Suzy Says

Rob is doing pretty well. He admits to his pain being about a 5 on a scale of 10, which means it’s probably more like a 7. It’s bad enough for him to actually be taking the pain meds he brought home from the hospital. He usually shuns them like the plague. The anesthesiologist, looking at his chart before the operation, said that he had done “a remarkable job of avoiding opiates”. But having your throat slashed open and people rooting around in your spine for a few hours can be attitude changing.

I have to admit that just seeing him walk over to my house, while it makes me nervous, also makes me glad that he’s not paralyzed or worse. We were lucky that Megan did so much research and found such an excellent surgical team.

In about 6 weeks, Rob will go back and they’ll check him out. Hopefully he’ll get the all-clear to do more than Nothing, which he is not good at doing.

While Rob’s been doing Nothing, I’ve been trying to catch up on my jobs. It’s been hard and I’ve been more tired than I’ve been since the long vigil at Mom’s bedside. I guess hospital time will do that to you.

Tomorrow is Megan and Rob’s 20th wedding anniversary. We have a lot to celebrate.

Sleeping shop cat in the Castro

While we were away, Jonathan was on pet patrol. It turned out to be a lot more complicated than he thought.

Early one morning, he woke up freezing, only to discover that his door was wide open. Star was sleeping peacefully, but Schatzi had apparently pushed the door open and escaped.

It’s hard to find a deaf dog in the pre-dawn country darkness. He eventually found her shivering in her own backyard. She happily hopped into his car, and he added a long training leash to the backseat before taking her back to his place. Schatzi spent the rest of the day on the long, long leash if she was outside, or not, if she was inside.

That evening, she asked to go out and pee. As soon as she was out, she made a break for it. Jonathan clapped to get her to come back while scrambling into his shoes to chase her. By then, she had a good lead, and by the time he got in the car to go after her, she vanished.

He spent all night looking for her to no avail. Finally, he called Megan in hysterics early in the morning to tell her that Schatzi was lost. It takes a lot to make him cry, but we all know how Megan adores her dogs. It must have been one of the worst nights of his life.

Megan told Jonathan not to worry, and he kept looking for Schatzi. Eventually, he found her sleeping in her garden as if nothing had happened. He shut her in the house anyway, since we were coming back that day. Checking on her later, he found her in the garden again. He was sure that the doors were closed, but checked them again, just in case.

They were.

This time he just left her outside, since we were due home in a couple of hours.

Guess how she got out?

She went upstairs, climbed up on a chest and through the window which is open for Harriet and Ramona, Megan and Rob’s cats. Then, like the cats, she jumped to the ground from the porch roof outside the window. With her fragile old bones. There’s a good idea.

She did make it, though she needed extra pain meds that night. Nothing like an old dog who can learn new tricks, is there? Maybe we should re-name her Houdini!

Evening in the Haight

I can tell I’m back home because I’m sneezing my head off. It was nice having a break from my allergies. Apparently cement sidewalks, skyscrapers, and Victorians are hypoallergenic. Who knew?

I also managed to sleep through an earthquake, centered about a mile from beautiful downtown Charlottesville. It was a relatively petite one, at 2.9 on the Richter scale.

Welcome home!

We left the hospital sometime between 10:30 and 11:00 yesterday morning. Dates and times became blurred this week. Somehow it seemed like we had been there a week after the first day, and the time between Rob being wheeled away and getting the call to the recovery room seemed interminable.

Originally, they said he would be moved to a regular ward from the neurology danger ward (I can’t remember its real name, but it’s one step down from intensive care. In Hospital World, being downgraded means you’re doing better), but a bed never opened up, so they released him from there. Just like the last time, when we arrived to pick him up, he was fully dressed and waiting. There was more waiting to be done, though: getting pain meds, getting paperwork, etc.

Waiting is something that does not get easier with practice.

But finally we were on the road, heading though the silvery wisps of fog on the Golden Gate Bridge to the oppressive heat of Santa Rosa and Cloverdale. Hooterville had never looked as lovely as it did in yesterday’s late afternoon sun.

So far, Rob is doing well. I saw him today and he said the pain was less than it was before the surgery. Now the hard part: making him sit around and do nothing for the next 6-8 weeks. He actually asked Megan to stop at the hardware store on our way home so he could buy some mesh for the beehive.

He seemed both surprised and disappointed at our immediate veto.

It’s going to be a long summer.

Victorian with Bougainvillea

Usually, I don’t enjoy being woken up by the phone. But when it’s my sister, saying Rob is being released from the hospital today, I do.

We’re not sure exactly when, so we’ll pack up Miss Scarlett (who has remained ticket-free while semi-illegally parked at our friend Clayton’s place all week), and head up to the hospital and wait. That’s why they have waiting rooms, right?

When we saw Rob yesterday, he was bright and chipper, able to walk around the floor and eat by himself. One of the things they worry about post-op is his ability to swallow after shoving a giant tube down his throat during the surgery, and he’s fortunately fine. He said his pain was actually less than it was last time, so everything seemed pretty good.

It did kind of amaze me that this was less than 24 hours after having his spine operated on, though. I guess science and Rob are an unbeatable combination.

Sonoma barn*

I’m coming to you from the waiting room at UCSF. As hospitals go, it’s pretty nice. There’s a huge flat screen TV in the waiting room, as well as comfortably upholstered chairs and remarkably tasteful carpet. It doesn’t even have that hospital smell we all know and hate.

A little kid just left the waiting room with his mother. He turned at the door and called out to the rest of us, “Bye! Have a nice day!”

As I write, Rob is out of surgery. Megan ran out of here as soon as the receptionist called her name. She is reactivating Rob’s insulin pump, which was turned off during the long surgery. At least we know he made it through the operation, though I haven’t seen him yet. I can’t wait to see him and make sure he can move his hands and feet and is otherwise OK.

I’m really glad I was able to go with Megan and keep her company during the whole ordeal. She is strong and brave, but it’s been so hard.

When we arrived at the hospital yesterday after a long, hot drive for the pre-op festivities, they told us we didn’t have an appointment that day. They said that the appointment was for 2:00 today, or hours after Rob’s surgery was scheduled. They did fit him in though. The person who scheduled the appointment (or not) told us to be here at 10:00 this morning. The hospital computer said 11:00. So we got here at 10:00, just in case.

Around 11:00, we went with Rob to the pre-op area, where he changed into the gown, answered a zillion questions, filled out forms, and met his surgical team. They all seemed great, and I really felt that our precious Rob was in good hands. Despite the stress and worry, I couldn’t help noticing how cute the nurses were, which may well make me the most shallow person on earth.

Around quarter to twelve, they wheeled him away, always a horrifying moment. We went with him as far as we could, and watched him vanish around the corner.

We decided to go out and walk around the Haight – sitting around the hospital seemed unbearable. Then we came back, had a surprisingly good and inexpensive lunch at the hospital cafeteria, and checked in with the receptionist to see how Rob was doing. He was almost out of surgery then.

So now I just have to wait for Megan to come back and get me, and I’ll go and give Rob a careful kiss and see with my own eyes that he’s all right. Thanks for your thoughts, prayers, emails, texts, and calls. They mean so much.

*I’ve always wanted to get a picture of this barn outside Cloverdale – this was the best I could do.

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.

The finished product

The sharp-eyed among you may have noticed the frying pan on the stove in an earlier entry. In it was my attempt at one of the vaguest recipes I have ever attempted. It was one of Rose’s, and her daughter gave it to me to try. As one who doesn’t measure much, I have sympathy for a certain imprecision when it comes to amounts, but this was a little bit of a challenge.

For one thing, it didn’t say how much chicken* to start with. Other than that, it said 1 leek (I substituted shallot, since I had it and I doubt if the Hooterville store has leeks), 2 apples (“cut in squares”) and chicken broth (but now how much). Here’s the recipe:

Curry Chicken!

Brown the chicken in oil. Take out from the skillet.

1 leek

2-3 apples in squares, add.

2 tablespoons curry powder, add!

Fill with chicken broth. Add chicken. Let it boil 20 minutes in low temp. Eat with white rice.

I browned the chicken with the shallots and apples in a little canola oil. I have to admit that I have a horror of undercooked onions, and I thought the whole thing would taste better if everything was browned first. I used broth from my freezer and I had curry powder, though not the curry powder I wanted. Actually, when I was in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago, I looked all over for Sharwood’s, the curry powder of my youth, but could not find it. I ended up adding an extra tablespoon while remembering the curries Dad used to make for us in my long-ago youth.

The recipe turned out well, and I’d recommend trying it. Also, it was nice to make Rose’s recipe in her kitchen. It’s funny: I do tend to be superstitious, and I liked Rose tremendously, but I never feel haunted at all by her presence. If anything, I feel comforted and friendly. As Mark said at her funeral fiesta nearly two years ago, “She is everywhere here.”

*And I felt pretty damn guilty after seeing the pretty neighbor chickens, I can tell you.

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.

Roscoe and Clyde turned one year old yesterday! Can you believe it? It seems like just yesterday that I brought them home from the shelter.

They were so tiny:

Either they’ve gotten bigger, or their bed has gotten smaller:

I’m glad that they still cuddle up with each other and play together.

To celebrate the momentous occasion, everyone got fancy canned food. The rottens, to borrow my friend Amber’s affectionate name for her children, decided to dine al fresco. It was a lovely evening.

So lovely, in fact, that Roscoe refused to come in. So the rest of us had to go bed without him, leaving all the outside lights on and hoping for the best. He turned up just before 2:00 am, ready for a snack and a nap.

They grow up so fast!

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.

Updates: The car is fixed! It seems to be working well. So far, so good. If it doesn’t rain – a fairly big “if” – Megan and I will test drive it to the farmers’ market this afternoon.

Also, A is now allowed home on weekends, though she spends the rest of her time at a rehab center. She still has no feeling in her feet and walks with two canes or a walker. She’s getting pretty impatient with the slowness of recovery, not surprising for a girl who’s spent the entire YEAR in hospitals. I still can’t believe it really happened, while being simultaneously relieved and delighted that she is still with us. Thanks to everyone for your support and caring.

And now, back to our (ir)regularly scheduled program….

While spring cleaning (sort of) a couple of weeks ago, I came across a treasure which I’d forgotten about. I’m not sure what you call it, but it’s from a Toronto streetcar, long ago. Back in the days when you had to crank a roll of fabric to the correct destination. Now that I think about it, I saw one – in better condition – selling for piles of loonies in a gallery not far from my old abode when I still lived in the T.

Anyway…it occurred to me that someone with a certain amount of talent and savoir fare – say, for example, Rob – might be able to find a way to display it in my current residence, curved walls and all. He rose to the challenge, as always, and here you see it in its new location:

Here’s the whole thing, in all its vintage glory:

I kind of like it that I have Toronto on one side of the room and San Francisco on the other – my own east and west coasts, as it were.

And speaking of Toronto: the jobette led to me to a website where I learned that my former home was the National Casket Company, and that it’s a heritage building. There are some great photos* of the building on the website, which is fun to browse, too.

And how, you are wondering, did the jobette in Charlottesville lead to my old place in Toronto? Here’s how. Someone emailed a request for brochures to be sent to a certain address in Toronto (which turned out to be in a posh neighborhood), but forgot their postal code. So I Googled it, and the link I clicked turned out to be a list of heritage buildings. I scrolled through it looking for Posh Street, and passed my old street on the way. Imagine my surprise when I saw it was in fact my old building.

Small world, isn’t it?

*If you look carefully at the photo with the CN Tower, you will see a little brown cottage. That’s where June and Audrey were born and their mother still lives.

It hasn’t all been rain and grumpiness and car trouble, though it is still raining and the car repair is still in progress.

Megan and Rob took care of some neighbors’ sheep and chickens last week, so naturally I had to go over and check out the place, especially since the sheep had just given birth. Two of the ladies had twins! Also, the oldest sheep, whose pregnancy was a surprise, gave birth the day before the neighbors left, to Megan’s great relief. No amount of ambulance experience can prepare you for barnyard births, especially complicated ones. Fortunately, all mothers and babies are fine, as you can see here:

When those little guys are hungry, they are determined! They butted their mothers’ bellies quite hard, but Megan says that makes the milk flow better. You can see one set of twins on the left:

The mothers were incredibly loud. I don’t know if they were saying “Get away from my babies” or “Give me some food” or “What the hell are you looking at?”, but it was surprising in volume. I tried to take a movie of them, and they immediately quietened down for their close-up, but you can hear some of it near the end. For some reason, I could post it on Facebook, but not here. Click to watch!

Steven Spielberg has nothing to fear.

It wasn’t all sheep, though. We stopped to nibble some strawberries – though carefully protected against birds, they were no match for us:

And the chickens were so pretty:

From the house, there’s a distant view of the ocean:

Though it’s hard to tell with the clouds and fog. You’ll just have to trust me.

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.