Just finished celebrating the family's March birthday week which begins with my Mom, born Billye Lois Sele, on March 17, 1918 and ends on March 22,less than a week later with my big brother, St. Chuck. We started the week with a fish feed at a sea food restaurant near St. Chuck's house in Upland, CA and then forced MaForbes out of her house and into my car for a five-day visit here in Escondido.
It's very hard to get MaForbes out of her house, much less past the city limits of Azusa, CA--where she's lived almost exclusively since 1918. But I succeeded, convincing her that her cat would do fine by itself while she was away, and that I wanted the company.
The great thing about being around MaForbes is that she's funny. So I spent a lot of this week out on my porch laughing. The week started with three of us watching the sunset over the Pacific coast and glancing occasionally at the bird resort condo I've developed on the crest of a small rise near my front porch. So, Ma Forbes is looking at birds and glancing at the opened copy of Roger Tory Petersen's Bird Field Guide Birds.She's trying to identify the eight or nine species of field birds that use the resort to eat, drink, check out the attractive singles and take baths in my stone watering trough.
I hear MaForbes ask, "Jim, see that baby bird with the dark head over at the bird bath."
"Why yes Ma, what makes you think that's a baby?"
"Well, it's going to get big, much bigger."
OK, I'll bite (since I happened to know what species the bird was. "What makes you think that, Mom?.
Ma's-- who in real life is incredibly knowledgeable about things natural,has her fish hooked.
She turns the book over in her lap turned to a page with an image of the very same bird, looks at me and says "It's a black headed goat catcher"
"Well that explains the bleating in the night, Ma."
Oh god,Ma thinks we've got small, powerful, birds flitting about rural San Diego, snatching up goats at night. "Ma, that's so baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad."
She's not gonna get this fish. "Ah Ma, put on your glasses and read that section again."
She does and laughs, "Oh, it's a gnat catcher."
Thank God, the boats of Escondido are safe again.
Fear the night-flying, black-hooded goat catcher, oh and you may want to tether your llamas too (but that's another story of my twisted family I'll save for another weekend.
My naivete is compounded by a serious case of what's called "artillery deafness." It's hard for me to distinctly hear speech and other mid-tonal range noises. I'm being tested for a hearing aid now but my inability to hear things clearly makes for some strange conversations at family gatherings.
I took over the back seat earlier this week for the trip to take MaForbes home to Azusa. Drifting in and out of sleep as we neared Azusa, I thought I heard "Jim where's the.....(roller peas)."
I jerk up, and exclaim pretty loudly,"what the hell are roller peas?"
Everyone looks at me like I've just turned into the friendly village frigtard and in unison they say "Roller peas, What the hell are you talking about?.
I cast an accusatory glare at MaForbes and reply "beats the shit out of me, you guys asked me about the roller peas?"
"No we didn't," they pleaded, "we asked you " where's Perro's leash"
So how did I turn a query to find my beloved little dog's leash into a search for the mysterious "roller peas." I just gotta get the Veteran's Administration to come up with a hearing ad, or I'm gonna end up using an antique metal ear horn.
Don't pity crazed vet, with the rapidly growing garden and the giant ear horn stuck in the side of his face. He's loyally followed by a fiercely protective 11-pound Chihuahua cross breed.--Jim Forbes on 03/24/2007 from my little mountaintop in rural San Diego County, laughing.
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