Farewell My Dear Rudy

I found Rudy dead this morning, a victim of the highway, or a raccoon, or maybe both. I don’t know.

He was such a peaceful, sweet fellow. I think he was a prince, or maybe an angel, in disguise. He sure made a lot of gloomy days brighter for me when I was sick. I’ll miss him.

Drunk

I bet you think this is another story about the boys. Not so. There’s more than one way to get drunk.


The citrus trees are blooming right now. That smell is so overwhelming. And the sight of Rudy in the sunshine puts my eyes on sensory overload.

You can get zonked on life here today just by sitting outside in a lawn chair.

Bob the Builder

The project is coming right along. As I type, the guys are painting the outside of the building. There are two helping Bob today, Nick and Brent. Last week Jonathan and Devin were here, too, and even Ryan grabbed a paintbrush for a while.

Bob installed new windows.


Jonathan did some wiring.


The building is supposed to be ready for a party next weekend. Oh my.

Running Through the Weeds

I’m always talking about cats and peacocks and chickens. The horses and the goat don’t get mentioned very often. Well, right now it’s hard to get a picture of them, the weeds in the pasture are 3 feet high.

I don’t have a key to the tractor. John’s been busy with other things. He sometimes waits until the weeds have gone to seed before he cuts them. Which is why there’s a bumper crop.

The horses are doing fine, though, and the weeds have given the wild ducks a place to nest. I’m not sure what keeps the horses from eating the eggs. Horses like eggs.

Dusty heard the camera click. Here he comes!


Blue Top’s out there somewhere. I think.

Saw a New Bird

This picture is from a website and was taken by Peter LaTourette.

Bob and I were sitting out in the backyard enjoying the weather when this colorful guy landed in the bird feeder right in front of us. "Hi!" he said. "I'm new in the neighborhood. Could you recommend a good place to eat?"

The bird sat right in front of us for at least 2 minutes, enough time for us to memorize all its peculiarities and go rushing for the bird books as soon as the bird left.

You might recall from last year that I'm not very good at identifying birds. First, I have too many books and a bird can look significantly different in every book. Second, when I start flipping through the pages I start forgetting the details I so carefully observed and pretty soon I could barely tell you if what I saw was a duck or a turkey. Luckily Bob was there, too, and his memory pulled us through.

The first picture I found that seemed likely was a Brambling. I was really excited to read that this is a rare bird! Then I read that it's the size of a Goldfinch. The Grosbeak is somewhere between a Blackbird and a Robin.

Oh well. I PERSONALLY have never seen one before, so it's rare to me. And what a colorful addition to our collection of mostly brown wild birds.

Sunny Day in Cosumne

It's been a great, sunny day today. Bob is out constructing. I've watered the flowers. George is sunning on the sidewalk. Charley is catching flies on the windowsill. And the captain is out playing a round of golf. He made a hole in one! Hotei is happy.

Classmates

I’ve said it before, one thing I love about living where I do is sharing a long history with other people who live here.

Yesterday there was a memorial service for a wonderful lady who had lived across the street for 62 years. My brother and I played with her kids. My kid played with her grandkids.

There were lots of people from the area at the service. Here is one who was in my class at school.


It’s Robert. I don’t like to give last names on the Internet. Those of you who know him know what his name is. If you don’t know him it doesn’t matter.

This is us in 2nd Grade.


Here is an interesting fact: Robert's middle name is Lloyd. My son Bob is also Robert Lloyd. The older Robert’s parents are Betty and Lloyd. Bob’s grandparents are Betty and Lloyd. One day out of the blue this coincidence struck me.

Bob wasn’t named after Robert, not even subliminally. (You know how words just seem to go together in your mind, like 40 and carrot?) Bob was named after my uncle Robert and John’s dad Lloyd. The Betty and Lloyd coincidence is just weird.

Anyway, the older Robert didn’t recognize me, not even with a lot of hints. He did remember we had a punch out in 4th Grade. His memory is not very good though, he thought he won that battle.

Here is another picture I took, of our neighbor’s grandkids and Bob. This is Nick and Bob, Shane and his significant other.

Can't Find the Kittens

Katherine came over yesterday and we searched the whole place again. No sign or sound of kittens anywhere. Thank you, Katherine, for helping me.

I realized one thing as we were searching - there are too many piles of crap stacked all over this place. The corn stand has its own detritus: cardboard boxes, pallets, bins. And there are John's collections of wood and dead motorcycles, fencing material, etc. Now Bob is accumulating crap as well. I suppose we should take dual responsibility for the old cages stacked in the shed and pulled out behind the back yard. At one time they were all being used for show birds. I still need to keep a few in case we need to tuck birds into cages and evacuate them in an emergency. And I need the kitten cage. I hope.

But there's a lot of chicken stuff out there we no longer need. If you can use some of this stuff (there are feeders and waterers as well) stop by and we'll sort through it.

Open Letter to a Bozo

This letter is to the Bozo who dumps off cats in my yard. Specifically to the one who dumped off the pregnant calico female with the orange tail.

I know that person doesn’t read this blog, but maybe some higher power does, will see what I say, and arrange for Bozo to get huge festering boils on his butt and face.

Shortly after I wrote about the calico kitty last month she became very skinny. As I predicted, she had kittens somewhere. A couple of weeks later, kittens were heard mewing behind the freezer box at the corn stand. By the time I found someone who could fit back into the corner (Ysidro) and someone who could speak Spanish well enough to ask him to check there, the mewing was gone. The mama had moved the babies.

So I got some kitten chow and had Margarita ask Ysidro to crawl back in the corner again and leave a bowl of food there. It’s one of the few places around here where the raccoons can’t get to it and scarf it up. I also did a thorough search of the place to see if I could see or hear anything. I couldn’t.

The plan was to keep the mother fed. When the kittens were old enough, she’d bring them to the food and then I could trap them all. I can do this, I have a foolproof trap that doesn’t hurt anything.

This afternoon I went over to the stand to see if they needed any more food. Ysidro brought half a bag out to me, along with the bowl, and said the mama cat was gone. John showed up about that time and said she’d been killed on the highway a couple of days ago.

The guys don’t like to tell me these things. First, I know they try to spare my feelings. Second, they know that everyone on the place will be dispatched to look for the kittens. I’ve already done another thorough search. They aren’t in the hay pile. They aren’t in the woodshed, or under the old house next door. I even went out in the horse pasture to check the old goat house. No kittens. I found a pair of mallards, though. They didn’t fly off, they just waddled into the weeds, which leads me to believe they have a nest there.

The “cheeseweed” (that’s what my mother called it) in the pasture is 3 feet tall. So now I not only have to worry the kittens may be somewhere out there, but there could be a duck nest as well.

So here’s to you, Bozo. Enjoy your boils. Until I find those kittens, hopefully alive enough to save, I’ll renew my wish for you every day.

Bob and Ysidro and the rest of the guys at the corn stand will be thinking of you also, as I drive them all nuts.

Construction Progress

Bob and his friend Devin were busy tacking shingles onto the “playhouse” roof. The weather wasn’t cooperative, it rained for a few days last week. Then the wind blew again.

Then cousin Joe came to help, and the Captain and Q supervised. The roof is now finished. More or less.


What’s up with Q? His hands and feet are a lot smaller than Captain Picard’s.

White Flower Days

I planted a lot of color in the garden, and there are bits of it blooming. But this week, for some reason, there is a flurry of white flowers.

There are these things. Forgot what they're called.

...and a Snowball bush



...and a Banksia rose that is growing all over the woodshed and halfway up the redwood tree


...the Dogwood is in full bloom


...and a Calla.

Two Birthdays

Yesterday was the birthday of two unique buddies in my life. I went to high school with one in the 60s. The other was my trail horse.

Merlene was a great friend in high school. We shared a love of Richard Halliburton adventure books, political activism, and just being snarky. I spent a lot of time thinking of clever (in my mind) things to write to Merlene. It was sort of like blogging is now, with an audience of 1. Like Halliburton, we planned to go on great adventures and write about them.

I lost track of Merlene right after high school and only just found her through the internet a couple of years ago. She stopped by on her way from Texas to Turlock, I think, visiting relatives in California. It was great. No one was here to take our picture together, though.

Merlene hasn’t given up the dream of traveling. She spent the summer in Chile (their winter) and is busy right now planning a trip to somewhere else fun. I’m trying to convince myself I could maybe drive to Texas by myself to see her. So far I haven’t managed that. I’m doing much better with my health but my butt drags. Merlene is still a spunky traveler, but she has trouble with her hands both typing and writing. I’m trying to figure out how she could travel and I could write about it.

My other traveling friend has been gone for about 16 years. I found this photo of her when I was scanning things this weekend.

All my old friends will recognize Big Ears.


What a horse! What a bitch! We were together for 25 years and traveled a lot of miles on California trails. A lot of folks didn’t know my name, they only knew me as the lady who rode Big Ears. It wasn’t just her ears that made her stand out, she was big and powerful, had a wicked sense of humor, and an unusual personality. When she died, it was like losing a big (fun) part of my life.

Her last couple of years, Earsie put up with Bob. He’d throw hay in the manger to get her to put her head down, then he’d crawl up her neck and sit there while she ate. He’d hang onto her ears like they were controls to a backhoe, and make tractor noises when she’d move her head up and down. She was old but not feeble, she could have stomped him if she’d wanted.

If I had one wish for my young friends - and I’m lucky to have a few - it would be that sometime in their life they’d have a friend like Merlene to dream with and at least one great trail horse like Big Ears.

Happy BD, buddies. Thanks for the memories.

Beach Party

Got a postcard from Jean-Luc. He was enjoying some rays on the holodeck with EB (Easter Bunny) when they had a surprise visitor. It was Wonder Woman! (Relax, this won’t be an X-rated blog. The dolls don’t bend that way. I tried it.)

Before long, a few more friends had showed up and it turned into a nice party.

Spring Break

Jean-Luc sends his best. He and a friend are spending their holiday at the beach.

Do you get a spring break? Mine was today. You see how I spent my day. Well, it was rainy and I needed to amuse myself. It wasn’t easy. George kept sneaking off with my props.

The Kitties, Immortalized

Rachel Schleuter, an artist from Eureka, has painted these small oils of my kitties. This is Velcro, Charley, George and Gollie.





These are each 6 x 6 inches, just a nice size when you don’t have a lot of wall space. I saw some cat paintings by Rachel on the Internet and really wanted one. She captures the essence of cat. Then I thought, I wonder if she’d do some of that wonderful art using pictures of my own kitties? I contacted her. I like to paint, but I like even more to see art by really talented people.

I love these. See www.rachelschleuter.com.

My friend Katherine has 50 pieces of lively chicken art this size at the 20th Street Gallery in Sacramento. You can see it all right here if you can't make it to the gallery: www.katherineplumer.com/poultry/50-50.html

I have more artists who I follow because I love their work and it's fun to see what they're up to.

davidlobenberg.blogspot.com/

www.scrute.blogspot.com/

www.javachickn.com/

There are references on some of these sites to other artists as well. You could probably spend a whole day just looking at art online. The Internet serves the art community very well, at least it gives artists a way to show their work to the world.

Struggling With "The System(s)"

Bob is getting his fill of maneuvering through the system this week. I guess that another life experience young folks have to master.

First it was the bank. He opened an account at a new bank because the ladies at the old bank didn’t answer his questions well enough. Bob is very good with his money, nothing he learned from me. He kept a little money in the old account until he was sure the new one was up and running. A wise move, as it turns out, but something unforeseen occurred and he was charged a $24 fee. I personally think the ladies at the old bank did this on purpose. First to teach him a lesson, and then so they could buy coffee and doughnuts and celebrate not having to deal with this customer anymore. That's what I would have done.

Bob thinks the new bank will be much better. I see another lesson to be learned.

In addition to the bank dilemma, there was a health insurance epiphany. Bob turned 23 in March and was summarily booted off my benefits. Not that his coverage was free, I’d been paying about $300 a month for him for a long time. He got a letter saying he could continue on the insurance on his own until he’s 25. It will only cost $500 a month. “Why,” he asks, “would you charge someone, who obviously can barely pay anything, MORE than an old person who has been working for a long time and probably makes more money than they’re worth?” (That would be me.) And why charge so much money for someone who maybe uses a band-aid or two a year?

Meantime he’s still working on the roof with no health insurance. I hope that’s a lesson that doesn’t need to be learned.

And finally there is a school issue. Bob has been in junior college since he was 17. He finished high school in 3 years and got an early start. His goal was to take his time and do a good job, get good grades, and be able to transfer to a 4-year college.

He’s almost there. He truly took his time, he has great grades. But he’s never been the sort of student who can’t wait to see the new books and does lots of extra credit just because. And he’s sick and tired of school at this point.

At the beginning of the semester, all he had left (he was told) was one math class. He’s been trudging through it. With light finally at the end of the tunnel, he went to a counselor to get the paperwork started for graduation. But no! there’s just one more class he needs now. It’s in the “Living Skills” category. The counselor suggested Work Experience might be a good fit.

Bob told her, “I already have a job. Would that count?” It would have to be 40 hours a week for 8 weeks and be approved by the school. Well, that won’t work. The Corn Stand job isn’t enough hours. The school would find him an unpaid job for 40 hours a week, but then he wouldn’t have time to work at his paid job. Bob has been working since he was old enough for a work permit. He’s worked at state test scoring sites, at a shipping warehouse, and dozens of volunteer jobs, as well as at the Corn Stand. He doesn’t see why he needs a work experience class just to get the heck out of junior college and get on with his life.

I think this is probably an opportunity for him to learn another of life's lessons. As that great philosopher Roseanne Rosannadanna used to say, “It’s always something.”

Score 1 for the Chicken People

There are rare times when something that begins as a bad time turns out to be such a good experience, it makes you want to dance in the street.

On the way back to my car yesterday, after the Board of Supervisors meeting, I was doing a little jig with my cane.

I told you about the rooster ordinance. Over the years I have trudged down to the BS meetings many times to speak against whatever new idea the slicks had come up with to make our lives more complicated. The rural side has not won very often.

Yesterday we won, but it wasn’t just the victory that was sweet, it was all the things that came together to make it happen: watching people find their own power to make a difference, then seeing them succeed.

I agonized over my own speech. Being at the BS is very daunting. You stand at a podium with a microphone and speak to the supes, with the audience behind you. There is a time clock in front of your face that tells you how much time you have left. Generally you have 3 minutes. Three minutes that is probably boring as hell to the supes, who have heard it all before. But to you it could make the difference between life as you know it and a new life in over-regulated hell.

So every day I would keep a sheet of paper on my desk and jot down thoughts as they came. I ended up with 5 pages of snippets. Then I put them in order and wrote my speech. It was at least 10 minutes long and still didn’t cover everything that needed to be covered. By this I do not mean everything I personally needed to cover, but EVERYTHING that needed to be covered. I always manage to convince myself that it’s my personal responsibility to protect the world. Often enough it works out that way, there aren’t enough other people who will step up and help. They agree, but they don’t have the time, the opportunity, or maybe the self-confidence, to step up and speak. This is not bad, it just IS.

It’s really hard to write the perfect speech with the (self-imposed) weight of the world on your shoulders. When I finally finished it, I tried it out on Bob. He was neither impressed by my facts and organization, nor amused by my attempts at humor. “That’s crap,” he said. And I listened to him. Not only does he have a natural ability to cut through crap, but he really excelled in his Argumentation and Debate class a couple of years ago. He told me what to do and I went back to work. I stayed up late. I got up early. By yesterday afternoon, I had a perfect 3 minute speech.

When we got to the BS, the head BSer announced “There are a lot of speakers on this item. You’ll each have TWO minutes to speak.” Well foo. How do you save the world in 2 minutes?

What made this a great day is none of us had to do that single-handedly. Each person who spoke brought a personal piece of the story and by the time we were finished, it was clear, complete, and compelling.

Four of us were the poultry show contingent. Richard S’s experience with county budgetary matters came through in his questions asking how anyone expected to pay for enforcing the ordinance. Chris T brought a letter from the president of the American Poultry Association and offered his own personal insights. Katherine P, who is a self-professed shy person and hates to speak in public, had a very, very good speech that she expertly pared down to 2 minutes moments before her presentation. She also wore a t-shirt she’d made that said “Permit? We don’t want no stinkin’ permit!” It might have lost its effect if it had been worn by one of the guys, but on a nice young white-bread lady, it made quite an impression. I was proud of her. All those belly-dancing classes have strengthened her backbone. I made a few remarks when it was my turn, I can’t really remember which paragraphs I left in and which I cut. It didn’t matter.

There were comments from Cowboy Jay who always does a great job of nailing threats to our freedom, from Charlotte from the Farm Bureau, and from Stewart from Vineyard CPAC. Stewart very confidently spoke for 5 minutes, right through the head BSers warnings. I’m glad he did, he had a number of astute observations, things the rest of us would never have thought about. There was a lady who publishes a newspaper in Elverta. She did what I’ve often wanted to do, walked right up to the podium between speakers and called the head BSer to task about protocol. She wasn’t shot by death rays from under the podium or anything, burley guards did not grab her and evict her from the room, something to note for future use.

The rest of the speakers were people I never expected to hear. There were several fellows who sat in the back of the room at the CPAC meetings. When the sheriff lady who wrote this ordinance talked about cockfighting, she would always mention drugs and guns and look at these guys as if they were the scum of the earth. Talk about racial (or cultural) profiling! They were all brown fellows, Asiatic and Hispanic I think, and mostly they reminded me of a lot of my neighbors. My neighbors are hard-working people, some still have trouble with English. They are honest and decent people and I like them. Mostly they don’t call attention to themselves. I had been surprised to even see brown guys at the public meetings.

One by one they came to the podium and spoke. Some had been in the military, at least one had a degree from UCD. All of them spoke well, and from the heart. They brought up great questions and covered all the topics. Everything I didn’t have time for and was kicking myself over. They impressed the heck out of me and everyone else as well, the supes included. (Hum “Rocky” to yourself.)

In the end, it was clear that while no one opposed enforcing the present laws against cockfighting, everyone agreed that the proposed ordinance would accomplish nothing except the harassment of everyone else who owns chickens in the county.

Power to the Plain Folks!

Two sidenotes:

Bob spoke at the Wilton CPAC (thanks for asking him, Anne) and did a good job. He was quoted by a couple of the speakers at the BS meeting. Just a proud mom moment.

John’s brother-in-law (and therefore in my mind, mine also) was a surprise attendee at the meeting yesterday. He is an official in another county and was there officially. I didn’t recognize him at first because he was wearing a suit. And he looked very nice, like he belonged in a suit. When you see someone in a suit at a BS meeting you just figure they’re part of the bureaucracy. I’m sure it’s the first time I’ve ever hugged anyone in a suit at a BS meeting. Or even wanted to.

I Can Taste Them Already

For those of you in other parts of the country, well except for Sharon C in Florida, this is one reason why living in California is great:


I already have flowers on my tomatoes.

While the rest of you were (or are) fighting snow and ice storms and other nasty stuff, we were planting tomatoes. But hey! There have been a couple of bad days here. That really windy day recently almost blew my camellia over. It was overloaded with blossoms.


We may be crying "drought" in July, but right now the countryside is glorious. When I went to Green Acres Sunday morning, the whole parking lot was filled with people buying plants. The ones who crack me up are the little old ladies looking at plants in 5 gallon containers. I always ask: "Who's going to dig the hole for that?"

A Chicken Tale

I talked to Aunt Bea yesterday, she called from Tennessee. I told her I'd been busy writing my comments for the Board of Supervisors meeting tomorrow, where they will be voting on the rooster ordinance. (You remember that? The county is intent on turning everyone who raises roosters into a potential criminal in the hopes of stopping cockfights.)

Aunt Bea said "I dated a fellow once who raised fighting chickens." And she proceeded to tell me this story.

The fellow had really good birds, he sold and shipped them all over the country. People came from miles around to see his birds. One day she was at his house for lunch when a "tour" showed up. The chicken fellow took 4 or 5 people through his house and out through the kitchen to his back yard, where he kept his birds.

After the visitors left, Bea went to the kitchen with the fellow to fix lunch. He looked into a bowl on the counter and was dismayed to find there were only 2 eggs remaining from the dozen or so that had been there. The visitors had swiped the eggs! Undoubtedly hoping to hatch their own outstanding birds.

The fellow wasn't angry, though. He snickered as he said, "Some poor little hen is going to be sitting for a long time on those hard boiled eggs."

Trying to Nap

George was enjoying the nice spring day, dozing on the lawn.

When suddenly it dawned on him that he was not alone.


Luckily Rudy was more interested in napping, too.

And showing off.

Meeting for Lunch

Life Experiences

Bob has always been pretty careful. When he was a baby, if you told him something was hot, he’d listen and stay away from it. He didn’t have to learn this the hard way. So it’s always a surprise to find him doing something less than wise.

This morning I watched him pour himself a bowl of cereal. He always uses a salad bowl, it probably holds 3 cups of cereal. He was preparing to eat 3 cups of extra heavy duty All Bran buds.

I said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why don’t you eat the Raisin Bran instead?”

“Raisin Bran, All Bran, what’s the difference?” He asked. I was tempted to let him find out for himself, but we live in the country and have to maintain our own plumbing.

When I got home that afternoon, a very windy afternoon, he had torn the roof off the chicken shed. There he was, up on the roof in a windstorm, and his health insurance had lapsed two days before. Oh my.


The remodel has begun. In practically no time, he says, the chicken shed will become a game room. It won’t take any time at all. Mark this date on your calendar.

Showing Off

The flowers are showing off. The lilacs not only look beautiful, they smell wonderful, too. There are purple ones:


and white ones:


The lilac bushes have been here as long as I can remember, my mom probably planted them from roots of old bushes that were long established in our area. She always kept lilacs, Shasta daisies, a Blaze climbing rose (she said it was Grandma Blawat's favorite), and Naked Lady lilies. I saw a picture once of Walter Grimshaw's garden and he had a long row of Shasta daisies at his house across the street. I still grow all of my mom's favorites. Some are the plants she planted. The camellias are my own addition, though I think a couple were planted by Uncle Orin and Aunt Shirley many years ago.

This pink stuff that Suzie the gardener lady planted for me last year is blooming. It’s very frilly. I don't know what its name is.


And of course, Rudy is also in full bloom and showing off.


Trudy is back on top of the horse barn again, trying to hatch eggs. I hope she’s OK up there, we’ve had raccoons again. One of them killed the little old brown hen the other night. Makes me wish I had a machine gun. I don’t know how the wild birds manage to propagate, there are so many stinking raccoons around here. They don’t just kill something to eat, they eat some eggs then smash the rest and kill everything they can get their paws on.

Remember the little patchwork cat? She’s had her kittens at the corn stand, the guys can hear them mewing sometimes. They’re evidently hidden back in a corner. Bob is on the job trying to find them.