OK. Going back to the USA has not been so bad. It appears to be the same nation I left two years. However, there also seems be a bit more frugality. Everyone seems to have purchased a book on saving, recycling, reusing, taking walks on the beach instead of going to that favorite restaurant twice a week…and, of course, that restaurant closed up anyway about a month ago.

At time the tightening-the-belt conversation reminds me of my parents’ home in the 1950’s and after where, it seemed, the Great Depression never really went away no matter how successful my Father became. Perhaps a little cultural frugality will linger after this recession lifts; who knows?

And, yes, I did enjoy a walk through Target to pick up a few things. Yes, the larger selection than I am currently used to was a nice thing. And, yes, I was a “cascarabia,” to use my wife’s term for a grump, when I was grousing about going back to the USA after a two year absence.

That said, Stumpy, the twenty-two year old cat, and I are getting along famously as the “kids,” 38 and 31 are at work. We get along fine so long as I hop up from the computer where I am writing, when she meows, stands staring at the food dish, or stares at me. I put another spoonful of Friskies in her bowl and the ancient huntress is happy. By virtue of her advanced cat age Stumpy gets what she wants. Her name comes from an encounter with an unknown (to us) creature of the Vermont woods many years back. Stumpy is now limited to an arthritic walk around the back yard from time to time.

Fluffy, the twelve-year-one and still picked on younger cat at 12, is the better hunter and watched a bit more carefully as the family thinks that Fluffy is looking for the magic wormhole, or hole in the fence, that will take her back to the Vermont woods.

To this day my soon to be son-in-law turns his shoes over in the morning out of a long ago learned habit. When they lived in the mountains South and East of Burlington, Fluffy was known to return from exploring with a trophy or two…wounded bird, partially chewed vole, and deposit the offering into one of the shoes of the man of the house.

Perhaps one day Fluffy will find the wormhole connecting the Avenues of San Francisco to the woods of Vermont. In the meantime Stumpy is napping, but within striking distance of the food dish so I had better pay attention as I write.