Category: Neighborhood

Trilobite Clouds & A Yellow Corvette

Posted on August 13, 2007 in Neighborhood Weather

square315 Three soft, pink trilobite clouds scavenge for ice crystals in the azure sky-sea above the Santa Ana Mountains. Dusk draws them to the tide. My neighbor hunts for something in his garage. He keeps his yellow Corvette covered.

Scenes from the Bipolar Ghetto

Posted on July 12, 2007 in Neighborhood

square294 My neighbor across the way moved out abruptly. The sound of hammering woke me on Monday, but I did not connect it with anything until I saw a workman breaking up the deck. Pieces of wood and insulation flew about for a couple of days before ceasing this morning. Last night, I noticed that the furniture in the condo was gone. She and her children had disappeared without notice. Neither Lynn nor myself know where they went. We doubt they’ll be back.

Today while I was feeding the birds (yet again….) someone called from over there “The Great Birdfeeder”. I looked to see a red sleeve and then just an elbow disappearing into the side of the window.

My therapist feels that I need to make more contact with people who are not bipolar sufferers. I agree, but not at the price of giving up my friends. We’ve been giving thought to getting a dog so that I will meet other dog owners. Either a [[pug]] or a [[Boston Terrier]] sound good. I’ve been doing some searching, thinking. It has to get on with cats. And I have to get on with people outside of the Bipolar Ghetto.

About the Lost Blunderbuss

Posted on July 4, 2007 in History Neighborhood

square291 It might be nothing more than local legend, but the lore has it that my community name derives from the results of a bit of horseplay. On July 24, 1769, [[Gaspar de Portola]] and Father [[Junipero Serra]] came through the vicinity. They camped next to what is now Aliso Creek — Aliso meaning “Sycamore”, a species which is thick in the local arroyos — before moving on, on July 26, to Tomato Springs.*

During their stay, a few of them crossed the mesa between creeks and found themselves in another wide wash. Lord knows what happened — were the men goofing off or were they on a serious exploration? — but in the course of their visit, they returned to the Aliso Creek camp sans one [[blunderbuss]].

A blunderbuss is an ungainly looking weapon, the kind that caricatures of old time hunters and soldiers like to mock. It’s a gun with a wide, tapering mouth into which is poured gunpowder, rocks, coins, nails, various metal fragments, teeth, and whatever else that is sharp, nasty and/or explosive. Gun historians describe it as a deck clearer — when you saw someone heave one of those into action, you dropped to the floor pronto! even when the wielder was on your side: the weapon had this way of choosing its targets randomly.

Portola’s men had one of these when they were off inspecting the region. When they came back, it certainly became a game of “I thought you had it”. They could never find it again, so the place became known as “Trabuco” (Spanish for blunderbuss) “Canyon”.

How appropriate that this follower of Emperor Norton should find himself in such a place.

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Prowling Like a Cat for A Cat

Posted on April 13, 2007 in Cats Neighborhood

square247 The stretch of Saddleback Ranch Road running between the school and its intersection with Ridgeline became excruciatingly longer after we posted several “Lost: Black Cat” signs. What usually disappeared with a little pressure on the gas pedal took us five to ten minutes to pass. Even as the clock approached midnight, cars and pickups zoomed by at a rate of about two per minute. In between the engine noise, we listened in the silence for a petite meow. Our baby, Virginia Mew, remained lost.

Yesterday I ran into a man who said he’d seen a strange black cat on Monday morning. Tonight, we combed that area and plastered the stop signs with signs. I whistled for it using a formula we hadn’t used since we moved from northern California. We never did need to call her. The scent of food or the snap of a cat food can lid brought her out of her hiding places. What could we use to bring her forth?

Sites suggested that we hang posters everywhere we could think of, call vets and visit the animal shelter. In the meantime, we were welcome to walk the streets and make noises that might make our neighbors anxious or mirthful.

When I whistled the “here kitty” jingle, someone whislted back at me. “I’m trying to find my cat,” I begged. “Please don’t do that.”

Padding the streets only exhausted our supply of posters and tapes. Virginia Mew remains at large and I despair of ever seeing her again. Someone called on the phone and hung up before I could answer. Was it a wrong number, a prankster, or someone who got my answering machine with news of my kitten and who decided to call back later? In the dark, when it is quiet, I go out to the deck and whistle. Out there she must be listening. Do I do it often enough or loud enough?

And when will my neighbor get home?

[tags]cats, Southern California, Orange County[/tags]

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