Captain Fuzzypants

Does someone with no child-birthing plans still have a biological clock? My feeling of urgency in adopting sara, the 4-year-old heeler found on the highway in 105 degree heat, says yes. Very much so.

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Another post about things I like to look at.

Greta Grossman

These are from an LA Times photo gallery. The Grossman House, 1948. Reaffirms my affinity for stone floors and wood paneling.

Bits of the 'Quin

Tippet

Darby

A few days ago, I got thumped in the chin by Lyla's skull. Lyla is a gorgeous, sweet, lovable husky. The right side of my lip and my front right tooth had an unfortunate meeting and puffiness ensued. Yesterday, Darby must have decided I looked ridiculous and she gave me a skull thump on the left side of my lip. Now I look gorgeous.

My sister and I went post-holing last week in the snow across the lake. We lost Darby for bit, as she has a deeper love for chasing birds than she has for pleasing her people. Tami thought she was a goner for sure, much like she was convinced my cat had been devoured by an owl when he was hiding in the cupboards for the first 36 hours of his stay in Chiloquin. Darby returned to our feet when she was good and ready, doggy smile plastered to her face. Driving back home, we sang Jimmy Buffett tunes and I remembered that the reason I started playing guitar was to sing "Cheeseburger in Paradise" around the campfire in the Fikstad family tradition.

My first week here, I heard a song Brent had playing on the computer. About whiskey. 4 drinks and 200 songs later, I still haven't figured out which song it was, but Brent and I were up 'till 2am last night, making a good go of it, while increasing our music libraries tenfold. This guy should write a song about whiskey.

Sisterly Love

You've all heard me say it. I adore my big sister. Big time. She's got a fantastic sense of humor, she's got a wealth of knowledge packed into that head of hers, she is patient, tolerant, and is genuinely interested in those around her. She's got an exceptional sense of adventure and a youthful appreciation of life. She got our dad's big blue eyes and her smile matches her tremendous laugh. She throws chips when she's angry and drinks wine when she's happy. This post is for her—and for Brent, a fellow appreciator of all things Tami.

Beer Bottle Openers, pt. 1

Brent Can Open A Beer Bottle With Anything pt. 1 from Heidi Fikstad on Vimeo.

Puttin' the Chill in Chiloquin

Chiloquin, OR is about 1/2 an hour outside of Klamath Falls (South Central Oregon). In the 2000 census the population was 716. According to Tami and Brent, this number is skewed as it does not include the rural area carrying the Chiloquin postmark, but still outside of Chiloquin proper. Their population estimate is closer to 2,000. Coming from Los Angeles, this discrepancy is inconsequential. This is a town which my cell phone has decided does not need technology. My move here also happened to coincide with my departure from Facebook, which was due mostly to the realization that my thoughts were frequently in the form of status updates. Facebook is a language I don't need to speak. The vocabulary I need in Chiloquin includes such terms as yak trax, smart wool, and carhartts. "A toasty 65" is something I had never heard in Los Angeles, but refers to the temperature at which Tami and Brent keep their house. "The Tribe" refers to the Native American population, which lost it's recognition of sovereignty in 1954. Their possession of the land has since been partially restored, but they were the only tribe that actually spent the money given to them by the government in return for the land, and this marks them as outcasts in the Native American population as a whole. Apparently there was a time when new Cadillacs could be found in the woods around Chiloquin. They had been abandoned by Tribesmen when broken down in the snow and a replacement Cadillac would be purchased in lieu of towing and repairs. I wish I had owned a tow truck then. I would have collected Caddys the way present-day Oregonians collect bottles and cans. If you have the patience for long lines and frequently broken machines, recycling can prove quite lucrative in these parts.

I've learned that a cord is a unit of measurement for firewood equal to an 8' x 4' x 4' pile, and that you should never start a fire with the heater on or the smoke will pour out of the stove and into the living room. Also, a cast iron teapot, full of water and perched atop the stove, is a necessary in order to keep the air from drying out from the fire.

Another term that may only be useful in the Stroud household is labeling things as "So Cal." This means that function follows form. I tried to purchase a pair of So Cal snow boots until Brent told me it would be ill-advised. After Tami and I were complimented on our smiles, we found this terminology applies to us in a very specific way. We have So Cal teeth.

My favorite Chiloquin discovery thus far is Melita's. Melita's business card informs us that it is a RESTAURANT-MOTEL-LOUNGE-RV PARK-MINI STORAGE. This is, apparently, the only bar in town. 10 people enter a bar and ask how the bartendress is doing, bartendress says "a lot better before you walked in here." Don't ask for a Hefeweisen, because she will be out, unless you are the lonely guy at the end of the bar who must have dibs on the last 3 pints. If you come into the restaurant for lunch, your menu options include the Redneck Eggs Benedict or the Southern Ore. Burrito complete with 3 meats, salsa AND gravy. Yum. Welcome to Chiloquin. It's cold here, but I love it.