Walking with mr. Coe: sociopath and/or werewolf edition

Jason and I started walking Roscoe together on a regular basis recently. I love the three of us walking into town together. I love waving hello to our neighbors as we pass. I love that Roscoe waits attentively for us at the door of the store, and that the owner gives him treats as we leave. I love that, like the store owner, the winos and drunks on the park benches in town are literally delighted when they see Roscoe (it's weird, we're used to it and it's harmless).* I love that I get to walk with the two of them, though I have to admit that I don't think either of them care as much about the group walks as I do. Jason, at least, does it because he knows it makes me happy, but the dog couldn't care less who's doing the walking or how many of us there are.

Look at that dog go, full speed ahead! Roscoe has this home-store-home, Glen Arbor Drive circuit memorized.

Here he is at his favorite ivy patch on Glen Arbor.

Take a look at that insanely happy face above. A walk a day keeps the neurosis at bay.

On this afternoon's walk, I was able to snap some photos of the missing cat flyers that have been popping up in Ben Lomond over the past couple of months. These are just the two on our Glen Arbor circuit; there are tons of others (of other cats) tacked up around town.

The one above has been up for quite some time -- three months. The one below is "more fresh." SAD.

Oddly, I wasn't the one to take notice of all the missing cat flyers, Jason was. It may be because I'm just not that into cats** -- and Jason is -- but, in any case, I'm jealous that Jason made the Jessica Fletcher-esque old lady detective observation and not me. 

A couple of weeks ago, Jason said that he was concerned about the amount of missing cat flyers. When I asked why (because I'm a jerk who doesn't care for cats), he told me that he suspected that there must be teenaged boys in the neighborhood abducting and killing neighborhood cats. And then I said: THAT'S CRAZY. 

Once again, I'm jealous that Jason's having the weird old lady thoughts and not me. 

Rather than blame the missing cats on burgeoning young sociopaths, I actually think that it's coyotes. OR WEREWOLVES. I CAN PLAY THIS GAME JUST AS WELL AS HE CAN. 

But, no, really, I think it's coyotes.*** Which isn't any less scary! We've been having a lot of late night/early morning coyote pack action in the neighborhood lately. Few night-scares are scarier than waking up in the dark to the sounds of a yipping coyote pack. They sound like horrible old screaming crones. SPOOKY. 

I'll keep you updated. Or, actually, Jason might. This seems to be his crusade. 

* MOUNTAIN LIVING. 

** It isn't that I actively dislike them -- except for maybe one in particular whose name starts with an H and ends in a Y SARAH T KNOWS. 

*** Or a mountain lion! It's been a while since we've had a mountain lion prowling around, though, and word travels pretty fast if there's a new one so it's unlikely.

Weekend Update: Hello, friends/springtime edition

Greetings from the Monster Menagerie: new addition, Kachina ("Hillilli") doll, on the right.

It smells like spring out there! And with summer-time temperatures, to boot. This is the second day of a five-day streak of temperatures in the mid to high-eighties in Ben Lomond, and we have the house on heat lockdown. Early every morning, I'll open all the doors and windows to let in what's left of the cool night-time air, and then I'll close everything up and draw all of the blinds on the west-side of the house at around 9am to lock the cool temperatures in for as long as possible. This can usually get us through most of the afternoon, and then we'll open everything up and maybe even get the hurricane fan going once it starts cooling down outside again. 

The winter quarter ended with a bang. So much so that I embarked on a three-week mental Spring Break sometime in the final week of teaching. Once the vacation-fog cleared from my brain, since I'm not teaching this spring quarter, I've turned my attentions to everything that had been neglected due to my teaching load in the previous quarters -- namely, the house. 

Jason and I have been doing some gnarly spring cleaning around here. Organizing closets, bookshelves, climbing things up into the attic, scrubbing cabinets and baseboards, vacuuming cobwebs and dust tundras, etc. etc. It's amazing how easy it is to ignore the fact that you live in the Munster's family home (cobwebs on candlesticks -- no irony, no hyperbole, true!). But once I got the heavy-duty cleaning out of the way (12 buckets of soapy hot water to mop the entire house) I couldn't stop dusting and scrubbing and throwing things away (selling books and other stuffs at Logos and online). My parents came to visit last weekend and we extended the work outdoors -- repairing the irrigation system demolished by this winter's septic system repairs, planting and pruning in the front yard. It 's all looking GOOD. We even have the hammock back up, too.

This should also mean that there will be more activity on the blog as well (how many times have you heard that one before?). Since I'm not teaching right now, I'm actually quite hopeful that it will be the case since I'll need something to keep my brain energies exercising. It's amazing how much "healthy" brainpower* gets sucked into teaching and how much of a surplus you have once you aren't teaching anymore. I want to read books and watch foreign films for which I must read subtitles and write big thoughts. I want to start producing things other than letter grades and essay evaluations again.

Speaking of the blog itself, yesterday I was looking through its pageview statistics and saw that a good deal of traffic was coming in from the blog Barcelone Experimental. Look! They took some of my filtered images from my third Enriqueta Martí post! Reading through the article, I was finally able to find the link they put in for my blog. My French may be rusty (and it certainly is), but it looks like they're attributing my Enriqueta Martí posts to Elsa Plaza. That gives me a chuckle (see the Editor's Note and comments at the bottom of the post for why). I briefly considered writing the author (or better yet: leaving a comment) but then decided against it. It's flattering enough that my weird Sack Lady posts have become source material for others -- and, if we wait long enough, Elsa Plaza will take care of the misattribution eventually.  So, thanks, anonymous author of Barcelone Experimental!

* as opposed to "junky" brainpower -- that thing I use to watch shitty television and waste time on the internet. 

Señor Babándose Mogollón...

Source: El Hematocrítico de Arte

When all else fails, laughing at the fake titles for works of art on the El Hematocrítico de Arte tumblr page really takes the edge off of an evening (or very early morning) of grading essays. 

Did you notice the new blog design? I lost my mind a couple of weeks ago, and redesigning the blog was one of the weird things I did to NOT DEAL WITH IT. A bit much? I don't know, I kind of like it's ultra femininity; it's certainly a far cry from the previous serial killer green. 

I'm still working out some of the new blog design stuff (new pages under construction, for example), but I'm getting anxious to get back into blogging about the ridiculous. Thanksgiving break is quickly approaching, and I look forward to a break from the grading insanity. Is a new Procrastination Investigation in the cards? I do hope so!

Weekend Update(s): Hiatus, End

Notice that the ribbon is missing? BET YOU DIDN'T.

It's been busy, busy, busy here over the past couple of weeks. After getting the new teaching job (that I'll be performing in addition to the other I already had lined up for the fall) two weeks ago, I just got slammed with the brunt of new and change and now: developing two separate curriculums and creating my syllabi and class plans for the fall quarter, last minute doctor appointments, an all-of-a-suddenly necessary new laptop purchase, buckling down and researching in earnest for a new car. In particular: these new purchases, though exciting, are absolutely terrifying. Spending large sums of money all at once gives me a terrible case of "adult Steve Martin" syndrome:

This is, basically, how I do anxiety: panic attack as toddler's temper tantrum, with a dash of conspiracy theory mixed in for good measure (this is also just what my mom calls being a Hysterical Cuban, which I'm starting to suppose is an inherited trait). Anyways. Now that I've wrangled together a solid routine for the fall, I'm looking forward to returning to our regularly scheduled programming of the quotidien interspersed with the scholarly and/or bizarre.*

***
* p.s. I checked in on the blog hit statistics this morning and was absolutely tickled by some of the recent google searches that have landed people here during my absence: apart from the ubiquitous and near-daily Enriqueta Martí searches, we have "books on 16th century european cannibalism," "embarrassing postcards," and -- my absolute favorite -- "thanks for spoiling my day." YOU'RE WELCOME.

Walking with Mr. Coe: Old County Road

Things have been quiet on the blog since we left Santa Cruz for (what was to be) a quick family visit at the beginning of August. As mentioned in my last post, we drove down to LA for the Mars Science Lab landing. That was two weeks ago. Jason came back up to Santa Cruz on his own a couple of days later, and Roscoe and I ended up hanging out for a week and a half longer, enjoying the perks of staying with Mom and Dad (excellent home-cooked meals, clean and comfy house, air-conditioning, LA museums and restaurants, local hiking trails, etc. etc. etc.). It was wonderful, and we very well may have stayed on for another week (and a half?) if it weren't for a surprise email offering a last-minute job interview. That got us back up here super quick. More on that later. 

Before leaving for LA, though, Roscoe and I took a final early morning walk in our little mountain town. We usually walk in our immediate neighborhood, and along our beloved Love Creek Road, but that morning I took us across the San Lorenzo River and into the neighborhood carved into the side of Ben Lomond Mountain. We walked up from highway 9 and took a left onto (the) Old County Road.

You get to walk through a pretty, little residential neighborhood for the first bit, but as the road winds around the mountain up above the river, you pass through a dense patch of vegetation. And then you get to walk over this awesome and wonderful redwood bridge, over a gully with a creek feeding into the river. It's pretty scary, actually. The bridge is old, and has enormous redwood slabs that are weathered and cracked and have big (okay, not so big) gaps between them. Because I'm an old person with old person vertigo (I know), I have to walk down the center of the bridge because if I get too close to the railing (that doesn't even come up to my waist) I feel like I'm about to lose total control of my body and throw myself head-first over the railing like an insane woman. VERTIGO. But I just walk down the center and remind myself that the people who live up Brooks Road drive their trucks and cars on the bridge daily and that, just like Lucille Two in Arrested Development, "we're okay, we're okay." 

What does that sign mean? Can you really drive an 11 ton big-rig over this bridge?
Why bother with the 6 ton limit for the smaller truck? Why why why?

Once you make it over the terrifying bridge, you're met with this lovely gate and signage. The neighborhood watch sign is new. A couple of times, Roscoe and I have walked beyond the ominous gate, but we never make it very far. Maps show that Old County Road continues, carved into Ben Lomond Mt., high above the San Lorenzo River, for a bit longer before crossing the river and meeting back up with Highway 9, still within the town limits. In reality, though, who really knows (certainly not us because I'm a rule-following, vertigo-inflicted old lady): rock and mud slides have made a mess of the old abandoned road and I always feel like I'm being watched by mountain lions and werewolves from the fallen tree trunks and boulders up above. Maybe I'll bring a friend along and really give it a try, until then, Roscoe and I turn around to go back down the mountain at this point.

The aforementioned Brooks Road continues up the mountain to the left of the ominous gate.

Re-crossing the redwood bridge on the way back home. 

In weekend update news: today is my birthday; I'm currently sitting in front of my laptop with a shower cap on over a deep-moisturizing treatment for my hair; I'm preparing for the aforementioned interview for the teaching job that I have tomorrow, Emily will be mock-interviewing me sometime this afternoon; Jason and I will go downtown for a fancy dinner of my choice this evening (don't get too excited because I'll probably end up deciding on a cheeseburger at Betty's -- but then I WILL insist on going to a movie), and then I'll go to bed nice and early so I can get up with plenty of time tomorrow morning to GET IN THE ZONE. 

I wrote Lisa an email last Thursday telling her about this interview, asking her to think woo-woo thoughts for me the day of. She replied that she was going to "woowoo all over that shit" and it made me very happy. Perhaps you'll woo-woo, too?* I JUST BROKE MY BRAIN.

***
* I think it's hilarious that Deepak Chopra wrote a snarky little article defending woo-woo for the Huffington Post in 2009. Yes, I just found it when I googled woo-woo, IT'S MY BIRTHDAY. 

Weekend Update(s)

Love Creek Road, downtown Ben Lomond

It's another beautiful weekend in the Santa Cruz Mountains. We've dedicated the last couple of days to home improvements, and this afternoon we're going to relax and enjoy the fruits of our labors.

New and improved bathroom sink drain: CHECK.

Re-caulk shower stall: CHECK. 

Build two gates: CHECK.

Clean out miniature green house: CHECK.

Prune ferns under oak tree in the front yard: CHECK.

Plant four new plants and a handful of transplants in the apple tree plant bed: CHECK. 

There's still a lot of work to be done, but we'll leave that for future weekend projects. This afternoon belongs to the hammock and the barbeque.