Suzy Says

The San Francisco Giants Win!

The Giants won their third World Series title in five years on Wednesday night. Above, you see Buster Posey, the team’s valiant catcher, my favorite Giant, and owner of the best name in baseball, hugging pitcher Madison Bumgarner, the stoic country boy who is now a hero and a legend.

With all the stress in my life lately, it’s been hard to watch the World Series. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but the anxiety is tough in my weakened condition. The Bumgarnerless night before the Giants’ victory, they were smoked 10-0 by Kansas City in Game 6, and I had to stop watching after about the third inning because I just could’t take it anymore.

Last night, the Giants scored two runs, were tied by Kansas City, and then Joe Panik (the second best name in baseball) made a crucial double play. Pablo Sandoval, the beloved big bear known as The Panda, made what would become the game’s winning run with a mighty swing:

Despite his size, The Panda can run as well as he can hit, and as if that weren’t enough, he also caught the last out which won the Giants the Series. He lay for a second on the grass, where he had dived to make the catch, before being swarmed by his teammates who lifted him up and carried him into the joyous knot of players surrounding Bumgarner, the calm, unruffled, 25 year old hero of the Series.

Bumgarner pitched this epic Game 7 just two days after pitching a shutout game. His father was asked if he thought his son could pitch again so soon, and he replied, “I didn’t know if he had enough left tonight. But I did know that boy would try to steal a steak off the devil’s plate.”

And he did.

Here’s to the Giants dynasty, their fans, and the beautiful city they call home. And next season!

A YEAR AGO:

Seasonally Affected

You already knew that Megan is the best sister in the world, right? Just for extra proof, as if any were needed, she got up at 5:00 am after working four 12 hour night shifts to drive her pathetic older sister to the county seat in the stormy Saturday darkness. When I was about 14 and she was 5, Megan told me, “I’ll catch up with you one day. You’ll see!” She should have said, “I’ll pass you and leave you in the dust*.”

In my defense, I have never driven the switchbacked mountain road that leads there, and starting in the storm-tossed darkness did not seem like the best idea. I hate driving at night, whereas Megan is so used to it after so many years of night shifts and night time ambulance driving that she navigated through it all with one hand on the wheel. I think she likes Wednesday, leather seats and all.

The Ridge and the road to the city were littered with tree branches and pine needles (follow the red needle road!), which Megan said were more slippery and dangerous than they looked, having been called to many pine needle induced accident scenes over the years. Despite driving carefully through the redwoods and up and down and around and about the crazy road to the county seat (on our way back, we passed a couple of guys who had pulled over to throw up together**), we made good time.

Despite living here for five years now, I honestly don’t think I’ve been to the county seat since being helicoptered there with Dad when he had his stroke fourteen years ago. I tend to go to Santa Rosa for things that cannot be found on the coast.

Megan dropped me off at the test center, where I was joined by about ten other testees. The person giving the test said that 21 people had registered for it, but that half showing up was about par for the course. She added that this was also the case for interviews, which I found surprising.

We all took our places in a conference room and dutifully filled in the little multiple choice bubbles with the Number Two pencils we had been instructed to bring with us. There were 100 questions. I was pretty confident about the spelling, grammar, and punctuation, but less so about the word problems. At least there wasn’t any math. X-Y = Zzzzz for me.

I finished the test first, and we are supposed to get our results in 10 business days.

Megan and I attempted to shop, but the selection was lacking, so we headed back to the coast, stopping for a belated breakfast at the Boonville General Store. It felt much later than 11:30, but that’s what happens when you get up long before the sun. I had hoped to buy dinner for Megan and Rob at Libby’s, but they were closed, despite the sign saying they were open. We weren’t the only ones to be disappointed – several other cars stopped, tried the doors, and left. We’re planning to meet up with Erica and Jessica for Halloween on Friday, so maybe we can stop in then.

*Somehow, the baby of the family has become its matriarch, and never got any of the traditional “baby” slack from the rest of the family. Go figure.

**I felt really sorry for them. There was a looong way to go before they’d hit any straight roads. Kind of like being seasick in the middle of the ocean.

A YEAR AGO:

Virtual Walk.

It’s birds 2, kitties 0 on today’s scoreboard!

Clyde appeared with a bird in his mouth, and I went to take it away from him, surprising both him and the bird and letting it out of Clyde’s mouth. The bird rocketed up into the redwoods to our mutual relief.

I had barely recovered from this close brush with death when Roscoe trotted into the living room with, you guessed it, a bird in his mouth. Again I rescued the bird, and again it flew away quickly and happily. Sometimes when I get birds out of the cat’s mouths, they sit there kind of stunned and I’m not always sure they make it. It was great to know they escaped unscathed, at least this time.

After the avian escapade, Clyde settled next to me on the couch, looking like a little angel and snoring softly:

It’s hard to believe that he was a murderous, bird-killing machine only moments earlier, isn’t it?

I was glad to have Clyde’s cuddlesome support, because we got the termination letter from my job, and I had to compose emails to break the news to the managers I have worked with for many years and cancel the quarterly calls I had set up for next week. Little did I imagine that the last time I spoke to them all would be, well, the last time I spoke to them.

Over the years, I have grown to care about these people. Together, we have gone through a family member’s successful battle against cancer; the birth of a first child; another child’s 4-H ribbons, yet another being accepted to an Ivy League school and a graduation from West Point. I’ve heard about family reunions, marriages, and promotions, and we’ve congratulated each other on World Series bids and wins. I valued our partnership both personally and professionally, and I can’t believe I will never talk to these folks again.

But we have had to hand everything over, and with a lawsuit pending, we have to be careful what we say and who we say it to.

I feel much the way I did when John and I divorced. It was a great loss, and I was saddened by the end of something I went into so optimistically and hopefully and which I thought would last forever. I’ve been spending a lot of time beating myself up for poor decision-making and ending up with no money at a semi-advanced age, but I am proud of what my boss/partner and I achieved together over a decade. We tripled our client’s money in three years, kept the pension fund fully funded through the 2008 market crash and the city’s bankruptcy, and were employers in that embattled state and city. We sponsored an annual golf tournament which raised thousands of dollars for scholarships for needy children of that city. And we did it all with integrity, passion, and caring. We have a lot to be proud of in the face of defeat.

A YEAR AGO:

Home Again.

Five years ago today, I moved into my little hippie hovel in Hooterville. My house used to be James’ (who built it) and Rose’s, and it seems only appropriate that I moved into the house on Rose’s birthday. As Mark said, she is everywhere here.

On Sunday, Rose’s daughter Citlali, who is a member of the same fire department my brother belongs to, invited me to stop by the firehouse for some tacos. This is a fundraising effort held once a month or so, and takes place at the old firehouse beside the Gro:

Inside, the firefighters had set up a couple of tables with slow-cooked pork, corn and flour tortillas, a sort of coleslaw with jicama and corn, salsa verde, limes, chopped cilantro, rice, black beans…it was a feast! For $7, you got a plate with two tacos, rice, beans, and salad with all the accompaniments you could wish for:

All served by your friendly local volunteer firefighters. You know, the people who run into burning buildings and rescue people from crashed cars for no pay. That’s Citlali on the far right. She looks so much like her mother, Rose:

The firehouse was bustling with people, some eating their tacos on the spot and others, like me, taking theirs to go (dinner’s ready!). I stopped in at the Gro to pick up a couple of things, and was amused by this sign on the bulletin board outside:

I especially liked the “Any luck yet?” written on the top.

A YEAR AGO:

Magical History Tour of downtown LA.

Seasonal decorations at Luna Trattoria

How better to take a girl’s mind off pending unemployment than dinner and a movie with two of her favorite girls?

As Megan and I set off for the Big Town, the rain that had been promised all day finally materialized, bucketing merrily down as Megan navigated the twisty roads. The bucketing didn’t last long, though, and there was a mere tenth of an inch in the rain gauge this morning. Come on, rain! You can do better than that!

We met our dear friend Lu at Luna Trattoria, a new restaurant which has been getting a lot of buzz. All of my co-workers at the jobette just love it. It’s a pretty, friendly place, owned by a family from the Emilia- Romagna region of northern Italy. As the menu notes, it’s authentic Italian food, not Italian American food.

Megan had feather-light gnocchi with gorgonzola sauce, Lu had pasta with Sangiovese sauce, and I had spaghetti carbonara, which reminded Megan and me both of our father and our friend Davide, who worked with Dad at the University of Siena. We visited Davide at his home in Milan as well as his very, uh, rural* country home in the Italian Lake district (home of George Clooney). Davide taught Dad to make this dish, which uses pancetta, white wine, eggs, etc. to create a delicious dish. They used to say they’d open a restaurant together one day, Il Due Davidi (The Two Davids). I wish they had and I wish they were still here, drinking wine, cooking, and laughing together.

After dinner, we headed to the movie theater to see “Gone Girl”, which you may remember was one of my favorite books a couple of years ago. I found myself sitting right next to my co-worker and his date. After the movie, I asked him what he thought of it and he opined that perhaps it had not been the best choice for a date movie. On the way out of the theater, we ran into our beloved former swimming teacher Sallie, who was as wonderful and glowing as ever. Gotta love a small town! And a fun evening with the girls.

A YEAR AGO:

LA at last!

*And I do mean rural. Dirt floors and no hot running water.

It’s kind of hard to tell you guys what’s going on when I have no idea what’s going on, but here goes:

• The Cold: Definitely better, but my allergies seem to be picking up the cold’s slack, and I really regret not taking Sudafed before going to work. It’s going to be a long day.
• Work: In keeping with the eerily similar theme, it appears that summarily terminating the contracts at both the job and the jobette may well have been illegal. I am cautiously optimistic about the jobette following a positive legal opinion, but there’s still a long way to go.

  As for the job, we have been told to keep working until further notice, and have not received a termination letter, both of which are good things. Our lawyer, the same gentleman who supported me through the Grand Jury ordeal a couple of years back, believes that we do have legal grounds to overturn the termination, but again, there’s a long way to go and it’s more complicated than the jobette situation.

  Although these are good things, it’s hard to know what to do. I have applied for a couple of local jobs, but have not heard back yet. If I am offered a new job, do I take it? Because, although it’s sometimes difficult to balance the job and the jobette, I love the work and my co-workers at both places and appreciate them all the more now. If I don’t, and it all ultimately falls apart, then what? These are the things that haunt me in the middle of the night (and the middle of the day).

• Taxes: I filed for an extension, and when the tax preparer submitted it, she got a message saying that there had already been a return submitted with my social security number. I checked with John, and it turned out that he had filed married filing single – six months after our divorce became final. When I asked him why he did this, he said it was because he was expecting some kind of paperwork from the court. I pointed out that the paperwork I sent him last July states expressly that the judgment was entered and would become final on October 2, 2013, adding that we were free to marry on that date.

  I went to the courthouse in the Big Town and showed that paperwork to the clerk, who confirmed that there was no other paperwork forthcoming, and added that John’s tax preparer should have known that from looking at the existing paperwork. I made a copy, mailed it to John with the clerk’s comments, and he will amend his return, but what the hell? I cannot understand why he didn’t check with me before filing. At least it will never happen again. Right?

  A YEAR AGO:

  Soiree

By the time I got home from the jobette on Tuesday, it was pretty obvious that I had a cold. Because, you know, why not? Maybe my immune system was weakened by stress, along with my ever tenuous mental health.

Megan had left some Sudafed* on the table for me, and I thought I had some Afrin, but alas, it turned out that I did not. There is no substitute for either of these things, and unfortunately for me, Sudafed alone was not mighty enough to decongest my nose.

As often happens, just when I needed sleep the most, I felt too lousy to sleep. I was awake at 1:30 am, while yet being too tired to read, so I actually watched an episode of The Love Boat, thinking about how the guy who played Gopher became a Congressman later and how Julie the cruise director got fired from the show for her coke habit, which must have been pretty spectacular considering it was the early 80s. I followed up this Velveeta-esque cheesefest with a Scooby Doo cartoon chaser. The Mystery Machine started to look pretty cool to me, and I was actually trying to solve the mysteries, which would have been painfully obvious to Nancy Drew, when I realized that I was probably pretty sick.

Roscoe was unimpressed with my choice of television fare in the dark hours, and Audrey and Clyde left the room completely. I’m blaming it on my weakened and feverish condition.

The next day, Megan came by to check on me and bring me watermelon popsicles for my sore throat, which also happen to be magically delicious. Between those and the meds, I’m on the mend.

A YEAR AGO:

The Impatient Patient

*When Megan bought it, she got her driver’s license out to show the pharmacist, and he told her that the non-drowsy Sudafed, which she was buying, was not the kind used for meth manufacture – the drowsy kind is. Which is kind of counterintuitive.

Elk Cove Sunset

Just because you’ve lost one job doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep doing the one you still have (at least for now). So Megan and I headed down to the beautiful south coast to distribute jobette related materials.

It was a beautiful day, hot by our standards, with not a cloud or a wisp of Karl in sight. September and October are often the warmest and least foggy months in our part of California, and it was probably around 80 degrees, even at the coast, where it’s usually in the 60s, even in the summer.

Since it was late in the day, Franny’s was our first stop (with ten minutes to spare before they closed). Megan got a spicy Mexican mocha for herself and a bag of gummy body parts for Jessica’s Christmas stocking. What says “Christmas” more than squishy, edible people pieces? Here’s look at Franny’s less alarming delicacies:

We stopped in at the feed store across the street on non jobette business: a) to get cat food for Megan’s kitties; and 2) to ask the store owner if we could post a Stella flyer in the window. The owner took one look at Stella’s smiling face and said that she has a good friend whose beloved dog passed away last year and was thinking of getting another one. This person has had nothing but pit bulls her whole life, so she is very knowledgeable about the breed.

Megan sent the store owner some photos and video of Stella and has since made contact with the potential adopter. They will meet in person soon, and if all goes well, Stella will have a new home with 45 fenced acres and another dog to play with, which should be perfect for her. Stay tuned!

Of course, we also had to stop off at Anchor Bay for fabulous Thai food. Amusingly, although we ordered separately and I knew ahead of time what I was getting and Megan didn’t, we ended up getting the same thing (orange chicken; Panang curry; cucumber salad). Great minds think alike. It was really fun to have Megan there with me, and she was a lot of help wrestling boxes and brochures.

As we came around a steep curve, we suddenly came across a cow standing right by the road. I don’t know who was more surprised. The cow seemed to be making up its mind about something, and Megan floored it as much as you can when driving a corkscrew downhill. As she drove, she explained that cows can ram your car repeatedly, and cause quite a lot of damage which is not covered by insurance. I’m still learning the finer points of living in the country, it seems.

The cow didn’t follow us, and it reminded me that this was the second time Megan’s quick thinking had saved us on the south coast. Last time, she pulled the car out of the way of a maniac who had crossed over into our lane in order to pass someone. While coming over a hill with no idea we were there. Fortunately, Megan has quick reflexes and calmness in a crisis, unlike her sister, and pulled over to safety where we both caught our breaths for while, glad we still had them.

You’d think we saw each other all the time, living about 100 yards apart, but we don’t, so we have to make time when we can, even when it’s work related. It was hard to feel like it was work to drive beside the ocean and through the redwoods together, though. I’m lucky that my sister also happens to be my best friend.

A YEAR AGO:

Wine Whine

There was a little earthquake this morning as I left for the jobette. Nothing major, just a little reminder that you never know what’s going to happen. The perfect capper for the week I had.

I have basically lost my job. You know, the one that pays the bills, keeps my hippie hovel over my head, and buys crunchies for the cats. It’s a long, sad story, but basically it’s an unlovely cocktail of racism, politics and intrigue which led to the demise of the contract with our biggest client.

We still have a couple of small ones, but that’s not enough to keep the doors open and the lights on.

People have said to me, “But you own part of the company!” and my response is “Twelve percent of nothing is still nothing.”

I learned this on Thursday, and on Friday, I discovered that due to eerily similar factors at the jobette, that job is in peril as well. You can’t make this up. Even if things were fine and dandy at the jobette, though, the pittance I make there would not be enough to keep me in my fabulous lifestyle.

When I got the news on Thursday, I went straight to my brother’s place, where I proceeded to cry all over him. He was wonderfully reassuring and reminded me that I have family and friends on my side. I got some hugs from Rob, too, and my sister when she woke up from her night shift later that day. If this had to happen to me, it’s the best place for it to happen.

So it’s time to look for a job, network as much as possible, and hope for the best.

A YEAR AGO:

Unexpected

My hard-working sis is working an extra shift this week, and I stopped by to say hello and goodbye this morning. Attire: kitty pajamas, sweater, and sandals (like Peppermint Patty, I wear them even in winter). I was surprised that the car was full of dogs and she was ready to go. It turns out that she had come over to my house yesterday morning, only to find that I was already gone to the jobette (I left early to buy groceries, gas, cat food, and go to the library).

She was planning to drop the dogs off at our friend Lu’s house, where they can play with their friend Harlow and run around the big, fenced yard while Megan is at work. At least we had a couple of minutes to catch up with each other’s news (Megan’s cat Ramona is experiencing age-related health issues; I had my hair cut) and promise each other we’d try to spend some time together on Friday. For girls who live about 100 yards away from each other, we don’t see each other very often. Still, it’s good to know she’s there.

The wonderful Angelika cut my hair on Friday. It was high time, since the last time she cut it was in March! On my way there, I came across a flock of little boys riding their bikes down the Ridge, each with a fishing pole tied to the handlebars. They rode into the parking lot at the firehouse to let me pass, waving and smiling. It was kind of an Andy Griffith moment. Nice to know that kids still want to go fishing with their friends on a fine, late summer day.

At Angelika’s little salon in the big woods, the garden was looking lovely:

As was I after my haircut. Angelika is from Germany, where they apparently take hair styling very seriously. She studied for four years, as if it were college, apprenticing after two years. She has never said so, but I think she’s appalled that in the US, it’s about nine months of training instead. All I can say is, even after six months, my hair still had its shape, even when I didn’t blow dry it.

She and her boyfriend have been converting their garage to an artist’s studio, installing windows that she traded haircuts for. Her boyfriend traded cutting down trees for lumber, which somehow seems appropriate. I love how this kind of thing is still possible around here. A visitor told me this week that we live in a sort of fairyland up here, and sometimes, it seems like we do.

It’s not all fairies, though. Some of it is bugs.

Like the cricket who found its way onto my stove, leaping away in horror when I turned the burner on, then retreating to a safe distance to watch the proceedings with interest, occasionally waving his antennae in approval.

Or the termites wafting gently through the autumn sunlight. I didn’t even know they flew until I moved to Hooterville. They eventually lose their wings, which lodge nicely in the cobwebs the less Martha Stewart among us have in our houses, and retire to eat someone’s house, possibly mine, though I have not caught them yet.

On the other hand, Erica’s insect encounter was less benign:

“My washing machine just broke because a banana slug got electrocuted on a circuit board.

Now I’m looking for new fuses to solder in, after cleaning out slug bits and carbon, because soldering that thing in is going to be cheaper than the $450-600 to have a repairman replace the board.”

The hazards of living in the country. Or fairyland. You decide.

We were gifted with another inch and a half of rain! It’s very early in the season, and it’s making me hopeful for a rainy winter.

During the rainfall, I realized that I did not have any sauce for the pasta I was planning to make for dinner. So I pulled on my little flowered rain boots and the hat I bought at the fair one year, and skipped through the puddles to my sister’s house, where she was getting ready for work.

The dogs were more excited than usual to see me, and that’s pretty excited. I don’t think anyone in the world is ever happier to see me than Star. Even my Dad made less fuss when I flew halfway around the world in coach to see him. The dogs were bored out of their minds in the way dogs are when it rains. They went out to pee, but couldn’t wait to get back in the house and out of the wetness. If possible, Stella actually hates the rain more than Star. So they are bored, but don’t want to go out and play. An appearance by Auntie Suzy just brightens up the dullness of their day.

Fortunately for me, Megan had some tomato sauce, and also tomatoes from the epic family garden which are due to be made into sauce any day. I also used onions, garlic and peppers from the family estate to make the sauce.

While I was at Megan’s, Rob showed me that he had done some work in their bathroom, repainting and planning to replace their sink with a better one he found somewhere, as Rob does. So he’s been cheating on my bathroom with his own bathroom. 🙂

There’s really not much left to do in my bathroom. Rob came by last night and put on a coat of primer. There’s just the walls to be painted white and the door to be painted black, along with installing the new door knob set. Here’s how it looked before the primer went on:

And here’s how it looked before Rob made it beautiful:

Amazing difference, isn’t it? Rob suggested taking down that shelf and it makes the whole room look bigger. I love how Rob was so creative in finding and using things. It’s been so fun spending more time with him. And of course, Clyde did an excellent job of supervising.

We ended up getting 3/4 inch of rain! My lazy side (is there any other?) was happy not to have to water the garden, though the rain did seem to revitalize the mosquitoes. Every silver lining has its cloud?

Wednesday required a follow up visit to the car spa in Santa Rosa. Apparently whatever they did last time needed a minor-ish adjustment, and since it was part of the warranty repair, all it cost was about five hours’ driving and a tank of gas. I can’t tell you how nice it is to be able to take the key out of the ignition on the first try, and to have the dashboard warning light- and beep-free. I’m hoping that this has finally solved all of Wednesday’s woes and that the car curse is broken.

A girl can dream.

The other day, I stopped on the Ridge on my way home and gave a lift to Michael. He is an older gentleman who can often be seen riding his bike around Hooterville. When Schatzi was missing, he was very helpful in searching for her, especially since he was not in a car but able to cover a good distance. As you know, we never did find our beloved girl, but it was comforting how our little community rallied around and did its best to help.

On this evening, he was on foot. I stopped and asked him if he would like a ride – he often says no when he is on his bike, but I keep asking anyway – and he was very happy to hop in. I asked where his bike was, and he said that he had hitchhiked to the Big Town that day and was on his way back.

I asked him where he lived, fairly confident that it wouldn’t be as far down the Ridge as I am, and it turned out that he lives on the same road as Lichen. Not just the same road, but on the same property! Not only that, but someone had just bought the property, which had been for sale for years, and he and Lichen have six weeks to find somewhere else.

As I was digesting this shocking news, Rob passed us and I waved and smiled. Michael said, “That’s Robert.” I said yes, he is married to my sister. Michael was surprised and pleased with this information, and spent a few minutes telling me that Rob is a good man, very smart and very funny. It was nice to hear that someone appreciates Rob as much as his family does.

I offered to drive Michael all the way home but he preferred to walk down his road. He said that he lives in a ten foot by ten foot cabin and wasn’t ready to be inside just yet. I told him I’d keep an eye open for a new place for him and went on my way.

I expect that whoever bought that property will tear down the little houses and build something new, and I don’t like the thought of people who would kick tenants out of their homes with inadequate time to find shelter moving into our little community. One of the nice things about living somewhere so isolated is that it tends not to attract people like this. I hope it’s not a harbinger of change. And it’s hard not to worry about it happening to me some day.

Yesterday, my little abode seemed more like Grand Central than a little hippie hovel deep in the woods.

Mark came by to borrow season two of “Dexter” – he and Citlali are both completely hooked on it, and while he was there, checked out the cupboard in the pantry/laundry room that came off about a year and a half ago and which he has been promising to fix since he got home from New Jersey last year. He thought he might have the right hinges somewhere, and went off to look.

He came back with them and they didn’t fit, so he made a note to look the next time he’s in town.

I started dinner – chili cashew chicken stir fry – and Rob knocked on the door. He was looking for Parmesan since the Gro was closed, and fortunately, I still had a piece left over from the pasta with pesto, chicken and artichokes which I had for dinner the night before.

I gave it to him along with a belated birthday hug – Rob turned 50 on Thursday and I hadn’t seen him to give him a birthday hug and kiss. We really need to get it together with our celebratory BBQs this year – I still haven’t had mine, nor has Jonathan. And note to Self: let Jonathan know that he has been promoted to my big brother. He and Megan are the only ones still hanging onto their 40s.

I had just sat down to dinner and “Murder In the First”, a very enjoyable policier set in San Francisco and actually filmed there, when Citlali came by to borrow some conditioner for her beautiful girls’ beautiful long hair. I gave her the rest of the bottle, knowing all too well what it’s like to try and detangle long hair without conditioner.

I love how we can all help each other out. We’re all in this together!

Update: Megan tells me that Lichen knows the guy who bought the property. Apparently the new owner’s vision is to make the little houses an “artists’ colony”, and since the new owner knows Lichen, has enlisted his services to find a contractor to renovate the houses. Lichen can stay in his house and be an on site caretaker, though everyone else has to move. They have sixty days to find new places, which is better than six weeks.

Before I tell you about the county fair, I have an announcement to make: it’s raining! It started yesterday evening and I rushed to put the hanging plants out so we could all enjoy the welcome, effort-free watering. I was thrilled to find half an inch of rain in the rain gauge this morning (imagine its surprise) and the usual leak puddling on the kitchen floor. As I write, it’s still raining and the garden and I are sighing with happiness. The kitties, not so much.

Roscoe has gone back to bed, as he often does in weather which is not up to his standards. Audrey is sitting on the front porch glaring at the rain, and Clyde is sitting on the back porch, watching it like it’s a movie.

As for the fair, Megan and I ventured to the beautiful Valley on a Sunday afternoon, the last day of the festivities. It was foggy on the coast, but sunny in the Valley, where the giant apple (does it have a name? Andy Apple sounds good to me) greeted us:

Inside the fairgrounds, we passed the Ferris Wheel, which always reminds me of Henry and Fern in “Charlotte’s Web”, and also of my horror when I actually tried it out a few years ago:

We met up with Jessica, who scampered off to go on the rides with hr friends, and Erica, who was our fearless guide to the fabric and fiber building. Inside, someone was demonstrating the correct way to shear a sheep, and Erica’s gossamer shawl had taken every prize known to fairdom:

including grand champion, first place, division champion…you get the picture. I imagine her fellow contestants heartily wish her back in Portland when fair time rolls around.

She spun, dyed, designed and crocheted (or possibly knitted) this wonderfully webby creation herself. Even Charlotte would be impressed:

and no photo can do it justice. I did try, though.

Jessica had a couple of her haikus prominently posted in the window of another building:

I love how she mixed mythology with Addams family aesthetics.

Jessica was excited to show us the “snack size sheep”, but alas, they had packed up and gone home. We soon learned that the major drawback of going to the fair on Sunday afternoon is that the 4-H kids had packed up their bunnies and fancy fowl and things like that, as well as most of the animals, which are kind of my favorite part. There’s always next year…

We stopped by the agricultural building to admire the biggest pumpkins:

The biggest one was 700 pounds!

Jessica posed by the array of apples:

I remarked wistfully to Jessica that she wouldn’t want to meet up with us at the fair much longer (this was the first year she had gone off to the rides with her friends, and she is 11 and a half now), and she said cheerfully, “The hormones haven’t kicked in yet!” Then she added, “Maybe I’ll be like you and never grow up.”

I hope so.

You will be glad to hear that my back is back to its old and now much more appreciated self. I am still trying to remember to be nice to it to keep it in a good mood. A grumpy back is actually more fearsome than a grumpy Suzy. Imagine!

In addition to the temporary couch coma*, here’s what’s been going on around here:

• So far, I have managed not to kill the new (to me) Japanese maple. I’ve been watering it every day for about three weeks, and so far, so good. It’s not showing any signs of trauma from being dug up, dragged here, and moved into a bag. I’m trying not to think about how sad it and the neighboring red Japanese maple will look in a couple of months when all the leaves fall off.
• I had the bright idea of putting the cats’ dishes away when I went to the jobette or was otherwise out of the house all day. I’m sure this new policy was not popular with food fan Clyde, but I’m hoping it will be equally, or even more, unpopular with Yellow Cat. I figure if he slinks in there and finds it food free, he might cross us off his route. I think this evil plan has been somewhat successful, since on non jobette days over the past week, I’ve seen him only once, and he fled when he saw me. I kind of feel like a jerk, but I have a zero tolerance policy for bullying my kitties.
• Wednesday had a vacation in Santa Rosa. The fix it lights came on yet again, and the car doctors here on the Coast judged the problem to be beyond their abilities. They recommended a place in Santa Rosa, where the mechanics not only figured out what was wrong with the car, but that the fix it was under warranty by Ford. So Wednesday got a whole new transmission on the house, saving me between $3-5,000 (not to mention $500 worth of rental car while Wednesday was in the shop). Apparently the problem is unusual so we should be good to go.

  Having said that though, today was the first time I had driven Wednesday around here since she got home from the Santa Rosa spa, and while enjoying the lack of lights on the dashboard and the ability to go around curves and uphill simultaneously without the engine jerk I had been suffering before the plastic surgery, I heard a loud BEEP and the low tire pressure notice and light came on.

  Sigh.

  I stopped in at the tire place on my way to work, and couldn’t get the key out of the ignition. The tire guy came over and I got out of the car and explained what was wrong. He reached in and took the key out. I asked him what he did, and he said that sometimes even when the car is in park, you have to push the gearshift forward a bit or the key is locked in the ignition. Apparently it’s a safety feature.

  Maybe I am as dumb as I am….

*While marooned on the couch, it occurred to me that I often wish I could just sit around on the couch all day when I have to go work and do other faux adult activities, and now when I could, all I wanted to do was…not. I guess part of it is my general perversity, and part of it is wanting to lounge when not drugged and damaged. Having wishes come true often seems to be more “Monkey’s Paw” than not.

It’s certainly been a good year for plays. Friday marked the third play I attended this year, and the second one based on a beloved film. Last time, it was The Breakfast Club, produced and acted in by teenagers, and this time, it was The Graduate, produced and acted in by grown-ups. They were both wonderful.

Before the play, Megan and I met up with Lu at Frankie’s in the Village, where we sat outside to enjoy our chicken pesto piadines (basically a big salad inside a flap of flatbread, and impossible to eat daintily, at least by me) and a bottle of local, organic wine:

It was from Yorkville Cellars, where I stopped in to drop off some jobette-related materials but didn’t drink the wine, even though I wanted to, and which, it turns out is delicious.

We had a lovely time messily eating our salad sandwiches and catching up on each other’s lives, though it was strange to be there without any dogs. Frankie’s owner has her own rescued pit bull, and welcomes dogs of all kinds on the patio of the restaurant. One of the things I love about this county is how dog-friendly it is.

After dinner, we made our way to the theater, which was lit up festively:

We picked up our tickets at the box office, and settled into our seats. The play was directed by one of the dancers from the burlesque show I enjoyed last year, and speaking of dancers, Lu’s niece played the stripper in “The Graduate”, doing a wonderful job with wit and style. She is part of the same burlesque troupe as the play’s director, and is also a fire dancer and belly dancer, so you can imagine that the girl has moves!

The cast was all great, especially Benjamin and Mrs. Robinson, who followed the tradition started by Kathleen Turner of courageous full nudity on stage. The drama and comedy of the film were beautifully captured, and of course the soundtrack is fabulous. It was a wonderful evening with two of my favorite girls.

It was obvious for a while that my old MacBook needed to be replaced, but both my resistance to change and innate cheapness meant that I didn’t do anything about it for quite some time. Finally, I decided to ask my boss/partner for the price of a new Pee Cee and pay the remainder to buy a new MacBook. To my surprise, he offered to pay for the whole thing, even when I informed him that the terrifying price tag, including Apple Care and other what nots, was around the dizzying $1,700 mark.

Needless to say, it took me a while to figure out the new operating system, including a couple of calls to Apple to help with questions on email (solved) and iPhoto (it appears I am stuck with the stupid “events” set up, rather than the library format I’m used to). I also hate the super wide tabs in Safari and have so far been unsuccessful in getting rid of them, even after trying Glims, though I have removed the icky Top Sites thing and annoying hot corners. However, the track pad seems to make pages move from side to side from time to time for no particular reason that I can discern.

I have also noticed that the silvery surface shows fingerprints readily, which I always imagined would also be a drawback on the stainless steel appliances that everyone apparently finds so desirable. Still, it’s a big improvement over the old one as far as speed and capacity go.

I was trying to remember when I got the old one, and I’m pretty sure it was about eight years ago, which is antique in computer terms. I got my Product (RED) iPod at the same time. Looking back through my dusty archives, I’m surprised that I didn’t write about buying it at the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue, which looks like a floating glass box:

It’s right across from the Plaza Hotel, Eloise’s fictional home and my spiritual one, and near Robert Indiana’s iconic LOVE sculpture:

I love(d) it, even though it only has 8GB of memory. Despite a lot of use, it remains a shiny metallic red. But it began to sound like the singing was underwater, and it didn’t hold a charge very long, so it was time for a new one, which, as you can see, is fuchsia and shiny. Almost as good as red. And it has 16 GB of memory. That’s a lot of music for those long drives!

Happy Labor Day, y’all! I am celebrating by doing as little as possible, whereas for my hard-working sibs, it’s business as usual. There are no holidays for emergency services*.

I did get back to work at the jobette on Saturday, though. I was careful of my back, and let my co-workers know that hauling around 30 pound boxes of visitor guides is out of the question for at least a week. While I was couch bound, I was touched by all the sweet and caring emails from my colleagues. My favorite was the one which read simply, “Drugs help.”

It seemed like a pretty long day, and I wondered if drugs, in addition to helping, stay in your system for a while. Though I hadn’t taken any in more than 24 hours, I still felt more out of it than usual.

When I finally got home from the jobette, I was greeted by Luna as usual, but also by a miniature Luna. I dropped my things on the driveway in surprise, wondering if it was the drugs, but it turned out to be a puppy! Mark had adopted a sweet little girl named Lupe:

Needless to say, I wasted no time in picking up Lupe and cuddling her, which I have done every time I have seen her since, despite the very scented flea collar she sports. It smells a lot like Old Spice, combining the snuggly, wiggly puppy experience with Old Guy fragrance.

She is super happy and adorable. Luna seems to enjoy teaching Lupe how to be a patrol dog, and I’m glad to know there will be two sentinels keeping the monsters at bay as Lupe grows up. She does need to learn about the cat flap, though:

*On the bright side, we can finally have Christmas on Christmas Day this year, since it falls on a Thursday. Yay!

Today I felt improved enough to venture a couple of miles down the Ridge to look for a new (to me) doorknob for the other door in the bathroom. You may recall that after buying the new door and accessories, it became painfully obvious that the cheapo knob on the cheapo hollow core door would have to go.

My back did not enjoy jouncing down the dirt driveway or the dirt road leading to my neighbor’s place:

I ignored it, though, and looked through boxes of vintage doorknobs and faceplates before narrowing it down to three finalists, and finally the winner:

I knew I wouldn’t find a match, but I did find one in the same kind of tone and with a taper, so I think they will work well together. The new knob got the Rob seal of approval, too. Currently we are planning to paint the now blue door shiny black, which should look great with the black and white floor tiles. I think Rob is also going to paint the bathroom white after mudding in the wall next to the new door. It’s going to look great.

When I got back home, I put on the heating pad and then applied Glam Glow’s Thirsty Mud mask and Bright Mud eye treatment while enjoying the soap operatic antics on Nashville. The best line of the season has to be Juliette Barnes saying, “I guess nice just ain’t my color.”

I’m still on the couch, but I’m getting better. The Magic 8 Ball and I are both pretty confident that I’ll be able to go back to work at the jobette on Saturday. I’m all set up, with pills and water close at hand, along with phone and TV remotes, all the better to watch Daria with, my pretty. It occurs to me that Erica is much like Jane Lane. Also, is it wrong that I have a crush on Trent? I mean, he’s a lot younger than I am. Also, he’s a cartoon, so our relationship is probably doomed.

Probably.

From my vantage point on the couch, it has come to my attention that Yellow Cat seems to think that he is now a semi-regular member of the cast, rather than a cameo as I thought. My lack of mobility has impeded the shooing process, but I have twice ejected him from the studio, where he was chowing down on cat chow with an air of entitlement that I found disturbing. I also caught him peeking in the living room door, and he didn’t leave until I levered Self off the couch, tossed the blanket aside, found my sandals, and lumbered out into the garden, carefully avoiding the construction materials spread around in order to avoid yet another Calamity Suzy episode. Later, he was hanging out in the sun by the new tree, and I’m sorry to report that I turned the hose on him, Grinch Girl that I am.

I never thought I’d be the kind of mean old lady who soaks neighboring cats, but he started it by fighting with my cats. Fortunately, they seem to run into the house and avoid YC as much as possible, so even if he is here eating all their food, he isn’t clawing them to pieces, so maybe this is the compromise we’ll all have to live with. And you know what a compromise means, kids: it means nobody’s happy.

On the bright side, the cats have been keeping me company in my time of need. Clyde has been multitasking by keeping me company while simultaneously napping:

Roscoe took advantage of my relative immobility and flexeril induced carefree attitude to get a drink on the counter, which is normally forbidden territory:

Sometimes a guy just needs a drink.

Meanwhile, outside, Audrey was keeping an eye out for Yellow Cat and any other would-be intruders:

Who needs locks for their doors when they have Audrey and The Glare of Death to keep trespassers at bay? Except of course for Rob, who brought me frozen pizza and ice cream and worked a bit on my bathroom, keeping the invalid company. Even Audrey loves Rob.

I am marooned on my couch, hanging out with the lower back pain that showed up like an uninvited guest around dinner time yesterday and has refused to leave ever since. I have texted my boss at the jobette to let her know that I am not coming to work, and Megan to let her know that I have somehow damaged Self and could use some first aid after she caffeinates.

I’m not sure how I managed to do this, unless it was my unwise attempt to carry the outdoor table upstairs and onto the balcony. The plan was foiled by physics, since the curviness of the roof means that neither the glass door nor the screen door can be pushed back far enough to inveigle the table through the balcony door.

I puzzled ’til my puzzler was sore and Rob showed up. He assessed the situation and opined that making a pulley out of ropes and hauling it up that way was the way to go. Then he took the problematic table back downstairs.

He had not come over to solve my furniture problems or even work on the bathroom, but rather to bring me a tree.

Yes, a tree.

Ever since I moved up here, Rob and Megan have been planning to give me some trees in preparation for moving over to the family property. The trees are planted in giant containers owing to the poor quality of the soil around here, making them hard to move, especially if their roots have grown through the container.

But when there’s a Rob, there’s a way, and now there is a big green Japanese maple (complete with mini helicopters and Clyde on the right):

right near my medium red Japanese maple:

Rob says that the tree will be traumatized, since he had to cut some of the roots to move it, and that I should water it carefully. I hope it survives its transplant and will be happy here.

I haven’t done anything in the garden this year because of the drought. The beds by the shed in the front of the house are empty, and other than replacing the geraniums which were killed in the frost in December, I’ve just been trying to maintain what I have and try not to feel guilty about watering once or twice a week. So far so good as far as the well goes – let’s hope it keeps going well!