He's Back

Gary returned from Laura Lake this afternoon.  I met him at Manzkes' farm, where he stores the camper during the winter. He still has the winterising to do, and then we say good bye to the summer.  We emptied the refrigerator and brought the food home.

Rascal was sleeping in his bed beside the computer when we came in.  Gary went to greet him, but Rascal ignored him.

Gary had committed the ultimate crime.  He went away, leaving a perfectly good cat behind, then forgot to stop to buy chicken on his return.  Rascal would have nothing to do with him until we went to the grocery store.  Once Gary pulled out the chicken thigh and cut it up properly, he was on better terms with out pet.  It was even better when we had pizza for supper.  Rascal loves pepperoni.

Now Gary is back in his office, catching up on mail.

Rascal has already joined him there for some lap time.  Everything is as it should be in our little house.

Garage Sales

This afternoon, Wade Peterson posted his story "Garage Sale" on our short story blog: http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com/

Wade's story made me realize why I don't hold rummage sales anymore. Years ago I stopped having them.

I didn't mind digging through my possessions looking for things to throw out. At heart, I am a minimalist. The less I own, the happier I am.

I didn't like marking prices, so when I had garage sales years ago, everything was 25 cents, so matter what it was.  (I once sold a pair of skis for 25 cents.)

I didn't like sitting around for two days on cold days or hot days, and it always seemed to be one or the other. I didn't like the sheer boredom of sitting there. When I had to stay put, I wanted to leave, to go anywhere but that old garage.

I didn't like people looking through my things.  Wade got that right in his story.  People pawed through my things, my life, making rude comments.  Unbelievable.

So now, once a year, I dig through my possessions, looking for things to throw out.  Then I take them to Goodwill.

Rainy Night Walking

It has been raining all day.  Other than a swim at the aquatic center, I've been stuck inside with a complaining cat.   Rascal doesn't like rainy days either.

Finally, I had to get out.  I dug out my best rain coat and set off down the dark streets, remembering to avoid the place where I fell down on the last rainy night. I set my mind to imagine that I was walking through the English countryside in a fine mist...instead of a miserable cold rain in small town in Wisconsin.

I do my best thinking on these walks, no matter what the weather is.  A friend asked me if she could read the short story I am currently working on, but other than a few notes, the thing is stored in my brain. It will stay there, scrambled with other stray thoughts until the thing finally gels.  Once I have it, I will type it up in about half an hour. There will be editing, of course, but the plot lines and characters will reach the computer almost complete.

Years ago, if I came up with something brilliant (hey, that's always a possibility!) that I didn't want to forget on these walks, I used to reach into a pocket for a notebook and pen.  I move with the times. These days, I use my cell phone to call my land line phone and leave myself a message.

Tonight, I came home wet and happier with multiple messages on my answering machine.

Rascal

Whenever I return from a trip, I must stop at the grocery store before going home to buy roasted chicken.  Not for me, but for Rascal.  The cat expresses his outrage when I come in the door.  He tells me he plans on packing his bags and leaving this awful house forever. When I start cutting him slices of that juicy meat he settles down.  He wouldn't want to leave on an empty stomach.

Once he has a few morsels, he tries to remember why he is angry.  He insists on a stroll out on the deck. Meanwhile, I cut up some more pieces and wave them around, getting that lovely poultry smell out to him.  He comes back in and eats some more.  My transgressions recede in his mind.

A little while later, while I am at the computer catching up on e-mail, he shows up and leaps on my lap and begins to purr.  I am home and all is right in the feline world.

Rascal is eighteen years old now.  He is getting a little bony around the hips and his tummy sags, but other than that, he's in good health.

I checked his records last night and found out he is behind on his inoculations. The problem is that we no longer have a veterinarian here in Seymour.  At a minimum, we will have to drive fifteen miles to get to the closest small animal clinic.  Neither Gary nor I relish that long a drive with continuing half-Siamese yowls coming from the back seat.  Does he really need to be inoculated against rabies when he never even gets off the back deck?  These days, he sits there in the sun until the day grows chilly, then he retreats into the house.  Soon the snow will fly and he won't even go that far.  

Gary and I will make a decision when he returns from Laura Lake. If a trip to the vet does happen, I expect roasted chicken will be required.

Winter Plans

Gary is still at the Laura Lake campground, gradually packing up. I am home in Seymour, thinking about how I'll spend winter.

I am beginning to plan a summer reading program tour for 2012, this time to the East Coast.  Because librarians usually have their plans in motion by the beginning of December, I will start contacting them now. I don't want to be gone five weeks, as I was this past summer, so I am going to concentrate on the three weeks after the fourth of July.

When Wade and I started our short story blog, I knew I had a small back log of stories to keep going for a while, but I still have to write some new ones so I don't get caught by next spring. I need new ideas. That usually requires going to a restaurant, a mall, or some other place until I spot someone that looks interesting and create a character and plot around him or her.  (My inspirations never know.)

Then there's NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in November.  Should I start a new novel or finish up another still in its second draft?

I am currently putting parts of this blog into book form. The writing is done, I just have to edit it down into something readable.  I'd like to have an e-book by January.

There is directing the United Methodist Church choir which requires some planning.  Besides our Sunday duties, we are planning an Advent concert.  Starting this Sunday, we'll be practicing Christmas music.

There's the holidays to face, too.  I will have another Winter Solstice party. Gary's birthday. Halloween. Christmas, and on and on until we get to spring.

Then it's back to camping!

Good-bye to Laura Lake

Two days ago, with temperatures in the mid-80s, Gary and I put on our swimsuits and went for a very, very quick dip.  The air temperature might be warm, but that water was so, so cold, so it was jump in, scream, and come back out.  Still, swimming in October was worth the shock.

For two days, I caught up on reading I had put off for much of the summer.  Once back in Seymour, I wouldn't have as much time. From time to time I would look up at the lake with a sigh.  The leaves were falling so fast.

This morning, I packed quickly and said good bye to Gary and Laura Lake. 

Before I drove off, a hermit thrush flew past the cook tent.  On my way out of the campground, a Hungarian partridge ran in front of the car, just as he had every time I came through that area.  Near Highway 8, I just missed hitting three deer that suddenly came out of the brush.

(Governor Scott Walker has just hired a Texan as the new Wisconsin "deer czar" because some hunters have been complaining that the Department of Natural Resources managment techniques were leading to a lack of deer during hunting seasons.  This bemuses anyone who has to drive in Wisconsin.  One can see fields with as many as 50 deer.  That includes areas around Seymour.  If hunters cannot find deer, it is because they are inept.)

I'll see Gary in a few days.  The bear and the signs go into storage.

I won't see the lake again until spring.

Chipmunk Wars

It began with ducks, six mallards who were likely hatched over the summer. They had learned to mooch at campsites and soon arrived at ours. We fed them stale bread, muffins, and anything else we could find that we thought they might like, but we ran out of duck food.

In Iron River, Michigan on other business, we stopped at the Ace Hardware store. Gary bought cracked corn for the ducks and some birdseed for the many chickadees that sang to us each morning. I found some bagged peanuts in the shell I intended to eat myself. At the St. Vincent de Paul re-sale shop there was a box of free items and there I found some crackers I was sure the ducks would like.

That night there was a strong wind bringing in cold temperatures. The next morning we went to the shore with our duck feast...to find the ducks had flown south for the winter. Meanwhile, I had tasted the peanuts and found them to be stale. The chickadees ignored the feeders Gary set out.

We began to feed all the bounty to the chipmunks. They had already been begging for food. They, too, had been spoiled by previous campers but they had never before had this much food. It started with a pair of chipmunks, but soon grew to four, then five, and now six. Chipmunks are territorial. They come to the feeding ground from all directions. When they run into each other, chipmunk fights erupt, with the dominant chippie chasing another away. When Big Guy Chippie is thus occupied, the others have a chance to swoop in to grab what they can: peanuts, crackers, bird seed, roasted soy beans (a treat Gary brought, and bread crusts. Whatever they find is taken away to store for the winter.

This amuses Gary who creates little problems for them, like putting a peanut in a paper towel tube. They soon learned to go all the way through, pushing the peanut out. They find bird seed in a coffee can or crackers covered with peanut butter on rocks.



Then Red Squirrel began to complain that he wasn't getting his share. I began to throw peanuts down the trail which was fine until a chipmunk wandered into his territory. Another fight ensued. That was bad enough but another squirrel came over from across the road. Those two fought until eventually one noticed where a chipmunk was stashing his booty and started stealing.

These little beggars are becoming more bold. One chippie jumped on my lap when I failed to throw out peanuts in a timely manner. This morning, they were calling at me to wake up and when I opened the door, one was on the steps waiting for me.

Gary was reading a book fireside when he felt a tingling on his foot. He looked down to see a chipmunk tapping his toes. I left my car door open for a few minutes. When I reached in for something a chippie flew out. He had been searching for the source.

We are almost out of chipmunk food. We figure we better leave before they take over and start munching on us.