More widely recognizable forms of life occur here too, such as unemployment and sudden job offers. In this case, the major extended-family news has been with Kate's sister Cori, whose husband Len has faced as bleak a job market as I have for these past eight months, with similar effects. Len's endless networking and self-advertisement, not to mention being good at his legal consulting work, has finally landed him a steady job--in Florida. This news arrived last Friday.
Len being an impetuous guy, already has a house lined up and is close to selling his property here in Maine (if only it were so easy in Rhode Island!). Cori is bearing up bravely, putting a smile on her fears and matching Len's haste to move down to the big muggy sandbar. Ma is probably the second-most discombobulated by this development, behind only Cori herself. Poor Ma is losing the majority of her grandkids in one fell swoop--and being almost (but not quite) as impetuous as Len, has been researching cheap vacation homes near her daughter. The grandchildren themselves--three wonderful little girls and a hulking baby boy two weeks older than Eva--are showing some trepidation but seem up to the adventure. Kids are always up to the adventure. They'll be fine.
So this all has dwarfed my sudden preparations to skidaddle to Louisiana and hunt underwater oil. The Louisiana job is bigger news to my little bengal, and she's been readying herself for my leaving for the last few days.
The first jolt was Sunday night, when I got my first definite instructions on flying down and the nature of the work--using sonar to map oil plumes and gas seeps in the water column near the Deepwater blowout. The contractor's mission control in Houma (HOME-ah), Louisiana, called to say I'd be flying out Tuesday, to embark Thursday. No longer on standby, but now counting down. And realizing that I might need my passport...
That's another great thing about Kate. She's got the same anxieties about my leaving now that she did last year. Eva's now a thriving little person in her own right, and no longer kicking and squirming inside Kate herself. She's passed the newborn, SIDS, will-she-keep-breathing stage, and is now actively developing a personality. Life seems that much more sure of itself now than six or nine months ago. But, I'm leaving on an adventure and Kate will feel the loss.
Despite that, as I fretted Sunday evening about a few details like the passport and getting some relevant reading materials for the scientific work, Kate's the one who suggested: "Maybe you should drive down to Rhode Island tonight."
The right choice. Even though all she wanted to do was snuggle on the couch all evening and watch the Celtics wreck the Lakers again, she made it and so I went. (And kept myself within reasonable distance of the speed limit, though I did scream myself hoarse during and after the game.) She told me to go take care of business. Now that's a woman.
So I zipped down Sunday night, got my passport and library books (not to mention our favorite coffee mugs and the pizza cutter), and zipped back up Monday morning. I didn't sleep at all, but I did spend an hour lying on my back in bed between 3 and 4. Love them steroids, especially when mixed with an emotional rush...
Now I'm waiting again, as the ship's been delayed by two days--a common occurrence in marine work. Complications and delays are the norm.
As I learn the particulars of this type of work (very little has been done, ever) and prepare as well as I can to lead this expedition, Kate and I are mindful that this is our vacation, and we're taking some time for ourselves and Eva. After a manner, anyway...today's togetherness effort was a roadtrip to Lewiston, in search of a printer cable. I got the address of every tech-related store in the area I could find, and we hit every one. And struck out.
I was upset enough that I blew off a swim when we got back, finished painting Ma's porch cafe set and then intended to get back to geeking it up. Kate and Eva arrived back from the local beach while I was wrapping up with the painting, and seated themselves on the bench swing about 50 feet from me.
Now Kate's had a rough couple of days with this little girl. I do help out from time to time, but Kate does at least 90% of the rearing activities. When Eva gets some evasive but annoying illness--slight fever and general distemper--like she's had these last three days, Kate bears the brunt. Like, getting up every hour at night when the baby blows up. And dealing with an infant unhappy with everything, for hours at a time.
Today's tribulation was feeding. The waking-every-hour sideshow of two nights ago has had an effect, the kind men never learn about until women tell them. Milk production is stimulated by demand from the baby. So when the baby wakes up every hour at night, and Kate feeds her every time she wakes up in an effort to quiet her back down, well, she winds up producing lots more milk than at other times. But then, when Eva slows back down and isn't so hungry...
...suffice to say, Kate's spent most of today painfully engorged. It doesn't sound pleasant. We were both pretty ticked off on the ride back from Lewiston.
So I'm finishing up the painting this afternoon, and Kate's seated with Eva on the swing, when I hear this yelp from the baby, a high-pitched cry of excitement. It sounded like something had really surprised her, or delighted her, like when she sees an animal (she loves animals).
"Did you hear that?" Kate called.
"Yup," I answered.
"That was a poop," Kate called back.
"A...poop?" I was somewhat dumbfounded. It sounded like something a lot more ecstatic than a simple act of going to the bathroom, but then, I guess it's pretty easy to lose sight of life's simple pleasures in adulthood.
Now for this Gulf gig I'm heading out on, there are conditions. Basic silence, essentially. I'm not happy about not being able to share my thoughts on the actual work I'll be doing, but that is one of the rules--probably the most important rule, considering I have to sign a document stating that I'll abide by it, and I've yet to sign a personal injury waiver. So to the extent that I'll take any time on the water to send words along, they'll be more about the quality of life on board than about anything we're doing.
One other note: Jasper's a terrible hunter. Just terrible. He's making the transition from being a suburban cat to living around the woods, but not very smoothly. He can be quite wimpy (he still prefers to come in for most of the day).
It's fun watching him unable to focus, losing all sense of bearing every time he hears a bird from a different direction. And while he's got a pretty solid hunker-down move when he starts tracking something, it ends there. For example, Jasper doesn't have any stalking technique. At all. I saw him kind of trot once after a chipmunk on the porch--granted, the cat didn't have any cover, but it's not like he made up his mind to sprint, either--and he didn't get closer than eight feet.
Just today I heard an altercation in the bush, a sudden burst of rustling and crackling. Then a bird flew away, and a few seconds after that the cat emerged from under the leaves, apparently calm but also empty-mouthed. Now, predators do miss more often than than not, but he's still got things to learn about subtlety.
Then there was the chicken.
One day--the day that big white rooster invaded the barn and nearly beat the stuffing out of the resident brown rooster, Hula Hoop (the reason why Dave whacked him with the rake and sent him fleeing down the road)--the chickens got out of the coop and all over the yard. They destroyed a few flowers, dug a few fresh holes, and raised the kind of trouble chickens raise, which is to say not much.
Dave caught most of them later that day, but one eluded him and remained in the yard. As afternoon drew on to evening, Jasper happened onto the deck where the chicken was quietly looking for seeds. The cat immediatly fell into hunting mode, crouched low, and began creeping toward the bird. Within seconds the chicken was aware of him. Slowly, she lowered her own head, pointed her beak toward him, and flared her neck feathers.
He stopped, took stock, looked around a little, took a little more stock, looked to the side again, sat up, and turned around.
Very soon the chicken had her back to him, looking for more seeds on the deck. Not much to worry from in that cat, apparently.
Oh! One last thing--check out our sweet new 
racing machine:
racing machine:
No comments:
Post a Comment