busy afternoon

Inti and I walked down to the beach this afternoon, where she then swam after the ball for 45 minutes in very choppy water. I do believe she could have carried on for twice as long but I had other plans for her.

After we climbed back up the hill, I took her to the local Laundro-Mutt and gave her a much-needed and long-overdue bath. She wasn't entirely pleased, but took it a lot better than I expected. She's all fluffy and fresh-smelling now. When I took her in she smelled like seaweed. After the first shampooing, the rinse water was still brown. It was quite the ordeal for me, and it was also the first time I ever went to a do-it-yourself doggie wash. It is clean and very well equipped. It cost $15, including the shampoo and conditioner, dryer (more like a leaf blower, and wow did it blow loose fur all over the room!), chamois and towel, nail clippers, scissors, clippers and grooming table. Our use ended at the towel.

News from Jill today is that as a house-warming present, she's getting me a gift certicate for a massage. She must have spent hours interviewing the Pete Townsend candidates. She's picky. But she says she's found the perfect person. I can't wait! After these walks and this dog wash, my feet and back are in need.

Soon...soon...

have things changed?

EDIT: I don't know what was up with that link, but I've fixed it. Golly.


Wow. Just a year ago.

Have we changed? Have things changed?

Yes. Our intimate experiences with nature happen less in our backyard and more on the common areas at Kala Point. They happen less with the macro lens and more with the majestic mountains around us. They happen with the realization that we're at peace. And most decidely they happen within my heart. I can't speak for hobbitt, but I'd guess the same is happening for him.

rounded. yah. that's me.

B	Bouncy
L	Light
U	Unusual
E	Exquisite
H	Honest
E	Enchanting
R	Rounded
O	Overwhelming
N	Normal
D	Delightful
R	Radiant
U	Unusual
I	Irresistible
D	Distinguished

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

I stole it from Michelle.

sheesh

Well, it looks like we'll be owning druid labs east for another week or so. Evidently the buyers are going to Michigan rather than close the deal. They're on their third mortgage commitment, and perhaps they're just too confused from spending all the fees they've probably spent to decide whether they actually want to buy this home anytime this year.

"They're shooting for the 11th," our realtor told us.

Wha? I didn't realize this was the way contracts were executed. I'm shooting for tomorrow. Looks like I'm going to be wide of the mark, though.

Dammit.

a painting by chad wellons

hobbitt and I are lucky enough to have a piece of art by Chad Wellons. We don't know him. I probably knew some relatives of his back in the mid-80's when my first husband and I were breeding and showing bull terriers.



I apologize for the lighting interference. This piece is now in our kitchen, and there's a skylight. I did my best.

We call this piece Bull Terrier Rolling on Grass. I don't know what Chad called it. What I do know is that from the first moment I saw it, I was captivated by the exuberance and movement in the piece. (Plus, I'd always wanted a black brindle and white bully.) I first saw it hung over a vintage fireplace in the home of dear friends in Akron, OH. It was a home I visited many times in the 80's and early 90's. Each time I left, I advised my hosts to check over the fireplace because I just might have stolen that piece. My friend Pat had acquired it at a silent auction, probably at a Silverwood competition (a bull terrier specialty show), by being in the right place at the close of the bidding. And she had been bidding against a very wealthy Texan. Getting this piece was quite the coup for her.

When she died, I went to Akron for her funeral and stayed with the family for the entire weekend. When it was time for me to drive back to Illinois, I asked her husband if there was something small of Pat's that I might have to remember her by, and he came downstairs with this painting.

I was floored. First, it's no small thing. I had no idea what she had paid for it, but I'm certain that the bidding was fierce, so it was probably a king's ransom. Second, it was dear to her heart. And despite my protestations, Frank insisted that he wanted me to have it. "But you should wait for me to steal it," I cried. When I got home, I put it in a prominent spot, in the dining room, where it rested for eight years or so.

Earlier this month hobbitt noticed two entries in the guestbook of our main website. One, from a woman in Florida, pointed me to her story of Chad's last days in 1991. Another entry was from a college chum of Chad's who was looking to acquire one of Chad's paintings.

So now I have a story to go with my story of this painting. I love it, and now I know how much Chad was loved by his friends near and far. He sounds like a very special man, and I'm sorry I didn't know him. And if I ever part with this piece, it'll go to Eric, most certainly. Mostly this all serves to remind me how we are all connected, in many and subtle ways, to the main thread of that intangible thing called Love.

lame lame lame

Sorry, Yibbyl. I didn't live up to the task of that meme. Not one of my better attempts, I guess.

Of course, I was hoping for a flash of smart-ass brilliance. What came instead was a flat-footed misery. Here, let me try again:

Threes:

Three nicknames that you have had: you-shitting-kids, Catrina, and Kitty-Cat. (I love you Mom, but GAK on that last one. And may you continue to rest in peace.)

Three things you like about yourself: finding the perfect place to hide the bodies, my ability to read between the lines, and the fact that I can gnaw through steel bars.

Three things you don't like about yourself: a quick temper, dead accurate shot, and a taste for blood.

Three things that scare you: fluffy bunnies, zombies, and dewy-eyed new lovers.

Three of your everyday essentials: gin, vermouth, olives.

Three things you are wearing right now: a smug grin, sports socks and my welcome thin.

Three of your favorite bands growing up: AM, FM, and the earth's magnetic field.

Two truths and a lie: no, that's not too much makeup; no, your ass doesn't look big at all; and you satisfy me all the time.

Three things you can't do without: gin, vermouth, olives.

Three things you most certainly can do without: DNA evidence in my car, begging for mercy, and small automobile trunks.

Three places you want to go on vacation: the High Sierras, a small cabin in Montana, and that secret hideaway in the mountains of West Virginia.

Three things you want to do before you die: win the lottery, climb Mt. Everest, and continue to provide organs to the black-market transplant industry.

theft!

I out-and-out stole this from Yibbyl. He's in love and will hardly notice.


Threes:

Three nicknames that you have had: Willie, Caca, and Princess.

Three things you like about yourself: the ability to see my own warts, finally learning how to keep my heart open, and my hair.

Three things you don't like about yourself: laziness, a tendency to panic, my reactionary nature.

Three things that scare you: heights, crowds, and confrontations.

Three of your everyday essentials: music, love, laughter.

Three things you are wearing right now: lacy lavender sports bra, shaman camp 10-year anniversary t-shirt, broken hair clip.

Three of your favorite bands growing up: the Beatles, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, Springsteen and the E Street Band.

Two truths and a lie: life is pretty damned good to me, I can see beauty just about everywhere, and that includes in myself.

Three things you can't do without: food, water, and hobbitt.

Three things you most certainly can do without: stinging nettles, mosquitoes, and kale.

Three places you want to go on vacation: the Brooks Range, Antarctica, the Colorado River through the canyon.

Three things you want to do before you die: be slender again, get better at playing the piano, sell my house in New Joy Sea.

arf! arf!

I swear hobbitt and I were just being our regular frisky selves the other afternoon. Such activity seems to severely upset our dog, who shrieks and barks continuously until, well, until we find something else to do.

But the other day I wondered: are we being conditioned to enjoy ourselves only when we have a big black dog barking frantically right in our faces? (And, is that sick, or what?) And if so, what happens when we don't have this dog anymore?

never made friends with art

It's no big secret that I'm an artistic retard. But once, just once, I made something interesting:



This is a simple birdhouse gourd, that was gifted to me while I was at a workshop at Esalen Institute. A fellow attendee Stuart, a most wonderful, blissed-out man, approached me calling loudly, "Hey! You're a shaman. You need to make a rattle!" And so I did. Or at least I tried. It took months for me to decide what to do with the gourd, and then months to accomplish it.



I used to do this kind of psychedelic art on large paper when I was a teenager. I'm sure my folks thought I had some awful psychiatric malady, but it kept me occupied in the same way that obsessive reading and crossword puzzles did. That is to say, it kept me from positively jumping out of my skin with frustration.

On the gourd I used three different sizes of India ink pens. There could be no mistakes, since there was no way of fixing them. I finished the art on the gourd while at Pine Mountain studying writing with Deena Metzger. I have a small collection of beads, bbs, tiny gems and crystals to put in the gourd to finally make it a rattle, and some black split rawhide to wrap as a handle. I'll finish it someday. Really, I will.

Then there was this:



We needed something to put on a freshly-painted, stark white wall in our bathroom in Illinois. We described this somewhere on our website, but for the life of me I don't know where. Anyway, the disks are glaze test tiles from a ceramics course I took. The stick is a tree branch that I found floating in the lake at Sky Lake near Binghamton, NY. Its bark was stripped clean by a beaver. It is sculpted with teeth marks. We had enough embroidery thread in Roy G. Biv colors for me to string these disks like a rainbow. In all honesty, it was a joint effort with hobbitt, and a wonderful, satisfying afternoon.

None of this makes me an artist. But every now and then the muse visits me.

cutting the cord

If all goes well, we'll unload druid labs east on some unsuspecting buyers this coming Thursday. And that's a good thing. I'm not one for carrying much debt, and right now we're carrying a whole lot of debt. (Also even more assets, so in reality it's not a big horror. But I still get weird about it. I'm all about the cash flow, baby!)

I've probably already done this but I want to go on record as saying I am eternally grateful for having lived in that magnificent place. Both hobbitt and I come from, shall we say, less than affluent families, and to us, it was a freaking mansion. Not a day went by when I lived there that I didn't marvel at how amazing a home it was. It was big and yet we filled it up with friends and family and parties and merriment. Its amenities were well-used, particularly the water features. I spent a good deal of time the first two years out in the woods, exploring, watching, noting. We thrashed the living hell out of the kitchen, time and time again.

It wasn't a fancy place. It was homey and comfortable and funky. It had lots of spaces for relaxing, kicking back, watching the world go by, with an adult beverage or some equivalent.







And forgive me for repeating: I had taken this house off my list of potential properties, because of its price, in April 2002. But I forgot to bring the realtor my updated list, so we went here anyway. When she pulled into the driveway, my first thought was "This house is going to break my heart." I didn't know anything about the inside, or the back, or the pool, or the hot tub, or the decks, or the woods. All I knew is that the place felt like heaven. Heaven. I knew it was home like I know my own name. It had been on the market for six months. And the price had dropped twice from the price I had seen. The rest is history. hobbitt finally saw it the day before closing, and didn't wince too much.

It was sad inside - it had been neglected via divorce, hadn't been painted other than the crap that's slapped up after the taping and mudding was done. The kitchen floor was worn and discolored. The decks hadn't been stained since they were built at least 10 years earlier. The thermal window seals had broken and many of the windows were clouded up, and some were beginning to rot. Suffice it to say, we made that house happy and pretty again. We didn't have to do much, and it was utterly transformed.

It made Mom happy that I'd moved back to NJ, regardless of the reason, which was to take care of her. My sisters were happy about it, too, and not only because it took pressure off of them regarding Mom. Our home became the gathering place, the party house, for the last of the family parties. Nancy could come down from MA with her dog and have a relaxing stay, rather than trying to squeeze into Mom's guest room and deal with Mom's concern about Parker's fur. Terry could leave her youngest boys with me in case of a winter storm or vacation plans. And we partied. Our last years of family gatherings were happy occasions, with lots of laughter, teasing, love, and reminiscing.

To me, this home was a living spirit and not just a shell that we lived inside. I felt safe and complete there. I was nurtured by the beauty of the woods and star-filled skies. I was held by cool waters under the bright sun and warm waters on snowy evenings, and sometimes it seemed that mushrooms and Virginia creeper and trumpet vine and even cedar apple rust made themselves known just for my amusement. Even on the bluest of my blue days, deer and hawks and chipmunks came to visit, and all summer I could count on the hummingbird wars at the feeders. On foggy nights, the walk from the garage back to the house was a stroll through a mystery of sounds not normally heard.

It was hard to leave it, as you all know. I don't regret it - we're both so happy and relaxed here in Pete Townsend, and eventually we'll find room for all our stuff and get this place just the way it needs to be. But that house in Jackson was special. I don't want to hang on to it the way I clung to my home in Illinois, but then again, moving to NJ wasn't such a happy thing to be doing. I don't want to pine or yearn for what we had there. So I need to just be grateful and give big thanks in my thoughts and prayers these next few days. Whatever forces conspire in our lives, well, they were certainly kind to us, and apparently, still are. I don't know if it's good karma or simply giving up the worries and clenching, but whatever it is, it's smiling upon us, and has for some time.

alison and now nwg

They made me do it. But you knew that already, didn't you?

you are powderblue #B0E0E6

Your dominant hues are green and blue. You're smart and you know it, and want to use your power to help people and relate to others. Even though you tend to battle with yourself, you solve other people's conflicts well. Your saturation level is low - You stay out of stressful situations and advise others to do the same. You may not be the go-to person when something really needs done, but you know never to blow things out of proportion. Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

Powder blue? Oh, please. No no no no no.

Your turn, Sweet P!

midwest chicks

I'll be honest and say that regardless of the socializing that's going on here at druid labs pnw, I miss my Illinois girlfriends. A lot. Every day.

Those chicks rock.

We couldn't have been more alike and different at the same time. Some of us have been friends since time immemorial. (Sorry Linduh and Babs - it's a joke. I meant to say several decades. Really, I did.) Some of us have a facility for gathering friends together and making plans. All of us have a gift of remembering each other when it counts most.

I got lucky when that group of women came together, when Linduh slowly folded me into her sphere, when Marjorie still liked me after two weeks in Australia, when Barb started joining us on our Sunday morning walks.

I got lucky when I picked Paula's business card out at the esoteric bookstore.

I got lucky when Carlene came to a drumming circle one night.

I got lucky when we moved next door to Mary.

Yep. It was a long time coming, but fortune smiled on me in Illinois.

cat blog Friday

I know these aren't real fish, of course, in spite of never having seen real live fish before. Of course I know. Certainly! Make no mistake. I am one helluva dignified kitty. Now raise this seat up for me, moron. I can't reach the keyboard. And what's up with that mouse? It has no stinking tail. Sheesh.

life as a cowboy

So this here yard is pretty nuked from the construction of the drain field as well as the house. There is little topsoil, and what's there is rocky, uneven, and full of holes from some burrowing animal as well as some rock picking on my part.

It was also full of stinging nettles and thistles until Brynn worked her magic.

The thistles must be the toughest plants on the planet. There's nothing out there for them and yet they are everywhere. So while the yard isn't full of them anymore, they are still all over the western end of the back yard. Mowing doesn't kill them. They have a deep root in this rocky, compacted, sandy silty soil, and I can't get it all when I try to dig them out.

So today I put on my spurs and my cowboy hat, picked up the industrial-sized jug of glyphosate, and went on a round-up. Yee haw!

Hey, I never said I was an organic gardener. I won't use weed killer on anything other than the nettles and thistles, though. The plantains and chickweeds and pigworts won't get sprayed. And when it's time to work on establishing a lawn (September or October, I think), I won't use synthetic fertilizers. But those stinging plants have GOT to go.

random updates

The hardwood flooring is being installed in hobbitt's office today. It's noisy here, and I'm sitting on the sofa in the living room, which is completely hosed up with all the desks, files, cabinets and shelves from there. Lovely.

We've got to clear it all out by tomorrow morning. The electricians are coming to put in a couple of floor outlets for us. No more tripping on extension cords in the living room. Of course, now that means we have to get side tables for the lamps, and stop using the old kitchen stools as tables.

A dear friend of my little sister went missing this weekend in a scuba diving accident off the coast of Connecticut. The Coast Guard has stopped their rescue effort. She leaves behind two daughters. I add my prayers and comfort my sister; it's all I can do.

Our beloved Marjorie Ann is acing her way through her coursework in Chicago. Poindexter!

Thank you all for not tagging me on the book meme. While I generally hold that books are like gold, right now I'm fretting having to unload all our bookcases the second week in July, since that's when the carpeting gets replaced. Argh! Thank god we whittled them down before we moved to NJ. I think we're under the 300 mark. Can't say the same thing for CDs, though.

My neighbor and I seem to share a penchant for visiting nurseries and buying with abandon. She has a mature yard bursting with beautiful plants and flowers. And yes, I am jealous. This will be an exciting and dangerous friendship. We spent about three hours yesterday down in Port Gamble at Savage Plants. Already we're drawing plans for a two-story waterfall and pond to share. We're thinking that the two neighbors in-between won't notice. Much.

boom

One of the things we thought we'd miss by moving up here: thunderstorms. Well, I guess not. Maybe just the really violent ones that fried the hot tub controls or hobbitt's computer. Right now it's raining steadily and gently, but a few moments ago we heard that beloved *crack* and *boom*. If hobbitt hadn't been working we'd have taken drinks out to the front porch and "listened at the storm."

We have neighbors coming over tonight for a light meal and some dominoes or something. They're bringing grilled teriyaki chicken. I'm roasting potatoes with garlic and rosemary and I made that broccoli slaw salad that pdhski likes so much. Low-key, relaxed, that sort of thing. I should probably be doing something right now like, oh, I don't know - straightening up or something. Instead I'm sitting here being content, with RadioParadise in the background, just listening at the rain.

community

I'll go on record saying that we've had more local socializing since we've moved here than we had in the three years we lived in druid labs east. Other than family, that is. And by local socializing, I mean socializing with folks two doors down. Stop by socializing. Let's go to the garden store socializing. Meet you at the beach for a dog walk socializing.

It was what I missed the most when we left our lovely neighborhood in Illinois. I didn't even know that I was missing it. I just knew I felt lonely. Now, I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, but sheesh, you'd think I could have figured that one out a little sooner, right? Nope.

In my defense, the work I was doing in NJ was hard, even if it didn't take my every waking moment. Seeing to it that Mom was cared for and safe and fed - and arguing with her day after day, because that is how we communicated best, I suppose - was wearing, to say the least. I wanted to crawl into a hole on a lot of days. I wanted the burden off my shoulders. I wanted an outlet of some kind, and only in the last few months did I find it in my friendship with Jill.

We first looked at larger homes on acreage when we came here to shop for the new druid labs. I'm glad we didn't do that. I'm glad we live in a neighborhood with nice people. Lovely people. Great people, it seems. Community makes just about everything a whole lot nicer.

sirens

hobbitt and I went to Sirens last night for dinner. Our favorite window tables were taken, so we opted for the deck overlooking Pete Townsend Bay. It was clear enough that we had a nice view of the Cascades and Mt. Rainier. Several sailboats were heading into the harbor. One tanker out in the shipping channel. Some folks rowing their dinghy out to their boat for the night. An almost-full moon.

It was enchanting. We lingered over our drinks for so long that we didn't get around to ordering our dinner until 9:30, which was too late for the pizza we wanted. We had to settle for nachos. Not the best dinner, but food nonetheless. By the time we left, there was quite a crowd out on the deck. On Sunday night. In Pete Townsend. It really is summertime up here in this sleeply little place.

Perhaps Sirens is becoming our new Las Palmas, that wonderful Mexican restaurant so close to our home in Illinois. It was a terrific place for us to have some cocktails and laugh and enjoy each other. Yes, Sirens has become that kind of place for us. Sadly, it's a somewhat longer drive home.

Last night we went down to the beach when we got back to Kala Point. We walked out on the dock and had the waterfront to ourselves in the darkening night, under a cool moon and lots of stars.

olympic np

We woke late this morning to a call from neighbors asking us if we wanted, since it was a clear day all across the Olympic Peninsula, to drive up to Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park. Why yes, yes we would. We hustled through making the muffins to take on the road, collected the neighbors and their dog, and drove west.

It's a 17-mile drive from the visitor information center to the ridge. We were informed that dogs weren't allowed on the trails at all, just in the parking lot or in the car. Oh well. They didn't mind all that much. We saw things like this:



And this:



And we left the dogs in the car and walked about halfway up this:



I got a little freaky when the ridge trail was in the open. hobbitt took my hand, or Danny did, so that I could enjoy some edge views. Mostly I wasn't upset, though such heights tend to get me a little disoriented. Lively conversation with Pam in the car on the way back helped me not be too freaky about the switchback driving.

There are amazing lupines all over the place up there, and they got smaller as we got higher. The alpine slopes were fragrant with the lupines and windflowers and some lovely yellow specimens, everywhere. Pam mentioned that it looked as though it had been planted. The shadier places were lousy with trout lily and bear's britches, and along a waterfall we found a magnificent deep pink dodecatheon, or shooting star:



We photographed this flower by a waterfall on the way back down the mountain. Alongside the water is Switchback Trail, which rises 1,600 feet in 1.5 miles. I'd like to try that sometime. Not today. One trail review I read says this:

The trail is a steep one, and the air is a bit thin, so do bring plenty of water and wear sunblock. The climb starts steeply along the waterfall and then vanishes into the forest. Keep panting. After your second coronary failure, you will emerge in an alpine meadow, and the trail will start to get easier. There is at least one false turn, where the trail has been rerouted. Go right here, rather than heading into the woods. At the intersection with the trail to the Hurricane Ridge visitor center, follow the sign and go right towards Klahane Ridge. The worst is over; you still must ascend 800 feet, but the switchbacks are much easier. Don't give up.

Coming down the mountain we had a magnificent view of the Strait of Juan de Fuca at Port Angeles. We could see the ferry on its way to Vancouver Island, as well as a few oil tankers far below us. This is a view of the Strait at Dungeness Spit near Sequim (pronounced "skwim") about 20 miles to the northeast.



Today totally did not suck. So what the rug looks like someone shaved a dog, and there's no food in the house? We're good on points. We're going to go out to dinner and bask in the wonderful life we have up here.

Click here for more images from the day. Enjoy!

spiced ham

I'm not sure about a world without spam. I just got a lovely note from my dear friend "corpuscular Schwartz" urging me to keep company with some married woman who's just looking for some no-strings-attached fun.

Now I ask you: would I get such entertaining pieces of snail mail? I think not.

nice walk

It rained all night but this morning it was peaceful enough. I met up with the neighbors and we took off down the hill to the beach. Inti got the hang of playing with other dogs - she tends to be a bit bitchy - and ran with our canine walking companions (after an initial bout of nasty growling) and a Jack Russell terrier named Dinah. Saints be praised she also got a little fit of happy feet - the tearing around happy running that all my dogs have done from time to time - and by the end of the walk (2.5 hours later) seemed to have made peace with the other dogs. I could see that she wanted to play chase, and wrassle, but she's still pretty suspicious of other dogs, after having been attacked twice by golden retrievers five years ago in Illinois.

I mentioned to my companions that I'd found an intact marine mammal skull north on the beach a few days ago. It had substantial meat still attached to it and the expected carrion odor, so I thought I'd leave it for a few more days and then come back to see how it was. D. was quite interested and wanted to collect it for himself. Well, what am I going to do with a mammal skull anyway?

So P. and I walked down the beach while D. took his kayak. Their dog (a darling cocker spaniel) sometimes sat on the kayak deck and sometimes swam alongside. We came across a pelvis and an entire spine before I found the skull again. D. used a shell to scrape away the long string of flesh before putting the skull in a plastic bag (thoughtfully provided by the homeowners association for picking up after dogs) and was a pretty happy camper after that.

Of course, until it was in the bag, P. and I had a heck of a time keeping all three dogs from rolling on it.

After we climbed back up the hill, I got a tour of P. and D.'s yard - extremely private, lovely, wild. Lots of interesting plants, many familiar. I'll go back and take cuttings soon. Maybe someday our yard will be as private and wild. Hey, I can dream, can't I?

hobbitt

is blogging again!

a night out

We were invited for a small shindig with some neighbors. I made a veggie platter. And no, that's not peanut butter. That's cream cheese with chipotle sauce and some raspberry/chipotle jelly. Except that it wasn't sold as jelly, but as sauce. We really think that the jelly didn't set, which presented the makers with a marketing opportunity. In any case, it's tasty, went great glazed on pork chops, but only the sweet note came through the cream cheese, so I added some more Mexican chipotle sauce. Which made it brown, instead of purply. I suppose it was good. When presented with the opportunity, our hostess put the rest of it in a container for herself.

It was a light meal of finger food - some hot, mostly cold. Wine trickled, the eating was mighty fine, and eventually we ended up in the living room chatting up about the community, its wildlife, and the nutjob angry rabble rouser neighbor who walks around with a pistol strapped to his ankle. I have to wonder about a man who feels the need to walk around a gated community, packing. It's said that his answer is, "I have expensive property to protect." Whatever.

We talked about kids and drugs and what college was like for us. Hostess never drank, rarely smoked. A couple of the men never drank alcohol. One woman allowed as to how she drank and smoked - cigarettes - her way through college. Other than the neighbor who attended Woodstock, this was about the most outrageous thing in the room.

I thought it prudent not to join in this particular conversation.

So a lovely and cordial evening. Now I know that the frogs I hear at night are in the pond in our neighbor's yard, and that the pond is in disrepair from raccoon attacks. I know now what a sweet man our host is, a gentle soul who reminds me of my father. I know a little bit about the folks right around me, and that's made me feel a little less lonely. And I came away with an invitation to meet with one couple in the morning, at 9:30, for a doggie walk.

minus 10

One week on Weight Watchers has produced results, as well as a very happy tummy. Last night's dinner was cracked-pepper pork chops over arugula with paprikash noodles. Didn't suck.

May we have the fortitude to continue ever onward to our goal.

Oh, and the walk up the hill last night was a whole lot easier, or at least it seemed that way, and I hadn't done it in three days. So while I cannot see those 10 pounds, maybe, just maybe, I'm feeling the loss of them. Hey, I can dream, can't I?

ouch

At Sirens last night, we toasted "double-or-nothing." Yep. You heard it here first. We're shooting for another 30 years together. Of course, that might have been the 1st or 2nd martini talking. Who knows.

Our blinds are being installed right now. Finally! We'll be able to run to the kitchen in our skivvies first thing in the morning. (Careful now. Don't go trying to picture that.) I've been here 5 weeks without, so it will take some getting used to, what?

Well, I should begin feeling like a human being again in a couple of hours. I hope so, anyway.

fifteen years of this

My parents had a joke that always surfaced whenever conversation turned to how long they were married. "35 years without a harsh word," one of them would say. The other always answered, "When is this going to start?" They were sweethearts beginning in 1948, married in 1950, and were still affectionate partners when Dad died in 1991. The part about never a harsh word is totally false, though. Mom was a somewhat high-strung, controlling and very tense person. Her mouth always opened before her brain engaged, and she said many a nasty thing to Dad, and though he knew she never meant it, I'm sure it still stung. There was never a time when Mom didn't regret what she'd said - after all, Dad was an easy-going, steady, hardworking husband and a loving, attentive parent. What pissed Mom off was not what Dad did or didn't do, but whether he did it exactly when and how Mom wanted. Whatever. People develop habits when talking to one another, and there's no doubt in anyone's mind that Mom and Dad were in love with each other, even after 40 years together.

Today hobbitt and I celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. If we've had a harsh word or two (though not likely more than that) along the way, it was borne of frustration with external forces (say, the AKA convention in Jacksonville, FL) or simple misunderstandings. hobbitt treats me like a princess, and there's no doubt in my mind that I've got the better part of the deal here.

Our wedding day pretty much set the tone for the rest of our time together: family and close friends, casual, good food, lots of champagne, fun. We spent the weekend at my sister's home in Newbury, MA. All the guests under 60 stayed in the Essex Street Inn in Newburyport, and Aunt Grace (my matron of honor), Mom and Dad stayed at Nancy's 200-year-old farmhouse. We barbecued, flew kites on the beach, and generally enjoyed ourselves on Thursday and Friday. We were married Saturday in Nancy and Alan's back yard, by the milkhouse, with a distant view of the ocean and salt marshes. My friend Susan (rest her soul) gave me away (the joke was that Dad didn't get it right for me the first time), though when asked who gives the bride, she said, "I'm not through with her yet!" hobbitt never took his eyes off me during the entire ceremony, those beautiful green eyes that spilled tears of happiness. Cocktails were served there under the ancient maple tree, with a lovely toast by the justice of the peace, Ralph Lowell (rest his soul), whose family dated back to the mid 17th century in that town along with my brother-in-law's family.

Hors d'oeuvres were served out there, too, until a gentle rain chased us inside to enjoy the buffet set up on the ping-pong table in Nancy's parlor. We opened gifts, drank copious amounts of champagne, and when the elder folks started to tire, we moved the party back to the Inn, where we had a large suite atop the old carriage house. We partied on into the night, right up until the police made us stop (loud music and laughter was disturbing neighbors, go figure).

It was the most wonderful weekend, the most amazing day, of my entire life, to date. But we've been even more fortunate - to be able to share good times with many diverse and wonderful friends, friends who are scattered to the far corners of the earth, friends who love us still, old friends and new friends, young and not-quite-so-young anymore. We've had 15 wonderful years together, but our friends have been the sweetness, the icing on the cake. I am grateful to all my friends, related or not, who have cared enough about us these 15 years to stay in touch, to travel and enjoy life with us.

I wish you could all come out with us tonight to Sirens. We're going to eat, drink and be very merry. (No worries. We've already worked out the WW point factor.) Heck, we'd even pick up the tab.

looking at my stats

I'm confused by my blog stats.

Hey you! From Bloomfield Hills, MI. Do I know you? Leave a comment.

And what could I possibly have to say that would be of any interest to someone in Singapore or Turkey?

Well, at least I don't have any embarrassing keyword hits, like "incessant nose picking" or "incest with siblings."

living fortunate

Alison, I've already chatted you up about this, so you don't have to read on.

I've been doing a fair amount of garden work here. It's pleasant to work out there with Brynn. She's a hard worker and good company, and perhaps, a new friend. More importantly, I wouldn't have even attempted any of this without her help - the amount of work that needs to be done is overwhelming. The lot was basically nuked from the construction, and except for some edging, planting and mulching out front (more on that later), we were left with a weed-infested, soil-less wasteland.

So far she has weeded the entire property, of stinging nettles and bull thistles, mostly. (I did help a couple of days on that.) Together we've planted nine laurels, two evergreen lilacs, and a bunch of salal, as well as moved the hollies that were planted too close to the foundation, in too small a space (like everything else the builder did) out front. We have more to move. Almost every front foundation plant needs full sun, and gets little or none. The last couple of days we've been digging foundation beds all along the back and northwest side of the house. This means punching through heavily compacted "soil" and small rocks.

The stirrup hoe breaks the surface. The spade turns it up, after repeated stabbings and the usual jumping on the back of the blade. We've even had to employ the ice breaker we've dragged with us from Illinois. Then the weasel further breaks up the clumps of material, and copious amounts of compost are dumped on and tilled in with the small tined fork.

It's hard work, and it's tiring. When I'm done with that and have showered off all the bug spray, I have to get down to exercising the dog and then cooking. So basically all I'm doing is gardening, cooking, and walking the dog. Well, and blogging, too.

Sometimes I resent the fact that I have to do the garden work, and sometimes I think of the time spent cooking as a drag. Then it dawned on me the other day: I have nothing else to do, nothing that I must do, besides garden and cook and walk the dog. What the bloody hell is wrong with me? What else would I be doing that was healthy, useful, engaging and easily tracked through to completion? How lucky am I?

This is exactly what I want to be doing. Getting out and exploring would be nice, as would meeting new people (besides the people at the garden stores) and it's true the earth will always be there waiting to greet my digging hands, but this is what's before me, what needs doing, and what is feeding my heart and soul most deliciously. Most of us crave some time like this, and I get to live it every day.

So I'm grateful for every mosquito bite, every nettle sting, every blister - and even the rapidly healing thumb pad injury. I'm grateful to be able to witness each and every day with my feet in mud or on sand or trudging up the hill in the deep salal and with the dog obviously impatient whenever I need to stop and catch my breath or clear the rainwater off my glasses. (Note to self: just go ahead and wear your URSA camp baseball cap as a matter of course on all but the clearest of days.)

So pay no attention to my pathetic whining, which will occur on occasion. I know this loser's living fortunate.

your opinions please

So hobbitt and I, after a glorious dinner last night, were talking about what flavor of ice cream we'd take to a desert island, if we could only choose one. Actually, we'd been talking about food cravings. His tend toward chocolate and sweets. Mine all go to the savory side: onion and gruyere tarts. Brie en croute. Grilled sweet peppers and garlic...

(Note to self: shut the hell up!)

Anyway, he asked me if I could choose between chocolate or vanilla, what would I choose? I figured his obvious selection would be chocolate, given what I've witnessed about him while in proximity to such substance and the firearms that have been brought to bear at family functions when there was only one piece of chocolate remaining, but he surprised me and said that chocolate ice cream would become too monolithic of a flavor over time, and that the subtleties of vanilla would be more suited to a long-term exclusive relationship. I agreed wholeheartedly. Then he asked me how I'd choose between plain vanilla (and we're talking a good quality, natural, full butterfat ice cream here) and vanilla with, say, caramel. So the premise was, only vanilla ice cream all the time or only vanilla ice cream with caramel all the time, no variations.

I know we've lost you, Aalln. But bear with us here.

I had to think about that a long time. I eventually opted for the vanilla with caramel. Though I wouldn't eat caramel alone (for the same reason that I enjoy chocolate only rarely, having to do with the overwhelming saturation of the flavor, and the fact that for me, chocolate and straight caramel taste great on the forward parts of the tongue and mouth but begin to gag me with their intensity and texture as they near the back-most taste sensors), the diversion in texture and sweetness would be a nice combination that I believe I would prefer to just straight vanilla. I waxed on about the quality of sweet and the nature of texture for a while and convinced hobbitt that my choice was the superior one.

Now we all know that ice cream wouldn't even be on my list of "the only food you can bring with you to a desert island" because I wouldn't give up roasted red peppers to save my life. But you get the drift. I can't help it - from the time I was a little girl, I've always preferred vanilla to chocolate, in a family of nothing but chocolate lovers. (Note I said lovers, and not freaking out-of-control fanatics, like hobbitt's family.) Not that it mattered much. We were poor, and candy, and especially good candy, was hardly on the menu.

So, if you could only choose one flavor of ice cream to have forever and ever on a desert island, what would it be, and why?

let's get foodie

Okay, so the fatties at druid labs are on a diet, the new Weight Watchers, specifically. Oh my god! Good eats. Here are some recipes we've tried recently and wish to rave about. No need to be overweight to enjoy these. They're easy! Trust us! Would we lie to you?

Southwest Bean and Corn Salad

1 19-oz can of black beans, rinsed and drained
1 cup fresh or thawed frozen corn kernels
8 scallions, sliced
1/2 cup diced tomato
2 tsp. fresh lime juice
1 tsp. ground cumin

Combine. Refrigerate at least 2 hours. Eat and gasp with pleasure.

Makes 4 servings, and each 1/2 cup serving is 2 WW points. (130 calories)


Broiled Tex-Mex Steak

3 Tbsp. tomato paste
1 chipotle en adobo plus 2 Tbsp. adobo sauce
juice and grated zest of 1 lime
1 1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1 1/2 lbs. boneless sirloin steak (about 1-inch thick) trimmed of fat
1 tsp. salt

1. Marinade: combine tomato paste, chipotle and adobo sauce, lime juice and zest, and cumin in a zip-close plastic bag. Mash the mixture with a fork until smooth, and toss in the steak. Squeeze air out of the bag, turn to coat the steak, and toss in the fridge, turning occasionally, for at least 2 hours, or overnight.

2. Spray the broiler pan with nonstick spray, and preheat the broiler. Remove the steak from the marinade, and sprinkle both sides with salt. Broil steak 4 inches from heat until done to taste, 8-9 minutes for medium-rare, then let stand 10 minutes before slicing.

Six servings, each 4 WW points.


Citrus-Roasted Vegetables

If you're too lazy to zest one lemon and one orange, there's no hope for you. We were both surprised at how delicious (and out-of-the-ordinary) this is.

2 12-oz bags assorted precut fresh vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, carrots)
1 1/2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/4 tsp crushed red pepper
3/4 tsp salt
1 tsp. grated lemon zest
1 tsp. grated orange zest

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Spray a large jelly-roll pan iwth non-stick spray.
2. Combine veggies, oil, red pepper and salt in a large bowl. Toss well. Transfer veggies to jelly-roll pan and roast until veggies are tender, 20-22 minutes.

3. Return hot vegetables to the same bowl and add the fruit zest. Toss to coat well and serve.

Makes about 6 generous 3/4 cup servings, 1 WW point.

dammit yibbyl!

Okay. I've been tagged It, thanks to that fine young man, yibbyl.

Ten things I've never done:

1) given birth, though I assisted in the birth of my goddaughter Sophia Marija, and it was an honor to serve her mother thus and witness Soph's water-bourne arrival.

2) bungee-jumped. Oh, I bragged that I would if we could take a side-trip from Oz to New Zealand (knowing we couldn't arrange such a thing) but since it didn't happen, I didn't jump, nor will I.

3) met a celebrity, formally. I did once almost walk right into Springsteen at the Inkwell in Long Branch, NJ, in 1970-something. I've met and spent a week with Harold Ramis' wife. Marilu Henner brushed my sleeve at a women's conference. But no introductions, alas. (Oh, wait! I lied! I met and spent a week with Meg Tilly. Hmm. How interesting I would forget about that. Heh. So I'll have to amend this one: I've never formally met a certifiably sane celebrity.) Then again, I had my 15 minutes of fame on a local access cable show. I won't EVER do that again.

4) I've never hiked any of the Appalachian Trail. I blame hobbitt. I had plans to do so right when he showed up in my bed. I would say life, but I'd known him for some time before he arrived in my bed.

5) I've never been to Europe.

6) I've never slept with a black man.

7) I've never been arrested. It helps that I've never really committed much of a crime, except for some shameful acts of driving while intoxicated in my youth. Oh, and the broccoli thing. Some trespassing. Statutory rape, underage drinking, urinating in public, exceeding the speed limit. Things like that.

8) I've never eaten octopus or squid, or conch, or snails. Never never never!

9) I've never gone scuba diving, though I had the chance at the Great Barrier Reef. I could not get the hang of breathing under water, and I bailed so as not to make the excursion too abbreviated for the other three people diving with the instructor, due to my likely panic attack.

10) I've never raised a kitten. Someday, maybe.

And now, in the interests of torturing others (lookey! I spelled it correctly!) I tag my dear friend Triskele, and my favorite couple, Aalln and Aiolsn.

well I'll be dipped in s.h.i.t. and deep fried

Looking over my blog stats, I noticed a hit from a keyword search "chinese water torcher". I laughed, of course, until I found out that I'd actually spelled torture that way. I. Am. So. Ashamed.

I usually screw up accommodate and words like that. But torture. Sheee-it.

Perhaps this is indeed early onset. *shudder*

yowza

Marjorie and Paula, if you're reading this you'd better sit down right now.

We went to a movie again. Exactly one month after the last one. Which is to say, to date, in Pete Townsend, we go to the movies once a month. And not only that - both the films we've seen are from the current year. Okay. Breathe.

This time we went to see Madagascar, at the Rose Theater, which is downtown. There was no musty smell. The Rosebud Cinema, the smaller of the two screens, seats about 100 or so. Tonight most of those 100 were under the age of twelve. And the air conditioning wasn't working. The management kept the front exit door open, so it wasn't stuffy until the movie ended and the door was closed. Refreshments are a bit more expensive than in the Uptown Theater.

We want to try the Wheel In Motor Movie next, which is just up the road. Apparently the drive-in lot can accommodate about 150 cars. That ought to be a hoot. Doesn't seem to be open yet, though it was open last summer. They broadcast the audio on FM 89.3, and those thirty-five or so speakers in the Swedemobile should do the trick. Stay tuned...

It was a fun, if slight, movie. Enjoyable, with tons of G-rated adult jokes, puns and references, to boot.

Anyway, afterwards we strolled around Pete Townsend a bit. Tonight was the monthly Gallery Walk, but that ends sometime around 7:30 and other than the bars, the only thing open downtown was the Elevated Ice Cream Company. I'd wondered about the name, and now I know: The Elevated Ice Cream Co. began serving ice cream from a courtyard antique Victorian elevator cage in 1977, hence the name Elevated Ice Cream Company, and the motto "Lift Your Spirits!"

hobbitt wanted a root beer float (flavor) ice cream cone, but then checked in with his stomach, which refused the treat, mumbling something about popcorn, Junior Mints, and Dr. Pepper. So we popped over to the candy store side and purchased 2 geoducks (say "gooey ducks" and no they weren't clams but cashew/caramel/white chocolate sins) and a very small bag of candied chocolate cherries. We'll have them later, perhaps. Who can say.

This intense nightlife is going to be the very death of me.

of course

Of course the berberis isn't right for a foundation planting. What was I thinking? Now I'm going to have to find a place to pair them up with some lovely Centranthus ruber for a splash of coral. Should be nice somewhere, and might complement the cranberry color of the trim of the house. I've had Jupiter's beard before, in my Illinois garden. I didn't get to see it bloom.

I have far more plans than I have a pocketbook for. Well, that's not entirely true but I am notoriously cheap when it counts the most. I think we'll settle on bed preparation and seeds for the upcoming month. There's still time to get some perennials going before autumn. That rock wall out back will have to wait, and I can't get too enthusiastic about the rest of the back near the house until we decide what we're going to do regarding an expanded deck and hot tub. The skeeters are making me think we'll live outside a little differently than we have, and they're even making a screen porch sound mighty inviting.

The soil here is a fine sand with tons of rocks. It's probably a sand/clay mixture but I haven't done the simplest of soil tests: shake some up in a jar full of water and see what settles. The bottom would be sand, then loam, then the lightest, clay. It would be easy to see the proportions. Of course I can't do that right now with this throbbing thumb of mine, she said, batting her eyelashes. (That usually works on hobbitt.) We'll top dress the back yard with some compost, which can be obtained pretty cheaply around here. I think I'd like to try an eco-lawn, which is a mixture of perennial rye grass with some broad leaf ground cover like clover. What the heck? This suits my junior gardener mentality, as well as my water sense. It's said to stay green when the grass goes dormant in summer, and I'm sure as hell not going to commit too much water to a lawn, as previous lawns have discovered, much to their regret.

My favorite local nursery brews up compost tea twice a week. Since this back yard looks pretty lifeless, I think that might perk things up a bit. Nothing like spreading some friendly microbes and bacteria around. Truth be told, I can't wait to test out some of the things I learned about soil management/improvement from my master gardener classes. Heck, if there aren't friendly bacteria in the ground, my sweet little plant roots won't feed. We simply can't have that.

it's official!

*drumroll*

Well, it's official. I actually live here now. I've injured myself, substantially but not seriously, and have spilled my blood on the land. Yippee!

Today was gray, but turned to mist. We got the laurels planted, began to water them, then dug up a bed beneath our bedroom windows and tilled in some compost. We needed more, so Brynn and I went to our favorite local nursery, got the compost, and picked out a couple of berberis thunbergii for the spot. They'll need some time to grow, of course, but the color will be lovely and we have some nice choices to plant around their feet.

We'd put in three hours when we returned, so I paid Brynn and we said goodbye until Monday. Since the mist outside was pretty heavy (though not heavy enough to have any effect on my freshly planted laurels, so I'm watering anyway), I decided to pack up all the hand tools after making a thistle-sweep of the yard. I picked up the bypass shears, and went to close (and lock) them. In doing so I sliced off the pad of my left thumb - golly they're sharp. It hurt. It bled. A lot. It is probably still bleeding. When I came inside, hobbitt helped me get it washed and dressed. He didn't even get mad at me.

I should probably get a tetanus shot, what?

till and toil

Brynn will be here in about 15 minutes. Today we'll plant the five English laurels along the back of the property. They are in large (LARGE) pots and I have no idea what we'll find regarding root structure, so we might have lots more digging to do. And I'll have to commit substantial water to them this summer, but that will help the Leyland cypress, too, and it's all by way of screening the road back there.

After yesterday's digging, I took Inti for a walk down to the beach. I brought along her tennis ball and flinger, and she swam for over an hour. The water was calm, and there wasn't too much seaweed. She'd be swimming still, if I hadn't bagged up the ball and flinger. These walks with her are getting longer and longer. I left here yesterday at 3 and came back just before six. The walk up the hill is getting shorter, too, or so it seems.

No Baker or Rainier since Tuesday.

That's all for now. Gotta slosh down this coffee and put on my shit-kickers. And probably some more Deep Woods OFF! Attractive, eh?

fatigue

I am happy to admit that yesterday's garden travails wore me out completely. Just getting out of the comfy leather sofa was a painful chore.

hobbitt came home from the kite festival with a terrible cold. He's limping around here worse than I am. Last night's dog walk didn't go down to the beach as scheduled. Neither of us thought we'd make it back, so we just did the 1.5 mile figure 8 up here in the highlands.

I cooked perhaps my second sit-down meal here last night, nothing special. Meat loaf, baked red potatoes (so creamy!) and fresh green beans. And right now we're living without a dish drain, so I tend to keep the kitchen pretty clean. This is a clear sign that points to the evil nature of dish drains, I'm sure. Anyway, I knew hobbitt was sick when he just left me the minor mess in the kitchen, without even putting his dish in the dishwasher. Poor puppy! He has a slight fever today.

Brynn will be here in about 15 minutes. We'll dig the five holes back in nettle hell land for the five English laurels that will be delivered tomorrow. There's a slight breeze today, but we'll probably go through a can of OFF! anyway. Damn skeeters. Can't have anything nice.

On another front, the buyers of druid labs east have asked to move the closing date up, from 6/30. Yahoo! I'm all for it, of course. But in our haste to get the hell out of there last month, we left behind a considerable amount of junk, mostly in the garage, and mostly crap that the previous owners left behind three years ago. I am grateful to my sister Terry for arranging a dumpster and a crew of mostly her children, who can scavenge whatever they want while emptying the house entirely. All the effort I need expend right now is monetary, and that's okay by me.

The buyers also asked that the south sump pump be replaced, as they thought it was running constantly. Hmm. How about: the pump is running because that's what it's designed to do. If it wasn't running you'd be standing ankle deep in spring water. How about it was new in February. How about: no. I'll leave a credit to pump and jet the septic, and clean the chimney. And probably something for the old furnaces, too, or the old pool pump, when you finally get those inspections done. All the effort I need expend right now is monetary, and that's okay by me.

So I look forward to that chapter closing. It will mean that we can pay off our move and re-amortize our mortgage here, which will be about the size of a moderate car payment. I have lots more projects to spend hobbitt's money on, and I'm anxious to get started.

the dirt under my nails

Ah. How soon I forget the joy of gardening.

Brynn and I went to the closest garden center today to choose some laurels for screening, and some of the native evergreen lilac, and salal. I know she enjoyed being on the clock for spending someone else's money, but I enjoyed having her eye, her company, and her truck. We chose four 6-foot Russian laurels and a couple of gorgeous lilacs, but could only load up 2 of the laurels at a time. On our second trip we picked out some English laurels for screening the back of the property. These will get MUCH larger than the Russian ones, and since they won't be anywhere near the house, I won't have to worry about shearing them at all. I got 5 of those; they'll be delivered on Friday, and with any luck, Brynn and I will have dug the holes back there in stinging nettle hell.

When we got back here, we planted up the Russian laurels, then spotted the salal here and there out front under the alders. It grows everywhere around here, in full sun or full shade, and has a pleasing shrubby habit. It is open enough to accept the falling alder leaves and sticky spring droppings, too. Right now Brynn is working at another property here, removing all the salal from someone's yard. She'll dig some of that up and bring it here. Let's hope it transplants as easily as the nursery owner said.

Then we needed to move the three small hollies that were planted within 8 inches of the foundation. The tags said they would spread 3-6 feet, and one of them was already suffering from being too close to the siding. Of course now I have to find some dwarf evergreen planting for either side of the front door, but I don't have to worry about that this season.

Finally we put the lilacs in, one in front and one out back. In the back we sited it next to the large boulder that sits just inside our property line. Chest high and white, it will make a beautiful foundation for the spreading dark green glossy leaves, and the spring and early summer clear blue blossoms. Right now, of course, the rock dwarfs the shrub, but time takes time, after all. We had a hard time shooing the bees away when we planted them. Brynn says sometimes the lilacs look as though they're moving, with the volume of bees that gather there.

So as usual after yard work, I'm sweaty and filthy. I have to give these plants a thorough watering right now, and then I'll be done for the day. I think I forgot to have lunch. Yes, I definitely forgot to have lunch. Oh well.