Stray

It was after midnight. I had just fallen into a deep sleep when I heard my daughter’s voice. “Mom. Com’ere.”

She pulled me out of the dark bedroom into the hallway, where Shaggy Hair Boy and With-a-Why were sitting in the light that spilled from the bathroom. When I peered around the doorway, I saw Boy in Black, his back against the tub, holding a stray kitten.

“We have to keep her away from the other cats,” Shaggy Hair Boy whispered. “They’re hissing.”

“I think she might be injured,” said Boy in Black. “She isn’t putting weight on this paw.”

“Look how skinny she is,” my daughter said. “She ate a whole can of cat food.”

Whenever Boy in Black stopped petting her, the kitten would meow. So he kept petting her, even as he talked, his big hands with their long fingers moving across her fragile body.

The kids had moved a litter box into the bathroom, along with food and water. They were going to keep her there overnight, away from our six cats. It sounded like a good plan so I went back to bed, leaving them with the newest stray.

When the alarm went off that morning, my husband found Boy in Black asleep on the floor of the bathroom. He’d brought in a blanket and pillow, and the stray kitten was curled up in his arms, asleep.

With six cats already in the house, we can’t keep her: we’d never make it through the winter, when the cats are all trapped inside the house, hissing at each other and peeing on stuff to mark territory. She’s living on our back step right now, but we need to find her a home before the cold weather comes this fall. So spread the word if you live in Snowstorm Region: anyone want a very cute, affectionate cat?

Going to town

My parents’ camp hasn’t changed much since I was a kid. The big marsh filled with cattails, the rock cliffs, and the old oak trees stay the same year after year. What changes mostly are the people: babies turning into toddlers, little kids turning into teenagers, and young adults like me suddenly realizing that I’m approaching fifty.

Even the little town near camp hasn’t changed a whole lot. The main street is a short road filled with bars, restaurants, and shops that sell gaudy tourist trinkets, with docks on either end of the road. When I was little, we kids used to get very excited about “going to town.” A short evening car ride would take us into the street jammed with neon lights and tanned tourists in white shorts. We’d stand in line to buy ice cream cones and then go to the town dock to look at the boats.

Then we might walk to the candy shop to buy saltwater taffy or fudge or perhaps a brown paper “surprise bag.” The owner of the store would say things like, “Be careful when you open that surprise bag. There could be a rat in there.” I was actually pretty old before I figured out that he was joking.

A walk to town usually ended up with a drive around the loop that brought us past an old church, a small hospital, and a park with a big pavilion that overlooked the river. Standing on the rock cliffs, we’d look across to an island that holds a castle – yes, a real stone castle like the type you’d see in Europe – that was built by a wealthy businessman many years ago.

Now that my kids are older and obsessed with playing Ultimate every spare minute, my husband and I found ourselves alone as we drove into town one night last week. I imagine that in the next stage of our life, we’ll be taking grandchildren to the ice cream shop and then walking down to the docks in the cool evening air.

About to take the plunge

That's my mother with her youngest granddaughter, both about to leap into the deep river water. Despite the sun, the wind was cool that day, and I think they were just getting up the nerve to jump in. No matter how icy the water is, my mother will never admit that it's cold. She always says, "It's refreshing" or "It's delightful."

Morning at camp

During the night, I woke to crashing thunder and great flashes of lightning. On the river, the storms can be terrific. In the morning, after the rain had stopped, my mother and Blond Brother-in-law pulled our chairs into the clearing to dry them, hanging out towels that had been left out in the storm. Blond Brother-in-law went to town on an errand and returned with the newspaper. By then, other family members were stumbling out of their tents, claiming chairs in the sun and fighting over sections of the newspaper.



That's my mother, standing.

Summer Days

My father floats on the yellow raft with four of his grandchildren: Shaggy Hair Boy, With-a-Why, Suburban Nephew, and Dandelion Niece. That's his sailboat anchored in the background.

Gone camping

Longtime readers know that it's a tradition for my extended family to gather up at my parents' camp during early July. We'll spend the week swimming and sailing, playing Ultimate and bocce, eating and talking. At night, we'll sit around the campfire and slap at mosquitoes. I'll be offline, of course, since my tent doesn't have wireless. But I'll return with stories and photos.

In the mountains

My husband and I spent several days of our vacation hiking in national parks – or natural areas just outside national parks. He had looked up hiking trails ahead of time, choosing obscure trails that wouldn’t be crowded. They certainly weren’t crowded. Usually, we’d be the only car at the trailhead, and I wasn’t always sure the path we'd found was a trailhead. I’m used to the mountains in my state, where the trailheads have brown signs and places to register before you start on the hike.

I kept leaving notes on the dashboard of our car, noting the time we’d left, the number in our party (2), and our destination. My husband thought that was a little paranoid. On the other hand, he was a bit paranoid about the wildlife.

Him: Ew. What’s that?
Me: Bear scat.
Him: But it looks … new.
Me: Yeah.
Him: What if we run into a bear? Shouldn’t we know what to do?
Me: Some bears, you’re supposed to stay quiet, some you make noise.
Him: WHICH KIND OF BEARS ARE THEY?
Me: I don’t know.
Him: We should have a plan. In case this bear comes back.
Me: Well, you could drop the backpack. It’s got food in it.
Him: What? I’m like … walking bear bait?
Me: I think for rattlesnakes, you stay still.
Him: Rattlesnakes?
Me: They can only strike as far as half the length of their bodies.
Him: Great. I’ll just measure the coils.
Me: It’s humbling, isn’t it? Nice not be the top predator in the woods.
Him: I’m going to write that on your tombstone.

We disagreed about what constitutes a hike. I call pretty much any walk in the woods a hike, especially if we are moving up the side of a mountain. My husband doesn’t think a walk qualifies as a hike unless you’re drenched in sweat, about to drop from heat exhaustion, and ready to kill yourself if you see yet another set of switchbacks.

Of course, no matter how strenuous the hike was, it was always great to make it to the summit, to sit on a rock and just gaze out at the view. Sometimes we’d hang out long enough to see a few other hikers straggle onto the rocks. These other hikers were always more prepared then us. Here we’d be, in the middle of nowhere, hours from the nearest road, and they’d pull out sandwiches and drinks and potato chips that somehow had remained uncrushed on the hike. My husband and I would watch enviously, as we sat on our rock with water and trail mix, and vow next time that we’d be more prepared. Then we’d start down the trail so that the other hikers wouldn’t notice us salivating.

Playing statue

On my second day in Famous City With Space Needle, Ecowoman had to go to work. I told her not to worry, that someone I had met online was going to come pick me up, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t an axe murderer. “And if she’s a stalker, I’m still okay,” I said cheerfully, “because I’ve given her your address and not mine.”

Jane Dark and I had a wonderful day. We began by wandering around a beautiful Japanese garden, relaxing on a bench to talk, and then watching some little kids feed the most aggressive koi fish I’ve ever seen. Really, the koi fish were almost as creepy as rabbits.

On the campus of University Rub-a-dub, we went into a special room of the library and got to look at some amazing book art by artists like Julie Chen. They even let me touch the pages! I’m so used to getting yelled at in museums that I was thrilled to get to handle these gorgeous books. Our tour of campus included a room that looked like Hogwarts’ great hall, except it was filled with Americans students instead of British wizards and witches.

After our lunch with Rokeya, we looked at our watches and realized that we were running out of time. I don’t know where the day had gone, except that I had already gotten Jane lost at least once. People get lost when they are with me. It’s a special talent I have.

Jane had planned an ambitious naked photo shoot: “Okay, we’ll go out in kayaks, and I’ll just slip off my dress without anyone noticing, and I’ll pose with the skyline of the city in the distance. And you just balance in the other kayak and take the shot.”

I could see this easily turning into some kind of comedy routine that would end with my camera at the bottom of the sea. But alas, we didn’t have enough time.

“Well, it should be an outdoor shot,” I said. “But maybe we could do it on land.”

“Here’s a private spot,” said Jane.

“Just pretend you’re a statue. You know, like in Europe how the formal gardens always have statues in them?”

She tossed off her dress and sandals, and I snapped the photo. Now all we need is a sculptor.



(Readers who want to know the history of the naked photo tradition can check it out here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here.)

Dancing bloggers

I met so many bloggers at the Friendly Green Conference that I've lost track of them all. Then when I went to University Rub-a-dub, I found two bloggers dancing on the edge of a fountain. Jane Dark and Rokeya took me to a place that served tasty vegetarian food and we talked about all kinds of stuff over lunch. It’s always great to hear the voices of people whose blogs you’ve read for years, especially when they turn out to be as smart and articulate and cool as you thought they were going to be. After lunch, one of them posed naked for my blog. But that’s another post ….

Naked in the garden

In City Where Jimi Hendrix Was Born, I stayed for a couple days with my friend Ecowoman. Longtime readers will remember her as the woman who inspired the tradition of naked blogging. Her cute little house is tucked into a garden of purple and yellow blossoms. When I arrived, bits of colored glass were twirling in the breeze near the front door, catching the afternoon night. I felt like I was in a movie as I walked into a house filled with pillows and colorful treasures.

Ecowoman buys old framed photos at yard sales, and then hangs them up, even though they are people she’s never met. They are mixed in with all her other pictures. When I was looking at the photos, she would say things like, “Yeah, that’s me and my mother. Here are my parents when they were young. Oh, that one? Yard sale family.”

Naturally, she and I talked over the Friendly Green Conference in great detail, and then went on to talk about stuff going on in our lives. She kept threatening to do a make-over of me. Apparently dressing like a teenage boy does not make me the height of fashion.

"You're meeting your husband for a romantic vacation and THAT'S what you're wearing?"

"We're going hiking," I protested. "And we'll be naked the rest of the time."

We sat at her table in the sun and ate fresh baguettes with deli foods. All during my stay, she kept taking care of me. “Are you hungry? Now, here are some clean towels. Can I get you anything else?”

“You don’t have to keep waiting on me,” I protested. “I’m a grown-up.”

“You’re in my house,” she said. “That makes you eight.”

We hadn’t planned, actually, for Ecowoman to make another naked appearance on the blog, but early one morning, I found her dancing naked in her backyard. I think she had papers to grade. Nothing inspires nudity like a stack of papers to grade.

Naturally, I ran for my camera.

“This setting is perfect,” I said, “but take off your hat so I can see that gorgeous hair.” At the sight of my camera, she stopped the wild frolicking and posed demurely, looking up to smell one of the flowers in her garden.

Then she pulled out her bicycle, put on some clothes, and rode off to catch the boat she rides to work.