Suzy Says

It was an unpleasant trip home, at least the highway portion, which was in heavy rain. Visibility was so poor that there were no farewell views of Alcatraz or the dreaming spires of San Francisco, the Bridge and the Bay being swathed in rain clouds and mist.

On the highway, the backwash of passing cars was pretty challenging. I was glad to exit onto the curvaceous two lane blacktop that leads to Hooterville. This time of year, the vineyards flame with yellow, red, and orange foliage, and in the Valley, even some of the trees’ leaves change colors, because the rule in California is the hotter it is in the summer, the colder it is in the winter.

It was nearly dark when I got home, to be greeted with enthusiasm by Luna and Lupe, who is quickly growing up. However, they declined to help me unload the groceries from Trader Joe, the pizza from Victor’s, or the box from Bev Mo from the car. I have noticed that pets are not very helpful in that regard.

I found a welcome inch of rain in the rain gauge and welcoming kitties in the house. The rain had aided Megan’s cat herding endeavors while I was gone, and I am pleased to report that there were no late night fiestas or all nighters in my absence. The bump on Roscoe’s head still looks a little ooky, though, as if the scab had come off, and the fur hasn’t begun to grow back, at least not noticeably. I probably don’t have to worry about him not looking his best for our Thanksgiving guests, since he tends to hide in horror until they vacate the premises.

It seems like I had hardly gotten back from the city when I realized that Thanksgiving was looming, and I hadn’t done a thing about it. It’s too late to order a turkey, but Megan thinks we can get one at the Gro. Erica volunteered to make the cranberries as well as pies and rolls this year, so that leaves me with just turkey, salad, and mashed potatoes – I’m trying a new recipe this year, now that Jessica likes onions.

I’ll be at the jobette all that week, so I’m hoping I can find time to clean up and do the rest of the shopping. Thanksgiving sneaked up on me this year. Despite everything, I still have a lot to be thankful for, and I am.

A YEAR AGO:
The beginning of the end for Miss Scarlett. ~sob~

I’m watching the beautiful, light rain fall on San Francisco. The door to my modest motel room is open, since it’s not cold, just rainy, and I’m waiting for my boss/partner/friend to pick me up so we can go to lunch together and talk about our future, if any.

So far, my day has not been very productive. My plan was to go downtown and run a couple of errands, but I had forgotten how long it takes to do this by public transit. As I waited for the bus, I began to remember why I nearly always walked to work and back home when I lived here.

The bus made its way through the neighborhood I lived in when I first moved here so long ago: past the church where I twice voted for Bill Clinton with a song in my heart, through Chinatown, with its exotic fruit and vegetable stalls, and finally to the financial district, where I used to work.

I was hoping to get my eyes tested, but there were no appointments available, and I had another appointment at 1:00, so I couldn’t wait. The eye doctor I have seen back in the Big Town charges twice as much for an exam, and I have to have a new prescription before I can buy inexpensive glasses online like Erica does. My existing glasses have somewhat scratched lenses, which doesn’t help my spectacularly poor eyesight.

The appointment was with the very nice woman who bought my beautiful, two carat, century old diamond ring a few years ago. This time, I brought a pair of diamond earrings and a diamond necklace for her consideration. She was as gracious as ever, but apparently these pieces are too modern for their store, so she referred me to someone else, but I will probably not have time to get there before I head home again.

If there’s anything worse than selling your jewelry, it must be making up your mind to sell it and then having it rejected. I made my way to the bus stop in the rain, and as luck would have it, the bus was just pulling up, and my transfer was still good, so at least one thing went my way today.

A YEAR AGO:

A late season BBQ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A YEAR AGO:

The Kitty Report.

Sunset at Wild Fish

While waiting for my life to get off the back burner and on to the front one, I went to meet some friends for dinner.

We decided to meet on the early side, and as I drove oceanwards on the Ridge, the sun was beginning to set in a spectacular way. Pink and golden clouds billowed through the darkening blue sky, and the ocean was a steely lavender. A single fishing boat was making its way to the harbor in the Big Town, shining in the last rays of the sun.

The contented cows in the field across from the post office glowed in the fading daylight, and pale pink roses tumbled down a rustic wooden fence. After a short but curvaceous drive, I passed the peaceful old seaside cemetery and arrived at the restaurant, seconds after my friends, who were just getting out of their truck.

Though I have driven past the restaurant many times, and worked with the owners in my jobette capacity, I had never eaten there before. The restaurant is very small, but beautifully decorated. There are windows on two sides to take advantage of the stunning ocean view, and seating for about twenty people. The room glowed with candlelight.

We shared a bottle of local wine as we perused the menu. It was hard to decide what to have, since everything looked so good. We shared a mixed seafood platter, which included fresh oysters with champagne mignonette, roasted mussels and clams with rose harissa, and smoked sablefish, along with Fuji apple and artfully shaved black radish. It was delicious! I decided on bouillabaisse, which arrived garnished with a perfect rouille and two enormous prawns. My friends know the chef, who came out of the kitchen to check in with us.

We had a wonderful evening, enjoying the food and each other’s company as well as the view. When we left, there were people waiting for tables at 8:00 on a Sunday night – surely a sign of an improved economy. My friends picked up the tab, to my surprise and delight. We hugged goodbye in the parking lot and went our separate ways into the sunny night, glowing with good food and friendship.

A YEAR AGO:

The Kitty Report.

It’s heavenly now

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

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

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

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

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

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

A YEAR AGO:

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

Looking for Me?

You know, there’s been a lot more bird droppings on Wednesday than usual lately. I seem to have been taking birds away from the cats almost every day now, which makes me wonder (and shudder) at what must be happening when I’m not there to interfere. I rescued a robin from Roscoe’s clutches yesterday, glad to see it fly away unscathed, though noting that the presence of robins means that winter is here. Robins bopping around and frogs singing – along with chainsaws dealing with trees knocked over in storms – are winter’s soundtrack in Hooterville.

Maybe Hitch was right and our avian friends are trying to get some revenge.

Speaking of horror, Clyde put me through hell last night.

Clyde is the first one to come in at night, anticipating the reward of treats, so I was surprised when he didn’t respond to my call. Usually, he comes scampering out of the woods, bright eyed and happy, but last night, nothing. It was about 5:00 PM, so darkness, the eternal enemy, was hovering. Roscoe was sitting calmly on the stairs, and Audrey was taking a completely unconcerned bath in the garden, but no sign of Clyde.

As the then-seven year old Jessica observed, I am a worrier, and it didn’t take long for me to push the panic button. I texted Megan, even though there was really nothing she could do about it, and while I was out calling Clyde, flashlight in hand, I forced Rob to hug me, even though he was exhausted and sweaty from working at the property all day. They both assured me that all would be well, but did I heed their well-meant advice? No. I went ahead and worried, while calling Clyde all over the place.

I went back inside, reflecting on the pointlessness of calling cats, while yet not stopping calling them. I couldn’t focus on anything or settle down. I kept looking at the sliding glass doors where Clyde wasn’t and wondering where he was. I had seen him at 4:30 and started looking for him at 5:00. It was still basically daylight then, and also Mark was chainsawing and doing other things with loud equipment all day, which would keep the monsters at bay, so Clyde should be OK. Right? But the Slobber Monster grabbed him in broad daylight…if cowards die a thousand times before their actual deaths, so do worriers.

Eventually, he appeared, as if by magic, and my heart leaped at the sight of Clyde’s little white bow tie looming out of the darkness. He was undoubtedly mystified by my sweeping him into my arms and kissing him while crying. “What the hell?” he was clearly thinking. “Where are the treats, crazy lady?” His fur smelled of wet wood and smoke, so my theory is that he was stalking a mouse in the woodpile created by Mark’s chainsawing. You know how cats can sit for hours at a place where they think there’s a mouse, and nothing will dissuade them, even panicky girls calling their names in the darkness.

I am sorry to say that it was all of 6:30 PM at that point. Time to pour a glass of wine, heat up some of the soup I made in the earlier, pre-panicked portions of the day, text my sister to call off the APB, and watch an episode of Ray Donovan.

Clyde curled up next to me as if nothing had happened and promptly went to sleep.

What’s not to love about falling behind (other than, you know, the hassle of setting all the clocks – surely Staff should do that? Oh, wait – I am the Staff)? Though supposedly falling behind, you are in fact ahead of the game. You get to sleep an extra hour, and it’s actually daylight when you get up, even at the new 6:30 am. Waiting until around 7:30 to let the boys out was getting pretty old, and I don’t know who hated it more, them or Me.

It was cold enough on Time Change Sunday to put the heat on when I got up, being an overly brisk 50F (10C) in the house that morning. The kitties basked happily while I drank coffee out of a different mug than usual:

and read Postsecret, as usual.

When I was finally caffeinated, I made a pile of apples from the family property into applesauce. I have never done that before, but it was surprisingly easy, other than peeling and coring about 20 apples. However, I did end up with a huge vat of applesauce*. I made two cups of it into applesauce cake, and I’m planning to freeze some and bring some to the jobette for lunch. That seems to be the down side of the giant family garden: having to deal with all the produce it produces. Megan has canned 18 quarts of tomato sauce, and is probably going to make more, along with pesto and apple butter.

It also seemed like a good opportunity to prep for winter a bit. I brought in most of the outdoor furniture and all the cushions, and filled up some buckets of water for the inevitable power outages to come. I need to buy drinking water as well.

While cutting back the hostas, I noticed that both orchids have flower spikes, so I can look forward to the blooms in a couple of months. I’ll have to remember to bring them and the geraniums in if we get another cold snap this winter.

Applesauce always reminds me of that Brady Bunch episode.

A YEAR AGO:

I was in Atlanta.

Showered with Confetti and Love

The Giants celebrated their epic World Series win with a parade down Market Street – San Francisco’s Main Street – to City Hall, where Marilyn Monroe married native son and baseball legend Joe DiMaggio 60 years ago. They were showered with showers, but also a hail of confetti and love. No stranger to triumphal processions through the City streets after two earlier World Series wins, manager Bruce Bochy said that he had never heard anything like the thunderous applause and screams that met the returning heroes, especially Madison Bumgarner, who was deafened with howls of “MVP” everywhere he went, perched on the back of a flatbed truck:

An observer described the pandemonium as “something between pagan idolatry and Beatlemania”.

I hope we get to do it all over again next year.

Meanwhile, back in Hoooterville, I woke up to a welcome inch and a half of rain in the gauge and a slightly less welcome forecast of heavy rain accessorized with possible thunderstorms and hail – definitely not ideal trick or treating weather. However, the forecasters were wrong, as so often happens, and there was really no need for me to haul along my winter coat and two umbrellas as well as wearing my rain boots.

This year, instead of going the Village as usual, we met Erica and Jessica at Jessica’s friend’s house. It was more of an estate to my mind than a house, since it included sweeping vineyards and several outbuildings. There was a cauldron of tea and a buffet of Halloween food:

Here’s a close-up:

Both Erica and Jessica had made their own costumes, though Erica did add the zipper to Jessica’s dress. They were Undead Alice in Wonderland and the Red Queen:

Here’s a close-up of Jessica’s apron. It’s hard to tell from the picture, but she embroidered “We’re all mad here” and made the teeth all texture-y:

Erica made her entire costume other than the boots, including the horns, yarn wig, corset, velvet cape, etc. You can see these girls share genes and attitude!

Erica also brought kitty ears for me to wear:

We had the following text exchange:

Erica: Cat ears are black with pink inside and some sparkle. 🙂

Me: How Suzy is that?!

Erica: That’s what Jessica said!

Me: Sparkly minds think alike.

A YEAR AGO:

Happy Halloween!

The San Francisco Giants Win!

The Giants won their third World Series title in five years on Wednesday night. Above, you see Buster Posey, the team’s valiant catcher, my favorite Giant, and owner of the best name in baseball, hugging pitcher Madison Bumgarner, the stoic country boy who is now a hero and a legend.

With all the stress in my life lately, it’s been hard to watch the World Series. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but the anxiety is tough in my weakened condition. The Bumgarnerless night before the Giants’ victory, they were smoked 10-0 by Kansas City in Game 6, and I had to stop watching after about the third inning because I just could’t take it anymore.

Last night, the Giants scored two runs, were tied by Kansas City, and then Joe Panik (the second best name in baseball) made a crucial double play. Pablo Sandoval, the beloved big bear known as The Panda, made what would become the game’s winning run with a mighty swing:

Despite his size, The Panda can run as well as he can hit, and as if that weren’t enough, he also caught the last out which won the Giants the Series. He lay for a second on the grass, where he had dived to make the catch, before being swarmed by his teammates who lifted him up and carried him into the joyous knot of players surrounding Bumgarner, the calm, unruffled, 25 year old hero of the Series.

Bumgarner pitched this epic Game 7 just two days after pitching a shutout game. His father was asked if he thought his son could pitch again so soon, and he replied, “I didn’t know if he had enough left tonight. But I did know that boy would try to steal a steak off the devil’s plate.”

And he did.

Here’s to the Giants dynasty, their fans, and the beautiful city they call home. And next season!

A YEAR AGO:

Seasonally Affected

You already knew that Megan is the best sister in the world, right? Just for extra proof, as if any were needed, she got up at 5:00 am after working four 12 hour night shifts to drive her pathetic older sister to the county seat in the stormy Saturday darkness. When I was about 14 and she was 5, Megan told me, “I’ll catch up with you one day. You’ll see!” She should have said, “I’ll pass you and leave you in the dust*.”

In my defense, I have never driven the switchbacked mountain road that leads there, and starting in the storm-tossed darkness did not seem like the best idea. I hate driving at night, whereas Megan is so used to it after so many years of night shifts and night time ambulance driving that she navigated through it all with one hand on the wheel. I think she likes Wednesday, leather seats and all.

The Ridge and the road to the city were littered with tree branches and pine needles (follow the red needle road!), which Megan said were more slippery and dangerous than they looked, having been called to many pine needle induced accident scenes over the years. Despite driving carefully through the redwoods and up and down and around and about the crazy road to the county seat (on our way back, we passed a couple of guys who had pulled over to throw up together**), we made good time.

Despite living here for five years now, I honestly don’t think I’ve been to the county seat since being helicoptered there with Dad when he had his stroke fourteen years ago. I tend to go to Santa Rosa for things that cannot be found on the coast.

Megan dropped me off at the test center, where I was joined by about ten other testees. The person giving the test said that 21 people had registered for it, but that half showing up was about par for the course. She added that this was also the case for interviews, which I found surprising.

We all took our places in a conference room and dutifully filled in the little multiple choice bubbles with the Number Two pencils we had been instructed to bring with us. There were 100 questions. I was pretty confident about the spelling, grammar, and punctuation, but less so about the word problems. At least there wasn’t any math. X-Y = Zzzzz for me.

I finished the test first, and we are supposed to get our results in 10 business days.

Megan and I attempted to shop, but the selection was lacking, so we headed back to the coast, stopping for a belated breakfast at the Boonville General Store. It felt much later than 11:30, but that’s what happens when you get up long before the sun. I had hoped to buy dinner for Megan and Rob at Libby’s, but they were closed, despite the sign saying they were open. We weren’t the only ones to be disappointed – several other cars stopped, tried the doors, and left. We’re planning to meet up with Erica and Jessica for Halloween on Friday, so maybe we can stop in then.

*Somehow, the baby of the family has become its matriarch, and never got any of the traditional “baby” slack from the rest of the family. Go figure.

**I felt really sorry for them. There was a looong way to go before they’d hit any straight roads. Kind of like being seasick in the middle of the ocean.

A YEAR AGO:

Virtual Walk.

It’s birds 2, kitties 0 on today’s scoreboard!

Clyde appeared with a bird in his mouth, and I went to take it away from him, surprising both him and the bird and letting it out of Clyde’s mouth. The bird rocketed up into the redwoods to our mutual relief.

I had barely recovered from this close brush with death when Roscoe trotted into the living room with, you guessed it, a bird in his mouth. Again I rescued the bird, and again it flew away quickly and happily. Sometimes when I get birds out of the cat’s mouths, they sit there kind of stunned and I’m not always sure they make it. It was great to know they escaped unscathed, at least this time.

After the avian escapade, Clyde settled next to me on the couch, looking like a little angel and snoring softly:

It’s hard to believe that he was a murderous, bird-killing machine only moments earlier, isn’t it?

I was glad to have Clyde’s cuddlesome support, because we got the termination letter from my job, and I had to compose emails to break the news to the managers I have worked with for many years and cancel the quarterly calls I had set up for next week. Little did I imagine that the last time I spoke to them all would be, well, the last time I spoke to them.

Over the years, I have grown to care about these people. Together, we have gone through a family member’s successful battle against cancer; the birth of a first child; another child’s 4-H ribbons, yet another being accepted to an Ivy League school and a graduation from West Point. I’ve heard about family reunions, marriages, and promotions, and we’ve congratulated each other on World Series bids and wins. I valued our partnership both personally and professionally, and I can’t believe I will never talk to these folks again.

But we have had to hand everything over, and with a lawsuit pending, we have to be careful what we say and who we say it to.

I feel much the way I did when John and I divorced. It was a great loss, and I was saddened by the end of something I went into so optimistically and hopefully and which I thought would last forever. I’ve been spending a lot of time beating myself up for poor decision-making and ending up with no money at a semi-advanced age, but I am proud of what my boss/partner and I achieved together over a decade. We tripled our client’s money in three years, kept the pension fund fully funded through the 2008 market crash and the city’s bankruptcy, and were employers in that embattled state and city. We sponsored an annual golf tournament which raised thousands of dollars for scholarships for needy children of that city. And we did it all with integrity, passion, and caring. We have a lot to be proud of in the face of defeat.

A YEAR AGO:

Home Again.

Five years ago today, I moved into my little hippie hovel in Hooterville. My house used to be James’ (who built it) and Rose’s, and it seems only appropriate that I moved into the house on Rose’s birthday. As Mark said, she is everywhere here.

On Sunday, Rose’s daughter Citlali, who is a member of the same fire department my brother belongs to, invited me to stop by the firehouse for some tacos. This is a fundraising effort held once a month or so, and takes place at the old firehouse beside the Gro:

Inside, the firefighters had set up a couple of tables with slow-cooked pork, corn and flour tortillas, a sort of coleslaw with jicama and corn, salsa verde, limes, chopped cilantro, rice, black beans…it was a feast! For $7, you got a plate with two tacos, rice, beans, and salad with all the accompaniments you could wish for:

All served by your friendly local volunteer firefighters. You know, the people who run into burning buildings and rescue people from crashed cars for no pay. That’s Citlali on the far right. She looks so much like her mother, Rose:

The firehouse was bustling with people, some eating their tacos on the spot and others, like me, taking theirs to go (dinner’s ready!). I stopped in at the Gro to pick up a couple of things, and was amused by this sign on the bulletin board outside:

I especially liked the “Any luck yet?” written on the top.

A YEAR AGO:

Magical History Tour of downtown LA.

Seasonal decorations at Luna Trattoria

How better to take a girl’s mind off pending unemployment than dinner and a movie with two of her favorite girls?

As Megan and I set off for the Big Town, the rain that had been promised all day finally materialized, bucketing merrily down as Megan navigated the twisty roads. The bucketing didn’t last long, though, and there was a mere tenth of an inch in the rain gauge this morning. Come on, rain! You can do better than that!

We met our dear friend Lu at Luna Trattoria, a new restaurant which has been getting a lot of buzz. All of my co-workers at the jobette just love it. It’s a pretty, friendly place, owned by a family from the Emilia- Romagna region of northern Italy. As the menu notes, it’s authentic Italian food, not Italian American food.

Megan had feather-light gnocchi with gorgonzola sauce, Lu had pasta with Sangiovese sauce, and I had spaghetti carbonara, which reminded Megan and me both of our father and our friend Davide, who worked with Dad at the University of Siena. We visited Davide at his home in Milan as well as his very, uh, rural* country home in the Italian Lake district (home of George Clooney). Davide taught Dad to make this dish, which uses pancetta, white wine, eggs, etc. to create a delicious dish. They used to say they’d open a restaurant together one day, Il Due Davidi (The Two Davids). I wish they had and I wish they were still here, drinking wine, cooking, and laughing together.

After dinner, we headed to the movie theater to see “Gone Girl”, which you may remember was one of my favorite books a couple of years ago. I found myself sitting right next to my co-worker and his date. After the movie, I asked him what he thought of it and he opined that perhaps it had not been the best choice for a date movie. On the way out of the theater, we ran into our beloved former swimming teacher Sallie, who was as wonderful and glowing as ever. Gotta love a small town! And a fun evening with the girls.

A YEAR AGO:

LA at last!

*And I do mean rural. Dirt floors and no hot running water.

It’s kind of hard to tell you guys what’s going on when I have no idea what’s going on, but here goes:

• The Cold: Definitely better, but my allergies seem to be picking up the cold’s slack, and I really regret not taking Sudafed before going to work. It’s going to be a long day.
• Work: In keeping with the eerily similar theme, it appears that summarily terminating the contracts at both the job and the jobette may well have been illegal. I am cautiously optimistic about the jobette following a positive legal opinion, but there’s still a long way to go.

  As for the job, we have been told to keep working until further notice, and have not received a termination letter, both of which are good things. Our lawyer, the same gentleman who supported me through the Grand Jury ordeal a couple of years back, believes that we do have legal grounds to overturn the termination, but again, there’s a long way to go and it’s more complicated than the jobette situation.

  Although these are good things, it’s hard to know what to do. I have applied for a couple of local jobs, but have not heard back yet. If I am offered a new job, do I take it? Because, although it’s sometimes difficult to balance the job and the jobette, I love the work and my co-workers at both places and appreciate them all the more now. If I don’t, and it all ultimately falls apart, then what? These are the things that haunt me in the middle of the night (and the middle of the day).

• Taxes: I filed for an extension, and when the tax preparer submitted it, she got a message saying that there had already been a return submitted with my social security number. I checked with John, and it turned out that he had filed married filing single – six months after our divorce became final. When I asked him why he did this, he said it was because he was expecting some kind of paperwork from the court. I pointed out that the paperwork I sent him last July states expressly that the judgment was entered and would become final on October 2, 2013, adding that we were free to marry on that date.

  I went to the courthouse in the Big Town and showed that paperwork to the clerk, who confirmed that there was no other paperwork forthcoming, and added that John’s tax preparer should have known that from looking at the existing paperwork. I made a copy, mailed it to John with the clerk’s comments, and he will amend his return, but what the hell? I cannot understand why he didn’t check with me before filing. At least it will never happen again. Right?

  A YEAR AGO:

  Soiree

By the time I got home from the jobette on Tuesday, it was pretty obvious that I had a cold. Because, you know, why not? Maybe my immune system was weakened by stress, along with my ever tenuous mental health.

Megan had left some Sudafed* on the table for me, and I thought I had some Afrin, but alas, it turned out that I did not. There is no substitute for either of these things, and unfortunately for me, Sudafed alone was not mighty enough to decongest my nose.

As often happens, just when I needed sleep the most, I felt too lousy to sleep. I was awake at 1:30 am, while yet being too tired to read, so I actually watched an episode of The Love Boat, thinking about how the guy who played Gopher became a Congressman later and how Julie the cruise director got fired from the show for her coke habit, which must have been pretty spectacular considering it was the early 80s. I followed up this Velveeta-esque cheesefest with a Scooby Doo cartoon chaser. The Mystery Machine started to look pretty cool to me, and I was actually trying to solve the mysteries, which would have been painfully obvious to Nancy Drew, when I realized that I was probably pretty sick.

Roscoe was unimpressed with my choice of television fare in the dark hours, and Audrey and Clyde left the room completely. I’m blaming it on my weakened and feverish condition.

The next day, Megan came by to check on me and bring me watermelon popsicles for my sore throat, which also happen to be magically delicious. Between those and the meds, I’m on the mend.

A YEAR AGO:

The Impatient Patient

*When Megan bought it, she got her driver’s license out to show the pharmacist, and he told her that the non-drowsy Sudafed, which she was buying, was not the kind used for meth manufacture – the drowsy kind is. Which is kind of counterintuitive.

Elk Cove Sunset

Just because you’ve lost one job doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep doing the one you still have (at least for now). So Megan and I headed down to the beautiful south coast to distribute jobette related materials.

It was a beautiful day, hot by our standards, with not a cloud or a wisp of Karl in sight. September and October are often the warmest and least foggy months in our part of California, and it was probably around 80 degrees, even at the coast, where it’s usually in the 60s, even in the summer.

Since it was late in the day, Franny’s was our first stop (with ten minutes to spare before they closed). Megan got a spicy Mexican mocha for herself and a bag of gummy body parts for Jessica’s Christmas stocking. What says “Christmas” more than squishy, edible people pieces? Here’s look at Franny’s less alarming delicacies:

We stopped in at the feed store across the street on non jobette business: a) to get cat food for Megan’s kitties; and 2) to ask the store owner if we could post a Stella flyer in the window. The owner took one look at Stella’s smiling face and said that she has a good friend whose beloved dog passed away last year and was thinking of getting another one. This person has had nothing but pit bulls her whole life, so she is very knowledgeable about the breed.

Megan sent the store owner some photos and video of Stella and has since made contact with the potential adopter. They will meet in person soon, and if all goes well, Stella will have a new home with 45 fenced acres and another dog to play with, which should be perfect for her. Stay tuned!

Of course, we also had to stop off at Anchor Bay for fabulous Thai food. Amusingly, although we ordered separately and I knew ahead of time what I was getting and Megan didn’t, we ended up getting the same thing (orange chicken; Panang curry; cucumber salad). Great minds think alike. It was really fun to have Megan there with me, and she was a lot of help wrestling boxes and brochures.

As we came around a steep curve, we suddenly came across a cow standing right by the road. I don’t know who was more surprised. The cow seemed to be making up its mind about something, and Megan floored it as much as you can when driving a corkscrew downhill. As she drove, she explained that cows can ram your car repeatedly, and cause quite a lot of damage which is not covered by insurance. I’m still learning the finer points of living in the country, it seems.

The cow didn’t follow us, and it reminded me that this was the second time Megan’s quick thinking had saved us on the south coast. Last time, she pulled the car out of the way of a maniac who had crossed over into our lane in order to pass someone. While coming over a hill with no idea we were there. Fortunately, Megan has quick reflexes and calmness in a crisis, unlike her sister, and pulled over to safety where we both caught our breaths for while, glad we still had them.

You’d think we saw each other all the time, living about 100 yards apart, but we don’t, so we have to make time when we can, even when it’s work related. It was hard to feel like it was work to drive beside the ocean and through the redwoods together, though. I’m lucky that my sister also happens to be my best friend.

A YEAR AGO:

Wine Whine

There was a little earthquake this morning as I left for the jobette. Nothing major, just a little reminder that you never know what’s going to happen. The perfect capper for the week I had.

I have basically lost my job. You know, the one that pays the bills, keeps my hippie hovel over my head, and buys crunchies for the cats. It’s a long, sad story, but basically it’s an unlovely cocktail of racism, politics and intrigue which led to the demise of the contract with our biggest client.

We still have a couple of small ones, but that’s not enough to keep the doors open and the lights on.

People have said to me, “But you own part of the company!” and my response is “Twelve percent of nothing is still nothing.”

I learned this on Thursday, and on Friday, I discovered that due to eerily similar factors at the jobette, that job is in peril as well. You can’t make this up. Even if things were fine and dandy at the jobette, though, the pittance I make there would not be enough to keep me in my fabulous lifestyle.

When I got the news on Thursday, I went straight to my brother’s place, where I proceeded to cry all over him. He was wonderfully reassuring and reminded me that I have family and friends on my side. I got some hugs from Rob, too, and my sister when she woke up from her night shift later that day. If this had to happen to me, it’s the best place for it to happen.

So it’s time to look for a job, network as much as possible, and hope for the best.

A YEAR AGO:

Unexpected

My hard-working sis is working an extra shift this week, and I stopped by to say hello and goodbye this morning. Attire: kitty pajamas, sweater, and sandals (like Peppermint Patty, I wear them even in winter). I was surprised that the car was full of dogs and she was ready to go. It turns out that she had come over to my house yesterday morning, only to find that I was already gone to the jobette (I left early to buy groceries, gas, cat food, and go to the library).

She was planning to drop the dogs off at our friend Lu’s house, where they can play with their friend Harlow and run around the big, fenced yard while Megan is at work. At least we had a couple of minutes to catch up with each other’s news (Megan’s cat Ramona is experiencing age-related health issues; I had my hair cut) and promise each other we’d try to spend some time together on Friday. For girls who live about 100 yards away from each other, we don’t see each other very often. Still, it’s good to know she’s there.

The wonderful Angelika cut my hair on Friday. It was high time, since the last time she cut it was in March! On my way there, I came across a flock of little boys riding their bikes down the Ridge, each with a fishing pole tied to the handlebars. They rode into the parking lot at the firehouse to let me pass, waving and smiling. It was kind of an Andy Griffith moment. Nice to know that kids still want to go fishing with their friends on a fine, late summer day.

At Angelika’s little salon in the big woods, the garden was looking lovely:

As was I after my haircut. Angelika is from Germany, where they apparently take hair styling very seriously. She studied for four years, as if it were college, apprenticing after two years. She has never said so, but I think she’s appalled that in the US, it’s about nine months of training instead. All I can say is, even after six months, my hair still had its shape, even when I didn’t blow dry it.

She and her boyfriend have been converting their garage to an artist’s studio, installing windows that she traded haircuts for. Her boyfriend traded cutting down trees for lumber, which somehow seems appropriate. I love how this kind of thing is still possible around here. A visitor told me this week that we live in a sort of fairyland up here, and sometimes, it seems like we do.

It’s not all fairies, though. Some of it is bugs.

Like the cricket who found its way onto my stove, leaping away in horror when I turned the burner on, then retreating to a safe distance to watch the proceedings with interest, occasionally waving his antennae in approval.

Or the termites wafting gently through the autumn sunlight. I didn’t even know they flew until I moved to Hooterville. They eventually lose their wings, which lodge nicely in the cobwebs the less Martha Stewart among us have in our houses, and retire to eat someone’s house, possibly mine, though I have not caught them yet.

On the other hand, Erica’s insect encounter was less benign:

“My washing machine just broke because a banana slug got electrocuted on a circuit board.

Now I’m looking for new fuses to solder in, after cleaning out slug bits and carbon, because soldering that thing in is going to be cheaper than the $450-600 to have a repairman replace the board.”

The hazards of living in the country. Or fairyland. You decide.

We were gifted with another inch and a half of rain! It’s very early in the season, and it’s making me hopeful for a rainy winter.

During the rainfall, I realized that I did not have any sauce for the pasta I was planning to make for dinner. So I pulled on my little flowered rain boots and the hat I bought at the fair one year, and skipped through the puddles to my sister’s house, where she was getting ready for work.

The dogs were more excited than usual to see me, and that’s pretty excited. I don’t think anyone in the world is ever happier to see me than Star. Even my Dad made less fuss when I flew halfway around the world in coach to see him. The dogs were bored out of their minds in the way dogs are when it rains. They went out to pee, but couldn’t wait to get back in the house and out of the wetness. If possible, Stella actually hates the rain more than Star. So they are bored, but don’t want to go out and play. An appearance by Auntie Suzy just brightens up the dullness of their day.

Fortunately for me, Megan had some tomato sauce, and also tomatoes from the epic family garden which are due to be made into sauce any day. I also used onions, garlic and peppers from the family estate to make the sauce.

While I was at Megan’s, Rob showed me that he had done some work in their bathroom, repainting and planning to replace their sink with a better one he found somewhere, as Rob does. So he’s been cheating on my bathroom with his own bathroom. 🙂

There’s really not much left to do in my bathroom. Rob came by last night and put on a coat of primer. There’s just the walls to be painted white and the door to be painted black, along with installing the new door knob set. Here’s how it looked before the primer went on:

And here’s how it looked before Rob made it beautiful:

Amazing difference, isn’t it? Rob suggested taking down that shelf and it makes the whole room look bigger. I love how Rob was so creative in finding and using things. It’s been so fun spending more time with him. And of course, Clyde did an excellent job of supervising.

We ended up getting 3/4 inch of rain! My lazy side (is there any other?) was happy not to have to water the garden, though the rain did seem to revitalize the mosquitoes. Every silver lining has its cloud?

Wednesday required a follow up visit to the car spa in Santa Rosa. Apparently whatever they did last time needed a minor-ish adjustment, and since it was part of the warranty repair, all it cost was about five hours’ driving and a tank of gas. I can’t tell you how nice it is to be able to take the key out of the ignition on the first try, and to have the dashboard warning light- and beep-free. I’m hoping that this has finally solved all of Wednesday’s woes and that the car curse is broken.

A girl can dream.

The other day, I stopped on the Ridge on my way home and gave a lift to Michael. He is an older gentleman who can often be seen riding his bike around Hooterville. When Schatzi was missing, he was very helpful in searching for her, especially since he was not in a car but able to cover a good distance. As you know, we never did find our beloved girl, but it was comforting how our little community rallied around and did its best to help.

On this evening, he was on foot. I stopped and asked him if he would like a ride – he often says no when he is on his bike, but I keep asking anyway – and he was very happy to hop in. I asked where his bike was, and he said that he had hitchhiked to the Big Town that day and was on his way back.

I asked him where he lived, fairly confident that it wouldn’t be as far down the Ridge as I am, and it turned out that he lives on the same road as Lichen. Not just the same road, but on the same property! Not only that, but someone had just bought the property, which had been for sale for years, and he and Lichen have six weeks to find somewhere else.

As I was digesting this shocking news, Rob passed us and I waved and smiled. Michael said, “That’s Robert.” I said yes, he is married to my sister. Michael was surprised and pleased with this information, and spent a few minutes telling me that Rob is a good man, very smart and very funny. It was nice to hear that someone appreciates Rob as much as his family does.

I offered to drive Michael all the way home but he preferred to walk down his road. He said that he lives in a ten foot by ten foot cabin and wasn’t ready to be inside just yet. I told him I’d keep an eye open for a new place for him and went on my way.

I expect that whoever bought that property will tear down the little houses and build something new, and I don’t like the thought of people who would kick tenants out of their homes with inadequate time to find shelter moving into our little community. One of the nice things about living somewhere so isolated is that it tends not to attract people like this. I hope it’s not a harbinger of change. And it’s hard not to worry about it happening to me some day.

Yesterday, my little abode seemed more like Grand Central than a little hippie hovel deep in the woods.

Mark came by to borrow season two of “Dexter” – he and Citlali are both completely hooked on it, and while he was there, checked out the cupboard in the pantry/laundry room that came off about a year and a half ago and which he has been promising to fix since he got home from New Jersey last year. He thought he might have the right hinges somewhere, and went off to look.

He came back with them and they didn’t fit, so he made a note to look the next time he’s in town.

I started dinner – chili cashew chicken stir fry – and Rob knocked on the door. He was looking for Parmesan since the Gro was closed, and fortunately, I still had a piece left over from the pasta with pesto, chicken and artichokes which I had for dinner the night before.

I gave it to him along with a belated birthday hug – Rob turned 50 on Thursday and I hadn’t seen him to give him a birthday hug and kiss. We really need to get it together with our celebratory BBQs this year – I still haven’t had mine, nor has Jonathan. And note to Self: let Jonathan know that he has been promoted to my big brother. He and Megan are the only ones still hanging onto their 40s.

I had just sat down to dinner and “Murder In the First”, a very enjoyable policier set in San Francisco and actually filmed there, when Citlali came by to borrow some conditioner for her beautiful girls’ beautiful long hair. I gave her the rest of the bottle, knowing all too well what it’s like to try and detangle long hair without conditioner.

I love how we can all help each other out. We’re all in this together!

Update: Megan tells me that Lichen knows the guy who bought the property. Apparently the new owner’s vision is to make the little houses an “artists’ colony”, and since the new owner knows Lichen, has enlisted his services to find a contractor to renovate the houses. Lichen can stay in his house and be an on site caretaker, though everyone else has to move. They have sixty days to find new places, which is better than six weeks.