Whirlybirds

Hello dear friends!

How are things where you are?  I know that is poorly worded question but you (plural), my friends, are scattered all over the planet and I'm very afraid that my vocabulary is being compromised by living in Hickville. In any case, I think of all of you for certain reasons (mostly good) this time of year. And I miss you.

Martin, how is school in London?

To begin my update, I'm a light sleeper. I often wake at 2:30 in the morning to any of a variety of sounds:  Wuzzy dreaming and lightly barking while simultaneously scratching his sleeping feet on the terra cotta floor, Sjaantje engaged in some bizarre conversation with nobody in particular while pinching invisible airborne pixies or Henk making a gentle "ronflement" as his soft palette ululates.  I promise you that I never wake up as a result of my own nocturnal pig sounds.  I swear I don't snore.  Never.

 

Anyway, the other morning I awoke at the above mentioned time and read for a while. At 5:00, I decided to take a quick nap before the brutal reality of actually leaving the bed materialized.  Besides, my book had just taken on a new theme of military, Homeland Security and helicopters which are three things that endlessly bore me.  What seemed like just a few minutes later, I became halfway aware of a helicopter sound.  I say "halfway" because at the time, I dreamily thought I was reliving some scene from my book.  But as soon as the sconces on the wall started to tinkle with vibrations and the wall itself began seizing, I was wide awake.

 

Brave as I am (not) and ignoring any possible danger, I whipped open the door to the upstairs balcony and amazingly was confronted by a helicopter about 10 feet above my head.  As if the noise, vibrations and Tramontana type winds weren't enough, two red lights, one blue-ish white light and a search beam convinced me this was not a dream.  For some reason I let out a yell, ran back inside and opened the secret place where we keep our gun.  Stupid, stupid, as if.  This time remembering to put on my robe, I went back outside (sans gun) and watched as this helicopter slowly continued on – hovering more than flying to the next two homes and then on to the commune – before I came back inside and made coffee.

 

Many things bothered me about that episode.  1.) There are absolutely NO street lights on our road plus we are surrounded by trees and power lines.  This helicopter was 10 feet above the upstairs balcony, hovering between a rather large oak tree, some power lines and the roof of our house.  Imminent danger, especially in the complete darkness.  2.)  What about the "noise abatement" laws?  3.) Were they the herb police, checking out the tarragon?  4.)  Why does Henk think I was dreaming?

 

Well, justification for the last query was satisfied a day later when Dalana showed me an on-line forum where people were discussing the "Whirlybirds" and the "5:30 wake up call".  Ha.  I knew it. Unfortunately I found no excuses or reasons for this intrusive whirlybird, but the comments were fun:  "Whooee!  They sure was loud!"  and "Could'na been the po-lice, they's too drunk at night to work."  And the best, "T'wernt no Black Hawk.  Them's too big.  Was aliens.  I heard'em on my phone the other day."

 

This comes after a week's worth of traveling to sunny California for Thanksgiving.  Ah, the people of California. And the houses!  Opulence and beauty.  Actually, the same thing goes for those in Scottsdale, Arizona.…

 

We drove from our Hillbilly Junction to just outside of Los Angeles, a city called Altadena.  On the way, we stopped in Arizona to visit a college friend of mine whom I hadn't seen in, hmmmmm, 13/14 years.  My friend, Jenderna, is married to a rather tall and handsome architect who designed and built their home.  OMG.  Jen and her husband Andy have triplets, a pool, plenty cacti and double-paned beveled glass to adorn their incredibly artistic home.  Beautiful Jen is one of the few people in my life who make me laugh like a dork, such is her personality. Plus, Jen and Andy were the beginning of the recurring motif for Thanksgiving:  the Keurig Coffee machine. 

 

Then it was on to Rudie and Cynthia's house in Altadena, CA.  Rudie is Henk's lovely brother and his wife, Cynthia, makes me laugh at myself only because she is laughing at me and wanting me to join in. She's contagious.  We spent some time marveling at their beautiful home and garden, shopping, eating, canceling our order for $18.00 margaritas and wiping LA pigeon poop off my leather coat.  Fun times indeed!

 

Rudie and Cynthia have a Keurig coffee machine.

 

For Thanksgiving, we went to San Diego to visit Cynthia's sister Kris and her husband Joe. The house was extraordinary, on a hill, overlooking absolutely everything.  Sjaantje was amazed to see two authentic elephant tusks, real zebra skin rugs, a cute little white dog named Maggie who has not yet been made into a rug and to eat pumpkin pie.  Henk absorbed the garage where Joe keeps a collection of twelve or maybe sixteen cars – Porsches, old "hotrods" with wispy fire painted on them a la ZZ Top, classics (the names of which I do not know but old cars with what I would call horn rimmed glasses) and each with a personalized license plate:  Joe Cool, Joe Fast, Joe Sexy, Joe Fun etc...  The irony is that Joe is legally blind and cannot drive. 

 

Kris and Joe have a Keurig coffee machine.

 

The most notable thing about our drive from Texas to California was the unfortunate roadkill.  As I've told you before, in this part of Texas there are way too many dead deer on the side of the road.  In west Texas, we saw plenty armadillos.  Further on in New Mexico and Arizona, the road sides were decorated with coyotes but once we hit California, the patina of roadkill changed to strictly cars, fancy ones at that.  This is something Sjaantje commented on and is in no way meant to be funny.

 

Culture shock again upon our return to Hickville, I went to the store the following morning.  Pulling in to the only vacant parking place, I noticed a rather large man lingering five feet away.  Outfitted in denim overalls/coveralls/hogwashers and no shirt, this hefty gentleman sported an exceptionally long golden coif plus a matching beard which went all the way down to his fat-fold laden navel.  (I don't mean to sound judgmental; I'm just trying to give you an image.) Anyway, this guy had radar locking eyes that honed in on me and my car as I parked and thus feeling uneasy, I said "Good morning" as I went into the store.  Ten minutes later when I came out, Goldilocks was slowly and tentatively walking to and fro around my car. Here came the eyes again and he said, "That there a Mar-Say-Deez?  Them's a good car."  Of course I agreed on both counts.  "I gotsa friend, he got him a Marsaydeez.  Been the best car – better'n a Chevy – for 'bout 10 years."  Wow, I said, what a coincidence.  My car is 10 years old as well. "Yep.  But this'n looks better than Billy's. Hizziza S. This here's a C."  Breaking into colloquialisms, I said, "Yep, this is a C class."  Then remembering my first encounter with the butcher here, I added "Have a nice day then."  "Yep, you too.  Take you some good care with that there car."  I'm still struggling to find out if this was a guardian angel of some sort or just some nice albeit hillbilly guy who didn't pass his English class.

 

After telling Henk about this meeting of the minds, he decided to put our Dutch tags on the front of the car in order to confuse the locals even more. I simply cannot wait for my next encounter.

 

So about this Keurig coffee machine: it makes a great cup of coffee. Look it up on line – it would make a great Christmas gift. 

 

Lekker zoentjes.

 

Wend