Suzy Says

Surprise! Rob’s surgery is no longer scheduled for Friday, June 24. It’s now scheduled for Wednesday, June 22, at 10:00 am.

UCSF called this morning and told them of the change of schedule. Megan found someone to substitute for her tonight (she had already taken Tuesday and Wednesday off), and went to the store to get milk for her coffee.

Or tried to. Her car died suddenly before she could even get out of the driveway. A house call from our brother revealed that things were very bad, but he had to scrub off the grease and get to his own 48 hour shift at work. If it needs a new transmission, Megan will have to buy a new car. When she gets back from Rob’s surgery in the city.

All this happened while I was at the jobette. I checked my messages at lunch, as I always do, and called Megan right away and got all the details. I told her she could take my car to the city, and when I got back to work, I told my boss about it. She immediately told me to take the rest of the week off and go home right away – Megan needed to take the dogs over to Lu’s house, since we’re leaving at 8:00 tomorrow to get to San Francisco in time for the pre-op festivities.

Think good thoughts for us. I’ll keep you posted.

To continue our family timepiece theme, here’s a clock my brother made with nixie tubes and framed. It’s at the foot of his bed. I asked him if it had an alarm, but he said no. He added that he didn’t need one, which seems to be a family trait. I think I’ve been woken up by my alarm clock once since I started the jobette, nearly five months ago.

I noticed the clock while Megan and I were over there on Saturday. Dave and Jennifer, the co-owners of the property, were visiting from their home in distant Grass Valley. Megan catered dinner, making chicken tikka masala, brown rice, grill bread, cucumber salad, and an apple pie. Due to work, my involvement was limited to putting the marinated chicken on skewers (and later, on the barbecue) and holding the pie while we drove over there. Oh, and eating.

It was delicious, and it was nice to sit by the fire and catch up with Dave and Jennifer as the sun began to drop toward the ocean. Hopefully they will be back soon for another visit.

Yesterday, Rob and I (well, mostly Rob) finally took the grandfather clock out of its box.

It was the first time the grand old timepiece had seen the light of day since I sold my apartment in San Francisco nearly six years ago. There was no room for it in my tiny Oakland house, so it languished in Mom’s storage unit in Santa Rosa until the long and fateful day when my brother and I finally emptied it out.

I couldn’t find a place in my present place, either, so it stayed in the Box that Rob Built. When Rob makes something, he does it right. He made the case out of several pieces of wood, which he transported on the bus to my apartment. My brother thought the case was too big, but he reckoned without the styrofoam and bubble wrap Rob was planning to use to cushion the ancient clock within its case. Always trust the Rob.

While driving to the jobette one day, it occurred to me that perhaps I could put the clock beside the staircase. Now that I no longer have a bathtub, the seemingly endless drives to Charlottesville and back seem to be my best place for thinking, even though driving itself uses up both of my brain cells.

I suggested the idea to Rob, who thought it just might work. He came over yesterday morning, bearing a huge basket of laundry, and while I dealt with the clothes, he dealt with the clock.

It took him quite a while to unscrew the many screws holding the box together, even with an electric thing to do it with. Then he carefully removed the front of the case, revealing the clock’s face:

Here it is, still in its case. Rob remarked that he probably won’t end up in as nice a box as this, and he’s probably right:

Here it is in place, finials (oddly untarnished) and all:

Somehow, it seems appropriate that we set it up on the weekend of Father’s Day, since the clock has been in Dad’s family (on his mother’s side) since it was first made, in the mid to late 1770s. It is probably older than the country it now lives in. It was made by John Jullion of Brentford, England, who also made what is the oldest clock on public display in Australia. That clock was made in 1770, the year that Captain Cook landed at Kurnell. It now resides in Cronulla’s clock tower.

Jessica at dinner

Megan and I overcame severe attacks of The Sloths to meet up with Erica and Jessica yesterday evening in beautiful downtown Philo:

to have dinner at the always-delicious Libby’s:

Partly because Erica’s birthday is one day after mine (and ten days after Megan’s), and partly because Erica and Jessica are setting off on a great summer adventure in just a few days. After we hugged hello, Jessica noticed the scratch that Roscoe inflicted on my upper lip the night before. She said, “At first I thought you made a mistake with your lipstick. But I know you better than that.”

In preparation for the trip, Erica bought a van from our friend Lu. I’ve never seen inside it, but Lu, her boyfriend Rik, and Megan used to take it when they worked as medics at a reggae festival. It has a kitchenette and two beds and is supposed to be quite comfortable. Maybe it’s more of a mini-RV than a van. My knowledge of motor vehicles is pretty limited, and I like it that way.

The intrepid twosome is heading north, with stops in Portland and Seattle, maybe even venturing as far as exotic Vancouver*. When we asked Jessica what she was looking forward to the most, she exclaimed, “Science museums!”, bouncing in her chair with excitement. Later, she confided to me that “the scientific gears in my brain are always turning”. The imaginative one, she explained, holding her hands a few inches apart, was much bigger, but didn’t move as much.

She has just read the first Harry Potter book. She said that she hadn’t wanted to read it because of all the fuss about it. She “didn’t like it at first, but then I loved it!” From there, it was on to the joys of Calvin and Hobbes. I asked Jessica if she thought Hobbes was real. She thought about it, and then said “I think he’s real, but he turns into a stuffed tiger when people who don’t understand are there.”

Talk of the transmogrifier and duplicator in C&H led (naturally) to talk of time machines. I asked Jessica where she’d go if she had one, and she immediately replied, “I’d go and warn the Incas about the Spanish. Then I’d go and visit Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

Sometimes I have to remind myself that she just turned eight.

*J fans everywhere, rejoice! Jessica is going to start a blog while she’s on the road!

Audrey decided to show Roscoe how it’s done. She sashayed out around 9:00 last night, and didn’t show up again until 5:00 this morning. It was a full night’s work for Miss Audrey. And being so dedicated, she was out the door again before 7:00.

You can imagine that Audrey’s absence led to a restless night for her neurotic maid, partly from worry and partly because I find it hard to sleep with all the outside lights on, even with the help of sleep mask.

I was just dropping off to sleep when Luna started barking her head off and wouldn’t stop. I gave up on the whole sleep thing and went downstairs. As I passed my front door, I saw a bearded older man emerging from the woods near where Rose’s daughter Catrin and her boyfriend Zach live. So maybe there was a reason for Luna’s barking. When it gets to be a more decent hour, I’ll call them and see if they know who he is. I watched him walk down the driveway toward the road, so hopefully nothing is really amiss.

A slightly worrying morning when you live in a house with no locks.

And in the worrying department, Rob is once again slated for surgery on his neck. They are going to take out the old titanium piece and put in a new one from vertebrae C3-C6. Apparently these are not good vertebras to be messing with. Also, the surgical coordinator loftily told Megan on Tuesday that no surgery was being scheduled until September. Megan said that was too late, and suggested that the surgeon review Rob’s x-rays. The coordinator said they would and they’d call back in a week or ten days.

They called the next day with the operation date, two weeks away, and said it was “critical”. This was unnervingly like the time Rob went to the city to consult with the surgeon and was instantly admitted, the surgeon coming in to operate on Rob on Superbowl Sunday.

It looks like I will be able to take that week off – June 27 – and go with them to the city to help in any way I can. So much for the party I was planning for their 20th anniversary on July 1.

Update: Turns out the mystery man was Zach’s Dad. And Rob’s surgery has been moved to 10:00 am on Friday, June 24.

Megan’s gorgeous nails, complete with flower. And no, they are not fake. Apparently she’s been asked that a lot.

And the pie she made me from the farmer’s market peaches:

Birthday cupcakes!

Rainy birthday to me! Again!

Megan and I braved the rain on my birthday eve to meander some errands. I am pleased to report that Scarlett, my slightly battered but unbowed red car, behaved just fine. Thanks once again to the boys!

We started out at the farmers’ market, where we got cherries and peaches as well as multi-grain bread and a bag of mixed lettuce. Next, Dr. Karen’s office, for Schatzi’s pain meds and oh so expensive Advantage for my cats. Then we picked up a mocha Megan-style (extra espresso) and poked around the seaside bookstore. I finally used part of a gift certificate I got for my birthday last year, buying An Invitation to Indian Cooking and a set of stationery. The fabulous and talented Lisa really inspired me to start sending real mail and postcards. Thanks, Lisa!

Then we were off to Charlottesville for the less enjoyable errands: groceries, human and pet, banking, etc. We had a little extra time before we were to meet Lu, Monica, and Crissy for Girls’ Night Out, so we stopped in at My Beautiful Nails and got our nails all beautiful. Since it was my birthday eve, and therefore a special occasion, I went crazy and got dark red nails instead of my usual pale ones:

I feel like a femme fatale from a noir movie. Megan got a French manicure with a little flower on each thumb, complete with teeny pink glitter centers. Wow. I’ll have to take a picture for you when I see her later today.

Freshly fabulous, we met up with the girls at the Wharf. Monica, being Monica, brought the cupcakes you see above, along with the cake stand. Only Monica! Or maybe Martha Stewart. She also gifted us with cards full of wildflower seeds (to be planted later), a drawing each from her talented husband Joe (you may remember him from my new carpet delivery last year), and a set of ready-made mini-cocktails apiece.

Monica and Lu also have June birthdays, so we’re thinking of having a Girls’ Night In at Lu’s place later this month, where we all sleep over and have drinks and giggle. As Lu said, “No driving, no dogs, and no boys!” It should be a blast.

Audrey woke me up at 4:00 this morning, demanding to go out in the pouring rain. She is the only one who greets a rainy morning with any kind of enthusiasm in my house. I held out for an hour, and then let her out into the cold wetness, deciding that I might as well admit that I’m up.

I have my regulation two sweaters on as well as the heater. Hard to believe it’s June. Last night on the news, they showed interviews with tourists in San Francisco who were horrified by the unseasonable (and unreasonable) weather. One guy pointed out with asperity that the guide book said the rain ended in late March or early April, “and now we are June.” Good point. An exasperated guy in a rain slicker, clutching his small son by the hand, exclaimed, “I hate it!” in a heavy accent. His kid burst into tears.

I couldn’t agree more.

Yesterday, Rob picked me up early and we made our way to Charlottesville for the car part. It occurred to me that we’re lucky we can get the part in Charlottesville, instead of having to spend 5 hours driving to Santa Rosa and back. Also the car parts store opens early and the people are nice.

Rob told them what we wanted, and, as almost always happens in this situation, they immediately started asking questions which were hard to answer. “Is the single-edged doobywhatsit? Or the dual cam whateveritis?” Rob and I exchanged looks. Finally, Rob looked at the part pictures and picked out what he thought was the right one. Then he dropped me off at work and went home to work on my car.

Four hundred newsletters later, he was back to pick me up and tell me that while it was the right part, he wasn’t done working on the car. Jonathan gets home about noon today, so maybe they can work on it together, rain willing. Sitting here in the rainy dark drinking black coffee and thinking dark thoughts, I hope that he put a tarp over the whole mess.

Megan should be here in about an hour, and I can drive her strange car to work in the pouring rain in about another hour. I don’t like driving at the best of times (and the best of times definitely do not include driving), and I really don’t like it in the rain or dark. Wish me (and the boys) luck. If all goes well, I should be driving my own car tomorrow. Hard to believe that’s the best case scenario.

Because nothing is too good for you, Faithful Reader, I have spared you the grumpy mood I’ve been in over the past few days. The unseasonably rainy weather did absolutely nothing to improve said mood.

Today it’s merely grey and depressing. For some reason, when you get a long weekend, it feels like you get an extra Sunday instead of an extra Saturday. I really should be getting ready for the week ahead instead of blogging about what a crabby little crab cake I am, but one of my few talents is the ability to complain about anything, any time, anywhere.

There was a break in the rain yesterday, replaced by cold winds which sent the windmill spinning and the clothes I hung outside to dry into various parts of the yard.

We decided to have Megan’s birthday barbecue anyway, huddled in our winter coats by the fire. We had sausages with fire roasted peppers, salad, and a cherry pie made from scratch by our brother. He even has an elegant stainless steel cherry pitter. Imagine.

Of all her presents, I think Megan’s favorite was a “city” or “traffic” leash, handmade by a local artisan. It’s about three feet long, and just the right length to get Star from the house to the car and back.

Speaking of cars: as soon as I pulled up at my brother’s yesterday, he came running over to see what on earth was wrong with my car. It did sound quite a lot like the Waltons’ truck, which was forever needing parts from Charlottesville. It turns out my car also needs a part from Charlottesville: a water pump. Apparently I was five or ten minutes away from the defective water pump destroying my engine. So I left the car there and hitched a ride home with Megan and Rob.

Of course, today is a holiday, so I won’t be able to get the part until sometime tomorrow. Jonathan works from Monday through Wednesday afternoon with no break, so hopefully Rob can install it or they can work on it together on Wednesday afternoon.

In the meantime, Megan goes to work tonight as usual (there are no holidays in the ER). She’ll drop the car off here at 7 am, I’ll drive it back where it just came from about an hour later, and return it to Megan in time for her to do the same in the evening. Poor little car. It’s a good thing we learned how to share all those years ago.

Well, this is getting to be a bad habit.

I woke up to rain on my sister’s birthday for the second year in a row. As I made coffee and the cats ran around outside, getting wet, spiky fur, I considered the fact that Megan once went to visit Dad in London on her birthday and it turned out to be the rainiest May and June in centuries.

Her ability to have rainy birthdays is only surpassed by her ability to get a taxi in any city at any time. London, Paris, Florence, New York – it doesn’t matter. I envied that talent when I was in the city last week. I was unable to get a cab on Market Street, which is basically San Francisco’s Main Street. I seem to have the opposite talent.

Megan took the day off. She should be arriving home any minute, so she’ll sleep through most of the rainy day. I’m planning to surprise her with birthday burritos and a bottle of wine when I get home from work this evening. Hopefully we can have a birthday barbecue this weekend.

Audrey peeking out from the side of the house

I think all the kitties were happy to see me, though I also think they are equally happy when I’m gone and they can scamper in and out of the house, playing and napping at will. Come to think of it, I’d like that.

When I adopted the boys, the shelter workers told me that they were very happy and affectionate kittens. I thought they were just saying that, but it has turned out to be true. They took turns sitting on my lap that evening and both slept with me (Audrey, of course, slept regally on her throne). And I’m glad that they all get along, whether I’m away or not. Audrey still isn’t their biggest fan, but there’s hardly any growling or swiping these days.

Here are the boys eating dinner after I got home:

I could see that Rob had been at work during my absence. He found these cupboards somewhere and installed them:

No easy task with the curved wall and heater, etc. to deal with.

After he put the cupboards up, he decided that it was too dark to see into the cupboards, which he also decided was unacceptable. The cowboy lamp, though fabulous, does not shed a lot of light.

He got a fixture at the thrift store for $2.50 and wired it into the same switch as the cowboy lamp. Let there be light:

Outside, I discovered that a little rose which I thought was dead was in bloom:

All in all, a nice welcome home.

Meet Jasper! I met Jasper and his steadfast guardian Rebecca last weekend. Megan and Monica have added community outreach to their regular rescue activities. Rebecca needed some help getting Jasper neutered. He has a heart murmur, so anesthetizing him for the surgery is complicated and expensive, and Rebecca can’t afford it on her own. In fact, Rebecca was unable to find a landlord in this county who would rent to her, because Jasper is a pit bull, so she actually lived in her car with him. She even approached a homeless shelter, but they wouldn’t let Jasper in the shelter and they wouldn’t allow her to park the car out front with him in it. This kind of discrimination continues to shock me, no matter how often I hear it.

I am so impressed with her love and dedication to her dog. I bet most people would have taken Jasper to the homeless pet shelter without a second thought. But not Rebecca.

She turned to Daisy Davis for help, and Megan and Monica located a vet willing to work with them on cost. It turns out that Jasper also has an allergic rash on his belly, so they also bought antibiotics for him. He can’t have the surgery until the rash clears up. But all’s well that ends well: Rebecca found a place that would accept both her and Jasper in a neighboring county, and Jasper should be able to have his surgery in the next couple of weeks.

Monica runs her own business – she has done so successfully for many years – is married, and has several dogs, in addition to founding and running Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue. Megan, as you know, works her long night shifts, celebrates her 20th wedding anniversary this summer, has her two dogs and two cats to take care of, and she and Rob both work on the property whenever they can. Yet these two women find the time not only to rescue and love dogs in need, but to reach out to our little community and help where they can. I am so proud of these two, and am so lucky to know them.

They are an inspiration.

Megan and I were lucky enough to have tickets to see the Flynn Creek Circus last week. It was just what we needed to cheer ourselves up after the Sad Day. Lest you think us heartless, I hasten to add that we bought the tickets long before we had any idea of what would happen the day before the show. And maybe we are heartless, because we were both looking forward to laughter and fun. I guess that’s pretty much what life is.

Before the show, we met up with our friends Lu and Rik at Piaci’s, for wine (neighboring county Sonoma unoaked 2009 Chardonnay from Pellegrini) and pizza (Rosa) and catching up. Lu and Rik are both EMS workers, and Megan works those night shifts in the ER, and I have a job and a half, so we don’t get to see each other as much as we’d like.

Arriving at Cotton Auditorium* (which used to be a school)…:

…we saw our brother’s battered old Subaru pulling up at the curb. We were surprised and happy to see him, but he was just dropping someone off at the show before heading home. Still, it was good to see him, and we all hugged each other extra hard.

Fortunately, Lu and Rik had managed to grab four seats together, since there was a great turnout. I tried to take pictures, but with no flash, no particular skill, and a cheap-ish camera, not to mention the speed at which the acrobats moved, the results were blurry and deeply disappointing to yours truly. Here are the least blurry ones:

David Jones and Blaze Birge, the Daring Jones Duo who founded the Flynn Creek Circus and are its heart and soul, doing a funny, yet scary knife-throwing act.

Miss Holly, doing a daring and delightful aerial act.

The show was a celebration of strength and beauty and discipline and joy. I highly recommend that you check out the YouTube video of the Daring Jones Duo performing their astonishing and graceful double trapeze act which closes out the show.

*Later, I learned that it was a New Deal project, completed in 1939. I’m really enjoying learning more about my adopted town(s).

Star meets Padawan, June 2010

Yesterday morning, I saw Schatzi go tearing past my house. Alarmed, yet impressed with her speed given her state of decrepitude, I hurried outside to make sure she was OK. Calling her is pointless at this point, yet I persist in doing it. I clapped my hands a few times and Star came bounding up, but no Schatz.

I accompanied Star back to her rightful residence, despite the fact that I was wearing PJs and slippers and the driveway was full of puddles. Somehow, the speeding Schatzi had beaten me there.

Megan was still up. And something was up. I guess a speeding dog can be an omen, just like a shooting star or a meteor.

When L cut our hair a couple of weeks ago, Megan thought his dog, Padawan, looked pretty bad. She was having trouble walking, and was panting, though it wasn’t hot. She persuaded L to take Padawan to the vet. It was nice Dr. Carl, and he had to tell L that Padawan had cancer in her leg. She is an 11 year old Rottweiler, and even if her leg was amputated, the cancer had spread, and was a particularly nasty and fast-moving one.

It moved faster than we expected. L asked Megan to call Dr. Karen and make arrangements. She waited until it was late enough to call – keep in mind that she had just come home from her 12 hour night shift – and got an appointment for 4:30. She relayed this to L, who said it would have to be sooner. So we settled on 11:00.

Megan took L and Padawan to the vet. Poor Pad yelped on the way there – it was definitely time. Dr. Karen came out to the car, parked beside the garden at the back of her office, and released Padawan from all that pain and suffering. She was very kind and gentle.

When it was over, Megan called Jonathan and me, and we met them at L’s house. The EMS workers efficiently and lovingly transferred Pad’s body to a wheelbarrow for her last journey. Jonathan took charge and I carried the tools. We made our way down the steep path to the spot L had chosen, overlooking his house, bowered in ancient trees.

It was hard work, but as I thought when we laid little Henry to rest this same time last year, it is somehow therapeutic to do this last thing with your own hands for a loved one. Padawan rested in the spring sunshine as we worked. We all bade her a final farewell as the birds sang and the water rushed by far below.

L asked to be left alone, and we all hugged him goodbye. It was hard to leave him there, but I know he is not really alone, and neither is Padawan. They will always be together.

My brother’s cat Twilley guarding the premises

Fortunately, the skunk smell vanished as suddenly as it arrived. I left the doors open when Megan and I ran errands on Saturday, and by the time I got home, it was magically gone. I’m lucky that the skunk didn’t decide to take up residence under the house, or otherwise makes its presence pungently known.

I’ve seen skunks a few times, out in the garden at night, and they are very striking with their black and white fur and dramatic tails. I also find their funny, trundling walk kind of cute. But that’s about as far as I go with them.

My left hand is recovering nicely from the burn. Those burn bandages seem to be magic, because you can certainly see where I got burned, but my fingers aren’t blistered and they don’t hurt any more (unlike my right hand). So yay for Megan and emergency services on demand.

On Saturday evening, my brother convinced me to come over for a barbecue. I was tired from three full days at the jobette, plus twelve hours of conference calls in two days, followed by Jessica’s birthday lunch and a half day of errands on Saturday (the three hour tour). I really just wanted to collapse on the couch and watch that new mini series of Mildred Pierce starring Kate Winslet, but it takes more energy to argue with my brother than it does to just give in and go there, so that is what I did.

David and Jennifer, who jointly own the property with my siblings, but live elsewhere, were here visiting, and it was nice catching up with them. It was a little on the foggy side, but it was warm by the fire. This may have been the first barbecue of the year, now that I think about it. We had purple potatoes (in the foil packets) and skewers of red onion, zucchini, sausage, and chicken:

It was delicious. We had a great time. They were here until Tuesday, but I missed them due to work. Hopefully they will come back more often, now that the weather is (supposedly) getting nicer. Maybe next time they’ll bring their horses!

Well, Clyde won the battle of the painting.

But if Rob has anything to do with it, Clyde won’t win the war.

I was awoken by a crash this morning. Not thunder, not hail, but pretty loud all the same. I didn’t even have to get downstairs before I could see what happened. The painting was no longer above the shelf over the couch, as you see here (aka the Good Old Days – who knew?):

It was on the floor. Miraculously, it wasn’t broken, though I can’t say the same for the vase you see in the middle of the shelf in the picture above.

On the bright side, none of Rob’s pottery was broken (I have the premier collection of RobCo ceramics on the west coast), and the painting was unharmed.

It’s about five feet wide and four feet tall, so it wasn’t easy for me to maneuver, but I managed to get it across the room and lean it against the staircase. As I waited for the coffee to perk (and perk me up), it occurred to me that there are no good answers here. If I put it back up – well, if Rob does – the Battle of the Painting will resume. Also I had previously thought that Clyde tried to climb it to get my attention, but apparently it’s just a hobby.

If I leave it where it is, it may well suffer the terrible fate of the records, and be clawed to death by the Demon Kittens.

If I put it away, I’ll lose my window to the city and the joy the painting has given me over the past fifteen years.

My living room now looks bleak and sad:

By the way – Rob made that shell-shaped plate and its stand.

I told Megan about the whole fiasco, and pretty soon Rob came over to inspect the damage. His thought was that Clyde probably approached the shelf from the side, instead of the front. So he stapled some cardboard to ends of the shelf and baited it with a huge plastic dragon:

to see if Clyde can still get up on the shelf. If it foils him, Rob will make something out of wood and fasten it to the ends for permanent foiling.

Needless to say, the cats have not gone anywhere near it or shown the slightest interest in the giant plastic dragon over the past six hours, even though it’s rainy and depressing outside and you’d think they’d be bored. Maybe I’ll find out tonight.

Rain, hail, and thunder woke me up early this morning. I lay there in the darkness and remembered that it’s Dad’s birthday. He would have been 80 today.

As I made coffee, the antique Wedgwood I inherited from him looked on calmly, as it has watched generations of our family for 120 years. My father’s cookbooks are on the shelf, as well as the books he authored, and a picture of him as a nine year old boy, holding a gun and laughing gleefully with his friend Brian, who was his friend his entire life and his best man when he married my mother, more than half a century ago.

If my wallet were ever stolen, the only thing I would really lament losing is the little note from Dad which reads “See you, kid-o”. When we were in Russia in 1991, he was moved to tears when his wallet was stolen*, because it contained a little prayer his mother had written out for him and given to him when he first went to college. Sentiment – and carrying sentimental things in our wallets – runs in the family.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see him. I don’t look particularly like either of my parents, though I am the only one who got Mom’s green eyes. Megan has Dad’s nose and Jonathan his blue, blue eyes. I think my hands look like Dad’s and his mother’s, though. And I have his love of travel and cooking.

I worked for twelve hours today, which I think he would have liked. He always worked hard, and loved his work. He told me more than once that he would have done it for free. And he left the world a better place than he found it, which is perhaps all any of us can wish for. Though I wish he was still with us to celebrate his 80th birthday.

Dad, I will always love you and always miss you. And though I should be celebrating the day my best friend was born, I can’t help but mourn the loss of him. As I write, the rain and hail have started again, heavier than ever, and darkness has fallen once again.

*His money and credit cards were not in the wallet, undoubtedly to the thief’s disappointment.

You all know that I loathe the twice yearly madness of the time change, so I won’t tell you again. But I will just say that my body and I are going to know perfectly well that it’s really 5:30 am when the alarm goes off tomorrow. I may finally need the alarm to go off to haul Self out of bed in the newly-restored morning darkness (thanks, government!). In the month since starting the jobette my record of waking up before the alarm has been unblemished (thanks, kitties!).

Now that I have to get up and go to work on Monday, Sunday has acquired the familiar feeling of dread going back to school days, when prison doors yawned and homework was belated and possibly incomplete as Sunday arrived. Just like I did then, I put out my clothes for the following day and try not to think about it.

Monday Eve seemed to arrive particularly fast since I did a special guest appearance at the jobette on Thursday. The database needed wrestling into submission, and time was running out. I have to check 35,000 entries for duplicates and delete the offenders by this Wednesday.

Fortunately, Rob has ceramics class on Thursdays, so we were able to carpool again. But greenosity has its price.

Absorbed in his work, he lost track of the time, and arrived half an hour late to pick me up. He left his cell phone at home, which he had noticed about halfway to town, so I knew there was no point in trying to call him. After he arrived, Star in tow, he realized that he had forgotten something at school, so we went back to where he had just come from.

After that, we took Star to Lu’s house so she could stay there while Rob and Megan went to the city on Friday (the trip that was cancelled by the tsunami warnings, but we didn’t know that at the time). Lu was home sick, but we stayed and chatted for a while.

When we were on our way again, Rob saw that the “add water” light was on the car. The water leakage is an ongoing problem which has rendered their car unable to drive to the city. Rob and Jonathan have been trying to diagnose the source of the leak to no avail. We stopped at a townette which might have water at one place.

The one place was closed. Rob considered puddle water from a couple of different puddles despite my veto, got distracted by a fallen sign which might perhaps be converted to a windmill blade if they make another one, discovered it was still attached to a pole, and rejected it as impracticable.

Partway through the townette, Rob paused the car to show me why you shouldn’t leave your siding and roof unfinished for extended periods of time, pointing out the problems it had caused a certain house. It was interesting, but I really wanted to get home at this point in the game. I thought longingly of my kitty PJs.

Once my daily ration of education was complete, we got back on the road briefly, stopping at the next townette to get water. I was pretty confident that water was available at this location, and so it was. Rob debated getting coffee (unlike the car, he appears to run on coffee and cigarettes almost exclusively) and decided against it.

I was pretty happy to see the welcoming sight of Hooterville, though not happy enough to want to stop there. Rob, however, wanted to check the mail, get half and half, and oh, why not? A coffee to go. While he did all this, I checked the local paper and learned that our seasonal rainfall has reached 38.8 inches*.

When Rob returned to the car, he had a parts catalogue for him, and junk mail for me. Coffee in hand, he started to peruse the catalogue. After a few minutes, I finally said, “You know, Megan’s probably awake and waiting for that half and half.”

By now, it was about two hours since Rob picked me up. I’m now beginning to understand how it can take him all afternoon to go to the dump, or an hour to go to the Hooterville store, a mere five miles away. It takes talent. And it takes a Rob.

*My rain gauge did not survive the unexpected snowfall a couple of weeks ago. The water inside it expanded as it froze and broke into several pieces. Those pesky laws of physics!

Calm seas

Last night, I happened to be channel-surfing and came across the shocking footage of the Japanese earthquake. Any Californian feels a certain kinship with fellow earthquake sufferers, and I was appalled by the size of the disaster: 8.9 on the Richter scale. To put it in perspective, the 1989 Loma Prieta quake was a 6.9, and the 1906 “Great” quake, which devastated most of the city, was about an 8. Keep in mind that a quake measuring 9.0 is 10 times greater than one measuring 8.0. This is one of the five strongest quakes in recorded history.

Scary, scary stuff.

This morning, I woke up to an announcement in my email* saying that the one and only road to San Francisco was closed, as were several state parks (including the beach I pass on my way to work and back) and schools. I quickly called Megan, since she and Rob were planning to go to San Francisco this morning to consult with some specialists about Rob’s continuing spinal issues (yes, there is more surgery in his future). Fortunately, they hadn’t left yet, though they wouldn’t have gotten far.

They rescheduled the appointment, and we all headed down to the local store, partly to get propane and partly to find out what was going on and have a peek at the ocean. The ocean, as you see above, was living up to its name and was actually calmer than it was yesterday. The local fire department and emergency services were on alert, though nothing had happened yet. This afternoon, I got another email alert saying that there had been serious destruction caused by the tsunami in the harbor in the big town. The very harbor where we have our few but fabulous girls’ nights out.

Wow.

As I write, Dad’s famous honey mustard chicken is slowly cooking in my little oven, filling the house with a delicious, comforting scent. Pretty soon I’ll start the brown rice and later I’ll steam some broccoli. Megan and Rob are coming over for dinner tonight. Maybe there’s something about a disaster that makes you want to keep your loved ones close. I feel lucky that we are all safe, but my heart aches for the people of Japan. Our thoughts are with them.

*I recently joined a local Listserv for announcements, and it’s been quite useful so far. Weather warnings, an armed fugitive in the village (he was caught)…things like that. News you can use!

Yesterday, Rob and I car pooled to town together. It was so fun!

Unlike most Americans, I hate to drive, so I was happy to hand over the wheel. I’ve always wanted a chauffeur*. And Rob makes interesting company. We also brought Star along for the ride. Sometimes she stayed in the back seat, and sometimes she didn’t.

We stopped off briefly so Rob could express plant some daffodils he found in the wilds of my garden at the front of my brother’s property. Rob has landscaped it nicely there, with the pointy bush from their garden, crocuses, and now the daffodils. I’m pleased to say that my tulips are coming along nicely.

Rob had a ceramics class in the morning and an appointment in the afternoon at 4:00. So just in case he couldn’t get home in time to return the car to Megan at 5:00, when she leaves for work, we decided to share my car. Those of you who are wondering why he didn’t take his trusty truck don’t live where gas is $3.79 a gallon and have a truck which gets about 5 miles to the gallon.

We arranged to meet up at Monica’s store (conveniently located a block away) at 4:30. I ended up leaving work at about 4:15, having successfully labeled, stamped, stuffed, and sealed 500 envelopes. There was no way I was leaving work until I had wrestled them into submission. You haven’t lived until you’ve processed 500 envelopes. Or maybe you’ve died and gone to hell.

As I approached the corner, Rob pulled up beside me. Perfect timing and curbside service. What’s not to love?

*All those Hollywood starlets who keep getting arrested for DUI? I can never understand why they don’t have chauffeurs. Talk about a sensible luxury!