Suzy Says

I’m pleased to announce that Wednesday and I have been reunited.

I picked up a new battery at the car parts store – well, the nice man at the car parts store picked it up and carefully placed it in the loaner car – and a new headlight, and headed home.

Rob came by and replaced the headlight pretty easily. While the new battery had a handle, facilitating getting its extreme heaviness out of one car and into the other, it was also a bit smaller than the old, handle-less one. Rob looked around and found some wood to hold it firmly in place, and so far, so good.

His quest to make my life better continued a few days later. Rob arrived one Sunday afternoon, armed with tools and shelves for the Closet of Doom. I had kind of thought it would be a few weeks before anything happened. I wasn’t expecting an instant installation.

Here it is in all its Doomish glory:

As you can see, it’s a really awkward space, with one side the slope-y part under the stairs, cut off by the propane heater vent pipe, which makes it impossible to walk back into the slope-y part:

The other side is mostly occupied with the washer and dryer:

The washer takes about 5,000 years to wash anything, and the dryer only allows one to choose between low and lowest, so each load of laundry takes at least three tries to dry. When I moved in, Danielle made it clear that she was not responsible for the quirks of the washer and dryer, so there you (and I) have it. At least I don’t have to trek 25 miles each way to the closest laundromat*.

Rob and I removed all the things and stuff from the closet, and then the existing shelf, which also blocked the light switch so I had to reach behind it to turn the light on and off. Why it’s not conventionally located by the door, I don’t know. All part of the Doom experience!

Up next: After!

*Long ago when I was young and living in the big city, my bijou apartment did not have laundry facilities, so I used to drag my laundry a couple of blocks to the laundromat. Sometimes, I’d go to a nearby strip club to wait for the wash cycle to be finished, since each dance took about the same amount of time.

A YEAR AGO: Car problems were making Wednesday and me a little less than happy.

FIVE YEARS AGO: My last day of working at the jobette. I’d still be doing it if I could. So much has changed.

TEN YEARS AGO: New tile in Megan’s bathroom and new carpet for my sleeping loft.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Bettie Page on the TV and a naked man on the fire scape watching a fire on the building’s roof. You know, the usual.

My big/little brother

My brother’s birthday is in early September, usually on or around Labor Day weekend, the unofficial last long weekend of the summer, and my sister’s birthday is on or around the Memorial Day weekend, the unofficial first long weekend of the summer, neatly bracketing the season.

This was a landmark birthday for my brother as he turned 55. Faithful readers may remember that I promoted him to being my big brother when he turned 50. Megan is next in line for promotion next year, when she (gasp!) turns 50 and celebrates her 30th wedding anniversary.

Never one to be deterred by logic and reason, my now “older” brother is somehow my first memory, on the day he came home from the hospital. He was small, wrapped in a white blanket, and red faced from yelling. I told my parents that the baby was broken and should be returned. Fortunately, they paid no attention to me, and this was only the first of many happy memories we share.

When things go wrong, he’s the one I turn to, and when there’s something to celebrate, he’s next to me, raising a glass with that unforgettable smile.

He captains our annual cider pressing, rules the grill at family dinners, fixes his sisters’ cars, can make a circuit board from scratch, and makes the best pies ever. He fought the wildfires in 2008 tirelessly and valiantly as the 100 foot high flames came within 2 miles of our houses. He is never happier than when doing a cliff rescue or camping in the wildest wilderness he can find. He is a Number One Groover on Life.

He is the best brother ever. I love you, Jonathan!

A YEAR AGO: The tale of the water heater.

TEN YEARS AGO: The joys of the September Issue.

It was nice to come home and find Rob there pottering around. This happens less often now that I reside 20 minutes away instead of two minutes away (or less, before Megan and Rob moved to the family estate).

He diagnosed a problem with the hose that had been puzzling me – not, as I had thought, that I bought the wrong size sprayer attachment, but rather, the acidic water at the old place had rotted out the interior threads that the attachment should fasten to. He cut off the rotten end and gave it to me to take to the hardware store. I will get a new one and let the expert install it.

Rob brought a rake so I could rake up the remainder of the bear-related mess:

I put the big stuff back in the garbage over the weekend, but little bits were loitering with intent in the fallen pine needles. I also found a trash annex next to the compost pit. Thanks, Mr. Bear! On the bright side, he has not made his presence known since I sprayed the trash cans with ammonia, nor have I had any bear sightings on the increasingly dark mornings when I scurry to the car.

He also took a look at the Closet of Doom, which is located under the stairs. It is a repository for pantry items, cleaning supplies, shoes, my current handbag, and the washer and dryer. It has a rather challenging shape, since it is under the stairs and one end slopes to the floor. At that end, I have things that I don’t need to use very often, like Christmas ornaments and my father’s letters, which I still cannot bring myself to read nearly two decades after his death, though they are also some of the most precious things I own.

In addition to the steep slope, the propane heater’s stove pipe goes directly through the closet to vent outside, cutting off the sloping side and making access to it even more difficult.

So Rob is going to design some kind of shelving solution which will avoid the pipe and hopefully make the space more usable than it is. I do miss the storage space at the old house. Hopefully Rob can come up with an ingenious Rob-type solution. I got money out of the bank to give him for supplies, and I think I can hear his creative brain whirring as I write.

A YEAR AGO: A culinary adventure.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Celebrating my brother’s 50th birthday. He has now been promoted to big brother. Megan is next in line for promotion.

TEN YEARS AGO: Megan was back at work after recovering from knee surgery, to the joy of her colleagues.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Calamity Suzy once again tests the limits of gravity.

Dad at Ocean Beach, San Francisco, 1993

Nineteen years ago, my life changed forever with a phone call. I will never forget hearing my sister’s voice telling me that our beloved father was dead. I understood the words individually, but not together. They seemed to hang in my brain, jostling each other and moving through a cloud as I struggled to understand what Megan had just told me.

To be fair, we had been informed that he was recovering well from routine gallbladder surgery and was expected to be released from the hospital just a couple of days later. There was no expectation that he would die.

Dad was only 70 when he died, just twelve years older than I am now. He was still editing a monthly scientific journal, and was slated to chair an international meeting OECD meeting in Germany a couple of weeks later. Plants he had ordered for fall planting in his beloved garden arrived a few days after I did, and the bird list he sent weekly to the RSPB lay on his desk, with his pen and glasses on top of it. When I first saw his study after his death, it looked like he would walk into it any minute and pick up his work. The work he loved.

There was no reason for him to die.

The hospital staff took Dad off blood thinners before the surgery so he wouldn’t bleed out. Then they forgot to put him back on them afterwards, and he died of a blood clot. Totally preventable.

He died in his sleep around 6:00 in the morning, the time when he usually arose for the day. My sister told me later that all the lines were gone from his face. She got into the hospital bed with him and put his arms around her. She stayed there until physically removed. She could feel the broken ribs from the pointless CPR efforts. She could feel his stopped heart. She could smell his scent. She knew he was gone.

She wasn’t even 30 years old.

Nearly 20 years after his death, I can understand why Queen Victoria mourned for the rest of her long life after losing Prince Albert. I will be mourning the rest of mine, too. Some days, I feel as devastated as I did that summer morning when the phone rang. Sometimes I remember Dad with a smile, thinking of the many happy times we spent together. I still think of him every single day. And I will always miss him. I will always mourn him. I will always love him.

Harriet’s Tree

Soon after the loss of the Beautiful Harriet, my friend and coworker Michelle (who loves Megan and shares an office with her at work) and I bought a memorial tree in her honor. We had it shipped from nearby Humboldt County, and it arrived safe and sound, with lots of roots. It is a Moon Mountain Dogwood tree, just like the one on the Ridge I think of as the Dr. Seuss tree. Our family friend Blue Jay identified the tree for me so Michelle and I could buy it for Megan.

Harriet’s tree is about three feet tall, maybe a little more. I’m not sure how long it will take before it starts to make the flowers, but I’m looking forward to them. For those who haven’t seen this kind of tree, it looks like this:

The flowers last a long time and have that Dr. Seuss look. The whole tree looks like something out of one of his books, and I love that.

Rob made a really beautiful container for the tree. If you’re wondering why they didn’t just plant it in the ground, the ground is hard and the soil is poor here, so good soil has to be imported, whether it’s a big project, like the one acre family garden and orchard, or a more modest one, like Harriet’s tree.

The tree container is made from reused ceramic tiles. Rob found them and carefully beveled the edges so they would fit together. He also made the metal frame, soldering it together, and then planted flowers around the tree. It’s going to look amazing when it’s all grown in and the tree is flowering. It’s planted where it can be seen from the living room, too, so it can be enjoyed inside and out.

I think The Beautiful Harriet would approve. I wish she were here to see it.

A YEAR AGO: At the movies.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A visit from Erica. I miss her so much!

TEN YEARS AGO: A whole new window!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Farewell to my mother, after a long and courageous battle against breast cancer. She was a fighter and never gave up. Rest easy, Mom.

The velvety Stella having fun in the woods

Megan noticed a bump on Stella’s velvety grey leg. She took Stella to see Dr. Karen, who did a needle biopsy and then said the C word. You know, the one no one wants to hear. The lump had to go, but it was a long two week wait until Dr. Karen had room in her schedule to do the deed. It gave Megan time to scrape together the shocking amount* of money needed for the surgery without knocking over a liquor store or going on a multi-state crime spree. It also gave us a lot of time to worry.

The day finally came. Megan decided that while Stella was knocked out, they might as well clean her teeth and trim her nails, so we knew it would be a long day. Megan joined me at the clinic after she dropped Stella off, thinking she could get in a couple of hours’ work before Stella was ready.

It ended up being almost a whole day. Dr. Karen removed several moles, just in case, along with the lump on Stella’s leg, and also found one “near her jugular”. This did not sound good to me. They did a scan which revealed no other lurking C, to our relief, but we will have to be extra vigilant from now on. Fortunately, Stella doesn’t have a lot of fur and loves to be petted, so that will help.

The poor girl looked in worse shape than Megan’s wallet when she was released. She is the Patchwork Dog of Oz, with stitches all over that somehow have to be kept magically clean while they heal up:

Star, of course, was worried about her beloved companion, and sniffed Stella carefully when she finally got home. She has been staying close ever since. It is sweet how bonded they are and how much Star has come to rely on the calming presence of the younger Stella (much like my neurotic self relies on my much younger and wiser sister to get through life.)

We are now waiting to hear what stage the cancer was at when it was removed, which is nerve-wracking, though it was encouraging to hear that there were clean margins. So we are hoping for the best, keeping Stella as clean as we can, and petting her as much as we can.

*Nearly $1,800!

A YEAR AGO: A neighborly day (and evening).

FIVE YEARS AGO: Terrifying wildfires in nearby counties. They are every Californian’s worst fear, and reasonably so.

TEN YEARS AGO: Making fruit crumble, with apologies to the great Jacques Pépin.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: What I am.

Summer is in full swing at the family estate. Apples are appling:

Peaches are peaching:

And pears are pearing:

There are more zucchini than we know what to do with – suggestions welcome – and strawberries, herbs, and raspberries galore. Peppers are close to being ready, and we were able to pluck a few Sungold tomatoes in the greenhouse. The San Marzanos are further away from ripeness and the saucepan, but the Meyer lemons are ripening nicely. I picked one and put it in my pocket after sniffing the stem end. It smelled amazing.

We are between lettuce crops now. The old ones are too old and bitter and the young ones are too small. So there’s more lettuce in our future, as well as in our past. I’m thinking of harvesting green coriander seed from the blooming cilantro. It’s supposed to be amazing.

I’m so lucky that I have access to the family garden. It’s further away than it used to be – 20 minutes each way, instead of 2 minutes each way – but I’m trying to shop there more often and enjoy the fresh produce while we have it. It’s already getting darker in the mornings, and summer is slipping by.

TEN YEARS AGO: The view from my bed at the old house. I still love that place.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Overheard in the city. And a couple of random Calamity Suzy epispodes. That’s how I roll (out of a hammock).

When Megan and Rob first moved onto the family estate, I thought the space they had marked out for their backyard was huge. How could they need all that space? And it all had to be fenced, which is not an inexpensive undertaking, especially if you do It in a way to deter most deer and rabbits.

Fortunately, fencing, like the installation of the shade sails, is a one-time expense. And it’s worth it to keep some animals out and others in. For example, Megan and Rob recently had to go to the county seat, which takes most of a day, and they left their door open and the garden gate closed, so Star and Stella could hang out inside on the couch or outside on their special beds, sunning and shading to their hearts’ content in total safety. Much better than being stuck in the car all day, especially since it was over 100 that day in the county seat and probably about 80 at home.

Over time, they have added to the space, with plants like Erica’s beautiful rose:

And more recently, the shade sails, a necessity when you live on the Sunstroke Savanna.

Rob has made his mark on the place, with his beautiful artwork. I love the swallows:

And the tentacles of a creature apparently living below the earth:

Not to mention the gigantic lizard:

I remember Megan telling me that there was a lizard taking up most of her table earlier this year, and I can see why.

Rob also created a kinetic sculpture on the gate, because that’s how he rolls:

I said it was something like a weathervane, and Rob attempted to explain to me why it wasn’t, but my two brain cells were not up to the science-y challenge. They rarely are.

It’s been fun to watch the evolution of the place as it becomes more and more like home for Megan and Rob.

A YEAR AGO: I was pretty busy.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The graceful and athletic Roscoe. I will never stop missing him.

TEN YEARS AGO: A visit from Jessica. I will never stop missing her, either, though she is alive and well and thriving in Portland with her mother.

TEN YEARS AGO: Dog fights and car thieves. You know, the usual.

I often call the family estate The Sunstroke Savanna. There is basically no shade, and it’s hotter than that it was at my old house (a mere quarter mile away) or my new one (about 12 miles away, but still in Hooterville). As is the California way, it is also significantly colder there in the winter than it is or was at either of my houses. I would often go over there in the winter to find a hard frost or ice when there was none at my house.

Megan and Rob decided that they needed some shade at their place. They bought some shade sails to go in their capacious back yard:

Megan said that when she ordered the shade sails, he didn’t think about how she would hang them up. The answer was that Rob cemented in poles and strung the sails on wires. In fact, he was shopping for these supplies when his car broke down and he needed rescuing a couple of weeks ago. So everything is built Rob tough. Of course the sails will come down for the winter.

Megan is hoping to put in some plants that will twine around the poles and make them look prettier, especially when the sails are down. Plans are also afoot to put up fairy lights and add some movable curtains on the west side to shield us from the hottest rays of the sun on the hottest days.

There are already lounge chairs for humans, and more importantly, lounge beds for Star and Stella. Things are looking beautiful and everyone is enjoying the shade, from the dogs to the humans (and back again).

FIVE YEARS AGO: A surprise shower.

TEN YEARS AGO: Painting the old house.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some random wit.

July 1 marked Megan and Rob’s 29th anniversary! Here they are on the big day, with a beaming Dad:

I realize that Dad was around the same age then as I am now. How did that happen?

Megan and Rob were married at our godparents’ house in San Francisco by a Justice of the Peace. Dad and I both had concerns about Megan getting married so young. She turned 20 just a few weeks before the wedding, and Rob was seven years older. Rob has been our brother’s best friend since they were nine years old, so Megan knew him most of her life. But your baby sister or youngest child getting married when barely out of her teens would give many people pause.

Megan has always known her own mind, ever since she was a baby, so it shouldn’t really be a surprise that she and Rob are still married.

At the time they were married, they lived on a little sailboat at Pier 39. Then they moved to their teeny house in Hooterville, and finally to the family estate, where they and Jonathan live. When they still lived in the teeny house, they had our dying mother living with them for several years, including stints with her hospital bed taking up most of the living room. Rob made changes to the house to make Mom more comfortable, and visited her in the hospital. He never complained about having his admittedly difficult and very ill mother-in-law living with him for so long in such a small space.

Megan and Rob have been through a lot over the nearly three decades they have
been married. Megan says that when things get hard, she and Rob just take each other’s hands and walk through it together. I would say they probably love each other more deeply and truly today than they did on the starry-eyed day when they took their vows. I am so glad they found each other and stayed together all these years. Here’s to the next 29 years and all the adventures still ahead!

A YEAR AGO: The wonders of Flynn Creek Circus.

FIVE YEARS AGO: What do mysterious runes and my handwriting have in common? And is Erica a magician?

TEN YEARS AGO: Unfortunately, some things never change.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: In case you ever wondered, hospitals are not at all like spas.

Happy Fourth!

My English father used to say that England should really the be one to celebrate the Fourth of July. After all, they were finally free of America and all its problems, which have not diminished in the two centuries since we became independent. I often wonder what Dad would think of the things that have happened in this country in the nearly 20 (!) years since we lost him.

My American mother’s ancestors arrived in Massachusetts more than a century before this was a country, building a house in 1641 which still stands today as the oldest wooden frame house in the country. Perhaps it’s fitting that the land where my childhood home was built was given to a Revolutionary War soldier in compensation for his service.

My brother is named Jonathan, for the first Fairbanks to land in what would one day be America. Both the original Jonathan and the current one have enjoyed making trouble in their own ways. Rumor has it that Original got in trouble for wearing silver buckles on his shoes, something frowned on by his Puritan neighbors. Current once motorized our sister’s tricycle and encouraged her to ride it. She and the enhanced form of transportation both ended up in the neighbor’s pool. The neighbors, who had to drain and clean their pool, took it better than our parents did. Megan, the one-time tricycle driver without a license, has Fairbanks as her middle name. So the legacy lives on.

Today I celebrate both sides of my heritage. Happy Independence Day!

A YEAR AGO: Earthquakes and foxes.

FIVE YEARS AGO: An alarming and mysterious smell at Stately Suzy Manor. I am afraid to tell you what the belatedly discovered cause was.

TEN YEARS AGO: File under miscellaneous.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I always love tales from the ambulance.

Ginger and Jonathan at our childhood home

I came across this photo recently of my brother and our dog Ginger at our childhood home in upstate New York.

The photo gives a clear view of our route to the school bus stop, at the Nagels’ farm, just across the road from the Morgans’ house, on the upper right hand side. Given that our driveway was about a quarter of a mile long, I think it was close to half a mile to the bus stop, rain, shine, or snow. I clearly remember following the path we made in the snow. Sometimes we would walk past the five acres of pine trees, which housed our tree house and the large enclosure for the wounded* Snowy Owl who lived there for many years. We chose a Christmas tree there every year to cut down and bring home.

It was only recently that I wondered why my mother, who never worked, did not drive us to the bus stop, or to school, for that matter.

Ginger did not follow us to the bus stop, though he was never far from Jonathan’s side, and rescued him a couple of times, Lassie-style, from falling through a snow bank and into the nearby creek. Ginger never had much use for females of any kind, though he had a soft spot for the Nagels’ dog Daisy, who was actually allowed to play on our land. Ginger was welcome at the Nagels’ farm, where he obligingly removed the rat population from the barn.

Everyone needs a hobby, and Ginger’s was killing things. He was very efficient, from the few times I saw him in action. A swift neck break and it was all over. He also took his guardian duties seriously, even silly females like Mom, Megan, and me. When Dad was home, Ginger slept on the landing of the stairs, but when he was away, Ginger slept stretched out across the front door. No one was getting in without his knowledge.

Ginger was devoted to Dad. After all, Dad found him.

For some reason, Dad used to load us into the car and take us grocery shopping on Saturday mornings. We would also go to the library and anywhere else that was necessary, like the hardware or feed store. Again, it’s only in the last couple of years that I wondered why he didn’t just go alone, which would have been much easier.

On this particular day, we arrived at the Victory Market to discover that they had animals up for adoption, an arrangement that Jonathan would refer to as a “pity pit” as an adult. Jonathan would adopt the unforgettable Jed** the Wonder Dog from a pity pit on the other side of the country about 20 years later. Dad warned us that we could look at the animals, but we were not, under any circumstances, taking one home.

Of course, we would have agreed to just about anything to go and pet the puppies and kittens. One of those puppies jumped into Dad’s arms and stuck his wet, cold nose into Dad’s neck. Ginger came home with us that day, and was a beloved part of the family. He had his quirks, but we all do, and we all loved him. He was a great dog for kids who played outside as much as we did, year-round.

We were all shocked and saddened when Ginger was accidentally killed by hunters, but it was hardest, I think, for my father. I still remember the stricken look on his face. He immediately set off over the fields alone, where I suspect he wept and mourned his old friend where he could not be seen. He refused to get another dog** until Megan rescued Jesse, the last dog Dad would own, many years later. But that’s another story.

*Like Ginger, the owl was shot by hunters. Unlike Ginger, he survived. He was equally beautiful and fearsome.

**Jed has been gone for 13 years, and Jonathan has never adopted another dog. I don’t think he ever will. Jed was a once in a lifetime dog.

A YEAR AGO: Dodge’s daring (and destructive) escape.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A fun day off with my sister.

TEN YEARS AGO: A long day for my little sister.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Watching TV shows about a fictional hospital in an actual hospital.

The loss of The Beautiful Harriet put everything else out of my mini mind, and I forgot to tell you about my visit to the family property a couple of weeks ago, now known as the good old days when we still had Harriet.

It was still early-ish in the season, but lettuce:

herbs, and strawberries:

were ready already.

The trees were flaunting peachlets:

And pearlets:

The raspberries (in the foreground) were flourishing, though not yet berrying, and the cherry tree (in the background) in its majestic netting cathedral had a good crop of still-green cherries.

Inside the greenhouse, we scared a lizard, who fled into the tomato starts. I am pleased to announce that the Meyer lemon tree is doing quite well:

The flowers smell enchanting, and Megan says the fruit is delicious. I’m looking forward to trying one.

The lemon blossoms weren’t the only things that smelled good. The peppermint striped rose Erica gave us before her departure smells as incredible as it looks:

There is deer-defying lavender on the other side to discourage nibbling:

Looking around the garden with my sister reminded me of how Dad and I used to walk around his garden in Wimbledon before dinner, with a glass of wine in hand, admiring the plants and flowers and seeing what had changed from the day before. I had such a good time catching up with Megan and Rob that the time flew by, and before I knew it, I had been there for two hours. I also managed to get a sunburn. Silly me! It was worth it, though.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Audrey did not enjoy her trip to the vet, and I did not enjoy the bill. We never do.

The Beautiful Harriet, May 7, 2020

We lost The Beautiful Harriet just two days after Megan’s birthday.

Megan was working, and Rob saw Harriet make a strange movement and then seem to be partly paralyzed. Her pupils were fixed and dilated. He knew there was no hope of recovery, so he held her lovingly until she breathed her last, knowing that she was safe and loved.

Rob wisely waited until Megan got home from her long night shift, meeting her at the car and telling her the news as they walked back to their place together. Although Harriet was 19, her death was unexpected. I was shocked and saddened to hear the news. She hadn’t been sick or in decline, she was just old, about 92 in human years.

I went to the family estate after work that day. We all met at the chinquapin tree where Harriet’s sister Ramona and little Henry Etta are, along with Jed the Wonder Dog. Harriet is in good company in this pretty place:

She was still beautiful and her magic pelt was still magic, even in death. We petted her amazingly soft fur and told her we loved her. Rob had already prepared her resting place, quite deep but narrow enough that she would be safe and snug. Megan and I carefully rewrapped Harriet in a soft lavender towel, and then Megan lovingly settled Harriet in, tucking the towel in around our beloved girl.

We all took turns gently sifting the rich red earth over her, saying farewell and again telling her we loved her. Here is Rob finishing filling in the resting spot:

We covered it with leaves and it looks tranquil and serene:

Harriet had a long and happy life. She and Ramona lived with Megan and Rob from the time they were kittens, and were always loved and cared for. I am glad she had a peaceful end, at home, being held by someone who had loved her all her life, and that we were able to lay her to rest with our own hands with love.
Sleep easy, beautiful Harriet. You are loved and missed and will always be in our hearts.

A YEAR AGO: The great move to my current beautiful abode.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A fantastic birthday party for Megan, including the best practical joke ever.

TEN YEARS AGO: There’s nothing more fun than some quality girl time.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some quality time with the wonderful, beautiful Rita.

There haven’t been a lot of dull moments for Megan at work lately. She has worked in the emergency room of our local hospital for many years now, and just when you think you’ve seen it all, it turns out you haven’t.

A woman showed up carrying a blanket, which later turned out to contain a two week old fawn. She wanted Megan to help her with the fawn, and Megan told her to take it back where she found it. Mother deer will go in search of food and then come back. If you see a baby deer, leave it alone.

Well, she had picked it up 30 miles away.

Megan’s Plan B was that the woman keep the fawn overnight and contact Woodlands Wildlife and Parks & Recreation in the morning to get help. The woman left, and left Megan wondering why she thought the ER could do anything for, you know, a wild animal. Do they need a “Humans Only” sign on the door, like the “Please park off highway” sign at Gowman’s?

Later that evening, Megan met Monica in the hospital parking lot and noticed a blanket by the bus stop. Guess who?

So this person took the fawn, drove it 30 miles, and then abandoned it.

Megan convinced Monica to take it home, where she cared for it until Woodlands Wildlife came to get it. They said the fawn was weak, but would probably make it, thanks to Megan and Monica. And you thought they only rescued dogs!

On another occasion, someone came in and said her friend’s neck looked a little strange. Megan took a look, and it certainly did. Friend had had the same spinal surgery Rob has twice endured, though with less successful results and presumably at a less reputable establishment, since her sutures had failed spectacularly, allowing for an unobstructed view of the spine and all the inner workings associated with it.

Megan was fascinated, yet horrified as she alerted the doctors to the situation, agreeing that it did indeed look a little strange and trying to keep everyone calm. Let’s hope the repair job is more successful than the original patch job.

The Powers That Be who run our hospital – all men – decided a couple of months ago that they would no longer deliver babies. So pregnant women living on the coast have to drive an hour and a half over winding and sometimes snowy and icy or even closed roads to get there. Great idea, right? They said that the 100 or so births a year did not justify keeping the department open. That works out to a couple of births a week in any given year, right? As I said to Megan, if there was an average of two heart attacks a week, would they get rid of defibrillators?

It didn’t take long for a baby to be born in the emergency room.

There was no equipment, no staff specializing in this service, the baby was early and mother had no prenatal care, claiming she didn’t know she was pregnant. Maybe she was too busy taking care of the nine month old baby she already had to notice. This birth was fast and unexpected, and Megan caught the baby, who was given the same name as our brother. Mom and baby were transferred out, but it was complicated by rainy weather. Not ideal for anyone, though the PTB considered that it “went off without a hitch”. Of course, they weren’t there and they never will be.

When Megan was getting ready to go to work for her next shift after that one, I said that I hoped she would have an easier night. She said, “If I don’t end up with a face full of amniotic fluid, it’s all good.”

A YEAR AGO: Dealing with the past so I could start my future.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Small town fun.

TEN YEARS AGO: A bad day for our heroine.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I still think I’d enjoy Eloise’s lifestyle.

The grandfather clock in my house is probably older than this country, depending on whether it was made by John Jullion Senior (born 1701) or Junior (born 1734). Mr. Jullion was a famous clockmaker from Brentford, England, who also made the oldest clock still on public display in Australia. That one was made in 1770. Even if it’s Junior, the clock is around 250 years old. And very well-travelled.

I first met this grand old timepiece at my grandparents’ home in Surrey. They moved into the house when they were married in the 1920s and lived there for the rest of their long lives. The clock had been in Grammie’s family since it was first built, coming down through Grammie’s mother’s family, the Smiths.

At my grandparents’ house, the clock lived in the dining room, which was used for every meal, but was also sacred to the game of cricket. When there was a match – especially a Surrey match – on the wireless (radio), no one could make a sound in the house while Daddy’s Daddy listened to the game in the solitary splendor of the dining room.

The Clock

When my grandparents died, the clock was shipped to us, and when Dad retired back to his native England, the heirloom timepiece made its majestic journey with him. Unlike Dad’s 9 year old mutt Jesse, it did not have to be quarantined, and ended up living, like Jesse, in my stepmother Margaret’s lovely house in Wimbledon. About a dozen miles from where Dad grew up. Indeed, Dad used to walk Jesse on the same downs where he walked with own father as a boy.

Dad wound the clock twice a week, and it kept good time in Margaret’s pretty sitting room overlooking the big garden.

When we lost Dad, I gained a clock, and it once again made its way across the ocean, this time to San Francisco, which was a mere wilderness when it was first built. Very long-time readers may recall the battle with Customs and the hassle of getting it set up and running again in my San Francisco apartment, where it lived in the hallway.

At that point in the clock’s long life, I learned that my great grandfather, the splendidly named Sydney Joseph Beaumont Smith (all of his children had only one first name), had cut the clock down from its original height in order to fit it into the flat where he and his family lived, above his butcher shop in Chiswick.

It was something of an Antiques Roadshow moment, where a person learns that if they only hadn’t cleaned that painting, it would be worth a million dollars, and now it’s only worth $20. But the value for me is not the financial one. It is knowing that generations of my family have cared for this timepiece, lovingly made by hand by a craftsman centuries ago, and now I am the guardian of the family legacy. It’s knowing that my grandparents used to listen to its measured tick, as did my great grandparents and earlier generations of my family, and that we are all bound together by the shared experience of caring for and marking our lives and our time together by this ancient timepiece.

A YEAR AGO: I was crowned. And not in a good way.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A lovely evening at the theater with the girls.

TEN YEARS AGO: The story of Henry, the stray cat who found her way into my heart. Our time together wasn’t long enough, but it was sweet.

Dad heading to school, circa 1936

My father was born on this day in 1931.

He left us too soon, on August 18, 2001, at the age of 70. As I approach 60 – I am turning 58 this June – it is a little alarming to think that at my age, he only had 12 years left to live. I am consoled that he lived them with Margaret, who I believe was the love of his life. They were so well-suited to each other. They were from similar backgrounds, about the same age, and loved art, traveling, wine, good food, and books. They had many wonderful adventures together, and I am glad to know that the last years of his life were some of the happiest.

Some years, I am happy that I had Dad in my life and had that kind of love and support which I now realize many people – even most – never have. I was lucky to have experienced being loved by someone who knew all the worst things about me and loved me anyway. But the grief is the price of the love, and this year, I am sad and angry that I lost him so long ago and so young.

If you’re joining this telenovela in progress, here’s a brief recap. Dad was taken off blood thinners for a routine gall bladder surgery, and the hospital staff forgot to put him back on them, so he died of a blood clot in his sleep the night before he was supposed to be released from the hospital.

Life has never been the same.

I know Dad wouldn’t want me to be sad when I thought of him. So I will try to think about this little boy, so excited about his first day of school, just the beginning of a fine academic career that would culminate in a PhD in organic chemistry and a Doctor of Science degree awarded to him by the Queen Mother herself. He loved his work, and made important contributions both to the world of science, and the world.

Little did that boy imagine how far he would go in life or how many adventures were ahead of him. It may have been short, but it was a wonderful life.

A YEAR AGO: A festive birthday celebration.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Remembering Dad and the happy, golden summers we spent in Maine.

TEN YEARS AGO: A chilly birthday.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A visit to one of the most beautiful beaches in America. Again, I’m sorry to say that the photos didn’t come through, but you can have a peek here.

Well, this was the Mondayest Monday ever – the day after the dreaded time change. You know, the one where they steal an hour of our weekend and then expect us to get up extra early the next day, merrily adding insult to injury. You know a week that starts with a full (super) moon right after the hour theft and ends with Friday the 13th is going to be a weird one. There was also an earthquake on Sunday night, a long, slow one that was a little alarming, but didn’t damage anything.

Oddly enough, I felt just fine the morning after, despite being a robbery victim. I actually got up 15 minutes before the alarm went off, just as I usually do. Go figure. I was trying not to think about the purloined time, much like I used to do when I went to London all the time. I just adapted to the time zone I was in and didn’t think about how it was midnight or yesterday or whatever back in San Francisco.

Whatever it was, it didn’t really bother me this year.

Back in the olden times, on Saturday, I went over to the property for a Girl Night™ with Megan and Lu. I had a peek in the greenhouse and the garden. Here’s how it looked:

The peach trees were in bloom. So were the plum trees:

The plum trees are very popular with the bees. The trees just hum with them.

Inside the greenhouse, things are rocking and rolling. There’s lettuce, bok choy, and green onions*. Also Megan’s Meyer lemon tree:

Outside, the strawberry plants are beginning to leaf out and there are still some hardy herbs, like rosemary and thyme. Most of the garden is still asleep, but spring has definitely arrived.

When Rob drove me home, the moon was so bright that I didn’t need my flashlight. It was amazing to see it beaming over the ocean.

*These always make me think of my mother’s father, who grew them and loved them. Sometimes he’d walk back to the house humming and eating a green onion, somehow looking like a little farm boy instead of a grown man.

A YEAR AGO: If there’s anything more fun than pizza in the present and gowns from the past, I don’t know what it is!

FIVE YEARS AGO: We all got plunged into darkness again. But my brother also plunged into the icy river. For a good cause.

TEN YEARS AGO: Winter was making a comeback.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: It may have been winter everywhere else, but it was spring training in Florida.

It had been far too long since I had seen my brother Jonathan and his girlfriend Rio. In fact. The last time may have been our slightly late and slightly power outaged Thanksgiving. It’s a bit shocking, when you think that we live in the same minuscule hamlet and are two of the three siblings.

But our schedules are different, I live further away now – it’s about a 20 minute drive instead of a two minute drive – and Rio was busy with business and family things in her native LA. But one day, Jonathan texted me and asked if I was free for dinner the next day. As it happened, I was, though Megan wasn’t – her schedule has been odder than ever lately – so I wended my way over the river (and creek) and through the woods to Rio’s house.

I immediately noticed that the big brick hearth was missing from the living room. It had a wood stove perched on it at one time, and the hearth itself took up a lot of the limited floor space (Rio reckons that her house is about 700 square feet). Without it, there’s room for two chairs next to the couch and it really opens the room up. They kept the brick on the wall, which looks nice.

They also converted part of the cider house into a guest room. Our friend Clayton came up to professionally tape and mud the drywall Jonathan put up, and it looks great. There’s even a little deck off the room, overlooking the woods.

We had chicken curry for dinner, accompanied by this year’s cider, and they were both delicious. Jonathan has made a still, which is now being tweaked and is hopefully in the final stages before the cider he set aside for this purpose can be transformed into apple brandy. He said that making his own still has made him realize how very unrealistic the one was on MASH, adding that they do not pump out unlimited amounts of perfectly clear booze on demand. Once again, reality disappoints. But I am looking forward to this science experiment.

We had home-made chocolate ice cream for dinner, a change from home-grown fruit sorbet. The garden is just beginning, with lettuce and green onions in the greenhouse along with some starts.

It was a wonderful evening. Rio is heading to LA for the birth of her fourth grandson this month, and I think my brother and I should cook dinner together while she’s gone. And get together more often when she’s home.

I was long overdue for a visit to Angelika, both inside and out. I left work early one day and made my way to her little studio in the big woods. It was yet another eerily beautiful day, where you wouldn’t know it was February except for the daffodils and calla lilies everywhere. I don’t think we have had any rain since February 3. I hope there isn’t another drought and/or fierce fire season heading our way.

Angelika greeted me with a big hug and we went into the salon together. Her records revealed that I had not had my lovely locks attended to since August 23! I think it’s a credit to her artistry that they still looked pretty good. She cut two inches off and highlighted what was left, and we enjoyed chatting and catching up in the four hours it took to restore me to a better and blonder self.

Angelika is always so inspiring. She is an amazing artiste with scissors and dye, which needs some practicality, but she is also very philosophical and spiritual. Being with her really does refresh my inner being as well as my outer husk. I am hoping that she, Megan, and I can meet up outside of the salon soon.

Speaking of meeting up, Megan and I had a plan to meet Monica at our favorite seaside bar. The parking lot was oddly empty for a Saturday night, and there was a small sign on the door saying that they were closed until March 11. Megan texted Monica that we were relocating our evening out to the other bar in Hooterville (really, it’s somewhat surprising that there are two).

Also surprising was the fact that Bar Two does not have a cocktail menu. Megan and I couldn’t decide what to have, so we threw ourselves on the mercy of the bartender, who came up with a libation of gin, pineapple, triple sec, and a dash of lemon-lime shaken with ice:

It was quite delicious and not at all sweet. When Monica joined us, she opted for a classic gin and tonic with Bombay Sapphire, so we were all drinking gin. I read an article recently about how hand crafted gin is having a moment. It certainly was in that bar that night!

It was good to spend time with my sister and our friend, relaxing among neighbors and visitors as the sun slipped into the ocean.

A YEAR AGO: Feeling better led to a housework extravaganza.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Home repairs brought to me by Rob, as most of them are. And the best fan letter ever!

TEN YEARS AGO: Country mysteries.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Weathering the storms in the Sunshine State.