Suzy Says

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.

I don’t really think of myself as a baker. I can’t remember the last time I made a cake. I don’t even have cake pans, which probably makes it unlikely that I will be doing so any time soon. I am no Erica! She can make anything. I always joke with her that Jessica is the logical conclusion to her ultra craftiness. “I’m going to make a human being! And she’s going to be awesome!” And she is.

I am good at making Montreal* style bagels, somewhat surprising since I do not have a wood-fired oven and have never lived in Montreal or have any Quebec background at all. Also because it is a lengthy process, and you know how patient I am not. I have streamlined the process as much as possible, having learned a few things along the way, like proper shaping technique. I am pleased to say that they almost never come apart during the boiling process. And there’s something meditative about rolling them in my hands while looking out of the kitchen window at the mighty redwoods and passing wildlife. Here is the most recent batch:

Recently, I tried my hand at lumpia Shanghai, a kind of Filipino egg roll. I was a little intimidated by the rolling technique, but it was easier than I thought. I did not deep fry them as the recipe said, just lightly fried them. They were not at all greasy, and the filling was a wonderful, savory combination of juicy ground pork and crunchy water chestnuts and celery:

I also skipped the suggested accompaniment of banana ketchup, which just sounds weird to me. I made a dipping sauce of sesame oil, soy sauce, rice vinegar, a few sesame seeds, and a dash of brown sugar and called it good. And it was.

Another new baking endeavor was cinnamon rolls, made from a friend’s father’s recipe. They turned out well, though the recipe was somewhat vague in places. It didn’t say what thickness the dough should be before rolling, or how much sugar and cinnamon to mix together for the filling (it just says, “A mixture of sugar and a generous amount of cinnamon”). It called for a mixture of Crisco and margarine, which horrified me, so I substituted butter. Despite all this, they were great:

It’s a little late in the year for resolutions, but it’s good to work on being a more confident baker. Who knows, maybe I’ll get around to making a cake before my next birthday!

*Lately I’ve been watching a TV show filmed in Montreal called “Bad Blood”, starring Kim Coates. I have loved him since he was a bad guy (he is pretty much always a bad guy) in the late ‘80s-early 90s “Street Legal”, a TV show I would like to revisit. “Bad Blood” is a fictional riff on a real Montreal mob empire, and very entertaining.

A YEAR AGO: The cats were enjoying their new home. I note that now Audrey is upstairs all the time and the boys are downstairs or on the bed. The dishes and litter box are upstairs now, too.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Remembering a long-ago trip to Paris.

TEN YEARS AGO: Road work and attempted laundry.

I have a new addition to the bedroom:

I love the color of the cushion – it’s more of a sage in real life than it appears in these photos – and the clean lines of the wrought iron legs and sides. It’s handy to sit on while putting on or taking off shoes, and I think it makes the room look more finished. Audrey noticed that it’s the same color of her eyes and is quite becoming to her:

My good friend A decided that it needed a sheep fur throw, which was sent to me all the way from Poland. It certainly has an air of 70s glam, like Burt Reynolds should be lying on it. Or Dodge should be sitting next to it:

The Medical Director at the clinic where I work is quite the Dodge fan. Sometimes he stops by my office to ask how Dodge is and to see the latest pictures of him being handsome. This morning, I discovered that Dodge has a new hobby: licking the water off the curtain after I shower. I have also seen him covering up after Clyde leaves the litter box, clearly thinking that Clyde did not do a sufficiently through job of hiding all traces. It’s especially comic, since Dodge is standing entirely outside of the litter box at the time. He is such a character.

Here he is with Clyde, loitering with intent and thinking up some trouble to get into:

They always find it, too.

TEN YEARS AGO: The water trenching project was not without complications.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I should have known better than to go in the house. Now I do.

It’s no secret to you, faithful readers, that our heroine tends to get up early, even when it’s unnecessary*. It’s supposed to be better for you to more or less stay on schedule all week instead of staying up late and sleeping in on the weekends. All I know is, it’s different to just wake up rather than get woken up by the alarm. And on the weekends, I make coffee and go back to bed with it, so it’s not like I’m getting up and staying up.

So I do leave the house pretty early in the morning. In the winter, it’s usually night time black when I head out of the lotus gates, but this time of year, it’s light out, with the birds singing loudly and brightly. I have noticed quite a few fawns lately, playing in and near the road under the nervous, yet watchful eye of their mothers, and calves staying close to their own mothers in the wildflower-strewn meadow. Sometimes a raven swoops across the road, or a Steller’s Jay flashes a brilliant blue wing in the dark woods.

In general, other than wildlife, this Ridge is less inhabited and less travelled than the old one. I almost never see another car on my way to work, and I rarely have to wait at the intersection of Ridge and highway:

for another car to pass by before continuing my way workward.

I was quite surprised one morning to come around one of the Ridge’s many curves to find a truck sitting there. Its lights and engine were on, and the truck bed was full of wood. I rolled down my passenger side window so I could ask the driver how s/he was doing once I pulled up alongside the truck.

Once I did so, I looked across and saw the driver was asleep, either temporarily or permanently. I parked my car and got out to investigate.

I knocked on the window and woke up the driver (or parker). He did not roll down his window, but I asked if he was OK anyway. He nodded. I was not convinced on this point, so I pressed a little further, asking, “Are you sure?” Again he nodded, so I gave up at that point and got back in the car. His eyes were already closed.

I felt bad leaving him there, and hoped he wouldn’t get hit by another car and that he could find his way home safely. Six o’clock in the morning seems like an early hour to be incapacitated. My sister thinks it might have been opiates rather than alcohol at that hour, since they tend to make people sleepy. Who knows? I just hope the rest of his journey was safe.

A YEAR AGO: The novelty of house keys and getting to know my new appliances.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Encounters with wildlife, one way and another.

TEN YEARS AGO: Audrey felt lonely and I felt guilty. Still do!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Heading to the hospital to visit Mom.

*Recently, Megan was going kayaking down the scenic Hooterville River. She had to get up early to do so because of the tides, and texted me:

I do find it amazing that she goes from 12 hour night shifts to daytime every week. Half the week she’s sleeping in the day and working in the night and then reverses it for the rest of the week. Like voluntary jet lag!

Then

Now

My little Clyde turned ten on June 8. According to a cat age calculator, that makes us about the same age in human years, with Clyde at 56 and me at 58. No matter how old he gets – and I am expecting a minimum of another ten years – he will always be my baby boy.

A lot has happened since I first met Clyde and his inimitable brother Roscoe a decade ago. Even at the age of six weeks, their personalities were clear. Roscoe was dignified, sitting quietly at my feet, and Clyde climbed into my arms, purring and asking me to take them both home. How could I say no?

My time with Roscoe was short, but he left indelible paw prints on my heart and five years after losing him, I still think of him every day. I believe Clyde saw what happened to his brother. For days afterwards, he looked out the window towards the woods, and was very quiet and shaken up, way more than he was when he defeated the Slobber Monster. He stopped wanting to go outside after Roscoe vanished, and again, this is not how he reacted to near death himself at the fangs of the Slobber Monster. Just like it’s worse to see a loved one suffer than to suffer yourself, perhaps it’s worse to see your beloved brother killed than to nearly be killed yourself.

Clyde is a sensitive boy at the best of times, and I think we were both strongly affected by Roscoe’s loss. When we moved last year, Clyde and I both hated the chaos, both at the old house and the new one. On Moving Day itself, he was so unnerved by the whole thing that when I left him out of his carrier, he tried to climb back in.

Fortunately, the Moving Mess has long been vanquished, and Clyde is used to his new home. He has a close and loving relationship with Dodge, the stray Siamese I adopted a couple of years ago, after he followed a colleague home from the car dealership in the Big Town. Dodge took one look at Clyde and fell in love with him, just like I did. And it didn’t take long for them to get close and stay that way:

They cuddle and play together, and give each other baths. It’s a joy to watch them.

Happy birthday, little guy! Here’s to the next ten years! I love you, sweet boy.

A YEAR AGO: The boys did the heavy lifting in getting me set up in my new, beautiful house. Still can’t believe I actually live there!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A fabulous Junapalooza.

TEN YEARS AGO: A battle of wills with Audrey.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Fearing Mom’s impending death. We lost her a couple of months later.

My birthday dawned sunny and beautiful. It was nice to wake up to sunlight instead of darkness. Remarkably, dedicated food fan Clyde let me sleep in, his little gift to me. Of course there was the usual Cat Care™ after I got up, but there was also time to take coffee back to bed while I listened to the birds singing and watched the wind ruffling the trees outside my bedroom window. It was really nice to have an obligation-free day.

Dinner was BBQ from a local hostelry. It was supposed to have macaroni and cheese and slaw, but arrived with beans and what may have been some kind of slaw. It seemed mostly like salad with some cabbage in it. The ribs were good, though I actually prefer the ones I make, with a dry rub and tangy Carolina style sauce. I have been on a bit of a roll in the kitchen lately and I am sorry to say that I often like what I make more than what I can buy, a disappointment to my secretly lazy nature.

Still, it was nice to have dinner made by someone else, and the cats and I settled in on the couch to watch an excellent print of Sunset Boulevard with some sparkling wine at hand. For me, not the cats. I have seen it before, but it struck me on this viewing how it’s so much about forbidden love – Norma’s for Joe, Joe’s for Betty (and vice versa), even Max’s for Norma. We all enjoyed the movie in its glorious black and white.

The next day, I had a leisurely morning – not quite as glamorous as the late Princess Margaret’s usual morning ritual – and then went out to the Village, where I got a fabulous pizza for dinner and stopped by the farmers’ market. It’s still early in the season, but I got some Itachi cucumbers, blueberries, and a loaf of sourdough bread.

There were lots of presents this year, including a red begonia, a bouquet of wildflowers, chocolate, and a gift certificate to the local bookshop, which has already been spent. It was a happy birthday.

A YEAR AGO: Unpacking in the middle of the night. Never fun at any time.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Working at working.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I’m really sorry the photos have been lost on this post. The trauma cake was amazing and I’d love to see the photo of me with baby Jessica. Sigh.

I gave myself a lovely gift for my birthday: a couple of days off. Really two and half, since I left early on my birthday eve to spend some time with Angelika.

It was a flawless late spring day, the kind of day when even someone as grumpy and jaded as Audrey* feels glad to be alive. The sky was the deep blue that you only see in California, the ocean looked tropical, and the sides of the road were alive with multicolored wildflowers and fluttering butterflies. It was a beautiful drive to Angelika’s place. The sign outside her little salon sums up Angelika’s philosophy:

It was blissful indeed to sit in her chair and catch up on each other’s news. I didn’t have enough cut off when I had the color done in March, so I decided to cut three inches off. Daring! It is still about an inch below my collarbone, but it feels much thicker and healthier. Angelika cut some long layers into my hair for movement. Megan got the good Mom hair** and I got the less glorious Dad hair.

While Angelika worked, she had the door to her salon open. It’s a converted pump house, just the right size for one sink and one chair and two friends. Through the door, we could see birds taking baths and getting refreshing sips of water in the fountain:

When I left, Angelika gave me a beautiful card, a succulent in a pretty pot, and a tube of conditioner to keep my hair pretty. She is such a wonderful friend!

There is no cell reception at Angelika’s house, so when I got to where there was reception, I pulled over to check my texts. I was expecting some time sensitive info about a work thing (which I got and took care of), but also had a text from Megan saying that Rob’s car had broken down at one of the hardware and lumber stores in town.
I suggested that I pick him up, and she was thrilled, since it was the only day that week she didn’t have to go town herself. I was really happy to finally do something for them; they do so much for me.

Arriving at the store, I failed to find Rob. I texted and called him with no result. I texted Megan and she suggested he might be at the car parts store. I headed there, but partway there, Megan texted me to say he was in the lumber part of the first store. I started back to Point A, but had reckoned without the weekly farmers’ market, blocking off the street I needed. Fortunately, I know secret alleys and byways, so I took that way, noting this unexpected piece of art along the way:

This time, I was successful in finding Rob. He showed me the defective part, which looked like some kind of hose contraption to my untutored eye. He had arranged with the store to leave his car there overnight. We went to order a new part, and it was set to arrive by 8:00 the following morning. We had a nice drive home together. I was so glad I could help him out. It was a great beginning to my birthday celebrations.

*My friend Patrisha is Staff to Audrey’s mother, Quince, and describes her in her rich Scots accent as “a huffy miss”. Though mother and daughter may be far apart in miles, they are close in age and temperament.
**Despite her many cancer treatments, Mom never lost all her hair. She just got regular person hair. When she died of breast cancer at the age of 73, she still had very little grey in her hair.

A YEAR AGO: I got internet for my birthday! The best birthday present ever!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A bad birthday.

TEN YEARS AGO: A really bad birthday, losing my beautiful cat June on my birthday night. I still miss her. She was so beautiful.

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.