A Girl's Perfect Bug

The day we put up the Christmas tree, and I dragged out the boxes and fished through the ornaments for just the right ones, and from that constructed what we would gaze at for a month, a ladybug appeared on the windowsill.

I think everything is connected to everything else, so I gently invited her on my finger and she crawled on up. Look! A ladybug, in the dead of winter with windows closed, in the middle of decorating for Christmas!

I love ladybugs. Beautiful and gentle, soft and colorful, they are sweet simplicity. I have always helped them along by moving them on flowers and leaves, or to a shady spot against a fence.

My mom never gardened but she did plant carnations in the spring, the ones that trailed up the fence on pieces of twine, with creamy pink fluted edges that smelled of a soft summer day.  I would sit with her with dirt under my fingernails and we would dig holes and pat the plants into place, and she would point out ladybugs and say, be gentle - ladybugs do no harm.

That ladybug watched me trim the tree, unannounced, as I hung family ornaments that are too precious to imagine, handprints and first grade pictures, and family stockings with our loved one's names. I got to wondering if God ever lets our loved ones drop in for a visit to help ease our longing.  Aiyana and my Dad were so much like ladybugs - beautiful and gentle, doing only good and making the world better.

I cradled the ladybug gently as we walked downstairs and down the long hall to the porch, and nudged it onto a Verbena plant still in flower under the overhang. Thank you for dropping by and raising my spirits. Everything is connected.

No Eating the Guests!

As I sat down on Thanksgiving night, when the dishes were done and no one was quite ready for dessert, I watched my kids together on the couch laughing over something silly. I was filled with the most wonder sense of thanksgiving for my family the way it is.

They have a choice to be here. My brother in law has been part of the boys' lives for the last 30 ~ 27 ~ 24 years. He would come down when we lived in Phoenix, go to spring training and have a lot of time to hang out with the boys at the park, at the pool, at the game.

It seems like forever since those days of building a friendship that has outlasted a twenty year marriage to his brother and a decade since. We still go to games and he still comes to bbq's and holiday dinners. He gets along great with the Hubs, too. He always sweeps in with cheesecake under his arm and heads for the Seven Up in the fridge. 

Choosing family is so heartwarming. So right. We put out the idea of family dinners in the New Year. We live an hour or two apart, and that's a bit of a snag, but the boys were receptive to it.

I am thankful this year that Tim's new rescue Rottweiler did not eat the guests. In fact, Gatsby and Princess Sam got along well with her, so well in fact, that Roxie is on an extended sleepover until Sunday.

There was that moment she jumped up with front paws on the chopping block and thinking about digging in to the turkey carcass while we were at the table, but someone nixed that idea pretty fast.

Roxie's tummy was upset last night and so I boiled up some rice and chicken to settle things down. Now she follows me around as the Food Fairy. (Food truly is the universal language of love.) This morning, she actually laid on her side for me to scratch her tummy. That is a By Invitation Only activity with a Rottie and I was honored.

Sam taught Roxie to run up and down stairs, and just where to stand in the kitchen to be assurred a little morsel from the butcher block. And Roxie took Sam across the road to the farm on the other side, which nearly stopped our hearts until we had them back home and safe. Bad idea, city dog, bad bad idea.

I can hear Roxie snoring on her -no joke- Tempur Pedic dog bed in the living room, which is a relief that she is comfortable without Tim on her first sleepover.  And Sam could barely keep her eyes open after two days of Big Dog play. When the Hubs turned in, she was first on the bed and first conked out. I had to drag her sorry little carcass down to the foot of the bed -- and she didn't even wake up. Off to bed for me shortly, if there's room...

On Being Tuesday

A morning stretch and bam! it's Friday!  Puttering around at home and catching up with friends/fam is definitely on the top 10 hit parade for the weekend. I just love Friday.

So focused am I on Friday that I wonder if I really even see Tuesday. How different would it be to be more grateful for Tuesday and not shrug it off as merely a waystation to somewhere else?

Life is speeding up with technology, but also in the general pace and energy of life. We are stimulated 24/7 by electronic connections that demand attention. It is second nature now, the Facebook and Twitter. We almost always have a phone in our hand.

It reminds me of the scene in The Time Machine when Rod Taylor tries out the machine for the first time. He's in the laboratory with the windowed ceiling and wall, and we watch him push forward on the throttle. He has no idea what to expect, but he is curious to find out. The changes are abrupt! All of a sudden the sky and seasons fly by and the mannequins in the shop across the street go through a hundred years of fashion changes. We are transported somewhere new and strange.

I was relieved to know the Time Machine has a back button. But it was just a story. In real life, to slow our forward journey requires self control.  I am going to do a little experiment. I'm going to shift my thinking from counting weeks to counting days. In other words,  treat every day as important as Friday has become ~ each in its own right as its own destination point.

Living Present will make them more visible. I'd like to stretch awake and exclaim, oh good! it's Tuesday!!  Maybe there is untapped joy and purpose within the day. And what I suspect is it will slow life down a little bit. No need to wolf it down! And part of that is staring down the poor technology habits I have developed. From now on, mine will be muted and tucked away at night so I can be present at home.

Peace Be With You

Not to be disrespectful to what is happening with Hurricane Sandy but the reporting of that gave me a brilliant idea. There are tons of websites where updates are boiled down to the jist of what is happening - where the storm is, how people are affected, who has power and how the sick and infirmed are faring. Pretty much everything else was drama, and the way they constructed the reporting, you could avoid that.

So why not do the same with the Presidential race.

http://www.weather.com/weather/hurricanecentral/tracker/2012/sandy

You know, have a Political Stormtracker showing velocity and trajectory of their campaigns, and whether to batten down the hatches, run for the hills or plan a party.

The Presidential stumping ground could go from (too many) months to just a few days of petting dogs and holding babies. Everything else could be posted on the Stormtracker. Past performance, goals and the first-hundred-days-in-office plan, how the White House would get a makeover, etc. We don't actually have to know them on sight to vote. We the people, who are so capable and gritty, can spoon feed ourselves.

I can hardly contain the excitement of a drama-free campaign. I'm sure the candidates believe it's thrilling to meet them. They've been told it will ramp up their campaigns. And in small circles, perhaps so. But for the rest of us, they more resemble that obnoxious next door neighbor we try to avoid.

Famous people are like that. So out of touch. They buggggg me, with their wall-eyed glances, one on the camera and one on the crowd, in shameless self promotion.

The Hubs loves celebrities. He talks all the time about meeting some baseball player named (Oscar? Manuel? Roberto?) Zepada? Cepeda? at the Sushi place we love and shaking the hand of Bobby Kennedy just days before his last. He goes to music venues to see TV personalities. He and his brother actually sent a present once to one of the guys on the tv show, My Three Sons. LOL

I saw Walt Disney once. And I remember the day the Principal of my elementary came to dinner. What kind of father makes friends with the Principal of their kids' school?? I knew instantly my folks had BatPhone access to Mr. Jennings. And even worse, he singled me out the next week on the way to recess, called me by name and said with a big smile what a nice time he had at dinner. I couldn't look anyone in the eye for a week.

I am super judgemental on this topic -- and did you happen to notice the subword mental which supports my efforts to shun those seeking fame for being the magnificently crazy stupid people they are. 

{Except for Antonio Banderas. I'd like to meet him in the historical non fiction aisle of a bookstore and talk about what it was like working with Catherine Zita-Jones.}

The Understated Era

Every decade I have stood on the edge ready to dive, always excited to move forward.

I themed them up:  the 20s as big life transitions, the 30s as building the bricks and mortar, the 40s as focusing on careers and enjoying the fruits of that labor, and the 50s as putting on fat for the coming winter. The 60s*70s*80s were supposed to be the defining years of time well spent once the 8-5 was archived. You know, perpetual recess.

That theory sort of frittered away after the late 40's and those feelings of unlimited potential. Roadblocks were not big issues early on, with oodles of time for a comeback. And frankly, the 50s were supposed to be the pre-golden Me Years after kids and college, and the place to sock away solid earnings.

My folks built a lot of their retirement nestegg in their 50s. I watched.
 

Except it wasn't to be. The late great boomers have been enmeshed in a seriously unproductive decade.  The old tired Plan A seems more outdated than a 3 year old laptop.

 

So I started checking out who weathering the storm and what they have in common. What an eyeful.

The people who stayed in their original home and made do are doing just fine. They resisted the temptation to loot the equity for any reason, and if a dire situation arose, borrowed conservatively and paid it back. ***Lesson***

The folks who saved all the way along, for a rainy day, and took to heart Social Security as just a supplement, they're good, too.  ***Lesson***

And here's a shocker: the ones that came out on top here are those who worked for the government. ***No Lesson***

Seriously! We are the Love Peace Dope generation! No way would we be forced to give up our principles and stick with a conservative job. I was never ever tempted to work for big government. The antithesis of making a difference is a government job. 

But 50 years later and financial portfolios as they are, those big fat pensions and medical for life bennies look mighty tasty! 
 

Talk about irony! My favorite irony is in watching The Body that eased regulations and gave the banks latitude to execute a cataclysmic fraud of this magnitude to also deliver their employees from suffering the effects of it.  Land the Hand on a Giant Smack Down and then Lift Up in Pseudo-Comfort?  What a scam.

Hey, it's the same gig, buying or selling. The rest of us are standing around scratching our heads, wondering what the hell we're going to do without a Plan B.

 

I Liiiiiiiike It!

The Let's-Sell-Our-House- And-See-the-World Retirement

By LYNNE MARTIN

I'm 70 years old. My husband, Tim, is 66. For most of our lives, each of us lived and worked in California. Today, our home is wherever we and our 30-inch suitcases are.

In short, we're senior gypsies. In early 2011 we sold our house in California and moved the few objects we wanted to keep into a 10-by-15-foot storage unit. Since then, we have lived in furnished apartments and houses in Mexico, Argentina, Florida, Turkey, France, Italy and England. In the next couple of months, we will live in Ireland and Morocco before returning briefly to the U.S. for the holidays.

As I write this, we have settled into a darling one-bedroom apartment a hundred yards from the River Thames, a 25-minute train ride from the heart of London. We have a knack for moving in. Within a few minutes of plunking down our belongings in new digs, we have made it our own: The alarm clock is beside the bed; my favorite vegetable peeler and instant-read thermometer are in the kitchen; and our laptop computers are hooked up and humming. Together we begin learning how to make the appliances cooperate.

Given all that, I suppose a better way to describe us is gypsies who like to put down roots. At least for a month or two.
 

Why we're doing this is simple: My husband and I—in a heart-to-heart conversation during a trip to Mexico—realized that both of us are happier when we're on the road. We enjoy excellent health and share a desire to see the world in bigger bites than a three-week vacation allows. The notion of living like the locals in other countries thrilled us, and after almost 18 months of living "home free," we are still delighted with our choice. Even a "cocooning" day is more interesting in Paris or Istanbul.

How we're doing this is more complicated. But we think our plan would work for many retirees with a reasonably healthy nest egg. A budget on the road—as in a stationary life—depends on how a person prioritizes expenditures and what kind of lifestyle he or she wishes to pursue. Someone who needs a large wardrobe or thrives on giving lavish dinner parties wouldn't find our life appealing. (Rented places seldom offer much in the way of attractive dinnerware.)

We certainly have moments when we question our sanity. Being up to our knees in water, completely lost in the middle of a torrential rainstorm in Istanbul, or discovering that we have locked ourselves out on a third-floor Paris balcony does give us pause.

But we've learned three things. First, coping with new situations and making complicated travel plans even as we're on the road keep us sharp.

Second, we aren't alone. We meet fellow retirees on a regular basis, some who are taking extended vacations, others who are leading a life similar to ours, and some who have settled permanently overseas. A man I met early on in our travels said to me, "There are a lot of us out there who have figured it out."

Third and most important, the rewards far outweigh the risks. The moments when we glance out "our" living-room window at Florence's skyline or turn a corner in "our" neighborhood and see the tip of the Eiffel Tower winking at us make the scary times worthwhile.

Becoming international nomads sounded appealing, but we first had to find a way to afford such a lifestyle. Serious number-crunching showed that selling our home in California would allow us to live comfortably almost anyplace in the world. Not having property taxes or a roof that needs fixing can pay for a lot of train rides.

 

A few specifics about money. Our financial adviser sends us about $6,000 a month, generated from investments. We also collect Social Security and a small pension. We have a "slush fund" of about $20,000, which allows us to make advance deposits—for housing, cruises, flights, hotels and so forth—without affecting our cash flow.

We follow some simple strategies to keep our budget in line. Stays in more expensive locations, like Paris or London, are balanced by living in less pricey countries like Mexico, Turkey or Portugal. We dine out several times a week but eat at home much of the time. I like to cook, and food shopping is a great way to learn about a country. (Finding baking soda in Buenos Aires isn't nearly as simple as it sounds.)

People certainly could live on less than we do. Accommodations are a good place to start; the cost of rentals overseas varies considerably with size, season, location and amenities.
And when all else fails, walking and gawking are free everywhere.

Although we have used airplanes, trains, buses, taxis, cars and ferries, our favorite means of transportation is now trans-Atlantic repositioning voyages.

When cruise lines move their ships seasonally, they offer big discounts. Not many people can spare several weeks in the off-season to cross the ocean. But it's perfect for us because we not only reach our destination, but we also are housed, fed and pampered for more than two weeks each time. Traveling by ship, we arrive in sync with local time and get a quick peek at interesting places that we probably wouldn't choose for an extended visit.

We are not married to any particular cruise line. Tim shops for the best deal he can find that fits into our schedule, although we sometimes schedule around the cruises. Prices vary. In May, our Atlantic crossing—16 nights with an ocean-view room—cost about $2,500 for the two of us. That included all of our food, and a wine package for me. Our return trip in November from Barcelona to Miami with the same cruise line will cost about the same.

Our repositioning bookings extend into 2014 and form the base from which the rest of our travels plans will grow. At the moment, we have reservations for next year to live in Portugal, Spain, France, Germany, the Netherlands and Russia. We are already confirmed for a Paris apartment for June/July 2014.

In our experience, vrbo.com and homeaway.com are the most reliable sources for short-term rentals. They offer a wide range of properties to fit almost any budget, and because we usually stay at least a month in each place, we can sometimes negotiate a slightly better deal.

We have had the best luck renting properties whose owners live locally. They offer information about transportation and shopping, grant reasonable special requests and are usually quick to correct any shortcomings. When I mentioned to our apartment owner in Paris that the pots and pans were a bit tired, she appeared the very next day with a new set of cookware and two wonderful stainless-steel frying pans.

Of course, challenges await us at each destination. A partial list: learning how to negotiate the grocery-store routine; using local transportation; connecting to the Internet; getting decent haircuts; operating heating and cooling systems; deciphering exotic DVD players.

Producing meals in an unfamiliar kitchen is often a particular challenge; microwave instructions in French or Turkish can considerably delay meal preparation, And every washer/dryer we encounter presents a whole new group of mysterious settings.

Connecting with people we would never have encountered in our regular lives is the most thrilling part of our lifestyle.

In Paris, my favorite neighborhood cheese vendor chose a slice of Brie that he guaranteed would melt perfectly at the precise time our guests arrived, and it did; we met two brilliant young Serbian educators and an internationally known Italian poet at a dinner party on a terrace overlooking Florence; and the owner of a gorgeous 16th-century hotel where we were staying in Kusadasi, Turkey, whiled away an afternoon with me playing fast and furious backgammon. Such moments make the uncomfortable times—like being stuck in a London traffic jam while still learning to drive a stick-shift car on the left side—more than worthwhile.

We also enjoy the freedom of not being weighed down by our "things." Indeed, one of the benefits of living home-free is that people we meet on the road are interested in us and could care less about our house, our antiques, our art or other possessions. It's a remarkably forthright way to relate to others.
Most days we're up by 8 a.m., and we read our newspapers online with our coffee. If it's a "tourist" day, we try to get out in the morning before the crowds fill up the museum, historic site or event we're bound for. Sometimes we just attend to life with grocery or clothes shopping, or catching up on our laundry and our reading.

Strolling along the Thames on the way to have a haircut turns a mundane chore into an event, and many times we enjoy a chat with an interesting stranger along the way. My husband devotes some time every day to making travel plans for the future and writing a novel, and I try to work regularly on my blog, homefreeadventures.com. Many evenings we watch our favorite shows or a movie we've rented online, and we usually stay up too late, just as we used to do at home.

Since we have eliminated homeownership, we have few bills to pay. We use an online bill-paying service, and we buy almost everything by credit card so we can rack up mileage rewards. One of our daughters receives the mail, which has dwindled to almost nothing.

A good Internet connection is essential. Our computers link us with family and friends, help us plan future travels, and are our source of entertainment in places where movies and television in English are elusive. Each of us has a laptop and an iPhone, and our Kindles house our library and travel books.

We have Medicare and supplemental plans, and when we return to the U.S., we see our doctors for annual checkups. We also have international health insurance covering medical emergencies and evacuations. The plan has a big deductible to help reduce our overhead, since our experiences with health-care providers abroad have been very positive. For instance, Tim awoke one morning in Mexico with raging flu symptoms. A doctor was at his bedside within the hour, administered an injection and gave us a prescription. He charged about $50, and Tim recovered quickly.

Of course, we miss our family and friends terribly, but they have forgiven us for leaving and welcome us enthusiastically when we rent a house near them for a visit. Even our financial adviser has grudgingly admitted that our plan is working well.

For us, giving up 2,500 square feet of gracious California living for a 500-square-foot apartment in Paris or Istanbul is more than a fair trade-off. In place of our heavy-duty gas stove, big-name pots and pans and enormous refrigerator, we now find ourselves using Barbie-size sinks, bar fridges and some pretty sketchy cookware. We share bathrooms with one sink and watch movies on a 13-inch computer screen.

At the same time, we enjoy lunches where the paté comes from heaven, drives through the luscious French countryside where even the cows are beautiful, and strolls along the Arno River in Italy for our after-dinner exercise.

We don't plan to quit until the wheels fall off.
 

Sunrise in Laos, by Pam Houston

Such beautiful, beautiful imagery to enjoy.

Sunrise in Laos
by Pam Houston

 

I am a mountain girl, and my first love in Asia are the monasteries tucked between the snow-covered razor ridges of the high Himalayas. But I've been drawn south into these humid lowlands by the reported kindness of the Laotian people and the early morning ritual that is about to begin.

A rooster crows. A peacock screams. And then the bells of the monasteries begin to have their morning conversation.

When the monks come pouring down the stone steps of the prayer halls, they appear first as a river of color, a ribbon of saffron silk, shockingly vibrant against the chalky streets, the dusty footpath, the gray -- almost mercuried -- sky. All over Asia, monks wear robes the color of spices: curry, cumin, paprika. In Luang Prabang, every robe is brightest saffron, the cloth wrapped complicatedly around their torsos and hanging to their ankles, tied at the waist with a bright yellow sash.

As they approach it becomes possible to distinguish one monk from another, hands clasped in front of the belly, echoing the shape of the wooden begging bowl they hold.

Like the Mekong they live beside, this river of men never stops moving; they pass in a quiet, contemplative gait that is two parts walking, one part floating. One by one they drift past the woman, who also keeps a kind of time with her motions: one large scoop of steaming rice into each hand-carved bowl, refill, release, refill again. Every monk bows to her deeply and moves on.

Every few streets the same thing is happening: different woman, different monks; same bright, graceful river passing in front of her. And again a few streets over, an unmistakable flash of color, and again, a few streets beyond that. This is what happens here every morning, 365 days, year in, year out.

The women up early, cooking in the dark, carrying their little tables in the milky first light. Then the monks, a small fire in the gray light, lightening their rice cookers, lightening their burdens.

The sun strengthens slightly. In an hour, the fog will lift and the heat will begin to press down. There is a flick of fire, a swirl of a saffron sleeve as a monk moves around the corner, back up the stairs and into the dormitory, like a magic trick of compassion, of generosity, of prayers offered and received.

A Bowl of Tulips

Kindness is hardest to do when it is unappreciated, but that is when it is most needed.

I came across a free retirement calculator which became a very good tool. I wasn't prepared for the twenty different options and a series of questions too advanced for a morning looksey.  It turned into a somber moment to look forward twenty or thirty years to what the needs might be.  It dawned on me, the day is almost here when income will end and whatever is saved is what will have to last.  Likely the transition will be more abrupt than with our parents, who had the luxury of choosing a date and excitedly marking it off the calendar. This reality is where talented, educated young people have difficulty finding jobs, and new jobs are not being created. We may not have the luxury of going out on top.

But today is not that day! I worked with the calculator and entered all the info from retirement programs, savings and retirement income that I knew, and felt we've done a decent job saving so we should be okay. What came up was a pretty frightening graph that estimates how much *other* income will be needed to augment retirement and social security to maintain a modest standard of living. By age 80: $80K a year.

The Gods Must be Crazy!  Makes me contemplate this idea of living off the land and being as self sufficient as possible as more of a necessity than an elective choice. And you better believe the hot topic will be about post-workforce income and what we are going to do about that.

All this retirement talk definitely condensed the issues down to the meat and potato topics for the Presidential election next month. I'm looking at them only in terms of ~ National might; citizen protections from government/business corruption; strong social programs; healthcare reform; and financial strength.

We need someone at the helm with a moderate cooperative spirit and strong ethical principles to break through the partisanship.  This year my vote goes not to the lovely bowl of tulips draped with a matching bow, but to whomever will look after my best interests and get the job done.

The Squatter

Crops are in and out, again. The corn in the morning is chopped down by the time the farm workers head home, and by morning it is baled and ready to ship. I wish I saw transitions as ultimately good and nothing to be feared; or the beauty in life being a continual and migratory step along the journey that will bring new, unexplored things.

My roots are deep in the now.  I tire of the pretty side of cancer with its shirts and walkathons and blitzes now that I face the paperskin, cane walking, hard breathing, gut wrenching squatter that has leached into bones and organs and set up house in my friend's lives.  

It is bittersweet, sitting with a friend who is very very ill, cheering him and his lovely wife who is as much a victim as he is, and watching their daughter's courage and resign. And the next day, with a gathering of lifelong friends, one having just learned about her son's friend's cancer and bowing her head with dark, helpless tears; a second in remission but whose haunting eyes reflect back the ordeal and weariness there; and another, walking stooped with a cane, now shallow chested and struggling to even be there.

Anger is such an inadequate word. Whatever strong thing that is inside of me bubbles bubbles bubbles just below the surface;  I cannot fathom why there would be something manufactured to consume the host along with itself.  Do not tell me this is a natural part of life. Being 'about that age' is no consolation, none at all.

The Way of the Farmer

My weathervale has shifted. I can tell by the sour taste of discontent that there is a syncing problem. I got a new phone two weeks ago, and it was way too big a change, so it was returned last week, still unsatisfactorily, and that is when I realized what I wanted was to go back.

It is not due to the change in weather, but I long to retreat into a book and stay there for about a week. Or lay in a bath with the amniotic fluid of hot water soothing me from whatever is scary and hard. Living here on the land is a chance to witness how the land gives back and how the farmer makes that happen. I marvel at it.

It is an honest exchange. Alfalfa crops surround the house, a chlorophyll-colored small weedy-looking plant that is underestimated by passer-bys who think the land is fallow. Alfalfa is harvested every couple of weeks like grass and we have watched at least harvests in the short time we have been here.

We go to bed to the hum and rumble of the tractors, and sometimes in the twilight see the profile of the lone farmer as he works the land. By morning, rows are piled with cuttings, or already baled and ready to go. Money air, my Grandfather called it, and he was right.

Alfalfa is nothing as grand as hay or corn, with its tall and graceful stalks that glitter and catch the sun. No songs are written about it. Nobody anticipates it like pumpkins or watermelons, except for the guy in the cab. Farming alfalfa yields a respectable income for this useful, nutrient-rich crop.

The world doesn't change much in AgriWorld. It mostly involves updated equipment and improved soil nutrient combinations to draw more harvest from the land, that sort of thing. It is a fundamental life where earth and man understands one another and above all respect for Mother Earth. Let me lay here quietly and contemplate that.

The Deathstar

The Hubs packed me off to the doctor today, sure that I had West Nile Virus because of the MosquitoLand next door and my flu like symptoms since Wednesday. Yosemite news articles probably fueled the fire, so I agreed to get it checked out. My regular doctor was out and I met an old guy filling in. He was very patient with me as I explained my symptoms and threw in a few things for good measure, like bad hearing, and dimmer eyes, and just why is it I can't lose weight even though I still eat like a teenager and don't exercise?

I got the thumbs up that I didn't have WNV but I did have a virus. A catchable virus. So much for the big get together with the grandkinds tomorrow. It's fluids and rest for me, and maybe a treadmill and ear and eye tests in the coming months. 

Speaking of wasting time, I finally acknowledged my Samsung slide phone from the dark ages had lived a good life. You remember the phones with just a camera, no internet, no computer stuff like emails and links to Facebook. Just a phone. Well, sadly, the audio portion went out and really, what good is a phone without the audio portion?

The phone store is a terrifying place. It's got all these tecchie people who talk really fast and their fingers whiz over thekeyboard and slide screens and colors jump around. Malcolm was one such salesman. He did find me a good unlimited calling plan which I need now that we have no home phone, and unlimited texting which is good because I guess everybody texts like 2 or 3 words at a time instead of full sentences, and so one conversation via text can take 30 exchanges. Who can afford that on the 250 texts a month plan? You'd only get to talk to 5 people all the way through.

Malcolm recommended I get an Android. Okay, it seemed cool the way he described it, and he was gushing with enthusiasm, and who wouldn't like voice activation emails and GPS and this is how you turn it on and this and this and this this this, and have a good day. I called the Hubs and was thinking it was pretty good except for not knowing how to end the call. So I just turned the phone off.

I turned it back on. The green pick up icon appeared on the screen. It was ringing.  I pushed the screen and the green pick up receiver icon and nothing happened. I pushed it again. Third ring by this time, as I hunted around the outside of the case frantically and pushed one of those buttons which was volume control. Now it was screaming a fourth and fifth ring, so I just turned off the phone.

The Hubs got home and he was laughing at me ~! ~ so smarty pants, I had him try, and do you know what? He couldn't answer the phone either. That was day 1 with the Android Stratosphere. By the end of day 2, I had put everything back in the box and stuffed in the receipt and it is in my car. Any phone that requires a user's manual before answering the first call is too much phone for me.

We decided to skip a home phone because ATandT is extremely stubborn. When we called for service, the rep insisted that we really live in Woodland. No, actually, there are 2 County Road 95's in Yolo, one in Woodland and one in Zamora, and we live in Zamora.  He wouldn't budge: their files clearly said Woodland, and you can't argue the point, even though one would hope an employee would at some point trust that we know where we live.

We needed them out to help with a phone line that swooped through a bunch of trees, wrapped around a pole and hung dangerously low over the gravel drive before attaching to the side of the house. It looked like a cloth wire covering, from the 1920s.  The phone line also ran across the roof and then swooped low across the lawn to the neighbor's house, if you can believe that.

I called the Deathstar to dispatch a fellow, and they sent him to the wrong town, because they are absolutely sure we live in Woodland. He never did arrive. He reported there was actually no street address in Woodland, which was no surprise to us because we don't live there, closed the ticket and went home.

I called again. The second tech eventually did arrive after 3 directional adjustment calls and, after a brief assessment he just cut the line between the houses that ran across the lawn. (I think he was crabby from all that driving around.)

This is painful to admit, for me too, but that hanging phone line was still a problem over the drive, and we still needed it fixed. A third call, and a third guy out (after a brief tour of CR95, Woodland), who knotted a bunch of cable at the top of the pole raising it up about 8', and left.

Finally we were ready to turn on our phone! The Deathstar charged us something crazy like $150 to flip a switch to activate the line. Only, you guessed it, they activated a home somewhere in Woodland. Ours never did work. The Hubs called and they vehemently insisted it was active. Not in Zamora, it's not. We fought it all the way up the chain of command before they finally zeroed out the bill. I'm pretty sure that was the day we abandoned the whole land-line idea.

The end of the tale comes last week when a PG and E guy was onsite, and looked at the tangled mess of phone line that was jammed up in the trees and he just cut it right from the pole for us.  So I will be needing a cell phone with unlimited voice and texting for life. We have officially severed our connection.

Andy Williams

http://www.latimes.com/news/obituaries/la-me-andy-williams-20120927,0,509480.story

Thanks for the memories, Andy Williams. What a class act.

Sock Signals

I was brought presents this morning, one of the Hubs' socks, and then another. Sam must stash them somewhere so she can send me sock signals when it's time to go outside for a squirt.  LOL!

She's got personality plus, this dog. She is doing really well off the leash (so long as you've got a little hand full of food or treats to refocus her priorities.) But she's still a jumper and that is a concern. The dog newsletters say adolescence is the hardest phase, and we're smack in the middle of that, so maybe a refresher course at 4 Paws U is needed. 

For Us.

On top of that, an op came up last night to possibly rescue another little labby-mix dog about Sam's size and temperament. That is the biggest news, ever. Will it change her, and us, and the routines we have now? 

Is there ever a perfect time to introduce a new dog?  Maybe it's like having children, more about a willingness to adapt to the changes than waiting for some magic moment to arrive.

Can we afford it? Do we need it? Can we manage it?

We're off the cuff people. A little puppy wanders into our email and we swoop down and turn our lives inside out and upside down in the most amazing ways. We are head over heels - with the wet breakfast kisses and 24/7 play mode. 

I can't believe the person who wants a goat and a sheep and - hello- a horse is a little apprehensive.  How will we manage two dogs without a run or garage?  Will they mind off the leash and be safe in an unfenced yard? How will they get on?  Will life morph into Thing One and Thing Two as destructo,  trouncy Tiggerdogs?

My brave friends say  just! do! it!  Dog pals make for a happier, longer life. So off we go with eyes closed and counting to three ... somewhere we had better never run out of treats.

Wearing it Well

My lifelong companion and best brother turned 60 on the weekend.

In the last few years, life has changed for both of us. There is hardly any life overlap like there used to be. With two new marriages and 100 miles separating us, it is challenging to find the time.

But I sure do miss it.  I still get phantom pangs for the free time we used to spend pal-ing around and figuring things out.

In his 20s, he was backpacking through Europe with friends, and carving out a career. His 30s and 40s were about buying a house, becoming an Uncle (thrice!) and a great role model for the boys now that we lived in the same town. 

On his 50th, we ate Dim Sum in The City and toured Alcatraz, with the folks and the boys and friends.  His house was full of black balloons, and the neighbors, who intended to mow a 6-0 in the lawn, ended up with a big Zero when the mower quit.

By 55 we had lost both of our folks, he was in love, soon to marry and kicking his life into high gear. From then and now they have constructed a great life together full of lots of fun.

And now, that age-resistant brother of mine is 60. That happened so fast.

So here's to looser skin and deeper wrinkles, and a thousand more timeless moments that will happen between here and there.  I love you, Donnie boy.

BBTD

I have been putting it off.

My incomplete projects that sit around the house are not half restored cars or messy garages, or half renovated bathrooms, they languish online.

I began four separate blogs and photo websites which seemed completely reasonable when I had oodles of time to tend to them. Today, all but one have slipped under the radar until this morning when I accidentally clicked on one.

Oh no. All those faces and memories lit up like a cake, and have been idle and waiting for the last 2 years for updates. A casual observer might imagine the blogger's life had taken a turn for the worse and the page was abandoned, but no: I had just lost focus.

http://smallbytes.shutterfly.com/

I had to, right? I clicked on my happy place, the blog with the stories of our trip to Europe, also incomplete. We are stuck partway through England at present (I wish). It would have been so much easier to finish up when the details were fresh and new in 2010. Thank goodness for journal notes from the BestDaysEver to give it the true and proper ending it deserves.

http://bushtreks.blogspot.com/

There was one more site, a hybrid page of uplifting, lively news pulled from writings elsewhere and my own. It was intended as an antidote to the everyday gloom and doom we ingest; ala Charles Kuralt. I sure miss that guy.

I parted company with LaBellaVita and deleted her, and hope for renewed interest on the rest. Out here in the country, the BBTD (barely-better-than-dialup) is finally in and the dormer room upstairs is all set up to become a contemplative sanctuary for crafts and blogging.  We'll see how it goes.

The Game of Life

A friend suggested that for a blog to be read, one needs to have something interesting to read, and I quite agree. Another is convinced that a blog is little more than a diary that serves a purpose for the writer, and no one else.

My little blog is definitely more of the latter, completely unencumbered by visibility in a corner on the world wide web. I have changed its name 5 times and moved it twice for just that reason, intended for a close circle of friends, and whomever else happens to click on it accidentally.

There is no audience to consider or please; no content to fret about, other than maintaining some basic sense of honesty in writing down the lessons, remorsefulness, gratefulness and joy that lifts the grain.

It didn't start out that way. I had counters to see the traffic and interest, even where the readers resided. I was interested in what they thought. Every story was crafted as a piece of reflective art, an essay 'published' for the world to enjoy clever and purposeful writing. I loved spending my days finding just the right word in the right sentence to make the writing efficient and poignant.

Those early years were barren of meaningful things in my life, and that very good writing was a very good filler.  In the years since, I have come to realize most writers are motivated by a) something to link to (reunion info, family info to span long distances); b) a talent to share (music, art, science, photography, travel); c) a strong opinion(historical, social, political); d) something to teach, or e) to find a voice.

I am glad that life is wont to change, because I needed it in a big way. My little blog and I clung to each other through the churning waters that freed my world from the drag of what was pulling me under. All sorts of transitions had to happen in order to purge what had to go and make good on the rest.

A huge part of the change came symbolically when I started using my maiden name as part of my last name. A friend challenged that I was pretending the married years didn't happen. That wasn't it, not at all!  But it was time to get out from under the shadow of those years, and regain the half of my life that I most authentically associate with. And now, in marriage, my maiden name has become my formal middle name for just that reason.

There were humiliating losses and wisened, bloody gains but this journey is mine to reflect on and appreciate when I need a boost. And that, for me, is what blogging is all about.

Deliverance

Something has been weighing heavily on me all week.

An impossible situation arose, with no resolution: In the busy days of the move and wrapping up the Town House, I missed an important deadline at work.

I was worried sick about it, and each day the unresolved issue continued, I felt worse. I tend to be extremely hard on myself anyway so this issue became a bigGER deal as the days passed.

I bow my head each day and pray for others but I couldn't bring myself to pray for a resolution to my problem, even when I am in need.  I couldn't sleep, and was saying wicked, hateful things to myself.

By Wednesday I had had enough! I asked for help to resolve the issue and to forgive myself for the mistake.  Almost immediately my mind felt clearer, and I doubled down and worked through everything else on my desk with a glimmer of hope that a resolution might appear.

Wednesday and Thursday passed slowly and quietly, believing whatever was meant to happen would happen, even if it turned out to be no help at all. But how I hoped otherwise!

Today arrived and when I walked in to work, the first thing out of my co-worker's mouth was, You are not going to believe this, but I just got off the phone and the situation you were beating yourself up about can be resolved: this is what you need to do right away ...

And I did, and it was, and by the grace of God it's over.

The Show



To date the research has identified molecules in chocolate, a variety of berries and foods containing omega-3 fatty acids that are structurally similar to valproic acid. Valproic acid is the active chemical in drugs presently prescribed to smooth out mood swings in bipolar disorder and other mood disorders.

There's been a lot of talk of disillusionment this week at the RNC, as though it has been invented by the current administration and they are responsible for the whole of it since the inception of mankind.

I understand that Obama has contributed to the mood, but in my home he is not the topic of conversation. What is a topic here is a lost home, a found one, a precarious job climate and an uncertain retirement. Obama didn't create those, they came with the job.

There is no doubt Obama is an orator, but he delivers economic and cultural news like a stern father out of work and having to tell his children the summer trip to Disneyland is off. I am surprised that he has not been much of a Drum Major with colorful and fine plumage, strutting out front in long strides and championing our power and glory to the world. I think he may not share his country's strong sense of entitlement, but I have never believed he does not deeply love this country.

His efforts have been heartfelt and earnest with many sleepless nights contemplating each and every turn of the bend and the best direction to steer the country. It has not been an easy row to hoe with all the issues in play, and I will state honestly and openly that had John McCain earned the chair we would be in even worse shape.

Back to the NRC. It felt gOOd to sit and listen in dreamy wonderment and hyperbole the boyish enthusiasm that cheered me up like a great big bar of smooth chocolate making those happy endorphens jump for joy. Yayyyy to America!

And what a show it was. Americans are arrogant beings, and the RNC played into that with its high sense of self-importance.

• We ARE the greatest country in the world, and do GOOD THINGS to maintain and bring PEACE in the world.
• It is our burden to make THE WORLD'S decisions for them.
• We CAN recapture the innovation to again produce the world's GOODS AND SERVICES because we were on the ground floor during the INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION and it is OURS.
• We are GOOD and JUST and WORTHY
• And now, byGod, God's on our side if you vote for R&R.

The Republicans will not accomplish health and welfare normalization and a chicken in every pot. They won't be able to equalize an unequal playing field and the caste system that is entrenched in our country. They will not dislodge the powers that be in Washington DC and the money that makes things happen.

But it was nice to hear they would try. We have sorely missed being told our leaders 'get it' and care about something other than finishing up their term with their skin. For Americans, it's always been about fighting the good fight so we feel good about ourselves.

In the Obama camp of friends, I am hearing a lot of things: that it wasn't his fault he was stonewalled into a lameduck Presidency for nearly all 4 years; that he tried a lot of legislation that was trampled and left for dead on the House and Senate floors; and that even for reprisal ideas he has presented that were originally Republican ideas, they were voted down because his name was attached.

History is not going to take that into account. So although yes yes yes to all of the above, one of his chief failings is in not commanding the respect his position deserves. He has been openly challenged on the House and Senate floors, spit at and disparaged in public. Who do we think we are to disrespect The Office of the President? An Equal? Not I, said the duck.

In the Republican camp of friends here in California, the news is astonishingly rude; that he is an unAmerican, black muslim outsider who does not love and believe in our country; a man whose values and integrity sympathize with our enemies; a man who is remaking America in his own image which is a Godless, unAmerican place.

That's a pretty big assertion for a man who can't even get legislation passed, to have the clout and power to reshape an entire country in one term and steal its soul. I think the people saying these things are representing the least American values of all.

I listen to how threatened and intolerant they are to different beliefs, cultures and backgrounds. What it comes down to in my book is these people want the White House to mirror their views and nothing more, which is impossible given the cultural complexity of our great nation. I don't know about you, but I vote in who I hope to be the best person for the job. And if I wanted me for the job, I would be on the ballot.

The loudest voices seem to be the least informed on political matters, and they instead adopt propaganda from the radio and news as their own view. They do not participate in this amazing opportunity in a country that welcomes their voice. They don't want to work to make a differenceL what they really want is the show.

Follow me ... said the Pied Piper;

let me give you a ride across the river ...

said the crocodile to the monkey;

you can have it all ... said the devil.

 I think we all would do well with some hot chocolate and a nap before we decide.

Bluesy-Eyed

It's the 2 year jitters, and I am all bluesy-eyed.

Maybe it's a fallback emotion to being laid off out of the blue just around the 2 year mark, in 2009. That jolt and after shocks continued for a long time before life rebounded to somewhere good and decent and strong. A day doesn't go by that I do not appreciate being of service.

In the last several months, staff have been readied for a corporate transformation that is seeping into my bones. I wake thinking of it; I toss and turn at night, wondering if when we emerge from it, there will be a place for me.

I have compounded concerns. I work with mostly youngsters. In a recent online training day, it was evident that I bested everyone in the room by at least 20 years. It's a young person's game, which it should be, and I came away feeling doubly appreciative of my job.

But it also made me see that my days are numbered. Whether it is by choice or circumstance, inevitably the baton must be passed. I have not gotten in gear and moved plan B business idea off the drawing board and into action.

I think of that *older* woman we occasionally see, wearing too youthful attire and too much make up and dyeing her hair too dark and wearing too vibrant a lipstick. She obviously spent oodles of time on her appearance but is still unaware that her ship has sailed.

Ahem.  Don't wanna be her!!

And so I take to heart what I am feeling as I head to work, put in a solid 8 and sometimes more, and wonder if others who have a job are keenly aware of the precariousness of their position and how hard it would be to recover should it be lost.  

If this is in the heads of workers everywhere, I am profoundly sad.

Sugar Morning

This is my favorite thing to do in the mornings. I hop out of bed toddle down the hall to the window facing the front and this is what I see. (And this is who I see it with.)

 

     

Sammy and I have a routine. She waits for me to say GO before dashing out and into the fields for a morning run.  I drink some coffee, and dig my feet in the soft earth and enjoy the mild morning temps.

 

We are grateful in so many ways, to Noel and Colleen, Richard and Dee, to their guidance and vision.

 

We are humbled by the outpouring of help from our neighbors to pack and move the garage, and to our friends Jenn and Merr and the most wonderful sons in the world, all of whom made moving the house possible.

 

It's the final day at the old place. You've been a great house; we will miss you; be good going forward.  

 

Here at the farm, outside the window that looks out alongside the house, this is what is going on. 

 

Life is active and building. The electrical, and the footings for the garage should be in today.  Sam especially appreciated the big mounds of dirt to leap over this morning. She looked like a Giselle.

 

After we came inside and I wrote some of teh post, sounds came from outside, and this is what I saw. 

 

 

Someone is hard at work already!  Work, and then leaving behind the keys and garage door openers in the kitchen drawer. It's going to be a great day.

 

 

Remember This?

The Life of Riley, with William Bendix in the title role, is a popular American radio situation comedy series of the 1940s that was adapted into a 1949 feature film, a long-run 1950s television series (originally with Jackie Gleason as Riley for one truncated season, then with Bendix for six seasons), and a 1958 comic book.

The show began as a proposed Groucho Marx radio series, The Flotsam Family, but the sponsor balked at what would have been essentially a straight head-of-household role for the comedian. (Groucho went on to host Blue Ribbon Town from 1943 to 1944 and then You Bet Your Life from 1947 to 1961.) Then producer Irving Brecher saw Bendix as taxicab company owner Tim McGuerin in Hal Roach's The McGuerins from Brooklyn (1942).

The Flotsam Family was reworked with Bendix cast as blundering Chester A. Riley, a wing riveter at the fictional Cunningham Aircraft plant in California. His frequent exclamation of indignation—"What a revoltin' development this is!"—became one of the most famous catchphrases of the 1940s. The radio series also benefited from the immense popularity of a supporting character, Digby "Digger" O'Dell (John Brown), "the friendly undertaker".

The expression, "Living the life of Riley" suggests an ideal contented life, possibly living on someone else's money, time or work. Rather than a negative freeloading or golddigging aspect, it implies that someone is kept or advantaged. The expression was popular in the 1880s, a time when James Whitcomb Riley's poems depicted the comforts of a prosperous home life,^[1] but it could have an Irish origin—after the Reilly clan consolidated its hold on County Cavan, they minted their own money, accepted as legal tender even in England. These coins, called “O'Reillys” and “Reilly's” became synonymous with a monied person, and a gentleman freely spending was “living on his Reillys”.

Just Being Neighborly

Just getting around to some long-overdue preventive visits with the doc. Mammo, physical and blood work, and now a colonoscopy.  Not sure why I'm good on this for a while and then have a lapse, but it is good to be back on track.  It is the morning of the colonoscopy, and having just downed 8/10ths of a gallon of sodium bicarbonate with wild cherry flavoring, I am ready.

Speaking of ready, the TownHouse is clean and prepped with just the garage left to do. The difficulties there involve kitchen cabinets that line the walls, out of a friend's kitchen when they renovated. They have been great for storage but are heavy as a brick, especially the upper ones.

On Saturday the Hubs and a friend and I lamely tried to help him soldier the lower units into the storage POD, and we got it done, but no way could we do the upper ones without some serious guy help.

On Sunday as we were cleaning, our favorite neighbor passed by on his walk and took in the situation. About 10 minutes later, he showed up with the best attitude and offered to help!  For the next several hours, I watched them step by step, he and the Hubs tackling those cabinets, working together as a team and coordinating their safe removal.

This was a really strenuous task, making the offer doubly great. The temps were about 100 degrees in a sweltering garage with no ventilation other than the open garage door. It all came down and stowed safely away, and just like that, the hardest part was done.

Our agent called last week. She said the buyers were ready to close and might we be out earlier than expected? It seemed impossible to even think about that, because of the garage. But now ... now an earlier occupancy might just be possible...all because of yesterday afternoon with Jorge.

Life is just so tender sometimes, it takes my breath away. But not on Tripoley night. That's different. On Tripoley night we will munch on appetizers like we always do and still try to beat his socks off.

Mosquitos in the Car

I was on my way to work last Friday and noticed some fluttering in the car. A mosquito: oh crap.

We would be carpooling for about 40 minutes, and that wasn't going to work out very well (for me),  so I focused in and swatted it dead, only to notice another two more zoning in on my arm. Slip*Slap*Gone.

We are Dragonfly Central, chiefly due to the abandoned pool next door that has just enough rainwater to be the Zamora Mosquito Capital of the World. We had these little black gnatty things early in the summer but once the temps got high enough, they disappeared. There were mosquitos early in the summer, of course, but nothing like now.

We go to bed wearing John's Skin So Soft on our upper bodies. Like camping!

The Yolo County Mosquito Abatement team come with their little test tubes and monitor it, and they use mosquito fish who leave constant water kisses as they gobble up the surface mosquitos. But mosquitos still pour out of there and they are a delicacy of dragonflies, which I didn't realize until the other night.

Sam typically uses a spot around the side of the house for her doings, and it was dusk as we rounded the bend.  The air was full of dragonflies. It's about 300 sq feet between the house and the fence, and there were hundreds of them in a feeding frenzy. The air was moving with quick jerks in all directions, high in the air and along the ground, too.

Sam and I stood and watched for a minute, and I let her decide what she wanted to do. She looked at me and cocked her ears and turned towards the front yard, and that was that. What a sensible dog.


-----

On Sunday the Sheriff's Department talked to us about the ground squirrel problem. They are not the furry sweet tree squirrels people write books about; they are a menace for crops and property, and they have taken up residence on the land. Burrows are everywhere. Being surrounded by farmland on all sides, the property is an ideal spot for them to nest.

Typical eradication treatments are traps with bait or bait down the holes, but we have the diggingest dog you've ever seen, and so we had to talk about maybe shooting them. The Sheriff said that's totally alright, and most of our neighbors do it that way. Welcome to Rural America.


That was music to the Hubs' ears, sharp-shooter that he is. Last evening I spied him on patrol around dusk, swatting mosquitos and walking the perimeter around the chicken coop. Didn't I mention there is a chicken coop? For a couple more weeks, there is ...


I'd rather them just pack up and leave, maybe flood their burrows and scare them off before the garage and gardens go in.  But we hear how persistent they are. And anyway, after our best tomatoes were snatched right off the vine within the first 24 hours here, they kind of started it. Critters, your lease is up.

Surface Streets

It's strange, the English language, with all its rules that it breaks itself, and double entendres. I am grateful this is my primary language.

In the quiet yard and fields around us retirement comes to mind, which is defined as withdrawing into seclusion. We have certainly done that, and begun the journey from a life in town, and neighbors all around on a busy street on the way to the hospital. My brother turns 60 next month, eeh gads.

Our country neighbor, Sam, is at his project house 3 or 4 times a week. We typically find him sitting cross legged reading the paper in the heat of the afternoon, facing the sun. He is tall and wiry and just the type of guy to be digging a gigantic hole in his yard to install some sort of holding tank when temps soar to over 100 degrees. You wouldn't be seeing anything like that in town.

Life is only partially here watching the goings-on of the dragonflies and ground squirrels. We work full time still, not quite yet part of the self sustaining, idle elite. Some retirees we know are busier now than ever, whose lives continue to have purpose and focus. Wouldn't that be great, to continue to do what and when and how, and as often as possible.

Now that we are somewhere that needs shaping and purpose, the dream is more energized.  We see another dimension, with upkeep and tending things, and maybe a goat! .

One of the alternate meanings of retire is to re-tire a car. What good retirement advice, to toss a new set of tires on the old chassis and stay on the road! No need to give up the keys just yet. Off ramps lead to surface streets, and a lot more places to go.

The Best Laid Plans

It's hard to settle down tonight. I ran down the list. First, a little snack since dinner was a green salad. Something carbohydratie. I drank a full bottle of water for hydration.  I notice dehydration mostly at night. Now I'm on to taking 1/2 a melatonin and blogging until it kicks in.

The sense of relief is most visible now that we aren't laying awake at night thinking of all the impossible scenarios if the house in town had not been approved for sale and sold.  It did sell and the buyers are seeing it through, the bank is cooperating, and it appears a happy ending will be had by all.  In these times, it feels downright astonishing to say that.

We had been hoofing over our stuff little by little to the country house and had THE PLAN for the big move.  THE PLAN was basically for the boys to move the heavier pieces and get us in, those things we couldn't move on our own.  That would be an enormous help. Over the next several weeks we would move over the lighter accessory pieces, clothes closets and whatnot, and take our time, and finish it up.

We picked Aug 4-5 as a likely weekend to execute THE PLAN which was 2 full weeks away, and confirmed with the boys. And a couple of days later, the boys jettisoned that weekend for a more convenient one when they were taking a motorcycle class in town and, by the way, could they stay with us? 

Oh sure.  But having the moving date moved up a week meant that it was just 4 days off. So we began a mad pack in paper boxes from work, trying to prepare. I took some time off work.

And all through this, the hubs' and I clung to THE PLAN, and on moving day turned them loose on packing the truck. The boys are really good at moving, really really good. Nothing was scratched or broken. They were fast and efficient. And in no time the first phase was done.

One might think I would see it coming, the moment when THE PLAN would inevitably be abandoned in favor of just bringing it all over at one time.  We had the truck, they had the time, so why not?  Son Reasoning 101. (I'm sure they wanted it to be over.)

That unfortunately happened on Day 1. It created a bit of a vacuum on the other end, as we didn't know THE PLAN had changed.  So we celebrated as all the big pieces came in, dressers were reassembled, bedrooms and the livingroom set up, and we sat back really pleased, only to see the truck tail lights disappearing down the road because they were going back for another load.  

Another load of WHAT? Books and TVs and stereos and lamps and wall units, collectibles and mementos, tables and chairs ~ all the things we hadn't precisely mapped out destinations for because they weren't part of THE PLAN. It all came marching in with furious efficiency and speed, and the house instantly resembled a cave in with us trapped inside.

It was probably best not to know ahead of time, don't you think? And they were right about one thing: getting it over and done with meant we have not needed to call in reprise reinforcements.

We are still buried, but things are finding homes. We work our days and then head to the town house for patio furniture and potted plants and board games, hoofing it to the farm.  Or work through a box or two in the hallway or upstairs in the storeroom.

Now it's on to the garage!  (I wish I were joking.) The garage is a plethora of amazing things and cabinets full of woodworking tools and fishing rods and camping stuff.  It's got to go somewhere, and fast.

So this part of the journey will involve a POD, a portable storage container that is dropped off on the driveway, to be filled and delivered to the new house. It's a rentable, storage unit on wheels.  The soon-to-be garage is on the Building Inspector's desk for permit approval, and this will keep our garage gear handy until that goes up. And, honestly - best of all - we will only move it once: from the garage in town > POD = POD > country garage.  It's a good PLAN.

Lemonade

We got word today that another appraisal is needed on the city house. The first appraisal came in what we considered fair and spot on, and we are not sure why there is another one being ordered. It may be because BofA sat on it for six weeks and some invisible deadline passed.

I hate when that happens.

We also got word that all the docs that were submitted in June need to be resubmitted. Fortunately the agent has done that. After the hubs re-signed some things to resubmit, an account specialist was assigned.  And so begins the debt collector phone calls, which are horrible and humiliating and depressing.

In the last week, the buyer's offer was submitted and acknowledged by the bank. They put in the offer in June but we had to wait on BofA to get their ducks in a row.  Now begins various assessments by various departments. In plainspeak: it will take a while. We still don't even know if we are approved for a short sale.

But we are grateful for movement because it is progress towards a destination point we will eventually occupy, when the bank is good and ready. It's extremely important to know where you stand.

In this moment, we stand here in the house we love with Lysol-soaked sponges to clean the counters after moving boxes are moved to the garage.  Our life's clutter is being prepared for the boys' arrival tomorrow.  I love my kids but I really, really love them during a move. Thanks, guys!!!

The rental truck is ready.  Utilities are set up.  I am making food, doing laundry, cleaning out the fridge and tossing the last of the kitchen supplies into a box. Looks like it's all systems go.

In the quiet moments alone, I hope this will be the last move we ever have to make, and that we find a way to make lemonade with every day of it (no matter what).**

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**Postscript: While writing this, an email from our agent was waiting. In it was a letter from BofA and FannieMac approving our short sale. Not only that, the buyers that have been so patiently waiting were also approved. Escrow will open at once and the house is expected to close on September 10th. 

Thank you, Lord.

Taking the Plunge

In the midst of all this*, we spent last weekend in Tahoe with Randy's niece and the rest of the family to witness and celebrate her wedding.

*boxes!stuff!mess!

We were invited to three weddings this summer which is unusual.  All had all the details, a beautiful bride and organized well, food and celebrating afterwards. But we most enjoyed the ones where we were able to share in the tears, and the mishaps, the funny best man quips and the maid of honor dissolving into tears as she tries to give her speech.


I take my husband's hand in thanksgiving and smile into his eyes and share their moment of loving and honoring one another with their vows.

Lisa was the most beautiful bride. Her dress was exquisite, but it wasn't just that: everything about her demeanor was beautiful. Both of them were absolutely sure.

The wedding at the top of Heavenly Mountain was just about the most beautiful place imaginable. But what will always be most memorable about their day will be the day after, when we all came together at the shore.

Around 11am on Sunday, Rich and Lisa appeared in their wedding attire: she in her dress, and him in his tuxedo, dress shirt and pink tie that matched the bridesmaid's dresses. It was a public beach so it was packed. 

After a few standard photos, Rich took Lisa's hand and led her into the lake.

I looked around. The kayakers had stopped paddling and stared. People in the boats laughed and pointed. Big smiles spread across everyone's faces on the beach with their families. The photographer had an underwater camera and took shots of them under water, smiling, with their arms wrapped around each other. 

It's interesting when I retell the story, how the reaction is either shock at how wasteful it was, or absolute delight.  I was thinking about the fate of my own wedding dress, and so many others that are packed away and eventually donated or tossed, and what an honorable end this one had being part of a hugely symbolic and meaningful moment for these young people.

It was a delight, start to finish. What we most hope for their marriage is that it is long and solid, and full of wonderful surprises. What a nice start!

The Farm

Here are a few pics Laura and Kim asked to be posted.  Love Nan

Entry Hall from Front Door

Kitchen

Front of House

Off front hall into livingroom.
Kitchen is on left and beyond is the dining room

Upstairs bonus room - 400 sq ft

Kitchen pantry holds EVERYTHING we have

Taking down a small tree to make room for the garage/workshop

Hall bath with lots of storage

Dragonfly Dance

It is so quiet here, the rumbling of scurrying ground squirrels is noticed.

We spend time purposefully still, and there is a long list of preparations before the move. There are ceiling fans and shelf paper projects, and moving boxes that are being filled and off-loaded, filled and off-loaded. Even with reorganizing, the kitchen is in.

We eat fruit and half sandwiches from paper plates held over an old table littered with scraps of linoleum, measuring tapes and T squares. The blinds are flung open to watch the tractors harvesting rows of alfalfa and farmers waiving as they make the curve.

Spiders watch us. We watch them, too.

It is a quiet street otherwise.

We met our neighbors, a couple from town who bought it as a project house. It does not have electricity to it yet, but it does have a well. We had to talk over a dying tree that needs to come down that is over our property lines.

As the day creeps along toward dusk and we head back to town, there is a virtual storm of dragonflies happily harvesting the bugs from the cornfields that flank the road. I worry that the car will kill some, but I needn't: they effortlessly clear a path.

The car seems to slow on its own to watch the spectacle.

There are thousands of them, maybe millions. Tomorrow I wonder if we will stop altogether right there in the middle of the road and become part of the lyrical swarm of millions of delicate wings defying gravity by moving these long, thick bodies through the air.

The colors flash as they spin and shift direction, glints of silver and green and red and yellow, and the cornfields move in the delicate breeze that I'm not sure isn't partly due to the dragonflies darting in and out of the stalks in search of their next meal. 

A New Kinda

I think the events of the last 2 months have been nothing short of a miracle. Or if you think it's just a series of unrelated coincidences and prefer that label, that's fine. But I've made my choice already.

The story is this. We met the right kind of people who could help us get through the quagmire of legalese and bank-induced hysteria with our current home. We listened but we also took their advice and began moving forward after the house was sold. When an opportunity arose, and we happened to see it first, we trusted our agent's leadership and direction, even during the difficult parts of escrow when it seemed doomed to fail. She kept up the hope that someday we would emerge with keys in hand.

That day came on the third of July. With keys in our pocket, we sprayed ourselves with Skin So Soft and put chairs out front with a plant and began the chore list, the first of many steps between now and then when life will move somewhere new. I do not begrudge the spiders who have taken up residence in my absence, but now they must go.

We are satisfied. It is the realization of a childhood dream, of course, but also a chance to rebalance and find another, more authentic path as an older adult. It is creating a going-into-retirement-shortly series of interesting challenging hobbies and habits. It positions us to become more involved in our lifestyle - growing vegetables, composting, having a proper workshop, and room to roam. We have always craved a life of more simplicity and quiet, from the hustle and bustle of what it is dawn to dusk, and at this age know ourselves well enough to know an opportunity when we see one.

My fingertips trail along the wood paneling in the hall, and I think about my Grandma Mac who was just a toddler when this was built in 1902. It is like a family bible in a way, this ranch house with its stories and heritage. A whole clan lived here, worked the land, married, had children, and died here. We want to know about the families from the families that know these parts and have lived here always. And then we will add our own indellible stamp.

Just the chance to do that is a dream come true.

Home Stretch

It is a harmonious place, the country house. But getting here has been a royal pain in the butt.

Today is the last day before we sign, after a month of dealing with a nonresponsive seller's agent and seller.

They could have made this process easier. Had we worked through the details of the contract earlier and, say, replied to our minor requests on the addendum. Had they honored the Notice to Perform and installed the water heater and HVAC a week ago, so it could have been tested and contingencies removed.  Had they done that, it wouldn't have to be a photo finish.

But that's what they wanted and that's how it's been. All we have been in charge of is what we needed to do so we were ready. We worried incessently and second guessed ourselves. Maybe it wasn't such a viable plan and did we make a mistake? Is it an omen ...

The owner of the LLC is out of town on holiday and a more reasonable person with power of attorney, everything is moving very fast. CheckCheckCheckCheck!

Monday we'll know.

Room to Breathe

I'm hoping the tip tap click of keys will put me in a sleepy mood.  I am full of thoughts about the game of chance and directional shifts, the unlikelihood that we would be able and willing enough to step into the change at the precise moment it happened by.

Horse property. Learning to can fruit and sit out back in the evenings with the rustle of life all around. Listening to the hum of the saw from the workshop and the dog chasing ground squirrels along the back fence. I have dreamt all my life of open space, without the clutter of noise echoing off their houses into mine. It is not for everyone, solitude, and we will see if it is for us, if given the chance for the keys.

I can almost remember the first time 'horse' was put in little chubby letters on my Christmas list. My parents threw back their heads and laughed. But I meant it. I meant it more than anything else. Horse gifts came in a lot of forms, stuffed animals and plastic horses jumping over fences for my dresser, and horseshoe pins to wear. Eventually it became horseback rides when I was older, and the adventures of trying to steer an animal who knew the routines and trails better than I. But I never outgrew it.

And now that life has advanced me to GO, the potential of a horse is all I wanted. The choice. Nowadays, it is the respite from our busy and frantic lives, with commuting, and deadlines, and endless demands until we clock out and head home to somewhere with room to breathe. It is the space.

it depends on if it's you or not

This in from Huff Post. The 10 worst states for economic security.  Like my obstetrics doctor said ... it may be only 1 in 1,000 for a serious problem to occur during labor, but if it's you, it's 100%.

6. California

Percentage of residents that lost at least one-quarter of their income, 2010: 22.67 percent.

The Shell Game (or hide the hat)

You know that story about the employee who buys an expensive hat and tries to expense it on his business expense report? His boss returns it to him and says that is not an allowable expense. And so the next month, the employee submits another report, and tells his boss to find the hat. The boss looks and looks and can't find it, as all the expenses are allowable, and reluctantly he approves the expense report.

Well we kind of know a little more about what that's like.  The house has no history, so we are piecing things together. And a big piece fell into place with the preliminary title report that traced back 2+ years with deed changes.

We know that the Andersons owned the place for a lot of years until the last of the elder clan passed sometime around 2006. It was resold to the Camarillo family and probably they were the ones to do all the beautiful and high end renovations, new electrical, new attic room, some extensions downstairs to add another bedroom. They unfortunately lost it to foreclosure sometime in 2009.

And now we know what happened after that.  BofA foreclosed and it was trustee deeded over to Reconstruct Company, N.A.  We guess that the remaining repairs, paint, finishing up the kitchen remodel, etc, were done by them. They trustee deeded it over to BofA in February 2012 and BofA turned around and sold it at auction to Alpine Holdings Inc and that was recorded on May 11, 2012. They put it on the market on May 24, 2012, and we bought it.

Some research turned up an interesting triangle.  The Reconstruct Company is 100% wholly owned by Bank Of America, so essentially BofA kept possession but took it off their books as a liability. BofA could then get the insurance payment from AIG for the foreclosure for 80% of the home loan value. Reconstruct hung onto it a while and did their thing with improvements and "sold" it back to BofA which BofA then sold to Alpine Holdings to market it.

The owner's name was on the docs so it was easy to find out that he is a Chico State Univ marketing student about my eldest son's age (30) who has holdings in excess of $50Million. The Alpine Holdings LLC is just one of quite a few LLCs of which he is acting President, and all in the business of quick flips - but only on the marketing side.  Fifty million in assets doesn't happen without someone fronting the money or at the very least underwriting the business with an open checkbook. Like BofA, for instance.

The house has forced amnesia. It has been intentionally cleansed, so the bank profits at each juncture and no disclosures need to happen. Records of improvements are long gone, that was two sales ago, and all between BofA and the companies they control. That is why the *current* owner Thomas Christy can scrawl across the disclosures pages -- SELLER NEVER OCCUPIED HOME. They don't have any information on the house because the deeded transfer was so recent. And all totally legal.

We approached the home with caution. We have paid over $2K in inspections, well and water test, septic and leach fields, home inspection, termite / dry rot.  But I wonder had another buyer relied on the seller's disclosures to learn about the property, what they would be thinking with the non-disclosure disclosures. What a risk it would be to buy a home without history.

I was interested in this trustee's deed transfer because the process essentially cleanses the foreclosure to a non-foreclosure even though the bank still owns it.  If this is going on all over the country, that might mean the statistics of our economic recovery are being manipulated by the banks and we aren't in the kind of shape that is being reported to Congress and the President.

While not illegal, it does perpetuate the mindset of manipulation for personal gain the banks continue to do in spite of the economic whirlpool it has caused.  It explains why our sellers are disinterested in promoting the close, and why our agent is running around like her hair's on fire to get everything done.  This is one house among thousands of others they have never stepped inside but are representing as a seller. And my hunch is that BofA will get most of the profits from the sale after Alpine Holdings funnels the cash through its LLC.

Trying to put a dollar figure to this one transaction is hard, but my guess is that BofA foreclosed on a $385K mortgage (so AIG paid BofA 80% of the loss, or $308K).  Reconstruct sold it back to BofA for $65K.  BofA then sold it to Alpine Holdings for $102K. And now we are buying it for a profit to them of $120K. $530K profit, $65K as a write off. 

Not a bad day for the bank.