“On October 15th, bloggers around the web will unite to put a single important issue on everyone’s mind - the environment. Every blogger will post about the environment in their own way and relating to their own topic. Our aim is to get everyone talking towards a better future.”

A few months back, I attended a Greener Homes and Gardens show. As I walked past all the vendors pitching solar heating systems, hybrid vehicles, Energy Star appliances, I became discouraged. I can’t afford any of this stuff, I thought. How the hell am I supposed to go green on my budget?

Baby steps. I had to stop and remind myself. Baby steps. We do the things we can do, and work toward the day when we can do the things we can’t yet do. At this moment, for us frugality comes first. But that doesn’t mean we have to forgo being green. Not in the least. In fact, it’s amazing how often being frugal and being green go hand in hand.

Here, for Blog Action Day, are eight ways we go green in the kitchen and save a little money in the process.

1. Ignore the packaging and shop bulk

Buying in bulk is my favorite kitchen tip because it hits the trifecta of green, frugal, and healthy. You can’t get much better than that. Here are just a few of the items we get in bulk:

• Beans. Not only are they cheaper than canned, but home-cooked beans just taste better. Plus, if you cook a big enough batch you can do double-duty. Chopper did this the other night: used half the home-cooked black beans in a chili, then refried the other half for taco fixings.
• Granola. When the granola in the bulk section at New Seasons goes on sale, I’m all over it. (The blueberry and flax mix especially rocks my world.) Bonus health benefit: You’re not going to find high fructose corn syrup in bulk organic granola.
• Spices. If you can buy two ounces of bulk nutmeg for $3.69, why buy a jar of the same amount for $6.50? Bonus tip #1: Check thrift stores for old spice jars if you’re in need of more containers. The Goodwill near our house has them all the time, dirt cheap. Bonus tip #2: Last time I bought bulk spices, a fellow shopper was doing the same, only he’d brought a plastic bag from home, recycled from his previous trip. Now, why didn’t I think of that?

2. Seek out additional recycling options

Portland Metro’s recycling program is pretty good, but they’ve got a few gaps in their service. At curbside recycling, they only take plastic containers with necks, so yogurt containers, sour cream or tofu tubs, plastic take-out containers, trays from cookie packages – that all ends up in the trash. One solution is to eliminate as many non-recyclable packages from your shopping trip as you can, but if you’re still left with a few stragglers, then solution number two is to find a recycling depot that will take these items. Here in Portland, it’s Far West Fibers, a privately-owned recycling operation that takes everything from shrink wrap to scrap metal, CD cases, carpet pads, planting trays, and even old sneakers. In the plastic tub and tray department, if the recycle label is #1-7, they take it. I’m so relieved I don’t to invent craft projects for all those old tofu tubs!

3. Buy the whole bird

I’m a fan of Michael Pollan’s advice: “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” There’s no scolding. No telling people they’re evil if they eat meat or buy a banana trucked in from Belize. Just a simple reminder that we’d all be better off if we didn’t stuff our faces with burgers, tater-tots, and Twinkies quite so much. With that in mind, this one’s for us meat eaters: don’t buy chicken thighs on Styrofoam wrapped in plastic; buy the whole bird, and use the whole bird. Imagine the tasty goodness you can get out of a winter’s worth of home made chicken stock! (Mmm, Chopper’s got some on the stove right now…)

4. Make leftovers on purpose (and eat them!)

The title of this tip might also be “Plan ahead” but to be honest, we suck at planning ahead and I’d rather not preach something I don’t practice. What we are good at is making large batches of food that last several days. Chili works well, as do taco fixings, but Thai curry’s my favorite. I could eat it every day for a week. Now this might seem more of a frugal tip than a green tip, but here’s the thing: More leftovers = fewer food packages = less trash!

5. Compost

Not everyone’s got a yard, but if you do have the means to compost, then by all means, do it! I’ll admit, we’re not skilled in this department. Our “bin” is an old plastic garbage can with holes drilled in the sides and it’s nearly full. Building a new one – with worms this time! – is on our short list of yard projects. Bonus budget saver: No need to buy bags of fertilizer for spring planting!

6. Use cloth instead of paper

We haven’t bought paper napkins or even paper towels in months. Instead, we’ve got a stack of terry cloth towels, dish rags, and cloth napkins that, when used, just go into the regular laundry with our clothes. If they’re disgustingly dirty, they might need a pre-wash in the sink, but that’s rarely necessary. I haven’t added up the savings to our grocery bill yet, but the impact on our volume of kitchen trash is obvious.

7. Take a bag to the store

I don’t always remember, but I do my best to grab a cloth shopping bag before every trip to the market. On a good day, I might even make it home with a bag full of groceries and absolutely nothing inside that needs to head for the trash. Bonus budget saver: New Seasons knocks five cents off our bill when we bring our own bag. Hey, every little bit helps!

8. Conserve water

How much clean water goes down the drain while waiting for the tap to get hot? How about that extra water in the kettle after a cup of tea? No need to waste it when there’s a thirsty pooch nearby – just grab the Dog Water jug and fill ‘er up. Keeps the cats happy too. If you don’t have pets, water your plants!

So, how green is your kitchen?

My web savvy cats have informed me that today is OneWebDay. What’s OneWebDay? It’s a day for celebrating the web because, simply put, the web is worth celebrating. Here’s more from the OneWebDay site:

OneWebDay is one day a year when we all - everyone around the physical globe - can celebrate the Web and what it means to us as individuals, organizations, and communities.

As with Earth Day - an inspiration and model for OneWebDay - it’s up to the celebrants to decide how to celebrate. We encourage all celebrations! Collaboration, connection, creativity, freedom.

By the end of the day, the Web should be just a little bit better than it was before, and we’ll be able to see our connection to it more clearly.

Now, I might be off to a late start (almost 6pm, PST), but that’s not stopping me from joining in the festivities. For my small part I’ve made a list of things to accomplish before the day is out. Fortunately for me, my “day” doesn’t end till Chopper gets home from work at 10pm, so there’s time yet. Let’s see how well I do…

A final thought for OneWebDay: As most readers of Belly Timber know, Chopper and I spent all of 2005 and most of 2006 away from our home, caregiving for my parents. We were on an island, not unpopulated by any stretch, but separated from our friends by hours in the car and more hours on an expensive ferry ride. We didn’t get out much. Had it not been for the internet — for email, for chat, for this blog, and for our other online communities — we would have lost touch with nearly everyone save for those few who still rely on phones and snail mail. (Don’t get me wrong, I love a good old-fashioned letter on paper, but how many friends of mine still write them? Let me count. Um… Yup, none.) Point is, during our island stint, the web was our lifeline. It saved our sanity more than once, it brought us opportunities well worth having, and it gave us many many new friends. I only hope that some day we’ll be able to travel and meet the friends we’ve made who live further than a day’s drive away.

And now, because it is also Weekend Cat Blogging, and Puddy and Katie have declared an optional theme of “Favourite Things,” here is Ahriman doing one of his favourite things: Color-coordinated sleeping.

A few weeks back it was the orange Top Ramen box. Today, it’s manila envelopes. Ahri is also quite fond of the blond wood of my computer desk (which indeed matches his fur quite nicely). Trouble is, he can never quite decide where on that blond wood to plant his orange butt. In fact, I think his favourite thing might just be the act of strolling back and forth in front of my computer screen while I am trying to work. Hmmm. Here’s a question. If I paint the desk a color that clashes with his fur, will he finally stop this madness?

(Much more Weekend Cat Blogging over at A Byootaful Life, wherein all “favourites” get that extra-nifty extra “u.”)

Taggity tag:onewebday

The happiest recent news in Gastroblogia is that Owen of Tomatilla has revived Paper Chef after a six-month hiatus. Paper Chef was our introduction to the food blogging world, and it’s always been Chopper’s favorite event. He loves the excuse to play.

Now, the irony isn’t lost on us that Owen picked “home” for this month’s theme. Over the past months we’ve rarely ever had time to do much cooking at home. For a while this summer, Chopper was working six days a week with most of those days on shifts that lasted through the dinner hour. “Home” meant “where we crash at the end of a long day” and not much else.

This fall, things are finally looking up in that department, and — quite amazingly — this Paper Chef coincided with two days off wherein we weren’t booked solid with errands and social obligations. Of course those two days were yesterday and Monday so we still ran smack up against (and fell over) today’s deadline. So what else is new?

Given this rare opportunity to play, Chopper gave himself the challenge of creating three dishes: a canapé, a soup, and a main. We picked up a sampling of eggplants and chiles at our favorite Asian market, and for the fish — since smoked swordfish is unheard of in these parts (and I’m not a swordfish fan to begin with) — Chopper found a nice big slab of cod, coated it in spices and threw it on the smoker.

My (ongoing) challenge, in addition to my usual sous chef duties, is to put together a photo post of the day using my old, borrowed camera and Chopper’s computer, which lacks my usual photo editing software. Why that, you ask? Well, remember that computer that needed fixing? Ahhahahah, yup. It’s dead again. Soon as I’m done with this post, I’m constructing a shrine to Saint Isidore.

But first, photos…

Nothing cries home (or rather, messy yard) to us more than sawing up yet another branch of the dead cherry tree to use in the smoker.

Here’s the slab of true cod, freshly spiced.

Stand by for infusion of cherry wood smoke. Mmmmm…

Two and a half hours later, give or take.

Now, to prep some ingredients indoors.

Hey! We can try out that slicer we bought at the neighbors’ yard sale three months ago!

Looking good.

Meanwhile, in a dark corner of the kitchen, Chopper roasts a bell pepper.

Oh, crap. I have to search the yard for our “something from home” ingredients. Nope, those aren’t ready yet.

Hmmm. Tasty, but I’d kind of like to know what it’s going to look like when it grows up.

Ah, there’s herbs somewhere in that mess that used to be a pretty yard.

One herb platter, coming up.

Back in the kitchen, Chopper has peeled and oven-roasted two Chinese eggplants. These are headed for a bowl and an appointment with an immersion blender.

Moments later, the soup is ready, and it’s got a great kick to it. And yes, you can eat the flowers of your rangy, going-to-seed oregano!

Soup before appetizer? Um, we forgot. Probably a good thing as well. These little babies were, well… let’s just say, odd. Very, very odd.

Meanwhile, Chopper has this crazy idea to make his version of a tagine. Trouble is, we don’t own a tagine. Here, back in that dark corner of the kitchen, he forces an earthenware roaster into tagine duty.

Kitchen’s getting messy. Wait a sec. What’s with those hollowed out Indian eggplants? Turns out Chopper’s just thought of a fourth dish, and he’s now tossing ingredients into the food processor.

The ‘tagine’ is ready, and it is delicious. Smoked cod and couscous make a great match.

But… damn. Note for future reference: earthenware roaster + open flame = ex-earthenware roaster. Good thing this was a thrift store find.

One final dish. A simple afterthought. Oven-roasted Indian eggplants filled with a paste made from the extras on hand: bell pepper, garlic, chives, Thai chiles, and more of that delicious cherry-smoked cod. And… wow. This was the best of them all. The paste on top baked to a crust, the eggplant’s innards, baked to mushy goodness, and for the first time, all our featured ingredients perfectly balanced in a single bite.

A simple and exquisite end to a perfect day at home.

Oh. Well, except for that cleaning up the kitchen bit.

(Recipes to follow. Chopper’s at work and my notes are almost as messy as the kitchen.)

One computer overhaul, one banking disaster, one hosting nightmare, and one canine prison-break later… (Phew!)

I’ve learned my lesson. Never say “hey, let’s test that new hard drive” in the middle of a project. Days later, and after much agony over ribbon cables and cooling fans, I’m back online. Fortunately, the cats did not interfere with the computer rebuilding process (this time.) Also fortunately, I was able to get quite a bit of writing done by hand, including a large portion of the following post, which I hope will cheer up those of us who are having a rough week.

Or, as I prefer to call it:

“Are we there yet?” Ahriman asked, peering over the rim of the catamaran’s starboard hull.

“That depends entirely on where ‘there’ is,” said Port. She was, of course, ensconced in the port hull, pillows to bow and stern and a brimming bowl of crunchies directly in front of her little gray nose.

The vessel, the Gato Enojado, named for the previous feline of the household, sailed on a swift wind over mountains and out to the sea, where its bright ballast-ropes of rainbow yarn skirted over sunlit waves and startled fishermen and dolphins alike. The two cats had jumped aboard that sunny August morning without the slightest notion of where they were going or even how the vessel was powered.

“One thing I can observe,” said Port, staring at the voluminous, striped mass above them. “Do what you like in your own hull, but–” and here she stopped to glare at Ahri’s carelessly draped limbs, “do not, I repeat, do NOT stretch your claws upward.”

Ahri raised his eyes and frowned. “Are we there yet,” he asked again.

A moment later, they touched down.

“This doesn’t feel like August,” Port noted. “And that,” she said, nodding at the shivering ball of fur in front of them, “doesn’t look like a happy cat.”

Indeed it wasn’t. It was a cat who’d had a bath, poor Puddy, and Port knew all too well what a miserable experience that was! She backed away quickly for fear Puddy’s owner might still have water running in the tub.

“Come with us,” Ahri said. “We travel over water, not in it.”

“Will it be a quick trip?” Puddy asked.

“Blink of an eye,” said Ahri. “And the wind should dry that fur quite well.”

“Hah,” Puddy exclaimed and jumped aboard. “So long as I’m back in time to exact my revenge!” She patted her full tummy and smiled an exceedingly devious smile.

Back into the air they went, Puddy riding on the port side to help balance the two hulls, though Ahriman was utterly bewildered at the notion: how could he - a model of grace and beauty - weigh the same as two whole cats! Surely it couldn’t be so. He eyed the rigging and ballast-ropes with deep suspicion.

They sailed northwest, over desert and rock, then water and a thousand tiny islands, until not too far from the equator (they imagined), the strange little craft snagged itself on the upper branches of a great rainforest tree. The three kittens struggled to untangle the ballast-ropes from the vines that hid the ground below, but before they could free the Gato Enojado and set sail again, a fierce face poked through the canopy and snarled.

“Wild cat!” Ahri exclaimed, and dove as far into the starboard hull as he could without becoming one with the decking. Port merely rolled her eyes and continued with the work.

“I’d climb aboard,” the wild cat said with an ominous purr, “but I’m not sure you’d last long. Besides, my tree is far too comfortable.” His purr turned into a roar, and then a smile, and then he disappeared beneath the branches.

“Are we aloft yet?” Ahri asked with a whimper.

A bit further north they sailed and over land again, and this time they heard a great Mrrreeooooww before seeing a thing.

“Now that’s a hungry cat,” Puddy said as the craft neared ground. “Or a wet cat. I should know.”

It was, in fact, a cat on a mission.

“I am Kamikaze Kamakiri Kitty,” the cat said. “And this is my domain!”

“Who is he speaking to?” Ahri whispered. He was not the most observant of cats.

“That,” said Port.

“What?”

“Or that.” She pointed to a first and then a second samagee, both facing off against the largest black cat she had ever seen. “Good lord,” she said, not able to help herself. “You are vast!”

“Hop in!” Ahri exclaimed. “The bugs will be there when you get back.”

The huge cat eyed the catamaran’s starboard hull suspiciously, then leapt inside.

“Wait!” Port and Puddy both cried, but it was too late. The port hull lurched upward, and the Gato Enojado sailed into the air at a most alarming angle.

With one hull skirting the water and the other nearly wedged into the underbelly of the ship’s airbag above, they sailed back across the Atlantic at a fierce clip. Port was astonished the vessel could steer at all and thought perhaps they were on course for home, but then, just before dawn, they hit a massive fog bank and found themselves adrift in a sea of gray.

“Can you see the ocean?” she called down to Ahri.

He shook his head. “No. Can you see the sky?”

“Not a bit,” said Port. “But I can hear something!”

The four cats held their breath in the salty morning air. Ahriman’s ears twitched. A strange, ethereal music floated toward them from somewhere up ahead.

“What is that?” Kamikaze asked.

“Music of the spheres,” whispered a tranquil voice from below, and the fog parted to reveal a sleek black cat, basking in the light of a stained-glass window. “Or music of planets, and fish, and, of course, cats.”

“Your human makes this music?” Port asked.

Luna, the sleek cat, nodded. The colors of fire and flowers danced across her fur.

“Can we take it with us?” Ahri asked.

“I don’t think my human will fit in your ship,” Luna replied, “but I do have this!” She held up a small blue box covered in knobs and dials.

“Hop in!” the other cats cried.

Luna sized up the catamaran’s two hulls and, after careful consideration, stepped into the one that contained Port and Puddy. Port breathed a sigh of relief. Ahri frowned and let out a rather self-pitying mew.


Sailing north, they found themselves downriver from their own home and hovering a house in the tiniest town they’d ever seen. A kitten sat at the doorstep, and every so often raised his paws to touch the door’s glass. “Mew,” he said, staring inside. “Mew, mew.”

“What is it?” Luna asked.

The kitty turned, sadness etched across his little bowtie face. “She taunts me,” he said. “She taunts me with her camera and with those luxurious smells of baking bread!”

“Bread?” Ahri and Kamikaze both stretched their necks out of the starboard hull and sniffed the air with great expectation.

The kitten shook his head. “We are prevented by glass,” he said. “May I ride with you?”

“Of course,” said Port, “We’ve room on this side.”

Still further north, they happened upon two cats cozily ensconced in a cupboard, surrounded by luxurious linens.

“Oh!” cried Mr. ’ssouri, the newest member of the crew, “those would make splendid sails!”

Sergei and Sasha glanced at one another from their separate shelves. “Will our humans notice their absence?” Sergei asked.

“Only if it’s laundry day,” Sasha replied.

And with that keen assessment, the cats quickly grabbed the largest and most colorful of the sheets and tied them to the netting that held the Gato Enojado’s twin hulls to the great airbag above. The ship lifted into the air, now more glorious than ever. Golden and red flowered fabric flapped in the breeze, Luna’s music reverberated off the gleaming buildings of the Emerald City, and the crew of eight sailed east into the morning sun.

“Ah, now this is the life,” Port said at the bow of her hull, the wind against her fur. The others nodded and all was, for a brief moment, completely serene. Then Ahriman jumped up onto his bow (nearly capsizing the entire starboard side) and thrust a quivering paw toward the ground.

“Big Orange Kitty!” he cried, and of course everyone had to look. This time, the vessel did tip over, and if not for the resourcefulness of the newly-found Spike, who grabbed a ballast-rope with each paw and secured them all to a hitching post, they would have lost their ride for good.

“How in the name of Bast did you think to do that?” Sergei and Sasha cried in unison.

Spike lifted his mottled pink nose to the sky, and with an inordinate sense of pride he declared “Orange cats rule!”

“We do?” Ahri asked.

“Of course we do,” Spike said, “We have catitude. We have our own Flickr group. We are indeed larger than life.”

Port attempted to suppress a loud snort.

Ahriman jumped back onto the bow of the starboard hull (which creaked perilously under his weight) and let out a hearty meow. “I am Ahrimus Maximus,” he declared. “I am-”

“Please do not say ‘King of the world’” Port interrupted.

Ahri hesitated for a moment - just long enough for it to be painfully obvious to the other cats that this was exactly what he had intended to say - then he jumped down and asked rather sheepishly, “Well? Where to next?”

“South over mountains,” Spike replied. He untied the ballast-ropes and leapt aboard, gesturing at the others to follow.

Somewhere just beyond a snow-capped ridge, they drifted west again and touched down in what appeared to be a quiet, tree-filled yard. For a moment, Port hoped they might be allowed a respite from the adventure, but those hopes were dashed as quickly as they came. A large, fluffy gray cat appeared out of nowhere and accosted the ship.

“Take me with you,” the cat said. She glanced from side to side, then lowered her voice. “Take me with you now. There are squirrels everywhere.”

“I take it you are not happy about the squirrels?” Port asked.

Upsie narrowed her eyes. “Do I look happy about the squirrels?”

“Not exactly.”

“Right. Well then?”

“Make room!” Port called out.

Upsie jumped inside. “By the way,” she asked, “do you have any food?”

A short distance away they found three cats gathered around a small collection of candles and cat images.

“Oooh, flickering light!” Ahri said.

Upsie shushed him. “They are thinking good thoughts for a lost cat,” she whispered. “It is hard to lose a cat. I know.”

On the quietest of cat feet, the ten crew members of the Gato Enojado stepped down from their craft and gathered around Skeezix, Mao, and Rocky. They sat still for a time that felt just exactly right, and then, without making a sound, slipped back into their places and sailed away.

“Sometimes kitties come back,” Port whispered. “And sometimes, they move on and find a home in the Happy Cat Hunting Ground.”

This time they traveled east over rolling hills and lazy, winding rivers. Two humans stood at a crossroads, oblivious to the approaching craft.

“What’s in their hands?” Sasha asked.

Port retrieved a spyglass from under a half-shredded cushion. “It’s a tiny, tiny kitten,” she said. “No bigger than a tea cup.”

“Tiny kitten!” excited voices cried. “Take it with us!”

The cats all glanced at one another in anticipation. Then Luna spoke. “I think not,” she said. “This one is so tiny and so very tired. She needs to sleep and find her home.”

After a few grumbles of disappointment, the others agreed. They called out to the ground as they passed overhead. “Safe journey, Tiny Kitten!” “Be well!” And much to everyone’s surprise, the tiny kitten opened its eyes and mewed a tiny mew of thanks in reply.

Now, in the middle of the country and with no heavy weather or trade winds to carry them to a new destination, the Gato Enojado drifted idly under the August sun. Sergei and Sasha concocted new configurations for the ship’s sails, Puddy groomed her freshly washed fur, Luna composed melodies on her electronic box, Port assisted ’ssouri in his search for his virtual home, and Ahriman, Kamikaze, Upsie, and Spike all discussed Best Meals Ever Eaten.

“I think I see something!” ’ssouri said, peering through the spyglass.

“Your virtual farm house?” Port asked.

“No. Someone is stalking us. Look!”

Sure enough, as they moved from field to field, a patchwork cat would poke its nose out from between the corn stalks, then quickly duck away, only to reappear moments later.

“Do you suppose she wants a ride?” Port asked.

“It is rather exciting up here,” ’ssouri agreed. “But I don’t see a good place to land. There just so much… corn.”

Port called down to the kitty. “You! Stalking among the stalks! Would you like a ride?”

The cat looked up, then immediately jumped and caught hold of the tail-end of the nearest ballast-rope. Several crew-cats hoisted her up.

“What were you doing down there amongst all that… corn?” ’ssouri asked.

Sigyn smiled. “Making mischief,” she said. “It’s what I do best.”

A short while later, Ahri began to sniff the air and fidget with excitement. “I smell roses,” he said. “Have you ever eaten rose petals? They’re quite tasty.”

Port glared at Ahri. “Your human was saving that bouquet, you know.”

“Ahoy! Gingerbread comrade!” Spike was balanced precariously on the Starboard bow meowing to the ground below, where two cats - one quite orange - had poked their heads out from behind a riot of yellow roses.

“Hullo!” the first one called. She swatted a nearby rose with her paw. “Care for snack?”

“Willow,” the second cat scolded, “those roses are for Mom’s anniversary!”

Willow sniffed the air. “Very true, China Cat” she said, “but do we get pasta salad? Or cheese garlic bread? Or Gooey Butter Cake?”

“Gooey Butter Cake,” China Cat echoed with a look of exquisite sadness.

From inside the starboard hull, the echoes continued.

“Gooey…”

“Butter…”

“Cake…”

It was as if the world had collapsed and there was nothing left on the menu but stale kibble. The lamentations went on for a full twenty minutes until finally Port, who had finished her entire bowl of crunchies before the Gato Enojado’s first stop, shouted over the din. “There’s no need to caterwaul about lost desserts. For tonight we dine in Vienna!”

The cats let out a mighty cheer, then paused and, one by one, tilted their heads in confusion.

“Um. Why Vienna?” Ahri asked.

Port shrugged. “It was the first place I thought of. Besides, I hear they’ve got great sausages.”

“Sausages,” Willow said. “We’re there!” The two newest companions leapt on board and the craft rose into the sky once again.

Just moments later they touched down, this time directly in front of the most wide-eyed black cat any of them had ever seen.

“Invisible monster now visible!” it cried, and cowered behind a stray couch cushion.

“We’re not a monster, we’re a boat!” the cats declared. “Come aboard!”

“No monsters?” the cat said, still rather uncertain.

The crew checked every nook and cranny, even climbing up into the netting, stray claws precariously close to the airbag above.

“No monsters. Invisible or otherwise,” Port said.

Dippy, the new cat, stepped gingerly into the nearest hull. She looked around, still wide-eyed, then breathed a sigh of relief when she realized she was in pleasant company. As they lifted into the air, she wrinkled her nose. “Do I smell roses?” she asked.

Willow and China Cat quickly tucked their paws behind their backs and stared innocently at the sky.

After a short while, the craft turned north and in an instant, the cats were all blinded by multicolored, glittering objects.

“Ooooo, shiny!” they cried and worked the sails to move closer to the source of wonderment.

When their eyes refocused they saw crystals of all shapes and sizes and a majestic cat perched among them. For a moment, she looked like the queen of cats — so noble, surrounded by jewels — but then a nearby human pointed a camera at her and the illusion was shattered.

“Mom! Not the flashy box again!” Mini cried. She looked up, just as the Gato Enojado sailed overhead, and quickly grabbed hold of the nearest ballast-rope. “Must…escape…flashy…box,” she panted as she climbed into the hull.

Several other cats nodded in agreement as they helped Mini inside. The took no notice when a single crystal tinked to the ground beside her feet.

“Yes, some of our humans really don’t know when to quit with the camera, do they” ’ssouri said with a heavy sigh.

Sailing south now, the cats began to invent songs to pass the time. Most of them rhymed “wish” with “fish” and contained entire verses about sausages. Eventually the singing grew so raucous that Port was concerned they’d be overheard by dogs and other unpleasant creatures.

“Quiet,” she said, and held up a paw.

The crew closed their mouths but the singing continued.

“That’s not us,” Sigyn said.

Luna nodded in agreement. “The close harmonies and bold yet unexpected key changes indicate a group of kittens who’ve known each other much longer than a single day,” she said.

Sure enough, directly below them sat not one, not two, not even three, but NINE cats, all sharing a rare moment of extraordinary vocal cooperation.

Can you guess?
Don’t dare try it!
To tell Rimbaud from Riot
Yes - nobody knows!
But - quiet!
Look close - it’s the nose!
Ha ha, yes the nose!

The crew of the Gato Enojado burst into spontaneous applause. All nine cats sat up, stared at the sky, and in the blink of an eye, Riot, Rimbaud, Zed, Bukowski, Merlin, Maggie, Jezebel, Nico, and Braum hopped aboard. Much to everyone’s amazement, the remarkable (and quite overloaded) ship lifted into the sky and sailed southward.

Absurdly crowded as it was on board, the seasoned sailors of the crew determined that it would indeed be possible to take on just a few more passengers.

“Though I am long overdue for a dinner break,” Sasha declared after checking the aft rigging.

“Then we sail east,” Port said, “and over the sea.”

But, just as the vessel began its turn, Sergei let out a desperate cry from below his newly-unfurled spinnaker. “Dog! Dead ahead!”

If the Gato Enojado had come equipped with an anchor, all twenty-four cats would have tossed it over the side at once. Instead, they clambered to the sterns of both hulls and scrambled down ballast-ropes, grabbing at branches, fence posts, flowers - anything to stop their inevitable and terrifying progress toward the dog.

The great airship lurched to port, then to starboard, then back to port before coming to a gut-churning halt mere inches from its target, a trail of claw marks in its wake. The dog, quite oblivious to the drama, sat, tongue out, panting happily.

“Dog!” several of the cats cried.

“Abandon ship!”

“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” a new voice said.

“What?” Several of the cats froze and turned their heads in disbelief.

A cat with an astonishingly fluffy tail stepped out from behind the ominous pooch. “Really,” she said. “He’s just, you know… a dog.”

“Well, we’re not taking him with us,” Upsie said. “No squirrels, and absolutely no dogs!”

Dippy poked her head out from under a cushion on the starboard side. “You can come, though,” she said.

Samantha glanced back and forth between dog and ship. She then pointed a paw toward a tree in the distance and flicked her tail to get the dog’s attention. “Maverick!” she said. “Giant stick! Go fetch!”

The dog galumphed away obediently and Samantha jumped on board.

“And now, to sea!” said Port.

Winds carried them swiftly across the Atlantic and to a great city of painted buildings, tree-lined boulevards, and boats everywhere.

“Our boat’s still the prettiest,” Ahri said. “And it flies.”

Port peered through the spyglass at the streets below. “There’s something missing here,” she said. “I don’t see any cats.”

“There’s one in that window,” Riot said.

The cats called out. “Hello! Come out and play!”

“We’re not supposed to go outside,” the little black and white cat said, “But if I can ride with you-” She glanced around nervously. “Come close, leave quick and don’t tell anyone you were here.”

They steered the craft so the port hull just touched the edge of the window sill. The cat jumped inside. “A secret adventure!’ she said, and clapped her paws together happily.

They traveled south and found themselves in a beautiful land filled with mountains and castles and - quite unexpectedly - flying blue mice.

“There it is again!” Ahri said as the mouse sailed over the bridge between the twin hulls.

“And again!” said Rimbaud.

The fourth time the mouse flew past, several cats lunged at it, shouting “toy!” and “mine!” but everyone missed and the cacophony ended with an abrupt whap from the ground below.

A sleek tabby looked up at them, the blue mouse trapped between his front paws. “Tennis anyone?” Fridolin asked with a sly grin. He tossed the mouse into the air, gave it yet another swat and watched as it flew at the Gato Enojado’s airbag and lodged itself in the upper netting.

“Oh dear,” said Port. “I guess you’ll be traveling with us, then.”

They sailed with their backs to the setting sun, over more mountains and toward a glittering city where smells of rich foods wafted up into the evening air.

“Look,” cried Willow. She pointed at the largest Ferris wheel any of them had ever seen. “We’re in Vienna!”

“I smell Knödel,” said Fridolin.

“I smell Tafelspitz,” said Spike.

“I smell catnip,” said Kamikaze.

“Catnip?”

“Emergency landing!”

It truly would have been impossible for the cats to land the Gato Enojado with any more haste than they did at that moment. In an instant they were out of the twin hulls and knocking expectantly at the window of a small flat in the heart of the city.

Two elegant tabbies greeted them with looks of amazement. After introductions and a brief negotiation they agreed: one catnip plant would stay behind, one would come with, and yes, they would gladly direct the crew toward the best food in town.

Kashim and Othello hopped aboard, secured the catnip, and shouted off a series of directions to crew.

“Turn left here,” Kashim said.

“Now, around the corner,” said Othello, “and there you have it!”

A tiny, brightly-painted food stand stood in the middle of the street. “Würstelstand” its sign declared in letters the color of Willow and China Cat’s roses. Inside, two humans busied themselves with great lengths of sausage and pots of mustard.

The cats breathed the delectable aroma and quivered with excitement.

“Oh dear,” said Upsie, almost desperate with hunger. “They’ll want us to pay for those, won’t they?”

Everyone looked at one another. How could they carry human money with no pockets?

“Wait!” Mini said, “I’ve got this!” She held up the crystal she’d taken with her while escaping her mom’s flashy box. She shrugged. “It kind of got stuck between my claws.”

“It is shiny,” Ahri said. “Everyone loves shiny.”

Port frowned. “But they still might not serve us. We are, after all, cats.”

“Well then,” Othello said, “We’ll have to employ the element of surprise!”

They all huddled as best they could for a quick strategy session.

“Now, we’ve got just one pass at the place before they call for help,” Kashim said, “so we’d best be precise.”

“I’ve got the aft sails,” Sasha said.

“And I’m at the bow,” said Sergei.

“On lookout,” Sigyn announced, holding up the spyglass.

“Distracting them with sonorous music,” Luna said, holding up her blue box.

“Guarding the catnip,” said Puddy.

“Excellent!” Port leapt to the Catamaran’s central frame. “Fridolin, Samantha, ’ssouri, help steer. Everyone else - man the ropes!”

Without a sound, they inched the craft forward until it hovered just out of sight, just behind the closed back of the Würstelstand.

At Port’s signal, Luna began to play. Beautiful music filled the night air. The chef and his assistant stepped out from behind the stand’s counter, both pulling off their toques and scratching their heads in puzzlement. Further away they stepped, looking around, and then -

“Es geht um die Wurst!” Othello and Kashim cried, and the Gato Enojado dove into position.

With a cat at the bottom of each rope, the mighty ship skimmed over the top of the Würstelstand. Mini dropped her crystal into an empty jar on the counter, and an instant later, the stand’s culinary contents were snatched into the air.

“Halt! Katzen!” the humans cried, but it was too late; the craft had already reached the rooftops. By the time help arrived, all that was left to see were the last few sausage links wobbling like kite tails into the clouds.

“Huzzah,” the cats cried. “Let’s eat!”

“I think,” said Fridolin, “we need an evening’s entertainment to accompany our banquet.” He snatched up the spyglass and scoured the countryside. “There! Perfect! An opera house!”

They settled the catamaran onto a soft hummock, disembarked, and set themselves up with a ship’s sail for a picnic blanket and as much bratwurst, burenwurst, weisswurst, and kasekrainer any cat would ever want.

When the curtain rose on the opera’s scene, the cats all gasped. “There’s cat in the cast,” they whispered. “Look! A cat!”

The opera had everything an opera should have: romance, adventure, intrigue, and lots and lots of scary bits. Dippy hid under the picnic blanket when the ghosts came out, and all the cats cheered when Blacky, the cat on stage, took his final bow.

“Bravissimo,” they cried. “Ausgezeichnet!”

Afterward, the cats all lounged on the blanket, utterly full and happy, gazing at the stars above.

“I suppose we should be getting home soon,” Puddy said.

“Our humans might be worried,” said Spike.

They rose and carefully began to pack their things.

“But, oh, the stories we have to tell when we get back!” Upsie declared. “Do you think they’ll believe us?”

The cats all looked at one another and smiled.

Not a bit, they all agreed, not a bit.

This was my weekend. How was yours?

(Weekend Cat Blogging Round-up will be up as soon as the computers are as cooperative as the cats. In brief, we had an emergency upgrade issue and everything’s in pieces. Somewhere in this office, there’s a hard drive with half a round-up post on it. I think it’s the drive on the table in the photo, but I can’t be certain. On the bright side, the cats haven’t yet knocked anything onto the floor, nor have they turned ribbon cables into playthings. Phew!)

“Is it time already?” the orange one asked as he lounged before the great calendar of all household things.

A room away, his little gray companion sat up. “Time?” she said. Her voice was louder than its usual squeak. “Indeed it is! Something’s coming. Something… shiny.” She paused, transfixed by a tail of multicolored yarn that floated across the ceiling and disappeared through the glass of a closed window.

On the couch, just a few feet away, the dog stirred but didn’t wake from her daily squirrel-chasing dreams.

“Pack your kit bag,” the gray one said. “We’re going on a journey.”

(It’s Weekend Cat Blogging here at Belly Timber. Leave links to your Cat Blogging posts in the comments or email us at the_cat(at)belly-timber(dot)com. Ahriman and Port’s Weekend Cat Blogging Round-up Adventure will begin Saturday Sunday and continue through the weekend with a final installment on Monday.

Please link back to us if you get a chance, and don’t forget this weekend’s other cat blogging adventures at the Friday Ark, and the Bad Kitty Chaos Festival.)

See that tomato? It’s our one and only tomato. Oh, we’ll have more later (with some 12 tomato plants in the yard, we’d better!) but right now, this is it. Our August bounty.

Hey! I think we just saved fifty cents on our grocery bill!

We really do have a great yard for gardening — good soil and decent light when the pruning gets done — it’s just that this year (The Interminable Year of Reclaiming our Lives as I’ve been tempted to call it) we kinda forgot about Summer.

Seriously. It was April and we were talking about getting some plants into the garden as soon as we could find a spare moment. Then somewhere in June we found one day to till a bit of soil and drop in a few assorted tomatoes, chiles, and herbs. Then, next thing you know, it’s August and the damn plants are just sitting out there in the jungle — barely growing — in this absurd late summer weather of sun one day and rain the next.

So now we’re crossing our fingers for a summery September, or if not for that, then at least for a harvest that doesn’t involve heavy rain and an onslaught of tomato blight.

Meantime, I’ve made a note in the Reclaiming our Lives mental file: Please try not to be completely busy and broke next planting season, and for the love of all that’s photosynthetic, remember: even if you’ve got just five spare minutes three times a week, pruning shears and chain saws are your friends!

(WHAT’S NEXT: Ahriman and Port will be hosting Weekend Cat Blogging on August 25th & 26th. Look for a Friday afternoon post where you can add your kitty links in the comments. The round-up will begin on Saturday and be updated in fits and starts over the weekend.)

I am not usually susceptible to advertising. I tend to ignore what the hucksters are hucking my way on the telly. Sure the gecko’s kinda cute, but he’s not going to get me to switch insurance companies just because he’s shiny and green and sounds like Brick Top from Snatch — minus the bit about feeding people to the pigs, of course.

Same goes for print ads. Mailbox to round file: it’s such a short, short trip.

I even toss catalogs.

I should note that I don’t actually subscribe to any catalogs. Not a one. (No magazines either, but that’s another story.) When they show up unannounced, I rarely give them a second glance and I am so, so proud of my superior resistance to Madison Avenue.

But then this thing happens. This store opens within a short drive of our house. And a catalog for this store appears in my mailbox and… and…

Aagh. I can’t stand it any longer.

Look. Just look. Pages and pages of drawers and shelves and baskets — glorious storage compartments, and all with terrifyingly cute names like Björken, and Aspvik, and Ivar.

(I am MizD’s crumbling resistance.)

I can almost taste the Swedish meatballs and lingonberries as I turn the pages.

I know, I know, I have to fight it. We can’t do it. Can’t go shopping. The risk is too great.

But… but… if we acquired more storage compartments — badly needed storage compartments for things like laundry…

…we could prevent this from happening:

Yes, Port has discovered the dryer.

(Visit CatSynth for the Weekend Cat Blogging #115 Round up! Next week’s WCB will be hosted right here at Belly Timber, by our new feline residents, Port and Ahriman. I hear they are planning something unusual, but I’ve no idea what. Even the dog’s not talking.)

It’s one of those days.

I’m in the middle of transferring a large number of websites, databases, lists, galleries, and so on to a new hosting service and it is tedious work. For those who don’t know, one area in which I freelance is web design and I host sites for my design clients. My current host has been frustrating of late — frustrating enough that I’ve decided it’s time for a change.

This means Belly Timber will be moving hosts as well so there’s a chance we’ll be down for a bit later this week. I’m hoping to make the transition as quick and painless as possible, but I can’t guarantee that a certain persistent orange lummox won’t step on the keyboard at exactly the wrong time and delete my database backup. He has a rather uncanny knack for getting his paws into my work at inappropriate moments, just as Angry Cat used to shed on the articles of clothing that most needed to be clean.

Yes, that’s Angry Cat from the photo archives, above. The Belly Timber Home Photo Uploading Service is on the fritz yet again. I have half a month’s worth of photos stuck on my flash card and no way to show them to you.

On the bright side, with no way to take pictures, we now have a great excuse for lazy, ugly meals.

Another (temporary) bright side: Port and Ahriman have not yet discovered the sleep-on-warm-clothes-in-the-dryer trick. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time…

(The delicious Boo-licious hosts this week’s Weekend Cat Blogging over at Masak-Masak.)

Hey!
 
If you’re reading this post before Tuesday, July 31st at 9pm Pacific time, you can still make a pledge to the Electronic Frontier Foundation by visiting my Blogathon sponsor page!

 

And now…

The experience:

I truly didn’t think I could do it. Forty-eight posts in 24 hours? Most times I don’t think I can pull off 48 posts in 24 weeks, and yet, here I was, signing up at the last minute and with absolutely no planning. It was, no doubt, one of my crazier moments.

Seat-of-the-pants marathon blogging can be both a good thing and a bad thing. Good, in that it’s all over just a few short days after signing up so there’s never a chance to build up a case of nerves. Bad? Well, for one thing, I had little time to gather pledges, and by the time I discovered fellow blogathonners were doing all sorts of cool things like contests and group blogging events, I was in the thick of it and far too busy to join in. For 24 hours, my life revolved around photos, words, and the ever-ticking clock. Occasionally, I remembered to get up and use the bathroom. Once, I even stepped outside!

The restraints:

What? Outside? Just once? No trips around the neighborhood? Blogging from parties? Not this year. I knew going into this that I’d be tied to one computer for the duration. The Lappy’s dead, and my handheld mobile typing device is too ancient to understand the finer art of transmitting text without a USB cable. Add to this the recent refusal of my flashcard reader to perform the one job it’s meant to do, and the result is: must blog at home, at desk, with no new photos.

The rules:

With these rather frustrating restraints firmly in place, I determined to choose a theme for my blogging that would allow me to do at least something creative. I knew I didn’t want to just write. I wanted visuals. And since I couldn’t take new photos, I thought — hey, here’s an excuse to raid the old photos. I mean the really old photos — the pre-digital photos. So, I set for myself the following rules:

• Every post must include a photo.
• Every photo must be one I’ve taken myself.
• Every photo must be from a 35mm print, negative, or slide.
• I will not use any photos I’ve already uploaded onto Flickr.
• I will include at least one sentence of text with each photo.

(I’d originally thought “one paragraph” but I quickly amended that to “sentence” after discovering what a pain in the butt it is to select, scan, tweak, resize, and upload a new photo every half hour. Oy.)

The restraints (part deux):

And here I thought I was through with restraints. Hah. Remember that bit about signing up at the last minute? Well, one result of that was I didn’t actually haul my boxes of photos up to the living room to sort them until the night before the Blogathon began. It was at this point (well after I should have hit the sack to rest up), that I discovered many of my old favorites existed only in negative or proof sheet form. (Oh, right, now it comes back to me: I hated wasting photo paper and all the good prints usually went to other people who requested them.)

Sigh. All fine and dandy if the negative scanner’s working but, um, negative scanner? Meet Lappy. Have a nice chat in the Casa Belly Timber computer graveyard. Sorry about the crowd.

So, I ended up, at times, rather annoyed with my lack of photographic choices — damn, can’t use that pic. Not that one either — but you know, at three, four am, after twenty some hours of this, consider yourselves lucky I wasn’t subjecting everyone to multiple badly-processed copies of that same pic of that cute boy from the basketball team I had a secret crush on in seventh grade.

The Survival Tactics:

Item one: The sentences I write don’t have to make much sense. Once I determined that, I let myself off the hook quite a bit. Just wing it, I said. Have fun. The goal wasn’t to wax eloquent after 20 hours with no sleep; the goal was to stick to my (quite manageable) rules and cross the finish line.

Item two: Quality fuel. This is one area where my small amount of preparation came in handy. I had on hand: A large bag of almonds, two apples, freshly ground peanut butter, a tin of sardines, and a bottle of kombucha. Add in two eggs for breakfast, a chicken and veggie stirfry for dinner (thanks, Chopper!), a single cup of coffee, a few handfuls of Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate chips, and a substantial amount of herbal tea, and I was set. No soda, no energy drinks, and no Doritos needed. I came near to crashing from fatigue twice, and both times I pushed to get myself a tiny bit ahead of schedule and then simply set the alarm and had a nap on the couch for twenty minutes. Worked wonders.

The Rescue Squad:

I can’t thank enough the folks who stopped by in the dead of night to leave comments and cheer me on. It made a huge difference and kept me at least partially sane. Special shouts of gratitude go to 2006 Blogathonner Sam from Becks and Posh, who brought friends and family along for the ride. Thanks again, Sam and everyone!

The Aftermath:

Would I do it again? Hell yes. Would I do it differently? Hell yes. I had a great first time experience with Blogathon. I made it to the end, I stuck to the theme I’d set for myself, and I raised a little bit of money for my charity. If I do it next year, I’ll be signing up well in advance and I’ll be recruiting co-conspirators. I’ve dropped by the posts of a few of the participating group blogs, and I have to say I would have loved the camaraderie of a crew, watching each other’s backs and covering for each other’s groggy moments.

Also, next year? Mobile. Please! If I do it again, I’m definitely doing it from somewhere other than my office because oh, lordy I grew so sick of this chair it took me over 48 hours to plant my butt in it again to write this post!