Welcome Back My Friend to the Show that Never Ends!

I have so many useless fascinating things to tell you that I absolutely couldn't get started. Pay attention now. Raptly. Pay rapt attention. What a weird word. Where the heck does THAT come from?

Hold on.....I'm looking it up........okay, here it is....."from the latin 'raptus'.....to carry off, seize......synonyms: ecstatic, spellbound, bewitched. Also having to do with a gift giving tradition: 'I rapt your presunt cuz I coodnt find a gift bhag.' Additionally, has been used to describe a mind-numbing form of lyrical quasi-melody - Rapt Music - most glorified through massive misogyny, i.e., 'I get my kicks from beatin' chicks, but only those with a great big booty, who think I'm fine though I got no looty.' "

I may have mixed some usages as well as spellings. Disregard the former directive to pay attention. Do not pay anything in the way of attention. You would be wise to click over to the other blog you wanted to read now.

Do you see how troubled I am?

First, there was the little fact of leaving paradise at 7500 feet in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Remote camping, no one around for miles, days of 65-70 degree weather, pristine air, crisp nights. And then there was driving down the mountain and descending into Hades, aka as Fresno, average summer temperature: 158 degrees. We came in on one of the cooler days at only 108.

After that came my directive to everyone to put everything away that didn't need to be washed.

One sock went into one drawer.

I have four hundred loads of laundry to do. Well, that's a lie. I've done four loads. That makes 396. I'm more encouraged now that I see it in print. Every sleeping bag - and we took eight because there are four of us - and all blankets we've ever owned (and a few I could swear we were only considering at the store) must be de-dirted, de-smoked, de-haired, and de-sapped. De-sgusting. But wait! There's no time for all THAT......hurry and get your daughter to her de-tooth appointment!

But not before you turn in final transcripts to the college! Yes, that's right! How did you forget THAT little tidbit? What? The transcripts I turned in don't include her graduation date? Do you think she did this complete four years and 28 college units just for fun? Doesn't it LOOK like she would have graduated? But of course, we would love to resubmit them in the corrected form, you darling, you (truly, couldn't have been sweeter about it, darn it).

And oh yes!! What was I thinking?! How in the WORLD did I forget to fill out the FAFSA (financial aid) even though we won't qualify for grants and subsidies for college? We are the working middle-class. But I have exactly 12 hours to get it done before the cut-off date for the entire year (and possible exclusion from other scholarship opportunities, you Raving Robynn dunder head!) and I am so happy to sit down and look at financial information for several hours because it's actually my hobby. I love numbers. That's why I'm a writer.

And oh, thank you! A flaming arrow to the eyeball from someone who not-so-subtly criticizes the amount of time I spend writing. To some, it's kind of a useless hobby unless you get paid a gazillion dollars. And you can't get paid a gazillion dollars unless you hone your craft. So I write and duck. Encouragement! It's a gift!

And what's that daughter? But of COURSE we must go shopping for special food you will need for your non-chewing recovery. How did I forget that? This will undoubtedly disqualify me for that "Mom of the Year" award I was coveting.

And yes, you smart-alec dentist billing diva tersely informing me the bill will be more than you originally advised. If you use the term "We alREADY have to write-off our NORMAL charges" one more time, I may remove YOUR teeth without the benefit of anesthesia. Your use of the word "write-off" represents a poor command of the English language and reveals your loose grip on reality. It is, in fact, what you agree to with our insurance company in order to get the business they send your way. It is actually the amount you will receive for doing thirty minutes of work - $1800. That's right - start to finish - anesthesia to empty sockets - thirty minutes - I couldn't believe it when they called my name to collect my daughter. That's $3600 dollars an hour to you and me, Mr. and Mrs. Average Person. If you do not feel $3600 dollars an hour is adequate compensation, please take it up with your boss, the DEVIL. And do not attempt to further admonish me. I am a dangerous woman with 396 loads of laundry waiting at home.

And what? Now? My back goes out? Ice-heat-ice-heat-ice-heat. Housekeeping going rapidly downhill.

And poor daughter! In pain, throwing up, miserable. Ice-ice-ice for daughter. Call the doctor at 11:30 p.m. He is very nice and has no tone. He KNOWS he makes $3600 dollars an hour. He is a happy man.

Of course, my son! Let me drive you to your sleepover! I'm sorry I'm an hour late in delivering you. What was I thinking, doing, annihilating? Let's go! Isn't life exciting?!!! I'm so sorry you can't take the X-Box 360 with you. It costs a lot of money you cannot afford if you should drop it. And your dad and I don't want you playing video games for the ENTIRE visit like you did with your friend at our house last time because you couldn't walk after attempting to remove your complete knee-cap in a wondrous boy adventure! Wasn't that fun?! I sure hope you have ANOTHER one of those marvelous male moments! LOVE YOU! Bye-Bye!!

What daughter? Are your teeth (well, sockets, to be exact) okay? Are you ill? Why are you calling while I'm taking your brother? Oh? We have company coming by? Oh, isn't that just the best? Oh, no really! She's a darling girl and we love her and it is so sweet of her to think of you. But did you buy mommy an hour so I could hose out the house? What? You didn't? Oh, that's alright. Nothing bothers me. I'm so easy-going. I still feel like I'm on vacation!

There you have it. We're all "rapt" up in life just now. And I've been a tad crabby in the sense that an alligator can grow slightly impatient if you continually pull his tail, gouge his eyeballs with a stick, and remove steak from his mouth during the chewing/swallowing process . But I'm moving out..................................OH! of it, OF IT! (sorry I was daydreaming there for a second), and feeling positively effervescent. And I KNEW you'd want to share in my ebullation. Is that a word?

Hold on, I'll check.

POST 100 - Ma & The Younguns Take on The City - Day 2

What do you do when you find yourself in need of a hotel room for the night and you haven't prepared with silly little details like packing? You count on "MacGyver" in the form of your teenage daughter to come up with ideas.

"Hey, that cat box we just bought is still in the trunk. We can throw our junk in there and use it for a suitcase," intones said daughter.

"I'm not walking through the lobby carrying a CAT box," I protest.

"Who cares? They'll never see us again. Who'll know?"

No one, I'm sure.

So here's a picture of our Samsonite Luggage Cat Box. It carried all our c-rap and we put a pillow on top - oh yeah, we had a pillow for the car - and schleped it right through the lobby like the back water, two teeth sportin', overall wearin', knuckle draggers we are.

And if you wanna go to the beach, don't buy pretty little sand and shell buckets. Just use the containers your kids ate their healthy french fries in.

No beach towel for the ocean? No problem. Plant your posterior on a floor mat. It indents pretty little patterns on your backside as a bonus and you'll look like your buns were grilled on a bonfire. That's sorta beachy don't cha think?

When it's time for dinner, go here. Polker Burger is our favorite neighborhood joint in San Francisco. It's on Polk St. if you're ever in the area. Great prices and food good enough to slop down the front of you when you don't have a change of clothing. Anyone who's known me for very long knows I can't eat ANYthing without spilling it on myself. Why not all the more so when what you're wearing is what you will also wear tomorrow?

Shampoo supplied in the room makes great laundry detergent for all your washing needs and the blow dryer works well, too. Kiss yourself right on the lips as you look in the mirror for thinking to wear two tops. Even though one is open and has buttons, the under one, once it's dry, can be slept in. Try to lay really FLAT all night long and maybe no one will know the difference the next day.

Hike the hills and take pictures of places like these. Don't linger too long with your dinner down your front. They'll take you for vagrants and have you hauled off. That might not be bad though. You get three hots and a cot for free.

Have your children, in this case Hannah-Bo and The Wild Man, sit on someone's stoop and look like they live there. We did. But some ultra-fit bicycle metro-sexual dude in his skin tight high-dollar bicycle outfit started scoping out Hannah-Bo. Kept turning around and eyeing her while nearly falling off his bike. We left before she caused an accident. Though it would have been fun to watch.

"The Thinker" here (aka TWM) was actually very close to the Legion of Honor Museum where they have an incredible Rodin exhibit. This happened to be on the deck of the hotel that Grizzly found for us online.......for $87.00. In San Francisco. On the spur-of-the-moment. It's good to have a husband who has worked a lot in this city and knows exactly where to send a stranded wife and kids. If you look really closely - or enlarge the photo - you can see the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.

This sculpture is in front of the building I go to at UCSF. We love the convoluted angles because everything that happens to me here is convoluted.


And don't these buildings look like they're falling toward one another into the middle of the street?

Welcome to the newly rebuilt Museum of Natural Sciences in Golden Gate Park. Now get out.

We weren't here very long when they evacuated us all. About 2,000 of us were escorted rapidly out. Why? We never knew. But I had a jaunty time visiting with the cutest kids from a Chinese private school. They wore plaid skirts (the girls, not the boys) and bright red sweaters. We chatted each other up like old friends and I found out all about their likes and dislikes, school projects, and why they hate uniforms. They didn't even mind about my backwater ways and two teeth (one on the top and one on the bottom fer good chewin'). I would have taken a picture but their parents weren't there to give permission and I'm funny about that with my own kids.

Back inside we visited the aquarium, sat through the MOST amazing Planetarium film, a 3-D movie on the life of bugs, and wandered through a green biosphere filled with birds and butterflies.


These choppers (below) were interesting. I think I should have a big blow-up of them to hang out in the entry way to my study when I'm feeling crabby. That would serve as a warning to all without the use of words. My kids would appreciate the signage, I'm sure. I could have used this warning sign after we visited the museum cafe. Mind you, my only possible carrying case was the Samsonite Cat Box which I truly DID refuse to carry through the museum. Consequently, we had nothing to pack our own lunch in. We were at their mercy.

I do not lie when I tell you they charged NINE.DOLLARS.AND.FIFTY.CENTS for a hamburger bun with cheese and turkey on it. No fries. No anything else. Chips were $2.50 a bag. I am feeding two teenagers here, for Pete's sake. But I wasn't about to be extorted three times over. I cut one sandwich up into three pieces, we shared two bags of chips, and, out of the goodness of their teeny tiny museum hearts, they gave us free cups of water. Then I lectured the kids on the evils of highway robbery, told them to buck up (you should know here.....they had each eaten their weight in free pastries at the hotel continental breakfast not many hours before), and promised to feed them again at a more financially prudent time.

What do you think this is? I have no idea either. But I like the color, shadow, and lines.

We left San Francisco headed east on the Bay Bridge. Halfway across we stopped at Treasure Island. I've always wanted to do this but it's been a Naval Base. It was recently decommissioned which opened it to the public. Every time I pass the exit I say we should stop and investigate. Someone told me you can even camp out there. We took the exit this time (it feels REALLY weird to exit a bridge in the middle of the ocean). As we headed down it became quickly apparent we weren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Criminal types cruised around and looked very scary.

I was thrilled when I saw two police cars with someone pulled over. I stopped and asked the least busy one if it was safe out here with just a woman and two children. He looked dubious and then added cautiously, "Should be okay as long as you don't drive through any neighborhoods or stop the car." Feeling safe and welcome, we left.

But this view of the rest of the Bay Bridge connecting into Oakland was taken from the waterfront area. I don't think we'll be camping here just anytime too soon. But if YOU should decide to, bring your Glock. (Just kidding City of San Francisco! I know you have wonderful prohibitions against law-abiding citizens possessing handguns. Only the thugs of your lovely metropolis and now, apparently, Treasure Island as well, are permitted such favors.)

And when you exit Treasure Island and re-enter the Bay Bridge, you will merge immediately onto the bridge. You will have to go from a dead stop at a stop sign and you will have no merging lane. Traffic travels at around 170mph. Good luck. Plan for this to take two hours to get the guts to take off, and another hour to find a spot to fit into.

Thus concludes our tour. Hope you enjoyed the tutorial on survival and site-seeing in San Francisco. For all it's faults, it's still my favorite city in the world (so far). I hated to say good-bye but I knew we would be back. And maybe next time we'll bring the deluxe, COVERED cat box with the handle on top.

(All photographs courtesty of Hannah-Bo, except where she appears.)

P.S. In my last post, a few of you thought I was asking God to take me home. I really just meant I was ready for him to take away the migraine. I do feel death, in this situation, might be too permanent a solution to this temporary situation. But I'm glad to hear you would miss me!

P.S.S. This was my 100th post in the four months I've been out here. I am amazed that I have yakked on so much and still have so much to write about. Not a lot to SAY, mind you, but a lot I'll be writing. Thank you ALL for hanging with me this long. You're the BEST!

Copyright 2009

A Bear Market - Epilogue

To read all the previous chapters of "A Bear Market," click here: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 and Chapter 3
Hello there. Jojo here. Your canine correspondent. My motto: I will dig as deep as I have to for the truth or a moldy rotten bone - whichever comes first.

It has been on my heart, and weighin' heavy, that lately some things in the truth department have been twisted and bent, or left out altogether and frankly, I'm disgusted. Nice people like you outta be told when they're havin' their chains yanked. There are heroes livin' here who aren't appreciated or even recognized. I'm not namin' names but I think you'll recognize a hero when you see one. I'll let you in on what's REALLY goin' on behind the scenes and set the record straight.

You all probably know my mom's been laid up. What you probably DON'T know is I've been the one keepin' it all together for her. And I'm doin' it in spite of the fact that she has completely ignored the dog's-honest-truth about those bears and the role certain parties played. But abuse has never allowed me to shirk my duty. So first, here's what's goin' on around the house.

I think it's plain to see by this hopeless look on my face that I have my hands full. And let the record show that I am only layin' on the couch to keep that hooligan, Minky, off of it. Dogs aren't supposed to be on the couch around here and I will lay here as long as I need to, to keep her off.

Because not only is she gettin' her out-of-control self up ON the couch, she's stealin' my dad's coffee cup right out of his work bag. The fool dog likes coffee. No one can leave a cup of it sittin' around anywhere but that she's got her fat schnoz stuck right in there and drinkin' it. If I hadn't caught the culprit right in the action, my dad woulda grabbed this out in the mornin' never knowin' she had drug her lollin' tongue all over it. And she tries to pull off this real innocent look while she's in the middle of the crime!

She even tried to steal his cup and drag it away where she could have coffee all by herself. And you know once you start drinkin' alone it's really all over with. I believe she has all the makins of a bonafide juvenile delinquent. But nobody cares much for what I have to say. Even about bringin' her home. They even tried to tell me she was for me, a present of sorts, to keep me young. Wow. Some kinda present. Apparently, makin' a list is pointless. But movin' along.....

While all this was goin' on, I was tryin' to take care of my mom. She was just layin' around lookin' all dejected and miserable. And though she hasn't been fair with me about some things I'm gettin' ready to tell you, I can't help but treat her honorably 'cause that's just who I am. I went to her bed and took her this:


Now if that's not one fine specimen of a good, broken-in bone that anyone in her right mind would love, I don't know what is. But did she chew it? No, she just said, "Ew! Get that disgusting thing off of my blanket!" and threw it on the floor. I took this abuse and turned the other cheek. I just knew my next idea would do the trick.

The doc always tells you to have a lot of water when you're sick so, I led her to the toilet and told her to get a drink. She just looked at me and then sat down on my water bowl. Nice.

I racked my brain and came up with the suggestion we go to the park and told her she could roll around in that nice poop I found over there the other day. I did. It was great. But with her? No sale. She's even still mad at me for jumpin' in. The woman canNOT be comforted. And frankly, I'm outta ideas. So, I figured, I'd post for her and give her a break and, in so doing, I would tell you the truth about the bears and my sleepin' habits.

I read the bad press I got about not waking up when I'm called or when things are going on. This is ridiculous. You need to know that I slept through her calling me when I was in bed with The Wild Man that night, because it is good for her to practice not gettin' so hysterical. I knew she wanted me but she needs to relax and learn to handle her panic better. I wasn't gone. I hadn't run away or been dognapped. And when I heard all that caterwallin' I decided then and there: that is NOT healthy. So I just kept my eyes closed and played dumb. I'm sure you can see my good work and motivation here.

And as far as sleeping through the bear, that was exaggerated, too. I knew the bear was out there! If I had growled or barked, these people of mine would have gotten up and tangled with them. I was trying to keep it quiet. What's a little car damage when your family is at risk? No one gives me any credit for having good sense.

And not only did they not give me credit, they put me in the minivan and went back to bed! I was NOT afraid. I WAS afraid that pitiful excuse for Yogi and her bratty kids wouldn't come back and let me tear a souvenir out of their backsides. That's the look my family saw on my face. It had nothing to do with the smell of bear in there. In fact, I was able to stand on the door handle, open the door, and head out to hunt those mangy maulers the rest of the night. We had a few serious tangles and I left them bloody and horrified. When I was satisfied they wouldn't come back for the night, I got back in the van and conked out. These people will never know what I did for them because I'm not one to brag on myself.

The next night it was me leading the charge in the bear hunt. I tried to drag Grizzly the right way but you can't tell him anything. He's got a gun and a flashlight. Apparently, that trumps guts, a nose, and pure brawn. I don't need a gun. I hate guns. I bark and try to tell him they're dangerous. I've hated them ever since he and The Wild Man got Nerf guns for Christmas when I was only a couple of years old. How I got caught in the cross-fire I'll never know but I had to take a bullet for both of them. And they want me to be excited about this craziness.

I got drug in all the wrong directions the whole night. And all the while Yogi was stalking my mother. I know it was a vendetta for my activities the night before. That she-bear knew I was out looking for her in all the wrong places and she had plans to digest my mother figure. Thank goodness my mom heard that wicked thing behind her and I was able to bark and charge forward. It was my sheer ferocity that saved her but, you didn't hear it from me.

Anyway, I'll get back to figuring out how to help her out around here. I thought about saving her some of my dog food this morning but that seriously challenges all I know to be sacred. I had one piece left....I even took a picture of it and sat for a long time givin' it some serious thought......


And then I remembered how she spun this story against me. She'll just have to do without MY dog food. That'll show her. I'll keep you posted if I see any more flagrant lying.




And don't worry. You'll ALWAYS get the straight story from me.

From Jojo - The HONEST one.

A Bear Market - Part 3

We still had another night to go. We knew they'd be back. And they were. This time we would be waiting for them. So would Bear Bait.

We slept restlessly but the kids slept great. They were a little miffed when they woke up and realized what had happened and no one woke them. JoJo was a little miffed, too. And a lot older. But the kids had fun checking out the mess and JoJo hit pay dirt eating what the bears had left behind.

We saved what food we could. They had left two packages of Little Debbie Snack Cakes completely untouched. That should tell you something about Little Debbie. Grizzly was happy. He had breakfast. But we had to make a grocery run. We found enough left to snack around on for the kids and I but by lunchtime, everyone wanted real food. We decided to hit the dining establishment at Huntington Lake before we headed to town.

We drug ourselves into the Lakeshore Lodge restaurant looking like we'd just stepped off the set of "Deliverance." I think the Wild Man was even missing some teeth at the time. And Hannah Bo and I have exceptional hair. Get it dirty, add a little moisture and you can see the family resemblance between us and Albert Einstein who gave "big hair" a whole new meaning. We had been camping for six days with only baby wipes for pretend baths. We beat our clothes and dusted off but the fact of the matter was, we were disgusting.

We just didn't care.

We chatted up the waitress who tried to serve us from as far away as her arm would let her. We ate heartily and tipped well. It was the least we could do. And as I've been known to say, I always try to do the least I can do.

Our full bellies gave us renewed energy and we began to plot and plan for the evening events we knew were coming. We stopped by the campground offices which were down the road and across a main bridge. We found out there had been another bear incident. A guy had left dog food in his truck and mama bear bashed the window in and sent the kids after the goods. It made us glad we had forgotten to roll up the window. At least it wasn't broken. But, now that they knew the food was inside, they wouldn't let a window stop them. The ranger said to expect them. Maybe smart people would have gone home at this point but we have never been mistaken for smart people. Besides, we wanted to squeeze the life out of our last day. We weren't about to hand it over to a bear or three.

We grabbed enough grub to get us through another night, including marshmallows, hot chocolate, and coffee. Our plan included sitting around the campfire long enough to let them head for the car and then we would chase them off. If we had to sit up half the night in the cold, we at least wanted to be fortified with caffeine and sugar.

We convinced the Wild Man he had to go to bed by ten. He was eight at the time so his droopy eyelids helped seal the deal, and Lassie was more than willing to climb to the bottom of his sleeping bag and keep his feet company. But Hannah Bo was determined to make it all night. She had always been a night owl and this was worth staying up for. Grizzly had a plan and excitement was in the air.

Grizzly frequently has plans.

There was another camping trip, this one out in the wilderness of the National Forest, with no one around for miles. We were getting overrun by mice. We didn't know it until a few days later but someone had dumped some garbage near our site weeks earlier. It had become a mouse haven. We found HB's purple knitted gloves with the fingers chewed out. When we opened the engine compartment of the van, we found a little purple glove nest on top of the battery. The mice ran up and down our tent trailer in the night. The pitter-patter of little feet kept us up and aggravated. Grizzly was done.

He sat outside the next night with his shotgun in one hand and his night vision monocular in the other. Meanwhile, I laid on the bed with a three-year-old Wild Man, sound asleep, and a very excited Hannah Bo wearing her dad's gun muffs clamped on to her head. He would yell, "Ready?" and I, in my gun muffs with my hands pressed over Wild Man's ears, would yell back, "Go Ahead!" and we'd hear the roar of the shotgun's report. This happened about six times. Grizzly would watch for movement through the monocular and then blast away at the mice. It worked...uh...great.

The next morning it was evident that the world was now safe from folding chairs. They were shot to heck and were the only thing he hit. The mice rebuilt the nest on the battery the next day.

So we were primed, once again, to take on our latest forest nemesis. Grizzly would be armed in case things went terribly south but there would be no shooting. We just wanted to keep them from destroying our car and show them they couldn't bully their way in everywhere and damage property. It seemed like a humanitarian mission. We had pots and pans and noise makers. We would honk the horn and scream and yell.

Wild Man drifted off to sleep and the three of us hunkered down around the fire. The campground grew dark and quiet. It wasn't well populated because it was mid-week and off-season. A few fires could be seen in the distance but they slowly flickered out. Our conversations grew fewer and more hushed as the night crawled slowly into the wee morning hours. No signs. No sounds. Grizzly grew restless. He felt eyes boring into him but couldn't see anything. He decided to scout the perimeter and weave in and out of the trees. HB wanted to stretch and go with him. They grabbed the night vision monocular, with JoJo at their heel, and headed out.

I wasn't about to leave my son or the car so, with my .38 snuggled deep in my pocket, I pulled my parka in tighter, my hood up farther, and tucked down into my chair (one without shotgun pellet holes). And I waited. All that could be heard was the occasional pop or crackle of the campfire. At times I would hear or see my three bear hunters working their way through the trees. Eventually they would come back, wait for a bit, and then head out again. Grizzly was getting frustrated. There was just no sign. He absolutely knew the minute we hit the sack they would be at the van. I mentioned that mama could have easily treed herself and the babies and be watching them every time they passed underneath, and they would never know. That gave him a new mission: scouting out trees with the flashlight while he hunted.

The hours drug on and 5:00a.m. approached. We thought maybe we would see daylight before we turned in. Grizzly decided to make one last trip through the forest. Hannah Bo and JoJo set out with him. With my chin resting on my chest I fought sleep. My bones had turned to columns of ice and I wasn't sure I could move if the need presented itself. I found out I could.

Off in the far distance I saw the sweep of the flashlight and knew the posse was headed back for camp. At the same moment I noted a sound right behind my chair. My eyes shot open wide and the hair on my neck stood up. I froze. Was that just a little animal making its way through the underbrush? Don't panic. Then came a very heavy footfall an arms length from me. I screamed and jumped from my chair. By that time, Grizzly was within shouting distance up the road in front of me.

"It's okay!" he yelled. "It's just us!"

"No it's not!" I cried out.

Thunderous paws ran down the hill behind me as I turned to watch.

"She was right here! Right behind my chair!" I shrieked. And she vanished into the forest depths.

The breeze had been blowing gently toward me and she hadn't caught my scent. I was downwind. My dark green parka had blended in perfectly with the night. I have no doubt she never saw me. But the jig was up. We scared each other to death, equally.

Dawn was a short time away and we all crawled into our sleeping bags, exhausted. We were confident she wouldn't be back with so little darkness left. It would be long enough to give us a few hours of sleep. We drifted off finally, warm, snuggly, and dim-wittedly victorious.

I have no doubt there is a bear out there right now, with a blog, telling all her readers about how she almost ate a woman once instead of a Ding Dong.......because the description applied so perfectly to both.

Copyright 2009

A Bear Market - Part 2

I wasn't prepared for what I saw next.

The whole van was rockin' like a frat house on Friday night.

Two cubs were inside while the mama stood on her hind legs, face pressed to the window pointing out the items she wanted them to throw out to her. They had entered through the driver's side window but she was too big and fat to fit. I feel her pain. But you can never be too fat if you're a bear. They don't spend anytime feeling badly about themselves because they don't fit in windows. In fact, they do this thing called "hyper feeding." It happens as winter is coming on and they will eat as many as 20,000 calories a day in preparation for hybernation. I think I did that last time I went to Baskin Robbins. I don't think I hybernated but I'm pretty sure I lapsed into a coma for a few days.

Now, you may wonder, "Why in the world did you two idiot dingbats leave the window open on your car?" And you would be perfectly right in your succint inquiry. That's why I hang out with you.

Here's how that happened. Grizzly went to bed first, with the kids. He figured I'd make sure everything was secure for the night, being the mom and all. I was staying up for a bit to sit by the fire with the dogs and have quiet time. I figured he, being the man and all, would secure our perimeters before turning in. So naturally, neither one of us did anything. We frequently work well together like this.

We had heard there were some bears around and half the sites had lock boxes. Ours didn't. We were told to keep food out of sight. Not a problem. We always kept everything in camping boxes anyway. Just so you know for your own personal information: a camping container to a bear is like gift wrapping a box of See's candy. It just heightens the thrill anticipating the creamy center.

As we looked out the tent we could see the bears having a heydey in the van. One of the cubs had thrown a bottle of cooking oil out to mom and she had ripped off the the top half and poured its greasy goodness down her throat, over her face, and onto her paws. She then pressed that same big fat face up against the windows of the van, along with plate-sized paws, and left lovely pressed-art pictures of herself.

The ground was littered with crackers, chips, pop tarts, flour, butter, pancake mix, and syrup. All of the items were in various states of having been demolished or devoured. I must interject that we do not normally keep all this c-rap around our home and I am an organic cook most of the time. However, camping requires copious amounts of Death Food in Boxes. (Sounds like a good name for a band.)

Grizzly ran out into the freezing night yelling and clanging pot lids. Of course the guns could not be fired. This is California. Guns are just for looks in a campground. You can't shoot bears or discharge a weapon. If we had left the guns in the car then the bears could have legally shot us, sat in our chairs, smoked a cigarette (not that we had any but they travel with them), and slammed back a beer to wash down the Ding Dongs.

But we hadn't left the guns in the car so the master mind of the heist ditched the babies and took off into the trees. The cubs scrambled around inside the van hunting their escape hatch, the window, and then bailed out as fast as their bloated bodies would carry them. The dogs were now awake. Reluctantly. I know I keep saying dogs and have only mentioned JoJo. Our other dog du jour was Lassie. Now Lassie was a four pound chihuahua who never really belonged with our family. My persuasive aunt had talked us into keeping this walking snack food but chihuahuas are not exactly your great-outdoors camping types. She spent most of her time in the mountains shaking and praying for death to overtake her. (We have since rehomed her with my aunt where she is receiving therapy for post traumatic stress disorder.)

With the bears out of sight we lifted the back hatch and surveyed the damage. It looked like a bomb had gone off in a Walmart. Camping boxes were ripped in half (what the heck? All they had to do was lift the lid, for Pete's sake!). Same for the ice-chest. Top removed at the hinges and it wasn't even locked. Bloody meat packages lay with only hints of what they once contained. Flour was everywhere. Bear hair hung from the ceiling. Bear musk hung on the air. Puncture holes decorated the interior and my emergency brake, now flattened out, had reported for its last emergency.

We knew they were watching from the perimeter. It was three a.m. We didn't want our car destroyed. What would YOU do? I know what we did. We swept off a spot on the back seat, rolled up the windows, and called JoJo to lay there and do guard duty until the light of day. She would forever after be known affectionately as "Bear Bait." You've never seen a dog with bigger eyes than one who is about to be left by herself in a car that smells like a bear is sleeping in there with her. I'm not sure we made the right decision. JoJo is positive we didn't. But the car was safe. At least for the rest of that night.

We still had another night to go. We knew they'd be back. And they were. This time we would be waiting for them. So would Bear Bait.

To Be Continued........

Copyright 2009

A Bear Market - Part 1

If a bear is in the forest and eats everything in your car, do your dogs hear it?

I'm thinking about that this morning after reading a post at From Single to Married in which she talks about her good watch dog. No one loves their dogs more than I love mine but, the reality is, JoJo is only incensed about people breathing or moving when she's wide awake. When she's asleep, all bets are off.

I once called Jojo to give her a hug goodnight. The rest of the inmates here at the asylum had already bunked down. No Jojo. I called again. Nothing. I searched from room to room and called outside, up and down the street. MIA. I shook the over-sized bed bugs out of their sheets and mounted a posse. I didn't want to panic alone. Flip flops were employed. Car engines started. Frantic hollering commenced. No Jo. In one final moment before complete bedlam prevailed, my son, the Wild Man, threw his covers around looking for his coat. There was Jo, tucked in, eyes rolled back in her head, sound asleep, and oblivious. She lifted heavy lids and peered out just long enough to say, "HeLLO. I was warm. Could you knock it off and put the blanket back?!"

It was just this type of edge-of-your-seat, sound-the-alarm guarding that allowed a mother bear, and her two cubs, to grocery shop in our car one night while we were camping.

I don't know about you but I think most moms sleep with one ear open from the minute the doctor says, "It's a girl! Or a boy!" Dads, on the other hand, tend to only wake up in the middle of the night when you, sleep deprived and weary from nursing the baby, roll over and latch that baby on to HIS chest. If you haven't tried this, you should.

Thus, my now normal sleep state is to hear dust collecting on the furniture. And when you are camping in the black of night, in the middle of the forest, and you hear a "thunk" in your sleep, even though neither of your two watch-less dogs perk up an ear, and your husband snores on in near comatose disregard, you trust your gut.

"Grizzly.....did you hear that?"

Now, I have to tell you that Grizzly may sleep like the dead but the moment there is an opportunity to use flashlights, guns, knives, bazookas, or inter-gallactic missiles, he is awake. Immediately. And armed.

"What'd you hear?!" he instantly interrogated.

"Well, I don't know but I just thought I heard a "thunk" outside, by the car," I stated cautiously as he seared my retinas with his flashlight. Now he was ripping open the zipper on the tent.

"Robynn, stay where you are," he ordered, staring through the door flap. "There are bears in the car." It would seem relevant, at this point, for you to know the dogs still weren't barking and were, in fact, snoring right beside the kids.

Now the statement, "There are bears in the car" is not a sentence I had ever considered forming or hearing. So I had never presupposed my response. I did, however, immediately know it did not include staying where I was. I don't tend to run away from things that scare me anyway; I run toward them because being scared just makes me spitting mad. And I had children to protect. And Cheetos. And Hostess Ding Dongs.

What I wasn't prepared for was what I saw next.......

To Be Continued......

Copyright 2009

"I'd Like to Thank All The Big People"

I am the proud recipient of the "Honest Scrap Award." I was nominated by Libby, of Neas Nuttiness. She took me under her wing when I decided to merge onto the blogger freeway and has been pointing me in all the right directions. She bragged on me to her friends and sent several of them my way by raving about a posting and linking it from her site. They became followers and friends, too. How do you top that? And she only met me here. (Okay, that may explain a lot. She doesn't know me well enough yet to run the other way...)

The Rules:

The honorees are to:A) first list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!) and B) pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap.

Thank you, Libby, for this award and I'll try to come up with ten things people might not know but would want to, though they may change their minds. My life's been pretty bizarre and a whole bunch of it wouldn't be fit for a family page but, I'll take a shot.

1. I once sang for the funeral of a beloved older woman in our church. I was very saddened by her passing so I was appropriately somber and subdued as I performed. I was also impeccably clothed with my dress on backwards. It was a two-piece number, skirt and top, and I had no idea until the pastor's ten-year-old daughter asked me afterwards why the pockets of the shirt were on the back. Yes, I performed like this. No, the bonfire wasn't that big when I burned the dress.

2. When I met my husband I was camping in the high Sierras by myself. Well, sort of. I had my big ol' dog, Buck, and a 38. Jamie was camping alone too, sort of....he had his big ol' dog, Hooter (don't ask), a 357, a 22, and a shotgun. He watched me from afar as I pitched a tent big enough for six people (hey, I like comfort). He was straightening out the sheet he'd slung over a rope and nailed to the ground on four corners. (He hates it when I describe his pup tent this way but it's my blog so I get to take liberties!) Mind you, he didn't introduce himself until my tent construction was all done. This should have been a sign to me. It wasn't. Twenty-two years later we're still camping together, happily so most of the time, and we haven't shot each other yet. I'm not sure if that testifies to our markmanship or not having enough ammunition at the right time.

3. I have homeschooled my children from the very beginning and I'm getting ready to graduate my oldest. I think the Peace Corp had homeschoolers in mind when they coined the slogan, "It's the Hardest Job You'll Ever Love." The best and worst thing about homeschooling is being with your children 24 hours a day. You also don't get to blame those doggone teachers for your kids' bad habits and for everything they don't know. They imitate you. Oh dear Lord. I have created far more questions about how to do this right than I have ever formulated answers. There are lots of right ways (don't ever let some demi-goddess tell you differently) but there are a few real doozy ways to mess it up. Being so in love with your children that you don't see what needs fixing and having the guts to do it, would top the list. These are the shin kickers, the smart mouths, the disdainful, the sullen. If you have children like that and aren't heartily applying yourself to the fix, save yourself the trouble of knocking because I'm almost positive I'm not home.

4. When I was six-months-old I was given up for adoption by my father when my mother went into the hospital for five months. When she got out she wanted to know where in the heck I was and brought me back home. I'm still pondering whether or not that was a good decision but the next fifteen years would give me enough material to fill a couple of books.

5. I left home at fifteen - for good.

6. I have cleaned motel rooms and other people's toilets and eventually went to college and became a sales rep, and then manager, for a consumer products manufacturer for nine years. I saw places I had only dreamt of: New York City, Toronto, Niagra Falls, both coasts of Florida several times, the beautiful Arizona desert, among other places. I met one of my (still) very best friends on my first trip to New York. We were both dating James Reillys who were younger than us. Hers became part of ancient history. Mine is in the livingroom building a computer for our son. Most of the time he's glad it worked out this way.

7. I have snorkeled off the coast of Kaua'i in the pitch blackness of night with only a flashlight, my husband, and my children. We did have a six-inch knife to protect us from "Jaws" and the depths of the ocean's unseen horrors. We lived through the inky blackness, saw a beautiful bright orange octopus, tons of fish, of course, and snorkeled there several more times in the light of day. Two weeks later a fourteen-year-old little surfer girl had her right arm severed by a shark right where we'd been. We were also 1/2 mile out when they issued a Tsunami warning after an 8.0 earthquake hit Japan. We never knew until we got back in. The Tsunami never came but if it had we'd have been hanging a lot more than ten.

8. I sang before I could talk. I love music. I play rhythm guitar and sang in different country music bands for ten years when I was younger. I've been to Nashville and hung out at Tootsie's Orchid Lounge and Ernest Tubb's Record Shop. My big break there fell through due to an unscrupulous manager and I didn't have the heart to stick it out alone and keep pluggin'. Would I have made it? Hey, I did make it. Best gig I ever had was singing my babies lullabies and I ALWAYS wanted babies.

9. I once fell off my horse from not properly securing her bareback saddle. She cut a tight corner and I cut a fine picture sliding right underneath her belly for my graceful dismount. I don't know who got more scared but she put on quite a Wild West Show with hooves and teeth and tail and mane all flying in every direction. When it was over I'd seen a lot of horse but I never sustained so much as a broken fingernail. God determined it was not my day for facial reconstruction.

10. I love animals. I have had dogs, cats, birds (wild and domestic), horses, fish, snakes, spiders, rats, rabbits, chickens, sheep, and even insects (not counting fleas). I have been puked on, loved on, pooped on, and slept on. I have been elbow deep fishing a thermometer out of a horse's behind (who knew they just get sucked in?) and I have operated on a couple of critters in a pinch. My life must include them in order to keep me sane. Oh...and I MUST have mountains. I live at the base of the Sierras and I wish I lived 7000 ft. higher. I can never see them enough or smell them enough and, if I'm ever rich, that's where I'll live and write - in a comfy log cabin with a cheery fire, a cat on my keyboard, and a dog at my feet. When I die I want to be cremated and scattered there so I can become one with the trees, the duff, the rocks, the woods. As every mile of pavement or dirt road leads me deeper into the mountains, I feel as though I'm heading home. Everywhere else has just been a place to visit. When The Lord comes and sounds the last trump, He will know where to find what's left of me: dead or alive.

Ross Meadow

Dinkey Creek Road

Tamarck Meadow - Hunter and JoJo

Courtright Reservoir Area
Toward the West from Pine Ridge

Kings Canyon near John Muir Lodge
Northern California Redwood Forest

Oregon Caves Chateau - We were the only family there one night
Near Wawona in Yosemite

Some of the places I love the most......

Now I'm supposed to pass on this award to 7 bloggers that I think fit the spirit of the "Honest Scrap", so I am passing it on to a few who have already received it but I feel they deserve it again, if only for honorary purposes, and a few who haven't received it as far as I know:

Libby of Neas Nuttiness: This goes back to her because she cared enough to invest time in me and try to get others to do the same. She is real, honest, extremely caring, and we make each other laugh. She also writes about interesting things and takes risks. And she goes out walkin', after midnight (even if it's just in the house), like me 'n Patsy Cline, another insomniac apparently.

Tatersmama: She lets it all hang out and in the funniest ways. She's never afraid to tell it like it is while still finding the silver lining in everything, and she'll help you find it, too, and cheer you up with her beautiful colors. She also brings a tear to my eye when she tells me she spews her morning coffee while reading my blog. That's poetry, that's what that is.

A Cowboy's Wife: She is a kickin', stompin', scrap of a woman who'll make you laugh and cry with her upfront tell-it-like-it-is style. She's hard-scrabble and you'd want her on your side in a dark alley or while enduring a broken heart, 'cause she'd get it and she wouldn't run away and she might even clean your kitchen. She's organized. I wish she lived a LOT closer. I'd give her a heart attack and a lot to do. Boy, I bet she'd jump at a chance like that.

Gizzards & Calf Fries: I follow her around reading her posts to others because they make me bust up and split a seam. I started following her and she can't get rid of me. She takes the most beautiful pictures and she's a darlin' girl. You just gotta go look at her. But be careful: she photographs the south end of north bound cows.

Tetertot's: Reginia has been a friend for a long time and has the most generous spirit and humblest of hearts. She's devoted to whatever God calls her to. She could be really stuck up (but of course she's not) because she sings better than just about anybody. She's gotta be tired of the saying "The Voice of an Angel" because that's how we all describe her. And these are her bad points. Her blog is real and about her life and the wonderful children she has every right to be proud of: her beautiful (inside and out) daughters and her son who is proudly serving his country in the Marines.

Linda at Another Piece of the Pie: If you haven't seen the cup Linda's husband bought her while in Salt Lake City then I'm not saying anything else. She is so creative and funny and is always such an encouragement. She also takes great close-up pics and makes the everyday seem fascinating.

Lori She doesn't post as often but when she does it's like a storybook and, as we've been friends for years, I love her subject matter (kiddos, grandbaby, and friends) very much. Her and her husband should write volumes because they are gifted wordsmiths....and musicians.....and singers......I only hang out with the best. Follow them around very long and they'll lead you right to the heart of Christ.

So there you have it. I strongly encourage you to check these people out. And when you do, drop them a line in their comment sections. It means SO much to hear from people and it takes so little time to carve your initials in their blog. If you are a friend of mine and I didn't nominate you it's not because I didn't want to. I have another award I received and you are sure to show up there when I pass it on.

Copyright 2009