le tableau de paysage

When Missus Chica was enjoying tropical breezes last week, she was blinded suddenly by the light of the sun on her walk back from the beach. So intense were the rays, that she threw up her hands to shield her eyes and fell to her knees in agony, conveniently in front of a lovely coffee house. Mister Hombre covered her eyes with his cap and quickly carried her into the coffee house to revive her with a shot of expresso. Seated comfortably in a soft chair, Missus Chica reflected upon the intensity of the experience. At that moment, she knew she must complete a landscape painting of the french countryside for the Cat Sitter.

It can be difficult to show gratitude to someone who is so giving of themselves. Sure there’s the obligatory, though genuine, thank you, but it can feel lacking. GIving things is generous, but giving of your time and yourself is a greater sacrifice. We give of ourselves because we want to, not because of the anticipation of thanks in the end. As the recipient, you don’t want to abuse those who come to your rescue by being presumptive or overly casual.

The Cat Sitter has done more this year than spending time with Dirty Girl and myself. She brought soup and chocolate chip cookies (so decadent, you would slap your mama just to take a bite) when Missus Chica and Mister Hombre were spending long hours at the hospital tending to the One Eyes. On another occasion she brought cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. She has lent a sympathetic ear, more than once, to Missus Chica about coping with the aged.

Since the Cat Sitter has a passion for traveling in France, it seemed logical to create a personalized painting of the countryside to remind her of her lovely travels. It’s a small acrylic painting at 14 x 9, complemented with oil pastels. It’s the second acyrlic painting Missus Chica has completed in the last ten years (the first was holiday yard art, completed in July). She definitely has a lot to learn, but putting forth the effort is definitely a step in the right direction. Thank you, Cat Sitter! We appreciate you.

Nice Pants

There are many ways to divine information. A practical approach is asking questions. Through this technique, it is possible to gain more information than you need. Many are flattered by such inquires, and willing to disclose all the intimate details of their knowledge base, in addition, to the answering your question. Think of it as intellectual compost. There are always occasions in which gleaning additional data is informative and scintillating. But, there are times when you contemplate stabbing yourself in the arm with a salad fork to provide a convenient excuse to leave the speaker’s (lecturer’s?) company.

If you were denied the ability to speak, how would you gather information? Reading is a logical approach. There is a wealth of information available in print, as well as, accessible through the web. But, if the information you seek is not available (or locatable) where does that leave you?

Senses are useful. We rely on our eyes to survey our environment. Vision provides useful insight, and creates a nice frame of reference. Eyes afford us the luxury of being armchair psychologists, sporting our internet phds. Who doesn’t make assumptions after witnessing the behavior of others? Listening is another option (although, often overlooked). It’s simply astonishing how much information you gain when you pause a moment to listen to someone else’s thoughts.

When I seek information, I have to broaden my approach. Due to a very noticeable language barrier, Missus Chica is sometimes unable to decipher the intricasies of my questions. But, give her credit, she’s very astute when I bark orders for important things, like food, water, squirrel, bird, treat, and now.

I depend on Missus Chica for details about the outside world, since I’m not allowed to venture off the deck. When she enters the house, I usually meet her at the door with the official cat sanctioned figure eight around the legs. That’s her cue to sit on the steps, so I can smell her pants and shoes. Pants are a map of the world. By smelling them, I know where she was, if it’s a new location or an old one. I know if she was around someone with pets, or someone who smokes. I can smell the earth on her, when she walks in the woods. I enjoy experiencing the world vicariously, especially if it involves leather shoes.

Take time to smell the pants, you get a clearer picture of the world. It’s a mysterious place, but the more information I glean, the more intriguing it becomes. Don’t become consumed by every little detail…but experience them. It’s complex and often irrational. Choose to enjoy the bright spots, as fleeting as they may be. Explore and embrace new experiences with all your senses. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it never made him launch a bottle rocket out of his butt.

Port-O-Welcome

You might want to consider taking pictures of your home and/or neighborhood the next time you leave town for a few days. Because, who knows, you might not recognize it when you return. When the folks pulled into the drive way Friday morning, they were greeted by the sight of a signature blue foot Port-O-Let in the neighbors front yard. Hmmm,” muttered Missus Chica, ” I don’t remember seeing that when we left.”

A port-o-let in your front yard should confirm necessity, not poor taste in yard art. I can’t think of anyone who would keep one next to the driveway because it looks really cool. At least not anyone I care to engage in conversation beyond answering that age old enigma, “Uh hey dude, dontcha want some fries with that?”. At this point, Missus Chica wondered if the neighborhood convenance covers Port-O-Lets in the front yard. It has restrictions on gutters and satellite dishes on the front of homes, and those are less offensive looking than a toilet in the driveway. She’s not wondering because she is an inflexible ass on the board of directors, she’s wondering because the neighbor with the signature blue toilet stall in his front yard is.

When Missus Chica peeped around the port-o-hell she spotted new construction in the neighbor’s back yard. Well, what do you know after three years of idle threats, the dude finally follows through and begins construction on the legendary pool house. I say legendary, because there has been no evidence that said pool house was ever going to become a reality after three long years of planning, bitching about costs, and re-landscaping the yard to accommodate the pretend structure. After viewing evidence that Mr Picky Neighbor has in fact recently regained possession of his balls and followed through with his plan, Mister Hombre and Missus Chica retire inside for a nice long nap on the sofa.

I just don’t understand why they chose to nap on the sofa instead of the bed. The bed is more spacious, and the room is darker. Maybe they are more like cats than I previously thought. They seemed to favor the sofa because they were in a sunny spot, they had soft blankets and it was just right for spooning. They looked so damned comfortable laying together, that Dirty Girl and I just didn’t have the heart to disturb them so we sat across the room together to keep a close eye on them. You know just in case they decided to make a move without us.

They managed to sleep four hours sans the occasional snore or shoulder shift. The only comment I heard relating to the construction noises next door sounded like, “You’d think with all the money the contractor stands to make on that pool house, he could at least splurge for a pneumatic nailer. The guys with the 16 ounce hammer, had no rhythm. It’s like sleeping next to a five year-old with a toy drum.”

After a restful sleep they walked outdoors to admire critique the pool house design. When they opened the door, they detected a sound that resembled a leaf blower in the distance. The looked in the opposite neighbor’s back yard and saw a giant inflatable slide. By giant, I mean eighteen feet tall. Do you think that maybe the parents were overcompensating? This same slide is usually found on the grounds of a local car dealership. I know when I see a giant slide, I get so excited that I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if my financing was in order. Maybe they were trying to over compensate. Or maybe there was a margarita party later and we weren’t invited.

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I almost forget, click here if you want to see pictures from Hawaii. Penguins included!

Greetings from the Welcome Wagon

The folks took the red eye back to the mainland and arrived at the airport around 5:15 AM. Apparently air traffic control had some crowding issues and directed the plane to land on a wash board dirt road, as the runways were being utilized for more useful activities like drag races and flea markets. After a little pilot induced turbulence, the plane touched down so hard that Missus Chica’s overhead bin was jarred open. No worries thought. The plane came to a very controlled stop and had an uneventful taxi to the gate.

After gathering bags and such, they began the three-and-a-half hour drive home. Two cups of coffee and a pit stop to admire a big-ass fiberglass cow on the interstate later they arrived home and promptly fell asleep on the sofa. Dirty Girl and I have been staring at them ever since.

Forecast: Sunny

Dear Patches and Dirty Girl,

When I arrived at the gate there were a lot of people waiting. Most notable were twenty of the army’s finest on a two week break from Iraq. Young and bright eyed, dressed in combat fatigues, all looking forward to getting face time with their loved-ones. It made me smile, and reminded me that life is precious and petty worries are a waste of time. I didn’t have any difficulty getting a seat.

The most eventful thing that occurred was watching the On Board Leader (think PC term for flight attendant-in-charge) freak out when the maintenance man tried to enter the plane through the galley floor. We had already left the gate, so the only way the maintenance guy to could board the plane was to return to the gate and re-position the jetway (think delay), or stop the plane and enter through the floor. Apparently the OBL had never seen the trap door in use before, when she saw the carpet covering move. She said, “Damn! The floor’s moving. What’s going on?” The other flight attendant just laughed at her. The maintenance guy came in, did his thing,left, and then we were on our way.

We arrived at hotel just in time to enjoy happy hour, by partaking in the pleasure that is the mai tai-tini, a most excellent tropical pain killer. We feasted on appetizers and stumbled back to the room for a good night’s sleep.

This morning we experienced a little light mist, but it’s been sunny and breezy ever since. We walked along the Wakiki beach to breakfast, and enjoyed a wonderful buffet of fresh fruit, pastries, and baked ham. On the way back to the hotel we took a short cut through the Hilton Hawaiian Village. You guys will never believe what we saw. Penguins! Fucking Penguins! There were about seven of them. We got there just in time to see them eating squid for breakfast.

The wireless is a little unpredictable here. Right now I’m hanging over edge of the balcony to get a minimum signal to send e-mail. There some sort of conspiracy about hotels and wireless. Cheap hotel means free wireless and expensive hotel means you pay extra for wireless. Go figure! You guys behave while we’re gone, and don’t waste too much time surfing the web.

Love,
Missus Chica