Moab... with a side of Lorazepam

Well scheisse it's been over two weeks since me last journal entry. And I watch with sad abandon the viewing numbers on my blog go down down down. Sigh.

Je regrette.

It's been busy though. Kids schedules are insane.
Swim team soccer 3v3 soccer basketball track.

I have been fortunate to stay on top of things as of yet, minus a minor hiccup that occurred while Beloved was on his second full-week business trip in a row.

The highlight of our Family Summer Holiday was to be a quick road trip to Moab, Utah. Moab is barely a day's drive away, really only about 6-7 hours. But we got a late start our first day (Sunday) and chose to spend the night in Grand Junction. We used Beloved's points and stayed at the Hampton Inn, which was pretty much par for the course in American travel. You got the fluffy leaf-patterned duvet, the poofy pillows, the shower curtain with the large white grommets. Not bad.

After our Continental breakfast (always fruit peanut butter toast cranberry juice and two cups of coffee) we buckled in for the last jaunt into Moab.

It was with a certain amount of anxiety that we drove into Moab. It was the end of June after all, and the overwhelming consensus of everyone we talked to was that Moab was going to be hot. Hawt. Hot. HahahaHahohohot.
And sure enough, upon looking it up on Weather.com the overall forecast was going to be
Sunday Hades
Monday Global Core
and Tuesday Equatorial Summer.
So, nicer by the start of the week ;).

Saturday night found me in my bedroom scowling over my pack list and in a bit of a snit about even having to go anyways it's going to be so HOT.

But I did. And it was hot. But I survived. And in the end we had a good time.

But not without its moments of utter terror.

The plan was to drive into Arches the first day of leaving Grand Junction.

                                                                  It did not disappoint.

The Three Gossips 

This is about 40 minutes outside of Moab. 

The Tower of Babel 

Balanced Rock 

Skyline Arch? 

Hiking in to see Landscape Arch

Landscape Arch. Due to a section of the arch calving off and shattering below, hiking underneath the arch is now prohibited. 

Wow is it hot. About 105. Lots of water on board. 

But it still makes for some purty pictures I believe 

Tank was totally in his element. He was scrambling over rocks, hiking up into all over the rock formations, and basically taking years off my life. But he loved it. 

The children trying to hike up into the crevasse where that rock is blocking the path. 

Meanwhile here's me trying to look pretty

Tank chases a lizard into the underbrush.

Pine Tree Arch. My personal fave :) 

The children see a roadside attraction that they must climb to explore. 

They free-climb into the back of this keyhole. I am on the other side of the ravine and it is about a 20 ft drop from their trail. Sometimes I just had to trust. 

  After a long day of hiking we decide to return back to camp where we are met by an assortment of blue-bellied lizards. These are called 'fence lizards' and are harmless, except for the fact they like to surprise you in the vault outhouses on-site. With many unknowns in those outhouses, having two lizards jump at your arrival is about enough for you to lose your bladder.

Sunday night was spent getting camp set up. We found a site in Goose Creek, about ten minutes outside of Moab. The site we chose had two large trees on the south end of it and we set up our two tents under those.

Camp. Making spaghetti...

Sunset 

western view. Goose Creek is a BLM site and has about 20 sites. At night a boat tour lights up the canyon walls for a night boat cruise. It's kind of neat. 

Beloved reading by camp lantern light. My favorite book of all time, 'Unbroken" by Laura Hillenbrand. He cannot put it down.

first mistake: setting up the rain fly. (If you say that in sort of a malevolent whisper it sort of captures how that decision impacted our evening). Dude. It's not going to rain. So chill with the plastic tarp and the Glad-lock seal action on your tent. 

second mistake: not getting in the river to cool off. Silly girl. It's less than 500 yards away. Stop with your ninnying and get into God's golden answer for the overheated. The kids all went to the river and slept like kittens. Me? I slept like an overheated house cat. Big mistake. Lesson learned. 

third mistake: trying to go to bed hot. Not like 'BringingSexyBack' hot, mind you, but rather going to bed intemperant and sweating. Honestly I was sweating in areas that I never knew I could. I felt like I had been coated in Vaseline and then laid to rest on a hot buttered down jacket (ie, our sleeping bag). It sucked. At about midnight to the sounds of my husband snoring blissfully I grabbed the car keys, undid the windows and crawled into the backseat of our Suburban. How desperate was I? I was asleep in an unlocked car with the windows down in a public campground off a major highway near a national park in my skivvies. I was desperate. I woke up pissed. 

And after a fitful night's rest I unfolded myself from the back and got going with our day. Breakfast (after a dinner of spaghetti) was a bowl of Cracklin Oat Bran and a large glass of orange juice. Then nothing but gallons of water for the next 8 hours. 

Canyonlands 

Grand View Point. Pretty much a straight drop from where Rachel is walking. 

If it's an overlook someone has to throw something

Bumpo looking very much at home. Notice the whistle 'round her neck. This whistle could prompt an entire other blog entry about compromise, trust and common sense. But that is for another day. 

Mesa Arch. 

Pretty sick. 

Mesa Arch again. There's my Doe. Had we taken the time to go to the Visitor's Center we would have learned that climbing across Mesa Arch is in fact strictly prohibited. Over 330 people have died from falling off this arch.
Pretty much a straight drop down from where Doe is standing. 

So hey let's take the baby out on it. 

Tank chooses self-preservation and stays on  more firma terra 

My picture idea. Yes Doe is jumping forward not straight up. Pretty much a straight drop from where Tank is sitting. 

I like this picture because I look skinny. That is all. 

Islands in the Sky 

Pretty much a straight drop from where Tank is

I mean the pictures don't do it justice I loved how the clouds wheeling overhead would color the canyon.
It really was breathtaking. In a good way ;) And truthfully during the day the heat was tolerable. We used frog toggs around our necks and drank lots of water. It was not too bad. And we were shocked at how many tourists from around the world were there.

The girls climb up into an overhang. 

Running to catch up 

I like this picture. You can see the canyonlands behind Beloved. 

Beloved takes my phone-did I mention these  pictures are all taken with my iPhone? Camera is kaput. Stands over a slot to get this picture. He says he could not see the bottom. Meanwhile Tank is jumping back and forth over it.
Which then prompts another happy memory of me shrieking at Tank to STOP JUMPING OVER THE SLOTS. Doe takes takes umbrage at my parenting and I tell her to SHUT UP.
Good times. 

Lots of hawks and ravens. 

After hiking around Islands in the Sky mesa and taking lots of pictures we decided we definitely needed to find a place to cool off after a long day of hiking. So we drive back down the highway about 20 minutes and find a small beach along the Colorado River. This. was. Heaven. There was just a breath of a current, shallow depth and cool but not cold water. Utterly refreshing and the perfect end to a blazing hot day.

Love these guys so much

This is another great shot of the family. Including Beloved, who is *we think* shaking water out of his ear behind them. We all had to laugh at his expression. 

Tank has really gotten the hang of diving this summer. 

peaceful easy feeling. A few other small families close by. 

The perfect end to the perfect day. 

got our towels and drove back to our campsite. Had a delicious dinner of breakfast burritos. Thankfully I'd impulsively bought a deck of cards at City Market earlier and we spent the night teaching the kids how to play gin rummy and 21.

21! 

An important life-skill....shuffling cards. 

Our last day of our trip to Moab was to highlight a slot canyon we had found online called Holeman Slot Canyon. This was apparently the only slot canyon we could find in Moab, and Doe had done some research to figure out how to get there. We had no map with "Holeman Canyon" on it and only the promise of a blogger's insight into how it can be found.

It ended up being a bit of a pucker, actually.
After driving for 35 miles on a dirt road onto the White Rim Loop, we started looking for Mineral Bottom Road.

Suddenly we were there. And it was not fun. And once I realized this was not fun we were down a steep incline on a single lane unpaved road with exposure to a nearly one thousand foot drop.

The road, having been washed out in a rainstorm in 2010, had been recently re-graded and was now open again for travel. Here's a picture of what the road looked like after the washout.

This road is a popular destination for mountain bikers and believe it or not there is a boat ramp about halfway down the canyon. But don't be fooled-this is an intense little drive of at least 6-8 switchbacks on a one lane unpaved red narrow dirt road. The road is carved into the steep side of the valley and many of the switchbacks feel as if they are on top of each other. Meaning the canyon felt very very steep.

Driving our Suburban down there I suddenly started experiencing a panic attack. We're talking teeth-chattering, arms shaking tears a-flowing panic attack. As we would drive the roadway in front of us was dropping off, literally stones and chunks of the road were peeling away from the edge as we were bumping along the ridged road.

This video gives a pretty fair assessment of what the experience was like. Here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUMUOvGi9sY

(particularly at 1:13 for a true fright). Keep in mind this video was filmed in 2013, after the regrade.

Now this is a road that had been suggested for 4WD vehicles, and obviously our Suburban is 4WD. But it is also not unlike driving an Abrams tank onto a donkey trail. By the time we got to the trailhead (about 10 minutes later) I was a blubbering mess. I was utterly terrified. I'm not ashamed to admit it. And the knowledge that there was no other way back out of the canyon except up that same trail filled me with abject fear. I literally thought of walking back up the road and not getting back in the car. Yes the road was plenty wide at spots, but again, as you are going down the canyon on the passenger side of the car, you cannot open your car door without plummeting nearly a thousand feet into the canyon. It is just that narrow. (I love how the video author writes "good road but lots of exposure"-exposure to sheer dropoffs!). The knowledge that I was going to be on the inside of the roadway, closest in to the mountain, helped some, but still...if the Burb was going to go off the roadway, I'd still be going down with the ship.

After I calmed down and we were all buttered up with sunscreen and each carrying our two bottles of water and Beloved with his PackH20 I thought we were relatively prepared for our trip into the Canyon. We had looked on the map and figured that the trail split that would take us to Holeman Slot Canyon was about an 30 minutes of walking in on the trail. The trail was flat and no elevation gain, but also no shade.

The temperature at the canyon floor was 107.

Mom made some rules. Kids stay on the trail the entire time. We do not stray off the trail for anything. We walk in for thirty minutes total and if there is not trailhead (there was no signage for the slot canyon) we turn around and go back directly the way we came in. There would be no discussion. It was 11 oclock, and we planned on turning around at 12. Fine.

12 rolls upon us. No slot canyon. The trail split- Doe insists- is where that junction is up ahead, and could we please just go a little further. Signs of snake and lots and lots of buzzards in the air. After my boo hoo at the car I didn't want to be the total buzzkill of the way so we walked in for an hour. The trail curves to the right and Doe is adamant- the slot canyon is off the trail to the left where there was a canyon and it looked like it narrowed. She scrambles off the investigate, all the while whining that I am demanding she stay within eyesight. Meanwhile, Tank is scrambling above us on the rocks overhead. She walks in for five minutes. No sign.

Let's get back on the trail. Back on the trail a Forest Service truck pulls up alongside. The two men look a little worried. They act a little worried. Mention that they saw our lone car at the trailhead and went in to find us.

Beloved mentions that we are looking for Holeman Slot Canyons. Ranger looks at him as if he is speaking dog and says "That canyon is about 35 miles away on the opposite end of this valley". He then asks if we want a ride back to our car. Since it was only an hour back on the road we said No, we're okay, and Yes, we have plenty of water.

Run Forrest Run ;) 

Here's our car at the trailhead. Note the little notice I left scrawled on the back window. Hey 127 Hours scared me. 

Road restricted. Beloved determines we could have driven in further about 15 minutes, taking at least a mile off our walk. 

Cut for sign. That is the sign for snake. 

Green River. We saw no sign of the river for the first 25 minutes or so of our walk. 

 After our pow wow with the park rangers, we determined it was probably in our best interest to just turn back and go back to the car.

But not first without a little stop in the Green River to cool off...

 While the boys swim out to a rock, us girls stay on the shore and get our feet sucked into the mud.

Tank has become quite the diver this summer. I am in awe of his fearlessness! 

It's hot. We're about 30 minutes from our car at this point. 

Tank . He was starting to slow down substantially at this point. Starting to worry me a little...

We made it back to the car. Here's the temp reading from the car.

Cool amphitheatre-esque rock formation on the way back up out of Mineral Bottom.

The drive back up was easier for me. I was on the inside of the road this time, and found a towel to cover my eyes. While the jostling and jumping of the car and the sharp turns still caused my bowels to protest, the end result was we popped out of the canyon with no permanent damage. And believe it or not, some day we might even laugh about it.

But in retelling the story to a friend she remarked that she could get me a prescription for Lorazepam on our next excursion. After Mineral Bottom we drove to a gas station, picked us some snacks for the drive back to NoCo, and made the long drive home.

We stopped in Dillon for dinner. A nice sunset and great way to end the day.

Overall there was lots of lessons learned on this trip.

One: sleeping under the stars is not an invitation to be robbed or attacked with a hatchet by a crazed hitchhiker.

Two: depending on a blog to tell you where the Holeman slot canyon is in Utah is probably not the best decision.

 Three: Go to the visitor center to learn about climbing around on Mesa Arch.

 Four: If a ranger offers you some free water as you are hiking in 107 degree heat, better take him up on that offer.

And finally Five: Try to be less fearful. Sit back and enjoy the ride.

And if the view makes your head swim and stomach drop, grab a dishtowel and drop a Lorazepam.

You won't regret it.

Bird Ball & Chain

While I was in Spain I started sketching. Art has always been a friend of mine. Many sketchbooks have been filled over the years with drawings, paintings and collages of ideas, inspirations and memories.

I had this idea of taking my sketchbook along with me to Spain but there was only a few times that I really found myself at ease enough to sit down with paper and stylus in hand to draw.

I was in our apartment in Vitoria wrestling with the children over their homeschooling and had found myself nearly tied to the sofa in our little living room. Trying to corral the children into a conducive and productive state of learning took a lot of supervision. I felt convicted if I took off for the day or left them to their own devices for hours at a time (although one afternoon in a fit of rage I decided better to leave them then to murder them). Many hours I would stay home either doing mundane chores, reading one of the few English tomes in the Vitoria library ('Room' still stays with me---brrr!) or sketching.

Our closest art supply store was what we called 'the Chinese store'-Carrefours. There you could find an assortment of whatever household goods you required. But it was also where I found basic art supplies to replenish my stock. Cheap pencils wrapped in a heavy plastic covering that refused to cut in the sharpener. Novelty erasers that did little more than merely smear the paper.

But I was able to get some creativity down on paper. And what began as simple little drawings in the midst of a weary winter season in my life turned into something kind of exciting.

Welcome to Bird Ball & Chain. 

{ I was able to turn my fashion design/illustration bent into something i believe to be rather empowering...Women and guns.
Not just any gun. A rifle.
In most cases a stylized .22 rifle. I chose this particular armament because I have shot a .22 rifle. It is the only gun I have ever fired, but I am almost certain it will not be the last gun I fire.

Women who are not afraid of fire arms are the inspiration. These shirts aren't for women who are consumed with a fear of self-defense or those that feel unhinged by the thought of a firearm close by. This sort of perceived nonchalance from my artwork comes from education and confidence, and my hope is that all women experience the confidence that arises from handling a firearm. Safely and securely. And yes, trust that the safety is 'on' in these depictions ;)  }

Why a rifle? Well simple.

 I give you Joe Biden.

 “If you want to protect yourself, get a double-barrel shotgun,” Biden said in an interview with Parents Magazine back in February. “You don’t need an AR-15. It’s harder to aim, it’s harder to use, and in fact, you don’t need 30 rounds to protect yourself. Buy a shotgun. Buy a shotgun.”

I am not a strong believer in pistols, but living in Colorado you can be certain many Coloradoans do not go camping without one.  Am reminded of an incident in the winter of 2007, when we were up in the canyon  looking for Christmas trees to cut. Doe went scrambling over a rock ledge, came around the side of it and stumbled straight into a literal lion's den. While not proven a mountain lion, her white face and taut expression as she ran towards us said it all. It was a large foreign looking animal with tufted ears and spots and golden heavily lined eyes. She was truly frightened- not to say we would have obliterated this animal into the afterlife had we seen it firsthand-not even. But when you are truly invading a wild animal's territory it's never a bad thing to come prepared to defend yourself. Because an animal caught off guard will not hesitate to defend itself.

Doe has handled many a rifle and a firearm in her childhood, and it's with this confidence that she models Bird Ball & Chain.

Moll

Satine

Gretchen

Coralee

Monroe

Email me at: kimolsen510@gmail.com if you are interested in purchasing one. Or just leave a Comment and let me know what you think.

If you're interested: All sizes for Women (and Men!) from S-XL are available. $18 includes S&H. Please give two weeks' for order and shipment.

 I am in the process of opening an Etsy shop, but since Doe posted a picture of her wearing one on her Instagram we have been flooded with orders. I thought I would give my loyal bloggers the opportunity to purchase them here as well.

T-shirts are excellent quality cotton and are being screen-printed by a local shop Wounded Heart Press.
(www.woundedheartpress.com).

“The rifle itself has no moral stature, since it has no will of its own. Naturally, it may be used by evil men for evil purposes, but there are more good men than evil, and while the latter cannot be persuaded to the path of righteousness by propaganda, they can certainly be corrected by good men with rifles.”

                                                                                                                      -Jeff Cooper, The Art of the Rifle  

The 22-year-old me

Today I was running behind the 22-year old me.

I was slavering away on the treadmill and a tall blonde woman got on the stairclimber in front of me. 5'10, 125 lbs, cute as a button. She was accompanied by her boyfriend/bodyguard Manti Te'o (kidding...).

I at first was horribly deeply depressed.
Why even bother.
 Just step off and go buy yourself a mocha latte. It's over for you.
When there are such beautiful women trolling the earth, why even bother to try and maintain any semblance of self-esteem. No more boys in college following me back to my dorm engaging in conversation. No more strange men at my workplace whispering promises.
Gone are the introductory phone calls or invitations to go out to a movie. The old grey mare just aint what she used to be ;)

 And unless I garnered a rather serious eating disorder or a severe case of food poisoning, I would never reach that number on the scale ever again.

 I asked myself, what is ahead of this young woman? Will she marry the man that she is chatting with next to her on the machine? What is her major?  What is in store for her? And I began to wish her well.

As the miles start rolling under my feet, I started reeling in all of the things I've seen in 22 years since I was 22. And instead of mourning the many years that separate the two of us, I started feeling comforted. I realized that I have seen-and survived-a lot. Only to be on the other side of it and realize the glory of it all.


I saw a plane crash into a building not once but twice. I saw riots, floods, hurricanes, births and deaths. I've pulled a child outside of myself and shut the eyes of a dead mother. I have loved one man and watched him transform into a man of integrity, priceless value and a paragon of fatherhood. I've seen in stunning speed three children grow and stretch and become three incredibly spectacular individuals.

I've danced on the beaches in Mexico, ran nekked across a few lawns, been caught en flagrante delicto 
in a hotel in France and had to shout at a maid to 'partir s'il vous plait' as she came in to service the room. I've cried at a few weddings, leaked breastmilk through a maid of honor dress, ate an octopus at a restaurant at 12 am in Spain, swum drunkenly in a pool at a wedding reception in a wool dress... only to drip pool water through the lobby as we headed out to the car. Spelunked through a mile and half of caves in Gibraltar, woken up every three hours to hook myself up to a breast pump for a baby in the NICU, slept on a hospital bed and taken not a few children to the ER. I've hugged my husband at the news of his mother's illness, cried at the news of a friend's divorce and another's cancer diagnosis. I've watched my mother being driven away in a hearse, my lover walk the line at University, gotten the phone calls at 3 am that someone needs help. Argued with other mothers, losing a few friends in the process, and committed myself to believing someone to only be completely and utterly fooled.

As I was running I saw out of the corner of my eye a man get on the treadmill next to me. Etiquette would demand one not glance over, or turn to meet said person eye to eye. No the parables of treadmill say you need to focus on the task at hand, if for no other reason than to assure that you don't totally trip and brain yourself on the machine. He gets on the machine and starts punching the speed button. Faster faster faster. Dang, I thought, this guy is going at a pretty good clip. He had good arms and from what I could sense strong legs, seeing as he is speedily got up to my mileage and was running alongside at a fast rate. I was proud that I was able to 'keep up' with someone as young as him, and that I wasn't starting to fade or lose stamina. After all of these years, maybe I could still keep up with the youngster...

22 year old me gets off the stairclimber. I'm only 20 minutes into my run. Feeling a little arrogant that I was able to work out longer than 22 year old me. The wrinkles, bags, age spots belie the fact that I am more capable to run distance than I was at 22. I got this.

My neighbor runs another 10 minutes or so, and stops his machine. Steps off and walks over to towel shelf. Glancing over I notice.
Neighbor is balding with grey hair and skinny pale age-spotted gams.
And as if on cue this song came up on my player....



And the lyrics slung home

A live wire
Babe you're a beginner but just watch
that lady Go
shes on fire 
cause dancin' gets her Higher than anything else she knows

And I smiled that a song by Van Halen could crystallize exactly what I was thinking about my 3.5 miles on the treadmill.

Just watch that Lady go

And I laughed at what was ahead for the next 22....

Atelophobia

I may not have gotten her the right swimcap.
She may not have the nicest cleats.
Or the cutest socks.
She might not get on the 'best' team.
He may wear his shoes down to the tread.
He might not ever run a winning time. Or shoot the winning shot.
She might buy all her clothes-second hand.
Her car might not be brand-new.
The rust on it may be getting larger.
We might not have the nicest house.
We might not have the cleanest house.
We don't have the most well-behaved animals.
We don't buy purebreds.
I can't get certain smells out of my carpet.
Our fish die and no one notices until we see a skeleton in the tank.
I drive down the street with a roll of TP stuck in the door frame and am flummoxed as to who unspooled the TP down the street.
My husband doesn't keep the lawn mowed nicely enough.
But we have our health.
We have our family.
We have our grandparents.
We have Spain. (:')  )
We have our sense of humor.
We have enough.

This Boy's Summer Life

                                       Snapshot into the life of a twelve-year old Tank.

With friends like these, who needs an NSA?

"Susan Rice is a fierce champion of human dignity"---Barack Obama.

If championing human dignity means lying about a terrorist attack,
belittling an entire religion by lying and claiming they were upset by a video,
lying to four military and government personnel's grieving families,
 lying on five separate morning shows about the reasoning behind the attack and never reneging on that falsehood on self-same five morning news programs,
accepting an offer to be NSA with the understanding that your appointment is unwelcome by a large proportion of military personnel and a divided nation....
No, Ms Rice the dignified person would not accept the appointment of NSA. She would bow out gracefully and go on as many news programs as possible and admit she was fed information from a misguided administration. And admit that her ability to regurgitate lies so readily for the Obama Administration does nothing but put our National Security at risk. She would also admit that having her female counterpart, HR Clinton, take all of the blame on Benghazi on her own shoulders and with that responsibility claim "what difference does it make?" is an embarassment to her gender and should be wary about being female under the Obama Administration.
As NSA Susan Rice should be aware that newsmedia is 24 hours now. Nothing is hidden. And the truth will eventually come out....
CNN obtains emails showing evidence that the White House knew of extremist claims in Benghazi attack
From CNN:
Two hours after the attack on the U.S. consulate in Benghazi, the White House, the State Department and the FBI were told that an Islamist group had claimed credit, government e-mails obtained by CNN show.
One of the e-mails - sent from a State Department address to various government agencies - specifically identifies Ansar al-Sharia as claiming responsibility for the attack on its Facebook page and on Twitter.
The e-mails raise further questions about the seeming confusion on the part of the Obama administration to determine the nature of the September attack and those who planned it.

The question is do we want a National Security Advisor who does nothing but repeat what she is told to say? Or, do we want an NSA who is well-versed in international political climates and can state unequivocally sans prompter what is going on in the world around her?

Nutcracker Suite

To the neighbor whose lawn my cat desecrated while we were walking tonight....I am very sorry.

My cat never poops anywhere except in his litter box.

 I am aware now of the new reality, that instead of having a dog who never poops anywhere except her yard we have a large cat who likes to poop in others' yards. Yes, of course, I agree we need to start carrying grocery sacks to clean up after our cat. Yes, that would be the self-same cat who goes on walks with us each night.

I am sorry that we failed to carry a grocery sack with us this evening and believe me, I'm sorry I saw you go into your house in what I estimated was anger.
I'm sorry that I rang the bell and asked stupidly if you by chance had a bag we could use to clean up Pam's mess.
I'm sorry you took that tone with me.
I'm sorry you got upset.
I'm sorry that your nose is that color, almost an eggplant color, which comes from either too many late winter days on the slopes or too many late winter nights in the pub.

I'm sorry you had a Jesus fish nailed into the concrete next to your garage door.
That more than anything is what I most regret most of all.

No need to get so fierce, dude. It was an honest mistake. I had every intention of cleaning up after my cat.

I'm sorry that the poop was sort of runny.

You see, we've never had a cat before who follows us around the block. Crossing busy streets, scratching on the window at the local gas station two blocks away because he sees us in there and he wants to come in with our son. I think it's because we spent the first few weeks of his life believing he was a girl (hence his name: Pam). And like the Johnny Cash song, quite possibly naming a boy a girl's name can do a number on the male psyche. Make him feel insecure. Make him want to mark his territory. Makes him want to be with his people and see if we pick up another twee fat tomcat and turn him into another Sue or Harriet or Jane.

The adventures of pet ownership never seem to stop bringing people together. Or tearing neighborhoods apart. I have to walk by your house every day as we go to the neighborhood pool this summer. Let's not be mean to each other.

I'll be the bigger person, walk all the way back to my house and carry a grocery sack back, scraping the cat fecal matter off the lawn and walk back with said bag, crap in situ.

I guess it's better than me doing this:

The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. 

All in all, lesson learned. Time to either start locking up the cats before nightly walk sessions, bringing bags for excrement with us, or starting dragging the cats on a leash. 

Suffice to say, after seeing what Pam unloaded on this man's lawn, I was duly impressed and grateful that this was not in their litter box at home.

Mercies abound.