Suzy Says

Did you ever see that movie Final Destination? The flick that spawned a million sequels? In the first (and only one I’ve seen), a bunch of kids are boarding a plane for a school trip when one of them has a premonition that the plane is going to crash. He and some friends leave the plane, and kaboom!

Our friend the Reaper is not to be shaken off so lightly, so the rest of the movie entails the ever more ridiculous demises of the escapees, the point being that you can’t escape Fate, or the Reaper, depending on how you look it.

A couple of weeks ago, I arrived at the jobette to discover that the internet was out, meaning that we also had no phone, so the boss closed up for the day (Snow day! California style!). I was going to San Francisco the next day, so I just took that day off, too, since the entire Big Town was cut off from the world*. I won’t exactly say that I was thinking, “Haha! I’m on my way to unlimited internet!” all the way to the City, but it did occur to me that for once having crappy and expensive satellite internet paid off, since it was unaffected by the destruction of the fiber optic cable that cut off the Big Town from civilization.

However, while staying at the modest motel in San Francisco which is my home away from home, the internet was out for a day and a night as the motel managers upgraded the system. Anyone who has ever had anything upgraded knows that “upgrade” is code for “chaos”. Eventually, it was back up and running, though not notably improved, being slower than it was before it was improved. At least it worked.

A couple of days after I got back from the city, the crappy and expensive satellite internet experienced technical difficulties requiring the personal attention of a technician. The first appointment was four days later. While waiting for the appointment, I used my phone to check email, but other than that, I was web-free. Other than cobwebs, that is.

The day before the technician was due to appear, they called to tell me that the technician’s truck had broken down and he would come the next day. I later learned from the technician that his truck hadn’t broken down, and this was a frequent lie/excuse when the satellite company overbooked his services. Once they even told a customer that he had broken his leg, which made it a little embarrassing when he turned up without a cast on. This guy covers most of northern California and drives about 400 miles a day. I don’t know how he does it.

He made sure that everything was in working order before he left, since it would be three to four weeks until he could return if something turned out to be wrong. So far, so good.

*I later learned that many cell phones didn’t work, as well as ATMs and food stamp cards, for two or three days.

Dad and Megan

“All the things I long for, those are not things in the future. Those are things in the past.”
— Jo Nesbø

Thirteen years ago, my life changed forever with one early morning phone call. I will never forget my sister’s tight, tense voice as she told me that our father was gone, nor the shock of hearing those words. I will never forget my brother’s strong, work-callused hand seizing mine as we walked through the echoing, impersonal vastness of SFO, saying “Let’s do this.” I felt his strength pour into me as he held my hand so tightly that summer morning, just as I felt Megan’s through the phone just hours before.

Dad, we got through that dark day and the 4,745 days since, whether they were dark or light or something in between, with each other, the way we always have and always will. Thank you for teaching us what love is and the importance of family, no matter what happens. Together we are holding hands and walking into the future. We just wish you were walking beside us.

So far, I’ve successfully gone two nights with the slowly improving bathroom exposed to the elements.

Rob removed the old door and started to frame in the doorway for the new door, which is narrower:

The new door also needs to have a hole drilled in it for the lovely doorknob set. As you can see, it’s shiny and beautiful after its sojourn in the Rob spa:

Maybe sanding and varnishing are the door equivalent of microdermabrasion for people.

Rob hasn’t had time to finish the door installation yet, so in the meantime, I’ve had to be cautious about facility usage during the dark and dangerous night hours.

I’ve been leaving the lighted X on to discourage skunks and other unwanted visitors from partying in there, and when I do, I put on the light on the back porch by the sliding glass doors. Then I can check for potentially escaping cats before heading back inside. To quote Alex from Happy Endings, “I’m not as dumb as I am.”

So far it’s worked, but I have to admit I’ll be glad not to have a hole in the house one of these days. Also I’m dying to see how the new door looks when it’s installed. Rob thinks it will make the room look bigger as well as brighter.

It occurred to me that we have shopped local(ly) for everything other than the X, and even that came from San Francisco, less than 200 miles away. And that we have spent very little. Rob bought the medicine chest for $7 and the floor tiles – all of them! – for $6 at a thrift store. The towel rod and lighting fixtures were found and rehabbed, and the copper pipes for the shower rod were found in James’ vast collection of things and stuff. The door and its accessories were the highest ticket items at $200, but were bought just a couple of miles from my house. Other than that, we bought a basket of sundries at the hardware store, and that’s it.

It’s amazing what can be done with ingenuity and skill – Rob’s, anyway! 🙂

*Now I have that Counting Crows song stuck in my head.

While I was working in the City, Rob was working at my house.

It’s nice to know that he was there, and I’m sure the kitties appreciated it. Audrey in particular loves Rob, and I’m sure they all enjoyed petting breaks while Rob was working there.

Here’s look at the vent he constructed for the bathroom fan:

As you can see, the hole with the mesh is protected by a little copper “house” Rob made, and in turn, it’s protected by the eaves of the house in case it ever rains again. The fan seems to be quieter now that it vents outside, though I could be imagining things.

Inside the house, the glass towel rod has been installed:

Rob found it at the dump, removed the paint and dirt from the 60 year old glass, and replaced the battered metal ends with copper ones he made. I think it’s gorgeous. Almost too nice to cover up with towels!

He also got a medicine cabinet at a thrift store for $7. It fit almost perfectly into the space of the old one, other than a tiny crack which Rob filled in while I was away.

He also hung up a letter from an old movie marquee in San Francisco:

I love it, and it casts a beautiful rosy light, as well as going nicely with the copper fittings. This was my find, and therefore more expensive, like the door, which is currently being worked on in Rob’s workshop and cabaret:

This is an old Airstream-type trailer beside my house, which Rose used to store her pottery equipment. Rob moved in a stand to hold the door, some lights, and a heater, and closed up the front with a heavy duty canvas tarps. It’s like a nightclub in there: dark, smoky, and exclusive.

The door apparently required much sanding (some with machinery, some by hand) and coats of varnish, and it’s just about ready. Before Rob installs it, he’s going to install moldings and baseboards, and I think paint the bathroom, since he can’t stand it. I’m considering painting the bathroom door to the hallway shiny black and getting new knobs from our neighboring window and door emporium down the Ridge, but that’s about as far as I’ve gotten.

Sleeping Clyde

It was a good trip to the City. The drive home…not so much.

Along about Novato, the traffic slowed to an ooze, sometimes giving up on oozing to just sit there in the baking heat. I had the Blue Jays game on the stereo through my iPhone and the air conditioning blasting. It seems that Novato is the new Santa Rosa, where the traffic used to grind to a halt before they widened the highway there.

Later, I passed a CHP car with lights flashing, and a lot of broken glass by the side of the road, but otherwise no sign of a car accident. There were lighted signs on the highway telling me to conserve water* (though how, exactly, I was supposed to do this while in the car, I don’t know), but nothing warning me of delays of more than hour or incredibly slow traffic.

I finally got home close to 6:30, and Megan came by to pick up her pizza and help me unload the car, not necessarily in that order. She was amused when I told her that the counter guy at Victor’s – who is now used to my extreme take-out ways – told me that people from LA take Victor’s pizza home with them, too. So maybe I’m not that extreme after all.

The kitties were definitely happy to see me, and I was happy to see them. Also making me happy were: eating pizza while watching the final season of The Killing; sleeping in my own bed with the clean, country air pouring in the balcony door; kitties sleeping with me; waking up to the birds singing and a sunny Saturday.

It’s good to be home.

*There were billboards in San Francisco suggesting that we stop washing our cars to conserve water, so I drove my dusty, dirty car with pride on the hilly streets.

Once the annoyances of work were out of the way, I checked the clock and thought that the line at Swan Oyster Depot might be of sufficient brevity to work with the brevity of my patience. The line was relatively short, but seemed to take a long time. At last, I was rewarded with a stool near the end of the counter:

I ordered crab cocktail, and while I waited for it to arrive with darkly crusty sourdough bread, I watched the ballet behind the counter. One guy was slicing smoked salmon paper-thin, while another cut up a few loaves of that delicious bread and a third performed the esoteric ritual of preparing fresh sea urchin to serve. It’s always busy at Swan’s, but somehow, once you grab that coveted stool and sit down, all the cares of the world disappear and you just feel happy and peaceful. And then there’s the food.

Next to me was a woman with a gumball sized diamond on her wedding finger (and a surprisingly nondescript husband/jewelry donor beside her). The ring almost defied even my jewelry appraising abilities, but I’m guessing ten carats and at least $100,000. Diamond told me it was her first time there, so I asked if she had cash (Swan’s doesn’t take plastic). This momentarily flustered her until she learned that Donor (unsurprisingly) had some. I made some suggestions, which were seconded by the gents behind he counter, and when the bread came, she exclaimed, “I never eat bread, but this is phenomenal!” Everything was “phenomenal”. I’m glad Diamond and Donor were happy, and when I left, I wished them a happy visit. She beamed and patted my shoulder. There I was, rubbing elbows (and shoulders) with the One Percent!

I kept with my modern theme of this visit by heading to the Contemporary Jewish Museum to enjoy their exhibit Designing Home: Jews and Mid Century Modern:

I loved this “Marshmallow” couch by Anni Albers, made in 1956:

I’m pretty sure I could write the great American novel if I only had this desk and chair, designed by Muriel Coleman in 1960, to write at:

I’m not normally a fan of wallpaper, but this “Aviary” paper designed by New Yorker cartoonist Saul Steinberg is so charming that I’d give it a try:

Another very gifted Saul was Mr. Bass, who designed these record covers for Columbia in the 1940s and ’50s:

When he wasn’t doing that, he was designing the striking opening credits for little flicks like “The Seven Year Itch”, “Vertigo”, and “West Side Story”. And when he wasn’t doing that, he ws designing iconic logos for United Airlines, Kleenex, UPS and countless others. You can see more of his remarkable work here.

I woke up before the alarm went off, even though it was dark. I was a little confused when I first woke up (Where am I? Why did I have to get up again? Why are my dreams so weird? Where’s the coffee?), and disappointed to find a cat-free bed. I miss them already. After one day. This may officially make me a crazy cat lady.

I had coffee in bed while I woke up slowly. Somehow, even when I bring the little French press and my own coffee, I still make crappy in room coffee. It would be worth having a maid just to have some else make (good) coffee for me.

Once I was faux grown up-ized and ready to face the world, I called my friends at City Wide Dispatch and clacked out to the street in my heels. I hardly had time to notice the fog before the taxi arrived, sweeping me to my first meeting of the day. It went well, and I caught up on some industry gossip too, before heading to the second meeting, across the palmy expanse of Union Square:

That’s the lovely and historic St. Francis hotel peeking through the fronds, where the Fatty Arbuckle scandal started and they still have an employee who washes all the change in the hotel so as not to soil the gloves (or the sensibilities) of guests.

After work was done for the day, I made my way to the de Young Museum, which is, at least for blogging purposes, beginning to take over from the Legion of Honor as my favorite San Francisco museums. I seem to be warming up to its copper clad, monolithic charms, perhaps because of all the copper improvements in my own modest salle de bains. Here’s a shot of one of the many interior gardens:

I find that they refresh the spirit as well as the eye, and play to the organic quality of the building.

I was there to enjoy the Modernism exhibit on loan from the National Gallery:

My father used to say that if he had to choose one art museum to visit for the rest of his life, it would be the National Gallery in Washington, DC, and this exhibit confirmed his view, though he probably would not have enjoyed the artwork. He was delighted when all “the rubbish” was moved from the original Tate, home of the immortal JMW Turner and wonderful Restaurant, to the Tate Modern, while yet appreciating the architecture of the Modern.

I was stunned by the beauty of this Frank Stella, “Flin Flon IV”, from 1969:

In the same room was this strong, dancing “First Theme”, from 1964:

I was delighted to see two boxes by the quirky and inimitable Joseph Cornell, “Sand Fountain”:

and “Les Constellations Voisines du Pole”

I was moved by a series called “The Stations of the Cross” by an artist called Barnett Newman. He was inspired to create a series of paintings while recovering from a heart attack in 1958. The series grew into the stations of the cross, and Newman commented that it may seem strange for a Jew to make art based on this story, but he said that his inspiration was really Christ’s cri de coeur “Why have you forsaken me?”, which Newman looked at as an eternal, unanswerable question more than a religious theme. Here’s a picture I sneaked of the first few paintings in their minimal majesty:

The paintings were sited in quiet, peaceful room of their own, going around the room and ending with a fifteenth painting which was titled simply, “Be”.

Even way out in Hooterville, you just never know what will happen…

On Monday, I left home early to get yet another check-up for Wednesday. Her sullen teen years, like most kids’, have not been that great for the grown ups in the picture, no matter how faux. It seems that I will have to take her to a Ford dealership in the county seat, but I’m taking the Scarlett on that for now.

After that dispiriting news, I went to the jobette only to be greeted by all my co-workers. Don’t get me wrong: they’re always glad to see me, but they rarely are hanging around en masse by my desk, which is, as we know, where all the magic happens. They also had news: a car accident (later reports said a truck) had taken out some fiber optic cable just south of the Village, and surprisingly, this had removed all internet access to the Big Town.

We had no email or internet or phone and couldn’t sell anything either, since the cash register and credit card sales machine use the same system. So I made a sign, posted it on the door, put out the garbage and recycling for pick up this morning, locked the doors, and went back home. A snow day!

On arriving home, my snow day lost all its fun as work reared its ever ugly head. One of the good (or bad) things about having terrible satellite internet is that it’s not interrupted by the hiatus of the otherwise speedy and unlimited internet that others enjoy. It was its slow and expensive self, allowing me to work at my other job whether I liked it or not.

My boss/partner also – stop me if you’ve heard this before – has to attend his aunt’s funeral in Virginia (that makes five in the last three months), so is heading to the airport as I write. He had to reschedule our meeting, planned for Thursday, to today. So instead of working at the jobette and then driving to the San Francisco today, I drove to Oakland instead.

I don’t think I’ve set foot in Oakland since I left almost five years ago. I met Adrian across from City Hall, built exactly 100 years ago:

Here’s the Tribune tower, built in 1906, the year of the Great Quake:

Sadly, it is no longer a newspaper, but the tower still looks beautiful and is a landmark, especially when lit up at night.

I have to say that what little I saw of downtown Oaktown looked pretty good. Ditto the traffic wending my way back across the new and improved Bay Bridge toward Civilization. Though it had been a long day. Tonight: Thai delivery and the Giants game. Tomorrow: Meetings starting at 8:00 am.

Well, it’s certainly been a skimpy month around here blog-wise. And you know what that means: I’ve been working a lot. Work is not only time-consuming, but it’s no fun to write about in the time that hasn’t been consumed, and the workosity drains the fun out of you and makes you just want to have an adult beverage and forget about work.

As Red Forman put it on That ’70s Show: “Work’s not about fun, it’s about work! It’s about seeing how much you can take…and then taking some more.”

I have to admit that I enjoy work the most when watching other people do it.

Speaking of work, Rob’s been hard at work on the extractor fan. It wasn’t as simple as just putting in the fan. He had to cut a hole in the loft and then the side of the house and add a Bender-like hose thing for the steam to exit the house. And being Rob, he also added a little copper shelter to the side of the house so it looks nice, too. ‘Cause that’s how he rolls.

While Rob is working on my house, Megan’s in the next county at the Reggae on the River Festival. She’s not so much getting her Marley on as she is helping out our dear friends Lu and Rik with their Emergency Medical Services endeavors at the festival. Lu and Rik intrepidly spend most of the summer providing medical services to festival goers. It’s about 104 F there (40 C), so Megan is maintaining her night shift hours and hiding on the shade during the daylight, like a vampire. To paraphrase Barbara Harris in Peggy Sue Got Married*: “Megan, you know what the sun is? Stay away from it!”

As soon as Megan gets back, I’m heading to San Francisco for some meetings. Well, two days later, but still. The trip is not made less stressful by the fact that Wednesday is acting up again. It seems to be the same problem as before, so it looks like there is more time and money in her future and mine. My brother is sure I can get to the city and back unscathed, since I probably do not have time to get it dealt with before, but I can’t say this makes me too happy.

To quote the immortal (and some would say, immoral) Scarlett O’Hara: “I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

*Filmed not far away in Petaluma, like “American Graffiti”. Features a very early role by Jim Carrey. And Barbara Harris was quite wonderful in Hitchcock’s final film, Family Plot, filmed partly in San Francisco.

I came home from a long day at the jobette on Tuesday to find Rob and his power tools hard at work in the bathroom, installing the extractor fan. In order for him to do that, I had to move things around in the storage loft above the bathroom, and remove a box of my father’s letters.

I made the mistake of glancing at one or two of them, dated just weeks before his sudden death, and was overwhelmed with emotion and choked up with tears. I stowed the box under the stairs, marvelling that thirteen years after we lost him, the grief can still be so fresh. Audrey promptly sat on the box, perhaps saving me from myself.

In a Dad-like manner, I turned my attention to dinner, trying out a new recipe for pho, a Vietnamese soup.

Needless to say, I took serious liberties with the original recipe, partly because it uses beef, which I don’t eat, and partly because that’s just the way I am.

Here’s the original recipe. I skipped the first part and substituted two cans of Campbell’s chicken broth (there is no substitute for Campbell’s, though it is a little salty) and two cans of water. I poached two boneless, skinless chicken breasts in the broth along with the spices. I cut down on the cinnamon and skipped the star anise. Also left out the salt due to the Campbell”s, and used about a teaspoonful of brown sugar in place of rock sugar.

As for the garlic-chili oil, I used about a quarter teaspoon of red pepper flakes, since food should come in hot, medium, mild, and Suzy, and stepped up the sesame oil, because I love it.

I poured the soup through a colander into a smaller pot, then cut up the chicken and returned it to the broth. I brought the broth up to a simmer and added the rice noodles instead of pre-soaking, etc., and cooked for about 15 minutes. I served it with lime wedges, chopped cilantro, bean sprouts, and chopped green onions.

It was magically delicious.

Birthday Girl

So it’s this weekend, and I still haven’t written about last weekend! After work, I stopped by the family property for Kalli’s birthday party and BBQ. Jarrett’s beautiful girlfriend celebrated her 21st birthday* on a beautiful day, surrounded by friends and family.

Being from Willits, where, as you know, they usually keep the heat which occasionally escapes out to the Coast for a vacation, she came prepared with a wonderful canopy (we all immediately decided that we should look into getting one) for shade:

as well as lots of coolers (stocked with ice and beverages), tons of food, and tents. She and Jarrett and their friends had plenty of room to camp in the huge garden.

Jonathan manned the grill as usual, producing pulled pork, chicken, and vegetarian options for burritos, garnished with onions from the garden and peppers from somewhere else (the garden ones are not quite ready yet, though there are green beans, peas, summer squash, and strawberries galore).

After dinner, there were pies. The one on the left is a blackberry pie, made from blackberries picked that day, and the other is cherry, both made from scratch, though the cherries were picked by someone other than us:

Dave and Jennifer joined us. They are digging a new well down at their place, and getting started on preparations for building their house there. It was great to see them and catch up on their news. I feel so lucky to have such great friends, family, and family who are also friends – not to mention friends who are family!

*Like many other beautiful girls, including my niece Cat and my cat Audrey, her birthday is July 2.

I was on my way home from the jobette last night when my phone rang. I don’t usually answer the phone in the car*, but I was stopped at a light, and far enough back that I knew it wouldn’t be my turn to turn onto the highway before the light turned red again (hello, summer!). Also it was Rob, who rarely calls.

Rob was at the hardware store a mere two blocks away, shopping for wiring for the bathroom fan and other sundries, so I met him there. We divided the labor by the socialist principles of “Each according to his need; each according to his ability”, meaning that Rob picked stuff out and I paid for it. It worked out well, since I still have no idea what the difference is between finishing nails and escutcheon pins (though I enjoyed saying “escutcheon”) or what kind of wiring we needed. The little basket of sundries cost about $60, but it’s still cheap at the price.

It was fun to spend time in the hardware store with Rob (and spend time we did – there was a fair amount of meandering involved), and I’ve really enjoyed working on this project with him. I think he is having fun using his manual skills and his creative, design skills. Also I love him.

We went our separate ways from there. I stopped off at the post office and UPS on jobette related issues, then went to my coworker and friend’s house:

to let her cats back into the house and feed them. She is on vacation so I am cat sitting. Her cats are the total opposite of mine: I had to physically eject one of them, and she tried to get back in. When I arrived that evening, they were sitting sadly on the front porch, looking as if I were late picking them up from school. I bet Megan wishes my cats were more like these cats!

*Well, it’s illegal. But it’s mostly because I hate talking on the phone. I consider the lack of cell service around here to be a plus, rather than a minus.

I’m pleased to announce that the floor is done in the bathroom:

So much nicer than lime green plywood! Here’s what it looked like in progress:

Rob did it bit by bit, partly because the tiles are not self stick and needed some kind of goop to be applied and then set for a day or two before being walked on, and partly so I was still able to use the bathroom while the floor was being worked on. When I couldn’t use the sink (the stage above), I realized that other than the bathroom, I only have one mirror in the house (upstairs on the side of the armoire/cat perch), a shocking oversight on the part of the frivolous and vain.

Still on the to do list:

• Install the extractor fan to help minimize dampness. Mark has allegedly ordered it, and even when it does arrive, wiring and switches are involved, so it won’t be quick.
• Take out the current towel rods and install the glass one with copper ends which Rob rescued and renovated.
• Repair the medicine cabinet. Ironically, this was the catalyst for the bathroom project and remains undone. The existing one had the mirror/cover hinges screwed into plastic, and surprise! They broke. It now hangs by a thread and at a dejected angle. Rob is thinking of expanding it and making it work with his Robness, but again this will not be a quick fix. I bet it will be cool when it’s done, though.

Rob thinks the whole room should be repainted (or painted at all, since it’s apparently just primer on there now), but I can’t say the project fills me with enthusiasm.

What I am enthusiastic about is the new door. Rob and I went to visit our neighbor who sold us the screen door for the sleeping loft’s balcony (for which I am thankful more than half of the year) to find one for the bathroom.

We wanted one that was narrower than the existing door, so it could actually clear the shower pan when opened, and had glass panes to let in light. We found one that was a little narrower (24 inches wide) than we wanted (though still wider than Megan and Rob’s front door, a mere 18 inches), but really beautiful:

The door needed accessories, like hinges and a beautiful vintage doorknob set:

I may well be a doorknob, because the door and its accoutrements were far and away the most expensive items at about $200 total (the tiles cost $6 total, and the light fixtures and towel rods were free other than refurbishing supplies), and also totally unnecessary. I could have just kept the door I had, but it makes the bathroom really dark, even in the summer. Let there be light, I say.

As soon as Rob and I got back to my house, we looked at the other bathroom door, with its cheap, shiny knob, and Rob said, “That’s gotta go.” I agreed, thinking of the many other lovely sets at the neighbor’s place. I could get one that’s less expensive, right? That’s what always happens: you fix one thing, and everything else looks terrible. Good thing the labor costs are so low!

Back when I lived in San Francisco, I wrote a post about my walk home from work. It was a beautiful walk through a beautiful city. Sometimes I still miss living there, but it’s more like I can’t believe I ever lived there than wanting to live there now. Even if I did, I’m priced out of the market: the average one bedroom apartment rents for $3,500 a month. And you can pay up to $50,000. A month.

I thought it might be fun for you to come along with me on my long drive to the Big Town. So settle back into Wednesday’s lovely leather seats, pray that no lights appear on the dashboard, get ready for some tunes, and let’s go!

Yes, the dirt/gravel driveway is in horrible shape, and you can feel the wheels cringe as you bounce and jolt your way down it. On the bright side, there is currently a tree covered with a cloud of white flowers arching over it in a splendidly bowery manner.

The Ridge is slightly better, especially once you pass the firehouse and get to the part that was paved in honor of Jim and Joel’s wedding last summer. Coming around a curve, the trees part, and you have a panoramic view of the Pacific. I never get tired of this reveal, and it’s where I try to gauge the weather for the day: white caps heralding storms, how far out to sea the fog is, etc. Sometimes you’ll see a migrating whale or a fishing boat. In any season and in all weathers, it’s always beautiful and always changing:

On your left is a field with happy cows and horses grazing peacefully among the elegant barn buildings. Yes, a barn can be elegant! At sunset, the field is suffused with pink. Across the street is beautiful downtown Hooterville, home of the post office, hardware store, and the Gro, its beating heart.

When you reach Highway 1, you turn left to go to the city and right to go to the Big Town. You cross the iconic Hooterville bridge:

the first of many – and pass a field of llamas across from a fancy inn, over a hill and you’re at Dark Gulch, where the trees provide eternal shade. You follow the curves past a resort and reach one of my favorite parts of the drive: a steep curve bordered by tall eucalyptus trees, which create a magical golden light when it’s sunny. There’s a peek of ocean beyond.

More curves and you pass the lovely cemetery with its walk to the ocean – not a bad place to spend eternity. Then the little town with the deli and inn (celebrating 75 years this year) with the bar which Megan and I enjoy so much. Around another curve is a beach beloved by kayakers and divers. Coming home, the descent to that beach is my absolutely favorite view, and on the way to work, I keep peeking at the view in the rearview mirror.

The highway more or less straightens out after that. You pass a beautiful Victorian house, now draped with wisteria, across from another field bordering the ocean, and soon you’ll get your first sight of the Village, perched dramatically on a long rocky finger jutting into the ocean. It looks like a postcard:

You arrive at the first traffic light of the drive, the last one before you arrive in the Big Town, home of the jobette, the Safeway, DMV, and other necessary but non-scenic places. I often think of it as the Ellsworth to the Village’s Bar Harbor.

On the way home, I often pass the Cal Trans prisoner work crews heading back to prison. I always wave at them, even though it’s not very likely they can see me behind the barred windows. But I’m thankful for their work clearing brush and other wildfire dangers from the sides of the highway, and I think it’s a great idea to give the prisoners a meaningful job to do as well as getting them outside for a few hours. Win-win as far as I’m concerned.

And there you have it! Maybe it’s a little long, but it’s a lot better than gridlocked traffic on a freeway. As a visiting writer for the Village Voice put it, “If I had guts, I would move to Mendocino County, California…During the summer, tourists flock to the wineries and the town serves as a popular seaside retreat. When winter arrives, it feels as empty as an abandoned fishing village off the coast of Newfoundland. It takes guts to survive, but the lifestyle payoff is enormous.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Today is the birthday of fabulous girls: Audrey, the queen of my house, has been bossing me around for seven years now; it’s my niece’s birthday in far off Australia (though maybe it was yesterday, or tomorrow, or last week since she is on the other side of the world), and Jarrett’s lovely girlfriend Kalli is also celebrating a birthday, though her official party will be held next weekend at the family property. Happy birthday, beautiful girls!

Yesterday was the jobette’s birthday. It was founded five years ago, and since I have worked there for three and a half years now, I like to think I’m part of its success. We got lunch from The Q, turned the sign to “Closed”, and drank local sparkling wine (voted best in the state at the California State Fair), followed by cake. It was really fun, and I love the people I work with.

After the celebration, it was back to business as usual, including my yearly performance review, which went well. It’s nice to be appreciated.

Of course, it was also Canada Day, and Megan and Rob’s 23rd anniversary. I passed Rob in the driveway and wished him a happy anniversary. He looked confused, and then said it was the 27th and he still had a few days. He looked horrified to learn that he was wrong on this point. Later, I texted Megan to wish her a happy anniversary and she had also forgotten. So they were even.

I just adore a bookstore view*

Amazingly for someone who has been reading since the age of three, I had never attended a reading** at a bookstore before this week. It was at the lovely bookstore in the village:

which not only boasts the view you see above, but has a resident cat, Catsby, and a staff who adore Miss Stella (unlike Catsby). They served nibbles and local wine as we joined the standing room only crowd in the back room, usually devoted to children’s books.

The lecture was given by Lloyd Kahn, an expert on tiny and alternative homes. Interestingly, he actually published his first book on this subject more than forty years ago, but it is now becoming a hot topic, partly because of people’s desire for “green” living, and – I’m guessing – partly because of the challenging economic times.

There was a slideshow with various small homes, ranging from gypsy caravans to converted school buses and collapsible homes that can be carried on a pick up truck. They ranged from the very basic to the very fancy (radiant heated floors and granite counter tops). It was fascinating to see how creative people are, and we learned that if you are going to live in a very small space, it’s important to have the windows at eye level to avoid feeling claustrophobic. Curved ceilings (though not as curved as mine) also help with this. We’ll have to keep all this in mind if/when we build over at the family property.

On our way back to the car, we noticed that several buildings in the Village were wrapped with felting:

And even quilts:

I later learned that this is called “yarnbombing” and is a form of graffiti or street art, in that it’s not a permanent art installation. This installation was done with the permission of the businesses involved, but often installations are not, and those are considered guerilla art. These particular pieces are mostly hand woven and hand dyed, as well as hand knitted or felted. Truly amazing! You just never know what you’ll find in this little corner of the world.

*Imagine Eva Gabor in “Green Acres” saying this.

**Due to my work schedule, I was unable to attend the reading by Damien Echols at the Ferry Building in San Francisco last night. He is the author of the one of the most moving and amazing books I have ever read, Life After Death, and was wrongly sentenced to death at the age of 18, spending nearly 20 years on Death Row before finally being freed.

Perfect Poppy

On summer solstice Sunday, Megan and I headed to the Big Town to say farewell to my late friend Joel. Not far from the same place traffic ground to a halt this winter, Megan and I actually witnessed an accident as it occurred.

A guy in a white truck came around the corner, hit a telephone pole, snapping it off, and then hit a power pole, where the truck (a) came to a halt; (2) had its hood peeled open like a sardine can, right in front of our eyes. Megan pulled into a driveway across the highway from the accident and grabbed her EMT kit from the trunk. She went over to check on the passengers as gas poured from the totaled truck.

I stayed where I was, since I knew from my siblings’ years of EMS that unnecessary observers are not welcome on scene, and there was nothing I could do to help. Megan later told me that the passengers were fine, not intoxicated, and that something just failed in the truck, making the driver lose control as he came around one of the many curves.

Everyone was fine, and someone had called 911 and started controlling traffic by the time we got back on the road, passing the ambulance, sheriff, and highway patrol cars racing to the scene. On our way home, they were still on scene.

Arriving at Joel’s service, however, everything was serene. The Botanical Gardens donated the use of one of the gardens in honor of his status as a Master Gardener. It was a beautiful day, and friends and family gathered among the blooms and fruit trees to remember Joel: his humor, his gift for writing, his compassion and activism in working with homeless youth, the great love he and his husband Jim shared, and how their marriage just made their love stronger and deeper. Jim now wears both wedding rings and feels that Joel is still with him. There were tears, but there was also love and laughter, and that’s the way Joel would have wanted it.

Hello, I love you – won’t you tell me your name?

I left Wednesday at the jobette on Saturday, after notifying our alley neighbor that I was doing so and asking him to keep an eye on her. I figured it made more sense to just leave the car there, rather than get a jump to drive it home and again to drive it back to the car doctor on Monday.

Megan and Stella (seen smiling above) spent six hours in the sun on Saturday, looking for potential adopters for Stella. Stella loved all the attention, the cars, the people, the kids – she is definitely not a bumpkin! After the event, they came to pick me up at the jobette. Due to the car show, they had to park four blocks away. On our way to the car, we turned onto a street where there were two surfer dudes hanging out on a bench.

They noticed Stella right away, and when we reached them, they reached to pet Stella. She responded by joyously flinging her arms around one of their necks and cuddling her big head against his blonde dreads. They both laughed with joy. That’s the way Stella rolls: 150%, 150% of the time. The dude said that if he didn’t already have two dogs…

On Monday, my wonderful colleague Erin gave me a ride to work. I really enjoyed carpooling with her – maybe we should do it when I don’t have a car emergency sometime (assuming that time ever comes). I’m so lucky to work with such great people who care so much about each other.

I called the car doctor and asked them to send the SWAT team to get Wednesday started and drivable to the garage. I was delighted that they sent two girls (complete with sparkly manicures) to do the deed. I handed over the keys and hoped for the best.

They called me later to say that the battery needed replacing. They had one in stock, and when I went to get Wednesday from car daycare, learned that they hadn’t charged me for the diagnosis and had discounted the labor and the battery in recognition of all the time and money I have spent there (undoubtedly in the hope that I will keep doing just that).

I drove home without incident, and without any lights appearing on the dashboard. I am now phobic about dashboard messages and lights- I wonder if there is a psychiatric condition associated with this? Waking up to another day and having the car both start and keep going is about all I ask for now. Maybe lower expectations = more happiness?

Sleeping It Off

Well, here’s what’s happening around my house on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Roscoe is sleeping off his late night* on top of the armoire, a favored place among the cats. It is equipped with a quilt for their napping pleasure, and is the highest point in the house, so whoever is up there can keep an eye on what’s going on, as well as looking down on the Staff, as cats do. And there’s a breeze from the balcony – you can even get a glimpse of the beautiful pottery bird Rob hung up for me.

Speaking of Rob, he is working in the bathroom, installing two found light fixtures – both a huge improvement over the previous bare bulbs. The first one is made of copper, already patinaed:

The second one looks like an old schoolhouse light. I like the pull chain:

He has also found a glass towel bar which he is planning to fit up with copper ends to match the shower rod. Up next after that is the floor. No more electric lime green plywood! Woo hoo!

My brother just called to check on on Wednesday’s physical health and my mental health. Without looking at the car and just hearing symptoms, he thinks it’s probably the alternator and that it shouldn’t be too expensive to fix. Stay tuned.

As for me, I’m on my fourth load of laundry. The electrical system at Megan and Rob’s house doesn’t support a washer or dryer (or even a hair dryer, for that matter), so they do their laundry over here. Megan is working hard in the family garden (as I observed to her yesterday, her days “off” are what other people consider to be hard labor) and Rob is working hard in my bathroom, so I figure doing their laundry is the least I can do. It may also be the most! 🙂

*He came home at 1 am this morning. This is getting to be a bad habit. I’m trying to make my peace with it.

Maybe I’ll pick up one of these…

It’s been a delightful day so far.

I had a work call this morning (yes, on a Saturday) before heading to the jobette. I was planning to leave early, since I knew the annual Car Show was today (and I remembered what a hassle it was parking and getting to the jobette from last year), but Wednesday had other plans.

She decided that she’d rather stay home – and I understand that emotion – but I vetoed her with a jump start from Mark, who was on his way to Lake Pillsbury for his annual vacation with his family. Once I was up and going, they headed on their way and I headed to the car doctor, where they may well start charging me rent since I’m there so often. Like the Wednesday power outage, the Monday mechanic visit is getting a little old. And eerie. Is Stephen King scripting my life?

I pulled in to the car place and discovered that both the shop and the car rental parts of its trifold business (the third part being car sales) were closed on Saturday. My plan was to leave Wednesday there and get a rental, but alas, it was not to be. I noticed that the airbag light was on, but surely that can’t be enough to drain the battery overnight? The headlights were off and the stereo turns off when you open the car door, so it can’t be that, either. I’m hoping whatever it is, is (a) simple and (2) easy to fix.

I’ve gone out and started Wednesday up a couple of times since I got to the jobette, walking past the lovely old cars you see above. Wednesday started up, but I’m still concerned. Fortunately, Megan is in town today for an adoption event – still hoping to find the perfect home for Stella – and she said she will stand by to give me a ride or a jump start if needed.

What would I do without my family?