At first Maddie was perplexed. "Why are all these people in my park?" Soon, however, she warmed up to the commotion, sniffing around and meeting other people and dogs who were out for the occasion.
Pearl Harbor Survivors cart, sans horses and veterans for the moment.
( More photos behind the cut. )
"Kill you in your sleep..."
Spotted at the corner of 5th and D Streets
Note that Petaluma's population includes a far higher-than-average-per-capita number of redheads on bicycles. Could this be an artistic comment on that phenomenon, or is it just a general comment on crazy redheads?
"If you don't mind too much," said Maddie, "I'll be sleeping through the fireworks this year."
Once again, the Fifth Street Militia bring you a pictorial record of this year's fireworks extravaganza. Enjoy!
( More things that go boom behind the cut! )
Maddie's all ready for Independence Day...
...and so are we!
8.5 hours to go... and counting.
Maddie's having a long, slow day at Our Best Friends. "Where is everybody? Hiding from the heat? Somebody come buy something, quick!"
"Happy Birthday Violet"
Mixed Media: Watercolor on paper, tree, thumbtacks
Found in Wickersham Park, June 14, 2009
Which reminds me. It's also my sister's birthday. So happy birthday to Alexis in Texas.
Bonus pic: Maddie likes the piggy noses.
"Happy Belated Mother's Day"
Found in Walnut Park
May, 2009
"I guess that means you like the horses."
She nodded. "Yeah. They're awesome."
We watched as row after row of horses passed. Three rows in, Maddie's ears perked up and she glanced up at me. "Why are there horses on our street?" she asked. "Hey horses," she called, turning back toward the magnificent beasts. "Where are you going?"
"It's Butter and Egg Day, remember," I replied. We watched as the horses continued queuing up.
"Oh, that would explain all the chickens and stuff at Our Best Friends on Friday. Y'know, that would be the coolest job in the world."
"Our Best Friends?" I responded, confused. "Maddie, you already work over at Our Best Friends."
"No, not that," said Maddie. "Sheesh. I mean the horses."
"You want to be a horse?"
"No, I want to ride a horse. That'd be the coolest."
I chuckled.
"What, I could be a cowgirl," said Maddie. "I could ride a horse."
"You have ridden Champion at Heebe Jeebe."
"That's just not the same," said Maddie.
The horses past, Maddie watched a young man roll a cart up the street in their wake. "What's he doing?" she asked. As if answering, he scraped up a cluster of road apples with his rake and deposited them into his cart. Maddie's gaze narrowed. "Ooooh," she said. "I take it all back. That would be the coolest job in the world."
( More behind the cut... )
Maddie and I were three-quarters of the way through our around-the-block circuit, approaching the corner of 5th and G Streets near Wickersham Park. We paused to let a procession of school kids pass, Maddie watching with fascination as they paraded past. "Where are they headed?" asked Maddie. I shrugged. "They're not heading to my house, are they?"
I shook my head. "No chance of that, Maddie," I said.
"Oh good," said Maddie. "I'm not in the mood for a party today."
"Yeah, me neither." I bent down, scratched her head as the last kids passed, a pair of girls linked arm-in-arm with a youngish teacher.
We let them get a bit further ahead, then started down the street, Maddie pausing to sniff and point things out as we ambled along. "Check out that bug. Hello, Bug," she'd say, looking down, or "Hello, Crow," she'd say, looking up. I'd nod in acknowledgment, not really paying attention, then prod her back to moving along. Midway down the block, as the kids began to disappear into the middle distance, Maddie stopped. "Hello, scared little dog," she said.
I stopped. "What dog?" I asked.
"There," said Maddie, pointing with her paw. "Next to... er... Under that car."
I bent low. Sure enough, shivering underneath a parked car was a terrified Shih-Tzu puppy. "Hi there, little guy," I said.
Maddie stared for a few seconds, then said, "I think she's a she."
"Okay, little girl," I answered, then turned back to the puppy. "You want to come on out of there?" I asked. The puppy just shivered.
"What are we going to do?" asked Maddie. "I think she's lost."
"Looks like she's got a collar," I answered. "Sit here," I pointed to a neighbor's porch. "I'll see if I can coax her out."
Saying and doing are entirely different things, so without going into too much detail, I spent the better part of the next half hour prone on the curb talking to this little dog in a calm voice, treat in hand, hoping to bribe her to safety, as Maddie offered helpful hints from the sidelines. At one point, the little refugee got nearly close enough for me to grab her collar, but I fumbled, spooking her into running to hide under the next car up the street. Fortunately, that one was a big, American SUV instead of a tiny import, so I was better able to crawl under, catch the puppy by the collar, and lead her out into the light.
One task accomplished, a new complication reared its ugly head. Collar, but no tags. As I held the little dog, feeding it bits of jerky, I wondered what I was going to do with this dog, particularly since I needed to head down to the office. So I wandered from door to door, ringing doorbells, asking "Do you know this dog" to the neighbors that were 1) home on a weekday morning, and 2) willing to answer their doorbells. No luck, though a couple of my cooler neighbors offered to keep an eye on her for a bit. I called Jennifer for wifely advice, then called Stephanie at Our Best Friends, asking if anybody had dropped off a "Lost Dog" sign in the last day or so. Still no luck.
So we went back to the house, and Maddie babysat (barking all sorts of rules and admonitions to the new arrival, hoping to keep her in check) as I got the rest of the way ready to drive down to work. I figured we'd drive around looking to see if anybody was out looking for a missing dog, or if any telephone poles had been newly decorated with fliers.
But then my doorbell rang. Standing there was my neighbor, owner of a Dachshund named Herc (short for Hercules, a bit of a wanderer himself, Herc has a habit of taking himself for walks). The neighbor explained that the puppy was his visiting sister's dog. I handed the dog over, followed my neighbor out to the sidewalk and within a few moments, his sister approached. My neighbor headed back to his car and drove away, and I stood awhile chatting with his sister (as the now-happy puppy planted kisses all over her face). The little refugee was Lola, who had been left in the back yard with Herc, and had likely decided that she'd had enough of Dachshund attention and shimmied under the fence, planning to take her chances with the big, wide world. I'm sure the parade of kids (who, surprisingly didn't notice a little dog hiding under a car) panicked Lola, leading to my difficulties in luring her out to safety.
But it's a happy ending. Lola is back with her human, and Maddie and I managed to get to work before eleven.
Late yesterday afternoon, once we got home from work, I sat with Maddie on the back porch, talking with her about the day. "So what did you think of Lola, Maddie?" I asked.
"Why?" responded Maddie, "Is she coming back over?"
I shook my head. "No, I was just wondering what you'd think of having a little sister, another dog around the house. Would you like that?"
Maddie looked at me suspiciously, considering the question. "Sounds like an awful lot of work," she said.
I scratched her head. "Yeah, you're probably right," I answered.
I got dressed, put on a shirt and tie, and headed on down to the Post Office this morning, knowing that everything was going to work out just fine...
But it was not to be, for the guardian at the gates of passport-dom was Ramon, a career bureaucrat intent on doing as little work as possible while spouting as much incomprehensible jargon as he was capable. After opening his window at nine twenty, Ramon quickly dispensed with the man in line in front of me, sending him away to fill out another form entirely and complete his transaction by post. "You're gonna need form #DS-82, not #DS-11, and you're gonna need to mail this in." After the man left, crestfallen, I stepped up to the window, then listened to Ramon repeat the same information, as if reading from a script. "You're gonna need form #DS-82, not #DS-11, and you're gonna need to mail this in." I got the sense that Ramon was late for his coffee break, and that it was his intent to send away all comers empty handed. There was no point to arguing, I gathered up my forms, my checkbook, and the new forms that Ramon had less-than-helpfully defaced with blue ballpoint, and headed on back home, disappointed, but unsurprised.
At least I finally had an excuse to wear the cool Carlos Santana necktie my mother sent me, if only for a few minutes.
"Pew, pew," said Maddie, looking out across the deck from the cockpit. "Kaboom." She glanced up at me as I approached. "Got 'em."
"What are you up to there, Mighty Quinn? Seal hunting?" I checked my watch. Nearly five o'clock, dinner time for little dogs.
"Nope," replied Maddie. "I'm flying my rocket ship through the asteroid belt, hunting for giant space scorpions and crab monsters. Besides, I like seals. They're cute. I think I'd like to meet a seal." She paused. "Wait, what did you just call me?"
"'Mighty Quinn,'" I answered. "It's—"
"It's a store downtown," said Maddie, eying me suspiciously. "We walk past there all the time. Why did you just call me a store?"
"I didn't. The Mighty Quinn was a character in an old Bob Dylan song long before it was a store. He's an Eskimo."
"What's an Eskimo?"
"Indigenous peoples of the Great White North," I answered. "They come from Alaska, Siberia, and Greenland. They invented kayaks." I tapped on the boat's hull. "Though the song's really about the actor Anthony Quinn."
"Who's he."
"Zorba the Greek, for one. And he was Zampanò, the Gypsy strong man in La Strada. Oh, and he also played Auda abu Tayi, the leader of the Howeitat in Lawrence of Arabia. You watched that one with me, remember?"
"I think so," said Maddie, like she was trying to fit puzzle pieces together. "So this Quinn guy is from Greenland? And he's the leader of the Weetzie Bats? Or was that the Aquabats? I'm confused."
"Anthony Quinn? No, he's from Chihuahua."
"He's a Chihuahua? Now I'm even more confused."
"From Chihuahua, not a Chihuahua. It's a state in Mexico."
"But I thought you said he was an Eskimo."
I shook my head. "No, Anthony Quinn was an actor. He only played an Eskimo."
"Oh. I think I get it. So do they sell Eskimos at the Mighty Quinn? Or do Eskimos run the place?"
"No, it's a head shop."
"Wait, they sell heads there?" asked Maddie. "That's really weird."
"Never mind that," I said, changing the subject. "You about ready to head home for dinner?"
"Yeah, I guess I am kind of hungry."
"Well then come on, it's dinner time."
"But what about the giant space scorpions?" asked Maddie.
"Don't worry about them," I said. "The asteroid belt's a long way from earth. We'll be fine. You can always come back and hunt them after dinner."
But meanwhile...
That aside, you guessed it. I went back to Real Doner for lunch today, and ended up ordering the same thing as last week. Next time, the Greek salad for certain, even if today might have been more appropriate. This time I managed to take pictures before attacking my food.
Great stuff, really. And the bread...
...right from the oven. Outstanding.
Next time, I have to try their coffee. I feel guilty that I haven't yet. But a proper Turkish coffee isn't a to-go item, so I'm saving that experience for the first time I cajole someone into coming along. I did, however, brew my own approximately-Turkish coffee once I got home: the darkest French roast imaginable, finely ground, brewed in a French press, one packet of Sugar in the Raw added to smooth over the bitter. Aah. And free refills, too (at home, that is). Good stuff... for an imitation.
I shook my head. “It’s only 9:30, Maddie” I answered. “Come on.”
“But I’m hungry,” said Maddie, sitting down on the welcome matt and scratching an ear to stall. She twitched her button nose. “And it smells good in here. I smell lamb and beef and—” she paused, sniffing at the doorway. “—chicken, I think.”
“Come on,” I said with a tug. I had to admit, the place smelled good. I walked a few feet, then stopped to read the menu posted in the window:
Real Doner (Gyro)
Mediterranean Turkish Food
We do Excellent Catering
Reading the descriptions, Real Doner's Falafal sounded good, Spinach pie and a big Greek salad sounded better, but that ever popular combination, Hummus and Baba Ganouj, sounded best of all.
But Maddie and I walked home toward home. “It’s too early for lunch,” I explained.
“Oh, foo,” said Maddie, looking up at me as we walked along. “I wanted a Gyro.” She said it as you would gyroscope: jī'rō.
“Say it more like this,” I corrected. “Yee-ro.”
“Gear-o.”
“Yee-ro.”
“Hero?”
“That’s close enough.”
Maddie stopped, held her ground. “That’s it. I’m holding out for a Gyro,” she demanded.
I bent down and scratched Maddie’s ears. “’Til the morning light?”
“Huh?” said Maddie. “I don’t get it.”
“Never mind,” I said, changing the subject. “Just two things you forgot to consider.”
She looked up at me, squinting. “What’d I forget?”
“One, I can easily pick you up and carry you home.”
“And number two?”
I pointed. “Those are our front steps. We’re home.”
“Nuts.” said Maddie.
“Would you settle for some jerky?”
Maddie ascended the stairs. “I guess,” she said, pausing by the door. “But I’m going to pretend it’s a Gyro.”
---
I went back to Real Doner alone at about eleven and ordered the Appetizer Combo Plate ($9.95 – which seems to be the going price for most of their combo plates). To go.
Real Doner’s food is impressive, from first taste to final olive. Everything is attractively presented, fresh, and toothsome, with each flavor complementing the next. The garlicky bite of the hummus (Jennifer's sure to insist I sleep on the couch tonight) is offset by the smokiness of the Baba Ganouj; the spice of the ezme well-balanced by the complexities of the tabouli. The dolmas are tightly wrapped and dripping with flavor. And the bread, a thick, seeded flatbread, is perfect.
Décor-wise, Real Doner has made the best of an odd location, what was previously a long-shuttered liquor store tucked behind an automotive garage near the corner of F Street and Petaluma Boulevard South. A fresh coat of paint, a stereo playing festive Turkish music (loudly), a few posters of scenic Turkey, and the antique shisha holding court on a corner shelf go a long way towards setting the right mood of culinary exoticism that helps make a Mediterranean restaurant fun. The staff is friendly, though I get the sense everybody’s still getting figuring out the finer points of running a restaurant. Opening day was the only 6th, less than two weeks ago, so I’m perfectly willing to cut them slack in this department. Besides, it adds to the homestyle charm.
Hmmm… guess I should have taken a picture before I ate half of it.
"Hey Hannah," asked Maddie, rounding the corner. "I heard singing." She stopped, puzzled. "Who are your friends?"
"I am among the Moose," sang Hannah, in a low and tuneless dirge.
"I am among the Moose...
"There's no excuse, no truce...
"For Gander or for Goose...
"And you'll never, never, ever get loose...
"Once you're among the Moose."
"What are you doing?" asked Maddie. "It looks kinda weird."
"It's a performance piece," replied Hannah. "This isn't weird, this is art."
"But I don't get it," said Maddie. "And isn't there usually cheese at art openings?"
"Oh, foo," huffed Hannah, crestfallen. "No great artist is ever appreciated in her lifetime."
"That's okay," said Maddie, stepping forward and resting a paw on Hannah's shoulder. "Maybe I was just looking at things from the wrong angle."
"Is it lunch?" asked Maddie.
"Lunch?" asked Jennifer. "It's too early for lunch. We're going for coffee. You're hungry already?"
Maddie looked down at her feet. "A little bit." She looked up at Jennifer. "Maybe we can stop at Copperfield's, too. I know where they keep the treats."
Jennifer shrugged. "I already figured Ross would drag us in there." I grinned. Jennifer held out the card for Maddie to see. "You got a post card from Colorado."
"Ooh, it's pretty," she said. "But it's upside down." Maddie glanced up at me, narrowing her gaze. "You were in Colorado."
"Last year," I answered, taking the card from Jennifer and turning it over before holding the back up for Maddie. "Who's it from?"
"It says 'Miss Maddie,'" said Maddie. "Hey, that's me!"
"Maddie, that's your address." She pointed. "This is the person who sent it."
"It says it's from Hollie (
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
rain19). Oh, I know, she's on LiveJournal. I like the way she signs her H." "So what's it say?" asked Jennifer.
"Ummm... 'Hello from Colorado, Maddie,'" read Maddie. "Hey, that's me again."
"Go on," I said.
"Okay, okay," said Maddie. "It says 'I wanted to say hello and give the sunlight in your box some company.' And then it says the word 'pets' with little stars drawn next to it. I know what that means: footnotes! I'll bet they're under that sticker." She pawed at the postal barcode affixed to the card.
"I don't think that's supposed to be a footnote," I said. "I'm pretty sure that means this." I handed the card back to Jennifer, then patted Maddie atop her head.
"That's amazing," said Maddie. "I had no idea you could mail one of those."
"Sure thing," I said, taking the steps two at a time, trying to keep up. "What's the big hurry."
"There's something I need to check," Maddie said. She led me down 5th Street to E, then up to 4th Street. I expected her to drag me over to Walnut Park, but she turned, leading me to the post office. "I hope it's here," said Maddie, leading me up the stairs and inside.
"Check the box," said Maddie. "I hope it's something good."
I fumbled with my keys, dropped and retrieved them, then opened the box. I peered inside. "It's empty, Maddie."
"Huh?" asked Maddie. "Empty? Pick me up so I can see."
I hefted her up, so that she could see into the box. "Nothing but sunlight," I said, lowering her back to the floor.
"Oh, foo," said Maddie once we got back outside. "How disappointing. I had a dream there was something good for me in there."
"In the P.O. box? Jennifer and I usually just use that for business stuff."
"But it was a really good dream," insisted Maddie. "You know, the kind that makes you wake up smiling."
"Oh, Maddie," I said, sitting down next to her on the sidewalk and stroking the top of her head. "It's like my mom always says, 'you have to send letters to get letters.'"
Maddie looked up at me, squinting one eye inquisitively. "Does she really say that?"
"Yeah," I replied. "At least she always said that when I was a kid."
"Is it true?"
I shrugged. "Sure. My mom wouldn't steer you wrong."
Maddie thought for a few moments as I scratched her ears. Finally, she spoke up. "So if I send stuff, I might get stuff?"
I nodded.
"Grandma's kinda smart, isn't she?" asked Maddie.
I nodded again. "So, who do you want to write to?"
"I dunno. I'm going to have to think about it," replied Maddie. We walked back home, lingering in Walnut Park awhile on the way. When we got back to the house, the mail had come. In the mailbox was a card from my mom... for Maddie.
( Tons of stuff behind the cut... )
It all started Monday morning, with the tone of the week set by the death of an old friend's mom. I read the signs; the augury foretold: It's going to be a crappy week, might as well lie back and enjoy the ride. Sure enough, later that morning, my primary e-mail, writing, and photography computer decided to show signs of infection (weird pop-up windows attempting to sell me anti-virus software, among other things). Where did I catch it? I wracked my brain, seeking answers, then realized: That damned faux-Etsy website StumbleUpon tumbled me onto the previous night! Beware malicious crafters, they have far too much time on their hands. Now I should have gone with my gut, called in sick, and gone back to bed right then and there, but determined not to let the week get the better of me, I walked Maddie to the park and back, then loaded her into the Prius, loaded up my gear, then started the car, only to be met by the dreaded “check engine” light.
Here's the thing, I'd already scheduled an appointment scheduled for Wednesday at the nearby Toyota dealership, since the car was about 900 miles overdue for an oil change (it's got 135K on it) and it was making an annoying noise, one I started noticing right before the holidays, but hadn't had time to deal with then, a low thrumming noise that shifted pitch with acceleration. So I called the Toyota dealership up and explained the problem. They told me to bring the car on in, quoting me a $160 estimate to diagnose the engine light. So I unloaded Maddie and my backpack, started up the car (no check engine light this time, was it just cold?) and drove on over to Toyota. Once there, I explained that there were no warning lights now, suggested that it was possibly a combination of environmental factors that caused the light, and asked them to go ahead and do the scheduled maintenance, watching for any warnings in the meantime.
Well, the maintenance went just swimmingly. No warning lights, no problems. Unfortunately, the noise was diagnosed as something else entirely: a bad wheel bearing. Driveable, if annoying, but has a chance of locking up. Quote to fix: $860. And the part wasn't in stock. So we picked up the car, paid for our glorified oil change (just over $250), and I drove it home.
On Tuesday, I left Maddie at home when I drove down to the 'Shade, just in case, playing my iPod extra loud to drown out the jet engine whine. While there, I arranged a better quote ($500) via e-mail with Out West Garage, a locally-owned shop within walking distance of the house (recommended by, well, just about everybody in town). Then I arranged to work from home for the next couple of days so that I could get the car taken care of. Good thing, since another car problem arose that very afternoon: Jennifer called, she'd just been rear-ended. So I finished up what I could with work and headed on home, fearing the worst. Fortunately, the worst wasn't too bad, Jennifer was okay, and, though the bumper was a mess, the car was still drivable. I'll leave that whole story to her, if she's so inclined (she's got pictures!).
So in short, it's been a week of annoyance. But we made it through. It's Friday, and Jennifer and I managed to make the best of a bad week, staying afloat by reading, playing Rock Band (Jennifer sings, Maddie plays drums!), and enjoying one another's company. Not bad at all. Today, my car's at Out West Garage (I dropped it off bright and early this morning, walking home in the shivering cold) and we've got an estimate for the repairs to Jennifer's car, which will ultimately be covered by the insurance company.
And so I'm sitting here in the living room, drinking my coffee and typing, enjoying the moment, the hopeful end of a frustrating week. Sure, I'm headed off to work at Our Best Friends in a bit, and next week will bring its own challenges, but for right now, I've got fireplace on, Maddie's curled up and napping nearby, and Sigur Rós blankets us in 5.1 surround.
UPDATE: Out West Garage called at quarter after ten, saying the car was ready to go, and that the fix was easier than expected. Grand total: $407.62, nearly ninety-three dollars cheaper than the estimate. Awesome! Now, off to Our Best Friends with Maddie. Now, if I can just figure out how to get VirtuMonde off my computer, I'll be happy. At least reasonably so...
Figure on the moon, with satellites and fish hook. Pencil and ink on dew-soaked paper. Found folded into quarters, a heart inscribed on the upward-facing panel. Left at ATM. Artist unknown.
( More pictures behind the cut. )
We almost got off to a bad start, as Maddie, running through the front door towards the steps, discovered a patch of ice and, in cartoon-coyote mode, began running in place, her legs slipping and sliding until she realized she didn't have any traction, whereupon she sat down and looked up at me, pleading that I fix the failure in physics.
But we made it down to Wickersham Park.
"What's all this white stuff? Grass isn't supposed to go crunch." Maddie seemed astonished by the icy grass, the frost-limned leaves. I'd have to check, but I don't think we had anywhere near this much frost at this time last year. Will we get a white Christmas?
Ice crystals at Wickersham Park #1.
Ice crystals at Wickersham Park #2.
"I'm not so sure about this winter stuff. I say we go back home and curl up in the chair by the fireplace."
Happy in Wickersham Park.
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