We are home! Except that it doesn't feel like home, it feels like my worst nightmare. We got back to the house around 6:30 pm and my car said it was 103 degrees (the thermometer on our porch said 105). Now it is 11pm and it is 91.6 degrees according to the Ridgecrest weather website (http://www.wunderground.com/weatherstation/WXDailyHistory.asp?ID=KCARIDGE3). We turned up the swamp cooler and ran it for hours with no effect, and then in desperation I figured out how to turn on the air conditioner, so we ran that for a while with no effect, then we ran them both together for a while with no effect, and finally we turned off the air conditioner and just ran the swamp cooler again and then it started to feel cooler.
There were cockroaches in the house when we walked in, and the cats had obviously had a stressful weekend because there were a lot of clumps of cat hair in the babies' room and a place in our bedroom where one of the cats had clawed out some of the carpet and pieces of a wicker chest. Rocket Boy had left the cushion of the papasan chair on the patio to air out and when I went out to get it, it had a big spider on it. I found another spider walking in our bedroom and crushed it.
Rocket Boy went out and got us some takeout, and then like a champ he went out again later to get milk and bananas for breakfast, and after all that he was too tired to clean the kitchen. I was going to do it -- it's like a cockroach's paradise right now, lasagna leftovers everywhere -- but I'm too tired too. I'm typing this and then I'm crashing. We were on the road for 8.5 hours (380 miles of driving, 4 rest stops with the boys). And then the heat. I've got to get used to it all over again.
Tomorrow or the next day I'll write about my wonderful summer vacation, but now I've just got to go to bed. We are home.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Night sounds
We can hear a bird at night, but we don't know what it is. What sort of bird would be singing at midnight in the desert? Do we have nighthawks here, whippoorwills, something like that? I should know, but I don't. Rocket Boy and I listen to them, whatever they are, right before we turn over to go to sleep.
And then down the hall comes another sound, the unmistakable sound of a CAT delivering a hostess gift. Our skinny, old, gray and white cat, Whiskers, likes to sleep with us, preferably right up between our pillows, but she has to be asked first, in just the right way, and she has to bring a gift. It is complicated, the dance of bringing the gift, being thanked, and then being welcomed into bed. Most nights we get it wrong, sometimes so wrong that Whiskers has to go and get ANOTHER hostess gift and start all over.
Last night was one of those nights. When we went to bed, both Whiskers and Pie Bear (our other cat, a 20 lb black behemoth not into gift-giving) were nearby, so I fetched Whiskers, put her in her place next to my pillow, and turned off the light. Big mistake. Whiskers sat there for a moment or two and then leapt off the bed and ran out of the room. Sigh. A little while later we heard "Meow. Meow. Meow. MEOW. MEOWWWW" and down the hall came Whiskers, carrying a small stuffed rabbit that belongs to the boos. The problem with Whiskers' yowling is not just that it bothers us, it wakes up the boos. They were starting to cry a little. I jumped out of bed, grabbed Whiskers, said "thank you so much for the wonderful hostess gift, Whiskers," and put her between the pillows again.
But that was wrong. In some way, known only to Whiskers, I had performed the ritual incorrectly. A few moments later she was gone again. This time she stayed away for several minutes. I have hidden most of her cat toys, so she really has to work at finding a gift. It's sort of like trying to shop for a birthday present in Ridgecrest. But soon here she came again: "Meow. Meow. Meow. MEOW. MEOWWWWW!" "Shhh, Whiskers!" Rocket Boy whisper-shouted. Whiskers ignored him. This time she had brought us a sock. I should be grateful she does not bring wildlife! "Thank you so much, Whiskers," I said, and very politely picked her up and put her between the pillows. I stroked her fur. "Good sweet Whiskers, time to go nighty-night now." At last I must have done something right, because Whiskers calmed down.
The birds were still singing as we all settled down to sleep.
And then down the hall comes another sound, the unmistakable sound of a CAT delivering a hostess gift. Our skinny, old, gray and white cat, Whiskers, likes to sleep with us, preferably right up between our pillows, but she has to be asked first, in just the right way, and she has to bring a gift. It is complicated, the dance of bringing the gift, being thanked, and then being welcomed into bed. Most nights we get it wrong, sometimes so wrong that Whiskers has to go and get ANOTHER hostess gift and start all over.
Last night was one of those nights. When we went to bed, both Whiskers and Pie Bear (our other cat, a 20 lb black behemoth not into gift-giving) were nearby, so I fetched Whiskers, put her in her place next to my pillow, and turned off the light. Big mistake. Whiskers sat there for a moment or two and then leapt off the bed and ran out of the room. Sigh. A little while later we heard "Meow. Meow. Meow. MEOW. MEOWWWW" and down the hall came Whiskers, carrying a small stuffed rabbit that belongs to the boos. The problem with Whiskers' yowling is not just that it bothers us, it wakes up the boos. They were starting to cry a little. I jumped out of bed, grabbed Whiskers, said "thank you so much for the wonderful hostess gift, Whiskers," and put her between the pillows again.
But that was wrong. In some way, known only to Whiskers, I had performed the ritual incorrectly. A few moments later she was gone again. This time she stayed away for several minutes. I have hidden most of her cat toys, so she really has to work at finding a gift. It's sort of like trying to shop for a birthday present in Ridgecrest. But soon here she came again: "Meow. Meow. Meow. MEOW. MEOWWWWW!" "Shhh, Whiskers!" Rocket Boy whisper-shouted. Whiskers ignored him. This time she had brought us a sock. I should be grateful she does not bring wildlife! "Thank you so much, Whiskers," I said, and very politely picked her up and put her between the pillows. I stroked her fur. "Good sweet Whiskers, time to go nighty-night now." At last I must have done something right, because Whiskers calmed down.
The birds were still singing as we all settled down to sleep.
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