What I learned from my cat

Minnie looks ridiculous with her new hairdo

Anyone who has known my cat over the last decade, and understood her fairly erratic behavior, can’t help but crack up - not just by her appearance, but that Minnie would tolerate anyone doing this to her! Alternately aloof or demanding; sporadically affectionate, often bitchy; occasionally she’d bounce off the walls like a ping pong ball, or ambush you from behind the covers. With Minnie, we never quite knew what mood was brewing … but we loved her.

Starting the day of our move from Carpinteria, Minnie had the most cat-astrophic 24 hours a feline could expect in all of her nine lives. Freaked out with the decrease in hiding places (furniture) there were shuffling boxes … strangers stomping about … and when I stuck her in the travel case, she of course wee’d. From here, it got only worse … a long (piss-covered) drive … shoved under the bathtub spigot to clean up … back in the (cleaned) case … another long drive … the car accident – with exploding glass everywhere, noise and chaos … stuck in the case for hours … finally released into a bathroom and kept captive (with the necessities) while two big dog sniffing so vigorously they practically sucked her under the door jamb … then picked up by two strange people and shuttled to her new home, where she was immediately pounced on by a kitten and suffered additional humiliating sniffing from two more dogs, plus petting and cooing from the humans.

Granted, Minnie had been through a lot – but if anyone tried to approach her sanctuary beneath the bed, she hissed and scratched. Needless to say, Minnie was soon left alone … and looking for a new home.

Blessedly Brenda agreed to take on Minnie, saying she already had a horrible cat she’d nicknamed “Nightmare.” My last look at Minnie was in a parking garage in Irvine where she, having attempted to remove all the flesh off my right hand, gave a final hiss and sideways glare, and was passed off to her new owner.

What’s my point? Minnie, understandably, was unhappy with the changes in her life … but taking it out on the people and critters who were just trying to be nice, didn’t get her far. Last week, as I laid on my rock hard mattress at La Casa Muy Frio, pondering WHY I should get out of bed, I realized how Minnie-like I was feeling. Everything familiar (and warm) was gone, now here I was in a strange place that just didn’t feel like home. So I was grumpy. And sure - I was justified! But it still didn’t get me far … because when you’re grumpy , no-one wants to be around you ... So eventually I made my bed, and decided to just get on with it.

Apparently Minnie’s turned a corner as well: her new life must be pretty damned good – because a cat like Minnie just doesn’t let anyone give her a Malibu Barbie haircut! Her fat poochie tummy shows she’s eating well, and in her expression is a little bit of attitude …

Other things ... like lounging around all day, letting other people take care of your every need, hiding under the bed when you don't like the company, and rolling around showing your tummy when you do ... well, I have yet to pick up on those traits of Minnie's, but maybe I should reconsider ...

Piriapolis

We walk to get bread from ‘the bitches’ -- two particularly unfriendly women who run a local panaderia - where the bread isn’t even good, or fresh, but it’s close

Horses get tied up in various grassy fields in our neighborhood: living lawn mowers. Today they are across the street as I leave home, and look lazily at me as I walk by.

Directions to our house: follow the main road Las Ramblas from the waterfront to Maipu (pronounced “my poo” hee hee), go up the hill and a la derecha at Casa Pinky. Last casitas in the back.

At 5pm the normally ghost-like street along the waterfront is buzzing with traffic, and the stone breakwater is littered with teenagers. Clusters of them, smoking, drinking maté, drinking beer, kissing, playing cards; many have mopeds, many more are on foot … and those who have a car show it off, parked along the sidewalk with the doors open and radios blaring ranchero-type music.

A large hawk sits on the telephone wire outside La Casa Muy Frio – he has a herringbone chest and dark hood like an executioner. Two smaller birds sandwich him, and as soon as he takes flight they dive and peck, protecting a nest no doubt. La Rio de la Plata is a huge estuary and the local bird life is rich. White egrets with dandy headdresses … oystercatchers … cormorants … a grey-brown gull that appears drab until he spreads his wings and flies, then he is striking. Sparrows dart through the shipyard, making nests in the exhaust pipes of hauled out boats.

“Ho-Laaaaaaaaaaaaah” says the construction worker I pass every day. I think this is the Uruguayan version of “How-DEEEEEEE”

Stray dogs and cats are more worldly and friendly here – I guess this is the only way they can score any chow. They seem busy, industrious, always on the go. Our kitty (an orangy Garfield-like fellow) at our casa is very persistent and bold, crass. The scraggly old cat at the yard is much more lady-like; she makes her presence known but doesn’t beg or thieve.

ADD TO LIST OF THINGS I LIKE ABOUT LIFE IN PIRIAPOLIS: after the rain, a colorful mosaic of paint chips collects in the cracks of the pavement at the shipyard.

ADD TO LIST OF THINGS I DON’T LIKE ABOUT LIFE IN PIRIAPOLIS: scorpions in the bathroom

ICY WEDGIES

Spring has sprung but someone didn’t get the memo.

We had one GLORIOUS day (Monday) that gave us the opportunity to finally get the boat painted -- but today another storm started brewing. Scattered clouds gave way to thick dark skies, and by the end of the day it was freezing cold and blowing a hooley.

With the hull newly painted, we can't lean the ladder against the toe rail anymore; so we have it lashed to the hardware on the bow where the anchor typically rests :-O. I get to climb the scruffy ladder (made out of tree trunks) some 20-30 feet or so, up to the toerail, grab the bow pulpit and headstay, get a serious (and ICY COLD) wedgie as I swing my leg over the rail, and climb up onto the pointy end. Have I mentioned I’m afraid of heights?? Not that I'm complaining you know -- it's just like the Swiss Family Robinson attraction at Disneyland. But cheaper!

I realize this is premature on the icy bits: I’m sure no-one thought I’d be writing about the cold until Antarctica. But it’s plenty chilly here … One of my first nights in Piriapolis (I left Calif. just two weeks ago) I took off the Torture Watch (so called because it tells you the current temp) when I went to bed. It hadn’t been working well … presumably registering higher than accurate temps because of my body heat (this is a good sign: I guess it means I’m not dead yet!). Well that morning when I woke up at 2:45AM (as I have every day since I arrived) I peeked at my watch to check the time, then hit the ‘temp’ button. I couldn’t see the last digit but the first was a “4”! Well 40 anything – even 49! – is #$@& cold! Luckily it has climbed into the 50s at night now, and we have had some lovely spring weather between the cold and blowy bits.

In the meantime, we continue to make good progress on the boat – I have been priming the toe rail; oiling the teak; sealing; sanding; patching; scraping; peeling; sticking … I look like a ragamuffin and smell like solvent. After a full day of work we unwind in the main salon with a beer and dinner (always 5-star); then warily climb down the ladder, and huff and puff up the hill to the Casa, where we attempt to drink our weight in cervezas or wine, discourse on the jobs accomplished, and what’s in store for the day ahead. With the hull painted we are one step closer to getting the boat back in the water … leaving Piriapolis … picking up our sails in Buenos Aires … heading to the high latitudes.

** HAPPY BIRTHDAY PATTI SHEPHERD CHISHOLM!!! **

GOOD THINGS ABOUT LIFE IN PIRIAPOLIS

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To be continued …

(Just kidding)

I think if you’re going to ‘hit the reset button*’ in life, then the best way to do it is to really go for it. Ctrl-Alt-Delete. Erase the parameters: the culture, the comforts, status, familiarity … and just get on with it. So Piriapolis has been a good starting (over) point, for many aforementioned reasons. But (having been chided for whining too much) I decided today to list the many Good Things about Life in Piriapolis:

I’m with two wonderful companions, Stephen and Audrey, who are hard-working, excellent cooks and have good sense of humor!

And the wine is cheap.

I have a place to live and don’t have to pay rent.

Ample hot water.

Two duvets.

Another good thing about the Casa: there are no large insects, lizards or geckos, frogs splashing in the toilet, mice, or marauding monkeys -- as in some places I’ve been known to go.

I don’t have a car so I don’t have to worry about the price of gas. Or DUI.

And I never need to fuss about what to wear. Fleece, fleece, more fleece … and I’m ready to go!

The internet is free and I continue to lap up warm messages from friends and family all around the world.

Lots of exercise and no monthly fees!

The opportunity to try strange new vegetables and menu items … and play games like ‘guess the meat’ …

Beautiful scenery, with the greens of springtime and the Atlantic Ocean in the distance.

Really good books.

Awesome laptop and gadgets.

Exciting future plans.

The gorgeous yacht XPLORE:

[For the past two days we’ve had a fantastic storm: the wind howling through the tree tops; shrieking through the rigging. Rain blowing sideways. The muddy waters of the Rio de la Plata splashing up over the stone wall of the embarcadero. By law we cannot sleep on the boat on the hard, so we trek to La Casa Muy Frio for the night; but have been holed up on XPLORE during the days. The boat shudders with the gusts but is incredibly comfortable, warm and dry. We have a fully stocked galley (and library), snuggly bunks, heaps of duvets; electricity to power the stereo, lights and computers; water, wine, real coffee … she’s cozy and solid and even in her ‘undressed’ state (not yet repainted) she’s by far the most beautiful and powerful yacht in Puerto Piriapolis … and I take more than a small amount of pride in being onboard as part of her crew. ]

I have a LOT (alot alot) more to be thankful for on the whole, but this today is what’s good about life in Piriapolis, Uruguay. ~ Betsy

Sept. 19, 2009

(*I do need to point out that I’m not, like, on-the-lam or anything, I’ve embarked on this journey not because I have to, but because I can. But more on that later.)

THE FREEZING POINT OF MASCARA

Before I left California I stopped at the drugstore for some last minute necessities. ‘Like mascara, razors, and Bonine – for seasickness; although taking Bonine in the Southern Ocean is akin to fighting a forest fire with a squirt gun. ‘Full of Jello.

I dawdled over the selection of mascaras. So many kinds, colors, brands …  Did I want ‘fuller’ lashes, ‘thicker’ lashes,  or ‘longer’ lashes? ‘Clump free?’ And as I wandered a whole wall of cosmetics, the question that seemed to arise – much less than ‘Who needs mascara in Antarctica?’ – was instead, ‘What IS the freezing point of mascara?’

I entertained the thought of calling my blog “The Freezing Point of Mascara” … either that, or ‘The Freezing Point of Dish Detergent” (do you know that dishwashing soap congeals at low temperatures??) but both are ever-so-unglamorous and sexist at that, so I stick to the Upside Down Summer.

"OH SHIT!"

Sept 11 2009

Stephen has offered me these first few days off anticipating what he SAID was jet lag, but what he really knew would be this “OH SHIT!” disoriented state I am in.

I awoke not with the expected thoughts of, “Where am I?” or “What time is it?” – but with absolute doom, wondering, “What the hell am I doing here and why is it so damned cold?!” I am thousands of miles from home, in a %#&$! freezing stone shack, working full time on a boat, about to embark on an utterly insane venture of sailing to Antarctica. I must have lost my fucking mind.

So Thursday morning I slept in with the covers over my head to block out the sun, the whitewashed stone walls, the thatched roof, the smell of gasoline that permeates the piles of junk stored in the loft. Finally I surrendered and got up, and hung out all my clothes (contemplating whether I have to worry about poisonous Uruguayan snakes, as I plod across the yard to the wobbly clothes line …) The day is brisk but sunny, so I expect everything will be dry by the time I get back from the marina. Stephen came to fetch me (see if I was still here?) and walk with me down to the boat.

At the shipyard, XPLORE (AKA “The Fat English Girl”) is propped up on her keel and a cradle made of logs. To get to her deck you climb up a ladder made of planks pretty firmly nailed across two long tree trunks. Considering how much I enjoy heights (NOT!) this alone is a challenge for me, and visions of my twisted body lying in a heap amidst the paint tins and scraps of wood haunt me for days. I hold on tight.

But the boat is in excellent condition, and extremely comfortable down below. I have my own cabin all cleaned and ready for my move-in, although we are not allowed to live on board until the boat is back in the water. (Hence our stay at La Casa Muy Frio.) My cabin is on the port side forward, just behind one of two large and commodious heads (but we do NOT have a holding tank, I am pleased to hear, so nothing stinky below) and I have two bunks: one for me, and the other for storage or as our guest list demands. I decide I will sleep on the top bunk, which is a very cozy looking pipe berth with extra padding, a duvet and pillow. I figure sleeping as high as possible above the water line will be less refrigerator-like when we are in glacier strewn ice water. In addition to the bunks I’ve got four milk crates on some shelving, which will house all my worldly possessions. I ponder the need for a mirror on the wall …

There’s a carbon copy of my cabin across the hall, and two more just aft, that sleep two or three. Then the nav station, companionway; galley and main salon; and two cabins all the way back for the skipper (Stephen) and the first mate (Audrey). XPLORE really is a gorgeous boat, and I am eager for the day we can move aboard and I can consider her my home, as I think this will ease my transition. I’m approaching the coming days with optimism – not quite excitement yet, but that will come.

The Upside Down Summer (or Winter - depending how you look at it)

Sept 10 2009

I arrived safe and sound in Montevideo, after an uneventful flight (*with the exception of sitting on the on the tarmac at Panama’s international airport, watching my bags lay out in the rain -- hence arriving drenched). Customs/immigration was a breeze even though my bags were stuffed with parts and gear; and after taking the scenic route home (thanks to some road construction and questionable navigation on the part of my welcoming committee) we got to the cottage and I settled into my loft. The Casa is pretty rustic, by familiar standards, but has about everything you might need … a kitchenette, nice bathroom and hot water … but no heat! Even though Piriapolis is nearly the same latitude as Carpinteria, it is MAS FRIO (more cold!) being that Carpinteria is in the Northern Hemisphere and enjoying the waning days of summer; and Piriapolis is in the Southern Hemisphere, clinging to winter.

Subsequently I have decided to call my blog The Upside Down Summer because ‘upside down’ is how I feel. It was still summer when I left (replete with sunny days on the beach, barbecues, swimming) and here it is barely hinting of spring. It was hot, here it’s frigid. I was doing ‘intellectual’ work as a writer; and now physical, even menial, labor fills my day (and a long one, at that). There, I was connected -- online and on the phone all the time; but now my phone doesn’t work, and I have little time or internet access. Truly I feel disconnected: from friends and loved ones and all things familiar and desirable. My whole life feels like I’ve taken a big 180-degree flip-flop, and my head spins with the thoughts of everything I have left behind and everything (mostly unknown) that lies ahead. So that’s it (for now): the Upside Down Summer.

One last point: I admit it is also a nod to Eduardo Galeano, the famous South American political/historical writer who wrote many years ago The Upside Down Book, in his inimitably quirky prose. A native of Montevideo (where I landed) I acquiesce to his talents and seek him for inspiration. If I can provide such a window on life as Galeano does; then I am truly blessed.