New Family Member

DH called this morning and asked me to look in a certain place on Craig's List. There was a posting for a Maine Coon Cat only 20 miles away, for the unbelievable price of $45.

She was a rescue. A breeder had been running the equivalent of a puppy farm (kitty farm?) in March and was raided for having too many cats -- fifty plus. The lady I met today is a registered cat rescue. She accepts cats, nurses them to health, takes them to the vet, and finds them good homes. Back in March our little treasure was dehydrated, malnourished, and badly matted.

It has been a few months since Francie's demise and DH thought perhaps I was ready for a new cat.

LO and I went to see her at 2pm. The house was a McMansion, beautiful really, on several acres, but the lady and her husband have one cat; they find homes for the rescues.

The husband called her DC, or Dumpster Cat. They gave us all the vet records, indicating about $200 they spent on her shots, spaying her, and recovering her health.

She is such a little lady. She has meowed 3 or 4 times but mostly cuddles us. I remarked to DH we are going to have a bald cat by Monday -- we pet her so much! You can google Maine coon cat to learn more about them.

Tucker and Daniel are curious but seem to be open to a new sister.

Jody's 2nd cousin Pauline always had a cat, and it was always named Spencer. Spencer died, she got a new one. Spencer again. Always Spencer. They were all named for Spencer Tracy.

Pauline was such a delight. Lifelong student. Loved to learn. Open to so many adventures. And, a lifelong Democrat. She died last year on River Road heading to one of her college classes. She was 88.

In Pauline's honor, we are naming our new cat, Spencer.

Don't Nobody Want to Hear That

Tennis practice is over. Little One and I are walking across the parking lot to the car. Someone is yelling from the gym to someone else. "Don't nobody want to hear your mouth!"

Little One mumbles something.
"What was that, Baby?"

"I said, 'Don't nobody want to hear you say, 'Don't nobody.'" She is smiling.

"Or, 'Ain't nobody,'" I add.

"Don't nobody say, 'Ain't nobody,' Nana. You need to catch up on your ghetto talk."

I Wish I Could Draw

I wish I could draw. I wish I could draw my morning walks on the Greenway with Little White Dog.

I would draw in pen-and-ink my view of LWD as we walk: the leash extending down to her at a 55 degree angle. Her little legs, one touching the path, one mid-air as she merrily skips down the way. She is so happy! Smells abound. From my vantage she is all butt and legs, and the tail is her banner, upright and slightly blowing in the breeze.

I wish I could watercolor. I would capture the macro view of the scenery alongside the path. At a distance it appears to be all grasses and brambles, branches and volunteer brush. The colors are already golden and bronze from the drought.

The micro view would be inset in little cutaways at the bottom of the page. It would show the breathtaking beauty of the goldenrod, the purple statice, the wild coreopsis.

I wish I could draw. In pencil I would sketch the strong and beautiful covered bridge that spans the creek. The timbers are already worn from our traffic over it: feet, bicycles, strollers, skateboards. At first, only a few years ago, the beams were yellow wood. Now their patina is a deep brown. They are so broad and thick that my feet thud on them like a voice with deep timber, like the voice of a large older man. The side rails and overhanging roof provide the perfect frame for a delicate spider web, 16" in diameter, woven in the thick of night and sparkling in the morning sun.

I wish I could draw. Again in pencil, I would capture the brown rabbit who bounds across the path, certain that our little dog means certain doom to him. His heart is pounding as he pauses, just 9 feet away from the path, in his little clearing. He is still as death and thinks surely I can't see him. Little White Dog is oblivious. All the wild has been bred out of her so that she only has tiny threads of instinct remaining in her, and even that confuses her. But Rabbit does not know this. He hides, still but for his twitching ears and nose.

I wish I could capture for you the sound on the Greenway. It is a hush so loud that it is a sound in itself. It is the sound of sun, and of things growing, and of the reticent pleasure of so many who have walked this way before me, and those who will come behind. I am alone and I feel alone and being alone is its own glory, yet it is a public commonway and in just a moment someone will be in the same spot feeling the same quiet ecstasy, or missing it entirely.

I wish I could draw. I would draw for you the wet and muddy white dog seated beside me in the car. Her back is white, silky, and well-groomed. Her usually-white legs, belly, tail, her snout and the ends of her ears are brown, curling from the moisture, and separating into tendrils. She looks at me plaintively when I tell her that one of us smells like a wet dog: is it me?

We arrive home, to the ordinariness of it all. To routine and familiarity. But no matter how many times we walk the Greenway, it is new all over again. Things have grown or died away, deer or rabbit startle and thrill us, the sun slants in just a slightly different way. The creek level is down, or up, and blooms have faded or started anew.

Sigh.

I wish I could draw.

Quiet Sunday Morning

It's a quiet Sunday morning and as I write, all the house is asleep. Little One and her BFF are still sleeping in her room. DH, who just got home a little over an hour ago, is sleeping upstairs with earplugs firmly in. Little Dog went outside with me earlier but opted for DH's room upstairs and is snuggled in on the rug beside his bed. Orange cat is curled up on the girls' bed.
Outside it's cool if a little humid and I have the doors open just for a little fresh air. The birds are beginning to stir but the bird feeder is still vacant for today. There are no cars on our street and I feel a little like I'm the only one up.
Have not even checked the news yet; it's sort of nice to just enjoy my peace and quiet for a while.

Number 200

You might think for a 200th anniversary of blogdom, I'd have some auspicious posting, but no, just the same-old, same-old.
DH and I put in our fall garden yesterday. It was sort of a lovely day, with just 2 to 5 hours of horrendous heat, as opposed to a full 24. The birds were singing and the pets were alternately chasing other, and then lying in the shade, enjoying watching us, watching them.
We pulled up the spent plants from summer, keeping the prolific pepper plants and a couple of tomato plants. I had gotten the yellow pear tomato plant on a whim: I have always called the tiny tomatoes "light bulb tomatoes" and thought it would be fun to grow them. Well, it has produced hundreds of light bulbs over the past couple of months and is coming on strong again.
We have carefully maintained a wholly organic garden this year, with amazing results. I am so pleased that we haven't poisoned our own food!
We also cleared a place for composting. We have had several false starts on composting in the past and are attempting to "really" do it this time. Between all the recycling we do (I recently went to the water department and picked up recycling bin #3) and composting, we should really have a low amount of garbage every week, yea for the landfill.
While our little garden used to measure 4'x8', we have cleared this spot and that spot so that now it runs almonst the length of our long driveway.
After adding compost and other organic niceties to the soil, and "double-digging" it, we planted the following:

• broccoli
• spinach
• sugar snap peas
• mesclun
• kale
• cabbage
• Swiss chard (do they grow it in Switzerland?)
• Bibb lettuce
• turnips

...I believe that is all.
Altogether it was a lovely day. DH lost his favorite book on organic gardening so we found it on Amazon and ordered it. It is out of print now, so we ordered a used book at about $6, can't really remember. To our surprise, the vendor sent us an email saying he had refunded the entire price, including shipping, because he had promoted it as "excellent" condition, and when he got ready to ship it, the covers were taped on; he had not realized it earlier. What a nice surprise for us. When we received it, the tape was hardly noticeable, and really I believe someone put tape on the binding just to keep the book sturdy for outdoor reading.
Anyway, the book has inspired DH once again to garden organically (thank goodness) and we are all set. He has already been out fine-tuning the garden this morning and has just come in to report the peas are already throwing their little "bat-ropes" up to the trellis. (We planted them last week, the others yesterday.)