So you know how I relocate un-adoptable feral cats to properties for rodent control? Well, last week’s relocation was slightly different. The property owner was referred to me by one of our volunteers so I thought, okay, great.
It’s rare that I know the people I’m bringing cats to. How it works is: they contact us, I get their address then go see if their property is a good fit for ferals. I never give it a second thought. And on second thought, maybe that’s not so smart.When I pulled into the driveway of Steve’s 7 acre spread, I noticed two houses. The one in back, where Steve lives, has an old barn attached that once housed ranch hands nearly 100 years ago. It sits at the end of a long dirt driveway. And as I drove in, I noticed a figure pacing back and forth through the lone upstairs window. Sorta eerie. I have to tell you, the whole scene reminded me of Norman Bates in Psycho. But maybe I’ve watched too many thrillers.
So now that you know I have a hard time letting go of things, that leads me right into today’s topic. A rather smooth Segue, wouldn’t you say? Here’s the story…
I’m a lot like my mom because she used to keep things she didn’t really need. That, I’m sad to say, has rubbed off on me. Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t hoard rubber bands or corks like Mom did. But to look in my garage behind cabinet doors, you’ll see an abundance of stuff I rarely use.
Does one really need 3 cans of WD-40?
I have tons of kitchen items collecting dust on top of the garage cabinets. Things like a Margarita machine, a crock pot and an ice cream maker. Can’t remember the last time I used them. Yet I continue to hold on to them. Just in case. You never know when I’ll get an inkling to make Rocky Road ice cream, right? Continue reading →
Since this week was crazy busy, here’s a post I thought you (meaning men) might enjoy reading again since it’s a subject near and dear to your heart…
Breasts, boobs, knockers, The Girls. Now that I have your attention, allow me to elaborate.Recently some friends and I somehow raised (so to speak) the subject of breasts. I’m sure you’re thinking: Now how would that subject ever come up? Or maybe you’re thinking: finally, a topic I’m interested in! Regardless, bosoms are the focus of this week’s blog. Continue reading →
I’m someone who has a hard time letting go. So I keep items that have value to nobody but me. These mementos reside in a cedar “memory chest” in my spare room upstairs. When I kick the bucket, one of my executors (Sue, Sharon or Pam) gets the thrill of going through my things and deciding what to toss. I’m betting it’s going to be a busy day for the garbage man.
Now don’t get me wrong; my friends can do whatever they’d like with my possessions. I won’t care if they dump sentimental items I can’t part with yet. After all, I’ll be dead, remember? But just for the fun of it, I’ll probably haunt whomever draws the short straw for that task.
Grandpa had the cedar chest carved in Thailand for Nana around 80 years ago, back when he was an importer/exporter traveling the world. I think of them whenever I open the chest and the essence of cedar escapes, filling the room with memories. That’s why I love the smell of cedar.
So when rain finally arrived this week, giving me an excuse to stay home, I went through the chest for the first time in years. I could easily spend a day reminiscing in there but I managed to keep it to a couple hours. After all, my to-do list awaits and one can’t dilly dally long or the list invariably grows. Continue reading →
If you’re like me, you frequent a certain restaurant because they serve a particular meal you develop severe cravings for and can barely wait to indulge again. Do you have a restaurant like that? I certainly do. A few of them, in fact.
Once I’m enamored with something, I order it each time I visit that restaurant. Forget the special of the evening or the vegetable risotto they’re known for or the Eggplant Parmesan everyone raves about. I’m narrow-minded once I’ve discovered something that tickles my taste buds.
When I visit Jason’s, my favorite restaurant in Marin, you can bet I’m ordering the spicy Cajun pasta, minus the sausage, please. But first a nice lemon drop sets the tone of the evening. Yep, love me a good lemon drop.