Moving Rachel

I've got a flu. Don't know which kind. Don't care. Feel lousy. Got it from Tom, who got it from, who-knows-where--maybe in LA. I'm six days behind him.

But, Saturday, when I thought there was NO WAY I'd get it and felt GREAT and NOT ONE BIT SICK, I drove to SF to help Rachel pack to be ready for the movers Monday morning. She's had a very cute studio apt with a great view for a year all to herself, but, this being San Francisco, she wanted to pay a little less, if possible. A good friend (she has an endless supply) happened to be ready to move out from Boston, and they found an uber-cute, freshly-renovated flat on the bottom floor of a lovely victorian a couple of blocks from Alamo Square park (about a mile from her current place), which is the location of the perpetually-photographed Painted Ladies (yes, those very ones--with the City in the background).

Rachel's being Rachel, she hadn't had much time time to, um, organize, up to that point, so she, Dylan (see?) and I pretty-much polished off the job by Sunday evening with a little finish work left for Monday morning (when I snapped this nice sunrise from her living room window as I was just beginning to suspect a sinister cough developing). I was also able to squeeze in a nice meal with Dylan and Emi Sunday night--more potential flu victims, though they'd both just been through something similar the month before. I'm hoping to avoid being the Typhoid-Mary of SF-09.

Sometime Sunday, Rachel and I noticed a new sign on the elevator door (elevator=crucial for moving from the sixth floor) that the doors were going to be painted (first time in many a year, by the looks of them) and no one could use the them (the whole elevator, including the doors) between the hours of 9 and 11 Monday--the exact time scheduled for the movers. Aarrgh! They are on spring hinges and would need to be propped open. After much animated discussion and slapping of foreheads, we decided to call the guys (company name="One Big Guy and One Big Truck"--no kidding--though I believe that, in general, the One Big Guy would be overmatched by most moving jobs, no matter how big his, uh, truck). They had a slot for Wed morning and she took it (not without some significant disappointment).

Monday morning, she had a conference call and other work to do as I puttered around and finished boxing. We took a few more things over to her new place. So cute, and laundry machines included (yes!)! But you know those rounded bay windows you see all over the city? They make for an odd-shaped room on the inside. We'll see how that works. Round sofas--not so common, I think. I snapped some photos: Rachel in the pretty little patio off the beautiful kitchen, a shot of the front of the house (upstairs, where the landlords live), and a shot of the houses nearby (hers is almost the farthest to the left). The goofy thing was that, between 9 and 11 that morning, the doors were, indeed, painted--but only the outsides! Who paints only the outsides? Could've been propped. Still. Simpler on Wed.

I'm going to go crash, now.

Soggy Blotter Bitz

Rain! Lots of it. This morning I walked in the rain to get the paper for the third day in a row, though it has subsided by this afternoon. I feel like one of those little dinosaur sponges, all nice and squishy, now.

Seems the perfect time to expose a few more of the less-critical 911 calls received by the Nevada County authorities recently. This morning they were heavily weighted in the tree-fell-on-my-house-or-car category, but before that:

"8:29 p.m.--A caller from a business on Nevada City Highway reported an incident last week involving French fries." [oh, the humanity!]

"5:18 p.m.--A man from the 300 block of Bennett Street reported his son was yelling and throwing things. He then went to the liquor store." [we know it only got better after that...]

"9:07 p.m.--A caller from a business in the 100 block of West Main Street reported a man jumped over the bar and assaulted the caller. At 10:32 p.m., a man who wanted to remain anonymous reported a bartender assaulted him because he was attempting to play the banjo. He said he fought back and some of the bartender's friends assaulted him. He said he thought the bartender was on drugs." [just another case of BIV-"banjo-induced violence"...]

"10:30 p.m.--A caller from Rough and Ready Highway reported a woman running from a man who was described as wearing a black tank top with a Harley emblem on the back and brown, shoulder-length hair possibly styled in a mullet." [Seriously, "wear a mullet, go to jail..."]

"6:25 p.m.--A caller from the 700 block of Lindley Avenue reported her boyfriend was hurting her feelings." [perhaps he had accused her of over-reacting to stuff...]

"3:33 p.m.--A caller from the 14000 of Osborne Hill Road reported a burglary to a home that occurred in October, 2008." ["and who's that black guy living in the White House?"]

"9:41 a.m.--A caller from the 100 block of Argall Way was threatened by a parent who didn't like the color the caller had painted on a daughter's toenails." [in times like these, we can't be forgetting to sweat the small stuff...]

"8:30 a.m.--A caller from the 600 block of Freeman Land reported a blue and white cooler sitting in a planter. The caller was concerned it might be a bomb. The cooler was found not to be a bomb." [no kidding.]

"1:20--A man who would not give his name or address wanted information on how to remove Taser barbs. His 23-year-old son had shot himself with a personal Taser because he wanted to know what it felt like. He was advised to have the barbs removed at the emergency room." ["oh, and do you have any information about where I can buy some common sense..."]

"5:57 p.m.--A person reported noise pollution in the Brunswick Road area. The person advised that the Blue Tooth in the air is causing resonating noise." [sorry, we can't get to that until after we've rounded up all the aliens that are wreaking havoc with the mail service."]

"11:03 a.m.--A woman from the 400 block of Butler Street reported the tires on her husband's vehicle were slashed, the vehicle was egged and the turtles were turned over in the yard and the bathroom." [where to begin with this one? REAL turtles? In the yard AND in the bathroom? Before or after they slashed the tires?]

Now, because you've been so patient to get all the way to the bottom, here is your reward--a few of my fave websites of late:

Priceless baby video--
http://www.huliq.com/1/baby-dancing-beyonce-youtube

Unbelievable!
http://www.toothpickcity.com/

It's all about fun!
http://www.metacafe.com/watch/3542257/piano_stairs_rolighetsteorin_se_the_fun_theory/

That's all for now, folks!

Saying Good-bye...

Ken's memorial service had been scheduled for Saturday afternoon, so on Friday we drove down to LaVerne (a 'burb east of LA near Pomona) to stay near Tom's mom, Ruth, for the weekend. She had had quite a week since the sudden death of her youngest child, but seemed to be doing well, all things considered. Upon our arrival, a quick trip to Rubio's refreshed the three of us.

Tom and his sister, Diana, had also been working hard all week to organize Ken's affairs and arrangements as well as planning to replace the kind of assistance that Ken had provided for their mom on a regular basis. While there remain a few loose ends, most issues are quite well in hand by now. Diana took on the responsibility to plan the service.

She did a beautiful job. It took place at the local Presbyterian church where we had gathered to remember Tom's dad, Ben, after he passed away in February of '05. The pastor there knew Ken (Ken had sung in the choir) and conducted a sensitive, light-hearted celebration of his life. Tom played the piano as you can see (somehow, I never got any other photos of the service). It was great to see so many extended family with whom we connect so rarely as well as friends from decades past (yikes-decades?!). All looking fabulous, of course. Several friends from the Triangle Club, the 12-step group, with whom Ken had spent so much positive time the last 18 months, came to pay their respects and let folks know how much they'll miss him.

There was a reception at the church, where we were able to spend some good time (albeit too short!) with family and friends. You can see a picture of Tom and Diana with their uncle (Ruth's brother), Harold, and Harold's daughters Nancy (l) and Susan (r) with Susan's husband, Jim, next to Tom. Later, the smaller family group went to Marcus-and-Joy's house for dinner. They have been so generous and gracious to host us all time and time again in their beautiful home (in the grip of the spirit of Halloween, at the moment). The familiarity of being there was comforting. There's a picture of Ken's kids, Jeremy (smiling at the camera) and Jacob (dark hair) chatting with their grandma Ruth. The next one shows Rachel (who flew down from SF) on the patio with Marcus. Dylan couldn't make it because he was in Chicago with Emi. They had been preparing for months to run in the Chicago Marathon, which took place Sunday morning (they both finished at around 3 hours, 38 minutes, by the by! Woohoo!).

The last shot is of the great arrangement of photos of Ken's life that Diana put together (click on it to see the photo at the top of Tom and Ken--cute!). I know that as I look at them, there's still a part of me that hasn't figured out, yet, that we won't be adding any more. The busy-ness of the focus on the necessary list of issues needing attention after someone dies does blunt the sense of loss for awhile. The service and the gathering of friends and family is therapeutic and even fun. But it might take awhile for the reality to set in. We'll all be checking in frequently with Mom and she has many friends who will do the same. Her loss is more immediate than ours in several ways. But for most of us, the re-learning process will take some time, I think. He just won't be there when we expect him to be.

Losing Ken

Ken is gone.

Tom's brother, Ken, passed away unexpectedly, but apparently peacefully in his sleep, sometime during the early hours of Friday, the second of October, at the far-too-young age of 53. He'd had some recent struggles with his health, particularly with respect to his heart, but I think it's fair to say that none of us realized that his condition was still quite so precarious.

He had been living in the Pomona area near his mom. He also leaves siblings Tom and Diana, and their families in addition to his sons Jacob and Jeremy, who are in their early to mid-twenties.

Those are the dry facts. Some further thoughts:

Ken was a very kind, consistently sweet and gentle man. I didn't know everything about him, but I would guess that it would be a nearly impossible task to find anyone in his life who'd ever considered him at all mean or even intentionally disrespectful.

The last few years, he'd been especially attentive to his mother, with whom he spent many hours each week providing many kinds of assistance and companionship. He had a (very) big laugh and a generous heart.

He also had quite an interesting brain. Early on in his life, you could not fail to be impressed by his encyclopedic knowledge of certain chosen interests. I remember TV and music. Seriously. He knew all the shows, characters, actors, producers, dates, schedules, themes, much of the dialog, and other trivia associated with television programs he liked. Ask me today, and I can't tell you what stations and on what days my favorite shows appear. He collected a crazy-big (in the thousands) assortment of music albums and the knowledge of the minutiae of the music world that would impress the folks at Rolling Stone. He was also very computer-savvy.

Ken was a special and complex soul. Only within the last several years was there a somewhat better understanding, for him and the rest of us, of some of the struggles he lived with day to day throughout his life. It wasn't a simple diagnosis, but a major part of it was that he had a type of Asperger's that limited his ability to process some kinds of information, especially social information. Plenty intelligent, he couldn't form some of the natural social responses as easily as most people and thus seemed a little odd to many.

Yet, even though he was on the receiving end of quite a lot of misunderstanding, especially from his peers as a young person, he rarely if ever lashed out or became what I could identify as a bitter or angry person. A strong and uplifting example for me, I think. How do I treat those I perceive as different or how do I respond to those who treat me poorly? We are all glad that, especially in the last year of his life, he seemed happier than we'd seen him in a very long time.

Oh, we'll all miss him a great deal. I'm glad to have known him for so long. He'll always remind me to have patience and better understanding for anyone with whom I have contact. And I'll always remember his laugh.

Well, well, well...

In the wee hours of Tuesday morning, around 1am, I got up from bed to get a little drink of water. And there was none. Dry silence. Again. Tom being in San Francisco for a couple of days to work with Dylan on his business plan, I put on some sweatpants and sneakers, grabbed a flashlight, and trudged outside to find out if there was a break in an outdoor line which could have drained the (2500 gal) holding tank. This was after I checked all the indoor faucets. Finding nothing amiss, I listened to the tank and heard a trickle of water refilling, so I turned the outside water off and went back to bed.

Next morning, there was still no water, but I figured that it might take more time to fill the tank to the "usable" level, so I didn't think too much of it. However, by noon, the trickle had ceased and there was still no water in the pipes, so, after consulting Tom by phone, I called the well service. Mike had been out 6 weeks before (after a few similar "dry spells") to tell us that our well pump was on its last legs. Obviously, this was it. Indeed, upon inspection Tuesday afternoon, his diagnosis was that the iron bacteria, over the five-year life of the pump, had clogged it so badly that it had become useless. It was time for another lesson about living rural.

Mike was at least able to set a new float in the tank so that I could use some of the 800 gallons that was already in there (and rendered unusable due to poor sensor placement), and scheduled a pump-replacement for the next morning.

Right on time, JC, our friendly, funny new best friend, arrived to make it all better. He's a neighbor, too, it turns out, living just down Greenhorn a few hundred feet from Hoppy Hollow. The photos tell the story: 1. The winch on the truck is just starting to pull the top of the water line out of the well, 2. The flexible line being wound onto the wheel, pulling the pump up from the bottom, 3. There's the old pump (that skinny cylinder), covered with orange iron bacteria, 4. JC doing his best Vanna White, showing off the shiny new pump, and, 5. The new pump in place, pumping out the built-up iron in the line. It ran clear after about a minute, then JC hooked it all back up.

He also took some measurements and our well turns out to be 146.5 feet deep. That's good. We thought it was much deeper, for some reason, but this means the water, while not exactly a gusher, is not too far down, especially in the driest part of the year.

So, with the help of Mike and JC, this week, we are now washing, flushing and irrigating, again. And much better-educated about our own system. They've told us how to mitigate the iron problem, so with a bit of uncharacteristic attention to regular maintenance, this pump should last longer than the last one.

Once again, we are very pleased with the folks on whom we've had to rely to help us in a crisis and teach us about these new (to us) infrastructures. Happy Harley-riding, JC!