Green Acres is the Place to be...

For most of my life I have been under the illusion, that people move to the suburbs for the quiet (among other things). This week we are spending time with my folks in lovely (also flat and hot) Chatsworth, CA. Chatsworth is a suburb of Los Angeles.

It is not quiet. Not in the least. It is an f'ing war zone!

One expects to wake up to the birds and neighborhood dogs. One does not expect to be woken up by leaf blowers, howling muts, doorbells, chainsaws, back-up beepers on heavy equipment, roofing teams, singing Iranians, slamming doors, paint blowers and mariachi music. All at once.

James and I have lived under one of the busiest Highway 80 offramps in the state. We lived under it while they were demolishing it with small explosives. This is noisier.

It seems that everyone leaves for work during the day and relinquishes the town to every Tom, Dick and Harry (or in this part of the world Jesus, Pedro and Ramon) that has every portable cleaning/blowing/fixing machine known to man. As long as it is finished by 5 pm, we are all ok.

I would finish this entry but I am unable to think over the monster truck engine racing up and down the street.

P.S.

Interestingly enough, Chatsworth is also the Porn Capital of California.

The Many Names of Katie

When we first rescued the litter that Katie came from, the kittens received names according to his/her markings. Her brother was named Zipper for the white stripe that ran down his belly. He lived up to his name for zipping around the house though. The very little and very vocal female received the name Apron for the white apron marking around her neck. Since then she has had many different names.

She's been called "Chicken Hawk", for her attentiveness whenever we had chicken for dinner. It was as though she was actually hunting for scraps. "Vulture" is another name that comes to mind. Although she was equally attentive when we ate Sushi, or short bread cookies. I'm not sure you can hunt wild short bread cookies.

Adrienne often called her "Katie Lou", as in "Katie Lou Hoo, who was no more than two". Except she was. She was 15.

Cameron often called her "Katie Face". I'm not sure why.

When we decided to keep her, it was my responsibility to name her. The only condition Adrienne placed on the matter was that I could not name her after a motorcycle. And since an edict was declared, I had to name her after a motorcycle. How could I not? Her purr sounded like a two-stroke engine on a bike.

Let the record show that Katie was actually named "K.D.", like a Kawasaki two stroke dirt bike made at the time.

We miss that little thumper.

Our First Baby

Today is a very sad day in the O'Chan household. After a couple of years of steadily declining health, our wonderful cat, Katie, finally got too damn sick and we had to have her put to sleep. For anyone who has never been really attached to an animal, it would be impossible to understand just how lousy a day like today is. For those who have had that special pet that becomes family, the one that you just can't bring yourself to say you "own", you know exactly what I am talking about.

Katie was a ferral kitten I rescued from our backyard, almost 15 years ago. When we got her, she was covered in fleas and ear mites and had a nasty upper respiratory infection that cost us almost $400 to get fixed (along with her brother and our other cat, Fe'los who of course got all of their stuff right along with them). After being told that we would never be able to tame her, because she was just "too wild", it took us exactly 24 hours to completely fall in love with one another. She slept in our bed (once the fleas were gone), followed us around like a dog, and insinuated herself deep into our hearts. She taught us how to speak cat, and definitely understood a lot of english - "Let's make the bed" always sent her running to the bed to play "blanket monster".

Katie always knew when we didn't feel well, and would sit with us for hours, purring like an animal twice her size, to make us feel better. When Cameron's seizures happened, she always came to be with him to help him come back to himself. In the months after getting hurt when Cameron was a baby, she was my constant companion.

Because Katie was "the baby", when we brought the kids home from the hospital, one after the other, she exibited a great deal of sibling rivalry. She got over it. Katie would usually go to bed with the kids, not coming out until they were asleep. She also had the most stubbornly patient facial expression when the kids would grab fistfulls of fur or bang her on the head when they were babies.

Her favorite spots were on our shoulders and in a sunbeam.

She loved coffee and donuts. No joke.

She always managed to push James and myself to the edges of our king-sized bed so she could have the whole thing to herself.

No matter how awful the day had been, she was always there to remind us that we were loved and needed.

In the last weeks, she had the great joy of chasing the bird around the house (she would have been a wonderful huntress if she had teeth). After years of our calling her the "Chicken Hawk" she was happy to try to live up to her name.

We had the great honor of being able to be with her when she died. James got to hold her in his lap, and the kids got to say goodbye. She went quickly, and without pain, but true to her intelligent nature, she knew what was happening and I can't help but think she was as sad to leave us as we were to see her go.

Katie's passing also marks the passing of a part of our youth. James and I found Katie in 1990, when we were just 20 years old. She was a part of our life from before our kids and our careers, when we went everywhere on our motorcycles and James had his long hair and black leather. When we were thrilled to live in our first apartment together and our best friends lived up the street.

For those of you who have had that special animal, go have a pastry or a piece of tuna sushi for Katie. For those of you who have not expeienced this bond, try to find yourself that special cat/dog/horse... Like having kids, it brings so much to your life. It brought way more to ours than we could have guessed almost 15 years ago.

Mrs. Garrett!

It's true. I have become the den mother.

Earlier this month, we aquired new downstairs neighbors. Over the years that we have lived here (13 in all!) I have only ever hoped that whoever moved into the middle apartment was NOT a couple of college students. My hopes were realised, until now. We have a pair of very young men living under our feet. They have no furniture, a love of Snoop Dogg, and a lot of friends.

We don't get the worst of it. Our poor neighbor, John, on the first floor gets his head pounded in, all the time. One of the guys is well over 6'4" and has very heavy feet. That and his equally large friends like to lean out their window and yell at their friends on the street at 1 a.m. Their window is right over John's studio.

John called the police at 2 a.m. after the last party got a bit out of control.

Tonight they are partying again.

In the hopes of not having the police ring our bell in the middle of the night again, I decided it was time to go join the party. The journey downstairs offered up empty beer cans, shaking stairs and the front door to the building wide open (wouldn't be an issue if people didn't take advantage of the opportunity to steal everything out of the garage when it happens). So off I went to bang on the door.

When the door opened on to the ensuing revelry I knew I was about to become the "lady" upstairs. As I like to do things right, I embraced the role, gave a shout to listen up ( got to love that "mom" voice), and a resounding NY taxi cab whistle and laid down the law. No slamming the doors until the chandelier swings, no screaming out the window (especialy the one under my bedroom window) and no beer cans in the hallway. I let them know that adherance to the rules would prevent one of the neighbors from calling the cops (I prefer neighborly intimidation, myself).

It was pretty cool, because the party stopped dead in its tracks. That is the power of the mother. Or in this case, the den mother as I have inherited a small fraternity.

Of course, it all reminds me of the parties I have been to in my life. The back doors I have fled out of to avoid the cops at the front door. A lot of those kids reminded me of the people I grew up with and partied alongside. It was a blast and I loved every minute of it. But now it is time to take up the reigns of the tired, older guy/lady next door. The one who always wanted us to shut up. I remember that person always being a great deal older than I am.

Mrs. Garrett had that huge bun. I wonder if my hair would do that?


Addendum: It's 1 a.m. I'm calling the cops.

The Medium Haul

June 11, 2005. It is our eleventh wedding anniversary today (steel or jewelry. Odd pairing). In our group of friends this makes us very... odd. Most of the people we meet, in our age group, have been married only a couple of years at the most. Most of them haven't started to have children yet. Whenever they ask how long we have been together (17 years, more or less), we get the inevitable, "Wow!". Then we get this look of awe. Not that they aspire to this, so much, but because so few of them have achieved it and wonder how it is done.

We get similar reactions to having three kids. This makes us very different. How could we possibly manage with three?

Why don't we both give our two cents (one cent, each) on this subject.

Adrienne says:

I can't say I have any response that anyone else would find helpful. It is what it is, and we like it. That's how we "manage". There is no question that it will work, simply because we know it will. There is no one method, no one secret. Either it works or it doesn't. Either you are open to it, or you are not.

I saw an old interview with Anne Bancroft and Mel Brooks, the other day. They both felt that love was the smallest part of their relationship (40+ years!). They didn't say it was unimportant, only that there are so many components to a good relationship that trying to push all of it into "love" was impossible. They both said, essentially, that a relationship has to function on many different levels to keep it going for the long run.

I think you have to want it to work, more than you want all of those things that inevitably break relationships up. It has to be more important than promotions and houses and vacations... It has to be big enough to contain all of the chaos of daily life, and flexable enough to move with it, and strong enough to withstand the neglect that occasionaly comes it's way.

Some good wine and fancy knickers don't hurt, though.

James says:

I don't know if I even have half a cent of opinion to give. Adrienne covered most of it. A relationship is a lot of give and take, sometimes you give more, sometimes you take more. You can't take a moment in time of who doing the giving and who's doing the taking. If you're committed and you know your partner is too, it'll all work out in the long run. Focusing on what's unfair right now, can only lead to disappointment.

As for managing kids? You just do it. More so than any marketing slogan can convey about passion for a sport, taking care of the kids just happens. You have to make it happen. There's no two ways about it. You just do it, because you love them.

We Are the Champions, My Friends....

Just a little bit of bragging needs to occur. Cameron and his two partners have won the 1st prize in the 5th grade at the Edison Charter Academy Science Fair. I am especialy proud because Cameron did about 65% of the work. It was an experiment on the effect of temperature change on crickets. They hypothesised that the the chirps would change with fluctuation in temperature - more chirps for higher temps. Too bad the crickets we bought them for the experiment were "chirpless"! The kids rallied, and decided to record the behavioral changes in the bugs, instead. They did a beautiful job.

They were one of the few groups who did everything themselves, which was what got them the prize, in the end. The teachers liked that the work was theirs.

Cameron has also received the President's Education Award for his outstanding academic performance, this year. He was one of 10 kids in the school to get it.

James and I are, of course, terribly proud of him. He's a good kid.

Attack of the Killer Squirrels

The other day, I was down at the park collecting neat sticks and stuff. My mom had asked me me to go away because I was being a butthead. The short story is I came back, bent over to get a pinecone, and then a squirrel divebombed my neck. Here's the long version. So I was being a butthead and my mom sent me to do something. I collected sticks and pine cones - stuff good in a mythical world. Anyways, I found a rock and started destroying a log. After 5 minutes, I heard something move, so I went back. At the top of the hill, I bent over to get a pine cone and then it happened... A squirrel attacked my neck and went right back to the tree. Damn that scared me like hell.

Just Flew in... Boy Are My Wings Tired!

Siannan and I were sitting at the table, having just finished lunch, when we were interrupted by a quite insistant "squawk". It sounded like there was a bird in my living room. Apparently, there was! We have been invaded by the prettiest little parakeet I have ever seen.

Now, I dislike birds. Not as a species, but certainly as a pet. When I was kid, we used to take care of a friend's Half Moon parot when she was out of town. It was the meanest, most foul tempered beast I have ever met. At the time we had a cat that could kill seagulls twice his size, and he was terrified of that stupid bird. It terrorized the house whenever it was there.

The bird obviously belongs to someone, because once it was in, it wouldn't leave! I decided to try and catch it (we think it is a girl) and post signs in the neighborhood to see if we could find her owners. So off I go to get a cage. Try to catch the bird to get her in, and she is flying all over the house, banging into windows and mirrors, dive bombing our heads. Turns out, all we had to do was open the cage door. In she went! She gave us a look like "I've been looking for that all day! Where did you get it?" She has been happily eating bird food all day, and seems to be content to be in the cage.

The kids want to name her.

The cats want to eat her.

I don't want any more pets.

The question is, after posting signs and putting an ad on Craig's List, what do we do with her if no one claims her? I really do not want to be one of those homes that has too many damn animals. The frogs are bad enough- they make this sound that is exactly like that next door couple that went at it all the time on a really old mattress (squeak, squeak, squeak) in college (Bang, bang, bang.. get it over with, already!!!). Our cat, Katie, has seizures and occasional kidney issues. Our other cat, Fe'los (greek for "friend". Not something we made up.) was racing around in complete panic, all over the house the other night. It would seem he was being chased by the cat crap that was stuck to his ass and it just wouldn't leave him alone! Not the sharpest tack. With that track record, who knows what is up with this bird?

Her cage hangs so nicely in the kitchen. Hurrumph.