EBHA

The neighbor’s dog got loose this morning, before the sun was even up. I had just gotten out of bed and was on my way to the kitchen for my coffee when I heard loud barking coming from my backyard (I always leave the side gate open so the raccoons and friends can get to the water we leave out for them…and so the wildlife coming the opposite direction can get through to the front where they hang out together and watch the coming and goings of the night owls – the human ones, that is).
I grabbed my robe and hurried out the kitchen door, concern that the dog had cornered one of the feral cats - but to my surprise what the neighbor’s dog was barking at wasn’t a cat or a critter at all…it was teeny, tiny woman! And she wasn’t cornered, but instead she was staggering around the yard in dizzying circles mumbling to herself.
“Now Ebha, sweet lass that ya are, you got here by some entrance, sure that ya did and you can leave by same…if only you can find the blamed place!” she cried.
The neighbor’s dog had stopped barking and had parked himself on the lawn and with head cocked to one side was listening as if the little woman was speaking to him.
I stayed motionless, certain that once the little woman moved a smidge to the left she’d see the opening in the fence and from there the trip back to the forest was all downhill – literally. But after watching her bump into an especially large kale and fall over backwards, I knew something had to be done before the little thing suffered a grievous injury, so I coughed softly and pointed toward the opening in the fence. Poor thing! When she turned and saw me, she scrambled to her feet, dashed in, out and around the carrot tops and streaked out of the yard.
I watched her as she tumbled down the embankment spewing words in a language I couldn’t understand (which was probably just as well) and finally disappear among the trees.
When I started back to the house I saw that she had dropped her purse, a rustic, hand spun, woolen bag. Afraid that the neighbor’s dog would drag it off I brought it inside. And here it sits.

NOISES FROM THE FOREST

I’m worried about the beings living in the forest. I feel sure they’re getting ready for their Strawberry Wine Festival but I’m afraid their boisterous preparations are going to bring the authorities down on them. As along as my neighbors don’t complain about the noise there shouldn’t be a problem but if things get much louder somebody will complain, for sure. And of course a call to the sheriff might not be a call of complaint, but rather a call of concern; the noises echoing out of the forest and up the embankment are bizarre indeed. Last night we were awakened by the sound of drumming as well as a tinkling noise as if made by tiny bells or miniature cymbals, the rhythm quickly followed by clapping and raucous giggling. I know they’re just having fun but I am concerned about their welfare – although maybe I shouldn’t worry, I can’t imagine a full sized person actually catching one of them. And if they did, where would they lock them up? In a shoe box?

FANG

Fang (as a teenager) moved in with us about two years ago. He’s an unusual looking cat; white with a tan spot on his head and a tan and white striped tail. And then there are his teeth: teensy, tiny, baby teeth that prevent him from eating dry cat food and two long, protruding fangs that would make a vampire jealous.
On one hand he’s sweet and affectionate – resting his head against your cheek when you hold him. On the other, he’s a vicious tyrant, attacking anything and anybody - including me: trying to suddenly bite me when only seconds before he loved being petted. Taking savage swipes at me when I walk past. And the feral cats? He’s gone after their jugular on more than one occasion.
Maybe it’s those huge fangs that have given him the idea that he can get away with being such a bully. Then again, maybe it’s his baby teeth that prevent him from chewing properly that have made him so angry. Whatever it is, he’s a pill!
One day I looked down the embankment and caught him entering the forest. I tried to call him back, but of course he ignored me. Within seconds he came tearing out of the trees, ears flat, tail fluffed to the size of a feather duster. Close behind him I saw a flash of purple. It seems that one of Liam McSpinagain’s rainbow sheep have finally put Fang in his place – but who knows how long that will last (as the two cats in above picture can verify, you must remain ever vigilant when Fang is around).

LUCKY STREAK

It seems we’re having a run of luck…a lucky streak, in other words…not good luck mind you, but luck just the same.
First there was the egg recall and then during our terrible heat wave we’ve lost our electricity two days in a row: no fans, cooler, refrigerator, cooked food…no anything…including no lights to do anything. Pretty boring. And the only info from the electric company was that they didn’t know what was wrong and they didn’t know when it would be repaired, they only knew that there was a problem.
At least when we lived in Taos and the electricity went out it was because of an electrical storm. And even when it was pitch black we could entertain ourselves by watching the lightening flashes through the canyon miles away. It was like watching a war where people were seldom injured and homes were seldom harmed – now that’s a war I could live with.

ROBO CALL

My phone rang at 5:10 last night. It was a female robot. She was letting me know about an egg recall. I was told that if I felt sick I was to go to the hospital immediately…oh swell. Actually I didn’t feel ill, I felt just fine…until I heard the message! She reminded me that I’d bought the eggs at Ralphs and then she told me how to find the product number on the carton.
“If the product number is 1026, 1413, or 1946 DO NOT EAT THE EGGS!” she warned, “take them back to the store!”
I got the egg cartons out (one from the recycling bin – it was empty, and one from the frig – it had two eggs in it) and sure enough both cartons had the product number 1413. I tried calling the number the robot had given me, so I could find out what symptoms to watch for, but her office had closed at 5 p.m.
Ironically, I had used several of the eggs to make two dozen health muffins full of oat bran, flax seed, honey…the works. I had also made a double batch of pancakes with some of the eggs – healthy pancakes of course made with buttermilk, whole wheat flour, etc. And hubby had boiled quite a few of the eggs and eaten only the whites (no cholesterol for him!). In other words, while maintaining a healthy diet we had consumed twenty-two poison eggs.
I don’t know which is more disconcerting, the fact that I might have been poisoned, or the fact that Ralphs knows every detail about every item I buy and is keeping track of my whereabouts! I believe this comes under the heading of “double edged sword”.

FIREWORKS

Last night was not a night for sleeping, what with the loud giggling and yipping going on. The voices sounded unfamiliar (rather than yipping our neighbors do a lot of late night guffawing). Of course hubby and I got up to see what was going on and what was going on were midget fireworks: bright yellow, red and blue exploding lights that barely left the ground! This display was taking place down the embankment just this side of the forest. Although we couldn’t make out the individual attendees we were able to discern their actions. As one, the group would move forward, a small but colorful explosion would take place, then a popping sound and after loud squealing from the group they would run for cover in among the trees. It was an unusual sight. I’m not certain if they were enjoying the fireworks, or enjoying scaring themselves.
This morning I found a note of apology: Dear Artisan; I told the wee ones to keep it quiet. “For the love of God, keep yer voices down!” I begged. But all they did was yell in a lower octave …sometimes it seems the devil gets to ‘em and it’s nothin’ can be done about it. But please accept me apology and rest in peace tonight knowin’ there’ll not be another celebration for at least two weeks. That’s when we celebrate the strawberry wine festival – which could be a little more rowdy than last night’s gatherin’…but I’m hopin’ not…for yer sake.

To purchase the yarn “FIREWORKS” go to www.recklessspinner.etsy.com

FINALLY!

Well, it isn’t a photograph – it’s better! I could hardly believe my eyes when I went out to water my tomato plants this morning and found this painting. It was propped against the fence and set up on two bricks to keep the dirt off.
Although I’d pretty much decided the figure in the painting was Liam McSpinagain I eagerly unfolded the handmade paper and read: To the Artisan – I don’t have a camera. In fact I’m not sure what a camera is. And since I don’t have any pictures of meself I was at a terrible loss. But then Dala (which means brilliant light in the ancient tongue) me.. I mean…my…favorite lemon yellow goat …told me that Leonardo di Perspectolio had made a painting of me standing next to her…I should have known! For many times I sensed a friendly presence nearby but when I peered around there was nothin’ there a’tall, a’tall – yet one time I did come upon a sharpened stick as is used for writing, and a snippet of finely made paper, both tossed aside into a pile of leaves as if in a great hurry. I retrieved the implements as they are precious to our people and even though I figgered they belonged to di Perspectolio I put them in a drawer at my home. You see artists (as is tradition) are amongst the shyest of all and I didn’t want to intrude on his quiet life. But when Dala went on me behalf and returned his writing things, she asked in me stead for the painting and he freely gave it…although he did warn her that Mick would probably fight her for it once he found that he was also portrayed in the painting. “Even though he’s-a only a mouse-a,” di Perspectolioe told her, “he’s-a Irish and you know-a how they love a good-a fight-a.” Meself I’d take offense but since di Perspectolio lives the quiet life I figger he just doesn’t know much about other folks…or mice. Enjoy the painting Artisan (even though it doesn’t look a’tall like me – I’m much handsomer…and taller…and more virile). Signed Liam McSpinagain.
And now I’m anxiously awaiting Liam McSpinagain’s next delivery!
To see some of the lamb tails left by Liam, go to www.recklessspinner.etsy.com