a good day for gardening

Tonight I feel the achiness in my bones of a couple of really good days of hard labor.
I worked alongside my husband on a project today, a new piece of property, and we were working on it together. He was sanding, priming and painting the front door a nice eggplant color, and fixing up the inside and I focused on the garden. Curb appeal seems to be our focus.
While I pulled the weeds from between the California Poppies and allysum, I had intermittent visitations from two little neighbor boys. They were brothers. I asked the oldest one how old he was, and he said "four and a half".
"So", I said, "Are you going to go to kindergarten next year?"
"No, I'm gonna go to judo." Did I mention he was really cute? (From now on I'm going to call them Seth and Micah).
Later on in my digging, I found a worm, so I held it up in my garden gloved hand to show the boys. Seth held out his hand and I gave it to him. I've seen his mom next door doing all kinds of vegetable gardening, so I figure these kids are used to insects and such. He looked at it writhing in his hand and I said," Just set him down next to that flower I planted over there so he doesn't get hurt while I'm digging." He did, and we watched the little worm squiggle down into the soft earth.
Next 3 year old Micah found a ladybug. He had picked it up, dropped it, it landed on it's back on the sidewalk, he at my urging tipped it right-side-up, and it walked on to a leaf. Whew!
They showed me their little bicycles and how they could race down the hill, and I kept digging. When they came back, I said, "Look! Roly-Polys!" Seth took one, crawling from my finger onto his palm and then showed his brother how, no, it didn't sting, it tickled his hand, and then it rolled up into a ball.
I flashed back on how much my daughter loved those little critters when she was little, and how cute she said "Roly-Poly".
The idyllic scene was broken when Micah spotted the ladybug again on the sidewalk and stomped on it and Seth, outraged, kicked him in the leg. We saw the tiny yellow guts splayed out on the concrete and I quickly calmed Micah's tears, swept the little red wings over to a hole in the dirt, said, "you know, it's ok, let's bury him."
The boys were called home, and I had time to listen to the sounds of the birds and the far away train, and the occasional siren or overhead plane. I pulled out weeds with roots that amazed me. On some of them the earth clung in such big clumps I had to shake and hit them with my spade to get it off.
That brought back a memory of when I was about eleven, my mom wanted me to pull weeds on the parking strip in front of our house. I thought I did a great job, even cleaning out the gutter, that had a bunch of mud that had also sprouted of weeds. When my mom took a look at the garbage can later, she was appalled, and called me back out to have me correct what I had done. Every weed in there was heavy with soil, and there were shovel fulls of "my dirt!", she called it, .... silt that had run down the gutter from other neighbors yards, and got caught in our weeds. She made me rescue all the soil from the bin, shaking each weed. She said this was wonderful soil that we should put back into the ground, not throw away. I'll never forget that. She thought of her property as her Tara, like Scarlet O'Hara, just how my husband always says I feel about my home.
Today, when we went back to work  on the house, I worked on the side, doing more weeding and planting. The boys weren't home today, so it was quiet. For a while I listened to Andrea Bocelli on my iPod, but I missed the sounds of nature. That's when I heard clucking. I had heard that the neighbors had chickens, but hadn't heard or seen them. There were about 4 hens peeking at me and softly murmuring through the fence. I love to cluck back at chickens, and I wanted to feed them something, but wasn't sure what they could eat. Suddenly spotting sour grass, I figured if I could suck on the stuff when I was little, it couldn't hurt a chicken. Besides, one of them was poking her head through the fence to get some anyway. We became fast friends when they found out I had a sourgrass connection. Five of their friends showed up. I think I'll be getting to know these chickens pretty well. I'm finding that they are pretty intense about finding food. There are partially dug holes along the adjoining fence. I think I know now why the chicken crosses the road.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions...

....or Confessions of a lazy protester.

The quote in my title came to mind this morning when we arrived too late to get arrested at the Occupy Livermore protest at Lawrence Livermore Nuclear Weapons Lab. By the time we arrived at 9:15 the last row of Alameda County sheriffs had marched off in formation, leaving a still-imposing line of officers dressed in camoflage, their billy clubs across their chest. There were a few of the usual protesters still standing around and they thought  I supposed, it was comical when we walked right up to the barricade and said "Can we still be arrested?" One officer said "No, it's all over Ma'am." Chagrinned, we turned around to find one of the lifelong white-haired activists near us. She smiled and said softly, "Next time maybe you should leave a little earlier."

The Good Friday Protest has been happening faithfully for about 30 years at Lawrence Livermore Lab to make sure people don't forget that we are making weapons of mass distruction right here in the USA. Wondering why it's suddening affiliated with the Occupy movement, we know it's always been called an Ecumenical protest, attracting all sorts of peace-loving people from different faiths and walks of life. My husband Doug first heard about it from the late Father Bill O'Donnell, who is still there in spirit usually with his picture on a placard that says "Presente". He would have gotten arrested if he could.

The first time Doug introduced me to this group of folks was about 8 years ago, and we were about to be married. We came early, around 6:30 or 7:00 to the rally and to listen to the speeches. It was very cold, and we were glad when everyone started walking toward the gate on Vasco Rd to block it. There was singing of songs and people carried signs, following a big wooden  cross with an arty Jesus on it. We watched as the cops marched out to meet them and blocked the gate. The folks that agreed to make a statement and be arrested lined up  in rows in front of them, and we were among the others that cheered them on from the curb. Besides, we didn't know how long we would possibly be detained, and we didn't want to miss our honeymoon.

The next year we came a little later, enough time to catch the end of the speeches, march along with the others to the lab's gate, chant and sing, and cheer on the arrestees. Once again though, we couldn't stay.... we had a trip planned to Europe. Similar excuses presented themselves until about four years ago.

Another Good Friday we decided to get more involved, we got there just as folks were nearing the gate. We had decided to be arrested that day. We had been observers long enough. Stepping off the curb, we were the participants, staring back at the young men in their black uniforms,in fully regalia, looking back at the gathering through their dark sunglasses. (I wondered, "Are you listening to our songs? Did your mother teach you these songs of gentleness when you were small? Do you hear me? Do you see me?) We kept singing peace songs and spirituals and my favorite, "Dona Pacem" (grant us peace) as a "round". When it came our turn, the sheriff read those of us in the front row our rights, and said if we didn't leave we would be under arrest. We didn't, so each sheriff put our hands behind our backs, surrounded our wrists with handcuffs, and pulled up on our hands in the back to remind us of their control. People in the crowd rooted for us and called out "thank you" as we were led back toward the busses. I was handed over to a female officer, who frisked me and asked if I had anything in my pockets that could injure her before she plunged her hand in. All of our belongings were put into a bag for us, and we were taken, still handcuffed, to a bus. Sitting forward in the seat because of the cuffs, we chatted a little and shared with the other detainees. We told them that Father O'Donnell used to call this an "easy bust", and they agreed, having come here for so many years in a row. They hoped that each year more young people will come out and realize that nuclear weapons shouldn't be a choice for anyone.
When it came time to get off the bus, because of the closeness of the seat in front of me, I found out I couldn't stand up in close quarters without being able to hold on to something in front of me. The driver came back in to find out why I was lagging. He helped me up. Then we were all put into one of 3 cyclone fence cages to wait. We wondered about other prisoners that have been put in much worse places. There were a couple of nuns and priests and ministers and a number of activists, many who recognized each other from other years. ...... Within an hour and a half, all of us had been removed from the cages two at a time, brought to a staging area where we actually had a photo taken with an arresting officer, were fingerprinted, ID'd, and released to be driven to the street and let go. I guess we hadn't had to worry about missing our honeymoon because of jailtime.

The next year was about the same, but we arrived a little later, coming just as the folks were about to be arrested, and we were able to join in.
Next time, we realized we could park in the neighborhood across the street and we arrived just as a couple of lines of protesters had walked with the sheriffs and asked if we could be arrested. They let us. We were arrested, booked, and back at our car by 10:30 AM.
This year. This year.... We don't want to give an excuse. There was traffic, yes, but we didn't account for it. As we drove past the gate of the lab to park our car, the last protesters were being led away. We were late. We were lazy protesters, and we're sorry.

There really shouldn't be any nuclear bombs. They don't keep anyone safe.

Cabo San Lucas.....First Day 2010

They stand facing us, three in a row, like birds waiting for us to offer them a crumb. We're reclining on our hotel's cushioned lounge chairs, facing the surf. They seem to honor an invisible barrier, about 20 yards away, but then we notice the red flags keeping them from our private beach territory.
The one with the open case of silver jewelry tries to make eye contact with me, but I close my eyes, trying to look exhausted or preoccupied. The man selling scarves and colorful wraps opens them one at a time. He flutters one about in the wind to show off the rainbow colors, before folding it carefully, and then brings out another one in an animal print should that be more to my taste.
Another vendor, with five or six hats stacked on his head, and with another twenty or so forming a column balanced in his arms, reminds me of a story I used to read to my kids, "Caps For Sale, Fifty Cents A Cap".
Since we had had an upsetting experience at the Cabo airport today,with salesmen attacking us like piranhas, I come up with the suggestion that when we do venture out on to the beach we each wear our hat, discouraging at least one salesperson from approaching us.
Upon further contemplation from beneath our lowered lids, we observe that many folks head directly for the beach clad only in bathing suits, and are rarely approached by people selling their wares. At first we think they're brave, and then realize they're probably not approached since they don't have any place to carry cash...... Maybe tomorrow.

Earthquake!

A few days ago, the subject came up in our home about how prepared we would be if there was a devastating earthquake. There are four of us who live here in a neighborhood directly across the bay from the Golden Gate Bridge. We're on the Hayward Fault.
I was here at home when the '89 quake happened that flattened freeways and injured the Bay Bridge. That day I was sitting in the back yard, cleaning my fish pond. Suddenly I heard a roar, and the rocks under me shook. I looked up to see the length of the house seem to kind of lean up the hill and then I swear it straightened back up. Car alarms in the neighborhood were blaring away and as I looked down the hill to the street, all the telephone wires were bouncing up and down between the poles. We sustained a few cracks in the plaster, but the only things that fell off shelves were a Batman doll my son had displayed in his room and a tube of mascara that I had standing on a shelf. Everyone was safe.
Our home is almost at the top of a hill that is made of bedrock. I think that this stone is so hard it is difficult to break down. We found that out a few years ago when we made a raised bed for gardening. It was necessary to altar our plans since we couldn't dig down any further because of the bedrock.

So here we were. A meeting was called by our son to make sure we were all on the same page should an earthquake happen. I used to be more prepared than I am now. The canned food I had collected at one point had gotten so old that some Dinty Moore Stew had exploded in the cupboard of my laundry room, dripping down the cupboard, staining it so badly it had to be repainted. At another point I had 2 new Rubbermaid garbage cans stocked with water I had saved in former apple juice containers, and a few first aid supplies and cans of tuna. The bottles of water were given to a friend who was going to a peace rally in San Francisco to weigh down his tent on a windy day, and the garbage cans were commandeered for the use they were originally intended for during a wedding reception in our yard.
The one good idea I had to offer in our new preparedness plan was that I would get a new plastic garbage can and stock it with some supplies, a little food, and a first aid kit. We go through diet tonic water a lot around here, so when those big bottles are emptied, I'll clean them and fill them with water to use for washing things.
We made plans about how we would contact each other in case of a disaster, and we each made lists of things we would contribute to the effort. The next day, I bought an extra box of bandaids, and a little lighter and some matches.

Who would have thought that we'd have a 4.0 earthquake with an epicenter in El Cerrito the next day? At about 5:33 a.m., we were jolted awake by something that felt like a giant was outside our house and picked it up and shook it from side to side to see if it rattled, and then set it back down. Doug and I both jumped up out of bed, said, "Earthquake!", and then decided that since it stopped so quickly, to jump back into bed and hold each other, waiting for the other shoe to fall. They say there was another jolt, but I didn't feel it, even though I swear I didn't go back to sleep. Everyone else went back to bed as fast as we did, and in the morning we found a few things shifted on shelves, (you could tell because they had shifted off their dust mark). Little knickknacks fell off of a display in the bathroom onto the toilet seat. Miraculously, the lid was down! One picture frame fell of the mantle and a couple of candlesticks. Not much damage at all.

So now I really had the incentive to stock up my garbage can and first aid kit today. I hit Walmart, and bought lots more. I purchased a couple of propane cylinders for our camping stove, candles, matches, first aid necessities, TP, a few snacks, some vitamin waters, and even some dental floss (evidently it's very strong and can have multiple uses in an emergency). To the folks standing in line behind me, it probably looked like I was furnishing a new apartment. The bin will be stored outside in a corner of the yard, not in the garage, so if the house isn't as secure as we think it is, all our supplies won't get crushed in the rubble of the upstairs bedroom. They say that you should also pack some of your medicine you can't do without and an extra pair of glasses or contact lenses. That's next on my list.
I really don't think we're going to even need these things, since our house is so secure. We'll probably be able to eat the food we have. I'm not going to open the canned beans and tuna fish until we'll emptied out the refrigerator. We'll just be able to sleep better,  giving us some peace of mind just to know that we've tried to beat the odds.
Oh, better pack a Bible.

Eating For Two in the Bay Area, Chapter One

Usually the phrase, "eating for two" is aimed at a woman with child, to provide her with an excuse for scarfing down the buffet. In this instance it refers to how a couple can go out to eat often in the San Francisco Bay Area and share meals to help each other lose weight. My husband and I do this, and we've found we've also saved money. It's well known that when couples first meet, they eat out a lot, and try to treat each other well, and end up both gaining weight.
The last few years, we've been actively studying how to eat more healthily, you know... less fat, fewer calories, more protein, fewer carbs, lots of fiber. When we eat out as much as we do, we figured out what we think is a pretty good plan. We don't super-size...... we share a meal.
We'd like to share how we order our meals in a few of our favorite restaurants in the Bay Area.

We eat lunch at the Hacienda Grill in Richmond, CA about two times a week, since it's across the street from where I work. Very predictable about what we order, we are well known to the owner/chefs, Jose and Javier and all the waitresses .They know not to even bring us the complimentary tortilla chips and salsa. They'll bring us our icewater and we'll start with a cold and refreshing fruit plate. The grilled fish or shrimp tacos are a favorite, and we found that we could ask them to leave off the tartar sauce and give us some lime to squeeze on them. Delicious! They are each served a la carte, with no rice or beans, saving even more calories (and money).
Other dishes at this restaurant are big enough to share. We see folks eating burritos the size of a rump roast and think they probably wonder why they can't lose weight. If we come in for dinner, the shrimp fajitas are our choice. There are plenty of well-seasoned shrimp sauteed with peppers and onions for both of us to pile on to the warm corn tortillas.The black beans are healthier to choose than refried beans, and we ask for more of them than the rice. Tastes of the sour cream, salsa and guacamole make for a happy party in your mouth!
Can't mention the Hacienda Grill  without praising their chicken soup. We find that ordering a cup (each) of this luscious concoction is enough for us for lunch (along with our fruit plate). Most customers are happy to order the bowl, which also comes with entire pieces of chicken, huge hunks of carrots, zucchini, and potatoes in a savory broth. The surprise with the bowl is when they bring out the sides of rice, onions and cilantro and warm tortillas! Yum!
Best of all, the prices are very reasonable, making everything easy to swallow.

Deviled Eggs

Today, getting ready for a Superbowl party, I made 42 deviled eggs. That means I boiled 2 dozen eggs, but 3 of them didn't peel very nicely, so I only had 21 to cut in half. While I peeled the eggs I thought of a party I gave one year.....
I had asked folks from work to come to a neighborhood party I was giving. One doctor showed up really early and asked if there was anything he could do to help. He was so early, that I hadn't gotten myself ready at all. I told him that I had hard-boiled some eggs to make deviled eggs, and if he could peel them, cut them in half, and put the yolks in a bowl for me that would be great. I went upstairs to shower and change.
When I came back down to the kitchen, I discovered that this surgeon had treated his project as a surgery. All of the yolks were in the bowl, not cut in half, but cut carefully from the whites without leaving a mark. As a surgeon would.
I praised him for his diligence, but told him, sorry, but his perfect round yolks would have to be mashed up and blended with mayonaisse, mustard, salt, pepper, onion, pickle, a little curry and garlic salt. He volunteered to mix it up and stuff the yolk concoction into the halved whites and top them with paprika. His Chinese family had never made such a thing, but he proudly presented his finished product to the crowd that had gathered.
He came up to me during the party, and happily reported that everyone was commenting on how delicious the "Eggs of the Devil" were! He was so proud.

Travels With Our Prius, Part 1

 Our first purchase as a married couple was a new 2004 silver Prius. We had no choice of color, since Toyota couldn't make them fast enough, and we had to take whatever we got. Of course it was silver. I've become obsessed with finding antenna balls in order to find our Prius in the mass of it's siblings. It only took one time of trying to open up the trunk of someone else's identical car in a parking lot to get me to add a bumper sticker and an antenna ball.
 It doesn't get pampered, or even kept very neat, and it's expected to be a workhorse, hauling things for the garden or my husband's store. Our Prius has had a couple of dents, and on our last trip, had lowfat creamer leak from our camping cooler onto the backseat rug. The next day it smelled like we were aging cheese in there. The car has been professionally cleaned, and per the internet has been treated with  baking soda and lemon. We are still getting used to the "not-new-car-smell".
I think about the days of camping in the car. The salesman who sold it to us asked, "Why do all of you Berkeley people always ask if you can sleep in it?!!"
Well, my husband and I both had times in our lives when we traveled around the country in a car or van, and had good memories of that. We wanted to repeat it. So we have.
No sooner had we got possession of our new little Prius, my husband went off to Bed Bath and Beyond while I was at work, and figured out how to make it into a camper. The two insulated boxes with removeable lids and covered with red fabric, were to store cooking utensils and canned goods, and the futon was our bed.
When the seats of the car were slid forward and the back seats were down, the red boxes fit behind the front seats in the footwell and the futons made a bed comfortable enough to fit me and my husband, who is 6' 4"! The joke I always say is, that in the morning in the campground, the folks in the tents and Winnebagos may look over to our site and think as we emerge feet-first from the side doors,that the Prius is giving birth!

We know we are attached to our car. We talk about it too much and we brag about it's mileage.When we drove it into Canada, we let everyone know that our Prius is like our pet. We reported that this was it's first trip into a foreign country, and it was our first time to drive our own car in a foreign country. When we entered Canada, we changed it to km, instead of miles. When we were in Victoria, it saw all it's "homies"....about 2/3 of the taxis are Priuses! ...It had its first three rides on ferries.....in Oregon, it had its first ride on a beach, and it didn't even get intimidated by the big 4 wheel drives!
Even now in 2012, and we've owned it for 8 years, we bore folks with stories of how we bought gas at the top of I-5 and coasted into Palm Springs with 68 miles per gallon displayed on the dashboard screen. We plan on keeping this car for quite a while and boring all of you for just that long.

Ray Charles in Richmond? (California)

Way back in 1984 or maybe '85, I heard that Ray Charles and the Raylettes were coming to perform at the Richmond Auditorium. That was really big news, I thought, and since I was the first to break it to my editor on the El Cerrito Journal, he let me cover the story. "Do it in your "own, inimitable Reilly style", he said, and my head swelled just a little bit.
Then I went to the library and checked out a couple of books written about Mr Charles. I skimmed through them making sure I knew a little something of his background. There was one quote that stuck in my mind. He said, "I just want folks to feel my soul."
The night of the concert came and the photographer and I were each given a drink, and told that we could interview him after the show..... after a couple of groups came to see him. We had good seats, and I sat through most of the show, nervous about what I would say, but excited to acually hear him sing "Georgia On My Mind", "Hit The Road Jack", and all the other classics.  He rocked back and forth as the Raylettes harmonized with him, and they twirled around in unison in their sparkly dresses. Folks in the crowd were delighted that he had come to town.
Maggie, the photographer was more used to covering such things, and she couldn't sit still waiting. She boldly went off toward the back stage to see if she could get any good shots. We met back by the dressing room door, and when the show was over, the guy in charge said we could go in after the kids from the blind school had met Mr Charles. We waited, and then Mayor Livingston and all the city council and their spouses were shown in. At last, we entered the crowded room, and Ray was looking a little ill at ease, posing for portraits with the Mayor and others. They all grinned from ear to ear, while Ray looked kind of worn out. Then, all of a sudden, his manager said, "Well, that'll be it now, Mr Charles is getting tired."
What! I thought, We haven't even gotten close to him!
Then it was if the sea parted before me. People were making room for him to leave, and Ray Charles was standing facing me, about three feet away. I got up my nerve, and stepped right over to him and holding his right hand in both of mine, said "We felt your soul tonight, Ray!"
He smiled, bent his head down and said, "Thank ya babe."
His manager broke in and said, "Well, we'll be going now! Thanks everyone", scooting him out the back door to his limo. We all watched the legend that we had listened to all our lives, drive away.
The next day, our story was on the front page of the Journal, but my editor said, "Is that all you could get from him?" I reminded him that the Pope had also been to the Bay Area that week, and I hadn't seen any interviews from him. In fact, he was mostly reported about as he passed by in his Pope Mobile!
I was happy I got to meet Ray Charles face to face, and he called me "Babe"!

something about Ireland 2008

Driving along in Ireland, north of Galway, fuschia hedges abound with tiny flowers, red and pink. We wonder about the big split-leafed plants with the tall spikes. There are actually alot of tropical looking plants, including palms of all things. (Hmm, I guess they're encouraged by all the rain.) Along the winding drive to the Renvyle House this morning, maple leaves are falling, twirling to the ground.
I call the scenery eye candy. Rock walls are all over, probably made out of neccessity to clear a pasture. We spy more and more sheep, cows and Connemara ponies. I collected some sheep's wool that got caught on a bush. So soft! It gets put into a little bag to take home and fondle on occasion. I'm starting to realize why I've always had a love for rock walls and fiddle music. It's the Irish in me!

Here birdy

While visiting and communicating with a couple of parrots in a store today, I clucked at them and as they clucked back at me. It reminded me of another day.....
I was waiting for my daughter to come back from a horseback ride in the hills of Sonoma with friends, and got bored waiting in the car. There was a pasture gate, and inside were cows, all grazing way up on a hill.
Getting antsy, I wandered over to the gate, and finding that it opened easily, ventured into the pasture.
These people also raise tropical birds, so there was an arrangement of cages of parrots and cockatoos further inside the fence. When I first approached them, everything was quiet; only a few murmurs. So then I just stood in front of them and said, in my best parrot voice, "Hello!"   About ten birds called back, "Hello!" Startled, but excited, I said, "Pretty Bird!" , and some birds gave me a wolf whistle! I've never been so surprised, but was encouraged, to continue to make contact with animals.
I thought better of that idea, however, when the cattle came bounding over the hill toward me. I made myself scarce, and ran back out the gate.

YO, WE GOT YER SNOWMAN

Quite a while back, when my kids were just 9 and 13 years old, it was Christmastime and we were decorating the house with lights outside. It was always in the back of our minds that some day ours would be a "destination" house.... one that folks would make sure they drove by every year to see the dazzling display. Something was missing though. We never had any figures or a manger scene, only lights. We didn't have much money- so when I saw a cute little wooden snow man on a stick at a hardware store- I bought him and we proudly stuck him in the planter on the porch. It was as if he were a seed, and from him many other decorations would come.
A few days later, it was pouring down rain, and we sat snugly in our warm house by the beautiful Christmas tree. The doorbell rang; but when I opened the door, no one was there. I looked down  the sidewalk each direction, and when I turned to go back in, I noticed a soggy piece of paper with graffiti-type scrawling in indelible ink: "YO,WE GOT YER SNOWMAN. TALK TO ANYONE AND WE MELT HIM.  DA PUNX".
Our little wooden snowman was indeed missing! I picked up the dripping note, looked across the street and up and down for the hooligan who was playing this trick on us, but nothing. Then I got a funny feeling that even if I couldn't see him, I was probably being watched, so I went inside to tell the kids, locking the front door behind me.
We went over together the usual suspects, thinking after all it was pretty funny. Whoever it was wanted us to figure it out, and then they'd give our beloved ornament back to us. Was it Michael across the street, or the nextdoor neighbor kids, or another friend of ours with a quirky sense of humor? I called around and the kids asked their friends and everyone sounded so innocent. After all the interrogation, no one confessed and we put the note away with the Christmas decorations. Every year we bring it out and recount the story as we decorate the tree. It never fails to get a laugh.

Three or four years later, my daughter went to a concert in San Francisco; and she got a ride home with one of the band members by his mom. As they drove up to our house, the guy said, "You live in THIS house?.... I stole a snowman from in front of it a few years ago!" Turns out that a band named, I think,  Devil Doll, used to live across the street from us and he hung out there. I'm not sure what prompted him to do the deed.
My daughter could hardly believe it! She told him he should come in to tell her mom, but he didn't want to. Instead, he accepted an invitation to a neighborhood Christmas party we were giving the next week.
During the party I was told that our thief had arrived; but by the time I got to the door to greet him, he had chickened out and left, evidently scared to meet me. I was disappointed. I guess he didn't realize what a hoot we got out of his crime every year. The Phantom did give us a new ending to the story though. He left behind a new wooden snowman that hangs on our mailbox every year.

Current Cats, Chapter 2

The mama cat never has been very friendly. In fact she's downright skittish. You'd think with all the food we give her....... Well, there's another cat that looks alot like her that is either her former beau or her brother, with the same sort of grey and white markings. He showed up soon after "Mommy" was fixed, and he lets me pet him. I started calling him Gimpy. I know it's a rather un-PC name, but he does do a big limp when he's surprised and goes to move fast. Now he's more lovingly called "Gimpers", since he greets me sometimes, rubbing along my legs as I bend down and stroke his soft fur. Mommy won't have anything to do with me, but if Gimpers is around letting himself be petted, she comes over too, purring and rubbing. It's as if to say, "This is my girl, and I let her pet me like this all the time!"
Some folks say we shouldn't feed the feral cats. They think we'll attract racoons and such. We only feed the cats when they come and ask for it. Mommy and sometimes Gimpers are sitting waiting in the driveway for us when we come home from work, and meow till we feed them, thanking us for any handouts.
One time though, I was having a lovely time working in the garden on a hot day. I went over to prune a rosebush, when I saw out of the corner of my eye, one of the cats near their bowl. I naturally started to make some little mewing noise as I turned toward it, and discovered a small skunk eating the cat food! As quietly as  I could, I tried to close the huge sliding garage door, and at the movement, the skunk ran toward the back yard. I saw that the back door of the garage was open, and prayed that the little critter wouldn't run in there! Luckily I saw it turn the other way and run toward the neighbor's under the fence. Closing up the garage, my heart was beating fast, as I realized how quickly things could change. There I was having an idyllic afternoon, watching butterflies and birds, planting things and pruning bushes, and in an instant, I was afraid that I'd be shot at close range by a skunk's spray! The thought went through my head, "how could I even go into work the next day if I smelled of skunk?" As it is I got off easy without any scent. That's when I learned the lesson of only feeding the cats a little bit in their bowl, and only when they're there to eat it.

Current Cats, Chapter 1

When my kids were home we had, at one point, 1 dog, 2 cats, 2 parakeets, 1 dove, a cherry-headed conure, a dozen goldfish and 4 adult and 19 baby bunnies. The cats, the dog and the birds left their residue throughout the house. Everyone who came to our house left with fur on their black pants, and sometimes a feather on their shoulder.
Over time, the kids moved out, the pets passed on, the bunnies were sold to nice families, and I became pet-free! I discovered it was kind of nice to not have to turn on the light in the hall to be able to navigate over the possible messes on the way to the kitchen in the middle of the night. I could walk into my home without sniffing to check if one of the cats had peed in the heater vent. Friends didn't mention it, but I know they probably appreciated it when they left our house sans fur on their clothes.
Nevertheless, I miss sitting with a kitty on my lap, stroking it's head, or having my darling collie, Lillian, look at me soulfully with her head on my knee. When I'm out and about lately, I am drawn to most animals that I come across.and love to pet them. It's my pet fix, I say, and the dog's owners never mind, in fact they love it! They love sharing their joy!
This wasn't exactly on topic, was it? ....the situation I have now, is no indoor pets. A few years ago, my husband and I decided not to adopt any more pets, since we like to travel. So.....one of the neighborhood feral cats started to come around and we began buying food for it, but didn't let it come in. Actually, one time it sauntered in the door, and when it realized it was inside, it ran around the living room frantically, via the mantel and the drapes. We figured she wasn't a candidate for domestication. A few months later, I discovered a couple of kittens coming from a tiny opening in the side of the garage. She had had a whole litter of kittens in our garage, and we never even knew it! (Well, we hadn't used the garage for much more than storage for a couple of months).
That was the day that we decided we should try to get the mama cat fixed. (Later the kitties were found homes.)
We went on the web and found out how to capture a cat in a "have-a-heart" trap. We bought one, (a huge version of the one for mice), read the instructions and followed them to the letter just to see how it worked. Then we went inside the house. We weren't actually ready to to capture a cat that night, since we were about to leave for the weekend. It suddenly dawned on us that we shouldn't have left the trap set. Looking out the window, we saw the gray and white mama cat sitting in our trap!
It was 4 p.m. on a Friday and we tried calling all the cat rescue places we had gotten advice from, but all of them had rules like "capture the cat on the 3rd Saturday of the month and bring it in for the lottery at 7 a.m. to see if we have time to spay it."
Meanwhile, the cat was howling, backed into the corner of the cage, her fearful eyes accented by the white peak of fur between them.
Finally a vet's office in San Pablo said they were about to close, but they would spay her for $75. if we could bring her now and leave her overnight. They agreed to keep her till Monday when we came home from camping.
After being out of cell phone range for the weekend, we turned on our phone and listened to messages. The vet's office had called several times to tell us that the cat had already been fixed, which they could tell by it's notched ear, and it was a male! We had absconded with someone's cat for the weekend, and almost had it undergo surgery! As we sheepishly appologized to them, they thought it was funny, and didn't even charge us for the room and board.
Darned if that cat didn't look like our mama cat! Well maybe the white peak wasn't quite as big as hers...
When we brought the cage up to the yard and opened it, I never saw a cat run so fast. Mama cat, however, looked up at us from next to her empty bowl and meowed.

Ode To My Mom

They each look a little like my mother, standing there in the grocery store. The checkers in the store used to call the sisters shopping togethe,r "The Three Musketeers", but now there's only two.
Auntie Harriett is making out her check in advance, leaning the checkbook on the handle of the shopping cart. I guess she wants to be prepared.
I shuffle over to them saying, "Ooh.... look who I see!", and push my cart to the side to be on the receiving end of the inevitable warm embraces.
Auntie Harriett say lustily in my ear, "Give me a smacker!", as she lands a kiss on my cheek. Her hugs last about 4 seconds longer than anyone else's, but they're always welcome. She looks over her glasses at me and smiles, saying, "Just let me finish writing my name!", and goes back to focusing on her checkbook.
Auntie Dot takes her turn at at a hug and kiss after she walks down the aisle toward me with containers of Comet and SOS in each hand. I smell the familiar scent of Shalimar. "You look so good!" she enthuses, and I know she means it. She looks at me through her glasses, that make her eyes look so big. Dot or "Sister", as Mama always called her, looks most like my mother, especially now in the old age. Both sisters had little expressions that reminded me of her today, without even knowing, like a gift.
I miss Mom. I miss the person she was before the last years of confusion and frailty.
She was smart, caring, talented, and a shrewd businesswoman. Mama knew her real estate, made investments, paid her own bills, and made time to care for others, really care, by volunteering to spend time with them.
She always had special relationships with her grandchildren at her house where they always knew the candy jar would be full.
I miss hearing her play the piano.
On a hot day, she would always dry her hair outside in the sun. She sat in the backyard on the picnic table that Daddy made, rubbing her hair with a towel. She thought maybe the birds would find strands of her hair and work them into their nests.
I miss watching her toss crusts of bread out to the birds, and the thrill that you knew she got from watching those little birds. Guess I inherited that from her.
I miss seeing her cook in her own kitchen for all of us with her apron on, usually doing it all herself.
I miss her little poems, her paintings, her neat handwriting, her soft hair and her understanding spirit.
I miss her naive "oo-oo "sound that she'd make when she got excited about something.
I miss you, Mama. I know you knew I would.

staycation in half moon bay/pacifica

On a whim, we decided to pack up a few necessities, and head for Half Moon Bay, CA. It's only an hour from where we live, and it's one of our favorite haunts, so I thought I'd share some of the best parts of the area.
This was such a spontaneous trip that my husband was calling for a reservation on his cell phone while I drove. Our first choice was booked up on such short notice, but it's a place that I'd like to tell about. It's the Cypress Inn, one of the Inns-by-the-Sea group, We always feel pampered at any of these inns, but this one is unique in that it's on the Pacific Coast Trail, right on the shore. One day last year we even rented a bicycle at Bikeworks in Half Moon Bay, and rode them kind of shakily (I admit) down to the trail and then to the Cypress Inn. .....  That Place! Most rooms have nice views, a fireplace, and everyone comes down to the common area for hot hors d'oeurves and wine at 5:00 or so, and then the innkeeper makes a fancy cobbler or other dessert to have at 7:00 pm. Then...in the morning you can sit in your little white robes and be served breakfast on a cute little cart that's wheeled into your room.  This is all included for the price of the room, which is lower in the fall/winter time period.
Anyway, since that wasn't available, we stopped sooner, at Rockaway Beach. We found the BestWestern, which had just taken over and started to remodel a hotel right on the shore. It was Saturday night, so the price wasn't as low as we'd like, but they lowered it 50 bucks for the second night. Most of the rooms have views of the sea, and ours reminded us of Bodega Head, with the cliffs and beach in our sight. 
The old restaurant, Nick's, is across the street, and we headed over there on Saturday night. There was a lively atmosphere with people dancing to a band, and  we sat at the bar to have a drink. The dining room is old-style with booths, and we really enjoyed the coquilles st jacque, something I've always wanted to try, a dish with scallops, mushrooms, and garlic sauteed in wine and then baked with mashed potatoes and cheese. Yum!
The next night was Sunday, and when we went in to Nick's, it was kind of dark, except for a banquet that was going on. We ventured in to the quiet, empty bar and found out that the band only plays on Friday and Saturday nights, and it was a lot less busy. We ended up just sharing a crab sandwich at the bar and visiting with the bartender. He's worked for this Greek family for years, and Nick was the son of the original Greek immigrant. What luck he had in getting this beautiful place on the California shoreline!
Back to the trip. If you're a bargain hunter, a good reason to come to Half Moon Bay, is to check out Twice As Nice, a booming seconds business that has 3 stores in the strip mall at the corner of Hiway 92 and Main St. They receive seconds from Costco and other stores and I'm sure lots of people make it a point to check out their bargains every week.
The next place to look at is Tokenz, on Main St., a fun shop that we make sure we at least go to once a year. I always seem to end up with some nice earrings or a ring, or handcrafted hair clip, but mostly we know we can get hand-dipped candles for our advent wreath. It's harder that you would think to find 3 purple and one pink candle in December. Catholics need them for their Advent wreaths and none of the candle manufacturers have figured it out. Even the owner of Tokenz just happens to have all the colors of the rainbow all the time. Now she knows that she should stock up on purple and pink in the fall.
Lunch is found next door, at McCoffee, where we shared a tasty turkey sandwich on a rosemary roll, and a nice strong cup of coffee, which we lacked at our breakfast at the hotel.
Across the street, you can round off the afternoon with a frozen yogurt at Nano's Yogurt Shack.
On the way out of town, a must stop for thrift shop fans is the Senior Coastsiders Thriftshop. We can almost always find something great there.
Depending on what time of year you go to Half Moon Bay, you can pick up a pumpkin or a Christmas tree or stop at one of the nurseries on the way out of town on Hiway 92. All this, and it's only an hour away from the Bay Area.