Scalloped Potatoes

On By SandyIn Food, Gardening2 Comments

With a wealth of potatoes at our disposal—or at least as much wealth as you can get from two 4×4′ raised garden beds—I asked My Taller Half (MTH) what kind of potatoes he would like. I listed a few types, then he smiled. Let’s have those ones … you know … the ones (he mimicked a slicing motion) … in the sauce. I knew exactly what he meant, but like him, I could not remember the name of these potatoes. Rather than ruin the evening in frustration for our dual momentary lapses, I assured him I would make them before we ran out of potatoes.

The next morning, I woke early, and the word was there, clear and shining if twelve hours too late. Triumphant, I loudly shared my epiphany with MTH. Scalloped potatoes!

MTH was asleep. He fought his way through the fog and glared at me. Okay, it would have been a glare if he could have opened his eyes. “Scalloped potatoes?” He pried his eyes open enough to read his bedside clock. “You’ve cheated me out of twenty minutes of sleep. I am claiming these twenty minutes!”

Satisfied, I started my day. I fully intended to make scalloped potatoes when they reminded me of one of my favorites—au gratin. I mentioned these to MTH, who seemed pleased with the idea. Cheese makes everything better. I had another idea. “From now on, when we can’t think of a word, we should just say Scalloped Potatoes.” He grinned.

It was my first time making au gratin potatoes, so I grabbed a highly-rated recipe off the internet. The recipe I chose said it was a variation of Julia Child’s, which was good enough for me and saved me a trip to the bookshelf where Mastering the Art of French Cooking – The 40th Anniversary Edition has rested undisturbed since I moved to Pixley. I should have gone to the bookshelf. Julia’s recipe for Gratin Dauphinois (Scalloped Potatoes with Milk, Cheese, and a Pinch of Garlic) would have saved me with its higher temperature and warning not to use a deep pan. I used my pretty round Polish stoneware dish instead of the more utilitarian Pyrex. Not the best choice. Don’t get me wrong—the potatoes were tasty. MTH was very enthusiastic in this regard. Buoyed by the promises of creaminess, the first bite he tried was less than pliant. He said the rest were fine. I couldn’t say the same. They were tasty, but they weren’t perfect. Next time, my pommes de terre will be amazing.

The name Gratin Dauphinois captured my imagination. Was this because the Dauphin (the title for the eldest son of the king when France had a king) really loved this recipe? No. A little research found that The Dauphiné is a former province of France near the southeastern border, a part of which includes a portion of the southern Alps. Potatoes will grow at these altitudes. One thing I enjoy about cooking is that it ties people together across time, space, and cultures. Nearly everyone enjoys a good meal—and those who don’t are suspect.

Sharing the bounty of our little garden is as gratifying as partaking of it ourselves. We have enjoyed several potato dishes so far, shared some potatoes with neighbors and friends, and have several pounds remaining for other dishes. Red Pontiacs have earned a space in future gardens, and as good as they are, we need to enlarge our garden so that we can enjoy and share even more. And in the interest of sharing, the next time you can’t think of the word that is just on the tip of your tongue, feel free to say, Scalloped Potatoes! You’re welcome.




Red Pontiac potatoes

PO-TAY-TOES

On By SandyIn Faith, Food, Gardening2 Comments

PO-TAY-TOES. Boil ’em, mash ’em, stick ’em in a stew.

Samwise Gamgee

I planned my garden long before I moved to Pixley. I spent hours reading up on the seasons here, the best things to plant and when, the best varieties of each type of plant for the area. I looked at seed catalogs the way some women look at clothing or jewelry catalogs.

I feel closer to God in a garden. It is where we all began.

The LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it.

Genesis 2:15 (ESV)

I was anxious to have a garden again. I did not anticipate The Big Storm, or a wedding, or illness, or the pandemic, or that the prices of everything including lumber and cinder blocks would skyrocket.

Early in 2021, I planted fruit trees and bushes. In the fall of 2021, My Taller Half and I built three 4 x 4 boxes for raised beds. We planted our first crops — collards, broccoli, cabbages, carrots, and lettuce. I wanted to double the size of our garden space this spring, but the costs for constructing the raised beds were too high. I almost missed the spring planting.

I decided to plant Red Pontiac potatoes, sweet onions, shallots, Southern peas, and pole beans. I’ve grown beans in the past, but everything else was new to me. The rule here, I was told, is “plant potatoes on Valentine’s Day, eat potatoes on Mother’s Day.” I was a few days late, but I planted them. For months, I watered and weeded. I prayed in our garden. I prayed over our garden. And today, a few days after Mother’s Day, I harvested our first potatoes.

I am ridiculously happy. Isn’t it amazing? You stick little cuttings of seed potatoes in the dirt, and in three months, you have potatoes. We have several plants to harvest, and then, if it is not too late, I can plant okra, sweet potatoes, and asparagus.

We are not in a position to survive on the food we grow, but what we do grow is fresher and tastier. When we thank the Lord for the food we have grown and ask Him to bless it, we know all that went into getting it from seed to table. Growing food helps us better appreciate the hard work that others do to feed hungry people.

There was a season when I grew a garden with my kids so that they would learn. There was a season when I was too busy caring for my growing family to garden. There was a long season in the apartment when I could only grow a few herbs on the front walkway. Now, we are in a season when MTH and I can garden together.

I look forward to many more spring and fall gardens to come, God willing. I hope that one day, grandchildren will come to visit and pluck fruit off of our trees and play and learn in the garden. I know a season will come when we will no longer be able to work in the garden. I am not anxious for that season to arrive, but I believe there is a season that will follow that will never end, a new life in a new creation where we will see Him face to face. And while some imagine streets of gold, I imagine magnificent forests, crystal rivers, towering mountains, and lush gardens all filled with praise.

I don’t imagine there will be potatoes in heaven, but we can enjoy them here—mashed, roasted, hash browns, in a stew, or in Colcannon. Sam Gamgee would approve. And when you enjoy the fruits of a garden, remember to thank the One who gives us our food in due season, the One who created the color green, and potatoes.




A Little Romance

On By SandyIn Love, Storms5 Comments

Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.

C. S. Lewis

Our third-anniversary approaches, so I guess it is time to share the story of how My Taller Half and I came to be.

My youngest child graduated high school a couple of months before I moved to Pixley. I had planned to leave the city I had lived in for fourteen years for a place that was quieter and more affordable. Unfortunately, the friend who was planning to drive the moving truck for me had conflicts, and I was without a driver only six weeks from the move.

I am nothing if not resourceful. I had noticed that a friend from a social media site mentioned on his profile that he drives a truck. We grew up in the same approximate area but several years apart. We both frequented state history pages and political pages. We had messaged a few times, very platonic chats, but that was the extent of our relationship. I needed help, so I decided to take a leap. “Can you really drive a truck?”

“Yes, why?”

“Would you be willing to do me a favor?”

Understand that, at the time, MTH lived in a larger city a couple of hours away. We had never met in person or even had an in-depth conversation. But he agreed to drive the truck. Problem solved.

I enjoyed a few moments of relief before the anxiety set in. I didn’t really know this guy, yet I was inviting him to come to our apartment to help with the move, to be around my stuff, my adult children, and me. So for the next six weeks, along with work, packing, and a trip to Pixley to work on the house, I pestered him daily. I wanted to know all I could about him. He wasn’t used to long messages or online conversations. He usually ended our chats with, “Go away, child.”

I learned a lot about his life. We talked about music. We reminisced about life in the area in the 30, 40, 50 years earlier. He told me about the long battle with illness that nearly took his life. We talked about the faith we shared in Christ. I knew I annoyed him with my constant questions, but you can never be too careful. I may have worked into the conversation how I have a concealed weapons permit and was a practiced shot.

The move was a bit of a disaster. I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. Things didn’t fit on the truck the way I believed they would. My kids and I worked hard to get things together, and MTH helped put some order in the chaos. I felt awful. He hadn’t signed on for anything but driving, but he seemed to enjoy himself. My daughter and her friend were convinced he was sweet on me. They “shipped us.” I was pretty certain he wanted to throttle me.

A mixup with the appliance delivery had me abandoning them for the house. My youngest and MTH headed up later with the truck. We unloaded and then headed out to deliver the truck to the rental office. After a very long drive back to MTH’s place, I headed back to Pixley. I had to work the next day.

A day or so later, a planter with flowers arrived at my door, a housewarming gift from my friend. We had gotten in the habit of daily chats, and these didn’t stop after the move. A few weeks later, I drove my youngest to college in the same town where MTH lived. We met for lunch before I headed back to Pixley.

A couple of months after moving to Pixley, The Big Storm hit. I was alone, so MTH stayed on the phone with me, chatting with me, teasing me, distracting me, and praying with me while huge trees outside my window rocked. Then the phone went out, and he had no idea what had happened. The storm deserves its own story, so I will just say that I was without a car for three days, without a phone for four days, without power for six days, and without internet for a month. I telecommute. After about a week of working from Panera in another state, I accepted the offer of some good friends of mine to come to stay with them and use their internet. So I began working there during the week, heading back home for the weekends. My friends live about 30 minutes from MTH’s old place. We all got together for meals occasionally. It was during these little visits that the ritual of the flashlights began.

Not long after the internet was restored, I was scheduled for surgery. My kids were all busy, and I had no one to help me after the surgery. MTH rode over two hours on a bus to meet me for the surgery and to tend to me afterward. Then there were the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners that we shared with my family at a restaurant in the city where he lived because two of my kids were living there. He also invited me to a big family gathering in honor of his niece’s birthday. These weren’t dates. We never actually dated. We were friends whose time together involved meals and errands.

After the holidays, there was a bit of a lull. I didn’t see my son again until Spring Break. Not long before I was scheduled to pick my son up, I was chatting with MTH online, when he wrote, “So, do you think Pastor X should do our pre-marital counseling?”

I had to read and re-read that a few times.

“Did you just propose?

“Well, I think he would be a good choice.”

“It isn’t a proposal until you ask me to marry you in person.”

When I picked up my son for Spring Break, we met MTH for lunch. No proposal. Maybe he was kidding?

When I took my son back to school after Spring Break, we all met for lunch. Unbeknownst to me, he asked my youngest son for my hand while I was distracted by a call. I had to drive MTH back to his house before heading back to Pixley, but he needed to stop to get cat food. In the pet food aisle of my favorite grocery store, which also happened to be a convenient, air-conditioned spot, MTH pretended to find a ring box on the shelf and asked me to marry him.

Reader, I married him. Three months later, and about a year from the time I asked him if he would help drive that moving truck, we married in his church using the liturgy from my church, in the company of our families and dear friends, some of whom we also met online. Over the next few weeks, My Taller Half, along with his rescue cats, settled into our little home.

I don’t really know how it happened. MTH and I are an unlikely pair. He rescues cats. I’m a dog person. When I was 17, I was a nerd on the Brain Bowl team at my high school. When he was 17, he had been living on his own for years, traveling all over the country, doing any number of jobs, and spending an inordinate amount of time at rock and roll shows, giving very short girls a better view of the stage from his shoulders. It helps to be 4’31” tall, but he professes that he thought he was bulletproof at the time and wishes he had taken better care of his spine. (He has drawn up plans in his mind that will allow anyone to give the vertically-challenged a fair chance to see the stage without injuring a backbone. Look for the Kickstarter some time in the next 1-30 years!)

As I grew to know him, I grew to love my gruff, tender-hearted friend who rescues animals, gives me flashlights and pocket knives, calls to check on me while I make long drives so that I don’t get lost, and who prayed with me during The Big Storm. He will pray with me through all life’s storms until death do us part. I still irritate him, and he still occasionally says “Hush, child,” but we are happy. Life together is an adventure .. even in Pixley.

Love and Spiders

On By SandyIn Animals, Love, People2 Comments

My father was an entomology technician with the USDA. On a few precious days during the summer, I went with him to the lab. I examined spiders and snakes in specimen jars, watched the angelfish in the office aquarium, and listened to the men talk. Not being sexist here, but the lab was populated by men. I think there was a secretary somewhere, but she didn’t work in the lab. It was probably the spiders and snakes that kept her at a distance.

I listened while Dad’s boss and co-worker chatted during downtime. Dad was always off doing something – prepping for the next experiment, observing, cleaning up. He wasn’t good at being still or idle. Neither am I, but I listened and watched and scribbled on a yellow pad, trying hard to be still and quiet. The reward would be lunch at the A&W Drive-In.

I loved being in the lab. Those visits fostered my love of both science and of creepy crawlies. There are exceptions — cockroaches, fleas, ticks, mosquitoes, and fire ants, to name a few. Spiders are not one of the exceptions.

I did not get my admiration of spiders from my mother. She once worked for the state department of agriculture. She picked random samples of leaves for examination. She was good at it, she said, because she was afraid of spiders. Rather than cherry-picking the leaves, she would reach in and grab without looking, all while hoping to avoid any spider that might be hiding in the tree.

My Taller Half (MTH) discovered an interesting spider outside last night. The web was anchored on one side to an overgrown ligustrum. The other side was anchored on a tree about 10 feet up and about 15-20 feet away from the ligustrum. He took photos, but when I looked for the web during the day, I didn’t see it.

We went out together tonight, and the spider was busily rebuilding. While I’m sure the bright flashlight was disturbing, she didn’t stop building … except when a flying bug attracted by the light hit the web. She took a break to wind him up then returned to her building. I believe she is an Eriophora ravilla, a tropical orb weaver. From the photos I found, she might be a juvenile. I found this on the IFAS site:

Orb webs of adult female E. ravilla have a widely spaced spiral and may be over 1 m across (see photograph in Levi 1977). The bridge thread supporting the web may be 6 m long (M. Stowe in Levi 1977). The web is constructed after dark, and the orb is taken down before dawn. The bridge and frame threads are probably left in place (Levi 1977). The web probably catches many moths and other night flying insects; these spiders may be particularly beneficial along woodland borders of field agroecosystems and within orchards. It is known to occur in citrus groves in Florida (Mansour et al. 1982). All stages apparently occur throughout the year, but little else is known of its life cycle.

https://edis.ifas.ufl.edu/publication/IN568

That explains why I couldn’t find the web. Very cool. We named her Enola. Enola is alone backwards, as we were told by the title character of Enola Holmes. Orb weavers seem to live solitary lives.

Before The Big Storm hit, I had a beautiful golden silk orb-weaver in residence. I enjoyed visiting him, seeing his web each day, telling him how beautiful he was. The night before the storm, he had fortified his web impressively, and as the winds began to pick up, he stood defiantly on his new web. I told him it would not help, that he needed to go into the eaves or find someplace safe. He didn’t listen to me. Stubborn. After the storm, I looked for him, but I never saw him again. He probably had quite a ride.

One of the things I loved most about Dad was that he never expected less from my sister or me than he did of our brothers. He believed we could be or do anything we wanted. He talked to me about bugs and plants. He brought home baby ducks and puppies. He warned me about the dangers of a possum bite while he hand-fed a possum jellybeans. I miss him.

One of the things I love most about MTH is that he sees the world a lot like I do. He will stop to marvel at a spider building a web. He’ll send me photos of that spider at night while I’m sleeping because he knows I wouldn’t want to miss it. He will tromp through the weeds and sit on a fallen tree trunk to watch the cardinals with me. He’ll turn the car around to take another look at a magnolia in full bloom. He comprehends the wonder of God’s creation.

One of the things I love most about Enola is that she weaves these memories together as skillfully as she weaves her web. Tonight, I thank God for the men He put in my life. For Mom. For love and spiders.

Lilies of the Field

On By SandyIn Faith, GardeningLeave a comment

I came to Pixley for many reasons. One of them was peace. I craved the slower pace, the relative quiet, and freedom from traffic and the rush of the Big City. But even Pixley is not immune to stress. The remoteness makes travel more difficult. While our lower population density has been a plus through the COVID-19 pandemic, we still suffered business losses and financial woes that the rest of the country experienced. Considering Pixley started out poorer on average, and we’re still recovering from The Big Storm, it has been difficult. And when you reach a certain age, you know you’re on that fast slide down the razor blade of life (Thank you, Tom Lehrer), so prospects for financial improvement are slim. Add health problems to the mix, and I can’t say life in Pixley has been stress-free.

We lost a blueberry bush. I planted four of them last year, and suddenly, one died. This distressed me. The other three are producing, and even the blackberry bushes I planted, though small, are doing well. I hope to have a decent crop next year. I want to replace the dead blueberry bush with one that is approximately the size of the other bushes, but with gas prices what they are, we’re economizing where we can. I wanted to decorate the house with flowers for Easter, but decorations are a lower priority than food and utilities and medical bills.

I was inspecting our garden, lovingly referred to as the farm, and my eye was drawn to a splash of red. Against the back of the house, in a weedy flower bed that we haven’t tackled because we need to conquer the fire ants first, beautiful lilies were blooming. I went for a closer look, and among the weeds, I found blackberries growing wild. I took a picture of the lilies and the blackberries and brought the four fattest berries to share with My Taller Half (MTH).

And I laughed at myself. I can worry over the smallest things. While I worry about berries and flowers and feel a bit deprived that we currently have neither in abundance, God gave us beautiful lilies and sweet berries. They grew on their own, with no assistance from me, and reminded me of these words.

Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

Matthew 6:25–33 (ESV)

My Taller Half and I wish you a blessed Easter.

BTW — in case you are interested, 255 days as of yesterday. (see 41 Days)

Country Girl

On By SandyIn Animals, GardeningLeave a comment

Our neighbors in Pixley fall into three camps — those who are happy to live in the city, those who wish they could move back to the country, and those who moved here from a Bigger City and can’t figure out what the first two camps are thinking. As the population of Pixley is only slightly larger than that of the apartment complex I lived in before the move, Pixley is country — its elevated status as the county seat notwithstanding.

I am, at heart, a country girl. I never get tired of fields and forests, damp clay roads, the sounds of birds in the day and frogs at night, or a night sky full of stars. My parents, being true country people in the Depression, wanted nothing to do with that life as adults and wanted to spare their children from it. That is sad. Our little piece of property is a bit of heaven to me.

And so I give you our Farm Report:

The satsumas are blooming, and the Meyer lemon is just forming blossoms, but the ruby red grapefruit blossoms smell the sweetest. We’re going to have to remove all the little fruits that are forming to allow the trees to put their energy into growth and not production. Sad. Maybe next year we can allow a few to grow.

The fig is putting out all sorts of new growth. It was the last to put out leaves, but it is making up for lost time. We have blackberries forming now and a bunch of blueberries. Those can stay — assuming we can beat the birds to them. The neighborhood cats may finally earn their keep.

The potatoes are growing wonderfully. I gave them a little “safe” bug spray — something has been chewing on the leaves. Southern peas and pole beans are growing like … beans! The sweet onions and shallots look good, but I’ve never grown them or potatoes before, so I don’t know what to expect.

Around the house, about 1/3 of the State Fair zinnias we planted from seed have started to grow. One of the crocosmia bulbs is beginning to sprout. Two of the lily bulbs I planted are sprouting, and the dinnerplate dahlias are doing wonderfully. There are blossoms forming on the gardenias. I can’t wait for all the flowers to bloom, We need to get rid of the wisteria that is taking hold in our azaleas, but I may keep a cutting or two in pots. It’s an invasive little monster, but I love it when it blooms. My Taller Half (MTH) fondly remembers an encounter decades ago with wisteria in full bloom, planted outside the Smithsonian Museum, creating a Maxfield Parrish-tinged moment that feeds his soul still today.

I found three frogs hiding in the compost bin. They got a ride to the nearest azalea bush. The bird feeder is never empty of birds during the day, mostly cardinals and finches with the occasional dove cleaning up underneath. We have to give them credit for bravery with all the cats in the vicinity, but we do try to eliminate hiding spaces near the feeder so they aren’t caught unaware.

No report on “the back forty” — we can’t get through the overgrowth. One of these days…

That’s it from our little 3/4 acre of heaven.





The Secret Life of Cats and Dog

On By SandyIn Animals2 Comments

I woke to the alarm. My Taller Half informed me in a not-too-happy tone that I had left the television on last night.

I didn’t. I didn’t watch tv last night.

It’s on Minecraft, MTH replied.

I played Minecraft once with the son of some dear friends. He was small and adorable and incredibly skilled at the game. I wasn’t any of those things. He’s a teenager now.

It was the dog or the cats.

I walked to the living room and found the tv on some channel that was streaming Minecraft or playing a recording of a streaming session. It was an accident, I assumed. A cat jumping from one piece of furniture to another landed on the remote or knocked it on the floor and the dog stepped on it. How it got to that channel is a mystery. My mind began to ponder which ones would enjoy Minecraft. Do they play games at night or watch their favorite shows? If so, they manage to turn the tv off before we wake up most of the time. Fanciful, yes, but we live in a house where one cat and our dog can open doors. Little would surprise me.

But I didn’t have time to think about it. Work would start in about half an hour. The water will be off today. Last week, some men from the City of Pixley donned fluorescent yellow vests and walked the neighborhood with door hangers, letting us know they would be working on the pipes today, the water would be off, and we would be on a boil water order afterward. Joy.

Tallboy, our door-opening cat, sat at the window looking despondent. Perhaps he knows about the water problems, or he is sad he couldn’t finish watching Minecraft. Or maybe he’s just thinking ordinary cat thoughts, looking for birds, imagining stalking his prey. I wish I knew the thoughts that our cats and dog entertain, but I guess I never will. They hold fast to their secrets.

The End of an Era

On By SandyIn Business, Change, FoodLeave a comment

Our county just passed a referendum allowing the sale of alcohol by the glass in restaurants that do 51% of their business in food sales. You will also be able to purchase liquor by the bottle. Bars will still be prohibited. The intent of those who sponsored the referendum is to open the county up for development. I’ve heard that Cracker Barrel is one business that has expressed interest. We were one of the last mostly dry counties in the state.

I was a bit ambivalent about the vote. I am not opposed to drinking alcohol, only drunkenness. My Taller Half hasn’t had a drink of alcohol in decades. We have several bottles of good liquor in the cabinet, but I’m on so many medications, I haven’t had a drink in years. No one wants to encourage drunk driving or drunkenness, but anyone who really wants liquor can just cross the county line to find it. Besides, you couldn’t buy liquor here, but the police reports show you can still buy meth.

My problem is that we like the quiet here, and development is not something that thrills us. Our house is a short block from the county highway that runs through town. Before The Big Storm, we never heard the traffic noise. With so many trees gone, we can now. You can still see stars here at night, hear the birds and the crickets. That may change.

Development means more traffic, more light pollution. If it gets too developed, maybe a developer will want to buy our house and 3/4 acre, and we can take the money to relocate to a more rural part of the state … though few more rural places exist. And since we only have about 3,500 people here now, it will take a lot of development to make Pixley anywhere near as big as anywhere else I’ve ever lived … although MTH lived in a much smaller hamlet in Western New York in the 1970s. At least when friends come to visit, we’ll have more options for where to take them out to eat. Right now, we have two Mexican restaurants, a barbecue place, and a Waffle House, the one that actually closed for a day or two after The Big Storm.

Change is hard, and its size is part of what attracted me to Pixley. But more businesses means more jobs and less poverty, and that’s hard to oppose. Slàinte mhath!

Of Cartwheels and Carts

On By SandyIn Growing Older But Not Up, StormsLeave a comment

About thirty years ago, I was walking along the beach with a friend. As we walked and reminisced, I got it into my head that I should do a cartwheel. After all, I had been able to do them easily when I was young. My mind remembered how to do it, how it felt. So I tried it, and I discovered that while my mind might remember how, my body did not. Years, pounds, and babies had changed things. It did not go well. Everything hurt, and I learned a valuable lesson. I might think I can do a cartwheel, but I cannot.

This afternoon, I had finished loading my car with groceries and put the cart in the corral. There was a tornado warning and a severe thunderstorm warning for our area, and I had a long drive ahead of me. I was organizing things in the car when I saw a cart, probably my cart, rolling quickly towards a shiny black pickup truck. I didn’t think. I dashed. Or, at least, I tried to dash. My brain told my body to move quickly to stop that cart. My upper body responded, and I leaned into it, arms pumping, trying to catch the cart. My legs and feet said, We’re sorry, but this service is unavailable at this time.

I realized too late, when my body was heading toward a 45-degree angle with the ground, that I can no longer dash. At that point, my goal was no longer to save the truck but to avoid a pavement facial. Somehow, probably with angelic assistance, I managed to stay upright long enough to catch the cart, inches from the truck, and then to catch my balance. As I turned back to the cart corral, all the other carts were blowing toward me. A woman who witnessed the whole thing looked at me in shock.

I thought you were going to face plant.
`
So did I.

I’m so glad you didn’t.

So am I.

By the time I got into my car, my lower back, my neck, my right calf, and my right shoulder were aching from whatever they did to keep me from landing on my face, and I was reminded once again that I can’t do all the things I think I can.

The drive home was uneventful. The three turtles weren’t on their branch. The water is too high. The storms have mostly passed, and now we have nothing but cooler weather ahead of us. My entire body hurts, but it could have been much worse, so I am content. Growing older isn’t easy, but it is better than the alternative!





Animal Farm

On By SandyIn Animals6 Comments

I was in the middle of a Teams meeting yesterday when I heard a thump at the front door and saw it open a few inches. My Taller Half was asleep in the bedroom. Maybe a delivery person left a package? I stared at the door, then realized if I didn’t get up and shut it, our cats would go exploring. I ran to the door, opened it a few more inches, and in strode Linus. No human was in sight. I returned to my meeting.

Linus is a long, handsome black cat. He moves like a panther, his regal bearing spoiled only by two top teeth that occasionally catch on his lip, changing the panther into a goofy vampire. He moves with confidence when he’s comfortable, but he’s skittish in certain areas of the house. Then, he moves slowly, tentatively, swinging his head back and forth to look for sudden movement. MTH thinks he sees spirits, perhaps of pets long gone. I told him that the only spirit in our house is the Holy One, and I doubt Linus is seeing Him.

To explain the door, I have to go back before I met MTH, about seven years ago when Minnie, a 60-pound Lab mix, found her forever home. Minnie had been in three rescues and one animal control facility across two states before she came to us. It was love at first sight. My youngest son and daughter took turns trying to burn the energy out of her. She was a big pup in a small apartment, so we had to work to keep her busy. My daughter decided to teach her to do tricks, and she was a good trainer. The most impressive trick was teaching Minnie how to open doors. We had lever handles in the apartment, and once she learned to swat at the handles with her paw, her weight would do the rest and open the door. We were amused … until we had to start locking our bedroom doors to keep her out.

One day, my son and I were watching a movie, and Minnie was being a pest, so we shut her in his bedroom. Those doors swung inward, so her pushes couldn’t work … which is why we were surprised a few minutes later when she came trotting out to pester us.

“You must not have closed the door well,” I told my son.

He took her back to the room, closed the door, and we both sat, listening, waiting. Sure enough, within a minute, we heard the door and out trotted Minnie. We eventually witnessed her technique. She stands on her hind legs, the door handle between her front paws. She then moves the handle down and starts backing up. We were amazed, amused, and disturbed. Minnie now had the run of the house.

When I bought the house in Pixley, the doors were flimsy, so I replaced the three exterior doors, adding new deadbolts and handles. I might be living in Pixley, but I was leaving a big city, and I was going to live alone for the first time in my life. I preferred the look of the lever handles, and Minnie wasn’t strong enough to open a heavy exterior door, so I wasn’t concerned about Minnie becoming an escape artist. Besides, I always use the deadbolt.

A few months after I moved to Pixley, I had to drive across the state for a doctor’s appointment. It was a three-hour drive and a time change, and I was nervous about arriving on time, so I left myself plenty of time. About half an hour after I left, my neighbor called me.

Did you leave Minnie outside?

No, of course not!

Well, she’s outside now.

I couldn’t leave Minnie outside, so I turned the car around and arrived home 30 minutes later to find Minnie sitting in the driveway, waiting for me. The front door was locked, but I walked around to the back and found the door open. I must not have turned the deadbolt all the way.

After locking Minnie safely inside and checking all the doors, I headed back down the highway and made it to my appointment with seconds to spare.

Fast forward through a hurricane, a wedding, and a bunch of cats, and MTH and I were in front of our house enjoying the afternoon. Minnie was with us, as was Linus, one of the two cats that insist on spending some time outdoors. Most of our cats were ferals who were adopted by MTH. He is a cat whisperer. It’s who he is, what he did before he and I married. Most of the cats are content to stay indoors, but Linus likes to stretch out on the walkway, soaking up the sun. Minnie decided that she wanted to go inside, probably to find some unattended cat food to eat, so she batted at the handle and pushed. Linus watched her, fascinated.

Later, we laughed when we saw Linus batting at the lever of the front door when he wanted to go outside. He could never pull the door open, but it was a handy signal. Sometimes, he’d hop on a chair near the door, trying to figure out how to open the handle himself, but he just couldn’t pull the door open. He then started swatting the handle when he wanted to come in. It scared me the first time, hearing someone trying the handle of the door, but then it became amusing.

Life in Pixley has made me less cautious. I still deadbolt the door when we’re home … most of the time. But sometimes, I forget. One time, I heard the handle move and saw the door open, and I gasped. But when I rounded the couch to approach the front door, in strutted Linus. I must not have closed it well. It must have been partly open. Yesterday, I learned better. The door was shut, but he managed to slap the lever down while throwing his considerable weight at the door. Thud!

I imagine he will teach our other cats and a couple of neighborhood cats who like to hang out here to open doors. We have the cool kids’ house when it comes to animals because of MTH, the big, scary man with the big, soft heart. He will leave a bit of food out for a feral cat and make a warm box for strays to sleep in when the temps drop below freezing. We’ve already spied a possum at the door, helping himself to the cat food. Eventually, it might be a coyote or a bobcat, I warn him. Then where will we be?

As I was finishing writing the last sentence, I heard the lever handle move. I locked the deadbolt this time, so I went to open the door. In trotted Linus followed by a local feral cat with a huge appetite and a bad attitude. We call him Sam. He will come in the house a few feet just to see what inside is like, but he heads back out as soon as we bring the food. Sam likes to hiss and swat at me and Minnie, especially if we’re not quick enough with the vittles. Great. Now he has learned from Linus the magical secret of the door. It will be just like Animal Farm soon, with the animals running the show. As I watch my beloved get breakfast for all the assorted creatures before we enjoyed our own, I realize that perhaps they already are.

Linus, Biggie Spike, and Midge