Suzy Says

Farewell, 2012

It’s really fun going back and seeing what happened during the year, even if it wasn’t that great a year, like this one. Pay cuts and grand jury summons do not make for a good year. Hopefully the new one will also be improved.

Power outages: 6, including one in October due to someone driving into a power pole at 8:30 am – go figure – and two from a big storm in late November.

Rainfall: 24.20 inches for the season so far, vs. 11 inches this time last year.

Books read: 103 (vs. last year’s 118). Working more means reading less.

Favorites this year were Damien Echols’ astonishing, moving memoir, Life After Death; Gillian Flynn’s clever Gone Girl; William Landay’s surprising Defending Jacob; James M. Cain’s just-discovered final novel The Cocktail Waitress; Jess Walter’s Beautiful Ruins; and the beautifully written and moving Stoner (it’s not what you think).

Trips to San Francisco: 3. I went 4 times in 2011, but one of those was to keep Megan company while Rob endured more spinal surgery, so that doesn’t really count. I’m starting the new year off right by heading to San Francisco tomorrow morning for a few days to meet up with my boss/partner and make some plans for the future. And maybe do some shopping…

As for this year:

January: Hockey, Suzy-style. Little did I realize there wouldn’t be any when October arrived. Or December, for that matter. The case of the ransomed Christmas cards. Ordeal by utility company. Technological difficulties. Why I’m here. Outs & ins. One man’s trash…an unexpected visitor.

February: Cops and a movie! Third power outage of the season. Musing about one grandfather…and another. Coffee break. Finally, a break for Rob! In which our heroine learns that she is just as annoying as everyone else. Maybe more. A surprise wedding.

March: Small town moments. Home repairs. A visit with Jim (and other things). Dad’s 81st birthday. A date with my family. Getting a jump on spring. Suzy the screwup. Surprise present!

April: Megan’s new (to her, anyway) car! Mom’s 80th birthday. Spring planting. A rainy trip to the City. Impersonating a responsible adult. San Francisco storm. A lovely last day in the City. Jessica’s ninth birthday. The arrival of Digit, the Office Cat. Kitty update. A girls’ day out. With my favorite girl.

May: A new (well, to me) couch! My 12th blogaversary, among other things. Festive. A dilemma. License to drive. Scarred for (or by) life. An eclipse, and other things. Rob’s epic trip to see his Mother one last time. My considerably less epic trip to San Francisco. Farewell to Rob’s Mother.

June: A magical evening with the Beach Boys. Fabulous fifty! An unexpected trip. Birthday party. Dilemma solved. Birth of a garden. A wonderful tour of artists’ studios. The arrival of my first (and I hope only) subpoena.

July: A belated and fabulous birthday present. Erica and Jessica are back! My first crown. Sadly, not the Queen kind, though almost as expensive. The looming trip to Detroit makes my humble home look like paradise. The unlovely itinerary. The trip does not go according to plan. Finally in Detroit. Court of horrors. Home at last. Changes at home and at work. Time for an engine check. The neighbors stop by. A snake in the grass. I mean, house.

August: A quick trip to San Francisco. The splendid pool reopens. My 2,000th blog post. And Roscoe’s mystery injury. A lousy day with a better ending. The 11th anniversary of Dad’s death (post won’t link; it’s August 18). A new home for the adorable Digit (who is very happy there). First day at the new office – and more car problems.

September: The money fairy stops by. First foray into retail, and an update on Digit. Two very sad losses for two very dear friends. A fabulous County Fair. A check up for the Schatz. Could, woulda, shoulda – or not. Appreciating the simple things.

October: A small town moment. A very special event. A great evening with family and friends. Swimming lessons resume. Now with Jessica! The 15% pay cut rears its ugly head. So does winter. An eventful day. The Giants win the World Series again! Oh, and we go to the circus.

November: A happy Halloween. The President is, thankfully, re-elected. This campaign was brutal – I can’t believe we have to go through it again in four years. But I won’t think about that now. A beautiful way to remember. An evening at the theatah. A look around the garden. Some new beginnings. Getting ready for Thanksgiving. A wonderful Thanksgiving. Jarrett adopts the World’s Cutest Puppy.

December: Christmas decorations. Church concert. Getting ready for Christmas. A happy holiday. Lighting up the night.

Thanks for joining me for another year of adventures. I wish you all a very happy and healthy new year!

As you all know, decision-making is not my strong point. I’m especially ungifted at making good decisions. But I think my decision to move to Hooterville three years ago today is one of the best ones I’ve made recently. Yes, job prospects are scary and dwindling, but at least I have my family to support and help me through the bad times.

On Thursday night, Megan stopped by with an instant cocktail party in a bag and we commiserated on our dwindling job prospects. Hospital management and her union are negotiating, and it’s not pretty. The offer includes things like a 7% pay cut, losing their retirement plan, and no more healthcare coverage for spouses unless the employee carries the entire cost instead of part of it. Needless to say, the union rejected it, so negotiations continue. Megan is terrified that she will be forced to go out on strike, which means not being paid at all.

She went to a union meeting on the weekend. Her idea is to take the employees’ case to the public by putting articles in the local papers and making the community aware of what is happening. I hope that once people realize what’s going on, they will support the hospital employees and try to keep the hospital open. After all, this is the same community that saved the library and the quite splendid pool.

As for our heroine, she got a 15% pay cut which is also indefinite. I am now making less money than I did when I was a secretary more than 20 years ago, which is not the sign of a good career path. Not for the first time, I reflected on my lack of decision-making skills. I should have studied a more lucrative career path, like a dominatrix or a plumber.

Fortunately, I still have the jobette, but as anyone who has ever worked for a non-profit knows, it means non-profit for you, too. I’m sure they would pay me more if they could, but they can’t. I’m still looking around for a “real” job, but they are few and far between up here and seem to go to friends or relatives.

At least I have family and friends. And a sister who comes by prepared with tangerine vodka, pretzel crisps, and white bean hummus to share while we sit in the garden and share our troubles.

Following Sunday’s power outage, there was another one on Monday. Apparently Sunday’s was caused by a driver mistaking a power pole for the road, and Monday’s by some kind of fire, though no-one I know in our local fire department (including my brother and my co-worker Erin’s husband) had heard about the fire. Either way, I had to re-set all the clocks I had re-set the day before, and now the one in the living room is on that annoying military time, which I hate. Nothing is worse than being forced to do math in your own home for no reason.

The power wasn’t the only utility to go on strike this week. When I got home from the jobette on Tuesday night, there was no water. Hmm.

Megan was already at work and Rob wasn’t answering the phone, so I called Zach, Mark’s brother-in-law and my neighbor. I realized that I still don’t know who to call when things need fixing in Mark’s extended absence. Zach came over and volunteered to look for Rob. Eventually, he found him, and Zach reported back that Rob fixed the well (needless to say, I never understood the technicalities of the stoppage) but it would take a few hours for the well to fill up and water service to be restored.

Normally, this wouldn’t be too much of a problem, since the Brita pitcher was full and there are several emergency bottles of water in the studio. But on that particular evening, I was in somewhat desperate need of a shower.

Erin has taken over the retail side of the jobette, and has made it look more fabulous every day. That day, a couple of carts – wheeled wooden things to display stuff for sale – arrived fully assembled. The total weight was 940 pounds. The delivery guy left them in the alley and bailed, leaving is with almost a ton of problems.

Erin quite reasonably expected that the carts would arrive disassembled in boxes, instead of assembled on huge wooden pallets. We unwrapped them and tried to wheel them through the delivery door. Nope. The wheels made them too wide. We rolled/dragged them to the front door, where they could fit through the double street doors, but not the inner door.

We were going to have to disassemble them and reassemble them.

So we did. We eventually got the first one inside, but the second one had a couple of stripped screws that made it impossible to remove the legs to get it in the door. So we left it in the foyer, put up the “Closed” sign, and locked it in for the night.

My morning’s shower had long worn off by then, and I had a conference call scheduled for 6:30 the following morning. Instead of being able to have a shower when I got home, I had to get up extra early to do it, when the well had re-filled. Waking up with yesterday’s mascara ringing my eyes gave me a curiously youthful feeling, as if I had fallen asleep after clubbing all night instead of dragging around unwieldy pieces of furniture.

By the time I arrived at the jobette the following day, the guys from the Skunk Train were already removing the offending piece of furniture, so all was well that ended well.

At around 5:00 on Wednesday – which is my Friday – a giant Fed Ex truck pulled up outside the jobette.

The truck was jam packed with boxes of new visitor guides, and Richard and I (the oldest employees by far) were the only ones still there. Unloading the boxes was complicated by the fact that someone had parked haphazardly in the narrow alley which doubles as parking area and delivery area.

Richard and I helped each other to back up our cars carefully into the busy street – this was complicated by the fact that the weekly farmers’ market is located about half a block from the jobette and was in full swing – to make room for the truck.

The Fed Ex driver gingerly moved the huge truck into the alleyway. While we were still unpacking the first pallet of boxes, the owner of the badly parked car arrived home.

“Is that you?” I asked.

“Is that you?” she asked.

“Do you live here?”

“Do you work here?”

It turned out that it was the lovely receptionist from the splendid pool, who always manages to be glamorous at that early morning hour. She lives right behind the jobette with her boyfriend and their two adorable dogs.

It was a small town moment.

She moved her car while Richard, Randy the Fed Ex guy, and I got to work. It never ceases to amaze me how heavy paper can be. One sheet doesn’t weigh a thing. But if you get enough of them together, you get a box weighing 40 pounds.

There were 200 boxes, but it seemed like more. I have to admit that I was proud that I could keep up with the guys and never got out of breath or behind. Eventually, they were all off the truck and stowed away. Richard and I thanked Randy and shook hands. Richard also gave Randy a very nice tip, which I thought was classy and considerate of him.

You never know what will happen at the jobette!

It’s kind of surprising that I have gotten to this advanced age without having worked retail before. Or waitressed, for that matter. Nearly everyone I know has done either or both of these during their misspent youth.

Looking back, I’m not completely sure how I escaped it, though I’m happy for those long ago diners’ sake that they were spared having Calamity Suzy spill coffee on them.

For the last few years of high school, I worked at a hostel which was in a former jail dating back to Victorian times. When I wasn’t checking people in and out, or making breakfast for dozens of people in the ancient kitchen, I gave tours of the jail, including Death Row and the gallows, the favorite part of the tour for school children of all ages.

In retrospect, it’s a bit odd that whoever was in charge let a teenage girl close up at night (11 pm, if I remember correctly) and open up in the morning, but nothing untoward ever happened, unless you count the couple who fled their Death Row accommodations right before closing time due to a ghost sighting.

So far, the best part of doing retail is meeting the visitors and hearing their stories. I think my favorite so far is a couple visiting from Albuquerque*, though they have a very special attachment to this area.

The husband is originally from Maine, and was in the airforce. During the Vietnam War Police Action**, he was posted at the Point Cabrillo Lighthouse, where there was a radar station. This was news to me, since all traces of it have vanished. While posted here, he stayed at a motel north of town. The motel owner’s family lived on site, and their children worked at the motel. One daughter was cleaning the airforce man’s room when he turned up unexpectedly. She said, “I can honestly say – we met in a motel room!”

Forty-three years later, they were back to check on the motel, which they now own, and take a stroll down memory lane. I’m glad I was one of the stops on that stroll.

*Which always makes me think of Bugs Bunny. Also Prefab Sprout.

**I was taught in school that the US has never lost a war. Seriously! They referred to the Vietnam War as a “police action”.

Things have been busy in Suzy-land since I last checked in with you, faithful readers.

My blog was hacked, though I can’t imagine why, unless there’s a severe trivia shortage somewhere. The wonderful Candi of the appropriately named No Hassle Hosting solved the problem for me, restored everything, and implored me to change my password, which I did, though I have to say one of the things I like least about the modern world is having to have passwords for everything. Hopefully in the future they can be stored in one’s fingertips. I hope the Powers That Be are working on that, along with the Star Trek style of travel.

Because instant gratification isn’t fast enough for me.

The jobette moved. We have gone uptown, both literally (three blocks north) and figuratively. Our new space is bigger and much more attractive. We have added a retail element, selling local goods ranging from Seasoning Sand (as seen in Oprah magazine) to books, t-shirts, and mugs.

It looks pretty good, no?

Here is my desk, where all the magic happens:

I’ve started working longer hours, including the weekend, so the jobette is getting more and more job-like. I have never worked retail before, and was (and am) still baffled by the cash register when I made my first sale, to a darling 20 month old from Sacramento named Joshua:

His parents bought some sea salt and Joshua got a book about the Skunk Train, which he has already ridden twice in his short life. I gave them a deal since I couldn’t find a price on the book, and they were our very first retail customers. It was exciting.

Also exciting was the fact that jury duty, planned right smack in the middle of the move, was cancelled. I called in the night before and was delighted to learn that my presence was no longer requested and required. I have to admit that I would actually find serving on a trial interesting, but the timing wasn’t good. Hopefully my involvement in the judicial system for this year will be limited to my Grand Jury appearance in July and watching The Good Wife.

That reminds me: I can burn that August 15 “placeholding” subpoena. That will be fun.

Last week, I emailed the US Attorney’s Office to ask them about my expense check, which has so far failed to materialize. At first they told me they had no record of me, which made me laugh, since they had not only issued two subpoenas to me, but had paid for my airfare and hotel so I could testify for an hour.

Then they tried to tell me that they never got my expense report. Fortunately I had copied everything and sent it certified, so I could tell them that it had been delivered at 8:16 am on July 23 and offer to mail them the copies, even though the form says you have to submit the original receipts.

Eventually they admitted that I did in fact exist and that they had my expense report. Then they said they had an issue with my staying overnight in San Francisco on my way home. I had noted on a cover letter that the flight they put me on arrived in San Francisco after 10:00 pm and that it was after 11:00 pm by the time I got to my car. Since it’s a four hour drive from SFO to my house, after that long flight from Detroit, I stayed overnight.

I suggested that they just disallow that portion and pay me for the rest of it, but they said they’d try to get it approved. I sent them an email this week to find out what the status is, but I haven’t heard back yet. The wheels of justice, i have heard, move slowly.

I know you’re all dying to hear how Digit is doing in her new home. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here’s a picture of Digit on her very first day in her new home:

Her new family emailed us with the following report:

Digit is doing great. She settled in surprisingly easily. She and our other 3-year-old cat surprised each other the first time they met (he’s the disabled one and he accidentally bumped into her), so they started out hissing at each other. After a few hours, though, they got into an easy truce, and now share almost everything. She seemed to have an almost immediate curiosity and affinity with our older polydactyl long-haired grey, which I found quite interesting.

So all’s well that ends well!

On Monday morning, I drove to the new jobette. Needless to say, other people had taken up our allotted parking spaces – we now have signs up, but didn’t then – so I parked two blocks away.

At lunch, I went to the car to run some errands. I turned the key and the engine made the usual sound, but failed to catch. I tried a couple more times before calling my brother.

It turned out that he was a couple of blocks away himself, on his way in to work. He also tried and failed to start the car. I walked over to the mechanic’s and explained the situation. They sent a guy over to see if he could figure out what was wrong with Miss Scarlett, but he also couldn’t – she had to get to the garage to be diagnosed.

So I called the one tow truck in town and went to wait for him. He attached the car to the tow truck pretty quickly, and then offered me a lift to the mechanic’s. We went about 4 or 5 blocks and it cost $70. Fortunately, I just have to email or fax the receipt to the insurance agent to be reimbursed.

In the meantime, it was too late in the day for the mechanic to figure out what ailed Miss Scarlett, let alone fix it. Fortunately for me, my kind-hearted co-worker Erin lives just a couple of miles away from me in Hooterville, so she gave me a lift home. On the way, we stopped off to pick up her son at her mother’s house (which is literally a rose-covered cottage in the Village) and register him for kindergarten, which started today. Erin’s Mom even offered me the loan of her (very nice) car while mine was being fixed.

This morning, the mechanic told me it was the ignition coil, which will be $325 to fix. Later, he changed his mind, and as I write, I’m still not sure what’s wrong with the car or whether I can drive it home tonight. But I’m glad that I did try the car at lunch yesterday, instead of the end of the work day, that the tow truck and my brother were close by, and that I have such great people in my life to help me out in the meantime.

I slept in until 7:15 this morning! Audrey complained bitterly about the terrible service around here, but the boys decided to have breakfast before bounding out into the foggy morning.

Speaking of the boys: I may have solved the mystery of Roscoe’s head wound. The other day, I saw Clyde getting ready to pounce on his unsuspecting brother, and went to get the camera:

They play pretty rough, and sometimes one or both of them meows like it hurts, though I’m not sure that’s what it really means. The fact is they appear to bite each other, and their claws are pretty sharp, so my guess is that Clyde bit Roscoe, and Roscoe keep wiping at the wound with his wet paw until the fur came off and it got infected. The presence of a couple of claw-sized bald spots on his head and little puncture scabs on the wound area lend credence to my Poirot-style theory.

At least it’s healed up, and the fur is growing back. I wish they’d be more careful, but boys will be boys!

Digit’s new family is delightful. The daughter is eight years old and just fell in love with Digit, who is now “her” cat. I’m really happy for Digit, who is going to have the loving attention she deserves, but I have to admit that I had to go and sit in the car and compose myself before I could drive home after saying goodbye to her. I’m glad for her, but sad for me.

We had our last swimming class of the summer yesterday. Sallie is the best swimming teacher ever. I hope I can fit in more lessons in the fall, though it will be harder than ever since I will now be working on the weekends as well as longer hours during the week as part of Operation Save Suzy.

After class, Megan and I went to the old jobette office, where I picked up keys for the new office and was surprised to see that the phones were still there, along with all the plants and the outside garbage and recycling bins. Also there were a few bottles of wine and it seemed that the modem and its accessories were still there, too, though on arrival at the new office, it was clear that the interwebs were working there, so who knows?

Megan and I packed up her car with the plants and wine, leaving the phones and other equipment to the professionals. We spent about four hours unpacking boxes, breaking them down and stacking them in the alley, setting up my desk, the coffee area, and kitchen and bathrooms (finally, we will have men’s and ladies’ separate, and a janitorial service). The painter was there to touch up, and because it’s a small town, he is also the husband of Megan’s boss.

Finally, we got to the point where we couldn’t do more, so we locked up and went to the grocery store, where we picked up a few things for our brother as well as ourselves, stopping off at his place to deliver them and catch up, parting with hugs and “Love yous”, as we always do. As we headed home, I said to Megan, “We’re so lucky we have each other,” and she said, “You know it!”

I do.

Sprucing up

There seems to be some kind of bug that is making it impossible to comment. I have notified the Blog Doctor and he is on the case.

And now back to our irregularly scheduled program…

As I mentioned earlier, the jobette is moving. It’s only about three blocks, but as everyone who has ever moved knows, it’s as much hassle to move three blocks as it is three hundred miles. So I’ve been packing like mad over the past week in preparation for Thursday’s move.

The new office is a much better and bigger space, but it is in a much busier location. Right now, in the days about to become the old days, Digit hangs out in the yard most of the day, chasing butterflies and playing in the sun, but in the new place, there is just a sidewalk and a very busy intersection.

We are also expecting a lot more foot traffic and are even going to have a retail (t-shirts, mugs, etc.) area, presided over by Me.

You can probably tell where I’m going with this. We have had to find a new home for the lovely Digit.

Fortunately, we have located a family which has recently lost their oldest cat at 22 years old. The daughter is devastated and would like to have another cat, even though the family has two neutered males, a 10 year old who is polydactl, like Digit, and a 3 year old Siamese who is disabled due to a head injury but who is much loved and carefully cared for.

These people clearly know a lot about cats and love them. Digit adores children and is super affectionate, which will be great for the little girl. I have to admit that I have felt a little guilty about Digit being alone at night and most of the weekend, and I know she would be happier with a full-time family and that she would not be safe at the new office. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her.

But I have always kind of despised people who move somewhere which doesn’t allow cats or isn’t good for their cats and then give them away, and now I’m One of Them. I think this is kind of a hot button issue with me, since when John and I broke up, he kept the cats. I knew it was the best thing for them to stay together in their familiar environment and one of their people, but it was one of the most painful things I have ever gone through and it still makes me sad.

Still, Digit will be much happier with her new family, who are picking her up this week. I think it’s a good omen that their polydactl is named Clydesdale (for the horses with the huge hoofs/feet), but is called Clyde!

• Get up early on a non-jobette day and drive to the Big Town.
• Get stuck behind lumbering RVs and smug Prius drivers who refuse to pull over, even when driving 20 miles below the speed limit. I wish I had a nickel for every time I got stuck behind a slow Prius driver – I could pay my staggering dental bill. I think they only use gas if they go over a certain speed, so maybe that’s why. Equally annoyed by non-Prius drivers who brake on every curve, when going onto a bridge, both up and down hill. Hear Billy Bob Thornton’s voice in my head from “Tombstone”: “Nerve-wracking sons of bitches!”
• Arrive at the dentist’s office in heavy fog to discover there is nowhere to park. Park two blocks away.
• Spend 15 minutes getting permanent crown installed. Get reminded that you still owe more than $600 which must be paid off in the next two months.
• Drive home. You have now spent nearly an hour and a half driving for a 15 minute appointment.
• Check mail. Discover staggering dental bill to join last week’s jury summons and car registration notification. Note to Self: stop checking the mail. Nothing good ever comes of it.
• Get home and check email. Find a message from your boss saying that your firm lost the contract with their only retainer client. This is not going to help pay off the dental bill. Or any other bill, for that matter.
• Panic.

All this on the 7th anniversary of my mother’s death. On the bright side, though, I guess this means I don’t have to go to Detroit next week for that second Grand Jury subpoena, since the client in question is no longer a client. At this point, I think I’d tell them to come and get me, especially since I still haven’t received the expense reimbursement from the State Attorney’s office (which, come to think of it, would cover my dental bill).

Onward and downward, as my father used to say.

Well, I’m back on the foggy Coast.

I left the jobette on Wednesday afternoon and stopped off in Willits to bring the Chamber of Commerce some brochures. I had never been there before and I was charmed by the fact that the Chamber is in an old train depot, which is still in use by the famous Skunk Train. I loved the antique clock in the Depot:

And the retro Rexall Drug sign on Main Street:

It was a magical microclimate tour: 60 at the Coast, 90 in Willits, over 100 in Ukiah, the county seat, in the 80s in Sonoma, and back to 60 in San Francisco. All this in the space of 150 miles. My last meeting of the day on Thursday was with some people from New York, who were completely mystified by how it could be 85 in Menlo Park and 60 in San Francisco. “All the way here I could see the temperature dial in the car dropping!” they marveled, as we sat outside under heat lamps at a bar downtown. The fog and chill did not deter them after the oppressive heat they’ve experienced this summer:

I got a lot of work done while I was in the city, but that was about it. The traffic was terrible coming home, jammed up for an hour and a half. I left the city around 1:00 and got home at nearly 5:30, greeted by Luna, Clyde, and Audrey. Roscoe, of course, was too cool to get all excited, or even show up until dinner time.

Megan said that when she came by to let them out that morning, they all raced outside (Yay! Freedom!), but then turned around and raced right back in (Hey! Pets!). I think they missed me.

As you all know, I usually dread the advent of August, the Official Month of Death, but its little sister July was such a bitch that I’m actually happy to see July end and August begin. And yes, I do hope the door hit July on the butt on its way out. Hopefully hard. Hopefully both the screen door and the front door.

It kicked off with the arrival of a federal subpoena and the departure of a filling, on a holiday week, no less. Though the filling was probably 25 or even 30 years old, and as the dentist said, I got my money’s (or possibly my parents’) worth out of it.

Then there was the heinous trip to Detroit. All those hours of sitting around the airport (I could have, and should have, driven from Chicago to Detroit. It would have been faster) gave me plenty of time to wonder why airports offer wifi – though at a price – but no power sources. My experience was that people sat on the floors by what few outlets there were with their laptops plugged in. Same goes for the planes: nowhere to plug in your laptop, which ruined my plans of watching “Gilmore Girls” as I lurched across the Rockies.

And then the ordeal of the Grand Jury, followed by a long and horrible trip home.

On arriving home, I discovered that my septic system had crapped out. On the bright side, Mark has redone the whole thing, and when I got home from the jobette yesterday, I was greeted by the sight of a toilet on my front porch, just the sort of touch that makes Martha Stewart so jealous of me. It turned out that Mark had replaced the underachieving Frankenstein commode with a brand new one. So, score one for July. Or at least for Mark.

Then the car engine light came on, which cost me $200 in the same week that the first installment of my luxurious $950 crown was due. Not to mention the horrifying installation of the (temporary) crown and its achy aftermath.

The month closed out with chaos. My job (not the jobette; the one that pays my rent and bills) is in serious jeopardy; the jobette is moving; Mark and his family will be in New Jersey for a year and I will have new neighbors.

I’m on my way to San Francisco this afternoon and I have promised myself that I will enjoy my time there and try not to worry about the future.

Excavation

It’s been a busy week at the jobette – fun things like stuffing 500 envelopes with 3 different pieces of paper, after folding all the paper. Then putting two labels on each envelope, sealing it, stamping it, and hauling the whole thing to the post office. I actually had to drive there, and it’s two blocks away.

Speaking of the jobette: we are moving next month! This was a surprise to me. We are moving three or four blocks away into a space which formerly housed a bookstore. We will be in the thick of the shopping district, so we should get more walk-in traffic, and are planning to sell t-shirts and local products as well as dispensing our indispensable tourism advice.

We are planning to move in there the week of August 20 and must be out of our current space by August 31. Not a lot of time. But it will be a great opportunity to get rid of things and streamline the operation.

In other moving news, Mark and his family are moving to New Jersey next month for a year. He is dismantling a factory (I think he said it was L’Oreal, but I could be wrong) and shipping it to Mexico. I could (or should) comment here on the loss of American jobs and our slow economy, but I’m more concerned about who is going to be my neighbor for a year and who is going to fix things when they break around here.

Such as my septic system. On Saturday, I called Mark because my toilet, always an underachiever and my rival in utter slothitude, went on strike. He came over and plungered it, which created a little fountain of what appeared to be poo in the bathroom sink. A poo fountain is never a good sign. Mark thinks there is an issue with the septic system, and he is, if anything, more anxious than I am to get it cleared up before he leaves, since he would have to pay someone else thousands of dollars to fix it in his absence. He was at my place before I left for the jobette today, so here’s hoping he’ll have some good news for me by the time I get home.

I can use the good news, because the “check engine” light came on in my car yesterday on my way home. My brother says it might be nothing. But maybe it is. He has a gadget which can read the engine and tell him what’s wrong. Hopefully it’s nothing serious, since I’m getting a $950 crown next week which I already can’t afford.

Welcome home!

Well, I wrote a post a few days ago, and then I got paranoid and deleted it, and then I had second thoughts and thought I’d restore it, but it seems that when WordPress deletes something, it stays deleted.

Told you decision-making was not one of my strong suits.

Last Friday, my boss/partner called me to say that I have been subpoenaed to appear in front of the Grand Jury in Detroit in a couple of weeks. This is even scarier than that audit we went through a few years ago.

Also, it’s going to take forever to get there and I haven’t flown in so long that I can just feel my flying phobia in full bloom again. And then there’s the whole court thing.

Right now, I’m planning to work at the jobette on the Monday, drive to San Francisco after work, and take the red eye, arriving in Detroit early on Tuesday morning. I’m supposed to meet with our lawyers that day to be prepared for the Grand Jury on Wednesday. Then I’ll fly to San Francisco on Wednesday night, stay overnight, and drive home the next day.

That’s a lot of hassles and 6,000 miles just to tell people that I don’t know anything, because I don’t. I got paranoid and took the earlier post down because I was afraid that the Powers That Be might somehow find it and read it, even though I hadn’t said anything that could get me in trouble.

I think.

I told my good friend A about the whole thing, and she said to think of it as exciting and glamorous, and being part of a courtroom drama. Another friend said I should feel really special, since there aren’t many Grand Juries convened and your chances of being called to testify in front of one is about one in a million. It will be an experience, he said, but I think it’s one I’d rather not experience.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that this is actually my job. Well, jobette. And that they pay me to do this!

A few days ago, I left work around 11:00 am to go on a tour of artists’ studios. This is a new local business, and the tour operator wanted to take around some people as a sort of test drive. There were 8 of us: me, two gallery owners, my counterpart at the Chamber of Commerce, and the rest worked at hotels.

We were driven around in a comfortable, climate controlled van, equipped with water bottles and a flat screen TV, which showed movies of the artists we were going to visit. It was one of those postcard days when even I can hardly blame the tourists for driving so slowly, and it was great to be able to actually look at the scenery instead of the long and winding road.

We visited Paul Reiber, who does wonderful things with wood. Here is his studio:

He made these mirrors. The round heron one was made for his mother, and he got it back when she passed away. The circle of life…

He also made these charming toys:

And this breathtaking headboard, showing various stages in an iris’ life:

We had a lovely tray of appetizers to accompany our wine tasting at the Wine Shop:

We had a tasting flight of five wines, four from the County and one was what Mark, the sole proprietor, calls a “ringer” from another county, in this case, Sonoma. They were all delicious. Mark says, “The first law of wine is drink what you like.”

Next, we visited Richard Yaski’s studio. He does amazing things with metal:

This is a memorial to his late wife:

It reminded me of what Christopher Wren’s tombstone in St. Paul’s Cathedral says: “Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you.” I imagine this beautiful, hushed place was dear to her when she lived there. It is a very moving piece.

This house on Richard’s property is made out of an old school bus:

He drove it here when he moved from Los Angeles more than 40 years ago, and he lived in it for many years. Now it’s rented out. Here’s another view of the house (note the tail lights beside the front door):

Next was Julie Higgins’ house. By this time, I felt like I was on an episode of “Cribs: Hooterville”. This is Julie’s home and studio:

Here is some of her work, displayed in her living room:

It was a wonderful experience to be able to meet the artists and be welcomed into their homes and/or workplaces. This area is famous for having more artists per capita than anywhere else in the country, so it’s really special to be able to talk to the artists about their work, their inspirations*, and techniques, in the very place that the artwork is created.

*One thing that struck me was that all the artists are inspired by the local ravens, which seem to be very powerful symbols. They are supposed to be able to divine the future as well as being keepers of secrets. Some say they are bringers of light. Whatever they are, they are inspiring and mysterious.

Well, Wednesday was a little unexpected.

I thought I’d have a relatively quiet day, since most of our staff would be at a meeting out of town. Turned out, I was the one at the meeting out of town.

The CEO called me and said that no-one else could attend the meeting. He asked if I could go to the meeting and take notes. I barely had enough time to print out extra documents on our creaking, ancient printer, get gas, and head out of town to Willits.

Willits is best-known (if known at all) as the home of Seabiscuit. You can visit the stables and ranch where he lived out his retirement, if you aren’t rushing to a meeting. Willits is also the home of the oldest continuous rodeo and Fourth of July celebration in the state.

I was more interested in finding the hotel where the meeting was to be held. I was told it was between the McDonald’s and the Taco Bell, and it was. Ironically, I hadn’t had any time to eat that day, and they actually looked pretty good to me as I drove past into the hotel parking lot.

I barely had time to race up three flights of stairs with the conference call phone, my co-worker’s laptop, my handbag, and a bunch of documents. It didn’t help that was over 80 degrees there. I made it with seconds to spare. Then I had to figure out how to set up the phone and the computer, pass out the materials, and take notes.

Whew.

The meeting went on for four, count ’em, hours. When it was finally over, I packed everything back into the ovenesque car and headed home with the radio blasting along with the air conditioning.

Those of you who live in cities and have real commutes will laugh when you learn that it’s 32 miles from Willits to Charlottesville (and a further 25 to Hooterville). Ha! You say. What’s 32 miles? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s the longest 32 miles of your life, is what it is. Up hill and down hill, getting high enough to be snow-dusted in winter and as curvaceous as Jayne Mansfield on steroids, the road is frequently signposted at 25 or 15 miles per hour. You feel like you’ve been driving forever, and it’s only been 10 miles.

The part of the highway (two lane road) I was driving on is actually the last part of the California Trail, blazed by emigrants in 1850, the other end being the interchange to Truckee and the Donner Pass (where you may remember my furniture being marooned a few years ago). It has been a paved highway for more than 100 years. It took me an hour to get to Charlottesville, and it had never looked so beautiful. I took a detour to drop off the computer and phone at the office and pet Digit, and then pick up a much-needed burrito (I was starving and there was no way I was cooking when I got home) and while I was waiting for it to be made, stopped in at the library, which stays open late on Wednesdays, to exchange the week’s books.

It was a long day, but I certainly got a lot done. And it was…interesting.

It’s been quite the birthday week so far, and it’s not over yet.

On Tuesday, I returned to the jobette a year older, but no wiser (definitely sneezier, though). On my desk was a beautiful card, filled with even lovelier sentiments* from everyone I work with, and a bright pink straw tote bag (I guess my handbag addiction is obvious to the most casual observer). Inside the bag was:

• Two tickets to the beautiful Botanical Gardens, 47 acres of plants and flowers that front the wild Pacific Ocean. They are famous for their rhododendrons and roses, and also have great bird watching. And yes, it’s 50 years old!
• Two tickets for a round-trip journey on the famous Skunk Train, probably the premier attraction in the Big Town. The steam trains, dating from the early 1920s, follow the same tracks laid down in the 1880s, through pristine redwoods, past rivers and flowery meadows. It’s like a time machine!
• A voucher for dinner at the lovely, historic Little River Inn, whose dining room overlooks the ocean. The original house dates from 1853, and the current innkeepers are the fifth family generation to welcome guests, including Myrna Loy, Joan Fontaine, and James Dean.

There was also a bottle of organic local wine, befitting America’s greenest wine region.

I was totally overwhelmed and very touched. As I said to my colleagues, any one of these things would have been enough!

Then they took me out to lunch at the Wharf, the scene of Girls’ Night Out. On that day, it looked like a postcard, with fishing boats sailing in and out of the harbor.

I may well be the most spoiled girl in the County. Other than Audrey, that is.

*For example, from the CEO: “Happy, happy birthday! It is SO GREAT to have you as part of the team! I hope this year is the best yet!”. From Erin: “You’re the best – I couldn’t do it without you!” No wonder I nearly cried.

It’s only 7 am, and Clyde has already driven me crazy. Here’s how he does it:

• Go behind the new couch.
• Start clawing at the back of it.
• When The Girl yells at you, go under the couch and start clawing there.
• When the girl moves the couch out to yell at you and/or grab you, sneak behind the heater.
• Mess around back there until the heater and/or phone go on and off, with accompanying beeping.

I ejected Clyde into the sunny morning, even though I suspect that he may begin to see clawing the couch as a doorbell substitute.

Any suggestions on how to eliminate the clawing problem?

Also in the Cats Behaving Badly department is Digit*, the office cat.

As you know, staff meetings at the jobette are frequently attended by our Director of Barketing. He turned up yesterday in a natty red plaid vest, tail wagging, only to be greeted by a hissing and puffy Digit. Erin removed Digit from the meeting, and was scratched for her trouble. The dog and his owner went out the back door after the meeting, and when we opened the conference room/kitchen door, Digit was curled up on a chair, looking like nothing had happened.

Hopefully, they can work it out. The CEO’s kids chased Digit all over the office on Friday, and she put up with that. She also had no trouble with his dog, so maybe she just needs more time to adjust and realize that she is safe in her new home.

*Megan stopped by the jobette yesterday after teaching a CPR class. She thinks Digit is a silver tabby, like Megan’s beautiful cat Harriet.

I know you’ve all been dying for more pictures of Digit, the office cat, and an update on how she’s doing.

So far, so good!

She hasn’t tried to escape, which surprised me. She lounges on her giant beanbag bed and watches the UPS guy, Roger the mailman, and miscellaneous visitors (some more miscellaneous than others) come and go without making a break for it.

Maybe, like my little Henry-Etta James, she has had enough of the Wide World* and is happy to have a warm, safe place to live with food, water, and pets on tap.

At first, I worried a little about her being alone at night and on the weekends, but I realized that most cats are alone 9-12 hours a day while their faithful servants are out slaving away to pay for food, litter, the vet, and other feline necessities. Then they come home and go to bed a few hours later. Digit may well get more company than most cats. Also, the CEO and our IT guy tend to come in at night and on the weekends, and the rest of us are often in the Big Town on errands, so I’m pretty sure she’ll get some weekend visitors.

She has a constant feeder and waterer, so we won’t worry about her being hungry or thirsty. She also has lots of toys to keep her amused. One thing we do need to buy her is a scratching post.

Erin took Digit to the vet for a wellness check earlier this week. You have to hand it to our local shelter. For $100, you get a cat who is neutered or spayed; has all of his/her shots; has been flea treated and microchipped and comes with a 5 pound bag of food (Science Diet, but still**). The shelter also pays for a wellness check-up with the vet of your choice within a week of adoption. Not bad.

So Digit is healthy and happy, though she objected loudly all the way to the vet’s office and back. The vet clipped her claws, and told us that we have to keep the claws on her extra toes clipped, since they don’t get the wear that the regular ones do and they can grow into her skin if we aren’t careful. So we’ll have to have a regular manicure appointment for our glamorous new girl.

I have to say, it’s nice having her there. I like it when she sits on my desk purring (Digit came fully equipped with Power Purr), and just having her around makes the place seem happier and more lively. She even helped me organize the wine rack in the CEO’s office this week (for which he thanked me with a bottle of wine). Sometimes I can’t believe that I’m being paid to play with Digit and mess around with wine. It’s a hard life.

*”Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,” said the Rat. “And that’s something that doesn’t matter, either to you or me. I’ve never been there, and I’m never going, nor you either, if you’ve got any sense at all.” — The Wind in the Willows, Chapter 1

**We are mixing it with Taste of the Wild, which Megan and I both feed our cats, and will transition her to that over time.

Meet Digit, the office cat!

My co-worker Erin and I have been (subtly) campaigning for an office cat at the jobette, facing opposition from our dog-owning colleagues. Finally, Erin was able to persuade the CEO that we needed a cat, for mouse hunting purposes as well as decoration and purring purposes. And, you know, giving a homeless animal a home.

We went to the shelter at lunch, and explained our requirements. We needed a cat who could be alone at night and most weekends without being sad or lonely, yet could tolerate visitors. (S)He would have to stay inside, since we are on one of the main streets in the big town. So: friendly, yet independent.

They immediately recommended one of their cats who has been staying at the local thrift shop while waiting for a home. They felt she would be perfect. But we wanted to see the other cats as well. We were pleased to hear that they did not have many cats to place, especially since it is a no-kill shelter.

We spent some time with the available cats, and then decided to go and see the recommended cat. She was lounging on her cat bed, and it was pretty much love at first sight. She is about three years old, and was a stray, so her past is shrouded in mystery. She has extra toes on all four paws, and her name is Digit! She is now our office cat. Here you see her relaxing in her new home:

The thrift store employees were all sad to see her go, and said she was the most amazing cat ever. We said that they can always come and visit her, and they were really glad. I imagine Digit might get more visitors than the office does!