Me and the Jays

I promised some photos of our last weekend in Tahoe. Here's one taken by my daughter, Krissy. I don't usually like photos of myself but this is one of my very favorites. If you click on the photo it should get bigger and you can see the row of peanuts on the deck rail and a Stellar jay grabbing one.

To Make a Long Story Short . . .

Skip the beginning. I mean, who really wants to hear all that boring stuff anyway? The real question then becomes, how far back do you go? You go too far back and you’re telling a completely different story. I think you should just start right now. Let people catch up—like they have to do when they meet you. You don’t meet people and start out by trying to catch them up on your whole life’s story. Well, maybe some people do, but trust me, those aren’t the folks you want to spend time with.

How do you make a long story short? As my screenwriting teacher, Anne Jordan, would say, treat it like the best part of a party. Arrive late and leave early.

Weeee're Baaa'ck!

Well, we made it home from Tahoe with my husband driving a filled-to-the-brim 14' U-Haul pulling my filled-to-the-brim car and I drove a filled-to-the-brim mini-van. We left behind an empty, very clean home for the new renters. We managed to see a fun fireworks display (photos to come later) and we even managed a boat ride on the lake. I am beyond exhausted but was doing pretty well until I fell on the cement stairs chasing after the cats who threatened to escape from from the garage when the door was malfunctioning. We can barely move in our crowded house but that's my next project. Updates to come!

P.S. The jays are really going to miss us. The last day, as we were finishing up cleaning, one flew into the family room looking for me (and his peanut fix). He got a bit panicky—as did my husband and daughter since they had to duck when he flew past—but he let me catch him in my hands in the kitchen and carry him outside. I threw him a goodbye peanut and he grabbed it in his beak and headed off in search of new handouts.

Playing and Packing

Stellar Jay


Mountain Chickadee

I am sitting on the back deck of our Tahoe house having my morning cup of tea—no coffee in the house as much is already packed. The thing I have missed most about Tahoe is feeding peanuts to the Stellar Jays every morning and evening. At first only two came to visit when I laid out a string of peanuts on the railing. But they were so delighted they called out to all their relatives and within about fifteen minutes I had a crowd of about ten diving in from all directions and grabbing peanuts. They are so funny. Sometimes they'll pick up one peanut and shake it, listening. Then they'll put that one down and test another, always searching for the perfect treasure. I sit with my feet on the deck rail and they seem to know I'm a friend. They'll sit about three feet from me and, with a peanut in their beak, they'll look me over with great curiosity. Most people think jays are just loud and squawky, but actually they have lots of ways to talk, from soft little kissy sounds to squeaks to screams.

I was also visited this morning by two types of squirrels. One is little and brown. The other is huge and gray with a magnificent plumed tail. The mountain chickadee came by as well. Locals call it the "cheeseburger" bird, but I've always called it the "hey baby" bird because that's what is says over and over. (It just never sounded like cheeseburger to me and hey baby sounds so much friendlier.)

Yesterday we arrived much later than we'd planned, caught on the pass for an hour while an accident was cleared away. We had reservations to join my husband on a boat cruise on the lake but we were too late for that. Instead, we headed up Taylor Creek Trail and stopped at a swimming hole on the creek. The water was cold but quite swimmable and we were joined by a friendly duck who paddled around with us. Then we had dinner at our favorite restaurant, The Blue Angel, on Ski Run Blvd. It is owned by a lovely English lass, Rosie, who has a great staff and lots of friends who often stop by. (She does catering as well so you should definitely look her up if you're ever in town.) Wednesday is pasta night. For $7.99 you get pasta, which you can customize, Ceasar salad and fabulous garlic cheese bread. We visited with old friends before heading back to our nearly empty house.

Well, as much as I'd like to spend the rest of the day communing with nature here on the deck there are boxes to be packed, junk to be sorted and hauled to the dump and the donation station, and so much cleaning to be done. We pick up the U-Haul truck on Saturday morning so I have two days to get ready. Have I mentioned how much I HATE moving? HATE, HATE, HATE. Oh well, vile emotions don't pack boxes, so off I go.

The Great Transformation

Well, if you've noticed that I haven't posted much lately it is because I've been in the process of transforming my garage, aka the place where we store EVERYTHING that won't fit in the house, into my studio and a more organized place where we store EVERYTHING else. Part of this transformation involves making room for all the stuff that didn't make it here in Phase One of our move from Tahoe to the Sonoma wine country.

Last October I moved into my present house. I just couldn't take another Sierra winter and one of my daughters said she could no longer visit us there because the combination of the altitude and allergans triggered her asthma to the point where breathing was too difficult. So my husband stayed in Tahoe, where he still had a job (although business was being hit hard by the recession and he feared that any day he might be laid off) and I moved into a much smaller house in the wine country. On weekends my husband commuted the four hours each way to visit. Over the next few months, both of my daughters decided they wanted to change the colleges they were attending and they moved back home, along with all of their stuff. I was thrilled to have them home, but the little house was a bit crowded and LOTS of stuff ended up in the garage and what was supposed to be my studio. Every weekend, when my husband made the trip here, he would bring more stuff, anticipating the day when he would actually move here too. Gradually, my little house has become stuffed to the bursting point. I can hardly turn around in the garage and the studio is just as packed with boxes. Last week The Great Transformation began. My studio is finally starting to look like a place where art and writing can take place and the rest of the garage is almost ready to welcome our remaining stuff.

Tomorrow I head back to Tahoe for a week to finish packing up and cleaning out that house. While there, we will get to watch the amazing fireworks display on the 4th of July that the city puts on over the lake. Believe me, that will be the high point of the week. But today, it's back to the garage to complete the transformation. I can't wait to show you pictures! Our internet access in Tahoe has been spotty lately so you probably won't hear much from me for the next week. Hope you all have a happy Independence Day!!

Summer Solstice

(Photo courtesy of http://www.exoticflames.com/fcreative.htm)

Life has been full. A week ago tonight I celebrated the Summer Solstice at a drumming circle in Santa Rosa. I have always loved the sound of the drums, especially native drums. There's just something magic about the sounds of drums outdoors. Part of last Friday's solstice ceremony was to write down on a piece of gray paper something in your life you were ready to let go of. While the drums were beating you were to throw your paper into the fire and release whatever you'd written down. You were also supposed to write down on a golden piece of paper something you intended to accomplish or bring into your life during the next six months. You were supposed to take that piece of paper home with you and put it up on your bulletin board or fridge or somewhere to remind you of what you want to manifest in your life. Being as I was all caught up in the spirit of the moment and the sound of the drumming, I missed that last little piece of the directions. So while the drums were thundering I danced up to the fire pit and tossed both papers into the flames, thus releasing them both to the Universe. I'll let you know in six months, come Winter Solstice, just how that all worked out.

Life is a Numbers Game

I have never been very good with numbers, at least not if I have to calculate them in my head. I once bargained for Giants tickets with a scalper through the window of my car while stopped for a red light.

Scalper: “Field Club seats for $65 each.”

Me: “Would you go $200 for three?” He gave me a big smile. Money changed hands along with the light.

My husband: “Way to go! You do realize you just gave him more than he initially wanted?”

Every now and then you just have to make someone’s day.

You can probably imagine why playing Poker makes me squirm. Same way with Bridge or Hearts. When we used to play Bridge I’d always feel relieved if I got to be the dummy. When we play Hearts, if I try to run the cards, I experience a mild panic attack. My husband always seems to know just how many cards of each suit have been played. Every hand! All this while watching TV and carrying on a conversation. Me, I know that two suits are red and two are black.

Numbers are funny. My mom used to say she was no good with numbers but she could tell the checker exactly how much each item in her grocery cart cost. She couldn’t give you the total but she always knew the price. I can probably tell you the number of calories in every item I’ve eaten in a day but never ask me for an end-of-day tally. Maybe that makes me a live-in-the-moment kind of girl. Or fat.

Now colors, that’s a different matter altogether.

Officer: “Can you describe the vehicle that side-swiped your car, Ma’am?”

Me: “Certainly. It was a sleek, sexy number the exact shade of a ripe pomegranate seed.”

Officer: “Year and make?”

Me:

Age is another of those numbers that gives me trouble. When you’re five, ten sounds old. When you’re fifteen, ten sounds young. My mother never wanted anyone to know when she turned eighty. She said it sounded so old and people would treat her differently. I told her that was just silly. We wanted to throw her a big party to celebrate. Then I noticed myself wanting to hold her arm to help her across the room. She told me that every now and then she’d catch a glimpse of herself in a mirror and wonder who that old lady was. Then she’d realize she was looking at herself.

“It’s always such a shock,” she confessed. “Inside I’m still just forty.”

Two years later, I turned fifty. Fifty sounded so old. My mother just smiled. “I’d kill to be fifty again.”

It's All About the Shoes

I just read this article on Yahoo news:



Reuters – A fox looks for food along the edge of a farmer's field in a file photo. REUTERS/Andy Clark

Fri Jun 12, 10:39 am ET
BERLIN (Reuters) – A fox has been unmasked as the mystery thief of more than 100 shoes in the small western German town of Foehren, authorities said Friday.

A forest worker stumbled upon shoes strewn near the fox's den and found a trove of footwear down the hole which had recently been stolen overnight from outside locals' front doors.
"There was everything from ladies' shoes to trainers," said a local police spokesman. "We've found between 110 and 120 so far. It seems a vixen stole them for her cubs to play with."
Although many were missing laces, the shoes were in good condition and their owners were delighted to reclaim them, he said, adding that no reprisals were planned against the culprit.
(Reporting by Dave Graham; editing by Philippa Fletcher)

I thought this was a pretty interesting story. Like, why were peoples' shoes outside their homes? Were the shoelaces ever found? What happened to the fox's hole after the forest worker broke in? What will the fox family wear to the ball now that all the shoes are gone? The questions just go on and on.