Settling in
As you can see, we now have internet access. Life is good again . . . we have tossed aside our mental crutches and can now bound blithely through the interwebs.
Here are some early observations from Week #1.
It’s all over
‘Cept the unpacking.
I like the unloading phase best of all. Something nice* about filling an empty structure with all of our junk, then watching the new home take shape. Something especially nice about coming in $1400 below the estimate because I was that successful at throwing stuff out, selling stuff, and giving stuff away. Give yourself a pat on the back, Walnut.
I like the loading phase least of all. It was rough seeing the office emptied, stripped of its me-ness, turned into a generic office; and my home? Jeez. Now it really looks like a warehouse.
Maybe I’m more Zen than I give myself credit. I thought I would feel more sadness leaving the Brookings house behind, but all I felt was stress, anxiety over the upcoming drive, and fatigue. No tears over inanimate objects, even if it is a house we’ve lived in for the past eight years.
How was the drive with Noah’s Ark? Not bad. The cats were good about not pooping or peeing, thankfully, so the only bad smells came from the ferrets. I screwed things up, though. Karen had told me to lower the back seat so that the trunk would get air conditioned, too. I’m not sure this would have worked — the cat carrier is awfully big, so I don’t know if it would have fit with the seat down. And I remember being so delighted to squeeze the cat carrier, degu carrier, and ferret carrier in the back seat that I didn’t stop to consider other packing strategies.
But I think the tarantulas and poison dart frogs came through it all okay. I haven’t checked every single tarantula cage, but every one I’ve checked is viable.
Now we’re wondering what to do with the ferrets, or as we call them in California where ferrets are illegal**, guinea pigs. We’re renting, so we don’t want to let the ferrets poop just anywhere. They’re resolutely resistant to litter box training, too, unless they’re in their own cage. Can’t keep ’em in the cage all the time, though, since they get stir crazy.
They’re leash trained, so one solution would be to let them walk around in the back yard. But it seems somehow criminal to restrain their natural rambunctiousness.
My preferred solution: we watch them like hawks while they’re out and pick them up the instant they head for a corner to poop. Pop ’em back into the cage and let them use their litter box. They might poop on our clothes or on the floor, but at least we’ll know where it is so that we can clean it up instantly. And at least they won’t poop in the corner, where they’ll stain the base boards.
Tomorrow the unpacking begins. We’re spending tonight in a hotel (hence my internet connection). After this, I’ll be out of touch until we get our internet back. See ya!
D.
*And MANLY.
**But don’t tell PetCo, where they sell a full line of ferret products.
We loved her so much, we named a snake after her.
Today, The Boston Globe ran a story detailing Julia Child’s work in the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), a precursor to the CIA. Why is this news? The National Archives just declassified 35,000 pages of files on OSS operatives in WWII. (Among the names is Sterling Hayden, AKA Brigadier General Jack D. Ripper.)
Cool trivia from the Globe, or at least cool to Julia’s fans. From an extended quote within the article,
Julia then worked with the OSS Emergency Sea Rescue Equipment Section, where she helped develop shark repellent. The repellent was a critical tool during WWII, and was coated on explosives that were targeting German U-boats. Before the introduction of the shark repellent, curious sharks would sometimes set off the explosives when they bumped into them.
But this is how I prefer to remember her.
I’m having fun imagining The Young Julia Child, book or movie, with Julia’s real-life exploits outrageously augmented, a la what happens to Pee Wee Herman at the end of Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. Have her test out the shark repellent firsthand! Put her behind the Iron Curtain and have her bake coded messages into hazelnut biscotti! Put her in the Bay of Pigs, distracting Castro’s forces by preparing a suckling pig for spit-roasting!
It could be a blast!
Can you tell I’m trying to cheer myself up??!!!!
The movers are loading home and office tomorrow. They’ll deliver on Saturday. Depending upon when they finish loading, Jake and I* may get out of here tomorrow, or Saturday at the latest. Since we’ll have all of our menagerie in the car, we have to do this in one big (six-hour) drive.
And I have to obey the speed laws, because I really, really don’t want to have to explain tarantulas, poison dart frogs, and worse to the CHP.
The computer gets packed tomorrow, so . . . hiatus for realsies this time.
D.
*Karen drove down today. She’ll be meeting with the property management people tomorrow for a walk-through.
Hiatus
We’re moving.
Packing the office and home will take two days. After that, there will be a day to load, a day to ship . . . altogether, it’s a four-day affair, and we’ll have our stuff back on Saturday. Then we have to unpack & get internet service before Balls & Walnuts will be back in full swing.
I’ll see what I can do from the Blackberry, but I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to be busy.
***
Today was my last day seeing patients in Crescent City. I came here ten years ago with my wife and not quite three-year-old son, escaping Texas to find a cooler, fire ant-free environment for my family. We’ve loved being here. Honestly, I didn’t think we would ever leave.
I remember my first patient, a crusty gal whom I still see every few months. I wonder if she’ll follow me to Santa Rosa. Several of my patients say they will, and some have even set up appointments. But I guess it’s asking too much of people — after all, it’s a six-hour drive.
I’ll write more about this when I have some perspective. For now, an observation: except for childhood, this is the longest I’ve lived in one place; it’s also the longest I’ve ever worked at one job.
It’s scary. It’s sad.
It’s . . . it’s scad.
See you soon.
D.
Y’all can calm down about the cow dung
I mean, we have (calmed down).
First thing this morning, we drove back to Dung House and smelled the neighborhood. Not a trace of poop. I greeted a young guy who was walking his dog and asked him — Do you like the neighborhood? (Yes.) Does it ever smell like cow poo? (Huh? Whaa?)
Perhaps a freak occurrence, some over-liberal use of fertilizer nearby . . . undaunted, windows down, we drove towards the nearby undeveloped land, which easily could be pasture land. Up the hill we saw a large facility that might have been a slaughterhouse. It was under construction, and since there were no “No Trespassing” signs on the gate, we drove in to get a look at the signs that were posted.
No clues there, but a bored security guard drove up behind us to tell us we were trespassing. He kindly answered all of our questions. No, it’s not a slaughterhouse. It’s a school. That big thing that looks like a slaughterhouse? It’s a gymnasium. (If they play war ball there — same difference.) Does he ever smell cow poop in the area? Nope.
So Dung House rises to the top of our list; I guess we’ll find out tomorrow if our credit checks out.
Meanwhile, we’re back home, and I’m looking at our view with sad, sad eyes. The sky is clear, the breeze is cool, the tide is high. This was probably the only place on the Pacific Coast where we could have afforded oceanfront, so Karen and I were a couple of lucky shits to find this place. Will we ever get back to the ocean? Who knows. Maybe I’ll be fabulously successful in Santa Rosa, and we’ll buy a little cabin in Bodega Bay.
It’s hard to believe we’ll be leaving so soon. Have I mentioned lately how poorly I handle change?
D.
We’ve narrowed it down
. . . to either Dog Pee Place, Water Damage, The Cat House, or The Dung House.
The options are actually more appealing than their nicknames would suggest.
Dog Pee Place is on a quiet street in a nice neighborhood. It’s more expensive, a bit more remote, and the bedrooms are small. So named because the occupant’s Pomeranian was that excited to see us. Landlord’s a cool dude. I liked him a lot.
Water Damage is one among over a hundred condos, all of which were built in a substandard fashion. Most but not all of the problems with this particular condo have been fixed, but there’s still a crack in the floor of the master bath, and apparently the whole place has to be raised four inches. Advantages: it’s month by month (cuz if they decide to fix it, they want to be able to give thirty days notice), it has the nicest master bedroom of all of the properties, and the bedrooms are on a sub-level, so they’re cool, cool, cool. On a hot day, the bedrooms were easily in the high sixties, even without the AC on. Disadvantages: they could toss us out with thirty days notice.
The Cat House would probably be the nicest of the bunch were it not for The Bonnie Situation*. I called this guy yesterday. Does the place have AC? Yes. Do you allow cats? Um. Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll have to ask my wife, she’s terribly allergic. I called back later. Do you allow cats? I don’t know, I’ll have to ask my wife, she’s terribly allergic. Today, we’re looking at the place, really liking it. So how’s the cat situation? I’ll have to ask my wife. But only if you’re really serious about this place.
We figure he’s scared to death of his wife.
I ask him: so, what’s up? It’s not like she’s going to be living here, right? (Although part of me is thinking: maybe she’ll be living here. Hey, man, your wife, is she hawt?) He says, We’ll be moving back in a couple of years. What if we give you an additional security deposit so that you can clean the carpets after we’re gone? I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my wife. But only if you’re really serious.
If I called him right now, I’m willing to give 10:1 odds he hasn’t asked his wife.
We call it The Cat House because a black cat strolled through the back yard and Jake befriended her. Nice cat, took an immediate shine to Jake and even let me pet her. But the moniker works well for other reasons, too.
The Dung House may be the perfect place for us. The price is right — fully five hundred dollars per month cheaper than Dog Pee Place or The Cat House. Big place, lots of hardwood floors, good-sized master bedroom. But the neighborhood smells like cow shit. Or maybe pig shit. How should I know — I’m not a country boy. It smelled like a County Fair.
We think maybe someone in the neighborhood is fertilizing; we’ll check back tomorrow morning to see if we’re unfairly maligning the place.
All of them are two story homes. I tried to find a rambler, I really did, but no one would call back!
Home tomorrow . . . and one week from today, we’ll be back in Santa Rosa.
For good.
D.
*I think I like Pulp Fiction even better in Italian.
Weekend update
Twenty-plus phone calls later, we’ve seen two rentals today. TWO. Fortunately, they’re both acceptable (they have AC and they take cats). The place in Windsor is pricier and has a longer commute time; the place in Rohnert Park is less expensive but it’s a two story. Maybe we’ll find something tomorrow which has it all, but for the time being, I think it’s gonna be Rohnert Park.
We had an exhausting day, though. Lots of driving around and some walking. Right now we’re resting up in the Holiday Inn Express and maybe later we’ll get some dinner.
Nothing on the news right now but John Edwards and his affair. Why the big deal? I figure this is between John, Elizabeth, and The Other Woman. And The Other Woman’s kid, too, if indeed he’s John’s kid. I’m not saying the media should avoid this story, but it’s wrong to obsess about it, too. Not like the guy is a presidential candidate any more.
Check out Elizabeth Edwards’s post on this topic over at Daily Kos. John told her about this back in ’06 when it happened, so for the Edwards family, this is not news. So what we have here is a feeding frenzy, nothing more. Again, if Edwards were still a candidate, you could argue for relevance — which is why I’m sure we’ll soon see more coverage of John McCain’s creepy personal life, you know, the fact that he dumped his first wife because she’d been in a car accident and wasn’t attractive anymore, but before he dumped Wife #1 he cheated on her with soon-to-be Wife #2.
Right.
Cenk Uygur of The Young Turks says it well:
So, I want every pundit who condemns John Edwards today to tell me what the difference between him and McCain is and why John McCain shouldn’t also be run out of politics for his adulterous affairs and what he did to his first wife.
Word.
D.
Santa Rosa bound
Yes, yes, I know you know that. Just wanted to say we’ll be driving down tomorrow evening in order to have two full days in Santa Rosa. We need to do some stuff at the office, meet with a counselor at one of the public schools, and Job Number One find a home to rent.
This last bit has been the most stressful. Half the listings on Craigslist are rented by the time we call. I wonder if all Craigslist postings are like that? For example, someone (not ME, of course) might call this young lady,
What can I say? I am divorced and single and I really miss having a man around. And not just to open jars and reach things on the top shelf. I miss making out like teenagers and teasing each other and
especially I miss a big, hard[hey! This blog is strictly R-rated. Enough of that]
only to hear, “Oh, sorry, sorry! Is that old ad still up? Well, gee, guess what, I’m married again! How embarrassing. But — and this question is strictly professional — how’s it hangin’, guy? Able to reach that top shelf without hands, if you know what I mean? Because, just between you and me, this new man in my life can’t crack my jam jar . . . ”
Anyway. I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to write tomorrow. Probably not.
Wish me luck on the house hunt?
D.