Suzy Says

After our safari adventure, we spent a little time looking around Point Arena, which, with a population of less than 500 people, is one of California’s smallest cities, if not the smallest city.

Here’s a look at the main street:

On the right, you can see the Arena Theater, one of the few remaining independent theaters in the county – and the state. It dates from 1929 and in addition to showing movies, also shows opera and theater performances from around the world.

Across the street from the movie theater is Franny’s Cup & Saucer, home all things delicious and the home of all things cute. The pre-safari mocha Megan got there (cinnamon scented!) was so good that she got another one afterwards. It gave us time to look around and pick up a few early Christmas stocking stuffers. Who doesn’t need a bendy drinking straw that looks like a giant multi-colored worm? Or a matchbook full of sharp pencils? Or a sparkly skull ring? I have to admit that it might be hard to part with the ring, even for Jessica.

It’s a tiny space, but chock full of delicacies and delights, all made on the premises. You have to see the pastries and chocolates to believe them.

Right down the road is the Druids Hall and Seniors’ Center:

Can’t have one without the other! An even more unlikely combination is the druid cemetery being right next to the Catholic cemetery, just up the road. Near both final resting places is a hill top bar that’s only open when the owner feels like it. He lights the beacon when he’s ready to receive guests.

We stopped for lunch at a little Thai restaurant. You know that Thai is one of my favorites, and this may be my favorite Thai food ever. The restaurant is small and cute, and we had the nicest waiter I have ever met. He took us through the menu telling us what he liked best and why, as well as what sells most. He was spectacularly patient with our indecision, request for separate checks, and requests for separate take out orders to take with us.

The food was completely amazing – incredibly fresh and nuanced. When we paid, we asked the waiter to tell the chef how great everything was. He was delighted and said that the chef is his girlfriend – and that they are co-owners! So the nicest waiter in the world was also the owner. That was a new experience. We’ll definitely be back. It can’t be soon enough.

I am always amazed by how many wonderful places and things there are in our County. A beach made of glass. Another that looks like bowling balls. Lighthouses. The City of 10,000 Buddhas, a working monastery which is open to the public (and has peacocks wandering around its gardens). And the B Bryan Preserve, which is dedicated to preserving and breeding endangered African hooved animals.

Megan and I made our way to the beautiful south coast, which you may remember I really enjoyed visiting earlier this year. We soon found ourselves at the Preserve, and met Frank, one of the owners, in the lovely barn:

Here Frank gave us an overview of what they do and why they do it. The animals they are trying to save have been hunted to near extinction in their native Africa, and Frank and his wife are working hard to breed and preserve these rare creatures.

We hopped in Frank’s truck and were off to meet them. Here’s Bonnie, the shy Mountain Zebra, peeking around the corner of the barn:

There are now only three types of zebra left in the world: the common, the mountain, and Grevy’s. Grevys are notable for what Frank describes as their “teddy bear ears”. As you can see, they are more graceful and less stocky than the common zebra:

That’s 7 month old Lester in front, staying close to his mama. Zebra develop the black color of their stripes as they mature.

Up next were the antelope. These are Roan Antelope, considered the most beautiful antelope in the world. There is a five year waiting list to get one of these! The alpha male and female of the herd are the largest and darkest due to their hormones. Mabel, the alpha female, had recently given birth to a new baby (left):

Apparently the baby already thinks she’s special since her mother is the queen of the herd, and she just butts in for food among all the adults. All the other babies, whether they were zebra or antelope, held back until the adults had started to eat. And the babies stayed close to their mothers.

Across from the antelope are the Kudu, called the “Gray Ghost of Africa”. You can see they blend into their surroundings. Frank has tried to replicate their native habitat:

Last but tallest, we visited the Rothschild giraffes. I can’t tell you what it’s like to have these enormously tall creatures swoop their long necks down to look you in the eye:

Incredibly, these boys are not finished growing. They are expected to grow another five feet!

Megan held up an acacia branch, which was soon devoured by Jagger (right) and Sonny:

They have long, black tongues that curl around the leaves, then they snap the leaves off, leaving the branch behind. We also fed them carrots. It’s amazing to look them in their huge eyes and have them kiss you as they eat the carrots. It was the experience of a lifetime!

Apple Jack Welcomes You!

The County Fair is definitely one of the highlights of the year for me. Megan and I headed out of the coastal fog and into the warm sun of the valley. We parked in Megan’s secret spot and headed for the gates, where we were met by Apple Jack and had our hands stamped with an apple (what else?).

First stop as always was to enter the quilt drawing (which we never win) and for Megan to pick up her annual t-shirt from the Yorkville Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Terrorist Society. There really is a Yorkville (population 70) LSC, and they work to support their volunteer fire department. Gotta support your local volunteer firefighters!

We had planned to meet Erica and Jessica, but they had an unexpected and lengthy trip to the county seat to see the doctor (they are both fine) and were too tired to traipse around the Fair after their adventures. In their absence, we checked out Erica’s many entries in the wool barn.

I imagine Erica’s fellow contestants bemoan her return from Portland, since Megan and I lost track of the ribbons and awards. Best in show, best in division, first prize – they were showered on her work. Sometimes all three at once, as you see here on an exquisite, gossamer shawl:

I believe she spun all the wool herself as well as designing and knitting or crocheting the pieces. I really think the only the thing Erica can’t make really is a piano*.

After enjoying Erica’s triumph(s), we went to admire the quilts:

After that, we tasted some apples and Megan got some advice from an expert about the orchard on the property. Of course, we also had to check out the enormous pumpkins. This year’s biggest was 606 pounds! How does a pumpkin get that big?

Our last stop was the floriculture building. This was my favorite exhibit:

There’s something magical about it, don’t you think?

As we left the Fair, the lights were beginning to come on and the crowds to thicken. I really think Friday late afternoon is the perfect time to go to the Fair.

The sun was setting over the hills, such a breathtaking sight that Megan pulled over so I could take a picture:

As you can see, we were heading home into the fog:

It had been a wonderful day.

*When Jessica was small, she visited a friend whose parents had a piano. She was very taken with it, and on getting home, asked Erica if she could make her one. She was astonished when Erica said she couldn’t. It was the first time in Jessica’s life that her mother actually couldn’t make something.

You guys know that I’m not too crazy about driving, right? My chief objections are that it’s both too fast and slow, while being simultaneously boring and terrifying. My siblings’ years of EMS experience have taught me that the faster you drive, the worse the outcome if you crash, but of course you want to get where you’re going – and get out of the car! – as quickly as possible. So it’s too fast if something bad happens, and too slow because it takes forever to get anywhere. There you have the boring/terrifying dilemma.

I do realize that a girl with this kind of automotive attitude should not have moved to a place where a car is an evil necessity, or a necessary evil. And public transit is not an option. It’s more than five miles to the store, where the bus leaves once a day and takes more than an hour to get to the Big Town, and one bus coming home. I don’t think even the most pioneer-spirited among you would want to trudge 11 miles a day, especially with groceries in hand on the trip home, and even more so in the pouring winter rains.

Having said that, it is a nice, though long, drive to the jobette, beside the mighty Pacific – I still love the part where I come out of the trees on the Ridge and get my first sight of it, spread below me in all its glory – through trees, past little villages and meadows. The worst part is being behind people going under the speed limit who refuse to, or don’t know enough, to pull over. I have suggested that we include this vital information in the visitor guide, but it doesn’t seem likely.

The other day, I was on my way to work when I was faced with a long line of traffic on the road by the store and post office (and the happy cows in their giant field). I waited a long time before finally turning onto the highway. There I was confronted with the unlovely sight of a line of cars recently released from the stop light governing the work on the next bridge south, waiting at the Hooterville bridge light, governing its epic repair/restoration project.

Normally, I’m all for the Hooterville bridge project. It’s the only remaining wooden bridge on the entire long length of beautiful Highway 1 and deserves to be preserved. But this was a perfect traffic storm, and I was on my way to work. There was no cell service to text or email my boss from the gridlock, so I just had to hope for the best.

When the light finally turned green, we started slowly on our way. I was probably the 20th car in line, many of which sported the dreaded out of state plates, so I knew I was doomed. Indeed, we proceeded at a pace so glacial that I have literally driven in funeral processions that were faster.

When we finally got to the Village, where there are two welcome lanes – your one and only opportunity to get past the snails who have been stymying you for the past several miles – everyone kept up their glacial pace of 30 in a 55 zone. I soon discovered that midway in the cortege was a CHP car, so we all made our sadly majestic way to the Big Town.

I was only a few minutes late after all.

Megan decided that the time had come to give away Schatzi’s remaining meds. They were very expensive, and some of them were liquid and wouldn’t keep. Dr. Karen gives these donated meds to clients who can’t afford them. We did the same thing when our mother died. At least something good can come out of something really sad.

I offered to take the drugs in for Megan, but she wanted to do it. Perhaps she felt it was the last thing she could do for her beloved old friend. Needless to say, I could not let her go alone, so we packed up Star and headed to the Village.

Despite our sad errand, I couldn’t help smiling at the sign in the vet’s parking lot:

In the office, the lovely receptionist accepted Megan’s gift and gave her a huge, affectionate hug. She remarked that Schatzi was very much beloved among the entire staff and that she was missed. I am proud to say that my sister maintained her dignity and poise – at least, on the outside. We are lucky to have such genuinely caring people taking care of the animals in our lives.

I think that it was actually a relief to my sister to get this final thing done.

With this over, we turned our attention to the remaining dog, little Miss Star, who was more than ready for a walk on the headlands. On our way there, she was very good about meeting new dogs, though a little less good on the “heel” side of things.

In keeping with the mood of the day, it was overcast, but I still think the Village is beautiful no matter what the weather:

I never get tired of watching the waves crash against the rocks:

We came across the remains of a pier clinging to the rocky cliffs:

It is still a somewhat isolated place, requiring a long drive to get here and with limited cell phone service and no big box stores when you do, but visitors in the 1800s had to be especially intrepid, coming ashore in a perilous manner (scroll down the page to see). Not for the first time, I reflected on the courage and fortitude of pioneers, especially women. And of my sister’s brave act that day, and the difficult steps she has taken to move forward, despite her heavy heart. I wish there was something I could do to ease her burden, but I know that only time can do that – and not fast enough.

I was perched on the couch (my usual, non-ergonomic workplace) working on a project* when there was a hello at the door.

This time of year is when we get our summer weather – less fog, more sun – and all the doors were open, so knocking wasn’t necessary. Even if the doors had been closed, they are all glass, so visitors can (and do) look (and walk) right in. The fact that this one didn’t meant that it wasn’t someone I knew.

It turned out to be a county sheriff, delivering yet another copy of the subpoena in person. I tried not to think about the fact that I was still in my pink flowered PJs and bare feet as we talked on the porch. He filled out a form and gave me yet another copy of the subpoena. I pointed out that I had received one by mail and sent back the required form, signed. This time I didn’t have to sign anything, so I asked why he had to do this in person. He said that everyone asks that, but he had no answer.

Seems like a giant waste of time and money to me, but what do I know? I’m still hoping that the whole thing will be settled before the court date later on this month, even though I should know better. The thought of being a witness yet again fills me with horror, though of a different kind than last year’s ordeal. It was daunting being questioned by the US Attorney’s office, but I never had to see him again (so far), and I will have to see the people I am testifying against, since we all live in a very small town.

Trying not to think about it, I set off for the post office, restoring my mental health by petting the postmistress’ adorable dog Ginger and getting glossy magazines in my mailbox. In the store, I ran into Lichen, and caught up with him. The clerk asked after Megan, wondering how she was doing in her grief. As I drove home, I thought of how lucky I am to live in a little community that really cares about each other. The up side more than makes up for the down side.

Most of the time.

*A friend is developing a smartphone app where you can search for an unfamiliar food term when at a restaurant. I’m writing up the definitions and he’s doing the coding. Each according to his abilities…

Heavenly Hooterville

Once again, I managed to leave a hotbed of gambling without actually gambling. Even though I had $15 in slot machine credit as part of the gift certificate package.

The casino part of the sprawling hotel complex was super depressing to me. It was dark, smoky, and the ceilings seemed really low, even though I am not known for my tallness. It was populated by a lot of older folks, many equipped with walkers and even oxygen tanks (!), sitting in front of slot machines like zombies. I know casinos are supposedly orchestrated to make you want to stay there, but it made me want to flee.

Outside, it was very hot and other than the historic district, it seemed to be a maze of well-maintained highways without much traffic, and lots of malls, ditto. The setting is lovely, surrounded by mountains and desert, but the city itself is definitely not. It doesn’t even have the kitschy glamor of its big sister, Las Vegas. There’s probably a good reason that I went more than 25 years between visits.

It did make me appreciate Hooterville more, though. After three days in the air conditioning, I just wanted to open a window and breathe fresh air. I was so happy to sleep with the balcony door open (and the screen door closed) on my first night back. Not to mention rolling down the car window when I reached the redwoods on 128 and the first glimpse of the ocean.

There’s no place like home.

Good morning, Reno!

This morning, I trekked down to the lobby to get a coffee which turned out to be maybe 50% better than the alarming in room coffee. Maybe it’s something in the water. I miss my French press.

I returned to the room with the coffee and an almond croissant (Why not? I’m on vacation! Sort of) and opened the gold curtains to unveil the sight you see above. How’s that for a good start to the day?

Yesterday, I took a cab to the meetings, which went well. The guys I met with were really nice and have some great ideas about how they can help to make our workflow more efficient. They also had a professional lead for me and the names of good Thai restaurants in the area. They did not seem to notice the disgraceful condition of my nails, and drove me back to the hotel as well. On the way, they told me that Reno is at 5,000 feet above sea level, about the same as Denver, and has 300 sunny days a year. They also get about two weeks of snow a year. The rest of the winter, it stays on the mountains for skiing.

Back at the hotel, I called the spa to see about repairing the manicure situation. They had an appointment that afternoon. I reported to the spa, which was lovely and luxurious, and ended up hanging out there all afternoon, before and after the much-needed nail beautification (they are now a lovely, luminous shade called Vexatious Violet and have stopped frightening children and small animals).

The spa is on several floors. The first has the reception area and separate men’s and women’s areas. You are equipped with an incredible plush robe and slippers, and there are lockers (with welcome dark chocolate) and showers, replete with shampoo, conditioner, and just about anything else you can think of. The water cascades from the ceiling and the walls. There are lounge chairs, a jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, and cold plunge. Also glossy magazines to flip through idly, and internet access so you can email your sister while lying on your lounge chair.

The next floor has the treatment rooms, and the top floor has a fountain pool heated to about 90 degrees, hot and cold jacuzzis:

and a wonderful area called The Secret Garden, with tropical plants and reclining massage chairs equipped with iPods and noise canceling headphones. There are juices, water infused with citrus, coffee, and Tea Forte to drink, along with fruit, snacks, and iced cucumber slices for your eyes. The staff told me that you can also order room service to be delivered here, though they warned that it will take half an hour to arrive. When it does, it comes on a silver tray carried by a uniformed waiter. Of course.

This room leads out to a sun deck:

where you can lounge in the sun or the shade, and look down on the people in the pool:

You know how I love looking down on the little people. 🙂

After you shower in luxury, you can blow dry your hair in comfort in this little room:

They will bring you brushes, curling irons, even make-up. Primp away!

It was an incredible experience. I just wished that Megan was there to share it with me.

Reno Sunset

Wow, this bad in room coffee is even worse than usual. It has a strange, chemical edge that is slightly alarming. Not that I’ll stop drinking it, since the alternative is to (gasp!) get dressed and find my way through the vast, smoky casino to find a coffee place.

Yes, I’m coming to you from Reno, which is pretty much the antithesis of Hooterville.

It was an epic drive. I took Highway 20 the whole way, which is mostly a two lane road. Left the house about 10:15 and got here just before 5:30. I stopped off for lunch in Colusa, where Megan and I rescued Star three years ago, and gassed up Miss Scarlett once, and, OK, yes, I got slightly lost once, but still. Come on! I’m hoping there is a speedier route home, while simultaneously pushing the thought of the drive home from my mind with the big janitorial broom I keep for the purpose.

It is amazing how long you can drive and still be in California. I didn’t reach Nevada until the last 15 minutes of the drive, though I unaccountably passed signs saying Nevada County no fewer than three times, all on the same road. Passed the Donner Pass and thought about the doomed Donner Party and that amazing book* I read about it a few years ago, and also how my furniture got stuck there when I moved to Oakland. There were lots and lots of signs about tire chains (required in the snowy winter), and it was a little surreal to see ski lifts idle on the “golden” hills.

Got a glimpse of blue Lake Tahoe before coming into Reno and passing under the iconic arch. I haven’t been here since the 1980s, when I saw Frank Sinatra at Harrah’s, and had forgotten the arch has a sparkly thing on top, like its own tiara. I’m all for the sparkle.

Arriving (finally!) at the hotel, it was impossible to figure out where the hotel entrance was, though it was, oddly, very clear where the casino entrance was. I went in and asked where registration was, and was met by a wall of smoke. I asked if people smoked everywhere and the employee said, “Not in the lobby and the restaurants.” So, like, everywhere.

I checked in and decanted my bags in my smoke-free, Liberace style room. Even the TV has a gilt frame and there are mirrors everywhere. I went to the spa to try and get my peeling manicure replaced, but they were out of appointments and there’s no time to get it done this morning, since the spa opens at 9:00 and I have to be at my meeting at 10:00. Hopefully they will not notice the state of my nails, since they are guys.

On the bright side, they emailed me this morning to say that they are very casual at the office and wear shorts, so that takes about an hour off of getting ready time, and I can leave the dress up clothes in the suitcase. Once the meeting is over, it’s time for fun!

*It’s called “The Indifferent Stars Above” and is a fascinating read.

Happy birthday to my amazing brother, he who runs into burning buildings to save strangers, fights wildfires, rescues people who fall off cliffs, and plunges into the frigid winter Pacific for charity. He who works on his sisters’ cars because he doesn’t trust anyone else to make sure they’re safe. He who lives entirely off the grid and can make a robot, dig a well, and is a Number One Groover on Life.

Since we’ll either be working (my sibs) or traveling (me), we decided to celebrate my brother’s birthday with a BBQ on Saturday. Erica and Jessica joined us for the occasion, Jessica modeling her ski boot cast and walking around with no crutches:

Megan and I are planning to sleep over at their place the night before the sheep dog trials at the county fair later this month. It’s good to know we have plans to get together soon. I think my new year’s resolution should be to see Erica at least once a month.

Jarrett also came to visit, with his lovely girlfriend Cally and Archi, who is almost a year old now, so he’s no longer the world’s cutest puppy. He’s 60 pounds and has long legs and gorgeous eyes. It was hard to get him to pose for me, so this is the best I could do:

He is such a beautiful, happy dog.

Erica also made a fabulous cake, chocolate with butterscotch filling. Here’s the birthday boy with the cake, moments before it was cut into and enjoyed:

Jessica asked for milk with her cake, and Cally told her that Cally’s father liked to have cake in a bowl with milk right in it. Jessica said, “Why is it always men who are disgusting?” which brought down the house. She also estimates my mental age to be somewhere around three – maybe 6 on a good day. Interestingly, she considers Jonathan to be sillier than me. I would have lost that bet.

We all had a great time together. I feel so lucky to have such wonderful family and friends.

The other day, I came home to find an unexpected express mail envelope.

Sadly, there was no glamorous starlet to open the envelope and announce the contents – life is full of these small disappointments – but the contents were glamorous. A friend had sent me a gift certificate for two nights at a posh hotel, along with a day pass to the spa, $100 resort credit to spend on dinner or in the gift shop, and other delightful et ceteras.

The only catches were: the hotel is in Reno, a 6 hour drive from Hooterville, and the gift certificate had to be used by September 14.

I called to see if they had any availability at such short notice (and at the Labor Day holiday*), and they did, so I’m heading out of here on Tuesday (my brother’s birthday**) and coming back on Friday. I hope I can see something of Reno through all the smoke of the Rim Fire, which is still merrily blazing away. Oh, and it’s supposed to be about 95 degrees during the day while I’m there.

At first, I was all like “Finally, I’m going somewhere that has nothing to do with work! For the first time in about 10 years!” In fact, the last time I went anywhere not for work or with a work component of some kind might have been when I went to England to sort out my late father’s things, which no-one would consider to be a vacation.

Then I had a call with some folks based in Reno about a software product we may be interested in, so I’m stopping by their offices. I’ll have to take dress up clothes and pretend to be a grown up for part of my Nevada adventure.

I had about two hours after getting off the phone with the resort to enjoy my vacation glow before having a subpoena delivered to my door. What is it with me and summertime subpoenas? This is getting to be a bad habit.

This subpoena arises out of the fact that I tried to help out a neighbor who was involved in a domestic situation. I didn’t see or hear anything personally, but I still have to go to court. At least it’s just in the Big Town and doesn’t involve cross-country travel or the US Attorney’s office. I guess I was enjoying that vacation anticipation just a little too much.

*Needless to say, my sibs and I are working on Labor Day. That must be why they call it Labor Day.

**We are celebrating his birthday with a BBQ tonight.

A beautiful cake for a beautiful occasion

In the midst of all the sadness that has come our way this August – the Official Month of Death has really outdone itself this year – there was joy. I attended the wedding of two friends who have been together for a quarter of a century, but are finally free to marry.

I was honored that they asked me to help them plan the wedding, which was held at their lovely home in Hooterville. They wanted to keep it simple, and invited just close friends and families. One of the grooms has wedding longevity in his family: his parents have been married for 58 years and his sister and her husband for 21. The wedding was held on his sister’s birthday, so it was a joyous occasion all around.

The sun peeped out, and it was a perfect day. As I arrived at the grooms’ home, I met the sikh who was presiding over the ceremony. He is a warm, humorous and wise man and I was delighted to meet him.

The wedding theme colors were white and purple, as you can see on the wedding cake above and the rustic flowers on the lawn:

Zoe, their plushly soft 15 year old Australian Shepherd mix, was the honorary maid of honor:

The sikh gave us some opening words of wisdom before starting the ceremony, which was held on the deck:

The couple exchanged their vows:

And exchanged their rings, made just for them by the local artists at Old Gold:

Then smashed the traditional glass for luck:

And finally sealed their vows with a kiss:

It was a deeply moving ceremony, and I was honored to be there.

After the ceremony, there was a free-form garden party with lots of music and fantastic food made by one of the grooms, who spent a week making it all. The feast included Moroccan bistilla, a puff pastry extravaganza, both chicken and vegetarian; Moroccan olives with mint, lemon and cayenne; pate en volaille, Fijian Kokoda, a sort of seviche with bay scallops; and tiny, moist corn muffins. There was wine and beer and laughter and tears. It was a truly special occasion.

Little River Sunset

Everything is more fun with my sister. Even babysitting. Or “brat bashing,” as my father used to say. He also referred to school as “government sponsored daycare.” Come to think of it, he had a pretty cynical attitude for someone with several kids. Maybe that’s no coincidence…

Not only are we kidless, it’s been a while since I babysat. I never really think of spending time with Jessica as babysitting (especially since she’s a lot more mature than I am in many ways), more like hanging out with a really fun friend. So I can’t actually remember the last time I actually brat bashed.

So it was probably good that Megan was there as the token grown up (and emergency services personnel, if needed).

We headed to my friend’s house earlier than usual, due to the construction on the iconic Hooterville bridge and the thrilling repaving of the Ridge – at least part of it. I can’t tell you how excited I was to discover that they were paving the rough, potholed road from near the store almost to the firehouse. I could practically hear my tires sighing with relief, and I was positively happy to sit and wait in the one lane traffic.

We arrived in good time and met our charges for the evening, two boys aged about 6 and a girl about 4. They are really sweet kids and were no trouble at all. We shared a pizza while we watched the movie “Cars”. Despite the stellar cast (Paul Newman; Billy Crystal; George Carlin), it was pretty boring for the female contingent of the audience. When it was over, we asked the little girl what she wanted to watch, and she chose “Winnie the Pooh.”

The boys loudly decried her choice, but Megan and I thought that she deserved a turn after sitting through the boys’ choice. About five minutes into “Winnie the Pooh”, the boys grumbled, “I guess we should just watch this stupid movie,” and within another few minutes, they were laughing and totally absorbed in the humor and charm. Megan and I were both amused by this.

I took a few minutes to snap the sunset over the foggy ocean – the house has a lovely view of the Pacific from its setting among the redwoods and sipped the rest of the wine thoughtfully left by the parents. It was a really nice evening. Everything’s more fun with my sister.

Here’s a quick recap of what happened around here lately besides the Great Schatzi Search. I have to admit that I still drive our part of the Ridge really slowly, scanning the roadside, even though I know perfectly well that Schatzi is gone. My heart is even more underachieving than my head (and that’s saying something).

Clyde:

Even though my heart-broken sister was spending almost every hour of every day looking for Schatzi, she managed to find time to tend to Clyde and check on his progress. After a week of house arrest while the horrifying Slobber Monster wound drained and finally healed (he still has a bald spot the size of a quarter on his neck), I let him out before taking Star to the beach, with stern warnings to pace himself. There’s no need to use up all nine lives at once. Don’t fill up on bread before the entrée arrives! He really put me through the mill with the Mystery Illness and the Attack of the Slobber Monster occurring within a three week period.

He seems to be staying closer to the house lately, and I’m hoping that he is avoiding the Slobber Monster’s lair. I thought that the constant spraying and medicining would damage our relationship, but he is as cuddly as ever with both Megan and me. Last night he fell asleep on me while I was watching the final couple of grueling* (yet gripping) episodes of The Killing and I could hear him snoring.

Megan:

Besides getting a pay cut, the hospital no longer allows its employees to cash out their accrued vacation time, which Megan used to do every year. To make it more fun, they are so understaffed that it’s really difficult to take the time off that you can no longer cash out.

However, Megan managed to take two weeks off, during which Schatzi disappeared and her car was out of commission until a couple of days before she had to go back to work. She spent most of her hard-won time off looking for her lost dog and borrowing rides. As she said, “Worst staycation ever!”

Friends:

Our friends (and my sibs’ land partners) Jennifer and Dave came for a visit. They are planning to start building a house on their part of the property and are slowly working toward that goal. They brought their horses:

and two miniature ponies with them. That’s a lot of weight to haul on our narrow, curvy roads!

Megan was able to spend some time riding Bella, the spotted horse on the right.

We had a really nice dinner down at their place, admiring the view:

They are such wonderful people.

After dinner, we played Bananagrams, a sort of free-form Scrabble without a board. I discovered a hidden talent for this game. Like most of the things I’m good at (accurately guessing the price of antique estate jewelry in The New Yorker, for example), it has no practical application, but fun all the same. I never said I was practical.

Megan and I ventured to lovely Anderson Valley on a lovely summer day:

We meandered past vineyards and farms, stopped in at the farm stand looking for Megan’s favorite Pink Lady apples (not ready yet), and poked around the cute little shops. We met up with Erica and Jessica at Libby’s for dinner:

I finally gave Jessica her Secret Society of Paper Cuts book as well as a copy of the cult classic Pee Wee’s Playhouse, just what a girl needs when recovering from limb breakage. As it happened, Jessica had just gotten a walking cast, which looks something like a giant ski boot, that very day. She prided herself in her ability to get around with crutches and accomplish things like getting in and out of the car by herself – no easy feat.

It was great to see them. Erica was a great comfort to Megan in her time of loss, and Jessica was as delightful as ever:

We are planning to go to the County Fair in mid September. I’m hoping to switch my work schedule so I can go to the Sheep Dog trials on the Sunday – it’s the most exciting part of the fair!

Mark and his family are back home after a year in New Jersey for Mark’s job, dismantling a factory and shipping it to Mexico. He said if he ever gets offered a job like that again, he won’t move his whole family to do it.

While in New Jersey, they survived Hurricane Sandy and an epic winter. They took Route 66 home, and had lots of adventures along the way. They went to Toronto so the girls could see Justin Bieber, and fell in love with the city, its diversity, culture, friendliness, and energy.

They stopped in Flint, Michigan and a Good Samaritan, eying Mark’s out of state plates and family of women, advised him to stop elsewhere for the night. Later they learned that Flint is the most dangerous city in America. They settled for the less hazardous Detroit that night.

The highlight of the trip was the Grand (or as Mark called it, the “Great”) Canyon. When they described it, you could see the look of awe on their faces.

We sat in my garden and had some wine and caught up. I’m glad they’re home.

I love our friends. What would we do without them?

*Episode ten was the most harrowing thing I’ve ever seen on TV.

Or how to make the world’s most expensive peach pie!

First, you plant the peach tree:

Keep in mind that this simple statement includes:

• Getting your friend and neighbor to come over with his heavy machinery
• Scrobbling up all the brush and bushes
• Removing hundreds of rootballs by hand (the very definition of back-breaking labor)
• Buying truckloads of dirt
• Spreading out truckloads of dirt by hand
• Spreading hay all over the dirt and planting vetch so it won’t blow away

  Easy, right? And this list does not include minor details like installing a drip system to keep the trees watered; installing and cementing heavy fence posts; deer fencing the entire operation; and rabbit fencing, another grovelly step done on hands and knees.

  Once all that’s done, you just have to wait for the tree to bloom:

  

  Fortuately, the strawberry plants at the tree’s feet bloom and fruit before the peach tree. This year, there was even a second crop of strawberries, so we had peaches and strawberries at the same time.

  Finally, the tree begins to fruit:

  

  And then the peaches are ready to be picked:

  

  Megan and Jonathan made eight pounds of peaches into jam, with roasted almonds and lemon thyme. It is amazing!

  I settled for making a pie with the remaining peaches:

  

  It’s wonderful to pick fruit and make it into pie within an hour. It doesn’t get fresher than that!

We love you and miss you, Dad. You are always in our hearts.

On Saturday, I took Star to the beach. Megan felt that her remaining dog was being neglected during the Great Schatzi Search and was overdue for some fun.

Star hopped happily into Miss Scarlett – I remain convinced that she remembers this is the car that rescued her – and sat beside me in the passenger seat. It was great to have a living, breathing dog beside me after so many days desperately searching for one who wasn’t, and Star was wonderful company. The only drawback was her tendency to lick my face, which can be hazardous while driving.

We stopped at the hardware store to see if they could copy the flyer I had made. They could, but only in black and white. Better than nothing, though, so I asked for 20 copies. The cashier had had the same experience with her own dog many years ago and sympathized with what we were all going through. I have to say that this crisis has really made me appreciate our neighbors and little community more.

Back in the parking lot, our postmistress – who brings her own brindled pit bull Ginger* to work every day – was washing the post office windows, even though they are officially closed on Saturdays. She said, “I think I have a package for you” and went in to get it. She returned with my package and a cookie for Star. I said that she probably wouldn’t eat it, but to go ahead and try. As predicted, Star rejected it, being used to a much higher caliber of treats (I kept this comment to myself). A neighbor came by and petted Star through the open car window, and I could tell she was enjoying the attention.

We headed to Big River beach, the site of my brother’s fearlessly frigid Polar Plunge a few months ago. It was early enough that we had the beach almost to ourselves. Star was incredibly excited when we turned off the road toward the beach. She wasted no time in exploring:

leaving Star prints in the sand:

She happily sniffed the beach flowers:

We admired the tide pools as we headed toward the bridge:

This is where the river meets the ocean, and the water is so clear you can see all the pebbles and seaweed:

Star avoided the water itself, but she was definitely happy to be at the beach. I really enjoyed my time with her. I should do it more often.

*Ginger may well be Hooterville’s most popular resident. Megan and I often stop in just to pet Ginger, and we are far from the only ones.

Megan and Schatzi at Little River Inn, December 2012

Schatzi disappeared two days before the eighth anniversary of our mother’s death. Is there significance to her leaving on the 8th day of the 8th month near the 8th anniversary of Mom’s death? Or that the 8th plus the 10th equals the 18th, when we lost our father?

Or is it all meaningless?

That day dawned like any other. I was on a conference call when I heard Megan clapping for Schatzi, the best method of summoning a nearly deaf dog from the quiet woods. When she was still clapping after the call, I went over to Megan’s house. Schatzi was conspicuous by her absence, and Megan had a bad feeling.

We spent the rest of that day and all of the next literally and figuratively beating the bushes, clapping and calling until our hands were sore and our voices rough. Schatzi was never gone for more than an hour, and she normally made a loop from Meg’s house to mine and through the haul road behind my house and back. We soon discovered that the other people on our property rarely saw her.

The next day, a clerk at the store told us that she had seen Schatzi about 9 am on Thursday morning, trotting down the Ridge heading toward our brother’s place. Another person said a friend of his had seen a dog matching her description that morning. We went back and searched the area again, and I made a flyer which we posted at the store and post office.

Megan and our friends Jennifer and Dave searched all day on Saturday. All we found was that our neighbors are super nice and helpful. Everyone took a flyer, and everyone called their local friends, relations, and neighbors to put out the word. The kindness of our little community was a ray of sunshine on these dark days.

The search goes on today, but after so many days with no food and no meds since Wednesday night, it’s only because our hearts can’t catch up with our heads. That’s going to take a long time, if it ever happens.

We hope that she chose to leave us rather than thinking that she got lost. She rarely left the property, and she has lived here for 12 of her 15+ years. She knew it like the back of her paw. And she was always a very stubborn dog, as well as one who was always more of a wild animal after her difficult start in life, abandoned in the desert, so it makes sense that she would follow her instincts to die alone, however hard it is for us to accept. The lack of crows and other such birds leads me to believe that she is resting peacefully in a little nest under brush so dense that no-one can find her. She knew those woods so well.

The first night she was missing, Megan dreamed of her all night, and Schatzi was happy in every dream. I think it was her way of telling Megan she is happy where she is. It reminded me of how I dreamed of my grandfather laughing after he died, glad to be reunited with his adored wife of more than half a century. John always said that dreams were visits.

It’s been all Clyde, all the time this week.

If I’m not fussing over him in person, I’m worried about him while I’m at work.

I’m lucky that Megan is off this week, so she has time to pay house calls to her fuzzy patient several times a day. By the time I came home on Tuesday night, Clyde had been washed off and compressed as well as dosed with antibiotics. Megan also fed him probiotics in wet food, which is supposed to help with the intestinal side effects of the antibiotics.

I had difficulty getting him to eat the wet food this morning, but in this case, the antis are more important than the pros, much like it is in Congress these days. He was notably improved this morning, brighter eyed and more alert, and grooming his fur, which was notably less caky and gross.

Clyde was also more interested in outside, sitting by the sliding glass doors instead of hiding under the bed.

The whole episode has been a strange mix of good luck and bad luck.

Bad luck: Clyde was attacked by a mysterious slobber monster in broad daylight.

Good luck: He got away. Looking at the wound and its location, the monster was clearly trying to kill Clyde. I’m thankful for whatever or whoever distracted the monster or scared it off.

Good luck: Megan is not working this week, so she’s available to take care of Clyde while I’m not there. Not to mention calling the vet and dealing with medication and all that.

Bad luck: Part of the reason she is on cat call is that her brakes are being uncooperative so she has no car until the boys can operate and check it. So she’s been grounded for her “vacation.”

Bad luck: It’s been foggy all week and doesn’t look like we’re going to see the sun any time soon. Audrey and Roscoe are stuck outside in the fog while I’m at work and they have no doorman.

Good luck: It’s cool, so I don’t have to worry about the house being stuffy and hot when I get home.

I have decided that the mysterious slobber monster is a one off and will not bother us again. After all, my sister’s cats are 12, my brother’s cat Mars lived into his 20s, and Rose’s cat Gertrude lived to be almost as old on this property. I’m sure it will be a little worrying when Clyde ventures out again, though I’m pretty sure he will avoid wherever he ran into the monster.

I’m just glad the little guy is recovering. I feel like I can breathe again.

Who needs Bonnie when you’re Clyde? He can get into enough trouble on his own, thank you very much!

I had the day off on Saturday, time to hang out with the kitties and catch up on my reading and watching mindless TV. About noon that day, I noticed that I hadn’t seen Clyde in a while. Normally, the cats come in and out during the day, even when it’s sunny. They have a snack, get some pets, and have a nap. Audrey in particular is a notorious daytime sleeper. The other day she meowed in her sleep and woke herself up, then looked around all confused before going back to sleep, thinking it must have been a dream.

About an hour later, I noticed a lot of noise from crows and turkey vultures. The only reason for crows and vultures to be partying is because they are excited about eating. And the only thing they eat is dead animals. You can see where I was going with this.

I put on shoes and ventured to the haul road, where I saw the sad remains of a fawn – nothing but skeleton, head and legs, bless his little heart. The birds took off in horror at my arrival. Roscoe appeared, making his plaintive sounds, but no Clyde. I called Clyde a few more times during the afternoon, but no response. Roscoe followed me inside and napped on the armoire while Audrey dozed on the bed.

Megan came by around 3:00, and I said, “There’s still no sign of Clyde.” She said, “He isn’t that black cat?” pointing into the garden. It was. I picked him up, so happy to see him, and thought, “Wait a minute.”

The fur on one side of his neck was wet and slimy and spiky and smelled weird. Megan investigated and found a big bite on his neck. She went home for Vetericyn, and when she came back, she put him in the sink and washed him down like she did with Audrey when I first moved up here and Audrey pooped and peed in the carrier and then rolled in it.

She toweled him off and sprayed the wound with Vetericyn. He was immediately grounded, so I went and closed the many doors. Clyde hid under the bed, but emerged for treats when Audrey and Roscoe came in for the evening. He sat on me and purred, and slept on the bed that night. He seemed fine in himself, and unconcerned about whatever had happened, but Megan thinks he used up one of his nine lives.

Cats really need to work on their communication skills. I still have no idea what his mystery illness was only three weeks and $200 ago, and then there was the chin abscess. None of us can figure out what would have caused all that foul-smelling goo and slime, which is weirder than the bite itself.

Clyde was still grounded on Sunday. I felt bad that he was trapped inside and also that Audrey and Roscoe were stuck outside, with no access to food or the comfy bed. Megan came by before I left for work on Sunday and washed him off again. The wound was draining into the fur and making it all sticky and gross. It’s good that it’s draining and getting the bad stuff out, though. Megan made a couple of more house calls during the day to hot compress the wound and respray with with Vetericyn. She has done the same thing yesterday and today, and also called the vet, who is prescribing antibiotics for my bitten boy. He still looked pretty sad when I left for work this morning. Think good thoughts for the baby boy to get well soon!