It’s been awhile!

 I don’t even know how long it’s been - but I know it’s been years.  

Here is the thing...  this blogging thing is free and as my brother often tells me: you get what you pay for. 

Something led me to believe that this free software had removed all my oldest posts. I became discouraged and wondered what the point was. 

But then I found out I was wrong.  (Shhhh.  Don’t let that get around!!) 

Anyhooo - I’m going to try to give this blogging thing another try.  I very much enjoyed reading my past posts.  

Buckle your seat belt baby here we go!  

Miss Maizy

I have a new project.

A project that is blog worthy even.  So it has it's own, new, blog:

Restoring Miss Maizy

See You there!

Aloha!

The good news, my finger has healed nicely and we made our flight!

The bad news, Hawaii was experiencing record temperatures and humidity, the tail-end of a hurricane AND the day we left, a tsunami warning because of Chili's earthquakes.  The  heat kept us driving around a lot - as the car had air conditioning and our condo did not.

I COULD give you details - but as I was reading through my notes - I decided they were quite entertaining and left enough unsaid to add mystery and intrigue. I have added photos.


Tuesday
Met lovely couple who lived in Makaha but had vacation property in Stevens, WA.
Helped young girls get unstuck from sand, Peter hurt his back being macho
Got rolled in surf fully clothed - flashed life guards and some now traumatized children

Wednesday 
Saw sea turtle basking on our beach
Went west of Makaha
Walked/jogged along road
Went to north shore - stopped at dole pineapple plantation
Ate lunch in Hale'Iwa
Cruised the beach
Toured the coffee farm


Thursday
Our Turtle and her little friend were back on the beach in the am
Went to Honolulu and dropped in on Dale.
Went to Islands restaurant in the mall and had lunch, (including mai tai's)
Lost car in parking garage
Went to the punch bowl and war memorial
Drove east - saw the blow hole and two turtles playing in the surf
Came home through a long tunnel through the mountains
Took a sunset swim in Makaha. Fell asleep by 9:00





Friday

Rain!  Thunder, lightening!
Headed into Honolulu
Took a turn down Luauluaulei rd on a whim and ended up on a military base with very nice MP's who let us turn around without arresting us.
Went to the Hawaiian Plantation Village.  Peter played with a poisonous cane toad while I panicked and frantically googled cane toads to see if he was going to die.
Ate hot malasadas from a hot malasada truck
Pearl Harbor with realistic thunder and lightening sound effects and a plentiful mongoose population
Following Siri's directions went looking for a mai tai ended up on another military base (Fort Shaftner) and fortunately, again, didn't get shot.
Found somewhere else to enjoy a mai tai (or two)




Saturday

Headed north
Went to Wai'mea valley and waterfall. Beautiful place filled with horrific blood-sucking, pleasure depleting mosquitoes. Could not get back to the car fast enough.
Lā'ie state wayside with natural bridge

Spied two island pigs strapped to the hood of a Honda CRV.  Can you say Luau??
After failed attempt to find Kona brewing ended up with happy hour dinner at the MonkeyPod on Ko'Olina (yummy lilikoi foam & macadamia nut mai tai and then a lilikoi martini)
Sunset swim in the ocean followed by a dip in the pool






Sunday

Started the day with rain and laundry.
Peter went for a swim by himself
Then we headed west and explored the coastline
Stumbled upon a movie set for a web series.
Stopped by the Maunalahilahi botanical garden. Peter explored.  I stayed in the relative mosquito-free safety of the car.
Again, following Siri's directions, dined at Cisco's Cove - on a military base guarded by the same fellow who didn't shoot us in Fort Shaftner.
Went for a sunset swim on Makaha beach - a turtle swam right past us. I startled and screamed like a little girl!

Monday
Surfing at 8:00 am. Got stuck in traffic and arrived 15 minutes late.
After an awesome lesson took a long walk on Waikiki beach.  Not impressed - too crowded!
Sneaker wave, shoes got wet. Had no shoes to wear. Bought a pair of flip flops for $3.49 at Longs drugs - which saved my life as my toes had been rubbed raw by the surf board
Drove east past blow hole and along the beach then home again (after Peter went the wrong way on H-1)

Tuesday
Up at 5:00. Coffee and breakfast
Visited the NW corner of the island so lovely in it's emptiness. Saw turtles in the water. Finally and luckily Experienced Mackey's Shrimp Truck.  Fed little sparrows and chickens our leftovers.
Dinner at Roy's in Ko'olina with Dale and Cathy.





Wednesday - our last day
Drove west of Makaha again. Poked around on the rocks.

Peter rescued three little fishies stranded in a tide pool. Headed back toward our condo and stopped so peter could show me the 'dead sea lion' he had spotted days before.  It had moved to a different location and was wiggling.  Not dead at all!!
Got home, went swimming in the ocean, then the pool.
Peter chatted up a man with a Dutch accent by the name of Hank Zandberg who, freakishly, turns out to be related to Dini of the Holland Cafe in the Windmill in Lynden.
Got permission to check out later so we went back to the ocean.  As we were bobbing about in the water a sea lion swam by within about 10 feet of us!!
Got sunburned.
Made lunch of all the food we had left: Salad, banana, coke, popcorn, cheese, celery, juice, peanut butter, milk. A fine, but bizarre meal. Then we napped and finally left about 4:00
Enjoyed a farewell beverage and pupu's.
Now - sitting at the airport waiting for our flight.

Mongoose

Peter, being Peter

A dog on a surfboard

Lilikoi Martini

W(h)ining

I have recently come to terms with the fact that I can work.  Working is good.  The money one makes from working is better and allows special little treats like new shoes and vacations.

This summer I have been working like crazy.  Rarely turning down an offer of additional hours.  Some time in July I had a well deserved day off and the phone rang.  It was the boss inquiring if I could cover a shift because someone was sick.  I smiled and said sure, hung up the phone and said:  "That does it!  We are going to Hawaii!!"  And just like that a lovely Hawaiian holiday was planned for mid-September.  Tucked right between my birthday (the 4th) and Peter's birthday (the 19th).

The rest of the summer proceeded to be unusually hot and sweltering.  A week before our much anticipated vacation, and entire month before expected, our grapes became ripe.  Not instantly, but it became apparent they would not last until our return. The fruit flies, the birds, nature would destroy them if we waited. We HAD to make wine, and we HAD to do it immediately!  Unfortunately, I was still putting in the hours at the Post Office so most of the picking, de-stemming, crushing, pressing, & barreling fell to Peter.  I helped when I could.  I helped frantically, passionately, and carelessly.  I was snipping and clipping grapes off the vine when I snipped and clipped right into my left ring finger.  Blood.  Everywhere.  I cursed.  I grabbed my finger, Peter looked up and declared it was time for first aid!  Then he asked me if I was going to pass out.  I guffawed and said emphatically, "NO!"  As we were traipsing back to the house and applying pressure the world started to close in.  Things started going black and I started to dwell on that "are you going to pass-out?" question.  I changed my mind regarding my original answer and, yes, I believe I was.

I sat down.  Peter checked on me and then trotted to the house for bandages and water.  By the time he got back I was completely horizontal.  You know I am in trouble if I lay down on the ground where there are spiders and ants and earwigs and squished grapes and other disgusting things.  Peter returned and bandaged and disinfected and forced me to drink water.  Then, bless his heart, he took my picture.

In my defense to this very overly dramatic pose - my right hand was on my forehead because I didn't want to rest it on the ground where all the nasties reside.

After 15 minutes of self-pity and wallowing in my injury I headed back out to the vineyard and continued, CAREFULLY, snipping grapes clusters.

We had to be in Portland by Monday night as we were flying out Tuesday morning.  Monday we were still pressing grapes.  But when all was said and done, we got it done. Hundreds of pounds of grapes processed in record time.

We have a pinot, cabernet, a white wine, some blended red and some concord.  Oh - and six gallons of beer. Because man (and woman) can't live on wine alone.

Congratulations! It's a bouncing baby girl!

It might be 50(mumble mumble mumble) years past due - but I would like to issue the following announcement.

I would like to announce the birth of Carla.

Younger sibling to Jerry and Sharon Hotho.

Those of you who know me, probably know I am adopted.  It's never been a secret to me, or to my brother (who is also adopted).  I have never felt like it was something that needed to be hidden.  I haven't, however, generally shared that I had other siblings.

The short version is:

• A woman named JoeAnn got married and in about 1951 had a child she named Gary.
• JoeAnn got divorced shortly after Gary was born.
• In 1955 she had a child and gave this child to the childless Hotho couple who cherished this boy (that looked like a monkey - according to my mom) and named him Jerry.
• In 1959 she had another child and gave this child, as well, to the now not-childless Hotho couple who gladly welcomed a non-monkey looking baby.  They named her Sharon.
• JoeAnn got re-married and in 1961 had another child and named her Carla.

Really - that is about the shortest version of this story that is even remotely possible.

JoeAnn has since passed away.  Gary has as well.

Through the wonder of FaceBook Sharon, Jerry and Carla have found each other.  An amazing feat seeing as how Carla lives in Nebraska, Sharon in Washington and Jerry in Florida.  We span the US.

This past weekend Carla was in Oregon fishing for Salmon at the mouth of the Columbia River.  That was way to close for me to not go see her.

So after 53 years - I finally met my baby sister.

Peter and I picked her up and we went sightseeing in the Columbia gorge.  While we shared life stories Peter acted as chauffeur and was (not so) stealthily in the background taking photos.  We compared shoe sizes, hair color and blood pressure.  We talked about our kids - she has two and our animals - she has horses and chickens and dogs.  We talked hobbies and passions and skills.  She loves horses and can't cook.  I love food and can manage to feed myself quite nicely.  And we talked about her mother.  I learned a lot.  I was never overly curious about "my roots" while growing up.  I had loyalty for my parents and loved them very much.  Part of me felt that pursuing that information would some how have been disloyal to my parents.  I think mom would be more than pleased with this turn of events.

Carla's life was not easy.  JoeAnn's life was not easy.  Gary's life was not easy.  I don't feel their stories are mine to tell but Carla says Jerry and I were the lucky ones.  I believe her.

What I can share is that JoeAnn's mother was 1/2 Cherokee Indian.  JoeAnn was 6 feet tall and wore a size 10-1/2 shoe.  Information I found utterly fascinating!  It helps explain why my son has hit 6' 3".

As Jerry and I were growing up my mother never stopped being grateful to JoeAnn for giving her the gift of children.  She sent JoeAnn letters and updates and photos.  JoeAnn saved all these things.  Carla brought them all to share with me.  How cool is that??  She also brought me several photos of  her mother.

At our initial meeting Carla and I both expressed a desire to eventually be able to call each other sister.  I think we have made major strides to this end.  It's not an easy thing to take a virtual stranger and call her family.  It takes time.   It's a work in progress.  In the mean time we need to pull Jerry into this  and are trying to plan a family "union" - as we can't call it a reunion - next winter.  Jerry and his family, Carla and her family and, of course, my tribe.

There you have it.

Paperwork

I am determined.  I tell you... DETERMINED! to find something creative to do to make money.  Working at the Post Office is not creative. 

I really enjoy knitting and felting and making bags but there does not seem to be a market for these items.  A nice felted bag costs me at least $30.00 in materials and I might be able to sell it for $30.  Maybe.  But common business sense tells me I am not going to get rich (or even afford a cup of coffee) selling things for the same it costs to make them.

I need to find something to sell that doesn't cost me an arm and a leg to make.  I need to find something where the construction materials are dirt cheap. 

I remembered reading something once about people making paper from elephant dung in Thailand.  I don't have elephants, but I have alpacas.  They make poop.  Poop is free.  And plentiful.

Paper it shall be.  But first I needed to learn to make paper because not knowing how to do something has never been a reason to not do it.

You Tube here I come!

In a few short hours I learned a lot about making paper.  Most processes started with uh.. paper.  But I did find enough information to learn that I needed some basic equipment (frames, screens, couch papers..)  Well - so much for a cheap enterprise.

The next day I was at the local second hand store and what should I find?  A brand new paper making kit for $1.99!  Never even been opened.  It contained all the basic tools I would need along with directions that included pictures.  How easy could it be?

 

I thought I would try something easy to start with.  I took shredded newspaper and whirred it in a blender.

 

And I ended up with this.. a fine piece of thick gray paper.

 

I tried again but used college rule paper and added some plant life.  (begonia petals to be exact)

 

And then again and added dandelion petals.

 

Feeling quite pleased with myself I felt it was time to try poop!  I went out to the pasture and gathered up a nice fine FREE supply.  I put it in a pot to boil.  And boiled and boiled.  Outside of course.  In a second hand store pot.  At this point I would like to add that Peter is not supportive of the PPP (Poo Paper Project).  He kind of likes to use the alpaca poo for the garden and I will quote him here.  "It's a shitty idea."  Harummph to him I say!

 

After 2 hours of boiling and letting it cool down over night, I smashed it and smooshed it and then rinsed it through a screen, then through cheese cloth, repeatedly.  I rinsed away most of the poop and I was left with this lovely stuff.

 

 

More rinsing resulted in even more fiber and less poop. 

 

I was afraid that my remaining poo fiber was too fine and not enough of it so I added some paper pulp.  I didn't use the blender - which would have been helpful I think, but Peter had this thing about putting poop in the blender he makes milkshakes with.  I don't get it... all the boiling made the poop completely hygenic.  I think he's weird.

 

The fact is, when all was said and done, I made poo paper:

 

 

Two days of boiling, soaking, rinsing, etc and I ended up with one sheet of 6" by 9" paper that isn't even usable.  Not very encouraging.  The materials might be free but I might have better things to do with my time.  All is not lost though.  I have learned a lot.  I think I have learned how to do to better.  I will try again because it takes more than one failed attempt to convince me to give up on an idea.



The little Blue House...

For those of you who don't know me - here is a bit of insight into my psyche..  I can obsess.

I get an idea in my head and can't let go.  In the last few years I have had this idea to buy a vacation house.  At the beach.  Lincoln City, Oregon to be exact. 

I rationalized this decision by telling myself we spend so much time there it would be common sense to invest our money in real estate.  It would put us close to my children, close to our favorite weekend location and more.  It could be a lovely family vacation home.  The kids (and grand kid) could meet us there - we could have family time.  As an investment it made perfect sense and my obsession grew.

I started prowling real estate websites. 

A year ago or so I found a three story "fixer-upper" that was just one block from the ocean with a beach view and beach access.  Peter and I went to look at it.  We wandered around outside and peaked in the windows.  It was a wreck and I loved it.  Except the kitchen was in the basement.  That was weird.  There was a door to the outside on the third story.  But there was no balcony or stairs.  Just a door to outside, and a bit of caution tape.  Oh.. and there was also the issue of the price.  Too expensive for us!

Then I found a very nice, fully furnished three bedroom house on the east side of Highway 101.  The price was quite reasonable, considering the size and that it came furnished.  The furnishings were just my style.  We actually looked INSIDE that one.  It was very cute.  Very well furnished.  But two rooms were downstairs and one upstairs.  The family space was small and I couldn't see it functional as a family vacation space- which was one of the thoughts rumbling around my obsessed self.  The other problem was that Lincoln City was working on a new law that would not allow vacation rentals on the east side of of the highway.  We need to be able to rent out our new home part of the time in order to make this a successful venture.

Then I found the Little Blue House.

It was tiny.  Like 582 square feet tiny.  One bedroom.  One bathroom.
Two blocks from the beach - but certainly in walking distance.   It was on the west side of the highway.  A perfect little rental property.  I had to change my vision from a family vacation property to a vacation/retirement home that would accomodate kids, kind of.  I looked at pictures of it almost every day.  Then the price dropped by $10,000.  This little Blue House became MY little Blue House in my blue-house obsessed head. 

Last month Peter and I wandered around the outside of  "My" little Blue House.  We peaked in the windows.  I saw nothing to discourage me.  I wanted this little blue house.  I needed it.  Did I mention I was obsessed?

This week I just happened to be in Oregon on another mission and decided to contact a realtor about my house.  My grand plan was to look at the house and find something, anything, ANYTHING that convinced me that this house wasn't meant to be.  Really it was. 

Problem was, it backfired.  The house was built in 1930.  It had original fixtures.  You know, those really cool ones that you just can't find anywhere?  It had a wonderful wood burning stove.

The kitchen was too cute for words with original glass fronted cabinets and an original farm sink and a faucet that comes out of the wall..

 

 



The flooring was a wreck - but how much could replacing flooring cost in a house that's only 582 square feet?

I started the process of buying a house and sent Peter a text message that I was buying us a house.  Bless his heart, he took it in stride and hardly reacted!

In my head I started deciding how I would furnish it.  I considered starting up a pinterest board (an application I have previously failed to see the point of...)  In my head I went over the stuff I had in storage trying to figure out what I could re-use.  I decided I needed to buy a new hide-a-bed for the living room and new matress for the bedroom - but I pretty much had everything else.  I pondered paint colors and considered even changing the outside paint from bright blue. 

Then I got the call.  The dreaded call.  It seems that bright blue outside paint is covering some very durable but toxic asbestos siding and that the foundation was a crumbling mess.  No bank on the face of the planet will loan money on this little train wreck of a house. 

Well it was fun while it lasted and after all - I had hoped something, ANYTHING would convince me to stop obsessing about it.

My plan worked after all.  I am letting it go.  Slowly.  But I am still cruising the real estate websites...

Kitchen Floor make over.

In August of 2012 I started removing the first of several layers of vinyl in my kitchen. It was nailed and stapled to a thin sheet of plywood.  The plywood was nailed down to older vinyl flooring that was less ugly than the top layer.

In February of 2013 I started picking at the next layer.  This layer was glued and nailed and stapled down.  It did not disappear willingly.

It was a very long tedious process and about a year ago I got the floor to a point where I could live with it.  Most of the glue was scraped off.  Most of the nails were pulled or tapped in - at least the ones we might step on and the overall look was somewhat charming.  Yeah - that's the word.  Charming.

I have been aching to get back to that project for awhile now but with work it has been impossible.  I finally bit the bullet and filled out appropriate paperwork to ensure I could get 3 days off in a row and Monday I started the final push to finish the kitchen floor.

The first step was to clear out the room and take a picture.  Not SO ugly, huh?

The next step was to crawl around on the floor for the next 12 hours sanding, scraping glue, pulling nails and questioning the sanity of my choices.

As you can see, not much progress was made in that 12 hours.  By 10:00 pm Wednesday I had the floor as ready as it was going to get.  Fir is a soft wood and there was just no possibility of getting up all the black and imperfections.

Peter and I realistically adopted the "we aren't going to make a silk purse out of a sows ear" attitude.  Our floor is 80 years old.  It has been abused with glue, nails and staples.  It has been horribly mistreated and our options were limited.  There were a few places worse than others.  There were some very odd repairs and patches.  There were holes and there was a very odd spot that was stained and finished.  To minimize (aka hide) the flaws in our sows ear we decided to stain the floor dark.  Very dark.  So we started staining:

This morning I added the first of 3 (or more) coats of polyurethane.  

With the exception of a few very odd places that you might have to get on your hands and knees to see, I would say we DID make a silk purse out of a sows ear.  I really like it.   It sure feels great to have this project nearly off my to-do list.

I'm already planning my next project, which will either be painting the cabinets white or removing the popcorn ceiling from the bedroom.  Because heaven forbid, I should sit idle!

Tis the Season!

It's hard to believe that Christmas is just 10 short days away.  I confess.  I don't care.
I care - but not for the right reasons.  This job I have sucks any remnant of joy I might manage to muster for the season.  I care because that means I am 10 days closer to having some sort of normalacy return to my world.

Other than Sundays and holidays, days off don't exist. If I am not "doing" a route, I am assisting in delivering the hundreds and hundreds of parcels that need to be delivered.  Today it was parcel delivery.  Got to work at 7:30.  Got done at 6:30.  I made repeated trips with my gas-sucking SUV filled to the brim,   Thank goodness I get a fair and reasonable mileage reimbursement. 

One of my stops today was at a farm I had delivered to before.  There is a beware of dog sign at the driveway.  In my previous experience I had never spied a dog.  Always cautious, just in case, but never a dog to be seen.  Today I was in a hurry.  I didn't give any credit to the clearly bogus dog sign. I pulled into the driveway and turned around so that my car was facing the road and the back of it was facing the house.  I got out of the car and went around to the back hatch and opened it up. A brown rottweiler seemed to come out of nowhere.  Not particularly aggressive but why take chances?  So I backed up slowly toward the drivers door and a black rottweiler magically appeared.  The two had me pinned to the car with no where to run.  I inched back toward the back of the car.  I had so many packages there wasn't really room for me, but that was the least of my problems.  In the most non-threatening manner I could manage I reorganized so I could sit inside the opening.  Then I gently brought my legs inside, forced to place them somewhat up in the air over some parcels that were in the way.  The dogs got so close they took the opportunity to smell my feet and legs.  They drooled.  They didn't bark or growl but they were BIG and showing their proportionately big teeth.  I talked to them.  They didn't seem to care that I was being friendly.  My phone was in the front of the car so calling for help was out of the question.  The dog spray issued to me was also in the front.  After a few minutes the brown dog started to get bored with me and turned away.  Reaching for the door in order to close it was apparently interesting and the dog returned to it's post - keeping me pinned to my spot.  I did not know where the black dog had disappeared to so my imagination convinced me it was waiting just around the corner of the car to rip my throat out.

I was NOT having fun. 

I eventually managed to get the door closed but found I was in quite an awkward position, in a tiny space, surrounded by parcels and my feet in the air. But at least I was safe.  I moved packages around and shifted my weight, eventually getting on my hands and knees.  I crawled through the inside of the SUV to the front but still had to get over the two front seats - with ridiculously high head rests and a ridiculously skinny gap between the drivers seat and passenger seat.  I am very glad it is unlikely I was being filmed.  Nothing about my climb through the car was graceful or dignified.  These people did not get their parcels today and I don't care.

On another seasonal note, Peter roasted a turkey today.  She... I mean IT is very delicious.

Peter has never cooked a turkey before. But that's not what makes this note worthy.  This turkey is a natural, free range bird.  Acquired from the people that had Rosie.  I was told that Rosie has gone to live in Palm Springs and is happily enjoying the weather there.  I was told that this is not Rosie.

I choose to believe.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope you have had, or are having a fabulous day.

We are spending the day leisurely hanging out at home, trying to figure out how to get the Seattle Seahawks game on the computer - since we don't have cable TV.  I have been working an insane number of hours - Christmas season is upon us and things are crazy at the USPS.  No time off for little old me so no time to run to Oregon to see my kids.  We are having salad and whatever we can scrape together for dinner.

We had a much different day planned than this though.  Several months ago we traded a rooster and hen to a fellow (Mark) for the promise of a Thanksgiving turkey.  The intention was that he would raise it, and then "dispatch" it, and have for us a very not-like-a-REAL-turkey bird.  On a whim I named this faceless creature Rosie (short for roasted).

A week ago I contacted him to make arrangements to pick up our processed bird.  Mark had completely forgotten the agreement.  I reminded him and he cheerfully agreed to bring a bird over to us.  Alive.  "Eeek!"  I shrieked.  No.  NO.  Absolutely NO!  He agreed to dispatch her for us and bring us a dead bird.  Still very much a real turkey.  Only dead.

My stomach began to feel queazy.  I didn't sleep well.  Peter agreed to do the cleaning and we discussed methods of removing the bird's feathers.

This did not make me feel better.  And then it turns out, to ensure freshness Mark would bring us a live bird, and kill her here.   This also caused me great stress.

Mark and Rosie were supposed to come over Tuesday night, but got lost on the way here.  He took her back home and released her to the rest of the flock.  He told me a story how easy she is to catch because she really likes grain and comes eagerly to him when he offers it to her.  Awwwww....  I love animals that love food!  He promised to bring her by this morning after enticing her with promised yummy grain.  :(

I have not slept well.  Peter had dreams about turkeys.  I worried and stewed.  Peter confessed he wasn't eager to do this either.  Early this morning I contacted Mark and issued Rosie a pardon.

Maybe someday I can do this.  Maybe.  But probably not likely.

Rosie.  Long live Rosie!!

Standing on the Edge

Today I stood on the edge of the USA. 

It's been a month since "my incident" - that's what we refer to it as around here - and things are looking up.

The Sunday after "my incident" I walked almost two miles.  From that point on, I began watching the quantity of my food intake.  The food I have been eating has been very good for me - just too much of it.  I like food, what can I say.  I made a batch of cookies for my daughter and only ate one.  I passed over donuts and cupcakes coworkers brought in to work.  I made 5 caramel chews (from Halloween) last 3 days!

I have been walking and cycling and being generally more active, slowly building up my stamina, hoping to get back to running like I used to.  I have lost 7 pounds and dropped a clothing size.  My blood pressure is nice and low.  Almost too low at times, for a girl who is used to being propelled by a compression engine. 

I would have sworn I did not feel bad before, but I feel so much better now I must have.  My attitude is better.  My energy level is better.  I spend less time on the sofa.

Today I walked about 4.5 miles at an average of about a 15 minute mile  (not fast, but a nice steady pace).  I even jogged or trotted for small intervals.  I made it to the edge of the USA, just 2 yards from Canadian soil, and turned around and came home.  When I walk from my house, this is the scenery.  You really can't beat that with a stick!

Also on the de-stressing front I have made a well thought-out decision about my goats.  They must go.  I find that dragging them or being pulled by them to and from the pasture twice a day is not a relaxing past time.  I often end up incredibly stressed over the process.  Saying things to them I wish I regretted but don't and then feeling guilty about it.  Goats pee and poop indiscrimently and are very dirty things.  The idea of turning them into milk goats and ending up with even more of the creatures, no matter how cute the babies are, sends shivers down my spine.

They deserve better.  They deserve to have an opportunity to have babies and eat too much and hang out with other goats.  They need to "be all they can be" and not get yelled at by me on a daily basis.

With this end in mind, we have found them a new home with a lovely young couple named Lissa and Jeff.  They promised not to eat them - although felt comfortable with telling us they might eat their offspring - which I am perfectly okay with.  They are going to start a dairy herd and these will be the founding members.  We still have Een and Twee until Jeff and Lissa get their pasture ready but soon we will be goatless.

Someday, when we have a different barn/pasture set up than we do now, I would like to try again.  Someday I would like to milk goats.  Someday I will.  Just not now.

20/20 hindsight

Several years ago I was laid off work.  With getting laid off, came the reality of no insurance.   I was relatively healthy (although I did have a history of high blood pressure) and I chose to forego very expensive insurance.  I decided that I would live healthily and make healthy choices.  My blood pressure could be controlled with an active life style and proper diet.

Early last week I developed a blurry spot in my right eye.  Thinking I had scratched my cornea or gotten some annoying bit of fluff in my eye I did not pursue it for several days.  After all, I had no insurance.  By Wednesday I finally decided I would fork out the dollars and go to the eye doctor.  I found a wonderful local DR who offered a 25% discount for time of visit payment.  I made my appointment for Thursday and off I went.  The doctor dilated and looked deep into my eye and proclaimed I had broken a blood vessel on my retina, which was causing the blurriness.  "This is bad," she said.  "Let's take your blood pressure."

I tried to discourage her because I didn't want to know.  She could not be dissuaded.  Her cheap little drugstore blood pressure cuff returned a very ugly number.  Very ugly.  She panicked and immediately referred an me to urgent care facility while singing tales of doom.

I went home and got Peter and off we went.  The office was unable to see me that day and suggested I try the next.  The next day the same place could not see me but I found another one that accepted walk ins and catered to low income people.  (How far I've come... sigh...)

After a painfully boring, and somewhat stressful two hour wait as a walk in I was finally seen by a nurse.  She took my blood pressure.  Calmly said, "let's try your other arm..."  Then she said "Do you feel alright?  Any numbness?  Shortness of breath?  Chest pain?"   "We are going to do an ekg..."

Then the Dr made an appearance and said, "We've called an ambulance. You are going to the ER. Now."  Very quickly 4 very handsome paramedics showed up and started plying me with questions and checking my blood pressure.  Everyone was in a quiet state of alarm.  Asking the same annoying questions over and over again.  "Any chest pains?  Numbness?  Tingling in your extremities?"  No, I maintained, just a blurriness in my right eye.  I felt fine - although I was beginning to join the party in panicking and over reacting and my blood pressure was most certainly creeping up by the second.  By the time the last paramedic took my blood pressure it was about 250/133.  They were certain I was going to have a stroke any second.  They would not let me drive myself to the ER.  I was put on a gurney, wheeled out the front doors of the Urgent Care clinic and off I went to the hospital.  I still felt fine.  I asked the paramedic if we could stop at the feed store for chicken scratch, my chickens were hungry!  While I was being chauffeured in my very nice personal limo (at least they didn't use lights or sirens!), I called Peter to fill him in and sent a text to my boss, calling in sick for the next day.   I asked  cute Paramedic Hall if I got a discount because I was being nice.  No.  But he promised he would make the bill as small as he could.

Here is a tip, if you show up at the hospital in an ambulance, you do not need to wait through the triage nurse or wait to be taken in.  It was very quick and efficient.

They hooked me up to machines that measured my pulse and my blood pressure and my heart.  They took my blood and made me pee in a cup.  They sent a student nurse in to insert an I.V.   I stupidly, cheerfully, agreed that that was fine, everyone must learn sometime.  She tried twice before the real nurse took over.  '

They started me on blood pressure medicine through the I.V. and slowly, throughout the day my blood pressure lowered.  I continued to be cheerful.  My paramedics came back in with other patients and stopped in to say hi.  Paramedic Hall even took a seat and chit-chatted about life while he waited for his partner to fill out paperwork.  My nurse, Jean, hung out in my room because she said, "She would rather be in there than in other patient rooms.."

It was a grand old time until....they gave me one more medicine for the final push to lower my blood pressure.  It was some toxic mix of chemicals that surely must have been pure poison.  I stopped being cheerful.  But my blood pressure was low enough to send me home and they signed me out and sent me on my way.  The last medicine made me deathly ill and I spent the next 16 hours alternately vomiting and sleeping.    I find it very ironic that I felt so much worse LEAVING the hospital than when I got there.

I have begun daily exercises - I used to love to run and will work toward that goal.  I am watching what, and how much, I eat.  I am making healthy changes.  I am on twice daily pills now and need to find a real doctor who will see a non-insured patient.  Doctors don't typically like our kind.  My blood pressure this morning was 136/86 - probably the lowest it's been in 15  years.  I was so weak I had to go back to bed.

The good news is that if it really drops low, I just have to think of how much money this is costing and it sneaks right back up to a reasonable level.

I probably should have insurance.  I will probably find some soon.  Now that I have first hand experience of the consequences.

Dishonest people

I trust people.  I trust them to tell me the truth and be honest.  Sometimes, that comes back and bites me on the backside.  But before I get on my soapbox and have a little rant, I need to tell you about Tesla.

Tesla is surely the smartest dog I have ever had.  At less than three months she seems to be completely house broken.  She knows sit.  She kind of knows stay.  She knows the kitchen is off limits (a very important quality in a dog that might easily be able to pick and choose what she wants off the counter).  She has learned (but has a little trouble following through) that chickens are not for chasing and she seems to take complete delight in 'helping' me with the big animals.  She is a joy and is quickly becoming a fixture in this house.

Now I shall let the rant begin.

When I was looking for a new dog I SPECIFICALLY looked for Great Dane or Great Dane mix.  I SPECIFICALLY looked at rescue organisations because I thought they were the best choice and had the best interest of the dog in mind.  When I found Tesla she was listed as a Great Dane, Shepherd/Lab mix.  When I talked to the rescue people I was told a tale of how Tesla and her siblings were surrendered at the age of 5 weeks.  I was told that Tesla's Mom was a Great Dane and her dad was a German Shepherd/Lab mix.  I was told these things as fact.  We paid a premium adoption fee because of this very desirable mix of breeds.

Tesla came to us with a case of kennel cough that was being treated with antibiotics.  When the run of antibiotics was over she developed a UTI and we took her to the vet.  The vet, naturally, wanted to know all the facts about her as well as the type of antibiotic she was on.  Belatedly, we dug through the stack of paperwork given to us at the time of her adoption and discovered that Tesla was not surrendered.  She was a stray picked up off the streets somewhere in California.  We discovered that really no one had any idea what breed of dog she was and the rescue group in California thought she might be a shepherd/lab mix.  Or might not.  It was purely speculation.

The California group sent Tesla and her siblings to Tacoma where they thought she might, maybe, look like she was part Great Dane.  Maybe.  Then again, maybe not.  But Great Dane fetches a higher adoption fee. They completely fabricated the tale of surrendering and parent breeds.  Not only that, but it took over 24 hours for the Tacoma rescue group to get back to me with the antibiotic information.  My dog was peeing blood and they didn't think it was a priority.  I shall report them to the Better Business Bureau and hope future dog-seeking people are smarter than we were and will check out the rescue group before doing business.

I feel quite taken.  I feel very disappointed.  I feel foolish and embarrassed.  I have wanted a Great Dane for many years and have patiently waited until circumstances were right for such a commitment.  Great Dane or not, Tesla is certainly going to be a large dog and I'm not sure I want two giant dogs at once.

I guess all I can do is wait and see what Tesla grows into. If she turns out to be pit-bull or chihuahua it doesn't really matter (although I would never knowingly choose either of those breeds, fine breeds though they are).  Worse case scenario I will wait another 15 years or so to try again to fulfill my Great Dane dreams.

We Can!

I have been taking an on-line food preservation course.  I'm not done yet, but I have completed enough of it that I am confident there is little chance I will kill us with botulism or other food born illness created by improper canning.  A fear that has kept me from doing any canning in the past.

I will finish the course because I covet the virtual certificate they will e-mail upon completion.

But canning season is NOW and I have no time to finish studying.

Must.  Can.  Now.

Tomatoes came ripe, the rain was forecast and there was no time to waste.  Peter picked them and turned them into sauce and I followed up with the canning following proper procedures.

Some of the tomatoes were turned into sun dried morsels and packed into garlic infused olive oil.

Cucumbers were turned into pickles.

The grapes were another joint project.  Although I started, Peter finished up with the picking, plucking, & washing.

Chardonnay grapes were turned into Chardonnay grape jelly.
Pinot Noir grapes were turned into Pinot Noir jelly.
Cabernet Sauvignon grapes were turned into Cabernet Sauvignon jelly.
Apples were turned into Apple Butter.

We have a field of pumpkin, a patch of butter nut squash, some acorn squash and green peppers still to process and lots more jelly to make.

I am thinking that there has to be a market for wine grape jellies.  Wouldn't you love to get a gift of Chardonnay jelly?  Or Pinot Grigio Jam?  I have been wanting to have a booth at the local farmers market.  The market starts in June but very few vegetables are ready by then.  Jelly should sell well, later in the season I could sell the usual garden fair like potatoes, onions and zucchini - plus maybe hostas and felted bags, fiber and hand spun yarn.  I have ideas.  Lots of them.  One day one of them will actually pay off.

In the mean time, we will be feasting on summer bounty all winter long.  yummmy!

Sparky & Tesla

Several months ago my very portly couch-potato dog stopped eating regularly.  We took her to the vet and got a diagnosis of an inoperable cancerous mass in her throat.  Prognosis: terminal.

We decided to help her live out her days as enjoyable as possible.  At first her good days way outnumbered her bad days.  Then they started to even out.  Eventually the bad days outnumbered the good days.

On her good days she would insist on traipsing out to the field with us.  If we wanted to leave her in the house we would literally have to sneak out.  We would feed her anything she would eat.  Ice cream, hot dogs, scrambled eggs with cheese, meat broth and she would often eat it with gusto. On her bad days she would refuse to eat anything and we were sure she would quit breathing any minute - and in fact we checked her often throughout the night and day.

Eventually there were no good days. Breathing became difficult and eating was almost impossible  She became so thin and weak she could not stand on the vinyl floor.  She no longer wanted to go to the field.  We knew the end was near but we were afraid she would hurt herself in the mean time.  A decision had to be made.  And with aching hearts we made it.  We decided that the following Monday we would contact the vet and "take care of things."

On Sunday we took Sparky for a drive in the country.  We took her to the beach were she watched seagulls and visited with people.  We tried to get her to eat her past favorite foods with no luck. She was done.  I like to think it was her way of confirming we had made the right decision.

Sparky was not a noisy dog.  She was quite and calm.  She was just always "there."  Despite that, the house became too quiet.  Her absence was a powerful thing.  The rhythm of our home had been broken.

Sparky was not an alpha dog.  The cats bossed her around, the chickens could make her beat a hasty retreat.  I had long wanted to get a second dog (specifically a Great Dane) but I could not do that to Sparky.  I could not put her in a position where she would fall from her shaky position as top dog in this household.

With the unwelcome silence around our house, and extra time on my hands since I wasn't busy making custom omelets and fresh broth, I started to poke around on dog rescue sites.

I recognized that I should clearly have my head examined.  Peter was no help really.  He seemed to almost encourage me in this new pasttime.

I totally believe in rescue as a way to acquire a new pet.  Puppy mills are bad.  I wanted a Great Dane.  I have wanted one for many years.  But a Great Dane Mix might be best.  I was even open to adult dogs, however, the breed I was interested in are short lived.  Less than 10 years usually and for every year my future pet might be, would be a year I would not have with them.  Plus, I needed a dog that could learn to live with cats and chickens and ducks and goats and alpaca and such.  So many I saw listed on the rescue sites said things like "doesn't get along with cats"  or "needs a home without other dogs" and such.  The younger the better thought I.  The chances of finding something so specific to my needs and wants was so slim, I felt continuing to look would be harmless dreaming regarding future pets.

Thursday night I stumbled upon a litter of 4 Great Dane mix pups that had been surrendered to a shelter in Tacoma at the very horrible age of 5 weeks.  They were now 8 weeks old and ready to be adopted.

Maybe it was fate.  The pups names were Darlene, Viktoria, Bethany and Frank.  I contacted the site.  Bethany and Frank were already adopted.  If I got my application in right away they could put a hold on the other two pups so I could come and meet them.  A quick decision was required.  Aaaack. It was too soon.  Or was it?  The pups were mostly Great Dane mixed with a little German Shepherd and a little Labrador.  Two excellent additions to an already great breed of dog.

I filled out an application and sent it in.  Friday afternoon I found out our application was approved but that Viktoria was now adopted out.  Darlene was still there.  Peter and I raced to Tacoma through Friday night traffic in Seattle and made it there by 7:50, beating the 8:00 cut-off with 10 minutes to spare.  On the way there we discussed names since we agreed that Darlene was not a name that we preferred and at 8 weeks old, we could certainly change it.  We narrowed our favorites to Tempo, Greta or Tyv.

Darlene was perfect.  She almost came unglued at the seams.  She wiggled this way and that way, she went every which way at once.  I think I did the same thing.  Peter got a boyish grin on his face and was immediately smitten as well.

It was meant to be.

We eventually chose the name Tesla - as she is a live wire and such a ball of energy.  Plus she has a white blazed "T" across her shoulders.. a T name was absolutely required.

I still feel a little odd about how quickly we moved Tesla in but it was just meant to be.  I still miss Sparky.  there will never be another Sparky.  She was something else.

Outdoor Room

One of my favorite things to do in the summer is to attend the Portland Street of Dreams.  For those of you not in the know, it's 5 or 6 homes in the million dollar plus range that are open to the public.  For a not-nominal fee you can just wander around through them admiring and in theory, coveting, the million dollar lifestyle.

Usually the houses are huge.  Like 6000 square feet huge.  There are mother-in-law apartments, nanny suites, outdoor basketball courts, indoor gyms, theater rooms, outdoor rooms, open floor plans.  Every year there seems to be some new trend.

Despite all these "wonderful" features I have to feel a little sorry for the future owners of these monstrosities.  These people are living in houses and denying themselves the pleasure of living in a home.  They are denying themselves the pleasure of stripping wall paper and wearing barn boots.  I suppose they COULD wear barn boots - but it would be kind of weird.  I can't imagine children or pets running around these homes.  So much stress in keeping things pristine!  "No Johnny, you may not fingerpaint!"  "Honey!  The dog is in the house again and hair is getting on the sofa!"

That is no way to live!

But that is just my humble opinion. Despite my feelings, the outdoor room IS something that calls to me.  Back in Salem I had my pergola.  At the little house on the ditch I have the promise of a future pergola.  Of course, that is still some time away.

For the here and now I have a real outdoor room.  It may be temporary but it's just lovely.  Peter and I have pitched a tent under the trees by our pond.  We moved in a bed and ran an extension cord out there so we can have all the luxuries we need:  Electric light, alarm clock, real sheets.  If we stay much longer I think I shall need a few more things like a bedside table, a chair, maybe a rack to hang a few clothes on.

I guess I am living in my own version of a street of dreams house.  How about that?

Imaginary blogging

I recently had conversations with some friends who wondered why I had stopped blogging.  It seemed like such an odd question because I felt like I HAD been blogging.

But I hadn't.   I assured them both that the next post was coming and it was going to be very entertaining.  Let's hope I succeed!

My process for blogging goes something like this:

Something happens that is interesting and I decide I should blog about it.  Then I spend some time pushing words around in my head.  I think about what I want to say, how I want to say it and I ponder the clever and entertaining aspects because heaven forbid I should be boring!  When I'm done pushing the words around, I dig out my laptop (because it's really the only time it comes out of the cupboard anymore) and I plug it in (because the battery is completely fried and it wont work without it) and I start it up.  Then I must go through a gazillion updates, error messages and spontaneous reboots.  THEN I fight our lousy internet (ever hear of ClearWire?) and eventually I put all those words down in what I hope is the right order and push the publish button. Where upon I immediately think of more clever ways I could have said something.

It's exhausting really.

Totally by accident I have stumbled upon this new and better way to blog:

Something happens that is interesting and I decide I should blog about it.  Then I spend some time pushing words around in my head.  I think about what I want to say, how I want to say it and I ponder the clever and entertaining aspects because heaven forbid I should be boring!    Then I just forget to do the rest.  I think I I've blogged, I feel like I've blogged and I don't have the frustrations of the computer and I never worry that I have made a typo or wasn't as clever as I could have been.

Apparently this new system doesn't work for everyone.

The cliff notes version of the posts that I have penned in my head in the last few months include:

Alpaca Maintenance:

Toenail trimming turns tragic! Cadbury kicks, drives trimmers through Peters hand.  

Alpaca Shearer wanted:

Looking for someone to help us shear our girls.  Called Camelot farms.  No response.  Called Shearers are Us.  No response.  Called MoonShadow Farms - referred us to Camelot farms (gah!) and SumFunShearing.  No response from either.  again.  Contacted The Camel people.  No response.  Contacted a girl in Olympia.  No response.  

New Handler Syndrome

Chupa has it.  I am sad.  

Applied for a new job!

No response.

Drowning in Zucchini

Zucchini bread.  Zucchini stew.  Zucchini boats.  Zucchini chips.  Zucchini salad.  Zucchini Zucchini Zucchini. 

Goats are NOT us

Seeking loving family for two high-maintenance goats.  Must promise not to eat them.  If you don't PROMISE you can't have them but you can have some zucchini.

Sparky has a personal chef

My beloved pup is unwell.  It is hard for her to eat so I am her personal chef.  She get's cheese omelets.  Chicken, hot dogs, fried dog food (not a hit), cat food, ice cream, cheese, zucchini..

Going to College

Taking an online food preservation course.  Learning how to can and freeze and dehydrate.  Not only do I get college credit but it will certainly come in handy for the zucchini.

Chicken update

We now have a thriving population of 12 chickens ~ 10 hens and 2 roosters.  Loving them!  

B&B

Pondering opening a bed and breakfast.  We only have one room but I've found a great zucchini fritatta I could feed guests for breakfast.

Sightseeing in Seattle

How many activities can YOU cram into a day in Seattle?

Master Jack, Ruler of the Universe

My grandson.

Imaginary Blogging

This one.  Except this post actually made it to the blog.

If I had actually managed to get these typed up it would have been a lot of blogging.  It sure felt like a lot of blogging.  I shall endeavor to try harder to do ALL the steps in successfully publishing posts.  Wish me luck!

Finally, in a store near you!

In a store near you if you live in Lynden.

I've been busy busy busy.  Knitting and felting.  SharonTopia has been getting filled with this and that and those and these.

I knitted and felted a basket:

I knitted a bag out of ribbon and lined it with some lovely yellow satin:

I researched ETSY and and other on-line sources to sell my lovely creations.  I was not happy with the process involved in selling through those avenues.  

Since I live in a tourist town.  Or at least a town that is desperately trying to be a tourist town I figured maybe there was a place for me here locally.  We have a Dutch Village Mall downtown that is undergoing renovations trying to put life back into our downtown core.  (Mind you, our downtown is one street, three blocks long...)  The Dutch Village Mall houses a local theater, a Thai restaurant, a hotel (in the windmill portion) and a canal that runs the length of it, filled with large koi.

A cute little chotskies shop called "The Hen House" has recently opened it's doors in our newly renovated mall.  

Today I bundled up most of the bags that I have made in the last few years and carted them down to the shop.  Paige (the lovely shopkeeper) seemed quite pleased by them and gladly put them in her shop.  I'm sure her pleasure had little to do with the nice commission she will make and more to do with the fine work I was stocking her shop with.  Despite her commission, if the bags sell for what we priced them at I will still make a fine profit. 

I'm excited and eager to see how they sell - or even IF they sell.  I'm ready to start knitting and making more items.  I'm ready to quit the post office and make this my career.  Hahaha.  Kidding.  I am sure I will never get rich, but it WOULD be great if I could at least get this hobby to pay for itself.

Our flock became 16

More about chickens..

Just a little more.
and then I'm done.
Probably.

The "egg guy" gave us a beautiful silver laced cochin pre-named Helen.  Naturally I had to name my other silver laced cochin Helen.  Now I have the two Helens.

I used to have an Aunt Helen.  She was my mother's older sister.  This got me to thinking and I was compelled by some unknown power to name my cuckoo marans Ruby, after my father's sister.  I've had them a year.  It's about time I named them.  Now I have the two Ruby's.

The cochin breed of chicken has quickly become my favorite.  They are very sociable and they have cute little feathers on their legs and feet.

Peter had tempted me last week with a couple of buff cochin and I resisted as best I could but finally caved in.  Unfortunately there was only one buff one left by the time I got there. I compromised by getting a white one to go with the buff one.  I have named them Leila because I have an Aunt Leila.

While I was busy picking out the Leila's, The Carmela's caught my attention.  (Yes, I have an Aunt Carmela..) They are partridge cochin.

Aren't they cute?

From Left to Right:  Carmela, Carmela, Leila, Leila

I also have or had an Aunt Bette, Aunt Louise, Aunt LuraMae.  It seems I will need to get a lot more chickens...

Chicken Swappin'

Once upon a time there was a woman named Sharon who just loved chickens.  After struggling with disease and predators, she managed to get a happy little flock of 6 established.  5 hens and 1 rooster.  A flock who merrily scratched at the ground, laid delicious eggs and generally entertained the woman and made her happy.  The rooster pleased her greatly with incessant crowing and strutting about.

Then along came Sam, a neighborhood dog.  One fateful day, Sam jumped the ditch, grabbed one of the beloved silver-laced Cochin hens, carried her back across the ditch and down the road.  Finally releasing her at the south end of the property, where the bird promptly landed in the ditch.  Having witnessed the assault, Sam's owner came to report the incident.  A shoe-less Sharon ran down the road and jumped into the ditch, not thinking for a second about the leaches and crawdads and other creepy crawlies that live in the water.  The beloved hen was not well.  Innards had become outtards.  She was alive and in shock.  Despite our efforts she died during the night.  (The hen, not Sharon).

Our chicken flock had become 5.

Sharon's loving husband brought home 10 bantam chicks. 5 frizzled cochin and 5 blue silkies.

Our chicken flock had become 15.

Unfortunately, the first night we had them one of the blue's perished - apparently crushed by the weight of it's siblings all huddling for warmth.

Our flock had become 14.

The second night we lost one of the frizzles.

Our flock had become 13.

No more chicks have been lost and they are growing fast and become stronger every day.

Shortly after, Sharon received a phone call from the local egg guy.  "I'm bringing you a chicken," he said.  "Why?" She asked.  "Because I hear you lost a silver-laced cochin." Was his reply.  Can't argue with that!

Our chicken flock had become 14.

Unfortunately Helen (that's what the egg guy called her) was struggling to fit in.  She would go off by herself and we would have to find her and bring her in at night against her will.  In an attempt to help her adjust we fenced in the chickens and did not let them free-range for a few days.  The Australorp rooster and his australorp hen were bullies when faced with confinement.  They picked on the other four and had them cowering in the corner.  Rooster seemed insatiable with his "requirements" of the girls - and he was none to gentle.  Sad as it made me, it was time for Rooster and his mate to go.  A good home was easily and quickly found with the people who 'gave' us Chupa, Cadbury, Een & Twee.

Our flock had become 12.

We swapped the two austrolorps for a turkey.  We were actually offered two turkey chicks.  But Peter's mother would come unhinged at the thought of turkeys free-ranging around here.  So instead of live turkey chicks, we swapped for an organic turkey to be cleaned and dressed for us to pick up just before Thanksgiving.  Her name is Rosie (short for roasted) and she should have live a good, happy, healthy, free-range life until Mid November.

This morning Peter asked me if we needed some buff cochins to add to our flock.  I'm thinking about it.  I do love chickens.