Monday, October 20, 2008

back in the saddle

You can take a boy out of the pedicab business, but you can't take the pedicab business out of the boy. This year, Ptown Pedicabs participated in the annual Wellfleet Oysterfest and Randy made a guest driver appearance on Sunday. Here he is about to give a ride to Martha of the Left Bank Gallery. The pedicabs were met with an overwhelming amount of support from local business owners, residents and the Harbormaster (if you ever read this, THANK YOU for letting them use the power at your building). Claire Carroll and the Wellfleet Beachcomber have been long term supporters for the pedicabs - thank you too! (sorry about the photo - it's a cell phone dealy-o)

Monday, October 13, 2008

we have a bookmark

We have a little residency problem. When we moved in I thought there weren't going to be any more tenants here. I guess, it means we have a really cool house that others want to live in. I mean really though, doesn't everyone want to live here? The new squatters, I mean tenants, are small and gray and cute and obviously have thought long and hard about relocating to warmer environs as the temperature drops; they have elected the Towers as their winter vacation quarters. However, they don't want to pay rent and are content to live off the hard work of others. Not very productive or cooperative additions to the Trout Towers Commune. Mice.

Fatso and Slinky think that the new tenants are just GREAT! Toys that move by themselves. The 3 a.m. 100 yard dash at has just turned into the Decathlon. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy... I can only image what this sounds like downstairs. For the past two nights, they have had two new playmates to chase for simply hours and hours. Not much sleep on our end though. As the daylight approached on the first night, the chase slowed down and of course ended at the foot of our bed; the squeaking stopped, the cats fell asleep and we did too hoping that there wouldn't be grisly remains to step in later. Ew.

Fatso started scratching at the carpet about an hour later (we have several scatter rugs around), Randy threw a shirt at him to stop as he can be a little OCD about this. I mean Fatso, not Randy. Fatso then curled up on the shirt (he LOVES Randy's work clothes the best) and went to sleep. When I got up later and kicked the shirt aside with my toe in an attempt to launch it into the laundry basket, I felt a lump under the rug. As I just moved the rug there the day before, I was pretty sure it wasn't a sock or a warped floor board. Lifting the corner to peek, there was a very FLAT mouse underneath. Fatso has done him in by sitting on him. The best image I could find was this:
This is in fact what the mouse looked like and the cow's rear is about the size of Fatso's butt.

Last night, mouse II was chased and cornered similar to night one (ok, so we've had about 4 hours of sleep now) but this one hid in the suit bag on the floor and camped out for a while. When he made a break for it at dawn, Fatso flipped him over on his back and then Randy swooped in, grabbed the mouse and made for the front door where the (baby) mouse was hastily ejected. Slinky was pissed and quartered the floor in a vain attempt to relocate and perhaps eat, her new playmate. Fatso just looked blankly at the spot where his friend had been. Perhaps the flip was the final move before the coup de grace and the boom, I mean butt, came down.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

the penthouse at trout towers

Greetings from the latest space that we are calling home. We are fortunate enough to have been invited to live with the Trouts in their recently vacated second floor apartment. Recently vacated by them as they migrated to one floor down to enjoy single level living - no stairs required. A feature much touted by home sellers across this spit of sand we choose to live on. Part of the Trouts downward migration is the lure of recreating a space to live in. And they are doing it with enthusiasm. The results are nothing short of shocking; the entire energy flow of this house has changed completely and the results are simply astounding.

Living here is all a bit surreal I must say. I've been enjoying many a sojourn to the Towers for the past eight years (2 before my now husband came into the picture) and now pulling into the driveway, climbing the stairs to the Penthouse and opening the door to see our cats trotting up to see us is a little freaky. But right at the same time. Some of their furniture is still upstairs adding to the delusion that we've walked into the wrong house, and for this we are also grateful otherwise we would have nothing to sit on as our furniture is safely stored in the garage in CO. We've been enjoying th Trout's tv, couch, etc., that it feels as if we belong here. And I think we do.

It's pretty inspiring how this communal living works; we are a little interactive and interdependent community that shares what there is to offer. Food and laughter being the most frequent offerings. We are all on the same clock - at 6:30 a.m.-ish there is a thundering of small feet down the hall towards the kitchen. Sometimes it's the small human variety downstairs or the small feline variety upstairs. Amazing how small feet can imitate charging elephants so convincingly. There are chickens in the yard - less food is wasted as we can feed them left over rice, veggie scraps and more and they give us yummy eggs. There is a rhythm here that is soothing and energizing at the same time. We have the luxury of being able to recharge our personal batteries in a warm, loving, and safe home. This sanctuary is as close to our Colorado haven as we could possibly wish for. Oh, have we mentioned that the Trouts now have live-in babysitters as an added bonus?

"Stinky, put your pants on!" drifts up from the front yard. "Mommy, why?" Oh, maybe because there are soon to be a flock of pink clad six year old girls and their moms showing up any minute; now as I write this, there is a bevy of princesses sharing a birthday celebration with Pinky herself outside on the freshly manicured front lawn. There are pink ribbons and pink cupcakes and pink paper lantern-ish thingies in the trees. Stinky and two dads are the only men here - they are all sporting a deer-in-the-headlights glazed expression as the twittering butterflies make their shrinkie-dink party crafts. I'm hiding from the soccer moms although the siren's song of real frosting is a becoming irresistible (no box cakes or canned frosting here on either floor) and perhaps I'll be brave enough to meet new people and make conversation to obtain this tempting objective. Have I mentioned that I am not a fan of groups of people I don't know? What a pansy. Maybe I'll just sneak down and hide behind the dads. Oops, too late - the dads have vanished into man-town in the basement. Not even I am brave enough to risk that. Hmmmmmmm. Small talk for cupcakes - I hate these kinds of decisions.

Welcome to the next chapter in our travelogue.