What Is It? Flowers in my Garden Now

I need some help. I have some things growing in my yard and I don’t know what I’ve planted. Or the birds planted. Whatever. Mystery flowers that I can’t seem to find in the books around our house.

It’s blue and reminds me a little of a shooting star. The leaves are huge and fuzzy, like the leaves on the borage. I think it came in a packet of wildflower seeds I sowed last summer.It came up behind my irises, between the dahlia that never bloomed last year (but is blooming this year) and the holly hock and the Russian sage.

And this. It’s a biennial, I know that. It came up in the veggie garden last year and the silvery-green leaves were interesting, so Don let it grow. this year it bloomed. I have one in my flower beds that is in the first year state: just leaves.

It almost reminds me of a four-o’clock. The birds must have planted it in our yard because it didn’t come up where I’ve dropped wild flower (or other) seeds).

I know almost every thing else that is blooming in my yard:

I had to snoop out this – another wildflower seed mystery. It was supposed to be a packet of Pacific Northwest wildflowers, but this is a common evening primrose. The guide books list it as native to the east coast and a common transplant in the west. It’s also a biennial. And it was much prettier – before Murphy stepped on it and it ended up growing sideways. Resilient wildflower! (I think I can get a better photo now – the side stems are blooming. When I took this photo, I had to crawl under the peony where it landed when Murphy broke the main stalk,)

candytuft – I love this particular wildflower. It’s a self-seeding annual & if you keep it dead-headed, it will bloom all summer. I fell behind in that this year and a lot of it is reseeding instead of reblooming. But that means more blooms next year. Nice cut flower for my collection of vases!

This is the silver-leaf arnica that Don dug up for me last year. It’s taking over the flower bed and expanding with new starts this year. I’ll have to divide it in the fall! It’s showy, attracts bees and is a lovely cut flower.

This is a bush mallow we bought at Portland Nursery. I guess it can grow to 15′ ?? It does get quite tall, but I cut it back in the winter. Very showy and it makes a great cut flower in a large vase.

My “black” hollyhock. I have several hollyhocks (biennials!), but this is my favorite. When I was a little girl, we had hollyhocks growing wild in the yard and my dad hated them. I never understood why he hated them so. They aren’t great cut flowers, but you can make hollyhock “ladies” (I’m sensing the need for a blog on that!) and they’re just showy garden flowers.

This flower is a mistake to let into your yard. I’ve done it before and I honestly don’t know how it got into my garden this year unless it came from that packet of wildflower seeds. I’ll tolerate it this year and maybe next, but then I will have to rip it out (and all the underground trailing roots!!!!) because it is very, very invasive. But, darn – it is so pretty and it makes excellent cut flowers, the bees love it and so do the hummingbirds! You just have to love fireweed despite it’s overgrown tendencies.

We thought we lost this baby. It’s a “tender annual” that we purchased from Portland Nursery two years ago. Nothing came up last year. But this year – I tossed some random seeds and several came up. Datura Lilac. It’s a highly poisonous jimsonweed. Certainly pretty, though! Not a good cut flower – it blooms one day and fades, like the daylilies. Then more blossoms come on.

I confess, this isn’t even in my flower garden. It’s in the vegetable garden. But it is pretty! Yukon Gold potato vine.

And my climbing nasturtiums. With little tendrils of borage in the foreground. The stupid borage plants have taken over my garden and now stand 6′ tall by 6′ wide and 6′ deep. And I’ve tied them up to no avail. I’ll have to divide and move them.

But the nasturtiums are thriving in spite of the borage.

I have Shasta daisies, daylilies and a variety of pansies in bloom right now, too. All flowers I can identify (common names, at least!). But I really can’t figure out what those first two pictured are. I think the purple one is a four o’clock, but I can’t seem to come close on the blue one.

I’m open to suggestions and – better! – actual identification!

Thank you!

GOOD Murphy

Because of all the negative things I have written here about Murphy, I need to make amends. Murphy is not always a Bad Dog and he is not an Evil Entity. Sometimes, he is just a funny dog and a good buddy to have.

I wrote what I wrote knowing that I am not (and may never be) a “dog” person. I like cats. I struggle with a fear of dogs. I understand this: I struggle with a fear of horses, too. They’re big. They can hurt you. I have been hurt. By dogs and by horses.

But the trick is to get inside their heads. It takes me some time to do that: I have to read up on the subject and learn all the different techniques to assert dominance  because that is the key to relationships with dogs or horses. It’s all about who is the Top Dog (or horse). In the world of Pecking Orders, you have to be the boss.

I was unprepared for the dog that Murphy is. He came to us full of himself and determined to be the Top Dog, no matter what. That, combined with my husband’s reluctance to neuter him, created an atmosphere of power struggle. One of us was going to lose, and it wasn’t going to be me. Hence, Murphy was made a eunuch. In the world of Feminine Dominance, testosterone must be cut off. (Sorry guys, I just had to insert that. Tongue-in-cheek, OK?)

Since his little “operation”, Murphy has mellowed considerably. Not mellowed in energy or flower-bed jumping and certainly not in stealing. But he has mellowed.

He is still Don’s Lap Dog.

What can I say?

This past week, we had all kinds of company. Levi came to visit and brought his lovely wife, Kaci, to meet all of us. Arwen’s in-laws were in-country from the Phillipines and we had a barbecue with them. The potential for a Murphy-sized disaster was – huge. Really HUGE. Because Murphy doesn’t have a large dog pen (yet), only a small temporary dog pen and a crate. He needs to be able to run all over the back yard and burn some energy.

We had to risk letting him meet Levi and a very pregnant Kaci since they were staying in our house.

I just inserted that because I like the photo. Kaci and Levi enjoying a moment, with nephew Javen in her arms.

The week worked out great. Levi and Kaci love dogs. they’re not intimidated by BIG. They had no problem with Murphy.

Well, he did steal some socks, but he always gave them up when he got caught.

He still wasn’t allowed to run around when the babies were in our yard, but he wasn’t bereft of attention.

Levi tossed the football to him.

He really wanted the football.

“Levi! Would you feel sorry for the poor dog?”

Levi retrieved the football and let Murphy pull his nose back into the kennel. Poor pup-peh (that’s Zephan’s name for him).

In the end, Murphy was just a GOOD dog. He didn’t bark too much when we had all the family in the backyard and they played croquet right by his kennel (Ball!!). The worst he got was after everyone left on the 3rd except Levi, Kaci, Don & I. And the fireworks began. Murphy is not afraid of fireworks, but he has to bark at them. Loudly. Furiously.

As Kaci said, “Why do people shoot them on the 3rd? Do you think they even know what the 4th is all about?”

We’ve been asking that question for years.

The 4th of July dawned and our soldier loaded up his car for home. Almost as soon as they were out of the driveway, we loaded up our car and headed for the woods. Our goal was to get Murphy away from town and fireworks.

This is where Murphy belongs. In the Great Outdoors.

Sometimes things are meant to be. I was contemplating what to blog about next (I have a LOT) and the subject of what a good dog Murphy was last week was heavy on my heart. I received a letter from my long-time pen pal tonight and she wrote “I know that you and Murphy have had your differences (!!), but you’ve actually made me fall in love with him. Does that seem like betrayal? I hope not. I am on your side, truly. It’s just that he’s so big and naughty and adorable, and he’s such a character. I can’t resist that FACE!”

Well, here’s that face again, just for you, Laurelle:

He was SUCH a GOOD dog last week.

Not Your Average Post

I want to make a radical switch from Grandmother time to Art. Well, I guess you can call it “art”.

When I moved into my studio, I inherited Chrystal’s indoor cat.

Nimrod is not safe in our house, so he is relegated to the life of an indoor cat, avoiding contact with the dog. The dog wouldn’t maliciously hurt him, but the cat doesn’t seem to understand the dog is dangerous, so we just keep them separated. I have to keep the bird separated from the cat & dog: he isn’t safe with either one.

The point of this is this:

The set up is Chrystal’s doing. She says the cat needs privacy, but I think she just didn’t want to look at the cat litter box. Of course, you can purchase litter boxes with lids (and I think this litter box originally came with a lid, but my former cats – which were outdoor cats for the most part – eschewed the idea of a cover.

Pretty ugly. And pretty tempting to someone who loves to get out the paints.

Pretty soon, I had one side finished:

I was winging it and not going for anything “perfect” – just a better looking image than a plain cardboard box.

I painted the back next:

Another night and I’m on a roll here:

Today I finished it:

There’s a “garden” on the roof which you can see when everything is put together (the “patio” and mat are also’s Chrystal’s innovations: she wanted to keep the cat from tracking litter throughout the room):

Don just rolled his eyes when I told him what I was doing. It has a name, but in the interest of keeping this a family-oriented blog, I’ll spare you.

(It has to do with Brick and what the Brick House is used for)

So – what do you think?

or  ?

I don’t think the cat cares.

But I like it. For now.

Cute Overload

I’m tired. I know why motherhood is for young women: they can keep up with a busy 16 month old child. After you turn 50, you have a hard time moving that fast that often.

I don’t even know where to begin: chronologically or just start with the “Zephan has a new brother” part?

I guess I settled that debate.

Javen (rhymes with raven and means “clay”) was born at 9:00 on June 16. Zephan (rhymes with Stephan and is short for Zephaniah) stayed with his grandparents. I took two days off from work.

Tuesday evening, Zephan was here before I got home and was busy playing with his blocks with his grandfather. We didn’t do anything special and bedtime for the little one came around 8, when he started acting tired. He whimpered a little, but zonked out rather quickly and didn’t wake back up until 7:30 on Wednesday.

At some point, he must have knocked our land phone off of the hook just enough that all incoming calls did not ring through. We didn’t even know we had a problem until a neighbor (and friend of Arwen’s) knocked on the door Wednesday morning to tell me to call Arwen: I was a grandmother again! Sam had been trying to call us since 9 o’clock the previous evening! Of course, he did not leave a message – he was probably too excited to.

I had to call Don at work. 1) He’s the grandfather and he deserved to know he was a grnadpa again, too and 2) he drove off with the car seat. He took sick time off to come home so we could all go see Baby Javen at the hospital.

Zephan was not impressed. The highlight of the trip for him was the stop at the Lego™ Store on our way home and the new box of Duplos™ he got.

Pop-pop, however, was smitten.

Javen weighed into the world at 9#8oz. He was 21 inches long. His head is so perfectly round because he spent a total of four minutes in the birth canal, not nearly long enough to get a “cone” head. He was very aware of everything going on around him.

But more on that.

Zephan was the center of our world for the rest of the day. We took him to the store and spoiled him at lunch with French fries and chicken strips. He came home and played with his blocks. We watched “Happy Feet” on demand on Netflicks. He taught us his language:

“Side?” (outside! I want to go OUT)

“puppeh” (any animal with four legs vaguely resembling a puppy OR Murphy, specifically)

PUPpeh (Pop-pop, who is closely associated with the aforementioned puppeh named Murphy)

DA! DA! (Grandpa come back outside!)

Daa (dance)

And he has this Happy Feet thing going which is why I even thought to watch the movie. I had no idea he owns the movie and he really was doing the Happy Feet dance, but there you go. You just have to picture it.

I can’t sit still myself, so I ended up outside trying to weed while allowing Zephan to play outside. Zephan helped pull grass out of the cracks in the sidewalk.

Then his favorite person (next to his mom and dad) came outside. And his favorite person decided to rake the yucky leaves out from under the camelia.

This is how you pick up the leavs and put them in the recycle bin.

“I saw how Pop-pop did this! It’s just like a broom…”

“See? I know how to use a broom!”

Murphy came out and played, too. Zephan does not like that Murphy tells me when his diaper is dirty (hey! the dog’s nose is good for something!) but he sure liked it when Chrystal’s boyfriend came by and played “fetch!” with Murphy for awhile. And he thought Murphy kisses were laughing matters, too. If only Murphy was not such a bull in a china closet, then maybe he and Zephan could be buddies. But he is (a bull in a china closet) and we are very protective of the littler guy when Murphy is on the loose.

Stayed up until almost nine, playing on the Lego™ website with Pop-pop.

And up again at 6:30. I thought he might sleep later, but I was wrong.

We chased the cat. I chased Zephan who was chasing the cat. I chased Zephan who decided to climb stairs after the cat. I chased Zephan who decided to bold for the door every time it was open. I chased Zephan who decided to climb cement stairs when we were outside. I chased Zephan who bolted for the part of the lawn where the dog poops.

“Am I the man or what?”

“Here, Elmo. If you’re going to sit in my chair, then you have to eat the apple slice that Grandma cut up for me. Good Elmo!”

“I expect breakfast served out here. I’ll sit in the Big People chair and let Elmo have my baby chair. Got that Grandma?”

We went to buy groceries and I thought he might fall asleep, but I think he got a second wind. We danced, we started “Happy Feet” again, and we weeded some more in Grandma’s garden. Grandma is wearing out!!

Then I was rescued!

“But, Dad – I don’t care what you have in your hands, I want you to understand that I learned how to hook the safety belts on my little chair. This is IMPORTANT stuff, Dad!”

In/out, Out/in, Up/down, Down/up. We took a nap, we finished watching “Happy Feet” for a second time, we dragged Daddy off for a walk, and we showed Daddy where the kitty lives upstairs.

We watered just like Grandma does.

Fun until you sit down in the wet grass and get all wet.

Then Pop-pop came home. And barbecued. And everyone sat outside in the warm summer air.

Everyone.

Are you on cute overload yet?

I took 57 photos all told. Most of them rapid shots of the very same event, just trying to capture the best shot. I’ll upload most of them to my Webshots account. But you get the benefit of only being subjected to the absolute cutest of them. Cute Overload.

And here’s the best photo of all (with apologies to Zephaniah, my Guest of Honor the past two days):

Oh yeah.

Court Notice

Ugh. I am in trouble with the Court. Again.

Eight years ago we pursued guardianship of my niece. Her story is under the tab with her name (Chrystal). We were granted guardianship in late November and given a ream of paperwork and instructions. All of which I filed away and completely forgot about until four years later when I got a notice from the Clackamas County Court that I had thirty days in which to file the annual (ANNUAL!!??) guardianship report for the past year.

I found all the paperwork and sure enough, it says I am to report annually on the anniversary of when we were granted guardianship. So I hustled and got out that year’s report (and hoped they’d never ask for the ones they missed).

Marked on my calendar when to file again and got it right for two years. Then last December, they changed when they wanted me to send it in and I got a Nasty Gram from the Court saying I was delinquent. I wasn’t sure how I was delinquent given that I’d filed in January for three years prior, but… Whatever. I hustled and got it done and mailed.

Chrystal turned 18 on the 6th of May. I didn’t pull out the guardianship papers to see if there was anything I was supposed to do to honor that moment legal-wise. I was busy sending her on a Senior trip, helping her move out and arranging for her high school graduation. I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything else I needed to do.

Wrong. Apparently, I was supposed to fill out a guardianship report and send it to the court by May 6th.

OH.

It’s OK: I kept records. And I have 30 days. I know where Chrystal is so she can read and witness the report.

Guess I know what I am doing for the weekend.

Life Lessons from Ellen

Not Ellen Degeneres, but my dear friend, Ellen Eaton.

Ellen died Saturday morning after a very brave and truly heroic battle against ovarian cancer. I found out this morning when I opened my work email and saw an “Update On Ellen” post. I expected some funny description of surgery and recovery. You can imagine my shock.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Ellen was upbeat and hilarious. She wanted to host a contest to name her tumors when she was diagnosed. After months of chemo, she wanted to start a pool of bets to see who could guess how many tumors survived the chemo: the proceeds were to go into Ellen’s Milkshake Fund after surgery.

Initially, I was incredibly shocked. Sad. Disappointed. Grieved. I didn’t have much time for emotions as work buried me, but slowly, I came to realize that Ellen would not have wanted anyone to cry over her. In fact, the man who sent out the email regarding Ellen’s last hours (which he described very poignantly) ended the note with the fact that he & his partner were going “out for a steak dinner, which is what Ellen would have wanted.”

Driving home tonight, finally able to ponder the loss of a dear friend, I started seeing some lessons in Ellen’s life that I think we can all use.

1. When faced with the unthinkable, say something funny. Keep your sense of humor at all costs, laugh, and defuse the situation.

Ellen was gifted at that.

2. When your friends ask “what can I do to help”, think of something and let them help. Ellen didn’t hesitate when all the offers came pouring in. She took the offers seriously and organized a network of friends with whom she could connect via email. She came up with a grand idea to get free meals: offer everyone the opportunity to take her to dinner the night before a scheduled round of chemo.

Friends lined up. I took the last round of chemo and took her out to dinner at Newport Seafood & Grill. She had a huge T-bone steak (took most of it home in a doggie bag – another Ellen trick: order enough food to eat for the next few days).

3. Don’t complain.

She was in pain. As long as I have known Ellen, she has been in pain. She was in a couple severe car accidents that left her back permanently damaged and sore. She walked with a cane on her bad days. Then came the cancer and the pain of the chemo. Nausea for days.

She made jokes about it. You knew she was in terrible pain, but you also knew that she would not tell you because she did not believe in dwelling on it. She probably cried herself to sleep sometimes, but you never saw it in public.

4. Make plans for the unthinkable.

Ellen had a contingency plan. If things went wrong, she had a plan to notify her friends. If we didn’t hear from her within a few days of chemo, we were to get alarmed. And when she went in to the hospital for her surgery, she already had plans for the “what if?”

Those plans were honored by the two men who sat beside her bed as she died, holding her hands. They knew she did not want to be resuscitated and they knew she wanted the plug pulled if she reached the point of no return. Their knowledge (and power of attorney) combined with what Ellen had told the hospital before she went under helped make the decision to let her go easier. There was no question as to what she wanted when she was beyond the point of being able to verbalize her opinion.

5. Wear a hat.

At one point in her battle, some of her friends hosted a hat party for Ellen. We were encouraged to buy (or make) her a hat: silly or serious. There were some outrageously silly hats and some wonderfully practical ones. She tried every single one on and so did everyone else. It was hysterical fun.

6. Ask for help.

Ellen knew when to ask for help. She didn’t try to fight this alone. And she didn’t rely on just one set of friends, but she leaned on friends from many different paths of life.

7. When the judge sentences you to read a book, choose a big one.

She had to go to court during her ordeal. I’m not sympathetic about the charges: she flicked a lit cigarette out her car window and got pulled over.

She went to court. She was careful to not pull the handicapped “I have cancer” card, but when she removed her hat to stand in front of the judge, she was told she could put the hat back on. She refused because you just do not wear a hat in court. She refused a chair because her cane was good enough.

The judge was so impressed, he sentenced her to do a book report for her crime. Any book.

Ellen chose a long book and did a college-level book report. She could have chosen a kid’s book.

8. Eat steak.

That’s my favorite. To heck with being politically correct, Ellen liked red meat. Steak. If you’re going to die anyway, eat steak.

There are more, but I’m too overwhelmed thinking about it. I will miss Ellen profoundly. She was intelligent, witty, downright pee-your-pants funny (sorry if that offended anyone, but at my age it doesn’t take much to make you pee your pants when you start laughing hard), and she was very loving.

Oh – and she loved wirehaired pointing griffons. Before we got Murphy, we almost adopted her griffon, Casey. Ellen was moving into an apartment where she could no longer have a dog and she gave Casey to us. But before we could collect him, he died of sudden kidney/liver failure.

Ellen died pretty much the same way. Before I could go visit her in the hospital, she was gone.

So I guess lesson number 9 is this: love wirehaired pointing griffons. Even Murphy.

Ellen died surrounded by the love and community of diverse friendships, and holding the hands of two men who cared very much for her.

Two Out of Three

We have a camelia in the backyard that is – hmm: a tree? Sort of. It’s a tree-wannabe. I don’t like camelias: they are messy and the blooms last half an hour and turn brown and they are messy.

We also have an ugly variegated male holly tree in our backyard: no pretty red berries in the fall and someone hacked the top out of it long before we moved in.

Both trees are slated for disposal in the future.

But this year, the song sparrows decided to use the camelia to hide their nest in. The song sparrows are here year round, they are native birds, and their song is just beautiful. You can hear one here.

We weren’t sure where the nest was, but we were sure there was a nest. the adult male song sparrow was busy flitting between the camelia in the back yard and the rhododendrons in the front yard, even when we were sitting in the lawn chairs and had company. Several times, the adult male had a close call with someone as he zipped back and forth.

On Monday, I figured it out. I was hand-watering the peony island when I noticed a fledgling on the ground under the camelia. It was hopping funny, like maybe it had a rough fall out of the tree, and the parent birds were chirping loudly (there is a universal ALARM!! chirp among song birds and it was probably this alarm that had  me looking in the first place).

Unfortunately, in the same instant that I saw the fledge, Murphy saw it, too. And he is really quick. Mama bird dove in to try to distract Murphy, but it was too late. I screamed, dropped the hose and scolded the dog. Unlike a cat, he obeyed instantly and dropped the bird. I cupped it up, and it was uncrushed, but the shock of the encounter was taking a quick toll.

By the time I had Don alerted and Murphy quarantined, the bird was dead in my hand. Now here is where Don and I part company. Something like this traumatizes my heart. I know it is just Nature, that a cat would have killed the baby as quickly (if not more cruelly), and that the dog was merely obeying instinct. But the little thing quit breathing and its heart quit beating IN MY HAND. And the parent birds were still chirping ALARM! ALARM! ALARM!

So I cried. Sobbed, really. It was awful.And Don started in on a lecture of how it was just Nature and a cat would have done the same thing and… I know he thought I was just upset because it was Murphy (our differences are well-documented), but the truth was: I was just upset because IT DIED IN MY HANDS. And I couldn’t help it. So I just wanted to cry. Leave me alone or maybe hug me, but really: it isn’t personal.

There was at least one other fledgling on the ground. So we kept Murphy in until after dark when all good fledglings have found safe haven (if they are to survive).

It has been several days now and several close calls. Murphy knows where the nest is and has tried to climb the camelia (he probably could: it’s just that sort of tree/bush). We have scolded and restricted and tried to keep him away from the baby (or babies).

And tonight, while we sat out in the fading light, we observed the song sparrows arguing over a moth. One caught the moth and the mama and papa left it to devour the moth. The fledgling ended up on the lawn in the yard, pecking at the moth it caught.

Enter Stage Right: second fledgling. Looking for a moth,too. Wanting mama to provide one. Wanting sibling to share.

Don had to restrain Murphy and we ended up moving indoors until the shadows took hold and all good (flying and able) fledglings had taken to safety.

But it does my heart good to know that while Murphy accidentally killed one, two survived.

Another Round Upstairs

I went at it again this weekend: hauling more things upstairs and rearranging more furniture to try to make it all liveable. I did not take photos of the loft area because it still needs some work. But I did get it clean enough for my father-in-law who is coming to spend a night tomorrow!

The bedroom/studio took on a whole new look as I puttered. First off, I picked up this for $5 at a yard sale:

It’s a lighted display case. The glass shelves are missing, but those are pretty easy to replace. Everything else is there and working. Don was not impressed, but he helped me haul it upstairs anyway.

It’s kind of difficult to gat a full picture in. this is the north side of the room as it currently looks. I’m a long way from being done.

And looking south. That’s my new roomie there on the floor.

Nimrod. My new roomie (until his real owner comes home to claim him).

Now I just have to admit I hurt all over, but I am getting my house in order and I feel a burst of energy that I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

And, yes, I am keeping in mind that children often do return to the nest. There’s still room at the Inn.

Moving On

I thought I posted this last week. Must have been brain tired. So I am posting it tonight, in front of tonight’s post. This blog post should be dated 5/24/09.

Don went hiking and camping this weekend and I stayed home. It wasn’t intentional: I love to go camping (but not on Memorial Day weekend). Don headed up into the woods with a friend and the intention of working on trails on Saturday. By evening, he just plain decided to spend the night and get one more hike in.

The way I feel tonight, you’d think I went hiking with him. But my aches and pains come from another form of work.

I was going to put it off: cleaning the upstairs bedroom. I didn’t want to finalize Chrystal’s move out so suddenly. But I was 1) Home Alone and 2) in need of a cat and 3) a little OCD in nature.I climbed the stairs with the intention of letting the cat out so he could roam the house while the dog was gone, and I thought I’d look around the empty bedroom and stew about what I wanted to do.

Pretty soon, I was moving furniture and sweeping. I know the girls carried the broom & dustpan, mop & bucket up the stairs Saturday. I saw it happen. But as I stood in the room, I honestly could not tell where they had mopped. The carpet that Chrystal had in her room covered the fir flooring so I never saw the damage done by the cat. He likes to push his water dish around and it would puddle in cat litter dust. The resulting rings of white covered the floor.

I started moving furniture so I could mop in a corner and I discovered that no one had bothered to move furniture and sweep.

Chrystal: you’re not getting your deposit back. (it’s a joke, people)

At first the cat hid under furniture and watched me. But pretty soon he came out and followed me around. I cleared a section of room, swept, washed the walls, and mopped. Then I used a special laminate & hardwood floor cleaner that I scrubbed into the floor and wiped back off. The white kitty litter stains began to disappear.

At some point, there was a trip to Home Depot (window fan & floor cleaner) and a trip to Jo Ann fabrics (plastic cloth to cover a 3′x4′ section of floor where the cat box is set up so there will be no more tracking litter everywhere). The latter was dirt cheap: $5. Should have thought of that several years ago.

Once I got the room clean, then I started rearranging the attic crawl space so I could put the storage items away for Chrystal. Then I moved her boxes. Then I moved my tiny craft corner into the bedroom.

So then I had to sweep and clean the floor of the loft where I had my craft stuff. And since that was now empty, I could move the stuff that has been piling up – all Don’s stuff, mind you – into that corner. Wow. I have a floor in the loft!! But I had to sweep that. And put away about 100 books that people have taken out of the bookshelves and never re-shelved.

There’s a twin bed in the loft & I hope to make that corner a guest room or a room where a kid who needs to return home can return to. Chrystal left her futon, but it is too big for the loft and will probably stay in the studio. I can probably make a little guest bedroom there, but it has a cat.

I finally gave up around 7PM on Saturday. Took a hot bath that was more tepid than hot (I don’t even want to think that the hot water heater is having problems). Sprayed poison on a corner of lawn that I want GONE.

Felt pretty chipper this morning, so I did the laundry & hung it out on the line, then started in on the studio again. By now, the cat was quite happy to have me hanging out with him. He’s explored the entire house and told me long stories. He doesn’t realize that I cut off his view of the outside world with the window fan: that’s how wonderful an indoor cat can be. He didn’t spill his water or track more cat litter out during the night

Emancipated!

I’m not sure if that title is for me or for Chrystal. She’s been aiming for this from the day she turned three years old: living on her “own”, no parental units in sight. And tonight, she is spending her first night away from home. Won’t even miss us, I’m sure.

We did not part of great terms today. I was plenty ticked off. She’s been planning this day for at least four years (in all reality): “When I turn 18, I am moving out.” I have no problem with that: I moved out when I was still 17 and I never went back except to visit. I was always on good terms with my parents, but I simply wanted to live my own life and make my own mistakes.  And my parents were wise enough to give me room to spread my wings and grow.

Chrystal delayed her move so we could go to La Grande for our nephew’s funeral last weekend (she took care of Murphy for us), but in exchange, we agreed to move her today, May 23.

On Tuesday, she called to ask if she could spend the night at a friend’s house. She’s 18: yes.

On Wednesday, she called to say she wasn’t going to make it home but she would be home on Thursday. I asked if she was packed yet because if we were moving her on Saturday, we wanted to do it early in the day. No problem.

On Thursday, she called to say she wasn’t going to be home until Friday.

I said, “This is beginning to be  circus. I’ve looked in your room and you are not packed. It’s a mess and there’s a lot of trash. We are NOT going to be packing AND moving on Saturday.” Point being: she had all week to get ready for this move that she was so desperate to make. And we are who we are: we get up and do things first thing in the morning, before it gets hot and early to get it out of the way so we can pursue more pleasant occupations in the day.

No problem. She was bringing a friend over and they were going to have her all packed and ready to go on Saturday morning.

After I hung up, I thought I better go look at her bedroom and see what it looks like.

Lots of loose trash on the floor, dirty laundry stacked in piles, posters that covered every inch of the walls, and more loose trash. In short: a teenager’s room.

And I left her a note: “It will be CLEAN when you move out. Everything boxed and labeled and the floors swept & mopped and ALL THE TRASH hauled out.” Because you ain’t leaving this mess for ME to clean up.

I told her she did not have to move out. She could stay, save some money, get a job. But she was dead-set on moving out RIGHT NOW.

OK.

You’re figuring this out already, aren’t you? She was not packed and cleaned and ready by Saturday morning. She was still hauling trash and cleaning floors and doing laundry on Saturday morning. And time was passing by, the day was heating up, and our other daughter came over to visit. We had things to do and places to go and leisure to enjoy.

Being who I am (which is sometimes a bit vocal), I got in the kid’s face. I was trying not to. I wanted this to end on a nice note, Happy New Life & all.

I suppose it did end on that note, but not until after I cleared the air about how ticked off I was about how she’d put things off. I wrote that on the note I left for her Friday: you’d think I would not have to reiterate it on Saturday, but that’s the way it goes.

The “funny” part is that before Arwen came over to visit, she told her husband, “I know how this is going to come down: Chrystal is going to get up Saturday morning, thinking she has all day to get packed and moved. And my parents are going to get up before 8 and be ready to move by nine. And they are going to get pissed off. Because how long has Chrystal lived with them and she doesn’t know they want to get it done early?”

In the end, we did get it done in the morning. Our 30-gallon trash can is filled with trash, our 40 gallon recycle bin is filled with recycles and there are still things to toss left in the bedroom. The cat is a little discomfitted because he KNOWS something happened, but he isn’t sure what (Chrystal often left him for days at a time, so he’s used to being alone – but his room changed). Most of the room was cleaned up and most of the stuff on the walls got removed (note to self: be more specific and include the stuff pinned to the DOOR next time. If there is a Next Time).

Now I have an Empty Nest. I don’t know yet if it feels weird because Chrystal often spent time away from home. I know I need to get to work on her room and convert it, if only for the cat’s sake because he will be lonely.

And because I need a cat.

Chrystal is moving on. I was irritated this morning, but now I am just – sad. We hugged when I left her, but she was excited to be moving on.

I hope life is good to her and that she finds her dreams. 30+ years ago, I left home: stubborn, naive, and determined to make my own mistakes. 30 years later, I think I could have stayed home a little longer and saved some money. Do I regret it? Naw. I was fine.

She will be fine.

But for the record: I love you, Chrystal. And I was really touched when you hauled that electric guitar out to the car with the amp. It was Levi’s 16th Christmas present. I’m happy he entrusted it to you. I know you will take good care of it.