Suzy Says

Long ago and far away

I have been keeping in better touch with my former neighbor Patrisha since she lost her beloved dog Hamish, so I have recently learned more news about my old neighborhood.

As you may remember, I used to live in the woodworking shop of a Victorian coffin factory. My front door opened onto the building’s courtyard, and to get to my place, you passed through a slightly creepy brick passageway like the carriages of old. Living in an old factory had its advantages. The brick walls were thick, muffling the city sounds while keeping in heat in the winter and coolness in the summer.

In the picture below, you can just about see the passageway leading to my place on the far left:

The former factory was home to a thriving and eccentric community of artists, filmmakers, photographers, architects, woodworkers (though not coffin makers), and, well, eccentrics. It is also enviably located within walking distance of the Lake and in sighting distance of the CN Tower, not to mention its proximity to the delights of Queen Street and King Street West.

Shortly before I moved back to California, a building of fake lofts began construction at the corner of the street, to the horror of the coffin factory dwellers and those in the Victorian rowhouses beside it. How ridiculous is it to build a building of pseudo lofts across the street from a building of authentic ones – thus ruining the very artistic atmosphere and look they were trying to imitate? I had a feeling even then that the coffin factory’s days as an artist community were numbered, and they are.

The owner of the building is planning to build two huge, hideous towers where the (very modest) parking lot for the building is and in the secret garden overlooking the train tracks where the lovely Rita and I used to play:

Then the whole building will be made into condos, so adios to all the artists who currently live there. Apparently many have already moved. Patrisha is so sad at the changes to – I almost wrote “destruction of” – the street that she is seriously considering moving back to her native Scotland.

Ever since the recession, or economic downturn, or whatever you want to call it, especially in an election year, I have often thought that I should have stayed in the coffin factory, surrounded by friends and neighbors, within a pleasant train ride of Kelly and Joy and a streetcar ride from Mike and his lovely family, where I would have medical coverage and access to delivery food of any ethnicity you can think of. True, there are the sweltering summers and the freezulating winters and the whole ridiculous liquor store business, but still…it’s sometimes hard not to feel that leaving might have been a big mistake. Sometimes I think of how my life might have been different or better if I had stayed. Coulda, woulda, shoulda – can anyone ever resist playing that game?

But hearing this news, I realize that if I had stayed, I would be homeless in a very expensive place – not notably cheaper than San Francisco, as far as I can tell – and that would be very scary indeed. At least as it is, I can always camp on my siblings’ property and they will always be here to help me out whenever I need it. Maybe I’m not such a bad decision maker after all.

Star (left) and Schatzi (right)

On Friday, Megan and I went to the Farmers’ Market in the Village.

I have to admit that the Farmers’ Market has become somewhat less exciting for us since Megan and Jonathan created their amazing garden. Pretty much everything they have at the Farmers’ Market, we already have, though there are some exceptions, like the fabulous Herbes de Provence mustard and delightful sprouts (we got lentil this time). Megan also picked up some organic pork roast, because our good friend Paul is coming to visit soon. Her plan is to slow cook it over the barbecue at the garden party palace while he’s here.

I took the opportunity to ask the makers of Seasoning Sand (as seen in the September Oprah Magazine) and Sea Smoke how to use the Sea Smoke. We sell this, along with other local products, at the new and improved jobette*, and people always ask me how to use it. I had no idea! Apparently the correct answer is to use it on everything. According to the makers, it’s good on everything from vanilla ice cream to Chinese food and sliced apples. He says you just need a pinch and that he takes some every time he goes out to dinner, in case he needs to improve his order.

So now I know.

After the Farmers’ Market, we took Schatzi to the vet for a check up. You may remember that she is a vintage 13 years old, and also that her old bones look like Swiss cheese inside. However, Megan’s careful drug, food, and supplement program has resulted not only in Schatzi smiling as she prances past my house every day, but in her kidney and liver numbers actually improving. I just hoped that her numbers wouldn’t be worse – I never considered that they might get better.

So that was a welcome surprise, especially when Dr. Karen told us that Schatzi has developed a heart murmur. Apparently, this is not as alarming as it sounds, and it’s a mild one. We should be concerned if we hear her coughing, so we’ll have to keep an eye (or ear) out for that.

It was a lovely, sunny day – even lovelier with the good Schatzi news – so we picked up a bottle of wine** and toasted Schatzi as we sat in my garden in the early autumn sunshine. I figured we should enjoy the garden while we can – the winter rains can’t be far away now.

I guess my version is “drink wine while the sun shines” instead of “make hay.”

*I was surprisingly upset to discover today that someone stole one of the bookmarks, decorated with a little glass vial of sand, beach glass, and shells, that we sell at the jobette. I’m still sad about it, hours later.

**The jobette CEO just gave me a bottle of wine and one of extra virgin olive oil from his trip to Italy, with a lovely card thanking me for my hard work. How nice is that?

Megan worked four long night shifts last week, so she woke up on Friday afternoon, my one day off that week. We realized that the County Fair started that day, and since I work on the weekends, Friday was our only chance to go. We decided to go in the late afternoon, so Megan could get caffeinated and ready for the hour long drive.

Due to the magic of microclimates, it was cold and foggy on the coast, but warm and sunny when we arrived at the Fair. We met up with Erica first – Jessica was on the rides with one of her many friends – and she looked great. I can’t believe how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. I need to take some time out for fun.

Erica said that Jessica was enjoying school so far, and likes her teacher, which is good. One not so good thing was the furor that Jessica’s reappearance caused among the male population of her school. Apparently there was much nudging and yelling of “Jessica’s back!” by the boys, some who weren’t even in her class. After all, she’s only nine. But I’m sure Jessica has enough common sense to take it all in her (very long) stride.

As usual, she’s gotten taller since I saw her last. Here she is with two other kids: a goat named Edward, and Edward’s owner:

We checked out the livestock – goats, sheep, cows, rabbits, and an exotic chicken:

And an even more exotic rooster:

before it was time for Erica and Jessica to go home – they had been there since noon!

As they left, the lights were coming on:

I had never been to the Fair in the evening before, so it was fun to see the sparkle. Also the biggest pumpkin – a whopping 500 pounds:

And the garden entries – this was my favorite:

It’s hard to choose a favorite among the quilts. They were all so beautiful. I’ll narrow it down to two, the Bug Quilt:

And the Alphabet Quilt:

As Megan and I walked back to the car, I remarked to her that when she told me as a child that she would catch up to me one day (I’m 9 years older, though not wiser), I bet she never imagined that she’d be the one taking me to the Fair, which made her laugh.

It’s funny because it’s true!

I woke up to a 54 degree house this morning. I’m beginning to take the birds seriously.

First the migrating cranes have indicated that we will have an early winter – and unlike human weather forecasters, the cranes have never been wrong yet – and then there have been alarming reports of robins sighted locally.

Now, those of you who live in other places probably think of robins as a happy sign of spring, but here in northern California, they are a depressing sign of winter. These pretty (and possibly not too smart – why don’t they keep going until they hit Mexico? Or at least the OC?) avians spend their winters in Hooterville like more fashionable people spend them…well, in more fashionable places. The fact that they are already turning up is another sign that winter is coming sooner rather than later.

On Friday, I had my one day off of the week. I spent the time not wearing makeup or brushing my hair or talking to the general public, either by phone or in person. There was reading and movie watching, and that was about it.

I think the kitties – at least the boys, anyway – have missed me, because they hung out with me most of the day, instead of playing in what’s left of the summer/fall weather. Clyde sat on me and purred in his patented manner (always my left shoulder), and this morning, I woke up to find him sleeping on my head and Roscoe sleeping at my feet. As I write, Clyde is perched on me, purring and getting in the way as much as felinely possible.

However, when I finally got home yesterday evening, the boys were nowhere to be seen. They almost always come in around 6:00 to have their dinner, but not yesterday. I went out and called them to no avail. I was making my own dinner when I heard Clyde’s distinctive voice behind me. I picked him up, and instead of smelling like the woods, he smelled like rust and mildew, so who knows what he was up to.

I went out and called Roscoe, who finally appeared from the haul road, making his distinctive sound, which is oddly small and plaintive, unlike his rumbling purr (and giant personality).

Audrey, on the other hand, did not show up until 1:30 am.

I wonder if the cats all thought, “Well, if you aren’t going to be home, we won’t be, either! See how you like it!”

I definitely didn’t.

Over the past week or so, two of my dearest friends have lost two of their dearest friends.

Kelly’s Jazz, the most elegant and dignified dog I have ever met, left us on September 4 at the age of fifteen – a long life, but as we all know, it’s never long enough. Jazz was loved her entire life, from her first breath to her last, and how many of us, animal or human, can say that? Here she is in adorable puppyhood:

Patrisha, who gave me the priceless gift of June and Audrey (and who still has their mother, Quince), lost her handsome gentleman Hamish yesterday, also at the age of fifteen. I can’t imagine Patrisha’s vine-covered front fence without Hamish peeking through the bars, or her cycling down the street without him in her flower-decked basket. Of Hamish, Patrisha says, “Strong will & bold Scottish spirit to the last.”

Farewell, dear friends. You are missed. And loved.

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!

Thursday kicked off with a visit from the money fairy while I was asleep. The money fairy really doesn’t visit me often enough these days. I actually thought she had lost my address a long time ago.

I woke up to discover a pile of cash on top of my also sleeping computer, with a note from my sister saying, “We gotta help each other out. We’re all we got. xo”

I was so touched that I had to take a moment. I walked out into the sunny garden, where the hummingbirds were buzzing around and the cats were playing, and thought how lucky I was to have such a wonderful family.

I was still drinking coffee when my neighbor and Rose’s daughter, Catrin, stopped by to give me some money for her half of the cable bill. More money! Then the phone rang to tell me that Miss Scarlett* was finally ready to leave the emergency room. Between the cash from the money fairy and the coupon I had received earlier in the week from the garage, the bill to repair her was much more tolerable than I had anticipated.

I love days where people throw money at me. It should happen more often.

*I’m beginning to think I need a “Car” category. Though I hope not.

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!

Dad and Megan at our home in New York State, early 1970s

Dad was never much of a swimmer. He’d edge gingerly into the water and finally, when it was inevitable, he’d plunge in – always keeping his head out of the water.

He had a style all his own, a sort of determined, modified dog paddle which changed little over the years and seemed to be relatively effective both in the chilly waters of the Atlantic or a Maine lake on a summer afternoon.

You can’t really blame him for his lack of swimming technique, since he grew up in London during World War II and was probably a lot more interested in dodging bombs and investigating downed enemy planes than he was in perfecting the breast stroke. And I imagine that swimming pools were harder to come by in that neighborhood than fresh eggs*, and less desirable, too.

Today, on the eleventh anniversary of his death, Megan and I are taking our next to last swimming lesson for the summer. As I wade into the warm water – like Dad, I tend to wade in. whereas Megan jumps in fearlessly, which pretty much sums up our approaches to life in general – I will think about the golden summer days when Dad took us swimming on our Maine island, long ago but still in my heart, the way he always is.

*Dad’s mother used to tell me how one day she was granted a ration of a fresh egg apiece for herself, her husband, and her two children, a delight after years of powdered eggs. She took the children with her to get them, and on the way home, they were bombed. My grandmother hid under a bus with her children by her side, clutching the precious eggs and praying, “Please don’t break my eggs!” They all survived – at least, until dinner time.

Before Mark left on his East Coast Adventure, he pretty much emptied his refrigerator into mine. Having been brought up with a horror of wasting food by a father who endured stringent rationing both during and after World War II, it was a challenge to come up with a way to use up the motley assortment:

– Slightly tired tomatoes
– Two onions
– A bag of tortillas
– About a dozen limes
– Some tomatillos
– Mysteriously, two bags of pre-made coleslaw mix (cabbage and carrots sliced up)

I used up most of the tomatoes in curried chickpeas, which is also where some of the onions went.

Besides the obvious use for countless limes (vodka and tonics), I used some to marinate shrimp, with ginger, garlic, and coconut milk. And I used some to make salsa with the tomatillos. I have never worked with tomatillos before, but it turns out that it’s pretty easy to make salsa verde. Just chop up the tomatillos, some onion, garlic, cilantro, and jalapeño, throw it in the food processor with some lime juice and sea salt, and purée. Voilà! I’m thinking of making it into chicken enchiladas later this week, which will use up some of the tortillas Mark also gave me. Fortunately, they freeze pretty well.

I’m open to suggestions on what to do with all that shredded cabbage, though!

Well, I didn’t let the Bad Day get me down. Not completely, anyway.

On Friday night, we had a BBQ at the property with my siblings’ land partners, Jennifer and Dave* and our dear friend Lu, who brought her dogs Marco and Harlow, who is Star’s BFF. Marco has suddenly gone blind, so it was a challenge keeping him away from the fire, etc. When you have a 137 pound blind dog on your hands, everything suddenly looks like an obstacle course. He is coping pretty well, but at 6 years old, he is getting on in age for a Rottweiler and is also having a hard time with one of his back legs.

I think it was good for Lu to get out of the house and be with friends for a little while. As it was for me. We all toasted Mom and shared some memories. We all agreed that while our parents and their parenting style was somewhat unusual, we were lucky to have had them. And to have each other.

By the way: Roscoe is doing much better. I have stopped squirting him, and his skin is returning to its normal whiteness, with just a little bit of scabbiness. I hope the fur grows back – he looks a little odd with a bald spot. I guess I will never know what happened…a kitty mystery!

*I stopped in at the store after going to the post office, where I learned that Dave and Jennifer were here for two weeks with their three horses (I thought they only had two), and that my new neighbors had invisibly moved into Mark’s house. Good thing the store is there to tell me what’s going on in my life.

• 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.

Fun fact: This is my 2,000th post! Is that an amazing achievement, or kind of sad? It did take me 11 years to reach this milestone, so maybe it’s more lame than amazing.

Faithful (and even casual) readers know that my sister really is amazing. On Sunday, she happened to be here when Roscoe turned up with a bird in his mouth. She immediately removed the bird, in case there was a chance of survival (there wasn’t – not even Megan’s considerable EMS skills are equal to resuscitating a headless bird), and while doing so, noticed that something was wrong.

Roscoe has a weird spot like a skinned knee on the place in front of his ear and above his eye where the fur is really thin. It looks pretty ooky, even a few days later. Megan went home and got some magic (and pricy) stuff called Vetericyn, which we’ve been spraying on him several times a day. I actually left him in the house one day with the doors closed, so he could rest and heal. Of course, it was about 80 degrees for the first time in foggy weeks, but he looks a little better.

Megan has been coming by to check on him in the morning on the way home, and calls in to see how he is at night, which I think is really sweet considering how crazy her job is and how long the hours are.

I’m a little worried that all this spraying and keeping inside will kind of ruin our relationship, but it has to be done. At least he cuddled up with me early this morning. I don’t know which of us was more alarmed when the alarm went off at 6:00.

You may remember that the splendid pool closed in February due to lack of funds. But our little town doesn’t give up that easily. Much as we did last year to save the library, we voted to impose an extra half penny sales tax on ourselves, the proceeds going to keep the recreation center open forever. I love it that even in these hard economic times and with such a small population, we are willing to make sacrifices to keep our library and recreation centers open and vibrant.

Megan and I went to the grand reopening last weekend. It was so crowded that the parking lot was completely full and we had to find street parking near the skate park. We paused to admire the airborne antics of skateboarding kids – some of them looked to my untrained eye no bigger than kindergartners, and maybe they were – and then went inside to renew our memberships.

I was having a grumpy day, beset by allergies and The Comma and general terror about my dwindling future, so I didn’t bring a bathing suit, which was lame of me, since our beloved swim teacher Sallie was giving free lessons. You can almost see Sallie on the left of this picture, and Megan is the little dot in the middle. Needless to say, the intrepid Megan brought her suit, and I should have listened to her advice and brought mine.

At least we were able to sign up for four Saturdays’ worth of swimming classes, which started this past weekend. It’s amazing how out of shape a girl can get after not exercising for five months, unless you count housework, worrying, and ambling errands. Even our brother admitted that he had a hard time swimming for 15 minutes at a time, when he was used to swimming 45 minutes without stopping. Hopefully I will improve with practice. But it was great to be back in the water, and Sallie is just so fun and inspiring.

We were starving after class, so we stopped by an age-old market and deli on the way to the library. Not much has changed in there since it opened back in 1933:

Though their spelling had not improved:

They make the sandwiches to order, so it took a while before we could obey the hand:

We stopped by the library and exchanged books. It was a pretty good Saturday.

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.

Oh, those kitties!

The other evening, I saw Audrey trotting toward the open sliding glass doors with something in her mouth. I hastened to close the doors before she came inside with whatever it was – I have a firmly closed door policy on things like that – but she got in before I could stop her.

She had a snake in her mouth.

She tripped lightly up the stairs to the sleeping loft. I followed, and the snake was in a heap near my lovely floor lamp. I went to get the broom and dustpan to remove the unwelcome visitor, but by the time I came back, it was gone.

Audrey was sitting on the bed as if nothing had happened, having a bath with her snake breath. I looked cautiously around, but couldn’t find it.

This did not make for a peaceful evening, though I tried to lose myself in the complex Awake and not think about waking up with a snake on the bed. Or stepping on it when I got up, as I always do a few times a night.

Around 1:00 am, I got up and saw the snake in a pool of light by the front door (I have a little nightlight down there to light my way down the stairs and try and avoid further Calamity Suzy episodes while not making it too bright to sleep). I still had the broom and dustpan upstairs, just in case, so I advanced armed to meet the enemy.

Unfortunately, snakes are somewhat resistant to being collected into dustpans. Somehow I hadn’t known before that they can sort of slither sideways, which is what it did. I opened the door and swept it out into the darkness. Fortunately the cats were all napping and didn’t follow the reptilian terror into the outer darkness.

Let’s hope that Audrey doesn’t take up snake collecting in the way Roscoe collects lizards. And I’m glad that Clyde has yet to find a reptilian hobby.

The following morning, I thought I’d let the cats out at 6 and go back to sleep, leaving the glass doors open. I thought the cats could go in and out and leave the unpaid and underslept help to try and catch up on her much-needed beauty sleep.

This plan was foiled by Audrey, who came back in through the open living room door and came upstairs to claw at the closed balcony door. And also by Roscoe, who decided to stand on my head, waking me up from a dream with Dad in it, thus depriving me of a little visit with my favorite person in the world. When I heard Clyde messing around on the kitchen counter, I knew I was once again defeated and got up to give them breakfast.

Needless to say, they did not reappear again until dinner time.

Well, the holes in my mouth and yard are filled in. For now.

Getting my Golden Jubilee crown was not as festive as it sounds. The dentist applied the anesthetic, and after it made my face feel rubbery and weird, tilted the chair way, way back until I was practically upside down. I pointed out that I felt like a bat sleeping in a cave, and he said it was good for my brain cells, which I agreed I could definitely use.

The down side of the head down is that the freezing spread through my face, encompassing my nose and the side of my eye, which was a little alienating. Still, it was a joy compared to the piercing, shrieking hell that is the drilling.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m glad this wasn’t happening to me in the year of my grandmother’s birth, or of mine, for that matter. Things dental have improved considerably during my reign. However, the fact remains that one’s senses are unpleasantly assaulted by the sound of drilling (not to mention the thought of it) and the smell of burning bone which is its unlovely accompaniment.

I realize that they can’t render us unconscious for such a trivial procedure, but couldn’t they at least have a DVD player and headphones so a girl could distract herself? Considering that these are standard equipment in many cars these days – God forbid that kids should have to actually talk to their family or look at the scenery – it seems an obvious amenity for a place where everyone wants to be distracted.

Somehow, I hadn’t realized that they were going to put in a temporary crown, while my real one is tailor made. So this was sort of a dress rehearsal and I have to go back in two weeks to get the real crown. Fortunately there will be no drilling the next time (I hope). I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, though. I know the Queen’s crown is very heavy, but I bet it doesn’t hurt as much as my mouth did the next day. I felt like I’d been punched in the mouth by Muhammad Ali.

Meanwhile, Mark and a couple of guys were working hard at the septic system. It turns out there were some roots in the way and various other tweaks and improvements to be made, but he’s basically done now, other than a couple of finishing touches and cleaning up. It also turns out that my toilet was Frankensteined together from various commodes in James’ epic decades-old collection, so that’s the reason behind its general torpor and underachieving. I’m not sure that will be corrected before Mark and his family take off on their East Coast adventure, but at least the septic system is working and my tooth is fixed.

More or less.