When I was a girl, I'd lie on my stomach for hours reading my grandmother's collection of New Yorker cartoon books. One that I remember was of a formally dressed man being carried out of a rather ritzy house on a stretcher. Just before he's loaded into the waiting ambulance, he says goodnight to his hostess: "I'm terribly sorry. I think it most have been the kohlrabi." What made the cartoon even funnier was that my aunt had crossed out the last word and written in "meatloaf" -- apparently that was her least favorite meal.
My dear friend Rachel commented on my recent CSA post. Of course, anyone who is missing out on a farm experience is more than welcome to visit me (nudge nudge!) and I'd be delighted to take you to the farm. As an added bonus, there's a right-of-way through the farm to a fairly interesting-looking piece of conservation land that probably links up to Walden Pond somehow. (RP -- remember that on that train ride we took in 1974 out to Concord to visit your aunt, we went right past Walden Pond?)
Rachel knows (or should know) that I'd do anything for her. So I decided some disclosure (about kale) and research (about kohlrabi) were in order. Fairly recently, I've conquered my fear of kale. When I originally asked about it at a coop "case share" meeting long ago, I was told that it was a bitter rubbery vegetable. I've since discovered that it's wonderful steamed with a little sauce on top, or chopped up into soup.
But kohlrabi -- I've never dared venture into that world. So, just for Rachel, here's a very short primer on kohlrabi: http://www.care2.com/channels/solutions/food/256. From this link I've learned that despite its appearance, kohlrabi is not a root vegetable but something like a tumor on the stem of a plant. Hmm. Very attractive sounding; the taste sounds more intriguing. I may have actually eaten it at some point without knowing what it was. And perhaps this summer, I'll have another opportunity.
Oh, and another story. Years ago (20?) I visited Rachel in California and accompanied her to a farmer's market. I was stunned that she was able to buy gorgeous fresh luscious vegetables, unlike anything I was able to find at home. When we got back to her house, she opened her refrigerator and started removing the unused vegetables from the previous week. Rather than use them, she threw them away to make room for the latest arrivals. But the old veggies were more attractive than what I was able to buy in New England at that time of year -- I was so jealous! As I was joining the CSA this year, I thought back to that experience and thought that at long last, I, too, will have access to absolutely fresh food. Can't wait.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Sunday, March 25, 2007
on the farm
Robert and I just joined a CSA with two friends who were members last year. CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture. The basic idea is that before the growing season starts, you buy a share of the season’s yield from a farmer. This share is quite literally “seed money”* and helps the farmer avoid securing loans that would need to be paid back with interest later in the season. In some CSAs, you also commit to doing a certain amount of work each season (in ours, it’s four hours per adult for the entire season).
In return, you get to pick up a share’s worth of produce each week and sometimes “pick your own” produce of the more labor-intensive varieties (think beans or strawberries, and perhaps even flowers). The season is about 15 weeks long. The farm we’re subscribing to is certified organic and picks almost all its produce the same day that you pick up (or at least within 24 hours of pickup).
CSAs help keep small farmers in business. The shareholders participate in the season’s risk with the farmer, getting less in sparse years and more in bountiful years. But at our orientation this weekend, the farmer mentioned other benefits -- he doesn’t work with a middleman and he doesn’t package his produce, and the produce isn't transported to central markets and then back out to consumers.
Apparently, the average distance produce typically travels is 500 miles -- a lot of fuel is used to make that transportation possible. In fact, this discussion is all very timely for me. A few weeks ago, the Boston Sunday Globe carried an article describing the debate between eating organic and eating local. I’m looking forward to eating both and eating much closer to the seasons.
On and off over the years, I've belonged to food coops. This whole CSA concept seems to capture the best aspects of coops while dispensing with the worst. I look forward to not having to satisfy the demands of crazy and nasty fellow cooperators, for one. But I look forward also to participating in some small way in procuring my own food, in cooperation with others, especially the main producers.
This weekend, at our orientation, we saw some seeds that are in the earliest stages of germination under growlights. We then moved on to the greenhouse where sprouted seeds have been transplanted into pots with more space. The plants are getting natural light in preparation for being moved outside later in the season.
We sampled parsnip spears that had been coated lightly in oil and roasted at 400 degrees. The parsnips had overwintered in the ground and had just been picked that morning. They were very sweet. Robert thought he had died and gone to heaven. He really perked up when we were invited to take some parsnips home as the very first part of our share. He prepared them exactly as had been done at the farm, and we happily munched on them at dinner.
I hope to post updates about the farm throughout the season.
* Those of us in the software industry are used to hearing the term "seed money" applied to the earliest part of a startup venture during which the founders are developing a "proof-of-concept" version of the software they want the company to eventually build. In fact, I've arrived at my new company so early in the game that people still occasionally refer to the seed phase they went through a few months ago. I'm amused that I'm finally participating in the kind of "seed phase" for which the term was invented.
In return, you get to pick up a share’s worth of produce each week and sometimes “pick your own” produce of the more labor-intensive varieties (think beans or strawberries, and perhaps even flowers). The season is about 15 weeks long. The farm we’re subscribing to is certified organic and picks almost all its produce the same day that you pick up (or at least within 24 hours of pickup).
CSAs help keep small farmers in business. The shareholders participate in the season’s risk with the farmer, getting less in sparse years and more in bountiful years. But at our orientation this weekend, the farmer mentioned other benefits -- he doesn’t work with a middleman and he doesn’t package his produce, and the produce isn't transported to central markets and then back out to consumers.
Apparently, the average distance produce typically travels is 500 miles -- a lot of fuel is used to make that transportation possible. In fact, this discussion is all very timely for me. A few weeks ago, the Boston Sunday Globe carried an article describing the debate between eating organic and eating local. I’m looking forward to eating both and eating much closer to the seasons.
On and off over the years, I've belonged to food coops. This whole CSA concept seems to capture the best aspects of coops while dispensing with the worst. I look forward to not having to satisfy the demands of crazy and nasty fellow cooperators, for one. But I look forward also to participating in some small way in procuring my own food, in cooperation with others, especially the main producers.
This weekend, at our orientation, we saw some seeds that are in the earliest stages of germination under growlights. We then moved on to the greenhouse where sprouted seeds have been transplanted into pots with more space. The plants are getting natural light in preparation for being moved outside later in the season.
We sampled parsnip spears that had been coated lightly in oil and roasted at 400 degrees. The parsnips had overwintered in the ground and had just been picked that morning. They were very sweet. Robert thought he had died and gone to heaven. He really perked up when we were invited to take some parsnips home as the very first part of our share. He prepared them exactly as had been done at the farm, and we happily munched on them at dinner.
I hope to post updates about the farm throughout the season.
* Those of us in the software industry are used to hearing the term "seed money" applied to the earliest part of a startup venture during which the founders are developing a "proof-of-concept" version of the software they want the company to eventually build. In fact, I've arrived at my new company so early in the game that people still occasionally refer to the seed phase they went through a few months ago. I'm amused that I'm finally participating in the kind of "seed phase" for which the term was invented.
warm days, freezing nights
As we lurch toward spring, we find that the days warm up, while at night the temperatures dip back below freezing. This weather pattern brings us the delight that we know as maple syrup. It also plays havoc with the roads, something to do with moisture creeping in from melting snow, then seizing up at night and melting the next day. I was reminded of this phenomenon when we drove over to the neighboring, more rural, town today and saw signs that said "Frost Heaves."
I always alternate between wondering whether these signs are a complete factual sentence (noun verb) or a descriptor (adjective noun). Robert says they're the sign of the dyspeptic poet.
But I am reminded that long ago, I went to visit a friend who lives way north in the foothills of New Hampshire, but just south of the mountains. His area is rural enough that he claims to have shot at a mountain lion from his back porch one day. And at this time of year, the dirt road in front of his house becomes a mess (they don't call that interim period between winter and spring "mud season" for nothing). Apparently, one year the road was almost unnavigable. So the neighbors went to the town hall to demand that something be done. (I think they were imagining that the town would bring graders to even things out.) The next thing anyone knew, signs had been posted saying "bumps in road". Very helpful, those public works departments.
I always alternate between wondering whether these signs are a complete factual sentence (noun verb) or a descriptor (adjective noun). Robert says they're the sign of the dyspeptic poet.
But I am reminded that long ago, I went to visit a friend who lives way north in the foothills of New Hampshire, but just south of the mountains. His area is rural enough that he claims to have shot at a mountain lion from his back porch one day. And at this time of year, the dirt road in front of his house becomes a mess (they don't call that interim period between winter and spring "mud season" for nothing). Apparently, one year the road was almost unnavigable. So the neighbors went to the town hall to demand that something be done. (I think they were imagining that the town would bring graders to even things out.) The next thing anyone knew, signs had been posted saying "bumps in road". Very helpful, those public works departments.
dancing
Yesterday, we had two dances with a potluck dinner in between. The afternoon dance was advanced, with one of my favorite callers in the universe (LL) leading. Her husband danced with us and then for the evening dance they switched roles -- he called and she danced.
One of the things that I love about our advanced dances with LL is that she thinks of them as collaborative efforts. She can experiment with newer dances or throw slight twists into old favorites, and she asks for feedback. At times, we'll try a dance several times before she gets the calls right or the dancers figure out what we're supposed to do, though that didn't happen yesterday.
What did happen was that the musicians played up to their usual high standards, but to my ear, they were not matching the tunes to the dances. It was as if they were playing to some other dance program. It was subtle, but frustrating. When I thought the dances called for utter exuberance, the musicians toned it way down. They played smoothly when we should have been bouncing, and bouncily when we wanted to be smooth. And then, every now and then, they hit the mark, and it was heavenly.
The potluck was one of those surprise affairs that started out looking like we'd get six attendees. Then suddenly, there were 30 or so of us. I was really glad I made an entree, because it was one of the only dinner-like items there. My dish was even praised by one person, an avid cook. So phew.
And then the evening dance was great. The musicians played extremely familiar traditional tunes but with a smooth sultry twist. A few people complained that they couldn't always hear the beat (and with this type of dancing, we nearly always adhere to a strict eight beats a measure, unless we're dancing in waltz time). To be honest, I couldn't always hear the beat either, but the music and the calling and the two combined were so pleasurable that I didn't care.
And the people were of course wonderful. We laughed and flirted and helped each other, and just had a fine time. Two friends who had lost a late pregnancy a few years ago brought their baby -- an extroverted nine-month old. His mom puts him in a carrier facing out and dances while he grins wildly and kicks his feet. At one point when I was supposed to be looking at her, I caught his eye and smiled and he smiled back. I wonder if he'll be dancing better than the rest of us as soon as he can walk.
Oh, I should also mention that we went indoors when the temps were in the 50s, skies were blue, and the ground in Boston (though not at home) was clear of all snow. Our second band was named White Squall, and that's exactly what we saw when we came outside -- a swirl of a snow storm. Temps were high enough, though, that nothing was sticking, so the ride home was easy. This morning, the roads and driveways are clear, and the existing snow on the ground has been "freshened up" a bit. How pretty.
Sometimes it seems like a pain to go into a dance, or I feel all comfy at home, and then I go and I'm so happy to be there. As a somewhat introverted person, dance is surprisingly renewing for me.
One of the things that I love about our advanced dances with LL is that she thinks of them as collaborative efforts. She can experiment with newer dances or throw slight twists into old favorites, and she asks for feedback. At times, we'll try a dance several times before she gets the calls right or the dancers figure out what we're supposed to do, though that didn't happen yesterday.
What did happen was that the musicians played up to their usual high standards, but to my ear, they were not matching the tunes to the dances. It was as if they were playing to some other dance program. It was subtle, but frustrating. When I thought the dances called for utter exuberance, the musicians toned it way down. They played smoothly when we should have been bouncing, and bouncily when we wanted to be smooth. And then, every now and then, they hit the mark, and it was heavenly.
The potluck was one of those surprise affairs that started out looking like we'd get six attendees. Then suddenly, there were 30 or so of us. I was really glad I made an entree, because it was one of the only dinner-like items there. My dish was even praised by one person, an avid cook. So phew.
And then the evening dance was great. The musicians played extremely familiar traditional tunes but with a smooth sultry twist. A few people complained that they couldn't always hear the beat (and with this type of dancing, we nearly always adhere to a strict eight beats a measure, unless we're dancing in waltz time). To be honest, I couldn't always hear the beat either, but the music and the calling and the two combined were so pleasurable that I didn't care.
And the people were of course wonderful. We laughed and flirted and helped each other, and just had a fine time. Two friends who had lost a late pregnancy a few years ago brought their baby -- an extroverted nine-month old. His mom puts him in a carrier facing out and dances while he grins wildly and kicks his feet. At one point when I was supposed to be looking at her, I caught his eye and smiled and he smiled back. I wonder if he'll be dancing better than the rest of us as soon as he can walk.
Oh, I should also mention that we went indoors when the temps were in the 50s, skies were blue, and the ground in Boston (though not at home) was clear of all snow. Our second band was named White Squall, and that's exactly what we saw when we came outside -- a swirl of a snow storm. Temps were high enough, though, that nothing was sticking, so the ride home was easy. This morning, the roads and driveways are clear, and the existing snow on the ground has been "freshened up" a bit. How pretty.
Sometimes it seems like a pain to go into a dance, or I feel all comfy at home, and then I go and I'm so happy to be there. As a somewhat introverted person, dance is surprisingly renewing for me.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
signs of spring
Spring officially arrived a few days ago, on Wednesday if memory serves correctly. But it doesn't always feel like spring on the officially scheduled day.
Except that the last few days, I've noticed birds singing in the morning. Last summer, when my brother and sister-in-law visited, my s-i-l woke up the first morning and said "gee, everyone says that North America no longer has many birds. I think they've been proven wrong". So I've been enjoying the sweet tunes and the cats have certainly noticed that something's up. Theo sits at the window and chatters, perhaps dreaming that some day he'll actually catch a bird.
And with daylight saving time starting early this year, we've had light in the sky well into the evening, and I've even had some evening light on my walk to the train after work.
And then yesterday, on my drive to visit a friend for lunch, I saw the definitive sign. Dairy Joy in Weston was open, having closed, oh, in December or January. People are gonzo about DJ and come from many surrounding towns. I'm sure that Weston's old-timers adore it, but that the newly-arrived, the ones living in poorly constructed McMansions set on third-acre lots, detest it because it's not new and sparkly. Well, hah. All I know is that if Dairy Joy is open, even with snow on the ground, spring must be here.
On my way back from lunch, I indulged in a yearly treat -- a stop at Drumlin Farm, part of the Massachusetts Audubon Society. I was probably the only adult there without either a volunteer job or decoy children in tow. I really went to see the baby sheep, of which there are five so far. Their births are spaced across the spring so that there should be a steady supply of yung'uns into May. They were, as they always are, adorable. I also saw some baby goats, curled up like cats for a mid-day nap, guarded by their protective mom.
And it was muddy! I should have worn my Muck Boots and not worn my khaki pants, but hey, some things are worth the sacrifice. I went to visit the deer in their enclosure. One came near me and kept me close company as I walked along its pen. Suddenly it stopped, crouched on its front legs, sniffed and sniffed, tilted his head, and then dashed off to the back of the enclosure.
Today, it is in the 50s. We will of course celebrate by dancing (indoors) all afternoon. Again, some things are worth the sacrifice. Perhaps we'll open the windows and hear and smell spring as we're dancing. It is a hopeful time of year.
Except that the last few days, I've noticed birds singing in the morning. Last summer, when my brother and sister-in-law visited, my s-i-l woke up the first morning and said "gee, everyone says that North America no longer has many birds. I think they've been proven wrong". So I've been enjoying the sweet tunes and the cats have certainly noticed that something's up. Theo sits at the window and chatters, perhaps dreaming that some day he'll actually catch a bird.
And with daylight saving time starting early this year, we've had light in the sky well into the evening, and I've even had some evening light on my walk to the train after work.
And then yesterday, on my drive to visit a friend for lunch, I saw the definitive sign. Dairy Joy in Weston was open, having closed, oh, in December or January. People are gonzo about DJ and come from many surrounding towns. I'm sure that Weston's old-timers adore it, but that the newly-arrived, the ones living in poorly constructed McMansions set on third-acre lots, detest it because it's not new and sparkly. Well, hah. All I know is that if Dairy Joy is open, even with snow on the ground, spring must be here.
On my way back from lunch, I indulged in a yearly treat -- a stop at Drumlin Farm, part of the Massachusetts Audubon Society. I was probably the only adult there without either a volunteer job or decoy children in tow. I really went to see the baby sheep, of which there are five so far. Their births are spaced across the spring so that there should be a steady supply of yung'uns into May. They were, as they always are, adorable. I also saw some baby goats, curled up like cats for a mid-day nap, guarded by their protective mom.
And it was muddy! I should have worn my Muck Boots and not worn my khaki pants, but hey, some things are worth the sacrifice. I went to visit the deer in their enclosure. One came near me and kept me close company as I walked along its pen. Suddenly it stopped, crouched on its front legs, sniffed and sniffed, tilted his head, and then dashed off to the back of the enclosure.
Today, it is in the 50s. We will of course celebrate by dancing (indoors) all afternoon. Again, some things are worth the sacrifice. Perhaps we'll open the windows and hear and smell spring as we're dancing. It is a hopeful time of year.
Friday, March 23, 2007
many milestones
oh my. It's been over a month since I last posted. While trying to clear the cobwebs out enough to make my way back to my own blog, at least one friend made polite and almost discreet inquiries about whether I was ok (or perhaps whether I was still alive). Yes and yes, but somehow my new job has sucked up all my blogging energies, which is not necessarily a bad thing. I have still found the energy for input -- reading OP's (other peoples') blogs -- just not for the output that at least one dear person desperately craves.
(Thank you! It's nice to know that I have a reader, or actually, a handful of readers!)
I thought that for my triumphant return to the blogosphere, I'd note some of the many milestones that have been occurring of late.
Happy anniversary to us
As I noted back in February, Robert and I celebrated our 15th anniversary together this year. We went on our traditional President's weekend trip to Provincetown and once again ended up at the same inn with another couple whose company we enjoy. The usual good eating, walking around, looking at art, getting cold, warming up, lazing about, reading, and enjoying each others' company ensued. Robert, as has also become tradition, had an absolutely stunning bouquet of flowers delivered to the room. We enjoyed them both while away and for days after we returned home.
On Sunday, we attended the UU church, which had a guest speaker, a member of the congregation. I've been priding myself for years on at least handling moments of deep crisis with some level of balance and humanity. The speaker said that that was the easy part. The challenge is to handle all those small inconsequential moments with the same level of grace.
Oh boy, I have a lot of work ahead of me. My mind flashes to driving around the grocery store parking lot and seeing carts that shoppers abandoned in spaces because they couldn't walk them two spots over to the corral. Or the parents who let their kids run around in restaurants, nearly tripping the waitress. Or, or, or... I guess the path to enlightenment is long and the goal is very very far off. I will keep working toward that elusive goal.
Anyways, a good anniversary, a good celebration, and a good time for re-enlisting in the relationship for at least a while longer.
Happy anniversary to Koa
A little over a year ago, on Valentine's Day, actually, I made my fourth visit to the no-kill shelter, where I'd fallen in love with a tiny frightened adult cat. I decided to adopt her that day. After our 2006 trip to Provincetown, I brought her home, where she started her weeks-long retreat on top of the only eight-foot-high shelf in the house.
A year is a long time in a cat's life, and I am so proud of our little cat's progress. As her fear retreats, her sweetness and loving nature shine more and more. She feels safest on my bed, and we have a morning and evening cuddling ritual. She flops over next to me, and I pat her and scratch her while she writhes around on her back and waves her paws in the air. Sometimes, she lies still, closes her eyes, and just purrs.
Or I'll give her a new toy and she'll sniff it, rub it, hold it in her paws, roll over on it, and express her gratitude for quite a while before she actually plays with it. Lately, her purr has gotten stronger, and she's started making kitty dough on the comforter when she's settling in. Sometimes, I feel like we're giving her at least part of a second babyhood so that she can reset her anxiety levels.
Her comfort area is expanding, too. She likes to hang out with us downstairs. Sometimes, we'll hear her yowling as she is arriving from upstairs, and occasionally she'll bring a comforting toy with her and play with it in the hallway. I'm more able to pet her downstairs, too.
And yet, she is very shy around strangers, though she sometimes makes a brief appearance. I still can't pick her up regularly, and when I'm close to her, I need to leave a lot of open space for her to escape. My latest theory is that she's terrified that she'll have to move away from us. So if she avoids being picked up or having contact with strangers, she'll get to stay. Our job is to convince her that she gets to stay forever, and that even if we go away, we'll come back.
We've seen great progress over the months, and I'm hopeful for more -- we see her take tiny steps all the time.
Happy birthday to Theo
Theo was one year old this month! He is a sweet, laid back guy who is playful and loving. He follows us around like a dog. He always greets us when we come into the house (and even knows the sound of Robert's car in the street). When I sit at the computer, he often lies on my desk next to me. I've taught him to sit on command. He purrs easily.
His one fault is that although he can be nice to Koa, he also sees her as a giant toy that will run away if he chases her. There's not much we can do about it, especially because we have indoor cats with lots of pent-up energy. On the one hand, I'm not happy to see Koa treated badly, and I don't think Theo always helps with her recovery. On the other hand, it's great that they run around the house -- it's good exercise and I think it keeps them both sharp. I also imagine that Theo will eventually tire of the game.
When he's being sweet to Koa, they will lick each other's heads. I often find them curled up on the same bed, not necessarily touching, but mere inches apart. And they can eat next to each other quite peacefully, another good sign.
Happy jobs!
Robert has been in his new job for nearly three months. I think he's doing well. It sounds like he's contributing a lot, communicating well with his boss, and soaking up all there is to learn. He's figured out some really hard problems so far, and it sounds like he will be given more responsibility as his team starts to work on their next major version. I'm really pleased; it sounds like a great environment for him.
And I'm just delighted with my new job. I continue to feel like I'm treated as an adult in an adult company. True, we haven't yet released Version 1 of our product, so we don't have any pissed off customers yet. But there are still daily stresses and lots of work to do, and we seem to be handling it all as a collaborative and cheerful team. There's time for occasional fun, even.
As part of our culture, we're supposed to think up silly titles for our business cards (like "Chief Bottle Washer"). I'm terrible at these things, so after contemplating and rejecting something in Latin ("iuste bonus scriptor" for "pretty good writer"), I turned to anagrams of my more official title. My favorites are "elite wildcat rancher" and "critical whale tender". I think the titles are supposed to be sillier -- Minister of Silly Walks would be good if it weren't so terribly derivative.
So life is good, with few crises and much to be grateful for. And yes, I'm alive and well (thanks for asking, KJM).
(Thank you! It's nice to know that I have a reader, or actually, a handful of readers!)
I thought that for my triumphant return to the blogosphere, I'd note some of the many milestones that have been occurring of late.
Happy anniversary to us
As I noted back in February, Robert and I celebrated our 15th anniversary together this year. We went on our traditional President's weekend trip to Provincetown and once again ended up at the same inn with another couple whose company we enjoy. The usual good eating, walking around, looking at art, getting cold, warming up, lazing about, reading, and enjoying each others' company ensued. Robert, as has also become tradition, had an absolutely stunning bouquet of flowers delivered to the room. We enjoyed them both while away and for days after we returned home.
On Sunday, we attended the UU church, which had a guest speaker, a member of the congregation. I've been priding myself for years on at least handling moments of deep crisis with some level of balance and humanity. The speaker said that that was the easy part. The challenge is to handle all those small inconsequential moments with the same level of grace.
Oh boy, I have a lot of work ahead of me. My mind flashes to driving around the grocery store parking lot and seeing carts that shoppers abandoned in spaces because they couldn't walk them two spots over to the corral. Or the parents who let their kids run around in restaurants, nearly tripping the waitress. Or, or, or... I guess the path to enlightenment is long and the goal is very very far off. I will keep working toward that elusive goal.
Anyways, a good anniversary, a good celebration, and a good time for re-enlisting in the relationship for at least a while longer.
Happy anniversary to Koa
A little over a year ago, on Valentine's Day, actually, I made my fourth visit to the no-kill shelter, where I'd fallen in love with a tiny frightened adult cat. I decided to adopt her that day. After our 2006 trip to Provincetown, I brought her home, where she started her weeks-long retreat on top of the only eight-foot-high shelf in the house.
A year is a long time in a cat's life, and I am so proud of our little cat's progress. As her fear retreats, her sweetness and loving nature shine more and more. She feels safest on my bed, and we have a morning and evening cuddling ritual. She flops over next to me, and I pat her and scratch her while she writhes around on her back and waves her paws in the air. Sometimes, she lies still, closes her eyes, and just purrs.
Or I'll give her a new toy and she'll sniff it, rub it, hold it in her paws, roll over on it, and express her gratitude for quite a while before she actually plays with it. Lately, her purr has gotten stronger, and she's started making kitty dough on the comforter when she's settling in. Sometimes, I feel like we're giving her at least part of a second babyhood so that she can reset her anxiety levels.
Her comfort area is expanding, too. She likes to hang out with us downstairs. Sometimes, we'll hear her yowling as she is arriving from upstairs, and occasionally she'll bring a comforting toy with her and play with it in the hallway. I'm more able to pet her downstairs, too.
And yet, she is very shy around strangers, though she sometimes makes a brief appearance. I still can't pick her up regularly, and when I'm close to her, I need to leave a lot of open space for her to escape. My latest theory is that she's terrified that she'll have to move away from us. So if she avoids being picked up or having contact with strangers, she'll get to stay. Our job is to convince her that she gets to stay forever, and that even if we go away, we'll come back.
We've seen great progress over the months, and I'm hopeful for more -- we see her take tiny steps all the time.
Happy birthday to Theo
Theo was one year old this month! He is a sweet, laid back guy who is playful and loving. He follows us around like a dog. He always greets us when we come into the house (and even knows the sound of Robert's car in the street). When I sit at the computer, he often lies on my desk next to me. I've taught him to sit on command. He purrs easily.
His one fault is that although he can be nice to Koa, he also sees her as a giant toy that will run away if he chases her. There's not much we can do about it, especially because we have indoor cats with lots of pent-up energy. On the one hand, I'm not happy to see Koa treated badly, and I don't think Theo always helps with her recovery. On the other hand, it's great that they run around the house -- it's good exercise and I think it keeps them both sharp. I also imagine that Theo will eventually tire of the game.
When he's being sweet to Koa, they will lick each other's heads. I often find them curled up on the same bed, not necessarily touching, but mere inches apart. And they can eat next to each other quite peacefully, another good sign.
Happy jobs!
Robert has been in his new job for nearly three months. I think he's doing well. It sounds like he's contributing a lot, communicating well with his boss, and soaking up all there is to learn. He's figured out some really hard problems so far, and it sounds like he will be given more responsibility as his team starts to work on their next major version. I'm really pleased; it sounds like a great environment for him.
And I'm just delighted with my new job. I continue to feel like I'm treated as an adult in an adult company. True, we haven't yet released Version 1 of our product, so we don't have any pissed off customers yet. But there are still daily stresses and lots of work to do, and we seem to be handling it all as a collaborative and cheerful team. There's time for occasional fun, even.
As part of our culture, we're supposed to think up silly titles for our business cards (like "Chief Bottle Washer"). I'm terrible at these things, so after contemplating and rejecting something in Latin ("iuste bonus scriptor" for "pretty good writer"), I turned to anagrams of my more official title. My favorites are "elite wildcat rancher" and "critical whale tender". I think the titles are supposed to be sillier -- Minister of Silly Walks would be good if it weren't so terribly derivative.
So life is good, with few crises and much to be grateful for. And yes, I'm alive and well (thanks for asking, KJM).
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