Reorganized Yarn Vault

This won't mean much without a "before" pic, but believe me, it's a huge improvement. All of my needles are now in the basket on the top shelf, next to the button basket.

I'm sad to report, however, that Mom's beloved button basket is getting pretty crumbly, and may soon have to go to the Great Craft Room in the Sky. After at least four decades of service, though, it's earned a rest.

That's What We Get for Putting Up the Awning

I reread the draft today; it needs a heckuva lot of work, but I already knew that. Tomorrow I'll start editing by hand, marking up the manuscript in pencil: a combination of line editing and plot revisions. I'm hoping to do seven pages a day, although that may be too ambitious.

Thing is, I was really hoping to do the work while sitting outside on our lovely deck, under our lovely awning. But noooooo, because -- after eighty-five-degree, sunny weather last Friday -- we're back down in the forties and fifties, with rain and snow flurries predicted through the week. It's also been really windy (as in National Weather Service alerts advising people to lash down their lawn furniture).

Sigh. I'm really glad we got a retractable awning this time; it's snug and safe against the house. And I'm sure the sun will return long before I'm done editing. But I want my outside office back!

Awning

Big. Nice. Easier to unfurl than to furl, so at some point we may want to invest in a motor, but being able to get it out of wind and weather -- even with significant expenditures of upper-body strength -- is a real plus.

I have my summer office back! Yay!

Feeling Old

My grades are in, and I'm celebrating with a round of doctor's appointments. Sigh.

Ever since the migraine from the Black Lagoon, which after all was over a month ago, I've had annoying headaches. So today I hied myself to my friendly Primary Care Provider, who called in a script for antibiotics. He agrees with my assessment that it may be a sinus infection.

Meanwhile, my right knee has gotten really crunchy again, and stairs are once again a challenge, so tomorrow I'm returning to my friendly Orthopod for another cortisone shot. I was complaining about this to my PCP -- between my back, my knee, and various other creaky bits, the pain-somewhere-every-day thing makes me feel more like I'm eighty than like I'm fifty -- but he wasn't very interested. Without taking his eyes off his PDA, he said that I just have to keep up my exercise, or I'll feel even worse.

Lovely.

Also, I seem to have gained back the few pounds I'd lost, which is more than a little discouraging. I told the PCP about that, too, but he just grunted (still looking at the PDA). I'm sure he hears such complaints all the time; still, I've started to hate having to see him for anything, since the contact feels so impersonal. I'm not sure any other primary-care folks in town are any better, though. It seems to be the nature of the territory.

The Orthopod is more personable, or was the last time I saw him, anyway. My chiropractor's infinitely more personable; she spends no longer with me per appointment than my PCP does (an average of ten minutes), but I feel like she sees me as a whole person, not just a presenting symptom. Of course, she sees me every week, which makes a difference. She also makes much more eye contact, with makes a huge difference.

Elsewhere in health news, my current CPAP mask has started to ooze blue silicone goo, so I got online to order another and discovered that my favorite mask's being discontinued. Horrors! So I ordered three. The website where I buy them now requires a prescription even for a mask. What in the world? Is there a big black market in CPAP masks? Are people using them to snort illicit substances? I can't imagine why access to these things needs to be controlled.

But it does, evidently. Conveniently, the website offers to contact your doctor for the script, so I entered my pulmonologist's name . . . and up popped her group-practice name, address and phone number. These folks are good!

With any luck, my knee will feel markedly better tomorrow, and my head will feel markedly better within the next ten days, and my back will remain at the not-happy-but-not-screaming level. Then maybe I'll start to feel a few decades younger.

My current decrepitude is so frustrating at least partly because I feel like I do so much right. I don't smoke; I drink hardly anything (an inch of wine every two weeks, at most); I take my vitamins, wear my seatbelt, eat pretty darn well, and exercise religiously. But, like the good doc said, I guess there's no way to know how much worse I'd feel otherwise.

Tomorrow we're getting our new awning, which will make sitting outside much easier than it is now. Sunshine will help.

Thanks, Mom

Since Monday was the anniversary of Mom's death and Saturday is the anniversary of her funeral, I've been pretty weepy this week. I've certainly been thinking about her a lot.

Mom loved to help me (and later, Gary and me) buy major household items, or just buy them for us. Over the years, she was the generous source of at least two beds, an air conditioner, at least one refrigerator, a beautiful set of dining room chairs, a rocking chair, a bench for our hallway, and countless smaller things: knick-knacks and decorations, including a number of gorgeous needlepoint pieces she made herself. She'd grown up during the Depression, although her family was much better off than most. When I was a child, she struggled financially as a divorced woman raising two daughters (essentially without help from my father, whose alcoholism, for many years, kept him from being a good provider either for himself or anyone else). I never knew a time when she wasn't acutely aware of money, but she also loved spending it on nice things for herself and for us. Most parents love helping out their kids, but I think my parents, because of their family and personal histories, especially treasured that role. (My father never stopped drinking entirely, but he became quite a bit more stable -- and infinitely more financially responsible -- in the last twenty years of his life, and he was thrilled when Gary and I moved into our house. He flew out to help us, drove the moving van, bought us a fancy drill, and worked twelve hours a day fixing things around the new place.)

We didn't inherit a gigantic amount of money from my mother, but it's been enough to pay for a new roof and the new deck. Our tax refund this year -- which came indirectly from her, since we deliberately over-withheld on the inheritance -- paid for the new elliptical.

Today we got the final check from the estate, our share of the amount the attorney had been holding back in case any unexpected bills came in. "Hey, this will pay for two-thirds of the new awning," Gary said.

"Mom's still helping out," I told him. And of course I got weepy again, and even weepier when I called my sister to tell her we'd gotten the check.

My father loved sitting on our old deck, although it was so rickety that I cringed whenever I saw him inching across it. He would have adored the new one. So would Mom, and I know she'd be delighted that she helped us buy the awning for it.

Not Much to Report . . .

. . . but I'm posting anyway.

So far I've used the elliptical half an hour a day; two of those days, I've also done half an hour of laps in the pool. More would probably be better, but this is more than I was doing before we got the elliptical. Baby steps. I've decided that the most important thing is to make sure that I enjoy each workout, even if I'm not breaking any Olympic records, so I'll keep doing it. I'm having fun listening to music on my BlackBerry while I work the machine.

Mom died a year ago today. I'm sad.

In the past week or so I've written two new CHR columns and my Maundy Thursday homily; I'm fairly happy about all of that, but would be happier were I getting any fiction written.

The baby sweater continues. I'm now working on the first sleeve. This is a top-down project, which means you leave stitches on waste yarn for the shoulders of the sleeves and pick up stitches for the underarm. My first two sleeve attempts were disasters, because when I picked up the number of stitches specified in the pattern, I had huge holes. I increased the number of pick-up stitches and now have something that looks halfway plausible, I think. Whether this item will fit a human child when it's finished is anyone's guess.

Next week, the guy who built our deck last summer will make some minor repairs, and also pressure-wash and seal it for the summer. Today Gary met with the guy who's constructing and installing our 17'x13' retractable awning; that should be done in ten to twenty days. Of course, the minute everything's finished and we put the deck furniture out, we'll have a blizzard. (It snowed here on May 22 last year.)

We're going to try to pretend that our deck is the deck of a cruise ship. We're both in major jonesing-for-another-cruise mode, which isn't very practical given the financial realities of sabbatical (or of life in Nevada right now). But I still find myself obsessively searching Vacations to Go, and Holland America keeps sending us glossy brochures -- cruise porn -- which doesn't help.

That's my dull life right now, but there are worse things than dull.

Home Improvements

Well, I'm still a little headachy and a little nauseous, but -- after a very slow and discombobulated day -- I managed to swim for half an hour this evening. Since I hadn't exercised since Saturday (skipping my Sunday workout may have been one of the causes of the Tuesday migraine), I feel as if I'm now getting back on track.

And just in time, since our new elliptical arrives tomorrow! Yay! I'm so looking forward to being able to work out at home without having to gather all my gym gear (although I'll still use the pool at the gym). Gary's looking forward to being able to work out at home when bad weather prevents hiking. We're both curious about how the cats will respond to the new intruder; I foresee initial alarm, especially when the thing's moving, but I'm sure they'll adjust.

On Monday, the guy who built our deck is coming over to fix a loose post. We're going to find out how much he'd charge to do the annual pressure washing and resealing.

Our shade canopy collapsed in a rainstorm last autumn and was wrecked beyond repair, so we're going to invest in a large custom retractable awning (with a manual crank, not one of the motorized ones, which brings the price down at least a little bit). This is a large chunk of change, but it's also a big improvement to our living space. We spend a lot of time out on the deck in warm weather -- I effectively move my office out there for at least part of the day, and we like to entertain there too -- and adequate shade's essential. (This is the driest, sunniest state in the country, and we're also at altitude, so UV protection is a real issue.)

The awning plus the elliptical add up to a lot of money when I'm about to a) have my pay cut and b) go onto two-thirds of the lower salary because of the sabbatical. But since I'm staying home during the sabbatical, home needs to be as pleasant and workable as we can make it, and I think these two items will really help.

Heavy Weather

It was gorgeous in Reno today -- although exceedingly warm -- but this morning in Philly featured very heavy rain and lightning. As a result, my sister and nephew's departure was delayed, so they missed their connection in Phoenix, and then their second plane had to go back to the gate because of mechanical problems. They finally arrived five hours later than they'd expected.

In the meantime, Dad's friends Kathy and Park from Mississippi (they're now from Pennsylvania, actually), arrived in their camper. They tried to pull into our RV space and wound up taking the trim off one corner of the roof. Gary and Park got onto a ladder and fixed it, but Kathy and Park decided to stay in an RV park, just to be safe.

We served an extremely informal buffet dinner on the deck. It was very windy. This bodes ill for tomorrow evening, when we'll be eating from red paper plates and plastic utensils. Yikes!

I have some of Dad's ashes -- the ones the Reno potter didn't use -- and I asked the guests if anyone felt strongly about having our own small scattering ceremony tomorrow, as we read along with the Coast Guard service. Fran wanted to do it.

Then the Coast Guard chaplain called to say that they won't be able to go out tomorrow because the weather's too rough. They're trying for Saturday. So much for returning Dad to the ocean on his birthday!

In one way, this makes things easier: instead of reading along with the Coast Guard in the morning and then reconvening for dinner, we'll just do everything around dinnertime. But it also left me with the challenge of not having the Coast Guard ceremony to use. I could justify the religious language in the Coast Guard ceremony because we'd be following along with them, but now things are more complicated. To wit:

Fran feels really strongly about scattering the ashes, but isn't religious.

My sister feels strongly allergic, bordering on hostile, to anything resembling a religious service.

Kathy and Park are deeply spiritual -- and used to argue with Dad about his atheism all the time -- but don't care much about the scattering part of things.

I don't need to scatter the ashes, but do find Christian language deeply comforting.

Gary and my nephew will go along with whatever the rest of us do.

So: we have to scatter for Fran, but the "service" has to be as short as possible for my sister; it can't mention God or Christ because that would offend the non-religious folks, including Fran, but it has to be implicitly spiritual/Christian enough for me and Kathy and Park.

Gahhhhh.

I'm happy to report that I've come up with a one-page service that should, I hope, make everybody happy, or at least not too unhappy. We'll go around and share brief readings or memories of Dad (something we'll do during dinner anyway). I plan to do my usual reading, two paragraphs from the end of LotR; I know Kathy plans to read some journal entries she wrote about Dad. Then we'll all say ten lines together about Dad and the ashes. I'm not calling this a prayer, and it doesn't mention God (it's heavy on nature, which works fine), but anybody who wants to see it as a prayer can do so easily, I hope. (I'll post the "prayer? what prayer?" prayer at some point, if all goes well.)

Then we'll scatter ashes. Just in the back yard, but Dad liked the deck, so it will be fine.

Then, the fiddle gods and my emotional state willing, I'll play Ashokan Farewell. My double stop's still very iffy, but I think I'll have a forgiving audience.

Then we'll eat. I have small presents for everybody but me and Gary, stuff of Dad's I think they'll like. That will make it seem more like a birthday party, albeit a very hobbitish one, since hobbits give other people presents on their own birthdays.

All of this will happen after I've run around all morning shopping and doing last-minute prep. I hoped to do some of that today, but the schedule got too crazy.

I'm exhausted. I hope tomorrow goes more smoothly than today did!

Success!

I'm blogging from the deck! This morning I belatedly realized that my laptop, when disconnected from a power source, automatically dims the screen to conserve battery life. When I carried the machine outside and bumped the screen up to full brightness, I could see well enough to work.

Granted, it's not perfect, and I have to be in the shade, but it's a lot better than it was. Now I can work outside without the hassle and expense of getting a new machine. Hurrah! I can write on the deck: what bliss!

Gary walked down to the main drag to get a haircut. While he's at it, he's going to stop by Staples and try to find either an extra-long heavy-duty extension cord, or a surge protector with an extra-long cord, so I can have my laptop plugged in while I work. We have outlets out here, but unfortunately, they're many feet away from any of the chairs, which we don't want to move.

Worst case, though, I just work outside until my battery's almost gone, and then go in to recharge.

Gatherings

The holiday weekend is almost over. We've had a good time. On Friday, Charlene and her band Wyndel played a gig at a local restaurant. The music was infectiously joyous; Gary and I sat at outdoor tables and watched the folks in the audience who got up and danced (something neither Gary nor I is brave enough to do). I was really touched when Charlene played Ashokan Farewell and dedicated it to "my student Susan, who's learning this tune." Awwww!

Part of my homework this week is to record myself playing it. Ack! If I sound halfway decent, I'll try to figure out how to post the soundclip here.

In other fiddle news, Charlene's husband's graduate funding at UNR has been badly dented by the budget crisis, and instead of staying for a PhD, he plans to get a masters and leave next May . . . which of course means that Charlene would leave too. Waaahhhh! I suppose there are other teachers in town, but I hate the idea of switching. Charlene recommends, though, that I think about attending a fiddle camp: a week-long gathering of folks of all ages and at all levels who spend the week in classes and then play together in the evening. A friend of mine goes to a fiddle camp up in Washington State and loves it. Looking for one around here, I stumbled on Alasdair Fraser's Sierra Fiddle Camp, which is only two hours from here. I adore Fraser's playing, so I e-mailed Charlene to ask if this camp might be a good fit. She said it would be. I'm now on the camp's e-mail list. I told her, "I'd be the worst one there," and she assures me that everybody's scared of that. I'm really glad the camp advertises itself as supportive and non-competitive, and hope they walk their talk!

Saturday, I went to the hospital and then we worked on deck furniture. Yesterday, we finished working on deck furniture. One of my former students had invited us to her house to watch fireworks, but I was feeling really lazy and wanted to stay home, so instead -- very much on the spur of the moment -- we wound up inviting four friends, one of whom brought a friend of hers. The seven of us sat on the deck, drank beer or iced tea or juice, ate Gary's homemade guacamole with chips followed by ice cream, and tried without too much luck to get a glimpse of fireworks. We couldn't see much of any of the official ones, although someone in the neighborhood was setting off some doozies, and we had a great view of those. (Later in the evening, Gary saw a sheriff's car rushing up the street and wondered if the firework-blasting neighbor was about to receive an Official Visit.)

Aside from unofficial fireworks, the evening's entertainment came from my friend Marin's dog Squid. He's a terrier mix and looks like Toto, although he isn't a Cairn. He's a cute little guy who was content, for the most part, to snuggle in Marin's arms, with a few notable exceptions. At one point, he let out a piercing howl and tried to leap off Marin's lap into the yard; she grabbed him, and we all turned around to see a rabbit racing across the yard. Later, Squid was exploring the deck when he saw the three cats glaring at him from behind the deck doors. (I'd had Marin bring him through the gate into the back yard so he wouldn't have to go through the house and traumatize the cats.) Squid was enchanted. He ran up to the glass and licked it. Bali puffed himself up, in full Scary-Cat mode; Harley tried to bat at Squid through the glass; Figgy jumped up on the kitchen windowsill so he was taller than the dog -- classic mammalian domination tactic -- and stared down with narrowed eyes. Squid, oblivious (ya gotta love dogs!) discovered our unused doggy door and tried to get through it to visit his new friends, but of course he couldn't. Poor Squid!

For the rest of the evening, the three cats sat in the windowsill overlooking the conversation area, just to make sure the dog wasn't up to anything sneaky. And Bali was very affectionate with me this morning. I think he wanted to make sure that I still love my puppy-cat more than that dratted puppy.

So, anyway, the deck's maiden voyage went very well, and we look forward to using it for other parties. I've been spending a lot of time out there every day; the only problem is that I can't write there, since my netbook screen isn't readable in sunlight. I'm considering investing in a pricy Pixel Qi replacement screen, but have to do more research to find out if the screen will be compatible with my machine. It's guaranteed to work on the Samsung N130, but I'm using a Samsung N110. If anybody has any information about this, please let me know!

Tomorrow would have been my mother's eighty-fifth birthday. My sister and her husband are going out for dinner, to the very fancy restaurant where Mom took us all on her seventy-fifth birthday. Gary and I will drive up to Truckee, a trip Mom always enjoyed, for lunch and shopping.

Deck III

Here's the long arm of the L from the other direction.

Deck II

Here's the long arm of the L, with two tables we can put together if we need to seat extra people.

Deck I

The deck's an L shape along two sides of the house. Along the short end, we've put a pop-up canopy over a conversation area. The small square table in the background -- the one with the umbrella -- is where the two legs of the L join.

PatioQuest

We're told that the new deck should be finished by Friday. Meanwhile, we've been feverishly buying patio furniture: two Adirondeck chairs on sale at WorldMarket (red, since that was Dad's favorite color), a mesh glider from Lowe's, a 7-piece dining set from Home Depot. All of the seating is very comfortable. The table's a little more rickety than we'd like, but it will do.

In a fancy garden/patio store in town, we saw the patio set of our dreams: a gorgeous, huge oval teak table that seats twelve on four three-person benches. Beautiful: and for $4,000, it certainly should be! So we passed on that in favor of the Home Depot stuff for one-tenth the price.

With the new stuff plus our old stuff, we'll have various kinds of deck seating for sixteen people. That's a bit much for the two of us, or even the small Dad party, but it's a good number for my fiftieth birthday party on Labor Day.

Yesterday I felt very low -- it was Father's Day, of course -- and today I'm still droopy and tired. But this too shall pass.

Oh, today's the thirteenth anniversary of Gary's arrival in Reno! Also, the summer solstice. Happy summer solstice! Does anyone else find it ironic that the days get shorter during the summer? I always feel like that should only happen in the fall.

No matter: we'll still have plenty of sunlight for the new deck!

Ouch

Dale from Peavine Pottery called me this morning, sounding very terse indeed, and told me he couldn't make the pot from Dad's ashes. He said he's a big believer in dreams, and he had a dream telling him not to do it, although he couldn't tell me -- because the dream hadn't told him -- why not.

I'm a big believer in dreams too, so the call freaked me out more than a little. It's hard not to take this personally: Dale was fine when I first spoke to him on the phone about the commission, and he's clearly made such pieces before -- he could describe the effect of cremains on glaze and clay, for instance -- but he became increasingly tense during our visit yesterday. So I think something about me turned him off.

I cried after the phone call, and I've been fighting shame ever since, especially since last week, a friend told me how "weird" it is for me to be investing in all these cremain keepsakes. "But if it makes you feel better, that's what's important." Well, yes. (Which is more shameful: finding creative homes for loved ones, or shaming others about their choices in doing so?)

Okay, so I'm weird. Guilty as charged. We've been knowing that, right? But really, the project isn't all that bizarre. There are companies that specialize in this, like Phoenix Memorial Art. Isn't making something beautiful and useful from cremains more sensible than just keeping them in an urn that can't then be used for anything else? I wanted to give the business to local artists, and now I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. I hope John at Planet X doesn't back out, too.

Sometime today I'll go by Peavine Pottery to pick up the cremains I left there yesterday. Truth to tell, I'm kind of dreading the errand.

I also have a therapy appointment today. I can't wait to hear what my therapist makes of this!

If I had more free time, I'd take a pottery class and make something myself, but that doesn't seem feasible right now. On the other hand, cremains keep, so maybe I can do it sometime in the future. Whatever I made wouldn't be a tenth as nice as Dale's work, though; I mean, he's spent years at this. He's an artist.

Feh.

In other news, the deck demolition is coming along nicely.

Planks and Pots

We went with the second contractor, who'll start ripping out our old deck tomorrow, with the help of his daughter and nephew. We like supporting family businesses!

Speaking of which, today I did the Great Pottery Tour of 2010, with Dad's ashes along for the ride. I wound up ordering two pieces. At Planet X, way the heck out in the Nevada desert, I commissioned a short, wide pencil cup with trees drawn on the outside. Dad's ashes will go into the reddish glaze. At Peavine Pottery, I ordered a squat, asymetrical pot with a turned tulipwood lid, and a combination gold/iridescent and maroon glaze. Dad will be part of the clay on that one, and the potter's going to call me when he's ready to throw the piece so I can watch him work the ash into the clay. Oh, he also turns hardwood knitting needles! They're special order, though, and I'm sure I can't afford them.

Neither potter fires in the summer -- too hot -- so I'll have to wait until fall for both pieces. But that's okay.

I think both the potters thought I was a little cracked (they both make urns to hold ashes, but incorporating the ash into the piece is less common). I told the second one -- who knew I'd also commissioned a piece from the first -- "I can just imagine Dad rolling his eyes at this," and he said tersely, "Yes. I can too."

But hey, they're getting business and I'm supporting local artists, so it's all good.

A First!

Today's contractor didn't become apoplectic after inspecting the deck! Today's contractor actually said that the existing supports are actually fine: extremely sturdy and in very good shape. What needs replacing is the wood.

So we're waiting for this guy's bid. Gary likes him a lot better than the first fellow. I didn't meet him, because he came early (!), when I was out running errands, but I trust Gary's judgment.

Stay tuned. We may have a deck by Dad's birthday after all! Or, at least, by my birthday.

Scratch That

Doing further research into deck construction, Gary discovered that (surprise, surprise), our deck was built completely incorrectly, which means that it will have to be rebuilt from scratch. We may be able to use some of the existing concrete supports, but since this is our house, infamous among contractors everywhere, I tend to doubt it.

In case I haven't explained this before, the previous owner of the house was a recording engineer (allegedly under close Federal scrutiny for drug dealing, although that may just be a colorful rumor) who had all of her home-improvement projects done by her musician friends. Based on the reaction of every legitimate contractor who's ever seen any of this work, said musician friends must have been operating in extremely altered states, whether the previous owner sold them the substances that got them that way or not.

In any case, the deck seems to have been a Musician Project.

This means:

1) We won't be going with the initial contractor, who didn't pick up on the problems after a visual inspection of the deck, whereas Gary sussed them out with an internet search, and

2) We definitely won't have a new deck by July 14.

My dear, and sensible, friend Sharon points out that there are lots of lovely parks in Reno, and has even offered her own deck in a pinch, although I hope we won't have to take her up on that. Dad liked parks, and most of our parks have views of river or mountains or both, which he would have loved.

Dad also liked simple food, so I've decided that the menu should consist of various salads -- Gary has a ton of great ones for summer -- along with things like shrimp rings and smoked salmon. The less cooking that's needed, the better. We'll have chocolate cake, however, because Dad loved chocolate, a trait his daughters have inherited.

So I'm feeling better about all that. On the guest front, I think we're going to have to put Fran in a hotel. Our house has a very open floor plan; the only downstairs room with a closing door is the half-bath. I doubt that Fran can handle stairs at this point, and I don't think I want her to try. (Gary and I have both been having flashbacks to Dad's traumatic arrival in Reno.) She also dislikes cats, so sleeping downstairs with roaming cats and no available shower probably wouldn't be too much fun for her. She loves casinos, though.

Tomorrow we'll start getting new bids on the deck. I think we should award the job to whomever laughs the loudest, or turns the most interesting shade of purple, after looking at the old one.