Wild Things

One of the things I enjoyed the most about this trip to California was seeing the variety of wildflowers on the roadside in Oregon reaching down into the ditches of northern California. It's one of my mental games to recognize and name plants everywhere but few things please me as much as wildflowers. Many of them are considered to be weeds but they have such a scrappy charm the way they dot otherwise bleak banks of dried grass.

This trip there were pink and white sweet peas all the way down the section of I-5 we traveled. In some spots it was like thick pink foam floating on top of the yellow dry grasses. There were small daisies growing in happy drifts. There was some chicory here and there- remarkable for its blue petals. I saw false dandelions in profusions so impressive I couldn't help but feel happy seeing the floods of yellow dots on the landscape.

I haven't identified the yellow flowers pictured here yet. They look similar in form to chicory but I haven't known a chicory to be yellow. There were other flowers that I wasn't sure of. Possibly some wallflowers, definitely some California poppies (looked pinched and small from the dry heat), and I might have seen some salvias as well. I wanted Philip to stop the car so many times so that I could photograph the riches of wild plants and pick some as well but I restrained myself until we stopped at a Denny's by the freeway a little north of Eugene and I spied some easily accessible flowers. Moments like these make the tough moments in life bearable. Sometimes I feel like the whole world goes silent when I pick flowers.

Of course, I thought it might be entirely possible that it's against the law to pick roadside plants. I could get arrested. I could get fined. Such a simple pleasure is often not legal in our very cramped and restricted society. It would be a pity if it were true.

I came back home and started working at Safeway. I had my first real shift yesterday. You know how sometimes you start a job and you know, right away, that the worst aspects of it are going to become a fixture of your life forever and you can see immediately that you would rather stab yourself with a pen in the temple than try to scan in a thousand ratty coupons every single day? I had that dreadful feeling that I would die inside if I had to go back ever again. Within the first hour I was already worrying about having to start all over again the next day.

Part of it was not getting enough training with someone else on a real register doing real transactions. My whole training consisted of computer time doing simulated transactions. They throw you to the wolves there. Seriously. TO THE WOLVES. Who are the wolves? You and me, my friends.

It just so happens that I am a very fortunate lady and the owner of the local toy store hired me yesterday on a part time basis. I started today. Oh holy hell...what a difference in atmosphere the toy store is compared to the grocery store. It's colorful and light and quiet and although it has all its own rules and procedures, there aren't so many coupons and sad people and impatient people. People are happier in toy stores than they are in grocery stores. Plus the people who already work at the toy store are so helpful and the lady who was training me today was so helpful and easy to work with.

Everyone has been asking me over the last week if I'm excited to start work at Safeway and I kept wanting to ask "Are you drunk off your ass, or what?! Of course I'm not excited. People don't get excited about working in grocery stores." Which is quite rude and every time I was tempted to answer in such a rude way I was stricken because the human resources lady who hired me to work at Safeway was so awesome and I really liked her personally. Plus, she gave me a job and I've come to realize that that's a pretty big deal these days. I felt a lot of gratitude for her generosity but I just couldn't honestly be excited to work as a checker.

So, if anyone cares to ask me if I'm excited to work at the toy store I can honestly (and thankfully) say: HELL YES! And also: THANK YOU LINDA!!! I go back for more training tomorrow and I don't dread it in the least. The relief I feel is palpable. It's thick in the air. I'm sluffing off dread in bucketfuls. I need full time work still (unless I keep getting more and more Etsy orders, and I'm so thankful for the ones I've been getting!). Another librarian job has come up. Two actually, but one of them so specifically isn't interested in my undereducated self it almost feels as though the ad for it is saying "...so don't bother applying ANGELINA." The other one is a part time circulation desk job and there are no psychic notes on the listing that tell me not to bother. In fact, I feel a slight shimmer of invitation.

So check it out: maybe life could iron itself out here. I think I'd be great at the circulation desk and since it's part time I could work at the toy store and the library both. This is a working life I can get on board with. My kid is not happy to have me working but if I need to be out there earning actual money (as opposed to the vast amounts of pretend money I make every day) I can't think of a better situation.

I'm not even going to say things like "I probably won't get the circulation librarian job" because I know I would be great at it, I would enjoy doing it so much, and there's no reason on earth why they wouldn't hire me for this position unless they have already picked someone from inside. I've decided that I'm going to work hard on my positive visualization skills. I've never been able to decide if I think positive visualization actually gets results or if it's just that people like you better when you're busy visualizing happy outcomes and so you have better experiences?

If I don't get the librarian job then that really means that something else is waiting to happen out there. Thank you, sister, for reminding me of that the whole time you visited. You have reminded me of so many things I need to be reminded of.

I am like a scrappy wild flower trying to carve out a life out of a hard dry landscape. Many of us are. I absolutely love cultivated flowers but there really is something intrinsically charming to me about those flowers that rise up out of the dust into a cloud of color and I have to wonder where they got the nutrients to shine as brightly as hothouse orchids.

Apocalypse in Real Time

I've come to the conclusion that the man in the "End Of The World" sandwich sign who used to shout out crap while thumping on his bible on Powell Street in San Francisco was totally correct.

Obviously, like every other sane person in the world, I believe that the fact that all of California has gone up in flames is proof that god doesn't love us anymore. Weep, my people, weep! Even though California goes up in flames every year, this year it's personal.

The snow on Mt. Shasta has melted. A volcano who has remained snow capped every year, all year, is now denuded of it's blanket. A stripped Shasta is clearly proof of something.*

Somehow it seems almost more alarming to see the incredible shrinking lake Shasta with it's banks exposed like Pamela Anderson's breasts right down to the edge of her nipples. This isn't something we're supposed to see.

In a world that sometimes feels abandoned by all graces and hope, a pub feels more spiritual than a church. Especially with its promise of comforts and Refuge...drink...food (incredible rarebit)...and light. It's all here at "The Black Sheep" in Ashland Oregon where we landed last night with nowhere to stay, tired, hungry, and with our unwelcome constipated dog.

Happily there was one room to spare in this full up town. One room. Edge of town on the precipice of nowhere. It wasn't even a pet friendly room but they made an exception for us tired travelers. And so, we head out again into the scorch to find more food and then head home where we are always welcome, where our dog can relax, and where frogs multiply.

*Are there still stupid people unconvinced of the reality of global warming?

**My kid just asked me if I like "being in cars at night, all protectified". Nice made up word. He also called my boobs "invincible" a few days ago. Kids are pretty funny.

California

bad coffee does happen here

Melinda from Elements In Time wondered why I would complain about the heat wave in Oregon and then run off to California where it can only ever be worse. Good point. I don't miss the California heat and, frankly, I think Oregon has enough of it's own. We headed off to California to visit friends and family that we haven't seen in a year and a half. Friends' babies are losing teeth and turning into big kids. Pets have grown and/or died. Gardens are filling out. Homes are being remodeled...and it seemed that on the eve of starting a new exciting career as a Safeway checker, I had better get a vacation in because it's going to be very long time before we get to take one again.

So I managed to wing it which, as it turns out, is a very bad way to travel with a kid and a dog when most of the people you're visiting hate dogs and don't particularly care to do kid stuff. The air on the way down was heavy and hazy with smoke. The heat on the road was so uncomfortable that I wouldn't have minded having all my guts replaced with ice cubes.

This food, pictured above, is very fancy, very expensive, but not as tasty as it looks. We had it when we visited Mill Valley (more on that below) and ate at D'Angelo's, a Mill Valley institution. The food used to be a lot better than the decor, now the decor is a lot better than the food. That's what money can do for you.

When you are a delicate flower like I am you really need to have big hats and huge sunglasses. If I look suspiciously tired here it's because we slept in a very busy hotel room that (thankfully) allowed dogs but (sadly) made ours feel the need to alert us of strangers walking by every fifteen minutes through the night. It was a bit of a nerve wracking night due to the level of police activity and interrupting a very suspect scene near our hotel door in which snatches of conversation were heard. The kind of conversations that propel you into random kidnapping plots and violent crossfire.

Snatches of conversation liberally peppered with bits like "...well, he's dead now..." and "...we took the money from under the door..." do not fill one with the warm fuzzies. The truth is, we haven't heard a lot of gunfire since we moved to a small town. Coming back to Santa Rosa is like entering a real metropolis of darkness and fear compared to where we are now. The funny thing is that when we lived here we didn't feel quite as vulnerable as we do now that we've lived in a quieter place in which we rarely hear gunfire.

Mill Valley is a place that Philip grew up in. I hate to malign it too much because the way it was when he was growing up was really wonderful and I don't want to be too negative about a place that was so good for him to grow up in. But it's changed in the last thirty years a lot. It's become a place of money and privilege. The cars are all shiny and new and sleek and very expensive. People do not engage in random acts of friendliness and most of the women have a very worked over appearance.

I have a lot fewer strong ties to California than I thought before we took this trip. I have a lot of unresolved feelings cropping up which is just about as annoying as drinking bad coffee in a land with good coffee leaking out of every crevice. I am uncomfortable traveling and am contemplating the attractive idea of NEVER LEAVING HOME AGAIN.

On the other hand, I just had a really nice day with old friends I love and superb cheeses from an excessively expensive grocery store so maybe there are benefits of travel after all. Plus we're staying in our friend's camper and it's like staying in a fort with good pillows. Now Philip, Max, and I all want one to park in our driveway so we can camp out together in it regularly and pretend to be in the woods. We are figuring out how we can create scenery to fix outside of the windows to simulate different places we might like to visit.

The charms of agoraphobia never shined so bright. Home is a great place to visit.

Sudden Family Road Trip

We rarely go on outings as a family. Mostly this is my fault. I do not travel well with children. I used to love to travel or take drives with Philip but since having a kid I find it's a nightmare to anticipate all the things we'll need for Max and Max is not a child who takes it lightly when you've forgotten his essential toy that you didn't even know he had or left behind his favorite snack.

So I avoid going to far afield with my kid and husband. I find it's less stressful to be close to home. But yesterday I got a sudden urge to go run amok on the beach. I don't like beaches where dogs have to be on leashes. Pacific City is perfect because there's a giant vertical dune that the kid and the dog love to scramble up and down and Chick can run free of restraint. So everyone gets lots of fresh air and exercise. When we're done there's a restaurant with award winning beer and fantastic fries.

Our car hasn't been working for two weeks so it was uncertain whether we would be able to do this sudden family road trip. In my opinion, Sundays are not generally lucky days, so I wasn't holding my breath for a happy outcome.

Apparently you need to give cars oil if you want them to start and run.

Here are some highlights of our road trip to the beach:

• Stopping at the side of the road so that Max could carve his initial in the snow with hot pee. I still find it incredible that I made this strange man-creature in my womb, a creature that feels compelled to make armpit farts and enjoys peeing as though it was a sport.

• Seeing a car suspended in a tree somewhere near Grand Ronde. I can't imagine how the hell anyone was able to hoist it up there but it's quite amusing. Except for the patriotic way it's painted. Cars in trees: Oregonians are so wacky!

• Watching the dog and the kid run like wild things as soon as they hit the cold wet sand. A boy and a dog have a lot of energy to expend and expel, they sometimes look jet fueled. There's a joy of spirit that exudes from them when they are allowed to express themselves without restraints. I can barely make it up the dunes one time but these two can run up it like it was paved in tarmac and not slippery sliding sand.

• Discovering a dead seal. They're big. And pretty skanky when they've been dead for a while and pecked at by seagulls. I kept walking right past it because I could see in the briefest glance that the image of a dead seal wasn't the last one I wanted in my head before dinner. Life with a boy means that you will get all the gross details of life and death whether you want them or not. What could be more fascinating than a decaying water mammal that the seagulls have toyed with? Max had to poke it and then talk about it for the rest of the night. "Remember when we saw the dead seal and I poked it and it jiggled? I wish I had touched it!" Ugh.

• Agreeing as a family, over french fries, that none of us wanted to live at the ocean because of the tsunami potential and because it's always windy and when it's bright it's unrelentingly bright (the kind of weather that makes me exceedingly angry). We decided that the beach is a great place to visit but we're happy living inland in our small town that's not so small it's without amenities but not so big that it's noisy and hideously packed with people. We decided, as a family, that we're very happy with where we live.

Coming soon: I received in the mail the most amazing gift I've ever been given...I have yet to take good pictures of it but when I do I will post it! Just to whet your curiosity I will tell you that the person who sent it is none other than Pam from Pam Kitty Morning, so you know it was something amazing!

Happy Zombie's Hens

Lisa E. and I had a very important mission yesterday: to adopt Monica's three hens for reasons we aren't allowed to reveal just in case it might get back to the girls whom Monica loves. This is the place we stopped at on our way back from collecting the precious cargo for a quick panini to go. You see why we had to stop here, right? Monica actually mentioned this place and we were happy to have found it right before we shriveled up with hunger. The paninis were pretty good, but kind of sat like lumps in our stomachs afterwards. The best part was watching them get made by a swarthy Italian-American beauty whose middle name is Angelina. Not quite as good as having it for a first name, obviously, but pretty good.

Here's Philip, Rex, and Lisa posing with the boxes in which the hens were transported.

There's Georgie peeking out at her new chicken yard.

Rex and Elena are very excited about the new additions to their coop!

Here's Omelet looking not particularly sure about anything. She was a little reluctant to get out of the comfy box.

And here's Snow-Ball who was right at home immediately, like most Americanas are. I have a soft spot for Americana's and am sad I don't have one myself anymore.

(This is for Monica's benefit) Here is the spacious chicken condominium in which your three girls will live. Very luxurious appointments!! It even has a skylight.

Here's my tired boy holding Georgie.

You are probably asking yourself how come there are no pictures of Monica and her house and her FABULOUS studio, huh? You're wondering what kind of moron doesn't take pictures of the first "real life" meeting of blog friends. Me. That's what kind of moron. I am not particularly shy as a rule, except with my camera. About fifty times while we hung out for two hours and drank delicious iced tea and gossiped about all of you out there in blog land, I thought "I should ask Monica if I can take some pictures". Then I didn't. Because it always feels so disrespectful and invasive to punctuate a friendly gathering with photo-snapping. Unless you know everyone super well.

So there are no pictures of Monica or her studio which I've never seen full pictures of on her blog (just partial pictures) and which I pretty much never wanted to leave. It's a wonderful cheery well organized CLEAN space. I've decided that she needs to coach me on fixing mine up. You know, in between all the packing and moving she's going to be doing in the next few weeks.

Seeing a person's quilts on the computer is nothing to seeing them in person. I have such a deeper respect for Monica's quilting skills and talent. She embroiders in tight clean stitches and all her work is really meticulously done. My aunt who is also a quilting perfectionist would absolutely love to see such fine work. It drives my aunt crazy that I don't care if some of my points don't quite match up, or if a few squares are wonky, or if perhaps I make it up as I go along. I have a deep respect for all people who pursue their passions with an eye to detail and I do the same in my apron and garment sewing, but when it comes to quilts I let myself go a little because I just enjoy the process and for me, if it's a little messy at the end it just adds a little mischievous charm.

I believe we should all do some things we enjoy that we don't feel we have to be perfect at. I would never make a shoddy garment, I would never leave a zipper buckled or seam unpressed. However, quilting is my playground and I don't impose the same strict rules of conduct on myself while doing it. This doesn't stop me from admiring the greater works of quilting art done by others.

Just as I expected, Monica is such a wonderfully lively warm person that it took only a couple of minutes before I felt I could sit around with her all day long chatting, looking at patterns, talking shop, and politics, and just everything. I would love to belong to a sewing circle with her.

Well, now her lovely birds have a good new home and I've met another blog friend. It was a good Friday! Canning cherries and picking up laying hens for Lisa's coop are great farm-girl adventures to begin the summer with. Now I must go attend to business so that I can start to work on my studio and complain about the heat.