First you hear it, then you don't

My venerable 1985 Honda Accord started making an intermittent squealing noise a couple of weeks ago. I'd notice it when I'd first start it up, couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, and, up until earlier this week, would shortly forget about it because it would stop after I'd driven for a bit. But last Sunday, it was really making a racket and that time it didn't go away, so Wednesday evening I took it to my mechanic so that on Thursday morning, he could start it up, hear the noise, find it and fix it. Except he couldn't hear it. The car never made a peep.

There must be a name for this kind of phenomenon. It's the same one that causes that twinge in your back that's been bothering you for weeks to disappear totally when at last you make it in to see your doctor about it, or that alerts your cat to the fact that you plan to take him to the vet later in the day and even though you haven't even gone near the cat carrier and have acted perfectly normally around him he crawls under the bed to the very center and can't be reached no matter which side you try.

I've dug out my tape recorder and am going to keep it in the car. Maybe Click and Clack can figure it out.

Another one bites the dust

The Naturalist is closing. That beautiful store, where I go first when I'm looking for a birthday present or a Christmas present, and where I often stop in just to browse because there are so many lovely things to look at. Wind chimes, jewelery, pottery, calendars, children's books, puzzles and toys, guide books, greeting cards and notes, bird feeders . . . the list goes on. The two women who own The Naturalist have wonderful taste, and have continued and expanded on the types of merchandise featured by the store's former owners. We came close to losing The Naturalist some years ago, when the original owners wanted to retire, but were saved by Cheryl and Patty, who bought it, moved it to its present spot on Second St., and continued to offer not only a beautiful variety of merchandise but their own involvement with what they sold and with the community. Special sale nights that supported the Yolo Basin Foundation were just one of those. They chose their wares with care and a discerning eye, offering beauty and functionality at a reasonable price. The store at Christmas was a feast for the eye, with the decorated tree, sparkly lights and ornaments . . .

They've been trying to sell the business for months, but despite interest from many, no one has come forward at the 11th hour to rescue The Naturalist. So, along with dozens, probably hundreds, of other Davisites, I will have to say goodbye. There are so few shops left like The Naturalist, businesses owned by the people you see behind the counter and stocking the shelves. Sadly, the Targets and Wal-Marts are the order of the day, made sadder still by the fact that, once the small, independent places are gone, the children of today will have nothing to compare to their "big box" shopping experience.

The Naturalist's doors aren't closed just yet; they'll be selling off their stock, and I'll go down to wish them well and maybe pick up a few last things. As I was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping a couple of weeks ago, a necklace caught my eye, a small silver oak tree on a silver chain. I was stretching my gift budget, but I bought it for myself. I'm glad I did; it will always remind me of the one-of-a-kind store it came from.