And here we are at the end of the year -- how did that happen? I was sure I had a few more days to work with. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, time to write my resolutions, fill out my new calendars, help drink the bottle of Korbel Sweet Rose that's in the fridge... yes, I know, that sounds awful, but listen to this review: "Even if you don’t like sweet sparkling wine, it will be hard to turn down another glass of this beauty. It’s so clean and delicious, with a raspberry sorbet and vanilla richness." Since I do like sweet sparkling wine, I'm planning to enjoy it thoroughly. Maybe we'll get Chinese takeout to go with it. Boos will probably want to drink some too, since it's pink, but we will say NO.
All that sounds lovely. But then the next day it will be January. January 29th we have to be out of this house. Four weeks and change. And there is NOTHING out there (in Ridgecrest) worth renting. A month ago, even two weeks ago, there were all sorts of houses available, but now they are all gone. Maybe on January 13th the perfect house will be listed, but right now I'm feeling very gloomy.
Then there's the other problem, which is that Rocket Boy is suddenly getting interviews with organizations in Colorado. One yesterday and another next week. What if the interview on January 6th goes well? What if they offer him the job on January 19th? Do I wait until then to do anything about a new house? What if they call on January 23rd and say sorry, we decided to go with another candidate, and suddenly I have to find a house in Ridgecrest to move into in 6 days? What if they call on January 23rd and offer him the job, and suddenly I have to find a house in Colorado Springs to move into in 6 days? What if we sign a 1-year lease for a new house in Ridgecrest at $1500/month and two weeks later Rocket Boy gets an offer for a great job in Colorado?
OK, that is quite enough of that for one night. Time to return to happy thoughts about new beginnings and sweet sparkling wine.
I should have bought a case.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
December
It just started raining, finally, after threatening all day (it's about 4 pm). Nice to get the moisture, but gosh it's gloomy out there. Our outside thermometer says 44 degrees. I think I'm going to wear my winter coat to pick up the twins!
I didn't get much done today, just housework -- which I don't think of as work, just as stuff that gets in my way. Perhaps that is the wrong attitude. Three loads of laundry, grocery shopping, made a big pot of soup, clipped coupons, and cleaned up the kitchen. No writing.
Christmas is rolling right along here in Ridgecrest, and we are participating. Even though we are facing eviction, we put up our tree. Here's Rocket Boy assembling it.
The tree is about 40 years old, I think, and we have to be very careful with it because the branches break easily. I wish we could have a "real" tree, but RB doesn't like to kill things, so having an old family heirloom fake tree seems like the next best thing.
We attended the annual Ridgecrest Christmas parade on Saturday. The parade started at 10 am, so at 9:50 we left our house and drove 2 miles to the corner of Ridgecrest Blvd and Norma St, where we found parking in a big vacant lot. Walked across the street and found a nice place to stand in front of the water building. A few minutes later we saw the first parade entry turn the corner onto Norma, and maybe 10 minutes later the parade was in front of us. Can't beat small town parades, that's for sure.
Many of the people in the parade hand out candy to the spectators, and the boos really cleaned up. They sat themselves down on the curb and munched. Rocket Boy said, "We should have brought a garbage bag!" as I stuffed wrapper after wrapper into my pocket.
The holiday parties are happening -- one last week and two this week, plus we have a special treat coming up next weekend. Then there's one more week at home and we're off to the Bay Area for our usual Christmas trip. I finally ordered our cards last night, so those will arrive in a few days and we'll need to start writing them. But yeah, it'll all get done.
Gosh, I just can't seem to get in the spirit, though. The holidays don't feel stressful in and of themselves this year -- I'm marching along, getting done what needs to be done, and enjoying the activities and (sigh) seasonal goodies. The stress I feel is all about wondering where we're going to live a month or two from now, what decision should we make. Should we stay longer in Ridgecrest? sign a new lease? Move somewhere else no matter where? Is it best to go back to Colorado or should we try to stay near family? So hard to know. I wish things could be just a little more settled.
I didn't get much done today, just housework -- which I don't think of as work, just as stuff that gets in my way. Perhaps that is the wrong attitude. Three loads of laundry, grocery shopping, made a big pot of soup, clipped coupons, and cleaned up the kitchen. No writing.
Christmas is rolling right along here in Ridgecrest, and we are participating. Even though we are facing eviction, we put up our tree. Here's Rocket Boy assembling it.
We attended the annual Ridgecrest Christmas parade on Saturday. The parade started at 10 am, so at 9:50 we left our house and drove 2 miles to the corner of Ridgecrest Blvd and Norma St, where we found parking in a big vacant lot. Walked across the street and found a nice place to stand in front of the water building. A few minutes later we saw the first parade entry turn the corner onto Norma, and maybe 10 minutes later the parade was in front of us. Can't beat small town parades, that's for sure.
Many of the people in the parade hand out candy to the spectators, and the boos really cleaned up. They sat themselves down on the curb and munched. Rocket Boy said, "We should have brought a garbage bag!" as I stuffed wrapper after wrapper into my pocket.
The holiday parties are happening -- one last week and two this week, plus we have a special treat coming up next weekend. Then there's one more week at home and we're off to the Bay Area for our usual Christmas trip. I finally ordered our cards last night, so those will arrive in a few days and we'll need to start writing them. But yeah, it'll all get done.
Gosh, I just can't seem to get in the spirit, though. The holidays don't feel stressful in and of themselves this year -- I'm marching along, getting done what needs to be done, and enjoying the activities and (sigh) seasonal goodies. The stress I feel is all about wondering where we're going to live a month or two from now, what decision should we make. Should we stay longer in Ridgecrest? sign a new lease? Move somewhere else no matter where? Is it best to go back to Colorado or should we try to stay near family? So hard to know. I wish things could be just a little more settled.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Fun with Facebook
No, I haven't joined Facebook, don't get excited. I'm still holding fast to my refusal to get involved. I just think it's so dumb! I realize that Facebook and Twitter have been used to bring the world together, helped facilitate the Arab Spring and Occupy Wall Street and all that, and that's wonderful, but Facebook is still really really dumb and I don't want to do it. Someday if I ever publish anything for real I'm going to HAVE to go on Facebook, because that's what authors do these days, and that's reason enough just to keep all my manuscripts locked in a drawer forevermore.
Rocket Boy feels the same way I do about FB, with one exception: he's on it. He almost never checks in, maybe every 3 months or so, so when he does, it's a marathon session, all that catching up to do. He puzzles over the "friend" requests -- "Who is so-and-so?" -- but accepts them all dutifully. Since he never posts anything on FB, no one gets anything out of being his friend.
Rocket Boy has a second cousin in Germany with whom he's very close, Andreas, and Andreas has two children, now young adults really -- I think they're 21 and 15. And of course they're both on Facebook. So Rocket Boy likes to check in on them, since he's sort of their uncle. (They're the twins' 3rd cousins -- isn't that an odd thought?)
Tonight he found a posting from Julia, the 15-year-old (who was a flower girl at our wedding, when she was 6), and after laboriously translating her slangy, abbreviated German, decided that she was getting something pierced! And whatever it was, her mother was not allowing her to "stretch" it, and Julia was angry about that. We worried for a while about what body part she might be putting a hole in (remember, this is our FLOWER GIRL we're talking about), but then RB found a response post from a friend of hers asking "Wie ist das Ohr?" so fortunately it was her ear. Rocket Boy posted a message in response, something brilliant like "Are you getting something pierced?" (in German, so who knows whether that's what it really says) and we had a good laugh over how that's going to go over with Julia, not to mention her friends. Like a lead balloon.
Then RB checked in with Julia's older brother Sebastian, with whom he has more of a relationship (i.e., they email each other twice a year). On Sebastian's Wall (am I using the terms right? I'm so out of it), he had posted that he had visited, mm, something called a Kinky Discotheque? We were quite shocked -- I know, he's an adult, but the last time we saw him he was 12 or 13. And then, here's the kicker, it said "3 people Like this." Oh stupid Facebook. Then something popped up, some young woman had just become Sebastian's friend and the box seemed to be indicating that Rocket Boy might want to be her friend too, because they had a mutual friend in Sebastian. "Should I click on it?" Rocket Boy asked me. "Ha ha ha," I replied politely.
Rocket Boy said to me, didn't you do things like that when you were their age? And I said, of course I did, but I didn't POST vivid descriptions of what I did in places where my UNCLES could read them! Keep in mind that both Julia and Sebastian ASKED Rocket Boy to be their friend. Or should that be Friend?
We figure after that dumb message to Julia, she's going to unFriend him.
I'm still not signing up.
Rocket Boy feels the same way I do about FB, with one exception: he's on it. He almost never checks in, maybe every 3 months or so, so when he does, it's a marathon session, all that catching up to do. He puzzles over the "friend" requests -- "Who is so-and-so?" -- but accepts them all dutifully. Since he never posts anything on FB, no one gets anything out of being his friend.
Rocket Boy has a second cousin in Germany with whom he's very close, Andreas, and Andreas has two children, now young adults really -- I think they're 21 and 15. And of course they're both on Facebook. So Rocket Boy likes to check in on them, since he's sort of their uncle. (They're the twins' 3rd cousins -- isn't that an odd thought?)
Tonight he found a posting from Julia, the 15-year-old (who was a flower girl at our wedding, when she was 6), and after laboriously translating her slangy, abbreviated German, decided that she was getting something pierced! And whatever it was, her mother was not allowing her to "stretch" it, and Julia was angry about that. We worried for a while about what body part she might be putting a hole in (remember, this is our FLOWER GIRL we're talking about), but then RB found a response post from a friend of hers asking "Wie ist das Ohr?" so fortunately it was her ear. Rocket Boy posted a message in response, something brilliant like "Are you getting something pierced?" (in German, so who knows whether that's what it really says) and we had a good laugh over how that's going to go over with Julia, not to mention her friends. Like a lead balloon.
Then RB checked in with Julia's older brother Sebastian, with whom he has more of a relationship (i.e., they email each other twice a year). On Sebastian's Wall (am I using the terms right? I'm so out of it), he had posted that he had visited, mm, something called a Kinky Discotheque? We were quite shocked -- I know, he's an adult, but the last time we saw him he was 12 or 13. And then, here's the kicker, it said "3 people Like this." Oh stupid Facebook. Then something popped up, some young woman had just become Sebastian's friend and the box seemed to be indicating that Rocket Boy might want to be her friend too, because they had a mutual friend in Sebastian. "Should I click on it?" Rocket Boy asked me. "Ha ha ha," I replied politely.
Rocket Boy said to me, didn't you do things like that when you were their age? And I said, of course I did, but I didn't POST vivid descriptions of what I did in places where my UNCLES could read them! Keep in mind that both Julia and Sebastian ASKED Rocket Boy to be their friend. Or should that be Friend?
We figure after that dumb message to Julia, she's going to unFriend him.
I'm still not signing up.
Monday, November 21, 2011
I've been reading lately
That's the title of a blog I follow, actually my favorite blog that I follow, though I'd be the first to admit that I don't follow a LOT of blogs. Mostly just a few friends' blogs and a couple of others. But this one I love: http://ivebeenreadinglately.blogspot.com/ I think of Levi, the blogger, as sort of like me, except much smarter and much more literate, and with NO TODDLER TWINS. He even refers to his significant other as "rocketlass." I agree with practically everything Levi says about books I've read, and thus I use him for recommendations, confident that much of what he likes, I'll like too.
Anyway, for the past few days I've been reading something that Levi didn't recommend, Stephen King's On Writing (though Levi does enjoy Stephen King's novels). I've been wanting to read this for a while, but didn't want to pay full price for it -- I figure Stephen King has PLENTY of money and doesn't need mine too. Finally last week I found it at Red Rock Books, so I've been dipping into it ever since.
It has some good stuff, some not so good. I get so tired of people telling other people that they shouldn't use the passive voice. As one of my grad school professors used to say, English NEEDS the passive. It has a purpose, otherwise it wouldn't be part of the language. You use the passive when the patient is more important than the agent. In the sentence, "Mary was bitten by a black widow spider," Mary is more important to us than the spider, whose name we don't know, who probably didn't even HAVE a name. Just a dumb spider. The sentence is NOT any better when written "A black widow spider, who shall remain nameless, bit Mary." It's just not. OK, anyway...
I was more taken with his recommendations on work schedules. King says, "If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot." By "a lot" he means four to six hours a day, every day. He goes on to describe his own schedule: writing in the morning, naps and letters in the afternoon, reading and family in the evening.
No mention of when you're supposed to do the laundry. Or make dinner. Or wipe bottoms and clean potties. His kids are grown, of course, but I kind of wonder whether maybe Tabitha didn't do most of the work when they were little.
I've been doing pretty well with my own schedule recently, spending 2 hours 4 days a week on my writing, and maybe an hour in the evenings on my reading. More than that, and we'd have to eat out every night.
Someday when I'm a millionaire we can hire a cook and a laundress. (The kids'll be grown by then, so no need for a nanny.) Until then, I think I'm doing OK.
Anyway, for the past few days I've been reading something that Levi didn't recommend, Stephen King's On Writing (though Levi does enjoy Stephen King's novels). I've been wanting to read this for a while, but didn't want to pay full price for it -- I figure Stephen King has PLENTY of money and doesn't need mine too. Finally last week I found it at Red Rock Books, so I've been dipping into it ever since.
It has some good stuff, some not so good. I get so tired of people telling other people that they shouldn't use the passive voice. As one of my grad school professors used to say, English NEEDS the passive. It has a purpose, otherwise it wouldn't be part of the language. You use the passive when the patient is more important than the agent. In the sentence, "Mary was bitten by a black widow spider," Mary is more important to us than the spider, whose name we don't know, who probably didn't even HAVE a name. Just a dumb spider. The sentence is NOT any better when written "A black widow spider, who shall remain nameless, bit Mary." It's just not. OK, anyway...
I was more taken with his recommendations on work schedules. King says, "If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot." By "a lot" he means four to six hours a day, every day. He goes on to describe his own schedule: writing in the morning, naps and letters in the afternoon, reading and family in the evening.
No mention of when you're supposed to do the laundry. Or make dinner. Or wipe bottoms and clean potties. His kids are grown, of course, but I kind of wonder whether maybe Tabitha didn't do most of the work when they were little.
I've been doing pretty well with my own schedule recently, spending 2 hours 4 days a week on my writing, and maybe an hour in the evenings on my reading. More than that, and we'd have to eat out every night.
Someday when I'm a millionaire we can hire a cook and a laundress. (The kids'll be grown by then, so no need for a nanny.) Until then, I think I'm doing OK.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Shopping in Ridgecrest
Last Saturday we decided to go shoe-shopping. Baby B owns two pairs of shoes that he can fit into (not counting sandals, for which it has grown too cold), but one pair is getting AWFULLY small and the other pair (purchased at Target a few months ago) already has a hole in the sole of one shoe, so he won't wear them. So I said, we MUST buy him shoes, which means we need to go to Palmdale.
Rocket Boy said, how about if we buy them in Ridgcrest? Where in Ridgecrest, I said, I won't buy shoes at Wal-Mart or K-Mart. Rocket Boy suggested Corny's Shoes, which has been here since the beginning of time. I've heard many people say their parents always bought them shoes at Corny's.
Significantly, I've never heard anyone say they bought their OWN kids shoes at Corny's. When we four walked into the store, on China Lake Boulevard, the first thing I noticed was that there were no small shoes on display. We walked all around the small store -- no small shoes. Rocket Boy asked the man at the counter whether he carried kids' shoes and without looking up the man said no, he did a long time ago, but not now.
So we all got back in the car and headed in the direction of Palmdale. But as we were driving, I said, what about that sporting goods store, Big 5? Maybe they would have kids' shoes, and Rocket Boy agreed that that was a good idea. So I turned the car around and we drove there.
We all got out of the car and went into Big 5. We walked to the back wall, where the shoes are, and we walked all along the wall, looking at all the shoes: women's shoes, men's shoes... and no kids' shoes. Rocket Boy asked a salesperson and she said no, sorry, no kids' shoes. Rocket Boy asked her whether there were any stores in town that carry kids' shoes and she said Wal-Mart and K-Mart.
I felt a rage bubbling up in me, and I said, I won't buy my kids shoes at Wal-Mart or K-Mart. I don't know why I was so angry. Ridgecrest is a small town in the middle of nowhere. It has limitations. But I think actually I was angry at all the people who live here and buy their children shoes at Wal-Mart and K-Mart, as if there were nothing wrong with it.
The salesperson looked unhappy, but then she said that there was another place in town that sold kids' shoes: Kool Threadz. You're kidding, I said. I thought that was a skateboard store. No, she said, they have nice shoes. Kind of pricey, but nice.
So we went to Kool Threadz, which IS a skateboard store, on Balsam Street in downtown Ridgecrest, but oddly enough they had some kids' shoes. Little baby Vans, which are of course skateboard shoes. Fussy Baby B tried on a pair and didn't like them. He tried on another pair and didn't like them. That should have been our signal to go.
But I couldn't. I couldn't walk out of the only store in Ridgecrest that sells kids' shoes other than Wal-Mart and K-Mart without buying any shoes. So I bought Baby B a pair of cute black and white Vans for about $25. Which he won't even try on again.
Today I offered them to Baby A instead, but he won't try them on because they belong to Baby B.
Eventually I'll give them to the Salvation Army.
In the afternoon we went to a salon on Ridgecrest Boulevard and all got haircuts (except Rocket Boy, who got his hair cut there a few weeks ago). Very nice haircuts, I might add.
And maybe next weekend we'll drive 90 miles to Palmdale and buy shoes.
Rocket Boy said, how about if we buy them in Ridgcrest? Where in Ridgecrest, I said, I won't buy shoes at Wal-Mart or K-Mart. Rocket Boy suggested Corny's Shoes, which has been here since the beginning of time. I've heard many people say their parents always bought them shoes at Corny's.
Significantly, I've never heard anyone say they bought their OWN kids shoes at Corny's. When we four walked into the store, on China Lake Boulevard, the first thing I noticed was that there were no small shoes on display. We walked all around the small store -- no small shoes. Rocket Boy asked the man at the counter whether he carried kids' shoes and without looking up the man said no, he did a long time ago, but not now.
So we all got back in the car and headed in the direction of Palmdale. But as we were driving, I said, what about that sporting goods store, Big 5? Maybe they would have kids' shoes, and Rocket Boy agreed that that was a good idea. So I turned the car around and we drove there.
We all got out of the car and went into Big 5. We walked to the back wall, where the shoes are, and we walked all along the wall, looking at all the shoes: women's shoes, men's shoes... and no kids' shoes. Rocket Boy asked a salesperson and she said no, sorry, no kids' shoes. Rocket Boy asked her whether there were any stores in town that carry kids' shoes and she said Wal-Mart and K-Mart.
I felt a rage bubbling up in me, and I said, I won't buy my kids shoes at Wal-Mart or K-Mart. I don't know why I was so angry. Ridgecrest is a small town in the middle of nowhere. It has limitations. But I think actually I was angry at all the people who live here and buy their children shoes at Wal-Mart and K-Mart, as if there were nothing wrong with it.
The salesperson looked unhappy, but then she said that there was another place in town that sold kids' shoes: Kool Threadz. You're kidding, I said. I thought that was a skateboard store. No, she said, they have nice shoes. Kind of pricey, but nice.
So we went to Kool Threadz, which IS a skateboard store, on Balsam Street in downtown Ridgecrest, but oddly enough they had some kids' shoes. Little baby Vans, which are of course skateboard shoes. Fussy Baby B tried on a pair and didn't like them. He tried on another pair and didn't like them. That should have been our signal to go.
But I couldn't. I couldn't walk out of the only store in Ridgecrest that sells kids' shoes other than Wal-Mart and K-Mart without buying any shoes. So I bought Baby B a pair of cute black and white Vans for about $25. Which he won't even try on again.
Today I offered them to Baby A instead, but he won't try them on because they belong to Baby B.
Eventually I'll give them to the Salvation Army.
In the afternoon we went to a salon on Ridgecrest Boulevard and all got haircuts (except Rocket Boy, who got his hair cut there a few weeks ago). Very nice haircuts, I might add.
And maybe next weekend we'll drive 90 miles to Palmdale and buy shoes.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
The other shoe
So, as many of you know, the other shoe did drop, earlier this week. On Halloween, to be exact. I wonder how many people had eviction notices taped to their front doors on Halloween this year. With the help of my wonderful attorney niece, we are attempting to fight the eviction (by convincing the bank's attorneys that we are legal renters of this house, in which case we get 90 more days). Sometimes I think this will work, sometimes I think it won't.
I keep reminding myself that we're really not in bad shape here, it's not like losing a house you own (sort of) to foreclosure. But I'm still pretty stressed.
This is what happens when you leave pomegranates on the tree for one day too long: they POP, and then these odd, slow-moving bugs climb into them. This is what happens in Ridgecrest in the fall.
We also lost a tortoise this week -- she seems to have wandered away. I feel that this is almost entirely the fault of DEUTSCHE BANK, because if we could have left her in her pen to hibernate normally this wouldn't have happened. Of course, I suppose it's really the fault of our former landlord, for not paying the mortgage, or maybe it's even our fault for not moving out as soon as we knew we were going to have to. Hmm.
Anyway, she's gone. We've put "Lost Tortoise" signs up around the neighborhood, but no one in the tortoise club seems too concerned -- apparently this happens a lot with desert tortoises. It happened with both of my family's desert tortoises when I was growing up. They just wander away -- into someone else's yard or maybe back into the wild. The wild is just about a block away from our house, so maybe that's where she is.
I think we're going to let the other tortoise go to someone else's house where she can burrow down for the winter, rather than risk losing her too.
Also there was an earthquake this week, about half a mile from Rocket Boy's office.
Despite the eviction notice, Halloween was nice. Here's a photo of the boos trick-or-treating:
At each house I would say to them "Remember to say trick-or-treat" and they would say, obediently, "Trick-or-treat!" -- except that the door wasn't open yet. When the door opened, they would stand there staring at the person holding a bag of candy. After they got their candy, I would hiss at them, "Say thank you! Say thank you! Say thank you!" but mostly they didn't. It was very sweet.
And now it is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and I'm trying to find the oomph to write another novel. Not so easy -- I'm a little lacking in oomph.
Someday this will all be over.
I keep reminding myself that we're really not in bad shape here, it's not like losing a house you own (sort of) to foreclosure. But I'm still pretty stressed.
This is what happens when you leave pomegranates on the tree for one day too long: they POP, and then these odd, slow-moving bugs climb into them. This is what happens in Ridgecrest in the fall.
We also lost a tortoise this week -- she seems to have wandered away. I feel that this is almost entirely the fault of DEUTSCHE BANK, because if we could have left her in her pen to hibernate normally this wouldn't have happened. Of course, I suppose it's really the fault of our former landlord, for not paying the mortgage, or maybe it's even our fault for not moving out as soon as we knew we were going to have to. Hmm.
Anyway, she's gone. We've put "Lost Tortoise" signs up around the neighborhood, but no one in the tortoise club seems too concerned -- apparently this happens a lot with desert tortoises. It happened with both of my family's desert tortoises when I was growing up. They just wander away -- into someone else's yard or maybe back into the wild. The wild is just about a block away from our house, so maybe that's where she is.
I think we're going to let the other tortoise go to someone else's house where she can burrow down for the winter, rather than risk losing her too.
Also there was an earthquake this week, about half a mile from Rocket Boy's office.
Despite the eviction notice, Halloween was nice. Here's a photo of the boos trick-or-treating:
At each house I would say to them "Remember to say trick-or-treat" and they would say, obediently, "Trick-or-treat!" -- except that the door wasn't open yet. When the door opened, they would stand there staring at the person holding a bag of candy. After they got their candy, I would hiss at them, "Say thank you! Say thank you! Say thank you!" but mostly they didn't. It was very sweet.
And now it is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and I'm trying to find the oomph to write another novel. Not so easy -- I'm a little lacking in oomph.
Someday this will all be over.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Waiting for the other shoe
So it's happened, our house is sold. Our poor foreclosed-upon rental house was sold at auction on Monday (postponed from Friday) -- to the bank that held the loan, which is what my attorney-niece told me would probably happen.
So now we wait for the other shoe to drop, that shoe being our eviction notice. It is possible that the shoe will be some other form of contact, such as a letter from the bank demanding that we start paying it rent. We'd love that shoe! We'd love to go back to paying rent! But it probably won't be that shoe. It will probably be the eviction notice shoe, at which point we will have 90 days until we have to move out. The bank may argue that the 90 days began on the day of sale, which would mean we'd have to be out in mid-January. I don't know. We'll just have to see.
The immediate issue is what to do about the tortoises, who are just about ready to hibernate. We don't want them to go deep down in their burrows and go to sleep, since they will not want to come up again in mid-January when we might move.
Instead, we have banished them from their pens and are letting them roam around the yard all day. This is OK because it's not too hot during the day and not too cold at night. During the day they find shady spots to rest in. At night they burrow down in a pile of pine needles, under a tumbleweed, in a corner of the yard. When it gets really cold at night, we will put them in boxes, probably in the garage.
OUR ALTERNATIVES
As I see it, we have five alternatives, not all of which are under our control. I suppose that means they aren't true alternatives.
1. Move to wherever Rocket Boy gets a new job (not under our control, since as yet Rocket Boy does not have a new job).
2. Move back to Boulder and live off the income from our rental houses while we search for work. It would be vastly cheaper for us to live in our own house than to rent a house anywhere else. There's the health insurance problem though.
3. Stay in this house (not under our control, depends on what the bank and any future owners want to do).
4. Rent another house in Ridgecrest. Desperately annoying to have to sign a new 12-month lease, especially if Rocket Boy suddenly got a job offer elsewhere.
5. Buy a house in Ridgecrest. Prices are so low right now that we could end up with a mortgage payment lower than our rent. Then, whenever Rocket Boy got another job somewhere else, we could rent out the house for more than the mortgage payment. But it would mean yet another house to pay insurance and property taxes on. Plus we'd probably need to sell a house to get enough money for a good down payment, and it would take a while to sell a house, especially since they have tenants living in them.
Waiting, waiting.... waiting for the other shoe to drop.
So now we wait for the other shoe to drop, that shoe being our eviction notice. It is possible that the shoe will be some other form of contact, such as a letter from the bank demanding that we start paying it rent. We'd love that shoe! We'd love to go back to paying rent! But it probably won't be that shoe. It will probably be the eviction notice shoe, at which point we will have 90 days until we have to move out. The bank may argue that the 90 days began on the day of sale, which would mean we'd have to be out in mid-January. I don't know. We'll just have to see.
The immediate issue is what to do about the tortoises, who are just about ready to hibernate. We don't want them to go deep down in their burrows and go to sleep, since they will not want to come up again in mid-January when we might move.
Instead, we have banished them from their pens and are letting them roam around the yard all day. This is OK because it's not too hot during the day and not too cold at night. During the day they find shady spots to rest in. At night they burrow down in a pile of pine needles, under a tumbleweed, in a corner of the yard. When it gets really cold at night, we will put them in boxes, probably in the garage.
OUR ALTERNATIVES
As I see it, we have five alternatives, not all of which are under our control. I suppose that means they aren't true alternatives.
1. Move to wherever Rocket Boy gets a new job (not under our control, since as yet Rocket Boy does not have a new job).
2. Move back to Boulder and live off the income from our rental houses while we search for work. It would be vastly cheaper for us to live in our own house than to rent a house anywhere else. There's the health insurance problem though.
3. Stay in this house (not under our control, depends on what the bank and any future owners want to do).
4. Rent another house in Ridgecrest. Desperately annoying to have to sign a new 12-month lease, especially if Rocket Boy suddenly got a job offer elsewhere.
5. Buy a house in Ridgecrest. Prices are so low right now that we could end up with a mortgage payment lower than our rent. Then, whenever Rocket Boy got another job somewhere else, we could rent out the house for more than the mortgage payment. But it would mean yet another house to pay insurance and property taxes on. Plus we'd probably need to sell a house to get enough money for a good down payment, and it would take a while to sell a house, especially since they have tenants living in them.
Waiting, waiting.... waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Busy October
We are deep into October, and the number of local activities available to enjoy is mounting. This past week was quite overwhelming for us, for personal reasons -- maybe I'll blog about that later and maybe I won't. But when the weekend comes, we are always ready to go out and about, partly because it's so difficult to stay home with the boys.
Isn't that sad? Not at all how I had envisioned parenthood. Here they are three and a half, still running roughshod over us. This morning they got into mischief before we dragged ourselves out of bed. When Rocket Boy got up (I have a cold, so was allowed to sleep in a little), he discovered that they had spilled yogurt all over the family room -- on the tinker toys, on the carpet. Why? Why? Why? They really do know better than that.
They just have so much energy, and when you put them together, that energy grows exponentially and they do crazy stupid things.
Anyway, so on the weekends we go out and about.
This weekend we had several activities to choose from. Saturday we decided to go to the Centennial of Naval Aviation Festival at Armitage Airfield at China Lake. This free event would have been a lot of fun, except that it was held in Ridgecrest on a very hot day. No, it wasn't 116, but it was 96. Fortunately, many of the displays and stuff for kids were in or near the gigantic airplane hangar:
But unfortunately, some of the best stuff was outside:
I don't think this picture conveys how hot it was. There was a plane that you could climb into and sit in the cockpit, and Baby A wanted to do that. So we waited in line for, oh, an HOUR, in the sun. I know, it's a dry heat, and there was even a bit of cloud cover (but not over the sun). But after a few hours we were all just a wreck. People were not meant to live in places like this. Yet we do, we do.
Today Rocket Boy and I were both longing for something different, so we went to Tehachapi, which is in the mountains (20 degrees cooler) and has apple orchards. Here we are at Pulford's Appletree Orchard, where we bought a peck of apples (all different varieties), and the little bottle of apple cider that Baby A is holding. It's not Michigan -- I have VERY fond memories of going to apple orchards near Ann Arbor -- but it was still fun.
I'm kind of on an apple kick right now. Fruit is free on Weight Watchers, remember, and an apple a day helps keep the digestive tract healthy. Last night I found a blog all about apples: http://adamapples.blogspot.com. Though he's in Massachusetts and they seem to have somewhat different apples there. Today we bought an apple that he hasn't reviewed yet -- Gold Blush. Looking forward to trying it!
After the apple orchard, we headed home, but since it was only about 3 pm, we decided to stop in California City, where they were having a Renaissance Festival.
I don't know, I guess I've never been a big fan of this kind of thing. Dressing up in Renaissance costumes, going around saying "Prithee" and "Sirrah" -- it just kind of leaves me cold. Except in California City, where it was in the 90s. Ha ha.
Honestly, I was expecting it to be a really pathetic fair, and it wasn't. It looked very nice. Lots of vendor booths, nonstop "entertainment," food and drink. We arrived about 90 minutes before it ended -- it had started Saturday morning -- so there weren't many spectators left and the whole thing was kind of winding down. But it looked as though it had been a very successful fair, or should I say faire.
I don't know, a Renaissance Festival in the middle of the Mojave Desert -- it just seemed weird to me.
But I was tired. We played on the jungle gym for an hour, watched some belly dancing performed by women whose bellies I would rather not have seen, but oh well, and then left before "Whack a Knight" began, because Baby A said he did not want to see any whacking.
I'm so glad tomorrow is Monday.
Isn't that sad? Not at all how I had envisioned parenthood. Here they are three and a half, still running roughshod over us. This morning they got into mischief before we dragged ourselves out of bed. When Rocket Boy got up (I have a cold, so was allowed to sleep in a little), he discovered that they had spilled yogurt all over the family room -- on the tinker toys, on the carpet. Why? Why? Why? They really do know better than that.
They just have so much energy, and when you put them together, that energy grows exponentially and they do crazy stupid things.
Anyway, so on the weekends we go out and about.
This weekend we had several activities to choose from. Saturday we decided to go to the Centennial of Naval Aviation Festival at Armitage Airfield at China Lake. This free event would have been a lot of fun, except that it was held in Ridgecrest on a very hot day. No, it wasn't 116, but it was 96. Fortunately, many of the displays and stuff for kids were in or near the gigantic airplane hangar:
But unfortunately, some of the best stuff was outside:
I don't think this picture conveys how hot it was. There was a plane that you could climb into and sit in the cockpit, and Baby A wanted to do that. So we waited in line for, oh, an HOUR, in the sun. I know, it's a dry heat, and there was even a bit of cloud cover (but not over the sun). But after a few hours we were all just a wreck. People were not meant to live in places like this. Yet we do, we do.
Today Rocket Boy and I were both longing for something different, so we went to Tehachapi, which is in the mountains (20 degrees cooler) and has apple orchards. Here we are at Pulford's Appletree Orchard, where we bought a peck of apples (all different varieties), and the little bottle of apple cider that Baby A is holding. It's not Michigan -- I have VERY fond memories of going to apple orchards near Ann Arbor -- but it was still fun.
I'm kind of on an apple kick right now. Fruit is free on Weight Watchers, remember, and an apple a day helps keep the digestive tract healthy. Last night I found a blog all about apples: http://adamapples.blogspot.com. Though he's in Massachusetts and they seem to have somewhat different apples there. Today we bought an apple that he hasn't reviewed yet -- Gold Blush. Looking forward to trying it!
After the apple orchard, we headed home, but since it was only about 3 pm, we decided to stop in California City, where they were having a Renaissance Festival.
I don't know, I guess I've never been a big fan of this kind of thing. Dressing up in Renaissance costumes, going around saying "Prithee" and "Sirrah" -- it just kind of leaves me cold. Except in California City, where it was in the 90s. Ha ha.
Honestly, I was expecting it to be a really pathetic fair, and it wasn't. It looked very nice. Lots of vendor booths, nonstop "entertainment," food and drink. We arrived about 90 minutes before it ended -- it had started Saturday morning -- so there weren't many spectators left and the whole thing was kind of winding down. But it looked as though it had been a very successful fair, or should I say faire.
I don't know, a Renaissance Festival in the middle of the Mojave Desert -- it just seemed weird to me.
But I was tired. We played on the jungle gym for an hour, watched some belly dancing performed by women whose bellies I would rather not have seen, but oh well, and then left before "Whack a Knight" began, because Baby A said he did not want to see any whacking.
I'm so glad tomorrow is Monday.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
RIP Steve Jobs
I've been thinking about Steve Jobs all week, ever since his death was announced. The media coverage has been amazing -- even the Ridgecrest paper printed a big article about him. A day or two after he died I was reading articles and blogs (assembled courtesy of Google News), and people kept theorizing about WHY everyone was so upset about his death, as if it were surprising and puzzling.
At first this annoyed me. If I want to feel sad about someone's, anyone's, death, surely I have that right.
But finally I conceded that it is an interesting question. There probably isn't another CEO on the face of the earth who so many people would be so sad to lose. Most celebrity deaths cause me only a moment's pang. And I don't feel sad about Steve Jobs because he created my favorite toys. I don't own an iPod (though someday I'll break down and buy one), an iPhone, or an iPad (though I'd like to). I did once have a Mac, but no longer.
It is scary, though, to have lost one of the leaders of modern technology. I sometimes worry about where we're going with "all these computers" (I'm quoting the former director of my former workplace) and apparently somewhere in the back of my mind I was counting on Steve Jobs to help lead us safely through these woods. Now it's up to Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, and the guys who run Google. I'm not reassured.
I have more personal reasons for feeling sad too. I've been able to identify a couple of them.
First reason: Steve Jobs lived in a house in Palo Alto that was walking distance from my mother's house (though in a much nicer neighborhood). His house was important to my family because before he bought it, it was owned by the family who owned the Golden Retriever who -- I think this is right -- sired our Golden Retriever's puppies back in 1971 or so. I hope I've got that right. The dog's name was Jorn, and I *think* he was the father of Penny's puppies. Either that or he was Penny's father. Gad, I hate my sieve-like memory! Anyway, he was a nice male Golden Retriever and he lived in Steve Jobs' house with his family before it was Steve Jobs' house. And for years, every time I walked or drove by that house with my mother or a sister, one of us would comment that it was Jorn's house. Then Steve Jobs bought the house -- when, I don't know, in the 1980s? 1990s? -- and after that, every time I walked or drove by it with my mother or a sister, one of us would comment that it was Steve Jobs' house, but it used to be Jorn's house.
I remember that Steve Jobs bought the house next door to his, tore it down, and planted the lot with fruit trees and cosmos. Ah, the things you can do when you're rich. One article I read referred to his "modest" home in Palo Alto, obviously COMPLETELY missing the point about what it means to live in Palo Alto. Why would you want a colossal brand-new mansion in a fabulously exclusive gated community if you could live in a delightful old house in Palo Alto, enjoy the walkable streets and the excellent schools and libraries -- and knock down the house next door to make your yard bigger?
So anyway, remembering Steve Jobs' house is all about remembering my mother, and all the walks we took together in Palo Alto. Losing him, I somehow lose her just a little bit more.
Second reason: From 1983 to 1988, after graduating from college, I worked as a typesetter in Palo Alto for a young woman (10 years my senior) named Lauren Langford. One story that keeps being told is the one about how Steve Jobs studied calligraphy at Reed and that's why the Macintosh had such beautiful fonts, at a time when other computers were basically doing dot matrix. Well, I remember when the Mac came out and graphic designers started doing type with it. We at Langford Typesetting were HORRIFIED by how ugly Macintosh type was. We had an enormous typesetting machine that printed out gorgeous type. We were snobs and proud of it.
Lauren died young too -- she was 50. She fought her cancer (first breast, then ovarian) almost till the end, but in the end she went peacefully, dying at home surrounded by friends and loved ones. When I read about Steve Jobs dying peacefully at home, I remembered Lauren. That's what it all comes down to, doesn't it? You fight and fight, but at the end you finally just let go.
There are more connections I could make. All the people I know who went to Reed College. All the people I knew who worked at Apple in the old days. Heck, anyone who lived in the Bay Area at any time over the past 35 years can probably connect their lives with Steve Jobs' life.
And at the end of the day, the fact is, he was so young, with a young family. I'm sad for them all. Also very thankful that I get to go on, live another day in Ridgecrest.
At first this annoyed me. If I want to feel sad about someone's, anyone's, death, surely I have that right.
But finally I conceded that it is an interesting question. There probably isn't another CEO on the face of the earth who so many people would be so sad to lose. Most celebrity deaths cause me only a moment's pang. And I don't feel sad about Steve Jobs because he created my favorite toys. I don't own an iPod (though someday I'll break down and buy one), an iPhone, or an iPad (though I'd like to). I did once have a Mac, but no longer.
It is scary, though, to have lost one of the leaders of modern technology. I sometimes worry about where we're going with "all these computers" (I'm quoting the former director of my former workplace) and apparently somewhere in the back of my mind I was counting on Steve Jobs to help lead us safely through these woods. Now it's up to Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, and the guys who run Google. I'm not reassured.
I have more personal reasons for feeling sad too. I've been able to identify a couple of them.
First reason: Steve Jobs lived in a house in Palo Alto that was walking distance from my mother's house (though in a much nicer neighborhood). His house was important to my family because before he bought it, it was owned by the family who owned the Golden Retriever who -- I think this is right -- sired our Golden Retriever's puppies back in 1971 or so. I hope I've got that right. The dog's name was Jorn, and I *think* he was the father of Penny's puppies. Either that or he was Penny's father. Gad, I hate my sieve-like memory! Anyway, he was a nice male Golden Retriever and he lived in Steve Jobs' house with his family before it was Steve Jobs' house. And for years, every time I walked or drove by that house with my mother or a sister, one of us would comment that it was Jorn's house. Then Steve Jobs bought the house -- when, I don't know, in the 1980s? 1990s? -- and after that, every time I walked or drove by it with my mother or a sister, one of us would comment that it was Steve Jobs' house, but it used to be Jorn's house.
I remember that Steve Jobs bought the house next door to his, tore it down, and planted the lot with fruit trees and cosmos. Ah, the things you can do when you're rich. One article I read referred to his "modest" home in Palo Alto, obviously COMPLETELY missing the point about what it means to live in Palo Alto. Why would you want a colossal brand-new mansion in a fabulously exclusive gated community if you could live in a delightful old house in Palo Alto, enjoy the walkable streets and the excellent schools and libraries -- and knock down the house next door to make your yard bigger?
So anyway, remembering Steve Jobs' house is all about remembering my mother, and all the walks we took together in Palo Alto. Losing him, I somehow lose her just a little bit more.
Second reason: From 1983 to 1988, after graduating from college, I worked as a typesetter in Palo Alto for a young woman (10 years my senior) named Lauren Langford. One story that keeps being told is the one about how Steve Jobs studied calligraphy at Reed and that's why the Macintosh had such beautiful fonts, at a time when other computers were basically doing dot matrix. Well, I remember when the Mac came out and graphic designers started doing type with it. We at Langford Typesetting were HORRIFIED by how ugly Macintosh type was. We had an enormous typesetting machine that printed out gorgeous type. We were snobs and proud of it.
Lauren died young too -- she was 50. She fought her cancer (first breast, then ovarian) almost till the end, but in the end she went peacefully, dying at home surrounded by friends and loved ones. When I read about Steve Jobs dying peacefully at home, I remembered Lauren. That's what it all comes down to, doesn't it? You fight and fight, but at the end you finally just let go.
There are more connections I could make. All the people I know who went to Reed College. All the people I knew who worked at Apple in the old days. Heck, anyone who lived in the Bay Area at any time over the past 35 years can probably connect their lives with Steve Jobs' life.
And at the end of the day, the fact is, he was so young, with a young family. I'm sad for them all. Also very thankful that I get to go on, live another day in Ridgecrest.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Noah's Ark
Before we left, I gave the kids a quick rundown of the Bible story. They might have heard it at daycare, but I was pretty sure they'd need a refresher course. So here I go, and I realize I have no idea how to tell the story. Do I tell it as if it really happened? Kind of the way we tell them about Santa Claus??? Or do I go the straight Biblical route and say "Once upon a time God decided he was mad at all the people except a man named Noah..." oh no, I could just imagine the weird questions that would follow. I decided to leave God out altogether. Instead I said, "Once upon a time there was a big storm and it rained for 40 days and 40 nights and made a big flood, but a man named Noah built a big ship called an ark and he let all the animals go on it with him, and they floated on the seas until the rain stopped and then they all got out. And we're going to a museum to see Noah's Ark." I'm sure that made no sense at all.
The Skirball Center is 140 miles south of us. You can't just walk into Noah's Ark -- you buy tickets for a particular time. So we had to figure out when we could get there. Oh, the endless joys of living in Ridgecrest. At 9:00 this morning I looked at the website and decided we could be there by 1:00 (4 hours), so I bought 4 tickets for that time. Then we packed the car and left at about 9:40. Two and a half hour drive, roughly -- we got to the Skirball just after noon.
The Skirball is just down the road from the glorious Getty Museum, and I was expecting it to be similar. I realized after we arrived that that was silly. The Getty is colossal, grander than all other museums. The Skirball is on a more reasonable scale. For example, we were able to park about 20 feet from the elevators. We went up to the main lobby and found the restaurant and food cart. Since we had time before our tour started, we bought sandwiches and ate a nice lunch in the outside courtyard. Boos were very bad: among other things they took off their sandals, walked on the rim of a pond (and got yelled at by a guard), and wouldn't eat the nice lunch. It was not an auspicious beginning.
Then it was time for us to go to Noah's Ark. We were given large stickers to wear that showed our time slot (you can only stay for 2 hours, so the staff needs to know when you went in) and the boos did NOT want to wear the stickers. I had to chase Baby A up and down a staircase to put his on. Rocket Boy tried putting Baby B's sticker on his back, which made him mad. Meanwhile all the other families headed for Noah's Ark were peacefully putting on their stickers, no worries. Sometimes I hate my children. Finally we got the stickers on. Here we are on our way to the gallery, all wearing our stickers.
I had studied the Noah's Ark website extensively beforehand, but still really had no idea of what to expect. One thing I read that kind of bugged me was that the animals in the ark are made of recycled materials -- flyswatters, piano keyboards, boxing gloves, you name it. That sounded too PC to me -- I wanted true-to-life animals.
OK, let's just say right up front that I was wrong, the animals are amazingly wonderful, and the whole Noah's Ark exhibit is simply fabulous. I was so impressed. There are a series of rooms -- the first room is the outside of the ark, the next two rooms are inside the ark, and the last room is a place to do crafts -- we didn't spend any time there. We spent the most time in the first room, where you can turn wheels and pull levers to make thunder, lightning, rain, and wind. Now remember, Baby A is afraid of storms, particularly lightning. This room was so good for him! He spent so much time working it, working out his fears. Here are the boys manipulating the rain machine.
In the second room there are puppets, little rooms to crawl in, and a giant toy Noah's Ark with lots of little animals inside. The boys played with that for a long time.
The third room had a sort of rope ladder thing that kids could climb into and then walk all around up above the adults. This photo shows Baby A walking down out of it and you can barely see Baby B up on the second level with the penguins.
My favorite part of the whole thing was the animals -- those animals made out of recycled and repurposed materials that I thought I wouldn't like. They're incredible! I couldn't stop taking pictures of them. Here's the lion and the lamb, at the door between the third and fourth rooms.
No matter how much of a pain it was for us to get there and back -- and believe me, it was a pain -- the trip back home was AWFUL -- this exhibit was worth seeing. If you happen to find yourself in Los Angeles with a couple of hours to kill, I HIGHLY recommend it, especially if you have a little person or two along. SO FUN.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Busy weekend
I'm happy to announce that I didn't go out of town this weekend. Rocket Boy and the twins did, today, on a nap drive, but I didn't go with them. And Friday and Saturday we all stayed in town. Fall is really here.
So what did we do in lovely Ridgecrest this weekend?
Friday night we went to the annual Star Party at Cerro Coso community college, in the hills south of town. The food was OK, the music was OK (not as good as last year but boos were delighted when the group played a song by Jason Mraz that he sings on a Sesame Street episode -- after that they kept asking me if the band would play more Sesame Street songs), but the weather was completely uncooperative -- a bunch of clouds came in from nowhere and covered up all the stars. So there was no actual star party. We walked all the way up the hill to the observatory and they were packing up their telescopes. Oh well. We got to ride down the hill in a giant golf cart, and between that and the Sesame Street song, boos were happy.
Saturday morning we went to the Family Fun Fair at Leroy Jackson Park. Lots of local nonprofits set up booths in the park and you can wander around getting information about the nonprofits, or you can just make use of the fun little things they set up, such as this wading pool full of bubble liquid. The tortoise club had a booth, the writers club had a booth, and I bought a couple of children's books at the Friends of the Library booth. It was hot, but it is September after all, not January.
Saturday evening we attended the annual free Pops Concert at Freedom Park (the musicians are in the gazebo). This is so much fun. Last year we had to leave pretty quickly -- this year we managed to stay almost until the intermission. Last year the theme was pirate music -- this year it was cowboy music -- we heard a medley of songs from Oklahoma, some Aaron Copeland, and a singalong to "Oh Susanna" among other pieces. Boos did not pay much attention to the music, but we sat in the back so they could run around and not be too disruptive. Here they are, not paying attention.
This morning (Sunday) we took a stroller walk to Albertson's (which has a Starbucks in it) for coffee and treats. Baby A, who is a tricycling fiend, insisted on riding his trike to the store. We were strongly opposed to this, since it is about a mile, but he made it. Once in the store, we did not know what to do with the trike, so Rocket Boy put it in a cart, and Baby A sat on it in the cart. No, I do not have a photo! Sorry! On the way home he got tired, had a meltdown, Baby B had one too, and Rocket Boy had to carry the trike for the last block or so, but at least the first part of the trip was good.
And in the afternoon they went someplace weird, while I stayed home and read a book. Here they are, someplace weird. Never mind where, just out in the desert somewhere.
So what did we do in lovely Ridgecrest this weekend?
Friday night we went to the annual Star Party at Cerro Coso community college, in the hills south of town. The food was OK, the music was OK (not as good as last year but boos were delighted when the group played a song by Jason Mraz that he sings on a Sesame Street episode -- after that they kept asking me if the band would play more Sesame Street songs), but the weather was completely uncooperative -- a bunch of clouds came in from nowhere and covered up all the stars. So there was no actual star party. We walked all the way up the hill to the observatory and they were packing up their telescopes. Oh well. We got to ride down the hill in a giant golf cart, and between that and the Sesame Street song, boos were happy.
Saturday morning we went to the Family Fun Fair at Leroy Jackson Park. Lots of local nonprofits set up booths in the park and you can wander around getting information about the nonprofits, or you can just make use of the fun little things they set up, such as this wading pool full of bubble liquid. The tortoise club had a booth, the writers club had a booth, and I bought a couple of children's books at the Friends of the Library booth. It was hot, but it is September after all, not January.
Saturday evening we attended the annual free Pops Concert at Freedom Park (the musicians are in the gazebo). This is so much fun. Last year we had to leave pretty quickly -- this year we managed to stay almost until the intermission. Last year the theme was pirate music -- this year it was cowboy music -- we heard a medley of songs from Oklahoma, some Aaron Copeland, and a singalong to "Oh Susanna" among other pieces. Boos did not pay much attention to the music, but we sat in the back so they could run around and not be too disruptive. Here they are, not paying attention.
This morning (Sunday) we took a stroller walk to Albertson's (which has a Starbucks in it) for coffee and treats. Baby A, who is a tricycling fiend, insisted on riding his trike to the store. We were strongly opposed to this, since it is about a mile, but he made it. Once in the store, we did not know what to do with the trike, so Rocket Boy put it in a cart, and Baby A sat on it in the cart. No, I do not have a photo! Sorry! On the way home he got tired, had a meltdown, Baby B had one too, and Rocket Boy had to carry the trike for the last block or so, but at least the first part of the trip was good.
And in the afternoon they went someplace weird, while I stayed home and read a book. Here they are, someplace weird. Never mind where, just out in the desert somewhere.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Miscellany
September is moving along -- one more week. I don't feel ready for October, primarily because I haven't decided what to do about Halloween costumes this year. Boos are old enough to have opinions, but not really old enough to make good decisions. If I say, "Do you want to be X?" they say "NO!" but they don't have any better ideas. To be fair, Baby A has expressed interest in being a frog, so we might do that (I would buy it -- don't want to try to make a frog). Here's a cute frog:
I thought it would be nice if Baby B were a tortoise, but he says NO, and there we are. He HAS mentioned wanting to be a kitty, but that's a little problematic. It's assumed (by the business executives who decide these things) that only girls would want to be kitties for Halloween, so there's a lot of pink involved in the costumes. Here's an example:
Of course I could MAKE a kitty costume... or we could buy this kitty costume and I could do things to it to make it less girly.
Or I could force him to be a tortoise. Decisions, decisions.
One pretty cool thing about Halloween is that this year we'll be trick-or-treating without diapers. Yeah baby! We are not 100% potty trained yet, but doing so well. Boos wear underwear to daycare every day and in the past 3 weeks, Baby B has had only one accident. Baby A comes home in a different pair of shorts most days, so he's still working on this. But we're getting there.
They still wear diapers to bed at night and on long car trips...but but but last weekend when we went to Palmdale, Baby B said "No diaper. Underwear!" and he stayed dry the whole trip. Told us when he needed to go, made use of available facilities. No accidents. Baby A happily wore diapers, and we were relieved about that too, because he's not ready for undies on long trips. Anyway, we're getting there. Score one for naked potty training!
Had a little excitement here the other morning. Boos and I were at home, as usual, doing chores and making puzzles and the like. I was in the kitchen and I heard them call me. "Mommy, come! There's a big bydo!" Well, gosh, just what I felt like dealing with, a big bydo, but I'm the mom, so I came. And there, next to the baseboard, just behind their puzzle table, was a creature that looked quite a bit like the one above. A sun spider.
Sun spiders are not really dangerous, but they look sooooo freaky, plus they will bite you if bothered and I'm told the bite hurts. So this sun spider needed to go outside. I went and got the 2 plastic cups we use for this purpose, got the critter inside them with no trouble, and took it outside, where I threw it into the grass.
Immediately, the sun spider ran right back toward me. And they run FAST. Much faster than any regular spider can run.
Horrified, I managed to scoop it up in a cup again and threw it into the grass again. And again it ran back to me. FAST.
So again I scooped it up, and this time threw it into a group of trees and rocks. Finally it stayed put, or rather, it ran into the rocks.
Sun spiders don't like the sun -- that's why they're called sun spiders, of course, duh, huh??? -- and so when I tossed it into the sun, it ran back toward me to get under my shadow. But oh man, it felt as though it was coming to kill me. It was a long time before I could breathe normally again.
And if you're wondering why I didn't just smash it, well, sun spiders eat black widow spiders. Nuff said?
I'm feeling a bit wistful as October approaches, because we just found out today that our poor foreclosed-upon house is going up for auction on October 14 -- that's three weeks from today. What happens after that is anyone's guess. Someone just told me about someone in Ridgecrest whose house went up for auction recently -- and nobody bought it -- but we probably can't count on that. One of these days I think someone's going to knock on our door and tell us to get out. And where the heck are we going to go then, I just don't know. Do we rent another house in Ridgecrest, do we give up and go back to Colorado, will Rocket Boy finally get a job offer that will take us somewhere else? Your guess is as good as mine.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Old West Days
The weather has started to cool down a bit -- in fact, it hasn't been in the 100's much at all this month, and that's weird for Ridgecrest in September. Day after day the thermometer gets to 92 or 93 and then turns around and goes the other direction. It's fabulous.
Cooler temps mean that events start being held again (in the hot summer, everyone just crawls into their little holes, like tortoises). And today was the annual Old West Days (though it's just one day) in Randsburg, a mostly ghost (former mining) town about 20 miles south of us, down Highway 395.
This is our third September in Ridgecrest, but the first time we'd attended Old West Days. In the past, what really stopped me from going was the thought of the parking situation. There's nowhere to park in Randsburg. Tiny little dirt roads snaking through the gentle hills of the town. I couldn't figure out how they could accommodate hundreds of extra cars. That was on my mind again today, as I drove down 395, but I'm a braver woman now than I was two years ago. It turned out that the "parking lot" was in fact those gentle hills. Here's our parking place:
And we were a very short walk from the main street of town. We were parked right behind the bandstand. Here's the band:
The main street of Randsburg has a couple of restaurants and bars (excuse me, saloons), numerous antique stores, and not much else. We arrived around 11 am, and along with everyone else we walked up and down the street looking at vendor booths...
...and local color.
You could buy hot dogs on the street, but there weren't many places to sit down and eat those hot dogs, so we went into a "restaurant." Where we had hot dogs.
Only $3 a dog, $3.50 for a kraut dog (I had a kraut dog). Rocket Boy had a pastrami sandwich, which I think was $5.
We did a bit of shopping: bought some candy from the Historical Society booth, and Rocket Boy actually found a hand drill that he wanted at an antique shop. He asked the woman how much and she said $8. I thought he should have bargained her down, but he just said OK, and we gave her a $10 bill. But she could only find a single $1 bill in her pocket of change, so we ended up paying $9. I guess I won't worry about it.
Randsburg reminded me of similar mining ghost towns in Colorado, and of course that made me think of our old friend Clifford, our next-door neighbor back in Boulder, who died of cancer in his 80s about 7 months after we moved out here, breaking both our hearts. Rocket Boy and I both adored Clifford and used to invite him along on most of our weekend journeys. He was a Colorado native, and spent his work life as a field biologist for the Colorado Department of Game & Fish. He was smart but folksy, opinionated and crotchety.
I told Rocket Boy I was thinking about Clifford, and he said he was too, so we started imagining what Clifford would say if he were with us today. What we came up with was pretty colorful. Clifford liked old things and old places, but he wasn't sentimental about anything.
The boys did pretty well during the two hours we were in Randsburg, but toward the end of that time they were getting whiny. What finished them off entirely was a mock shootout that took place a few feet from where we were standing.
"It's not real," I kept saying to Baby A, who was traumatized. "They're just pretending. No one is dead or hurt. The guns aren't real. Well, maybe they're real, but the bullets aren't real. They're just loud. No one will hurt you. It's not real," but to a three-year-old it was pretty darn real, so we hurried back to our car, and after several attempts managed to find a path out of town (many other cars were parked randomly around us by that time).
"What do you think Clifford would have said about Randsburg?" I asked Rocket Boy, as we drove off.
"He'd say, "What a dump," " Rocket Boy said, and we laughed, remembering our friend. Actually, Clifford might have been a little more charitable than that, because he did like old things. But he also called a spade a spade, and Randsburg is pretty much a dump. A nice dump, though. We had a good time there today (except for the guns).
And now, just because I can (it's my blog), I'm going to include a photo of Clifford. This is from July 2008. I think we were at the visitor center in Rocky Mountain National Park. Babies were four months old. I miss him.
Cooler temps mean that events start being held again (in the hot summer, everyone just crawls into their little holes, like tortoises). And today was the annual Old West Days (though it's just one day) in Randsburg, a mostly ghost (former mining) town about 20 miles south of us, down Highway 395.
This is our third September in Ridgecrest, but the first time we'd attended Old West Days. In the past, what really stopped me from going was the thought of the parking situation. There's nowhere to park in Randsburg. Tiny little dirt roads snaking through the gentle hills of the town. I couldn't figure out how they could accommodate hundreds of extra cars. That was on my mind again today, as I drove down 395, but I'm a braver woman now than I was two years ago. It turned out that the "parking lot" was in fact those gentle hills. Here's our parking place:
And we were a very short walk from the main street of town. We were parked right behind the bandstand. Here's the band:
The main street of Randsburg has a couple of restaurants and bars (excuse me, saloons), numerous antique stores, and not much else. We arrived around 11 am, and along with everyone else we walked up and down the street looking at vendor booths...
...and local color.
You could buy hot dogs on the street, but there weren't many places to sit down and eat those hot dogs, so we went into a "restaurant." Where we had hot dogs.
Only $3 a dog, $3.50 for a kraut dog (I had a kraut dog). Rocket Boy had a pastrami sandwich, which I think was $5.
We did a bit of shopping: bought some candy from the Historical Society booth, and Rocket Boy actually found a hand drill that he wanted at an antique shop. He asked the woman how much and she said $8. I thought he should have bargained her down, but he just said OK, and we gave her a $10 bill. But she could only find a single $1 bill in her pocket of change, so we ended up paying $9. I guess I won't worry about it.
Randsburg reminded me of similar mining ghost towns in Colorado, and of course that made me think of our old friend Clifford, our next-door neighbor back in Boulder, who died of cancer in his 80s about 7 months after we moved out here, breaking both our hearts. Rocket Boy and I both adored Clifford and used to invite him along on most of our weekend journeys. He was a Colorado native, and spent his work life as a field biologist for the Colorado Department of Game & Fish. He was smart but folksy, opinionated and crotchety.
I told Rocket Boy I was thinking about Clifford, and he said he was too, so we started imagining what Clifford would say if he were with us today. What we came up with was pretty colorful. Clifford liked old things and old places, but he wasn't sentimental about anything.
The boys did pretty well during the two hours we were in Randsburg, but toward the end of that time they were getting whiny. What finished them off entirely was a mock shootout that took place a few feet from where we were standing.
"It's not real," I kept saying to Baby A, who was traumatized. "They're just pretending. No one is dead or hurt. The guns aren't real. Well, maybe they're real, but the bullets aren't real. They're just loud. No one will hurt you. It's not real," but to a three-year-old it was pretty darn real, so we hurried back to our car, and after several attempts managed to find a path out of town (many other cars were parked randomly around us by that time).
"What do you think Clifford would have said about Randsburg?" I asked Rocket Boy, as we drove off.
"He'd say, "What a dump," " Rocket Boy said, and we laughed, remembering our friend. Actually, Clifford might have been a little more charitable than that, because he did like old things. But he also called a spade a spade, and Randsburg is pretty much a dump. A nice dump, though. We had a good time there today (except for the guns).
And now, just because I can (it's my blog), I'm going to include a photo of Clifford. This is from July 2008. I think we were at the visitor center in Rocky Mountain National Park. Babies were four months old. I miss him.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
What I did on my summer vacations
I said I was going to write about this, so now seems like a good time (before I forget everything). We took two vacations in August this year, both to the same part of the state (the Eastern Sierra), within a few days of each other. Not our fault, not our poor planning. It just happened that both groups of people we were going with planned their trips for late August and we decided to make it work.
I'm not going to write very much in this blog post, just show photos. My memories of the two trips are primarily visual, so it's appropriate. Suffice it to say that they were both wonderful trips.
The Eastern Sierra is so beautiful. For our first vacation, we drove 200 miles north on Highway 395 to June Lake. There we stayed in a cabin at the Big Rock Resort, with some of my cousins and other assorted relatives and friends (they had their own cabins). We arrived on Saturday, and on Sunday morning we took a hike. The photo above shows June Lake as viewed from the hike. And here's June Lake closer up, at the pier which was 100 yards or so from our cabin.
In this photo, Baby A is wearing a life jacket, but we never did manage to get either twin on any sort of boat. Rocket Boy went out on his own, and he and I went out together. That's OK, maybe next year. Here are my three men on the porch of our little cabin.
And here we are eating dinner with the group. All dinners were eaten outside the main cabin at these picnic tables. The weather was perfect -- not too hot, not cold, not rainy.
On Monday we all visited Mono Lake and the nearby ghost town of Bodie. Boos were concerned about visiting a ghost town, even though we swore there would not be ghosts. Here's Mono Lake.
And here we are in one of the old buildings in Bodie.
That evening we went up to Saddlebag Lake, where some of my cousins were camping, and had a barbecue. This is the sunset over the lake.
On Tuesday we drove back to Ridgecrest, and for the next two days we pretended everything was normal. Rocket Boy went to work, the twins went to daycare, and I did load after load of laundry.
On Friday we drove back to the Eastern Sierra, 125 miles north on Highway 395 to the town of Big Pine. There we met my sister and her husband and caravanned up to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. We took a lovely hike there...
...and afterwards relaxed in the parking lot (that's my sister in the photo). The boys did very well on the hike.
From there we drove another 60 miles north to Mammoth. We stayed in a fancy hotel there (my birthday present from my sister) for the next two nights. The next day, Saturday, we visited Convict Lake.
There's a good restaurant near the lake, but it wasn't available that day because there was a big wedding reception scheduled. So we drove on to Rock Creek Lake and found a place there that provided us with lunch food to take out (there were picnic tables nearby) and fabulously delicious pie.
Finally, I have to admit that one of the best parts of this vacation was the hotel pool, which we swam in each day.
This is actually one of the two hot tubs, not the pool proper. The "pool complex" was worth the price of the room (OK, easy for me to say since I didn't have to pay for it, but seriously, it was a wonderful set of pools). I do love a good swimming pool.
And the next day, Sunday, we drove back to Ridgecrest. Not as sad as it sounds, because think about it, we are only 200 miles -- or less -- from all these fabulous places. We live just a short drive from heaven.
I'm not going to write very much in this blog post, just show photos. My memories of the two trips are primarily visual, so it's appropriate. Suffice it to say that they were both wonderful trips.
The Eastern Sierra is so beautiful. For our first vacation, we drove 200 miles north on Highway 395 to June Lake. There we stayed in a cabin at the Big Rock Resort, with some of my cousins and other assorted relatives and friends (they had their own cabins). We arrived on Saturday, and on Sunday morning we took a hike. The photo above shows June Lake as viewed from the hike. And here's June Lake closer up, at the pier which was 100 yards or so from our cabin.
In this photo, Baby A is wearing a life jacket, but we never did manage to get either twin on any sort of boat. Rocket Boy went out on his own, and he and I went out together. That's OK, maybe next year. Here are my three men on the porch of our little cabin.
And here we are eating dinner with the group. All dinners were eaten outside the main cabin at these picnic tables. The weather was perfect -- not too hot, not cold, not rainy.
On Monday we all visited Mono Lake and the nearby ghost town of Bodie. Boos were concerned about visiting a ghost town, even though we swore there would not be ghosts. Here's Mono Lake.
And here we are in one of the old buildings in Bodie.
That evening we went up to Saddlebag Lake, where some of my cousins were camping, and had a barbecue. This is the sunset over the lake.
On Tuesday we drove back to Ridgecrest, and for the next two days we pretended everything was normal. Rocket Boy went to work, the twins went to daycare, and I did load after load of laundry.
On Friday we drove back to the Eastern Sierra, 125 miles north on Highway 395 to the town of Big Pine. There we met my sister and her husband and caravanned up to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. We took a lovely hike there...
...and afterwards relaxed in the parking lot (that's my sister in the photo). The boys did very well on the hike.
From there we drove another 60 miles north to Mammoth. We stayed in a fancy hotel there (my birthday present from my sister) for the next two nights. The next day, Saturday, we visited Convict Lake.
There's a good restaurant near the lake, but it wasn't available that day because there was a big wedding reception scheduled. So we drove on to Rock Creek Lake and found a place there that provided us with lunch food to take out (there were picnic tables nearby) and fabulously delicious pie.
Finally, I have to admit that one of the best parts of this vacation was the hotel pool, which we swam in each day.
This is actually one of the two hot tubs, not the pool proper. The "pool complex" was worth the price of the room (OK, easy for me to say since I didn't have to pay for it, but seriously, it was a wonderful set of pools). I do love a good swimming pool.
And the next day, Sunday, we drove back to Ridgecrest. Not as sad as it sounds, because think about it, we are only 200 miles -- or less -- from all these fabulous places. We live just a short drive from heaven.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Plum cake
Rocket Boy's birthday (we won't say which one) was yesterday, and so I made him a plum cake, which has become his traditional birthday cake. I first made a plum cake several years ago for my book group, because we were reading a Regency Romance that month (just to find out what that was), and I wanted to serve something from Regency times. I did a little research and discovered plum cake. I don't think my book group thought much of it, but Rocket Boy and I loved it. We were so sad when we finished it.
For his birthday that year, I made another plum cake, and I've made one on his birthday almost every year since. I'm not sure why I do this. It takes forever to make plum cake -- this year I spent all Sunday afternoon making it, and it didn't come out of the oven until 7 pm. Furthermore, Rocket Boy hates his birthday, hates to acknowledge that he's getting older. He would be thrilled if I just ignored it altogether.
But I just can't do that. I understand his feelings, and I NEVER mention how old he is on his card, or to the twins, or whatever. But to me, a birthday is always a celebration, because it's so wonderful that you've made it through another year -- you're still here with us. I just have to do something to show him how glad I am that he's still here. So I make a plum cake.
All the plum cakes I have made have been delicious, each a little different. I use a recipe from the Barbara Pym Cookbook (I am probably the only person on earth who owns this cookbook). Here is the recipe, with my alterations in italics. Incidentally, you will note that there are no plums in plum cake.
PLUM CAKE
3/4 pound (350 g) butter
1 1/3 cups (225 g) sugar (I use super fine sugar)
4 eggs
2 cups (350 g) flour (DON'T use whole wheat, not a good idea)
1/2 teaspoon mixed spice (Pumpkin Pie spice is the closest American equivalent)
Pinch of salt
3/4 cup (110 g) chopped glaceed cherries (yuck yuck yuck, I usually substitute dried cranberries)
3/4 cup (110 g) raisins (I use golden raisins)
3/4 cup (110 g) sultanas (whatever those are -- I use currants)
3/4 cup (110 g) chopped almonds (my main variation is to use more nuts -- this year I replaced them with 3/4 cup chopped walnuts AND 3/4 cup chopped pecans, other years I've had 3 kinds of nuts)
3/4 cup (110 g) chopped candied lemon, orange, or mixed peel (yuck yuck yuck, this year I substituted chopped dried apricots and dried blueberries)
Grated rind of 1 lemon and 1 orange
Glass of brandy (optional) (I usually skip it)
Preheat oven to 300 F (150 C). Cream butter and sugar, then add eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition until mixture is stiff and uniform. Sift the flour with the spice and salt, stir well into creamed mixture, then add everything else. Combine thoroughly and bake in a tin (I use a springform pan) lined with greased paper (I use parchment paper, buttered) for about 3 1/2 hours. (I usually take it out after 3 hours.) Do not let top burn. (I put a piece of foil lightly over it when it's getting dark.)
I add one more step after the cake has cooled a bit -- I squeeze the orange and lemon (the ones that gave up their rinds for the cake) and mix all that juice with powdered sugar to taste (we don't like it too sweet). Then I take the cake out of its pan, peel the paper off, set it on the glass plate that you can see in the picture, and slowly pour the glaze over it. This year I also sprinkled a little powdered sugar on top, but that's quite unnecessary. When the glaze has soaked in completely, the cake is ready to cut and serve. It's heavenly. Really. Even Baby A liked it this year.
Maybe next year Baby B will like it.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Patriots Day and Oktoberfest
We tried to have a simpler weekend, with just one activity planned, and it almost worked. Tehachapi was having a little Oktoberfest on Saturday afternoon, so we thought we'd go to that. But the first Salon of the fall was Friday night, so then we thought we'd do that too. And then our babysitter mentioned that she was going to the Parade of Flags on Saturday morning, so we added that to the list.
Ridgecrest, not at all surprisingly, goes all out for Patriots Day (I hate that name), with a parade of hundreds of people carrying 1000 flags. Patriots Day, of course, was today, not yesterday, but everyone in Ridgecrest except us goes to church on Sunday, so you can't be having a parade then.
It started at 9 am and we didn't even get out of the house until 9:15, so we missed the parade down Ridgecrest and China Lake Boulevards. We drove straight to Freedom Park, where the parade ended, and watched all the people walk in with their flags. MORON that I am, I had forgotten the camera. Actually, I don't think I realized how photogenic the event would be. It really was very dramatic, not to mention creepy, with a substantial portion of the population carrying these enormous flags. They marched into the park and mounted each flag on pieces of concrete rebar that had been stuck in the grass at regular intervals. We left as soon as the flag people finished marching in, because there were going to be speeches by our (Republican) state senator and state representative, and gosh, we thought we could skip that.
I don't know, I have such mixed feelings about this whole thing. As I've said before, I remember 9/11 as being a terribly sad occasion. I will never forget -- however much I might want to -- the sight of those buildings collapsing, the people jumping out to their deaths. Nor will I forget the "coming together" that happened afterwards, when I happily stood in a long long line at work to give blood -- closely followed by the patriot paranoia, when people covered their cars with flags and if you opposed the war in Iraq you were accused of "not supporting the troops."
I don't understand why the sad anniversary of that sad day has to be called Patriots Day. What does that even mean? Are we saying that the people who died were patriots? Or are we saying that the events of 9/11 turned us all into patriots? Or is it just a way to justify the continuation of the Patriot Act?
After lunch, we drove to Tehachapi, which is only about 70 miles away, in the mountains toward Bakersfield. We had been there the previous weekend as well, and a huge fire had just started burning in the mountains the day before we went -- we watched it with interest. Now, as we approached the city, we saw a fire in the mountains. "Hey," I said. "I thought the Canyon fire was pretty much out."
"That fire's not out," Rocket Boy said. "I see flames!"
"Wait, that's not where the other fire was," I said. "It's a different mountain."
We pulled off the road and took the photo above, which does not begin to show how dramatic this fire was. Sure enough, we found out it was a new fire, caused by lightning. Actually three fires, all rapidly spreading. We watched with interest.
Oktoberfest was not nearly as exciting as the fires, but it was pleasant. An ethnic celebration for white people, and just as bland as that sounds. Here's the lederhosen contest (won by the guy second from left -- I thought the guy with the long beard should have won).
We spent most of our time playing in the park -- there's a little train to play on downtown near the festivities, and we also walked a few blocks to another park. Around 5 pm the sky was looking really threatening, so we decided to have dinner.
For $10 you got a gigantic brautwurst, a brotchen to put it in, a scoop of potato salad, a scoop of sauerkraut, and a non-alcoholic beverage (beer was extra -- we skipped that). We bought 3 plates and encouraged the boos to share. What would a good Weight Watcher do with this, I wondered. Even the sauerkraut (the vegetable, right?) was full of bacon. After we finished, Baby B said to me, "My tummy hurts," and I had to agree.
By then the raindrops were starting to fall and the sky was full of lightning, so we went home. Baby A is terrified of lightning, so he wore a towel over his head all the way home. We put them to bed and a few minutes later the storm hit Ridgecrest. Nice to get some moisture, I must say.
This morning (Sunday), the real Patriots Day, we went back to Freedom Park to look at the flags again (they survived the storm unscathed). Unencumbered by Republicans, I was able to see them a little differently. Instead of a fascist display, each flag seemed to be standing in for one of those people who died. And honestly, a flag seemed like a nice way to represent them. I like my country, I like its flag. I hate what people turn it into -- wielding their flags like weapons. But in that quiet space I was able to feel my own little memorial. Sad for the people who died, glad they could be a flag.
Ridgecrest, not at all surprisingly, goes all out for Patriots Day (I hate that name), with a parade of hundreds of people carrying 1000 flags. Patriots Day, of course, was today, not yesterday, but everyone in Ridgecrest except us goes to church on Sunday, so you can't be having a parade then.
It started at 9 am and we didn't even get out of the house until 9:15, so we missed the parade down Ridgecrest and China Lake Boulevards. We drove straight to Freedom Park, where the parade ended, and watched all the people walk in with their flags. MORON that I am, I had forgotten the camera. Actually, I don't think I realized how photogenic the event would be. It really was very dramatic, not to mention creepy, with a substantial portion of the population carrying these enormous flags. They marched into the park and mounted each flag on pieces of concrete rebar that had been stuck in the grass at regular intervals. We left as soon as the flag people finished marching in, because there were going to be speeches by our (Republican) state senator and state representative, and gosh, we thought we could skip that.
I don't know, I have such mixed feelings about this whole thing. As I've said before, I remember 9/11 as being a terribly sad occasion. I will never forget -- however much I might want to -- the sight of those buildings collapsing, the people jumping out to their deaths. Nor will I forget the "coming together" that happened afterwards, when I happily stood in a long long line at work to give blood -- closely followed by the patriot paranoia, when people covered their cars with flags and if you opposed the war in Iraq you were accused of "not supporting the troops."
I don't understand why the sad anniversary of that sad day has to be called Patriots Day. What does that even mean? Are we saying that the people who died were patriots? Or are we saying that the events of 9/11 turned us all into patriots? Or is it just a way to justify the continuation of the Patriot Act?
After lunch, we drove to Tehachapi, which is only about 70 miles away, in the mountains toward Bakersfield. We had been there the previous weekend as well, and a huge fire had just started burning in the mountains the day before we went -- we watched it with interest. Now, as we approached the city, we saw a fire in the mountains. "Hey," I said. "I thought the Canyon fire was pretty much out."
"That fire's not out," Rocket Boy said. "I see flames!"
"Wait, that's not where the other fire was," I said. "It's a different mountain."
We pulled off the road and took the photo above, which does not begin to show how dramatic this fire was. Sure enough, we found out it was a new fire, caused by lightning. Actually three fires, all rapidly spreading. We watched with interest.
Oktoberfest was not nearly as exciting as the fires, but it was pleasant. An ethnic celebration for white people, and just as bland as that sounds. Here's the lederhosen contest (won by the guy second from left -- I thought the guy with the long beard should have won).
We spent most of our time playing in the park -- there's a little train to play on downtown near the festivities, and we also walked a few blocks to another park. Around 5 pm the sky was looking really threatening, so we decided to have dinner.
For $10 you got a gigantic brautwurst, a brotchen to put it in, a scoop of potato salad, a scoop of sauerkraut, and a non-alcoholic beverage (beer was extra -- we skipped that). We bought 3 plates and encouraged the boos to share. What would a good Weight Watcher do with this, I wondered. Even the sauerkraut (the vegetable, right?) was full of bacon. After we finished, Baby B said to me, "My tummy hurts," and I had to agree.
By then the raindrops were starting to fall and the sky was full of lightning, so we went home. Baby A is terrified of lightning, so he wore a towel over his head all the way home. We put them to bed and a few minutes later the storm hit Ridgecrest. Nice to get some moisture, I must say.
This morning (Sunday), the real Patriots Day, we went back to Freedom Park to look at the flags again (they survived the storm unscathed). Unencumbered by Republicans, I was able to see them a little differently. Instead of a fascist display, each flag seemed to be standing in for one of those people who died. And honestly, a flag seemed like a nice way to represent them. I like my country, I like its flag. I hate what people turn it into -- wielding their flags like weapons. But in that quiet space I was able to feel my own little memorial. Sad for the people who died, glad they could be a flag.
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