Not Today

I'm often reminded of the 1969 movie "If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium" (Suzanne Pleshette, Ian McShane) because I have considerable difficulty figuring out what day it is.  (I know it's not Belgium.)  With no weekend to look forward to or get over, the days all run together and it's very easy to lose track.  I had better luck when my milk customer would come on Mondays, and now my main challenge is to remember to take the trash down to the big road on Tuesdays.  Should I make an appointment, I dutifully write it down on whatever paper is at hand.  The problem there is that I must immediately go put it on the calendar, otherwise I'll forget what scrap of paper it's on or just forget it, period.  (That's assuming I look at the calendar.)

Some time back Tinka and I made arrangements to get together for lunch and an outing when Kit returned to Fiddletown.  I wrote down the date and time, and promptly lost the paper.  I certainly didn't want to miss Kit's visit, so emailed Tinka last week and asked if it was to be on May 24th or 25th.  "Um, neither.  We're getting together on June 1."  Yesterday Tinka called and gently reminded me that we are meeting on Friday.  Not today.  Tomorrow.  It's bad when your reputation precedes you.

Preview

I got a pretty good idea yesterday of what's to come.  It was starting to heat up while I was doing barn chores.  By the time I got back to the house I needed to turn on the ceiling fan.  It had been my intention to get some mowing done, but that ended up on the WNTD list.  By noon it was only (only!) in the mid 80s, but hot enough to drain any ambition I might have had.  Bess and the cats felt the same way, looking for cool places to stretch out instead of the sunny, warm patches they'd hunted a few days ago.  I was just thankful none of them chose my lap for a nap.

There were big doings down at the winery in the morning.  PG&E was replacing a power pole and there were large pieces of loud equipment and a crew of workers.  The goats weren't quite sure how to react to all the hubbub, but soon settled down.  I can only imagine how glad the guys must have been to have all the automated equipment.  Think what it must have been like in the past, having to dig out and set the poles by hand.  It wouldn't have been a one-day job, for sure.

It doesn't take long for the sandy soil up here to dry out.  The peonies were looking a little droopy so I started what will become a regular watering program.  Mindful that the drought isn't over yet, I didn't leave the sprinkler on very long.

Weather Guy promised a bit of a break today.  I'm going to hold him to it, because he also threatened the temperature was going to shoot up again by the weekend.  Sigh.

Up 'n Down

Spring has lasted longer this year than I can ever remember, and I'm sure not going to complain about that.  What is difficult to cope with are the extreme changes in temperature nearly every day.  From jacket-all-day chill and rain, we went straight into 80-degree days (90 down in the valley).  Weather Guy now says we'll get a 20-degree drop by Thursday.  Evidently Nature has a thing for roller coasters.  Whee!

There has always been a flag pole at the corner of the deck and I like to put the flag up on appropriate holidays.  Yesterday being Memorial Day, I took the flag out in the morning.  There is no slack whatsoever in the rope and the pulley at the top is cranky so it was a bit of a struggle to get Old Glory up and flying.  I really ran into trouble at sundown.  It is disrespectful to leave a flag out after dark so I did my darndest to get the rope moving, but it was a no-go.  (And they say what goes up must come down.  Ha!)  Finally in desperation I put in a call to Beau.  Fortunately, he was down in P'ville and said he'd stop by on his way home.  It's hard to ask for help in such a dumb situation, but....

All's well that ends well.

New Friends

Levi, the young man who came with his girlfriend from Hawaii to meet the goats a couple of months ago, has a yard service business.  I have juniper bushes in front of the house that have grown to monster proportions.  They are a haven for Shaddup (who is once again driving me batty with his yipping) and his tribe and have almost obliterated the path to the front door.  I can't work on them myself because I seem to have an allergy to juniper and just brushing against them with bare skin causes a rash to erupt, so I called Levi.

He came yesterday afternoon after being at the nearby park with his dogs, Goose, an old yellow lab, and Sid, a much younger pitty.  I'm never sure how other dogs will react to Bess, so was cautious about letting her out to greet them, but I needn't have worried.  Goose and Sid were perfect gentlemen and Bessie was a gracious hostess, all having passed the initial butt-sniffing test that dogs do.

I was a bit concerned when Levi had said he would bring a chainsaw, imagining the juniper would end up looking like a victim of Edward Scissorhands, but, other than an expanded walkway and three full wheelbarrow loads of branches taken away, one would never know it had been thinned.  After checking out the property, Goose and Sid joined Bess and me on the porch to supervise.  Levi was done in no time at all.  There is certainly more to do, but it was a successful start.

It was a good day.

Don't Tell Bess

For the working world, this is a long, three-day weekend.  One would think that, being retired, every day would be a day off; however, when one has livestock there is no such thing as a weekend.  I can't remember the last time I slept in until 6 a.m. as I did this morning, and I feel like I'm running late even though I have no set schedule.

Bessie Anne snores and has for some time.  Being asleep, I don't know whether I do or not, and she never says.  I'm used to hearing that gentle sound.  Yesterday my constant companion evidently had a problem in her gastrointestinal tract and was under a gas attack.  Don't tell her I said so, but she quietly tooted all day long, not loud enough to wake her from her nap(s), but enough to get my attention.  At least she gave fair warning, much better than the silent-but-deadly type.  Since her diet never changes, I can't imagine what caused the problem.

It's the time of year when I feel like I'd really like to fill all the pots on the deck with flowers, but it would be an exercise in futility.  Robert the Raider and his cohorts continue to run rampant on the deck, digging in the dirt and knocking pots over.  I might as well just feed the boogers dollar bills and not have to clean up their mess.  Sigh.

Well, like the White Rabbit said, "I'm late, I'm late!," and I'd best get a move on.

Perfect Timing

Sunup, such as it was, yesterday showed a grey, drizzly morning with clouds so low they looked like fog.  Okay, not too bad, but when I went out to feed, that's when it started really raining.  Crum.  My timing was off.  By the time I got to the barn, not only was my jacket wet, but after slogging through the high weeds, my britches were wet to the knees and my barn shoes, old ones that were in tatters, had leaked like sieves and my socks were soaked.  Let's just say I didn't dawdle giving the girls their breakfast.  I left the barn door open and squelched my way back to the house.

By happy circumstance, I'd bought a new pair of shoes when I was in town the other day so I had something dry to put on.  Of course, once I was inside, the rain stopped and it went back to just heavy mist.  It was a good day to get some housework done.  Whenever I did sit down, my lap was immediately filled with fur.  Even Bessie Anne got into the act and crowded her way in.  When the weather was warm, they mercifully let me be and stretched out in sunny spots on the floor.

This was the only glimpse of sun all day.  The sky above looks blue; it was not, and as I walked out the door, it started raining again.  Perfect timing.

Big Sister

Celeste is an affectionate big sister.  She spends a lot of time cuddled up napping with Ralph and they're never far apart from each other.  She is, however, just the least bit critical of her little brother.  He is pretty sloppy when it comes to the shared litter box, giving a few haphazard scratches and he's off again.  I can hear Celeste mumbling under her breath as she comes along behind him and does a thorough job of covering up for him.  She also thinks he's careless when it comes to self-grooming and will take Ralph's face in her paws and give him a good washing behind his ears.  She would have been a good mother.

The bed is pretty crowded these nights what with me, Bess, Ralph and Celeste, and now two piglets have joined us.  Like a little kid with a stuffed elephant or a favorite bankie, Celeste is bringing her toys to bed with her.

(Ralph evidently just went potty because Celeste has been scratching litter for the last five minutes.)

I was down at Wally World yesterday.  I'd put on a clean shirt, but was in the day's bibbies.  A clerk took a look at me and said, "I can check you out through the garden department if that's where you're parked."  I told her no thanks as the truck was just outside the front door.  She hurried off before I could say, "I raise goats, not plants," regardless of how I was dressed.  First impressions and all that.