Kip is a wild girl. She's a cat on the run. She's a frustrating mix of need and paranoia, of "touch me" and "don't you dare." As a kitten, she endured my petting, because she hadn't yet discovered she had a choice. But as soon as she hit open air, she grabbed her independence like a life line and tossed a "see ya" right over her shoulder. She watches our house from the woods, where she blends easily into the shadows cast by ferns and blackberries. Sometimes, when curiosity draws her from her ... continue reading...
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Pieces
My proper but mischievous grandmother had one firm rule about cussing: If you must do it, do it in the barn. I believe now that her unspoken message was "animal behavior belongs with the animals," but we didn't hear that subtext back then. We just thought it a tantalizing and dangerous invitation. Of us seven girls, I only remember one who regularly took Grandma up on that offer. "Dang it," the girl-whose-name-I'm-not- telling-you would whisper, when she just couldn't take the pressure of ... continue reading...
Rescue Me
A post from my other blog, Wind Scraps, written five years ago today. That Felix. If he were a human boy, he'd be losing himself on hikes in the mountains, or falling into wells, or ever-working himself into tight and dangerous spots. But he's not human. He's a cat. And so he shadows Dave like a bobcat, following him into the shed and out back to the wood pile, and down to the car that doesn't run anymore. When Dave opens the door and rummages in the glove compartment to find whatever he went ... continue reading...
Those Potluck Boston Baked Beans
On the first Sunday of every month, right after our church's second service, the men storm upstairs and spring into action. While the women chat and laugh and make a leisurely climb up from the sanctuary, those men start tossing chairs and tables all around the room, and right before your eyes, they transform the overflow area into a fellowship spot -- just in time for our monthly, first-Sunday potluck. It's really a sight to see. If instead of men they were, say, mice, you'd think you were ... continue reading...
Easy Eclairs
My family is pretty nuts about cinnamon rolls. We have a tradition, which I accidentally began 25 years ago as a newlywed up in Bellingham, Washington. On the night of our first snowfall that year, I thought it might be nice to surprise Dave with a batch of cinnamon rolls. Then as now, he likes his with a giant glass of cold milk and a giant slab of butter melting itself into all those cinnamony folds. He ate ... oh, I don't know ... 11 of the 12 I made? But it didn't curb his desire. The next ... continue reading...
That Spring Cleaning Bug
Am I the only person who catches the spring cleaning bug about six minutes after the Christmas tree is gone? I seriously turn into a dust cloth-clutching Tasmanian devil this time every year. Add to that the fact that I've still got that nesting thing going on since the birth of my grandson, and I've got quite the cleaning urge. Let's just say that if you were a knickknack in my house right now, your little ceramic legs would be shaking. I started this year by filling and dropping off about ten ... continue reading...