Today is Baking Day!

Sister-in-law Kellie is coming over today to make candy & cookies with me. I'm planning on Cream Puffs (to be frozen), Chocolate Truffles rolled in festive toppings of nuts, colored sugars or cocoa powder, and chewy Lime Sugar Cookies. We will probably also make some breads to bake in little loaf pans. All this to contribute to our theme of "Homemade Christmas" this year. A minimum of purchased gifts, a lot of DIY goodies.

It seems as though everyone is feeling the pinch this year, and for me, the "joy of the season" is being with, and doing activities, with the family I love. I have no desires for any material goods. I thankfully have all that I need--health for myself, healthy and happy children, a beloved husband who has a job, an active and healthy mom who will have excellent vision again soon (cataract surgery is next week), a treasured brother, sister-in-law, and nieces who are all doing well and who I can have fun with. My bucket is full, and I'm grateful for it.

Hello California!

Five and a half days of driving, 1 new tire in Gallup, NM, and a very exhausted Ozzy-Dog--we're finally here in time for family Thanksgiving! I forget how doggone big this country is until I actually drive the 2,341 miles door-to-door.

Mom has gotten everything ready for a big feast with family and friends. I am catching up on my sleep. Oz seems to be settling in just fine. Bill is at sea and looking forward to his Thanksgiving meal somewhere out on the briny deep. It's all good.

Sunrise -- 2 days to departure

It is so beautiful in the early morning hours in the fall. Ozzy starts whining before it is light out, so I get to be a witness to the lovely fall sunlight lightening the skies through the clouds each day. (Of course, this also means that I am falling asleep on the couch each afternoon around 3 to recharge the mental and physical batteries).

Today is PACK DAY.

But I have a moment to savor the peace and quiet of the new day dawning, listening to the forest coming alive around me with the sound of birds, before I jump up and start running around, tackling the list that has grown to a truly monumental length.

Why am I awake at 5 am?

Things are shaping up. Bill is at sea now, I am slowly working through my list of "To Dos," and even Ozzy is settling down a little bit. So why am I wide awake at 5, thinking of more things to put on the list?

Yesterday, I made hundreds of cookies and scores of chocolate-covered caramels--gifts for my co-workers to give before I leave, lest they think I am getting out of town to avoid them during the holidays. And I rented one of Ray's houses, interviewed the new property manager, and got a line on a tenant for the other house, due to be vacant Dec. 20.

The car is serviced. The house is still a wreck. I am leaving for California a week from today.

All I have left to do is:

Plant 9 trees in the new orchard
Empty the water barrels so they don't freeze
Shut down the house systems
Laundry
Go to the dump (several times)
Pick up my new glasses
Return the plumbing parts to Henard's
Pay bills
Remember what to pack
Pack (for what kind of weather, I wonder?)
Gather Dog stuff
Revise phone list
Don't forget Juli's jam!
Figure out what knitting to take
Christmas gifts!
Rental keys
Work
Forward mail

Not such a bad, long list. So why am I awake at 5 am?

Ack! The Frantic-ness Continues

I got an email from Bill in Illinois last night while I was at work. The powers that be want him on a plane to Japan on Friday.

He had planned on driving home today and getting his shipboard drug test tomorrow morning in Johnson City. (Nothing quite so inconvenient as driving 100 miles to pee in a cup for the Dept. of Transportation). Then a last weekend at home.

Now don't go all misty-eyed on me. The weekend at home would most likely have been Bill sitting in the woods for the opening of muzzleloading deer season, not a romantic dinner for two. But that's all gone anyway, whatever activities WERE planned. Instead, we'll be going to the airport and saying goodbye again.

Rats.

A Brief October Recap

The wedding was fabulous, the car trip was fun, the visiting on the road with Ron & Kendra, Gary & Anita, Mark & Jo was so wonderful! Ozzy was quite put out about being left in the hoosegow for 5 days, but eventually he forgave us. He and Juli shared the futon, though Juli says he's a covers hog.

Juli and I made blackberry jam with all my summer pickin's from the freezer. Then we hauled out all the peaches and made spiced peach jam too. She and Bill argued politics at high volume for 5 days.

Juli and Bill flew their separate directions on the 24th. Bill went to Florida for a 3-day computer class. Juli went home to her husband, refreshed and content. I went back to work and found that the air-conditioning is finally being fixed--JUST IN TIME for winter!

Bill came home Thursday and left for Illinois the next day. I'm hoping to see him come home tomorrow, just in time for his drug test and his inevitable shipping out, probably early next week. I spent 3 days cleaning the rental house that the previous tenants trashed.

Yesterday, I ran around Kingsport spending money. I finally got in to see Mr. Acupuncture (ah--relief!), then went to Best Buy to recycle the dead printer and buy a DVD cleaning disk. Then to Lowes, where fruit trees were 50% off! I bought white peaches, red peaches, bush peaches, two kinds of pears, a plum, and an apricot. Lunch at 5 Guys, then to Walmart for new glasses and dress work shirts for Alex. On the way home, I stopped at the vet's and bought heartworm pills and Frontline for Ozzy. Whew!

Now it's Tuesday, and time to go back to work. The mornings are delightfully frosty, and the days are sunny and blessedly cool. I am loving being back on my mountain, and savoring every moment. Soon, when Bill leaves and I find a tenant for the rental, I'll be leaving for the long trip to Los Angeles.

I feel like I've been traveling all year long. It would be nice to just plop and rest, but there are big doings coming up again, and I'll be back feeling frantic again in no time.

************

Wow. I was just typing in the time and date and realizing I was surgerized 3 years ago TODAY.
How strange life is. What suffused my entire consciousness then is now just a distant ho-hum today. Life is good.

Alex's Big Ol' Bass

No sooner did my son get off the plane, he went down to the pond at sunset and pulled out the biggest large-mouthed bass EVER!





The three of us feasted on this tasty guy!

Alex has been visiting, sleeping, and going to the dentist for much-needed tooth repair. Bill and I have been doing our normal life routine, with the added benefit of Alex's company and help.

Tomorrow, we all head north to Charlottesville, VA to see Mark & Jo Goldberg, then on to NY for the start of the Hoffman wedding festivities. We'll pick up Juli and Kerne at the Albany airport Friday night.

Whirlwind Florida in Pix

I arrived Friday night, rented a car, and met up with Bill at the school. We went to a favorite Italian restaurant where I drank chianti and ate clams until I couldn't move.

Saturday, we started out with breakfast, then went off to the beach for an hour of sun and swimming in the ocean. Then we drove north of Ft. Launderdale, to the Oakland Park Community Oktoberfest.

There were food products that should never be consumed, let alone even thought of:


A Volkswagon car show:

And for pure entertainment, Weiner Dog Races!

While we were sitting on the beach, a plane toting an advertisement for the Marlin's baseball game and Steve Miller Band concert flew by. We started the trek to Miami for the game and stopped at this light:

I mean, COME ON, the man has been in office less than 2 years. Where's Herbert Hoover Blvd?

There was baseball (the Marlins won their last game with the Pittsburgh Pirates):

Then a spectacular fireworks show and the Steve Miller Band concert:

A thoroughly entertaining and exhausting day. Sunday we lazed around the pool. Monday found me back at the airport at 5:30 am, and home to Tri-Cities before noon.

Yes, this is how the jet-set lives...

Thursday? Already?

I just don't know where the time goes. Here it is Thursday, time to go to work, and I'm flying to Florida tomorrow morning to visit Bill for the weekend. My bags are NOT packed, the house is a wreck, and somehow I'm still sitting here at the computer in my jammies and not caring. Whatever.

It seems so decadent to just "fly off for the weekend." Other people do this, not us. They jet off to Paris for the weekend (in literature, that is. I don't really KNOW anyone who actually does this). It is going to be raining in Florida due to a tropical storm that may turn into a hurricane. I will take my bathing suit, but I doubt if I'll use it. I will take my knitting projects. I will eat seafood. I will listen to my husband wax poetic about his welding class.

Ozzy is going to "dog jail" at the vet's boarding facility. He will not like this. He will scold me when I return on Monday morning. Part of me hopes that he will be so overjoyed to be sprung from captivity that he will behave himself when we return home, grateful and chastised. But that may be expecting too much from a dog. Mostly, I predict that he will just be pissed, and wilder than ever.

But I will have the sweet memory of my three-day holiday to sustain me.

Revenge of the Arachnids

Ozzy is an early riser. I mean, REALLY early, when it's still oh-dark-thirty outside. Staggering up to Oz's whines, stumbling to the door without glasses, I usually just open the door and walk him out to the backyard.

For some reason this morning (being thoroughly still asleep), I just opened the door and let him go out by himself. Good thing, because when I finally did focus, this was what was just inside the door frame at eye level:


I can only assume that this web was meant to catch ME, the villain who pillaged through the spider community a few days ago:


Yes, it's beautiful and it took Mr. or Ms. Spidey all night to "knit," but come on--a web designed to catch my entire upper torso at 5:30 am before I've had my coffee? Not nice.

Charlotte's Web

I like spiders, in the abstract. Yes, sometimes they are so big I get a visceral punch in the gut when I first see them, a startle response of fight-or-flight that reminds me I'm not so far away from my jungle roots as I suppose. Yes, I have a horrific allergic reaction to their venom that makes me swell to inhuman size when bitten.

But spiders eat mosquitos and wasps, and are an integral part of our life here. The ecology of La Casa Redonda depends on spiders doing their jobs. It's just that now that it's autumn, the face-full-of-webs has gotten old. Inside the house, every window corner has its resident, and dusty cobwebs hang from the ceiling fans, stretch across the rough stones of our indoor central chimney, and gather in the corners of every room.

They hang outside my front door (because that's where the flying bugs are, drawn to the outdoor lights at night), and construct huge circular webs that accost me when coming in or out. On the trails up back, their webs stretch across the path at face height, causing mouthfuls of stickiness and shivers up my spine. I've had quite enough, thank you.

So, with stick in hand, I marched outside and wound the offenders up in their own webs and tossed them over the side railing into the forest. I similarly denuded the corners, the windows, the chimney and the nooks and crannies where the spiders lurk and tossed them into the woods.
A new batch will undoubtedly take up residence (or they'll all inch back up to the house eventually), but for now, I have beaten back the hordes.

Sorry Charlotte. You were one of my favorite book characters in my childhood, but they had to go. Although, if one were to speak and call me "Wilbur," I would have paused my wanton destruction of Spider World for a moment...before tossing him over the side with the rest.

Change of Plans

Bill leaves today--not for Norfolk as planned, but to go up to Illinois to be with his father. Bud is having a G-Tube installed on Wednesday, and after much agonizing, Bill decided that while the company meet-and-greet in Norfolk was an annual event he could do another time, spending time with his dad is limited.

Bud's jaw tumor is growing aggressively, and his doctors fear that soon he'll be unable to swallow, hence the push to insert a feeding tube as soon as possible. It may already be too late--they will only know when they get in there and attempt to access his nasal passages with a scope to place the permanent tube in his stomach. Bill says that this will give his dad some options for the future. I have a deep sense of foreboding about this, but so far have just kept my peace. It is not my decision to make, but I am pretty sure that if I were in the same spot, I would forgo the G-Tube. My reasoning is that having it there makes it easier for the medicos to prolong his pain indefinitely while they continue their "extraordinary measures" to postpone the inevitable. While starving to death doesn't sound pleasant either, it's one of those end-of-life dilemmas where none of the choices are good. It is very hard for my husband right now, and I am glad he is spending as much time as he can with his dad, whatever the reason.

As soon as Bill gets back, he'll be leaving for his class in Florida for two weeks. I will fly down for the weekend in between, but for the next 3 weeks, it will be just me and Ozzy holding down the fort. There is plenty to do, as always.

Thoughts from the Laundromat

I have been poor, and I have been not poor. As far as I can tell, there are only a few significant differences between those two economic states: what kind of meat you eat (and how much), and where you do your laundry.

When you are poor (or camping, which is sort of the same thing on a temporary, volunteer basis), you do your laundry in the laundromat. You gather up all your dirties in a giant pile in the middle of a bedsheet and slog down to the local washateria for a couple of hours of mind-numbing bending, lifting, wheeling great gobs of wet cloth around in carts with challenging, non-working casters, burning fingers, separating loads of almost-dry from not-at-all-dry, shifting into working dryers from non-working dryers, complaining to the management, fending off conversation with sketchy characters you would give a wide berth to on the street, and trying to cadge enough quarters for the whole thing to be DONE, so you can fold in peace and go home.

There is also a middle ground of laundry world, where your apartment building has a few washers and dryers, saving you the trip to the general public laundromat, but constraining you with the first-come, first-served scheduling. If your neighbor beats you to the laundry room, your day is shot. Or, if your neighbor doesn't come back when their load is dry, you are left with the uncomfortable dilemma of whether to remove their clean laundry from the dryer you want to use and risk their wrath when you lose a baby sock down the gap by the hoses. I have been yelled at by complete strangers, even when I knew they should be apologizing to ME for blowing off their laundry chores and not removing their clothes promptly.

The lap of luxury as far as I am concerned is being able to do laundry in your own home. When Bill and I received our first washer and dryer as a gift from my grandparents, I thought we had finally hit the big-time. The unimaginable freedom of being able to do a load every few days so it didn't turn into a full-day chore of gathering,sorting, pre-treating, washing, drying and folding every blessed piece of clothing we owned! Not having to find or feed quarters, resenting every coin spent on another 6 minutes of dryer heat! To choose whether to line dry or heat dry! The ability to wash, dry and fold at my leisure!

But at the end of summer, when the well is dry, the spring smells of sulfur, and I don't want to use what precious water we have on clothes, I revisit the laundromat, and I am, in one word, grateful.

I have washed clothes in a New Zealand laundromat with the kind of washers without a spin cycle--that is, they washed in a mechanized tub, and then I ran them through a hand-cranked wringer. I have stood on the banks of the river in Fiji, watching the women hand-scrubbing their clothes on rocks, while trying to keep an eye on their children playing in the water (and hopefully, not drowning). I have walked by the open-air "laundromat" in San Miguel, Mexico, as the women bent over cement tubs, agitating by hand, squeezing by hand, and then hauling heavy, wet clothes in baskets on their backs, trudging home, where it then had to be hung on lines in a living room for days.

So I really don't mind the few hours each month I have to spend not being able to wash at home. It gives me an opportunity to knit quietly (as long as I remember to check that my knitting needles aren't in with the clothes), brush up on my Spanish with the local construction workers who are in for their weekly wash chores on Sunday afternoon, and reflect on how nice it is to have a choice of where I do my laundry. Is this a great country or what???

New Driveway, New Trees, Big Fish, Old Dog, Bad Headache

Bill and I tromped down to the pond at sunrise a few mornings ago, hoping to catch some breakfast. I pulled this guy out on my fifth cast. Bill hooked a huge bass, but he spit the hook at the last minute. I got another crack at him, but I lost him when he snapped my swivel and took my lure. I put this one back in the pond and we had cereal instead of bass for breakfast. Tomorrow is another day...

Ozzy continues to entertain us with his playful, puppy-like antics. He does not act like an old dog (except when he over-does the exercise). Bill decided he couldn't give him up and send him to Baltimore to a new home, so we have signed the papers and adopted him. He thinks he was already "home," so it will work out just fine. He is now our dog.

While Bill shopped at Lowe's for drainage supplies for the new driveway patch, I bought trees. I found a Granny Smith apple, a Montmorency cherry and a self-pollinating nectarine. Bill is clearing some of the hillside to start our "orchard" near where Echo is buried.

And the driveway patch. Those of you who have braved our road rally-type transition from gravel to the steep concrete, bouncing over water-damaged ruts and gullies, straddling potholes the size of tiger pits, will be pleased to note the new, improved roadway. The water runoff now flows into a grate to be carried away into the pond (by the soon-to-be installed pipe), instead of washing out the bottom of the drive.

I was fortunate to be working the day of pouring concrete. There was WAY too much testosterone in the air, four sweating men (including Bill), heavy machinery, shovels, Bob-cat, and cement truck. When I came home from work, it was done (and quiet). We spent the rest of the week hoofing up and down the drive back and forth to the cars parked down by the pond, while the cement cured.

This is my week of working everyday. I had a truly monstrous headache all last night, checking books in and out with an ice bag on my head and ignoring the patrons' snickers. I came home, immediately changed into my jammies and stuffed my throbbing skull into a pillow. Today the library is closed and we will all show up in grubbies to clean and organize without the distraction of having to wait on people. Then back to the routine on Thursday and substituting for a co-worker on Friday. Bill leaves for Norfolk on Sunday.

And that, as they say, is that.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation...

There's a touch of fall in the air, FINALLY! The last few days have been downright gorgeous--cool breezes, warm sun, but with that distinctive thin light that says summer is ending. "Slug Summer" is over for Pam, time to get back to a less restrictive, more enjoyable set of activities. Blogging returns!

Yesterday, Bill and I went up on the Clinch River, near Kyles Ford, for some outdoor recreation!



Where did the summer go?

I spent an inordinate amount of time complaining about the unrelenting heat, taking cold showers, managing hot flashes on top of the 56 continuous days of 90+ temps. I threw the frisbee for Ozzy on my brief scuttles outside, breathlessly staggering back to the cooler indoors after five minutes.

I learned how to make ice cream, made biscotti, fabulous meals, and cookies for my sweet-toothed husband.

I watched rabbits eat ALL of my bean patch, my potted porch garden turn crispy in the sun, and marveled as my still-thinking-he's-starving-dog ate cukes, peppers and tomatoes, right off the plants before I could get them myself. I finally ate one of my pears, a sole-survivor that the deer somehow missed. It was delicious.

I slogged through my library days, panting and whining. I developed a nice little case of roseacea on my face from the heat and humidity (I'm thinking of sending the bills to the mayor, who still sits in HIS air-conditioned office and doesn't think about the sweltering minions down at the public library).

I got the car fixed from Bill's encounter with a dive-bombing turkey. I had lunch with friends. I let the housework slide and only did laundry when I ran out of underwear. Bill and I went to Illinois and visited his father, whose time is increasingly limited. I tried out some new knitting techniques. I leveled up in Farmville.

I did not exercise. I did not worry about anything. I lived in the now, and usually that meant assessing my best options for what to do and deciding on a nap.

Now the calendar is filled to the brim for the next few months. Today, concrete is being delivered to repair the broken driveway at the bottom of the hill and make ramp from the top of the driveway to the basement. I am working three days this week, four next week, and then Bill goes to Norfolk for a three-day "meet & greet" with the home office.

Then, on the 26th, Bill will go to Florida for a two-week welding class. I will visit him in Ft. Lauderdale on the weekend between.

Then Alex flies into Tri-Cities for a visit and the three of us will drive up to New York for the Hoffman wedding. Juli and Kerne are planning on flying in to meet us for the wedding as well, and then Alex and Kerne will fly back to Seattle and Juli will drive back to TN with us for a short visit.

At the end of October, Bill will go back to Florida for another three-day class in something.

And then it will be November, time for a short stab at filling the freezer with some venison, and then back to the briny deep for Bill. I'll be driving to the west coast with Ozzy, for a visit with my mom and brother's family in Los Angeles.

And that, my friends, is that. The whole year, gone in a snap.

On the mental front, life is good. I have pretty much forgotten that I am a cancer refugee. My body is finally my own, comfortable, familiar and taken for granted, except for the 3 times yearly I have to check in with the oncologist or other medicos. Those are the only days I fret and worry that the monster may have returned. But so far, the news is good. I am still a success story. And damned grateful for it too. No regrets, no boo-boo face. I don't have to wear a bra for the first time in my life. Yes, I look like a Barbie doll with middle-age spread, but I'm here. And that qualifies as a hugely welcome miracle.

Summer Hiatus

I'm still here...just way too busy. I do quite a bit of thinking, but there seems to be no time to blog about what I'm thinking about. Bill and Ozzy and work take up almost every waking hour, and I'm too selfish to give up even one hour of precious sleep time to compose a post. The next few weeks will be taken up with traveling to Illinois, doctor's appointments and the usual business of life.

I guess I'm taking the summer off!

Bill goes fishing & Ozzy meets a Bass

Bill managed to lasso our escaped dock yesterday and hauled it back to shore. This morning he was up early, headed down to the pond to try his luck at fishing.

This 13 1/2 inch large mouth bass is our first fish from our pond. We don't know whether he's grown up from one of the fingerlings we stocked when we first moved here, or whether he was already living there.

Ozzy was very interested in the smelly fish for awhile, then went back to his usual day job--being a dog.

Home-grown fish for dinner tonight!

A Cool Breeze!

I was up at 6 to take Ozzy out, and to my shock, there was a COOL wind blowing in the backyard! Big, fat, COLD raindrops! I had forgotten what it felt like to be outside and not sweating to death, no matter what the time.

Alas, it was a limited-time offer. By the time we finished breakfast, it was sweltering and steaming again.

Where does the time go?

I look up and blam! Dog maintenance, Bill off to Illinois to visit his father, picking blackberries, making ice cream, reading, knitting, sleeping. A whole week has passed me by. Tempis fugit.

Bill is now home, Ozzy the Dog is settling in, and I take quick forays into the heat to do chores, followed by long naps on the couch in the air-conditioning.

Today, Bill has his Coast Guard physical and I go to lunch with friends. Tuesday, I work at the library/sweatbox (A/C still non-functioning). Wednesday, dental appointment. Thursday, I work again. Friday, I see the dermatologist. Is it any wonder that the days just march on without effort, and here we are at August?

Welcome Ozzy!

Hello to the new dog! This is Ozzy, 8 years old, rescued from an elderly woman with dementia who forgot to feed him and his sister. They were down to 36 pounds when found. Now Ozzy comes to us from a 4-month foster in Wisconsin--a healthy, happy 55 pounds. He's settling in and starting to adjust to us--and we to him.

Bill comes home to TN

The plane from Atlanta was delayed. Of course. Bill ended up flying for more than 30 hours before he finally was released from the clutches of air travel. We got home around 2-3 am, the only car on that lonesome highway in the dark. Even the deer were asleep.



I have to go to work today and slog through that hot-humid veil of tears without a nap. How will I ever survive? Stay tuned...

Bill is finally coming home!

Barring any unforseen snafus, Bill will be home Monday night! Poor guy has to bus to Fukaoka, fly to Tokyo, then San Francisco (getting luggage, clearing customs, then re-checking luggage), then Atlanta, and finally Tri-Cities. I don't envy him those flights, but I sure will be glad to see him at last.

It's been a little lonely around here without Mr. Bounder. I keep thinking I need to take him out, or feed him or play with him. Then I remember that he's at peace now, and he doesn't have to be afraid anymore. It was an interesting experience having a dog who thought I was his whole world (despite the fact that he didn't like anyone else). I've never had a dog that was so affectionate, so grateful for attention, so playful and cuddly. Granted it was a "I'll eat you up, I love you so" kind of love. He was a character.

So once again, it's a swamp-out-the-mess kind of day. Laundry, de-cluttering and vacuuming. I picked a gallon of blackberries yesterday and I will make a nice pie for Bill's homecoming.

I also experimented with making chocolate swirl ice cream and fresh peach ice cream. The texture was a little off on the peach, a little too icy, I suspect because of the amount of water in the fruit. But the flavor was fabulous. I'm not a chocolate fan, but this tastes pretty good, with hot fudge sauce streaking through the lighter chocolate ice cream. I'm learning new tricks.

Say Goodbye to Bounder

Many of you who have followed Bounder's crazy antics will be as grieved as I am today. The poor little guy has made terrific progress in some areas, but he has not been able to conquer his fears, and has developed an unpredictable, escalating biting behavior. Sadly, the American Belgian Malinois Rescue Committee has decided that because of this, he is dangerous to me and to others who come into our household, and they have decided that he must be put down.

After watching him with Ray and Elaine during their visit, and talking at length with people who know more about the breed than I do, I am forced to agree that poor Bounder can't be trusted anymore. Unfortunately, the popularity of this breed with law enforcement has led to many of these dogs being trained with inappropriately harsh methods, which can turn them vicious. Now that Bounder is "comfortable" (relative term) in my house, he is starting to revert to whatever was done to him in his prison guard training. He may have even been trained to bite aggressively on purpose.

I understand that this is a huge liability issue for the ABMC--if I or one of my household was seriously injured by Bounder, they would be on the hook. Bill also brought up the fact that they are also concerned with the breed's reputation--they have to cull the rejects, lest the breed itself develop a reputation like the pit bull has.

While he continues to be very affectionate with me, Bounder has been stepping up his aggressive behaviors in the past week. It's almost as if once he got a "taste" of Ray, he feels free to bite everyone, including me. This cannot be tolerated; it's just too dangerous.

The AMBC tells me I did everything I could and gave Bounder perhaps the only loving, stable home he had in his short life, but I'm not so sure. Part of me thinks I could have staved this development off, if I were more experienced. But I also have to be pragmatic and realize that this too is part of the fostering process. It's just sad that it had to be my first foster care.

On the plus side, AMBC is sending me Ozzy, also known as Rory next week. This malinois male is about 7-8 years old, very laid-back. He was rescued from a starvation situation when he was down to 36 pounds. He has been living in Wisconsin for the past four months, and has fattened up to 55 pounds now. Rory just needs to recover his muscle mass, have humans who love him and have a safe place for him to live a good dog life. This I can do. He is considered to be "hard to place" because of his age. He has no outstanding health or behavior problems, and AMBC is thrilled that I said I'd take him. They say that everyone who has come in contact with this guy just adores him.

So today will be a sad day. Bill is due home on Monday or Tuesday and we will do the dog thing together with a new foster.

Fourth of July & Blackberry Pie

Our Fourth of July Weekend:

Bounder was not too impressed with our houseguests. He bit Ray, growled at Elaine and generally made a nuisance of himself. Aw, but he looks so sweet!

Due to the plethora of blackberries ripening down at the pond, it was only appropriate that Blackberry Pie be made and consummed:

And we tried out my new kitchen toy, an ice cream maker! This machine is awesome! We made Blackberry Sorbet and Vanilla Ice Cream at the same time. To go with the pie, of course.

Ray, Elaine and I went to a Fourth of July party. It was hot. It was buggy. It was Tennessee in the summer:

Bill was supposed to be on a plane, arriving tonight. But his relief, Earl, failed to get on the plane in Medford, Oregon. Earl's photo is on a milk carton now. If you see him, tell him to get his behind to Japan, so Bill can come home!

July brings cool weather?

It is a blessed 64 degrees out at 7 am this morning. What a relief! After 6 weeks of 90+ every day, today is predicted to get up to a manageable 84! And "only" 87 tomorrow.

If I didn't have to go to work, I'd be down at the pond picking blackberries. As it is, I have plenty to do. There are the usual first-of-the-month chores: Water softener maintenance, septic system maintenance, change the heat pump filters, check the UV water system, give the dog his monthly heartworm and tick preventative. Take my "bone-itis" meds.

Ray & Elaine are coming tonight, so I have to make up a bed for them, vacuum, put out fresh towels, clear off clutter from all the horizontal surfaces, think about what to cook for dinner, and move myself up to the loft for the duration of the visit.

And as soon as they leave on Monday, it will be time to get ready for Bill's return. He's slated to be relieved sometime between July 10-15.

Life is going to get busy.

Fruit Farm Dilemma

The spring haying is done (thanks to my neighbors, who have hungry cattle). In exchange for mowing my field, they get the hay. And I get the leavings to mulch my garden.

Now, the race is on to see who will get the fruit this year, Pam or the Deer!

Last year, the deer got ALL the pears, a bumper crop decimated in the night. They ate every pear and even parts of the tree, the exact night before I planned to harvest. This year, I am watching both the apples and the pears with a gimlet eye, hoping to beat the ruminants at their gustatory game. Let's see how they feel when they go to eat that bounty and find that the humans harvested a day early!

Bill commented that it must have seemed like Juli was living at home again. That girl could go through fruit like lightning. Yes, just like a herd of deer.

Happy Birthday, Alex!

My little boy Alex is 24 today! Happy Birthday, son!

Rural Summer : I've been noticing some interesting new bugs around this year. Last night, while accompanying Bounder on his night perambulation, this scary moth was hanging out by the front door. The "eyes" are to scare away predators that might eat it.

At 6:30 this morning, it was cool and overcast enough (only 80 degrees! Cooler than inside the library!) to go pick blackberries down at the pond.

Here is what they looked like a week ago:

Give these puppies a week of 95+ degree heat and a rain shower last night, and they plump up and jump into my bucket. Well, not quite. There are the thorns and the bugs and the frogs croaking in the early morning light. And there was some major thrashing about in the sumac up on the south slope, followed by some indignant snorting and snuffling. Deer, bedded down in the brush, resentful that my presence required them to get up early and move. But free food, yippee!

Days Melting Into Each Other

The unrelenting heat continues. We are on Week 4 of no A/C at the library. Working there is exhausting and sweaty, and I am cranky. Tuesday, a couple of strapping young men brought in a window unit -- for the Geneology Room, to protect the documents. In the meantime, the patrons and staff will continue to wilt. I suspect that a whole bunch of people are now going to exhibit a sudden interest in geneology...

But I go and do my time in the sweatbox and then come home to my lovely air-conditioned house. Brother Jerry is due for a visit this weekend--I hope he doesn't burst into flames or collapse in a sodden puddle.

Meanwhile, the garden is growing, the forest is encroaching, life goes on. Four more weeks and Bill is due home.

Blackberry Tyranny

Purple fingers, purple stove. Blackberry juice EVERYWHERE! The berries are ripening down by the pond, which means that I had to do something with the eleventy-billion ziplock bags of LAST YEAR'S blackberries. It's hard to pass up free food, but I do hate the process.

I took about 20 quarts of berries, cooked them down to a mush, smooshed it all through a food mill, then sieved the guck through a fine-mesh screen, scraping and shaking and smashing, and ended up with about 5 quarts of blackberry puree.

Now you're thinking "yeah, and what does that get you?"

I'm thinking sauce-flavoring for venison, blackberry vinegar for salad dressing, blackberry sorbet in the ice cream maker, and as a last resort, blackberry jam. It's almost even seedless. Sort of. As much as I could stand. Then there's the washing up of the stove, the counters and all the pots and pans and sieves and spoons. My fingers will be purple for a week. I look like I had a fight with an old-fashioned ditto machine.

While the blackberry project was going on, I took inventory of the freezer. Given my penchant for buying any meat that's on sale, I don't need to buy meat for about another year. And I did the laundry in between the puree-making. And I even sat down and watched some episodes of Smallville and knitted a few rows of the never-ending sweater.

Not a bad weekend at all.

I can't remember it ever being this hot and humid in June. August, yes. It's 9 am, and about 90 degrees out there. Time to go exercise the lunatic canine, before it gets even hotter...

Knitting & Blogging Lapse in the Summer Heat

When it gets hot, I lose energy. I am enervated to the height of sloth by a slight rise of the thermometer. Add in sultry humidity, and I am the human equivalent of a floppy, wet rag.

Eating is a problem in the summer for me. I have no appetite, even though my stomach grumbles along. At this point I reach into my past and make my mother's bean salad. It's cold, delicious and once I make it in the cool of the evening, I have breakfast, lunch and dinner made.

Mom's Bean Salad (with my variation)

1 can each, rinsed and drained:

Garbonzo Beans
Cut Green Beans
French-style Green Beans
Cut Wax Beans
Dark Red Kidney Beans
Light Red Kidney Beans
Black Beans
Whole Kernel Corn

Add:
1 Red Onion, sliced very thin
1 Cup Cider Vinegar
1/4 Cup Red Wine Vinegar
1/2 Cup Olive Oil
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. pepper
1 tsp. sugar

Marinate overnight. Serve as main dish or on lettuce for a hearty salad. Keeps well in fridge for 1 week.

Jeez, try to do the environmentally conscious thing, and...

Compost.

We have a compost bin, not that we babysit it with any regularity, or worry about the ratio of brown-to-green material. I simply take whatever kitchen scraps I have in a bucket down to the bin, hold my nose, and dump it in, trusting that nature will (someday), turn it into fertilizer for my garden.

So there I am, emptying the bucket into the bid, when I was attacked by a fly-by wasp. He or she didn't even bother to land on me, it just stung me on the wrist as it flew by. Within the hour, my hand was the size of a softball, and by evening, my arm had swelled up like a toad. I took the steroids, iced it down, and still this morning it's hot and red and swollen and itchy.

Try to do a good deed, and what does it get you? More stupid injury.

Harrumph.

****************

Happiest of birthdays to you, my darling Bill. You're 52, but forever young in my eyes!

A Distinct Absence of Coldness...

I had a heart-stopping moment this morning when I got up. I opened the refrigerator door, and the light did NOT come on. There was no hum, there was no chill. My new refrigerator (well, almost new, definitely on the backside of the warranty) had failed. I puttered and pondered. The easiest thing would be if the circuit breaker tripped in the night. So, clomping downstairs, peering into the depths of the grey box, I found a breaker labelled "Kitch Out." The breaker was spongy, so I reset it and returned to find the fridge on and cranking away. Presumably, the same thing that had all the clocks in the house blinking had surged my icebox into conniptions.

I have not been blogging for the same reason. When it rains, my satellite internet connection has a spazz-out, making working on the computer a frustrating and annoying chore. Dial-up back-up is just as tedious. So I watch movies and read books instead. And it has been raining torrentially for the past week. Yesterday on my lunch hour chores for the library (bank, post office), I was soaked to the skin and had to go home and change clothes. I was so wet I felt like shaking like a dog when I walked in the door, dripping from head to toe.

Speaking of dogs, Bounder continues to improve, though his puppy-energy gives me pause at times. We're working on "not biting" as everything goes into the mouth, including my toes, my elbows and my nose. It's like having a toddler all over again.

As adorable and charmingly funny as he is, his presence makes me realize that I am still heartbroken over Echo's demise and death. It's not that Bounder suffers by comparison, it's simply that he is "not Echo." He is not familiar, we don't have years of shared games and routines, and he doesn't understand my ways--nor do I understand his. He may grow into a treasured, beloved friend, but right now, it's as though I am keeping my emotional distance to protect my heart, and keep Echo alive in my memory.

But really, how could you not love that face?

Deep in the Heart of Taxes...

Who ever heard of doing your taxes at the end of MAY? I have never been late with my taxes, since I first filed in 1968. Oh, I crank about it, I threaten to file an extension on April 14 (but you have to pretty much have everything done in order to have the numbers to put on the extension, so what's the point of that?), but I get them in.

This year, I was on the West Coast on April 15, and all my W-2s were either sitting on my desk in TN, or in the pile of mail mouldering at the post office. I found a quirkly little regulation though that says if either spouse is working out of the country on April 15, you get an automatic 2-month extension without filing a thing. You just have to attach a note when you file, explaining who, what, when, where, and why. But the problem is that I can't very well do that without Bill's signature, and he won't be home until mid-July.

So, I have to do the taxes to get the numbers to file an extension, attach the note to the extension request and get it in by June 15.

I've got a pretty good handle on everything, as I went through and organized the "To-Be-Filed" bucket last night, looking for the paperwork on my "clunker" trade. I never did find that, but I found charity receipts, a whole year of bank statements (which will help me re-populate Quicken for the 3 months when my computer crashed last summer), and other useful paperwork. Now I have to go to Walmart and pick up a box of file folders so I can truly be done with this annual paper mess.

I know. If I did the books monthly, I wouldn't have to go through this big mess once a year. But let's think about this for a minute. If I did everthing monthly, that just means I'd be tackling this odious chore 12 times a year, instead of just once a year. Sure the pile would be smaller, but the mental frustration of it is 11 times less if I do it annually. So I doubt that I am prepared to change my evil ways.

At least the To-Be-Filed bucket corrals the mess in one easy to ignore place. The Zen of Accounting. Out of sight, out of mind. Finis.

**********************

In the meantime, I have discovered that the continuing pain in my foot is probably due to a stress fracture, compounded by a high-ankle sprain. I am taking the week off from work and spending quality time with my books and ice-pack.

Bounder did me the favor of walking himself this morning, finally returning home by racing full-speed down the hill to the porch (I'm amazed he didn't crash through the railing). Full of ticks, burrs and a foot-long tongue hanging ridiculously out the side of his mouth, he staggered in, drank 2 litres of water and collapsed on his dog bed for a nap.

I think I'll take a lesson from the dog on that nap thing...

Digging in the Dirt...or, "It's as Hot as Singapore Out There!"

Dirt squelching in my Crocs (plastic shoes ARE washable), slapping mosquitoes, lugging 2 cu. ft. bags of soil, sorting through seeds, potting up peppers and tomatoes--that's what life here in my own real-life Farmville is all about.

I am late putting in my "garden" this year due to my absence, but putting it in I am (in between naps and lying down with ice-packs on my forehead and lumbar region). I always forget how much work it is to grow stuff. First, the poison ivy has to be defoliated. Then, the weeds and volunteers have to be cleared out of the beds. Soil has to be turned and rocks thrown out and clods broken up.

Despite hat, sunglasses, insect repellent, gloves (yes, GLOVES, Mert!) I always manage to stagger back into the house bathed in perspiration reminiscent of Singapore flop-sweat, splashed with mud and scratching my various bites and skin rashes. And yet I go out and do it again. I must be out of my mind.

I have 4 zucchinis, 4 yellow crooknecks, and a rhubarb in the ground. I have a dozen each of tomatoes and peppers in pots, along with 2 big pots of bush pickling cukes and 3 eggplant. I am almost done with preparing the beds for carrots, beets, potatoes, onions and beans. I decided this year that peas were too much work for too little produce--and it's too hot already for peas anyway, as well as broccoli and cauliflower.

I suppose I could just shlep down to the Farmer's Market on Tuesdays and Saturdays, but it is so satisfying to step out onto the porch and pick my own salads and herbs during the summer months. Not to mention the joy of picking blackberries in the rain (the only time it's comfortable enough to engage in such an activity), or hoping-against-hope that I will be the one to harvest the plums and apples this year instead of the deer.

Come August, I will be drowning in squash, tired of tomatoes, and giving peppers and beans away. This pleases me.

Losing Weight, Floating Docks & Insane Dog

I haven't been blogging lately (despite emails saying "miss you!"), due to circumstances beyond my control, as they say. It's been raining. Never mind that the temperature outside has been in the high 80s and even 90s some days, the water just keeps pouring from the sky! I spend a lot of time getting wet and drying off, doing laundry and still, the unpacking goes on.

As a result, my floating dock done floated away from shore. Moorless, it bobbles half-submerged around the pond, never coming close enough to shore for me to lasso it and drag it back. I have thought about getting the canoe down and paddling out to it, attaching a rope and then making my way back to shore with the rope, attaching it to a car and hauling it back to it's place, then figure out a way to secure it again. But all that just seems like WAY too much work. It's easier to sit and think about it while I'm knitting and watching TV.

And I've decided that the 28 pounds I have added to my frame in the last 2 1/2 years have to go away. Thanks to a suggestion from MaryAnn, I have been on the South Beach Diet since last Friday, and have lost 10 pounds! I never looked into this particular meal plan, mostly because I hated the name that conjured up rail-thin society babes ("social x-rays," as Tom Wolfe put it, in Bonfire of the Vanities), frolicking about their useless lives while drinking fortified exotic juices. But that isn't it at all. After reading the book, it's basically a refutation of the low-fat, high-carbo diet we've all been told is good for us. In the decades since the Food Pyramid was changed to make us all eat less fat, less protein and bump up our carbs, America has gotten fatter. This plan is all about the meat, cheese, eggs and vegetables, cutting out ALL sugars and starches for the first two weeks. After that, I can start adding in fruit and whole grains. It's the low-glycemic, quasi-diabetic diet that has always worked for me in the past. And it sure is working now, without hunger or crankiness.

And I've been getting plenty of exercise with Mr. Crazy-Dog. Bounder is coming along just fine, though he is clumsy, somewhat dumb and hyper. He got away from me a few days ago, clamored up the back deck steps, then scooted under the railing out onto the roof. Then, of course, he fell off the roof to the second story deck below, crashed through the railing and lattice barrier, and fell another 10 feet to the driveway below. Then he jumped up, ran to the back yard and tried to do it AGAIN! I grabbed him before he could go up the steps again, and was relieved that he was completely unhurt, despite falling off the roof of my house. Wow.

Bill suggested that we put a sign that says "Beware of the Dog," with an arrow pointing skyward. Or, put a parachute on the silly animal.

The garden is slowly taking shape, in raised beds and pots on the porch. I will have my eggplants, cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers this summer! Although with the heat and rain we've had, I'd say summer is already here.

Life goes on.

Let's Give Thanks for the "Evil" Pharmaceutical Industry!

After two years of Juli's multiple hospital admissions, mystery panic attacks, intractable vomiting and tremendous medical debt, my daughter's disease was finally diagnosed. It can be treated and possibly cured by a drug called Lamictal. The only problem was that the drug would cost almost $600 per month--a total deal-breaker, out of the realm of reality for her.

I went online and found the manufacturer of Lamictal, GlaxoSmithKline, and I called them. I explained the situation. The gentleman asked a few questions and then told me if my daughter and son-in-law's combined income was less than $36,000 a year, GSK could get her her medication today. They would email a voucher for a 60-day supply at any dispensing pharmacy for a $10 co-pay. Then, after they received a one-page form and a copy of last year's 1040 taxes, GSK would begin sending her 90-day supplies free of charge, for as long as she needed it.

I knew that there were programs, but I expected little more than maybe a coupon or a 10% discount. Unfortunately, I had bought into the all-too-familiar argument that Giant Pharma was "evil" (or at least irresponsible). Sure they spent an average of $1 Billion to develop every new drug they bring to market, and spent almost 10 years on paperwork to get it through the clinical trials and government-approval phases, but what good is a new miracle drug if no one can afford it?

Turns out that they give away the drugs to those who need them--but we never hear about THAT when the politicians are pontificating. I encourage everyone in a similar situation to call the drug manufacturer--you might be surprised at what they can do for you.

*************

Wednesday's oncology appointment when swimmingly well. I am now a 2 1/2 year cancer survivor, with NED (no evidence of disease), and an excellent prognosis. Woo-Hoo!

The Saga of the Dreaded Black Locust Thorn

While I was out two days ago, putting up the dog wire in the backyard, I was accosted by the obnoxious trash tree known as the Black Locust. Upon returning to the house, I realized that the monster had left a stiff black thorn deep in my index finger's first knuckle. No amount of needle-probing, tweezer-pinching, squeezing, scraping or other first aid measures could get to it.

Now throbbing and swelling, I dumped a bunch of hydrogen peroxide and triple antibiotic ointment on it. Then I remembered that Cousin Jean had given me a jar of homemade salve when we were talking about insidious blackberry thorns. She said it was made out of olive oil, garlic, ground up plantain leaves and other bizarre things, but that it had the effect of drawing out thorns. I swabbed it on my finger, put a band-aid on it and went to bed.

The next morning, the swelling had reduced and it wasn't as painful, but I still couldn't get the darn thing out--it was just too deep. I finally was reduced to making an appointment with the doctor for 8:30 this morning to cut my knuckle open if need be, and get it OUT!

Oh, the embarrassment of it all. THIS is what makes health care so expensive, I mused--some fool taking up a highly-trained professional physician to get a stupid thorn taken out, when he could be curing cancer or diabetes or something useful!

Getting ready to go in, I decided to unwrap the finger and try once more to remove it myself (without fainting). Cousin Jean's salve really works, because I pushed on the skin around the hole and it slowly emerged and popped out! It was a vicious looking thing, all hooked and stiff, but it was finally out of my finger.

This is the problem with living alone. You have only yourself to blame and can only count on yourself when there's a problem. You have to eat slowly and take little bites because there's no one around to give you the Heimlich Manuever if you choke. You have to watch what you're doing in the woods, because there's no one to wonder why you didn't come home in an hour and set off to find you with your broken leg sprawled across the trail.

Bill could have grabbed my hand and dug it out even if I had fainted. He wouldn't want to, (but he probably would, just to save the cost of a doctor's visit), but he's not here. It's stupid, embarrassing things like this that make me realize that life is just plain harder when you're on your own.

And Cousin Jean ought to patent that salve right away!

******************

Speaking of stupid stuff, I saw an ad for signing up for a giant dodgeball tournament in New York City. 1000 people, 600 balls (presumably, you're out if you're hit, right?), until the last man or woman standing. Really. I can't make this stuff up.

Mr. Dog Gets Comfortable

"Bounder" (who alternately answers to "Shadow") and I are settling in after our first week together. He's a playful young thing, with boundless energy, until he collapses in his spot behind the couch. I've tried moving his bed to different areas of the house--he likes the spot he chose!

Lots of biting and chewing, counter-surfing and other uncivil puppy behaviors, such as drinking out of the toilet bowl. He is making me be a better housekeeper--I don't want to risk my leather purse, my hiking boots or my walking shoes to the jaws of death and destruction.

He does like the toys I brought out from the Echo bag. He tosses them in the air, flings them around the room and prances with them dangling out of his mouth. He will run and pounce on a thrown toy and sometimes even brings it back for another toss.

I have even taken him off-leash a few times--yesterday up on the mountain path, when he was being particularly tractable, and today down by the pond. He is fast. Almost as fast as I remember Echo being when she was younger. I let him race downhill and then whistle him back with a treat. This only lasts for about five go-rounds of course; then he starts to get that look as if he's headed for the horizon on the next trip. At that point, I re-leash him and we finish our walk under control. It's great to see him stretch his legs and wear himself out.

Today, I repacked the crate in its box. He is wearing sores in his face trying to push his way out between the wires, and it's just not right. Yesterday, I strung a metal cable about 80 feet up the back yard hill, attaching it by drilling and screwing eye bolts into two oak trees. I then ran a lead on a pulley and spring attachment, so I can clip him to that when I am out and about. I'm not sure he likes it any better than being in the crate, but at least he won't hurt himself on it. Now I have to figure out how to build a doghouse arrangement for when it rains. And then I'll have to teach him to go IN the doghouse when it rains!

Work is work. I'm really tired after my first week back. It's great to be with my library friends again, but physically, it's wearing. I have another round of doctor appointments this week, so it's going to continue to be busy.

And somehow, I've got to get my garden planted if I want any vegetables this summer! I am way behind on everything.

Still another reason to vote the bums out!

Even though I live in fly-over country (aka "back-of-beyond," "hicksville," "that place,"), we here in Rog-Vegas do try to educate ourselves as to what's going on in less civilized venues. Still, the blatant arrogance of our "public servants" (do they really call themselves that with a straight face?) is mind-blowing.

Here's what got my biscuits burning this morning:

May 5, 2010 - The Wall Street Journal reports today a House Bill that would force lawmakers to make greater disclosures on financial transactions and disallow them from trading on non-public information is going nowhere fast.

The bill, which has been languishing in the House for four years, would require elected officials "to make their financial transactions public within 90 days of a purchase or sale," and "prohibit lawmakers from trading in financial markets based on non-public information they learn on the job." [i.e. "insider trading."]

This comes a day after the same publication reported several lawmakers profited by betting against the housing and stock market in 2008. Some did it using the same derivitives they've been railing against.

Seems the folks we send to Washington are above the same transparency and ethics they insist on for the rest of us.

The dog learns new tricks and gets a name...sort of

This foster dog came to us with no canine skills and without even a dog's normal curiosity. He plunked himself down in a spot between the couch and the dining table and cowered for two days. On Saturday, tired of this fearful nonsense, I declared it to be "training time." I got a handful of kibble and started coaxing him up the stairs, one at a time. He would reach up as far as he could without actually moving up the steps, and grab the piece of kibble and run away. After an hour of this, he was making it up six steps to the landing. By the afternoon, I was sitting in the loft, making one whistle through my teeth, and he'd come bounding happily up the stairs for his treat. Then he'd run down again, and we played the game over and over again until the skill was learned and he would come to my whistle wherever I was in the house. I felt very smug and Dog-Whispererish.

We took a walk in the woods, where he encounted a pair of procreating box turtles on the trail. He was beside himself, would not approach, would not go around them, just flattened himself on the ground with his ears back and his tail tucked in. I finally hoisted him up and dragged him past the silly amphibeans, but he'd stop every ten feet and look back nervously--was he afraid they were chasing him?

All weekend long I called him every name I could think of. Sam, Mac, Max, Tonto, Barney, Stanley, Conrad, Zeus, and so on. The only one he pricked his ears up to and came running to was "Bounder," after our stair-stepping success. So that is what I'm calling him for the time being.

He does play with a ball and soft toys in the house--I have the carpet burns on my knees to prove it. He kicks the ball with his forepaws like a soccer player, just like a normal Malinois. He pounces on a thrown toy. We're still working on bringing it back. He hates the crate, whimpering and pawing and yipping in the night. And yesterday when I returned to work at the library for 8 hours, I came home to find that he had destroyed the foam pad bedding in the crate, chewing it to bits, instead of chewing on his toys. So I guess he's starting to get comfortable now.

This morning we took a lovely walk at about 8:30 am down to the pond. He is starting to walk with a confident step, sniff his way through the grass (getting his face all wet with morning dew), and even walked into the pond to investigate a frog. He is starting to hold his ears and tail up instead of cringing at everything.

This is going to be interesting.

Same old life; Brand new dog

My 3 flights on Tuesday (LAX - Houston - St. Louis - Louisville) were interminable and tiring. Cousin Jeannie picked me up and we drove to her home near Lexington, and collapsed. Wednesday was a rest day, topped off by a fabulous 5 course tasting dinner at Holly Hill Inn. Jeannie had gnocchi with fiddlehead ferns and I had crispy frog legs with mussels as a starter. We both had the beet, walnut and feta cheese salad, spoonbread lobster souffle with lobster butter and the beef tenderloin with capers and port wine demi-glace. Dessert was a poppyseed bundt cake with lemon custard sauce and caramel-cashew tart with rhubarb sauce. Oh my goodness!

Thursday was traveling day. I stopped off to see MaryAnn at the pawn shop, picked up my mail at the post office (there was so much, they made me drive around back and they wheeled it out on a dolly), and much household maintenance--turning on the gas, turning on the water, flushing the pipes, firing up the water heater and well pump, getting the stove lit, programming the water softener, plugging in the UV sanitation light, flipping on breakers.

Friday was full-on medical follies day, topped off with picking up a foster dog at Walmart at 4 pm. A quick trip to the vet to get his neutering stitches out and home.

Look at this sad little guy:

He is nameless and afraid of everything. Whenever he gets nervous (all the time), he hunkers down and tries to be as small as possible. He eats his kibble at breakneck speed, as though someone is going to grab it away at any moment. He is just the sweetest, scared thing I've ever seen.

He stank of shelter, kennel and fear, so I gave him a bath this morning. It was a chore getting him in, but once there, he just stood there and shook. Now at least I can stand to be around him when he manages to get enough courage to come close to me.

This morning I tried to take him out for a walk, but he wouldn't go down the driveway. I think because he had to walk past the car, and he thought I was going to take him still somewhere else? He came down one flight of steps, but not the next. So I tied him to the porch rail, and started weeding the horrendously overgrown garden. He sat quietly at the top of the steps and watched, but wouldn't budge. He wanted to go in the basement, but wouldn't climb the steps. I had to drag him past the car so we could get back to the house from the upper back yard.

This is an experiment. I am not sure I'm ready to own another dog yet, but this guy needed a home and I need a project. We'll see how it goes.

HOME!

Headed out for the airport in about 15 minutes. I can't believe I'm finally on my way east again!

Will it seem like home when I get there? It seems like home is wherever my suitcase is!

A sense of balance

It is amazing to me how I slip into familiar patterns with such ease. In my mother's house, the house I moved into when I was four years old, I know where everything is, I know what night is garbage collection night. It is like a comfortable robe of history, wrapped around the seminal events of my young life, my middle life, and now, my older life.

I remember planting the olive tree with my mother and father when it was just a 12 inch stick--now it soars into the sky, as high as the power lines. I remember building the rock retaining walls with my dad, handing him the stones as he set them into the mortar.

I remember the long summer evenings, playing in the cul-de-sac with all the kids in the circle. Our only restraint was that we had to go home for dinner when the street lights came on. Walking to school with my brother, walking home for lunch, walking to the store on Saturdays to spend our allowances on penny candy at the drugstore.

Every part of this place is suffused with good memories. I labored in this house to bring my darling Juli into the world. My husband and I lived here for the first four months of her life. Family and friends now gone meet me in every corner of this place.

And now, to spend time with my brother and mother here, is a precious gift. I am savoring every moment.

I know, I know...

I've taken a breather from the blogging bus. In my mother's house, all I seem to want to do is talk with her and take 6 naps a day. It is so weird being in the house where I grew up, brushing my teeth at my old bathroom sink (with my brother brushing his at his sink right next to me), just like we did 50 (yes, 50!) years ago. But comforting.

I'm just going to enjoy every moment here. I'll catch you up on all the drama when I hermitize on my mountain next week.

I'm finally on vacation, and I'm taking advantage of it!

Back on a Plane!

Seattle has feted my departure today by raining on my parade. We've had uncommonly gorgeous weather for a week, but today, the water is pouring down from the sky. Fine. I'm outta here.

I had breakfast with daughter Juli, son Alex and friend Christy at Pike Place Market yesterday. A wonderful send off. We ended the day with an appointment with Dr. Casabona to go over all the test results. Juli has some decisions to make about medication regimens, but all the problems she presented two months ago seem to be under control now. The doctor was pleased. I always walk out of her office feeling like my head is stuffed full of new information.

Despite the reason for my long visit, I am so glad to have had this time with my babes. Now it's off to Los Angeles to spend two weeks with my mom and brother Jerry (who is living at mom's house while he gets his feet wet with a new job and looks for a place to live). Then, finally and blessedly home to my mountain!

All good stuff.

An Exploring Day

Now that my time here is short, I've decided to spend today in Pioneer Square. I've always wanted to take the Seattle Underground Tour, ever since I saw it on the old Night Stalker television series in the 1970s. Juli also informs me that the world's best toy store and a knit shop are also in the vicinity. Lunch will be at Grand Central Bakery, home of the world's greatest bread outside of Paris.

I can't believe it's almost time to go. Juli is doing so much better (not that we know yet why she gets intermittently, violently sick), working again, back to her cheerful, delightful self. She's put on a little weight, and gotten her confidence back. She has a good doctor, and medical insurance is coming July 1, due to Kerne's new job.

The bathroom is painted, the dishes and laundry are getting done and the bills are getting paid.

The real gift is the time we have had together. We are closer than ever, and I feel as though I have reconnected with my daughter after a long separation of time and distance.

Quick Update!

Once again, my girl comes through with flying colors! A beautiful stomach and colon, no abnormalities! Again, we are thankful for all the awful things that it is NOT!

Telling Time by Traffic

Living in the city has required an adjustment in my noise tolerance. As J & K live above a relatively busy, steep street on Queen Anne hill, the sound of trucks and buses struggling up the slope is pretty much a constant background to conversation or sleep.

Many times I will awake on my spot on the living room couch in the dark of night, and realize that I know what time it is without looking.

Between midnight and 2 am, the background sounds are remarkably the same as during the daytime.

At 2 am, there the buses stop running, but I hear speeding cabs ferrying patrons home from the clubs.

At 3 am, the traffic calms down to a low whoosh of cars passing at a rate of about 2 per minute.

At 4 am, the street is quiet.

At 5 am, the electric buses start running.

At 6 am, the groaning of loaded trucks joins the symphony.

At 7 am, the garbage trucks start their morning rounds.

It makes me wonder if I'll be able to sleep at all when I get home to TN, without the background of constant traffic noise!

Is there such a thing as TOO QUIET?

Happy Birthday! Happy Easter!

I had a nice weekend with Brother Jerry's family. Niece Bonnie had her 21st birthday! How nice it was to have a party of loving family and treasured friends, instead of a drunken bacchanal that wouldn't be remembered.

On Sunday, we dragged ourselves up out of bed and prepared to attend the early service at Jerry and Kellie's church. We were momentarily delayed by a last minute conflagration in the microwave, necessitating extinguishing the flaming slag-heap of what was once a sweet potato, and throwing open all the windows to get the smoke out of the house.

Upon entering the sanctuary however, we noticed (by surreptitiously sniffing each other) that our whole family smelled to high heaven of burning yams! While no one outright asked if our Easter Dinner was burning, you could tell during the Pax that they all suspected something was amiss.

Other than being scent-pariahs, we had a great time. A bonafide orchestra (!) complete with 10 violins, 2 cellos and a bass sawed away with expertise, accompanied by piano, drums, guitar, and several trumpets in the back. The horns had some tortured moments during the fanfares, but everyone played with enthusiasm. The choir was outstanding.

We ended the day by taking Jerry to the airport for his work week in Southern California, and Kellie and I met niece Angela for dinner at the Whole Foods Market. Kellie even gave me a ride back to Queen Anne so I wouldn't have to brave the bus again.

Juli had a good weekend at work, thank heavens. Now that I'm back, we can start getting her ready for her big GI tests on Thursday.

Hieronymus Bus

Take a look at the painting above (Hieronymus Bosch, circa 1500 c.e.) and refer back to it as I relate the saga of Juli and I on the #4 bus to Harborview Medical Center on Wednesday:

I figured out a direct bus route from Queen Anne to Harborview, woke Juli ("we have to catch a bus in 20 minutes!"), and we hoofed up to the Metro Market. We took two seats near the middle of the bus. Imagine my chagrin as we wound around the back side of Queen Anne hill and ended up on 3rd street, about 15 minutes later than if we had taken the usual #2 or #13! I was about to do a major mea culpa to Juli on how stupid I was to have routed us on the #4, when the next passenger came aboard with a fake bus pass. Or was it expired? In any case, the bus driver told him that he couldn't get on, and instead, he blew her off and strode down the aisle to take a seat. It was an omen of greater outrages to come.

At Third & Pine, the unwashed masses crammed aboard, filling the bus to capacity in the aisles, complete with many pieces of luggage, including a man with a bucket of cat litter on a wheeled cart (what?), and a screaming fight broke out between two women in the back.

"Get your @#$%&*! hands off my bag, @#$%&*!"
"Who you callin' a @#$%&*!, @#$%&*! ?"
Etc.

At Third and Seneca, the bus driver had to lower the handicap lift, and started shooing passengers out of their seats to accomodate two wheelchairs coming aboard. There was an ugly, grumbling mood emerging as everyone packed towards the back even tighter. The screaming women-fight continued, and was now joined by a certified crazy, yelling at his dead father:

"Daddy, I know you're up in heaven with Mama now, but even though it's been three weeks since you died, I've got to tell you about the time I set fire to the cat..." Etc.

While this was going on, the wheelchaired passengers were getting on, the bus driver was struggling with the safety straps and yelling for everyone to move back, move further back. This was met with further grumbling, and people in the back started yelling, "No room, no room!"

It was beginning to look like we would be late for Juli's neurology appointment. At the corner of Third and James, eight old Chinese women, chattering loudly at each other in non-stop Mandarin, got on the bus. The bus driver tried to prevent them from getting on board, but they just kept yelling and shoving everyone tighter until the aisles looked like the proverbial sardine can. "Oh good," said Juli, "that was just what this bus was missing!" The bus belched, groaned and turned up the steep hill.

At the next corner, one of the wheelchaired passengers yelled that he needed to alight. The whole bus started chanting "Off, off, off!" The bus driver stopped on the side of the hill, tried to convince the Chinese women that they needed to get off so she could get the wheelchair out, but they refused to budge. The screaming fight was still going on, someone in the back started wailing that there was no air, and everyone squeezed even tighter, while the poor man in the non-motorized wheelchair struggled to roll himself uphill to get to the ramp, sliding backwards several times. No one packed around him thought to give him a helping push, but the man behind me yelled, "Lemme off the bus, you ol' hag!" Several other passengers tittered at this supposed witticism.

The whole bus was in full-fledged revolt by the time we got to Ninth. The man behind me kept yelling imprecations at the bus driver, ending each with "you ol' hag." The titterers continued tittering every time he said it. Up near the front, a woman was yelling at the bus driver while she was trying to drive, "I'm going to get you fired! You don't care about nothin' and as soon as I get off this @#$%&*! bus, I'm going to get your @#$%&*! fired!" The crazy was still calling to his dead father. The odor of Cat Litter Bucket-Man was wafting. The two women in back were still screaming about who had whose hands on the bag.

At last, the ride from hell stopped at Ninth & Jefferson. It was like watching a clown car disgorge an endless parade of passengers. Most stopped to insult or yell at the driver as they debarked, and the most verbal of the rabble kept up the rudeness instead of just getting off the bus. Juli and I could finally stand up from our seats and get off.

"Ack!" said Jules, "I feel like I need to take a shower!"

"I've been rolling my eyes for so long, I can't focus," I complained.

"I thought about what would happen next, " Juli mused, "but all I could think of was that the roof hatches would open and snakes would pour through."

"Well, thank God THAT didn't happen!"

We kept shaking our heads and sighing dismay at the complete lack of civility we had just witnessed. And to be honest, laughing at each individual piece of the nightmare we just experienced.

"The Cat Litter Guy!"
"The eight Chinese!"
"The dead-father man!"
"The bus pass scofflaw!"

When the nurse at the desk told us we were 3 hours early (I had gotten the appointment time wrong), we walked in the sunshine, went to the art museum and had lunch in the cafe. Her appointment was almost anticlimactic.

On the bus home, a couple of drug-dealing teenagers started arguing loudly in incomprehensible ghetto-slang...and then Juli gave a derisive snort and started to laugh. I couldn't help but giggle too. In just a few moments, we were both guffawing uncontrollably, holding our sides, gasping for breath, tears rolling down our cheeks.

The teens stopped their arguing to stare at us. We couldn't stop laughing. They got off disgustedly at the next stop, unwilling to share their space with two crazy-girls.

New rule: Don't EVER take the #4 ANYWHERE!