Unbearable Camano Island Picnic

 

Having just had Maurice the Black Bear amble through my field during breakfast, helping himself to the apples in my orchard; we turned our focus to our planned picnic lunch. We all know that Yogi Bear loves to steal picnic baskets, and thinking that Maurice Bear is also one of those 'smarter than the average bear' types, and Maurice would love nothing better than to not only take my orchard apples, but also our picnic lunch. Therefore, we made unbearable picnic plans.

We were not willing to bear the risk of a stolen picnic lunch, so we hightailed it away from The Pilchuck estate and its bear-infested apple orchard, west to the always enjoyable Camano Island State Park for an afternoon picnic on the graveled beach shore of Camano Island.

We set our box of comestibles on a weathered picnic table behind the driftwood and logs while enjoying the company and the July sunshine. 

We finished feeding, and then naturally took a familiar stroll along the edge of the surf at the  base of glacially deposited sediments forming a cliff. The great thing about strolling along a familiar beach is that many of the details change every time you set foot where the tide had brought new shells and stones in exchange for other seaborn trinkets carried away. 

The family strolls along Saratoga Passage of Puget Sound

Inga repeats a geology lesson to Sean, one she has heard often from her parents at this local

 No bears joined us on Camano Island for lunch, we had our picnic basket all to ourselves.

Look! Over there. It's a bear!

 

Look over there! It's a bear!

We were all preparing to have a leisurely late morning breakfast on July 21st when Inga exclaimed, "There's a bear out there!" 

A young black bear was loping through the fresh mown field in front of the house and was heading for the apple orchard on the south side of the house. We all ran to the viewing deck to watch a black bear coming to breakfast with us. I have been seeing deer eat the fallen apples, but this guy was unexpected and more prodigious than the deer, he could climb the apple tree and knock down fresh apples. Unlike the deer he didn't have to wait for the wind to blow and for the fruit to fall. A bear gets what a bear wants.

Maurice the Black Bear loping across my cut field

Maurice foraging for apples and climbing the trunk to bob and bop some low-hanging fruit

Everybody had their camera out for the photo safari. 

Now, I have apples and plums in my orchard, no peaches. But watching this young bear climb and shake the apples from my tree, the lyrics from the Steve Miller Band song, The Joker, came to mind: 

Some people call me the space cowboy yeah
Some call me the gangster of love
Some people call me Maurice
'Cause I speak of the pompitous of love...

Your the cutest thing that I ever did see
I really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree
Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the time
Oee, baby, I'll sure show you a good time

I christened our breakfastmate right then and there, Maurice. He really loves my peaches [apples], wanna shake my tree...

Maurice had his fill of fruit after about 40 minutes and wandered off into the woods, as bears are want to do. We headed back inside to our breakfast table where we spoke of the pompitous of love -wooweee, (I'll sure show you a good time).

Family Gathers for Summertime on The Pilchuck

 The Western Washington weather is mild, the creek is gurgling through the evergreens and I am delighted to anticipate the gathering of family after months of solitude on The Pilchuck estate. My wife will fly into Seattle and Inga and Sean will drive up from Portland. The house is not quite finished, but it is furnished in a basic manner and livable for the four of us.

I'm delighted to take a break from house construction chores and flip into Summer Host mode. I pick Sue up at the airport and we have a day or two to ourselves before the kids arrive, the kids being daughter Inga and boyfriend Sean. 

Never being constrained by calendar dates, we Sunesons have our own sense of time and our own feeling for what fits the circumstances. It is several weeks past Inga's birthday, and mom knows her daughter is a fool for angel food cake. Let's make sure the girl has an angel food cake for her birthday celebration, even if her birthday was in June and it's now July. We will make this work.

Mom bakes an Angel Food Cake for Inga's birthday - celebrated a few weeks after the fact.  

Sue gets used to the new kitchen that I build for her, asking where I have stored the bowls, ingredients and kitchen implements? I point to cupboards, drawers and pantry shelves. There is so much space that I secretly hope she loves it here on The Pilchuck so much that she decides to never leave and go back to Texas. Yes, I am a dreamer.

Inga and Sean fight the traffic north on I-5, rolling up the freshly mown driveway into the estate. We welcome the kids and offer refreshment after their 200 mile journey. Great to have a family around (still trying to get Grant and Kaileen to visit as well).

The plan over the next few days is to not have much of a plan. The consensus is that it is always commendable to have a trip or picnic at Camano Beach. A bit of hanging around and hanging out seems fitting in the long summer days of these northern latitudes. 

Mother and daughter do think about a little back to nature fun and doing some gardening around the place. They will need some seeds and some tools. They will need to go to Arlington Hardware, which is a destination in itself, with century old creaky hardwood floors and Big Foot swag and all kinds of needful things for ambitious or slightly ambitious folks around these parts.

Sean checks his apps to see the reviews on tool brands; he tells me what is rated highly and I then pick out another machete and some lopping shears. We are in business on the Pilchuck.

Sean ready for action after a trip to Arlington Hardware and acquiring tools

One fine evening, I send a pair of Blackberry Ninjas out into the forest primeval to whack a trail through the thicket and hopefully reach the creek from our property on the back 40. A daunting task. They are gloved, armored and powerful with sharpened steel. Onward and farewell with victory in your black berry battle!

The two warriors return for dinner, but report a tough battle, some egress through the dense lines of thick and thorny canes. But, alas, they had not broken through to the shores of Pilchuck Creek. Live to fight another day I say. Have a seat and lets enjoy this day and our supper together.

Taming The Wild

It is the growing season.

I am whelmed and soon to be overwhelmed. I need reinforcements. Who better to call than Bob. Bob has been a tractor guy all of his life. My single blade machete is no match for the 6-foot tall weeds, verdant and robust grasses and most dastardly of all - the black berry infested ground with brambles of vicious thorns.

Bob arrives from 32 miles away in La Conner with his tractor and brush hog implement to do battle over my 50 acres. His arrival in the second week of July in as welcome of a sight as that of the US Calvary coming over the hill to rescue the settler's wagon train in an old Hollywood Western movie.

The 'calvary' rides to rescue. Bob & tractor to battle my overgrown estate

Bob, his trusty Ford tractor and its weed chewing implements are unloaded. I discuss my priorities with Bob and he fires up the beast and gets to mowing. We start with the easy stuff, the tall, but easily dispatched weeds on the 10 acre parcel in front of the house. This will beat back the encroaching and obscuring growth that threatens to overrun my house.

Trimming begins along the driveway supply line

As all military strategist know, it is of supreme importance to maintain open supply lines. In my case, keeping the driveway clear and free from the tendrils of the black berry vines is my vital supply line that must be maintained.

Efforts are made in subsequent days to cut a route to Pilchuck Creek from my back 40 acres. However, not even 50 HP Ford is able to make a complete break through the thicket of blackberry brambles. Creek access from my own property remains unattainable for me, yet I rejoice in any and all progress against the undergrowth.

The thick foliage surrounding the house is cut down to size. A clean, fresh view is welcomed.

Noticeable improvement; Before and After of the 10 ac field

A swath is cut to the water well in what was once the barnyard

Clearing a path into the Back 40 through dense forest.

Bob perseveres for 3 days of man and machine against nature. Much is accomplished, but not without casualties; sheared bolts had to be improvised and replaced, broken welds, a leaking hydraulic line and the time-consuming effort to disentangle the rusty springs and wires from an old mattress left in the grass by previous trashy renters that gummed up the bush hog's blades. It seems, nothing is ever easy out on The Pilchuck.

The place looks far better after Bob's generous time and onerous efforts. There was some doubt as whether the hitch on his truck would hold long enough to get tractor and trailer back from whence they came. The good news is that the hitch, though warped and damaged, did hold and there was no runaway trailer running off the county road careening across Highway 20 on his return to La Conner.

My heartfelt thanks to my sister-in-law Ann, for letting her husband take care of my place at the neglect of her and the numerous chores back on the home front.

A well-mowed field is a welcome sight. My weeds and cortisol level are reduce proportionate to the reduced size of the once overgrown estate.

Summertime, and the living is easy - after a lot of hard work.

 

Return to the Wild - Video Addendum

 The black berry canes encroach from the beneath the alder grove, creeping across my driveway. They seek to block my access to my house and takeover the place by persistent pressure, making it all a big briar patch.

I survey the battlefield. The calvary will arrive next week, the calvary being brother-in-law Bob and his tractor and his efficiently cutting brush hog implement. 

I walk up my country driveway, a 0.15 mile gravel lane, and video as I approach the "Y", the place where my drive branches; to the left is the house, to the right is the back 40. Mr. Redtail, the circling hawk vociferously cries for his mate. They nest in the fir tree halfway toward the house. 

Return to the Wild

 

Standing 6' tall, I'm over topped by an overgrown malicious black berry cane

Return to the wild.

I left my home on the 50 acres along Pilchuck Creek, with construction work still in progress. I have another home and my first wife back in Texas. It is difficult to handle the home duties of two disparate places that are 2,472 miles apart. I can not be in two places at once, so I split my time.

My Texas time, a pleasant three months and a few days with my beloved down south, spanning from St. Patrick's Day through the Summer Solstice had come to an end. I was a called to return and attend to the completion of the house and all the wild wood that encroaches upon it. 

The vegetation surrounding the Washington house had grown vigorously and verdant in the lengthening days of spring and early summer. The place had grown wild in my absence. I fear that the encroaching scenery will cover and consume all of the hard work to carve out a new home on The Pilchuck. Driving through the gate on this late June afternoon, I was stunned by the intensity of the greenery and somewhat demoralized by the savage and aggressive dominance of the cursed black berry sticker vines.

I imagine I can hear the creeping stickers extending their domain at night, pushing their tentacles ever closer to my house, threatening to swallow me up by morning. I look around in the daylight and consider my odds; it seems I am one against a million stickers. My machete blade will never be enough to staunch the green menace. I call for reinforcements.

I survey the view from my deck, I need a mechanical advantage to battle the berries. I call brother-in-law Bob, 35 miles up the road in La Connor, he has a tractor with a brush hog.

The Pilchuck has grown wild. The view from the driveway

Weeds and grass march boldly to my front door

The field daisies are pretty, but I truly need a clear, neatly trimmed field around my house. The forest and field are aggressive and do not welcome my home built in their midst.

Bob, as always, is helpful and is willing to haul his tractor over and spend his time mowing my acreage. I'm very thankful for his willingness to help out. I will need to rent a trailer for him to move his tractor over to the Pilchuck. Some of the best money ever spent I think to myself. Unfortunately, we were coming up on the July 4th holiday, there are no trailers to be had for hire. The mighty mow will be postponed until the following weekend.

I am overwhelmed by the 'before' look of the place. I am looking with great anticipation to the 'after' look once Bob and his tractor work are finished.

Spirit Animal in My Travels

 Have you ever wondered, 'What is my spirit animal?'

Or what would appear as your mystical Patronus guardian and protector if you pulled off the magic 'Expecto Patronum' charm?  

The 'Dillo, my spirit animal is conjured in Clayton, New Mexico

I have been conjuring armadillos for some time now, off and on; mostly brought into two dimensional reality to celebrate birthdays and other positive milestones. Perhaps the 'Dillo is my spirit animal, maybe even my Patronus guardian.

Having returned to Texas in March from my home-building project in Northwestern Washington; I reluctantly acknowledged my yet unfinished business in the Pacific Northwest. It was now the last week on June, I packed for my return to the construction site. I had enjoyed the renewed sense of being married, sharing a home and the underrated blessings of a mundane life with my wife. I found an appreciation in the normal tides of life's chores and the casting of plans for some special nights out together.

With Amarillo in my rear view mirror, I drove west on I-40, cutting north up the western edge of the Texas panhandle before turning west and crossing the border into New Mexico. Clayton, the small historic cattle drive town makes a good and frequent place to stop for lunch in my travels.

The Dairy Queen in Clayton is now closed. But, when it was open and serving throngs of Texans passing through, it had historic photos from early 20th Century Clayton on the walls. These photos included scenes from the 1905 hanging in town of the notorious train robber, Black Jack. If one were seated in a specific DQ booth, consuming a basket with a Beltbuster burger, fries and a DQ Blizzard; one of the old photos on the wall showed that the hangman had made the noose at the end Black Jack's rope too long. If one looked closely, it was apparent that Black Jack's head had popped off at the neck when he dropped through the trap door, leaving the formally dressed body slumped beneath the gallows and his head at the feet of the sheriff. Alas, that lunchtime oddity is no longer open for business.

While in Clayton I've enjoyed great chile rellenos at the old Hotel Eklund, roadside taco stands and Tex-NewMex at the Rabbit Ears Cafe. This afternoon, I was seated on the patio of the 87 Restaurant. I was hoping for a chicken fried steak. No dice, they just ran out. Note to self: next time drive faster.

While waiting on the back patio for my enchilada dish to be serve to my table, I noticed boxes of colored chalk available to the patrons. Most people who took chalk to hand merely wrote little passages extolling the virtues of their hometown. I opted to conjure a dining companion. I invited my chalk-rendered armadillo spirit animal to my table, where we discussed our travels. If my dining companion was a fabled magic Shuga Dillo, then he had the power to bless and protect my journey in the coming days. 

My spirit animal rode with me in imaginary form into Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho and finally to Washington. I left the chalk dust visage of my spirit Dillo to remain behind at the table to delight later diners with his company. 

I expect he was hosed into oblivion at the close to the day. But I remember his traveling graces fondly from Clayton, New Mexico and the 87 Restaurant.

My advice: Enjoy the journey - and conjure your spirit animal to travel as your companion. But don't get caught robbing any mail trains in Clayton.

Backyard Baby

 Sue's backyard baby has been faithfully cared for; watered, cooed over, exhorted with plenty of CO2 over her dark and handsome foliage.

Hibiscus baby sat there taking it all in on the back deck. Plenty of tropical sunshine, pleasant temperatures, all setting the stage for a magnificent bloom.

She developed a healthy looking bud, teasing as the bud swelled with daily hints of being ready to unfurl her finery... each morning she seemed ready to open up -- but only another tease.

Sue had obligations scheduled far in advance to head-up a youth camp in East Texas, she packed and headed out the door Friday afternoon with the parting admonition; "Be sure to water my Hibiscus baby."

Of course Saturday morning was the long anticipated day of Hibiscus baby's first flower. And what a prodigious, showy first peek came into view with the morning sun.

I took a photo of baby's first steps and texted it to the expectant mother out in East Texas.

I love the rich, sassy beauty of this species. We've had orange and yellow hibiscuses before, but I think this one out shines them all. 

Al Fresco's Dinner Invitation

 The sun hangs low in the western sky. The early summer breeze is light. The intoxicating scent of the magnolia blossoms can faintly be detected.

I tell my sweetheart, "We just got a dinner invitation from Al Fresco, you wanna join me?"

"Al who?"

"Al Fresco. He's a fun, outdoorsy kind of guy. Com'on, it'll be fun!"

She catches on, "What should I wear?"

I wanted to tell her, "Just a smile - and you can leave your hat on," but we both knew that any of our neighbors driving down the alley could look right through our steel picket fence and see us dining al fresco au natural, and that would be inappropriate. Beside the mosquitoes would enjoy us as much as the neighbors. 

"Al Fresco says come as you are. I add, you look lovely in your purple dress."

She sets the table, I select a bottle of wine. With my shrimp alfredo cooked to perfection and served al fresco, we waltz out the back door to our patio and enjoy the company of Al Fresco and intimate little dinner party in the twilight of the Texas sunset. 

Fun al fresco dining & an empty bottle of red wine - with our clothes on

Foggy Bottom Fireflies Flashing for a Mate

 Fireflies, a shining, luminescent mystery of nature. 

I love a mystery. 

I love watching the fireflies flashing their mysterious abdomens in the dusk shrouded woods along Spring Creek, a short distance from our Texas home. 

Sue and I sometimes finish our dinner before the long Texas summer sun sinks into the west. "Leave the dished for later, you wanna go watch fireflies with me?" I ask my girl. She always says "Yep; just let me put some shoes on. Let's go!"

We like to sit on a bench along side the trail, just off the Cretaceous limestone meadow and a few steps into the darkening woods at dusk. It's a grand place to hold hands and watch the frequent warm yellow-green glow of sparking fireflies.

We had a nice thunderstorm pass through in the afternoon, driving away the Texas heat in a humid pleasantness. We skipped along in the growing darkness on a meadow path through wildflowers on the last day of May. Just as the sun goes down, the flirting frenzy of flashing fireflies lights up the undergrowth. 

 

Perhaps we were a wee bit late to the mating dance this night. The flashing males were either a bit spent or many had already gotten lucky, landing alongside a female winking in response to his signaling search. The light show was not as intense and twinkling as we'd seen in these woods on evenings past.

It's still a wonder to behold the cool, bioluminescence of these beetles, one of my favorite things in Texas. With the show winding to a halt as the night shade thickened about us, we left the meadow and the hanging tatters of ground fog. It was a worthwhile event to witness. Ah, the season for splendor in the grass.

For a spontaneous surprise, I took my lady to Feng Cha, a specialty Chinese tea and drink place, on our the way home.  Maybe I can't make my abdomen light up in a lurid, sexy flashing glow this early summer evening; but I have my own ways of getting my girls attention.

Let's go home and make me glow.

Bountiful Bouquets in our Blackland Prairie

 The spring of 2023 is an outstanding one for Texas wildflowers. 

I returned to Texas in March and as I often do, I took time to wander out to the city's nearby Holford Nature Preserve, an undeveloped remnant of the blackland prairie, remaining wild along Spring Creek. Holford Preserve is a rarity in these parts, a variety of habitats tucked together with a spectacular flowering meadow developed on thin, black clay soil over Cretaceous limestone. 

The open, hardscrabble landscapes makes for a huge variety of wildflowers that appear in the parade of days from March through early summer.

I thought I'd share a few of my friends living out in the Holford Preserve...

Firewheel cluster

Flowering cactus

A family of Firewheels

Shy lavender forest-dweller

Sue suggests that I should take  photographs of a bunch of these Texas wildflowers and have them printed on cards and sell them on Etsy or somewhere.

I think it is a good idea. I just need to bring a tripod with me and get all of these vernal beauties in focus and find a print shop.

Some day...

 

Mother's Day Picnic in the Park

Our traditional cheesy Mother's Day Picnic

 

It's a good tradition. 

It's a cheesy tradition.

It's our tradition.

Mother's Day is noted on the calendar and we know we have to pick a picnic park place. We've done city parks, we've done rural grassland preserves, we picnicked by lakes and by creeks. We've driven far, we've stayed pretty close to home.

We always buy a fun and flavorful assortment of exotic cheeses to pack into the basket. Sometimes I surprise the Mother of our kiddos with my own cheese selections. More often these days we shop the cheese counter together.

To go along with the cheese, we always include ginger beer, a few samples of fruit and sometimes nuts and always gluten free crackers (unless we forget).

With the Mother's Day weather threatening thunderstorms, we elected the nearby Breckenridge City Park with a roofed pavilion. 

We enjoyed our six varieties of cheese, discussing our favorites. Tossing back strawberries and sipping ginger beer.

We repacked our picnic supplies and wandered down the sloping walks of Breckenridge to stroll among the wildflowers and under the large trees along Spring Creek.

Wildflowers in a plot of poppies and larkspur.

The skies grew gray, the storm front caught up to us and we began to skip quickly back to the car, dancing between large rain drops as the sky growled with thunder.

It was satisfying afternoon of cheese and walks among the flowers and trees with a worthy and beloved mother.

Here, I raise my fermented curd to all of those moms we do so dearly love! Fromage!

Sweet Magnolia

 Ah, Magnolia.

MAG-noh-lee-a. Just to pronounce her name, one's tongue has to saunter about in your mouth as your lips leisurely stroll about your face. One has to smile when merely mentioning her name. It's even more enigmatic and sensuous when the syllables are drawn out in a baritone. Mag NOOO lee ah!

The massive and fragrant citrus-scented blossoms are full, buxom beauties that open for my arrival back in springtime Texas. 

I greet her bold, unfurling petals with enthusiasm. I bend the supple boughs down to bring her audacious white blooms to my nose, I inhale and my being rises, enveloped in the scent of a southern spring while in the intimate presence of her petals; pure white appearing fresh in the humid morning air. She grows in confidence, spreading, opening her cool, succulent textured skin as she exposes herself to the smile of the sun.

 

Magnolia is a messy, big-boned gal. Her leaves broad, tough and waxy green with a furry, brassy underside. Her blossoms are not shy, halting in their purity and challenging for the world's attention in their enormity. 

I love a brassy, bold, large-leafed, bright blossomed girl with a sweet scent giving me a show in our backyard.

Like the pleasant spring weather in Texas, Magnolia does not terry long. 

She gives me an eye full, proudly displaying her attributes, then quickly tiring of the grandiosity of the adventure, and then it is over for us.

Her virgin white petals after a day or two, turn into the sensuous brown skin of a south seas island maiden before all the feminine, flowery pretense falls to the ground. Leaving a grenade formed of hard, prickly pods embedded with red seeds, bright and alluring.

My mulching mower makes her leaves, petals and pods all disappear as I tend to the green grass skirting her smooth trunk. I cut and trim around her in the Texas summer heat with but memories of Sweet Magnolia and our springtide fling.

Rolling with My Repairs - like a Bowling Ball

When I drove back into Garland on March 20th, there were many an item to repair; the blown down fence, the tortoise burrow, the fallen tree limbs in that the city Code Enforcement disliked, the non-functioning air conditioning in the warming Texas spring, the non-spinning washing machine, the dead car battery and maybe my marriage. I added all of these to my scheduled personal repair set for March 30, 2023. 

When I came to on the morning of March 30th, I had three holes drilled into me like a bowling ball.

I'd been wobbling around for awhile, not feeling like I was rolling straight and true. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like I wasn't always in my lane. I checked myself and determined I was rolling some gutter balls.  It wasn't getting any better either.

In fact, I was getting worse, having the unpleasant sensation of having to tuck my guts back up inside me when they oozed out too far. Something had to be done.

Tired of the late winter dismal solitude to which I had assigned myself in order to get my dream house built on Pilchuck Creek, I jump to a solution. I spontaneously booked a flight in February to the warmer climes of Texas and the warmth of my wife under shared blankets. While back in Dallas I scheduled an appointment with surgeon Birdwell. I told Birdwell I had a hernia. 

He checked me and said "No, mister you have two."

As some of you know, I am all about value. I and Birdwell dicker and I end up getting a 2-for-1 deal! I am excited by my bargain surgery. But -- Should I be?

Flashing my Medicare Card and Part D Supplemental Insurance for this newly certified old guy with oozing intestines, I scheduled an operation for the end of March. 

I was told by the my scheduling nurse that my surgery was going to be conducted with "the robot." She informed me, "the surgeons all love to use the robot, so it is good that we are setting up your operation this far in advance so Dr. Birdwell can call dibs on the robot."

She made it sound like this was a good thing. I had images from the movie Alien, where an egg-laying insectivorous alien in outer space would deposit her eggs in the thorax of a human, only to have them gestate and explode out of the poor victim's body. What a horrifying mess. Not a good image for me to hold as I go into surgery to meet a robot.

So I move on, only to have my mind snap from visual to audio; playing in my mind, The Flaming Lips song, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.

It is not far off to sing about oozing hips battling the medical robots.

+++

We are up at 5:30 Friday. I am fasting, so getting-ready-time is quick with no breakfast. Sue drives me to North Dallas Surgery Center for my 7 AM check-in. We witness no less than three vehicles running red lights in front of us at this early hour. What? Is everybody running late for surgery?

Dr. Birdwell is a little late (should have run a red light I guess), so my OR visit will be around 8:30 instead of 8. My name, operating theater and estimated time are posted on an electronic keno board, like airport flight arrival and departure information for Sue to monitor. I sleep like a dead man thanks to the anesthesiologist's good work. But unlike Michael Jackson, I wake up.

All has gone pretty well, or so I am told. In this case the good robots won the battle and put my guts back where they belong. Now I have to be strong, discipline my body, eat lots of vitamins and not lift anything greater than ten pounds for two weeks.

When I am in my right mind and now ready to be clothed, Sue comes in around the curtain to my bed and hands me my slippers. Over the next few weeks I will be practicing my 'bunny dips' as I recover from abdominal surgery.

I have but three small holes poked into me just below my ribcage. No stiches, the holes have been filled with super glue that will wear off in a few weeks. I am to see Dr. Birdwell in two weeks to check on my healing. 

Yoshimi drives me home so I can meet with the AC repairman at 1 this afternoon.

Yoshimi bakes brownies and makes a smoothie at my request. She gets busy and I shuffle into the kitchen to make dinner for the both of us, a simple shrimp boil supper with a remoulade dipping sauce enjoyed under newly repaired air conditioned dining and newly repaired intestines. 

I am tender, but thankful for the robots and only three tiny holes, rather than a scalpel and a groin incision and lots of stiches. 

I heal up pretty good listening to the Flaming Lips and watching Sigourney Weaver battle aliens with robots. 

Broken Things Back on the Home Front

Up home in the Pacific Northwest, spring is lingering in the wings. In February I tossed out a bunch of grass seed around the muddy perimeter of the house construction site, believing winter is all but gone. Only to have the anticipated spring weather cowered by a return to the gray, overcast skies and temperatures in the 40s F. 

I hear the annual call from the taxman - personal taxes are due April 18th. My tax files and info are stored there in Texas. I got to get back and file from my Texas home. 

I get calls from my wife in Texas about storm damage, as does happen in the topsy turvy Texas springtime meteorological cycle. Texas spring has its thunderstorms, tornadoes, pelting rains and forceful winds. 

I also hear the call to return to my wife after many months of separation. I am called upon to come home and take care of a few things around the house.

I get a call from my surgeon reminding me of proper preparation and prompt schedules for me at the end of March. I need to hurry back to meet Dr. Birdwell and his robotic knife. 

My dance card is full. This tune will be the ol' Texas Two Step and more!

I check the routes over the mountains between my home in Washington and my home in Texas. Freak snows, late-season heavy snows, send out cautionary messages to me, the overland traveler. I heed the calls to return, but I also heed the weather warnings; I will plan out a safer, slower, southern route for my calls to come back home.  

Homecoming, Spring 2023: I find many items in need of repair, some planned, others not, having all come to the fore to greet my arrival. I find everything is broken or about to be...

The week prior to my arrival in Garland, Sue had extremely strong winds and a tornado watch one night. No tornado, but several panels of my fence were blow off their posts, shingles torn from the backyard shed roof along with the dropping of a couple of large limbs from our pear tree. 

I arrived in Garland Monday evening, 3-20, the four head of tortoise we run there in Texas were stirring and were ready for the great outdoors, having awoken from their long winter's nap of hibernation. But with a broken down fence, they were forced to stomp around inside our house (their winter quarters) until I went to Home Depot and got some fence rail lumber to reconstruct the destruction of their secure enclosure ringing their backyard pasture. 

I spent a day rebuilding the fence and not doing taxes because I like reptiles more than I like the IRS. I'm pleased to say Isaac, Chomper, Morpheus and Li'l (Tex) Vortex are now happily grazing on dandelions in the enclosure during these warm Texas spring days.

An expected repair, my 4Runner was in need of an oil change after 2550 miles driven. I checked into the local Toyota dealership. The multipoint inspection included a warning that I needed a new battery, my current one was failing to hold a charge. I declined the dealership's battery installation and thought I'd look for a new Interstate brand battery later in the week. I didn't have that luxury. It did not start the next morning in my garage. 

An unexpected repair. I found a service that would come out and put in an Interstate battery for the cost of what the dealership was going to charge. I was pleased to have the service and that also meant another day of avoiding doing my taxes.

I tried a mid-week laundry run with my travel clothes, only to discover that the washing machine spin cycle does not spin. It takes a long time to dry clothes that are soaking wet, hanging outside in the warm spring Texas breeze. I see yet another repair needed around here. Later.

The weather was in the 70's; the fence repaired, the tortoises were happy being outside and it was time to switch to A/C from heat inside. I come back inside after a day of cutting up the fallen pear branches for which the City Code Enforcer cited me. Inside the house I think it should be cooler than it is. The thermostat is programmed for 74, the house is still at 79. 

I call the guy who installed the HVAC system in 2017. He can't be there until Saturday, early Saturday. 

How early I ask? Around 8. 

I call and leave a message after 9. Nine is not around 8 in my book. 

I get a text that he's sick. But, he can be out tomorrow if I can wait. 

What time Sunday? Around 10.

This time I don't bother to call after his no-show. 

On Monday I call another company. They will be out Tuesday. They arrive as promised. They look at the situation and tell me I have a bad control board. They tell me is looks like it is under warranty. I will pay shipping, about $25 for the part.

They call me back later and tell me they do not usually work with Lennox systems. I should find another company to do the work. 

I call Lennox in South Carolina, they do not have a list of repairmen in Garland, but they do have a supplier. I call the local supplier. They have a recommendation. I call and get my 3rd company to set an appointment for Thursday. He checks out my system as tells me my control board works just fine, but that the disconnect breaker was put in upside down. He switched it and the unit fires up. He then tells me that I may be low on Freon from a leak, he'll be back tomorrow to check my levels. There will be a labor charge, but no parts are needed.

I tell him to make it afternoon on Friday, rather than the morning. 

I have surgery scheduled for Friday morning. This time it me who needs some repair work done.

I am out of the OR, groggy but scheduled to meet the A/C repairman at 1. I move to the door very gingerly in my sweats and Hawaiian shirt with hospital ID bracelet in place and IV gauze wrapped around my wrist.

It is a day of repairs. I get 3 1/2 lbs of Freon in my AC system.

I get my intestines tucked back in place in my digestive system. 

Sue makes brownies and a smoothie for me. My pampered convalescence was short-lived. I end up cooking our dinner that night of shrimp with a spicy romualde sauce.  Moving around in the kitchen is what the surgeon recommends to keep my internal stitches from getting too tight. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn't. Standing is fine. Sleeping on my back is fine. Transitioning between the two is difficult.

We are two days past April Fools Day. The jokes keep coming. 

Surgery on Friday. Day #2 was the most tinder, but by Monday I'm doing pretty well. The washing machine clutch was replaced this afternoon, so I stayed home and did not do my taxes. The fence is up, my car battery is working, the city is happy that my unsightly yard is clean, the broken doorknob on the laundry closet was replace. Progress all. 

And just maybe tomorrow I will get back to my taxes. But right now my wife has a lemon meringue pie waiting for me. Isn't life worth repairing so one can enjoy a homemade pie?