The weary traveler returns

Little did I know (or at least tried not to think about), was that creating a blog meant owning/having one more thing that depended on me. So when I was off driving around the Pacific Northwest for over a week, nothing got writ. Written. Wroted. There were no new blog entries.

And here I thought I was entering the phase of my life where I would gain freedom. After all, all but one child has stepped up to the edge of the nest and flown away more or less successfully. But that one kid, plus the hubby (honestly, they're really just big kids mostly), the Rosie puppy, the blog, the house, garden, phone, cell phone, e-mail, laundry, mother, grandkid.....it's all still there. All just waiting for me to sit down and try to put my feet up so they can holler for help with something or other.

Okay, no more whining. I've got too much to catch up on.

Like, my traveling was successful. It culminated with us putting an offer on a piece of property in Oregon for our "retirement". Really it's for our "next stage of life before retirement", but it's easier just to say "retirement". We're waiting for escrow to close and I'm cautiously optimistic that all will go well and I can spend many an evening fantasizing about house plans and where to put in orchards and landscaping, and potential new friends and adventures. In a strange twist, it makes me more content here in my NOW life, perhaps because it lends some weight to the old but true adage that all good things ..... something about everything eventually comes to an end. Sheesh, my brain is fried today.

And that's because for two nights now a tiny, gray ,fuzzy, feline ball of teeth and claws has wailed piteously through the wee hours right outside my bedroom window. Kinda cuts down on the quality and quantity of sleep one gets. If I could help it, if only in catching it and bringing it to the local animal shelter, I would. But it's got itself barricaded in between our kennel fence and the neighbor's fence and won't let anyone near it. Trust me, we tried. That first night, at 2:30 in the morning, with flashlights, William and I tromping through our yard and our neighbors' yard (they slept through it all!). I think he/she....it finds comfort in staying close to our dog Buck at night (it disappears during the day) as the only friendly and fuzzy alternative to the missing mom cat. Buck has no idea what to do with it either, poor guy. He sits by it, but keeps his nose safely out of claw's reach, and the wailing stops. He tries to go back to bed in his doghouse, the wailing starts up again. In a spontaneous meeting of neighbors last evening, at dusk when the wailing began once again, (it's waking up everyone but the old people who's yard it's camped in), it was decided that one neighbor would work with the old couple and take care of the poor little kitten. It's disconcerting but I'm trying to accept that "it's not my responsibility."

We absolutely do not need another cat. Twelve is about six too many. Thirteen if you count the stray, a gray female, that has decided to live in our yard. William and I are of the opinion that if we can just manage to resist naming her, she isn't ours. Jeff has taken to petting her and calling her Grayby. I guess because he spends so much time out in the yard it's harder for him to pretend she isn't there. Now I'm feeling compelled to name her something better. I mean, if she's gonna have a name, at least it should be a better name then Grayby, which sounds like a type of parrot or a brand of instant gravy mix. I was thinking maybe Tempest or Cassandra since she's a mottled gray the color of a stormy sky. I'm also beginning to see the inevitability of popping for the cost of having her spayed so we don't have the heartbreak of dealing with stray kittens living in our yard. Our community is completely saturated with excess animals and has no need of any more unwanted pets.

Speaking of pets, Rosie had her next vet visit. She was nervous but cautiously friendly until she saw the needle. Apparently she has a VERY GOOD memory. She barred her tiny needle teeth and turned into a miniature but ferocious werewolf. They had to muzzle her to give her the shot! I should be appalled but I'm secretly amused. Small dog, heavily armed. I am, however, conscientiously working on teaching her how to tolerate a "check up." She didn't feel well that night again, but nothing as severe as her last reaction thank goodness. She'd gained weight too, a whole five ounces. She's now 2 lbs. 11 oz. I've had baked potatoes heavier then that.

Summer temperatures have finally arrived. Hot, but not so hot that one gives up and lays on the couch. The plants, which have seen more moisture this spring then they usually see in 2-3 springs, are very happy with this turn of events. As soon as I can figure out how to add photos, I'll post some of the gardens. Everything seems to be blooming at once. Hot during the day, cool at night, high elevation living has it's rewards. The evening brings a wind and temperatures drop enough to need a blanket or two with the windows open. Perfect sleeping weather.

That's about it. I need to go do something productive now. The problem is in picking the something. There's the garden (weeds grow fast in these conditions too), the dining room table (at least I think it's still there under all the papers and bags), laundry (do you think two days on the clothes line is long enough for stuff to dry?), dinner (family expects some housewifely tasks of me from time to time), the sewing room (to be reclaimed once again after a kid moved out of the guest room half of it - I'm thinking of taking over the whole room to avoid HAVING a guest room. It just gives people the idea they can use it.)

Or maybe I'll just get a glass of iced tea and find some excuse to browse the internet for a spell. After all, it's the weekend. I've heard that some people just relax on weekends. Maybe I'll try it. It sounds like fun.