Suzy Says

Steller’s Jay

Thud!

I looked up from my work to see a slightly stunned and stunning Steller’s Jay sitting on the back deck. It had flown into my sliding glass doors. He must have needed glasses, because I can tell you for a fact that they are not Windex-clean. I watched him for a little while, and he flew to a nearby bush and started yelling at somebody about something, so I figured he was OK. It’s surprising how loud a bird can be.

And how they can take up an entire lane in a two-lane road. I had to go around a turkey vulture who was feasting on Ridge roadkill the other day. He saw me, too. He merely looked up as if to say, “Can’t ya see I’m eatin’ here?” I imagined a James Cagney accent, maybe because I’ve been watching so many old movies lately.

Roadkill hasn’t been the only attraction for carrion eaters lately. I noticed that the doughnut shop had become quite popular with these types. Before you start picturing a Krispy Kreme stand in the middle of nowhere, I hasten to add that this is a local nickname for a large clearing by the side of the road where bored kids like to do doughnuts. It’s also a spot where people see fit to dump things like old trailers, recliners, and, in this case…pig parts. Apparently someone had butchered a hog and didn’t know what to do with the head and other et ceteras. Fortunately the crows and vultures were making quick work of the buffet.

When I got home, Mark was there, installing my new-ish washer and taking away the old, clothes-eating one. He said that he and his family are hosting a couple of Japanese exchange students this week. Although the two visitors don’t speak English, and Mark’s girls don’t speak Japanese, they find a way to communicate. He said they were up until 11:00 the previous night, talking and giggling. I guess girl talk is universal.

The good old days

First of all, the truly important news: Schatzi does not need multi-thousand dollar surgery!

[Pause while the crowd goes wild]

Thank you, thank you. Dr. Karen said we should keep her on the anti-inflammatory for another week, but continue giving her the Chinese herbs for another six weeks. We can start taking her for a 15 minute leash walk once a day on flat surfaces. She’s a very active and fit dog, not an ounce of fat on her, and I think this is the key to her youthful, Dick Clark-style vigor. She has hate-hate-hated being cooped up in the house and not allowed to run.

To add insult to injury, this happened pretty much the minute we got Star the foster dog. We take Star out for walks, but leave poor Schatzi at home, staring at us sadly as we drive away. There are few things worse than Schatzi’s patented Sad Eyes, my friend.

And of course this had to happen in the “summer”, instead of during the rainy season, when she would have been trapped in the house anyway.

But…not having to come up with thousands of dollars and having our beloved girl suffer through surgery and its aftermath is pretty much priceless. So is Dr. Karen, who didn’t charge Megan for checking Schatzi’s leg every week. Dr. Karen’s kindness extends to people, too. A couple of young men who drove with a friend from Montreal to San Francisco and then hitch-hiked here are staying at her house indefinitely, doing odd jobs and generally enjoying the scenery. She says now that they’ve stayed with her a few days, she doesn’t like the thought of them hitch-hiking anymore.

She has also had an intriguing offer to act as the vet for a nearby nature preserve which specializes in seriously endangered hoofed African animals, such as zebras and antelope. She’d be on call and examine the animals a couple of times a year. I had no idea that this place existed. Apparently zebras are pretty mean, prone to kicking and biting. When I expressed surprise at this, Dr. Karen pointed out that dealing with lions on a daily basis will do that to you. The zebras have to be sedated with a tranquilizer dart à la Wild Kingdom before they can be looked at. Megan said she’d go with her if she took the job. Wouldn’t that be cool?

In other good news, Megan and Monica raised $1,500 for Star and Shiloh at their fundraiser yesterday. They sold cupcakes and beautiful clothes donated by local merchants. Some people even made cash donations. Not bad for a day’s work! I love how this community rallies around and supports local causes.

Despite my summary rejection last year, I’m still looking for a part-time job. I have to admit that I hoped that the Rejection Company would regret their foolish decision in hiring someone other than Me and beg to get me back. After all, whoever they hired couldn’t possible be as fabulous as Self, and surely this would have become apparent by now. But either they enjoy mediocrity, or they really don’t want to hire me, astonishing as that may be to any right-thinking person.

Office jobs are in short supply here in Hooterville. I’ve been applying for what few there are, and so far, they all seem to agree with the Rejection Company.

In the halcyon days when I hired people (and had no idea that I was living in the good old days), I always sent out a letter acknowledging the receipt of the resume and telling the applicant that we’d be in touch if we wanted to set up an interview. It was a form letter, but a letter nonetheless. Apparently, these were the good old days of job applications, too, since I have yet to receive any acknowledgment from anyone. For all I know, those dozens of resumes and emails have vanished into the ether or the mysteries of the US Mail. I have decided that this is all part of our society’s general degeneration into rudeness and ignorance, but that doesn’t help me pay the Amerigas bill.

The local paper’s want ads come out on Thursday morning, and here’s a quick sampling of today’s openings:

• Class A milk truck driver with tanker endorsement
  Milk scares me, and I can hardly stand driving a car.

• Ranch mechanic with diesel experience
  I should have skipped that whole college thing. Ranch mechanics make $35 an hour! I have no idea what they do, though. What’s diesel experience, anyway?

• Full time housekeeper for inn
  A dust bunny just rolled through my living room, like tumbleweed in an old Western.

• Campground worker for upscale RV park. Must have other income. NO DRUGS.
  Isn’t “upscale RV park” an oxymoron? Also, “must have other income” is slightly ominous. And drugs would be a necessity if I had to work at an upscale RV park.

June, the Huntress

One of the many things cats can teach us, besides parlaying cuteness into a life of idleness and how to maximize nap time while minimizing work of any kind, is patience.

Above you see the Beautiful June Bug on the prowl for mice under the back deck (a rather grandiose term for wood slats cobbled unevenly together, though it does boast an outdoor shower and a door to the indoor bathroom). This seems to be a popular mouse-hunting locale, which gives me pause about leaving the sliding glass doors open if/when the weather gets warmer. Having said that, though, and touch deck, I have yet to see a mouse since I moved in here seven months ago.

At least a live one.

This morning, I put the cats’ food in their dishes and briefly considered rearranging (well, arranging at all) the pantry/laundry room) as usual. I was surprised by the lack of response. Usually June beats me to the bowl, in addition to her feeding time reminders that are much more persistent than, say, Google Calendar’s.

I found her on the deck, patiently staring in her mouse-seeking manner. She was there for more than an hour, and then I saw her run past out of the corner of my eye. Megan said she saw June tossing something in the air the other day, so I’m assuming the hunt was effective. One less mouse for the house!

In other wildlife news, Rob is pretty sure he spotted Lucky with a herd of her friends when he went to the dump last weekend. He called her name, and she turned toward him instead of running away, as Hooterville deer tend to do, not being used to a lot of human interaction. He didn’t get a chance to check her back leg, which sports a huge and distinctive scar, before she took off with her buddies, but he’s almost sure it was Lucky. Lucky indeed if she’s been welcomed back into the fold.

Thud! Splat!

That was my head exploding and falling off. It’s raining yet again. I can’t remember it raining in May since the evil El Nino winter of 1996-1997, when it rained from September until May, and rained every single goddamn day in February. I worked in a cool old brick building in downtown San Francisco in those days, and the constant deluge took its toll. Rain came down the exposed brick walls, so I had to keep a plastic hood on my computer like a grandma protecting her fresh beauty shop ‘do, and I had no fewer than three wastebaskets collecting rain around my desk.

Sitting here in my sweater by the heater in May just seems wrong. I also have that east coast feeling of “Will winter ever end?” while simultaneously lamenting the fact that the lilacs have already bloomed and gone.

It takes a Suzy.

People have been asking me how June and Audrey are doing. They don’t actually accuse me of being a negligent cat doorman or dumping them in favor of doggier pastures, but I can read between the emailed lines.

Audrey catnaps on the balcony

The girls are doing fine. Since they now have the great outdoors, they’re a lot less destructive in the small indoors. They generally come in to eat or nap, though I have seen them napping outside from time to time. I was slightly surprised by that: I thought they went outside to play and hunt, but apparently they also use it to increase their living space, much as we do.

Excuse me, you interrupted my bath!

June spends more time inside than Audrey does. June sleeps with me most of the night, pinning down the covers so parts of my anatomy are exposed to the chill night air in her patented manner. Audrey’s in and out all night, though thanks to Rob, I’m no longer the night watchman.

It’s funny how when I first moved, I thought I could bring them in at dinner time and that would be it for the night. In retrospect, I find this hilarious.

I visit Henry at least once a week. She’s safe and cozy under the chinkapin tree. I always bring her flowers and fill her in on the latest news. I miss her so much. She was such good company. I wish we’d had more time together, though as Rob says, it’s never enough time.

Star went to her first obedience class on Wednesday. She was fearful of strangers, barked at kids, and it was generally a somewhat depressing experience. I was surprised, since she adapted so quickly to us and is so friendly and affectionate with us. She’ll go every week and hopefully will improve. We have to get her properly trained and socialized before we can even hope to find a family for her.

Schatzi seems to be doing better. Dr. Karen thought so, and will have another look at her on Friday. Keeping her still is a real challenge. I took care of her yesterday while Megan taught a CPR class, and she followed me everywhere. Finally she settled down on the couch, but you can tell she’s really depressed at being kept inside all the time. A friend of Megan’s is giving her a sort of dog playpen so she can be out on the garden but not wandering around. I’m still hoping we can avoid surgery.

Since it’s May and everything, I figured I’d be safe in leaving the heat off at night and the orchid outside. As usual, I was wrong.

I woke up yesterday to find that it was 35 degrees outside and 46 inside. I put on another sweater and turned on the heat. I figure one of these days I’ll wake up and it will be 80 degrees, and that will be that until it starts being winter again. If it rains again before November, that muffled thud you hear will be my head exploding and then falling off.

By noon, the temperature was about 30 degrees higher, and there was a flatbed truck making its way down the driveway. I went out to investigate and discovered that it was delivering a new (to me) washing machine! The driver unloaded it and Mark and I checked it out. The highlight for me is that the agitator is actually attached to the inside of the washer, so it won’t agitate me by flying off mid-wash and sounding like the whole thing is going to take off. Also I imagine its clothes-eating abilities will be limited by this.

Mark will take away the old one and install the new one sometime this weekend. I can’t wait to use it, though I expect the thrill of doing laundry will wear off pretty quickly.

As the driver got ready to leave, I said it must have been tough driving that heavy truck down the narrow, pothole-ridden driveway, and he smiled and said he’d seen worse, which boggled my tiny mind.

In other exciting news, the boys have a line on a 75 year old tractor which quite possibly might work. After all, it worked less than a decade ago, so it might just need some parts and persuasion. The price is right, since it’s free, and it’s just down the road. Hopefully the boys can get it up and running so we can start on a vegetable garden at the family property.

I went to check out a house for rent a couple of miles from here.

As I turned onto Gene Clark’s former road, the radio started playing “Feel a Whole Lot Better”.

The directions were typical of directions up here. Pass the llama farm, look for a certain mile marker, a strange stump. The road was also typical, narrow and rutted, full of puddles. A sign said, “Road narrows”, and I thought, “How is that possible?” It was, though, and the road got even rougher. Eventually, it became one tiny lane, semi-paved, curling and weaving through the redwoods. If another car was coming or going, one of you had to be polite and cower by the side of the road, fearing for your car’s paint job.

I laughed when I finally found the driveway, because it was actually in worse shape than ours – again, something I had previously considered to be outside the realm of possibility.

The house had its positive points. A kitchen with actual counter space (ugly, fake wood counters, but still) and a cute little window seat. A bathroom with an actual bathtub and cupboards. A big living room with French doors out to a wooden deck overlooking a fenced in yard. Closets! Even though they didn’t have doors. Much more usable space – the curved walls of my house ensure lots of wasted living space. But it was heated by one wood stove, far from the bathroom and the upstairs rooms. It would cost a fortune to heat a place that size, and I could tell it wouldn’t really be up to the job, either.

The house was also way too much of a handyman’s special for someone especially un-handy. Lots of rot around windows that leaked and should be replaced, etc. So it wasn’t for me, though I’m glad I took a look at it. Rob really dodged a bullet on that one.

As I jolted my way down the lane, it occurred to me that I seem to have a certain restlessness when it comes to housing. I spent half the time I lived in Oakland looking for other places to live, and I’ve only been here about six months and I’m already looking around. For someone who hates moving, I seem to move a lot.

Driving down the Ridge, I passed Rob in his truck and we waved. Pulling into the driveway, I passed Meg on her way out. We paused and talked through our open windows about our plans for the rest of the day, and went on our separate ways.

When I got home, I put the laundry out to dry in the sun. I’m hoping that the rain is finally over. We received nearly 50 inches this year, and got 300% of normal rainfall for April. The Sierra snowpack is at 143%, so I think we’re good. Oh, and I feel vindicated in all my complaining about the weather lately, since it was the coldest April since 1975.

As I carried the laundry outside, I ran into the PG&E meter reader. It was slightly awkward making conversation with him, knowing that he had already seen me naked.

Which is more wrong: being up at 5:30, or it being 34 degrees outside?

Toss up, I’d say.

I forgot to put the heat on last night, so it was 46 in the house when I got up. For me, it’s a two sweater morning, whereas for June and Audrey, it’s just another mouse-hunting day.

Hurry up, coffee maker!

While I’m waiting for the coffee, wondering why on earth I keep getting up so damn early, and why it’s still winter when the calendar clearly says it’s nearly May, you can enjoy some pictures I took of Megan’s garden last week on one of those days which actually seemed spring-like. Maybe they’ll cheer me up.

Lilacs in bloom. My favorite flower.

Heather.

Japanese maple.

Curly willow (so sci-fi!), setting sun.

Honestly, for a writer, you’d think I’d write more.

I seem to be reverting to my old habit of posting a couple of times a week. Maybe I’m running out of things to say after nine years of slingin’ nonsense. Maybe my capricious muselette is taking the vacation I can’t afford. Maybe I’m using all three brain cells on writing I get paid for.

Actually, it seems to be true that if I have writing assignments, I write less on my blog. Also that the more often I write my blog, the more often I write it. It’s like going to the gym: if you skip a couple of days, it’s easy to keep on skipping and finding excuses not to go.

All this is a long way of bragging that I have another article published in a magazine, though it’s not on-line yet. I really do find it thrilling to see my name in print.

I may be seeing my name in print again soon. I pitched the idea of writing a story about Star for the local paper, which also reported the sudden death of Star’s former owner. Amazingly, I heard back from the editor within half an hour, loving the idea. I told Monica about it, and within the hour, she had lined up an extremely talented photographer and artist to take pictures for the (as yet unwritten) article. So as soon as Star is ready for adoption, we’ll have a great audience for potential new homes.

I also pitched three ideas for web articles which were approved, so I’m feeling pretty good.

The good feeling inspired me to write a letter to P, who used to live on this property until her life got derailed a couple of years ago. My sister and I have heard news of her through the grapevine, and when we drove to Colusa, we saw a group of prisoners working by the side of the highway to clear up brush and other fire hazards. We both waved at the men, and they waved back. We agreed that it was a win-win, good for the men and for the state, since every Californian fears wildfires. Meg observed that P was part of one of these programs now, and we talked about her and promised each other we’d get back in touch. I hope she’ll be glad to hear from us.

The Star of the show

It was a beautiful, sunny day as Megan and I set off on our long journey.

First we drove to town, and then took Highway 20 for what seemed like the rest of our lives. For those of you who have never had the pleasure, it’s a road as curvacious as Jayne Mansfield, with the highs and lows of Judy Garland. You can’t drive fast on a road like that. It crests at 3,000 feet, which is why it can get snow and black ice during the winter. The view from the top is quite spectacular, though.

The road winds through farmland, with sheep and cows dotting the steep hills. There are groves of almond trees with wildflowers carpeting the grass so it looks like drifts of snow. Fields of mustard blaze beside snow-capped mountains, tended by weary migrant workers. Orange poppies and blue lupines grow wild by the side of the road.

Mustard fields and snowy mountains

We passed through several little towns on the shore of Clear Lake, which is the oldest lake in the entire US of A. Mount Kenocti, an extinct (let’s hope!) volcano presides over its 100 mile shoreline:

My favorite town was Lucerne. I’d love to rent one of the little old fashioned cottages on the lake for a weekend.

Lucerne

We were trapped behind a truck for 50 miles or so. It was amazing to me that a professional driver wouldn’t pull over for a caravan of cars behind him, considering there were multiple signs saying that slower traffic must pull over and plenty of pullouts for him to use. He was just a jackass. When we finally reached a place we could pass him, I flipped him off as we zoomed past. I know you think of me as a refined, gently-bred lady, but it had to be done. It was that, or a drive-by shooting.

Needless to say, this made us late for meeting Ray, and in the usual way of local highways (two lane roads) around here, there was no cell service, so we couldn’t call him. When we finally got to Colusa, it was about noon, and we had left the house at 8:30.

Colusa is a lovely town, settled in 1850, with charming Victorian houses, tree-lined streets, a historic courthouse (built in 1861 and the oldest remaining in the Sacramento Valley), a Carnegie Library dating to 1905, and cute shops. It has a very southern feel to it, and I would like to have explored it more.

We met up with Ray outside the cafe. He was quite the character: enormous, with a ZZ Top beard and long grey hair straggling from the lower half of his bald head. He had two tiny brown teeth left, one up and one down, and it was hard for this refined, gently-bred lady not to stare. Shaving was very optional for him. Hygiene….not his forte. He managed to extract himself from the car and lumber over to a nearby park with Star.

We had been told that Star was nervous, shy, and afraid of the outside. She happily went with Meg on the leash, bounded all over the grass, and licked our faces. During the walk, it became clear that she has never been trained and has no manners at all. But she’s the total opposite of her description. When the time came, she jumped right into our car and settled down on the blanket.

All was peaceful on the long ride home until we stopped at the lights in Willits. Two boys went by on skateboards, and she went bananas, barking her head off. We hastily closed all the windows, but the kids didn’t seem to notice. Note to self: Star is not a big fan of skateboards. Good thing there are no sidewalks in Hooterville.

Hooterville had never looked so beautiful to either of us as it did that evening. We both sighed with happiness as we crossed the wooden bridge and caught sight of the village. Amazingly, we saw no fewer than eight CHP officers, but didn’t get a ticket. I credit Megan’s incredible ability to spot them, which may be related to her astonishing ability to flag down a cab anywhere, any time.

We reluctantly met Rob and Schatzi at the family property, so the two dogs could meet on neutral territory. It went pretty well, but Schatzi does not enjoy being bounced at or the crazy puppy energy, both of which Star has in spades. We’ll see if it works out for Meg to foster this dog long-term.

We finally got home at 6:30 that evening, 10 hours after we left. That was a lot of driving.

Fortunately, I had made chili the day before and always have Jiffy corn muffin mix on hand. We were exhausted, but it was fun to see a new part of this great state. And I always have fun with my sister.

The wind was howling yesterday as I drove into town for some errands. I felt as if it were trying to blow me off the road, and I wasn’t surprised to hear on the radio that there was a wind advisory in effect. With a haul of library books, groceries, and a tank full of gas for today’s dog rescue adventure, I headed home.

As I turned onto the Ridge, I thought “I bet I’ll get home and find the power’s out.”

This is one case where I wish I hadn’t been right. I unloaded the groceries in the cold, sunny house and plugged in the emergency phone. My brother called to say that the outage was caused by a downed line on the Ridge. This was good news, because a) it wasn’t a whole pole which would have to be replaced; and 2) it was local, so we wouldn’t have to wait for the higher-ranking towns and villages to be restored before ours. Our turn is always last.

Meg, Rob, and Schatzi came over to sit by the heater and eat frozen pizza with me until the power came back on. I was very thankful for Rob and his generator-generating abilities, and for Jonathan, keeping me posted in his official capacity as fireman and unofficial capacity as brother.

Today dawned sunny and only slightly breezy. I know, because I was there to see it. I woke up before the alarm went off, and lay there considering whether to try and get back to sleep for half an hour, or just deal with it and get up like a grown-up. You will be pleased to hear that I chose the latter, so maybe I’m actually maturing. Just really, really slowly.

Meg should be here any minute. We’re taking my car, since it has about half the mileage that hers does, and it doesn’t make a slightly alarming metallic whine, either. We’re meeting Star at 11:00 or so at the Twisted River Cafe in Colusa. Stay tuned for details!

Today’s daisies

Somehow I seem to have drifted into a certain level of activism. These things can be catching.

Monica, Megan’s partner in pit bulls, contacted me about a sensationalized story in the Ukiah Daily Journal with the headline “Pit Bulls Attack Officers, One Shot”. I posted my thoughts in the comments section, a panoply of spelling and grammar errors along with a level of ignorance which made me picture Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel tapping away at a borrowed laptop. I also wrote an email to the editor and helped Monica with her own email to the editor, asking for a follow up story which presents the facts. They probably won’t do it, but at least we tried.

I also emailed the judge who is to sentence Aaron Vargas, asking him to sentence Aaron to time served. Aaron is a local man who was sexually and psychologically abused by a neighbor, starting at age 11 and continuing into his adulthood. Unfortunately, Aaron was far from the only victim. When the neighbor threatened to do the same to Aaron’s young child, Aaron killed him. This story has been featured on the Today show and received a fair amount of coverage nationwide for something that happened in a small town in an obscure corner of Northern California. Usually the stories marvel at how the town has rallied around Aaron, but that’s the sense of community up here and I don’t find it surprising. I just hope the judge listens and returns Aaron to his family so he can finally live in peace.

Another local sensation lately was a woman who fell to her death from the headlands while chasing her dog, Star, watched by her horrified and helpless nine year old son. The dog survived, but is in desperate need of a foster home. Guess who stepped in to help, since Megan walks the walk as well as talks the talk? After all, she drove eight hours in one day to protest Michael Vick for two hours.

So tomorrow morning, we’re driving three hours to Colusa (wherever that is), picking up a frightened dog, and driving right back. Though I’m not a total stranger to this kind of thing, it’s been a while. Megan and Rob will foster her until a permanent home can be found, and Schatzi will have a new (temporary) playmate.

Speaking of Schatzi: I decided that she rates her own category. I was amused to see that my earliest post about her dates all the way back to 2002.

You know, cleaning is bad enough. But cleaning for three hours only to have your hippie hovel still look like crap explains why I don’t clean more often. Dreams of cleaning ladies danced in my head as I abandoned the whole thing to do laundry in my clothes-eating washer*. I was reminded of the anecdote about Churchill, in which a women’s temperance member held her hand above her head against his office wall and said, “Mr. Prime Minister, if all the brandy you had swilled was poured into this room, it would reach to here!” Churchill gazed from the floor to the ceiling, and then commented sadly, “So little done, so much to do.”

Nothing like housework to make a girl crabbier than thou.

Yesterday, on the other hand, was great. Megan and I took Schatzi for a walk at Big River in the spring sunshine. It was so warm that none of us wore sweaters. Schatzi even took a wallow in the abandoned quarry which doubles as a pond in the winter and spring. It was full of tadpoles gadding about. Schatzi paddled cautiously. She’s not much of a water dog, but we’re trying to improve her confidence.

As we headed back to the car, Meg said, “Hey! Let’s go to Frankie’s for an ice-cream cone!” It seemed like the best idea ever. We couldn’t remember the last time we had an ice-cream cone. In a cup, at Erica’s store, yes. In a cone, no. And to think Megan and Rob used to live at Pier 39 for years, where the whole place smells like waffle cones, year-round.

At Frankie’s, I picked mocha almond fudge and Meg had pear sorbet, thereby negating the entire walk. It’s all about balance for me. All the ice cream is made locally and it was fabulous. We sat in the sun, people-watched, and speculated on what it would be like to live in the water tower that was for rent.

After that, we stopped by Mendosa’s for a few things, and then did a quick investigation of the hardware store that just opened next door. It’s so new that they were still stocking the shelves. Our tour revealed that they have almost as much stuff as they do at Rossi’s in town, but much closer. The boys will be glad to hear that.

Speaking of glad: my brother’s one remaining cat went on vacation for almost a week without telling anyone. We had all kind of given up on his safe return when he reappeared as if nothing had happened. I was so relieved to hear that. For both of us to lose cats in two weeks would be too much, even for our family curse. Also Jinx has been spotted in the woods and seems to be eating the food my brother leaves for him.

So it’s been a mixture of good and bad around here lately. It’s all about balance.

*Rob has appointed himself my agent. He’s already spoken to Mark about replacing the washer, and yesterday asked him to get the junk out of my yard sooner rather than later. I said thank you, and he said, “Well, were you ever going to do it?” and I had to agree that my habitual tardiness with the rent has made me a little reluctant to demand anything. I love Rob.

Nature always wins in the end

Yesterday, Megan and I took Schatzi for a stroll on the headlands at Navarro Point. As soon as we turned left onto Highway One, she perked up. Left is lacking in the boredom potential of right, which can mean getting stuck in the Safeway parking lot or going to the bank instead of doing something fun.

At the Point, there were signs of spring: wild irises, tiny violets, starry daisies, red clover, frothy Queen Anne’s Lace. Another sign of spring was deep mud and marshy grass. Apparently I still haven’t figured out the correct footwear for country occasions. While Megan splashed happily through the muck in her trusty Red Wing boots*, I ended up with soaked and muddy sneakers, socks, and pants.

The Point is a nature preserve, so there are signs warning visitors to stay on the paths, stay off the peninsula, and keep away from the crumbling cliff edge, warning that it’s unstable. Just like Me!

You’d think that people would have the sense not to litter in a place like that. But you’d be wrong. We picked up candy wrappers, cigarette butts, and other debris on our way back to the car. We put it in one of the beverage holders until we got to the store and could throw it out.

Arriving at the store, I scooped the garbage out of the holder. A surprise spider dangled from it, so I screamed and threw the stuff away from me. In the process, I managed to scare my sister; get dirt all over her pants; and distribute the trash throughout the car. In just seconds! Megan laughed at her silly sister as she collected it.

I still don’t know what happened to the spider.

Megan sent a package UPS by placing it next to a weeping flowering cherry tree outside the hardware store. Then we went to the store for necessities like PopTarts and SweetTarts. Because we’re girls. Behind us in line was a guy buying beer and pork rinds. Because he’s a boy.

The mail was more interesting than usual. I received the Dogs In Canada issue with my very first ever printed article** in it! I’m even listed on the “Contributors” page! For some reason, this is much more exciting than the pieces I’ve published on their website. We stopped off at the property, where Rob was building a cover for the water tank, and showed it to him. He was excited, too, or pretended to be.

He gave me a box from Bed Bath & Beyond, saying that he almost opened it, since he figured whatever was in it was a project for him. Fortunately, it’s only pillowcases to replace a pair of old, torn ones. But I’m sure I can come up with some kind of project for him…

*She told me later that her entire shoe wardrobe consists of those boots, a pair of Keen sandals, and the bee boots.
**Yes, I do realize how ironic it is that the article is about cleaning, I don’t have a dog, or live in Canada.

The scene of the crime

When it’s cold here, it’s usually clear, and as you can see in the picture above, that was the case yesterday (can you spot the Schatz?). I surprised Schatzi in her sunny patch, where she was catching some rays and some z’s (girls are all about the multi-tasking, you see). I let her jump around when she saw the leash, instead of taking the opportunity to make her behave the way my sister would have. There are perks to being an aunt, whether it’s to a kid or a dog.

When we got to the logging road, I let her off the leash and off she went to explore. I love seeing just her tail moving along above the scrubby huckleberry bushes, like a shark’s fin in the ocean.

She always trots ahead of me. You’d think I was the old lady here, though I’m a mere thirty-seventeen to Schatzi’s thirty-forty. But she is very lean, muscled, and strong, and looks and acts about half her age. Kind of like Me. At one point, she turned around to see where I was, and I told her I was coming. She came bouncing up to me and pushed her head against my hand, the universal dog sign for “pet me”.

I did, petting her and talking to her in the crazy lady way I always do when we take a walk (I’m sorry to report that after a recent viewing of the delightful “Top Hat” I was also inspired to sing). She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and I realized that this was the best possibly therapy for a Henry-broken heart. I was so touched that Schatzi actually came to be petted instead of exploring. It had never happened before, and when I told my sister about it, she said that Schatzi had never done it with her, either. I think she knew I was sad and was trying to comfort me.

Off she went again, and I trailed behind her in my official lady-in-waiting capacity, enjoying the unusual sun and blue skies. Coming around a bend, I came across a truck.

Schatzi was past the truck, and I called her. She came running like a racehorse and I clipped her leash on before approaching the truck. Its occupant had a barky dog, but Schatzi didn’t bark. She also sat like a good dog. I was really proud of her.

It turns out that the truck driver is the security guard for the lumber company which owns the logging road and the surrounding land. Rent-a-cops look a little different in the country. I explained that my brother has lived here for 15 years and my sister for 10, and we never knew it was wrong to walk on the road.

He took my name, address, and phone number (I only had to give him the last four digits, since all local phone numbers start with the same three), and gave me his card. He wrote another guy’s contact info on the card and told me to call him to get a permit to walk on the property. Apparently it’s basically a waiver of liability, which I can understand. We shook hands and he went on his way. Schatzi and I headed home. Even though I knew the guy was gone, I felt weird about continuing to walk down the road once I knew I shouldn’t.

When I got home, I dutifully called and left a message. I was rewarded by a phone call at 7:30 this morning, when I was dreaming of not marrying a handsome prince (even when I’m asleep, I never accept the rich guy’s proposal). I took off my sleep mask and ear plugs, picked up the phone, and stared at it for a ring or two. What am I supposed to do again? Eventually I figured it out and I’ll get my dog walking permit in the mail, so Schatzi and I can pick up where we left off.

I woke up yesterday morning to a bluish sky through the skylight. Encouraged, I got out of bed to start the day. By the time I made coffee and was settled on the couch reading my fan mail, the sky had clouded over and gloom reigned once more. At this rate, I’m going to become like an English person and start saying it’s a lovely day if it’s not actually raining.

Or not.

A glance at the weather-tossed (sometimes literally) thermometer on the back porch revealed that the needle had once again failed to reach the 40 degree mark by noon. I can’t get over how different the weather is from San Francisco, a mere 150 miles away. There, other than seasonal fog, the weather you wake up with is pretty much the weather you’re going to get that day. Here it’s like a severely under-medicated manic-depressive. And 40 degrees was reserved for a shivering overnight low, not a mocking daytime high.

I went over to my sleeping sister’s house, threading my way through the rain-filled potholes. As I sneaked in the front door, my wet sneakers squeaked on the floor and I could hear myself breathing. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke from the ghost of last night’s fire.

Schatzi was not on her chair, so I retraced my steps and went into the garden, calling her softly. It’s always a dilemma, since I want Schatzi to hear me, but I don’t want Megan to hear me. Fortunately, the Schatz heard me and came running. She bounced around with joy as I put the leash on and led her to the logging road.

There I took the leash off and followed her as she trotted down the muddy road, with detours into the brush for scent adventures. I could hear water running far below, and she was interested in exploring, but there was no way I was letting her climb down the steep cliff to check it out. The best case scenario would mean calling the fire department (aka my brother) to rescue her if she lost her footing. The worst case scenario involved leaving the country immediately under an assumed name. Fortunately, she obediently came away when I called her, and we went on our way.

The walk was Luna-free until the very end. Luna was between Schatzi and me, and Schatzi wasn’t too happy about this. But I was pleased that she ran to me for protection. I put her leash back on and took her home. She trotted off, looking for water or gophers in her garden, so I was spared the Sad Eyes* and could simply enjoy having made her happy.

I hadn’t noticed the grey skies at all.

*Schatzi has a highly developed talent for looking incredibly sad when you leave her behind. Which is why we hardly ever do. She has us well-trained.

Big River, Friday afternoon

I jumped right back into country life. Allergies back in full force, sleeping with a sweater on, cold mornings.

Amazingly, I actually unpacked on Thursday afternoon. I think my crabbiness gave me extra energy, since my usual method is to leave the suitcase open in the living room, taking things out of it as needed for oh, say, about a week, and wondering why it doesn’t unpack itself.

So I was ready to get up and go when Megan asked me if I’d like to join her and Lu in walking the dogs at Big River on Friday. The whole day turned into more of a marathon than we expected, as you shall see.

We were trapped in Little River, near the scenic cemetery, by roadwork. There’s no cell service there – the dead have no need to call anyone – so we couldn’t tell Lu we’d be late. While we waited, Megan said that the seasons here are waiting for rain, rain, waiting for rain to stop, and construction. We must be somewhere between the last two.

We finally got to our destination, where Lu was waiting for us with her two beautiful dogs, Harlow (right) and Marco:

Schatzi was happy to see her friends:

We set off down the path beside the river:

The tree was felled by the winter storms.

There were wildflowers everywhere, craggy cliffs of daisies:

Somehow, we spent two hours walking the dogs without quite realizing it. We parted ways in the parking lot, Lu returning home and Megan and I heading into nearby Mendocino to buy provisions for dinner. We had decided to make some new Indian recipes: poppadums, chicken tikka masala, and naan. We struck out on the lentil flour for the poppadums, so they were 86’d from the menu at the last minute. We still hope to find it online, though.

Returning home, we had to hurry to get the chicken marinating and the naan rising. Making the chicken was a leap of faith for both of us, since we are horrified by yogurt. We kept telling ourselves that this is the way they make it in restaurants. I heroically cleaned up all the yogurt-related dishes. If that isn’t love, what is? We laughed at the fact that Megan can scrape up brains off the highway, but can’t touch yogurt.

We barbecued the chicken, then put it in the sauce to simmer while Megan cooked the naan on the barbcue. She also made some dipping sauce for the naan: olive oil, slightly crushed Egyptian caraway seeds, and coarse sea salt. We had dinner in the garden as the light slowly faded.

It was a good day.

Well, I’m back in Hooterville.

I couldn’t afford to stay in the city today, or even pick up a pizza on my way to the Golden Gate Bridge, which made me a crabby little crabcake, I can tell you. Especially after discovering that gas is $3.17 there instead of the $3.03 it is up here. Still better than the $3.35 I noticed as I passed the Navarro Store. Yikes.

It was a postcard perfect day as I drove crankily across the bridge. Sailing ships and merchant ships were tootling around on the blue water, the city sparkled in its pastel glory, and Alcatraz looked like an incongruous resort. The city didn’t seem to be at all sorry to see me leave, though I felt the usual pang crossing into Marin, putting San Francisco behind me.

I had the Oakland A’s game on the radio to keep me company. Amazingly, I got reception all the way to Yorkville, when it finally faded at the top of the 8th inning, with Oakland ahead 4-0 (for those who are interested, they won 6-2 to sweep Seattle). By then, I could receive the Coast, which saw me all the way to the local store, where I stopped off to check the mail and get a bottle of wine.

It was so windy at the store that I could barely get the car door open, but bright and sunny.

All was well at my Henry-less hippie hovel. I wish June and Audrey were as excited to see me as I am to see them (Henry Etta was always happy to see me, and ran to the door to be petted). I always miss them when I go away, no matter how short the trip. And this was too short.

Yesterday Mark came by to check something, accompanied by the wet and muddy Luna. Lucky seems to have vanished, hopefully back into the fold, since the alternative would probably be her showing up pregnant, and then what would we do? I imagine herds of tame-ish deer taking over the property, eating every plant and Chico bag they can find.

While he was here, I reminded him about the leak in the pantry/laundry room/cat dining room. I debated telling him that the washer should be replaced, since the agitator tends to get agitated and leap off partway through the wash cycle, creating noisy havoc in the house and holes in the laundry, but I figured it was better to tackle one thing at a time.

He chiseled up some of the cement floor and used a beepy thing to determine what was copper and what was not. The room became floodier as he worked. Eventually, he said the problem was worse than he originally thought, and and he’d have to rent a jackhammer or something like it to break up the cement and get to the root of the problem. I hope he can do it soon, since I now have to pick my way over the puddles when I feed the cats or get something out of the pantry. Since there’s zippo storage space in the kitchen, most food is back there. One of these days, I should count how many trips I make back and forth.

I now notice counter and cupboard space in every movie and TV show. Recently Meg and I were watching “Sex and the City” and all I could think about was how Carrie’s New York kitchen had way more counter and cupboard space than mine. Erica explained this by saying that James basically built a man cave. I mean, the garage is bigger than the house, and the curved walls means there’s at least 6 feet of wasted space in each room. Then there’s the no closets and lack of usable kitchen space thing. Rose must have been far more patient and resourceful than Self.

Later in the day, Megan called to see if she could use my shower, since the propane was running low at her place. Propane: the bane of the country dweller’s existence.

I put on the heater and closed the door, then went to make sure the flash heater hadn’t gone out in the rain and wind. It had, but the other problem was that the water was at a dispiriting trickle and not shower-worthy. I called Mark and he said he’d be right over. While I was waiting for him, I went and re-lit the flash heater (yay Me!). Megan arrived before Mark and I gave her the unwelcome news. Fortunately, he turned up and fixed the water in time for Meg to have a rushed shower, jump into her car with wet hair, and drive off to work in the pouring rain.

Hail in the garden, 7 am

It was wild and stormy last night. It rained so hard that it woke me up a few times. I lay there listening to the storm rage, wondering why James never cut down the trees which are just a few feet from the house. If one of them gets knocked over by the wind…

Amazingly, the power stayed on and the cats stayed in.

This morning, I was awakened by hail crashing heavily against the roof and skylight. Risking life and limb (well, limb, anyway), I dashed out to take photos for you, dear readers, before the rain melted the evidence. Here you can see the hail on my porch steps and beside the roof/wall:

When Rob dropped by with some mail, I was glad to hear that Megan had escaped the hailstorm on her morning commute. I was also entertained by the three census forms he brought. They all have the same street address, but are differentiated by additional descriptions:

12345 Blank Road
A Frame Cabin (me)

12345 Blank Road
Two Story Cabin (Megan & Rob)

12345 Blank Road
Unknown Unit-A (Jonathan’s former residence, now unoccupied)

I’d love to know how they described Mark’s place and the front house. Apparently the front house has new occupants. I have never met them, but I have waved at them while driving by and noticed that they have done a great job cleaning up the long-neglected garden.

And in other news, I have an appointment with Dr. Karen on Friday afternoon, so my medical advocate (aka my sister Megan) can join me. When I called and gave the receptionist my name, she asked brightly “Is this for Henry Etta?” Celebucat!
Update: Turns out that this morning’s storm was just a preview for the real storm, at 3:00 this afternoon:

The air smelled strongly of pine resin – I guess from the hail battering the trees.

The light in the house immediately took on that strange, white light that it does when it snows.

The temperature dropped to 40 in just a few minutes.

Hard to believe it was 80 degrees here a week ago!