Suzy Says

A foggy evening at the Community Center

On Friday night, Megan and I met up with Lu at the Caspar Community Center for a Farm to Table Benefit Dinner and Pie Auction. All the food was grown and donated by local residents, including my family – we gave onions, basil, lemon cucumbers, tomatoes, and the world’s biggest zucchini – and the pies were home made from local fruit, such as apples, huckleberries, and blackberries:

Since Monica was the event organizer, the dining room looked beautiful:

Each table had a centerpiece which Monica hand painted and decorated with inspirational sayings, filled with flowers:

In the other room, local musicians performed where there were craft projects set up for kids, glitter tattoos for kids of all ages (I got a ladybug and Megan got a dragonfly), and art by children under the age of 18 was also being auctioned off. I was very impressed with this picture of Monica’s dogs Daisy and Ladybug, drawn by a very talented 13 year girl:

And this painting by 5 and 3 year old sisters, who happened to sit near us at dinner:

We discovered our brother in the kitchen, chopping the basil we had donated. When we asked him what he was doing there, he said, “I know how to chop some things and big and some things small. And I’m not afraid of industrial-sized pots.” The fact that he used to be a professional cook in a previous life probably didn’t hurt, either.

The pies were auctioned off before dinner, with most going for about $40 and one going for $200! Monica was stunned – she thought they might get $15 each if they were lucky.

Dinner was wonderful. We had tomato and basil salad with sliced red onions; turkey stew; wood-fired salmon for salmon eaters; rice pilaf and roasted squash, and homemade ice cream with apple compote. I love the idea that all the food was locally produced and donated, and that the cooks took a look at the materials at hand and made up the menu on the spot.

Jonathan joined us for dinner, and it was wonderful to sit in that lovely room surrounded by friends and family and our little community, all brought together to help Monica’s rescue organization, the Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue. I am always impressed by Monica’s creativity and dedication, but she really outdid herself. It was a truly special event and I am so glad I was part of this magical evening.

I woke up yesterday to sunshine and Roscoe cuddled up against me. It was the rare and delightful teddy bear cuddle, too, where he has his back to my chest and my arm is around him. For a while, I just lay there enjoying the purring and the fact that it was light enough to let the cats out right away. One of the many things I dislike about getting up early to go to the pool and/or work is having to keep the cats in until it’s light enough that the neighborhood thugs have retired to their lairs.

Speaking of cats, we got another update from Digit’s family:

I just wanted to give you an update regarding Digit. She is doing great. As I mentioned previously, we have two other cats, one outdoor (our long-hair grey polydactyl) and one indoor. She is very good friends now with both. She waits at the door first thing in the morning to go out and greet our long-hair grey cat. He waits for her outside the door, greets her with rubs and nose touches, then leads her off for a short adventure (he seems to really like showing her his territory). During the rest of the day, she often sleeps inside with our other cat (both of them in the big pad you gave us, which she very much likes again). All three cats really seem to like one another. So, all is well here and she is very much now a part of our clan. Thank you, Jane

Seems we really chose the perfect family for our sweet girl.

While I was making coffee, Megan stopped by on her way home from work. I really enjoy these little visits. These days, we rarely see each other, especially on weeks like this one where she worked four 12 hour night shifts in a row. I was worried about some things going on in my jobs, and she listened to my problems and helped me solve them. I realized how lucky I am to have a sister like her. She even came over last weekend and brought my laundry in and folded it neatly on the bed, and also took away my garbage and recycling. Best. Sister. Ever.

Later in the day, I sat out on the balcony:

with a drink and my latest library* book, admiring the last rose of summer:

and the golden light in the trees:

with my bare feet (toes adorned with the sparkly polish Erica gave me last Christmas) on the worn, sun-warmed wood, and thought how lucky I am to have such a wonderful, loving family and live in such a beautiful place. Whatever happens, we will always have each other.

*The library is now open 6 days a week. Huzzah!

Star (left) and Schatzi (right)

On Friday, Megan and I went to the Farmers’ Market in the Village.

I have to admit that the Farmers’ Market has become somewhat less exciting for us since Megan and Jonathan created their amazing garden. Pretty much everything they have at the Farmers’ Market, we already have, though there are some exceptions, like the fabulous Herbes de Provence mustard and delightful sprouts (we got lentil this time). Megan also picked up some organic pork roast, because our good friend Paul is coming to visit soon. Her plan is to slow cook it over the barbecue at the garden party palace while he’s here.

I took the opportunity to ask the makers of Seasoning Sand (as seen in the September Oprah Magazine) and Sea Smoke how to use the Sea Smoke. We sell this, along with other local products, at the new and improved jobette*, and people always ask me how to use it. I had no idea! Apparently the correct answer is to use it on everything. According to the makers, it’s good on everything from vanilla ice cream to Chinese food and sliced apples. He says you just need a pinch and that he takes some every time he goes out to dinner, in case he needs to improve his order.

So now I know.

After the Farmers’ Market, we took Schatzi to the vet for a check up. You may remember that she is a vintage 13 years old, and also that her old bones look like Swiss cheese inside. However, Megan’s careful drug, food, and supplement program has resulted not only in Schatzi smiling as she prances past my house every day, but in her kidney and liver numbers actually improving. I just hoped that her numbers wouldn’t be worse – I never considered that they might get better.

So that was a welcome surprise, especially when Dr. Karen told us that Schatzi has developed a heart murmur. Apparently, this is not as alarming as it sounds, and it’s a mild one. We should be concerned if we hear her coughing, so we’ll have to keep an eye (or ear) out for that.

It was a lovely, sunny day – even lovelier with the good Schatzi news – so we picked up a bottle of wine** and toasted Schatzi as we sat in my garden in the early autumn sunshine. I figured we should enjoy the garden while we can – the winter rains can’t be far away now.

I guess my version is “drink wine while the sun shines” instead of “make hay.”

*I was surprisingly upset to discover today that someone stole one of the bookmarks, decorated with a little glass vial of sand, beach glass, and shells, that we sell at the jobette. I’m still sad about it, hours later.

**The jobette CEO just gave me a bottle of wine and one of extra virgin olive oil from his trip to Italy, with a lovely card thanking me for my hard work. How nice is that?

Thursday kicked off with a visit from the money fairy while I was asleep. The money fairy really doesn’t visit me often enough these days. I actually thought she had lost my address a long time ago.

I woke up to discover a pile of cash on top of my also sleeping computer, with a note from my sister saying, “We gotta help each other out. We’re all we got. xo”

I was so touched that I had to take a moment. I walked out into the sunny garden, where the hummingbirds were buzzing around and the cats were playing, and thought how lucky I was to have such a wonderful family.

I was still drinking coffee when my neighbor and Rose’s daughter, Catrin, stopped by to give me some money for her half of the cable bill. More money! Then the phone rang to tell me that Miss Scarlett* was finally ready to leave the emergency room. Between the cash from the money fairy and the coupon I had received earlier in the week from the garage, the bill to repair her was much more tolerable than I had anticipated.

I love days where people throw money at me. It should happen more often.

*I’m beginning to think I need a “Car” category. Though I hope not.

On Monday morning, I drove to the new jobette. Needless to say, other people had taken up our allotted parking spaces – we now have signs up, but didn’t then – so I parked two blocks away.

At lunch, I went to the car to run some errands. I turned the key and the engine made the usual sound, but failed to catch. I tried a couple more times before calling my brother.

It turned out that he was a couple of blocks away himself, on his way in to work. He also tried and failed to start the car. I walked over to the mechanic’s and explained the situation. They sent a guy over to see if he could figure out what was wrong with Miss Scarlett, but he also couldn’t – she had to get to the garage to be diagnosed.

So I called the one tow truck in town and went to wait for him. He attached the car to the tow truck pretty quickly, and then offered me a lift to the mechanic’s. We went about 4 or 5 blocks and it cost $70. Fortunately, I just have to email or fax the receipt to the insurance agent to be reimbursed.

In the meantime, it was too late in the day for the mechanic to figure out what ailed Miss Scarlett, let alone fix it. Fortunately for me, my kind-hearted co-worker Erin lives just a couple of miles away from me in Hooterville, so she gave me a lift home. On the way, we stopped off to pick up her son at her mother’s house (which is literally a rose-covered cottage in the Village) and register him for kindergarten, which started today. Erin’s Mom even offered me the loan of her (very nice) car while mine was being fixed.

This morning, the mechanic told me it was the ignition coil, which will be $325 to fix. Later, he changed his mind, and as I write, I’m still not sure what’s wrong with the car or whether I can drive it home tonight. But I’m glad that I did try the car at lunch yesterday, instead of the end of the work day, that the tow truck and my brother were close by, and that I have such great people in my life to help me out in the meantime.

I slept in until 7:15 this morning! Audrey complained bitterly about the terrible service around here, but the boys decided to have breakfast before bounding out into the foggy morning.

Speaking of the boys: I may have solved the mystery of Roscoe’s head wound. The other day, I saw Clyde getting ready to pounce on his unsuspecting brother, and went to get the camera:

They play pretty rough, and sometimes one or both of them meows like it hurts, though I’m not sure that’s what it really means. The fact is they appear to bite each other, and their claws are pretty sharp, so my guess is that Clyde bit Roscoe, and Roscoe keep wiping at the wound with his wet paw until the fur came off and it got infected. The presence of a couple of claw-sized bald spots on his head and little puncture scabs on the wound area lend credence to my Poirot-style theory.

At least it’s healed up, and the fur is growing back. I wish they’d be more careful, but boys will be boys!

Digit’s new family is delightful. The daughter is eight years old and just fell in love with Digit, who is now “her” cat. I’m really happy for Digit, who is going to have the loving attention she deserves, but I have to admit that I had to go and sit in the car and compose myself before I could drive home after saying goodbye to her. I’m glad for her, but sad for me.

We had our last swimming class of the summer yesterday. Sallie is the best swimming teacher ever. I hope I can fit in more lessons in the fall, though it will be harder than ever since I will now be working on the weekends as well as longer hours during the week as part of Operation Save Suzy.

After class, Megan and I went to the old jobette office, where I picked up keys for the new office and was surprised to see that the phones were still there, along with all the plants and the outside garbage and recycling bins. Also there were a few bottles of wine and it seemed that the modem and its accessories were still there, too, though on arrival at the new office, it was clear that the interwebs were working there, so who knows?

Megan and I packed up her car with the plants and wine, leaving the phones and other equipment to the professionals. We spent about four hours unpacking boxes, breaking them down and stacking them in the alley, setting up my desk, the coffee area, and kitchen and bathrooms (finally, we will have men’s and ladies’ separate, and a janitorial service). The painter was there to touch up, and because it’s a small town, he is also the husband of Megan’s boss.

Finally, we got to the point where we couldn’t do more, so we locked up and went to the grocery store, where we picked up a few things for our brother as well as ourselves, stopping off at his place to deliver them and catch up, parting with hugs and “Love yous”, as we always do. As we headed home, I said to Megan, “We’re so lucky we have each other,” and she said, “You know it!”

I do.

Dad and Megan at our home in New York State, early 1970s

Dad was never much of a swimmer. He’d edge gingerly into the water and finally, when it was inevitable, he’d plunge in – always keeping his head out of the water.

He had a style all his own, a sort of determined, modified dog paddle which changed little over the years and seemed to be relatively effective both in the chilly waters of the Atlantic or a Maine lake on a summer afternoon.

You can’t really blame him for his lack of swimming technique, since he grew up in London during World War II and was probably a lot more interested in dodging bombs and investigating downed enemy planes than he was in perfecting the breast stroke. And I imagine that swimming pools were harder to come by in that neighborhood than fresh eggs*, and less desirable, too.

Today, on the eleventh anniversary of his death, Megan and I are taking our next to last swimming lesson for the summer. As I wade into the warm water – like Dad, I tend to wade in. whereas Megan jumps in fearlessly, which pretty much sums up our approaches to life in general – I will think about the golden summer days when Dad took us swimming on our Maine island, long ago but still in my heart, the way he always is.

*Dad’s mother used to tell me how one day she was granted a ration of a fresh egg apiece for herself, her husband, and her two children, a delight after years of powdered eggs. She took the children with her to get them, and on the way home, they were bombed. My grandmother hid under a bus with her children by her side, clutching the precious eggs and praying, “Please don’t break my eggs!” They all survived – at least, until dinner time.

Well, I didn’t let the Bad Day get me down. Not completely, anyway.

On Friday night, we had a BBQ at the property with my siblings’ land partners, Jennifer and Dave* and our dear friend Lu, who brought her dogs Marco and Harlow, who is Star’s BFF. Marco has suddenly gone blind, so it was a challenge keeping him away from the fire, etc. When you have a 137 pound blind dog on your hands, everything suddenly looks like an obstacle course. He is coping pretty well, but at 6 years old, he is getting on in age for a Rottweiler and is also having a hard time with one of his back legs.

I think it was good for Lu to get out of the house and be with friends for a little while. As it was for me. We all toasted Mom and shared some memories. We all agreed that while our parents and their parenting style was somewhat unusual, we were lucky to have had them. And to have each other.

By the way: Roscoe is doing much better. I have stopped squirting him, and his skin is returning to its normal whiteness, with just a little bit of scabbiness. I hope the fur grows back – he looks a little odd with a bald spot. I guess I will never know what happened…a kitty mystery!

*I stopped in at the store after going to the post office, where I learned that Dave and Jennifer were here for two weeks with their three horses (I thought they only had two), and that my new neighbors had invisibly moved into Mark’s house. Good thing the store is there to tell me what’s going on in my life.

Fun fact: This is my 2,000th post! Is that an amazing achievement, or kind of sad? It did take me 11 years to reach this milestone, so maybe it’s more lame than amazing.

Faithful (and even casual) readers know that my sister really is amazing. On Sunday, she happened to be here when Roscoe turned up with a bird in his mouth. She immediately removed the bird, in case there was a chance of survival (there wasn’t – not even Megan’s considerable EMS skills are equal to resuscitating a headless bird), and while doing so, noticed that something was wrong.

Roscoe has a weird spot like a skinned knee on the place in front of his ear and above his eye where the fur is really thin. It looks pretty ooky, even a few days later. Megan went home and got some magic (and pricy) stuff called Vetericyn, which we’ve been spraying on him several times a day. I actually left him in the house one day with the doors closed, so he could rest and heal. Of course, it was about 80 degrees for the first time in foggy weeks, but he looks a little better.

Megan has been coming by to check on him in the morning on the way home, and calls in to see how he is at night, which I think is really sweet considering how crazy her job is and how long the hours are.

I’m a little worried that all this spraying and keeping inside will kind of ruin our relationship, but it has to be done. At least he cuddled up with me early this morning. I don’t know which of us was more alarmed when the alarm went off at 6:00.

Megan’s emergency services are, as you probably know by now, not limited to the Emergency Room or the ambulance, though her big sister might well be the most frequent beneficiary of her expertise.

This morning, a hummingbird took a detour from the fuchsia on the back deck into my house. He then flew up to the big but un-openable window in the living room. There he buzzed frantically against the window, emitting little chirps of distress.

I went to get the broom, thinking I could gently guide him down to the open door, but as usual in my house, I was too short to reach him. I called Megan and went to get a stepladder. By the time I came back, Megan was in the living room, but the hummingbird wasn’t. I could still hear the buzzing, though, and we soon discovered that he was now in the skylight in the sleeping loft.

Megan got a t-shirt and gently covered the frantic little creature with it, cupping her hands around to keep him in the fabric. Then she took him out to the balcony, where he immediately skyrocketed out of sight beyond the redwoods, clearly unharmed.

It was only then that I realized I should have taken a picture, but I was so afraid that he would hurt himself or die of stress and exertion that it didn’t occur to me.

Thank goodness for brave and resourceful little sisters, who not only catch up with you, but pass you. And then reach out a helping hand.

My garden says “hello”

Thursday would have been a beautiful day no matter what, but it was a sunny one, too, without the bone-crushing heat’n’humidy of an East Coast summer day*. I sang along to the Beach Boys’ new CD as I drove past the vineyards and redwoods in the California sunshine. I yelled “Woo hoo!” as I passed the Mendocino County line. I wanted to hug the whole County, even Willits.

Well, maybe not Willits.

I stopped off to get my mail, rejoicing in the familiar sight of the hardware store owner’s old black dog napping in front of the store, the swallows above the post office door peeping merrily away, and the peaceful cows across the road wandering through their huge, golden fields.

Hooterville had never looked so lovely.

Pulling up at my humble abode, it was immediately obvious that Rob had been at work while I was away. The hose was looped up far more neatly than I can ever manage, so he had watered my garden in my absence. He had also removed two cans of garbage and two of recycling and repaired the cupboard door which had mysteriously fallen off one day while I was at work.

Before I left, I asked Megan to borrow some twine so I could tie up the Little Rose That Could. Strangely enough, feeding and watering it have made it much happier and bigger, but its branches were kind of flopping around:

Instead of tying it up, Rob wove the branches through the balcony slats:

So I’ll have climbing roses on one end of the balcony and jasmine on the other.

The cats definitely missed me. They all came running to say hello and be petted, and then wandered off, reassured that all was back to normal.

Megan and Rob arrived with a bottle of Absolut Mandrin vodka and pomegranate-cranberry juice, which, with a squidge of fresh lime juice and some ice, made pretty good faux Cosmos. Sitting in the garden with the sun gilding the tops of the redwoods, it just felt like heaven. I was (and am) so glad to be home.

*It seems unfair to survive 6 or more months of cold, snowy winter only to be rewarded by intense heat, humidity, and bugs. How can it be so hot and so cold in the very same place? Enquiring minds want to know.

There’s nothing like an unwanted trip looming on the horizon to make you appreciate your humble abode. Leaving all my doors open when I go to work! Driving to work beside the ocean! Having the adorable Digit (and my awesome co-workers) at work when I get there:

My beautiful, peaceful garden! My naughty kitties! It all seems like a paradise now.

As I set about packing today, I kept thinking about how much I would miss the kitties, the garden, and my hippie hovel. Not to mention the silence and the safety. I would venture to guess that Detroit is the utter antithesis of Hooterville.

The cats ignored the signs of my imminent departure and played outside under the big blue sky in the clean fresh air. It was about 70 degrees today, and I had all the doors open. Roscoe took advantage of this to import as many lizards as possible. He even went behind the pots and bowls in the kitchen cupboard, emerged with a lizard, played with it a while while I went to get the broom and dustpan to aid in lizard removal, and then vanished with it under the couch.

Under the couch appears to be the favored reptile repository around here. I figure by the time I get back from The D, they will have completely taken over, sitting on the couch reading and smoking a cigar and raiding the liquor cabinet*. They will look at me in disdain and wonder what on earth I’m doing in their house.

I took a much-needed break from stewing and fretting yesterday to have a Q with family and friends. Erica and Jessica were there with the Lovely Lucy:

as were Lichen and my siblings’ land partners, Dave and Jennifer. Megan had marinated a pork roast, which was slow cooked over the barbecue for hours. We made that into fajitas with grilled onions and peppers, as well as salad just picked from the garden and a cherry pie my brother made from scratch. As if that weren’t enough, we also had grilled fresh peaches, yet another delicious Erica innovation. You split a fresh peach, take out the pit, brush it with olive oil, dust it with salt, and put it on the barbecue for 5 to 7 minutes. Delicious!

Is it any wonder I’ll be homesick?

*Which is itself without a door, having detached itself from its hinges while I was at work last week. Mark and his family are in Florida at Disney Land (or Disney World), and when they get back, they are almost immediately moving to New Jersey for a year, so I’m not expecting it to be fixed any time soon. Oh, Rob….what are you up to in the next few days?

On Monday night, I was engrossed in the second season of the complex and rainswept* Killing, when I noticed a hole in my tooth.

Uh-oh.

Apparently a filling had fallen from its original location. Even more disturbing, I must have swallowed it without realizing. I tried not to think about all the “lead is known to the State of California to cause cancer” signs I have seen, from wine bottles (really!) to lead-based artwork in museums. And what would happen if the tooth blew up on my while en route to my grilling in Detroit.

Of course, this has to happen with the Subpoena of Damocles hanging over my head, along with a national holiday. The jobette was closed for the rest of the week, and I was afraid the dentist would be, too. However, luck was with me, and the dentist who takes care of my siblings and took care of our mother just happened to have an appointment at 4:00 on Tuesday afternoon (aka Independence Day eve). They are closed the rest of the week, so I was lucky to get it.

I was scared about what he would say and what it would cost, not, as it turned out, without reason.

He frowned while looking at the damage, and I said, “Don’t give me that face!” He laughed and said he was concerned that the filling was cracked and there might be decay in the crack. Fortunately, there wasn’t. He removed another chunk of filling and then sealed it up with some clear stuff with antibiotics in it, which should hold me until July 25, when I will be crowned for the first time in my life.

The crown will cost $950.

I wish it was from Tiffany instead of the dental supply store, but adult life is full of such disappointments. At least it’s not a root canal, right?

When I brought Jonathan his Thursday dinner and told him the saga of my tooth, he asked me when I called the dentist’s office. “About ten, ” I said. He laughed and said that the dentist’s receptionist called him around 10 to say that an emergency came up and he couldn’t have the 4:00 appointment.

Small town.

*The show is set in Seattle, but filmed in Vancouver. I hope at least half of the rain is special effects. Otherwise, all Vancouverites would look (and feel) like mushrooms!

It’s a great day for cats. Today (or maybe yesterday or tomorrow or next week, since she’s in Australia) my gorgeous niece Cat turns 30, and my adorable cat Audrey turns 6. Cat asked me whether I thought turning 30 or being subpoenaed was worse, and I said turning 30, since it lasts longer. Audrey just asked to be let out.

In other happy news, Erica and Jessica are back! And better than ever!

They made their triumphal return last Monday, but had to spend several days removing the carpet from their house (Erica’s tenant apparently had an extremely incontinent dog) and painting the floors, tenting out in their own yard until they could start to decant their furniture and things’n’stuff from the giant 26 foot moving truck which Erica had valiantly packed and driven from distant Portlandia.

Because Erica is Super Girl, and missed us as much as we missed her, she made the hour’s drive from her place to Jonathan’s for a barbecue on Saturday evening. Even though it was foggy, and as the evening went on, it started fogging, which is what we call it when the fog gets so heavy that it’s almost raining.

Good thing that Jonathan (note the blondeosity of his hair) showed Jessica how to start a fire in the fire pit:

Every kid should have lessons in matches and fire from a real fireman:

It’s surprising how much warmth the concrete ring can both achieve and hold.

Jessica had wasted no time in learning how to drive the golf cart. I may not have mentioned that Jonathan acquired the golf cart from someone in a non-operational state, fixed it up with Rob’s help, and now uses it to haul equipment and wood and heavy things like that. And, you know, for fun. Everyone, including Star, loves to ride in it.

Jessica was no exception, and wanted to take me for a drive. Jonathan put her on his lap and let her steer:

She seems to be a natural driver. She did very well navigating the twists and turns and even remarked on how you have to look a few seconds ahead and how the longer curves can be easier to drive than the short ones, all of which is true. You can see the concentration:

Also the pierced ears she got for her birthday. Our little girl is growing up!

Back in the golden days of our youth, my siblings and I were all golden-haired. But when puberty reared its ugly head, mine went from gleaming to drab, seemingly overnight. “We’ll take your blonde hair and swap it for decades of menstrual hell and pregnancy scares! Enjoy!”

This was about the time I began to realize that being a grown-up would not be the staying up late, eating pizza, and partying with your friends festival that I had envisioned.

Needless to say, my brother, the only boy, has retained his thick, almost platinum blonde hair into his 40s. He doesn’t really think about his hair, washes it with soap most of the time, and keeps it ruthlessly short year-round. Of course, he also has Dad’s blazing blue eyes and his own absurdly long eyelashes. Just another of Ma Nature’s wickedly unfunny jokes.

Once the plague of puberty had mousened me, I fought back by dyeing my hair, sometimes to its former glory and sometimes pink or purple, since it was the ’80s, one of the most embarrassing and unflattering decades ever, and things like that seemed like a good idea at the time. Like parachute pants and giant shoulder pads that would have made Joan Crawford balk. Or lift her eyebrows even further, if that’s possible.

When the recession hit and I found myself having to sell my jewelry to pay the bills (sob) and even buy socks, personal maintenance fell by the wayside, along with fashion magazine subscriptions. No more highlights, waxing, or mani-pedis. It was a dark and ugly time. Much like my grown-out hair.

But it’s always darkest before the dawn, so for this landmark birthday*, Megan bought me highlights for my hair! The artist in question is a charming lady who cuts Lichen’s hair (even the most accomplished stylist can’t cut their own hair). She has a little studio in the former pump house on her property. We had a great time chatting with her as she worked on my hair. She is from Germany, where hairdressers train for nearly four years as apprentices, spending part of their week at school and part of it at the salon, helping and observing and taking on greater responsibility as time goes by.

All I can say is all that training really pays off. My hair looks completely natural, but so much better and brighter. She also cut it, and when she was finished blow drying it, it had never looked so good. Bright and bouncy and fabulous. Unfortunately for you, I had no make-up on that day and was too vain to document my new and improved hair with my old and unimproved face, so you will just have to take my word for it for now. I will be interested to see how it looks after I do it myself tomorrow morning. If I were rich, I would definitely have a stylist on my staff.

In other happy news, Megan and Rob are celebrating their 21st anniversary today!

*Since I had the highlights installed on the next to last day of June, I really did have almost a birthday month!

I’ve been promising you some pictures of the garden party palace over on the family property, and here they are at last!

The whole thing started back in March. Or maybe February. Making a garden here in the pygmy is not as easy as it is in most places. First of all, you have to get your friend to bring his heavy machinery over. Then, he hacks up the huckleberry bushes, manzanita, and other various scrubby bushes:

You get to remove the root balls and debris by hand, though. Hours of fun!

After that, your friend comes back and tills through the soil and smooths it out:

Then you spend a zillion dollars on real dirt, which you can (and do) have delivered. Then you make it into raised beds.

Now, the pygmy soil is a dustbowl in the summer and a mud pit in the winter. To help keep the garden from blowing away, you buy lots of hay and purple vetch seeds, which you strew liberally on the spread out hay and hope for the best. The idea is that the vetch’n’hay combo will anchor the soil.

It worked like a charm:

Next, you plant fruit trees (apple and peach) for future shade (and cider making) and almost everything else you can think of: potatoes, lettuce, broccoli, spinach, arugula, strawberries, tomatoes, beans…

Of course, all these plants need water. Good thing you have a big water tank:

and that well (the white cap on the left; the cement square is where the pump house was built later) you dug a couple of years ago. And have another machinery-wielding friend who can dig trenches for water pipes:

While he’s at it, you realize that you might as well lay electricity in as well as water, since there’s plenty of room in the trenches. So you do. Then you fill in the trenches.

I forgot to mention that you also need Friend One to dig post holes in the hard soil, and you have to buy posts and deer fencing and then install all the posts with cement which you have mixed and poured yourself. Little details like that.

And you need a couple of gates, one big enough for machinery and one for you to go in and out. Might as well make them pretty while you’re at it.

Rob and Jonathan made the framework for the gate (which they painted blue) and built the planter boxes and lattice (on which our father’s favorite flower, sweet peas, will grow) entirely by hand:

Same goes for this redwood lattice gate:

Just add a fire pit (a repurposed well ring):

a couple of hay bales, barbecues, and you’re ready to party! The enclosure, at 6,400 square feet, is even big enough for camping when you’re finished partying:

We’ve been picking salad from the garden for the past couple of months, and strawberries are beginning to ripen. It’s kind of like magic to just go over there, pick food, and eat it.

We also bought an additional hive for the bees:

Last year, they swarmed before we were ready, so some of the bees moved on to greener pastures somewhere. But enough were left to keep going, and they were thriving enough to need more room this year.

Megan and Jonathan moved some queen cells to the new hive, so some bees stayed in the old one and some moved to the new. There seems to be a little confusion around the entrance of the new hive, but on the whole, they seem to be doing well:

Sometimes when I’m over there, I look around at the garden, the bees, the windmill, the well, the solar panels, and even the tree where little Henry Etta sleeps peacefully and am amazed by how far the property has come with the hard work of my brothers and sister, through imagination and dedication and love.

Rainy birthday to me!

I woke up to rain pattering on the skylight. I could hardly believe my ears. At first, I thought it was dreaming, but no. At least I won’t have to water the garden today.

Megan and Rob did a better job of getting the cats in at night when I was away than I have since I got home. The first night, Roscoe stayed out all night – I finally got him to come in at 5 am, when he came trotting home from the direction of Megan’s place. Last night, it was Audrey who stayed out until 3 am. Between waking up all night to call the missing cat of the day and having a horrible cold, I’m feeling that half century today.

I took the day off, as I always do, so the kitties and I curled up and watched Doris Day movies together. Megan and Rob stopped by, and Rob not only gave me a beautiful scarf/shawl that had belonged to his late Mother:

but he also installed my new “rainfall” shower head. I figure, if I have to have a shower, it should be as good as possible. He also is planning to fix the window in the shower to eliminate the draft – it doesn’t really close and the draft can be a little too drafty, especially in the winter.

Between the cards and presents and phone calls and Facebook love, I am feeling pretty spoiled right about now. And I haven’t even opened the champagne yet.

It turns out my feeling of doom on Tuesday was correct – Rob’s Mother died around 9:00 Eastern that evening.

I believe Rob was with her and his siblings. He called Megan last night from the Philadelphia airport between flights, and with the background noise of the airport and the always bad cell to cell reception, he kept cutting out, so they kept the call short. As I write on this sunny San Francisco morning, Rob is (hopefully) peacefully asleep at Clayton’s Garage Mahal* and Megan has probably let my cats out to play** and is waiting to hear from Rob on when to pick him up in Santa Rosa.

I’m glad that Rob reconnected with his sisters and especially his brother, Bill, who was just a child when Rob moved to California 30 years ago. They found that they had a lot in common, and Rob stayed at Bill’s house in Ottawa. I’m sure that they will keep in closer touch now, so something good came out of something sad.

*Clayton has a former, vintage mechanic’s garage which he used to live in. It has a little kitchen, bathroom, office, and a living space with a hammock slung under a skylight. He lives in an apartment around the corner, so the Garage Mahal is his guest house and party pad.

**Megan texted me last night to let me know all the cats were safely inside. Finally: an actual use for cell phones!

Everything seems to have been too strange for too long.

First there was Rob’s difficult trek to his Mother’s bedside, then it was Megan’s birthday and he wasn’t here, then it was Memorial Day and I didn’t have to work but Megan did, so I was on dog patrol, people came up to visit, then I worked one day at the jobette – where I had a feeling of doom all day – and now I’m in San Francisco for some meetings.

It all seems really weird.

Despite all the weirdness (and all the nightmares I had last night), it was a lovely drive. The sun was shining and it was like driving through a big postcard or a Visit California ad. Turning the other way on the highway (instead of the way that leads to the Big Town), I drove past the ocean, then down some hairpin turns to the river, which regularly overflows in the winter and traps Hootervillians and their visitors when the road is closed.

Then it’s through dappled sunlight and groves of ancient redwood trees that almost blot out the sky. There is something really special about being in the midst of these great trees. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it has elements of spirituality, eeriness, serenity, and the feeling that they have been here for centuries and will be here long after you’re gone.

Next up is the beautiful Anderson Valley:

Bedecked by vineyards and apple orchards:

This is where it was time to put on the A/C.

The Valley gives way to rich farmland, dotted with peaceful cows and glossy horses, the trees still that fresh, translucent green of spring, the rolling hills still verdant from the winter rains, but with hints of the “golden” summer to come. The live oaks make deep pools of shade for the farm animals.

Of course, I had to stop for lunch at the Hamburger Ranch and BBQ in Cloverdale:

Past San Quentin* and the Marin Civic Center, Frank Lloyd Wright’s last commission, and you’re almost there. From the Waldo Grade, I could see that the Bridge was lightly accented with fog, so it was time to turn off the A/C and open the windows. Crossing the Bridge, which had just turned 75 to much fanfare just three days earlier, the fog blew mistily over the towers as if in a movie. There was still lots of sun to highlight the International Orange always worn by the grand old lady of San Francisco – she didn’t need Sephora to tell her it was the Color of the Year.

Now I’m at my home away from home, the modest motel about four blocks from my former home and four hours from my current one. I called Megan when I got here, but just got her voicemail, so I have no real update for you on Rob’s Mother.

She is in hospice care, and the doctors withdrew everything but painkillers several days ago, so it’s surprising that she still (as far as I know) is with us, though not conscious. I have to admit that it makes me sad that Rob went through all that hell to get to her side as quickly as humanly possible and he never got to talk to her or hear her say a word. I hope that people are right when they say that his Mother was aware of her children’s presence, and I further hope that she is in no pain and will pass peacefully.

Rob is flying back tonight, from Ottawa to Philadelphia and then Philadelphia to SFO. As I write, he must be in the air. He will arrive at the San Francisco airport at about midnight and take a cab for our friend Clayton’s house in the Haight. Tomorrow he’ll take a two hour bus ride to Santa Rosa and Megan will pick him up there, and together they will make the two and a half hour drive to Hooterville.

It makes me tired just thinking about it.

I realize that Rob and I will be in San Francisco at the same time, but we won’t see each other.

Everything really is weird.

*Megan used to teach some preschoolers whose classroom had a distant view of San Quentin. They thought it was a castle, and Megan never disillusioned them. Discuss: why does California persist in allocating prime Bay front real estate to prisons (Alcatraz and Quentin)?

Megan and I had a good time on her birthday evening. We ended up talking and listening to music instead of watching the movie. She loved her present, a garden bench/kneeler:

Having repeated knee surgeries makes groveling around to weed and garden pretty painful, and when you have an 80 foot by 80 foot garden, that can be a problem. I still owe you a post about the garden on the property, but in the meantime, here’s what it looked like after a neighbor and his big machine tore up the existing scrubby huckleberry bushes:

And here it is after months more of hard work:

It turns out that Rob gave her a pair of Felco pruners for her birthday before he left, and they will fit nicely in the pockets of the bench, along with things like sunscreen (for Megan and Star) and her sun hat when she’s not wearing it.

Rob’s mother is not expected to survive much longer. She is in palliative care, so we all hope she is comfortable. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to be able to communicate and is sleeping a lot. I hope that she knows her children are with her, even if she can’t express it. They say that people often hear and experience more than they can say in these kinds of circumstances.

If there is a bright side, it’s that Rob is with his siblings and they are supportive of each other and glad to be together. We are all lucky to have our families, both in good times and bad.