Archives for March 2004

The kitties are adjusting. Slowly. Digit howls a lot in the morning. Oh, does he howl. Oh, do I howl back. But in the old place, they were NOT buddies. Occasionally Digit would accidentally sit next to Adah and then think better of the choice. When they’re at my Mom’s house, however, they’re the best of pals. Any friend in enemy territory, I guess. I’m going to try to foster that here. It may mean letting Adah outside sometimes, along with Digit, even though I hate to do that. She has a bad habit of moving in with other families without asking. She doesn’t care who loves her, as long as someone does. Slut.

But in this new territory, they’re still pals. I love this one:

They’re sleeping, by George.

Ha!

And this one’s good, too:

And in the next one, they’re bonding over their inability to KILL THAT HUMMINGBIRD that’s just outside the screen.

And I had to get a new cell phone for embarrassing reasons like
1) discovering that tile floor really IS that hard
2) needing to get a phone number off old, broken phone (Verizon dumps your old numbers into your new phone – tell me your cell phone isn’t your real phone book, too).
So, while I was there, I upgraded for $79 to the photo phone. I know it’s crap quality, I’ll be kicking myself when the technology’s better (in about thirteen minutes or so) but here’s one of the first snaps:

So, as you see, my kits are doing well. BUT-

RIP Sebastian

My sister Christy’s kitty Sebastian, however, had to go over the Rainbow Bridge on Wednesday. He was a rescue kitty – Christy adopted him from a vet’s back room. He had been dropped off and never picked up. Bastards. But their loss was her gain. He was just shy of nineteen years old. She loved loved loved loved him so much that she made up for the time he had spent in that little box waiting for his new, loving mama.

With her permission, I give you the email she sent family and friends. I was going to paraphrase it, but she says it just right. I daren’t change a word.

Hi friends- I am sad because yesterday I had my little kitty Sebastian put to sleep. he became really sick pretty quickly, until he could not longer sit up or hold up his head, so instead of more expensive vet treatments that were not likely to prolong his life more than a few days, I made the very hard decision that he had lived his life and it was time to go. Thank you all for being so kind and nice, and for caring about my little kitty. I only had him for a year and he was in pretty beat-up shape when I got him, but he was a darned good cat, tough as nails and sweet as pie, and I will miss him. He was probably about 20 years old. Good night, Sebastian. -Christy

* “My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.” Richard Adams, Watership Down.

Home now. We had a lovely warm drive up the coast. The cats and I both do better with the top down. They don’t cry as much and just stare out of their carriers at the trees flashing by. It must seem like a really great big TV. Or maybe they’re so terrified that they can’t open their mouths to scream. I don’t think it’s that, though.

They’re prowling now. Digit is upset. But hey, he’s always upset about something, isn’t he? Adah has settled right in, and she went straight to her new scratching post and scratched it. How does she KNOW to do that?

Mom and I had a wonderful day yesterday, chock full of things neither of us had to do. The best kinds of things, like lunch at Robin’s in Cambria, sitting on their outdoor porch, avocado and melted jarlsberg on a wheat croissant…. Shopping idly at Ball and Skein, buying nothing (what is this world coming to?). Wandering up the coast a little farther, to Piedras Blancas, where the elephant seals lay out. Holy cow, I love those things. They’re just too silly looking to survive, and yet, they do. The big males are pretty darn disgusting (they can reach over nine thousand pounds), but all the moms and babies are hysterical. They yell and bawk and squish over each other, and they make me laugh.

A bunch of ’em:

One smiling:

Two smiling:

Yes, the shower is fabulous. I was rather ridiculous, really, adjusting the way it [what – pulses? Jets?] shoots water out, depending on what I was doing. I used the pow-pow action for my back and neck, the reg’lar old hard shower for most of the body, then switched it to gentle mist for my face, and back to pow-pow to wash the soap out of the washcloth.

That kind of routine could get old really quickly. But it was fun for the first time.

I’m right now sitting on Mom’s back porch, my laptop on my knees, my two babies at my feet. Digit didn’t RUN at me this time, he kind of ambled thoughtfully when he heard me calling. “I want to go see her, but I know what she did. And she might do it again.” He’s forgiven me now that I’ve shared a little clam chowder with him.

It was the most remarkable drive. I think I always forget how perfect this time of year is for driving down the coast. It was warm inland, but not broiling. I put the top down about two hours out of San Luis, just north of King City. (Then I had to pull over and repack the pillows which threatened several times to lift off.) The low hills are so violently GREEN, and the sky is that clear pale blue. My favorite wild flower, the mustard blossom, is everywhere, making golden swathes across the green. Cows and sheep and the occasional llama, oh my! When I came over the Cuesta Grade and dropped in San Luis Obispo, it got a little too warm. But the best part of being too warm here is coming up the slight grade out of San Luis and catching your first sight of the Pacific since San Francisco. The air instantly (no exaggeration) cools and I pulled off the freeway to drive the surface streets. Joanna wrote about it recently – the way convertibles offer so much more in the way of olfactory fun. It doesn’t make that much sense – you would think you would smell almost as much with all the windows down, but you don’t. And in Shell Beach, I could smell salt and fog and dirt and fresh mown grass and gas from the freeway and lumber from a new hotel being built. And jasmine.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh. My friend Trish said the other day, “Rachael, I think you have a good life.” I’m scared when people say something like that, lest we jinx it and I end up horribly maimed and/or paralyzed after being struck by a sink stopper that has fallen from a passing Southwest jet in need of bathroom repairs. (If that does happen, however, I am opening a psychic center, and you will all be my first customers.)

But I don’t think we jinx ourselves. Or if we do, we can also jinx ourselves into happiness. It is such a goddamn beautiful kind of world, and people are so INTERESTING. Go out today and see something fabulous. Then tell me about it, kay?

Mwah.

https://rachaelherron.com/yes_the_shower_/

Ahhh. It’s the weekend. My weekend, that is. I slept late this morning (till eight), and I’m now sitting in the living room with the blinds drawn, eating apple pie that Kira made, and drinking strong Italian coffee. I’m going to blog, pack, and get the hell outta Dodge, so I’m not even bothering to open the blinds. I’d just have to draw them again in an hour. And even with the blinds closed, this new apartment is still so light. I adore it. I’ve always considered myself something of a mole, having always lived in places with very little natural light. I thought I liked it that way. But I like it this way, too. It’s a happy sun-dance kind of place.

Anyway, this morning I’m off for a drive down the coast to the little mama’s house. She’s doing super, for those of you keeping track. A couple of weeks ago the endocrinologist determined what Mariko’s wonderful friend had already figured out – she had had a virus attack her thyroid, causing the thyroid dump which then led to the five months of being so terribly sick. Now she’s just getting better and better…. And she was better enough to watch my kitties while I moved! I had hoped for a two week break from them, but actually got a three week one – what with moving, visitors, and DMV woes, I haven’t been able to leave town until today. I miss those stupid cats soooo much. I’ve been sleeping like a rock, no Adah to claw my lip at three in the morning when she wants food, no Digit to howl at the windows at five, but I miss them like CRAZY. I’m a little worried about moving them into the new place, but hey. They’ll adapt. Right? All their stuff is here (and a new scratching post, too!), and everything’s unpacked…. The only trauma they’ll have to deal with is adjusting to the space itself. And one of my favorite things in life is to get to Mom’s after the kitties have been visiting, if I’ve been out of the country or somethin’, and to walk to the back door, calling Digit. He gallumps gallumps gallumps all the way up from the back yard, tearing up to me as if I’m The One. Then he brakes, skids, takes a pet to the ears and saunters away, all cool again. But those little thumping feet, racing toward me….. I love that.

But before I leave, I have to take a shower. When I moved in, the water pressure out of the shower was pretty bad, but in the last week, it’s become just too horrible. I stand every morning under this drip of water, half the time skipping washing my hair because it just takes too damn long to get all the soap out. Last night after work, I went to the miracle all-night Longs and bought a shower head. I looked at the four dollar ones, which looked just fine. Matched the one I already had. Then I looked at the Cadillac, the WaterPik Adjustable Mister Spa Handheld. Yup. I got that one. AND put it in by myself, thank you very much. When it comes to knitting tools, I’m no slouch. Real tools, eh. I could take ‘em or leave ‘em. This required a wrench, which I don’t believe I own. But my hand and an old washcloth seemed to get it tight enough, and it worked on its trial MistTheTub experiment. And oh, the pressure!

In fact, I have to go now. The Mister’s calling. And I ain’t talking ‘bout no mister.

(I put up some Bethy pictures….)

Jon’s a founding member of GMADK (Gay Men Against Drunk Knitting). Hee. And he has a great new New York knitting site. His reg’lar blog is cool, too. Go say hey.

What not to do:

After two beers, sit on the dim couch, watching previously TiVoed Airline episodes with sister Christy, knitting Cromarty. When you suddenly and very unexpectedly come up a stitch short in one of the patterned areas, don’t fret! Just make one, purl it as you should, and go merrily along.

I didn’t think I was that affected by beer – after all, I’ve been drinking it for years and years and knitting under its influence at Stitch’n’Bitches for a long time. When I woke up the next morning, before I even got out of bed, I though, oh shit.

I found that dropped stitch, yes, I did. Worked it back up the seven or so rows and fixed the problem, but I’m amused at how blithely I just whipped up that extra stitch without even THINKING that a missing stitch might be something to worry about. Lord.

And while we’re praying, please help me with the dyelot problem. I got the yarn from the BoyWonder Rob (and another slew of Noro 55 – I mentioned to him that it was a good thing he didn’t sell drugs – he laughed his evil laugh and inferred that the skeins might be laced…..) Koigu Kersti is one of the best yarns I’ve ever worked with, but one of its magical properties is the color – it’s hand dyed, and I knew this dyelot might be a little different. But it’s quite a lot different:

It’s the difference between a coffee with a splash of cream and cafe au lait. In certain lights, it’s not very noticeable. In others, it is. So. Now. Help me out.

** Here’s where I originally had a long What I Could Do entry. But then Marvellous Rob emailed me, saying, Oh, I have some of the darker, too. Send me your old one and we’ll match it.

See why I love him? I want to marry him. Although Matt might not like that. And you know this pesky country of ours won’t let gays marry.

Heh.

I *heart* Rob.