Oh Tannenbaum.... times 47

I've been having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year (it seems to be a recurring theme).  At any rate about a week ago Peter dug out his 4 foot artificial Christmas tree from the back of the closet.  It came pre-strung with some white twinkly lights.  He finally got around to plugging it in yesterday.  I just didn't care.

This evening we went to see our friend Mary.  It's really hard not to get into the spirit of the holidays when you go see her.  You see.. she has this passion and it's Christmas.  She even named her daughter Holly.  Her passion though is really directed toward Christmas TREES.  When we arrived she greeted us with delicious hot cider (warming in a carafe suspended over a flame) and hors d'oeuvres.  Christmas music was piped throughout the house.  She really knows how to entertain.

A grass landing strip borders Mary's front yard.  It's 'garage' is an airplane hanger and the house is huge  The large garage is handy as she needs all the storage space to stash her decorations in during the off season.   You see, in her house she has 47 Christmas trees.  They come in sizes ranging from 2 or 3 feet to 18 feet.  Many are around 14 feet tall and they all have a theme.

She has a:

1. White tree
2. Blue tree
3. Violet tree
4. Green tree
5. Red tree
6. Pink tree
7. Black tree
8. Purple tree
9. Gold tree
10. Silver tree
11. Angel tree
12. Teddy bear tree
13. Copper tree
14. Snowman tree
15. Nutcracker tree
16. Undersea tree
17. Victorian tree
18. Candied fruit tree
19. Tea cup tree
20. Wild Animal tree
21. Moose and Bear tree
22. Scottish Tree
23. Peacock tree
24. Wreath tree
25. Travel tree
26. Garden tree
27. Peppermint tree
28. Sunflower tree
29. Wilma's tree
30. Jewelry tree
31. Bathroom tree
32. Snowed-in-for-a-week tree
33. My Fair Lady tree
34. Little Red Riding Hood Tree

.......and 13 more I can't recall the names of.  

Peacock Tree  - decorated in appropriate colors - all the peacock feathers were donated by Peter many years ago, when he had peacocks

Teddy Bear Tree  -  This tree is about 8 feet tall and has Teddy  Bears climbing up a ladder on one side.

Blue Tree - Peters favorite.  It's about 8 feet tall and exists because Mary had a blue chair and she needed something to go with it.  She doesn't really like blue.

Snowman Tree.  This tree is about 4 feet tall.

Copper Tree - this tree sits on a big wooden pedestal on her kitchen counter.  It's about 4  feet tall - but  the bottom of it is about 5 feet off thee ground.

Travel Tree - this tree is filled with mementos from her travels  throughout her life, including  postcards from across Europe from her best friend Wilma.

My Fair Lady Tree  

Violet Tree

Nutcracker Tree

White Tree

Teacup Tree  - filled with teacups and saucers from Mary's childhood

Undersea Tree

Bring on the fat man in the red suit.  I'm finally in the mood.

Santa Claus, North Pole

I found a perk! I am part of making little children's Christmas dreams come true. The Santa letters are starting to come through. Yesterday I picked up the cutest envelope with very bad printing addressed to:

 Santa Claus 

Santa's Workshop 

North Pole 

 I made sure that envelope was properly handled and is now winging its way to the jolly old elf. Today there was another. No matter how cranky I get with all the other stuff, I cannot suppress my smile at these letters.

I may be a quitter.

There was a day when I would get mad at my boss and threaten to quit, or at least I would run a scene through my head where I stand on a desk and sing that famous song by Johnny Paycheck, "Take this job and shove it.."  Those were always momentary urges that passed fairly quickly.

This new job has me wanting to quit every single day.  I just hate it.  I dread going to work and I seem to be living on excedrine.  Thank goodness they've started production on that again.

After that day that I cried I actually managed to complete my route by myself the very next time I took it out.  This event was celebrated by all my co workers as it was apparently quite a remarkable feat to be accomplished so early in a postal career.  My boss thought it was so swell he immediately started cross-training me on a second route.  That week I worked about 47 hours.  When I was hired I was told they would give me several months to learn my primary route before they exposed me to another.  Apparently if you show an apptitude they take advantage of you.   The first day I took the full load of the second route I was virtually abandoned out there.  It rained - but I had rain gear.  It was dark - but I had TWO headlamps.  I was trying to find mailboxes and houses in the dark, in the rain on a route I hadn't ever travelled before on streets I had never seen before in my life.  Someone finally became available to come and assist me and I still didn't get done until 7:30 p.m.  This time I didn't cry - I was just angry.  Really angry.  Not that it did any good.

This week they have me scheduled for at least 40 hours as well as working Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve.  There go my plans to see my kids over the holidays.  I'm angry again.  I don't like to be angry and I seem to be spending way too much energy controlling it.

This is not what I signed up for.  I don't want to work full time.  I don't want to work holidays.  I want to spend time with my children.  I want to spend time knitting and spinning and weaving and playing with my animals.  I want to, and I'm happy to, work a day a week.  I can even manage 2 days a week with a smile.  4 and 5 days a week make me want to belt out that Johnny Paycheck song at the top of my lungs while standing on top of my LLV.

I really like my co-workers and I even kinda like my bosses.   I hate to leave them in a lurch.  It's the hours and the job itself that make me cranky.  I guess I need to make a decision.

Now.. for something a little lighter:

I cried.

I was sure I was made of tougher stuff. But apparently I'm not.  I like to think there are extenuating circumstances to my outburst.  Here's what happened.

My carrier (the one I sub for) had a family crisis and had to leave in the middle of her route yesterday.  I took over where she left off and with the help of two others we managed to get it done.  I was "on-call" for today as we just weren't sure the outcome of her crisis.

I didn't sleep well - expecting to be called and I woke early with the beginnings of a migraine.  Despite excedrine, my head pounded and quality sleep eluded me from 3:00 to 6:00 and completely eluded me after that. When 7:00 a.m. rolled around without a phone call I figured all was well and I could relax and perhaps tend to my aching head.  At 7:10 my new boss phoned and put me to work.  I took enough time to dress, shove two more excedrine in my pocket and grab a cup of coffee.  I was there by 7:30.  Terri (another carrier) was already sorting my mail.  Together we got all my mail done and packages sorted and I was out on the route by 1:00.  Terri had sorted my packages into "the beginning," "the middle," and "the end" of the route for me.

My head continued to throb so I reached into my pocket for my spare excedrine.  Yikes!  They were gone!  Apparent casualties of the chaos.  I would have to continue with a knife stabbing me in my skull.

Then the rain started.  It poured buckets.  My rain coat, admittedly more of a fashion statement than a utilitarian one, quickly became useless.

Quick recap.  My head was pounding and I was soaked to the bone.  My reading glasses were speckled with rain and I had to strain to see through them - which did not help the headache.  The windshield wipers were doing this horrible SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK that was almost more than I could take.

I was making the rounds in a mostly timely manner by the time I got to the middle of the route.  What should I find but a bunch of parcels from the beginning of the route.  Apparently Terri's idea of beginning/middle/end didn't match mine.  My fault.  I really should have clarified her interpretation of those terms.  So I had to go back and deliver missed parcels.

By the time I got back to the middle of the route the darkness was beginning to creep in and reinforcements were sent my way.  Frank showed up and took part of the end of the route.  I plodded on.  I missed some mailboxes (because they were on the opposite side of the road - a rare, but real event) I was circling back when Terri found me.  She took another portion of the end of the route.  I did a few more deliveries when Tim showed up.  We divvied up what was left, he gave me clear directions on where to go next and off he went.

I missed the turn, had to go round again.  Found where I was going, back tracked to deliver two packages on Elm street.  People should have their house number CLEARLY placed. I walked/trotted/ran up and down Elm with my packages trying to find the houses.  I found one and finally found the other.  It's numbers were facing in. . .  like toward their living room window.  I suppose it helps them to know where they live but it would be totally useless to ambulances, firefighters and mail carriers.  By now darkness had completely overtaken and I went to the last set of mailboxes on Elm.  Fortunately there was a street light overhead.  Unfortunately, the mail I had in my hand did not match the addresses in the box.  I did not know what to do.  I just sat there in my mail truck staring at my mail.  Staring back at the mailbox. Then back at the mail again.

By this point I had been on the move for 10 hours.  No breaks.  No lunch.  No food.  I had managed one bathroom break.  My head pounded.  I was soaked.  I was cold.  I was hungry and I had to pee.  Tears threatened but I held them at bay.

I finally decided I would just skip that box and have one of my helpers help me sort it out.  I went on to the next set of mailboxes.  This time there was no street light.  I stood there looking at the contents of the mailbox.  It looked something like this:

The mail I had in my hand looked similar.

I just stood there and the tears began to trickle for real.  I couldn't stop them. Fortunately they blended  with the rain dripping down my face so it was hard to tell.  About that time Tim showed up, like the Cavalry ready to save the day. Which he did.  He took pity on me.  Assured me that it was all okay, no one expected miracles from me and what I managed to contribute was a big help and then he took everything I had left and sent me back to the barn.  He promised he wouldn't tell anyone I cried.  I hope not.  It's a secret.

Work work work work..

I'm winding up my third week of training.  On Thursday I take my route out all on my own.  The full monte.  I'm more than a bit frightened.  Yesterday I took just under 1/2 the mail out and didn't get back to the post office until after 5:00 pm.  I  can't imagine how long it's going to take to do the whole thing.  Thank goodness the mail vehicle has headlights and I have a GPS on my phone.

One day of training was in Seattle.  I had to get up at 3:00 a.m. to make a 7:00 am class there.  That was bad but what made it worse was that the afternoon portion was spent driving around Seattle traffic in a right hand drive vehicle.  Seattle-ites beware - this goes on almost daily there.  Yikes!

One of the things I'm coming to terms with is the pay.  I worked for two weeks, 6 days a week.  I worked hard learning and training and practicing and doing actual work.  If you take my wage and deduct the unemployment payments I lost because I was working I made about $13.00 a week.  I just can't completely buy into this being a good idea.  Perhaps I'll be more enthusiastic once I get at least a portion of my unemployment back and I'm not working for free.

My routine with this new life has been get up, go to work, come home and collapse, too tired to move.  I fall asleep on the sofa well before bedtime.  Here is were I publicly say THANK YOU DEAR HUSBAND for taking care of me, the alpacas, the house, the dog, the cats.  THANK YOU DEAR HUSBAND for taking care of the opossum under the house.  THANK YOU for making dinner and doing the grocery shopping and making coffee on those early mornings.  THANK YOU for being there for me.

My great plan is that next week I'll have time to bake cookies, make pasta, knit, spin, weave, grocery shop, make dinner, clean the alpaca stall, vacuum, do dishes, do laundry, scrub the tub, clean the toilets, chop wood, rake leaves...  Hmm.. maybe working for $13.00 a week isn't such a bad deal.

(are you happy now Andrew?)

I have finished my second day of training with the USPS.  Today I got up before 6:00 am to make it to the training site by 8:00.  It was raining and it was dark.  It's been more than a year since I've had to do anything so horrific.

Training has gone fairly well so far.  There are 8 of us in the class.  I sit in the front row.  Not that I'm a kiss-up or anything.  I just want to get the most of out the class that I can.  Really.  On the first day I quickly became the teacher's pet when the projector connected to her computer wouldn't work.  She fiddled with it for 15 minutes and it was all I could do to sit there and watch without butting in.  Seriously.  I had a knot in my stomach while I watched her.  The sound would not work and to fix it she turned off the projector.  And still I sat there.  Arrghh.  She finally looked up from the equipment and asked if anyone knew how it worked.  I jumped at the opportunity and had it working in less than a minute.  All I did was press the "pc" button on the projector to tell it to connect.  Nothing technical at all.

Later she gave her computer password to her boss so that he could access her e-mail while she was gone.  The ex-network administrator in me almost exploded.  To make it worse she was making fun of my reaction today and gave ME her password.  This caused me great stress.  Also today I got a finger waggle and she said like me, she used to be loud and controlling - in a good way.  Harumph.

Despite the antics I managed to learn a lot.  That's good because there is a surprisingly lot to learn.  Our instructor says the job is hard and she guarantees that at some point we'll cry.  She even pointed to the one male in our class (an ex-military fellow) and promised that even he would cry.  I wonder.  I understand there is stress and the job is hard but I just don't believe that it can be more stressful or frustrating than it was to sit in the middle of a computer room floor at 5:00 in the morning with the main server in pieces around you, the clock ticking, having not slept in 22 hours, knowing that in a few more hours the first of 300 people are coming into the office expecting to turn on their computers and access their files... I cried then.  I think it's all perspective.

I still have a long way to go before I get to actually begin working.

Tomorrow I attend a 1/2 day of driver training on one of these:

I take a test in Seattle on Thursday.  Saturday I do a "ride-along".  Next week I have 3 days of  "Rural Academy" followed by several days of on the job training.  Somewhere around mid-November I get to actually go out on my own and the crying can commence.

Scramble!

Here in Northern Washington we had well over 3 months without rain.  Every glorious day was followed by an equally delightful glorious day.  The sun shone, the ground was warm and our grapes flourished.

Thursday of last week things changed.  Without warning (just because it was October was not warning enough!) the nights cooled and a hard frost hit our vines. 

It was time to pick.  NOW.  A second frost could easily ruin the grapes. Unfortunately the unexpected frost also hit our potatoes.  Although it would have been nice to leave them in the ground for a few more weeks the frost left their tops shriveled and dead.  It was time to pick those too.  Unfortunately we had to go out of town on Friday.  AAARRGGHH!

Peter started picking grapes and I tackled the potatoes.  Once the grapes were collected we started washing and plucking (that's removing the grapes from the stems), then we smashed them and got them in the barrel.  At 2:30 in the morning we still weren't done but exhaustion won and we called it a night.  The following day we rose early and continued washing and smashing until we got 'em done, finally leaving town at 4:30 p.m.   We have about 15 gallons of Pinot in the Pot.  Haha.. Maybe that's what we should name it!  Pinot in the Pot Wine.

My fingers were stained purple and I gleefully danced the happy dance at the idea that we were finally finished. Peter thought I was weird.  Oh well.

Of course, silly me, I had forgotten that we also have other grapes that were not hit by the frost - but WERE in danger from the threatening rain.  This week we scrambled to get the "barn grapes" picked.  The trellis they are on has collapsed from the weight of the grapes.  Peter picked high and I picked low, crawling around on my knees under the trellis.  I mingled with spiders and spider webs and horrid earwigs.  (I hate earwigs more than spiders and snakes and Jaywalkers and litterbugs.  Seriously.  Earwigs will make me crazy.  The other day one got on me and I screamed and jerked.  It fell to the floor where I stomped on it 6 or 7 times.  A bit overkill maybe but you can never be too sure when it comes to earwigs!)

But I digress.  We picked 6 bins full of grapes.

And the rain hit hard.  We had another marathon washing, plucking and smashing session.  We were up until well past midnight last night but managed to get them done!  We have about 30 gallons of this one.   I'm kind of afraid to do the happy dance again - but I'm doing it in my head. 

I was thinking that if you add in the hours spent weeding, and pruning and tending the grapes, plus the hours spent MAKING the wine, we would need to charge about $80.00 a bottle just to break even.  Luckily we aren't planning on selling it.

Paul Bunyan I'm not

It's officially fall and the morning air is crisp and fresh.  Darkness is settling in earlier and earlier.  Thoughts of winter days spent nestled by the fire are already calling to me.

Fires require firewood.  uh-oh.  That's a problem.  Two days ago our firewood was still in big chunks where we dropped three willow trees a few months ago.  After careful consideration I decided to scoff at the idea that moving and chopping firewood was a mans job.  I spent yesterday moving the wood from the south end of the south field to the slab by the barn.  A fairly short, but uphill trek.  Today I moved another stash of wood from the east edge of the property and decided to start chopping.  I am woman, hear me roar!

I picked up the ax that Peter uses.  It's this huge wedge attached to a metal handle and weighs about 45 pounds.  I needed two hands to lift it just to the height of my target wood.  With great effort I hefted the thing up and let it drop with a thud.  It barely dented my log.  Swinging it was out of the question. It became quite obvious that this wasn't going to work so well for me.  I hate to admit it but I needed a lighter weight ax.  I may as well have plastered "I'm just a girl" on my forehead.  Sigh..

Quite sad, but still determined, I searched through the barn and finally came up with a regular ax.  One with a wooden handle that I could at least pick up and swing.  So pick up and swing I did.

A lot.

After a gazillion swings that landed in random places on my log I FINALLY got the thing to crack.  Woot!  Hear me roar!  I can do it. Yes I can.

Another gazillion swings and I had this log split into about 6 pieces.  Perfect for the fireplace.  Perfect for a winter's day for about 2 hours of heat.  I took my victory and ran with it and about 2 hours later I had this little stack of split wood:

As I worked my aim and technique got better, then it got worse.  The ax got progressively heavier and my muscles began to scream at me.  I managed to split enough wood to heat our house for about a week.  Tomorrow I'll add to it - assuming I can move.  Right now the palms of my hands ache as the blisters form, my arms are quietly sobbing at the effort to type.  Tomorrow is not looking so promising - but who knows - I am woman and might just have more roar in me.

Job Interviews. Past and present

I had a job interview today.  It was with the USPS as a part time rural mail carrier.  I wanted to look professional and stable.  I wore black slacks, white shirt, black pearl earrings and a black and white cardigan.  Very boring.  Not me at all. However I finished the look with my lucky shoes:

Before I share the result of this interview I must share the story of an interview I went on about 12 years ago.

At the time I was working for the State of Oregon and was looking to stay within the state retirement system but get closer to my home in Vancouver, WA.  I wanted to shorten my existing 3 hour round trip commute.  I EXCLUSIVELY scoured the State of Washington job listings.  As luck would have it I found an opening about 20 minutes from home at the Larch Mountain Correctional Facility in their Network maintenance department.  I applied and was scheduled for an interview in mid-April.

It was a beautiful spring day and I dressed in a lovely linen dress and modest heels  (this becomes important later in the story.) 

I began my drive up the mountain - as this correctional facillity was at the TOP of the mountain.  The clouds gathered.  I arrived at my destination just as the snow began.  As I waited in the hiring office for my appointment the snow began to accumulate on the ground.  The interviewer showed up 15 minutes late and introduced himself explaining that we were going to be conducting the interview in the brand new, still under construction, computer room and we headed across the snowy parking lot.  He was dressed in a suit and tie, I in my short sleeve linen dress and heels.  He walked fast, the parking lot was gravel.  I stumbled and wobbled as we crossed.  I twisted my ankle.  We were almost at our destination when someone stopped him and started a conversation.  So we stood there, in the snow while they chatted incessantly about who knows what.  I began to shiver.  My shoes and dress were getting soaked.  My lovely hairdo began to droop and drip.

We finally arrived at the "new" computer room.  It was a partially renovated mobile home.  We got inside and all the doors were propped open because the smell of the newly painted walls was overwhelming.  It was not really warmer in this building than out of it.  The room was empty, except for a card table and four chairs.  Our voices echoed.  I was asked a few questions and then handed a written test.  While I took the test, shivering and getting light headed from the paint fumes my captors, uh, I mean interviewers, stood in the open doorway smoking cigarettes - which mingled with the smell of the paint creating a fine stench.  When I finished the test the real interview began.  One of the first questions was "How did you hear about this job?"  My answer:  "the Washington State job website."  His reply: "That's not possible - we didn't advertise there."

My patience was completely gone and my hackles were up.  No one should be treated with the complete disregard that I had been subjected to.  I didn't want the job that bad - if at all by that point.  A heated discussion ensued where I finished with a "you are wrong because that's the only place I looked for a job so it had to be there."  Then I believe I implied they were idiots and I left. 

Needless to say I didn't get offered the job.  Perhaps if I'd worn my lucky shoes things would have turned out differently.  I'm still scarred by that interview.

Today I did not argue with anyone.  It was a very good interview.  I was not offered the job but it was made clear it's mine as soon as I take (and pass) the drug and background checks.  Now that I have a job in my sights, I'm just not sure I want it.  Part of me hates to give up the freedom of not working.  Of course, that freedom will be seriously curtailed when my unemployment runs out.  My schedule would include working the days around Christmas and Thanksgiving so senior staff can have days off.  I would be working more Saturdays than not.  Good news is I'd have every holiday and every Sunday off.  It's good pay and in a year I would be eligible to move up the ladder and begin requesting specific days off or on.

Ahhh.. decisions decisions..

The Gates of Hell

'Surely we have passed through the gates of Hell' - So said Simon Fraser when navigating the narrow canyon on the Fraser river now called Hell's Gate.

Hell's Gate is way past Hope, BC - a bit before Boston Bar, BC - out in the middle of nowhere along the Trans-Canada Highway. That was our destination for today. Courtesy of Groupon. This week Groupon had an offer for Hell's Gate scenic trams. Two tickets and a pound of fudge for just $30. What a deal. I snagged it and off we went for our Sunday adventure.

As usual, I packed a picnic lunch filled with all our favorites, cheese, crackers, wine, and other assorted yummy snacks. The scenery along the Fraser river was rugged, untamed and beautiful. We stopped at many of the pull-outs to appreciate the magnificence of the view.

Just before the Saddle Mountain tunnel Peter spied a gravel road leading down to the river and with the excited statement of "Oooh, a ROAD!" off we went. I believe calling this cow path a road was being generous. It was part gravel and part pavement and the pavement was about 8 inches higher than the gravel. The "road" leaned to the left and leaned to the right. We passed First Nations People (the Canadian equivalent of Native American) camping, fishing for salmon and reading Archie Comic books. We followed that excuse for a road all the way to the end. While Peter was taking photos I was hanging out at the car when the car just quit.  It was dead.   It wouldn't restart.   The temperature was about 85, We were in another country, we had no cell service and our car was broken.  Peter went for help and I opened a bottle of wine and waited.  It was an important job!  I mean..  SOMEONE had to keep the car safe from marauding racoons!  At least the scenery was nice to look at from my blanket on the ground.  Fortunately Peter found Jim (on of the the salmon fisherman) with jumper cables and a willingness to lend a hand.

Once we got going we decided to bravely plod on to Hell's Gate, while cleverly staying off any roads that would lead us into complete isolation.  Fortunately the car did not experience any additional malfunctions.

Hell's Gate has an AirTram that takes you from way up here to wayyyyyyy down there.  Down there has a suspension bridge, a restaurant, gift shop, view points, candy shop, gold mining demonstration and lots of touristy things.

 

Going back takes you from way down here to way up there...

 

This is the narrowest part of the Fraser River and the water runs swift and deep.  It roils about treacherously.  They have river rafting tours that go down this part of the river.  I think I'd like to try that.  Maybe.  Maybe not.

On our way home we decided to stop at a scenic by-way (not too far off the beaten path) and finally have our picnic and what was left of the wine.  Before we found the perfect picnic spot we passed a pasture full of Llamas.  We stopped to admire them and just happened to meet their owner, Hugh.  Hugh was a very nice man who spent quite a bit of time with us talking about them and showing us Alice, a 3 week old cria.  He showed Peter how he trims their hooves and he sold me a bunch of Llama fiber and has offered to sell us a llama as well, when we're ready.  He has 12 and says it's really time to thin it down a little. 

Oh what a busy day it's been.  Tomorrow I have to take the car to the shop and start processing fiber.  It will be busy as well.

Dancing with Voles

noun /vōl/ 
voles, plural

1. A small, typically burrowing, mouselike rodent with a rounded muzzle, found in both Eurasia and North America  (see a picture)

My day started out quite delightfully with a shift in the wool and fiber booth at the Northwest Washington Fair.  I demo'd spinning for 4 hours.  Then I spent an hour poking around all the fair booths, looking at the ginsu knives, stuffed animals and specialty pet leashes.  I even tried the fair specialty of a Moowhich.  Yum.  It's nice to live in dairy country!

Since I felt like a played for a good 1/2 of the day I decided to devote my afternoon to assisting Peter in the ditch.  It seems the county feels the ditch needs maintenance and if we don't maintain it, they will spray everything with round up.  Round up is ugly stuff so ditch maintenance was our priority for the day.  Fortunately it's summer and the water level is pretty low.

Peter weed whacked the grass while I raked and scooped the cut grass out of the ditch.  I had just gotten into the ditch and begun my task when a vole hopped out of the grass and swam by my feet.  I know that voles eat our grapes, bulbs and other assorted prized plants.  We don't like voles.  However, killing a vole is clearly not on my list of duties (I checked the duty assignments).  I squealed loudly.  Peter was weed whacking and had hearing protection on.  He didn't hear me.  I took my rake and scooped up the little thing and flipped it in the air like a pancake  (don't criticize, I was in a minor panic)  The little vermin did cartwheels through the air and then went ker-plop back into the water.  I scooped it and flipped it again, while still calling for Peter who continued whacking weeds, oblivious to the rodent ballet going on behind him.  This time the vole landed right in front of me and attached itself to my boot.  I kicked my foot as hard as I could, water and the vole went flying. I spun the rake around and tried to scoop it again as it swam a lovely vole version of a dog paddle, but it was just out of my reach, I valiantly reached for it a couple times before it disappeared into a hole in the ground. Vole = 1, Sharon = 0.

About an hour later another vole made an appearance, I reached the rake out to do the classic "Vole flip" move that I had perfected only to be outsmarted again. It successfully stayed out of my reach and I didn't get a single flip in.  Vole = 2, Sharon = 0.

Stupid rodents.  

Brothers

I'm going to wax poetic here.

I love my big brother.  I'm very lucky to have him in my life.  I was talking to someone today who is not nearly as lucky in the sibling department and it dawned on me how fortunate I am.

My brother and I are adopted.  The story goes that my parents were unable to have children and a co-worker of my mother's had an unmarried sister who was pregnant.  Unlike these days, that was not acceptable in the 1950's.  My parents were waiting at the hospital to adopt the baby (a boy) the day he was born.  My mother always said he was a gangly, hairy little thing that reminded her of a baby monkey and if she hadn't wanted a baby so bad she would have sent him back.  4 years later and after many attempts to adopt another child with repeated failures, a miracle happened.  The phone rang one day.  It turns out their son's biological mother was pregnant again.  My father's words were, "Well we can't let anyone else have it, can we?"  They were there waiting the day I was born as well.  According to her, I was a beautiful baby.  Hah!

I think my parents inability to have children of their own gave them a mind-set that we were the best things ever.  We were precious and treasured and miracles.  I can't speak for my brother but I think I kind of look at him the same way.  He is precious and treasured.

Well.  Enough of the heartfelt stuff.  Now on to business.  I have a job interview!  It's with the USPS delivering mail on a rural route.  I've applied and passed an on-line assessment test as well as a proctored test.  I also passed a mini-telephone interview today and now I have an interview scheduled for the 30th.  The job is for a 4 to 8 hour per week position.  I will get to drive one of those cool jeeps with the steering wheel on the right.  I'm actually quite excited about this job.  One day a week would be quite doable.  The pay is reasonable and it would give me a warm fuzzy feeling to go to work every day.. uh week.  Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Kitchen Floor

Hey!  Check out my new kitchen floor!  Isn't it just gorgeous?

Now before you start the paperwork on having me committed I have to confess something. It's not my new floor at all, in fact, it's the original flooring that came with the house.  I don't really hate it and it's certainly better than the 1970's vinyl faux-adobe brick that was on there.

Removing the top layer of vinyl was challenging.  You see it was on plywood that was stapled to the floor.  I had to pry the plywood up, then remove the staples.  It seems this was  a rare and special kind of plywood that had a tendency to travel.  At least that's the only explanation I can think of to warrant the 10,000 staples they used to hold it in place.  It took me three days and gave me a huge blister in the middle of my palm.  Once I started though I couldn't stop until it was done.  Oh the things I get myself into!

Even though I don't hate the vinyl it is going to have to go (or atleast be re-hidden under a new layer of flooring).  The kitchen was remodeled at the same time that top layer of vinyl was laid.  That means that there are places where the vinyl just doesn't go.

There are also a gazillion staple holes in it as well as serious wear in places.

There is that beautiful fir under this vinyl but I don't think i want to use that in my kitchen.  Not to mention that this layer of flooring is glued AND nailed to the floor.  I'm thinking tile.

The risk of being practical.

I'm going to try to paint a picture with my words..  Let's see if it works..

We've been weeding in the vineyard the last couple days.  Being the practical girl I am I have wanted to dress practically.  Jeans - especially the jeans they sell these days - don't provide enough coverage for a person who is doing a lot of leaning over and crawling around on the ground.  Especially for a female with, uh... curves.  So, to be practical I wore my overalls.

Yesterday I got a little too much sun. Being the practical sort I donned a white t-shirt for shoulder coverage and a big floppy brimmed hat.  On earlier weeding expeditions I wore tennis shoes which quickly filled with the loose dirt and became uncomfortable, so for practicality I wore my big boots.

I never looked in the mirror.  I was being practical.

While we were weeding Peter spied signs of a predator that had the potential to threaten our farm family so he asked me to go get the shotgun since I was closer to the house than he was.  It was the practical thing to do.

As I returned to the field, traipsing across the uneven ground with a bit of an ambling gait, shotgun in hand, overalls, boots, floopy hat, Peter burst out laughing and finally mustered a "Thanks Jed!"

Apparently I was a mustache, baggy jacket and hunting dog shy of looking just like Jed Clampett.

The sun is at it's apex now and it's very hot outside.  I've come in the house, because it's practical not to get heat stroke, I've showered and cleaned up.

As I sit here writing this post I'm wearing make up and a dress.  Not the least bit practical, but when your somewhat newish husband starts saying you remind him of Jed Clampett it's really important to STOP being practical.

Reflections on the past year.

Peter and I celebrated our 1st anniversary this past weekend.  The event gave me pause to reflect upon the past year.  A LOT has happened.  What a year it's been.  Moving, kids, work, unemployment, moving again.., The wonderful thing is that I've had Peter to share the ride with.  Let me make this clear... he's NOT perfect.  But he IS perfect for ME.  There are things he does that make me want to jump up and down and stamp my foot.  I'm pretty sure there are things I do that make him want to run screaming.  Moving in with someone at our ripe old age is not easy.  We are both set in our ways.  We both have our own ideas on how to do things.  There were a lot of compromises and adjustments that had to be made. I think we're thriving - I believe in the past year we've managed to build a stable foundation that will enable us to weather the storms life throws at us in the coming years.

Since we got married in Hawaii without any fanfare and since we never had the opportunity to celebrate with friends and family we decided we needed to have a party.  What could we do but throw a luau, so a luau we threw!

My friend Elaine decorated a cake for us:

Friends from Lynden stopped by.  Friends from Salem and Portland drove all the way up here to celebrate with us.

We feasted on pork and salmon, fruit, roasted vegetables, cake and mai tai's.  We had a fire in the fire pit and sang songs.  We are so blessed that we have these people in our lives that were so generous to gift us with their company for our evening.

Even my brother and his wife joined us, all the way from Florida.  Coincidentally, they were celebrating their 29th wedding anniversary two days after our first.  They arrived late on the 4th and we hit the ground running. We went off to B.C. for lunch and a brewery tour. We picnicked along Sammish Bay feasting on oysters, crab, cheese and wine. We drove to to top of Mt. Baker and we even got in a little rest and relaxation.  We celebrated their anniversary in our little house on the ditch with a fancy candlelit dinner of homemade tortellini. 

It's been a busy week.  All the guests have gone home and it's time to get down to business around here.  We have landscaping to do, the vineyard to weed, a fiber studio to build, and oh so much more.

July 1st. A very special day indeed.

5 years ago today Peter showed up on my doorstep after an extended absence in my life.  5 years ago today our lives together began for real.  Ahhhhhhh.....

Things are bustling around this little house on the ditch.  Cadbury and Chupa are settling in nicely.  We've managed to build a temporary, but crude, shelter in the pasture to provide them with shade and shelter from the rain.  I've almost got Cadbury coming to me when it's time to go to the barn for the night.  Up until yesterday we had to have a mini alpaca rodeo every night.  Last night I managed to corner Cadbury and put her on her lead without any drama at all.  Of course, once Cadbury is leashed, Chupa is easy.

The arrival of the alpacas has re-shuffled priorities around here too.  We've had construction debris clogging up the barn.  That's space we need!  The debris was the old roof tear off from two houses, all the carpeting, linoleum, wallpaper, ceiling texture and other junk our remodeling has created.  We had to rent a trailer and for two days we schlepped back and forth to the local dump.  All in all we removed over 5 tons (yes.. 5 TONS - I tracked it).

I think everyone should be made to hang out at the dump for a few days.  The offensive amount of waste this country creates is disgusting.  I have this theory that many many people toss the trash in the garbage and watch it get carried away by the big truck and don't think of it again.  Trash doesn't just go away.  It has to go somewhere.  In the case of Bellingham it all get's carted to Eastern Oregon to a big landfill.  Around the farm we recycle, compost, re-use, and create very little waste (except for the construction...).  I have lot's more to say on THAT topic - but I'll get off my soapbox for now.  Fair warning though, it may come up again later.

My dear big brother and his lovely wife are coming for a visit.   They'll be here in 4 days.  I've known of their coming visit for months but I have procrastinated in getting a room ready for them.  Just as a reminder.. this is what the room looked like a few months ago and little had changed in there by last week:

As of last night, this is how the room looks:

The floor is still horrible linoleum, the ceiling still has texture, the walls need paint but the room is clean, empty of clutter and, I hope, welcoming.  After their visit I will strip the ceiling (eek - more construction debris!!), paint and do the floors - eventually.  I'm sure I'll have to go play with the alpacas first.

Rain rain go away!

The rain has been incessant and horrible this afternoon.  We were unable to get to any of the shelter building or fence finishing or anything.  Ahhh!

I took Cadbury and Chupa out to the pasture before the rain hit.  Chupa has decided I'm okay and allows me to rub her neck and scratch behind her ears - so long as I don't make an sudden scary movements.  Cadbury has decided my very special "camelid cookies" that I made for her are quite edible and tasty.  Yesterday she turned her nose up at them.  Getting them out to the pasture was a lesson in patience.  I just had to be persuasive and persistent and they eventually made the trek.

Once we got to the field, Chupa ran around and Cadbury filled her belly, or at least one of them, with fresh rye grass.  They were happy.  For about an hour.  Then the rain hit.  It hit hard.  I kept hoping it would stop but it didn't.  I know they can handle rain, but they had no place to get out of it and I felt bad.  I put on my rubber boots and my rain slicker and headed out to get them.  They were uncooperative.  Chupa, in fact, was impossible to round up.  I chased and cajoled and begged but she would have none of it.  I finally decided to lead Cadbury and hope that Chupa would follow.  That worked swell until I decided to go through the woods to get back.  Cadbury decided that was entirely unacceptable. No way was she going that way.  By that time I was soaked clear through and gave in.  We back-tracked, slogged through the mud puddles and under the clothes line and eventually made it back to their covered sheltered.


Here is an Alpaca lesson  (because I like to share what I learn)

• When Alpacas sit down on the ground it's called "kush"    as in:  The Alpaca is in a kush position.
• A baby Alpaca is called a cria.  Pronounced "cree-ah"

As if we don't have enough to keep us busy, I got Peter an early anniversary present.  A couple years ago He had a goose and a gander.  The goose was killed by a neighborhood dog and the poor gander has been mateless.  The gander has been making a pest of himself with the ducks.. and the drakes.. in ways we won't talk about in THIS forum!  So - I found a couple of girls for our gander. He needs to wait til they grow up but I think they will make fine brides for him.

The gander doesn't have a name.  He's just Goose - which isn't particularly accurate but it works.  I wonder if we should name these.  I like to name our animals.

Happy Birthday!

On a non-alpaca note - yesterday was my daughter's 19th birthday.  Happy Birthday dear daughter!

On an alpaca note - today Chupa is one month old.  Mark sent me pictures of newborn Chupa.  Also in the picture is Cadbury on the left, and Chupa's dad on the right.

Bringing our Alpaca girls home was postponed by a day.  The fencing just took longer than we expected.  Peter's patient load increased and he was gone for large chunks of the day and there is just so much I can do on my own  (like almost nothing!).

The good news is we finally got them home last night. Here is Cadbury peering out of the trailer telling us to get a move on.  Our departure from her previous home was postponed because a slightly rattled gentleman headed up the narrow driveway, saw us preparing to head down, started backing back down and went off the road into a small creek.  He managed to get his car thoroughly stuck AND block our exit.  We, okay, PETER, helped him get his car unstuck and back on the road while I stood around looking like ornamental fluff.

Once we got them home getting them out to the pasture was quite challenging.  Chupa was not used to a halter.  In fact before yesterday she had never worn one.  She resisted being led anywhere.  Cadbury saw a very unhappy offspring and dug her heals in and refused to go anywhere.  It seems, much like mules or donkeys, when Alpacas don't wanna go - you're not going to make them.  Eventually Peter just picked Chupa up and carried her.  Cadbury wasn't about to let her baby be taken away so she immediately decided she would get moving.  Once we finally got them out to the field, Chupa explored her new surroundings.

Today we finish securing the fence, and attempt to build a proper shelter for them.  Last night Dash was evicted from his kennel and the girls spent the night in that.  They were okay but they need their own shelter in their own pasture.

Alpaca Update

Tomorrow!!

Tomorrow is the big day. I get to bring Cadbury and Chupa home.  I know I said we could back out of the deal but I don't think either of us could have.  Not really.  We had quickly fallen for these animals.  In fact, on the way home on Friday Peter said, "she's such a beautiful little thing.."  at least 4 times.  I think he was sold on them before I was!

We've been working hard around here getting ready for their arrival.  Of course, it's not ever as easy as it sounds.  The pasture where we want to put them needed trees cut back and blackberries removed.  Peter had to go to the office and actually work.  It's been raining nearly non-stop.

We're still not done with the fencing but the weather is supposed to get better, Peter doesn't work tomorrow and we should manage to be mostly ready by the afternoon. I did get to visit them again a couple days ago.  We just happened to be near their current home on Sunday and I just happened to have an apple in the car.  We stopped by to see them.  Cadbury ate most of the apple while eyeing me suspiciously, Chupa smelled the apple and apparently decided it wasn't as good as momma's milk.  While we were there Chupa became fascinated by the farm cat and then quickly got distracted by the chickens and went running after them.  She is all legs and such a baby.  Her antics are very entertaining.  


I should mention while we were shopping for fencing material Peter insisted on getting fencing material that would be suitable for Alpacas AND goats because, he says, since I can't make up my mind he's convinced we'll end up with both eventually anyway and we might as well be prepared.  He's probably right.

Cadbury and Chupa

Meet Chupa:

She was born May 22nd.  She and her mom, Cadbury are ours - probably.  We still need to get fencing and shelter created for them.

There is still a small window where we can come to our senses and cancel the deal we're making with their current keeper.  They are Huacaya (pronounced Wa-Ky-Ah) Alpaca.  Huacaya fiber is thick and bouncy and spins like a dream.  Of course, I'll only be able to spin and knit chocolate brown wool from now on - but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Cadbury (as in chocolate) came to her current owner, Mark, as a rescue.  He saw her through her pregnancy and birth but is now ready to pass her and her cria on to a loving home.  What a coincidence!  I just happen to have one of those!

We went to meet them yesterday.  We were told Cadbury is not pet-quality.  That means she is leery of humans - but is, fortunately, food-driven.  She will come to a human if you have food.  I can relate to that.  She is apparently much friendlier than she was when first rescued and I have full confidence I can break through her guard and get her to trust me.  I just happen to have an apple tree and apparently, she loves apples.  How fortunate is that?

Chupa is a totally different story.  Chupa bounces and runs and leaps and hops and explores.  She is a bundle of energy and you just can't help but smile when you watch her.  When I first met her, I sat down on the ground and she approached me cautiously.  She smelled my face.  She smelled my hair.  It tickled.  I laughed and frightened her into bounding off.  It wasn't long before she came back again and repeated the process.  This time I stifled my giggles and she stayed awhile longer, after a complete investigation she got distracted by something and wandered away.  She is definately pet quality and I expect she and I will become best friends. 

Mark showed us the corral - which they just happened to share with.. (drum roll please).. goats.  Yes - apparently goats and alpacas can live happily together.  hmm... this opens up a whole new world of possibilities! 

My Little Alpaca Shop?

Yesterday I had the delightful opportunity to hang with about 40 alpaca for an hour or so.  I am absolutely charmed by them.   We stopped by an alpaca ranch in Sedro Wooley.  The owner was perfectly lovely and showed us around.  She has a fiber studio much like I dream of having one day - complete with loom and spinning wheel and shelves of handspun yarn.  She happens to have three little cria bucks that were born last August for sale.  I am so tempted.  One is a beautiful chocolate brown, one is beige and one is gray. 

I've been re-thinking the goat thing in favor of a more practical animal. I really need to make a list of pro's and cons to help me decide on the animals I raise.

(on a scale of 1-5, 1 being the best)	Fiber	Milk	Personality	Ease of Care
Goats	3	1	1	3
Alpaca	1	5	3	1
Sheep	1	5	3	2
Bison	2	5	5	5

I'm not sure if that helped me.  Although I'm pretty sure I've ruled out bison.  Perhaps I should get two of each (except the bison) and resolve the question that way!  Nobody said I had to have just ONE kind of animal, did they?

Oh.. I finished my sweater.  It's kind of big and baggy and sloppy - but it's also cozy. 

Stupid Table

It's all that stupid table's fault. 

It started off innocently enough with a search for white paint for the table.  Instead I stumbled upon ceiling paint.  Ceiling paint I used on the bathroom ceiling - which as I predicted led to a need for new wall paint - which as I predicted led to a need for a new toilet - which led to a need for a new floor - and new cove molding - and a new sink - and a new faucet - and a new mirror..  I don't really have a proper "before" photo but here are a couple of "after" ones:

I wasn't going to purchase a new toilet.  Peter had one stashed in the back of the garage that was salvaged out of an old home belonging to his uncle.  My first thought was, "EWWWWW.  uh.. no.  uh-uh.  I don't think so!"  Then I went out to look at it.  I had to climb over wood and spare flooring, paint cans and furniture.  I ducked under a few spider webs and walked through a few more to get to it.  I looked at it.  It was white (a plus), it was nasty-dirty (a minus), it had some nice art-deco angles to it (a plus), a dead mouse in the bowl (a minus).  We dug it out to get a better look at the beast.   Once you got past the disgusting grime and goo it was a nice piece of porcelain.    I decided it would be a fine addition to my house. 

The next day I got out the scrub brush, the rubber gloves, and a big tub of elbow grease.  I scrubbed and washed and cleaned.  I fished (literally) 6 dead mice out of the bowl.  EWW.  The bottom half of the toilet ended up looking quite clean and lovely!  Then I tackled the tank - I cleaned and scrubbed and polished.  No dead mice here!  The tank wasn't getting as clean as the bowl though and I had to scrub extra hard.  In fact I scrubbed the tank right into pieces.  Sigh.. Yep.  I broke it. 

I got a new toilet.  It has a bit of an art deco shape to it.  It's white.  There are no dead mice in it.

Of course, plumbing is not my strong suit.  Peter had his own job to do - plus this was MY project.  So the plumbing was all mine.  Whee! 

I installed the sink, breaking the P-trap in the process necessitating a run to town for a new one.  My supply line to the toilet was too short, necessitating another trip to town, repeatedly to get the right size.  And then the worst - not fastening the tank to the bowl properly causing a small geyser in my newly polished bathroom.  Sigh.   It was all eventually plumbed properly and I have a fine bathroom. 

I think my next project is going to be the second guest bedroom.  Check out the lovely vinyl floor in there.

Artsy-Fartsy

I've had such a fun week. My days have been filled with artsy-fartsy stuff.  Painting, spinning, knitting, weaving, baking and pasta making.  Hey!  I think I can turn that into a poem..

I'm living, breathing artsy fartsy
I'm following my heart, see?

from furniture, knitting and baking

to painting, spinning and pasta making

Bread that's awful, noodles to eat

A sweater to wear and a table to keep.

I don't think I will get rich with my poetry. . . or bread baking.  It is not going well at all.  I might even call it an epic fail.  After unsuccessfully making bread by hand, I retrieved my beloved bread maker from storage.  As it turns out, this is not my beloved bread maker after all, but an awful imitation.  I have made several wonderful loaves of  cement.  I'm not a quitter and I'll keep trying as long as Peter is willing to be my taste tester.  He's starting to look askance and a little bit worried when I bring him a hunk of bread and say "taste this" so I might have to resolve myself to purchasing bread from the grocery store.

The good news is that the pasta making is progressing quite well.  I purchased a pasta machine and have made some quite delightful linguini and really had fun doing it.  I think ravioli is next on my list. 

I made yarn.  Red, white and multi-colored blue.  This yarn was spun over the past few months but I didn't have a way to wind it up.  Yesterday I got a Niddy-Noddy - the perfect tool for making these fine yarn hanks.  Now I must find a suitable project for them or figure out a way to sell them.  

The sweater I'm knitting is coming along nicely.  I have the front and back done and I'm now working on the first sleeve.  I'm eager to get it done but I have so many other things to keep myself busy with.   At least it's something to do when I finally do sit down. Heaven forbid my hands aren't busy!

I have this old table.  It's been around my house from my earliest memories.  It had a horrible orange finish and a really bad repair job as well as some permanent marker marks on the top (courtesy of my children).  It stands on three legs and wobbles precariously if you set a glass of water on it.   I have been hesitant to refinish it, just in case the table turned out to be one of those rare antique heirlooms that are worth a small fortune.  I finally decided that the mass production stamp on the bottom proved that it wasn't and even if it was, the damage it has endured over the years has successfully erased any value it might have had.  Refinishing it would be just fine. 

My intent was to paint it with two colors, then use steel wool on it to reveal the under color.  You know, make an old table that already looks old, look old in a different way than it looked old before.  After careful consideration and a consult with the freighbor I decided to use a chalk paint - the end-all in this kind of furniture refinishing.  The paint was $28.00 a quart (and I needed two colors - which means two quarts) plus some specialty tools that drove the price up to about $80.00.  That means that when all was said and done my junky little table would be worth about $83.50.  I couldn't do it.  I ended up picking up a quart of mis-mixed greenish, brownish, beigeish colored paint at the hardware store for $2.50 and using some white paint I already had.  Now that's a price I can live with! 

After I put the first color on it.  I trotted out to the garage to get the white paint.  When I got into the house I discovered I grabbed the wrong paint can.  It was the textured ceiling paint we used in the bachelor pad.  What was a girl to do?  Yes - I stopped working on the table and went in and painted the bathroom ceiling.  Sometimes I think I have ADD.  I eventually found the right paint for the table and finished it up.



Of course once the bathroom's harvest gold ceiling was gone the harvest gold walls seemed to be especially uh.. harvest gold.  That paint had to go as well!  While I was at the hardware store picking out wall paint I got distracted by flooring (again.. the ADD thing?)  The harvest gold cracked and worn vinyl that's in that bathroom really is an eyesore and will only seem worse once the walls look good.  I chose really cheap white vinyl floor squares,  a temporary but adequate fix until we have time to do it properly.  And since I have to remove the toilet to put down the new floor and paint properly behind it, I might as well replace the ugly harvest gold one (with the matching harvest gold toilet seat) with a standard white one.  The sink and shower would still be harvest gold.  That could be a problem.  At least the countertop isn't gold, it's avocado geen imitation marble laminate.

When Jillian was here we worked on my studio chandelier..  The picture doesn't do it justice but what do you think?