Suzy Says

So yesterday was Interview Day.

The cats woke me up earlier than I would have liked, especially since I needed all the beauty sleep I could get, but I somehow still ended up rushing to get out the door on time. It was gloomy but not (yet) raining, and I was amazed by how deep and rushy the river was. A finger of fog lay dramatically over the dark woods as I turned onto the twisty, mountainous road to the county seat. How anyone ever thought of building a road there is beyond me, though it’s been in use at least since the 1890s, when it was the location of a stagecoach robbery.

I had no trouble finding the county offices, and I was early, which I figured was better than late. I didn’t have long to wait before being ushered into a room where a panel of three people were seated.

This threw me for a loop, I can tell you. I was expecting to interview one on one with the woman who had set it up and sent me the paperwork. We had a nice chat on the phone, and I felt pretty confident about meeting with her. My confidence vanished as quickly as my horror grew.

They told me that they asked everyone the same standardized questions and that we had half an hour for the interview. They took turns asking me questions like “What is your definition of professionalism?” Though they at least avoided asking me where I saw myself in five years, or what my strengths and weaknesses were, they led with the dreaded “Tell me about yourself” and ended with “Tell us anything else you think we should know about you”, which stymied me completely. I could not come up with a damn thing, my brainlet being completely occupied with competing thoughts of “Well, you just blew it” and “Haven’t you read my resume and all the forms I filled out?”

I was able to engage them with my own questions, however, which led to an animated discussion as well as compliments on my choice of questions. To wrap it up, they explained that the process would take another four to six weeks, as they checked references and filled out paperwork, etc. I thanked them, wished them happy holidays, and made my way back to Wednesday, where I tried to gather what little remained of my wits before heading home. En route, I discovered that Libby’s is closed for a month, so there went that plan of getting delicious take out for dinner.

Arriving home, I emailed my friend and co-worker Erin, who was my jobette reference, to ask her if we could meet up today. She responded that her schedule was crazy with her kid out of school, so could we chat on the phone? I said yes, and when she called, I explained that I had applied for this county job and she might be hearing from them in the next four to six weeks. They had already called her. We both started laughing because it was so ridiculous. I apologized for blindsiding her – I know how much I enjoyed being blindsided earlier that day – and she said no problem. She knows that my paychecks end in February, I don’t qualify for unemployment, and that the jobette can’t pay me enough to support my fabulous lifestyle. I know she just wants what’s best for me, but I still feel bad about it.

I’m guessing that if they called my references the minute I left their office, I didn’t do as badly as I thought. We’ll see what happens…

A YEAR AGO: Jarrett’s birthday surprise.

Weather’s coming

On my way to the jobette yesterday morning, I passed Michael on the Ridge. Michael is the older gentleman who used to live on the same property as Lichen until the place was sold and everyone was kicked out summarily. Michael is a Hooterville institution, riding his bike or hitch-hiking everywhere, and was a big help to us in the Schatzi search last year, since he could cover a lot of ground while not being in a car. Today, he was walking Groward on the other side of the road, which was the way I was driving, so I turned around and asked him if he needed a ride. He said no, he was almost home, since he had found a new place. He thanked me for turning around and waved at me and blew a kiss as I headed off again. I’m so glad that he and Lichen have both found good places to live.

While at the jobette, I got a call from the County asking me to come in for an interview on December 17. They suggested 8:30 am, but remembering that epic early morning drive with Megan, I asked for something later, and we settled on 11:15 am. Things definitely move slowly here in fairyland. I applied for this potential job more than two months ago, and they’re holding interviews a week before Christmas. I hope it’s not pouring that day, the way it is today. Though thankful for rain, I will never enjoy driving in a downpour.

On my way home, I was driving down the straightaway leading to Van Damme State Beach*, just as a young deer thought it was the perfect time to stroll nervously across the highway. I slowed down and watched the deer’s progress. Mindful of the “never just one” rule, I waited, and sure enough, the deer’s friend decided to join her on the other side of the road. Like her friend, she was both skittish and not in a hurry, qualities that may not help them in later life. It gave me time to admire my favorite view on the coast, though, and the deer were unharmed, so everyone was happy.

You never know what you’ll find or who you’ll meet around here!

*I love it that there are state beaches. And national seashores.

A YEAR AGO:

Suzylocks and the Three Cars.

Though I had a lovely dinner with my friends, I managed to spill some of the bouillabaisse I was bringing home with me in the car. It takes special skills, my friends. Or just a Suzy.

It was too dark to deal with at the time, but when I opened the car door the next day before heading to the jobette, it was quite horrifying. I scrubbed down the carpet where the spill had occurred, adding some Febreeze. When I went home that night, it was still scary, though not as bad. I had the heat on and the windows open, the way I used to when I drove my 1966 Mustang convertible. Unless it was actually raining, I always had the top down.

I scrubbed and Febreezed when I got home and again in the morning, and now the car’s interior is merely redolent of the ghost of bouillabaisse past.

It’s a good thing, because I’m heading to San Francisco today, and hours in a fish-scented car would make the trip even less enjoyable than it already is.

Of course, Roscoe took this opportunity to somehow injure himself. The fur is rubbed off above one eye, and it looked a little icky for a couple of days. I applied Vetericyn (every home should have some) and it looks better, but I have no idea how he did it. Dr. Megan says we never know what they do out there, we just have to try and fix it. She’ll keep an eye on it while I’m gone, as well as herding them in at night and feeding them. I hope they behave themselves and there are no all-nighters or late evenings.

As for me, it seems like there are a million things to do before I leave. Next week is Thanksgiving, and I haven’t ordered the turkey yet, partly because I’m not sure how many people are coming. I know Jarrett, Kalli and Paul can’t make it, but Dave and Jennifer may be here, and I’m hoping Lichen will at least stop by. I have a few errands I’d like to run while in the city, so I’m trying to get those set up, and have also been following up with the County job here and getting the runaround, as you would expect from bureaucracy. At least packing is easier, since I have no meetings other than my boss/partner/friend to discuss our future, if any. Stay tuned!

A YEAR AGO:

The Kitty Report.

It’s heavenly now

There’s not much news on the job front, and what there is, is not particularly encouraging.

The legal wranglings continue at the jobette, with seemingly countless meetings and no decisions. I’ve said it before, and I hope I don’t say it again, but when there are lawyers in your life, things are not going well.

I have not heard back from either of the local jobs I applied for 6 weeks ago. My friend Jim stopped in at one of them and reported back that they have not filled it yet, and also took the opportunity to put in a good word for me, which I really appreciate. Hopefully they are just a little more relaxed in their hiring process than the imminently unemployed (and unpaid) would really prefer.

I received a 90 on the test for the county job, which Megan so valiantly chauffeured me to last month. Included with this news was the surprising fact that so few people – of the ten who took it, including me – passed the test that the county was waiving the “oral examination” portion of the testing. So I won’t have to make the long drive and/or take more time off work for testing.

On the other hand, the missive said that this put everyone in a pool without ranking them, and that those of us in the pool can’t contact the county to find out more until three weeks have elapsed, which is Thanksgiving. That’s another unfortunate thing about the timing of these simultaneous job losses: the holidays. People rarely hire other people during the holidays.

I have to hope that things work out before my pay runs out in February, a truly horrifying prospect. Much as I did when the Grand Jury summons was hanging over my head, I keep thinking about how perfect everything was before it all fell apart. All I want is to stay in my little hippie hovel and be with my cats and pay off my car. Is that too much to ask?

A YEAR AGO:

A beautiful day in San Francisco. Is there any other kind?

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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?

Rhododendrons in my garden this evening

The calendar may say April – just – but summer has come to Hooterville.

In the usual way of summer, it made a dramatic entrance, hitting its unsuspecting audience over the head with a sledgehammer of heat while giggling wickedly. When I came home from the cool climes of the jobette yesterday evening, I was surprised to discover that it was 80 degrees both inside and outside my house.

Before removing work wear, accessories and make-up, usually the first things I do, I dragged out all the fans – the upstairs, the downstairs, and the portable one which can be positioned to blow air directly on Self – and placed them throughout the house, as well as turning on the ceiling fan, even though it’s really more of a whisk stirring the hot air around than anything else. As usual, the outside cooled down long before the inside, and I slept with the balcony door open and the screen door closed, sadly coated in a sheet and dreaming of blankets.

That was once I got to bed, though. On the first warm night of the year, Roscoe was scarce. I kept calling him, even though I knew it to be pointless. He finally swanned in just after midnight, had a fashionably late dinner, and then went to bed.

We were all awakened at 6:30 by Mark’s rooster crowing loudly and repeatedly. I gave up and got up, releasing the cats into the garden, not to appear again until dinner time.

I had quarterly calls scheduled all day today (and tomorrow, and all of Friday morning), and I did them in the shady parts of the garden, moving my chair as the sun shifted. It gave me time to notice the damage done by Mark’s rabbit, Changa (it means “monkey”) on her frequent visits. It occurred to me that the rabbit ornament on my “front” door may in fact be a secret sign to rabbits everywhere that there’s an all you can eat buffet on the premises, much as hobos used to leave coded symbols scratched on people’s front doors during the Great Depression.

So really, I may have brought it on myself.

I’m coming to you from the modest motel that is my home away from home in San Francisco, just three blocks away from my former, immodest home*. I still feel comfortable in my old ‘hood. I have the door open, to admit sunshine and breezes, and the Detroit-Boston playoffs game on. The heart I left in San Francisco is currently being broken by the 2-0 lead held by Boston.

Today was Day One of the conference. I suited up in faux adult togs, added some accessories and heels, and called my friends at City Wide Dispatch. I have known and loved them since I was a San Franciscan. They are a network of independent cabs – their dispatch radios out your location, and the nearest cab comes to your rescue. Often they call you to tell you that your knight in metered armor is drawing nigh.

At the conference hotel, the doorman opened the taxi door and helped me alight, as well as opening the door for me. I love, love, love doormen. Also taxis.

Inside, it soon became apparent that the conference was prom queen popular. After being equipped with my label and welcome packet, I repaired to the meeting room only to be greeted by a sea of faces and no obviously empty chairs. I felt like I was late for class. One of the conference usherettes (it seems to be staffed entirely by young lovelies with enviable manicures) found a seat for me, and while I was getting settled, someone whispered “Hey, Susan!”

I turned to my left, and there was none other than my host at the fabulous birthday ballgame. How’s that for a small world? At the break, we caught up on each other’s news while enjoying fresh fruit and the view from the deck of the hotel:

That’s the Museum of Modern Art on the left – closed for renovations – and the Yerba Buena Center for the arts right in front. Yerba Buena was the original name of San Francisco, which was founded in 1776 – the year America became a country – at what is now the Presidio. While no longer a military base, it remains the place I learned how to drive.

When the conference was over, the doorman ensconced me in a cab, which dropped me off a few blocks from the modest motel, giving me the opportunity to stop in at the cheap and cheerful nail salon, enjoying the orchids, fountains, and soaking my nails in warm water with fresh mint leaves. The owner recently acquired a young Siberian Husky named Kodiak, who accompanies her to work every day and supervises:

You have to love a salon with a resident dog. And coral nails to go with your Hello Kitty pen:

That should make tomorrow’s session a little more fun!

*Current estimated value: $1.2 million. Or more than a million more than I paid for it.

Or, sweepings from the corners of my life…

The big moment!

In just a couple of hours, my boss from the jobette (third from the left, or the rebel with the long hair, as my co-worker phrased it) will be meeting President Obama. Can you believe it? Instead of being at his desk in our office (a converted JP Penney store), he will be standing in the Oval Office with the most powerful man in the world. He might even get to shake the president’s hand! The occasion is the President’s signing into law an act making the Stornetta Public Lands on the beautiful south coast part of the California National Monument, protecting its breathtaking views and sensitive ecosystem forever.

I’ve been participating in the twice monthly conference calls dedicated to this project for a year now, so I feel that in some small way I am part of this success for our county. My father (whose birthday is less than a week away) would be proud.

So, yeah…health insurance.

Jarrett’s been helping me find my way through the labyrinthine maze of health insurance. As I suspected, I make “too much” money to qualify for assistance with the premiums. You’d think I’d be used to being squeezed like a lemon as a member of the rapidly dwindling middle class, but I’m still bitter about paying $250 a month for it, especially since I’m still paying off Wednesday for the next two years or something.

I get to pay $250 a month and the cost (“co pay”) to see the doctor is about the same and the prescription cost is more than I pay now, without insurance.

Sigh.

Speaking of Jarrett, there was an earthquake on Sunday night, centered 50 miles out in the ocean from the town where Jarrett lives, which is a two hour drive north of Hooterville. Jarrett was fine and there was no damage. I didn’t feel it, though Megan did. She said it was the longest one she could remember in quite a while, and Jarrett agreed.

I think even the earth is revolted by the hideousness of the time change. I know I am.

Megan came home yesterday to find Audrey in her – that is, Megan’s – bedroom. At first Megan thought it was her cat Ramona, who is also a tabby but is much bigger than Audrey, until she got one of Audrey’s patented Stinky Looks before Audrey vacated the premises.

I wonder how often my cats go over there and what they do when they are there. Maybe it’s because Megan is their Staff when I’m away and so they think of her house as kind of their other house?

I had a flashback to the months-long Hooterville bridge repair while driving home from the jobette one day this week. Traffic ground to a halt just before the steep curve leading to the resort which reopened with considerable fanfare last fall. This is one of my favorite parts of the drive, going around the intense curve with the sunlight filtering through the tall eucalyptus trees.

The halt stretched on, and I turned off the car. The car stereo doesn’t turn off when you turn the car off, so I opened and closed the door to make it turn off. The manual is on a DVD and needless to say, I haven’t bothered to drag my MacBook out to the car and figure out how to set the clock (if there is one) and/or turn it off by hand. It starts up again when I start up the car. Yes, Wednesday is too fancy for me.

We finally got going again after 20 minutes. The poor guy in front of me actually turned into the resort! He could have walked there and back ten times in the length of time we were stuck there. I’m still not sure what CalTrans was doing, but it looked like they were lopping off some eucalyptus branches.

The next day, I left work early to head to Elk, where I was commissioned to pick up something left behind in a hotel room by a New York Times writer, who was here for the Crab festival. We were finally getting some rain (we ended up with almost 3/4 inch in the rain gauge, though we are back to sunshine today), so I drove extra carefully. The ocean was so beautiful in its shades of pale aqua and stormy grey, with frenzied white waves. Sometimes it’s really hard not to look at the ocean while you’re driving around here.

I arrived at the inn. A sign on the door said that the innkeeper was either assisting a guest or had stepped away. Hmmm. The thought of standing out in the deserted parking lot in the rain wasn’t exactly appealing. I decided to head to Anchor Bay to get some Thai food dinner and then try again on my way back.

In my usual fashion, I had forgotten/underestimated how far it was. I kept thinking it was right around every curve for miles. Finally, it was, and after I ordered, I texted my boss to let her know of the hotel problem (cell and internet service being unavailable on the south coast). She texted back to check the back door of the inn. As I left the restaurant, I noticed a sign saying that they’d be closed from February 10 to March 18, so it’s just as well I made my way there after all.

Back at the hotel, I went around the back, accompanied by an Audrey looking cat, who in an Audrey like fashion started scratching at one of the two doors. I knocked at it and eventually a ponytailed guy in a Grateful Dead shirt appeared. The cat scampered in and I explained my mission. He brought me over to the neigboring restaurant, which was as closed as it had been earier that day. Then we went to the house next to it. He knocked to no avail and then rang the buzzer. Someone answered, but with the tinnynesss of the intercom and the whizzing by of logging trucks on the rainy highway, it sounded to me like the Charlie Brown grown ups.

Mr. Dead understood, though, since he headed back to the restaurant and knocked on a back door, unearthing another guy who went and got the writer’s bag. Whew.

I was really glad to finally see Hooterville. Later I added it up and estimated that I drove more than 150 miles that day. How’s that for extreme take-out?

Some days the jobette hardly seems like work at all. Take last Tuesday, for example. I got up when it was light outside, had coffee, and made my way to the South Coast in the fancy new car.

The new car (as yet unnamed – any suggestions?) has a 30 day warranty, and I think between the long drive home from Modesto and the steep, curvy drive to the South Coast, I have a pretty good idea of how the car is going to perform. My brother says that problems should appear within the first 30 days. So far, so good.

The trip to the lovely south coast was to distribute materials for an upcoming festival to all the businesses which are participating, as well as the visitors’ center. It was a beautiful day, warm enough to have the car windows open. The ocean was feeling pretty that day:

and I saw a pod of migrating orcas chasing dolphins when I stopped at the Point Arena lighthouse. It is 115 feet tall and doesn’t quite fit into my camera’s lens:

The lighthouse is situated on the westernmost part of the Lower 48. Next stop Hawaii!

The Point Arena pier is a favorite location of surfers, who say it has some of the best waves in northern California. It is also beloved of fishermen, with some of the deepest waters in the County and a sheltered cove location:

I had clam chowder for lunch overlooking the pier:

It was warm enough to sit on the deck and watch the waves.

On my way home, I picked up dinner at the delightful Thai restaurant where Megan and I had lunch after our amazing South Coast safari this fall.

The next morning, I met my jobette co-workers at the Botanical Gardens to watch birds with a guide. Apparently birding is very good here, even in the winter, and these birding tours are available twice a week, year-round.

Embarrassingly, I am not good at identifying birds other than the obvious. My father kept a list of birds he had seen from the age of five, and every week, he’d send a list of the birds he had seen in the garden to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds*. Lest you think him more of a crackpot than he really was, the RSPB depends on these amateur reports as well as the annual bird count to keep track of what species are doing well on the sceptered isle and which aren’t.

I caught a hummingbird at rest:

I don’t think I’ve ever seen one just sitting on a branch before. We sighted an egret, and several robins, which are a cheery harbinger of winter here (along with the happy peeping of frogs, which we haven’t heard due to the lack of rain), as well as a flicker and a sort of warbler (or possibly wren) which had a yellow part under its tail, which the guide called “butter butt”. Sadly I was unable to see the bird or its butt. Sorry, Dad.

Wednesday was as foggy as Tuesday was sunny, which lent the garden a dreamlike look:

Despite the lack of rain, this brook babbled happily through the garden:

This gate looks like something Rob would make:

After our birding expedition, we went back to work and had pizza, salad and wine for lunch. It’s a hard job, but someone’s got to do it!

*After he died, we found his partially completed list for that week on his desk with his reading glasses resting atop it, as if their owner might walk back into the room at any moment. We mailed it in for him.

The St Francis on Union Square

Yesterday I magically hailed a cab with Megan-like ease and headed to the grand St. Francis Hotel, the storied establishment which survived the ’06 quake and the Fatty Arbuckle scandal, and still has a gentleman on staff whose job is to wash the coins given out to guests, a tradition started back in the days when lunch, taxis, and tips could be bought with change and ladies did not want to soil their gloves.

For generations, people have met under the clock in the grand lobby:

The festive castle in the picture is made entirely of sugar!

I met my colleagues under the clock and we headed into the conference. Adrian was one of the speakers, and even though I have known him for twenty years, I don’t think I have ever seen him speak before:

He spoke about the bankruptcy in Detroit and what led to it. My favorite line was “While Stevie Wonder was singing ‘Everything is all right, up tight and out of sight’, things were unraveling in Motown.” The crowd loved it, and I was really proud of him.

I had lunch with my colleague Donald, who is a third generation Detroiter, and learned that his father was in the Chatham, Ontario Negro League team and pitched to Satchel Paige and Jackie Robinson. They tried to convince him to join the team they were on, but he was unwilling to leave the freedom of Ontario for the segregation of the South. He would later become the first African American master electrician at Ford.

After a long day at the conference, I headed back to the motel, had some dinner, and pretty much called it a day. I was up at 5:30 this morning, and it’s time to get ready and get started on the day.

Atlanta at night

It was a long, long walk through the Atlanta airport. This turned out to be a universal source of amusement for everyone in the know, which turned out to be everyone but Me. Apparently I should have taken one of the train things labeled Gates A, B, C, etc. instead of persistently plodding toward the signs that said Ground Transportation, with alluring pictograms of taxis.

About a day later, I arrived at the taxi stand and was swept on my way to the hotel. The traffic was as bad as I remembered from my epic drive to Florida a few years ago, though still a total delight compared to LA.

At the hotel, I was thrilled to see a beacon of hope. A Starbucks! Right in the lobby! I ordered a small coffee, and perhaps due to the alarming demeanor of a girl who had had no sleep while wedged into a tiny airplane seat all night, he asked me no questions in return, but simply put a warm cup of hope in my hand, becoming my new best friend.

I took the great glass elevator to my room on the 27th floor, which featured floor to ceiling windows, as you see above. I repaired face and hair, put on dress up shoes, and prepared to impersonate a responsible adult.

It was a short walk to the building where the meeting was to take place:

The lobby was quite lovely:

The meetings took up most of the day and went very well. Yes, I still have to write up my report on it along with the rest of the third quarter reporting, but I’m not going to think about that now. One of the ladies I met with walked me to the nearest branch of my bank, where a kindly gentleman issued a temporary card for me and printed out a list of recent transactions.

About 75% of them were not mine. When I got back to the hotel, I called my friends at the Fraud Department to go through them, and what they showed on their system and my print out – just minutes old! – did not match. Needless to say, they showed about half of what was on the print out. I will have to go into a branch and deal with it there. Again, not thinking about that now.

I went back down to the lobby, where I printed out my boarding pass for this morning and discovered that the store with the souvenirs also had wine! They even opened the bottle for me and put the cork back in for the perilous journey in the great glass elevator:

The wonder store in the lobby also had clary sage bath salts, so after checking in with my boss and my sister, I took a long bath with a glass of wine and my MacBook perched on the toilet playing an episode of “Gilmore Girls”. After that, it was time for room service and an early bed.

Now it’s time to head back to the airport. It’s been a good trip.