Scenes from Silver Creek. The Funeral.

When Aunt Lenore finally wound down, at age 94, the whole town turned out for the funeral. The family bought five uniforms for the high school marching band and had them lead a New Orleans style parade down Union Street from St. Edith’s church to the cemetery out behind the softball field. It lacked some authenticity, as the band didn’t know how to play “Just A Closer Walk With Thee.” The best we could do was “Joy to the World” (the Creedence version, not the Christmas Carol). Since Aunt Camilla was already “appalled, disgusted, and sickened” by what she called “The Spectacle,” the bullfrog was just one more detail to offend her delicate sensibilities. She’d tried to put her dainty, size 5 foot down on the horseshoe wreath Aunt L had explicitly requested and her request to be buried in jeans and her beloved “I Love Dachshunds” sweatshirt. We outnumbered Aunt Camilla who washed her hands of the whole thing, and did as Aunt L wanted. (As a child I always thought Aunt Camilla must have the cleanest hands in Silver Creek as she was always washing them of something.)

The Reverend Polehouse delivered a lovely sermon about “loving thy neighbor” which, considering Aunt L’s many love affairs, seemed to be full of double entrendres that kept me just this side of giggles the entire time. Then we all stood and sang, “There is a Green Hill” and went outside to join the parade. All except Aunt Camilla, of course, who demanded to be driven the ¾ of a mile to the cemetery in a decent manner. We played rock/paper/scissors to see who had to drive her. My cousin, Daniel lost and helped Aunt Camilla into his pickup, which she regarded with horror, as if being asked to purposely step in manure.

After the graveside service (the solemnity of which was marred somewhat by the intrusion of a large and muddy sheepdog that came out of nowhere with a repulsive tennis ball in his mouth and a hopeful look on his face and who would not be dissuaded from bumping into us until someone, I think it was Mr. Jeevers from the hardware store, threw it for him.) we all headed to the Foreign Legion hall for casseroles and condolences and some much-needed, heavily-spiked Hawaiian Punch.

The day was hot and all the ladies were attired in light dresses. They were so heavily talcum powdered that when they went to hug you, small clouds of white rose like tiny dust storms from their bosoms and my sedate black dress soon had a grey tinge to it.

The men loosened their ties and took off their jackets, retreating into male groups to discuss sports and business. Across the street, the children were terrorizing the elementary school playground, their excited shrieks accompanied by the frenzied barks of the sheepdog that had followed the procession to the hall.

Inside the hall it seemed oddly dark after the brightness of the day. Amid the photos of old veterans shaking hands with Bob Hope there were displays of Aunt L. Pictures of her as a child, hugging a dumb looking sheep. As a bobbed-haired teenager with overalls and an arm slung around a girl that nobody could identify. On her first wedding day, and all the subsequent wedding days (four in all), in dresses of varying degrees of laughability and with husband of varying degrees of suitability. The only one any of us had ever liked was husband number three, Otto. A man of stunning plainness who obviously worshipped Aunt L and always went around looking slightly confused that such a force of nature had chosen him. When he died of a heart attack on an Over 40 Club bus trip to Branson, Aunt L went into the only period of depression I’d ever seen her experience.

Photo of the day: Orange Tree. Blue Sky.

The orange tree in our back yard has very dramatic branches against the blue of a summer sky.

Despite my best intentions of a photo safari, I had forgotten I'd be spending all day at the adopt-a-thon and, consequently, had to spend most of today recovering due to lots of sore muscles. In the good news department, however, my Ambien refill we be processed this week. On Wednesday. It'll take a few days to get here, but I can look forward to sleep sometime next week.

Photo of the day: Egypt or Colma?

Colma, of course. Where all the cool dead people hang out.

Photo of the day: Welcome to 7/11

Apparently we're closed.

Photo of the day: Excessive Cuteness

Behold Daniel, Striped Tiger. That's his name. Obviously somebody in the kitten nursery is a Mr. Rogers fan. He's very sweet, loves to snuggle, is quite talkative, and will be snapped up by some lucky person as soon as he's in the adoption area.

Today was a great day at the nursery. We got some brand new kitties. They were found by construction workers actually out in front of the shelter. Within 20-30 minutes they had passed through intake, had their first blood tests, and were brought into the nursery. There wasn't even any paperwork for them yet. So we fixed up a kennel, introduced them to the concept of being fed by syringe, and gave them some of their first-ever cuddles. This tiny litter of three seems to be about two weeks old, and are the cutest things ever. Here's a photo of the one I TLC'd. I nicknamed him "Longitude" since he has lines running straight down his back.

His little frowny face just kills me. Considering he had the worst, most stressful day ever (being separated by mom, grabbed by some sweaty construction guys, having your blood drawn, handed over to strangers to have them shove food down your throat) the whole litter was doing very well. When I left they were all curled up in a pile asleep in their kennel. But this little sad face shows that Longitude wasn't too sure about the whole thing.

Yes, I Admit it, I'm Selfish
This commentary piece from CNN asks why do people think it's selfish for a woman to decide not to have kids. Gee, I didn't know it was selfish but I suppose it is, in a way. I am selfish enough not to want to deal with kids. I don't want to pay for college educations and braces. I already can't sleep at night, throw in middle of the night feedings and I'm doomed. But my decision stems mostly from an acknowledgement that I'd make a terrible mother. I have no maternal instincts. Never have had. Didn't want to play with baby dolls as a kid. Never plays mommy. Never pushed my teddy bears in a carriage. I just don't have the gene, the patience, the financial security, or the desire to be a parent. Bravo to people who do, but it's not for me.

But why, exactly, does that matter to anyone except Husband? And why do people think you're selfish for deciding not to have kids. Are we in danger of running out?

I have problems with this article. First off the author says "what's wrong with being selfish?" Well nothing. But then she lists the most shallow and stupid of pursuits. Apparently we selfish, childless-by-choice women are that way because we would rather go on a shoe binge at Nordstrom. Um....no. Actually, at the risk of sounding too noble, my favorite way to spend money (and I think Husband would back me up on this) is giving it to causes I believe in. Oh yes, and we want to go to parties and clubs. Strange, but I'd rather volunteer my time.

But what really gets me are the comments on this piece. Here's one:
I don't have a problem with your being selfish and not reproducing.....you and any other women not interested in having kids will automatically remove themselves from the gene pool and only the less selfish women will reproduce and be left.

Here's another:
If you choose to not have children you ARE being selfish. Now that that is settled maybe you can talk about why it's OK to be selfish. And the correct answer to anyone who understands our social contract society is that selfishness is generally a bad thing for society. So if you are reasonably intelligent, emotionally mature, and make a reasonable amount of money, and choose selfish desires over having children, you are doing society a dis-service.

So rather than have a bunch of opinionated idiots deem me "selfish" I should have kids I don't want? For what purpose? The species is hardly in danger of dying out. In fact, we're highly overpopulated. So why do you need my contribution? And what gives mothers the monopoly on selflessness? I'm no Mother Teresa, but I do think I have a good social conscience and try to do my bit to make the world better. And yet I'm selfish because I don't focus all my time and attention on one child?

Personally I think way too many people reproduce who shouldn't. They have kids for the wrong reasons and then don't raise them well. So why would people who claim to love kids want children to be born to someone who doesn't want them and who knows they would be bad at it?

The one comment I did like came from someone who said that if you want to be really selfless, you need to adopt. Good point.

Musical Justice
Ever want to get back at a corporation that doesn't care? This guy did. Brilliantly.

My New Favorite Cat
Poor Cooper was brought into the shelter after she was hit by a car. She's lost her left eye, and several teeth (so her tongue often hangs out). She really looks like Bill the Cat from "Bloom County." (I'll let you compare the images:


She is, however, so sweet. Every time I have worked with her she has crawled right into my lap and not moved. Today she spent 30 minutes curled up on my lap, leaning her head against my chest and letting me pet her all over. She played a little, but mostly just wanted the love. I kept telling her what a beautiful girl she is. And she really is. I hope someone looks past her first impression to see the gorgeous gray love bug that I just want to take home and protect so that she never has to have another bad day. I really, really, really want her to find a loving home. I'm just sorry it can't be ours.

Photo of the day: This is My Dog

I am proud of my dog.

Photo of the day: Board

Are you as bored as I with sub-acceptable photographs? Between insomnia and cat/kitten duty I never seem to have enough time (or energy) to get out there and take photos. This coming weekend, however, I swear I will. As god is my witness, Scarlet O'Hara will never go hungry again.

Eavesdropping
Overheard at the gas station:
Man on cell phone: I don't know, somewhere on the Peninsula, I needed to get gas. .... No, it's not Palo Alto. I can't see a Starbucks from where I am.

(Apparently no matter where you are in Palo Alto you are in sight of a Starbucks.)

.....
Overheard at the shelter 1:
Woman (looking at kittens): Oh my god, they are so cute. Look, baby, aren't they adorable?
Boyfriend (looking at cell phone): Dude, Leo got a tattoo on his ass. Look (shows phone to girl).

(Personally, I'd rather look at kittens than Leo's ass.)

.....
Overheard at the shelter 2:
Woman, looking at a kitten, to husband: Honey, I've found my birthday present.
Man: Can't I just buy yourself some shoes?

Photo of the day: The Stanford Tree -- Early Stages

Captured this on the Stanford campus. No clue what it is. It looks like a bunch of tiny pine cones. Perhaps it is. But I took this photo over four months ago and cannot recall what it was attached to. A tree? A bush? A giant panda with an iPod?

Two From the Kitten Nursery

This little one is just about ready to go to a foster home. He'll be back and available for adoption soon.

This is Daniel Striped Tiger. He's brand new. I got to snuggle with him today and totally fell in love, in spite of the fact that he, like Cipher, wants to lick my hair.

Photo of the day: Light Effects

I'm not even going to tell you what this is. I just like it.

Pigpen in the Planter

Pigpen, one of our neighborhood cats, loves our side yard. She can often be seen lying on the concrete, her rumpled hair blowing in the breeze, desperately in need of a bath. Poor thing is a mess. Today I discovered that she also likes curling into an unused planter box. Because she's a dirt-gray color, she blends perfectly with the weathered wood and leftover soil.

Photo of the day: Reach for the Sky

A newly-pruned tree sticks its hands up like it's being held up in an old western.

Go Giants!

I took Husband to a Giants game today as a surprise. And I splurged on, as you can see, fabulous seats. Club box, section 207, Row D, seats 1 and 2. When we win the lottery these will be our season's tickets. Best seats I've ever had at a game.

Photo of the day: Independence Day

Happy Fortha July. What are you doing to celebrate? A picnic followed by fireworks? A BBQ with friends? Husband and I are being very American and going to a baseball game where we shall eat hot dogs and watch the Giants. A beautiful day in the sunshine at the most gorgeous ballpark in the US. I will, of course, be dressed like Betsy Ross.

Stream of Unconsciousness
I'm going through a pretty severe insomnia phase and, of course, I'm all out of Ambien. Thanks to the wonders of mail-order pharmacies and tight-fisted insurance companies they won't even begin to process my refill until the 15th. Give it another week for processing and shipping and I'm looking at three more weeks of no sleep. I'm getting about 3 or 4 hours a night, so it's not a total loss. But it's not enough and it's catching up to me.

I'm getting into that phase where the sillies take over. Everything is vaguely hilarious. I feel almost drunk because I'm so goofy and, occasionally, light headed. I kind of like it. Like getting high without all that nasty breaking the law crap. It's actually quite fun, in a completely unhealthy, entirely dysfunctional way. I smile a lot. I'm giddy. God help us, I sing. Today I found myself in the middle of kitten duty singing the theme to "The Muppet Show" to a kitten, only to look up and see the other volunteers staring at me in bemused horror and moving their chairs back ever so slightly. Luckily the kittens didn't seem to mind it. But that self-censoring chip, never very effective in my case anyway, is practically non-existent. Poor Husband. There's no telling what I might do if he takes me out in public this weekend. (Which he will...Giants game on the 4th. Yay!) I don't mean I'm going to rip my shirt off and yell "Do me, Lincecum!" Because, well, eww. But I do tend to say things without thinking even when I do get enough sleep.

Hell, when he introduced me to his boss a few months ago the first thing I said to him was "Hi, do I have to kiss your ass?" I mean what kind of woman says that to her husband's boss? Oh yeah, me.

I don't know how he puts up with me.

Photo of the day: The Music Office

Not ours, but the one at the radio station. It's about the size of a small bathroom and decorated mostly in stickers from bands and labels around the world. Highly colorful chaos, really. It can only hold one person comfortably. Two if you don't mind having to move out of the way a lot. Three and the walls start to close in and the air gets sucked out of the room. But we love it.