Maíz, Leña, Agua y Memorias


I should have learned to speak Spanish. I wish I were fluent. My mother insisted it would benefit me. My tias and tios implored me to learn Spanish, and mocked me too. I absorbed enough to ache for more. I learned enough to know that I am missing entire stories and insights. I understand enough to feel a profound connection to phrases and concepts, to emotions and spiritual convictions that I am powerless to explain en español or English.

I believe I am as much a part of Mexico and my family, the piedras del campo, as I am a part of my own children, my life in a suburban home with suburban experiences, but I do not know it.. I have always wanted to write about Mexico, El Valle, about border crossings and crossing cultural borders, about tortillas de harina, Seris, Opata, iglesia, and being an outsider here and there. I never have, not significantly, because I was afraid of messing it up, getting it wrong, missing important details, overstating insignificant bits. My story might be false memory and lies. My story might not ring true, or it could be too true.

I used to dream of knowing enough Spanish to glean the truth, the whole story, and I knew my abuelo was the source I needed to visit for those stories, for the genealogy, the adventures and history of a family and region, for a time rich in intrigue and improbable truths. I used to dream of writing all of it down and knowing the stories so well, that no one could doubt that I belonged too. No border or barriers, no lack of knowledge or cultural missteps would deny me access to that elusive feeling of belonging.


When I was a very little girl I was taken to El Valle de Tacupeto, 2 or 3 times. I don't know. I remember eating oranges and my first recollection of the smell of a cut orange is standing at La Mesita, with my Mom, waiting to board a small plane. I was there for my 5th birthday and received a harmonica. What happened to my harmonica? My brother Bill was a baby, we went to church, there was a wedding and a death. The river was flooding the dirt roads that cold winter. It seems like the river has always been flooding the roads.

I went 3 more times when I was a bit older... 11, 12, then 14 years old. By this time my parents were divorced, and I was traveling with my abuelo, then my tia Magali, then my tio Elias took us. Those first times were by bus. From Tijuana we traveled through the night for 12 hours to Hermosillo. It was hard to wake-up for the check-stops. I was always fearful of the bus leaving without us. We would be alone in the Sonoran desert, which wasn't really any less familiar than that bus. In Hermosillo we would wait to board another bus. The first bus was like a tired, old Greyhound. The next bus was like a tired, old, dangerous school bus. Not yellow and swept, but blue and red and yellow, dusty, crowded. We sat on fruit crates in the back. Were there live chickens on the bus? Is that my memory or something lingering from an old movie? I think there were live chickens. There were twine wrapped boxes, which served as luggage and there were stops in the middle of nowhere, so we could pee in the bushes. There were hours of narrow dirt roads, and river crossings. The entire journey was at least 20 hours long. One trip finished in the bed of a large truck, when the bus came to one river it could not cross.

On our last visit to El Valle we drove to Nogales, Arizona, crossed and continued to Hermosillo. No more bus rides. No more Sonoran summers and Sonoran heat. We went in November. Where is the bridge, the one over the river? Is it Rebeico? Is that where we cross, where the bridge is like a passage back in time and memory?


The new roads cut the travel time down to 16 hours. It's such a luxury traveling in our own car. This long ride is one that my abuelo made by horseback. There were no roads then. There were Yaqui to hide from. On this trip to El Valle we faced nothing more daunting than cattle in the road.


My grandfather was a musician and he travelled with a band, playing from pueblo to pueblo. Music for dances. Music in the placitas, for weddings and festivals. His father had traveled too and came home with a Bible. My bisbuelo Gabriel gave his land for the church. The church that shares the backyard of my grandparent's home today. And when my abuelo Ismael gave up being a musician, he came home to herd cattle, to milk vacas and to plant the mule-plowed fields. I remember shelling peanuts for planting, eating watermelon from the field, washing potatoes, picking chiles. I remember chewing on stringy, sweet cuts of sugar cane and watching my grandmother grind corn for tortillas.


When I see cows, I see vacas and I hear a guitarra. I see the nata scooped from the top of a pail of fresh milk... fresh, sweet cream. I can taste the cheese my abuela makes. The white rounds of cheese, the salty cheese crumbled over a bowl of beans. When I see vacas I think of my abuelo walking to the family ranch, El Ojo de Agua, early in the morning, returning with a pail of milk for our breakfast. It's a song, words I cannot speak, but the tune is in my soul.


We ride through many towns to reach home. Bacanora, the town, not the drink... though they are synonymous. Sahuaripa. And Arivechi. We get closer and closer. We see the Cerro Cabezón.


After Bamori comes El Valle de Tacupeto, and abuela and abuelo. There will be hugs and kisses and welcome. It is a comfort to find a familiar door and familiar faces, the same walls and trees, the sound of coros coming from the church, the certainty of a place that comes to me in my dreams.


November 2003. Alex in his abuelo's embrace. Home in Mexico, where we will cook by fire, and sleep on burlap cots. Where the doors are unlocked and every neighbor is familia or at least knows who I am related to... hija de... nieta de... sobrina de... Everyone knows the relations and connections. Home in Tacupeto.


They were married for 70 years. They have 8 children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. I have never said it, but I feel a kind of pride and specialness, because I am the first grandchild. It doesn't matter, not really, but when I was a child it gave me tremendous pleasure to think of it. I held to a secret belief, unfounded by anything but my romantic imagination, that being first entitled me to something good, to a promise and security. Maybe someday I too would have a rancho and vacas, grind, corn, keep chickens, make tortillas. The clouded line between beliefs and knowledge can be untested, and now that I think on the truth, and not my childhood fantasies, I am amused and saddened. I am not sure why.


Catre. I wasn't sure I was saying this right... catre... cot. We slept on them for weeks at a time when we were children, spending summers in Tacupeto. My brothers and I each had a burlap cot to sleep on in the open patio. I remember we would pull thin sheets over our bodies, then turn on our flashlights to see what might be crawling across the ceiling. Think of the suspense and squeals as we lit a creepy crawly scene of overhead cockroaches, mosquitos, scorpions and beetles. We'd scream and pull our sheets over our heads! I do not miss the anxiety, the fear of something falling in the dark night, but I miss catres. I miss sleeping on the porch, hearing burros bray and abuelo snore. I miss waking in the morning to the music of crowing gallos, more donkeys, cows calling to be milked, and the beautiful rhythm of my abuela's hands making tortillas. There is more love, beauty and will, in the sound of my abuela's hands clapping masa for her wonderful tortillas, than in any symphony.


Her tortillas were never rolled out, but were formed between her soft, capable hands. My grandfather kept an ample wood supply available for cooking and baking, for heating water. And my abuela kept the fires burning so she could feed us tortillas, beans, enchiladas, gallina pinta, pozole, atole, empanadas. Food is more plentiful now, than it was in those summers when my brothers and I sustained ourselves with tortillas, beans, beans and tortillas, and either watermelon, or chiles or potatoes... whatever was being harvested at the time. And leche and leche con Nesquik. Markets and pantries are not what we are accustomed to here.


It is a strange gift to know hunger, or at least to know longing for something more. Now, when I cannot decide what to eat or what to buy, I can appreciate how ridiculous my quandary really is.

The summer that my tio Memo was growing chiles, chiles was all we heard about, saw or ate... besides the usual staples, and chiles were everywhere. We even tried our hands at picking chiles, a job whose appeal was lost very quickly. My cousin, RosaMaria and I were passing the hot, humid afternoon together, looking for places to be, for diversions. Times like these often found us down at the river, wading, or up to La Mesita just for the stroll, but on this particular day we were hungry. Having had fried chiles, roasted chiles, chiles con huevos, chiles con frijoles and every other kind of chile dish, we thought, "Why not raw? Crudos."

It was a good question, but not a good idea to execute. These chiles, mild, almost sweet when cooked, proved to be so painfully, fiercely hot when we bit into them, that we were overcome with the pain. It began on the tongue, a burning, like embers. Then we quickly realized that the sensation was moving to our throats, to our noses and up to our cheeks, so that our heads were blazing with cactus pricks, with fiery torture. Water only spread the fuel. We ran to the little store, and we stared at each another in painful sympathy when we came up to the shut doors... shut for siesta meant no chicle to cool our torment. I wonder if we told anyone. Our agony would have been a great amusement for everyone else.


My abuelos have a home in town. It is made of adobe, like all (most) buildings, and it has a walled yard. In this picture Geoff is walking toward the river, away from my tia Armida's home and towards my abuelo's home. This is the way RosaMaria and I travelled back and forth between our houses. With summer rain, the road can become a river itself, emptying out down the way, passed Ma' Juana and Pa' Chico's little house... where their little house once stood.


My great-grandparents, the ones that raised my abuela when she was orphaned as a baby, lived in a small adobe facing the church. I used to sit with Ma' Juana, in her cool, thick walled home. With a gourd she would draw cold water from a clay pot and serve it to me in a tin cup. The room where she cooked was dark from smoke, from years of fire cooking. In the corner was dry corn, and stalks of cane. I remember when she butchered a hog and was in the yard mixing soap. Soap that smelled of pork rinds and felt as greasy... eeew! I was so enchanted with her. She was small, her hair was long and still mostly black. She slept on a cot too, and had no more than 2 or 3 chairs, a small table. I promised her the moon and the stars. I wanted to bring her a prism, so she could have rainbows dancing on her bare walls. Pa' Chico was almost as small, but no less strong. He walked to his rancho too, every morning and it was further than Ojo de Agua.


In the walled garden of my abuelo's home is an orno, a clay oven, flowers, trees, and the pila where abuela used to wash clothes. I washed clothes there too. One side was filled with water and the other side had the lava rock that was there to beat the clothes upon, and water drained into the garden from the little hole at the end. Everything was hung in the sun and brought in before the monsoonal rains in the afternoon. My great-grandmother's soap was famous for getting clothes very clean, but with hunks of pork in it, one had to guard it from hungry dogs. It was poisonous of course. I like bacon, but I can honestly say I was never tempted to sample the soap.

When I was 11 years old, and my abuela did all of the washing, I loved to be by her side and watch her bale water over the sudsy clothes. It smelled good near the lemon tree, and felt cool with the water splashing. She washed and hung all of our garments and they dried quickly in the sun. They came very clean with her vigorous scrubbing on the worn stone of the pila. How many times had my dresses and p@nties been dashed and wrung by hand?

My abuelo brought us home on the 2 same busses we had ridden to El Valle, and we arrived in Tijuana so early in the morning that the sun was only beginning to show. We each had our own duffel to carry from the bus to the street, where we would await a ride from my tio. It took both hands to manage my duffel and besides this heavy load, I was really not all together awake. That may account for the fact that it took me a moment to realize that my p@nties were around my ankles, having slipped down. I hauled them up in a flash. I was confused and embarrassed, the bus terminal was mostly empty and I consoled myself that no one witnessed. And I resumed the task of dragging my bag, trying to keep up with my brothers and abuelo, and my undergarments slipped again. I caught them between my knees, shimmied them up, and shuffled carefully, keeping my legs locked together. Mine was a slow, awkward and mortifying gait, that I could not properly explain to anyone. It seems that 5 weeks of thrashing my underwe@r clean on a stone made of lava had completely undone the elastic in them.


Returning to El Valle with my own children, my husband, was one of the best times of my life. I happily found that very little had changed... some of the few changes were sad, like not being able to sit with Ma' Juana and Pa' Chico, or to chat with my tia Ventura... she and I liked to read Reader's Digest en español together. And it would have been a great privilege to visit Maria del Guero... she was one of the oldest woman I think I ever met and she sewed my clothes on a pedal machine. Her patterns for my dresses, skirts and blouses were in her head, she measured me with her fingers. I was keenly aware of the blessing that I could return to this place and still find both of my grandparents... still healthy, still smiling and eager to shower us with their prayers and affection.


I looked on this visit as a tremendous gift, for myself and for the boys. It was their second time in El Valle, and I loved that they were so receptive and enthused about all of the things and sights, the people and experiences that I held dear. We did and saw and treasured as much as we could.


We explored and hiked. We filled our pockets with flint and other pretty stones, crystals and pottery shards. Bits of our past.


We used to hike to this place, to swim. Oh my. The water was just as muddy and uncertain, but it was so hot and the walk home so far we drank this water too. It was delicious. I love how thinking about an event or place can lead to more curiosity. As much as I remember, I am aware of how little I know. How far is this place and how do I spell the name of it?


We sat together. We remembered other days, other nights, other faces and their laughter. I remembered how wonderful it is to sit together... just talking, just sharing each other's company.


I just got a call... everyone is back from Tacupeto, abuelo's funeral. There are many more memories I plan to write about, many more pictures I want to share, but right now I am going to my tia's house, where my abuela is.

Last Night We Went For a Walk

Thank you for the support and kindness. Abuelo's passing is sad mostly because it brings to mind distancia... how far away I feel from family, from feeling at home and connected. And my heart aches for my Abuela... she lost a husband of 70 years. Thank God for her faith. I think it will sustain her.

Geoff has been gone since Thursday, and today we pick him up at the airport. He was going to shuttle directly to work, but I cannot resist seeing him, even if it's only to drop him off at the office. Thanks to our cell phones, I think we talked more while he was away than when he is home. Sometimes we didn't talk at all, but having him on the phone helped me get through the day.


Going to the car wash is one of my favorite... activities? Events? Pastimes? Something. I just get a big kick out of sitting in the car, and riding through dirty and coming out clean. No brakes. Put it in neutral. I turn around and watch the children's faces as water and suds and big rollers splash and spin. We wait for the 3 color foam soap and multi-tentacles of the dryer cloths.


And this time? Oh this time was awesome, because the triple foam failed to perform and we almost drove away crest fallen and rainbowless, but they hailed us back! They said, "Go through again. You didn't get the color foam." Sweet. Like finding $20 in an old coat pocket. It's your $20, but it feels like found treasure.


After the car wash we went on an evening walk. It was a good idea to get out of the house.

Another good idea was finally celebrating Alex's 14th birthday. We invited Adam and Jacob over for a double feature, on our big screen, with gooey cheese nachos, stove popped popcorn, cold grapes, lemonade and pizza. We set out all of the good eats, dimmed the lights and let the films roll. And Adam and Jacob brought Alex a huge Lego set. People are amused to learn that Legos are still at the top of Alex's wish list. Trust me, those Legos were a huge hit with all of the children living here.


As many of you know, I have been a rebel, an outlaw. I cannot deny my ranchera roots, my cowgirl spirit, and that is why in this manicured-Garage Mahal neighborhood, living in the landlord's columned rental palace, I have snuck-in chickens. First there were 2... Lola and Betty.
When we realized we wanted needed 3, we brought home Pip.
We thought this was our final line-up, but then sweet little Lola died.
Still committed to the idea of having 3 hens, we introduced Amelia.
And for a while we got to just sit back and enjoy the sight of our 3 chicas, Betty, Pip and Amelia.
And wow! did they start to grow fast!
And make us happy!
They have even inspired great works of art.


It was during our visit to Oregon, that my mind proved to my heart that we had a rooster in our midst. I could not be sure about Amelia/o, but it was painfully obvious that our dear Pip was growing proud tail feathers and a cocky stride. If we were in another kind of neighborhood, if our yard were wider, deeper and our own, then this might not have to be a problem. Some roosters are nice and capable of being fine pets, stately additions to a family farm.

I took all 3 chicas to the feed store where they came from and asked Martin to come to the car and see what he could tell me about our situation. Martin could see what I saw and confirmed that Pip is a rooster. He also admired his pretty plumage and unique appearance and he invited Pip to stay there, either as a permanent resident or possibly to be adopted. Some farmers want roosters, and he assured me Pip was destined for a good home. Sigh. You don't think this was a *the dog is living on a farm now* kind of story, do you? Don't tell me. I don't want to know.

All the way home, Maria sang "Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip." It was a very sad song. Thinking of it generates endless wishful thinking.

Naturally I called Geoff from the parking lot of the feed store. I had to tell him the sad news, and promote myself... the responsible cowgirl, who can make the tough decisions. And I was ready to drive home, move forward, take my losses, but it was Geoff who said, "But we need more than 2 chickens. There's no sense putting it off, if there are chicks available now we should just go for it." That's the honest truth. See? I'm not the only outlaw in the family.


We will have to raise these day old chicks separately from the teenage chicas, but I think they will catch-up and adjust soon enough. This dark chocolate baby is a Dark Bantam, and the boys were awestruck with the breed name and immediately and simultaneously declared: "Her name has to be Fantam the Bantam!"


And this little Buttercup is a is a Golden Wyandotte. Considered a friendly breed and certainly very pretty... she and Fantam look like peanut butter and chocolate together.


I just love the markings on these 2. They are very sweet together and we are enjoying their smallness... now that we are so *experienced,* we have a greater appreciation for how quickly this little chicky phase passes.

It's hard to get good pictures of chicks. They move so fast. Peck, scurry, peck, peck, peck. The camera captures dozens of fuzzy blurs, little feathery somethings, lost in the big picture.


Amelia can be almost as hard to capture. She and Betty are on the move and big! Amelia fancies herself a parrot. She loves to perch on shoulders, and she has no trouble flying up or down.


"Ooh arggh, Amelia!" She's setting a course for a patch of green grass.


The best times of this week have been in the garden, watching Joe and Amelia and Betty free range, while we keep very watchful eyes on the new chicas. The weather has been pleasant, comfortable. We have no big plans or commitments. Our carrots and tomatoes are getting full and plump. Lola's garden is abundant with blooms.


Even with a good camera, I cannot always get the picture I want, but these fuzzy farm photos are a happy reminder that we have had some good days, some enjoyable times... amusing and tranquil.


There are plenty of cold grapes and crisp nectarines to feed us the flavors of summer. I talk to my mom almost daily and she is making some progress, managing as best she can, and I am glad that her Mommy is with her this week. I finished 2 blocks worth of hand quilting on Ruth's quilt. One day at a time, recognizing the pleasures and blessings, appreciating what is good. I look forward to more evening walks and double features.

It's almost time to head to the airport. More joy ahead!

Pistol River State Beach

I feel like I am posting just for Geoff today. We were all up very early yesterday, to take him to the airport for his flight to Chicago.
Sigh.
I really wish we were with him. He's gone to be with family, in remembrance of Jim "Corm," who passed away last February. It is strange and indescribable... the countless ways our lives have changed since that sad and unreal day when we first got the news. I could hardly say what happened; it was too painful, and even now, I find that there is still a great deal of disbelief and grief.

I find myself thinking Everyone in Chicago is going to have so much fun, and we'll be missing out on all of that family time, and then I am taken aback when I realize, again, that it's a memorial, that we have lost someone. It won't be all fun and levity, and the fact that I forget is very telling of how hard it is to believe, to really know that he is gone. I do not think that time eases pain. I believe that time is what it takes to learn how to wrap the pain and hide it from our heart and thoughts, otherwise it cannot be tolerated. When I turn off the noise of everyday tasks and chores, when I quiet the daily din of rambling thoughts and remember that Corm is gone, the pain unfolds and I am devastated all over again.


I still wish we were with Geoff. Everyone will be having fun. There will be fun and healing and wonderful memories to share, new ones in the making. And even when it is painful and sad, I wish I could be with Geoff, and Ruth and Holly, Paul, with all the people that knew Corm and loved him, because time does not ease pain... family, friends, love and sharing ease pain.


I still remember the first time I met Jim and Ruth. It was 1982. I hardly knew Geoff and came to their home as a guest of a mutual friend. I think it was my huge crush on Geoff that made me take everything in and preserve it all in so much detail. Geoff introduced me to "Mom and Corm." I shook their hands, "Hi Mom, hi Corm." Even then I was struck by the familiar and easy way I felt. They had company and were finishing a spaghetti dinner, and Geoff was really excited about his sister being home. Holly had just returned from a year in Wisconsin.

I can picture the dining table, the soft evening light of summer. I can even smell Corm's spaghetti. I can remember the relief at realizing that Holly was Geoff's sister! Geoff was so sweet and attentive, and until I was introduced to her I thought she might be his sweetheart! She lent me a swimsuit, so we could all swim at the neighbor's pool. Now we share baby clothes and holidays, and sisterly love.

And in 26 years I have had the pleasure and blessing of becoming a part of a family that feels as much my own as the mother and brothers I grew up with. I was a child when I met Corm, with a child's limited perspective, and I cannot say when this changed, but I see so much more now and it breaks my heart to realize what we are missing.


My husband, his integrity and skills, his tender devotion... I can see that Corm influenced these dear qualities.

My cooking... turkey burgers, chili and spaghetti are some of the mainstays of our favorite family dinners.

Love. I can say that Corm has been a significant teacher about love. I realized this too late to thank him.

He loved music, and he could play instruments and sing... I used to sit in Geoff's room listening to Corm sing to his parrot, Pablo, in the shower. I adore this memory, and can still recall the happy sensation of enjoying those loving (private) concerts.

He loved language and art and craftsmanship and he applied himself skillfully to all of his interests and endeavors, so that his work and his home, his cooking and conversations were all artful, intelligent, well made. I will miss walking in the house he and Ruth built, appreciating the views they chose, the quality of the construction and the beauty of their work.

He loved Ruth. He loved her in private ways. He loved her with his heart on his sleeve. And it was not about flowery declarations or material gifts... it was about sharing the workload, listening to her needs, honoring her beliefs and sharing his own. His love was about being constant and dedicated to Ruth as his partner. He went to work to provide for their goals. He came home to share in the making of their dreams, to be in her company. I never heard him speak to Ruth or about Ruth without at least a hint of reverence, a protective tenderness and affection. Especially in recent years, I would be so touched by his giddy exuberance when he told me how much he loved her, cherished her, appreciated her, and it was with unchecked candor that he shared his love of his wife, and his awareness of her love and devotion to him. I thought A person could be sustained and carried through anything with this kind of respect and affection. It's a beautiful gift that he can feel this way and share these feelings and acts. And when he died, I thought How sad it is that we cannot witness this love, this outspoken regard and tenderness any more.


I think, perhaps at the memorial, in the next few days, Corm's love and devotion, his dedication, will be witnessed once more, because he touched so many of us and we can each of us carry some part of him with us. When we tell his stories, and share the memories, we will evoke the qualities that were a part of him and that he imparted in us.



I hope Geoff will come home and share many of the details of his time in Chicago, so that we can have some idea of what we are not there to be a part of. I realize that we are missing not only Corm, but in not being at this memorial we are missing all of the people that knew and loved him and that were an influence and inspiration to who he was. Even as a memorial, how can it not be a wonderful time? Everyone there is a part of a circle of people that influenced or were influenced by a wonderful person...


I really hated to leave my Mom and Ron. More than ever, I am keenly aware of the frailty of life. Nothing is constant on this Earth. I tried not to cry as we drove away, or during any of the 1,000 miles driving home... the children have seen too much of that already. I have tried to let Corm's example move more consistently in my life, so that I share my love out loud and wear my heart on my sleeve. I love as much and as sincerely as ever, but now I consciously endeavor to say what I feel, to honor what I feel and to treasure the time I do have with the ones I love. So, as sad as I was to leave, and even with my fears and worries, I found some comfort in knowing that I love my Mommy and Ron, that I have shared my feelings and said my piece... it's not the same as having them close by, being able to drop in on them any time, but it's good to love and be loved, and share those thoughts and feelings often.

On our way home we stopped at Pistol River Beach State Park. It was an unplanned break at the start of a long and arduous trip home. There are about 42 or more places that I would have loved to stop and visit, such is the beauty and attraction of the miles between here and there, and it's hard being very pragmatic and merciless about not visiting every park, viewpoint and farm stand.


Ah, but it is so worthwhile to stop, to quiet the din of everyday chores and appreciate the beauty in the world, the humor, art and language, and the people in our company. So, we watered the chickens, and found the trail to the beach. We let time pass unaccounted and played at being treasure seekers, and pirates. We planned picnics and camp-outs and noted the size of rocks, the sound of the waves. Geoff, you would love this place. We were looking for agates and imagining having a home on the forested bluffs overlooking the ocean. As happy as we were to be there, we were even more anxious to come home to you, because we love you.

More Oregon


An alternate title for this post could be: Things I left Behind


At the top of Delia and Ron's quiet street is a feed store, where there is always a variety of happy, rescued animals to visit. A hand written note nailed to the door reads: If you must drop off an animal, please leave some cash to help us out... or something like that. In these economic times there are many stories about abandoned pets, but this feed store has been making room for all kinds of unwanted animals for many years.


Horses and dogs, cats and pigs... all are sheltered and fed to the best of the store owner's ability and without any assistance. The owner was getting a lot of complaints from a few vocal citizens that accused him of not keeping the animals in better facilities. I find it so disheartening when people want to complain, but don't want to find solutions, to help or contribute. I admire the effort of the feed store owner to shelter and feed abandoned animals, to find homes for them, especially since he cannot stop people from anonymously dumping their responsibilities on his front door.

Besides a big pig, some healthy chickens, free-range bunnies, horses, dogs and cats, the feed store also has an attic full of antiques and collectibles. It's a dusty, eclectic array of stuff, adjacent to the hayloft and smelling of sweet alfalfa.


During our stay, and in past visits, we spent a lot of time exploring the corners and shelves of the feed store.


I think it would be so strange to find my portrait in some random shop. I suppose famous people are accustomed to this, but I've always felt a kind of sadness when I see boxes of old family photographs. Once treasured photographs, in second-hand stores, like long forgotten memory orphans. At least Mr Peck has the advantage of being recognized and remembered kindly.


"Antiques" is a term that gets thrown around rather loosely in second-hand shops and resale stores. That's okay... one person's junk is another's junqué. But some antique items make me feel old. What's this VCR repair manual doing here? Hey! VCRs are not old! Right? Why, when I was a girl, we didn't even have VCRs. We waited for the moon to be full so we could do hand shadows on the outhouse door.


The sweetest surprise of this visit was the kitty that kept meowing and meowing and meowing and walking away, while looking back at Alex. She wanted him to follow her, and she kept waiting for him to catch-up, then she'd meow some more and walk away, always look back for him and waiting. Alex caught on to her game and followed her to where the attic of the feed store meets the hayloft of the barn, and that is where he saw what Ms Kitty was so eager to share...


She had a very shy, very black baby, with the very bluest eyes. The momma cat exuded so much pride she could not contain herself. She purred and padded back and forth, she snuggled and meowed and looked to us for affection, approval and admiration. She ranks very high in my memory of happy momma cats. And her woolly black kitten was almost impossible to leave behind.

Do you remember BP, the potbellied pig I wrote about? The one that Maria conversed with? I actually filmed a bit... it's the last part of Maria explaining to BP how to "Oink, oink, oink." It seems she was not impressed with the snuffling, snorting kind oinking BP did. She thought it was so funny that the pig did not literally o i n k!

We're Home


We are home, and we are dog tired.

Access!
We are here. "Here" being the Oregon Coast, grandma and grampa's house. We pulled in to the driveway Sunday afternoon. My Mommy was standing on her porch, and it was welcome sight. The chicas survived and so did we, and at last we were able to give Delia gentle, loving hugs, to see for ourselves that in time and with tender care she will be well again.

Geoff is back at Garage Mahal again. He flew south early Monday morning. We miss him already... imagine how much more I will miss him when we drive home without him. Sigh.

So. I have about 42 different things and thoughts I would like to share and record, but there are obstacles in the way. For one thing, I had to drive in to town, find a wifi cafe and figure all of that out. The children are settling in to their lunch, Maria has stopped whining about the strange pizza. Everything is "strange" when you are 3 years old and far from home, missing your daddy. The dial-up modem at the house is s l o w. (Sorry Mom, Ron, but it has to be said.) I can't post, because the cookies are disabled and the Internet service times-out in between pages. It gives me a tremendous appreciation for my mother and the fact that she manages to read Chickenblog at all.

Ironically, having 42 things I want to post about, I cannot decide on 1 subject to post about. It's hard to get in to the groove sitting in a public place, with my salad staring at me.

It's cold here... warmer today, but still colder than what we are used to.

I saw a 7 or 8 inch banana slug.

There are many, many flowers in bloom.

I came to see my Mommy, to help, to comfort. I feel like I could leave in a few days or stay the rest of the summer. You see, Ron is taking really good care of her. He is methodical and protective, nurturing. It is very comforting to me, to know she is loved and in such good care. She will need constant assistance and attention for many months. I think I am being helpful somewhat. Cooking, and retrieving this and that is good, and I plan on vacuuming, cleaning the fridge and doing some laundry, but... I dunno. I can see where we might be disrupting the rhythm they need to establish. The children are being good, and we are managing to not get in the way, but sometimes one person's idea of being out of the way cannot match another's. Does this make sense?

So, I need to find the balance: Stay long enough to help and leave before we impose, or wear them out.

Who wants to hear about the feed store at the end of the street? Alex, Maria and I walked there this morning. It's very close, and a dear place to visit. It's not at all fancy or meant to impress with first impressions, but the people that run it take in abandoned animals and to the best of their ability make them comfortable and safe, feed and shelter them. We were approached by a coal black pot bellied pig and Maria was astonished by the sight of her. She made a constant snuffling noise and lookied imploringly at us, and Maria launched in to a full scale dialogue with "BP." When BP ran along the fence line, trying to follow us, Maria pulled my hand and said, "I have to tell her sumpting." So, we paused, and Maria consoled BP, "You live here. I'm sorry. You cannot come to grandma's house. This is your house. Sorry pig."

We also met a very purrfect momma kitty and her woolly black kitten. We saw 3 rabbits and a few hens, 3 horses and a dog. The feed store is full of old things and collections, odds and ends, it smells sweet of alfalfa, there are treasures to be discovered. Walking back to Ron and Delia's Alex saw a quail, and we anticipated the buckets full of blackberries that will be coming. Now the spiny shrubs are full of blossoms, but we remember the sweet black jewels we enjoyed last summer.

Uh. What is free wifi protocol? We did order lunch and we aren't takng seats during a busy spell, but I do feel as though we should move on. Yes, time to move on. The children are looking at me a bit desperately, a bit b o r e d.

Geoff hopes I will do this everyday, but I think when he sees what we paid for lunch, he might settle for every other day!

High Speed Internet, How do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...

In anticipation of being parted from my dear computer and all the fancy trimmings, I must make a long, long post.


To begin with I am filled and fortified... your kind comments and even phone calls have been so heartening. It's hard not being immediately by my mother's side and besides regular calls to her and talking to my brothers, it's been the thoughtfulness of friends and family, and the blogging community that have helped me remain calm, feel supported and keep things in perspective.

And I think the prayers and healing thoughts are doing a great deal of good. Delia's been taken out of ICU, and they are commencing physical therapy today. She has been fitted for a custom neck brace, and her husband is going through some lessons on how to help her. When I talked to her last night she was in good spirits. She had so many visitors! Bill (happy birthday bro!) Alison and Dominic, Hans, Becky, Dan and Grandmother... they were all there to visit and care for her. I think perhaps Ron got to have a bit of break too and that's good. Hans snapped a cell phone picture of himself and her... gee, it's been 37 years since the 2 of them were in a hospital together on a June 10th. They are smiling. I am relieved to know that she is recovering, but I feel such a lot of sadness knowing that there are going to be many hard days ahead. Healing is not always easy, and her injuries are significant. My poor mommy.


Who thinks Betty looks like she just stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl? She is so loopy and goofy looking.



Uh-oh. I think she heard me. Don't get your feathers ruffled Betty. We love you.

Meeting our obligations and getting everything in order is going fairly well, and I think the plan to be available for my mom on a longer term basis is a good one. Geoff has helped me finalize travel details and with a few more errands, meetings and adjustments, I should be traveling north very soon. My infamous tooth is messed up, but my dentist and I agree the cure can wait, so that is good news. Of course seeing the cost estimate for the next appointment did little to ease the pain. Insert nervous laughter here.


Gracious!
Amelia is a much better flyer than what we saw last week! She's a little too good. A little too cocky. The suspense is making me nuts. Do we have pullets?


Or do we have cockerels? Anyone? I've read dozens of articles online. Vent checks. Feather checks. What about spurs? Do hens have spurs? There are several accounts of hens that have spurs and even hens that will crow!


Are these spurs? Those 2 pale spots on her ankles...
I keep imagining all 3 of them are roosters for one reason or another, but there is no conclusive evidence.


Now this is conclusive. One of our tadpoles is a frog. A teeny, tiny hopper.


The journey began April 13th and we now have one tadpole turned frog success. The rest of the tadpoles are in varying stages of development. This has been such a fun experience. And educational too... for the children, of course. The frog swims to Max's hand and sits there. Must be love.


She said it was coming! She dropped hints and left clues!


Can anyone really be prepared for a gift from Calamity Kim? Her heart overflows, onto fabric, onto paper and right in to our home. We were flying high just anticipating the arrival of this latest chicky-apron. Leave it to Kim to send so much more. All of the little touches and sweet messages were the nicest boost to our morale. Honestly we all sat together enjoying the unveiling of each token of Kim's talent and imagination.


That's Pip, Lola and Lady Betty Oprpington sitting amongst the daisies. And the chicken wire panels are pockets. Maria found a message from Kim in 1 pocket. It fits beautifully. It looks delightful. Thank you Kim. You really do make the world a better place.

Well, all these links, the swiftness of the server, my iPhoto and the ease of Googling and searching... what bliss! These diversions and reflections are keeping me sane... lol! Computer and server, I love thee a Googolplex! I may just have time to post once more before we head north, and after that it could get sketchy. Thank you again for keeping us in your prayers, for generosity beyond compare. We are blessed in a Googolplexian ways.

Thank Goodness For Gardens, Water and Light


My mommy was going to be here today, for my brothers' and son's birthdays and for a promotion, for hugs and catching up, before she had to go back to Oregon to start a new job. Sunday night we got a call/s... it's a blur. Geoff told me she'd been in an accident, "She's okay." That's what we have to hear to save us from collapsing: She's okay. He's okay. It's okay. And considering what happened it is a miracle she is okay, though she is a long way from all better. My dad drove through the night to be with her, and my brother flew the next day. My other brother (happy birthday bro!) is going to be with her today.


Your prayers and healing thoughts would be much appreciated. For her, for me.


It's amazing how many times my mom has made the 20 hour drive, to come and see us, to help with babies, to visit and celebrate, to connect, and I always worry about those winding roads, the logging trucks, the long days... I think of how much love she has for us that she does this so regularly to see me and the kids and my brothers, their families, her mom and sister. We always wish for an opportunity to find some place where we can all be neighbors. We think it would be so wonderful to find each other in the same town or neighborhood, just around the corner, a short walk away.


It's a tremendous comfort to me that her husband is with her and caring for her. And I was glad Bill could fly up for a quick visit, to hold her hand. If she didn't have their company I would not hesitate to abandon everything and be with her. Instead I am trying to get my ducks chicks (thanks Pam!) in a row.

Fortunately we do not have to move. Garybob, the landlord, was appeased with an increase in the rent. We are still trying to make our trailer on land deal happen. It manages to get more complicated by the day. I say "I am detached," but of course that is a lie. In truth, my heart is saying Please, please, please let us make this our home. It's a mess, but we can fix it in time. Please. Please... I dunno.

So, let's see... I got the car serviced, which was a bit overdue, so that's good. Today I go to get my tooth serviced... somehow I don't think this will be as fast and easy as the oil change and tune-up. My visits with my crappy dentist of 4 years ago are haunting me again... have I ever shared the story of how he drilled through to my sinuses? He didn't say a thing and only stopped when Alex asked, "Why is my mommy bleeding so much?" Yeah, that's a good story!

There is an overwhelming amount of cannot be postponed school paper work that has to be turned in, checked-off, stamped and triple signed.

Alex's birthday is Thursday. He already knows his modest party is going to be postponed. He didn't complain at all, but I saw that look... the one that a mom always wants to turn into a smile. I can tell he's bummed.

My best friend didn't wait to be asked. She'll watch the cats, the 2 birds, the rabbit. I'll take care of the chicks. Don't ask. Seriously. I have some hard decisions to make.

I will not be driving to Chicago. For months I have been drawing up itineraries and deciding on routes, and I have also been thinking, Am I nuts?! Yes, a lot of waffling, but with strong leanings toward being with everyone in Chicago and then Wisconsin. Geoff is going and he'll be gone for a week. The children and I will be missing Geoff and a Midwest family memorial for Jim, Corm.

And in Mexico, my abuelos will have family, except for us, gathering to celebrate their 70th wedding anniversary. S e v e n t y! !Setenta años¡ Felicidades abuelos.


I hope I can get those chicks in a row, tie up loose ends and be ready to leave to Santa Rosa, then Oregon, by Friday. I think my screaming tooth might be the biggest obstacle. The children are such good travelers, so helpful and easy. We'll pack the bare minimum and be prepared to go with the flow, hopefully making things easier for my mom by cooking and cleaning and renting lots of movies, adjusting pillows, pulling slugs out of her garden!


Lola's Garden is looking so beautiful. Did you know that cosmos are drought tolerant, that they even thrive in bad soil? It's comforting, somehow, to know that good things are possible, even in less than ideal times and places.

So, I've Been Wondering...

Being that someone forgot to load the dishwasher and there is laundry that needs folding, I thought I would ask some questions. Then post some pictures, then formulate some deep thoughts and other musings, proofread, tweak and adjust, and generally dabble in the blog. After that I hope to accomplish all sorts of good things, including sending birthday cards to my brothers, going on a 42 mile fitness walk, getting may hair cut and styled, and finding someone that can potty train chickens. All in a days work. Uh. You do know when I am lying, right?


Now, about those questions... and really, you don't have to answer them, but if you have ideas that you must share, then please do share them... there are some things that have been running around my head and I haven't been able to resolve them on my own. I am never too proud to seek help... must come from practice!

1. Should I alphabetize my sidebar list of links? Or, I could put them in alphabetized categories. You may have noticed they are a random jumble, which might seem unorganized. Actually they are organized for me, and it's my mind that is jumbled and sees them as organized. Never mind. I just wonder if alphabetizing them is necessary or would be appreciated. It's very unlikely I will get around to doing anything about this. Did I mention there are dirty dishes in the kitchen? Lots of them.

2. Should I reply to comments in the comments section? I know, I've visited this theme before, but I never seem to resolve it in a satisfactory manner. Some bloggers are positively amazing about answering all of their emails and responding to comments... I am thinking of "Nikkipolani" and "Pink Purl" and "Lemon Tree Tales, for example.

I read all of the comments and I love them, and I am not sure they always require a response from me. So many comments have a "no reply" email and I cannot write back. If I respond to comments in the comments section, will you know to look there? It seems to work for "Nikkipolani" and "Oh My Stinkin' Heck." I know I will never have my act sufficiently together to answer every remark, but neither do I want to seem uncaring and indifferent. I love your comments. Love them!



3. Not sure there actually is a 3rd question.

4. Running out of steam here.

5. Probably should be doing other things.

6. Should Max have peanut butter and jelly for breakfast? Too late. I already took care of that one!


Maria is slicing and serving apple pie. Later, when I asked her to clean up her picnic, she rolled the whole lot in the table cloth and said proudly, "All done." Oh, dear, where does this come from? No, don't answer that. That was rhetorical.


More pie?

No chick flicks today. You should run over and see what Kim's done with Betty's picture! I think Kim and I should go in to business together and make a whole book of chicken dolls.

Now, if you are wondering about the tadpoles, I do have an update there: They are frogpoles! Half tadpole and half frog! And they are getting really hard to photograph, because they have become fast and camera shy. Otherwise, I am happy to report that the whole tadpole experiment is going swimmingly!

Look What The Tide Brought In and A Full Day of Procrastination and Other Deep Thoughts


This photo and the video really belong with a post I made in January. It was low tide season... there were some great low tides last winter, and we kept making amazing discoveries. The most surprising being this shark. Was it a great white shark? I consulted the life guards in Solana Beach, after the recent attack on a swimmer. They were fairly certain it was a great white, and so were the people on the beach with us when we saw the little biter.

The shark was in very shallow water and obviously losing it's fight trying to get back the open ocean. It was fairly subdued when 2 young men carried it, in stages, back to deeper water, but if it had not been worn out, I don't think it would have been so cooperative. I guess I would say it was the size of a small, strong, willful toddler, but with more teeth. Here is the video I captured... one of those instances where I had to curb my photography appetite and comfort Maria, who was very distressed by the sight of the shark.




It was kind of surreal walking up to the pool and seeing an actual shark. The beach was not crowded. Next to us was another family, 2 college students, and 2 monks in flowing saffron robes. Everyone was concerned about the shark's predicament


Friends were asking to see the video of the little white we saw in the tide pools. Their children surf in the area, and I think most of us surf or swim in these waters too, so yes, it does give pause. I can't say whether I've decided to be freaked out about it or not. I guess I am not worried, which is not the same as saying "no biggie." I don't surf, or swim very far out. After witnessing a little blood experiment conducted in a shark tank by my brother, I can firmly say I would never swim while bleeding.


I am not the type of person that is comforted by statistics... more people are killed by bee stings etc... that sort of information only serves to make worry about more things, different things. Never bother me with replacing one risk for another; it only compounds fears. Truthfully, I could muster more alarm and panic seeing a swarm of media sharks move in and spread out... that was a feeding frenzy!





This was the final and successful attempt to get the shark back in the open water. I think that it is sweet to hear William remarking about this making 'an interesting blog post.' He knows my thoughts so well. Believe me, Chickenblog is a family effort that involves all of us in some capacity.

11:12 a.m.
Meanwhile, on the home front, things are starting to shape up. We have made inroads, sorted, reduced, diverted, recycled, dusted and spruced. The landlord inspection commences Saturday at 9 a.m., and despite frequent bouts of procrastination, mingled with depression and angst, the house is beginning to look respectable. As I cleared the dining table from breakfast, a thought bubbled to the surface: We should go out to eat, so the kitchen stays clean. No, we should stay in a hotel and go out to eat; that's the secret to keeping the house unlived-in clean. And finally, my mind produced this ultimate gem: We should move out of here. Then it would be really, really clean. Crap... I am procrastinating again.

1:11 p.m.
Paid bills. Served lunch. And hounded Alex. He needs to finish his wiring diagram. He is entering the science fair with a robot-remote controlled vehicle he has been working on. Last night he finished his report, and this morning he added the finishing touches to the illustration he made of parallel wiring. Do you know about parallel wiring? Tomorrow Alex will post on Chickenblog. And tonight we will all be at his home-school center to see Alex demonstrate his creation. All, except for Geoff, who is deeply immersed in crunch mode and working 7 days a week and coming home long after my bedtime.

After the science fair, energy permitting, I will hustle over to Linda's house for a bit of MNO... something I have not had much of this year. This means driving from point A to point D for the science fair, then driving back to point A and dropping off the boys. If Maria is still awake, she and I will head to point C for the company of friends. Point B is the place between Points A, C, and D where I stop and ask myself What is the meaning of life, and where am I going?

This may be point B: I seem to be avoiding something... must clean, must clean...

Wordy Wednesday


Engraving the barrel was just a passing idea of mine, but my husband is a man of action. He set to it right away. It looks so pretty. By trade he is an engineer, but his skills are hardly limited. And now it seems he can add free-hand wood burning artist. Maria and I worked together turning the soil and adding more, then tossing in some ugly nuts. Never heard of ugly nuts? You'll find them under a rabbit's hutch! With the soil well amended, we were ready for planting: 1 cosmo, 6 marigolds, 6 zinnias and a French lavender. It felt good getting dirty and completing this memorial.


Amelia? It's a working title. Some names take time to fit. She flew out of her take-home box and we had to look for her in the van. A lost flyer... sounds like 'Amelia' to me. Pip and Lady Betty Orpington had settled into their dynamic and worked out their pecking order. When Amelia came on the scene it was pretty wild. She wasted no time in hen pecking her new found sisters, and she would actually peck their feet, lifting them off the ground. Pip and Betty looked stunned and pipped shrilly, with shock and dismay. Max intervened by tapping Amelia on the head. He reasoned that he would show her she may be top hen, but he was the disapproving surrogate rooster. We are happy everyone has calmed down and there is peace in the hen house once more.


Here is Pip, and she is about to leap out the door. She loves me. She runs up to me and settles in my open hand to fall asleep, then Betty joins her and eventually Amelia concedes and shoves her sisters over and squeezes in. Geoff says they're chilly. I say they love me.


This picture is all about tail feathers. Shooting up like tiny sprouts from Lady Betty's posterior are the tufted buds of her tail feathers. I think they are ridiculously cute.


Benjamin thinks they are ridiculously cute too, and mesmerizing and, and tempting and before he can think of 1 more adjective I have to remove him. His heart is not pure... lol.

Chango has more sense and keeps a safe distance from the chicas. Does he remember our Rancho days and the hens we had there, Gracie, Luna and Rosie? He never pestered, bothered, molested or pursued those hens, and hopefully Benjamin will learn to be as respectful as his older and wiser roommate, Chango.

Joe was with us when we lived on our 2 acres. Joe has been with us for 4 houses and 8 years. Sweet, shy Joe. Yesterday I took a moment to do one of my favorite things: Watch him chew. Watching a rabbit's mouth move is seriously one of the most amusing things I can think of, and it never fails to make me smile.


I kept trying to get a really good picture of the whole effect... the wiggling nose, the fast moving lips, the twitchy, cute bunnyness of it. Then I realized it's something that really should be filmed, because still photos are not fast enough... you just get a blurr. And I realized another thing, I was not being very respectful of Joe... snapping pictures while he ate his lunch. It was undignified. Why should I expect to get a decent picture of someone eating? Certainly, I would not want someone trying to make me look interesting or cute eating my lunch. So, I was about to drop the whole project, when I got this:


And I have to say this comes really close to capturing what I love about a rabbit eating. It makes me smile.


I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning, but it really helps to stop and smile.

Dynamic Light and Shade

We should get out more.
Saturday's cookout at Rich and Holly's place confirms my suspicion that we have become troglodytes, hermits, cave dwellers. We come out to work or to replenish our cave stores. We have Netflix. We have the internet and a garden in a wine barrel. Our parties are small affairs, where we invite the usual suspects, and I cannot remember the last time we even did that. It's to the point where I am not only a reluctant hostess, I am a pretty lame guest. I feel shy and out of the loop and tragically unhip. I didn't even remember to bring a dish or extra drinks... I offered to bring something and then nothing. We are out of sorts, out of practice.


Rich and Holly had us, neighbors, and James, Deanne and Parker over for some grilling, some great mixed drinks and laid-back relaxing in their beautiful courtyard. I think those few hours were the clearest and warmest of the entire winter the sequel weekend. The sun did shine and the rain/drizzle/wind held-off. So, with interesting conversations, delicious food, the light of the sun, children playing, bubbles drifting and those mixed drinks! I was feeling pretty good. Mighty, pretty good. Holly, what was in those drinks? I was recalling the divine epidural of '04, when I was so mellow I thought we should leave and find a better place to hang out, and Geoff gently reminded me we were there to have a baby.


Speaking of babies... Oh, Parker! If I showed you his full head of honeyed dark brown hair, you would be overcome with baby love... he is that adorable. Just a day shy of 4 months, and already tuned to everyone and everything around him. He studies the faces he sees and looks ready to make a statement, or recite an epic poem. He is that clever. You may say I am biased, but trust me: This boy is exceptionally yummy.



At the beginning of the party both Izzy and Maria were asleep. I think the happy anticipation of playing together wore them out, and luckily they both woke-up with plenty of time to eat and play and enjoy the gathering.


Grapes. Maria loves grapes. And strawberries, nectarines, watermelon, apples, blackberries, bananas and mangoes. No, not mangoes. I love mangoes.

For the sake of full disclosure, so that I can keep track of this, that, and the other... I am making a list. And my list goes something like this:

1. Garybob, our landlord, asked to come over with prospective tenants. Before fainting, I had the good sense to say, "No, you cannot come over in 24 hours. Please come next Saturday." Then I fainted. Then I woke up and cursed and cried, and then I fainted again. And I have been cleaning ever since I regained consciousness.

2. We had a quiet troglodyte funeral for Lola, laying her to rest in a bed of bougainvillea in the wine barrel. Everyone shared kind words and dear memories of our little chica.

3. Then we had to be brave ranchers and go back to the feed store for a 3rd chick. Not much of a mourning process, I know, but we want 3 hens and waiting is risky.

4. We brought home a barred rock. Also known as a Plymouth. She'll look like Luna, Chickenblog's banner hen. And it's good we did not wait. The chick dynamic was full of upheaval and conflict the first day. The new chick is feisty and aggressive and cocky... uh-oh... let's hope she is not cocky-doodle-do cocky!

5. Everyone in Chickville has settled down, and if I weren't teaching long division and cleaning Garage Mahal, I would be sitting in the yard, holding chicks and designing a darling hen house.

6. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning.

7. We made an offer on a trailer. It comes with land and something that could be a house. I am trying to be indifferent and detached.


Must be like a cat. Cool and collected. Confident. At home, wherever I hang my apron.

Enough About Me...

Favorite joke of mine goes something like this: Oh, I've been talking about myself all evening. You've hardly had a chance to speak. So, what do you think of me?


Here is the final lineup: Pip, Lola and Betty. No, it's not an illusion. Pip towers over her sisters. She looked much smaller in the store.

Besides a few updates from critters here at Garage Mahal, I want today's post to be all about the world outside our domain. And good timing too, because I am still in denial, shocked really, by Wednesday's news. Feh.

First order of business: Joy! It's all about connecting, this internet and blogging stuff. So, I read "No Ordinary Moment," which gives me art and insight, and from there I meet a new friend at "Clearing the Air" and she's got these 5 beautiful children, more art and insight, and a friend in the middle of something big: An adoption, which they have been chronicling at "The Intersection" and at their blog, where they say: "The better we tell our stories, the better we want to live them." The joy is that they have just received a green light to go to Africa and bring home their 2 children. Gee, it sounds so easy, so happy ending, but trust me it has been a long road, a real labor and I think their happy ending is really a result of their faith and dedication to making a difference in the lives of these two children. And the journey is just picking up speed. Ahead: A flight to Sierra Leone!

"Apples and Ostriches Don't Mix." Headline from the morning paper? No, it's the latest post from "Em and the Gang." Em is a North Carolina woman, "mom, wife, student, babysitter, business owner," asking, "I never have enough time for everything I want to do each day -how about you?" I hear ya, Em. I hear ya!" If I mention her awesome giveaway, you might win the apron that I covet... such a dilemma...


I promised critter updates. You've heard about our 3 chicks and my daring madness, but we haven't said much about the tadpoles in a while. They are growing. We can count about 12 of them in our aquarium-pond. The smallest ones still look like little sperm or big sperm, to be more accurate. The larger ones, the ones that were starting to form legs, now have actual back legs. It's strange, because the legs were fused just beneath the tail and then I noticed that they just sort of separated, unfolded, and now they are fully formed little froggy legs. It's so cool!


Metamorphosis is strange and wondrous.

While we are on the subject of "critters," check out this critter! As a certain blogger would say, "Oh, my stinkin' heck!" That statement will make more sense if you actually follow the link and see for yourself the big, angry opossum Heather caught in her backyard. She wrote all about the "not so cute" critter in her most recent post, and the fun continues when you read the comments her readers left behind. It seems there are 2 camps in the 'possum debate, and "DaisyCake" left some well informed facts and tidbits about opossums.

Did you know:
"*Possums date back to the days of the dinosaur?

*they are N. America’s only marsupial?

*unlike rats, (and much like cats) they are fastidious and groom themselves?

*Opossums are extremely resistant to disease. They very rarely, if ever, carry rabies.

*Opossums are sometimes referred to as the sanitation engineers of the forest. They help to keep the environment clean by consuming carion and all kinds of bugs, including ROACHES (shout out to East Texas!). They help gardeners by consuming snails, slugs, and other destructive creatures. They also catch and eat rats."

Of course, Heather makes the very good point that 'possums eat chickens, so I don't know how much good will I have toward the giant one that lives in our backyard. By the way, Heather is an amazing person, great web-designer and all around fun blogger; not limited to 'possum wrangling!

Yesterday I met a new (to me) blogger, his name is Adrian and his blog is "Baldy's Blog" He has a story to share and a message that needs to be spread. I have to warn you: He's cute looking, even bald. And, his story is hard to read. He is fighting for his life, and sharing the journey. The internet and blogging are all about connecting and so is life on this planet. We are all connected and Adrian has reminded me of this in a very heartbreaking and inspiring way. Please help me share his story so that we can put our blogs to their best use: Spreading support, news, love, information and connections in the real world.

We're Bird Watchers and Stuff

To begin with, I love "And stuff." It is the laziest, most effective way to express a broad spectrum of specific nonspecific articles that don't merit individual delineation and yet are of significant enough worth to be credited in conversation. "And stuff," is wonderful and stuff.

A scrub jay is making a nest in the bougainvillea that grows along the house entry. Bougainvillea is a plant with pretty flowers, and wicked thorns, which is why I find it a lousy choice for the narrow passage leading to our front door. If it isn't reaching out to grab us, then it is shedding heaps and drifts of leaves that blow into the house every time we open the door. Ah, but as a home for birds and their nests, it is ideal. There are 3 abandoned nests nestled in there and now this new one is getting spiffed and ready. I worry that we are going to wake the babies every time we come and go, but the jays must have realized it's a busy spot, so maybe they do not mind our family traffic. I hope I can get some pictures of the jays at work, then babies too.


In the meantime, this baby sings all day long. He sounds like a squeaky bed spring, and then he switches over to a pipipipipipip. We watched him again yesterday afternoon. We didn't have a dinner picnic, but opted for a water spree instead.


My children know how much I love to play with water, so the fun began when they gave me mischievous looks while I was watering in the front yard. You know the look... 'betcha can't get me with that hose!' That kind of look is more temptation than I can handle and pretty soon I was giving them a good soaking, right there under the watchful eye of Momma Woody. She didn't mind. I think she liked the laughter and squeals of delight.


Maria was already drenched, William and Max too, but they were not through with water sports, and out came the soakers. William and Max were getting ready to do combat in a dual, and Maria thought it looked like fun. A 3-way dual? And her unarmed... well, at least she was well-dressed. I hope Missy recognizes the pretty dress she sent Maria last Christmas, and it's been almost a year since Calamity Kim sent us our chicken aprons.


She's well dressed and fearless! Laughing it up, caught in the crossfire, while her big brothers meet in a watery battle.


If it were 2 degrees warmer I probably would have had to join them. I am reminded how much we enjoy our fun and play with water. My head is swimming with happy pool memories, beach days and soaker battles of the past. Rain showers, river swims... I love water. I think William shares my impish delight in soaking people.


In a minute I am going to invite him to the backyard for another late afternoon romp in the spray. It's an even warmer day than yesterday. Maybe I'll splash too.


You might be wondering how I managed to get so many pictures of the elusive William... me too. He's shy, like his father, and a good person, like his father too.


Show me your towel," I prod him, so I can show-off. How many years have I battled with too many unidentified towels piling up around the tub, hanging on doors? Too many! And I have this huge ick-factor about shared towels and wet, wadded-up, damp towels... echkghh... gag reflex kind of sound. My Mother's Day gift to my family, was to individualize towels. I finished the children's and eventually I will make 2 more for me and Geoff. It was easy and fun and it's working. Everyone has an old towel made new and uniquely their own. William's is piratey... oooh arghhh!

And that is it for bird watching and stuff. It is Friday, and even though Geoff works weekends, the children and I still have that end of the week kind of giddyness, because we know that at least tonight he is coming home! I hope something is making you giddy too.

What We Saw In a Hole In a Tree

It's was about the time when I was supposed to be making dinner, evening time, when Alex called me over to see what he saw.


Can you see what's popping in and out of that hole? He pointed to the Eucalyptus in the neighbor's yard. And, without glasses, I scanned the entire length of the tree, squinting to see a something popping or a hole. Then I detected movement, and I ran in the house to get my glasses. Couldn't find my glasses, but had a better thought and grabbed my camera! So, can you see something popping in and out of a hole in the eucalyptus tree? It's way up high.


No, not that high. A little lower.


Where the fore branch crooks to the right.


That's the spot. We could hear something too. A hungry chirping, a pleading little song that carried all over both yards, down the street and even into the house. I realized I had been hearing it for days.


Aha! Here he is. The little cheep.