The New Dharma Bums

The World's Best Sister

2008-05-22T20:49:00.000-07:00

My younger sister Lynn flew to Seattle last Sunday so she could drive down to Humboldt County with me and the cat. I drove the first 90 miles along the beautiful Hood Canal. She drove the remaining 520 miles. We didn't plan it that way, it's just the way it worked out. She likes to drive. I like to sit and look out the window. We've been wanting to do a road trip together for years. In fact, I don't think we've driven this far together since we moved from New Jersey to California nearly 40 years ago. We had a great journey. We found that the miles flew by when we talked, and they flew even faster when we laughed. So, laugh we did, about everything. We could make a joke out of whatever was in front, behind or to the side of us: roadside crews, other drivers, bike riders, and road signs. The sight of a Dairy Queen sign, of which there are many, was enough to send us over the edge. She said, "Everybody loves ice cream, but come on, why is there a DQ sign at every exit in Oregon." I asked her at one point, "Don't you think it's weird that you came all the way to Port Townsend just to drive me south?" She said, "Nope. I love this!"

Lynn is an incredibly easy going person. She definitely has the patience and equanimity genes of the family. Nothing ruffles her. Not even my anxiety around hair-pin turns, when I screeched every time she crossed the center line. She would just smile at me and say, "I'm ignoring you. I'm good at that." She was.
We took her to the Arcata Airport Thursday morning. It's the smallest airport I've ever seen. She had to get on a Turbo-prop plane that seats 30 passengers for her flight to San Francisco, a one-hour layover, and another small plane flight back to Burbank. She did all of that for me and Roger, for fun, for a road trip, and out of the goodness of her very big heart. She's truly the best sister. Thank you, Lynnie-girl.

PS-- I wish I had a photo of her. She's freakin' beautiful too.

1. Top photo- Arcata Marsh.
2. Bottom photo- Guest house where are staying. If you look carefully, you can see Lynn on the couch.

mckinleyville

2008-05-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

we are here!! where are you? two semi-long days of driving through some of the most beautiful parts of our country. along the strangely named hood canal (not a canal. an arm of puget sound, but still, lovely) and on down thru western washington and the willamette valley of oregon and the mountains of southern oregon and then off toward the coast down the smith river to crescent city. lastly, the north coast of california by stone lagoon and big lagoon and clam beach.

we went to the co-op in arcata to shop for dinner. it is much bigger and grander than it was 35 years ago when i first joined and shopped there. quel surprise!! rice and stir fried veggies for dinner. and our daughter indigo! we are home, tho we don't have a house yet.

we found our first refuge here on craig's list. our host and hostess are lovely people, reflected in our delightful little cottage and the beautiful yard. every window has a nice outlook. if i could find the cord that connects the camera to the computer you would have pix.

we are very tired. we will sleep well tonight, cat willing.

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update-a-roony
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comments are appearing and disappearing randomly. not individual comments. all of them. and blogger just ate my previous attempt at this update. we're looking for the camera/computer cord. there's a pile-o-stuff just shoved willy-nilly into boxes as we backed out of the house cleaning as we went. middle daughter, who lives locally, came by to say hello and had dinner with us!

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more up-to-date
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escrow closed! the money is in the bank!

and we probably have a nice furnished temp for june while we look for a suitable rental. this is working out well so far.

comments still mysteriously on and off.

roseburg oregon

2008-05-20T07:20:00.000-07:00

we left our former home in port townsend yesterday morning. robin and her sister and our cat in the car and me in my truck. both vehicles packed to the limit with last minute stuff that escaped scrutiny as we loaded the big truck (see picture in the post below). we arrived in roseburg about 5 pm and fairly soon got a call from a friend back in washington informing us that the big truck is gone, as we left before the pickup.

then we had a marvelous dinner of sauteed tofu and rice prepared sunday by robin, and baby greens from the greenhouse, picked minutes before we departed. a last treat from the garden. and wine. storebought. the cat did complain a lot last night.

so we and our goods are all enroute to california. it was hot and humid all the way yesterday (aaahh for air conditioned vehicles) and it is raining this morning.

next post from mckinleyville, ca.

that's a mighty big truck

2008-05-15T07:29:00.000-07:00

we arrived in this in 2004.

and our stuff leaves in this. i don't think we'll fill it. and i don't have to drive it! but we do have to get the stuff into it.

fixit

2008-05-14T00:06:00.000-07:00

-------------------------the bowels of the machine---------------------------------

our blog buddy phil recommended a post by doghouse riley, in which he hilariously takes to task the oster corporation for a shoddy toaster, which reminded me that i had occasion recently to do a bit of appliance repair. ok. not really repair. correction of stupidity is a closer description. several nights ago, in taking the cooked rice out of our wonderful rice cooker, my attention wandered and instead of turning the rice into the waiting serving bowl, out of the removable metal pot that sits inside the cooker, i dumped it into the rice cooker itself. oops. sticky rice in the works. robin tried to pick out all the grains, but some rice had gotten way into the bowels of the machine. if the only bad outcome would have been the smell of burnt rice next time we used the cooker, maybe ok. but i was concerned that the mechanism that signaled the end of cooking had been compromised.

i have been fixing appliances large and small since i was a teenager, and i have seen the downward slide of quality in toasters (smite oster, riley), irons, washing machines, dryers, stoves, bathroom fans, hair dryers, radios, tvs, and even computers (well, not computers in my teen years). imagine my surprise then when i exposed the innards of our rice cooker and found a substantial machine. there are washers AND lock washers on every electric and mechanical connection. i got the thing apart, cleaned it, and reassembled it easily. we gave it the smoke test and it passed. no smoke. perfectly cooked rice! it was a nice distraction from the craziness of packing and the worrying about close of escrow.

in other news from chez bums we are about 95% packed and ready for the big truck friday. afb u-pack will drop off a 28' semi trailer. we will load it over the weekend and they will return monday and haul it away to eureka, ca and store it till we find suitable digs, hopefully within a month.

Yesterday and Tomorrow

2008-05-12T00:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Mother's Day. We didn't get to spend it with our mothers. We're hoping to do that next year when we are back in California, a part of the reasoning behind all the current chaos of our lives.
The thing about moving is this: You literally have to touch every thing you own. Every thing. Imagine that. It's daunting, and reminds us why even before we buy things that we will eventually toss, that we simply should not buy at all. How many THINGS do we need? How many boxes labeled objet d'art, or boxes labeled even more obtusely stuff? Even after getting rid of five large boxes of books, we still packed five large boxes of books. How many things do we keep for sentimental value. Truthfully, all of them. We look at something and silently ask ourselves, will our hearts break if we give this up? The answer sends the object into one box or the other. We have gotten a bit more ruthless. Hearts toughen as we plod onward. Our packing gets reckless too. We started out organized and rational. We're ending up with boxes that are packed with electronic stereo components, flat cookie sheets and clothes that we won't mind not seeing for a month or more. How should we label that?
The sun shines intermittently so we take a break and go for a walk. Song sparrows cheer us on. I have been inspired by Pohanginapete to play a bit with photoshop. He was inspired by Clare. These two are as far-flung a global inspiration as you can get.

Tuesday May 13th is my 56th birthday. Despite all my haranguing about stuff, I plan to buy myself a good pair of play shoes. I have my eye on these.

So begins our final week in Washington.

Timing is Everything

2008-05-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

If it hadn't been for the granola that I'd been putting off making...
If it hadn't been that we forgot to buy all the ingredients for it on Monday when we were at the store...
If it hadn't been that we'd been dawdling Tuesday morning before we finally headed back to the store to buy almonds, cashews, pumpkin seeds, maple syrup, sesame, and oats...
We would have been home to see whatever took place on the bird feeder to leave it looking like this.
We think a very large hawk slammed a band-tailed pigeon about as hard as it could be slammed. It left a single feather. We missed the whole thing. To say we are glad that we didn't see this attack would be an understatement.I corresponded most of Tuesday evening with Dawn of the Vulture Cafe. She looked at the photos and tried to help me solve the mystery. Was this really a band-tailed pigeon kill? Did the bird get hit on the feeder, or on the ground and then carried up to the feeder? What size hawk could carry a large pigeon off? Dawn sent us a link to a fantastic site for identifying feathers. She also wrote: Ok no more leaving when a raptor is busy killing your feeder birds.

She's right, of course. It's hard to take our eyes off this yard. There's always something going on, but still this time we were glad we didn't see this particular moment. Timing is everything.

I updated the post to show what the Band-tailed pigeon flock looks like on the feeder. Photo taken Wednesday morning. That's about half the flock, the other half was on the ground.

A Nostalgia for Now

2008-05-05T00:03:00.000-07:00

We had friends over to dinner Saturday night. We made spinach salad and homemade pesto pizza. They brought a homemade three-cheese tomato pizza. We stuffed ourselves on good food and conversation. They have their house on the market too, so we had plenty to talk about.
It's interesting how we know these friends. We met them a couple of years ago at a birthday party. J was talking about being from Detroit and southern California, that he had gone from LA to Eugene, Oregon, that he was a nurse. That particular journey sounded familiar to me. I looked at him over the table and asked him what his last name was. He told me. I couldn't believe it. I not only knew him, I knew his whole family. I had sublet his house in southern California 30 years ago. My sister and brother-in-law were maid of honor and best man at his brother's wedding in the 1970s. One of his brothers put in a fence for my parents. There we were at a birthday party of a mutual friend in Port Townsend, Washington in 2005. He and his wife V, and Roger and I became fast friends. We've done cat care for each other. We've spent many a good evening in each other's company. Here we were, Saturday night sharing a meal and contemplating futures in very different places.
After dinner, we had planned to watch a movie together. We had Leonardo diCaprio's The Eleventh Hour, and they had brought The Golden Compass. I was drawn to the documentary, but Roger said he was ready for pure fantasy. I didn't really know anything about The Golden Compass but decided that I would give it try.
Such wild, wacky storytelling with fantastic animation appealing utterly to my long-sleeping inner child. I love a movie that makes me want to ride a polar bear through the northern icy tundra. Or makes me wonder if I had an animal daemon, what it would be. What fun. There was a scene where the good polar bear had to vanquish his enemy, the bad king polar bear. Because I am a softy wimp, I couldn't bear to watch the fight. I got up to check on the dishwasher (a perfectly good excuse). As I walked across the kitchen, I had a pang of nostalgia for that very moment: for good friends on the couch, for this big spacious beautiful house that we will be leaving, for the garden already planted, for minus tides and river otters, for our backyard birds. I suddenly knew what I will miss when we are gone from here. I don't know yet what piece of music months and years from now will tug this Port Townsend heartstring, but whenever I get the urge to ride on the back of a polar bear I'll be here in that moment, in that kitchen, with those friends.

We have been packing.

Photos:
1.River otter at minus tide 5/4;
2. Housefinch;
3. White-crowned sparrow;
4. Red Crossbill juvenile

First of all...

2008-04-30T06:52:00.001-07:00

...thank you so much for making the Santa Cruz Lighthouse picture number one. I think that means I've won (I have a hard time accepting such realities), and really I couldn't have done it without you. I keep thinking of Sally Field and that awful moment that has become so often parodied. I won't say, "You like me, you really like me." That's not what she said actually, but close enough to make us all a little bit queasy. I wonder how much better it would have sounded if she had said, "I love you, I really love you." That's how I feel at the moment.

When I was in fifth grade and a pipsqueak of a person, not more than 4"10" tall, I represented my elementary school at the county track meet in the standing broadjump category. I was smaller than all of the competition. I lost big time that day. While the other girls were jumping over seven feet, I didn't even clear six. I was good for my size, but I was little in the world.

Today makes up for all of that.

I don't broadjump anymore, but I do take pictures. The one above is a Red-breasted Sapsucker that tried four trees in about two minutes before flying away.

Vote for Me

2008-04-29T12:27:00.000-07:00

I have submitted this photo to the Santa Cruz Sentinel Newspaper for their sunset photo contest. Those of you who know me know that I don't usually go for competitions. I tend to think that most competitions try to compare unlike things, like blogging contests. But there was something about this contest that appealed to me. It's all about sunsets, and I like photographing sunsets. If you go to this page, my submission photo is the third on the top row. If you like it, would you please click on it and vote for me. There are no prizes or awards, just the delight in competing with other sunset pics.

VOTING ENDS ON WEDNESDAY, APRIL 30TH 6:00 AM PDT.

world made by hand: a review

2008-04-28T00:06:00.000-07:00

embiggen at your risk. rampant disarray. no focal point.

several months ago i read on James Kunstler's blog "Clusterfuck Nation" (such a wonderful title, doncha think?) that his new novel would soon be published and that he sought reviewers. i e-mailed my desire to review and the requested url of our modest blog. now let me say that i agree with his view of the present situation and of the probable future, and that in my opinion he says it with learned, literate, and historically informed elegance. i didn't really think that anything would come of my request.

just recently a copy of his book " World Made by Hand" appeared on our porch, surprising and delighting me. i read it immediately. in two days.

well. i will telegraph a bit of my review. through most of the story i was nodding right along with my superficial fan sort of mentality. he writes well. very clever. insightful. funny. actually more of "wow and oh yeah." i liked it. it seemed entirely plausible. but then....oops. a turn to what? oh shit. i can't just say this is all good. reality bites, in some modern cliche'. so the review is more challenging than i had considered. i do like the story. i do think the book is worth reading.

here goes:

the story is set in a small town in upstate new york at some near future time after both L.A. and D.C. have been devastated by what one assumes are nuclear bombs. there is no more gas or oil and so no more cars or trucks. there is neither state nor federal government still functioning. the protagonists are coping fairly well, having had the foresight to live in a small town with a gravity fed water system. i'm kidding about the foresight thing. but they do have a barter economy so the doctor is paid in garden produce. they eat well. Kunstler's descriptions of food are detailed and extensive. mouth-watering too. the food is probably quite nourishing. no empty calories. the social arrangements are mostly a holdover from more "civilized" times and there is not much crime in the town. as the view expands to the nearby areas and even on to Albany we see various other models of organization: a large farm run benignly by the owner to include what were called peasants in earlier eras; a recycling center at what was the town dump, run by low-lifes ruled by a petty tyrant; the port of albany run by a bigger, meaner crook. we learn of the wider circumstances as the main character sets out to find to find manufactured goods and then to rescue or ransom three men from the farm held hostage in albany.

the retreat to a more primitive way of living includes much more physical labor than we are used to and makes more stark the heirarchial structure of peasant life that has been there all along under our veneer of modernity. there is no more call for symbolic analysts. no employment for accountants or insurance adjusters. the picture is of a society succumbing to entropy at a fast pace. those in the town, with enough food, shelter, and clothing to be comfortable, retain a genteel sort of civil peace, disturbed on the periphery by aggregates of low-lifes. the future of the future doesn't look good. ok. near the end the narrative veers off into, well, i don't want to spoil it for you. about all i can say is that i think the introduction of magic doesn't serve the book well.

this is not a cautionary tale. it is prophetic. he's not telling us to shape up or face dire consequences. he sees dire consequences as inevitable. and this story doesn't even include the possible, perhaps inevitable consequences of global climate change. it wouldn't take a war to create the future he describes. we see the beginnings of it now: food riots, oil at record high prices as worldwide demand increases exponentially, various countries restricting food exports to feed themselves, gasoline at $4/gallon and rising, the possibility of an international financial catastrophe, endless war in the middle east.

i have been paring down, in anticipation of moving, my collection of assorted nuts, bolts, screws, tools and odd hardware with kunstler's dour outlook in mind. manufactured goods will most certainly be more expensive quite soon. my buckets of stuff will be handy no matter what. the picture at the top doesn't even show quite all my treasure. i suppose the redwood hot tub is a bit optional. i am leaving lumber behind.

republican activism

2008-04-26T08:20:00.000-07:00

students take to the streets to protest ~~loss of habeus corpus~~ beer tax.

way to go republicans!!!!

"A group of Bay Area College Republicans took to the streets of San Jose Friday evening to protest a subject near and dear to them - beer.

More to the point, they wanted to rant about a state lawmaker's proposed tax on beer manufacturers that would add nearly $2 to the price of a six-pack as a way to help the state plug its giant budget deficit.

"This is a tax on poor students," said Leigh Wolf, 21, of the San Francisco State University Republicans. "They're using a bunch of studies to justify this beer tax, but you don't need a study to know college students drink a lot of beer. This is our way, after a long day of school and work, to sit down and relax.""

i guess they haven't heard of 4:20.

Wordless Wednesday

2008-04-23T00:17:00.000-07:00

Words Wednesday:
Things are proceeding with the sale of the house. The inspection is behind us and the appraisal lies ahead. We are starting to believe that we are really going back to California. It is exciting, even though we are going to miss everything that happens right outside our windows here. Hawk photos taken Sunday morning during the freaky spring snow. It is highly recommended that you embiggen these photos.

mass hysteria

2008-04-21T00:03:00.000-07:00

we brought along far too much stuff through the our two previous moves. the earlier was just across town in santa cruz, so it was easy to make many trips and we were both working so stuff just came along. the later, a much further move here to port townsend, was made easy by the fortuitous circumstance of the rental company providing much larger truck than we had ordered. we both worked almost till we left. i had perhaps a week off. robin worked till the friday before we left on a monday. it was easier to jam everything, most of which was not unpacked from the previous move, into the big truck. we are determined to lighten our load for the next move, coming up next month, so i have been ruthlessly editing my fabulous collection of tools and materials.

among the long unexamined but still shlepped along boxes i found one full of youngest daughter's college leftovers. some books and loads of spiral notebooks and pencils and doodads. we can't be the only parents carting such kid stuff around can we? among the books was "Why People Believe Weird Things: pseudoscience, superstition, and other confusions of our time" by Michael Shermer, forward by Stephen Jay Gould. who could resist a book like that. not i.

it is an interesting book by the publisher of Skeptic magazine, an Occidental College professor. he debunks the "hundredth monkey" theory early on, using facts. i like that. but here is what really caught my attention as i was reading about mass hysteria through history, in particular the witch craze in 16th century europe. he quotes anthropologist Marvin Harris;

"The principal result of the witch-hunt system was that the poor came to believe that they were being victimized by witches and devils instead of princes and popes. Did your roof leak, your cow abort, your oats wither, your wine go sour, your head ache, your baby die? It was the work of the witches. Preoccupied with the fantastic activities of these demons, the distraught, alienated, pauperized masses blamed the rampant Devil instead of the corrupt clergy and rapacious nobility."

hhhmmmmmm. that sounds familiar. now the witches are abortionists, gays and liberals, and the rapacious nobility is bear stearns, halliburton, countrywide et al. the corrupt clergy? i'm looking at you pat robertson, among others. the cardinal of los angeles (city of angels, how ironic is that?) is asking parishes to kick in some bux to help pay for the sexual abuse settlements. your priest was bad. pony up some hush money. might we suppose that those "distraught, alienated, pauperized masses" were bitter?

the picture was taken sunday morning. was it la nina or global climate change that brought snow in april? maybe witches and warlocks. maybe liberals.

Two Warblers and Another Robin

2008-04-18T00:17:00.000-07:00

It happened this way last year too. A Yellow-rumped Warbler arrived on the same day as the Wilson Warbler. I could have the IDs wrong, but that's what I think these two birds are. If I remember correctly, we
should be keeping our eyes open for the Western Tanager, which usually shows up for one day, around the time the warblers arrive. Their stay is short; they're all on their way to someplace else. We're just a layover, the Dharma way-station. We could blink and miss them, literally.
Okay, so here's another robin for you. At first I thought she had a mess of watery wet feathers, but the photo close-up doesn't look like that to me. When I look at the darkness on her chest I think it's blood. What do you think? What would make a bird look like this? She was eating and flying, and even though she looked thin, she looked like she could take care of herself.

An update: Thanks to the insight of two incomparable commenters, Valown and CCorax, it looks like the explanation for Ms. Robin's dark chest feathers could be an unusual molt. We are glad to know and even more appreciative of the very smart people who read our humble blog.

The arrival of the warblers is some evidence of a spring trying to emerge. We are, however, expecting a rainy weekend with a low of 34F on Saturday. Any lower and you know what happens? Snow. Yes, snow.

Have a good weekend, friends.

Variations on a Theme

2008-04-16T00:17:00.000-07:00

While we're soaring with the exuberance of imagining some warmer sunny clime in our future, and simultaneously stressing about the cat's health and all of the packing we're going to have to do very quickly, we take a long look out the window and watch the various creatures deal with their place in the hierarchy of the wild.
Several beautiful Violet-Green Swallows arrived on the same day last week. Only one will get this nest box. For hours they took turns perched on the opening and denying access to the others.
We hadn't seen a Lesser House Finch in about two years. Most male House Finches are red. The yellows are those which don't have access to the highest quality food. Note this young gent is eating seed in the driveway gravel while the reds take turns on the seed feeder.
I've been reading about mallard behavior. Every piece I've read says that males leave the females when she starts sitting on the nest. That's it, relationship over. Here's what this drake does, day after day, he comes here alone and sits. He quacks and waits. He flies off, and he returns. Only when she comes, the one with restless wing syndrome (thanks for that description, mojoman) does he rest. An aggressive alpha male has tried to take over the pond. The mellow beta drake, and I with my human beta self asserted, chase that interloper off. This drake waits for her, and the lone female we call Ms. Gloria Steinem. The three of them rest all evening by the pond.
Stick Robin shows up a robust and healthy male. We secretly fantasize that he's the father of many of the young robins we've seen over the years. He's the eloquent teacher of how to survive being dealt a lousy hand. (Stick Robin photographed on Sunday. He looks good, doesn't he?)

Update: Bonsai's health is definitely improving. He's not happy about his new diet, but he's adjusting. He's even dealing with the daily dosing of antibiotics. We are surprised and heartened by how much he trusts us, even when we are making his life miserable.

The house inspection is scheduled for next Monday at 9:00 am. One more hurdle to clear on the road out of here.

We're not saying anything about politics these days. You know us. You know what we think. We were reminded the other day about Jon Stewart's tirade on Crossfire a few years ago, when he shouted how Paul Begala and Tucker Carlson's antics were killing our country. I think we're about due for another tirade about how almost all of media is killing our democracy. Perhaps this tirade will need all of our beta voices together. Just a thought.

up and down and up

2008-04-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

we have indeed accepted a good offer to buy our house. and thank you all again for your kind wishes for our success. escrow to close may 23. yikes, that's only 6 weeks! there is, as bobby burns reminds us, "many a slip ~~'tween~~ 'twixt the cup and the lip," but this is a simple offer and the buyers supposedly (oh dear) have their financing lined up already so it's up to an appraiser. we signed the offer on saturday morning. wahoo!!!!! we are on our way.

but wait. life goes on in all areas possible. watch out, as jon carroll, one of my favorite columnists, warns readers when he's going to talk about his cats, here comes a cat post. and medical to boot.
on friday we noticed bonsai, our cat, lying down in his litterbox. that's not good. he also tried to urinate outside. both unusual behaviors and indicative of bladder problems. looking in the litterbox we could see that he had urinated only a small amount. i called the vet and got an appointment monday morn. by saturday noon the little bits of wet litter were even smaller. very smaller.

so bonsai got an emergency trip to the vet. male cats have a tendency to bladder blockage, thanks to a lousy intelligent design. it does require immediate attention. fortunately it is a very short way to the clinic so he only had to complain a short time. the vet has a metal examining table and we put him up there. i get to hold him, gently but firmly by the scruff with one hand, controlling his body with the other, while the vet examines him. she looks at his eyes and mouth. he is fairly calm. and then she says "let's see if he's blocked," and she lifts his tail while sliding her other hand along his belly back between his rear legs and somehow squeezes out a bit of urine! i am amazed. robin has retreated to the outer room. bonsai hardly seems to notice. robin tells me later that she couldn't believe the vet did this, and the following tests, without wearing gloves. i agree.

now there is perhaps a teaspoon of cat urine on the stainless steel table. the vet gets some sort of high tech test strip and dips it in the pee. tho the liquid looks clear and only slightly yellow the multiple use test strip indicates that the ph is ok, but that there are also both red and white blood cells, suggesting that crystals have scratched his urethra and that he has a bit of infection. as there is still flow the treatment is hydration to flush out his bladder, steroid to reduce inflammation thus increasing flow, antibiotic for the infection, and sedation for relaxation. so i get to keep holding the cat while he has a hydration needle stuck in him and something like a cup of saline runs into him. slowly. robin has rejoined us and speaks soothingly to bonsai. i hold him against my body as becomes more restless. the vet, meanwhile has checked the urine under a microscope and confirms the diagnosis of crystals. the final indignity is a shot of sedative.

jumping to the conclusion and breaking the tension, bonsai has urinated more in the past 12 hours (i'm writing this sunday afternoon) than in the previous 48. the treatment seems so far successful. the trip home from the vet was peaceful as he was dosed. by the time we got home he couldn't walk, so robin put him under the bed in his safe spot. he growled at me if i got near. weakly. today he has almost completely forgiven or forgotten my sins and purrs a bit when i rub his head. i give him, morning and night, a dose of liquid antibiotic squirted into his mouth. i am not completely off his shit list.

Limbo, Tides, and Bones

2008-04-11T00:03:00.000-07:00

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATEAROONY saturday morning 10 am

thanks for all the good thoughts. it worked!!!!! we have accepted an offer!!!!!

the good part...no contingencies other than the usual inspection and financial stuff.

the more difficult part...30 day escrow. pack up and be gone in 30 days.
________________________________________________________

we're in limbo here. not the theological Catholic limbo of dead souls unable to progress to heaven because, well, ask a priest. we're in the limbo of "house for sale." a very neat and tidy place, which is a good thing, but this limbo isn't very homey. no leaving books and papers and camera and binoculars and computers and yesterday's mail on every horizontal surface. and shoes, oh, we have shoes, garden clogs, hiking boots, work shoes, sneakers, thongs, and each sort has a proper use and so should be handy by a door to outside. no half an apple or banana on the cutting board. no bag of peanuts or potato chips on the counter. and then there are the bedroom and bathroom. oy. no pile of stuff on my clothes dresser. no clothes on a chair. no chair either!

so we spiff up the landscape and go walking, both of which are good. at least playing on the internet is only messy in the mind. bits and pieces of all sorts of interesting stuff from all of you and others. we've become caretakers of our own house, having already surrendered ownership to commerce. as nothing, save the two constants of cliche', death and taxes, is certain--we have planted peas, carrots, beets, lettuce, spinach, broccoli, and cauliflower. and the garlic we planted last fall is eight inches tall and looks marvelous.

Friday morning at 10:00 am PDST, a couple is coming to look at our house again. We think they must see what we see, and like what we like. The question is, will they like it enough to make an offer? It's a buyer's market, as they say, so we are feeling hopeful but cautious. In the interest of science and influencing outcomes with positive thinking, all you readers out there, send your strongest and best "BUY THE HOUSE" VIBES. And, we'll let you know how it goes.
Other than that, we're being treated to a typical pacific northwest spring. That means unpredictable weather and minus tides. You know how happy that makes us, well at least the tides part of that. We love walking far out along the sandy beach where the bay waters usually roll and lap. It was quiet on Wednesday when the tide stretched all the way to a -2.15. We saw these snails, which we had not seen before. They were in a zone where we usually find large barnacles. We also discovered this little unearthly looking skull. Oh yes, Virginia, there once was an ET.
It's amazing how happy these little things make us. We skip along like children.

Speaking of skipping, I received the test results on the metabolics and Vitamin D lab tests. Everything looks incredibly good except for the the Vitamin D. The normal range (at the lab that ran the tests) is 32 - 100. My level is 13.7. Ouch. In the meantime, I've learned that walking is not enough to really help my bones, I need high impact exercise, like skipping or jumping rope. I was instantly reminded of my life in the 80s when I was a die-hard aerobic exerciser. Roger ripped an old Jane Fonda work-out disk for me, and I've been hopping and skipping, lifting and kicking for a few days. I'm surprised that I can keep at it for a good half hour without dropping dead. I've also increased my Vitamin D intake. Never google Vitamin D and read the varying and wide-ranging opinions about it, if you want life to make sense. The opinions range from conservative (800 iu a day) to ultra-hippie anti-aging nirvana (2000 iu or more). It occurred to me that, philosophically, I am not anti-aging in the least. First of all, I think it's impossible not to age, and second, why not age? It's what we do here on earth while we're breathing and eating, sleeping and blogging. My doctor recommended 800 iu. Most everywhere else recommends more. I'm doing more, but not as much as the people who want to live forever recommend.

Anyway, that's where things are at the moment. Please remember to think positive thoughts about selling our house. Let's try to influence outcomes, okay? Hey, did you notice that Roger wrote the first part of this post? Hey, Rog! Welcome back.

Have a great weekend, friends.

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATEAROONY saturday morning 10 am

thanks for all the good thoughts. it worked!!!!! we have accepted an offer!!!!!

the good part...no contingencies other than the usual inspection and financial stuff.

the more difficult part...30 day escrow. pack up and be gone in 30 days.

Duck Went A-Courtin'

2008-04-09T00:03:00.000-07:00

One Word Wednesday: Quack

Life Knocks on the Door...

2008-04-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

...and we answer.

We have no excuse for not blogging. Well, except that we've been outside in the warm-ish temps, cleaning up the yard, weeding and prettifying the place. It's a lot of work. There are some clumps of grasses by the pond that take quite a bit of time to remove. Their roots are so weirdly thick, tangled, and deep. Eight hours of weed pulling in two days. I thought of Wayne and his microstegium. I also got sidetracked by a fantastic, brilliant novel by Lydia Millet called How the Dead Dream. I highly and unreservedly recommend it, if you like dense beautiful literature with a drop-dead perspective and a hauntingly perceptive look at the decline of our poor twirling blue planet. All seen through the eyes of a real estate developer, money mogul in southern California.

The duck dramas continue. Wednesday morning there were three mallards (two females and one male) plus one Great Blue Heron together in the pond. I thought it sounded like the beginning of a joke. The heron took off as soon as I got close to the window. The three others took turns in the pond, on the edge, under the feeder, etc. On Thursday, first the lone female showed up and spent several hours. Then she left and the lone male showed up. He stood around quacking, looking for the girl of his dreams. After a while, he took off too. Even the life of ducks is complicated. It all goes on just beyond our radar. Their secret language. I felt like crying when I saw him looking for her. Maybe it's just me, but is life sad, or what?

Lately I've been thinking how we are mostly so incidental to history. Our lives take place in a context, but that context is out of our hands. If I designed things, I swear it wouldn't look like this. Much, much kinder, the world would be. We would understand the secret language of everything.

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No lab test results yet.

I'm writing a response to an inquiry from someone who is writing a book on the 40th anniversary of Woodstock 1969. It's delightful remembering the times.

Roger has been working on a book review for James (Clusterfuck Nation) Kunstler's new book World Made by Hand. It should appear here sometime soon, if he can finally get all the weeds pulled, the moss scraped from the roof, the garden planted, and every loose end completely tied up.

We wish you a great weekend, friends.

Duck Spa

2008-03-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

Our pond is very small. It's really a large puddle with a pump and a little waterfall. In real estate jargon, it's called a "water feature." For the past four years there were goldfish in it that reproduced and multiplied just fast enough to keep the pond populated, after the ravenous heron had had its fill in the late fall. This past fall, though, that's not what happened. Only one fish survived. We saw it when we came home from California, but even it disappeared shortly thereafter. The pond bottom has Colorado River rock, smooth and pretty stones in pinks, blues and whites over standard pond black plastic. The rocks are covered right now in probably a half inch of thick muddy muck. Because there are no longer any goldfish, we considered rigging a system to clean the muck out so the pretty rocks could be seen, and potentially be a selling point for someone who is just gaga for ponds with rocky bottoms. We casually talked to the septic inspector about how to get the muck out, and he told us he would sell us a muck-sucker at a great deal, if we wanted it. We said, thanks, but no thanks. We let the muck be.

A good choice as far as these mallards were concerned. They arrived on Saturday and made the pond their private spa and rec center. They snoozed lazily on the ground most of the day, like vacationers on cruise ship lounge chairs, and woke only to take a paddle around in the water, turn their little bottoms up and eat what ever was wiggling and squiggling in that mucky mess. They couldn't have been happier. In fact they celebrated by doing a lovely little courtship dance that ended in wild duck sex right there in the pond. We watched while we were cooking dinner. Entertained mightily, I must say.

As with all creatures if you watch long enough you start to notice details about their particular behaviors. Ms. Duck seemed to not be able to stop moving her wings, even when she was sleeping. There was a constant shaking motion like she was trying to rid herself of pests, and never quite could. We wondered if they had sought refuge in our yard because she had some kind of nervous affliction. Mr. Duck was solicitous of her, and stayed awake to guard while she slept fitfully. They were quite the romantic couple. We thoroughly enjoyed their weekend with us. Something scared them off around 4:00 pm on Sunday. We hope they'll be back. I was already planning on finding their nest, which I was sure they were going build here. We'll keep you posted.

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On a different note:

I would like to thank each of you who left comments on my osteoporosis post. If you are reading here Monday morning around 8:30 am Pacific time, I'm at a lab having blood drawn to measure my Vitamin D levels and a metabolic panel. My doctor took a conservative approach, wanting to see what's going on with my calcium, magnesium, phosphate, etc levels before she prescribes some therapeutic intervention. I greatly appreciated all of the input from your comments. I learned a lot, and I certainly will stay away from bisphosphonates. There are other interventions that I will be exploring. I will say this-- if care and compassion could build bones, then after reading all that you wrote, I would be strengthened for a lifetime. I can not thank you enough for your good wishes.

I'm Melting... Melting

2008-03-26T00:03:00.000-07:00

my hopes are now dashed
damned unreliable bones
disintegrating

The results of my latest bone density from March 14th are not good. The higher the negative, the worse the news (boy is that ever true). Here's what the most recent three years of tests look like:

2005
Hip density -1.5 Lumbar spine density -2.4 (increased fracture risk)

2007
Hip density -1.8 (increased fracture risk) Lumbar spine density -2.7 (high fracture risk)

2008
Hip density -2.5 (high fracture risk) Lumbar spine density -2.9 (high fracture risk)

I'm worried about these results and have an appointment with the doctor on Friday. I'm much too young for my bones to be this fragile. It's really quite serious. I spent the last year taking calcium supplements, eating a high calcium diet, and walking as often and as much as I could. I thought I was doing the right things to prevent further resorption of my bones. I'll probably have to go on one of those drugs, you know the ones I mean. I'll turn into Sally Fields, happy that I only have to take one pill a month, even if it wrecks my esophagus and stomach. Hey, I'm worth it.

Please be reminded that my diminishing hip density does not in any way reflect just how hip I really am.

Wish me luck.

(Above photo borrowed from the internet without permission.)

The Return of an Old Friend

2008-03-24T00:19:00.000-07:00

All robins may look alike, but this is the one we know. The one whose return we anticipate. We first noticed him in 2006 when he stood out from all others, with a stick protruding through his chest and out his back. It was a superficial wound, and he didn't seem hampered by it at all. Still we watched and were concerned about his well-being. Knowing there was nothing we could do to assist him, we nicknamed him "stick robin" and just let him be.
He returned in 2007, and we were absolutely thrilled to see him again.
This year, we are blown away. We think he looks robust, full-chested, and older. The stick protruding from his chest seems less obvious, we suspect because of how puffed out he is in the early spring rain. What a survivor! Robins can actually live up to 14 years but most die by their 6th year. How ever long this little guy lives, he's definitely one rockin' robin.

Roger said having this little robin show up year after year is like having a recognizable banded bird. I think he's got that absolutely right. Banded by natural circumstance, telling his own story of survival.

Photos: Stick Robin 2006, 2007, 2008.

A Diatribe

2008-03-17T00:03:00.000-07:00

Have you ever read the book or seen the movie "Moby Dick" (the one with Gregory Peck). In it Ahab says, "Talk not of blasphemy to me, man, I'd strike the sun if it insulted me." I've always loved that line. The power and anger in it appeals to some part of me. We have been back in Washington a little over two weeks. I can count on one hand the number of times we've seen the sun. Here's the insult of clouds, they part just before sundown and dazzle us with color, after all day blocking the light and warmth from penetrating into our Vitamin D-starved psyches. Oh sure, it's crazy for me to run outside and curse the sky, but that doesn't stop me. The things I've said would make probably make Ahab blush. Too bad.
Nothing seems as beautiful against the same gray sky, day after day. I photographed an eagle flying as low over our yard as I've ever seen. Eye contact, absolutely. But the photos might as well have been taken in black and white. There is a dullness to this winter landscape that seems punishing without end. Sunday morning temperatures were a freezing 30 F. It warmed up to 40F and there was a soft drizzle. Jean Paul Sartre said that hell was other people, but he must not have ever spent time in the pacific northwest.
And then there's the relentless political landscape. What's with Obama's minister sounding like the kind of person who usually stands on a street corner screaming, the one I cross the street to avoid. Why isn't he talking kindly about his god? Isn't that what ministers or reverends are supposed to do when they are preaching in church? Why would Obama ever listen to a man who sounds like that? I'm disappointed. What's with Hillary Clinton? She's acting exactly as I thought she would. What a freakin' bummer. I answered the phone the other day and the voice on the other end said that he was from the Hillary campaign. I said, "I'm not going to give you money. She's not showing leadership, and I totally hope she loses." He said, "Oh, okay." I have had enough. These two Democratic candidates need to be running against the Republican machinery morning, noon, and night. They should be able to distinguish themselves by their arguments, their appeals, their platforms. I'm tired of them running against each other and playing gotcha on things that are irrelevant. At some point we are going to have to sidle up to one of them and plant the transforming kiss.

Our economy is absolutely in the tank, folks. I don't know about you, but we're trying to figure out which is the best-- having a house and land that will continue to lose value, or converting it to cash which will also continue to be worth less. That's about the gist of it, as we see it. I keep saying to Roger, I sure don't want to have to take one of our wheelbarrows full of thousand dollar bills up to the co-op to buy a loaf of bread. Did you notice how the Eliot Spitzer debacle came at just the right time to keep the pundits off the economy trail? Funny how that happens. Like it was planned, or something. Don't take your eyes off the economy. It's a show you won't want to miss.

Well, that's all we've got, friends.

All photographs taken in the yard: The sky at sunset; the low-flying eagle; a tree frog trying to get to the pond.

My Father Rode A Pony Once

2008-03-14T00:19:00.000-07:00

I never quite understood why, from the time I was young child, I was always afraid that my father would die. It was a constant undercurrent, an omnipresent fear, and palpable dread. I would lie awake at night and imagine him sitting in a big chair against a revolving wall, straight out of an Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein movie, the wall would turn and then turn back, and the chair would be empty. My father would be gone, gone. That's how I pictured his death.

My father owned his own wholesale produce business, and woke every morning at 3:00 am to go to work. He had to drive some distance to pick up the fresh produce for that day, before he drove around to the small grocery stores (the days before chains and box stores) to sell it. From the bedroom I shared with my three siblings, I could see the kitchen light on, and would get up to join him while he had his coffee and toast. I always kissed him good bye and watched him from the parlor window, as he drove away into the night. I watched until I could no longer see the red tail lights on his truck. Then, I would go to sleep in bed with my mother. I did that until I was eight years old, when we moved from the city to the suburbs. There my bedroom was upstairs, and the light in the kitchen no longer woke me.

When I was 36 years old I graduated from college. Such a late bloomer! My parents flew to Rhode Island from California for the graduation ceremony when I completed my undergraduate degree with honors and distinction. My father bought me a single long-stemmed rose, when he noticed that my self-centered first husband, who was already shtupping his assistant, had bought me nothing to mark the occasion. That rose meant everything to me.

I am my parent's first-born daughter and, in the Jewish tradition, was named for his recently-deceased mother, Rose. My father was a deeply good, but sad man. He loved his family more than anything else. In fact, in some ways, it was all that he loved. It occurred to me very recently that I never knew him when his mother was alive. He was her only, beloved son. It was a role he cherished, and a heartbreaking blow to him when she died in her 50s from colon cancer. Some part of him seemed to always stay in mourning. I could feel it, even from the time I was very young. It was her absence that shaped his aloneness. I am just beginning to understand that my fear of his death grew out of that loss. I seemed to always know I would lose him, as he had lost her. I grieved it long before it ever happen. When I look back, I see that I was a brokenhearted little girl who feared the inevitable future, and he was my brokenhearted father who lamented the unchangeable past. Without talking about it, we simply tried to save each other with love. There was nothing else.

Today, March 14th is the 16th anniversary of his death. That revolving wall turned and then turned back. His chair was empty. My father is gone. Gone.

Missed and loved everyday since. A yahrzeit burns in his memory.
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A few unrelated things:
We would like to thank all of you who leave comments here. We are utterly enriched by your presence in our lives. We have no idea why we are so fortunate to have such thoughtful visitors to our blog, but we do, and we sincerely appreciate it. We don't feel worthy of your attention, and will strive to do better and post more. Thank you for continuing to visit.

I was tagged to do the six-word autobiography. I don't usually do memes, but this one only requires six little words. So here they are:

Ten thousand sorrows, ten thousand joys.

The Rufus Hummingbirds showed up on Tuesday, March 11th.

Have a great weekend, dear friends.