Suzy Says

Brothers

The cats seem to enjoy my new schedule as much (or as little) as I do. Clyde the mama’s boy has reverted to his endearing, though awkward, habit of sleeping on my head, and even Her Audreyness sits on my lap as much as possible – when she’s not demanding to be let in or out or chasing dogs, that is.

As for the Mysterious Mr. Roscoe, he is his elusive and glamorous self, basking on the balcony in the spring sunshine or napping on top of the armoire, which has the advantages of being warm, topped with a quilt, and impossible to sneak up on.

The other evening, I petted his head and knocked off a scab, which in turn revealed an alarming amount of ickiness. He must have had a scratch that got infected. And he already has a huge scratch on his throat which has been healing up for a while. I cleaned out the scratch as best I could, applied Vetericyn, and hoped for the best while Roscoe hid in horror. I feel like a bad parent for not noticing earlier, but at least he’s on the mend.

Speaking of on the mend….Megan took Rob to the County seat for an appointment with a specialist who may have come up with a non narcotic way of dealing with the pain caused by Rob’s crumbling spine. As you may recall, Rob has had two surgeries on his neck over the past few years, and he isn’t eager to do an encore. Based on the experience he had at the new doctor’s, though, he may be able to put it off indefinitely.

The doctor numbed the nerve, and it basically eliminated the pain. Since it worked well, the doctor will kill the nerve with radio waves, and that should last about a year. The nerve may grow back, and it may grow back in a different place, but it can just be re-zapped with no side effects to Rob. He happened to be walking past my house when I got home from work, and you should have seen how happy he looked. Seeing Rob happy makes me happy, too.

A YEAR AGO: A less than fun day.

A couple of days after we buried Megan and Rob’s beloved cat Ramona under the chinquapin tree on the family property, I came home to find a Fed Ex package waiting for me. I rarely, if ever, get Fed Ex packages. Even the Grand Jury summons came by humble mail. So I was both mystified and curious.

Inside, there was a selection of photos – you know, the actual printed ones – in a plastic bag with no note. The photos were of Ramona and her sister Harriet as kittens, along with some of me as a kitten and some of Dad at what now appears to me to be quite a kitten-ish age, though he was likely a bit older than I am now in most of them. John had found them and sent them to me.

Here you can see Ramona on the down-filled couch and her sister Harriet on the carpet at my now million dollar former apartment in San Francisco in December, 2001, freshly arrived from their rescue from southern California.

I thought it was an amazingly kind gesture and thanked him accordingly. Even by email, it was clear that he was both self-deprecating and embarrassed, which is what I would expect after knowing him for more than 25 years. As I observed to a friend, he is the best ex-husband ever.

A few days after that happy surprise, I got a less happy one. John texted me saying that he was in his local ER with high blood pressure and a racing heart. Fortunately, it was an anxiety attack rather than a heart attack, and all tests came back clean – his heart is fine. He has since seen his doctor and hopefully all is now under control. He said it made a big difference knowing that I was prepared to go down there and look after his cats, including the irrepressible Jack, the last of our cats together. We’ve been in touch every day ever since* and he is doing fine. I’m thankful that he is healthy and well, and that we are still friends and have each other’s backs, no matter what.

*He texted me yesterday to say “Thanks for checking in with me every day. It means a lot.”

A YEAR AGO: A young man with a bow tie is rather naughty. Also: a culinary challenge.

I’m pretty sure a baby’s first bath is much cuter than a kitty’s first bath.

It was all my fault, too. Well, that and global warming.

Because Audrey is extreme about everything (going outside; coming back in; chasing dogs away; waking up the help), she is also extreme when it comes to fleas. She is violently allergic to them, and it seems that if one even looks at her or stops to tie its shoes near her, she starts scratching up a storm, which in turn leads to scabbiness of epic proportions lurking under her soft, stripy fur.

It has also led to epic vet bills, so I left a message for Dr. Karen today to see if there is some kind of antihistamine I can use to get the allergies under control. In the meantime, I dosed the cats with flea treatments yet again. It hasn’t been cold or rainy enough this winter to kill off the flea population.

Later that day, I noticed that my application on Clyde had been faulty, and that most of it had rolled down his silky fur in the side of his neck toward his little white bowtie. I clearly need to work on my Advantage application skills, since I did the same thing to Audrey a few years ago, making her foam at the mouth and making me freak out.

Clyde was starting to wash the Advantage off himself, so I tried to wash it off with a wet washcloth, which wasn’t very effective. I ended up putting the poor little guy in the sink and washing off his entire side, to his serious displeasure. I’m lucky it wasn’t Audrey this time, since I’d be shredded Suzy.

Clyde took off into the woods, making me fear that he’d be mad at me or scared and not come back for a long time, but he came back and sat on my lap for a little while after he had dried off, so hopefully he will be OK. I washed all the bedding, too, so let’s hope the little time the medication was on Clyde was enough to get rid of most of his fleas, if any. Let’s hope the plague is over for now.

A YEAR AGO: An evening out with my sister.

Well, it’s been quite a day.

I left home in the foggy, grey dawn, making my way to the county seat for orientation and paperwork for my brand-new job. I gave myself two hours to get there, and I needed most of it, partly for the curvaceous drive and partly to locate the building, which was new to me, and parking, which was far away.

The actual paperwork and proceedings went relatively quickly, and then I set off for the Big Town, another hour and a half away. I got there around 12:30, and thought it would be a good idea to call my new boss and ask if I could grab some lunch and then report to work.

She was surprised by my call, and also by the idea that I was supposed to work today. She herself was headed to the county seat for the rest of the day, and the person who is supposed to train me will not be in until Thursday. She said she’d call me about coming in tomorrow, but as of 6:30 this evening, she hasn’t called me, so I’m not sure what’s happening other than my not getting up at 4:30 tomorrow. Clearly they are in dire need of my services. 🙂

Not being at work freed me up to meet Megan and Rob over at the family property to bury Ramona, their beloved thirteen year old cat. Megan stayed with me after bringing* Ramona and her sister home from San Diego when they were just babies, so it seems fitting that I was also there at the end.

Ramona had health issues for some time, but had taken a dramatic turn for the worse over the past day or so, and it was time to let her go. Dr. Carl took care of her in his compassionate but no nonsense way, and Rob brought her home to the family property late this afternoon, where we said goodbye. Ramona looked so peaceful and so beautiful. We petted her, kissed her farewell, and laid her to rest near little Henry Etta James and Jed the Wonder Dog. She is in good company and will always be with us.

A YEAR AGO: A look around the garden.

*Bonus: the pop up pictures in this very old post still work, unlike most of them, so you can delight in the cuteosity of baby Ramona and Harriet. Enjoy!

Audrey was not my favorite cat the morning after Christmas, when she mercilessly woke me up at 5:45 am by pounding on the sliding glass doors. They don’t fit very well, so they create quite a racket when played by Audrey, especially with the added bonus of screeching claws on glass. You’d think I’d be used to being bossed around by a very small and very determined cat, but you’d be wrong.

It was 32 (0C) degrees outside and 44 (6C) inside as I grumpily made coffee. Hello, winter!

Despite the Audrometer going off too early and too insistently, it was a great Christmas. It dawned bright and beautiful after the power outage storms of Christmas Eve, and for the first time in years, we could celebrate it on Christmas Day itself.

After the cheese biscuits were made, the pears for salad roasted, the salad dressing whisked together and the table set:

I settled down to watch the Queen’s message and read the last chapter of “The Box of Delights” by the tree, where the stockings were, if not hung, at least placed with care:

Surprisingly, especially since two of the stockings have feathers on them, the cats have more or less left the tree alone. Roscoe tried to climb it and removed about 6 ornaments when I first put it up, but other than that, they have pretty much ignored it.

Erica and Jessica arrived bearing the Bûche de Noël of bliss:

It was made of a sort of flourless sponge cake using almond meal, brushed with tangerine syrup, filled with a mocha ganache, covered with chocolate buttercream, and adorned with meringue mushrooms dusted with cocoa. I was charmed to note that the mushrooms had dark “gills”, just like real ones. Erica is a genius.

Jessica was swathed in a plush Totoro onesie, as soft inside as it was outside:

We watched “A Charlie Brown Christmas” together, and she remarked on the “blatant Christianity” in the show, though she considered Snoopy “hilarious”. I find it interesting that she considers Christianity to be the same as Greek, Roman, or ancient Egyptian mythology.

Jonathan arrived with the ham he smoked all day over apple wood, glazed with Jack Daniel’s, honey from our bees, onion marmalade from our onions, cardamom, and other secret spices:

It was as delicious as it looked.

After dinner, Jessica and Jonathan took turns at the annual reading of Red Ranger Came Calling to an appreciative audience:

I filmed Jessica reading, but the limitations of WordPress don’t allow me to post it (at 38 seconds, it’s twice as big as allowable). You’ll have to take my word for it that Jessica’s performance had real showmanship this year, and she gave Jonathan a run for his money. I love it that Dad’s tradition of reading out loud to us lives on.

A YEAR AGO: A merry Christmas, even though it was a day late.

Looks like we have weathered the storm! Power stayed on at my house – undoubtedly because Mark lent me his generator before taking his family to Mexico for a month – no trees crushed anything or anyone and nothing leaked. Apparently the rest of the country is mocking us for freaking out about the storm, since they have real weather. Sometimes I think the best thing about winter is watching it on TV from California, so maybe we deserve the teasing. Much was made about our rushing to make sure our various electronic devices were charged (true in my case) and debating over what to call the storm (less so). Rainpocalypse? Stormageddon? Hellastorm?

Tweets included:

“Is that the sound of a light sprinkle or is it just the east coast laughing at us?”

“Portland is laughing at you.”

“#BayAreaStorm warning: you may see small droplets of water falling from the sky. They are dangerous. Do NOT approach.”

You can see more here.

Meanwhile, back in Hooterville, it was a wild and windy night. I was awake during the worst of it, from 2 to 5 am (the worst part of any night, really), listening to the torrential rain and howling winds. I kept expecting the power to go out, but it didn’t, even as lightning flashed across the skylight. Clyde was sleeping happily against my legs, Audrey on my bedside table (her latest and most inconvenient spot yet, tending to scatter library books and alarm clock with abandon), and Roscoe was curled against me, trying to keep me calm. Storms make me nervous.

In the morning, the rain gauge was filled to capacity, which is 5 inches, so there may have been even more rain than that. The purple honeysuckle on the side of the house had blown over as usual, but nothing else in the garden seemed to be damaged.

The river flooded and closed the highway to the city, as you can see in the picture above. Even after the waters had receded, it remained closed as crews removed river slime and downed trees. There were a few mud or rock slides and power did go out in some places in the area, but on the whole, it wasn’t as bad as predicted, and I’m fine with that.

A YEAR AGO: ‘Tis the season.

It was an unpleasant trip home, at least the highway portion, which was in heavy rain. Visibility was so poor that there were no farewell views of Alcatraz or the dreaming spires of San Francisco, the Bridge and the Bay being swathed in rain clouds and mist.

On the highway, the backwash of passing cars was pretty challenging. I was glad to exit onto the curvaceous two lane blacktop that leads to Hooterville. This time of year, the vineyards flame with yellow, red, and orange foliage, and in the Valley, even some of the trees’ leaves change colors, because the rule in California is the hotter it is in the summer, the colder it is in the winter.

It was nearly dark when I got home, to be greeted with enthusiasm by Luna and Lupe, who is quickly growing up. However, they declined to help me unload the groceries from Trader Joe, the pizza from Victor’s, or the box from Bev Mo from the car. I have noticed that pets are not very helpful in that regard.

I found a welcome inch of rain in the rain gauge and welcoming kitties in the house. The rain had aided Megan’s cat herding endeavors while I was gone, and I am pleased to report that there were no late night fiestas or all nighters in my absence. The bump on Roscoe’s head still looks a little ooky, though, as if the scab had come off, and the fur hasn’t begun to grow back, at least not noticeably. I probably don’t have to worry about him not looking his best for our Thanksgiving guests, since he tends to hide in horror until they vacate the premises.

It seems like I had hardly gotten back from the city when I realized that Thanksgiving was looming, and I hadn’t done a thing about it. It’s too late to order a turkey, but Megan thinks we can get one at the Gro. Erica volunteered to make the cranberries as well as pies and rolls this year, so that leaves me with just turkey, salad, and mashed potatoes – I’m trying a new recipe this year, now that Jessica likes onions.

I’ll be at the jobette all that week, so I’m hoping I can find time to clean up and do the rest of the shopping. Thanksgiving sneaked up on me this year. Despite everything, I still have a lot to be thankful for, and I am.

A YEAR AGO:
The beginning of the end for Miss Scarlett. ~sob~

Though I had a lovely dinner with my friends, I managed to spill some of the bouillabaisse I was bringing home with me in the car. It takes special skills, my friends. Or just a Suzy.

It was too dark to deal with at the time, but when I opened the car door the next day before heading to the jobette, it was quite horrifying. I scrubbed down the carpet where the spill had occurred, adding some Febreeze. When I went home that night, it was still scary, though not as bad. I had the heat on and the windows open, the way I used to when I drove my 1966 Mustang convertible. Unless it was actually raining, I always had the top down.

I scrubbed and Febreezed when I got home and again in the morning, and now the car’s interior is merely redolent of the ghost of bouillabaisse past.

It’s a good thing, because I’m heading to San Francisco today, and hours in a fish-scented car would make the trip even less enjoyable than it already is.

Of course, Roscoe took this opportunity to somehow injure himself. The fur is rubbed off above one eye, and it looked a little icky for a couple of days. I applied Vetericyn (every home should have some) and it looks better, but I have no idea how he did it. Dr. Megan says we never know what they do out there, we just have to try and fix it. She’ll keep an eye on it while I’m gone, as well as herding them in at night and feeding them. I hope they behave themselves and there are no all-nighters or late evenings.

As for me, it seems like there are a million things to do before I leave. Next week is Thanksgiving, and I haven’t ordered the turkey yet, partly because I’m not sure how many people are coming. I know Jarrett, Kalli and Paul can’t make it, but Dave and Jennifer may be here, and I’m hoping Lichen will at least stop by. I have a few errands I’d like to run while in the city, so I’m trying to get those set up, and have also been following up with the County job here and getting the runaround, as you would expect from bureaucracy. At least packing is easier, since I have no meetings other than my boss/partner/friend to discuss our future, if any. Stay tuned!

A YEAR AGO:

The Kitty Report.

Looking for Me?

You know, there’s been a lot more bird droppings on Wednesday than usual lately. I seem to have been taking birds away from the cats almost every day now, which makes me wonder (and shudder) at what must be happening when I’m not there to interfere. I rescued a robin from Roscoe’s clutches yesterday, glad to see it fly away unscathed, though noting that the presence of robins means that winter is here. Robins bopping around and frogs singing – along with chainsaws dealing with trees knocked over in storms – are winter’s soundtrack in Hooterville.

Maybe Hitch was right and our avian friends are trying to get some revenge.

Speaking of horror, Clyde put me through hell last night.

Clyde is the first one to come in at night, anticipating the reward of treats, so I was surprised when he didn’t respond to my call. Usually, he comes scampering out of the woods, bright eyed and happy, but last night, nothing. It was about 5:00 PM, so darkness, the eternal enemy, was hovering. Roscoe was sitting calmly on the stairs, and Audrey was taking a completely unconcerned bath in the garden, but no sign of Clyde.

As the then-seven year old Jessica observed, I am a worrier, and it didn’t take long for me to push the panic button. I texted Megan, even though there was really nothing she could do about it, and while I was out calling Clyde, flashlight in hand, I forced Rob to hug me, even though he was exhausted and sweaty from working at the property all day. They both assured me that all would be well, but did I heed their well-meant advice? No. I went ahead and worried, while calling Clyde all over the place.

I went back inside, reflecting on the pointlessness of calling cats, while yet not stopping calling them. I couldn’t focus on anything or settle down. I kept looking at the sliding glass doors where Clyde wasn’t and wondering where he was. I had seen him at 4:30 and started looking for him at 5:00. It was still basically daylight then, and also Mark was chainsawing and doing other things with loud equipment all day, which would keep the monsters at bay, so Clyde should be OK. Right? But the Slobber Monster grabbed him in broad daylight…if cowards die a thousand times before their actual deaths, so do worriers.

Eventually, he appeared, as if by magic, and my heart leaped at the sight of Clyde’s little white bow tie looming out of the darkness. He was undoubtedly mystified by my sweeping him into my arms and kissing him while crying. “What the hell?” he was clearly thinking. “Where are the treats, crazy lady?” His fur smelled of wet wood and smoke, so my theory is that he was stalking a mouse in the woodpile created by Mark’s chainsawing. You know how cats can sit for hours at a place where they think there’s a mouse, and nothing will dissuade them, even panicky girls calling their names in the darkness.

I am sorry to say that it was all of 6:30 PM at that point. Time to pour a glass of wine, heat up some of the soup I made in the earlier, pre-panicked portions of the day, text my sister to call off the APB, and watch an episode of Ray Donovan.

Clyde curled up next to me as if nothing had happened and promptly went to sleep.

What’s not to love about falling behind (other than, you know, the hassle of setting all the clocks – surely Staff should do that? Oh, wait – I am the Staff)? Though supposedly falling behind, you are in fact ahead of the game. You get to sleep an extra hour, and it’s actually daylight when you get up, even at the new 6:30 am. Waiting until around 7:30 to let the boys out was getting pretty old, and I don’t know who hated it more, them or Me.

It was cold enough on Time Change Sunday to put the heat on when I got up, being an overly brisk 50F (10C) in the house that morning. The kitties basked happily while I drank coffee out of a different mug than usual:

and read Postsecret, as usual.

When I was finally caffeinated, I made a pile of apples from the family property into applesauce. I have never done that before, but it was surprisingly easy, other than peeling and coring about 20 apples. However, I did end up with a huge vat of applesauce*. I made two cups of it into applesauce cake, and I’m planning to freeze some and bring some to the jobette for lunch. That seems to be the down side of the giant family garden: having to deal with all the produce it produces. Megan has canned 18 quarts of tomato sauce, and is probably going to make more, along with pesto and apple butter.

It also seemed like a good opportunity to prep for winter a bit. I brought in most of the outdoor furniture and all the cushions, and filled up some buckets of water for the inevitable power outages to come. I need to buy drinking water as well.

While cutting back the hostas, I noticed that both orchids have flower spikes, so I can look forward to the blooms in a couple of months. I’ll have to remember to bring them and the geraniums in if we get another cold snap this winter.

Applesauce always reminds me of that Brady Bunch episode.

A YEAR AGO:

I was in Atlanta.

It’s birds 2, kitties 0 on today’s scoreboard!

Clyde appeared with a bird in his mouth, and I went to take it away from him, surprising both him and the bird and letting it out of Clyde’s mouth. The bird rocketed up into the redwoods to our mutual relief.

I had barely recovered from this close brush with death when Roscoe trotted into the living room with, you guessed it, a bird in his mouth. Again I rescued the bird, and again it flew away quickly and happily. Sometimes when I get birds out of the cat’s mouths, they sit there kind of stunned and I’m not always sure they make it. It was great to know they escaped unscathed, at least this time.

After the avian escapade, Clyde settled next to me on the couch, looking like a little angel and snoring softly:

It’s hard to believe that he was a murderous, bird-killing machine only moments earlier, isn’t it?

I was glad to have Clyde’s cuddlesome support, because we got the termination letter from my job, and I had to compose emails to break the news to the managers I have worked with for many years and cancel the quarterly calls I had set up for next week. Little did I imagine that the last time I spoke to them all would be, well, the last time I spoke to them.

Over the years, I have grown to care about these people. Together, we have gone through a family member’s successful battle against cancer; the birth of a first child; another child’s 4-H ribbons, yet another being accepted to an Ivy League school and a graduation from West Point. I’ve heard about family reunions, marriages, and promotions, and we’ve congratulated each other on World Series bids and wins. I valued our partnership both personally and professionally, and I can’t believe I will never talk to these folks again.

But we have had to hand everything over, and with a lawsuit pending, we have to be careful what we say and who we say it to.

I feel much the way I did when John and I divorced. It was a great loss, and I was saddened by the end of something I went into so optimistically and hopefully and which I thought would last forever. I’ve been spending a lot of time beating myself up for poor decision-making and ending up with no money at a semi-advanced age, but I am proud of what my boss/partner and I achieved together over a decade. We tripled our client’s money in three years, kept the pension fund fully funded through the 2008 market crash and the city’s bankruptcy, and were employers in that embattled state and city. We sponsored an annual golf tournament which raised thousands of dollars for scholarships for needy children of that city. And we did it all with integrity, passion, and caring. We have a lot to be proud of in the face of defeat.

A YEAR AGO:

Home Again.

You will be glad to hear that my back is back to its old and now much more appreciated self. I am still trying to remember to be nice to it to keep it in a good mood. A grumpy back is actually more fearsome than a grumpy Suzy. Imagine!

In addition to the temporary couch coma*, here’s what’s been going on around here:

• So far, I have managed not to kill the new (to me) Japanese maple. I’ve been watering it every day for about three weeks, and so far, so good. It’s not showing any signs of trauma from being dug up, dragged here, and moved into a bag. I’m trying not to think about how sad it and the neighboring red Japanese maple will look in a couple of months when all the leaves fall off.
• I had the bright idea of putting the cats’ dishes away when I went to the jobette or was otherwise out of the house all day. I’m sure this new policy was not popular with food fan Clyde, but I’m hoping it will be equally, or even more, unpopular with Yellow Cat. I figure if he slinks in there and finds it food free, he might cross us off his route. I think this evil plan has been somewhat successful, since on non jobette days over the past week, I’ve seen him only once, and he fled when he saw me. I kind of feel like a jerk, but I have a zero tolerance policy for bullying my kitties.
• Wednesday had a vacation in Santa Rosa. The fix it lights came on yet again, and the car doctors here on the Coast judged the problem to be beyond their abilities. They recommended a place in Santa Rosa, where the mechanics not only figured out what was wrong with the car, but that the fix it was under warranty by Ford. So Wednesday got a whole new transmission on the house, saving me between $3-5,000 (not to mention $500 worth of rental car while Wednesday was in the shop). Apparently the problem is unusual so we should be good to go.

  Having said that though, today was the first time I had driven Wednesday around here since she got home from the Santa Rosa spa, and while enjoying the lack of lights on the dashboard and the ability to go around curves and uphill simultaneously without the engine jerk I had been suffering before the plastic surgery, I heard a loud BEEP and the low tire pressure notice and light came on.

  Sigh.

  I stopped in at the tire place on my way to work, and couldn’t get the key out of the ignition. The tire guy came over and I got out of the car and explained what was wrong. He reached in and took the key out. I asked him what he did, and he said that sometimes even when the car is in park, you have to push the gearshift forward a bit or the key is locked in the ignition. Apparently it’s a safety feature.

  Maybe I am as dumb as I am….

*While marooned on the couch, it occurred to me that I often wish I could just sit around on the couch all day when I have to go work and do other faux adult activities, and now when I could, all I wanted to do was…not. I guess part of it is my general perversity, and part of it is wanting to lounge when not drugged and damaged. Having wishes come true often seems to be more “Monkey’s Paw” than not.

I’m still on the couch, but I’m getting better. The Magic 8 Ball and I are both pretty confident that I’ll be able to go back to work at the jobette on Saturday. I’m all set up, with pills and water close at hand, along with phone and TV remotes, all the better to watch Daria with, my pretty. It occurs to me that Erica is much like Jane Lane. Also, is it wrong that I have a crush on Trent? I mean, he’s a lot younger than I am. Also, he’s a cartoon, so our relationship is probably doomed.

Probably.

From my vantage point on the couch, it has come to my attention that Yellow Cat seems to think that he is now a semi-regular member of the cast, rather than a cameo as I thought. My lack of mobility has impeded the shooing process, but I have twice ejected him from the studio, where he was chowing down on cat chow with an air of entitlement that I found disturbing. I also caught him peeking in the living room door, and he didn’t leave until I levered Self off the couch, tossed the blanket aside, found my sandals, and lumbered out into the garden, carefully avoiding the construction materials spread around in order to avoid yet another Calamity Suzy episode. Later, he was hanging out in the sun by the new tree, and I’m sorry to report that I turned the hose on him, Grinch Girl that I am.

I never thought I’d be the kind of mean old lady who soaks neighboring cats, but he started it by fighting with my cats. Fortunately, they seem to run into the house and avoid YC as much as possible, so even if he is here eating all their food, he isn’t clawing them to pieces, so maybe this is the compromise we’ll all have to live with. And you know what a compromise means, kids: it means nobody’s happy.

On the bright side, the cats have been keeping me company in my time of need. Clyde has been multitasking by keeping me company while simultaneously napping:

Roscoe took advantage of my relative immobility and flexeril induced carefree attitude to get a drink on the counter, which is normally forbidden territory:

Sometimes a guy just needs a drink.

Meanwhile, outside, Audrey was keeping an eye out for Yellow Cat and any other would-be intruders:

Who needs locks for their doors when they have Audrey and The Glare of Death to keep trespassers at bay? Except of course for Rob, who brought me frozen pizza and ice cream and worked a bit on my bathroom, keeping the invalid company. Even Audrey loves Rob.

So far, I’ve successfully gone two nights with the slowly improving bathroom exposed to the elements.

Rob removed the old door and started to frame in the doorway for the new door, which is narrower:

The new door also needs to have a hole drilled in it for the lovely doorknob set. As you can see, it’s shiny and beautiful after its sojourn in the Rob spa:

Maybe sanding and varnishing are the door equivalent of microdermabrasion for people.

Rob hasn’t had time to finish the door installation yet, so in the meantime, I’ve had to be cautious about facility usage during the dark and dangerous night hours.

I’ve been leaving the lighted X on to discourage skunks and other unwanted visitors from partying in there, and when I do, I put on the light on the back porch by the sliding glass doors. Then I can check for potentially escaping cats before heading back inside. To quote Alex from Happy Endings, “I’m not as dumb as I am.”

So far it’s worked, but I have to admit I’ll be glad not to have a hole in the house one of these days. Also I’m dying to see how the new door looks when it’s installed. Rob thinks it will make the room look bigger as well as brighter.

It occurred to me that we have shopped local(ly) for everything other than the X, and even that came from San Francisco, less than 200 miles away. And that we have spent very little. Rob bought the medicine chest for $7 and the floor tiles – all of them! – for $6 at a thrift store. The towel rod and lighting fixtures were found and rehabbed, and the copper pipes for the shower rod were found in James’ vast collection of things and stuff. The door and its accessories were the highest ticket items at $200, but were bought just a couple of miles from my house. Other than that, we bought a basket of sundries at the hardware store, and that’s it.

It’s amazing what can be done with ingenuity and skill – Rob’s, anyway! 🙂

*Now I have that Counting Crows song stuck in my head.

While I was working in the City, Rob was working at my house.

It’s nice to know that he was there, and I’m sure the kitties appreciated it. Audrey in particular loves Rob, and I’m sure they all enjoyed petting breaks while Rob was working there.

Here’s look at the vent he constructed for the bathroom fan:

As you can see, the hole with the mesh is protected by a little copper “house” Rob made, and in turn, it’s protected by the eaves of the house in case it ever rains again. The fan seems to be quieter now that it vents outside, though I could be imagining things.

Inside the house, the glass towel rod has been installed:

Rob found it at the dump, removed the paint and dirt from the 60 year old glass, and replaced the battered metal ends with copper ones he made. I think it’s gorgeous. Almost too nice to cover up with towels!

He also got a medicine cabinet at a thrift store for $7. It fit almost perfectly into the space of the old one, other than a tiny crack which Rob filled in while I was away.

He also hung up a letter from an old movie marquee in San Francisco:

I love it, and it casts a beautiful rosy light, as well as going nicely with the copper fittings. This was my find, and therefore more expensive, like the door, which is currently being worked on in Rob’s workshop and cabaret:

This is an old Airstream-type trailer beside my house, which Rose used to store her pottery equipment. Rob moved in a stand to hold the door, some lights, and a heater, and closed up the front with a heavy duty canvas tarps. It’s like a nightclub in there: dark, smoky, and exclusive.

The door apparently required much sanding (some with machinery, some by hand) and coats of varnish, and it’s just about ready. Before Rob installs it, he’s going to install moldings and baseboards, and I think paint the bathroom, since he can’t stand it. I’m considering painting the bathroom door to the hallway shiny black and getting new knobs from our neighboring window and door emporium down the Ridge, but that’s about as far as I’ve gotten.

I came home from a long day at the jobette on Tuesday to find Rob and his power tools hard at work in the bathroom, installing the extractor fan. In order for him to do that, I had to move things around in the storage loft above the bathroom, and remove a box of my father’s letters.

I made the mistake of glancing at one or two of them, dated just weeks before his sudden death, and was overwhelmed with emotion and choked up with tears. I stowed the box under the stairs, marvelling that thirteen years after we lost him, the grief can still be so fresh. Audrey promptly sat on the box, perhaps saving me from myself.

In a Dad-like manner, I turned my attention to dinner, trying out a new recipe for pho, a Vietnamese soup.

Needless to say, I took serious liberties with the original recipe, partly because it uses beef, which I don’t eat, and partly because that’s just the way I am.

Here’s the original recipe. I skipped the first part and substituted two cans of Campbell’s chicken broth (there is no substitute for Campbell’s, though it is a little salty) and two cans of water. I poached two boneless, skinless chicken breasts in the broth along with the spices. I cut down on the cinnamon and skipped the star anise. Also left out the salt due to the Campbell”s, and used about a teaspoonful of brown sugar in place of rock sugar.

As for the garlic-chili oil, I used about a quarter teaspoon of red pepper flakes, since food should come in hot, medium, mild, and Suzy, and stepped up the sesame oil, because I love it.

I poured the soup through a colander into a smaller pot, then cut up the chicken and returned it to the broth. I brought the broth up to a simmer and added the rice noodles instead of pre-soaking, etc., and cooked for about 15 minutes. I served it with lime wedges, chopped cilantro, bean sprouts, and chopped green onions.

It was magically delicious.

I was on my way home from the jobette last night when my phone rang. I don’t usually answer the phone in the car*, but I was stopped at a light, and far enough back that I knew it wouldn’t be my turn to turn onto the highway before the light turned red again (hello, summer!). Also it was Rob, who rarely calls.

Rob was at the hardware store a mere two blocks away, shopping for wiring for the bathroom fan and other sundries, so I met him there. We divided the labor by the socialist principles of “Each according to his need; each according to his ability”, meaning that Rob picked stuff out and I paid for it. It worked out well, since I still have no idea what the difference is between finishing nails and escutcheon pins (though I enjoyed saying “escutcheon”) or what kind of wiring we needed. The little basket of sundries cost about $60, but it’s still cheap at the price.

It was fun to spend time in the hardware store with Rob (and spend time we did – there was a fair amount of meandering involved), and I’ve really enjoyed working on this project with him. I think he is having fun using his manual skills and his creative, design skills. Also I love him.

We went our separate ways from there. I stopped off at the post office and UPS on jobette related issues, then went to my coworker and friend’s house:

to let her cats back into the house and feed them. She is on vacation so I am cat sitting. Her cats are the total opposite of mine: I had to physically eject one of them, and she tried to get back in. When I arrived that evening, they were sitting sadly on the front porch, looking as if I were late picking them up from school. I bet Megan wishes my cats were more like these cats!

*Well, it’s illegal. But it’s mostly because I hate talking on the phone. I consider the lack of cell service around here to be a plus, rather than a minus.

Sleeping It Off

Well, here’s what’s happening around my house on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Roscoe is sleeping off his late night* on top of the armoire, a favored place among the cats. It is equipped with a quilt for their napping pleasure, and is the highest point in the house, so whoever is up there can keep an eye on what’s going on, as well as looking down on the Staff, as cats do. And there’s a breeze from the balcony – you can even get a glimpse of the beautiful pottery bird Rob hung up for me.

Speaking of Rob, he is working in the bathroom, installing two found light fixtures – both a huge improvement over the previous bare bulbs. The first one is made of copper, already patinaed:

The second one looks like an old schoolhouse light. I like the pull chain:

He has also found a glass towel bar which he is planning to fit up with copper ends to match the shower rod. Up next after that is the floor. No more electric lime green plywood! Woo hoo!

My brother just called to check on on Wednesday’s physical health and my mental health. Without looking at the car and just hearing symptoms, he thinks it’s probably the alternator and that it shouldn’t be too expensive to fix. Stay tuned.

As for me, I’m on my fourth load of laundry. The electrical system at Megan and Rob’s house doesn’t support a washer or dryer (or even a hair dryer, for that matter), so they do their laundry over here. Megan is working hard in the family garden (as I observed to her yesterday, her days “off” are what other people consider to be hard labor) and Rob is working hard in my bathroom, so I figure doing their laundry is the least I can do. It may also be the most! 🙂

*He came home at 1 am this morning. This is getting to be a bad habit. I’m trying to make my peace with it.

Birthday Garden

As you can see, my birthday dawned bright and beautiful. All the doors are open, and scent from the honeysuckle bush is wafting in. There seem to be more flowers than ever this year, and the hummingbirds are buzzing around it all day.

Yellow Dog came by, still looking for Schatzi after nearly a year. I wish I could tell him that his friend is no longer here to play with him. I should try and find his continued visits comforting rather than sad. I didn’t realize what an integral part of my day seeing Schatzi was until she was gone. She would trot by a few times a day, never coming in the house but always nearby. I could always count on seeing her smile and her distinctive prance. We all miss her so much.

Speaking of coming in the house, Yellow Cat just came a few steps into the hallway by the “front” door. It’s lucky for him that Audrey is Elsewhere. He certainly is a handsome boy. Even though I don’t live in Michigan, where they are considering a limit on the number of pets per household, I think I’ll self-impose a three cat limit for this household. I’m sure part-time cat staff Rob and Megan would agree.

While coffee perked, I waited for the ever-slow satellite interwebs to download my email, which was taking longer than usual. I was horrified by the number of messages until I realized that about 99% were birthday, not work, related. Huzzah! There was a really nice one from John and a text from my brother saying, “I’m so glad you were born. When do you want your party?”

I’m looking forward to champagne (already chilling) and Season Two of Orange Is the New Black, which will be released on Friday. It used to be that Sex & the City started their new seasons near my birthday, so OITNB is my new birthday present. I’m looking forward to watching it with my fellow fan Megan.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes! It’s lovely to be loved!

Outside Roscoe, Inside Clyde

So Roscoe decided to stay out on the town last night, even though Hooterville is not renowned for its nightlife. He probably wasted his allowance on that fake ID.

When he hadn’t come home by the time I went to bed, I turned into Anxiety Girl, able to leap to the worst conclusion at a single bound. Unfortunately for Self, Anxiety Girl’s superpowers do not include sleeping. Roscoe eventually slunk home at 1 am, ate a fashionably late dinner, and then curled up against me purring and went to sleep as if nothing had happened. Everything was fine as far as he was concerned.

Unlike Self, he merrily leaped out of bed five hours later, though he can look forward to a nap this afternoon. Whereas I could have used a little more beauty sleep. Ask not for whom the alarm tolls. It tolls for thee.