Suzy Says

We’re not kidding

Well, Megan completed her first full week back at work on this cold, sunny morning.

While she was off, everyone she worked with called to check in on her, including the janitors. Working the night shift brings you close to your colleagues. They know all about each other’s families, ups and downs, and take care of each other on the job. You can imagine her heroine’s welcome back to work last week.

The board showing who was working each night had her name decorated with stars, hearts, and firecrackers all this week.

While my sister was getting back in the swing of things at work, my brother was ignoring his tooth pain to climb down a cliff and rescue an unwitting tourist who got a little too close to the edge of a bluff. Jonathan said that the guy was “broken”, and when I asked what he meant, he listed both shoulders, ankles, legs, etc. The poor guy must have looked like a marionette. Jonathan got a lift by helicopter to the top of the cliff before they took the rescued man to Santa Rosa. I hope he’ll recover from all those injuries.

I’m so proud of my sibs for making a difference in our little community. There’s something truly inspiring about neighbors helping neighbors.

There’s gotta be more trouble I can get into!

Yesterday, I heard someone outside and went to investigate. It turned out to be Mark, who was here to operate on the new-ish window. He applied flashing to weatherproof it, and topped it off with some weathered boards using a magic compressor nail gun, and it looks great. While he was here, we decided to clean up the lingering construction debris which has been hanging around the house.

He drove over with a little wooden cart attached to his car, and we loaded it up twice with boards, wood, etc.I guess it’s one of life’s little ironies that I finally get the house camera-ready when I have no camera.

That situation will be rectified soon. I ordered a Canon Powershot on line for half price, and hope it arrives soon. I’m already missing valuable days of documenting the kittens, who seem to be growing more every day. Roscoe the Rascal lived up to his nickname last night by climbing up the handles of the drawers in the kitchen.

I finally organized the shelf space in the kitchen. It was a repulsive process, since I mislaid my rubber gloves and had to, you know, actually touch the dirt with my bare hands. In typical James fashion, the shelves are difficult to reach into (I am too short for a house built for and by a man more than a foot taller than I am), so I had to sweep out the grossness before crawling into the space to wash it. Not even Mrs. Meyer’s Lemon Verbena could make that more fun. It does look a lot better, though, and hopefully I’ll be able to supply proof before too long. Now that I can’t take pictures*, everything seems like a photo opportunity!

*I have to admit – I keep trying my camera, just in case. Even though it never works.

Bookends

The boys managed to escape when I let Audrey in for the night. You try and find two black cats in the darkness. And country darkness at that. That’s the darkest kind, you know. It’s the French Roast of night.

I went and got one of the emergency lights I keep on hand for the inevitable winter power outages, along with some kitten food and treats. One of them had raced off into the bushes, and the other was under the house, despite the fact that everyone told me they wouldn’t venture far at this age and would stay close to me.

Yeah.

Eventually, I caught them one by one and trapped them in the bathroom while luring Audrey in. I let her eat her treats in peace for once, and then released the rowdies, who were unperturbed by their evening adventure. Whereas I needed an immediate cocktail.

In non-kitten news, Jessica is now enrolled at the excellent school just down the road. She and her mother completed enrollment yesterday and then came by for a little visit. Apparently Jessica’s reading level is now at eighth grade, though she is just entering second grade. While Erica and the teacher were discussing this, Jessica piped up, saying “Spelling isn’t my strong suit.” You have to manage people’s expectations.

Erica is going to have a mighty long list of people who can pick Jessica up from school. I’m looking forward to spending more time with her.

Yesterday, Megan came up with a bright idea. She had a physio appointment in town, so she suggested that I accompany her to our friend Lu’s house and work there.

Lu’s house has the advantage of being significantly cooler, since it’s closer to the ocean, and also boasts high speed internet (sigh*) which (gasp) actually works. Lu and Rik were at work, so I’d have the place to myself. What’s not to love?

I packed up my laptop and overdue work, and Megan packed up the dogs. They love going to Lu’s, where there are two fenced acres to play on, and (usually) two dogs to play with. It was nice for them to get away from the heat and be able to play, even though their buddies Harlow and Marco weren’t home that day.

Megan made sure I was all set up before she left. It was delightful to sit in Lu’s sunny, spacious kitchen (a delicious 68 degrees, and proof that yes, it can be sunny and not be hot – I’m talking to you, Ma Nature!) and enjoy the speed of the interwebs. I’m used to waiting for things to load in our on-line database, but it was practically instant. I was amazed by how much I got done, and how quickly.

Occasionally, Star wandered in for pets and then wandered out again. I checked on the dogs occasionally, but they were busy doing their own thing, Schatzi hunting gophers and Star foraging for leftover pancakes in the compost. By the time Megan came back, I was finished and much more relaxed. As my father used to say, quoting the immortal Gilbert & Sullivan: “Oh! philosophers may sing/ Of the troubles of a king/ But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none/ And the culminating pleasure/ Which we treasure beyond measure Is the satisfying feeling that our duty has been done.”

When we got home, it was getting noticeably cooler. We had a couple of Mike’s raspberry Margaritas while making chicken Caesar salad wraps for dinner. No cooking required!

*Megan says that when I’m stressed or upset, I sigh a lot. I had no idea. I didn’t even know I was doing it. Apparently my sighing on Tuesday was so bad that it inspired her to come up with the Lu’s house scheme. So if you hear me sigh, look out.

A simple solution

Yikes. Audrey woke me up around 6:00 this morning, making a really scary howling noise (not to be mistaken for her “get lost, boys” growl, which I am hearing right now as I type this). I came downstairs and found her in front of the sliding glass doors in the living room, her fur and tail all puffed out.

I turned on the outside light, but couldn’t see anything out there, so I went out to see for myself. I expected at least a raccoon, but nothing. In the back of my mind, I hoped it would be June Bug and Audrey was trying to alert me to her return in a cinematic fashion, but once again, real life turned out to be disappointingly unlike the movies.

The boys were concerned (or curious), and kept approaching her, despite the constant rebuffs. Audrey was determined to go out, and I was determined to keep her in, even though her fur had deflated by this time.

I know it’s slightly irrational, and mountain lions and other predators don’t punch their time cards and clock out at 6:30, but I have to wait until it’s fairly light outside before I allow Audrey out.

Imagine how much fun it’s going to be keeping three of them in the house all night.

It’s already bad enough keeping the boys in during the day. About two days after their adoption and baptisms, the weather abruptly changed from silvery and cool to sunny and hot. Most people have been referring to this summer as “the summer that never was”, whereas to me it’s been close to an ideal summer, not least because it has kept the wildfires down and my brother out of danger.

One of the many eccentricities of James’s eccentric architectural style is the almost complete lack of windows that actually open. In my house, the only one that opens is in the shower, where, you know, you don’t really need it, especially in winter. The windows in Megan’s house and Jonathan’s former abode don’t open at all. To get any ventilation in our houses, we have to leave the doors open, which is not conducive to keeping cats in. So while I have six doors in the house, I couldn’t open them. Water, water everywhere, but nary a drop to drink!

Needless to say, it was Rob to the rescue.

He came over bearing a wooden baby gate, which he placed in the balcony door, facing west. A couple of minutes later, he appeared at the sliding glass doors of the living room (facing east), and put a metal grid in it (see above). The metal grid used to be outside the pantry door, to scrape boots on in the winter, but it makes a great screen. He then got a ladder and turned the switch on the ceiling fan so it supposedly cools the air*. He found the baby gate at the dump, so everything was free! Also, I hadn’t said a word to him about it, but I guess it all comes of his knowing me for most of his life.

*I can’t tell the difference, but I also couldn’t tell that it drew the warm air up in the winter, so maybe it’s Me. Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling, as my grandmother used to say.

People complain these days, and maybe rightly, about the downside of social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, but there are good things about it, too.

Just this morning, I learned the following on Facebook:

• A friend and his girlfriend became first-time parents;
• A friend’s beloved only brother returned safely home from serving in Afghanistan;
• A friend’s sister had successful surgery for cancer, with a very positive outlook for the future;
• A friend arrived safely in his native country, to which he is returning after many years abroad, and where he and his long-time partner are building a new home and new life together.

That’s a lot of good news for one day, from all over the world. Way to start Friday the 13th!

Meanwhile, back in Suzy world…

I’m getting swampéed with emails from money managers. One of the trade rags published an article saying that one of our clients might possibly be looking for a new money manager sometime, maybe, and listed my name and email address. Après moi, le déluge. Also, they all seemed to miss the fact that it’s only a possibility, and may or may not happen. No matter how many I answer, there are still more. It’s the Sorcerer’s Apprentice of email!

To escape my inbox, I went to town yesterday. It was still pretty early, thanks to Audrey and the still-invisible mouse, so the Safeway was delightfully unpopulated. You would be surprised by how busy it usually is, considering the town only has 5,000 residents.

I was trying vainly to reach something on an upper shelf, and someone actually came over and helped me. Imagine. I have to admit that I’m not above being a helpless girl when it suits my purposes. I might as well enjoy it, since my cuteness has a rapidly-approaching expiration date of its own.

When I got in line, there was only one person ahead of me. Behind me there was a pushy broad with a giant bottle of Pepsi. Why she didn’t use the express lane, which was wide open and unpopulated at that early hour, is beyond me. Same goes for why she kept shoving her cart into me, including when I was trying to pay for my hard-won groceries. I get extra credit for not saying a thing.

On the way home, I stopped in to see my brother. I had a bunch of mail for him – we all share one mailbox – and I wanted to see how the water heater replacement was coming along. Slowly, it turned out, but hopefully he’ll get it fixed soon. While I was there, I visited Henry, who is sleeping peacefully under her tree, and checked on the bees.

I could see where the phrase “busy as a bee” comes from*, since the bees were very active. You should have heard the happy humming coming from the hive! The returning bees were so loaded down with pollen that they could hardly fly. My brother has given them a little bucket of water with a screen in it, so they can drink without drowning. They seem to be thriving. Now all we have to do is decide how to treat them to prevent mites this winter: the organic way, or the chemical way. We’re leaning toward organic. Though we may lose more, the ones that survive will be stronger. Darwinism in our own backyard.

*Turns out it’s Chaucer! So it’s a very old phrase. I guess bees haven’t changed their ways much over the past 700 years.

I was walking by my front door this morning when I glanced outside and noticed Schatzi. I went outside, and before I could even pet her, she was joined by the always bouncy Star. I don’t think anyone has ever been as happy to see me as that dog is, even though I don’t live with her or feed her or anything. She can’t stop jumping on me and kissing me. Maybe Megan should keep her, just for my ego’s sake.

With the dogs prancing around me, I returned them to Megan’s house. On the way, I regretted wearing my amethyst velvet slippers and kitty PJs, since the huckleberry bushes were soaked with dew, or fog, or both.

Will I ever have appropriate country footwear on for any occasion?

After I delivered the dogs, I went back home and got back to work. I had a conference call with my far-flung co-workers, and during the call I pondered the fact that I will wear my PJs during team calls, but not when I’m talking to anyone outside the firm. Even though no-one can see me.

Go figure.

Fortunately, I was dressed when the sheriff showed up. I heard a car pull up and then a knock at the door. No-one ever knocks around here, from dogs to people, so I knew it would be a stranger. I didn’t expect it to be law enforcement, asking for my sister. She was in town getting physio, and I couldn’t reach her by cell phone, so I asked him if I could help.

He said that Megan is a witness in an animal cruelty case, and he has to give her the paperwork in person. I took his phone number and he went on his way. It’s surprising how unnerving a visit from the Law can be, even when they look about 18* and you are, relatively speaking, law-abiding.

Later, I was talking on the phone to Erica, about the kinds of things girls do (school; kids; the power of cleavage) when I saw my brother’s car pull up. I don’t see him as often as you’d think, mostly because of his hectic schedule of working and being a firefighter, so it was a nice surprise. He borrowed a couple of movies and headed home to get some much-needed rest.

He spent 26 straight hours looking for the missing woman over the weekend, and when he got home from that, discovered that his hot water heater had exploded, drenching all his camping gear. My brother used to be a serious camper, even camping in the Sierras in the winter, so his gear is good and was quite an investment. He was able to hang it out to dry, but now he’s living (hopefully temporarily) without hot water. No good deed goes unpunished!

*His obvious youth reminded me of how my father used to say “The bottles get smaller and smaller, and the policemen look like little boys.” I now realize that he was not, in fact, kidding.

Notice anything different?

While I was marooned on the couch with my backache this weekend, Mark and a friend of his put a window in my house! It sheds some much-needed light on the studio and the many things which still need to be organized and put away in there. One good thing about being incapacitated is you have a great excuse not to do anything. On the other hand, all that laundry and tidying is just waiting there for me when I feel better.

Time is not on my side.

While the window was being installed, my brother and his fellow firefighters were searching for an elderly woman who went missing while walking her dog. She suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, and this is not the first time she has wandered off. I have to say I was surprised by the hue and cry, though. The local search and rescue personnel were supplemented by local civilians and officials from outside the county.

Helicopters barely skimmed the tops of the trees, and it sounded like a war zone out there. Or Oakland. You’d think they were looking for the Lindbergh baby.

I’m pleased to report that both the woman and her dog were found after two days of searching, alive and as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

Never a dull moment around here!

Yesterday, the shower only turned icy cold twice. And I wasn’t shaving my armpits or trying to rinse off conditioner (a near-impossible feat in cold water), so, you know, score!

As I stood away from the frigid trickle, choosing the cold air over the cold water, I tried not to think about all the water I was wasting waiting for it to get warm again, and instead wondered what the hell was up with it. This has been a problem ever since Mark overhauled the water system on the property. I mentioned it to him, and he said to call him when it happens. But even if I had a phone in my bathroom, I think I’d refrain for both our sakes.

Megan, Rob, the dogs and I carpooled greenly to town as my hair dried. I felt like a kid in the back seat, while Megan and Rob discussed car repairs and other grown-up topics in the front seat. Even though I’m older than they are. Schatzi curled up in her dainty fashion, while Star took up most of the seat and sprawled all over me. She is under the illusion that she is a lap dog. Also, I think the person who comes up with a way to train dogs not to lick you all the time would make a million billion dollars.

Megan and I checked out the local pool, which is new and fancy. It even has a bathing suit wringing machine in the ladies’ locker room. How’s that for modern science? Their pricing info runs to two pages, so I will have to study it carefully before I can figure out if I can afford it or not.

Although the library emailed me yesterday to tell me that I have several items waiting for me there, they were closed at the time, so I couldn’t pick them up. I imagine my annoyance at this is equalled by the librarians’, who have Friday and Monday off, but not Saturday.

Megan dropped Rob off and then me, while she went to hang out with Monica and talk about dogs. I unfortunately had to have a check-up, which meant wasting valuable hours of what’s left of my life, first in a waiting room equipped with hunting and fishing magazines, along with “American Cheerleader” (“Your best pep rally ever!”), which failed to cheer me in the slightest, and then in a hot little examining room. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wear one of those dignity-destroying little people wrappers.

One of my many high school boyfriends* had a father who was a doctor, and he told me that however many exam rooms they have is how many patients they book for that time, hence the endless waits at the doctor’s office. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I certainly had enough time to consider that and how you truly realize how downwardly mobile you are when you have to go to a clinic with all the other uninsured dregs of society. I looked back on my days of doctors, dentists and specialists with elegant offices and glossy magazines in their tasteful San Francisco waiting rooms and could barely hold back the tears.

One thing I have learned the hard and expensive way is that when you don’t have money, that means you have to pay more. Can’t pay the entire, enormous Amerigas bill? You get to pay additional service charges as you pay it off! Don’t have health insurance and can’t afford to get any? You get to pay $70 for sitting around the clinic surrounded by howling babies and homeless people. Yay! Because you make too much money to get a discount. You make too much money for anything like that, though mysteriously, not enough to pay all your bills and rent. Just another of life’s bitter little mysteries.

*I may have taken him to the curb prematurely. His parents had two Rolls Royces and invitations to every coronation from Queen Victoria onward. Also, he now works at NBC-Universal in London.

The mostly dead wisteria vine

And today, on Wild Kingdom…

When I took the coffeepot out to fill it with water, a little moth fluttered in. I had to persuade it to leave. If it had stayed, it probably could have flown to the moon unaided, since the coffee I made was totally atomic. I accidentally bought ground coffee, and was unwilling to drive for over an hour to correct the error. Unfortunately, it has been so long since I dealt with pre-ground coffee that I have no idea how much to put in the filter. Nor am I inclined to overthink this in a pre-caffeinated state.

My usual MO is to fill up my trusty coffee grinder with beans. However much that is turns out to be the exact right amount, as is so often the case when I cook. Half an onion? Exactly what I needed! Some leftover cilantro? The perfect addition to burritos! However, this was not the case with the ground coffee. A coffee grinder full is too much. The coffee was so strong that I actually had to water it down, making my very own, teeny little Americano.

While I was still waking up, Star came bursting through the front door, left open for my and Audrey’s mutual convenience. She raced across the room, kissed my surprised nose, and then jumped up on the couch next to me and curled up, settling in as if she lived here. It was super cute, and took less time to happen than for you to read about it.

Then the phone rang. You know how parents always ruin your fun. They came and got her before we had a chance to do each other’s nails.

After Star went home, I went to feed Audrey, only to see a lizard scuttling under the washing machine. I thoughtfully left the door open for him, considering not for the first time how blurred the line is between indoors and outdoors here. In fact, there may well be no line at all.

It turned out that Audrey was otherwise occupied anyway. She came trotting into the yard outside the sliding glass doors with a snake writhing in her mouth. I know that the snakes around here are harmless, but that doesn’t make them any less gross, or unwelcome in my house, whether alive and sliming or dead and flaccid. She played with it for a while, and then got bored and went to do something else.

It wasn’t just to keep the snake where it belonged that I shut the sliding glass doors. Really. It was because of the hummingbird which was feeding off the honeysuckle right outside them. He kept buzzing perilously near the open door, and I don’t know about you, but I didn’t want to try and catch something that can fly 30 mph (and dive at 60). It was fun to watch him zooming around and hovering, though.

Later, I caught myself brushing a spiderweb* off the (mostly) dead wisteria outside and wondered if the crazy gene has finally caught up with me. Megan and Rob both assure me that it’s not really dead and there’s new growth coming along, but it sure looks dead to me. I’d like to get a cutting of the jasmine that covers part of their house and train it up the dead(ish) vine. Imagine how great the honeysuckle and jasmine would smell together!

*Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just gave up on my constant spiderweb removal. How long would it take until this looked like the Addams’ Family’s vacation home?

Remember the great driveway project?

Looks like it’s finally complete.

Today, a giant blue truck came rumbling down the dusty driveway, merrily snapping the power line and depositing gravel as it went. Mark temporarily fixed the electrical line, which was draped precariously from my house into the trees, as a tractor came by to smooth out the gravel:

Here’s a “before” picture:

And here’s the “after”:

It looks nice, doesn’t it? I’m so glad that the crazy potholes, leaking water pipes, summer puff dust (which coats the inside and outside of your car) and winter mud are all a thing of the past.

While reading in bed this morning (the spooky and engrossing The Little Stranger, by Sarah Waters), it occurred to me that I have quite nice views from the comfort of my bed. Let’s see if you agree:

The skylight at the foot of my bed. Ironically, the sunlight pouring through it makes the room look dark in the picture, though not in real life. Go figure.

Looking to the right from my bed. The skylight is at the far left of the picture. The sleeping loft looks down on the living area.

The door to the balcony at the front of the house is to the left.

Not a bad place to be on a sunny Sunday morning.

Proof, if any were needed, that sloth always wins out with me:

It’s about 47 foggy degrees outside, and about 55 inside. I’m wearing my morning sweater and waiting for coffee to brew, but I have the sliding glass doors slightly open, and the front door, too. Why? Because I let Audrey out at 6:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep, and I know that as soon as I get comfortable, she’ll be asking to be let in one door and out the other, so I’d rather just leave the doors open than resume doorman duty.

See? Sloth over comfort!

Part of the reason I couldn’t get back to sleep was that Audrey woke me up from a dream about June Bug. In my dream, Audrey clawing at the door to go out in real life was June clawing at the door to come in. I could see her beautiful fur through the glass panes of the door, and it all seemed so real. As usual in dreamland, it was all a big mistake. I lay there for a while, regretting my stupidity for the zillionth time, and then decided I might as well get up and get on with the day.

I can see that it’s going to be sunny here pretty soon. If I can get my work done in time for the narrow window that the farmers’ market is open, my non-slothful sis and I will venture out together for the first time in two weeks. I’m pleased to report that she drove the hour and a half home from Willits with no adverse effects, so she’s definitely on the mend. The surgeon has to sign off on her being ready to go back to work, so it looks like she’ll be back at work in early September, with lots to tell the class about what she did on her summer vacation.

Cherry pie moderne

The truth is that I was running out of Crisco and didn’t really have enough dough to make the traditional lattice. I like how this looks, though. And it tasted pretty good, too.

I hate running out of things. I was like that before I moved to Hooterville, where running out of things is much more serious than it is in the city. It’s more than five miles to the nearest store, and it closes at 7:00, so if you’re out of butter or wine or some other essential at 7:05, you’re also out of luck unless your sister happens to have some.

Between us, Megan and I can come up with the ingredients for most things, since she also hates running out of things and we tend to keep our pantries pretty well stocked. And Dad instilled in both of us a horror of wasting food.

Yesterday, we made one of our favorites, ribollita soup. Despite being virtuous to an almost obnoxious degree, being cheap, easy to make, and good for you, it is delicious.

Ribollita Soup

About 3 tbsp. olive oil, divided
1/2 onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced (we used four)
2 medium carrots, chopped into 1/2-in. pieces
2 celery stalks, chopped into 1-in. pieces
1 1/2 qts. chicken broth
1 can (15 oz.) cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
4 whole canned tomatoes, diced, plus some juice (we used a can of chopped tomatoes and most of the juice)
1 cup chopped spinach
4 cups rough-textured day-old bread (such as ciabatta), ripped into 1 1/2-in. pieces (we used Costeaux bakery’s garlic and rosemary crostini)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Parmesan cheese

Heat 1 tbsp. olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add onion and garlic; cook until transparent, about 5 minutes. Add carrots and celery and cook, stirring often, 5 minutes. (We just cooked them all together at once.) Stir in broth and beans, then bring to a boil. If you have some white wine on hand that you’re willing to spare, pour some in! Reduce heat, cover, and simmer about 15 minutes. Add tomatoes and simmer another 15 minutes, covered.

Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350°. Lay bread pieces on a rimmed baking sheet in a single layer. Drizzle with remaining 2 tbsp. olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Toast in oven until slightly golden, about 10 minutes. Set croutons aside. You can see why just buying crostini at the local store is much easier.

Just before serving, add spinach and cook until wilted. Season to taste with salt and pepper. If you have some cilantro or basil, you could throw that in, too.

Divide soup among serving bowls and top each with a few warm croutons and Parmesan. Enjoy!

A misty morning at Woodhaven

~Yawn~

Audrey’s been pretty good about her nightly imprisonment. She generally comes in on her own before dark, settling on the bed for her beauty sleep while I watch old movies to escape the present. She usually doesn’t wake me up before dawn, though today she was determined to go out at 5:45 am, whereas I was determined to stay asleep.

Guess who won.

It’s very foggy this morning, so we compromised by letting her out at 6:05, when it was essentially light out, but the fog created a sort of faux-darkness. I even had the light on while I made coffee, as well as a sweater. It was 58 degrees in the house this morning, and as I waited for the coffee to brew, I pondered the fact that if it were winter, I’d put the heat on, instead of leaving the door open a crack to let Princess Audrey in and out.

Go figure.

Yesterday, I did three loads of laundry (light, dark, and Megan). I virtuously hung out my laundry and put Megan’s in the slightly scary dryer. About 3:00, the fog rolled in to the point where it was making the laundry wetter, not dryer, to be outside, so I ended up putting it all in the dryer, propane bill be damned.

So much for being green-ish.

While I was doing laundry, Megan and Rob were winding their way up and down the curvaceous challenges of Highway 20, on their way to visit the surgeon who operated on Meg a week ago. He took out the stitches, some of which were quite recalcitrant, and said she was doing well. She’ll see him again in late August, when he’ll give her a final check before letting her go back to work, nearly four months after the original injury, half of that spent dealing with bureaucracy and fighting to get the surgery done.

Audrey sitting in the shower window

You can see that I’m not kidding about the window actually being in the shower, allowing for more opportunities for flashing meter readers than the average house.

In this picture, I have managed to completely avoid showing you any of this past week’s painting endeavors, though I swear I have painted the shower window white, and also the piece of wood crossing the window.

The door to the left leads to the back porch and the outdoor shower.

Today, I peeled the tape off the now-painted many-pained window on the outside and taped the inside. Still to go: the many-pained front door and the electric lime-green floor, plus et ceteras. It’s true that once you start painting, it’s hard to stop. It also makes sense that “pain” is part of “painting”.

I do have the perfect excuse for not painting, though: taking care of Megan as she recovers from her long-awaited knee surgery. This mostly entails the occasional pillow fluff or juice pouring, along with eating junk food and watching “Harry Potter” movies. Sometimes I make dinner and do the dishes. Exhausting.

Yesterday, I did make an express trip to the farmers’ market, which is open for all of two hours one day a week. With Megan’s list in hand, I zipped through the stalls in record time, mentally cursing the idiots who stand in the middle of the aisle in order to converse while taking up the maximum space possible and their buddies who meander across Main Street without bothering to look for cars or other people.

I selected nectarines, plums, blueberries, and goji berries from the controversial fruit people, off in their little corner past the pointed sign saying “Thanks for shopping LOCAL”. I’m sorry, but fruit like that doesn’t grow well on the foggy coast. And if these people, who grew it and picked it themselves, want to bring it here, I’m happy to buy it. They’re really nice people, too.

Next up was local lettuce, onions, our favorite soap from Lovers Lane Farm, a loaf of bread, and I was out of there! I also picked up some corn and tomatoes for me.

I was parked near the new hardware store beside Mendosa’s, so I popped in and asked about floor paint. The friendly and knowledgeable clerk gave me good advice and a great deal on some light grey paint. On my way back home, I stopped in at the local store. Lu had kindly dropped off an industrial ice pack for Megan. I asked the clerk about it, and she called across the store, “Hey – can you get Meg’s ice pack out of the walk-in?” Armed with an ice pack, I resumed my nursing duties and once more marveled at the marvels of small town life.

It seems like the more I paint, the more painting there is to do…

Today I anticipate putting the final coat of paint on the hallway bathroom door and then cleaning up in there (also known as “worse than actually painting”). I still have to paint the many-paned front door and its many-paned side window, both inside and out. Maybe “many-pained” would be a better spelling.

The silvery fog sprites anointed my freshly-painted flash heater with freshly-made fog, so now it’s streaky and has to be repainted when we have a couple of sunny days. Today has started out that way, and we’re probably due for a sunny spell, so I think I can expect to have my brush in hand yet again. So far, this is the fifth day of painting in a row. It’s getting to be a bad habit.

It’s also lacking in the usual feeling of achievement, partly because of the terrible paint jobs of the past leaving daubs and splotches everywhere, which I haven’t added to but which still remain, and partly because of the ongoing problem of the electric lime green floor.

The electric lime green floor (ELGF for short), stretches from the foyer (a somewhat grandiose name for an area which is 42 inches wide and 35 inches deep) through the office nook and into the bathroom, where there used to be livid red doors for it to clash with. It’s plywood, dented, and nailed on unevenly, so it’s pretty much impossible to cover with stick-on tiles, and other flooring options would be too expensive. I’d also have to leave whatever I put there if I move, and I don’t like spending a bunch of money on a house I’m just renting.

Yet my aesthetic sensibility is wounded every day by the hideousness of the ELGF, which is also nearly impossible to clean due to all the flaws in the wood. And it shows the dirt, in a house that’s surrounded by…dirt. Or mud, depending on the season.

It looks like I’m going to have to paint it, too, some neutral shade which will hopefully look less crappy with the “distressed” (i.e. in desperate need of refinishing) wood floor in the living room. At least it’s not plywood.

In non-painting news, I’m awaiting the call from our fabulous brother telling me that our beloved sister’s knee surgery is over. I’m on hold to be her lady-in-waiting today. When she gets home, I’ll be there to fetch and carry and watch Harry Potter movies with her as she recovers.

Vogue and Vanity Fair are my two luxuries. At $12 a year each, they’re affordable luxuries, even for me. However, my luxuries have been letting me down lately. First there was the Vanity Fair cover with the oily soccer guys in terrifying Speedos; then the Vogue with Oprah and Lady Gaga (a hailstorm of mediocrity – and surely one of the silliest celebrity names ever); now Vanity Fair has Angelina Jolie, the most boring celebrity ever, with her incontinent child collecting and tedious personal life; and Vogue has Gwyneth Paltrow, the former It Girl who once said “I’d rather die than let my kid eat Cup-A-Soup”. Now, there’s a girl with her priorities in the right place.

After yet another hard day of painting, my luxuries may have let me down and my patience may have run out, but there are always the consolations of a cocktail, that never-fail attitude adjustor, and petting little Audrey, seen here having a nap in a box in the yard, recently used for spray painting the flash heater’s chimney flat black:

There is nothing Audrey likes better than a good box. Unless it’s a good nap.

Finally, after three days of labor, the outside wall is finished! As a reminder, here’s the “before” picture again:

And here’s the finished product, with the chimney painted, yellow electrical cord hidden, flash heater painted, and masking tape removed:

I think I achieved my goal of “slightly less crappy looking”, don’t you?

If only

I enjoy painting about as much as I’m good at it, but I seem to be on some kind of roll.

Today I painted the border around the window in my office nook, which is conveniently located between the bathroom and the front door. I’m going to put up a matchstick blind there, since the window faces south and tends to be blinding in the afternoon. Otherwise, there’s no need for window treatments, unless you worry about the trees peeking in at you.

In the bathroom, I painted the window inside the shower, and applied primer to the red door which leads to the back porch. Thankfully, the other side of the door is plain wood. I’m planning to paint the bathroom doors and the front door a soft blue. I tried not to despair over the terrible painting jobs of the past while trying not to add to them.

When that was done, I primered the red side of the other bathroom door (the hallway side is blue) and the doorway around it. I was slightly hampered in this by Star’s unexpected cameo, slapping her tail against the paint and bouncing all over the painter. I brought her back to Megan, who was cleaning out her car in preparation for the Jelly Bean Mechanic’s ministrations today. When you have 205,000 miles on your car, it needs a little attention.

When I came back from the dog delivery, I finished off the day’s painting chores and cleaned the brushes. At that point, I realized that I couldn’t take a shower, since the paint on the shower window is still wet. Good thing I have an alternative nearby.

Before

It’s a lovely, sunny Saturday. It seemed like a good day to paint the wall. You know, the one with the flash heater outside and strange, convoluted piping. I should have known better than to start any project during the reign of terror of the comma*, when I tend to be at my crabbiest and least patient – I should have spent the day lying on the couch, watching Marilyn movies, eating PopTarts, bemoaning the utter uselessness of ibuprophen and wondering why everyone acts as if it’s the answer to everything – but I am a) a slow learner; and b) not all that smart. Though I’m apparently the queen of lengthy sentences.

I assembled my appropriately named quart of paint, a brush, a piece of cardboard, painter’s tape, and a small step stool. I figured it would just take an hour or two, easy. In this, as in many things, I was wrong. Fortunately, Rob stopped by to point out the error of my painting ways, such as:

• Don’t wear sandals.
• Use a real ladder, not a step stool.
• Don’t hold the can of paint while you’re painting. Pour some of it into something smaller, in case you Calamity Suzy it.
• It’s a good idea to measure the wall before you buy the paint. That way you’ll actually have enough. Imagine.
• I should have primed the wall first. Oh, well.
• Clean off the spider webs and dirt before applying painter’s tape.
• Yes, it is gross.

  And I thought I’d done so well in picking out a nice color and telling the guy it was for an exterior. I’m convinced that this, among many other things, is in that grown-up manual I never got.

  It soon became apparent that a quart would not be enough, especially when painting this weird chipboard stuff, which lived up to its name by chipping and peeling at every opportunity. It’s also thirstier than F. Scott Fitzgerald after a particularly grueling day of screenwriting.

  While I was swearing and daubing, Rob removed the bright aluminum thing from the top of the flash heater and is spray painting it for me. He also removed the decaying lattice over the bathroom window and rerouted and hid whatever that yellow cord was on the wood part of the wall.

  While we were doing that, Star was escaping from Rob’s backyard, bounding into the middle of the proceedings, annoying Audrey and making her puff up to about six times her size. She clawed and hissed at Star until Rob tied Star up. Audrey sat just out of range, giving Star the stinkiest stink eye you’ve ever seen. Audrey has become much more territorial in this post-June world, and now growls and claws at any dog she sees.

  I’ve used up all the paint, so I can’t post an “after” picture until I go to town and get more paint (don’t hold your breath). But here’s a “during” photo:

  

  *I’m not calling it a period anymore, because that suggests an end to something. Whereas a comma suggests a series of things, possibly even an unending series of things, which is the way things seem to be going.