to load in our on-line database, but it was practically instant. I was amazed by how much I got done, and how quickly.

Occasionally, Star wandered in for pets and then wandered out again. I checked on the dogs occasionally, but they were busy doing their own thing, Schatzi hunting gophers and Star foraging for leftover pancakes in the compost. By the time Megan came back, I was finished and much more relaxed. As my father used to say, quoting the immortal Gilbert & Sullivan: “Oh! philosophers may sing/ Of the troubles of a king/ But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none/ And the culminating pleasure/ Which we treasure beyond measure Is the satisfying feeling that our duty has been done.”

When we got home, it was getting noticeably cooler. We had a couple of Mike’s raspberry Margaritas while making chicken Caesar salad wraps for dinner. No cooking required!

*Megan says that when I’m stressed or upset, I sigh a lot. I had no idea. I didn’t even know I was doing it. Apparently my sighing on Tuesday was so bad that it inspired her to come up with the Lu’s house scheme. So if you hear me sigh, look out.

People complain these days, and maybe rightly, about the downside of social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, but there are good things about it, too.

Just this morning, I learned the following on Facebook:

• A friend and his girlfriend became first-time parents;
• A friend’s beloved only brother returned safely home from serving in Afghanistan;
• A friend’s sister had successful surgery for cancer, with a very positive outlook for the future;
• A friend arrived safely in his native country, to which he is returning after many years abroad, and where he and his long-time partner are building a new home and new life together.

That’s a lot of good news for one day, from all over the world. Way to start Friday the 13th!

Meanwhile, back in Suzy world…

I’m getting swampéed with emails from money managers. One of the trade rags published an article saying that one of our clients might possibly be looking for a new money manager sometime, maybe, and listed my name and email address. Après moi, le déluge. Also, they all seemed to miss the fact that it’s only a possibility, and may or may not happen. No matter how many I answer, there are still more. It’s the Sorcerer’s Apprentice of email!

To escape my inbox, I went to town yesterday. It was still pretty early, thanks to Audrey and the still-invisible mouse, so the Safeway was delightfully unpopulated. You would be surprised by how busy it usually is, considering the town only has 5,000 residents.

I was trying vainly to reach something on an upper shelf, and someone actually came over and helped me. Imagine. I have to admit that I’m not above being a helpless girl when it suits my purposes. I might as well enjoy it, since my cuteness has a rapidly-approaching expiration date of its own.

When I got in line, there was only one person ahead of me. Behind me there was a pushy broad with a giant bottle of Pepsi. Why she didn’t use the express lane, which was wide open and unpopulated at that early hour, is beyond me. Same goes for why she kept shoving her cart into me, including when I was trying to pay for my hard-won groceries. I get extra credit for not saying a thing.

On the way home, I stopped in to see my brother. I had a bunch of mail for him – we all share one mailbox – and I wanted to see how the water heater replacement was coming along. Slowly, it turned out, but hopefully he’ll get it fixed soon. While I was there, I visited Henry, who is sleeping peacefully under her tree, and checked on the bees.

I could see where the phrase “busy as a bee” comes from*, since the bees were very active. You should have heard the happy humming coming from the hive! The returning bees were so loaded down with pollen that they could hardly fly. My brother has given them a little bucket of water with a screen in it, so they can drink without drowning. They seem to be thriving. Now all we have to do is decide how to treat them to prevent mites this winter: the organic way, or the chemical way. We’re leaning toward organic. Though we may lose more, the ones that survive will be stronger. Darwinism in our own backyard.

*Turns out it’s Chaucer! So it’s a very old phrase. I guess bees haven’t changed their ways much over the past 700 years.

Spot the Audrey!

Here you see Audrey perched on the bureau in the sleeping loft. She has the opposite of acrophobia. She has love of heights. Only an empty box makes her happier than being as high up as possible. She must enjoy looking down on me.

I heard her racketing around downstairs this morning at about 5:00. I came down to investigate, and discovered her chasing a mouse. I screamed and fled in the traditional girl manner, retreating to my bed. Needless to say, I was unable to sleep, so I just got up again about twenty minutes later.

The intruder was nowhere to be seen. I put on three lights in the living room, instead of my usual one, and am now looking around in horror, trying to decide whether it would be worse to find a live mouse or a dead one. Audrey is acting like nothing ever happened, waiting for it to be light enough to be allowed outside, whereas I am so nervous that coffee is probably superfluous at this point.

It’s probably a good time to resume the laundry project interrupted by the Back Débâcle this weekend. It seems to have recovered, but I’m being extra-careful and trying to remember to lift with my legs, not my back. It’s astonishing how many times a girl bends in a day. You only notice it when you can’t do it. When I was taking care of Megan after her knee surgery, I felt like I was flaunting my bendiness around her. Maybe this is karma?

I was walking by my front door this morning when I glanced outside and noticed Schatzi. I went outside, and before I could even pet her, she was joined by the always bouncy Star. I don’t think anyone has ever been as happy to see me as that dog is, even though I don’t live with her or feed her or anything. She can’t stop jumping on me and kissing me. Maybe Megan should keep her, just for my ego’s sake.

With the dogs prancing around me, I returned them to Megan’s house. On the way, I regretted wearing my amethyst velvet slippers and kitty PJs, since the huckleberry bushes were soaked with dew, or fog, or both.

Will I ever have appropriate country footwear on for any occasion?

After I delivered the dogs, I went back home and got back to work. I had a conference call with my far-flung co-workers, and during the call I pondered the fact that I will wear my PJs during team calls, but not when I’m talking to anyone outside the firm. Even though no-one can see me.

Go figure.

Fortunately, I was dressed when the sheriff showed up. I heard a car pull up and then a knock at the door. No-one ever knocks around here, from dogs to people, so I knew it would be a stranger. I didn’t expect it to be law enforcement, asking for my sister. She was in town getting physio, and I couldn’t reach her by cell phone, so I asked him if I could help.

He said that Megan is a witness in an animal cruelty case, and he has to give her the paperwork in person. I took his phone number and he went on his way. It’s surprising how unnerving a visit from the Law can be, even when they look about 18* and you are, relatively speaking, law-abiding.

Later, I was talking on the phone to Erica, about the kinds of things girls do (school; kids; the power of cleavage) when I saw my brother’s car pull up. I don’t see him as often as you’d think, mostly because of his hectic schedule of working and being a firefighter, so it was a nice surprise. He borrowed a couple of movies and headed home to get some much-needed rest.

He spent 26 straight hours looking for the missing woman over the weekend, and when he got home from that, discovered that his hot water heater had exploded, drenching all his camping gear. My brother used to be a serious camper, even camping in the Sierras in the winter, so his gear is good and was quite an investment. He was able to hang it out to dry, but now he’s living (hopefully temporarily) without hot water. No good deed goes unpunished!

*His obvious youth reminded me of how my father used to say “The bottles get smaller and smaller, and the policemen look like little boys.” I now realize that he was not, in fact, kidding.

Proof, if any were needed, that sloth always wins out with me:

It’s about 47 foggy degrees outside, and about 55 inside. I’m wearing my morning sweater and waiting for coffee to brew, but I have the sliding glass doors slightly open, and the front door, too. Why? Because I let Audrey out at 6:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep, and I know that as soon as I get comfortable, she’ll be asking to be let in one door and out the other, so I’d rather just leave the doors open than resume doorman duty.

See? Sloth over comfort!

Part of the reason I couldn’t get back to sleep was that Audrey woke me up from a dream about June Bug. In my dream, Audrey clawing at the door to go out in real life was June clawing at the door to come in. I could see her beautiful fur through the glass panes of the door, and it all seemed so real. As usual in dreamland, it was all a big mistake. I lay there for a while, regretting my stupidity for the zillionth time, and then decided I might as well get up and get on with the day.

I can see that it’s going to be sunny here pretty soon. If I can get my work done in time for the narrow window that the farmers’ market is open, my non-slothful sis and I will venture out together for the first time in two weeks. I’m pleased to report that she drove the hour and a half home from Willits with no adverse effects, so she’s definitely on the mend. The surgeon has to sign off on her being ready to go back to work, so it looks like she’ll be back at work in early September, with lots to tell the class about what she did on her summer vacation.

Somehow, I had failed to realize that Megan wouldn’t really have the use of her hands as well as her legs after the knee surgery. She can crutch around, but you can’t really make dinner or do much of anything when your hands are occupied with crutches. So she did need more help than you’d think, especially in the first few days.

So it was good she had her sister around to wash dishes, make dinner, fluff up the bed and make it, and other things that need hands.

Now she can get around on one crutch. She hasn’t taken painkillers for four days now, which is where we have a philosophical parting of the ways. She dislikes the effects of the medication more than the pain, whereas I, as you remember, was horribly disappointed that the pills were not, as advertised, a sort of pain eraser. “Stoic” has never been used to describe me.

She’s still applying Motrin and ice to the wounded area, but I practically had to restrain her from driving after Jonathan and Rob worked on her car, and she keeps saying she can take the dogs for a short walk. She may be one of the few people who can’t wait to get back to work. She really did not inherit any of the sloth gene. I think I got it all.

While she’s been laid up, her boss has called to check in on her a couple of times, as well as her co-workers and her former colleagues. It’s nice to be loved!

Today Rob is driving her to physiotherapy, in the hopes that it will accelerate her recovery. She’s due to go back to work in about a month, but I think it can’t be soon enough for her.

Pink is for girls…and my sister’s rat-tail cactus

…at the All Girl Multiplex…

Actually, it’s a single screen, but most of the movies are rated NB17 (no boys). Rob came home while we were watching “Working Girl” and literally fled. Suddenly, it seemed like an excellent time to water the garden!

To be fair, we did watch all the Harry Potter movies, too, which are very boy-friendly with whizzo-zappo effects and Quidditch games, which are also an excuse for the previously mentioned w-z effects. I had only seen the first one when it came out at the theater, so the others were new to me. I’d read all the books, but have an amazing ability to forget things, so I got to be surprised a few times, as well as marvelling at the kids’ terrible haircuts and still wondering why they didn’t give Harry green eyes when they made such a big deal about it in the books.

But after the Harry Potter movies were exhausted (cheer up, Part One of the Deathly Hallows is due out in November, and the second half next year), we pretty much lapsed into utter girldom, watching the following:

How to Make an American Quilt An all-star cast (Anne Bancroft, Ellen Burstyn, Maya Angelou and more) of women tell their life stories as they make a wedding quilt for a girl (Wynona Ryder in her pre-shoplifting days) who isn’t quite sure she wants to get married. We got so involved in the stories of the past that we kind of forgot about the movie’s present. As usual, the past was more interesting.

We both screamed in horror at one scene, where Ryder wraps herself in the newly-completed quilt and walks outside, dragging it in the dirt. User reviews on IMDB confirm that we aren’t the only ones.

Wish I had that quilt. Or one like it.

13 Going on 30 Jennifer Garner is charming in this light little romp about a gawky girl whose disastrous thirteenth birthday party leads to a heartfelt wish to be thirty (if only she knew that the wait is much shorter than you’d think, or even like). She wakes up in a fabulous New York apartment and discovers that she’s thirty, dating an NHL player and is an editor at her favorite fashion magazine. But things aren’t what they seem. Garner is charming, and the movie is fun, light-weight fluff.

27 Dresses Megan’s a big “Grey’s Anatomy” fan, though I’ve never actually seen a whole episode, so it was a bonus for her to see Katherine Heigl as the movie’s heroine. She’s been a bridesmaid 27 times, but never a bride, mostly because she is secretly in love with her magazine editor boss. Her sister comes to town and immediately enchants the boss, and the “commitments” writer for the local paper covers her upcoming wedding and her sister’s bridesmaid past a little too honestly…

As for Working Girl, it was more fun than I remembered, despite the appalling theme song which plays over the opening credits and almost ruins the spectacular shots of the New York skyline*. We laughed a lot, and those 1980s clothes and make-up are hilarious. Harrison Ford looks so young in it that it makes me feel old.

*Meg observed that now we always look for the Twin Towers, whereas before they were just part of the landscape, and not a very pretty part at that. We can never go back, I guess.

A misty morning at Woodhaven

~Yawn~

Audrey’s been pretty good about her nightly imprisonment. She generally comes in on her own before dark, settling on the bed for her beauty sleep while I watch old movies to escape the present. She usually doesn’t wake me up before dawn, though today she was determined to go out at 5:45 am, whereas I was determined to stay asleep.

Guess who won.

It’s very foggy this morning, so we compromised by letting her out at 6:05, when it was essentially light out, but the fog created a sort of faux-darkness. I even had the light on while I made coffee, as well as a sweater. It was 58 degrees in the house this morning, and as I waited for the coffee to brew, I pondered the fact that if it were winter, I’d put the heat on, instead of leaving the door open a crack to let Princess Audrey in and out.

Go figure.

Yesterday, I did three loads of laundry (light, dark, and Megan). I virtuously hung out my laundry and put Megan’s in the slightly scary dryer. About 3:00, the fog rolled in to the point where it was making the laundry wetter, not dryer, to be outside, so I ended up putting it all in the dryer, propane bill be damned.

So much for being green-ish.

While I was doing laundry, Megan and Rob were winding their way up and down the curvaceous challenges of Highway 20, on their way to visit the surgeon who operated on Meg a week ago. He took out the stitches, some of which were quite recalcitrant, and said she was doing well. She’ll see him again in late August, when he’ll give her a final check before letting her go back to work, nearly four months after the original injury, half of that spent dealing with bureaucracy and fighting to get the surgery done.