Category Archives: Cathy Pegau

Avalon author Sierra Donovan has tagged me. Thanks, Sierra. No really : P

I answer the questions below then “tag” four more people, asking them to post their answers to the same questions. No pressure to play, but it is fun and gives an excuse for not hitting my WIP. OK, here we go:

Four Movies that I can see over and over
1. Serenity
2. Young Frankenstein (Sierra listed this one too and I must agree)
3. Mr. and Mrs. Smith
4. Pride and Prejudice

Four Places I have lived
1. Brentwood, NY
2. Bottineau, ND
3. Fairbanks, AK
4. Corvallis, OR

Four TV shows that I love to watch
1. The Daily Show with Jon Stewart/The Colbert Report (two separate shows but on in tandem, so suck it up)
2. Chuck
3. House
4. Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles—which has been cancelled but I loved it

Four places where I have gone on vacation
1. England/Scotland
2. San Diego
3. Cruise along Mexico’s west coast (salt air shrinks clothing, btw, tho it may have been the buffet…)
4. Orlando

Four favorite foods
1. Baked winter king salmon
2. BBQ pork ribs
3. Fresh peaches
4. Ice cream

Four websites I visit daily
1. Yahoo Mail
2. My other mail site
3. Mrs. Giggles
4. A bunch of blogs I pop in on during my morning rounds (yes, this is a cheater answer. So sue me.)

Four places I would rather be
1. Back East visiting my family
2. At my father-in-law’s ranch/visiting DH’s family near by
3. Soaking in a warm bath
4. Traveling to somewhere new

Four things that I would like to do before I die
1. Write a bestseller (I believe this is on many of the “tagged” folks’ lists 🙂
2. Visit each continent
3. Get all my friends together for a huge party
4. See my husband happily retired and my kids happy and successful

Four novels I wish that I was reading for the first time
1. On Basilisk Station by David Weber (the first of an excellent series featuring a female starship commander)
2. To Kill a Mockingbird
3. The Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey
4. The Doomsday Book by Connie Willis

Four people to tag
1. Sharron McClellan
2. Jody Wallace
3. Amy Jandrey
4. Tracy Montoya

Though I’m asked what I want for Mother’s Day, birthdays, etc., I rarely come up with a specific idea for my poor, befuddled family. I’m usually happy with sleeping in and not having to cook or clean up. This year, however, did get me a couple of lovely things: poems from my daughters. Like most things kid-related, they make me laugh and cry. I’ve been given permission to share them here.

A Mother’s Day Poem
by DD #1 (age 12)

Dear Mom,
You make us feel good when we’re sad,
You calm us down when we’re mad.
We’re jumpy bear cubs in a den,
You’re our doting mother hen.
You make sure we are neat and straight,
And that we clean our plate.
When you’re around we feel happy.
I think this poem is getting too sappy!
Even when we feel shy,
You make sure we don’t cry!
You’re the best Mom there’s ever been!
(Even when the cat meows his head off for din din : )

A Poem and a message
by DD#2 (age 8, almost 9)

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I give lots of love
to you!

Moms are like blankets,
they cover you with love.

Aren’t they the sweetest? There is nothing in this world that could be bought or sold that equals receiving these gifts. One day a year isn’t enough to celebrate the joys of my children–I’m blessed every single day.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Since I have an outside-of-the-house job, irregular as it may be, I actually have to dress like a grown up now and again. Sometimes for several days in a row. Crazy, I know. But because I didn’t have any real need for normal, every day clothing, my serviceable wardrobe dwindled dramatically over the last seven years. If something got worn out, or stained (slob that I am, likely), or didn’t fit any more (sadly, this was *most* likely), I didn’t bother replacing it. Why spend money when I didn’t really need to? I’ve never been concerned with fashion, and luckily we’ve lived in places where casual was acceptable for every occasion, so jeans and tee shirts or a sweater worked for me.

Until now. Now, not only do I have to wear something other than jeans sometimes, the clothes need to make me look like a grown up. No one would mistake me for any of the kids at either school, but I have to at least try to reflect my reaching adulthood. Tee shirts with cute pictures and snarky phrases won’t do. The staff at the school would give me “looks.” Not that they’re snobby or anything, they are all very nice people, but I need to make the effort and present myself properly.

At the same time, I don’t have a lick of fashion sense (which works well with the stand-by jeans and tee shirt outfits) and like to be comfortable (again, jeans and tees fit here). I settled on ordering some nice tees online, a pair of pants and a new pair of shoes. While still casual, I can dress up the tees and the pants aren’t jeans. The shoes are more of a question mark as far as fit and style go. They may have to go back. We’ll see.

I doubt anyone seeing me in my version of adult attire will swoon over my choices, but I won’t embarrass anyone either. Hopefully they’ll just appreciate that for where I’m from, my new duds mean either I won the lottery or have a court date.

Spring is a week away, though you wouldn’t know it by looking outside. The several feet of snow we’ve accumulated over the winter is being added to by a deceptively light snowfall. Invariably, I will see this kind of snow coming down and think to myself, “Oh, this won’t be much at all.” And then the snow will continue to build for hours and hours as I delude myself some more. “It *must* be stopping soon, as there is barely any snow falling at all! Stop, snow. Stop stop stop stop STOP!”

It rarely heeds my cries.

So while the calendar says spring is only a week away, we know better.

Despite the faulty calendar, it is Spring Break here in the semi Frozen North. The kids are out of school until the 23rd. I won’t have to dread an early morning call from the school secretary asking me to substitute for an ill teacher or aide. (Besides, she already has me scheduled for three days the week we return.) Sleeping in is a favorite activity, and now that the kids are old enough to get their own breakfasts and keep themselves occupied without my wondering if the quiet means something needs my immediate attention, I can stay in bed until only my bladder forces the issue.

As an added bonus, I have four days without kids or hubby (he took them to visit some friends in our former town and to the Big City to buy groceries and a new washer–Yay! new washer! Oh, that is as sad as it sounds isn’t it, to be excited about a washer…). I plan to enjoy every peaceful, undemanding, ice cream for dinner moment. And tonight there is a blues/jazz musician in town I want to go hear (ETA: If the damn snow stops.). He played for the kids at school yesterday. Very talented, but I can’t recall his name. Somehow we get the amazing artists and musicians to come visit our small, relatively remote town, and I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity (if the damn snow stops). But that’s fodder for another post.

I also hope to get some writing and housework (ha!) done. If it warms up some, perhaps I’ll be able to scrape the inch or so layer of ice off my front walk. But by looking at the temperature do-dad at the corner of my computer screen, and at the thermometer outside my front door, I doubt that will happen today. Or even tomorrow. No worries. Spring will come. Eventually.

Here is South Central Alaska, we’re used to a bit of rain and wind, but when the forecast calls for hurricane-force gusts, even we sit up and take notice. Or rather, batten down the hatches, cover our heads and take notice.

For the past few days, the region has been hit by a warm front racing up from the south. It’s locally known as the Pineapple Express because it originates near the Hawaiian Islands. The front brings with it temperatures in the mid thirties to mid forties, lots of rain, and lots of wind. The abrupt change from the clear and cold weather we’d been having was a tad disconcerting, but not terribly surprising. I liked the clear and cold. I particularly liked the lack of snow. More precisely, I liked not having to shovel snow.

The rain has been no big deal. After living here for more than a year, I’m getting used to the amount of precipitation that lands here. We are, after all, in a temperate rainforest, meaning we average over 70″ of wetness annually. It seems like we’ve received half of that in the past few days, but according to NOAA and this map, we’ve hardly dented the rain gages. I think NOAA needs new gages.

This year is particularly windy. Our living room has four windows that are 3′ X 4′, better to catch what sunlight we can (when it’s out) and better to view the lake and mountains across from us. All very lovely in nice weather, but when the wind blows, and it does, the windows flex. When the wind blows at gusts over 100m.p.h., they rattle and threaten to come out of their frames. And the entire house shakes as if it’s about to come off its footings. It was scary, to say the least, and I hoped the windows would hold up. Maybe I was being wimpy, but we aren’t used to that kind of force. (It made me think about folks who live in more vulnerable areas, and those who don’t evacuate when they can and should. Why someone in a hurricane-prone area would choose to stay during one of their storms is a total mystery to me.)

I sat in the living room with my husband, watching TV with the sound turned up loud enough to hear over the wind and rain, wondering if we had plywood sheets large enough to cover all the windows. Wondering how much stuff from beneath our “dry” storage was now strewn across the yard. And was the roof still on? We detected no leaks, so we assumed all was well when we went to bed.

The next morning, things had calmed down enough to make rounds. We’d suffered nothing worse than some excess water in our covered storage and a few up-ended empty garbage cans. A neighbor had lost a panel or two from his metal roof. That seemed to be the worst of it in our area. On the plus side, there is no longer a sheet of ice covering my driveway or the roads.

They say a gift from Hawaii is like receiving a bit of paradise. Personally, I’d exchange this one.

Before I take a break for the holidays, go here to see a few of the photos I took during my fabulous whale watching trip a couple of weeks ago. Yes, you have to go to Flickr to see them because it’s faster and easier than loading them here. For me anyway. When I get back to the Frozen North, I’ll see about putting up some other pictures.

Happy Holidays and All the Best for a Grand New Year!
Cathy in AK

While we were Outside (yes, we in AK call the rest of the country “Outside” or “the Lower 48.” I don’t know where Hawai’i falls in there. Sorry.) last month, I had the opportunity to take a vacation within a vacation. My in-laws were kind enough to keep my kids happy and healthy while I took a five day jaunt to the East Coast to visit my friend Sharron.

Sharron and I have known each other since college up in Fairbanks. We actually lived together in a one room cabin for seven months between the time I returned from a long field season and the time I took a job in Wyoming (see the ferret posts). We get along really well, understand each other the way few people do, and put up with each other’s crazies (ok, mostly HER crazies, but I digress). We talk on the phone at least one a week and try to visit as often as our lives allow. It had been almost four years since our last visit and it was time to get together.

So I jetted off to the other side of the country. With each successive plane change, I felt the weight of parenting slough from my shoulders like so much dry, flaky skin. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my children to pieces; they are two of the small handful of people in this world I would kill or die for. But being Mommy 24/7/365 wears on you. Sure, they’re old enough to not require eyes-on watching, and they both go to school so I have my kid-free days, but even when they aren’t in the room or house, I’m still on call to any request for this and that, a middle of the night cry of despair, or a phone call from the school to pick up a pukey child. The only way to get a break is to have us in different states.

I landed after midnight pumped with enthusiasm about seeing Sharron and beat from a long trip. Sharron, bless her heart, had worked that day and had been up since the crack of dawn, but she was just as excited to see me as I was to see her. We chatted nonstop as she drove us back to her house and we stayed up until after 2a.m. talking. Finally exhausted, we passed out.

The next few days were filled with some catching up (we talk all the time, so it’s not like we didn’t know what was happening in each other’s lives), but mostly just hanging out, trekking into DC, watching a couple of newly released movies, and more chatting about anything that came to mind. No one called me Mom. I called my kids once to say hello, and I did think about them, but knowing they were safe and happy 3,000 miles away, I was able to find me again. Ah, Cathy. I’d missed her.

There are things I do at home that are for me and me alone, but the mom-ness is always there. Taking these few days to reconnect with who I was, and who I am aside from Mom, was refreshing. I feel renewed now. Like someone took a big loofah and scrubbed off all the accumulated dead weight I was carrying around. I’m tingly and shiny, ready to get back to my reality.

We all benefit from my periodic escapes. My kids got a chance to do things without me hovering, and I was able to relax and enjoy my friend without wondering if the quiet in the next room meant someone was doing something they shouldn’t. A win-win for all.

For those of you who don’t think you can or should take time away from the kids, I say do it. As soon as you are able. You AND the kids will appreciate the break. You’ll return from your vacation all shiny and ready to jump back into the fray. And hey, who doesn’t like to be shiny?

My father-in-law has a 300 acre ranch in a little town in eastern Washington. On it, he raises a small herd of beef cattle (Limousins, for those into cattle breeds), cares for two older horses that the grandkids can ride, and trains his younger border collie with a herd of three sheep. He also raises chickens each year for their meat.

While we were visiting, it was time to butcher the Cornish crosses he’d tended. Chicken butchering takes a certain amount of team work. My father-in-law was designated executioner and initial plucker, my mother-in-law was the pin feather puller and carcass cleaner, while I ran cleaned birds up to the house where they were to soak for a bit before being bagged and frozen.

My oldest daughter was assigned the task of chicken catcher. Her job was to go into the coop and bring a bird out to my father-in-law. He prefers the chickens to be in a more relaxed state of mind and instructed my daughter on how to catch them without putting the targeted bird or its brethren into a panic. If you know chickens, you know they are frantic birds to begin with. No one wants to deal with a coop-full of freaked out fowl.

She’d snatch up the chicken and hold it against her, speaking softly and stroking it before handing it to her grandfather. The sedate bird met its fate with an almost serene and Zen-like demeanor. Though the blank expression on its beaky face could have been due to the fact its brain is smaller than a grape. But in any case, my daughter’s manner of capture earned her the title of Chicken Whisperer.

I was somewhat surprised that she was willing to be part of the butchering at all. She loves animals, and it breaks her heart to see any hurt. On the other hand, she has an analytical mind that often works out her fears, worries and confusions with the nearly voracious digestion of facts and data. She understands that food, particularly meat, doesn’t arrive at the grocery store in a cellophane-wrapped package. And while I didn’t want her completely grossed out by the butchering process, I felt it was important that she understand where her meals come from and why we have farms and ranches. During the process, I wondered if she would go vegetarian. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that our family isn’t and I’d have to make adjustments. So far, she’s been willing to eat meat with as much enthusiasm as before.

I give her a lot of credit for her willingness to understand what it takes to put the food we enjoy on the table. And for making the last moments of the chickens’ lives just a little more pleasant.

The Chicken Whisperer. Surely there’s a Disney movie in that somewhere.