This morning we pondered getting up and going to church, but it was hard to work up any enthusiasm where there was no compelling reason (such as one of us having to sing in the choir / play the piano / otherwise perform some particular necessary function). So instead we put on our bathrobes and our slippers and we went downstairs and we ate s’mores for breakfast.

I suppose there are far better things to have for breakfast than s’mores, but when one’s husband has purchased one a s’mores maker for one’s birthday, it makes a compelling argument to break out the marshmallows, graham crackers, Hershey bars, and a little half-full can of chafing fuel and fire it up to start off the day.

It’s a cute little contraption, although a little bit silly. After all, it’s just a little grill, run by chafing fuel, which comes on a rotating tray with little containers in which to place all the s’more parts. We actually opened the box Friday night and had s’mores for dinner while sitting on the couch in the living room, watching episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation on DVD. We’d then bought extra s’mores ingredients, intending to make use of the little contraption during the game yesterday, but there was pizza and Captain Crunch cereal instead of s’mores and we never got around to it. This meant there were leftover graham crackers, and a half-empty can of fuel from Friday night and we really did need to use them all up. Sure we did.

After stuffing ourselves with s’mores we headed off to Costco to stock up on paper towels and toilet paper, and then we stopped by our favorite hardware store to get a flat of creepers for the backyard. Yes, I know it says something that we have a ‘favorite’ hardware store, but when one is surrounded by a Home Depot, a Lowe’s, and at least two Ace Hardware stores, one has to decide on the best place to go. So we stick with a local chain that always seems to have what we’re looking for.

Last summer, after we built the raised flower bed and put the stone path around it, we put in three flats of blue star creepers, hoping they’d spread out and eventually fill in the gaps between the paving stones. Unfortunately it was too hot and too dry and they all died. Or rather, we *thought* they all died, until recently when I noticed one determined little patch which had somehow hung on and was actually growing quite well. In the meantime the gardeners had, at our request, extended the range of the sprinklers on either side of the flowerbed to reach the path itself, so at least the little creepers would get water. So we went outside, armed with the new flat of creepers and two large mixing spoons (because why waste money on gardening trowels when one has mixing spoons?) and we cut the flat into random chunks and planted all those chunks and now I am keeping my fingers crossed that even just a few of those chunks take hold and start doing what they are supposed to be doing. I have dreams of one day having that little pathway be all green and lovely between the paving stones. Of course I also dream that one day the tree being (slowly) painted on the wall of the breakfast nook will finally be completed too, so obviously I suffer from occasional optimism.

Richard wanted to go see the new Spiderman film, but I wasn’t in a movie mood, so he went off to watch the web slinger while I stayed home and poked at the cats and did some knitting. I am sick to death of blue yarn, and of knitting afghans (since I’m working on afghan number two), but I am determined to finish it anyway, just because it is there. I was pondering various options for dinner when the phone rang with my older sister on the other end, wanting to know if we wanted to meet them for dinner in Fairfield. Since they’re in Napa, it’s the best halfway point for all of us. Richard made it back from the movie just in time, so back we went in the car and joined far too many other people heading in the same direction (ah, how we love traffic) on the freeway. Except this time, instead of grumbling about the traffic we had lots of fun watching the mpg on the Prius climb higher and higher. Hybrid engines just *love* stop and go traffic. Yet another reason why I adore this little car.

Oh, and that reminds me – when we were driving into the parking lot of the hardware store earlier today we were amused to see another little blue Prius pulling out. The driver of the other Prius grinned and waved, so we waved right back. It’s like an exclusive little club – all of us hybrid car drivers. I’ve done it with hybrid Honda Civics too, so we’re an equal opportunity club. I imagine that come next year we will even all be willing to wave merrily to drivers of the new hybrid Ford Escape, even though it might be one of the evil SUV’s, because least it is a hybrid and that is surely better than nothing at all.

Despite the traffic we made it to the restaurant just a little after my sister and her family arrived. My poor mom was not quite so fortunate, hitting the traffic about half an hour after we did (and by then it had gotten a lot worse) so she showed up after we were all mostly done with our food. But it was still fun. My little three-year-old nephew chattered away at the top of his lungs, mainly about the fact that he was wearing Thomas the Tank Engine underpants (he’s potty training right now). After dinner we all over to Coldstone Creamery and got the smallest servings of ice cream they provide (which is still a huge amount right after dinner). By then it was cooling off outside, enough that we took our ice cream outside and sat there and chatted and the little boys could run around (much like several other clumps of small children were doing) to take advantage of the space, and for impromptu, last minute dinner plans that involved driving in horrid traffic, it was a very lovely ending to a lovely day.

This morning we woke up slowly (and I got to sleep *late*, since I did not have to get up at some ungodly early hour to feed the darn cats – they can feed themselves again!) and stopped by the bakery on the way to the annual lamb-themed festival at the fairgrounds. It’s not the biggest affair, but it’s always good for a cute diversion for an hour or so. We meandered around the various arts and crafts booths and I fingered piles of carded (but not yet spun) wool in every color of the rainbow but managed to escape without purchasing any new yarn or yarn precursors at all. I did succumb to the lure of the little handmade soaps shaped like resting dragons, but when it came to the yarn and the wool, I was strong. I am telling myself that there are certain projects I must finish knitting, in order to work my way through the small stash in the guest room, before I am allowed to buy any more yarn, and so far I have stuck to that self-imposed limitation. We’ll see how long it actually lasts, though.

We wandered for about an hour and then headed home to get ready for the game later in the afternoon. Then we arranged to meet my parents back at the fairgrounds for lunch, since one should never pass up the opportunity to partake of fair food. We sat on the grass in a shady spot and listened to a not-very-good band play, too loudly, and ate our lunches. I had an extremely messy gyro with some kind of meat that was never actually identified (although considering the theme of the fair I am guessing it was maybe wearing wool in a previous life) and Richard had a slightly less messy polish sausage.

Last weekend, after we dropped her off after our day of Fun with Drywall, our friend let us borrow her copy of a DVD put out by a little improv group up in Seattle that was a 40 minute spoof on gaming. We laughed ourselves silly watching it, and then begged her to let us keep it one week more so we could inflict it on our fellow gamers. They didn’t disappoint – we all agreed that we all either knew people just like those in the film, or else we’d *been* those people at one time or another. And then we sat down around the dining room table with our books and our papers and our dice and we played, breaking only to go pick up pizza and soda. I will not bore you with the details, since I am well aware that the only people who would ever be interested in what goes on during a role playing session are *only* the people who were actually there at the time (something a great many gaming nerds never quite seem to learn – shudder), but we had a marvelous time.

A week or two ago we got the postcard in the mail saying it was time for the cats to get their annual check-up, and when I called to schedule, it did not even occur to me that ‘next Wednesday’ would be our anniversary. All I wanted to do was to make sure we could work in an appointment. I am fully aware of how lucky I am to have access to a vet who makes house calls – so I try to be as accommodating as possible to her schedule.

I headed home from work a little early on Wednesday afternoon in order to have time to corral Zucchini in the upstairs bathroom, (since he’s impossible to catch when it’s only me around, and it would have been nightmarish to try to do it when other people were present) and then the vet came over. It was one of the hotter days of the year, so the air conditioning hadn’t kicked in as much as I had hoped by the time the vet and her assistant arrived. Combine a fairly warm house with three sweaty people and seven cats who shed several times their weight in hair when stressed, and an oh-so-pleasant (and oh-so-fuzzy) time was had by all. Or not. But we did manage to get enough blood from Rebecca to run some tests (to check the status of her kidneys), and everyone had their teeth checked and their weights recorded and got their vaccinations, so at least the basics were taken care of. We did try to get some blood from Allegra but she reverted to her feral side – the side she used to display when she went out for adoption lo those many years ago when she was just a foster kitten – and between the hissing, the spitting, and all five pointy ends doing their best to rip any available skin from any available human, we decided that perhaps drawing blood just wasn’t going to happen at that particular moment.

The reason for the blood draw attempt was that she’s lost weight since last year. And so, by the way, has Rebecca – not since last year, of course, since she’s gone through extremely expensive treatment since then for her hyperthyroid, but she’s lost weight since the last time she was in to the vet to be checked. And I realized that while this special diet she is on may buy us an extra few months for her kidney disease, it is not going to be worth it if she (and the other cats) is losing weight because they don’t get enough to eat. The vet and I talked about the efficacy of the prescription diets and ultimately decided that Rebecca will do fine on the food all the other cats are eating. It may mean we may lose a little time with her, but with the cats I have always tried to subscribe to the philosophy that what is important is their quality of life, not how long I might want them to be around. Making her stressed and unhappy is not good for her, even if it might seem like it’s good for me. And they are all much happier (and healthier) when we free-feed. I accept that eventually this kidney disease will kill my little grouchy tortie cat, since they cannot cure it, only treat the symptoms. But I also know it is a slow disease, and I’d much rather she be happy and not losing weight in the meantime. Plus, Rebecca is demanding enough that we already turn on water faucets for her every time we turn around, so she’s certainly getting the extra water the vet says she needs for her slowly failing kidneys, and hopefully postponing, on her own, the inevitable time when we will have to start giving her fluids through an IV.

So once the vet left, the food bowls came out, and they are staying out. Ah, the blissful moments when I awoke the past few mornings and was not immediately accosted by cats demanding to be fed Right Now. We’ll see how things go, and keep an eye on Allegra to see if she gains back some of that weight, but for now I’m feeling cautiously optimistic about the situation and am crossing my fingers that it all works out.

Today was our third wedding anniversary. However, without thinking, we scheduled this month’s Young Adults gathering for tonight (since this was one of the few nights that would work for everyone involved). So instead of doing anything romantic for our anniversary, we simply postponed the anniverary dinner for tomorrow night, and instead, this morning before work I stirred up three huge batches of dough for homemade pretzels, and then after work and a house call by the veterinarian (which I’ll talk about later) we headed off to the church to get things ready.

‘Getting things ready’ mainly involved me rolling out one batch of the pretzels and setting them off to rise, since I figured we’d be better off having some cooking when the others showed up. They all did show up, one by one, some with kids and some without, and we all stood around in the kitchen and rolled out pretzels. The first few pans were traditional pretzel shapes, but I knew that wouldn’t last, and sure enough, by the time we’d reached the end of the dough the pans were full of mostly non-pretzel shaped pretzels.

It was supposed to be a potluck dinner but that didn’t exactly pan out. So Richard was sent off to the store to get cheese and fruit and when he returned, the first batch was just coming out of the oven. We dragged a few tables together, set the men to cutting up fruit and cheese, and then commenced with the eating.

Homemade pretzels, fruit and cheese had been one of those ‘company’ meals in my family as long as I can remember, since it’s hard to remain strangers with people when you’re all gathered around a table, hands coated liberally in flour, rolling out dough. I figured since there were a few newbies to our little group it would work out the same for them as well, and happily it did. Between the dozen or so of us that came we managed to inhale almost the entire three batches, and a good amount of the fruit and cheese as well. There were only a few left to take home, and I passed out copies of the recipe to a few of the others. Everyone pitched in to clean up the kitchen (and we all kept nibbling pretzels). It may not have been a romantic dinner for two, but it was a lot of fun, and we all got the chance to get to know a few of the newer members of the group, and we all ate a lot of pretzels and I am not sure which part of that was the best part of the whole evening, since it is kind of hard to choose when homemade pretzels are involved.

What do you get when you take three women and toss them (and eight men) into a small house on a rather warm day, sprinkle them liberally with drywall dust (and make sure they get a full breathing dose too), and then, at some point, hand those three women matching drills?

You get three women stupidly posing with their drills in the classic Charlie’s Angels pose, of course (click picture below for larger view).

It was our second work day for the Sacramento chapter of Habitat for Humanity. We were at the same house we’d been to before – the house where we poured the cement for the back patio, and installed a french drain in the back yard. This time we were installing sheetrock in the interior.

It was good that we were inside for this workday, since it was a lot hotter out than last time. Not, mind you, that it was all that cool and comfortable inside, but at least it wasn’t in the direct sun. And at least hanging drywall did not require anyone to cart wheelbarrows of very heavy cement or rocks anywhere, so that was another plus.

We hung drywall the entire day. We hung it for what felt like about 8 hours straight but what was actually only 4 hours. We took a break for lunch, very nicely provided by a local church congregation, and then we still had half the day left, so we spent another 25 years or so hanging drywall until it was about 4pm and two of the three Charlie’s Angels wannabes (the third got to leave early because she was coordinating a wedding) decided that enough was enough and that we had inhaled our yearly quota of gypsum dust and it was time to be done with the hanging of drywall Right Now.

I have utmost respect for people who spend their work lives doing this sort of thing. It’s heavy, hot, hard work. When we started it was uncoordinated and none of us were really sure what we were doing and had to be shown rather slowly by the habitat site supervisors. But by the afternoon we’d all settled into a routine and by the time we were done we’d managed to get most of the house completed. We were hot and sweaty and sore and completely exhausted by the time we stopped but it was a wonderful feeling to look around and see what we’d accomplished.

The last time I called the pharmacy to get a refill on my happy pills (aka birth control) they called me back to note that I had no more refills. A quick call to the doctor garnered me a two-month reprieve, but there was also a stern reminder that it was time to make my yearly appointment if I wanted them to give me any more. So this afternoon I left work early and headed off to my doctor for the yearly poking and prodding and all the fun that goes along with it.

I’ve been dealing with these nasty sinus infections now for the better part of three years or so, and I am getting awfully tired of having them come on every time I come down with a cold. Plus I seem to get sick more often these days, despite the exercise and healthier diet. So this doctor’s visit I finally decided that I had enough, and brought up the subject of allergy shots. We talked about my symptoms, and he agreed that – especially since my known allergies (to most things small and fuzzy) have been getting progressively worse over the past few years as well – seeing an allergist would be a good idea for me. So he’ll set that up and once the insurance company has agreed that it will be covered they’ll call me to schedule an appointment. I must admit that I’m actually looking forward to it. At long last I’ll finally know exactly what I’m allergic to – and maybe I can finally *do* something about it beyond taking random allergy meds and having to deal with the occasional and unexpected breakout in hives and swelling of throat when I am exposed. Plus, anything that might get rid of these damn sinus infections is a good thing.

It turns out that since my health is otherwise pretty stable I only have to get the worst of the poking and prodding every other year. So aside from peering into my nose and throat, the appointment was mostly us sitting there and chatting about all my questions. But then he brought something up which took me by surprise. He noted that now that I am 35, it’s time for me to start thinking about scheduling my first mammogram.

I will admit that my first response was to gape at him. And then I picked my jaw up off the floor and gave a weak little laugh. I know that it’s something I have to ‘look forward’ to, but really, I didn’t think it was something I’d have to worry about for at least another five years or more. I thought that sort of thing didn’t come up in conversations with doctors until you were in your 40’s. Yeesh.

I think my shock amused him, and he noted that it wasn’t necessary for me to get it right away. But I have a feeling I’m going to be getting more and more pressure over the next few years until I *do* schedule it, so I suppose I might as well suck it up and get it over with sooner rather than later. But still, it was kind of a nasty wake-up call. I have never lied about my age – nor do I understand the woman who feel it necessary to do so – but sometimes it sneaks up on me just how ‘old’ I am. At 35 I can no longer say I am in my early 30’s – and by my next birthday ‘late 30’s’ will become a reality. It won’t be that much longer until suddenly I am facing 40 squarely in the eye and middle age as well. And really, that doesn’t bother me as much as I suppose it might. But really, mammograms. Why do I have to be suddenly old enough for *that*?

After Saturday’s adventures we all slept pretty hard last night. I made potato cheese soup for dinner (there really was a good reason I brought my blender with me) and we snacked on Oreos and Cheeto’s, and squashed a few more crunchy ants, and then we all curled up on various couches and chairs in the living room and did some crafting work. But we were all pretty exhausted and not much in the mood to do anything that required any amount of energy, so eventually we just gave up and went to bed.

We got up this morning and ate donuts for breakfast because every Sisters’ Only weekend must have donuts. Then we cleaned up the cabin and gathered up all our things and wandered around the cabin to pick out about half a dozen huge and perfect pine cones for my little sister to take home with her. My older sister balanced her camera as well as she could on the hood of her car and then we three posed in front of the cabin. And then, alas, it was time to go. We piled back into the car and drove back down those windy, bumpy mountain roads, back to those boring stretches of 99 and I-5. There was a brief detour into Galt to make use of bathrooms at a McDonalds (bathrooms blessedly free of jumbo-sized ants or spiders) and to get soft serve ice cream cones. We dutifully finished off the remnants of our weekend – a few leftover donuts and Oreos and the last sorry dregs from the bag of Cheetos. My older sister and I dropped my little sister back at the airport with hugs and goodbyes. And then she took me home, with only a brief detour to drop off the key to the cabin to her mother-in-law and have a short chat about all the fun we’d had.

I’m pretty exhausted at this point, so I shall end this entry with pictures from our trip, in no particular order. In case it wasn’t obvious, we had a marvelous time.

This is my little sister. I included this picture because, despite the fact that she is sticking her tongue out at me, it is actually a really good picture. Isn’t she gorgeous?

This is a view from the top of the descent, where we started the rappel. It doesn’t look so bad, does it. What you cannot see is that there is a ledge down there where you get to stop and catch your breath. That ledge tricks you into thinking it won’t be all that bad. It’s only after that ledge that things get really scary.

This picture came out really grainy because it’s the only way I could lighten it enough so you could see. If you peer really closely you’ll see my older sister at the top (just follow those ropes up). That’s the point where you come down over the rock face and start descending into open space. See how very high up that is? It feels even higher when you are the one clinging to that rope and doing your best to talk yourself into continuing on down.

She’s getting closer now. It’s about here that we could hear her – she was doing Lamaze breathing. I am sure that my little sister and I were probably sounding just as panicked when we were at this point too. This is also about the point when the guides told me I had to stop and wait for my little sister to get out of the way.

And here she is, almost to the bottom.

Some pretty cave formations. I took this picture as we were climbing back up the very steep spiral staircase to get out of the cave.

The three of us afterwards, posing with the instructor. We are all grinning like fools because it is over and it was amazing, and most of all, we did not die.

Since the cabin is located in the mountains, there were, of course, bugs. And they grow bugs a tad bit bigger up there in the mountains than they do down in the flat, dry farmland of home. We squashed quite a few of what my older sister referred to as ‘crunchy ants’ – huge black ants that would skitter across the floor – and I was, unfortunately, the first to take a shower on Saturday morning, so was lucky enough to get to deal with two huge black spiders who’d been lurking in the shower curtain until I was silly enough to try to turn on the water. It’s a novel experience trying to wash and rinse one’s hair while keeping an eagle eye on the shower curtain, the window, and the ceiling all at the same time, and doing one’s best not to touch either curtain or wall, in case of further spider incursions.

The original plan for Saturday was to go back to Murphys and wander around the very cute little downtown area. First there was the Fun with Spiders, and then my little sister concocted ‘damn fine omelets’ for us for breakfast (her term for them) that really were quite delicious. Then there was more lounging around reading or making cards or, in my case, starting and restarting that stupid afghan until I finally settled on a design that seemed to work for the yarn I had. And then finally we got ourselves organized and headed off to Murphys to do some exploring.

It’s a cute little town with the main street lined with shops of all sorts. There was the little bath and beauty shop where my little sister succumbed to the lure of bath bombs shaped like cute little animals. There was the toyshop where my sisters marveled about being able to wander around and just *look* without small people insisting on wanting to touch and play and buy. There was the art shop we wandered in to, full of beautifully detailed pictures of frogs cleverly hidden within all manner of flowers. Eventually we decided we were hungry, so we had lunch at the old Murphys Hotel, and since it was such a lovely day we ate outside in the courtyard, under towering trees. There was a wedding scheduled for later in the day and we amused ourselves by watching what was quite possibly the mother of the bride dither endlessly about the placement of the chairs, since she and another person kept arranging and rearranging them to within centimeter specifications, time and time again.

I’m not sure where we actually picked up the fliers – just that they were available in a lot of the little shops. There are a number of caves around that area and my older sister mentioned how she’d been interested in checking them out, to see if they might be something she could take her kids to later. We picked up a few of the fliers, and in flipping through them I happened to notice that one of them offers the chance to rappel down into the cavern itself, and even though I am the one with the most advanced fear of heights, apparently that part of my brain was fast asleep when I suggested that we go do that, and right away.

So we got ice cream sundaes at an overcrowded and under-air conditioned little sweet shop and then we set off for the cavern, eventually finding it through no help at all from the lack of well-placed signage. The price made us blanch a little, but then my older sister pointed out that we would probably never have this kind of opportunity again, and suddenly there we were, stepping up to the counter to fork over money and then crowding around a tiny little opening in the rocks while a little video played above us, noting all the things we needed to remember, and all the ways that screwing up could lead to ‘an out of control situation’. Or in other words, since this little venture included rappelling 165 feet down, with more than half of it on ropes only, with no rocks to cling to, the little video told us all the ways we could screw up and possibly die. It did not help that as the group for the regular tour was filing past us, a little girl who could not have been much more than 7 or 8 called out some words of encouragement – “I’ll see you at the bottom if you don’t die.” We cracked up immediately, of course, but still, thanks a lot, kid!

They fitted us for climbing gear – straps that we had to shimmy into and hard hats and j-racks that threaded through thick ropes. My little sister went down first because I think either she had less fear than the rest of us, or she was just feeling particularly brave. Then I went down, stepping past the railing and inching my way down the rocks, muttering what would become my mantra for the next undeterminable period of time: “You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.” Not, mind you, that it helped, but somehow I needed to tell myself *something* to make it all better.

There were a few terrifying moments in the descent, which you can sort of see here – it’s the only link I could find that shows a cross-section of the cavern (although the animation shows the walking tour, not the version we took). The first part was the easiest (ha ha – I use that term lightly) since it’s a fairly narrow hole (the top entrance in the middle, if you clicked that link) and you had to use your feet to kind of ‘walk’ down the rocks. There was a ledge and then you had to shimmy down into a crevice that didn’t look as if any of us could possibly fit, and for a brief moment there I was sure I was going to get myself stuck in there, one leg jammed into a crack in the rocks, and they would have to send someone down to pull me out, but then I was through, and the rocks were huge and slippery in front of me and I could feel the open air behind me and I knew I was coming into the main cavern and oh, I was so incredibly scared. There is this moment when you come over the ridge of rocks and I lost control a little bit, swinging off to the side and banging into the rock face with my knee, but my little sister was just below me, hollering up words of encouragement and so somehow I made it past that.

And then came the very worst, and very best part of all. See, eventually the cavern opened up, and there were no more rocks to cling to, and the rope just descended into completely empty space. I was smart enough to know that if I looked down I would freeze up and never get myself to move any further (because did I mention that I am a teensy bit terrified of heights?), but I did make myself look out as I spun slowly in that huge, dim expanse of cave. It was amazing. Stalactites and stalagmites were all around me in beautiful combinations, and I had the best vantage point in the entire place. It was almost enough to make me not concentrate on the fact that I could still fall and kill myself, until the guides down below told me I had to stop where I was because I’d come down faster than they expected (plus my little sister had gotten caught up on those rocks above and came down slower) and they needed to get her off the ropes before they could bring me in.

It was at this point that I realized that unless I clung to the ropes with all my strength, I just kept on slipping downwards. They’d told us how to adjust the bars of the j-rack to modify the speed of our descent but that only really worked when we were going down at a slight angle, slipping and sliding over the rocks above. In the open space no amount of adjusting the j-rack would slow me down any further unless I hung on tight – not exactly the most fun thing to realize when one is dangling there with nothing between one and the bottom of a cave but some metal bits and a rope. I hung there, clutching that rope for all I was worth, and made myself look out every now and then and tried to distract myself with the beauty of the cavern all around me, until finally they said that magical word – “go”, and I could let go with my death grip and slide slowly downwards until I could see people at the bottom and I knew that it was almost over and I wasn’t going to fall to my death after all and wasn’t life grand.

The guide pulled me in from the final part of the descent (into a small pit) and unhooked me from the rope and I took off my hat and my gloves and it wasn’t until I tried to actually walk that I realized how scared I’d actually been. But my older sister was coming down next and so somehow I extricated my camera from my pocket and I told my arms and legs to stop shaking and I took a few pictures as she came slowly down the rope, just so we could prove how far down that rappel really was.

It was an amazing feeling, once it was finally over and we were on solid ground – even if it was solid ground at the bottom of a very big and very deep cavern with only one way out – up a spiral staircase to the top. I think it may have been pure adrenaline that got the three of us up that very long staircase. The stairs were steep and narrow and there were parts where we had to inch past rock outcroppings, and at one point the guide down below turned out the lights to impress upon his regular tour group how very dark it can get when you are hundreds of feet below the surface. At one point we looked out and saw another woman coming down the rope, and we all recognized the look of sheer terror and determination on her face. So we called out encouragement and we told her she was doing fine and later one when we saw her in the gift shop she told us that she had been really, really glad to know we were there and we had made it and that meant she would make it too.

My sisters and I are all glad that we did it, but I am not sure any of us feel the need to do it again any time soon. We wandered around the gift shop afterwards and bought t-shirts that proclaimed we’d rappelled into the cave, and took a picture with the very nice man who’d shown us how to get into our gear and had sent us down the ropes in the first place. There had been talk about going to some of the other caves in the area as well but after that experience we were all a little caved out. Plus we were drenched in sweat from being so scared coming down and I wasn’t the only one who’d collected a small assortment of rock-induced scratches and bruises. So instead we drove back to the cabin and we called our respective husbands and told them what we’d done. Richard’s reaction was “You are so lucky!”

Both brothers-in-law’s reactions (and our parents’), however, were a rather surprised “You did what?” So in a way that impromptu excursion into the cave sealed the deal. We all sat around later in the cabin, after showers (sans spiders this time, since I made very sure to *not* be the first one into the water – ha!) and decided that obviously this, and the karaoke last year, meant that we would have to add a tradition to our annual Sisters’ Only events – to do something completely outrageous that we might never ordinarily do. We also decided that there was no need to try to top ourselves each year, or else we’d eventually find ourselves having to jump out of planes with parachutes strapped on our backs and while my fear of heights did not manage to make me back out of lowering myself into a cave on a little rope, I am not sure that even grim determination is enough to make me fling myself out of a plane into open space.

Richard was probably thrilled to death that this weekend was the second annual Sisters’ Only weekend – not because I was going to be gone for a few days, but because my being gone meant that he got to take the Prius out instead. I packed everything this morning before work – far more stuff than it might seem I would need for two nights away, but I was also responsible for bringing a blender (to make soup) and there was the bag of peaches for the pie, and I also had to bring some knitting along, so it was a respectable pile of stuff we dragged from the car to my office when he dropped me off.

I only worked half the day, but it seemed to drag – probably because I was so antsy for my sisters to arrive. My younger sister flew down from Seattle and my older sister picked her up at the airport, and then the two of them continued on to Sacramento to pick me up. I waved goodbye to all my coworkers, we loaded all my bags into the car, and we were off.

It’s a very long drive from Sacramento to Bear Valley, especially since a lot of that is down 99 and I-5, neither of which are particularly lovely stretches of freeway. Eventually we turned off onto a little two-lane highway that weaved and bumped its way into the hills and mountains and a host of obscure little towns that blended into each other over the course of the next few hours. But eventually we finally made it to Murphys, where we stopped to procure ice cream (to go with the peach pie I was going to make) as well as cones for the three of us. We needed, after all, to get the weekend off to a good start. And then it was back into the car for another 30 or 45 minutes of driving those bumpy, windy mountain roads I love so very not much, until we reached the cabin.

My older sister’s in-laws bought this cabin with a group of their friends perhaps 20 or 30 years ago. It is very small, but very cute. Downstairs there is a tiny kitchen and a living room with a wood-burning stove, which I can see would be marvelous when it is cold and snowy outside. Up a flight of stairs so steep we took them very carefully each time, there are two bedrooms and three beds, and enough floor space that there could probably be a few more people piled in for a larger gaterhing. It’s nestled into the trees on the slope of a hill. In the winter this area would be covered in snow and we would have had to climb through drifts to reach the door, but this being summer, we could drive right up to the very front of it and go right in.

We spent the rest of the evening being delightfully lazy. I started and restarted work on the second knitted afghan probably three or four times that night while my little sister worked on hand-made cards and my older sister did counted cross-stitch. Eventually we had French bread pizzas and salad, and I made a really good attempt at making pie from those lovely white peaches. Unfortunately the (store-bought) crust never cooked on the bottom, no matter how long we left it in the oven, so we ended up eating the peach filling and the top crust, and topping it with vanilla ice cream, which could not disguise the fact that the bottom crust was still mostly dough. Considering I’ve used this same crust umpteen times at home (because I am a lazy cook when it comes to pie crust and have never had success making it myself) I have a feeling the oven (which I suspect is quite possibly the same age as the cabin) was to blame. But at least the peaches were delicious and cinnamony sweet when cooked, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Because the Fourth was on Sunday, we had Monday off. Naturally, considering our recent acquisition, we decided that we needed to find something to do that required driving.

The day started, of course, with the required sleeping in and lounging around, but eventually we decided we should go to the zoo. We did talk about going to the San Francisco zoo, since we’d had so much fun the last time, but by the time we finally settled on a destination it was getting too late to make the trek down to San Francisco and back, so instead we decided to head for the one in Sacramento.

Of course we didn’t’ bother checking the weather before we left, else I think we might have ended up just staying home and inside where it was nice and cool. Today was just incredibly hot – and there wasn’t even much of a breeze to help take the edge off. We got a little lost on the way to the zoo since I’d been expecting to see signs from the freeway (there *used* to be signs), so by the time we got there it was later in the afternoon. Just walking around for a few minutes I was wilting in the heat, and it was obvious the animals were all feeling just about as hot and lethargic as us humans. Plus, even though they’re obviously in the process of building larger and nicer habitats for lots of the animals, I could not help but keep comparing the small size of some of the cages to the nice big areas they had in the San Francisco zoo.

Yesterday after work we drove the Prius back to the dealer to leave it there for the day, since we decided to splurge and get the special fabric and paint treatment for stain and scratch resistance. It felt weird to drop off that pretty new car and drive off without it after we’ve had it for less than a week, but they only needed it for the day. And that gave me the push to have Richard drop me off at Raley Field on the way to work so I could bike the rest of the way to my office – something I haven’t done for far too long. One or the other of us has been sick, or we’ve been busy, or more often I’ve just found too many excuses to not ride, so it was probably for the best that we were forced to work with only one car for the day.

On the way home from dropping the car off yesterday we swung by my knitting-enabling friend’s house, since it turned out she not only had a white peach tree overloaded with fruit she was desperate to get rid of, she also had a new batch of tiny little foster kittens that needed some attention. And who am I to refuse a chance to see fuzzy baby kittens, after all?

Seeing her white peach tree gave me a little bit of a start, since it was so covered in fruit that in some cases we couldn’t even see the leaves beneath all the peaches. She handed me a bag and I went outside with her to fill it, not even making a dent in the sheer volume of peaches (and her tree is only a few years older than ours – this is what we have to look forward to in the not so distant future!) but Richard remained inside, having succumbed to the charms of the very tiniest of the foster babies. When we came back in he had the cutest little tabby girl all curled up right under his chin, and did not seem at all bothered by the fact that she was studiously trying to either chew on his beard or bat at his nose with one soft and tiny little paw. One of the other new fosters – a little buff girl – bounced randomly around the room and declared herself Queen of the Chair, defying any of the other kittens to even think about trying to take that perch away from her. There is nothing quite so adorably cute as watching tiny little kittens puff themselves out into full indignation, doing their very best to look intimidating and failing utterly.

We ended up foisting half the peaches off on Richard’s parents, who came by to pick up his little sister’s laptop, which he’s spent the better part of the last few evenings working on, reinstalling the operating system and cleaning off all the spy-ware and ad-ware that’s accumulated over the years. The remaining peaches will go with me this weekend. It is summer, after all, and what better reason for pie than summer, and a sack full of peaches picked fresh from the tree.