Thursday, February 15, 2007

where no one can hear you scream

Back in December I started writing a series of "Miss Lists" - lists of things I was going to miss when we left California. Well, one of the many things NOT on those lists was the congestion, and I don't mean the nasal kind (Actually, I was plagued much less by sinus issues there than I am here. I'm sure it's humidity-related).

Here on the prairie we live about half a mile from a federally-protected bird sanctuary. We are surrounded by - oh, I don't know how many acres; thousands, I think - of US Forest Service land. Jackie would probably know. You have to drive over four miles of rugged cinder road to get to our house. This morning, my son looked out the kitchen window while eating his oatmeal and spotted a herd of antelope running across the prairie.

So, you would think we'd have a little privacy, no?

You would be wrong.

Last night there was a knock on the door. It was an elderly woman who told me she had enough cooked rice in her car to feed twenty-five people, and she'd gotten lost on her way to the party somewhere in the wilds of our subdivision. I looked outside to make sure that her serial killer accomplice wasn't hiding somewhere with an axe and then invited her in to use our phone. This morning I was on my way out to feed the horses in my pink cherry jammies and pink parka (I look like the Abominable Snowman after he's OD'd on Pepto Bismol in this getup, but it's comfortable). I had to jump back through the front door, however, when I realized that there was a pickup truck in our driveway, out of which had appeared two large, rugged-looking men. They were here from Norton Environmentals to deliver our trash/recycling can. Finally, they left, and I got done feeding. No sooner had I come back into the house and taken off my coat, hat and gloves, than I heard a "beep-beep" out front. It was the FedEx guy. I poked my head out the door as he approached with a promising-looking package. "I'm sorry I can't come out to meet you," I said, "but I'm still in my jammies." Turned out he also had the wrong address.

Last month my husband came home with the new Ruger Vaquero, which is pretty cool. Mama's back in the country and this time she's packin' heat. Unfortunately, all the strangers who show up at our door unannounced keep me way too busy to actually get to where we keep the gun, should one of those visitors turn out to be Freddy Kruger.

I see it's time to start another list of things I miss about California. Number one: the peace and quiet.

3 comments:

  1. Lorelei12:02 PM

    Yeah, dude. Nobody EVER comes to my door and I live in a city with a population of 55,550, give or take a few. Year after year, no trick-or-treaters. God forbid the kids meander up our sloped path...

    Nice jammies, girlie.

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  2. Well, let's face it, Hon. It does practically take the cardio-muscular fitness of an Everest climber to get to your Marin mansion in the sky. SO worth it to tackle those stairs, though. Hot tub, oak tree, views galore...sigh...

    :-)

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  3. "Mama's back in the country and this time she's packin' heat." ROFLMAO!! Same thing here. The gun we have is in a lock box in the bedroom behind a chair. If anyone ever breaks in, the authorities will find me dead, behind the rocker, clutching a metal box with a gun in it.

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