life in portland

the rites of spring

I know spring officially began a week or so ago, but up here in the Pacific Northwest, it ain't really spring 'till the sun comes out and the forecast looks like this:

there are other signs, too:

the Knuckleheads basking in the sun like the matched bookends that they are,

The plum trees are in full bloom,

I weeded the raised vegetable bed and found the biggest carrot I've ever seen

(here's another shot just for scale)

and the most important sign of spring? 

Walking around barefoot all afternoon!

Here's wishing everyone a warm and sunny spring, wherever you are!

wishes for the new year

Let's try to savor the quiet time in December 

between the end of the old year and the beginning of a new one. 

May the coming year be filled 

with creativity, love, peace, prosperity and possibility!

xoxo,

Petunia

not really cheaper by the dozen...

Who am I, the dog whisperer? I came across a very tired, thin and hungry dog on my walk today. He was limping and uncertain, and wandering in the street. A kind driver stopped to check him out, and was planning to tie him to a pole so he wouldn't get hit by a car, when I said I'd take him home with me....except that he didn't want to go with me at first. My son drove up the hill and rescued us.
We brought him in, fed him, and the next thing I knew he'd made himself completely at home. On the sofa.

Sigh. He is awfully sweet, but I sure hope we find his home soon...

home sweet home

The view from my kitchen window this morning. 

cue the mariachis!

We want to wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of our hearts!

beagle in the house!

 

 Our little Beagle friend Arrow has made himself at home

 for another two week visit.

Wish us luck. I think we'll need it.

nap quest

I got into a conversation about napping the other day with a couple of friends.  I know this sounds simplistic, but after taking an informal survey of a decidedly small segment of the population (do four people qualify as a focus group?) I've since come to the conclusion that the world is divided up into nappers and non-nappers.

Non-napper types generally feel that sleeping during the hours we're supposed to be awake and productive is wasteful. Time spent napping could be better utilized doing something productive, like checking your facebook page  balancing the checkbook, or  reading blogs emptying the dishwasher.  They employ slogans such as "Sleep is for the weak", or "I'll have plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead", along with copious amounts of caffeine to get them through the day.

A typical non-napper type getting her caffeine fix.

Nappers are generally divided into three camps: the Unabashedly Laid Back,  Guilt-Ridden Snoozers, and Master Nappers. The ULB's talk of the restorative effects of the 15-minute Power Nap. They quote studies that support their theories, and insist that scientists at Harvard have determined that a midday snooze reverses information overload. (wikipedia)  

The Guilt-Ridden Snoozers, on the other hand, also believe in the benefits of napping but due to a childhood spent under the influence of parents who adopted a strict work ethic during the Great Depression, they find it difficult to nap with a clear conscience. A typical GRS can usually be spotted in the prone position with an open book, magazine or newspaper on his or her chest. If caught dozing off, they will insist, "I was just resting my eyes!"

photo borrowed from here

And the third category of napper? Master Nappers are those who have achieved the highest level of Napology. See photos below:

A true Master Napper can nap anywhere, at any time.

This is known in the trade as a Napportunity.

The training to become a Master Napper 

must begin at an early age

and is successful only if practiced on a regular basis.

 Another hallmark of the Master Napper is the Group Nap

where three or more Master Nappers
meet to practice in a warm and cozy place.

Synchronized Napping 

is a highly developed art form

practiced by teams of Master Nappers.

MN's take Nap Form very seriously

but are sometimes mistaken for Unabashedly Laid Back Nappers.

I hope this post has helped to illuminate the plight of all misunderstood Nappers (yawn!). As it is only through understanding and education that we can promote tolerance for all.

Now I really must go and get another cup of coffee, because I'm suddenly feeling very sleepy.... 

Buenas noches

just checking in...

I haven't been around here a whole lot in the last week.

My friends appear to be checking up on me.

It's kinda nice to know I'm missed by somebody.

happy trails, bossy!

A famous blogger rode into town Thursday on her intrepid hybrid pony known as (Harrison) Ford.
Bossy is on another road trip, driving 10,000 miles from coast to coast to convene her council in cities and towns across the country. She's been on the road about three weeks or so at this point, and arrived in Portland after a grueling ten-hour drive from Reno looking a little bleary-eyed, but surprisingly fresh and cheery. (The girl's got some serious stamina. I would have been incoherent if I tried to keep up a schedule like hers!) In fact, I'm pretty sure I was fairly incoherent anyway, after spending the afternoon shoveling all the messes out of the house to make it look presentable to the general public.


We shared homemade pizzas, and salads and a fabulous gorgonzola spinach dip that made it all the way up from Eugene (thanks, Elizabeth - it was awesome!)

That's Amanda on the right, an amazing blogger and about-to-be-published author who's already working on her second novel.

There was some great conversation, which is a given, considering all the talent assembled that night. This is Eliza, a fiber artist and soon to be publisher with two blogs: this one and this one.

Bossy was looking stuff up on her iPhone...what did we ever do without the technology to instantly call up facts when we need them?

Here's Sara, who has a wonderful blog where she writes letters to her young daughter.

That's Ann (who's in a marimba band) on the left, and Elise on the right. I met Ann and Elise and Sara a couple of years ago at a mixed up meetup for Bossy's last road trip. We're all glad we finally got to meet her this time!

I wish I'd taken more pictures, but I was way too busy trying to keep the knuckleheads from stealing the pizza off the table, and generally creating chaos. Plus, it just wouldn't be the real Camp Cactus experience if at least one of the cats didn't draw blood or throw up on the rug. (sorry about that!)

Well, I sure hope Bossy has one or two fond memories of the few hours spent with her Portland Council. You can see her famous long-arm portraits of the whole group here.

And as for me, I'm spending the weekend recovering from Bossy's No Book Tour.

Thanks to whoever left the "lemonade" behind...(and trust me, it is not simply lemonade...that stuff has a kick!)

Happy Trails, Bossy!

(Cooper's already taken over your chair)

let's just get on with 2010, shall we?

My assistants are helping me take down the Christmas tree today...

though I'm not sold on their method for testing the lights.

thematic photographic: white

Carmi over at Written Inc. is again hosting Thematic Photographic,

and the theme for this week is "white."

After looking through my photo library of countless snow pictures, I was reminded of this one after visiting Bossy's place this morning. Thanks for the inspiration, Bossy!

up to our ears in it

Today was a crazy one. I woke up at 5:45 am to one of the dogs barking downstairs. Stumbling down to the first floor, I was hit with a stench so vile it made my toes curl. Abbie greeted me at the bottom of the stairs begging to go out. I checked on Cooper, but he was curled up on the sofa with his nose buried under his back leg. And then I noticed the huge pile of poop on the kitchen floor. Why does stuff like this always happen in the middle of the night, when all I want is a few hours of blessed, uninterrupted sleep? Maizy was crouched in the corner, making another pile.

I scooped her up and carried her to the litter box in the basement, and cleaned up the mess with one hand, while I held my nose with the other. After disinfecting the entire floor, I barricaded her in the room with a litter box so she couldn't go anywhere else. (like on the new rug in the living room.)

I dragged my now-nauseous self back up the stairs to bed and burrowed under the covers, trying to forget the stench, but I swore I could still smell poop. Thirty seconds later, Mr. Chubbs jumped on the bed, and settled down next to me. I couldn't stand it. I had to check to see if I had any on me from cleaning up. I booted him off the bed and checked my pajamas, and finding them poop free, I shut the cat out of our bedroom and went back to sleep. When Dave got up he found fresh piles all over the floor in the kitchen, and after picking them up, he thoughtfully sprayed the spots with disinfectant and covered them with paper towels. That's the state the kitchen was in when I got up...and lest you think that was the end of it, it wasn't. We soon discovered that the poopy bouquet I detected in bed had emanated from Mr. Chubb's furry behind. He, too, was in apparent gastric distress, but unlike Maizy, he wasn't confined to one room. On the contrary, he spread little bits on our comforter and upholstered chair, on the bath mats, the bathroom floor, our bedroom rug, on the stairs, (which I of course, stepped in) everywhere but his litter box...after catching him and carting his poopy ass to the sink downstairs, we managed to hose him off and shampoo him back to his sweet smelling self.

I would have taken pictures if I could have, (because there's nothing better looking than a half-drowned cat) but it took all four hands just to keep him from clawing us to death while we washed him...on the bright side, there are fresh sheets on the bed, and the whole house is cleaner than it's been in months.

It's a good thing I'm an optimist.

For more stories about crazy things we do for love, hop over to San Diego Momma's place for the latest Prompt Tuesday...

no bats in this belfrey

Last night at about 2am, the door to our bedroom was flung open, and chaos entered our dream state. No, it wasn't our resident ghost (more on that another time), it was one of the cats bringing us a little gift. A squealing, freaked out, live little gift.

I jumped nimbly fell groggily out of bed and crawled over to see what it was he had in his mouth. It sounded like a mouse, but in the dark and without my glasses, who could tell? I turned on the light and by this time Dave was awake (sort of) and peering over the end of the bed, trying to figure out what was going on. I picked up Chubbsie (whatever it was, was still in his mouth), and tried to figure out what he'd caught. Of course, at that moment, he decided to drop it. I dropped him, and ordered him to get it, not wanting to chase whatever it was around the house all night. He just crouched on the floor by it, watching. I got my glasses and took a look at the dark little thing lying on the floor squealing. Dave, still half asleep, kept asking me: "What is it?" Then offered up the opinion that it was some inanimate object. One that made noises. It turned out to be a small bat. I gathered it up in an apothecary jar from the bathroom and checked to see if it was still breathing. The poor critter was panting heavily, so I took it out to the backyard and dropped it in the ivy on the fence, all the while apologizing profusely to the little guy... I sure hope he recovered.

Mr. Chubbs has been hanging out on the porch roof at night, where it's cool and dark and breezy. He slips out through the open window in the front bedroom and contentedly sprawls out on the roof. Little did we know he has a secret agenda. I've got to hand it to him, though. You've got to be pretty fast to catch a bat.

The great hunter himself.

what's on

Dog television.

A source of both endless amusement and near total boredom, punctuated by random scents and short bursts of excitement, like kids riding by on noisy skateboards, strange dogs pooping on your lawn(!), raccoons trooping across your street like they own it and squirrels cavorting in a circus act (Rocky and the Amazing Flying Squirrels!) on the electric wires overhead.

Dog TV: just like people TV... only smellier.

hooray for the red, white and blue

Imagine a soundtrack of 100 kazoos playing the Star Spangled Banner, and that's what life is like at Camp Cactus today.

haunted shoes

Things have been a little crazy around here lately. We've had visitors, a death in the family, an open studio, and now we're dog sitting for a couple of weeks. You can read all about our little boarder over at Dietary Indiscretions.

But back to the crazy. Emotions and anxieties have been running high lately, and everyone seems to be affected. The cats have been flipped out because they have a beagle stalking them every time they make a move. Matt's been stressed, spending every waking hour on assignments for school. Dave's back at work answering phones, dealing with irate customers and chafing under the pressures of dictatorial managers. I feel like a boulder in the middle of a class 5 rapids, with all the craziness swirling around me like a river. Even the dogs are feeling weirded out these days.

The pups have been on edge all week, probably because their usual routine has been upended by visitors and boarders and lots of activity in the studio.
They bark at everything, and nothing. Abbie is always on alert, and seems more sensitive to changes in her environment than Cooper, who just goes with the flow no matter if the (metaphorical) stream is at flood stage or all dried up.

The other day the dogs were hanging out in the yard, and barking on and off. Arrow the beagle is staying with us for a couple of weeks, and takes the job of being a beagle very seriously. As anyone who's ever lived with one could tell you, they are small dogs with great big personalities and an opinion about everything. He's usually the instigator of the rounds of barking, and Abbie chimes right in. This time, though, Abbie's barking was urgent, and Arrow and Cooper were following her lead.

When I got out there, they were all looking up at the studio roof, and sticking their heads under the gate, sniffing loudly and jumping back. I walked around the building, but didn't see anything obvious, like a racoon or a cat or a squirrel taunting them. Abbie was obviously freaked out and jumpy about something, so I got her leash and took her to investigate. As we approached the driveway, she backed up and stopped, refusing to budge. I coaxed her over to the side of the studio, to see if she might smell something between it and the garage next door. Someone had left a funky pair of shoes in the driveway, so I picked them up to move them out of the way, and she bolted. I wondered if maybe some homeless person was camping out back there. I didn't see any evidence of that, but she obviously smelled something, and I wasn't about to dispute her senses, seeing as my human nose is virtually useless when compared to a dog's.


When I picked up the shoes again, she cowered, and started barking hysterically at me, as if to say, "Gahh! Put those down!!! They're dangerous!" It was definitely the shoes. She's never been afraid of shoes before, and has never been abused by shoes in any way, or by anyone even wearing shoes, so I was at a loss. She obviously thought they were weird in some way. I didn't even know where they came from.

Were they haunted? Were they infested with bad juju? Were they ninja attack shoes? Did they whisper threats to the dog that only she could hear? Or was bad design simply offensive to her highly developed sense of style? I had no idea. I made them all go inside to calm down.

Since Matt parks his car in the driveway, I called him to ask if he knew where they came from. It turns out they were his old work shoes from the restaurant. They had lots of spilled food on them, and the soles had bits of stuff and grease in them. They were stinky and trashed and smelling up his car, so he was going to get rid of them, but forgot and left them in the driveway.

I picked them up and threw them in the trash can on the deck by the back door. Abbie knew they were in there, whispering death threats, and refused to pass it on her way to the yard.

I was forced to take them to our neighbor's dumpster and dispose of them. Dave had to open up the trash can and show her they were gone.

This morning we walked by the dumpster, and she stared at it, knowing they were still in there, just biding their time.... Bwahahaha!

why do I even bother?

Ever notice how sometimes the most mundane household chores turn into ludicrously complicated and nearly insurmountable tasks? Simple things. Like, oh, for instance, painting. The basement stairs. It should be easy, right? Not too involved. Vacuum. Wash. Maybe sand a bit. Paint. Done.
Not so fast, sucka!

Around here, it gets a wee bit more complicated. First, I have to consider that Caitie lives in the basement. Second, the door to the backyard is on the landing to the basement. This means there is regular traffic on the stairs, so any painting has to be done after all traffic ceases for the evening, which is generally around midnight or later. That doesn't leave a very big window right there.

Then, there are all the other little things to think about, such as: which way do I paint? If I start at the top and work my way down, (the easiest and most obvious choice) I'd be trapped in the basement all night, unless I'm willing to climb through a window, which I'm not. If I start at the bottom and work my way up, well...as you can imagine, it can be a difficult balancing act.

Finally, there's the problem of the drifting dust bunnies and tumbleweeds made of dog hair. No matter how thoroughly I vacuum, by the time I've washed the surface and let it dry and start to paint, the hair is back! On that point I've given up...I just think of the hair as texture now.

So this weekend, when I realized Caitie would be away for a few days, I thought I'd seize the opportunity and get the job done. I vacuumed thoroughly, washed (scoured) the stairs, and let all the animals out one last time for a pee and late night romp, and assessed the situation. I painted from the landing to the bottom, leaving a trail about 6" wide on the top few stairs as a path to get out, then balanced precariously on those spots to paint out the trail behind me as I ascended. It was a little tricky, and I only got paint on my ass once while backing up the stairs...and did I mention I was in my pajamas?

The next part of the plan involved placing a baby gate at the very top of the stairs so nobody could violate the fresh paint while it was drying overnight, then painting my way down to the landing and out the back door. I could then reenter the house through the front door. There used to be a gate, complete with hardware, at the top of the stairs, but it had become redundant when we put a gate across the lower stairs. I decided to improvise by wedging a gate across the top step as a temporary barrier. We've learned that the dogs are so used to the barriers that they don't even bother to test them anymore. We could probably make a gate out of crepe paper at this point and it would be an adequate deterrent. (What can I say? They're not the brightest bulbs in the pack.) The cats, however, are another matter entirely...I'm pretty sure you can guess what happened next:


Needless to say, just as I was painting myself out the back door, the gate game crashing down, followed (or maybe preceded by) one crazed long-haired cat bouncing off the wet stairs, the wall, and then leaping over me and shooting out the back gate into the night. When I was done cursing like a longshoreman and wiping the paint off my back, I went to look for him so I could wash him off before the paint dried (a foolhardy venture, best not attempted sober), but he was nowhere to be found. Until the next morning, that is. He came sauntering in for breakfast as if nothing had happened, his butt and paws and chin and tail covered with dried paint embedded with leaves and all manner of stuff from under the porch where he had obviously spent the night...




He left me with no other choice but to break out the scissors.