A Sure Sign of Spring . . .

even in Central Oregon—the cat’s been rolling in the dirt!

Pop's Truck and the Pink Car

I catch an unexpected whiff of mint and remember Doublemint gum. Sitting in the front seat of Gram’s Cadillac as she ran errands, I knew there would be gum. It was always Wrigley, and always Juicy Fruit, Doublemint, or another flavor – also mint? – that came in a white wrapper.

I called the Cadillac “the pink car,” although in truth it was more metallic mauve, with fins and long, gleaming lines. I was quite sad when they traded it in for a newer model, boxy and white, in the mid-70s. I actually went out to the garage to say good-bye to the pink car when they told me they were selling it. Dad & I lived with his folks, so the pink car was my ride—to church, to friends’ houses, to piano lessons—everywhere except to the cabin. For that drive over dusty, bumpy, rolling, rutted dirt roads, we took Pop’s pickup.

Today I have Pop’s pickup—a 1970 Chevy—out back of our house. My husband won’t let me drive it until we get the front end worked on, which may cost more than the pickup is worth. But there’s so much play in the steering wheel that he says it’s not safe. He’s probably right.

But the bare-bones cab of that truck, especially on a warm, sunny day, smells jut the way it did forty years ago. For that reason alone, we’ll get it fixed one of these days.

There is a truly pink Cadillac in a neighbor’s yard up the road. A few days ago, two guys were working on it as I walked by on my way to the mailbox. The engine ran rough, and a belt was squealing.

I wonder if there were any sticks of Doublemint on the front seat.

Quiet Morning

I went for a little walk this morning. The neighborhood was pretty quiet. Just a few birds out . . . 

A steller's jay was watching over the street.

He looks pretty scrappy, no?

Tufted head feathers just do.

A couple of flickers were feeding alongside the road. 

I only managed to get one of them in the photo.

Now there's a bird with some serious camo.

Neighbor Cat

I went for a little walk today and saw one of the neighbor cats. 

She looked so nice against that green background that I stopped to snap a few pictures. 

When she realized I was taking pictures of her, she decided to come say hello and let me get a close-up.

She was going to come right over the fence! 

Then she heard a few more people walking up the road . . . and a dog.

Maybe I'll just hang out here for a while . . . 

She was still there half an hour later when I passed by on my way home. 

Smart choice, pumpkin.

Cats Are So Weird

Cats are so weird sometimes.

Millie had followed me outside—she’s sociable and nosy and bossy, so she wanted to supervise whatever I was doing out there.

Evidently the bottom of the grandkid’s slide made a very good perch for monitoring the critter making a bunch of noise out by the shed. I couldn’t tell from the sound whether it was a bird or a rodent, but Millie wasn’t coming in until she finished observing it. Or supervising it. Or perhaps eventually stalking it. 

She was very focused, whatever she was doing. 

So I took her picture and left her to her it.

Cats are so weird sometimes. 

Deer Munching in Our Yard

Well, hello!

It snowed a couple of days ago, and after it had stopped, about a dozen deer turned up in our yard. 

Isn't the black edging on her ears lovely?

They were probably just passing through and smelled the block we'd set out a few days earlier. The squirrels had put a dent in it, but there was still plenty left for hungry deer. 

They could hear my camera and kept a wary eye on me, but they weren't alarmed enough to pass up the treat. 

This buck still had his horns.

This fellow had dropped his already . . . 

on both sides. 

And this guy . . . 

looked a little peeved and uncomfortable.

That had to be a nuisance! It kept him from nibbling at the block, although I think he was able to feed on some bushes along the fence line. A couple hours later, we walked the property line to see if his loose horn had fallen off when he hopped the fence. No such luck. 

Burger Girl Eats a Salad

My sweetie and I started a diet a couple of weeks ago.

Meanwhile, I’d made plans to take a couple of younger family members to see a photography exhibit—at a local bakery. It was only going to be there for eight weeks, so we had limited time to see it.

Somehow, the two things did not connect in my head.

The diet was in the “health/eating” box inside my brain, and the photography exhibit expedition was in the “family/relationships/fun/schedule” box.

When I realized what I’d done, I wasn’t about to cancel my plans. I figured I’d just get coffee and let them pick out some yummy little treat.

Well, we ended up going around lunchtime. I had not eaten lunch ahead of time. Can you say, “disaster in the making”?

I looked at the yummies in the case, not daring to let my eyes linger too long on any of them. Then I looked at the menu.

Sandwiches . . . not on the diet. (Not at this point, anyway.)

Salads . . . hmmm . . . salads.

I read the descriptions of salads on the chalkboard. I read them again. There was one that sounded yummy and was (mostly) on my diet! I ordered it.

Twenty or so years earlier, I had sat at an outdoor table at a café in a suburb of Phoenix, having lunch with two of my colleagues from the bookstore. They both ordered salads and something noncaloric to drink like iced tea or diet soda. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a Dr. Pepper. I remember thinking, This is why they are both thin, and I’m fat. (Well, that plus the fact that they both worked out and I didn’t.) I didn’t want to be fat. But I did want the bacon cheeseburger. I wanted protein. Salt. Flavor. I was hungry! Stressed! I needed energy!

This paradox went on in my mind for years. I knew my choices were not taking me where I wanted to go. But I wasn’t ready to change. I always thought, I need to eat healthier. But today I want the burger.

Now here I was in a bakery at lunchtime, sitting at a table with two companions who were eating meat-laden sandwiches on crusty artisanal bread and a third companion who was industriously scraping the chocolate off her sugar cookie with her teeth. (Yes, she’s little and quite adorable, and no, that wasn’t the only thing she ate for lunch.)

I ate my beautiful, crunchy, green, tangy salad with chicken on it. I drank my latte. I did not feel deprived.

I did not feel deprived.

The earth tilted slightly on its axis. Hell may not have actually frozen over, but some of the minor demons did have to scrape frost off their windshields. Somewhere deep inside my brain, something shifted.

The diet is not going perfectly. I have stumbled a few times. There is a long way to go. But last Friday, this burger girl ate a salad for lunch. It was delicious. And it was enough.