afterglow

So I'm sitting in Burbank's Bob Hope Airport, waiting a couple of hours for my flight, and feeling like I've been run over by a train, two or three times. Nothing hurts, really, or even aches. But I'm sitting there trying to keep it together long enough to make it on the plane, trying to either stay awake or find a comfortable way to sleep sitting up. Nothing works. It's reasonably cool inside but I know that outside it's a freaking inferno.

I'd like to recollect what I did over the previous few days, but I do believe that heat fried some crucial cranial connections.

But I will mention a few of the true doll-babies (and that's a very affectionate term in my house) of the trip.

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

Nah, I won't. I'd forget someone and they'd be all like pissed off and shit. But I love 'em all, the sexy southern accents, the infectious maniacal laughter, the loving sweaty hugs, always smiling, always welcoming, always with the smiling, welcoming, sweaty hugging and kissing.

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

Okay, I'll simmer down now and get serious. For most of my life I've felt like I was on the outside looking in on a great party that I didn't get invited to. This past weekend, I accepted the invitation that was probably always there, just under the door mat or something, maybe with a little grime or moss on the envelope. How could i have missed it? I was made to feel like a part of something deliciously special. People I didn't even hardly know went out of their way to see that I didn't miss a thing. All of them. Every. Single. One.

And even if it never ever happens again for me, I know now that it's possible to belong. To some of you that may seem a simple and ordinary thing, and I might say that I'm envious if that is how your life has been. But now I know, and there's not a doubt in my mind that this knowing will tip the scales of my general demeanor into something just a little bit brighter, a little bit sillier, a little bit more comfortable in my own skin.

wtf?

Tomorrow morning I'll be getting up to a whirlwind of activity. hobbitt is leaving for a spiritual retreat in Sacramento and leaves for SeaTac at about 9 a.m. My sister and her family are flying home to NJ at about 3:30 and wish to be at the airport no later than 1:30. I'm driving them there, and that means we need to leave no later than 11:30 a.m.

And my flight to Burbank doesn't leave until 7 p.m.

I probably have about 400 puzzles left my my 1001 NY Times crossword puzzle book. And I have a brandy-new Games magazine, too. And I have a rather full bottle of Xanax. I'll be getting on a plane (alone) to travel to a place I've never been (alone) to party with a bunch of people I've never met.

I have never met the fellow who's picking me up at the airport. I have never met the two couples that are also being ferried to Pasadena with me, though I have a pretty good idea what one of the couples looks like. My roommate at the motel is a younger woman I've never met and whose last name I didn't know until today.

I have no idea how I'll be getting back to the airport on Sunday, but I have a hunch that a taxi cab will be involved.

Yeah. I don't know what I'm doing either.

whales?

Our whale watching excursion yesterday was very nice - though I'm afraid Owen got a little bored. On the way from Pete Townsend to San Juan Island, we encountered some choppy seas for a brief period. As I was sitting facing backwards, this posed a bit of a dilemma for me: on whom should I puke? Turning around was the solution. I've had sea legs since I was a kid, but it's been a long time that I've been out on open water. Fresh air and proper orientation cleared all that up. Good for me! Too bad for the southern lady in the lime green shirt. Her main accoutrement for the day was a barf bag.

We stopped about halfway up Admiralty Inlet to watch a passing minke whale. Every now and then some seals would pop their heads above water to watch us motor by. And there was an amazing amount of wood - tree trunks and lumber - just floating around out there. Finally we came to San Juan Island, and it was easy to tell where the resident (fish-eating) Orca were - there were already a couple dozen boats of all sizes - private yachts, zodiacs, and other wildlife excursion boats. We snuck up and saw what were probably two different pods of Orca. We weren't real close - perhaps our closest pass was when a large male came within about 300 feet of our boat - but we could hear them when they breathed, and every now and then one would pass by on her belly.

The busiest boat in the bunch was that of the Canadian Whale Police. I don't know if that's what they're called, but they are serious: get in front of a moving pod, chase a moving pod, or stupidly sail right through a feeding pod means a quick $6k fine. The only vessels anywhere near the whales were a dozen or so kayaks. Talk about a view! These folks were within feet of the feeding beauties.

The naturalist on the boat looked to be all of 14 (though I learned he'll be attending college in the fall) but he was most knowledgable on these particular pods, and their larger clans, and the northern and southern San Juan resident Orca. Evidently there are transient Orca, and these are a different sub-species of dolphin, and they are marine mammal eaters. Right now there's a small pod of them in the Hood Canal area. They'd think Inti is tender vittles.

This is the part that bored Owen. He was hoping to get right up close and personal. He allowed as how it wasn't a horrible day, though. On the way back we stopped, very briefly, at Protection Island. There was a lolling elephant seal male - roughly the size of a school bus, with his face halfway in the water, on his back, sunning. Probably a few hundred seals moms and newborns, and at least 30 juvenile bald eagles (evidently waiting for another seal birth, since they tend to like the placentas). The eagles and seals weren't keeping any distance from each other. And pretty much nobody was around the big boy.

It won't surprise anyone that I really didn't want to get off the boat. I'm sure I'll take this trip again from time to time as guests visit with us. I found the number of boats and the whole idea of watching whales sad in a way. When I can articulate it I'll blog it, but for now it's a vague notion about our separation from nature, and the spectator sport that our natural world has become. It was moving to see these immense creatures peacefully going about their lives in the rich waters of the San Juan Islands. What a tug of war it is to want them to be untouched, and yet want to witness the beauty of their world.

For the record, Owen spent the remainder of the afternoon at the skate park. Three hours of skateboarding doesn't bore him in the least.

goodness and light, what?

All this is not to say there aren't some days that really grind me down. Today I think I could just spend the whole day crying. It started with a trip for a massage, to try to fix my lower back. Sitting in the car was excruciating, and the therapist got to witness my attempts at getting out of the driver's seat. She suggested that it's time for me to see a chiropractor. The ride back was a lot more pleasant, after my ass-whooping. And I'm not kidding. I'm getting one-hour ass massages. It's the only thing that's helping me at the moment.

There's piles of laundry to do, and dog hair all over the carpet. The dining table looks like three reprobates have been eating pizzas and playing games for 4 days. Oh, wait. That's exactly what has happened. And my sister and her loquacious husband are returning, two days early, from their solo sojourn. Which means beds have to be changed and evidence needs to be disposed of.

Owen helped me with the garbage and recycling run, and then asked to go to the skate park. This time my ass wasn't so comfortable in the car. Twinges, a little muscle burn. Pain, is what I'm trying to say.

Now the dog must be walked and I have to figure out a way to explain that I'm not cooking dinner. The laundry is going, and I'm watering the gardens. (We haven't had rain in a couple of weeks. Heck, the fire-danger sign says moderate.

The estimates on putting perimeter drains in at druid labs east are between $6,500 and $12,500. Need I say more about that? All this, to correct something that was never a problem to us, not even when we had 13 inches of rain in 48 hours. And we still don't know what the buyers' intentions are.

I'm stressed, depressed, anxious, and worried. And I have to seriously consider whether I can drive 2 hours to SeaTac on Friday and then sit on a plane for 2.5 hours. Right now I don't think I can handle that much pain, alone. Missing Reinstock might suck, but not as much as being away for a long weekend, in agony.

If I had a kayak right now I'd take it out on Pete Townsend Bay and have myself a good cry in my favorite element. Alas, I won't have money for a kayak until - well, you know. Until I crack open that bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

Pass the tissues, willya?

in case you are wondering

I have decided to adopt my grandmother's style of journaling. I have her diaries from the late 1930's. They are a pleasure to read. Her life was not easy, and yet there was always time for socializing, reading, listening to the radio, going to the movies, and her yearly solo 2-week vacation down the shore.

She did chronicle her daily life - each day had its own chore, whether it was cleaning the five bedrooms, the back stairway, the parlor, beating the rugs, laundry, cooking a 14 lb. leg of lamb or peeling a peck of potatoes, stoking the furnace...you get the idea. She also wrote about her family, and though each entry is no more than a single page, a pretty clear picture emerges of what was important to her. She took pride in her hard work, and in her family. She mentioned each time she attended church (sometimes sitting through several Masses, depending on how much praying she needed to do), and carefully documented her joy as each of her grown children became engaged, or married, or brought forth grandchildren. She deeply loved all her sons- and daughters-in-law.

But every now and then she'd write about something awful. I can tell what it was by remembering my family history and reading between the lines, but Grandma wouldn't write more than, "My loving daughter Agnes told me some terrible news today." This would be followed by several days of multiple Masses.

Well, Aunt Agnes told her mother that her husband had just run off with his teenage secretary. But Grandma wouldn't give that news the power of her words. She wouldn't write it down, wouldn't make it a permanent record. I think I understand that. There are a few things happening to us and to people we love right now that I won't mention in print. There's nothing shameful about it - like the story of the sale of druid labs east - but I don't want to read about it. I don't want to give these things the power of permanence.

Maybe that's sticking my head in the sand, maybe not. Whatever. If my world is what I make it, then I need to concentrate on what is good, what is positive, what I have the ability to control, or overcome. Everything else will just have to find its own outlet.

cool so far

Well, Owen has had a good time, I should think, though from time to time he gets a wee bit bored.

He accompanied D. to the jewelry shop, where he got to roll silver, and watch a ring being cast with molten gold. He was entrusted with a $15,000 Rolex for safekeeping while its owner did some dirty work. And D. is making him a Neptune ring marked with his nickname, out of silver. Owen is doing some serious yard work for the Pandammys, including trimming their 12-foot laurels (he's there now finishing up). And he's gone kayaking with D. a couple of times, including today, and when they were out on the water, a seal swam alongside their boats for a while.

He's getting to do men's stuff (or as my neighbor calls it, a Blue Job). Last night he and hobbitt went up on the roof to knock down a hornets' nest. This kid loves to work like that. He's ready to start ripping up our back yard to help us prepare for a lawn. However, I'm not ready for that. The back!

The past two nights we've been making wee pizzas. Owen doesn't care for our renditions, preferring his to be simple pepperoni or plain. (What's wrong with goat cheese, sliced tomatoes, mushrooms, roasted red peppers, olives, fresh mozzarella, fresh basil, or heaven forbid, our famous blue cheese, walnut and pineapple pizza?) The first night we played dominoes Muggins. Last night we played Sorry! Tonight we'll play Yahtzee and do a pot-luck pizza and whatever with the Pandammys.

Tomorrow we'll got whale watching together. I'm thinking that my neighbors are considering adopting Owen, but he's not up for the taking. And anyway, I have first dibs.

just because

Today I noticed that the Veuve Clicquot is still on sale at the supermarket.

I don't know when I'll have an opportunity to celebrate.

But I bought the bottle anyway, because, well, just like I know Mt. Baker's out there on cloudy days, I know a reason will arise. And soon. Right?

the neph out on the town

The pandammys have shared a lot of our visit time with my sister et al. (BTW, my sister and her husband left yesterday for Calgary, in hobbitt's car. A little getaway from the getaway.) And Owen is helping them with some landscaping while he's here, and has even been paid for it.

Today Owen is with D. who is a jewelry designer and works in a shop in downtown Pete Townsend, right on Water Street. Yesterday D. thought it might amuse Owen to watch him melt and pour a few thousand dollars worth of gold, and Owen readily agreed. He left at 9 this morning. D. just called to say they rolled a bunch of gold, poured a bunch of molds, and Owen got to handle some pretty amazing and expensive gemstones. And now they're out to lunch somewhere.

The pandammys just got a new kayak, and Owen got to take a little spin in that yesterday morning, and then they took us out to lunch at Otter Crossing, at the end of the marina in Pete Townsend. While on the beach, Owen found a 22-legged starfish, which a local fellow said was "on the small side. I've seen 'em almost 10 lbs. and normally they have between 18 and 22 legs." While at Otter Crossing, Owen and D. climbed down to the water's edge to capture some sort of small rock fish, while one of Pete Townsend's finest looked on, probably to be assure they weren't actually "fishing."

Later in the afternoon I took Owen to the skate park. I watched him for a while, and though he was much younger than the other kids (at least I think so - they looked more mature) he could hold his own in the bowl, and shredded with the best of them. And forgive me, but I didn't make him wear his helmet. None of the other kids were, either. I made sure my number was in his cell phone, though.

The day before, his Mom took him to the skate park while she and Joe had breakfast nearby. A man walking down the hill staggered and fell. Owen saw him and ran to him, asking the fellow what his name was and if he knew what day it was, making sure he stayed down until his injuries could be assessed. He used his cell phone to call 911, and the only thing he couldn't tell the dispatcher was what county he was in (Jefferson). He's a thoughtful young man, far more responsible than his older brother, and obviously able to make good decisions. I'm rather proud of him, not that it reflects on me at all.

Anyway, I love my neighbors. And I'll bet Owen is in heaven. I think D. is enjoying some "guy stuff" with my nephew as much as Owen is enjoying D.'s attention. I think a trip to see War of the Worlds at the drive-in is in the cards for Owen, too. Can't beat that.

the neph

My favorite nephew Owen took a walk with me up to the peak at Hurricane Ridge in Olympic Park a few days ago. hobbitt and I have been there before. You've seen the pictures. That day, we had dogs with us and couldn't venture too far on the trail. At least, that's the cover story - even if we didn't have dogs with us that day, I wouldn't have been able to venture far on the trail because it looks like this:



And yes, I know that's a paved walkway. Without going into my various phobias (well, both of them - firearms and heights), let us just say that the rather steep drop stopped me in my tracks. I was determined, however, to make the walk with Owen. I had, after all, driven up the road this far, on some pretty anxiety-producing switchbacks, in particular the last one on the ridge past the visitors' center. More about that later.

So I only had to ask him to hold my hand once, and I apologized profusely for the awful case of cooties he was likely to contract. The walk up took us about 90 minutes. It's only a mile and a half, but the elevation gain is 650 feet. The temperature was 62 degrees up there but the sun was pretty relentless, and we took our time. I'm extremely happy there are no pictures of me while I was walking along the ridges - I know I adopted a RainMan posture (trail is narrow, trail is definitely narrow, no surviving a fall), with my head turned from the drop, my shoulders slightly hunched, all the while wondering when the panic attack was going to set in, considering that my medication for same was abougt 50 miles away in the top vanity drawer in our master bath in Pete Townsend. Tightly capped. Perhaps 20 more tablets left. But I digress.

I felt confident of the walking on the paved trail, but what fascinated and alarmed me was the dizzying sense of disorientation when I looked ahead and the drop was in my field of vision. It was as much a physical sensation as it was the feeling of fear. Is that vertigo? Owen tried to cheer me up, at one point saying, "Look, Aunt bhd, you'll be conquering your fear today!" He is a sweety. But I had to point out that it was unlikely I'd be conquering anything other than the day's walk. I doubt the fear will go away. And so what - the walk was worth it. Owen made it to a symbolic top of the world. As did I.



Here, Owen is surveying Port Angeles.



At the very peak of the ridge trail (elevation 5757 feet), Owen explored the small side trails, some not much more than deer paths. He found a field of broadleaf lupines and some other blue flowers and was overwhelmed by the lovely fresh scent. He called for me to join him but he was in a steep place and let's face it, my center of gravity isn't where it should be. Nearby he also found a patch of snow and made himself a snowball for refreshment.



While at the peak we shared a couple of ham sandwiches and had some water, and chatted with an older couple from Sacramento who were photographing wildflowers. And my phone beeped indicating a message. (I had no idea I could get a cell up there and wasn't pleased about it.) And it was a call from our real estate agent in NJ. And my anxiety level sky-rocketed. And all I could think about was how I was going to get down from this amazing place. I knew the trail wasn't all that long, and I knew I could make it, RainMan-style, but from where I was sitting it looked like this:



And then afterwards I'd have to make that hairpin turn on the ridge in my car - on the outside of the turn. While it didn't spoil my walk, that knowledge settled into my gut firmly and started to squirm. Obviously we made it. The trick was that since it was so late when we descended (5:30 or so) there were few cars coming up. I simply drove on the wrong side of the road, very slowly. It was the only way I could do it. That last part of the drive isn't quite wide enough for two cars, so a head-on collision was preferable to the thought of a rolling, screaming, falling, air-bag-deploying death.

And that was the only part of the day that scared Owen. He's a sport, though. We stopped at the visitors' center and got a couple bottles of water and Sobe. His cap read, "You call that a workout?" and mine read, "You didn't even break a sweat."

abcs of me

a - age: 48, though I don't look a day over 47. No, really, I don't
b - band: Uncle Bonsai
c - crush: None. Well, okay, Sean Connery. And hobbitt
d - dad's name: Harold
e - easiest person to talk to: hobbitt. I don't even have to use all my words. He just knows
f - favorite ice cream: B&J's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch
g - gummy bears or worms?: worms, preferably in dirt
h - hometown: Neptune City, NJ
i - instruments: piano, guitar, "violin," chef knife, KitchenAid KSM5
j - junior high: I only went to a regular Catholic high school, which was tough enough (Saint Rose)
k - kids: 100% child free
l - longest car ride ever: Jackson, NJ to Pete Townsend, WA, with a dog and cat
m - mom's name: Marguerite
n - nicknames: Willie, Willie the Narc, Auntie Caca, Princess
o - one wish: acceptance
p - phobias: firearms
q - quote from me: "Hard saying, not knowing."
r - reason to smile: My many friends far and wide and near and skinny
s - song I sang last: Galileo, with Blind Man's Bluff
t - time I wake up usually: 10-ish, if I have a busy day ahead of me
u - unknown fact about me: I skipped the 4th grade in order to attend one year of advanced astrophysics at MIT
v - vegetables I hate: overcooked ones, and kelp
w - worst habit: leaving dead bodies in my wake
x - Xperience (Happiest): the day I learned that the lymph nodes were negative for cancer
y - years since I've been to a religious/spiritual place: if you discount the beach, which is my personal choice for spiritual communication, then it was for my mother's funeral in January 2004
z - zodiac sign: Pisces, which should be obvious to everyone who's ever asked me to make a decision like "paper or plastic"

heh heh

Yibbyl made me waste some time. He's proud of that, I'm sure.

ease

We had an easy, quiet day. Mostly we arose around 10 a.m., except for hobbitt, who had to work, may the spirits bless him. Owen and I took Inti for a walk/swim down to the beach and back. I called the pandammys to find out if they wanted to retrieve their driftwood, but they were not able to do so at that hour. Terry and Joe and Owen spent the afternoon exploring Pete Townsend and enjoying one of the first days of summer up here - unbelievably awesome.

I put a basic salt/pepper/garlic rub on 4 large top sirloin steaks and peeled potatoes for dinner. Then D. of the pandammys called to see if we could meet on the beach to help with the driftwood. Yes, yes we could. Off we went, and fetched the driftwood and lo and behold, a fellow we'd met at our house (friend of hobbitt's sister) had locked his keys in his car there at the beach, and we could offer him a ride home (into town) to get the spare. It was an eventful evening, and only to become more so.

We asked the pandammys to come to dinner, as we had 4 large sirloin steaks and they allowed as they had some chicken that had to be cooked, so they grilled the steaks and chicken and we made the salads and potatoes and together we had a fine, sociable, impromptu dinner. hobbitt walked D. home when he needed to leave, and I walked P. home when it was time - and we both carried short gin cocktails for the road. (It's 2 houses down the road, less than 200 feet.) While there, I played some piano and dished some old stories, then set out for the long trek home in the dark, alone. Less than 200 feet.

And promptly almost fell in the culvert. In my own defense, I don't often walk from their house to ours - luck has had it that I've been in the car, delivering P, or a large cache of plants. And hobbitt had turned out outside lights off, perhaps not even aware that I wasn't home. Luckily, I had my phone in my pocket. So, less than 100 feet from home, I called him to ask him to turn on the outside lights so I could find my way home.

And I have lived to tell the tale. Check it out - we live in a place where people will come to dinner on a whim on a weeknight, and I can't find my way home in the dark. Have I struck gold or what?

cusp

So it's like nine hours until I have to leave for SeaTac to pick up my first official planned houseguests. I say planned because hobbitt's sister visited with us for a night a couple of weeks ago, since she happened to be in the area. It was a trial run for my sister's visit, in my view.

Terry and Joe and Terry's youngest son Owen arrive around 10:30 or so, and we won't get back here until the wee hours. On or about Wednesday, Terry and Joe are taking hobbitt's car and heading for Calgary, I think. (Just don't forget to keep the gas tank above 1/4 full!) For six or seven days, or thereabouts. Leaving me with a 13-year-old man-boy (he's almost six feet tall already). An active, hungry, delightful man-boy. Is it a secret that he's my favorite nephew? It shouldn't be. He's the nephew I know the most - his older brothers came of age when I was living out-of-state, and when we moved back to NJ, Owen was 10, and we had a pool and a trampoline, so you do the math.

It was Owen who made me set up the telescope very late one night, and we got a good look at Mars, and we got thousands of sand flea bites on our ankles. It was Owen who fell asleep in the hot tub the night we went out, around 4 a.m., to watch the meteor shower. Owen accompanied me into the woods on numerous occasions to identify mushrooms and trees and lizards and upon our return, was first and foremost interested in getting the ticks off Inti. This probably had a lot to do with the fact that we finally ended up brushing her and then burning the hair, which was usually filled with the darned ticks. And Owen is the one who would rush to move the toads and frogs and turtles out of harm's way, and sometimes kiss them when he found a safe haven for them. Owen and I spent some wonderful afternoons racing each other to the bottom of the pool to pluck the torpedo toy out of the main drain basket handle. (Being the taller one then, I won every time.)

I've loved each and every one of my siblings' children, but Owen is the one who never fails to abide by my one and only rule: Antie Caca must be hugged and kissed in greeting and in farewell, every single time. Gotta love dedication like that.

He's going to want to go skateboarding, though the Pete Townsend skate park isn't quite up to the challenge that he's used to. He'll want to go kayaking. He'll want to go hiking in the Olympics. We might want to see the Pacific coast. He'll want to play Midtown Madness but we no longer have the joystick - or probably the software. Oops.

I'm tired just thinking about it, but we are going to have some serious fun.

doggie report card

Dog's name: Inti
My mood was: relaxed
Today I played with: She didn't play.
Comments: She was a bit nervous to start. She liked sniffing around and loved our attention. She spent a lot of time relaxing in shady spots. She did just fine...better than expected.

Translation: She growled at the other dogs so that they'd keep away from her. She needs to establish the boundary immediately and will approach others in her own good time. She only barked for me at the gate a few times. It was hot and sunny, and she's black, so she needed to find a cool spot to loll about.

Well, good. This will just continue her socialization program. And we can go away knowing she's free to move around, be outside, and play if she feels like it. Yay!

Though I'm still missing my $10/day housesitter from Illinois...boo hoo...

missing them

Every now and then I get caught short realizing my parents are gone.

Dad has been gone for 14 years, Mom, a year and a half. It's still shocking to me to think I can't just pick up the phone and call.

I wanted to call Mom today, to tell her how I love it here in Pete Townsend. Inti and I were walking on the beach, and the sky was clearing, and sunlight was streaming down on my face and arms, and the tide was out, and the water was calm, and the most beautiful feeling came over me. Happiness. Realizing my great good fortune. And I wanted to call my mom and tell her. Thank her. Bless her.

Dear god in heaven, I started. Well, those words are familiar, if not my own. Mom would speak them. Great spirits all around me, I started again. Please, please, I beg you, let my parents know how much I love them, how much I thank them, and how happy I am.

I didn't think there was much else to say, or needed to be said. I was surrounded by water and mountains and sunshine and butterflies and bees and fragrant meadows and eagles and herons, sand dollars, tumbled stone and ancient wrecks of trees. My life is almost incomprehensible to me, in its constantly unfolding beauty.

There's no way to top this, of course. I am inhabiting my life, finally. When I breathe in, I breathe in all the wonderment around me, and when I breathe out, every breath is a prayer of thanks.

Now, I believe I'll meet my parents again, even though I no longer follow any type of Christian religion. But the child of Harold and Marguerite wanted to run up the beach today and yell, "Mommy! Daddy! Look!"

day care

Inti didn't fail her exam yesterday. The proprietors of Dog Townsend want to make sure that a) she is okay with the staff, b) she's okay with other dogs, c) she will be okay when I'm not around and d) not bark all night long.

She was brought into a large (1/4 acre?) fenced, covered paddock, alone, and given some time to sniff around for a while. Then one by one, the day care residents were allowed out with her. She wasn't impressed, and she wasn't entirely pleased. Most of the pups she met were adult retrievers of some sort, though there was one Newfoundland that could have eaten her in one gulp (and Inti goes about 66 lbs.). She growled a little though not a single dog pressured her in any way. Steve laughed it off, feeling that her growling wasn't serious. (I knew her growling wasn't serious, but I get to hear her vocalizations every day.) A couple of times she hung around Steve or me, and rubbed her butt against us - and made her happy, thanks-for-letting-me-scratch-my-back grunty growls. She was pretty calm, not edgy, but not really engaged in the other dogs.

That usually takes time. She needs to feel secure before she'll start playing. And then when she starts playing, she bolts into full-body-slam mode in an instant.

We then went inside the building where the dogs rest for a few hours during the day and all night. It was immaculate, and almost filled with runs and large cages. She was a little clingy inside, but not upset. I really think she's getting her chops back for socializing, what with the walks on the beach and regular meet-ups with other dogs.

Tomorrow morning she'll go back for a 2-hour day-care stint, so they can see how she is without me. I think she'll be fine without me, as long as she's not restrained or confined.

In the meantime I have to get her a kennel cough vaccine (bordetella). Since she wasn't routinely around other dogs, it wasn't necessary for the past few years.

I'd much rather have someone come and stay here with her, but the only person we know is the tile guy (who currently lives on a boat, because his marriage is breaking up, and it's unclear to me whether his girlfriend does or does not live on the boat with him), and he did indeed volunteer, and though he seems like a nice, stand-up guy, I'm just not going to go there at the moment.

pete dog, or dog pete, or something

In a few hours I'm taking Inti to Dog Townsend for an interview. With any luck, there won't be essay questions because she's lacking that opposing thumb for holding the pen. hobbitt and I will both be away the last weekend in July (in different California cities) and we need to find a kennel for her.

She's never been kenneled other than the few days she spent at the pound. She won't like it much. This place describes itself as a more free environment, where the pups can interact and play all day. She would like that, I think. However, she's just learning social skills again after being a solitary dog (mostly - she did become friends with the NJ neighbor's beautiful Bridey), which came after being attacked by golden retrievers (I know, hard to believe but totally true) while on leash in our neighborhood in Illinois. And I do mean attacked, as in, these dogs went right for her flank.

On the beach here, she gets lots of social interaction, but we're walking, not standing around watching our dogs play. There is a group that gathers first thing in the morning to do just that, but I'm not sure she's ready for it yet.

To let dogs be together in a group like this, the Dog Townsend folks are rather particular about the dogs they accept. No aggressive dogs, for instance. Probably not any overly shy dogs, either. Hopefully, Inti's personality will be a match.

I gotta face facts: she's a dog and knows dog language. She wasn't raised by baboons, for heaven's sake. I'm thinking these other dogs will also know doggie talk. They'll figure it out. She'll be fine. I hope.

If not, I'll have to quickly come up with plan B.

big bird

After running some errands, I took Inti for a walk down to the beach this afternoon. On the way down I saw a bald eagle flying over the road. She banked and whirled and landed at the top of a pine tree, on a dead branch. What first alerted me to her presence was the typical screech. What came next was a surprise: a chattering, almost like crow talk, continuous. I walked a few more yards and realized there were two eagles sitting on the dead branch, about 100 feet away from me. Both were in full adult plumage.

I think I've seen one eagle flying along the beach here, but it was flying at eye level, so I couldn't get any good field marks. The white head and white tail are pretty unmistakable, though. And a few days ago I saw an immature eagle, soaring at the bluffs while being harrassed by a crow. From below he was uniformly dark, though at one point he banked and I could see the beginnings of the white head and tail plumage.

These two were definitely adults. I heard the screech cry from somewhere at the bluffs to the northeast. The immature bird? Were these two a nesting pair, still watching over their young? I have to learn more about bald eagle behavior. After the call from the bluffs, one of the birds flew off, and the other sat on that dead tree branch for the next 40 minutes or so. I met a neighbor on the beach who told me the eagle chatter was their way of telling each other of the fat little Jack Russell terrier below (his dog Dinah).

Later, after Inti and I got around the point, and while she was cooling her belly in the bay, the eagle flew right over her, checking out the fishing activity, I'm sure. Nothing for the eagle, though. Just a doggie, bathing.

how hope works

hobbitt's little sister has been dealing with cancer for quite a while now. She's had her ups and downs. Both have been intense. She just learned that she'll be taking chemo for the rest of her life.

There's no way to give someone hope. It must be discovered from somewhere deep inside, if it's there at all. Once found, I think it's a pretty powerful intoxicant that brings vivid color and depth and life to, well, life.

I received this via email this morning from my beloved sister-in-law:

Ch-ch-changes...

"What would Lance do?" My new mantra. Lance would not smoke; he'd be fighting back with vigor; he'd be riding the hell out of his LiveStrong bike. And he'd take a vacation.

I'm on it.

No one knows what the future will bring. Doctors can't tell her what will happen, or when. It isn't within their power to do that. It's not the right place to look for hope, anyway.

My hat is off to Lisa. She found something powerful.

I love the pandammys!

Our neighbors came by this evening to deliver another tape of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I do believe I love them.

It's the one thing we really, really miss up here. The cable company doesn't carry Comedy Central on any of its packages. We're not yet toying with the idea of a dish, but I predict we'll be leaning in that direction when druid labs east is finally unloaded. (Which was supposed to be Monday, but who the hell knows when it's going to happen. I surely don't.)

Well, I miss the Weather Channel, too. That isn't carried up here. Weird. Okay, Comedy Central and the Weather Channel. The PBS station that is carried isn't anything to write home about either. But coming from the Philly/New York market - and the Chicago market prior to that - definitely raised the bar for us when it comes to programming, as well as the availability of ethnic foods in the supermarket. Damn, we was spoiled.

But back to the Pandammys. That's not their real name, of course. It's a blending of their two first names, and they call each other "Pammy" and "Danny" and being the borderline dyslexic that I am, well, I kept stumbling over it. Pandammy, however, comes trippingly off the tongue. They are good, they are wise. They tape Jon Stewart for us. Yes, it's true love indeed.

oh wow

That's about all I can say. Oh, wow. This new carpeting was installed in two days by an amazing couple. They worked quietly and steadily and expertly, and they had to work around the tiler and his dirty mess. And now the new carpet is down. And I can't stop being dumbfounded at how much it changes the house.

It's a regular pile, not a Berber. It's a soft mossy green, not off-white. And it's installed perfectly, and not by a crack-addicted high-school student. And it's absolutely effing beautiful! And did I mention how much I love it? It has added an instant richness, instant class to the place. I just can't get over it.

hobbitt wisely points out that it also removes a whole lot of emotional lading - my general angst at how miserable the other carpet looked, and how disappointing that was in a brand-new house. I guess!

All the tilework was crap. All of it. The tiler got to the master bath, where I could hear the tiles crunching when I walked on it. It's a very small area - perhaps 3' x 4' - and the floor was actually moving beneath the tiles. This was the problem in the foyer and the laundry - the floor wasn't stable. There weren't enough screws holding it down. The problem in the bathroom, though, is that the tiles are smaller and have more contact with the cement. To pull them up is likely going to break many of them, and right now there aren't more of them in stock with the builder. So they'll be ordered and then we can get that floor ripped up and repaired.

I wasn't making this up. I'm sure the Captain Chaos is not pleased with the blind palsy patient he had installing the tiles the first time. Well, anyway, the newly-set tiles look great in the laundry and foyer, and it's a pleasure to walk on them and not hear hollow sounds or grinding. It shouldn't exactly be a pleasure, but it is.

Also today we received the fireplace parts that the Captain said didn't exist. Another item from the walkthrough list of January...I guess giving him the part numbers from the owners' manual convinced him I wasn't making that up, either.

What's most amazing, other than how utterly fabulous this new carpet looks, is how much it soothes my soul to have these things addressed and done. It's amazing what can rattle my cage these days. I'm getting old, I guess.

sux redux

So I'm outside today with the dog, trying not to worry about the return of the stinging nettles out back, and trying to identify a butterfly - a west coast lady? - when a couple of young men arrive around back. Seems Captain Chaos has sent over a crew to dig a dry-well for the new downspout. They wanted to know where I wanted the 2 cubic yards of Pete Townsend clay they're likely to dig up, near my new garden beds. Whee.

There's no place to sit inside the house except here in hobbitt's office. We have the doors closed, and are camping here with the cat and dog, a water bowl and litter box, and a ton of things we put in here to clear out the carpeted rooms. hobbitt isn't exactly camping - he's trying to work, poor dear. I have nowhere else to be. I can take the pup to the beach for a walk but that will only kill a few hours at most, and I parked the cars stupidly last night - which is to say, I can't get the Bjornbuggy out without a lot of jockeying. So I'm kinda stuck here, though largely due to laziness. Maybe the neighbors will take pity on me and accept me into their home and feed me wine.

Or maybe I'll just go out in the garage and sit in the nice comfy leather couch and read this afternoon.

What did you say? Go for the wine? Right on!

yeah. it sucks

So with the help of our realtor, we lit a fire under the builder to fix things. Now. The last two days have been a dirty mess of tiles coming up (carefully) and being reset. Once they were up, it was clear that many of them had less than 20% contact with the cement. The foyer is torn up and reset. The laundry is mostly torn up, with lots of scraping to go, and possibly a move of the washer and dryer (which won't be fun).

Did I mention this is a brand-new house? And almost the entire tile job must be redone.

And tomorrow the carpet is being torn up. Because at druid labs, we're all about pacing ourselves. hobbitt and I moved almost all the furniture out of the house with the following exceptions: our bed (I won't sleep in the garage), the guest bed, the sleeper sofa upstairs (I like my abdominal wall), and the dining room table. We'll pay the carpet guy to move those things, though I doubt the dining room table will get out the door.

On a side note, the plumbers were here today too, to look at why the water heater would leak from the pressure release pipe. Seems the water pressure from the street was 100 psi, and it should be 60. No wonder I could get a stream of ultra-hot water to careen off the bottom of the kitchen sink and all the way into the dining room! And the soaking tub filled up in about 3 minutes. Well, it won't anymore. The soaking tub faucet still drips, though much more slowly. Plumbers thought that would be cured by the pressure regulator. Oops.

We even finally got the crank for the window in the living room. After 8 weeks - well, longer, actually, as this was an item on the contract for sale - which we signed in the beginning of January - we finally got the freaking crank. And all it took was asking our realtor to forward a copy of the home warranty to our attorney! She doesn't need to know we don't have an attorney. The point was that the builder wanted to save all the fixing to get done when all his tradesman could be here. In six weeks, that didn't happen. It was never going to happen. Captain Chaos couldn't possibly pull something like that off.

Maybe we'll get our other bedroom window screen before winter sets in. Maybe that beam at the peak in our living room will get painted correctly (and except for setting up ladders, or more likely scaffolding, this is a 2-minute job, I kid you not!) before Christmas. I have no idea when that newly-set tile will get grouted. Perhaps when Captain Chaos puts in the second downspout for the east side of the house, complete with dry well, we can get him to do the same for the downspout right outside the back door, where the yard is being eroded by the cascade. Ya think? Though that might take until 2007. Whatever.

it's filled with stars

Tonight after the cookout (one neighbor brought a spinach/Jell-o salad and guess what? It was good!) we went down to the beach with D. and P. to see if we could enjoy any fireworks from there. Yah. I guess.

First and throughout, we saw an amateur but wonderful display coming from what we think was Port Hadlock, near Ajax, by the wooden boat school. Then from Marrowstone. Then from Chimacum. Then the really good firewords started, at about 10:30 p.m. (it stays light until quite late up here) from Fort Worden. We had the benefit of the light show without the hearing loss, and for geezers like us, it was perfect. We had fireworks all around us - almost a full 360 degrees - and the sound of the waves as well as the occasional returning sail boat from Pete Townsend Bay.

When all but the endless Port Hadlock displays had ended, we enjoyed the black sky's awesome out-of-the-city star extravaganza, two shooting stars and one satellite.

Alcohol was involved, despite the regulation of alcohol on the beach. We were the only ones on the beach. We took only photos and left behind only - oh, for heaven's sake. I had some Fat Bastard chardonnay out of the Winnie the Pooh sippy cup that JrzyTmata used to suck coo coo juice out of while floating on a raft in the pool at druid labs east. So I'm busted. So write me a ticket.

We all allowed as to how this didn't suck.

escallonia

Our elderly neighbor Ron has an escallonia shrub in his yard, right about on the property line. It's huge. It's beautiful. And today, it was positively lousy with bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds. To stand near it was to enjoy a symphony of busy life. And also a little bee harrassment, but that's to be expected.

I noted at least three different varieties of bees, and I saw what I think were painted ladies and eastern tiger swallowtails, and of course the pugnacious rufous hummers. With the sun in my eyes I couldn't really focus on anything, but I didn't have to: the buzzing and fluttering sounds were positively mesmerizing. The escallonia flower is fragrant and just a little spicy. I suppose the bees were quite intoxicated with it. I know I was.

Ron pointed out some salal that he wanted removed, so I dug it up along with a small cedar shrub and ran back home to heel them in. The salal will do just fine. I think the cedar will become deer food right quick. It was under a huge fern at Ron's house, so they'd have never found it there, but here it's out in the open. No worries. They can have it, as long as they stay away from my lady's mantles. Which they probably won't. And that's still okay.

This evening some neighbors had a cookout and invited us along. When cleaning up and saying goodbye, we received many hugs and sincere expressions like "We're glad you're in the neighborhood!" I'm going to needle Ken into taking the master gardener course with me next winter. Our most immediate neighbors all decided to do a progressive dinner in a few weeks. (I have dibs on the entree. Nothing like some chicken roll-ups...yum!) In a half-hour the neighbors closest in age to us will arrive for a quick drive down to the beach to see if we can enjoy the fireworks at Ft. Worden or Marrowstone Island. We see Pete Townsend proper (downtown) from the beach here, and the fort is on the other side of the hill, but we might get a view. Marrowstone Island doesn't quite have the same highlands as PT does, so we might get a better view there. No matter. We'll be on the beach with the pooches on a lovely clear night. Can't beat that.

closure

Fishermen have found the body of my sister's friend Sandy Dagata. From what Nanc tells me, it is believed she panicked in the current and drowned. I met Sandy last summer at Nancy's Plum Island party. She and Nanc go way back in nukes.

I found this picture from last summer's party:



That's my sister Nancy on the left. I have lots of pictures of the two of them doing Jell-o shots. It was a fun day, and Nancy and Sandy were definitely in the thick of it.

Now is the time to grieve, I suppose. Why is it hard to do, when things are unknown? I feel relieved for her young daughters and her boyfriend. Now the waiting is over, now the mourning begins.