Rats in the Garrett

I decided to get out of town for a few days-- well, I do go out of town frequently on business trips anyway, but it seemed like a good time to take one. Once you get past Ventura heading north on the 101, the hills blaze yellow with blooming mustard and the ocean is a soothing blue.

It was over a hundred degrees up in Santa Maria and I didn't have too many stops to make, so I walked through a farmer's market, ate strawberries and oranges while the heat radiated up from the blacktop, and peeked into a tiny library. Every dinky little local library has some really cool old books, and the best place to look is in the children's section. The prize at Santa Maria/Orcutt was Katherine Briggs' HOBBERDY DICK, which I would have sat down and read if I'd had time.

Then I went into a pet shop, which had a cage full of adorable gray rat babies guarded by mama rat, and a label saying they'd been born on Easter Sunday. "Very lucky," I said, and admired them and the curly-coated rat younglings in another cage. Eventually, as I'd hoped, my rat chatter coaxed the owner into offering me a chance to hold one. I miss pet rats, but it seems unwise to have rats _and_ cats.

Going back on Wednesday mist blanketed the hilltops and the ocean was the color of steel, and every song I played had too much relevance to my state of mind. But if I do die an old maid in the garrett, as Maddy Prior sang, at least that means I'll be rich and successful enough to own a house with one.

Rats in the Garrett

I decided to get out of town for a few days-- well, I do go out of town frequently on business trips anyway, but it seemed like a good time to take one. Once you get past Ventura heading north on the 101, the hills blaze yellow with blooming mustard and the ocean is a soothing blue.

It was over a hundred degrees up in Santa Maria and I didn't have too many stops to make, so I walked through a farmer's market, ate strawberries and oranges while the heat radiated up from the blacktop, and peeked into a tiny library. Every dinky little local library has some really cool old books, and the best place to look is in the children's section. The prize at Santa Maria/Orcutt was Katherine Briggs' HOBBERDY DICK, which I would have sat down and read if I'd had time.

Then I went into a pet shop, which had a cage full of adorable gray rat babies guarded by mama rat, and a label saying they'd been born on Easter Sunday. "Very lucky," I said, and admired them and the curly-coated rat younglings in another cage. Eventually, as I'd hoped, my rat chatter coaxed the owner into offering me a chance to hold one. I miss pet rats, but it seems unwise to have rats _and_ cats.

Going back on Wednesday mist blanketed the hilltops and the ocean was the color of steel, and every song I played had too much relevance to my state of mind. But if I do die an old maid in the garrett, as Maddy Prior sang, at least that means I'll be rich and successful enough to own a house with one.