Scenes from Silver Creek: The Silver Creek Series

As mentioned earlier, not much happened in Silver Creek in the summertime. A high school musical. Band concerts at the park. Fireworks. But the big social event of the season was the Garcia vs. Fire Department softball game.

It started when I was in 4th grade. Mr. Garcia, who owned a local insurance business was best friends with Chief Nettles, who was then chief of the fire department. After years of mini golf games, pub trivia nights, and one memorable donkey baseball event they decided on full on softball.

If you were a friend or relation of the Garcia family, you were a Garcia Giant. If you were an employee or family member of the Silver Creek Fire Department, you were a Hydrant.

Since Jessie Garcia was one of my dearest friends, I was always on the Garcia team and was considered something of a secret weapon. You see, don’t tell anyone, but I could hit anything you threw at me. Fast balls. Sliders. Curves. Didn’t matter, I’d smack ‘em out. I could be counted on for at least a single and usually a double or triple every at bat..

That was the good news. The bad was that I couldn’t field to save my life. I’d see a ball coming at me and all I could focus on was the word “Spaulding” coming ever closer to my forehead. Twice games were stopped while the EMTs (on the Fire Dept Team) checked me our for possible concussions. Once asking me who was president. When I refused to say “Reagan” he passed me as being OK. After twice being bonked out of left field they took me out of the game, debated the merit of the designated hitter, and put me in from time to time.

After a hotly contested game there were hot dogs and lemonade, beer and bratworst, and lots of lying on who played better.

To this day I still swear you can read “Spaulding” on the top of my head . Husband says it isn’t obvious if I comb my hair right.

Meeker

There's a kat named Meeker that isn't in the adoption area. He's in the feral room, having only recently been caught in a busy office park area. Meeker isn't at all happy to be inside. He's an outdoor cat and lets you know it. Chances are he might go back there,, as there's a volunteer with a horse barn in use of a mouser. Meeker might suit very well. But until then he's got to learn some basic people skills, like "do not maim the nice volunteers."

Meeker (what an inappropriate name!) should be approached with a whip and a chair. As it is, I do pull out my leather gloves when dealing with him. We just need to get him used to people. He'll never be a lap cat, and that's OK. But he can't keep jumping with claws out at anyone within walking distance. While cleaning the cage of the cat below him, Meeker calmly lifted a paw out and slammed it down upon my unsuspecting head. Blood ensued.

This is not a house cat in the making. This is a cat that wants to be on the hunt. And as soon as the vets finish treating his broken foot and worms, he'll be healthy enough to go "home." And this wooded barn area with lots of squirrels and nobody trying to play "here kitty, kitty" with him seems like the perfect solution.

But until then, Meeker is a mean old Tom who has earned my wariness. And caused me two band-aids.

Burning up the Airwaves
Back tonight, by popular demand (OK, my Husband asking if me I was doing my show tonight) it's the return of At the Cafe Bohemian. Tune in from 6-9 pm (Pacific) via the wonders of the internet,

Photo of the day: A Bit of Zen

From one of our local Japanese gardens. Out for a beautiful day with my Husband.