Thursday Evening Purchases

The handlers heard about a family that was in the midst of separating property for an eventual divorce. The final pieces that they were selling were garden tools, BBQ tools, the last of the spring garden (chard, parsley...), a chicken (freshly plucked and frozen yesterday), and really anything else that they were interested in. They left me sleeping on my favorite chair and headed out about 5pm.

Now...if you have followed this blog closely, you understand two things:
1. This family doesn't waste anything, so if they can stop it from being left at the dump, they will.
2. If the price is right, they have learned to make spur of the moment purchases and forget the comparisons with every other possible divorce that may be happening in the departamento (whoa...get outta here!).

Methodically, Male Handler (MH) picked a few select tools that would be of benefit. He also acquired an assortment of home-grown seeds, from acelga (chard) to zanahoria (carrots), and some deadly pellets for ants to bring back to their home and share with their nest-mates. He also asked for an old motorbike tire that was hanging from a ceiling hook. In between all this methodical selection, he kept eyeing the goats that were grazing by the vegetable garden.

An hour later while heading home, there was a bit of stunned silence, broken only by the bleating of a goat in the back of the van. Chochi, as she was called by the previous owners, was welcomed into the family Thursday night. Chochi is very pregnant, and due about the time of the next full moon.

Plant a seed...

Negra delivered! If you remember back to July and August, we mentioned a few times that Hector and Suzanna had a cow that was pregnant. As of Sunday late afternoon, Negra was quite large. Seriously large. Well, Hector found a little delight come Monday morning: a negrita already cleaned up and on her feet. So the handlers had to go see the new baby and congratulate the grandparents Monday evening. Mama Negra made sure they didn’t get too close.

 A friend of the handlers is returning for a visit. Bill had business in July across the river in Buenos Aires, but came over on the ferry for a day to stay the night at the ranch (our previous place). He brought a bag of goodies consisting of all sorts of seeds. You’d think he had brought a suitcase of tuna by the way the Handlers reacted to the gift. So apparently Bill is scheduled back in Buenos Aires in late October and he’s going to come over to see the farm, and hopefully spend longer than 24 hours with us. His only three requests were: 1) warmer weather, 2) to see some progress on the seeds that he brought over in July, and 3) hold the volcano ash (which delayed his July return flight to Houston by a day). That has prompted some action on the handlers’ part because:

• That would mean that they’ve decided on what they are going to plant
• Deciding on what they were going to plant required carefully comparing the seed packet options to what was already grown locally in abundance
• Before the seeds could be planted, the soil needed to be worked over
• Working the soil required picks, shovels….
• Purchasing the picks and shovels required weeks of research and cost comparisons.

(If this reminds you of the 1985 children’s book by Laura Numeroff,  If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, I have made my point clear. For those of you who don’t know this book…you must get it. Everything this household does is another potential story for Ms.Numeroff).

But the good news is that the pressure of showing SOMETHING to Bill prompted a spur of activity that I could really only compare to the moment last March when FH told MH that the North Carolina house was being listed on the market the following Thursday…

A shovel was purchased a couple of weeks ago. This was settled on relatively quickly as there is only one style shovel offered in the entire departamento and even MH saw the ridiculousness of asking his parents to bring one in December when they were scheduled to visit. Although it serves its intended purpose (of shoveling), it was surely designed by a person who was only 4ft tall. A used pick was purchased this past Wednesday from a nearby seller of antiques. And….a wheelbarrow was purchased yesterday. I’m kidding you not! Today FM got to work turning the soil one last time and then sowed seeds that will eventually amount to….

4 Zebra Tomatoes

3 Thai Basils

13 Thai Chilis

9 Dills

MH’s only comment in between his never-ending grass clipping was  … “Isn’t that a lot of dill?” FH patiently explained that not everything planted needs to be eaten. 

What defines "Happiness"?

"Happiness" is relative, naturally. Here are a few examples of happiness slapping us silly these past two weeks.

-          The ability to hunt freely an infinite supply of birds and rodents. Of course, this occupies the majority of my waking hours outside. And when I do decide to come in—sometimes after dark--the handlers won’t let me in until they have checked for any live treats that may be caught between my teeth.  Only once did I manage to get in the door with one. Instead of the accolades that I expected to receive, there was much cursing and broom swatting. 

-          Collecting manure. This one has to be explained to me, because I just don’t get it at all. For the past two weekends the handlers have been working on prepping the vegetable garden. The soil in these parts is incredibly dense (the owner of the olive grove next door has used this same soil to make his own bricks). The previous owners had a horse that grazed at the back end of the property--a cool, grassy expanse that slopes down to a stream. It’s actually a wonderful place with willows that are leafing out.  To get down there is quite a haul. I voice my discontent, but feel it is my duty to accompany the handlers. I am easily distracted, though, when my nose twitches at the scent of a rabbit. When I do catch up to Female Handler (FH), I find her blissfully squatting, picking up dried horse manure and putting it in a large Tata bag (a supermarket here in Uruguay) because Male Handler (MH) hasn’t yet provided her a wheelbarrow (he is on week 3 of wheelbarrow quality and cost comparison). And she even hums while she does this … until she handles a piece that is not so dried.

-          Wireless. Even I as a feline know the joy this has brought to the Handlers. They finally got the right adaptors and service to make the house up on a hill seemingly far, far away from “civilization”, overlooking vineyards, olive groves, soy fields, and their own almond orchard…wireless. Thank you, Motorola and Canopy, for making this possible. FH’s longtime childhood friend, Shawn, video skyped FH on her Ipad on Friday (obviously an Ipad 2). FH promised to give her a tour of the house on their next chat.

-          Good Feng Shui. You may wonder what felines know about good Feng Shui. We know considerably more than humans. Felines will hone in on the comfort spots of a home faster than an egret can pick a tick off a water buffalo. 

      When we moved in less than a month ago, we couldn’t see the front door. It was hidden by an overgrown jasmine vine and two nests. I took care of the nest inhabitants…so now it was time for MH to get after the vine such that I could actually use the front door. He attacked it this past week by clipping it back and weaving the stems around the crossbeam of the front porch. Given that we are only in the early stages of spring, it’ll bounce back quickly. 

 

-          Sharp Clippers. It took 3 weeks of evaluation, but finally MH bought a pair of grass clippers this week. He’s so thrilled with his purchase that he’s currently attending to the large tufts of grass that dot the property, delaying the inevitable call to Fabian to bring in his tractor. If MH were to trim the whole 12 acres himself, I expect he would still be clipping come Thanksgiving.

 More spring pictures…

  

 

Knocker-less

Being out in the country, there really is no need for fancy knockers or door knobs of the kind we found in town. It doesn’t mean that we don’t miss them… In order not to be consumed with our lack of even a rudimentary knocker, Female Handler will post a few pictures of the ones in town.

Out and About … and Back

Clackety-clack…clackety-clack-clack-clack…clack…clackety-clack-clack-clack…  So goes, every weekday, the staccato clatter of the Female Handler’s fingers upon her computer keyboard.  The sound, come to think of it, is of similar cadence and timbre to the first spray of raindrops from a roiling storm as they pelt, tentatively, on a corrugated steel roof.  No human, it seems, is immune to the romance of the pitter-patter of rain.  Being a cat, I regard it as merely one more thing to sleep through.  And how could I not when FH only encourages this activity (if that’s the right word) by keeping a feline-sized blanket spread on the upper right corner of her desk!  And being the sensitive soul that I am, how could I ever upset her by ignoring her attentions to me?  I’ve got it good here.  Let me tell you, nothing aids the digesting of the previous night’s adult capybara quite like a 9-to-5 siesta.

One day last week FH was gone; something about needing to go across the river to chat with clients. Siestas on the desk aren’t the same when she’s not around. She leaves me in the care of Male Handler. While his intentions and attentions are good, they are not of the same caliber as FH’s. Instead of doting on me all day as should be his first priority...he takes advantage of having the car all to himself, after dropping FH off at the ferry terminal, and goes shopping.

What I’ve heard about any shopping experience with MH is that it requires the patience of Mother Teresa. MH reads each and every label, compares size, volume, thickness, strength, whether he can repurpose the container once the contents are used and then …compares prices at not just one store, but all that are available in the departamento (county). To buy a single dish sponge requires two weeks of comparison shopping. In the meantime, guess who’s getting more and more frustrated as she washes the dishes…

On this particular shopping excursion, while he was crouched in the cleaning-supplies aisle of Precio Mas Bajo (a grocery store) intently examining--as though for ticks--the various brooms, squeegees, and scrub brushes on offer, a store patron asked him (in Spanish—the nerve!) where she might find such-and-such.  Not catching the name of the article that she was looking for, even after asking her to repeat herself, he acquitted himself with a curt “No sé” (“Dunno”).  Moments later, the patron returns to where MH is still parked examining cleaning supplies.  Bending her torso forward while saying the word paño to herself, she extends her arm directly in front of him to pluck a couple of cleaning cloths from the bottom shelf, where they had been largely concealed by his crouching form.  “Paño … paño ….  Yes, yes, I know what that means!” MH muses to himself in the moribund eddy of the patron’s swift departure.

Shortly afterward, MH is removing from a shelf nearly all of the 1-kilogram bags of a particular brand of ground coffee (the cheapest) in order to find one that hasn’t been pinpricked by machine.  Failing to find a bag the freshness of the contents of which has not been compromised, he turns to neatly replacing the bags on the shelf when another patron passes by and inquires about the price of an item on sale.  In a dutiful attempt to be helpful, MH points out matter-of-factly that there is no price on the shelf that corresponds to the item in question.  The patron, it turns out, is already aware of this obvious fact.  She is expecting a little more assistance … until … “Uh, you don’t work here?” she utters, her peremptory belief slowly being dissolved by the embarrassing truth.

Being mistaken for a store clerk restocking merchandise was not easily accepted by MH. All the clerks at Precio Mas Bajo were wearing RED fleece and he was in his BLUE fleece. “Perhaps management wears BLUE,” suggested FH .…

FH had a good trip across the river. It was an all-day strategy meeting, among other things, with one large client.  Because these affairs can be quite draining, she allowed herself to relax on the return voyage by finishing a book that had been lent to her two months previous by her friend Maria called Tres Deseos (Three Wishes). With a title like that, you know something bad is going to happen at the end, and, sure enough, FH spent the entire trip bawling her eyes out. The poor gentleman seated two seats over kept glancing at FH,  really not sure what to do to assist this woman in obvious distress, and was sweet enough to delay getting out of the aisle such that FH could compose herself enough to wipe all signs of tears away.  Returning home, MH suggested that she read such novels from back to front.

More signs of spring…