Introducing... my new friend, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!

I couldn't go one more day without a cat in my house.  After sharing my entire adult life with the coolest cat in the world, I really felt that cat-shaped absence.  You know, once you love, you want to love again, that kind of thing.  I need the feline muse.  I need the cat on my lap or sprawled on my desk. 

I miss Nigel.  I always will.  He was one in a million.  So I went looking for the other one.

She's 6 months old and had been at the shelter for two months.  We brought our dog to meet her, and she didn't run in fear when she saw him.  Heck, there are people who run in fear when faced with 20lbs worth of snorting Pug.

In keeping up our tradition of house pets having either book/movie names, or rockstar/song related names, we have named her Lucy, as in, In The Sky With Diamonds.  

She's ultra-girly, killer cute, and very talkative with her little squeaky inquisitive voice.  She kisses our knuckles with her sandpaper tongue and purrs much louder than you'd expect out of such a tiny cat.  Her fur is so soft it's unbelievable.

After about 24 hours in our house, she's getting comfortable.  

She's blending in, you know, becoming part of the scenery around here.  She has a lot of little places to slink into and explore.  I didn't vacuum before she got here.  She's finding all the dust monsters.  

She's very agile and lithe, especially after Nigel's last couple years of cat-retirement.  With dainty little leaps she's on the windowsill or up on a chair.  I put a bell on her collar so I can hear where she is.  I can see why the tabby colouring is so common to cats- it's very good camouflage!

She is so petite, and has the most beautiful fluffy tail.  She's got that crinkly ruffle of fur on her chest and cheeks, and little tufts in her perfect ears, but THAT TAIL.  It's longer than her whole body.

And so expressive!  She makes shapes and exclamation points with her tail!  

She's a good schmaechler.  Cuddling and snuggling is an important part of a cat's job around here.

The Pug is quite obsessed with her.  He really needed another critter friend.  He wants to lick her ears and play with her.  She's not so totally into him, yet.  I figure it's only a matter of time before they're pals.  Of course she'll have to swat him once or twice.  It's what cats do.

As soon as Lucy figures out that Dobby is a professional cuddler and foot warmer, she'll be curling that magnificent tail around him for a snooze in the sun.  

I'm in love again.  And it feels so good!

Hick chic, hippy chic, geek chic, shabby chic... BIKER CHIC?

These pictures were taken at the Little Valley about three weeks ago (when the grass was still brown.)  I almost forgot about my little motorcycle adventure!  I'd been out cleaning the barn when somebody insisted I trade four hooves for two wheels...

Have I ever mentioned I'm not very good on two wheels?  My fellow farm girl and Mother of the Little Valley, Susan, totally gets it.  "We grew up riding ponies, not bikes!"

But after a few close moments (notice how many trees there are out there???)  I got the whole throttle/ brake thing mostly figured out and it was getting to be kinda fun!

And that machine is just my size!  How cute is it?  It's a 1968 Honda.  It ended up at the Little Valley last fall with two others, in need of some repairs.  Some people just loooove their projects.  

I think the helmet makes me look like the Great Gazoo.

 

Y'know, I think I could get used to this.  With my tough pink bandanna, and my artificially coloured hair, and super slick barn jacket.  And my SNEER.  I've definitely got the Don't Mess With Me Sneer.  
 And dude, like most situations in life, the BOOTS totally make the outfit.  

A Change in the Air

It was warm, really truly warm for the first time in what felt like a year or two.  

I wore short sleeves and the wind felt good on my skin.  I didn't cover my ears when I went outside.  I didn't pull my hair back into a ponytail; I let it blow around my head and cover my face because it finally felt good.

After my writers group meeting, the sky was dark except for the glow of the lights in the parking lot.  I carried my hoodie over my arm instead of wearing it.  Well after 9 pm, I was still in short sleeves.  

I drove with the window down and my arm on the sill.  I could hear the truck accelerate through town from the outside, felt the cool breeze stir my unruly hair, smelled the exhaust mixed with the leftover dust of a long winter. 

The grass is green and it's raining this morning...

Pretty Kitty

I'm going cat-crazy!  My brain's been full of kitties since my visit to the shelter.  I want a cat again.  I even asked for my mom's permission; my critters often get dragged along with us to her place. When Nigel was young, before the babies were born, he always came with me. 

Mom says it could be time. We all miss that cat presence... Nigel did a good job of making us permanent house-cat people.

To prevent comparisons to our wonderful dearly departed Nigel, we are avoiding male cats or black cats.  It'll be hard for me because I looooove black cats.  But man, there are a lot of cats out there that I could love.

Take "Bernice" here for example:

Oh, so elegant and regal and girly!  Did you know that all calico cats are female?  And something like 1% of tortoiseshell cats are male?  Also, 2% of orange cats are female.  We had so many orange barn cats, and all, including Larry and Moe, are male.  My daughter Tribble thought a calico cat would be really nice to have.

She's gorgeous, and quiet and sweet.  But.

She doesn't really like to be picked up and cuddled.  (The Pennsylvania- Dutch word is something that sounds like "schmaechled.")  She's more of a "sit and admire me" cat.  Any cat of ours needs to be a cuddle monster. I'm sure she'll find somebody to give her the admiration she so deserves.

But while I was trying to earn Bernice's attention, this guy made a persuasive attempt to steal my heart...

Oh my gosh, he's about 17lbs of purring comedic affection.  He worked me over hard.  He was rolling over on his back, licking my knuckles, rubbing his cinder-block head under my chin!  Oh Henry!  
I loved him up and explained that we couldn't bring home another big gorgeous black cat.  But, I made it very clear to him that he's one heck of a guy, and he should just keep up the good work.  With a routine like that, he won't be living at the shelter for long.  He's just too good to pass up.  I'm cheering for him to find someone to love him.  Go Henry, Go!

Now this little monster could talk me into it.  She's two, but tiny, and the biggest ham in the room.

I have tons of pictures of her because she was always there!  Most of the pictures are of her tail... because her face was right up in mine.

I thought my fellow cat lady Lynn was going home with a little stowaway in her purse.  That's how insistent this kitty is.  

And look at those white whiskers!  That white chin and little white paws!  And green, green eyes!

We've been looking at the shelter's website for a couple weeks.  Tribble has already chosen this sweet little pretty thing.  She wants a long haired cat.  Heck why not.  The Pug's the only one in the family with short hair.  

This is a gorgeous kitten.  She's got the black markings and yellow eyes.  And friendly!

I'd rather take an adult cat than a kitten, partly because I'm not sure I'm strong enough to deal with kittenish misbehaviours at this point in my life.  Also, kittens are cute and will not stay at the shelter long, while adult cats might wait for a home.  But, this kitten is more likely to adapt to Life With Pug. 

We'll see...

Then my heart was truly stolen.  In a room by herself, on account of her dislike for other cats, was this little tortoiseshell cat.  I'd seen her on the website already, but in real life she's something special. 
I opened the door, said hello, and was greeted by the cutest little cat-speak noises! I love a cat who talks back!  
I patted her and ended up with a cat in my arms, under my hair, on my shoulder.  I wanted a picture of her but she was right in my face.  She talked to me in her little girly cat voice and I'm pretty sure she was asking me how big my house is, and does it have a nice sun spot?  

She's a little fart, with a big personality.  I think she's up for some "schmaechling."

Her colouring is amazing.  I could spend all day memorizing all those streaks and stripes and freckles and speckles. 

And... THOSE EYES.  You do know how I feel about pretty green eyes, right?  She's almost got owl eyes, they're so big.

I kinda really a lot like this cat.

I filled out the adoption application.  My concern is: does a cat who dislikes other cats have the possibility of getting along with a snorey, snuffly, grunty goofy little dog?  They told me they'd do a "dog introduction test" before approving her for us, or us for her.  If she accepts one of the dogs at the shelter, she'll likely be okay with the Pug.  Maybe.

If she is not the cat for us... I'm quite sure we'll find one who'll be happy to come live with us.  Either way, that shelter will be minus one cat soon. And we'll have one more critter to love.

(Then there's that big gentle Rottie mutt who sniffed my hand on the way past and gave me a dog smile... I need a bigger home... and a barn... and a few acres of land...)

Talk to the Animals!

Today I'm paying a visit to the animal shelter with my friend and fellow Tiny Writer, Lynn Sinclair.  She's a regular volunteer at the shelter.  I've always wanted to volunteer but found it hard to find the time... and feared I'd come home with like, six cats and two dogs.  (Would that be so bad??)

I mean, I have a lot of love to dish out on critters.  You just wait, if I ever have a big house and some land and extra money (splutter cough choke) I'll be the crazy cat lady.  Crazy cat/dog/chicken/ llama/goat/ elephant/ monkey/ miniature horse/ camel lady.  

Because my beloved departed Nigel was a pound cat, I'm donating the rest of his unused cat food to the shelter.  And I fully intend to go back and bring home a new feline friend... when the time is right.  I hope that time is soon.  My pug has really taken up the slack in the pet department around here, but I miss the cat-presence.  

Oh I can hardly wait to get an armful of kitties.  It's been a particularly craptacular week, but I'm hoping some cat time will help where all the prescriptions in the world fail.  Purr purr.  

Edit:  I picked out a cat!!!!  I filled out an application.  She is a two year old tortoiseshell with grrreat big green eyes who loves to cuddle!  And she's a talker!  They're going to see how she gets along with dogs first... if she doesn't get along with any of the dogs at the shelter, then I will have to pick someone else.

I adore her, but there's a little long haired Tabby, and then two ginger cats came in while we were there... 

Drugs make no sense

You take a pill meant to stop those suicidal thoughts you've been having.  One of the side effects listed is "suicidal thoughts."

You take a pill meant to protect your stomach from those other pills.  One of the side effects is "nausea."

How the heck does that work?  

I'm being a good little patient and taking my pills, waiting the recommended two weeks, until all of this will supposedly pass and I'll be feeling right spiffy.

I've been on Side-effexor for over a year now.  A week ago the dosage got upped.  I was feeling rather barfy (although I didn't barf -I'll stand on my head if it means not barfing) but I was actually kind of... okay.  In fact I felt pretty solid.  Hey man, my guts are boiling but I'm cool with it, dude!  Yeah!  

Yesterday it wore thin.  I'm sick of it.  I hate feeling yucky for four hours every morning, I'm frustrated, and those negative thoughts are invading my head again.  I know how to stop those thoughts, replacing them with positive ones, but it's tiring and doesn't leave much room for productivity and creativity.  

I'm not for or against anti-depressants.  I've done it with and without.  I've done the naturopathic way too.  I know when to go get help.  I do not know the best way to deal with this and doubt I'll ever know.  

I kind of hate it that it's difficult to ride a horse in this state.  This crimps my plan.  It's hard to ride faster than a walk when you feel like The Puke is right up in the throat.  Yiccchh.  

I try not to whine and I prefer not to spill all this on my blog but... I've learned that I'm not the only one dealing with crap like this.  That's been good for me.  I used to be too quiet about depression and other problems and it just created a sense of shame.  No shame.  Screw shame to the wall and let it hang.  Here we are, how do we deal with it?

I don't have answers.  I'm just concentrating on counting my blessings:

home

husband

children

family

dog

horses

God

friends

books

and even though it causes me a lot of difficulty

my brain.

That's all for today.  Drugs make no sense but I'm faithfully following DOCTA-CHAN'S orders, in hopes of a good result.  We'll see.  

I'm going to go ask my loved ones for some hugs now.  I think it's been scientifically proven that hugs are magically medicinal, right?

I really wasn't goin' 4 wheelin in my backyard. I mean duh, I live in town.

"The Chevy got stuck and the Ford got stuck got the Chev unstuck when the Dodge showed up but the Dodge got stuck in the tractor rut which eventually pulled out the Ford.  (With some difficulty.)"  CORB LUND AND THE HURTIN' ALBERTANS

On the weekend we pulled the truck into the backyard to use it as a GMC workbench.  It was a nice sunny weekend, and the yard, which is usually a swamp at for all of March and most of April, was dry enough to be solid.

We stupidly left it in the yard on Sunday night.  

It rained Monday.  It rained all day.  It rained in harsh horizontal sheets.  

When I finally got off my butt and tried to move the truck out of the backyard so I could, you know, drive it somewhere, this is what happened.

My daughter Tribble took pictures from the warm dry safety of the dining room.  I don't blame her; it was raining so hard you can see the drops on the glass.  But still the word "wimp" did go through my mind a few times as I struggled in the wet slippery clay.  

I'd been saving this box of kitty litter in case some little cat desperately needed a home.  I had my doubts that this would work... it'll usually do the trick in snow, but folks, mud ain't snow.  

You might wanna remember that.  MUD AIN'T SNOW.

Also, you can try chunks of plywood or any other scrap lumber that happens to by lying around your place.  We all have scrap lumber, right?  You can also try a shipping blanket and a door mat.  You can try.  I'm just sayin.

It probably won't work.  Like I said, you can try.  It'll make ya feel useful, maybe.

My good neighbour-friend Zedlie, who is always up for a challenge (and who my Dad says should have been born out in the sticks instead of in Scarborough) came by to give me a hand.  Hot damn, we were planning on horsin' that thing outta there with raw girl power.

We had the old rock n push going on pretty good.  I warned her that us hardworking women, we better not accidentally birth any babies while we're out here doing the men's work and all.  

And then we gave up.  It was just getting in deeper and it was getting colder.  I spat out a few DAMMITS and we left it right there, wedged in between the shed and the deck - which by the way, got pretty much finished the day before.  Yeah.  Yay.

And I do know that my backyard looks suspiciously like a trailer park- not that there's anything wrong with that!

I told Zedlie that if I'm gonna do something, I'm gonna do it big.  I'm not even getting outta bed unless I'm gonna spectacularly mess something up.  And you know what else?  I can laugh about it.  Yup, I'm Canadian darnitall and I was raised to understand two things: hard physical work and self-deprecating humour.  I can fail magnificently at getting my own farm-girl-wannabe pickup truck unstuck - and then laugh at myself.  hahahaha.  See me laughing????

Okay I wasn't laughing there, I was making a goofy face at my daughter through the window.

But I had to laugh, because the alternative is crying, and I've got Side-effexor to prevent stuff.

So the continuing story involves Jethro.  

I'd told him on the phone before bedtime that I had it stuck up to about two inches away from the wheel rim.  He didn't think that was too bad.  He'd suggested earlier that a call another neighbour, Clarence the roofer, to pull the truck out.  Clarence's truck, a Ford F250 crew cab dually (insert manly snorting noises here) is bigger than my truck.  How in the heck is that gonna fit in there with my sad machine wedged in there?  Hmm?  

I think I was having dreams last night about a whale stuck in shallow water near the beach, like just shallow enough that the big beast couldn't turn around and swim away.  There might have been a chain involved.  I remember yelling at somebody, "How the heck are you gonna pull that whale back into the ocean?  It has no armpits!!"

I woke up just enough when he came home to hear him say, "Don't you worry yer pretty little head about it, I'll git yer truck outta there."  Or maybe he didn't say it exactly like that.  I might have moved on from whales to cowboys by then.  

I felt really crappy this morning, so I went to lie down and let my stomach settle.  (Thanks, Side-effexor!) I fell asleep.  Soon I was dreaming that next door, a dump truck was spinning its wheels and digging itself into the mud.  Dream-me stood in my window and thought, "What the heck is going on with this neighbourhood and stuck trucks?!"

Then I noticed that the dump truck was so deep, it'd dug itself in up to the doors.  The entire dump box was under the ground.  And it was still sinking!  The driver kept hitting the pedal and the truck kept spinning itself deeper.  Then I started to panic.  "He's gonna have to smash the windshield to get out!  Somebody get him outta there!"

So there's Dream-me, in the middle of the road, having an all-out hyperventilating panic attack while that engine kept on revving and the wheels kept on spinning.  And I knew it was a dream.  I had to wake myself up but I couldn't because I was in the middle of a panic attack.

I gotta wake up!

I can't wake up!  I can't breathe!  How can I wake up when I can't breathe????

Finally I was back in real time... but the wheels were still spinning.  I could hear mud hitting the deck and the back wall of the house.  I looked out the window.  

Yep, Jethro was giving it a go.  

He had the truck rocking real good.  Except that in this case, "real good" had to be followed with "and stuck."

He came in a few minutes later, with his big sleazy grin.  "Well.  Got it in up to the floorboards!"

I groaned.

Then we called the tow truck.

The CAA guy had a bald head, a couple of rings in his face, and several tattoos that snaked up his neck.  He looked at us like we were a couple of morons.  (Dingdingding, you win a prize!)

I finally got him laughing when I opened the truck's door to get the trailer hitch and said, "Hey, it's like a lowrider now!"

It took about 20 minutes or an hour or something to get it out.  Tow Truck Guy wisely kept his truck on the paved driveway. He hooked the winch chain around the trailer hitch.  Jethro put my truck in reverse and gave it some juice.  They had to keep stopping to dig some dirt away from the wheels.  

After we had a few warm friendly laughs with Two Truck Guy, who had softened considerably by then, we headed over to the car wash to hose the clay off.  I don't wanna talk about it.  The truck is clean, the wheels did not pop off from being winched up and sideways, and everything I've eaten so far today has stayed down, so I'm just leaving everything as it is for the rest of the day.  

So what have we learned?

1) Move the truck off the grass before it rains.  

2) Mud ain't snow.  

3) Mud sucks.  Literally.

4) It's weird that a pill meant to protect the stomach and prevent nausea can make you feel like you might puke.

5) There is a difference, when discussing stuck trucks, between Girl-stuck and Man-stuck.

6) Men can't resist making a mess in the mud.  It's like a magnet.  

7) Tow truck drivers get to deal with all kinds of morons.

8) If you insist on goin' mudding, go somewhere with more room than a 120ft lot.

9) and use a 4x4, not a straight rear wheel drive.

10) I need a tractor.  Seriously.  It's not just a fun toy, it's a necessity.  

And now I leave you with possibly the best video ever made.  I highly recommend you watch it, because it will explain so much about my life.  Plus the song's hilarious.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDY6bWT5oTM

I am so sure my Dad's old flatdeck Chev is in that video.

I was sittin' there, I had a comfor-ta-ble chair, and that was all that I needed.

Quick- what's that song?  Name that band!  No prizes, just a sense of pride for your rockingness.

Remember last Friday, when I did a little thrift store tour?  And I didn't get the hideous/lovely old chair because it had too darn many price stickers on it and I didn't know which one was the real price?

I got my armchair.  It's magnificently gaudy, the front of the seat is threadbare, the wood is worn, and it's like it was built especially for my short little legs!

You wanna guess what I paid for it?????  G'wan, guess!!!

A BUCK.

$1.07 with tax.  I know.  SCORE!

Look at that profile - all laid back and comfy and elegant.  I bought it thinking I'd put up with the bizarre yellow and green and black flowers from outer space for just long enough to save up some money to get it reupholstered.  It's solid and decently built.  It'd be worth it.

Then I instantly got kind of attached to the mind boggling faux-velvet.  It must have been simply gorgeous and way fancy back in 1963 or whatever. In the places it's less worn down, it glows in the light.  Purty!  It's in good shape, so the crazy cat lady who used to own it must have vacuumed it regularly.  (Yes I vacuumed it when I brought it home.  Clearly I'll be a good crazy cat lady.)

I love the arm rests.

And the buttoned diamond shapes in the backrest.

I like the detail in the trim.

I think we'll be sending the classy little brown chair to the studio.  I really like the looks of it, but the problem is... it's too nice.  Our house is full of free furniture, second-hand, fourth-hand, thrift store, hand-me-down, side-of-the-road type objects, and let's not try to fool anybody here... it looks like it.  
Also the nice chair is just too darn big for me.  I have to put my feet on something because they don't quite reach the floor.  I thought Jethro would use it but he'd rather sprawl on the couch, or sink into the faded dusty rose (free hand-me-down) tub chair.  The brown armchair might as well visually improve the studio lounge instead of getting under-appreciated here.

And because I like to see furniture modeled by handsome gentlemen, here is my couch, bought *new* 15 years ago, now covered with a mexican blanket to hide the holes, and being visually improved my little Puggy friend.

I am a junk junkie. A treasure hunter. A scavenger.

Last night, when the kids went to piano lessons, I jumped in my truck and headed up to Sprawlville, where one section of the main drag has not one... not two... but THREE thrift stores.  Oh boy. A Goodwill, a Value Village, and a Sevennationarmy.  Although the last one kinda smells weird and I'm usually shopped out after the first two.  I love the "Friff Store."  You really never know what you'll find there.

For example, maybe a nice old desk?  A fancy chair to go with it?

You should have seen the chair I found last night.  I didn't buy it.  I really don't have room in my little house for any more chunks of furniture, and also Jethro would probably freak right out if I dragged another object with questionable history into our home.  But seriously.  It called to me.  It squatted there among the plastic-veneered side tables and in its weedy imaginary voice asked to be put in the back of my truck and taken away.  

It was an armchair upholstered in an absolutely hideous flocked velour kind of vaguely floral green yellow and brown abomination of fabric.  Just wow.  It had carved wood on the arms and back, and little curved legs. Oh my gosh, now that I think of it, I didn't even check to see if it had claw feet.  You just know I'd love to have all furniture that could walk away.  Amazingly, the upholstery was in great shape, so maybe the crazy cat lady who owned it had successfully trained her cats not to sit in it or scratch it!  I sat in that thing.  If fit my little short body.  Oh bliss and it didn't even reek.  

But I left it there.  Partly for the above mentioned reasons but also because I wasn't sure of the price.  It was either $19.99 or $12.99 or $0.99 depending on which sticker you believed.  Covered in price stickers.  The Friff Store is a weird place.  Normally I love the weirdness but I couldn't deal with the sticker confusion... plus I was thinking the only place I could find room for it would be in Jethro's office and he'd die of eye rolling and groaning.  

I'm also casually looking for some nice, thick, rich looking curtains.  Preferably not polyester.  

Ooh, and tie backs, like those twisty ones with the big fat tassels on 'em.  Oh yeah.  Nothing subtle or understated.  Maybe I'll tie the rich fat luscious curtains back with twine string!  I have lots of twine string.  Can I get some fringe too?  That'd rock.

I have been known to cart some strange things home from the Friff Store.  

Like the little brass cauldron with three claw feet!  We keep the violin cases in it.  Last night when I went to buy myself a "new" pair of comfy running shoes (preferably not worn in real hard by the previous owner- score!) I came home with a few baskets for dog toys and gloves and hats and stuff, as well as a crazy black velvet and fuschia silk scarf-like thing.  I don't even know what I'm gonna do with it but it was only 3 bucks!

And I do get rid of stuff regularly.  If you bring objects home, you gotta get rid of more than you get.  Yet my house is still bursting at the seams.  Maybe I should just put things away.  Yeah.

When I was a kid, my Grandpa G had one of those cool ashtray stands.  I wish I had asked for it before they sold their house.  I would have put a little plant in it or something, y'know?

We've got a brown leather chair in our living room now, but I suspect it's actually "leather."  We got two for the studio and I begged for one at home too.  It's not as nice looking as these ones.  It's too new.  It looks really out of place in our house actually.  I hope it ages well.

I used to have a thing about collecting old bottles, but back then I didn't buy them.  I just found them in old cars. I think I kept them in the barn but I can't remember where.

I wonder what happened to them all. I had a really cool skull collection in the barn too and I can't find any of them. Hmmm....

Yeah, old things are amazing.  I'm not talking about antiques necessarily; while I do love them, they tend to be pricey and kind of elitist.  I like junk.  I got half of my furniture for free.  I have taken stuff off the side of the road on big garbage day and I am not ashamed of it.  Scrub it up with a little bit of Murphy's Oil Soap and some teak oil and you're good to go.  

I still think I should go back and nab that armchair.  There's a small possibility that some day I'll have some extra $ to sink into getting it reupholstered.  

...in RED!
Wait - what?  There's a chair in that picture?  What were we talking about?