Cat-astrophic?

            First a tornado, now a mountain lion.  Clearly my quiet little suburb of Sacramento is trying to make a name for itself.

            Yes, there have been multiple mountain lion sightings recently, so much so that a wildlife expert went on the news to tell folks not to run away, since mountain lions like to attack from behind.  Better jog at home on a treadmill, too. 

  Now, I realize not everyone has a good mountain lion story, but I grew up in the Rocky Mountains, where we call them Cougars, so I do.  And here it is.

It begins with a vegetable garden.  As many of you know, deer love to nibble on our veggies and flowers.  Like cartoon termites mowing down a wooden house, deer can make quick work of your toil and sweat.   

So a friend of mine did some research about how to repel deer and discovered there’s a fertilizer made from the droppings of tigers, which should do the job nicely.  So he petitioned the local zoo for something they were only too glad to hand over, and spread it all around his lettuce and corn.  Voila!  It worked.  So he spread it around his flower beds as well.  Now he no longer had deer.

He had cougars.

Yep, just as the deer smelled a big cat and took off for the hills, so the mountain lions smelled a close relative and thought they’d check it out.  So, if you live in Rocklin and you enjoy gardening, you might want to check the labels on your soil additives.  Maybe just stick with earthworms.

Life saving.  Just one more service I offer.  Be sure to subscribe, and check out the other life skills on my YouTube Mom channel here.

My Pretend Vacations

            I have never been to Ireland.  This sad fact comes home to roost every Spring as I notice the greening up of the many hills here in northern California.  The rest of the year they dry up and pose wildfire hazards, but in this particular season they look like waves of moss, as soft and welcoming as Killarney or Cork. At least the Killarney and Cork I imagine.

            And so, sans a vacation, I make believe I’m in Ireland.  St. Bob and I recently drove to San Jose (that’s a “yes” to the song, Do You Know the Way to San Jose?) and I suggested we pretend we’re actually on the Emerald Isle.

            “Gee, there seem to be a lot of American cars here,” Bob said.  “Also, we’re on the wrong side of the road.”

            Okay, Party Pooper.   I tried out my Irish accent (unsuccessfully), and  pointed out places where wee little fairies, silkies, and cluricauns could hide.  Ireland has, after all, many more fanciful creatures than just leprechauns.  Here are some actual photos of Irish scenery, so you can compare them to what’s known as “the Bay Area” here.

             See?  Not so different, right?  We even have our own Dublin to round out the fantasy:

            When we got home I still didn’t feel I’d had a proper getaway, so my next plan is to pretend I’ve gone scuba diving in some exotic location.  Luckily, my Gerber Daisies look like sea anemones if you zoom in close enough:

            And succulents like these can easily be mistaken for coral: 

 

Best of all, there are no sharks or barracudas to watch for.   Not that I’m willing to forgo real trips, should one arise.  But these will do in a pinch.

Travel from your armchair to the Indian Ocean, Los Angeles, and Missouri in my 3 most recent novels—Jungle, Sisters in the Mix, and Pinholes Into Heaven.  Just click on the book links for bargain traveling at its best! 

Thar She Blows!

            I guess you’ve heard about all the animals leaving Yellowstone in droves.  No?  Well, if you can believe Facebook posts, they’re in mid-exodus, running for their lives from a national park that’s about to blow.

            At least that’s what the Chicken Little folks say, you know the ones who create bedlam and panic for the rest of us to lap up.  Apparently animals around the world can sense when an earthquake or a tsunami is coming, and can even smell a rumbling volcano, ready to roar.

            So, naturally I called my son, Richie, who just last week returned from studying the Kilauea Volcano in Hawaii, and here is how the conversation went:

            Me: Hey, have you heard about all the animals fleeing Yellowstone because some volcano is going to erupt there?

            Richie: No, but Yellowstone is on top of one of the biggest Supervolcanoes in the world.

           

 

            Me: What?  So it’s about to blow?

            Richie: Well, the animals could be detecting gas bubbles or movement in fault lines; it isn’t necessarily a volcano.

            Me: But what if it is a volcano?  Cassidy and Tiffany (our son and his wife) live right there in Rexburg!  I saw a chart that included it in the Kill Zone!

            Richie: Trust me, if Yellowstone erupts, it will be a global catastrophe, not just trouble for Rexburg.

            Me: WHAT?! 

            Richie: In fact, Cassidy and Tiffany are in the best spot in a Kill Zone because they’ll be killed immediately, whereas the rest of us will be plunged into nuclear winter, and you don’t want to die that way.

            Me: WHAT?!

            Richie: Glad I could help.

            Me: WHAT?!

            And to think I just put in my vegetable garden and renewed two magazine subscriptions.

Luckily, you can subscribe to this blog for FREE.  And you know I’ll keep you informed about any impending doom.

           

You Say Tornahdo, I Say Tornaydo

We’re not in Kansas, but last week a tornado touched down in my neighborhood.  I know, I know, you can’t believe I have enough crazy things happen that I can blog about them twice a week, but here we are, clicking our ruby slippers. 

            What makes this particularly remarkable is that I live in northern California.  This is earthquake country, not tornado country.  And yet last week, just a couple of blocks away, folks were on the nightly news telling about their airborne trampolines, knocked down fences, and tipped over barbecues.

            Funnel clouds, hail, high winds—luckily no livestock in the trees, no witches bicycling by, but still—a tornado!  And, of course the one time it happens, it happens so close that I actually know some of the people whose yards were ransacked.  I kind of wish it had happened in my own yard, because I have some weeds I would dearly love to see whirling off into the sky. 

            I’d say my town of Rocklin was divided into three camps that day:  One group was comprised of folks who were listening to the news, heard a tornado warning and thought, “Now what?” I mean, what can you actually do out here?  There are no storm cellars or basements, nowhere to hide that can’t be snapped up and hurled heavenward.

            The other group just went about their business, noticed particularly dark clouds and thought, “Boy, I hope we get a decent thunderstorm this time.”  

             And the last group, the people who blog or post Facebook photos, were out on their lawns, watching for funnel clouds and hoping to see some action.  Even though I've lived in the Midwest, I have to admit I was in this group.  But some of these folks' entire knowledge of Twisters comes from the Milton Bradley game by that title. 

            We lived in Iowa for three years, heard our share of tornado warnings, and saw the devastation they can wreak.  However, like a tiny temblor vs a huge earthquake, I suspected the most damage we’d see with this one might be a tree falling over on someone’s sidewalk.  And you don’t want much more than that.  The power of nature is fascinating, until it becomes frightening.  And then you really do wish you had ruby slippers.

If you’re a storm junkie, you can read about an amazing storm in the Indian Ocean, right where they’re now looking for the missing Malaysian airliner.  Eerily, that very spot is the setting of my recent novel, Jungle.