Round Top

There is a tiny town not too far from us called Round Top. Mostly, this town with its population of 77 (give or take a baby just being born or an elder who is just getting acquainted with the angels), is known for the two huge antique fairs hosted every year-- one in the Spring, one in the Fall. Sellers come from all over the country to display their antiques, collectibles, crafts, and "high class junque" -- and buyers come to haggle over prices and hope to walk away with what they believe to be the bargain of the century. With just a two-lane road going through Round Top, getting from one place to the other during Antique Fair Days takes a lot of patience, a lot of smiling, and a lot of gas.

Round Top also has a "downtown" area-- a square block of shops and a Texas-famous cafe that ships homemade pies all around the country. "Royer's Cafe" was featured on an episode of CBS Sunday Morning not too long ago. My husband and I happened to be in Royer's picking up a pie when the television film crew was there, so we asked for the airing date so we could watch it on TV. Royer's is the place (the only place) to eat in Round Top... good country cooking, and their pies, of course. Their menu states that if you don't order a slice of pie for dessert, then you get charged extra. And if you order pie without ice cream on top, you get charged extra for that too. (With only 77 people in the town, you can make up a lot of your own rules.)

What we didn't know about Round Top till we moved up to the Hill Country is that tucked away along the two-lane road going towards the downtown square, there is a huge auditorium called "Festival Hill." I believe its proper name is The International Festival Institute at Round Top. What started out as an outdoor gathering place for musicians, complete with dirt floors and plastic chairs, is now an architectural achievement of carved wood, leaded glass windows, plush city-theatre seats, and an elaborate stage-- all accomplished by generous donations and talented craftsmen. The interior of Festival Hill looks very European, with a Texas flair-- the Star of Texas is carved into every nook and cranny of the wood-filled interior.

We were there yesterday afternoon, part of a group of twelve neighbors and friends. The concert was the Synergy Brass Quintet and they were just wonderful-- five extremely talented brass musicians who started playing together in college "just for beer money." Years later now, they're still playing for beer money (all over the world, 300 concerts a year)-- only now they drink imported beer, they announced. Trumpets, tubas, trombones, French horns, all bright and gold and shining in the stage lights, expertly playing their way through jazz and rock and classical music. The acoustics in Festival Hill are so correct and precise that when each of the five musicians walked to the far corners of the auditorium, with one being front and center on the stage, their hymn-like chamber music medley made you feel as if you were sitting inside one of their instruments. Totally amazing... it brought chills to your skin, as one of the neighbors said to me.

After the concert, we all drove to yet another small town (Burton, population 300-something) to a restaurant there run by a French-born and trained chef who once ran the kitchen at the Four Seasons in downtown Houston. He left the hustle and bustle of Houston and bought a house and land in the Hill Country, to remind him of France, and to let him cook just what he wanted to cook in his own restaurant. "The Brazos Belle" restaurant was originally an inn for travelers, built in the late 1800s. Sitting in that restaurant (which we've gone to many times before) with the vintage wood floors and ceilings, wavy-glass windows, and long saloon-type bar, you can't help but think about all the people who have passed through those doors since it first opened as an inn.

We had a wonderful afternoon at the concert, then a delicious dinner at the restaurant, then went back to one of the neighbor's homes here for pie and tea. We were too full for dessert at the restaurant, but by the time we drove home, sharing left-over pie and hot tea seemed to be the perfect way to end the night.

During the concert, as the musicians were talking to the audience, one of them thanked Festival Hill for inviting them back to play. He said that Round Top was one of their favorite destinations because it was like being in a "little piece of heaven." What a nice thing to say.

All quiet on the ranch.....

Today is a drippy, dreary, cold, windy, rainy day. But on the bright side-- there isn't a scorpion or a bat in the house. Actually, we haven't had a problem with scorpions since we've had the pest-control company coming out here on a regular basis to spray their magic potion around the perimeter of the house. Plus, my husband put screening in all the air-conditioning vents, so scorpions aren't dropping out of the ceiling these days.

We had a huge thunderstorm last night... lightning, thunder, pouring rain-- the works. All the cats ran up the stairs at the first crack of thunder. I don't know who started the stampede, but within seconds, they were all up here and either hiding under the bed or under the chairs. I was keeping my fingers crossed that we wouldn't lose power in the storm, and we didn't. I have calmed down considerably since the bat was in the house the other night, but I don't know how calm I would have been in a pitch-black house in the middle of a raging thunder and lightning storm.

Sweet Pea, the newest cat who doesn't know that he isn't a she, has discovered the television set. He will sit and stare at whatever program is on... last night, he watched "House Hunters" with me. It was an international episode from Turkey, and Sweet Pea was particularly interested in the huge swimming pools and lush gardens. (Who knew such beautiful outdoor spaces would be in Turkey?)

In his journey through the house, Sweet Pea has also discovered that there is a cat-sized ledge in the dining room, just underneath the stained glass window. I caught him up there last night, peeking out of the clear-glass leaf pattern at the bottom of the amber-colored stained glass. How he got up there isn't a mystery-- he just jumped up on the serving table below that window, then jumped up to the ledge from there. As soon as I saw him, I walked over to him and took him down, explaining that if he wanted to be an inside cat, then he needed to keep his little murmuring heart away from certain places in this house. I got a meow in return-- which could have been either "I'm so sorry but the window is just so pretty!" or "You're kidding me, right? You're telling me what to do?"

The temperature has dropped down once again...... it was 60-something yesterday, and today is barely 50 degrees. I shouldn't complain, since my cousin F in NY eMailed me this morning to say it was minus one degree up there, thanks to the wind chill factor that the weathermen always toss into their announcement. "Today's high will be 57 degrees, but with the wind chill factor, you'll need to bundle up because it will feel like minus one out there." I wonder how many layers of clothing I would need to feel warm in those northern temperatures...

One of our neighbors' cows found its way onto our property the day before yesterday. I looked out the front window, and there she was, grazing in the grass near our pond. It was a pretty large cow, and for the most part, the cows that we've seen on neighboring properties have either been friendly (eating grass from my husband's hand) or stand-offish (walking away from the fence if we get too close). I draw the line at cows, though. I don't think they're cute, I don't want to hand-feed them, I don't want them on our property, so I wasn't going to go out into the field and shoo the cow back to her own pasture. My husband did just that, however. He walked way out there, got himself behind the cow and just started moving towards it, and the cow kept walking away from him and towards her own home.

Every once in a while, one of that neighbor's cows will be in our field, munching on the grass there. All of his cows look alike (big and brown, coffee-colored) and for all we know, it's been the same cow every time we see one on our property. We used to call the neighbor every time one of his cows came over here, but now, my husband just goes out there and gets the cow back with the others, on their own side of the fence. That particular neighbor joked with me once, telling me that his cows were his pets, "just like those chickens of yours," he said. I resisted the urge to tell him to make sure and call me if he found one of my chickens in his field and I'd come over and get her right quick. (NY sarcasm just doesn't work up here in the hills.)

A bat. A BAT!

My husband said that I screamed "bloody murder" last night. I don't remember that.

He also said that I yelled "THERE'S A BAT IN THE HOUSE!!!" I don't remember that either.

I do remember my husband saying "It's only a bat." Only a bat?


We were both in the TV room. My husband was reading a computer book; I was reading a book about Anne Boleyn. I kept hearing Mickey and ShadowBaby and Sweet Pea running up and down the stairs. Gatsby was sleeping right next to me, Gracie was sleeping on the floor near my husband's chair. I called out for the cats to quit running. I heard Mickey jump on top of something-- his little bell always makes a different sound when he jumps. Then I heard Sweet Pea jumping... ditto for his little bell.

I put my book down and walked towards the direction of their bells. No sooner had I gotten into the dining room, and ShadowBaby is running at break-neck speed with his head facing towards the ceiling. I was just about to tell him that he was going to smash into a wall if he didn't watch where he was going, and out of the corner of my eye I saw something up near the ceiling. I switched on the overhead light and there was no mistaking what it was-- a bat. A bat! In the house!

I guess that's when I screamed "bloody murder," as my husband described it. The bat flew out of the dining room and into the breakfast room, with ShadowBaby, Mickey, and Sweet Pea trying to capture it. Look! A new toy! And it can fly!!!!

I remember calling for my husband, who came running out of the TV room, and I remember gathering up the cats one by one and literally tossing them into the TV room and shutting the door after I got each one in there. Gracie was still curled up by my husband's chair, Gatsby was still sleeping on the sofa. As I was getting the bat-chasing cats into the TV room, my husband was following the bat and I heard him go up the stairs. Upstairs? The bat flew upstairs?

My husband called out to me that he had the bat cornered in one room (my dressing room) and he shut both doors to that room so the bat couldn't get out. He told me that he needed a plastic bowl to put the bat in, and then he would carry the bat out to the balcony and release him. I think I asked him at that point if he wouldn't rather have a broom so he could smash the bat. Now that I'm settled down and calm, smashing the bat would have been a mess... bat-blood all over my embroidered silk curtains with the beaded fringe.

I gave my husband a red mixing bowl and a cookie-rack to cover the bowl. Looking back on those choices, the bat could have easily crawled through the openings on the cookie-rack, and did I have to give my husband one of my Williams-Sonoma bowls?

I don't know what possessed me to stand in the upstairs hallway instead of going back downstairs to lock myself in the TV room with Gracie and the cats, but I think I was just too stunned to even move. There was a bat in the house. There was a bat in the house! And my husband was in the dressing room, talking to the bat, using his best Steve Irwin imitation-- "Oh crikey! She's a beaut!"

The door to the balcony opened, then closed. Then opened and closed again. My husband opened the door to the hallway and told me that the bat was on the balcony in the red bowl, and he would soon fly off. We both went to look. The bat was still in the red bowl, just hanging on the inside, one wing folded over the side of the bowl. Should I call Williams-Sonoma and tell them about yet another use for their rubber-bottomed mixing bowls?

Nothing was really disturbed in my dressing room, except one of the beaded silk curtain tie-backs was off and the curtain itself was a bit crooked. My husband said the bat had hidden himself behind the curtain and had to be coaxed down the silk and into the bowl.

"It was only a bat," my husband repeated. By the sound of my screams (I swear I don't remember) he said he thought I had either discovered one of the cats dead on the floor or I had cut off my arm with a kitchen knife.

"The bat's agenda was to just get out of the house," my husband said. "No big deal... I just helped him to get out." (Well, isn't it nice that one of us in this house can keep their wits about them when all hell is breaking lose and half the wildlife of Washington County is flying around this house?)

Of course, now we're wondering how the bat got in here. We're thinking it could have found its way into the attic. And about an hour before the bat-incident, both Mickey and Sweet Pea were sitting by the door to the attic, trying to get their paws underneath the door. Could they have heard the bat up there? And could the bat have discovered the tiny opening underneath that door? That opening is now stuffed up with tissue paper, my husband went up into the attic with a flashlight (no more bats that he can see) and I told him that we are getting that attic sealed to within an inch of its bat-welcoming life.

"Calm down," said my husband... "It was only a bat."

All quiet on the feline front...

For the past two days, I have not heard one hiss from the cats. Everyone is getting along, playing nice, eating together at the same time, and sleeping within inches of one another. Miracle of miracles.... or just four good cats. Mickey was the last to quit hissing.... I'm chalking that up to his reluctance to give up his baby-cat status.

When we took Sweet Pea to the vet, they told us that he's between three and four years old, a little bit older than we guessed him to be. He's still the youngest cat of the four, and he acts like it-- always needing the most attention.

We've been lucky with the cats that we've found over the years... except for one when we lived in Clear Lake that we named Groucho (because he looked like he had a bushy mustache)... all have stayed with us and become part of the family. (Groucho went to the shelter when he started relentlessly attacking the others-- and it wasn't play-fighting, either.)

If we still had AngelBoy, keeping Gatsby and Sweet Pea would not have been an option here, unless we had kept them outside. AngelBoy would not have tolerated more "company" in his little blue-eyed kingdom, and I would have been constantly following him with the canister of carpet-cleaning spray. I can still see those blue eyes of his in my mind, bless his little mischievous soul. I honestly try not to think of that beautiful fluffy cat because it still bothers me that I had to "put him down."

Even the chickens are getting along now. They've been out of the coop for a few days, walking around the yard and pecking in the dirt for bugs and worms. Audrey has not given up her Queen of The Coop title, and she lets the other hens know she's the top chicken. Prissy has given us three eggs, and Scarlett has also given us three. The Araucana (Mammy) has not laid any eggs at all, following in Audrey's Araucana footsteps. We're hoping that Mammy will gift us with one of her pale blue/green eggs. Scarlett's eggs are deep brown in color, and Prissy's are pinkish-beige, so it's been easy to tell which eggs are from which hen.

The weather has turned summery, and this morning we had breakfast on the front porch. We have had sunny and warm days, and it seems like we're on another planet, after the hard freeze we went through not long ago. Seems like it's already a somewhat distant memory. My husband is still working on the pipes for the cottage and the barn, but the house is done and has worked perfectly since his repairs.

I put up the Valentine decorations yesterday..... there are little Valentine trees dripping with red hearts, velvet heart boxes all over the living room and dining room, old Valentine cards, and little bits of red and pink heart surprises here and there. Mickey and ShadowBaby grew up with all these "extras" so they never touch anything; Gatsby proved his gentlemanly manners at Christmastime, and he continues to be a great non-touching cat; Sweet Pea has taken note of all the hearts but hasn't bothered one of them, not even the shiny red hearts dangling from the brass tree in the living room. Which is pretty amazing, considering he's been here less than a month. Maybe the other cats advised him that the way to my heart is to not touch all the pretty stuff.

Got pipes?

... and pipe-cutters, plumber's glue, and all sorts of pipe connections. The worktable in the garage looks as if there's a plumber living here. And indeed there is. I have taken back my words about my husband needing to call a "real" plumber.

The frozen and cracked pipes and water-filter box coming into the house has been replaced. And the pipe configuration that my husband set up there looks more professionally done than what had been installed there by the previous owner (who was not a "real" plumber either).

Instead of having two small water filters that have to be replaced every month, there is a now a large water filter that will last for three months. Rather than a series of zig-zag pipes going into the house, there are just a couple of straight-lined pipes letting the water flow from the well-pump to the house. My husband had help from the neighbor up the hill, but it was my husband's design that they installed.

I am so glad I wasn't out there helping. I know my limitations, and I know when to back off and just let my husband do what he wants to do. My husband said that J (the neighbor) was helpful without being intrusive. Well, he wouldn't have been saying those words about me, had I been the helper out there. I tend to get two steps ahead and say things that aren't necessary at the time. (Such as "Well, why are you doing it that way when it was done the other way before?"... Which would make my husband answer with "Who says the way it was done before was the right way?")

As I said... I know my limitations..... and it was best that I just stay out of the way while the plumbing work was going on out there. When all was said and done, and piped and glued, and the water was running.... I ooohed and aaahed over it all-- and I meant it, because the end result out there looks way better than it did before.

The cottage and the barn still need to be done.... the connecting pipes cracked there as well, but that's a job for the weekend. The house was most important, and that's done. Not only did my husband do all of that exterior plumbing, but he installed pegboard over the worktable in the garage and the tools that were laying all over the table are now hung up neatly in soldier-rows.

Maybe that's what happens when Texas freezes over.

Gone With the Windy Chickens

We went to the chicken farm yesterday and picked out three new chickens. Now that the Guinea hens are gone (thank you, thank you) we thought that maybe Audrey needed some company in the coop. By the look on her face yesterday when we brought in her three new coopmates, maybe she did like having The Coopacabana all to herself.

But she wasn't giving us any eggs, which is the idea of having chickens in the coop in the first place, so she will just have to make friends with the new hens. I picked out another Rhode Island Red (like Dolly was) but this one is a darker, more richer shade of red. I named her Scarlett. Just like Dolly, when I talk to her, she will sit there and look at me and listen to my voice. Rhode Island Reds are very friendly, as everyone keeps telling us, and the chickens themselves have proven.

The other two new chickens are both black. One is all black with a bit of green iridescence, and she has one large white polka-dot on each side of her face.... I have named her Prissy. The other black one is an Araucana (same breed as Audrey) and her feathers are extra-fluffy (which makes her look bigger) with bits of tan and brown tips.... I named her Mammy. Do you get the "Gone With the Wind" theme going on here? I thought of the other names after I named the red one Scarlett, and somehow, it just seems to work. I can already see that Mammy is strutting around the coop as if she's in charge (but Audrey actually is Queen of that coop), and Prissy walks around with her head held up high, so that name just fits her.

We have to keep the new chickens in the coop for at least two days, so they get used to their new home, which means we have to keep Audrey in there as well. And, while they're in the coop, they will learn the "pecking order." (Translation: the new hens will learn that Audrey is the top chicken.) She's not happy about that, and I can hear her clucking out there from time to time. Let me out! Let me out! I already know my way around the yard!

One of the new chickens left us an egg in the nesting box this morning, so that was a nice surprise. The first egg from the new ladies of the coop. I have started a new listing/count of eggs. We had a total of 95 eggs from the first group of chickens, and I thought that was an impressive amount, since only Dolly and Henny Penny were laying eggs then.

The weather has cleared up and become very Texas-winter-like. (Thank you, thank you.) Yesterdays temperature was up in the 60s, today's will go into the 70s. Right back where it belongs.

Sweet Pea is settling in here..... I've been letting him go downstairs a little bit every day, and he has hissed at the other cats, and they have hissed at him in return, but I quickly scoop him up so he doesn't start something that his little murmur-ing heart can't finish. He'll get used to the other cats in his own good time... until then, I just have to keep an eye on everybody. It's like playing musical chairs, only this is musical cats. I let Sweet Pea downstairs when the others are in the TV room with the door closed. When Sweet Pea has explored a little bit, then I open the TV room door and stay close by him. Sometimes there are no hisses, just slow-motion walk-bys.

I'm guessing that within a week or two, the cats will be tolerant and friendly, and each of them will respect one another's space. And Gracie just sits back and watches all her cats..... she has been the best, best dog. Even with the chickens. She just seems to know they're our birds and she will watch them from a distance.

"From a distance......" Reminds me of that old Bette Midler song. I will have that song playing in my mind all day long now.

Plumbing day.

Gorgeous day out there.... sunny and warm, high in the 60s. Next week is supposed to be high in the 70s. A real Texas winter, not that horrible stuff we've been having that has frozen water pipes and cracked filter-boxes all over the state.

As I type, my husband and one of the neighbors are out in the yard, re-building the water pipes that burst with the 18-degree hard freeze that we had. After spending hours at Home Depot, and more hours reading plumbing manuals on the Internet, my husband was ready to tackle this project today. He had everything he needed, including the confidence to do it. When he asked me if I thought he should take our neighbor up on his offer to help, I told him "Absolutely-- I am not a plumber's apprentice." That settled that. He called the neighbor.

I stayed in the kitchen and made soup, and put flour and eggs into the bread machine. I have a huge pot of lentil vegetable soup, and another pot of cauliflower/broccoli soup. And the bread... it smells and looks delicious, but this is the second loaf of bread in two weeks that didn't rise as high as it usually does. With the last loaf, I think the water I added was too cold. This time, I used room-temperature water..... but now I'm thinking maybe I should have used warmer water. I even checked the date on the yeast-- because I've done that before... used yeast that had an expired date on it. (That loaf was like a small brick.) I haven't sliced today's bread yet, but I'm sure it will be okay. It's just a shorter squat loaf, rather than a tall fluffy one.

As I type, Sweet Pea is downstairs sleeping in the living room on one of the chairs by the fireplace. ShadowBaby is sleeping on the back of the sofa-- his favorite napping spot since we moved here. When he opens his eyes, he can see out towards the front of the property and he has a picture-perfect view of the pond. Mickey Kitty is keeping an eye on Sweet Pea from the foyer... he has stopped his hissing, but I don't think he has built up a trust yet for the newest cat in the house. Gatsby is outside on the front porch, napping in the sun on this beautifully warm day. I think Gatsby will always be an outside cat, as long as it isn't too cold or raining too hard. He knows when it's warm out there and he will sit by either the front door or the kitchen door, staring at it till it magically opens.

The Last Chicken Standing-- Audrey...... she's out there walking around the yard, and occasionally checking on the progress with the plumbing. She doesn't seem to mind at all that she's the only hen in the coop. I think she's enjoying it. Audrey has been more friendly since the Guinea hens were taken away. She actually comes when I call out to her these days, which is something she has never done. Me? You're calling me? I'll come there when I'm ready.-- that was always her attitude. Now she tucks her wings back to her sides and comes running across the yard when I call her. We're hoping to get a few more chickens this week, so Audrey will have to re-establish the pecking order in that coop. When we put the two or three new chickens in there, we'll be hearing a lot of clucking going on till they all get to know one another and settle down.

Another day on the ranch. Home made soup and bread, contented cats, a dog who loves every cat we have, a happy chicken, and my husband, who will come in here when the plumbing job is done, and (a la Tom Hanks in the movie Castaway), he's going to have his arms raised towards the ceiling and he'll be chanting "WATER! ME MAKE RUNNING WATER!"

Not that there's anything wrong with that....

I was up before dawn this morning to get Sweet Pea to the clinic at seven o'clock this morning. The earlier you get the pet in, the quicker they can start on the "fixing" procedure and vaccinations. During the drive there, Sweet Pea was as quiet as a tiny mouse, huddled in the crate and just watching me as I drove. And just where are you taking me?

They weighed Sweet Pea (just a tiny bit over nine pounds) and said the name fit because Sweet Pea was such a contented and serene cat. I had taken off the red sparkling bell collar so it wouldn't smell like the vet's office, and I promised Sweet Pea that her first piece of jewelry would be waiting for her when I brought her home later today.

Not long after I had gotten back home, the girl at the clinic called. "Did you know that Sweet Pea is a male? And a neutered male at that!" What?!?! Obviously, I didn't have a clue. And more important than the mix-up in the sex was they found out that Sweet Pea has a heart murmur, so they advised against letting him be an outside cat. They also asked me if I wanted to change the name to something different, being that Sweet Pea is a male, not a female. (What would I change it to? Sweet Pete? I told the girl I would keep the name as is.)

I explained to the girl that we had planned to keep Sweet Pea inside because she/he seemed to have no desire to go outside, and actually had no desire to venture farther than the second floor of our house. When Sweet Pea has gone downstairs, it's because I have carried her down the steps.

The girl at the clinic told me that they would still give Sweet Pea the vaccinations, and I could pick him up in half an hour. They also told me that the cat was between three and four years old, judging by his teeth. When I got off the phone, I went upstairs to look at the frilly little bed that I made for Sweet Pea yesterday-- and the cat just loved it. Jumped right in and slept there for hours, resting that cute little nose on the bright silk edging of the plush pea-green velvety blanket.

When I told my husband about the phone call, he sat there just shaking his head, and we both remembered how this cat has acted since it came to us. How can this delicate, quiet, serene, sensitive, lady-like cat be a male? "Maybe he's gay," said my husband. "Are there gay cats?... Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Sweet Pea is back home now.... first thing he did when I carried him upstairs to "his" room was run to his food dish and eat every drop-- he hadn't had anything to eat since nine o'clock last night, given the fact that we thought he would be having an operation this morning. After that, he went into the dressing room (his room) and tip-toed into the plushness of his pea-green blanket-bed and started licking his paws and making himself beautiful. Or handsome, whatever the case may be.

We are still shaking our heads, every time we look at Sweet Pea. Everything he does is decidedly feminine. All his mannerisms remind me of the female cat I had about 25 years ago. Sure, he's bigger than a female cat should be, but Mickey Kitty is much smaller than a male cat should be.

As for Sweet Pea's heart murmur, we don't have to do anything for that except to keep him inside the house. If he were outside and got hurt, and had to have a medical procedure, that heart murmur would most likely do him in as the anesthesia took hold.

I've had to re-think my perception of Sweet Pea. I can't keep telling him how nice it is to have a "sweet little-girl kitty," and I have stopped calling his collar the "first piece of jewelry." Now it's just a bright red collar with a bell on it.

And Sweet Pea is still as sweet and as quiet as can be. Curling up in our arms, burying his face under our chins and rubbing his nose into our necks. He will sit on our laps for as long as we're willing to hold him, and he will just watch the other cats looking at him and not move a muscle. I'm sure he feels safe here by now, and I'm sure he's a perfectly happy cat.

And it doesn't even matter if he's a boy cat or a girl cat. He's just Sweet Pea, and that's all that matters. (And I'm not changing his name to Sweet Pete.)


To make a wondrous day more wonderful--- the Guinea hens are gone....... the neighbor came by with his big fishing net, captured the hens as they flew around the coop, put them into a big crate, and drove them away to another neighbor's property. The yard is completely silent, except for the soft sounds of Audrey every once in a while. She is probably thanking us for getting the noisy low-mannered Guinea hens out of her coop.

"Another cat?!"

I think that's what little Mickey Kitty is saying these days--- Another cat?! This little peanut of a cat has started to hiss at Gatsby, who is twice his size. Mickey hissed so loudly at Gatsby this morning that Gatsby jumped up on a dining room chair and just looked down at him as if Mickey had lost his mind. When Mickey hisses, I just call out his name and he will quit that ridiculous behavior, but then he'll run around to another part of the house and wait for Gatsby to walk by and then he'll jump out and hiss at him again. Mickey will just have to adjust, both to Gatsby and to Sweet Pea.

I thought Mickey was doing fine with Gatsby, but then along came Sweet Pea, and I guess that was just one set of whiskers too many for the youngest cat in the house. What's going on here? I thought I was the baby-cat?!

Tomorrow is clinic day for Sweet Pea.... I'm having her spayed, and vaccinated. She may already be spayed, but I doubt that. And there's no way the vet will know for sure till he gets in there for a look-see. So either way, Sweet Pea will be on the operating table tomorrow morning. It's always hard to bring a pet to the clinic and leave them there. While I was out today, I found a plush light green baby-blanket at the resale shop. I bought it for Sweet Pea and covered her gray pillow-bed with it. Call it my taking-you-for-spaying guilt-gift. I also put a sparkly bell-collar around her neck. She didn't even resist her first piece of jewelry. I just cannot get over the gentleness and serenity of this little cat.

And the opposite of gentleness and serenity? The two Guinea hens, who will be going to a farm out in Caldwell tomorrow morning. Our neighbor has already brought over the wire cage for them, and he asked me not to let them out of the coop tomorrow. He'll come over with a net, scoop up the Guinea hens, put them in the cage, and off they go. Hasta la vista! Tomorrow can't come soon enough, when it comes to those noisy, possessed-looking birds.

When the Guinea hens leave, Audrey will be alone in the coop, so we'll have to get two or three more chickens to keep her company-- and give us some fresh eggs, hopefully. I will definitely pick out another red hen, and I'll see what other types of chickens Mr. Watson has for us to pick from.

The frozen pipes.......... the plumber will be here on Monday to repair and replace everything. We're still using the temporary fix from last week, and plumbers all over Texas have been extra-busy with all the frozen and burst pipes around the state. I just don't understand why they can't install plumbing fixtures down here the way they do up north. Sooner or later, every place in the south will get a "hard freeze," as they call it....... and if the pipes aren't protected to within an inch of their plastic lives, then you can just kiss them all goodbye and call it a day. Or call the plumber.

And once again, there is a god. My husband had got it in his mind to fix the pipes himself. He told me it would be easy. "It's like a puzzle! I love puzzles! I can do this!" I'm sure he could.... but does he really want to do that work? (No.) Does he really have the time to do that work? (No.) I was all set to give him my speech that I wasn't put on this earth to be a plumber's apprentice and that he shouldn't count on me to hold a pipe, run to the hardware store, or stand in the barn turning the pump on and off. But then he came to his senses and decided to let the plumber do the job. Which was a smart thing to do because I would have been tempted to send him to the Caldwell farm along with the Guinea hens.

Sweet Pea

"And how many cats do you have?" Too many.

I reminded my husband that in the last eight months, two cats have found us here in the hills. "Sooner or later we're going to have to bring lost cats to the shelter." At that moment, Sweet Pea walked into his office and meowed, in that pitiful way that cats have. "Yeah, right-- I'm going to bring that cat to the shelter," said my husband. Well, not this one, but eventually we'll have to start bringing cats to the shelter.

Sweet Pea slept on our bed last night, inbetween our pillows, all curled up and purring very softly. We don't think she was an outside cat to begin with, and she seems perfectly content to be inside the house. Like Gatsby, she doesn't touch a thing, but looks at everything.

Of course, I broke my own rule about not having litter boxes in any of the upstairs bathrooms. To accommodate Sweet Pea, I put a litter box in the bathroom connected to the dressing room, which is next to our bedroom. Three of the four bedrooms up here have connecting doors, plus doors to the upstairs hallway. By closing off the doors going into the hallway, Sweet Pea can roam from the dressing room to our bedroom, then to my husband's office. She also has access to all three of those bathrooms, but she quickly learned which bathroom has her litter box. With the hallway doors closed, Mickey and Gatsby and ShadowBaby can't get into those rooms with her, but they know she's in there. As a protest today, all three of them are staying in the TV room-- of their own doing. The door is open down there, but they've been in the TV room most of the day. We guy-cats have to stick together.

I have called another neighbor, to make sure this cat doesn't belong to them. I also called one of the local pet clinics, to make an appointment to have Sweet Pea spayed and vaccinated. I'm guessing neither was done to her, which is another reason to keep her away from our cats right now. Our cats are all males, all fixed, but I would guess they know an un-fixed female cat is close by.

Every time we go inside to see Sweet Pea, we're greeted with the tiniest little meow, and she's ready and waiting to either be picked up or jump on our laps. She especially likes my husband, which proves our friend B's point about pets being mostly attracted to their owners of the opposite sex. That theory is proven with our other pets also-- Gracie is definitely my husband's dog, and the male cats are more attracted to me. Actually, I think the cats see me as a huge bag of cat food that walks and talks.

For now, Sweet Pea is here to stay. Of course. I knew that the moment I saw her sitting in the sun by the side of the barn, trying to stay warm in yesterday's cold weather.

Speaking of cold weather.... it has warmed up some today. (There is a god after all.) The master plumber came by as promised, and looked at the frozen and cracked pipes. "No problem. I can fix all of that in a few hours and be out of your hair." But he's only going to fix and replace the set-up that's here, not try and improve on the pipe set-up so it won't happen again. (Which is what the non-master plumber wanted to do when he looked at the pipes the other day and gave us the temporary fix so we'd have running water.)

By tomorrow, we will have estimates from both men. The first guy can start the job mid-week...... the second guy can't start till next week. (Seems like we're not the only ones around with frozen pipes.) Until then, we have running water during the day, but if the temperature goes down below freezing at night, then my husband disconnects the temporary fix so that doesn't freeze up.

Somehow, it's working. Even a stray cat didn't add to the confusion. If anything, it just made me realize that some things are more important than others, and the few minutes of stress melted away. Once again, though, I am thanking my lucky stars that we didn't buy those cute little miniature horses a couple of months back.

Eighteen degrees.

Gentle thaw, my foot. Yesterday's heat wave in the mid-40's dropped down into the teens last night. Is this Texas? Or am I in a never-ending nightmare that has transported me to Alaska?

When we woke up this morning, not only was the water in the fountain frozen solid, but so was the water in the pond. I'm sure the shallow end of the pond was frozen enough for ice-skating, but I don't know if the deeper part of the pond would have held up. Either way, it was too cold to go and find out. I stood there in the sun streaming through the front door, just looking at that frozen pond and shaking my head in disbelief.

My husband didn't go out first thing and re-connect the temporary water hoses that bring the well-water up into the house. Instead, he drove into town to get groceries from WalMart, then we had lunch (hot soup, of course) and now he's out in the barn connecting all the switches, pipes, hoses, etc. so I can run the dishwasher and turn on the faucets.

We talked about that master plumber who is due here tomorrow morning. Rather than cancel that appointment, we're having him come out here anyway. For a small charge of $40, we can ask him questions and get some ideas from him, as to the best way to solve this problem once and for all. I told my husband that when this plumbing job is done, I don't want to have to worry about frozen pipes again. What if my husband had been out of town? I honestly don't know what I would have done, and I don't want to be going out into the barn to do what he's been doing to eliminate the ice on the water pump and/or the pipes.


And.... to add to the out-of-the-ordinary situation here... another cat has found its way to our barn. While I was out in the yard with my husband, watching as he re-connected the water hoses, I saw a cat sitting in the sun next to the barn. "Who is that?!" My husband thought it was Gatsby, but I knew right away it was too small to be Gatsby, and besides that, I left Gatsby in the house when I went out there.

Of course, as soon as I saw the cat, I started calling "Kitty-kitty-kitty...." And, of course, the poor thing meowed back and cautiously started coming towards us. While the cat wrapped herself around my husband's legs, I went back into the house for some Fancy Feast and a bowl. Here we blessed go again.

Pretty cat. (They're all pretty.) Sort of a tortoise-shell color and design, black & brown, gray and white, with black stripes on its tail. A small female, and it looks young, and it probably hasn't been fixed, so we'll see about doing that as soon as possible because I don't want an un-fixed male to find her and then I'll be surprised with kittens, which I don't want because then you have to find homes for them and you never do.

During the afternoon, I fixed up a bed and blanket, along with food and water dishes-- in the garage. All afternoon, my husband told me we couldn't bring this cat into the house. (Of course not.) Then in the early evening before it got dark, my husband went out to disconnect the water hoses and pipes so they wouldn't freeze during (yet again) another below-freezing night. He was out there less than five minutes, and he came back into the house with -- one guess -- "the new cat."

My husband told me it was getting cold out there. I know. He said the cat was too small to keep in the cold garage. I know. "Can't we put her somewhere warm and safe and away from the other cats?" Of course.

My husband said this cat reminds him of "Girl," a cat that his mother had when he was a young boy. We were going to call her Girl, but it didn't seem to work. I kept calling her Kitty-Girl, but that didn't work either. Then I was calling her Sweet Pea, and my husband said that just worked somehow.

So as I type, Sweet Pea (cat #4) is in one of our upstairs bathrooms, with her pillow, food and water dishes, a little mousie-toy.... and she's warm and fed, happy and sleeping. She has met our dog Gracie, whom she loves (all the cats love Gracie), and Mickey and ShadowBaby and Gatsby have seen her, and all except ShadowBaby have voiced their disapproval. (ShadowBaby doesn't care what goes on around here as long as he gets food in his dish.)

Another cat. Another night of freezing weather. Give me a blessed break -- on both counts.

A gentle thaw.

Forget the "master plumber." After 24 hours without water, and the thought of having to wait till Monday for the master to get here, we called up the plumber who installed the new kitchen sink back in November. (Gee... I remember November...... it was 50 degrees warmer way back then.)

It's amazing to me how little water you will need when you have precious little to use.

Anyway... that guy showed up here around noon. After looking at all the cracked and frozen and burst water pipes, and after giving a "Tsk, tsk..." there and a "Dang it...." over there, he said he could give us a temporary fix, but couldn't do the entire job because it was going to "freeze on up" tonight and tomorrow night as well.

Two hours later, we had the temporary fix..... he and my husband disconnected broken pipes and connected an extra-long, extra-thick garden hose to the pump that goes down to the well, which is bringing unfiltered water into the house via the faucets, commodes, tubs, etc. Magic! Running water!

Being that the temperatures are going down below freezing again tonight, my husband had to go out there after dinner and disconnect the hose so it wouldn't freeze up, but we had hot water this afternoon and my hair is clean again and so am I. The dishwasher is filled with dishes, but I can take care of that in the morning after he connects the hose again after the sun comes up.

The plumber is not only going to replace all the pipes, but he's talking about building a wooden insulated "closet" around the pump and the piping so if we get another hard freeze in the next hundred years, the pipes won't "freeze up on y'all and burst to kingdom come, dang it." Of course, we wondered why the previous owners didn't take that precaution, but then we remembered that there's never been a good hard freeze up here before this.

The cold blast and freezing temperatures aren't going to disappear till at least Tuesday, so my husband will be doing the connecting/disconnecting dance till then. When the freeze is over, the plumber is coming back to do the work. May take a day, may take two.... he took measurements of all the piping before he left and he will let us know the cost. His hourly rate is less than half of the master plumber, which my husband will be calling to cancel.

Another day on the ranch. Another day in the hills. My husband was so aggravated yesterday that he started looking at web-sites of the local realty companies. "To heck with living in the hills... maybe we should be in a subdivision after all." After he looked at some of the homes for sale and the fences surrounding them, he told me "We're not going anywhere. We already have the best house on the best piece of land. Just look at that view."

I could have saved him the trouble of looking at all those web-sites. I knew this would be the house as soon as we saw it from the bottom of the hill, before we even set foot inside the front door.

A hard freeze.

The weather gods have no mercy. Not for Texas, and not for the rest of the country whose temperatures are much lower than ours, with snow and sleet and ice tossed in for the heck of it.

The television weather wizards predicted yesterday that we would have a "hard freeze." (Is there a soft freeze? And couldn't we have had that instead?)

We now know what a hard freeze means: if you don't wrap the outside water pipes to within a millimeter of their plastic lives, they will crack during the night as the temperature goes below freezing. As a result, when you wake up in the morning, the low water pressure coming through the inside faucets will slowly trickle down to just a few drops, which will make you put on hats and coats and gloves and go outside to check the outside filter boxes and water pipes.... which will then send you back into the house using language that your mother may not approve of...... which will have you calling a "master plumber" (translation: $95 per hour) to come and replace the frozen and cracked water pipes and filter boxes that magically transport the water from the underground well to the kitchen faucet which fills up the teapot.

Did you get all of that? It would pain me greatly to have to repeat it. But that's what has happened. A hard freeze. A hard freaking freeze. Right here in the Hill Country, whose winters are known to be mild (60 - 72 degrees), whose cold snaps come along infrequently with temperatures hovering around 49 degrees and even then, we think we're freezing to death as soon as we step out on the porch. Well, think again.

This winter is reminding me of our friends C and R, who moved to upstate NY last year. Those two take outdoor vacations that keep them on the edge of sanity-- hiking (in woods with bears), white-water rafting (complete with waterfalls), canoe-ing (without a map), and camping (with tents). Their ideal vacation is one where they can come back to town and tell their friends: "We had a great trip! We almost died!" (Translation: they saw a bear, their raft over-turned, they got lost in a swamp with their canoe, a snake found its way into their tent.)

I'm waiting for C and R to call and ask us how our first winter is going in our new country home in the hills. My answer: "It's been great! I learned how to kill scorpions and not scream and cry as I smash them with my shoe. I've been cleaning a chicken coop every morning when the sun comes up and making sure the lower-than-normal temperature hasn't frozen their drinking water. We had a hard freeze here and the outside water pipes and filter boxes weren't wrapped tightly enough so we woke up without running water to make tea and hot oatmeal. My husband had to take buckets of water from the outside fountain to fill up the 6 toilet tanks in the house so we can flush them.... and the only reason the fountain water didn't freeze up in this godforsaken weather is because the bottom basin is three feet deep and I know that for sure because one of our chickens walked into it two months ago and drowned. And we lost three other chickens to either hawks or coyotes and they all died!"

Enough sarcasm. On Monday morning, the so-called master plumber with ten years experience will be here to replace all the frozen and cracked water pipes. I'm going to tell him to insulate those pipes to within a millimeter of their ever-dripping plastic lives..... so if we get another cold blast from the north next year, those pipes will be sweating and begging for mercy from the Powers That Be in the outdoor plumbing world.

Uncle.

Okay... the entire state of Texas is now going to say "Uncle!" to the weather gods. All together now..... UNCLE!!!!

We have had it.... and the worst is yet to come. My husband says it feels like we're back up north. And I say that this feels worse than anything I can remember. Was it this cold when I lived in NY? How did I go to work every day in this cold? Did the car start? And my hands didn't freeze to the steering wheel? It surely must be true-- when you live in a warmer climate, your blood thins and your body can't deal with cold temperatures anymore. I swear, if I put any more layers of clothing on me, I won't be able to walk.

As I type, the winds are howling. Sounds like we're in the middle of a horror movie here. I was out in the chicken coop this morning for nearly two hours, attaching huge sheets of plastic to the second side of the coop. I had already covered most of the west side with a thick shower curtain that kept the west winds from blowing on the chickens when they were on the roosting bar. This morning, I found the plastic sheeting that the movers used to cover some of our furniture-- I had saved it all because the sheets were so thick and heavy and I thought we could use them as drop-cloths. Well, to heck with painting. The chickens were in a wind tunnel this morning out in the coop.

Out came the plastic sheeting and step-stool. Out came those little plastic tie-down things... and up went the sheets of plastic. Two of the coop walls are wood, the ones backed up to the garage and the storage closet. The other two fenced-in and chicken-wired walls are now covered with plastic. Even the gate is enclosed in the plastic now. The hens must feel the difference because the whole time I was working, they sat on the roosting bar and watched me.... and the more plastic that went up, the farther apart from one another they moved on the roosting bar. When I came back in, I told my husband that the hens are now out of the wind, but I will soon have pneumonia.

Our across-the-road neighbor came over to tell us that the barn door was blowing in the wind, but he had wire to tie them down, so he did that for us while my husband wrapped the outside faucets in old towels and duct tape. While the neighbor was here, I asked him if he wanted our two Guinea hens. I told him the honeymoon was over with those two birds, and from now on, all I will put in that coop will be chickens. I reminded D that his own coop was empty now...... but he's not ready for Guinea hens yet. "It's too cold," he said.... "I'd have to be running out there to take care of them in this cold." (As if I didn't know?) But he did say he would ask a friend of his about the Guinea hens. I'm hoping those two hens will soon be gone. I'm tired of listening to their squawking, I don't like cleaning up after them and not getting eggs in return, and I don't like the way they pick on Audrey, our one remaining chicken. And most of all-- I just don't want them because they're not chickens!

I was supposed to get my hair trimmed today, but I cancelled the appointment. I told the girl that after the time I spent in the coop, in the cold, I just didn't want to go out anymore today. I re-scheduled for another day, but if it's freezing cold on that day also, then I told her I'd see her in the Spring. She laughed. I was serious.

Our so-called "outside" cat Gatsby is in the house, and has been since yesterday afternoon. He wanted to go out, but I kept telling him how cold it was out there. I just ignored his meows, and he soon used the litter box and took a nap. He protested his confinement by taking his nap on the table in the breakfast room. Fine. I ignored that too. It's easy to wash a tablecloth-- not so easy to find a cat who is hiding under the house trying to keep warm. And I don't want to be standing out on the porch in the wind, calling for Gatsby and hoping the wind isn't carrying my voice into the next county.

I am so, so, so, so, so glad that we didn't get those two miniature horses. I know I'd be out there trying to cover them with blankets, trying to get them into the barn, and putting up plastic sheeting inside the stalls to keep the wind off of them.

In the eight months that we've lived up in these hills, I've learned that scorpions are just spiders with an attitude, that chickens can easily become pets, that looking out at your land is better than looking out at your fence. I have not learned that livestock and fowl are just that-- livestock and fowl. If it's eating and breathing and being taken care of by me, then I don't want it to be wet, cold, uncomfortable... I don't want it to feel unsafe or threatened.

So that's why my hens are now in a wind-protected coop and I'm sitting here in five layers of clothing plus a heating pad across my knees. Will this blasted weather never end?

Cosmic weather joke.

Surely, there must have been a slip of the planets as they floated around in the galaxy last night. The temperature this morning was 31 degrees. When I went out into the coop, the chickens' drinking water had frozen solid.

This afternoon, the temperature has climbed up to 49 degrees and tomorrow, the afternoon temperature will be 55 degrees (a veritable heat wave). However, on Thursday, a frozen blast is coming down from Canada and the wake-up temperature on Friday morning will be 19 degrees. As I said... this surely must be a cosmic joke brought on by the bad weather gods, to make sure we're paying attention. How could we not?

I turned on the weather channel, just to make sure the weather gods weren't wreaking havoc on Texas only..... and the first thing I heard was that it was minus 1 degree in SanFrancisco. Well, if they can't keep it warm in that part of California, then we don't stand a chance either.

We've become good friends with the guy who delivers the propane. He was here early this morning, pulling into the driveway as I was coming out of the coop. I told him he's a magician..... he pumps propane into that tank and (like magic!) dollar bills fly out of our checking account. I told my husband that the high electric bills of this past summer are pale in comparison to the propane bills we've had since the cold weather began.

Normal temperatures for us at this time of the year are between 62 and 75 degrees. And to think that 62 degrees always seemed so cold to us before! I would sell the two Guinea hens in a heartbeat if someone could guarantee 62 degrees! I would sell those two hens if someone could promise me an increase in just one degree, actually.

The Guinea hens..... the longer we have them, the more I just don't want them. I told my husband that when we go back to buy more chickens, I'm going to call Watson and ask him if he'd take the two Guinea hens back..... add them to his flock..... sell them to someone else...... anything-- just please take them back. The older they get, the louder they get. Plus, with just one chicken (Audrey) we can see how the Guinea hens run in and steal food from her..... she has to peck around them to eat, practically push them out of her way. Very aggressive, those Guinea hens. To make matters worse, one of the Guinea hens pecked a little hole into the screen on the back door. Just what we need-- a special entrance for scorpions and/or wasps.

One of our neighbors had Guinea hens at one point...... then she realized what a royal pain they were and she asked her husband to "do something (anything!) with them." He agreed, but he told her she couldn't ask questions later. We don't exactly know what he did with them, because B kept her word and didn't ask.

Maybe that's the solution--- I need to call B's husband and tell him to do something (anything!) with those two Guinea hens, and then I'll promise not to ask any questions later on.

The New Year

Three days into 2010 and we haven't had a warm day yet. This cold weather is getting very depressing. Gray days instead of blue skies, layers of shirts and vests and shawls, and the heaviest coats when we go out. Maybe if I put on a pair of red shoes and click my heels together three times, the Good Witch will send some good weather back to Texas.

For New Year's Eve, we drove up to J & J's house. On a warm summer-y day, it's a nice walk from our house to theirs, but on that last day of December, the wind was fierce, the temperature was low, and it's too dark to be walking around here at night anyway. You just don't know what else is out there crawling, creeping and slithering next to you. J & J invited a few of the neighbors over for "nibbles and sparkling stuff." We got there at 7:30 and left a little bit after 11:00.

Of course, after that get-together, we started talking about the parties we used to have in the old house. So many people..... 25 at the least, 60 at most. The dining room table heaped with potluck casseroles and desserts, the Charades games, the live music bands we hired over the years, the costume parties, the gift bags.... six weeks' worth of planning (at least) went into each of those parties, but all the work was worth it.

I told my husband we've got to start doing that again here in the new house. We won't have as many friends and neighbors here for the first few parties, but that didn't happen at the old house either. I think our first party there had less than eight people, plus the two of us. We met new neighbors and friends along the way, and just kept inviting them to the parties. The couples that loved the parties wouldn't miss one of them; the few who weren't interested in a night out that really wasn't "out" just sort of disappeared. And that was fine..... house parties aren't for everyone, but we sure did try our best to make every single thing special for those nights.

The next holiday now is Valentine's Day, and I told my husband that we should just go ahead and invite everyone we know here for a party. And no, it's not going to be the same, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

I've spent the last few days taking down the rest of the Christmas decorations. Everything is packed away in the storage closet. That closet is looking like a jig-saw puzzle, with all the Christmas boxes tucked way in the back, and all the other holidays lines up towards the front, in the order they occur during the year. (I'm either super-organized or super out-of-my-mind.)

The big tree is still up in the dining room, but I've taken off all the ornaments. My husband has to remove all his vintage lights.... then get one of the neighbors to help him get the tree out of the house and into the woods. This tree will become a brush-pile of its own, for small animals to hide in and under, and the birds will build nests inbetween its branches. The tree worked out very nicely in the dining room, and I think that will be the permanent spot for all of our real Christmas trees here.

Our outside cat Gatsby has been more of an inside cat with the cold weather we've been having. That cat surprises us all the time. My husband said he thought Gatsby would be more of a street cat, but he has proven us wrong-- he's a lap-cat and really likes to be inside the house. Still, on the days when the sun is shining, Gatsby is sitting by the back door and staring at the door-frame, as if he's willing it to open. And magically, someone comes along and opens the door for him. It didn't take him long to show us what he needed.

2010. Another year. When we got home from the neighbors' house on New Year's Eve, we turned on the TV and watched the recorded showing of the ball falling in New York's Time Square. I don't care how long we've lived in Texas, and how much we feel as if we belong here-- when it comes to New Year's Eve, there's just no replacement for watching the crowds in those NYC streets. I've been watching that since I was a kid, when Guy Lombardo and his band brought in the New Year with style. Guy Lombardo is long gone now, but his memory is still alive and well on New Year's Eve for everyone over a certain age who celebrated with him in New York.

Happy New Year. To repeat my favorite phrase of "The Art of Racing In The Rain," by Garth Stein.... -- that which you manifest is before you.