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!

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.

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.

Yesterday, After the Rain or 1,111 Posts

Once upon a time, a family awoke to an unexpected shower. The rain falling in the garden, was cold, the sky dark and gray, and the family felt invigorated and inspired by the change in the weather. There was talk of camping, or walking in the zoo. The youngest one found her umbrella and boops. And when the rain stopped, they stepped out and into the garden.


I had so much fun reading your comments and reactions to the "Pop Post" that I had to go back to the Blogger Buster tutorial and pull out a new trick. I feel so fancy. But I'd rather wear boots and gardening gloves than a tiara... just look what's popping up in the barrel garden. Those tall fellows are carrots and the wee little ones are violas.


Can you see the little seed caps at the tips of the carrot sprouts? Those delight me. And already the frilled true leaves of the carrots are emerging. It's very exciting. I know, it's time to thin them. They'll be crowded enough growing in a barrel next to flowers and a tomato plant. Joe will be happy to dine on tender and fresh carrot greens.

Did you know Carrots love Tomatoes? I learned all about companion gardening years ago when I read Louise Riotte's wonderful gardening book. It's one of my favorites.


I hope carrots and tomatoes love violas. I do.

Once upon a time, there was a kitty who lived all of his days loved and sheltered. To keep him safe from coyotes, which are alarmingly prevalent and malevolent and mean and hungry and most unpleasant, the family kept the kitty indoors.


Most days our furry baby is happy inside, and then there are days like this one when he cries and cries and cries. He watched me from the big window as I cooed to my carrots and tomato, and he made such a pitiful wail as if to say, "Nature calls me to her bosom, be merciful and let me answer. I am a fierce and wild beasty! Hear me roar!"
Really, it was just like that.


So I released the wild beasty. And he directly ran and leaped for the most beastly and wild corners of the walled garden. He sniffed rain dampened grass. He rolled in a dirty place. He attacked a spider web with beastly ferocity.


"Here kittky, kitty. Come here Benjamin baby, furry, furry yum-yum," which is the name he likes me to call him.


And this is how he answered me!


Then Maria got wild too! She waved goodbye to Alex and me, she even said "I love you, " as she drove off in search of adventure.

.... to be continued.

Like a Day in May


I may be posting only to distract myself from the fact that today is chick day. Out east, at the feed store I like, they are receiving a new shipment of chicks. I have spent the entire week in a mental-spiritual debate over whether or not I should bring home 2 chicks. My heart aches. My head is worn. I keep hoping for a sign that it's reasonable to take charge of my destiny, to move forward with my hopes, to nurture my flights of fancy. I keep hoping a home will reveal itself to us, so that we can know that after 5 years of false starts and dashed dreams, we will finally have a game plan, a destiny. I think it is the very worst part of being an adult that we are compelled to do what is appropriate, responsible and rational. So, without a sign, without urging and enthusiastic support and encouragement, I hang my head and accept that it is not my chick day.


Is it human nature to want more? I live in a big, safe home, but I want my own house, my own walls and pipes. I have healthy children and I am married to my 1 true love. But, wouldn't it be just a bit sweeter if we could have a garden and hens?


The children's homeschool supervisor, a wonderful woman, brought oranges, tangerines and avocados to share. Max and Maria were more than happy to relieve Franya of her surplus fruit. And I had to exercise all of my adult discipline to not ask for one of the extra chicks they have in their coop. Franya was happy to describe how cute their chicks are and how easy they are to raise and keep. Mercy. I was ready to blurt: "Yes! I know. Let me help you. We'll take 2 chicks, since you find yourselves with 6 more than expected. We'll be happy to lend a hand." Good grief... I had no idea I had such power of restraint. I hate to test it like this.


We are in such ideal May weather. No grey foggy mornings. No debilitating heat like we had last week. This is grilling weather. Picnic weather. Sit outside and rip seams weather... Am I the only semi-experienced quilter that uses a seam ripper almost as much as a sewing machine? This is the kind of weather that makes me think of summer camping and crossing creeks in bare feet.


Even Joe is happy to loll on the patch of lawn in the backyard, nibble tiny spring flowers. He knows these are idyllic days, happy days of May and leisure.


Max tried to teach Maria about the pips in the tangerines. He demonstrated eating a piece, feeling around with teeth and tongue for the small "hard bit," and then spitting it out. Maria was engrossed and delighted, but nonetheless she swallowed all of her pips.

Next to our tomato plant, in the barrel, the carrot seeds have sprouted. The dark soil looks so rich with its new carpet of green,and now comes the hard part of thinning the seedlings. At least Joe is happy to receive the freshest baby sprouts, otherwise it would feel so tragic pulling them up. Is ambient light sufficient for tomatoes to fruit? I don't think so. I'll have to recruit Alex again and move the barrel a bit north and west, where there may be a bit more light.


After our picnic lunch, Max and Maria picked up their swords and played at battle. I love the sheer confidence and energy Maria is unleashing. There were no injuries, no acrimony, only the joy of play.

Sentimental Journey


Adopt the pace of nature,
Her secret is patience
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

When we lived on our Rancho, a 2 acre rustic oasis where we played at being farmers, there was a big water trough that was left by the previous owners. I got a lot of help dragging that thing up from the pasture and over to the garden by the chicken coop. Geoff drilled some drain holes into it and then hooked it up to our irrigation system. I filled it with mulch and compost and dirt and seeds, and it wasn't long be before we had an elevated and healthy, drip-irrigated garden.


Can you see Rosie, our Rhode Island hen...? she's stepping on one of the granite rocks that encircled the play area. Alex and his great grandmother were sitting in the garden together. I miss sharing our home with her, enjoying her good company. Behind them is the yard where Rosie and Gracie and Luna lived... a chicken estate, complete with hanging art and water features. We made it very classy.


We planted fig trees and guavas and jacaranda, and lots more. I really miss the fig trees. And the lime tree. And the lemon tree.


Oh, and do I ever miss these girls, my Chicas!


This is Luna, was Luna. We named her for the white moon on her chick bottom. Her moon disappeared, replaced with spots and stripes. She did retain her docile and sweet baby chicken nature. She was an easy going kind of hen.


Now Rosie was a nice hen, and we loved her, but I would not call her sweet and docile. She had more of an attitude, an agenda that focused on laying, scratching, eating and staying alert.


Here's my first baby girl. My tender, gentle and affectionate Gracie. We thought she was such a dainty, feminine chick, that "Gracie" was perfectly suitable to her person. Her name matched her lovely plumage and the wispy down that framed her pretty face. Gracie, like her sisters, would come when called, and then she would sit on my lap and let me scratch around her neck and pet her soft back. She would fall asleep in my arms. Sigh.


We grew carrots in the water-trough garden conversion, and were those carrots ever happy. They were sweet and ginormous. I remember we would pull just one up and cut potato chip size slices for a snack. Crisp and delicious. We also juiced a lot of carrots. My favorite recipe was garden fresh carrots and beets, with lime and ginger, sometimes apple too. So yummy!


I was just browsing my photo library. I thought it would be a quick glimpse of days gone by, but some of these just had to be dusted-off and brought out of hiding. Diego, resting in an empty cereal box. I have never known a more mellow cat. He would sleep in the car! He came with us on a drive to Wisconsin and on another road trip to Oregon. It was awesome, really. I wish I had a picture of him in Custer State Park, where we were getting snowed-in and buffalo (bison, right?) were blocking the road. Diego stood on the dashboard to take in the spectacle.


Our Rancho didn't always look this good. Getting it this beautiful was one big labor of love. When we bought it, it was a sadly neglected house with no landscaping whatsoever. I read the entire Sunset Western Gardening Book twice and then designed a landscape and chose all of the plants. We hired Nacho and Victor to execute my visions, and wow, what an adventure that was.


Maria would have loved the Rancho, the big sky and the fresh fruits growing all around the house. I think she would enjoy wearing cowgirl boots and a hat, like her momma.


She would love the Chica round-up, leading them home for a night's rest.

Geez. No wonder my posts take forever to write...

34 words

Speedtest

Meet Rooster

Last Fall a very small chicken came to live with us. We named our found parakeet "Steve" and we have grown accustomed to his concerts, his trilling songs and pips. But he has not grown so accustomed to us. He doesn't trust us. He doesn't want to perch on our fingers or hop over to greet us when we try to engage him in a duet. HIs best friend has been his mirror. If I had the room, if this were my house to mess with, I would build him an aviary in the garden, and since that is not an option I decided to bring him a friend. Steve has a room mate. A perch pal.


Say "hello" to Rooster.
He is quiet and just as shy as Steve. For a few days Steve stopped singing and I thought I had made a horrible mistake. We didn't want to lose the amusing whirrs and whistles from our Aussie bird. Now Steve is singing again and I think he is happy. I think they are both happy.


Benjamin? What are you doing you furry beasty?
Benjamin is a birdwatcher. He actually looked astonished when he first focused on the sight of 2 birds. A dedicated birdwatcher. He sits beneath their cottage faithfully, everyday. Patience may be a virtue, but lust is not. He really should announce himself or find another hobby. Poor unsuspecting birdies.

When posting to Chickenblog I am always curious about who is reading Chickenblog. I know from comments who comes around regularly. I know from email and from personal remarks people who visit the blog, and then every now and then I am astonished to discover other readers. I have about 20 different emotions and reactions upon hearing from someone that they saw it on Chickenblog or when they disclose something (inadvertently?) that they could only have known from reading the blog.

Well, of course I realize that this is a public forum, so I cannot rightly say that I am surprised and yet I am surprised. I am surprised that more people don't say "hello." I am still trying to work out what the other 19 emotions and reactions are, because, really, blogging and blog etiquette is whole new frontier. It's funny, I say a lot less in person than I do on Chickenblog. I guess I am more shy than not. I like to listen. With so little feedback coming in, I sometimes forget there are readers, or at least I feel like I "know" who I am addressing, and I am less concerned about total strangers (presumably they move-on when they find nothing of interest.) But when a family member says, 'I saw it on your blog' and I had no idea they read the blog, well it feels really awkward and strange to me.

Don't be shy. Say hello. Chickenblog is our front porch, our kitchen table. It's deep thoughts and other musings, an outlet for my ramblings. Things are not always neat and tidy here. I try to keep it real. Uh... on the other hand maybe you think I am nuts or weird and maybe my values clash with yours and meeting in the cyber world would only lead to uncomfortable and anxious feelings and doubts about the nature of the universe as we know it. That's cool. I can be okay with leaving things as they are.

Lily of the Valley and 2 Cats


This is my garden of the day. Trader Joe's has the most beautiful plants and flowers, so reasonably priced, I forget my troubles and virtual lack of a garden, and I splurge. Splurge: That looks like spl...as in splash + urge... as in gotta-wanna do it. Makes me want to go swimming. Posting my train of thought isn't always worthwhile.


Oh, look who's come to visit the garden. It's Benjamin Franklin Thunder Cat, Cowboy and Explorer. Maria calls him Benbee. He lives indoors, safe from coyotes and reckless drivers. I call him my Furry Baby and Woodgie-Woodgie Love Monster. He's extremely handsome and affectionate. Well, he is affectionate until he isn't and when he isn't a snugly purr box, he becomes a biting, scratchy beast and I have to put him in the garage. The garage is safe and comfortable, but he always come out of the garage reformed and humble.


I love Benbee.


Here comes Chango. Chango had a brother named Bongo, and together they were Chango Biddy Bongo and Bongo Biddy Chango. I am not saying this is interesting, but it's nice to write it all down for posterity. Chango is a survivor. He is the most domesticated feral cat I have ever known. He was a mighty hunter in his Rancho days, and he can still can scale a tree in a flash. He's such a tender, affectionate and sensitive fellow. He gets very nervous, and we always admire his attempts to contain his wild ways and relax. Sweet, sweet Chango. Sweet lactose intolerant, barfy Chango. I love Chango.


Geoff doesn't know this yet, but I think we are going to get another kitty... not right away, but in the next year or two. I also sense that we are destined to bring home a lop eared bunny, 3 or 4 chicks, and maybe even a pair of goats. I like the look of Nubian goats and the personality of La Mancha goats. Max really wants a pet frog. Tee hee. Benjamin looks as though he knows more room-mates are coming and he's not pleased.

Saturday was errand day. My forays in to the world have been less frequent and even less effective. I can only go so far before I need to pee or nap, and I can lift and haul fewer things anyway, so I have not brought home things like the 96 load jug of Tide and 50 pound sack of rabbit food. Geoff and I, with William, Alex and Max in tow, hit The Pancake House, Target, Costco and... seems like there was more... Anyway that was enough. Later I also made it, on my own, to Yardage Town for cotton batting, because I have the delusional notion of completing just one more quilt. Now we have lots of diapers, paper plates, grape juice, a bouncy chair, bigger socks for Max, jeans for William, turtlenecks for Alex, cat food, plenty of laundry detergent and even new night lights that change colors. What about a crib? Yea, we gotta work on that one.

By six o'clock last night I would have believed anyone who said it was really 11 o'clock. My energy doesn't decline or wane, it simply shuts off. And then I am wide awake at hours like this. This is not an ideal house for padding about the house in the wee hours. For one thing, downstairs is cold and remote, and upstairs every room is occupied by sleeping people, so it would be unkind to turn on a light or bump about too much.

Many of the shortcomings and little idiosyncrasies of the Tree House are becoming less charming, quaint and tolerable. The original plan was to live here for a year. Time enough to recover from rushing out of El Rancho, with a fire on our tails, and to figure out our next move. The next move is not revealing itself in a specific enough way. Have I ever shared the fact that we have three children with beds in the dining room, which is open to the kitchen and a sort of living room, which is too small for a sofa, but large enough for a computer and chairs? And all of this upstairs, along with our "master" bedroom, which has a pretty significant plumbing leak. A plumber is coming this week, but there's not much we can do about the rest. We aren't suffering, just sort of squirming uncomfortably.

I miss Diego very much. It's amazing how much one personality can be such a significant part of the day, and night. He slept by my side or at my feet, sometimes nestled against me like the best personal heater ever. He had a pathetic meow; it was more of a canary chirp than feline speak. We all miss the meow, and his lead footed stumbles down the stairs. Anyone could pick him up and carry him about, without upsetting him in the least. He rode in the car, happily. When he and Chango walked to the kitchen for their breakfast, Diego would leap over Chango, like a circus dog doing sideshow tricks. Chango misses Diego too. This is what I surmise anyway, because Chango rarely leaves the house anymore, and he seeks us out for more scratches under the chin and he demands attention that he used to forgo. But dear Chango is much less domesticated than Diego, so Max can't pick him up and carry him down his bed slide, or snuggle him under the covers. So, like Chango, we can often be found absentmindedly staring out the window, waiting to see our little friend with the raccoon's tail, hoping he will come home.

Max has shifted his name campaign; he thinks instead of naming Papaya "Max," we should name her "Diego." He also wants to fill the stocking that Alex made for Diego, with toys that his kitty can still enjoy in Heaven.

Pregnancy hormones, insomnia, and grief... this is such a Kleenex moment.

April 1990 - October 16, 2003
Nena, our kitty girl.

I love to take pictures. Imagine my pure delight with this camera. The whole process is in my control, and the results are immediate. Really, really fast. Today is my first day having 100% non-glitch good results with transfering images from camera to computer, and exporting from iphoto to Blog. In technological geek circles my success is probably the equivalent of learning how to boil water, but this is the most awesome computer 'cookin'' I've ever done!


Since the boys are restless from doing nothing but watch their mom moan and blow her nose, I made a huge production of serving lunch al fresco. We had a backyard picnic, complete with potato chips and dill pickles. It is a clear sky day, warm and breezy. Sitting next to the playset, we observed that our beans in the barrel are ready to set flowers. And over our heads, Chango looked down on us and the chicas.

Chango will be 3 years old this Spring. He is as sweet as he can be, but his nature leans toward feral. Gophers fear him and mice won't go near him. Our dear monkey cat.


And this is Alex and his guava. We have been speculating about when this thing will be ripe. It is huge, but still hard as a rock. The variety is Asian, so anyone that knows what we can expect, please write. Alex is very proud of all his guavas.

And here we have the nest boxes. Of course since I went to the trouble of setting up official nest boxes, the chicas prefer to lay their eggs in the tub on top. That's Rosie in there now. She is talking to herself, and shifting the straw around.

Soon she will get comfortable (maybe after I take my camera and leave) and settle down to egg laying. Her sisters are busy having their dust baths under the bedroom window.

William, Alex and Max are together digging holes in the dirt. I like days that are noteworthy for their simplicity. I like to capture fractions and glimpses of life, in words and pictures.