Happy Birthday Skipper & Lovee

Sometimes big things come in small packages. Today I helped deliver Skipper, a little boy goat, black and white and full of cute, and Lovee, golden and full of adorable. It was about as nerve-wracking as you can imagine, with a young first-time mom, my first time attending a goat birthing, and with a cold draft shooting up through the barn door into the barn.

But, so much went right! First off, triple blessings: we went to check on the goats before going shopping and saw she was starting to deliver, it wasn't raining, and I had everything ready. Sweet!

When Skipper seemed stuck, with just his two feet showing, I massaged a tiny bit and he slipped right out.

Lovee had no problems being delivered.

Momma Ginger appears to be very healthy and happy.

No kids were rejected.

Although Skipper needed a little help warming up, nursing, and standing, once he got going he got stronger pretty quickly. I worried that we might lose him.

There are still concerns. Ginger has stepped on Skipper a number of times and doesn't seem to be careful about where she lays down. We're not sure how the rest of the herd is going to react to the newcomers (they're all locked out of the barn right now.) The last time we had the barn shut up, Ginger pushed her way out. I've reinforced the door, and she doesn't seem inclined to go anywhere, but if she does that again and the babies try to follow, they will be crushed.

We've had a racoon nosing around. It could kill the baby goats.

So, there are worries, but I think they're pretty traditional worries. Part of farm life is understanding that things don't always go well, and sometimes they go pretty horrifically. There's pain, sorrow, loss, grief and regret. Plenty to go around for everyone. But, we had a really good day today so far. In about twenty minutes we'll go check the goats again. Who knows what we'll find? With luck, two healthy baby goats and a content mother bedded down for the night, safe and sound.

More Garden Geekery

Did something today I haven't done in a long time. I cut flowers for my table.

Also, I was very bad and bought a tree peony, Golden Experience. They say I can hybridize using the pollen from this plant. I'm not sure if the other peonies I have are able to do this, but hey, it's worth a try, right? I have two other tree peonies that I'd love love love to cross with this beautiful plant. And who knows? I might help create an incredible new peony. That would really be something. Of course I won't find out what the offspring will look like for ten years or more after planting the seeds ....

Which makes me want to play with roses, which have a similar seed-to-flower span.

Yes, it's a long time for payoff. But people who do this sort of stuff don't think like that. They don't think about payoff so much as love. I didn't raise my children for a payoff. There's no time at which point I'll feel like I've gotten something in return for my time and effort.

I can plant a seed, and help it grow. I can appreciate what it becomes. The pollen, seeds, plants--they do the actual work. I provide a nurturing environment and occasional guidance. That's it.

So, maybe if I remember, this year it'll be roses. Next year, peonies. It'll be a whole new adventure.

If you would like to give it a go, do some reading first to save yourself some trouble. First of all, not all blossoms have viable pollen and seed production capacity. Second, to control pollination, bag the blossoms before they open (careful to make sure there aren't any bugs first) and then mingle the pollens after the stamens after the flower has opened into full bloom. To prevent fungal issues do this only in dry weather and use paper bags. To figure out when the buds have opened into full bloom, mark buds on the same bush that are at the same stage as the ones you're using. Mark on the bag who the daddy is. And keep records someplace easy to find--on your computer is okay, but it's actually better to have a easy-to-find gardening book that you make entries into on a regular basis.

Of all the gardening things I do, it sounds easy-peasy compared to digging out new beds or weeding!

Adventure in a Box

Yesterday we got something in the mail.  Everyone should get  something like this at least once in their lives.  Not necessarily what we got, but something along these lines in this fashion.  Because getting a big wooden crate from overseas is really awesome.
Cue the Indiana Jones theme music (and ignore the existence of the last movie while you do it, please.)
It arrived while I was at work.  I didn't get a phone call from my daughter, (though my DH did--what's with that?!) so I was totally surprised.
Being surprised is super-fun, so actually I didn't mind not getting the call.  And I was working, supposedly.  I just have to publicly hassle my family once in a while.
Anyway, I got my camera and started snapping pictures.  The girl had a hammer ready.  I think she was a little excited too.  :-)
The thing was built like Fort Knox.  Now that I've read 1776 by McCullough, the name Knox has a whole new depth to it.  It's a rockin' name, and a great book.  Highly recommended.  I regret not getting the illustrated edition.  BTW, I have a weird association with McCullough the author and Support Your Local Sheriff, where the bad guy Joe Danby asks what the hero's name is and he replies with Jason McCullough in the middle of a cute, funny section of dialogue.  Also also highly, highly recommended movie.  But I digress.
Getting the box opened was no easy feat.  I had to use my very modest carpentry skills to do it.
Now you can cue the creepy Indiana Jones music where they're about to open the Ark of the Covenant.
And inside the box ... was another box!
I had a flashback to a scene in The Emperor's New Groove.  Also highly recommended.  I don't think as many people saw The Emperor's New Groove as some of the other Disney movies, which is a shame.  It's one of the better ones.  I've rewatched it many times, of my own free will, with no small children to prompt me to do so.

Inside the box was an egg-like object, something wrapped in bubble wrap that was then wrapped in brown mail packaging tape so thoroughly that you couldn't actually see the bubble wrap.
We got a knife and began extracting the contents with surgical care.  My surgical nurse provided tension as I cut and peeled the bubble wrap apart.
This was what was inside.
I gasped.
.... it's so beautiful ....
But our faces didn't melt off.  We were safe.  You can go back to the adventure theme now, if you like.
We put it up on a shelf in the entryway.  Then I started to have waking nightmares about cats hopping up there, as they often do, and knocking it down.  I could actually hear the crash of it hitting the floor in my mind in the middle of the night, followed by the skidding and scrabbling of kitty feet on laminate flooring so that I couldn't even identify the perpetrator that I would have to hunt down and kill.
Not literally kill.  Or even hit, or curse at, actually.  Mostly I would just hug a pillow and rock and sob and tear my hair and throw ashes on my head.  Part of that is very Greek, appropriate in this case.

So we moved some books out of our built-in bookshelves and there it sits in a greek wine amphora-sized cubby.  The cats may still knock it down, but they would really, really have to work at it this time.  It's also nicely at eye level.
It's a replica, of course.  If it was the real thing, I would have to put it in a box.  Preferably a glass box, but back in the wooden box in the meantime, and of course I would never get around to getting the glass box, and no one would ever see it.  Which would be a shame.  But it's a replica, so it's all okay.

I won't have anything nearly so nifty to post about in a while, so enjoy the moment.  I'll get back to our regular boring stuff tomorrow.

Learning and Remembering

I'm still having issues with blogger.  I'm trying to fix them.  It's a frustrating process.  Hopefully, I'm more or less back, at least for now.

It's nice to be able to post from home again.

Still no Carey.  Our neighbors are trying to live trap a cat that's been hanging around their barn near their tractor.  I'm trying not to get my hopes up.  They think it's a long-haired gray kitty, but long-haired and gray mean different things to different people.  I consider the Poop mostly white, but many would consider her gray, especially people who think in terms of horse colors.  Just Google gray horse and you'll see what I mean, or check out the wikipedia article.  Our neighbors have a gray horse, so ....

In the meantime we'll keep visiting the shelter.

The kids and I went to the fair yesterday.  Long, busy, hot day, but we had fun.  I did book research while I was there, because I can't seem to help myself.  During the pirate parrot show, I make notes about how the parrots behave and look and sound.  In the horse arena, I watch the open halter competition and notice how every horse and rider have different personalities, and how some work together better than others.  I peruse the stables and stand near a horse (with its owner's permission) to reacquaint myself with that sense of living mass when you're near a large animal.

It's been a long time since I've gone riding, or played with a parrot, etc.  Our brains think we remember things accurately, but what we actually remember are broad brushstrokes painted over a main single experience supported by other less important experiences.  It's very diluted until you put yourself into a situation where your mind transports you back far more accurately and combines that experience with current information.  I'm happy I had the chance to do that.  And the Knights of the Realm show was a blast.  They changed the story, thank goodness, from the one last year where the unchivalrous knight won.  The boy took a piece of a shattered lance home with him.  He found the way they cut the lances to make them safe (although they had no eye protection--ack!) fascinating.  It's very convincing and spectacular at a distance.  I wonder how many lances (and volunteers!) they went through before they got the cuts just right.  Yikes.  I was also extremely impressed by the rings competition.  I think most people watching it had no idea how difficult it would be to ride at a perky gallop toward a line of rings and put a lance through it.  The 'large' rings were maybe five inches across, the small probably less than four inches in diameter.  They've had enough practice to make it look easy, though they missed often, and I'm sure it wasn't on purpose.

I'm hoping to make it to the neighboring county's fair.  It's smaller, and I'll see more of our neighbors there.  At the moment I'm done in, mostly from the heat but also because of my work schedule.  It's back to split days off, at least for a little bit.  With my one day off spent at the fair, the week ahead looks  long and weary.  At least we have air conditioning at work.  When I'm cool most of the day, it makes it easier to sleep at night, even when it's so hot and muggy that the kitties are still molten piles of fur at midnight with no sign of relief before morning.

Stay cool and check out your local fair.  You might be surprised, especially if you haven't been in a while, just how much fun they are.  And if you're a writer, don't forget to take notes.

Spring bliss

Why I love spring in the Pac NW:

Storms, especially lightning storms.  They're rare here and seldom have ground strikes, so I consider them lovely rather than something that's terribly hazardous like they might be in other parts of the world.  

Those sudden, blustery winds and downpours followed by sun and rainbows.  If they're fast and hard enough, sometimes I can smell the ocean in the westerlies.

The contrast of dark-bellied clouds and bright blue sky.

Glorious heat to bask in one day, sweet coolness the next.

Flowers everywhere!

The first flights of bees at my tiny heather blossoms and pussywillow blooms.

Daylight stretching and opening up so fast it seems unreal.  We'll be gaining over an hour of daylight in a single month.

New leaves.  Bright greens, yellows, pinks, reds, purples, sometimes draped like lace, sometimes sharp and clean, always beautiful.

And I love spring fever.  Even the goats kick up their heels and dance in the field.

I love spring.

Sore

I had a big weekend, thanks in part to the boy and the girl.  Much gardening was accomplished by all, and man am I sore.  No one got sunburned, though.

Beans are in, broccoli is in, beets are in, radishes and turnips are in, we have borage planted at the ends of rows to attract bees, and we harvested some rhubarb in the process of cutting off flower heads.  I heard from someone that they have rhubarb that never flowers.  Must be nice.  Mine seem to always want to, but I foil their sexy plans as much as possible.

Also, big excitement (I know, I'm such a plant nerd) in the asparagus patch.  I've finally had my first good-sized spear come up.  Will I cut it?  Heck no!  I probably could, but these darned asparag--uh, asparagi?  Asparaguses?  Asparagus plants have been struggling for years, and I want them to get so big and strong that they become pests.

Looks like it'll be a good year for peaches, cherries, apples, pears, Asian pears, and marionberries (yum!)

I'm really looking forward to seeing what the garden will do this year.

Still to plant:  The darned tomatoes, eggplant and peppers I've been potting up, zucchini, cucumbers, sunflowers, plus some ornamentals and herbs I've started from seed.  It should be a big and fun garden this year, assuming our weather cooperates.  My soil is at about 60F.  Really, really good.  It's just a bit too cool for squashes and cukes, cooler than I like for tomatoes, and way too cold for peppers.  I'll try the eggplant about the same time as the tomatoes.  The peppers will have to wait.

So, I'm curious.  Am I pretty much the only person who goes out to the garden with a meat thermometer?

Is it just me or is it awfully quiet around here?

I've been quiet lately, mainly because my DH and I are working daily on putting the house back together. Yesterday I finished all but one door transition, and I filed away a bunch of paperwork.

Two writers generate a lot of paperwork.

And then I have the writing projects, and book covers, etc.

Enough excuses.

Speaking of quiet, our house is very quiet. The new laminate floors have made it less quiet--sound travels easily across that slick surface--but there's not a lot out here to make noise. We don't have a lot of cars go by, for example, and there's not enough traffic for anyone to honk at anyone else unless they're being particularly dicky. Our animals make sounds, but usually not all day. The chickens sometimes get into spats, or they'll make noises after they've laid an egg. The goats only bother to make noise if they see us and suspect that we'll bring over some food. We don't keep the tv on. Not that it's actually a tv tv--we don't get any reception out here and I don't want to buy a big antenna, so we just plug in a dvd (no commercials, yay!) when we want to watch something. We might watch 2-3 hours a day. Sometimes I have the radio on for half an hour, but that's not even a daily thing. Once a week, at best.

It's so quiet that when my DH grinds coffee, it sounds really loud. When I'm in bed and he needs to grind some, he muffles it with a dish rag. We can hear our refrigerator cycle on and off. The fan on my computer is the loudest sound in the entire downstairs unless a badly tuned truck races by or one of our dogs walks over for a drink of water near my window.

When we first moved here, I loved the quiet, but it took some to get accustomed to it. I still wake up at the sound of slight noises sometimes. I wouldn't want to go back to more white noise, though. I like being able to hear the jays across the street at my neighbor's vacant property chatter to each other on the way to our bird feeder. I like being able to close my eyes and hear the faint sounds of my family doing breakfast stuff. I like that I can hear our postal carrier pull over and drop off mail. Sometimes I even hear the click of the mailbox shutting.

I wonder what our ancestors experienced, with few or no walls, no modern insulated windows, nothing, really, to soften the silence. Was it beautiful, or empty ... maybe both ....

Brian is Home!!

Yes, our wayward wandering dog has come home. For those of you who've read Benji, this'll sound familiar:

Apparently Brian spent several hours hanging out with dogs downhill from us. There were two puppies and the owners noticed that he wasn't hounding the chickens, so they didn't mind and figured he'd go home when he was good and ready. They called him Bear.

Brian didn't go home, but wandered for a couple more days, going further north and west. He ended up wandering back south again toward the road, where he came upon Windy Ridge, where Mary found him. Mary had given me, the kids, and our groceries a ride home when our car broke down one day, so she knew us but didn't connect Brian to our home.

They loved Brian. Her boys became very attached and named him Wesley. They didn't see any signs and didn't have time to go door to door (it would be an enormous task anyway! I don't expect that sort of thing) but they did call two separate humane society branches. For some reason the humane societies didn't connect the dots, possibly because she described him as a Newfoundland (black dog) retriever mix and perhaps the person on the phone didn't hear 'white' in the description.

Mary has a ton of wonderful animals, including horses and llamas, and is in touch with our animal hospital. So the next time she went there she checked the boards and realized she had Brian. She called immediately.

The boys were crushed, but we're elated. The DH and I put together a huge gift basket and brought it over as a big thank you. And we all lived happily ever after.

Beast and Finn were a little puzzled when Brian came home, btw. He smelled completely different, so they followed him around and checked him out to make sure he wasn't some weird dog that happens to smell a little like Brian. For his part, Brian is happy to be in his old dog house again, and slept in it all night. I think he's a little confused, but not about us. He was so happy to see me, he ran right into my arms.

Physically he lost some weight, which will turn out to be actually good for him. He was turning into sausage dog and it was hard on his hips. I'll try to exercise him more so that he keeps that weight off. He's in excellent shape now. Rapid weight loss (which he no doubt experienced while he was wandering around for about four days with no food) is *not* recommended, btw. Do not fast an overweight dog. We'll be keeping a close watch for any health problems, but since he's been fed for 2 1/2 weeks and seems active and happy, I'd say that any danger he might have been in has long passed.

Thank you everyone for your ongoing support. We're very happy campers. A big hurray and thank you to Mary and her boys. You guys are heroes.

The Art of Not Working

I had a fabulous dinner last night with my DH and my friend R.  Good times at Ya Hala (in Portland, OR at SE 80th and Stark--highly recommended.)  One of those meals where I spent most of my time laughing about something.  We were the last people to leave.  I get to relive a bit of the flavors, if not the companionship, today when I dip into leftovers: wonderful bread they baked on the spot last night, homous (Lebanese spelling) and the cabernet sauvignon we had with out meal (we bought a bottle but didn't finish it.)  A meal like we had is a celebration of life.  The whole brain is engaged.  I'm sure my DH would have enjoyed a little danger with the meal, but I thought it was perfect.    

R is on her way to Glacier National Park today--have a great road trip, R, and take lots of pics!

R is the one that keeps me honest about my art, reminding me about the difference between an amateur (hey, it's a love thing and therefore not bad!) and a professional artist.  I simply don't put the effort into art that I put into writing.  I would like to!  But there wouldn't be hours left in the day to do that.  Well, I guess I could not sleep.  Volunteering for stuff does eat into my time, but only during certain times of the year.  That doesn't explain away my lack of focus on things of color and mind-hand-brush.  I think painting is what I do to relax and think, and I think and relax so that I can write, if that makes sense.  Gardening is the same way.  I don't think and plan and schedule my time around gardening.  I garden so that I have time to relax, think and plan my work.  The fact that I'm accomplishing stuff and sweating is purely secondary.  If I wanted to nudge myself into professional art, I would have two full time jobs instead of one (or two--however many I have right now) and the relax/think time would vanish, which would impact my creativity.  Hard to create when your creativity is compromised.

Big working weekend this weekend.  All kinds of stuff to do inside the house and out on the acreage.  Lots of time to think and plan and work on those projects that might keep us afloat over the next few months.  The weather is perfect.  It's non-stop happy happy around here.

  

The Home of Dreams

The dogs are rampaging.  This cooler weather has made everyone more active than usual.  We're all blackberry hacking, lawn mowing, house cleaning fools around here.  We even went to the laundromat and did all the bedding.  Or maybe it's not the weather.  Maybe aliens downloaded Pride and Prejudice (the 2005 movie) into my brain.  (Sorry, love Colin Firth, but not in the 1995 P&P movie and that sunk it for me.  Sling rotten veggies at me all you like, you can't make me like his performance better.)

Why P&P rather than, say, The Stepford Wives?  It's the architecture, the elegance, the open spaces and beautiful things that aren't too crowded, but aren't too sparse.  It about having power and affecting the world rather than being a slave to it.  And why the movie rather than the book?  Much as I enjoyed 99% of the book, the ending left me with a bad taste in my mouth because Lizzy fell in love with Mr. Darcy after she saw his beautiful home.  There's little or nothing between the lines to imply that what she saw there filled in his character and told her what he really was in his soul.  It read like plain old greed, at least to me.  In the movie, on the other hand, not only did they fill in all kinds of beautiful expressions and wow, chemistry throughout, but when Lizzy went through his house it was like she was exploring him.  Total foreplay on the screen.

Anyway, I want the house to be less of a nest and more of an expression of me.  I've been nudging it in that direction for some time, but this last week I've been digging deeper.  In writing terms, I'm making my setting more rich, and suggesting character through environment.  

I have lots of cans of paint and I'll probably lavish some on the walls upstairs, but not tomorrow because tomorrow, my first, last and only true love is coming home!!

Which is probably the root of the reason of why I'm going crazy with the clean up, but then again I usually go on a cleaning spree 24 hours prior to a big event, not building up over the course of a couple of weeks, and it's usually a pretty barbaric sort of cleaning.  This is like spring equinox and Lady's Day (May Day) combined.  There's a festival air and sacred breeze flowing all around us.

Yayness!  Bless his flight, and bless his life.  Welcome home, my beloved.

The Day in Pics

Sometimes I clean. Yes!  It's true. 

No, seriously.

Shut up!

Okay, this time I have proof.  With massive help from the boy and a little IKEA shopping trip, I replaced the falling-apart wire shoe container of doom with a sofa table that's just perfect for tucking away our gizillion shoes that we wear on a regular basis.  I don't even want to think about what we've got put away.  Why do we have so many shoes?  Back in the day, people were lucky to have two pair--one for working in and one for Sundays.

 Anyway, moving on ... this morning when I found myself at loose ends, did I get in some serious writing?  No.  (I did send out a story, though.)  Did I eat bon bons and watch movies?  Too easy.  I decided to tackle the evil kitchen cabinets from heck.  I got the one under the sink with the garbage all prettied up, and then tackled the really nasty one that the girl and I toss whatever won't fit anywhere else into.  Some of the stuff in back was dusty, and there was flour in there from way back when I had to store a large sack of flour in there temporarily.  It was bad, waaaay bad, but now look how Stepford wifey it looks!  Yay!

It was too gorgeous not to go outside after my forays into the yuck of my two worst cabinets, so I went out, first for a stroll, then with a camera because the late afternoon sun was just too good, and the sky ... well, you can see, it was ugly.

The heart is a calla lily.  I hope that eventually the lilies will take over one side of the firepit.  Burgundy clematis trail up a trellis (with bonus tiny image of goat in there.)  Clematis are difficult to establish and hate being transplanted, but once they're yours they're yours forever and are some of the most rewarding and reliable bloomers in the plant world. 

A bug enjoys the shade inside a canterbury bell.  

And no, I'm not going to kill the bug.  I don't care!  Look how cute the little antennae are.  I mean, really.  And if it had a face, I'm sure it would be an innocent face.

Last but not

 least, the catness, It Runs in Front of Me (Katherine,) posed for me.  Y'all may recall the sad story of IRiFoM.  Thrown out of a moving vehicle, she hit the pavement hard enough to scrape up her face.  She took refuge from the snow and sleet (literally, this was a couple of winters ago) in our garage.  

The boy mistook her for Huntress, our other tuxedo kitty, picked her up and, when she didn't protest, took her inside where she's been ever since, except when we take her to the vet.  That she doesn't like so much.  But this?  Napping in the middle of a pile of clean blankets and pillows ain't bad.  She's shiny, a healthy weight, and has no problems with parasites or chronic illnesses.  I like her because she doesn't barf on my stuff and she actually uses the litter box.

Speaking of which, the cleaning around the shoe area?  OMG.  Cat barf had actually splashed onto the wall.  I was scrubbing Huntress upchuck across two large surfaces.  She'd decided to go for it from the top of the dividing wall between the entry and the stairs.

Stupid cat.  But it's clean now, so it's all okay.  And that, ladies and gents, has been my day.  So far.

Sixteen

My little girl turned sweet sixteen the other day.  Three of us went on a massive shopping spree, bought far more books than clothes, had dinner at Red Lobster, looked at kitties (but didn't adopt any--five are more than enough, thank you!) at an adoption center, and spent the rest of the evening watching comedy.  Well, the kids did.  I crashed hard for a bit, then after everyone had gone to bed I worked on OryCon 31 programming stuff. 

This virus poopyheaded bug thingy, whatever it is, is still making me tired.  When I do sleep, I have unsettling dreams.  Anyway.

She's not any taller, or smarter, or more mature by stepping over this landmark birthday, and yet she is a little smarter, taller, and more mature every day.  She used to fit on her father's lap, head by his knees, feet at his belly, large, blue eyes staring up at him with her hands waving around randomly at first and then with slimy purpose.  She had a grip, this small thing, and a fascination with hair.  I got used to having slimy hair, having my hair pulled and yanked and tangled in moist, pink little fingers.  

She hid cat food under her pillow and in her closet.  It's important to have an emergency food stash in case of, well, an emergency.  She also hated clothes, like her mom.  She'd take them off at unexpected times and streak about.  

A lot of parents talk about their kids' independence.  Me too.  She decided she wanted to go home from kindergarten one day.  She snuck out, and if it hadn't been for a sharp-eyed secretary, she would have escaped to attempt to walk home.  Oh, I shudder ... we moms do that.  That was a decade ago and I still feel the same chill, and again when she almost drowned, and again when she fell asleep on the bus--that time the entire after-hours school system was hunting for her, and if it weren't for the bus driver hearing a small "can I go home now?" from the back of the bus just as he got off to leave the bus barn ...

But she's home, putting dishes in the dishwasher, enjoying her time to herself, talking to herself.  She's a private child, not quiet and subdued but she definitely prefers her own  rational, certain-of-the-future, inventive and determined companionship over that of any other being, human or animal.  When she seeks the rest of us out, it's good to know she does because she genuinely wants to be around us, not because she was lonely or bored.

There's not enough room in a blog post to share all the feelings I have, or paint even a fraction of the memories we share.  It's just good to travel through life with a daughter, this daughter, our daughter, a jewel amid the stardust in the universe.  

Stream of Consciousness (might have giardia)

Incredibly sunny outside.  I have all kinds of energy, but watched A Beautiful Mind for lunch anyway.  I'm trying to get a mental angle on writing about Ireland, and not succeeding very well.  Non-fiction is hard.  It's full of facts and personality and stuff.  (Ahem.)  But I have confidence that I'll figure it out by dinnertime.  I have a test that I need to take tomorrow, but I don't know what it's about, except that it will have something to do with my job application for an administrative staff position.  I put the cushions on the outside furniture, and imagined that the cover for the gazebo would be filled with spiders, so I procrastinated by planting 11 red nicotiana (the 2 six packs had one missing--I was totally ripped off to the tune of about 30 cents--or maybe they were on sale and I got ripped off less.)  I stared at my tree peony, which exploded and now is really, really pink with flowers so huge they're ridiculous.  The tree peony really needs to get bigger so it's not so disproportional.  Even Cyrano de Bergerac would laugh.  I may have to paint and drink wine later today.  I painted and drank wine during a blackout yesterday with my friend R, and watched a power station thingy burn, and bought paint brushes and indigo watercolor because I wanted more versatility in shadows.  I pushed a wheelbarrow that was so squeaky we couldn't stop laughing about it.  After dark, a nighthawk screeched just outside the house.  It was beautiful, at first.  I now have a cat in my lap, which means I have a sudden urge to get up and do something urgent, because I'm pinned by cuteness and I realize that I can't get up and do something urgent lest I disturb the cuteness.

My life is beautiful.  I hope I don't get an awful disease and die before I can see how it all ends.

More Fun in Ireland

We've been to so many places since my last post, and there hasn't been time to write about them.  I don't have that much more time now, but I thought I'd post a couple of pics at least. 

Our family hired a pony cart on Inis Oirr (Inisheer,) one of the Aran Islands.  The driver took us on a nice tour of the east side, which included a shipwreck.  The three biggest of us walked part of one hill to save the pony, which acted up several times at the sight of having to drag around four big Americans.  There was seating for nine, by the way.  Not sure how the pony coped in the height of the season!  Probably with much grumpiness.  My DH used to be known as Aran Storm to some ... and we wanted to have a guinness at the local pub, Ruairi's ... but alas, they were closed.  At least we got to walk about, have a guinness at another place instead, and also got to sunbathe on a beautiful beach.  He and I basked on dark, smooth rocks.  We got sunburned.  Sunburned!!  Not bad, though.

Afterward, our ship, the Tranquility, took us to the base of the Cliffs of Moher.  On the way, Ruairi pointed and said, "You hear that sound, Highness?  Those are the shrieking eels ..."  The cliffs are amazing from up top, but even more spectacular viewed from the sea.  We got up close enough to see the thousands of birds nesting and swirling around the rocks.  We had perfect weather, and the sea was very kind, but still fun as we had a few rollers give us an fun and easy ride on the way over.

More later, possibly even tomorrow, as we're taking a vacation from packing/driving.  Our extremely entertaining host is going to take us on a tractor ride after breakfast up a big hill, and we're going to get a close look at some Connemara ponies.  There's also some nice pubs and the sea close by, here on the outskirts of Clifden.  I'm looking forward to putting my feet up in the afternoon and maybe reading a few chapters from one of the many books in the B&B's library, or challenging my DH to a game of chess.

Ireland Interlude

I love Ireland.

Lots of castles, cathedrals, old towns, water stained by peat, hills, sheep, and one magnificent cave.  Weirdly, I love black pudding, and white pudding isn't bad either.  I feel like the only one who isn't local that likes it.  Staying at B&B establishments has been great.  Everyone has been kind and friendly.  

Driving on the left, not so much, but we're likely to survive the experience.

More later, when it's not, er, late.

It's Quiet ...

But not too quiet.

I've been enjoying an evening home alone.  Considering the amount of time I have to myself, and how respectful the kids are of my space, it amazes me that this should feel special.  It does, though, in that 'only have to do my own dishes and laundry,' 'don't have to make dinner for anyone but myself' kind of way.  Any mess made is a mess I made myself, and any mess cleaned up stays cleaned up.

Ahhh, bliss.

There are many kinds of bliss, so I don't feel a need to cling to this.  I do appreciate it, though.

In other news, I got a heap of writing done.  As much as writing on novels feels rewarding, writing on short stories and non-fiction feels more sane at the moment.  Is it the sense of quick response?  I don't know.  The novels are not abandoned, but they are resting for the next little bit, possibly until after Ireland (though just typing that fills me with anxiety.  No working on novels until mid-May?!!  Really?!!)  I've also got a heap of reading done.  Lots more to do for the master's class and the literary award I read for, but I see lights at the end of the tunnel, and I hear a strange, uplifting music that summons me closer ... 

Cave sirens.  Such a menace.

Chaos and Sunshine

I heard the dogs whining.  When the dogs whine, it's usually the goats or the dobies across the way.  I was in the middle of a phone call, so I dawdled, until finally I got my butt upstairs.  

Goats.  Goats everywhere.  Well, near the barn, anyway.  Gah.

I apologized to my DH and headed out in mud boots.  The so-called cunning plan was to get one dog on a leash, head out there, and herd the herd back into their enclosure, followed by an investigation to try to figure out how they got out.  Finn sat tidily and calmly, so he got the coveted leash.  Now, normally, I can squeeze through the fence and through a combination of mild expletives, snarls, barks, shouts, shoves and admonitions, I can get me and just one dog out the gate.

Not today.  

Beast rammed past me with surprising force.  The goats scattered.

Great.

I shouted at him, but the airedale is strong in this one.  Goats climbed onto the stack of straw we have on our archery range.  Goats circled and faced him off with horns.  Scooter disappeared into the barn, and Beast went after him.  A second later Scooter came out, Beast appeared to bound onto him, and Scooter went down.  And lay still.

My heart leapt into my throat, just like in the cliche'.  I managed to snag Beast.  It was like a fight, but luckily he didn't use his teeth on me.  I knew if I scared him enough, he might panic and bite.  My throat was raw and I couldn't get enough air to fuel the effort of getting a very powerful dog so he can't slip away while simultaneously getting the chain collar off another dog that's trying to help and get that collar on him.  I think it took about four minutes.  

For the record, four minutes of giving it your all sucks.  

I finally succeeded.  Finn is good with the goats, so he was fine off leash around them.  He trotted into the pasture and started a perimeter patrol.  I couldn't take Beast over to what was left of Scooter--I had to get him back to the dog run.  I couldn't get the thought out of my head.  I have to shoot my dog.

No, I'll adopt him out.  Can I do that?  I don't think so.  What if he hurt a cat, a dog ... maybe an owner with no animals, maybe if I put out a plea--

Negotiations of a desperate mind.  I got him in and started back toward the barn.

And Scooter, the little butthead, stood up.  He was fine.

Fainting goat.  He must have fainting goat in him.  He overloaded and collapsed.  He was down, oh, I don't know how long.  Four minutes?  Another long four minutes, the kind where you have death in your hands and you don't want it.

So relieved on so many levels I was on the verge of tears, I looked Scooter over.  He didn't have so much as a scratch.  He wasn't limping.  He was fine.  Beast didn't hurt him.  He didn't hurt him.  He just scared him.  It still wasn't good, but it wasn't a death sentence.

I got the goats in, still relieved by my near miss.  Next time, the good dog gets to go in through the house.  It'll be like an air lock.  If one or both get by me, they might trash the upstairs, but they won't get out to the goats.  Brian would be fine, but Beast ... Beast was born and bred to chase deer, and goats are the next best thing.

Exhausted, I gasped my way back to the house, tasting blood in my throat, trembling from adrenaline.  It took fifteen minutes or more for me to feel like I might not pass out.  My DH called back and we talked while I sipped a shot of Navan to soothe my throat, and then I went back out.

I found what I thought was the hole, plugged it, dealt with another weak area for good measure, and thought that was that.  I was filthy, smelled like wet dog, mud under my fingernails--and it was sunny and gorgeously warm, beautiful in only the way a day can be after a near miss.  Time to garden.  I planted a tree (not the Christmas tree--I'll need help to get it off the deck) and some bulbs I'd left out in the weather just before the storm (all of them except a few anemones looked good, and I bet even the really pathetic anemones will be fine too,) did some weeding, placed a couple of edging boulders, leveled a couple sections of path.  About that time the goats got out again.  This time I had help from the kids.  I managed to notice that the truck gate was leaning.  Aha!  Andrea and I got it tied back in place.  No more goat escapes.

Chaos and sunshine.  It was a very good day, but I'll be sore tomorrow.  I feel it coming on already.

Drunk on Friendship and Enjoying the Hangover

I had a really good time yesterday at the ABBB, and I hope everyone else did too.  It's always hard for me to gauge if party stuff is going well.  My beloved friends are so good to me, they'd never let on if they were bored or annoyed or insufficiently fed if they felt left out or fillintheblank.  But judging from the laughter and smiles I'm guessing almost everyone enjoyed themselves.  And I have to say a special thanks to the mighty tall one for being the best sport ever.  

Oh man, now I want to give more special thanks--to the goddess and her accompanying god (or does he consider himself a minion) for their warmth and excellent companionship, and to the woman of the moon for her stories.  To Wit for his quirky, fun gifts.  To my oldest friend for fighting a hard battle to make it to the party at all and winning through only to suffer the luck of the draw.  To father and child for being patient in the extreme (for us) heat and crowded conditions.  To the cheater, who always helps out and makes me laugh.  To the monk who keeps things lively--it wouldn't be a party without him.  And to all of them at once, together, and the ones who couldn't be there but were in spirit, and to the voice from afar who I love more than the graceful sky, and my children who waited hand and foot and sometimes even seemed to enjoy it, and to the glory that's the sun, the teasing wind, the full moon that shone like molten gold at the horizon, and ...

To all, to those I missed because I'm a little tired and drunk from friendship, and to the world.  Happy birthday!

Dreaming of the Caribbean

We've been contemplating the possibility of cruising in the Caribbean.  Not sure we'll be able to pull it off, but one of the possibilities could connect us with The Brig Unicorn.  You know me and tall ships and cannons.  

The trick is figuring out who will take care of the animals while we're gone.  The cruises I've been looking at are 7-10 days.  That's a long, long time to be away, especially since we'll probably spend two additional days flying.  If all we has was cats I wouldn't think much of it. We could ask someone to just fill up their bowls and maybe clean out the catboxes once.  We'd probably come home to kitty protest puke and unrolled toilet paper everywhere, but hey, they'd forgive us eventually.  The dogs and goats and bunnies ... whole 'nother matter.

We may also take the train to Seattle and from there the ferry to downtown Victoria, stay there for about a week or so.  Far, far less expensive, but unfortunately the time away from home is the same.

I love our dysfunctional farm, but it would be nice to be able to clean the place up, ask someone to pick up our mail and feed the cats, and go without worrying.  Instead there's a good hour or more of work out here between feeding/watering animals if for no other reason that there's a lot of walking around that has to happen plus the dogs will need some attention in the form of catch or just sitting with them and snuggling.  Fortunately the time periods we're looking at won't require hours of garden watering.  It'll be raining and cool in the Pac NW (which would be a downside to going to Victoria except that we don't do that much that's strictly outdoors there.)

In the Caribbean it'll be warm.  Mmm, I close my eyes and remember the tropical skies ... and open them to our local periwinkly-blue and grin, because we live in one of the more beautiful places in the world, and right now it's warm and gorgeous and homey and most of my favorite things are right here.

Morning sweetness

The little fluffy personalities are back.  I heard them first thing this morning when I woke up.  My bedroom window is open except in the hottest and coldest weather so I can usually hear who's up and about, whether it's coyotes, the hummingbirds engaging in their constant wars, the sparrows, the towhees, the goats picking through the flattened blackberry patch (yay goats!) one of our hawks, geese with their strangely mournful cries flying overhead, the soothing voices of content cattle, horses galloping like fools around the pasture, dogs barking at evil bicyclists or people walking up the road or horses going by or sanitation employees stealing our garbage or the mailman or the bunny nibbling in the veggie patch, or rain (and the scent that comes with it) or rushing wind making music with the leaves of thousands of trees, or the simple quiet of first morning light as I wake from a dream.