Suzy Says

I’ve been thinking about getting a vine-y plant to twine charmingly around the new-ish rustic window. Of course, I never have any idea what to get, and my plant dreams are about as realistic as my day dreams.

I wanted to grow a Kaffir lime tree and a Meyer lemon (after all, the mean old lady next door had a lemon tree when I lived in Oakland, and if a mean old lady can have one, I should, too) but apparently it’s too cold here in the winter. So I’d have to pot it, which would eventually kill it if I didn’t plant it outside, and keep it inside in the winter. That didn’t seem like an option. Same went for the fantasy of bougainvillea, preferably orange. I’ve loved it ever since I first saw it on the French Riviera thirty years ago, but alas, my life is fated to be non-Riviera in every possible aspect.

Megan brought me down to earth and helped me select a plant that may actually work.

It’s a purple honeysuckle. Rob came by and repotted it for me:

Clyde found this fascinating, even after Rob started watering it:

It took a long time before he realized that he was getting wet. Then he was out of there.

Roscoe was completely uninterested, and climbed a tree instead:

Later, Megan came by and said that the honeysuckle needed something trellis-like to climb on. She also doubts that it will drape picturesquely over the window, but we’ll see about that.

Rob found some tree branches and made a really cool trellis, which looks great with the window*:

While he was at it, he brought over a clipping from the passion flower vine which covers the back of their house. He also cut down a couple of trees which had partly fallen over from last winter’s storms (you can see some of that in the background of the picture) to give the vine more light:

Because more light = more flowers. And the flowers are fabulously outer space looking:

Bonus: they make that delicious orange passionfruit!

Now that I’ve got the house more or less in order (there’s still the hideous lime-green floor to deal with), I’m hoping that next year I can focus on the garden. I’ve mostly cleared out the garden of its weirdness and would like to get a table and chairs, as well as more plants. Right now, it’s mostly rhododendrons and huckleberries. I’d like to have a more inviting outdoor space.

*If you’re wondering what that corrugated panel is, it’s a heavy duty plastic-like thing which lets light into the sleeping loft. It’s behind my bed. You can see a little of it here, behind the sleeping Henry Etta. Those were the days.

Putting in the carpet took longer than we expected. You know how it is. Mark’s visiting nephew came over and helped us put all the furniture back before it got dark.

The whole house has that new car(pet) smell!

Here’s a close-up of the carpet:

It’s called “Granite”, and I’m so lucky that Monica gave me such an amazing deal on it. I can’t tell you how much it’s improved my tenuous mental health. I guess that sounds a little silly, but it’s so great having a clean, pretty carpet instead of the stained old one.

Look how pretty it is:

And it looks fabulous with my gorgeous birthday lamp (as seen from the balcony):

Here you can see the rocking chair my great-grandfather made for my great-grandmother. It has mother-of-pearl inlay and it’s been in my room since I was a little girl. More importantly, it’s Audrey’s throne – I fold up the green throw and put it on the seat for her each night. The radio is an Atwater-Kent from 1927. The speakers are hidden by a tapestry showing a castle:

I’m beginning to feel like I’ve applied a veneer of civilization to my place, however thin!

Study in pink*

Thursday was an exciting day.

Mark came by in the morning and said he was ready to put the new carpet in the sleeping loft. I ran upstairs and started hauling everything I could onto the balcony. It’s a good thing that the balcony is so big and so close. I’m pretty sure the balcony is actually bigger than the loft.

I needed help with the bed, bureau, and wardrobe, though. Mark took the headboard off and then we could move the bed onto the balcony and be horrified by all the spiderwebs behind it. Even Martha Stewart would find it hard to wiggle behind the bed and dust where the curved walls are about one foot high.

When Erica and Jessica stopped by, they were greeted by the old carpet and under padding, which had been tossed off the balcony to the graveled parking area in front of the house.

While Mark worked on the carpet, Jessica and I picked and ate huckleberries and talked about life in general. She finds school too easy, and says the teacher isn’t strict enough. This is something I would never have said at the age of seven. Or any age, really.

While Jessica and I hung out, Erica was at Jessica’s school, getting their version of things. Jessica is the smartest kid in the class (and probably the school), but doesn’t want to bother spending time on the boring, easy work. She wants to jump ahead to fun things, like cursive and advanced math.

When Erica got back to my place, she explained to Jessica that she’ll have to do the boring work first, and only then will she get to do the fun things. She suggested that Jessica see how fast she can get it out of the way, so she can spend more time on fun activities. Somehow I feel there’s some kind of lesson here for me, too.

*Erica made the coat out of faux fur. Isn’t it fabulous? It wouldn’t look out of place with that recent Vogue pictorial.

Sunset through the trees

I’m definitely getting better at using the new camera!

Yesterday, I stopped by Megan’s house before she went to work. I had barely reached her front porch when we heard a strange sound.

We looked around, but didn’t see anything. I followed the sound back down Megan’s driveway, and there was Clyde.

He’d followed me, but then got lost and scared partway there, so he stopped and cried for mama at the top of his considerable voice. I scooped him up and he purred happily. When I brought him into Megan’s house, he wasted no time in exploring. Then he merrily ate Star’s food until I stopped him. Trauma forgotten!

I carried him partway home, until he wiggled so much that I had to put him down. He promptly vanished into the woods, then reappeared, climbing a tree and annoying a squirrel, who swore at him loudly. Roscoe came to see what all the fuss was about, and the squirrel hopped onto the next tree, still telling the boys what he thought of them.

When I gave them dinner, the boys managed to knock over the water bowl (while stepping in it), pouring water all over the cement floor and making me glad that there’s a drain nearby. Then they overturned one of the food bowls. Audrey watched in disgust, then went outside. She dined al fresco and in peace.

I just love finding new places to wear diamonds

You can barely see it, but I love the platinum and diamond lorgnette. Isn’t it just so much chic-er than bifocals? A mere $9,100. Positively cheap compared to the fabulous Art Deco bracelet, also pictured, which is $145,000. Or the price of a smallish house in one of the square states. I know what I’d pick.

And the embellished cigarette case is almost enough to make me wish that smoking was one of my many bad habits. Maybe I could use it for business cards instead? Unfortunately, it’s “price upon request”, which we all know is code for “forget it unless you’re a millionaire”.

I hate to admit it, and it’s eight different kinds of wrong, but I covet these jackets. Especially the pom pom one on the right. Left: Peter Som Mongolian lamb coat, $2,375; right, Giorgio Armanu flame rabbit hand-made pom pom chubby ($8,975). Why aren’t there vegan versions? Stella McCartney, I hope you’re listening!

Anything fun under there?

I had to get up early this morning for work, and you know what that means.

I set the alarm and went to bed around 11:00. As usual, when I know I have to get up early, I had a hard time getting to sleep.

As soon as I turned off the light, the boys decided it was play time. Play time is more fun when it takes place all over the bed with a person in it. Extra credit for bouncing off her face!

I pushed them off me over and over, but they were like furry boomerangs, coming back again and again. Eventually, they got bored of me, and started to play under the bed, banging into the box spring as often as possible, racing around the room, and repeatedly knocking over my birthday lamp, which may be the nicest thing in the room. Given the amount of clawing at the carpet, it’s a good thing it’s being replaced soon.

Audrey looked at them in disgust from her throne and then went to sleep.

At 2:00, Audrey took over, waking me up by howling and clawing at the balcony door. I yelled at her to knock it off, and she simply moved her base of operations downstairs, where she clawed and howled at the front door instead.

This woke up the kittens, who decided to annoy Audrey for a change, chasing her all over the house to a chorus of growls and howls. Needless to say, Audrey renewed her assault on the doors, but there was no way I was letting her out at prime predator time.

I tried pretending to be asleep so she’d give up. I also tried yelling at her. Nothing worked.

Clyde thought this was a good time for his patented smother snuggle, and Roscoe helped by biting my nose and hands. Then they started chasing each other all over me again, clawing any exposed body part in the process.

Oh, it was fun.

I finally fell asleep in the midst of the mayhem. When I woke up, Audrey was sleeping peacefully on her throne and the kittens were doing the same on the bed.

No-one got up with me at 6:00 am.

Uh…you may be a little too young to ride that bike.

When Audrey asks/demands/insists that I let her out in the morning, I let her out the balcony door, then go downstairs to turn on the outside lights. A few minutes after I settle back in bed, Clyde comes running up the stairs.

He jumps into bed with me, already purring, and proceeds to drape himself over my neck. Sometimes, he curls up in front of my face so I can hardly breathe. Or he lies on my shoulder with his head on my ear. It’s all fun and games until he starts biting my hand or nose.

Roscoe joins us from time to time, but Clyde takes his Cuddler nickname seriously.

As I write, Roscoe is sitting on my knee and I’m holding Clyde with my left hand, typing one-handed. But it’s still easier than typing with them awake, pawing at my hands or trying to bite them, or climbing up my legs. It’s getting harder to hold them both at once as they get bigger. They’ll be four months old in less than a week!

Well, well. Look who’s relaxing in town!

I’m getting really frustrated trying to figure out how to embed videos into my blog posts*. I can find zillions of “how tos” for YouTube videos, but nothing useful on how to display my own videos. At least I’ve been able to upload these minor masterpieces to Facebook.

You can see the one I took of Star and Schatzi today here. It’s more Star than Schatzi – she races into the woods and is messing around in there while Star is running around. The movie looks like there was an earthquake, but it’s only my ineptitude as a camerawoman. The location is the family property. Notice how nice the road is.

Star is wearing her Thundershirt. I interviewed their creator a while back for an article I was writing, and he very kindly offered to sell me some for half price on behalf of Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue**. He’s a really nice guy. Thundershirts have an 85% success rate in calming dogs, whether they’re afraid of thunder, loud noises, the car, the vet, or any other stressful situation. If it doesn’t work for your dog, send it back and your money will be refunded. What’s not to love? We’re hoping they’ll be helpful with rescue work.

I got to see the Thundershirt in action today. After letting the dogs run around at our brother’s place, we went to Mendocino. After a stop at the foggy farmers’ market…

…where I picked up, among other things, a serpent cucumber and tu-tone summer squash…

…we took Star for a walk in the village. We met a kind man who agreed to give Star a treat and pet her carefully, and she didn’t bark or flinch. One of the obstacles to her adoption is that she sometimes barks at strangers, because she isn’t sure if they’ll hurt her or not. So this was great practice. I really think the shirt helped, because she had her tail up and was wagging it. She never barked or flinched at strange people or dogs. At the top of this post, you can see her actually relaxing outside a shop…with people walking by!

She gets an A, and an A for effort, too!

*I’ve come a long way from a girl who couldn’t take pictures a couple of weeks ago!
**Feel free to “like” us on Facebook!

For those of you who have been waiting to see James’ tile work in Megan and Rob’s bathroom, here you go! I think it’s really pretty. And like I said, if there’s anything suggestive there, it’s pretty subliminal. It looks like a flower to me.

You will all be happy to hear that Rob and Jonathan worked their usual magic and got Megan’s car working yesterday morning, long before she needed it for her final night shift of the week. It’s hardly surprising that the poor old thing needs repairs lately – there’s over 200,000 miles on it. And those aren’t nice, easy city miles, either.

Yesterday was a pretty exciting day. It kicked off with Roscoe showing up with a dead mouse. Audrey decided to one-up him and show him who’s really boss by showing up with a giant bird in her mouth. Even though it was in the 80s yesterday, I kept the doors shut until the cats stopped playing with their prey. My stepmother always used to say, “Nature is red in tooth and claw”, but that doesn’t mean I want it in my house.

Erica dropped by, after looking at a disappointing house near the school. The landlord wanted a lot of rent, and there was no outside space for Jessica to play in. This seemed incredible to me, considering we are in the depths of the country. So it was a no go. I realize that I was really lucky to get this place, despite all its quirks, since there are hardly any places to rent and what is available is expensive. I hope she finds something soon.

The thermal underwear Megan and I ordered for Rob’s birthday arrived belatedly. Of course, it arrived when we’ve been having a string of 85 degree days. But I’m sure he’ll be glad to have it when the storms of winter arrive in a month or two.

Also in advance of winter chill, a propane heater I bought on eBay arrived (it’s difficult-to-impossible to find propane heaters for sale in California). It’s slated to go in the unheated, uninsulated studio, in the hopes of making it slightly more usable and habitable in the six months (or more) we have of winter. The boys will of course have to install it, though hopefully we’ll have some time before it gets really cold. These days, it’s hard to believe that it will ever be dark and rainy.

Finally, the new carpet for the sleeping loft arrived! Yay! I can’t wait for Mark to replace the old, stained one, even though it means moving all the furniture out onto the balcony. The carpet was delivered by the fabulous Monica’s sweet husband, Joe, and now it’s in the still unheated studio, waiting for me to trip over it in Calamity Suzy style. Stay tuned!

Living on the edge

You may have noticed that I rarely complain about work, when I can and do complain about almost everything else. If there were an Olympic complaining event, I’d be clanking with gold medals, a living legend. Though I’d probably still complain about the Olympics and how they’re constantly on TV*.

Part of this has to do with the fact that my boss is a comfortable 200 miles away, and has no idea that I’m wearing pajamas during conference calls (or doing them at the beach while walking dogs). Also, he’s been my friend for fifteen years, and we sometimes go to ball games** and plays together.

My commute is pretty easy, other than the kittens getting underfoot as I lurch down the stairs in the morning. Sure, I often end up working at night or on the weekends, but I don’t have to go to an office from 9 to 5, or brave the perils of BART.

My sister, however, doesn’t have it so easy…

She worked for 14 hours on Monday, arriving home late Tuesday morning. She didn’t sleep well in the sunny, warm day (it was probably 85 here, and it was a scorching 103 in Santa Rosa and 113 in LA), and woke up, sleep-deprived, to face another 12 hour shift on Tuesday night.

To make matters worse, she discovered that her car’s steering mechanism had gone on a sudden French-style strike and refused to work. You really don’t want to be driving the switchbacks around here with no steering. I don’t think Megan was that anxious to meet her old buddies on the ambulance.

So she borrowed my car to go to work. She was already late, and had to stop and pick up a car part so our brother could work on the car today. Halfway there, she realized that she had left her cigarettes in her car. She arrived at the store about five minutes before the store closed, and said she was picking up a part.

“What part?”

“I don’t know. It’s a steering thing.”

“For a ’96 Saturn?”

“Yes!”

“Your brother called and said you wouldn’t know what the part was.”

$114 later, she was out the door and on her way to Starbucks. She took one sip – one sip before a 12 hour night shift – of her expensive coffee before it spilled all over due to the stupidity of the cup holder design in my car. Minutes ticking away, she cleaned it up as best she could and went to get gas for the car, since the gas station was right there.

She pulled up to the pump and discovered she was on the wrong side. Turned the car around, put in her credit card, and discovered that the pump was broken. Went to another pump, and discovered that she was on the wrong side again. She gave up and went to buy cigarettes – a necessity at this point – and rushed to work.

As she went through the ambulance bay, she asked one of her former colleagues to pick up a coffee for her, which he cheerfully did.

This morning, she dropped the part off at our brother’s place, and he and Rob will hopefully be able to fix the car in time for tonight’s night shift.

*My cure for Olympic boredom? Make it all pay-per view. Then all of you who really want to watch it can pay for the privilege, and the rest of us can go on with our lives, uninterrupted by the seemingly endless ennui that is the Olympics. That, or restore to its original semi-nude form with only original games allowed.

**Go, Giants!

People have been asking to see the inside of my odd little house. Here goes:

Come on up the front stairs. Which are at the side of the house. The window is where my desk is (you’ll see it later).

The staircase to the sleeping loft is right in front of you when you walk in. Rob made the picture frames from found materials. He’s the best upcycler I’ve ever met.

The staircase landing. The railings are made of driftwood.

Here’s my desk, where the magic happens. It’s right next to the bathroom:

Where you see Audrey enjoying the window in the shower. Who doesn’t love a shower with a view?

The door leads to the back deck and the outdoor shower.

Walk back to the door, and you’ll see the main living area.

The painting is “Russian Hill”, by Keith Wicks. It shows the neighborhood I first lived in when I moved to San Francisco. It’s my little piece of the city.

Here’s another view of the living room, showing the sliding glass doors to the garden.

View from the sliding glass doors to the sleeping loft and balcony.

View from the sleeping loft to the living area. To the right you can just about see my heirloom Wedgwood, which dates to the 1820s, and the edge of the wooden chests containing my grandmother’s ivory-handled silver and fish set.

To the right of the sliding glass doors is the kitchen(ette). You can see that I have not been exaggerating about the lack of counter and cupboard space. Yet I can and have made Thanksgiving for ten people here.

And we’re back to the front door. Come back and visit again soon!

Star (left) and Schatzi take a break at Big River

Yesterday, Roscoe decided it would be fun to kill a bird and play with its mangled corpse all over the house, tossing it gleefully into the air, catching it again, and running around with it in his mouth. He was utterly unconcerned by my screams of horror. Eventually, I managed to sweep it into a dustpan and toss the poor thing into the woods with an apology. To the bird, I mean, not Roscoe.

I was unable to determine what kind of bird it was from the shredded remains – it would take far more skilled forensic eyes than mine – but I was surprised by how big it was. I’d say it was more robin sized than sparrow sized – pretty impressive for a three month old kitten.

I took a break from the drama to walk the dogs with Megan at Big River. It was a beautiful day, and the dogs trotted along happily together. Star has come a long way since we first rescued her back in April, thanks to Megan’s hard work and dedication. We’re hoping to find a permanent home for her, but it’s no easy task. It’s a small community here, so there’s a limited pool to draw from. Then there’s the economy – people are more likely to be surrendering dogs to shelters than adopting them.

Finally, the fact that she’s a black pit bull. Apparently black animals are less likely to be adopted, which makes me feel all the better about adopting Roscoe and Clyde. But it doesn’t help our chances of finding a family for Star. Megan and I talked about it as we walked in the late summer sunshine, and she and Rob would be happy to keep Star if it comes to that. The down side, though, is that they will be unable to foster any more dogs unless they move to a bigger place. Fortunately, Star and Schatzi get along well, even sleeping together.

A post-adventure nap

What’s worse than letting Audrey out at 4:30 in the morning? Bringing her in at 4:30 in the morning.

Last night, our Princess came by at about 7:30 for the second sitting of dinner. She dislikes eating as unfashionably early as those ill-mannered kittens, and tends to nibble part of her dinner then, and come back later for a little more. This delicacy of appetite combined with near-constant exercise outside must be the secret to her sylph-like figure, which certainly rivals her namesake’s.

Usually, when I head up to the sleeping loft to read at night, I call her. She turns up, though not always right away, just to make sure I know who’s really in charge around here. Last night, there was no sign of her, though I called her repeatedly and tried to lure her in with treats.

I thought about leaving the Cat Flap of Death open for her, but now the boys not only know how to run through it, but can skitter down the roof, it seemed unwise to resist a snack pack of kittens being alone in the wilderness as opposed to the full-grown winner of “Survivor: Hooterville”. Also I knew she’d claw on the glass from the outside if she wanted in, just as she claws from in the inside if she wants to go out.

I finally went to sleep, but it was the kind of sleep I used to have when Megan lived with me for the last few years of high school and was out on a date. I never really slept until I heard her come in, at which point I pretended to have been asleep all along, unless she had some really good gossip to tell me.

As you know, my brother, sister, and I are not good sleepers at the best of times. We can generally get to sleep, but fail to stay there, waking up several times a night, not to mention being plagued by bizarre dreams which occasionally make us question our collective sanity.

Every time I woke up last night, I went out into the bright moonlight and called Audrey. I had all the outside lights on, so it was pretty bright out there, and Mark had a party last night, so I reasoned that bobcats, mountain lions, and their buddies were unlikely to crash it looking for some hors d’oeuvres.

At 4:30, I got up and called her for the fifth time. I was just passing by the front door when I saw her standing there, peering in at me as if to ask what all the fuss was about. She tolerated, but did not enjoy, my picking her up and kissing her, and then it was treats all around.

I feel that I’ve made some improvements in my family worrier status. For one thing, I went to sleep (sort of). For another, I didn’t have the insta-doom feeling I had when June went missing (though that ended up being fully justified – for once, I did not enjoy being right). I am trying to believe that lightning has struck once already and is unlikely to do an encore. Surely losing two cats in two months is enough for any girl. Are you listening, family curse? It’s me, Suzy.

So Audrey woke me up around 4:30 this morning. As I let her out onto the balcony, I noticed that it was flooded with moonlight.

I put on all the outdoor lights as usual, my talisman against predators, and went back to bed. The kittens took this opportunity to start climbing all over me like I was their personal jungle gym. I kept moving them away, and they kept bouncing back, like furry boomerangs. I finally gave up, and after a while I got up.

Amazingly, they stayed upstairs and are presumably enjoying the sleep I didn’t get. Sometimes I wish I had a bedroom door. Or walls.

On the bright side, I’ve been able to make coffee, and more importantly, drink coffee unmolested this morning, a truly enjoyable novelty.

Yes, world: I’m grinchy enough to be annoyed by kittens.

But you knew that.

Yesterday, I (temporarily) dumped the kittens in favor of dogs. Megan was meeting a friend in the village to help socialize Star. While they worked, Schatzi and I played, walking around and taking pictures:

You are here.

Shadowy gate.

The secret garden.

Wild rose trellis.

Naked Ladies beside a white picket fence.

Looking at these photos again, it occurs to me how timeless the village looks. It could be any late summer day in the past hundred years or more.

Morning light on my staircase

You know how they say mothers forget the pain of labor, and that allows them to have more children? I think the same rule applies to kittens.

I find myself saying (or thinking) “I don’t remember June and Audrey doing that” multiple times during the day. It probably took me five minutes to type these sentences, because of the kittens blocking my view, clawing at my hands, or climbing up my legs with their razor-sharp claws. If they’d just settle down when they sit on me in the morning, it would be fine.

But they don’t.

They mill around, sticking their butts and tails in my face, jockeying each other for position, kneading my bare skin with their needle claws, biting my nose, chewing my glasses and earrings, clawing at my hands as I type, walking back and forth to obscure my laptop, having fights all over me, jumping on and off me with the most possible emphasis on tender body parts and inflicting damage.

All while purring.

I have even found myself using my parents’ tried and true method of coping with too many rambunctious kids too early in the day: putting them outside while I drink coffee and achieve the necessary acceptance of being up at that hour. However, this strategy is complicated by the fact that whenever I stand up, they race into the studio, thinking it’s feeding time*, making it hard to capture and eject both of them. If I’m successful, they often sit by the sliding glass doors, mewing pitifully, so I feel guilty and mean. As usual in life, there are no good answers.

But sometimes, they just curl up on my shoulders, purring, and are incredibly adorable.

*I filmed their feeding frenzy and posted it on Facebook, but can’t figure out how to post it here.

Hanging out

As usual, the kittens woke me up earlier than I would have really enjoyed this morning. They leaped joyfully on me, kneading, purring, and occasionally biting. It reminded me of being woken up by Olivier and Thierry those long-ago summer mornings in Nice. It’s weird to think that those little kids are fully grown-up by now. I wonder what their lives are like*.

Clyde wasted no time in spilling coffee all over my sweater before I could drink it. This resulted in him and the innocent (at least of this) Roscoe being summarily ejected into the sunny morning while I replenished my coffee thimble and dealt with my many emails. Doesn’t it seem like the more emails you answer, the more you get?

The boys have been growing fast. A couple of days ago, Megan and I were talking outside by the stairs and saw Roscoe climb from the balcony, skitter down the curved roof, and jump onto the top of the window. He went back and forth, clearly unsure of whether he could jump from such a height. I was about to help him down when he made the leap, landing safely and running off to climb a tree. Later, I measured it, and he jumped nearly eight feet!

Clyde took an alternate route, climbing from the balcony right down the roof. Or racing out of control and falling the last couple of feet, depending on how you look at it. He was fine, and happily pranced off to join his brother in looking for mischief. They are very successful hunters in that regard.

Audrey, in the meantime, still takes a dim view of these low-rent losers. Here you see her atop Mt. Crumpet, hating the Whos:

*A quick Googling reveals that Thierry followed in his parents’ footsteps and became a scientist, still living in the south of France, whereas Olivier became a photographer and is based in New York.

Early rain, early morning

Wow. Has it really been almost a week? What have I been up to, you ask?

Well, there was unseasonable rain the night of Rob’s birthday and into the next day. I attempted to capture the rain drops on the trees (see above) with the new camera, which I am learning how to use. I even shot a movie of the kittens’ feeding frenzy (complete with plaintive, loud meows), but am trying to figure out how to save it. QuickTime 7 doesn’t support this and in order to do so, I’d have to buy the “pro” version, which I really don’t want to do. If/when I do, I’ll see if I can post it here.

So far, the hardest thing to get used to with the new camera is the lack of viewfinder. Instead, there’s a giant screen thingie, which you have to use to frame the picture and then take it, something of a challenge when you have bi-focals and bad vision. So I’ve been practicing, and you’ll be able to enjoy my homework as this post rambles on.

For example: the driveway was unable to withstand the rain:

Post-rain driveway

We nearly got stuck in the mud, and I have to admit to some concerns about the upcoming rainy season. Mark had a guy here today smoothing it out and applying more gravel, but I’m not convinced that the problem is really solved. I guess time will tell.

Gratuitous photo of the “Rust Room” in my garden

I’ve been busy with work, which is good. I like feeling efficient. It’s such a novelty! But it doesn’t lead to blogging. Neither does helping my brother clean out the house he lived in for fifteen years. You can acquire a lot of things and stuff in fifteen years, especially if you’re a part-time mad scientist. For example, I am now storing a giant and valuable Tesla coil in the studio, wrapped carefully in blankets.

The tiny picture above is the only one I could find of my brother’s house. It’s at the end of the driveway, and Mark is now fixing it up, adding a bathroom and the like, since there is currently only an outhouse and a bathtub, which is in the livingroom. It has windows on three sides, looking at the woods, and the fourth side is open to the livingroom, which may not be to everyone’s taste. Same goes for the stairs, which have risers well over a foot high, with a stump as the final stair at the bottom and a post at the top carved into a phallic shape. James was an eccentric builder, to say the least*.

So after I was finished work for the day, I’d head down there and help clean up. As you know, I find manual labor distressing. And it’s even more boring than regular work and even less blog-worthy. By the time I got home, had a shower, and put on my PJs, it was all I could do to mix a cocktail and read Style Rookie before falling asleep with wet hair. Which makes me glad that most of my work is done on the phone.

*When Rob was finished adding the bathroom onto his and Megan’s house, James offered to do the tilework in the shower. Megan said okay, providing that the tilework was devoid of any human anatomy or even the suggestion of it. It’s a lovely abstract design. If there’s any subliminal messages there, they’re very subliminal.

Since you asked, yes. I’m still trying to figure out my “simple” new camera. I may need to borrow a teenager.

So no visual aids today.

You should all be glad that I also don’t have access to Smell-O-Vision. On the way to the vet, the boys expressed their dismay in their traditional manner. The always-cheerful technician helped clean it up and even supplied a new towel.

Apparently I made a mistake when I made the appointment, since the technician said it was too early for the boys to get their second set of shots. I found this confusing, since my schedule had changed and I had to change the appointment from Monday to Friday. So this appointment was later than the original one. I was pretty sure they’d said come back in two weeks, but they said it should have been three weeks. Since it would have been three weeks on Monday, I still don’t see what the problem is, but what do I know?

So no shots for the rowdies and no bill for me. At least this week.

This morning, when I was ready to trap the unsuspecting kittens in the cat carrier of doom, I couldn’t find Clyde. Even shaking the treats around didn’t produce any results. I put Roscoe in the carrier and started looking around for Clyde. I found him in the building Mark put up a few months ago to store things in, but which has become a sort of playhouse for his kids. Clyde was walking around in there like he owned the place.

The playhouse is between my place and Mark’s, so I’m kind of surprised that Clyde ventured that far. It would be a lot easier if he actually responded to his name.

Today I got an email from Amazon, saying they couldn’t deliver the package that was delivered yesterday.

Maybe I can ask them for a refund.

Today I also received my new, undesirably-colored camera. So far, I have figured out how to put in the batteries and the memory card, and set the date and time. The rest is too confusing after a long day’s work, so I think I’ll pour a drink and worry about that tomorrow, in Scarlett O’Hara approved style.

While I was on one of today’s many conference calls, I heard a crinkling noise. Putting my phone on mute, I went to investigate. I discovered Clyde on the pantry floor, eating pasta out of a bag, and Roscoe on the shelf eating egg noodles out of a bag he’d torn open. They had jumped on the washer, then edged their way onto the shelf, and then managed to tear the bags open. It was two hours after they’d eaten breakfast.

Unbelievable.

I shooed them away and salvaged what I could while trying to talk intelligently about the world economy. All in a day’s work.

As I write, Roscoe is perched on my shoulder, purring and chewing on my diamond earring. The kittens have very exclusive taste in chew toys, preferring diamond earrings and the edge of my iMac to more mundane toys.

I’ve been letting them out at will during the day, though I keep them in after dinner. They are rarely out of sight, and like to run in and out of the house, stopping in for cuddling or napping on Henry’s old bed. I’m really glad that I didn’t give it away after Henry Etta died. I washed it and put it where I wouldn’t have to see it, intending one day to bring it to the shelter. I hope she would be glad to have the kittens enjoy it.

I have never seen kittens so crazed for food. Megan was laughing when she saw them the other day, eating so quickly and intently. “They’re like wind-up toys!” she said. Just a week after I told you my concerns about the boys jumping on the washer to eat Audrey’s food, it happened.

I put the boys outside and closed the door while Audrey nibbled. When she was finished, I let her out a different door, and put the remaining food on a high shelf in the pantry. I let the boys back in, and went to start dinner. I heard a strange sound, and went to investigate.

It was Roscoe the Rascal, eating Audrey’s food.

I took it away and shut it in a cupboard. I almost expected him to go to Mark’s and borrow some power tools to get the cupboard open.

Maybe next week.