Outside the Optometrist
WOMAN AT CAR: So, do you want me to follow you?
MAN: Yes.
WOMAN: So, do you want to describe how we're going in case we get separated?
MAN: If I thought you could follow directions, I'd give them to you.
Fire Hydrants Make Me Want to Use the Bathroom
I can now say I've lived from sea to shining sea. Granted, neither side of the country is bounded by a sea, and I have not lived anywhere near the ocean, but I have lived in the state of the redwood forests and in the state of the New York island.
Oh, wait, those are two different songs?
Never mind.
At any rate, I lived and went to university in Upstate New York. It was an idyllic time, really; I was so young and had no responsibilities. Sure, I was picking up debt like a prison work-release highway litter patrol, but I loved being in school and playing in wind tunnels and working on computer programs in the stone chapel.
So, I've moved out here to California and I was awfully tickled to find that many of Nevada City's fire hydrants have been marked with the name of my alma mater. How welcoming is that? That's the advantage of a small town, folks.
Of course, in addition to being the name of my school, Rensselaer is the name of the county in New York, and also of a small town south of Troy. Perhaps they were not honoring me after all.
And here I am picking up debt again. At least some things never change.
Fun with Google
A couple of things from the Googlewebs.
This is from Autocomplete Me. I liked a lot of these, but when I did the searches I found so many of them were actually movie quotes...
And
Do you have friends who always ask questions that they should be able to find out for themselves? Try this link for any question: What is the elevation of Nevada City California
Odd that a co-worker pointed this site out to me...
Finally
We are finally officially residents of Nevada City, California, a small city in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Although we're over an hour to the border, our county reaches over to touch the state of Nevada. We're only slightly closer to the Sacramento airport than the Reno/Tahoe airport, but winter will generally keep me flying out of Sacramento as the snow along I-80 is often heavy. Sadly, we're down at about 2600 feet, so we'll not see as much snow, but it is within striking distance.
There it is, the first picture of our new home. It's not a great picture, but it's hard to complain about the sun being so nice and bright.
We finally received our loan funding and the keys yesterday afternoon. So we ran right over and touched the house that now belongs to us. It's going to be quite an experience living with three bathrooms and .8 acre of trees after the little row home coop we had in Greenbelt. I hope it's not too much for us.
We've already met one of our three neighbors. She was out leaf blowing the road. She told us she usually does the whole street and she had done our driveway a few days ago. I wonder if she'll shovel it, too. Although we're inside the city, our road is a private road, so whatever the snow there is will be our problem.
It just struck me that Nevada City's 2800 residents must be fewer than the number of residents in the 1600 units of the Greenbelt cooperative.
At any rate, I'm hoping there's enough snow on our trees to make the view out these windows nice this winter.
We're not yet actually living in the place, however. The movers haven seemed interested in telling us when they might bring our stuff, so we have nowhere to sit or sleep. Soon, though, I hope. Soon.
Morning Call and Emo-ville
So, we still don't own a house, but I've been living out here on the west coast for a month now. I'm more emotional than I expected to be.
I'm also hungrier than I expected to be. Every morning, the team of coaches I work with has a phone-based "huddle." The coaches are all over the country and we have a half-hour sync up. When I was back in DC, the call wasn't until 11:30. Over here in Nevada City, the call is at 8:30, which isn't really unreasonable, but I'm finding I haven't always had a chance to eat breakfast before the meeting.
And not eating makes me grumpy. Being sick makes me want to be hugged. Not sleeping well makes me, uh, tired. So I have a lot of things to blame this hopefully temporary weirdness on.
If it doesn't go away, I'm going to dye my hair black, try to grow out a forelock over my eyes, and change my name to Peter Petrelli.
The picture is another wonderful selection from the amazing indicommons collection.
Also, since the gift-giving season is nearly upon us, let me point out another little gift that would not be appreciated by anybody I know: Anything called an "emo bracelet"
Nerves
So, I've found myself overhearing a lot of religious conversations lately. Last week in Boulder, there was a group of men sitting in the breakfast restaurant chewing the fat. One man told the story of how hummingbirds ride the backs of other birds to get down to Mexico. This amazing story was was followed by many appreciative grunts, including comments about how great God is and how there's no way that this world wasn't designed.
A few seconds later, the conversation turned favorably to a documentary called something like "Everybody Has an Enemy." They described a nature film showing animals being eaten by other animals (and "this African guy running away from a lion").
Yeah, great design: building in enemies for everybody.
Then on the airplane this week, a woman went on at length about her church work, which is fine: people talk about work. Cool. It was when she got into words like "abomination" and "iniquity" and "have to pay" that I got nervous. I don't want to hear about how the Bible is telling sinners where they're headed when flying so high above the ground. I certainly don't want to hear that note of self-initiative in her voice...
Wow
Laramie, Wyoming
Nice to be back making these little guys on the road. Wyoming is pretty sparse, so I'm not sure that somebody's going to just happen by and see these guys.
In Wyoming, it's all about the cowboys. This one seems to be missing something.
The other thing Wyoming's all about: horses.
Wonder where he got such a playful horse.
It's all so clear.
We're driving west and have made it past Salt Lake City. I've run out of clay, which is probably good since I don't know what Mormons' sense of humor might be like.
Thirsty in San Carlos
Meet a little dude with a cup.
Oh and here's a tiny turtle.
It looks like they're lined up for something.
What are they waiting for?
Maybe they couldn't find the Irn Bru.
Liquid Gold
Oh, man. I'm walking the streets of San Carlos, scoping out shooting locations for wee toaty explorers when I pass a British store. And inside said British store, visible from the window, is pure liquid treasure from Scotland. And not only that, but they have the sugar free version:
Thank goodness I drove here! I can take some home.
Irn Bru is an orange soda with added iron and caffeine. The story in Glasgow was that homeowner's insurance could come with a special Irn Bru rider for stains in the rugs, it was so hard to get out. It tastes about like what you'd expect a ferric orange soda to taste like. It's so bad, it's awesome!
So the only question left is what to eat with this wonderful virgin apéritif? Well, what could America offer that could equal to iron-laden, innards-staining goodness?
Yeah, a good bit of nitrates should do the trick.
On the way down here, I stopped at a gas station somewhere west of Davis. (It's so weird to be heading toward the coast and be heading west. It's very hard to overcome habit when choosing interstate exits. "Goin' to the sea, gotta choose I-80 East. No, wait, dang.") A guy in Charles Nelson Reilly glasses came over to inspect my windshield while I tried to fill up.
I told him that I didn't care if there were cracks, it wasn't my car. He said that it was okay because the window didn't have any cracks or chips. I'm sure it was just my imagination that filled in the extra "yet" at the end of his statement. The reincarnated Charles Nelson Reilly is going around threatening to smash windshields, people. Somebody bring back Match Game PM, quick.
Another neat thing was this place called Suisun Bay, which seems to be a storage place for ships. They're just sitting there, tied together, waiting for a war. They're not going to be ready, it looks like.
Boy, I should change the title of this blog to The Abbot's Slideshow Travelogue. I hope you're not bored. There are only two carousels left.
Or were they called carrels?
Anyway, tell me whether you think this guy's name is real:
Remember the Good Old Days: War, Protest, Goin' to Jail
So, I've always had this problem. My head is full of songs; I'm a-buzz with music. And it pops out when I'm not paying attention. I don't mind that. It's fun to have a constant soundtrack. The problem is that I only know about five words from any of those songs that live in the ol' noggin. "WE may never pass this way again...hmm hmm hmm... WE may never pass this way again..." On and on.
I think it drives the people around me nuts.
"Don't you want somebody to love? ... la la la la .. uh, Don't you want somebody to love? Don't you want somebody to love..." And on and on and on.
Driving you crazy yet?
A revelation came to me today via Chris Roberson's Interminable Ramble: It's TV's fault. I grew up on a steady diet of K-tel and Freedom Rock adverts:
I can't believe Dream Weaver isn't on that album.
What else has TV done to my brain?
WE may never pass this way again...
A Walk in the Woods
Nevada County (CA) is a part of the Nevada Irrigation District, which means that it is criss-crossed by a series of irrigation canals. These canals provide a way to move water from the snowy mountains down to houses and farms. More important (to me, for this post), they provide nice walking paths through some beautiful trees. Today, I walked along my first canal: the Banner Cascade Canal.
Parts of the canal are built up dirt and other natural ingredients.
Other parts have a concrete liner.
My personal image of a canal is based on my experiences with the C&O, the Erie and the Forth & Clyde canals. Those are big enterprises suited for boat traffic, with locks and goldfish and donkey tracks. The concrete-lined sections give this canal the look of an abandoned amusement park ride.
But don't be tempted to install a Small-World-After-All boat; the canal varies in size and parts are enclosed in piping. The piping is sparse, so mostly it's just a nice walk along rippling water.
On one section, adjacent landowners have installed home-made bridges. What entertains me is that several are retractable drawbridges of one sort or another. This swing bridge is probably the best of the lot.
For most of the time, you're embedded in trees too much to get a view, but when it pops out, it's lovely. I hope I can get back up here when there's some snow.
I don't know much about the canals and only stopped because I saw a sign at a parking pull out. So I have no idea how long the thing is. Where I joined the canal, there was a nice bench. You couldn't sit on the bench, but I thought it boded well for future opportunities for rest.
The sign says, "Wet! Please Don't You'se. Walt was from New York!" (Walt is on the plaque on the seat back.)
There were no other benches in the stretch I walked. As I walked along, the canal curved around a lot of hillsides. I kept hoping to come around the bend and see something. I'm not really sure what: maybe a lake or a big faucet, but something. The real trouble with a canal walk is that it is linear: it's not like a walk around the lake. Every step you take forward will have to be taken again in the other direction. Gosh, though, the hope of discovery was an addictive pull that dragged me beyond my own estimation of a reasonable halfway turnaround point. After about two hours, though, I came to the first road crossing and decided that was far enough. The canal is a big enterprise after all.
I took a break and played pooh sticks for a while. Then I hobbled back down the canal side. My feet hurt, but I figure after a four hour walk, I can now eat whatever the heck I want. But what do I want?
Ending?
So I unsubscribed from two email groups today, the Greenbelters and Greenbelt Geeks lists. All of our stuff is now in Chicago. It was taken in this truck:
I'm going to miss many aspects of life in a cooperative community, especially one so interesting and progressive. Even more, I am nervous about the likelihood of ever having neighbors so awesome as our zombie friends. I hope you all come to visit.
It's going to be a different kind of world out here in the Sierra Nevadas. I wouldn't be surprised if we run into nearly as many culture shocks as when we moved to Scotland. The blogging will continue, of course. There'll be plenty to write about with both a new job and a new home in the same year.
Some Signs to Tide You Over
Still pretty darn busy. I thought I'd clear out the iPhone cache while in the hospital waiting room.
This is a sign in a cafe in Nevada City. The next picture is a close up.
Packing
Not much activity at the blog 'cause we've been selling and looking and buying houses. And now we're going to be packing. A real post will arrive any day now. Keep checking the mail!
Post-Descriptive Terminology
Bowie Mike commented recently about explaining to kids that we actually used to have to roll down the windows. I was going to comment that I think it's interesting that I still call it "rolling down the windows" even when electrified and I wonder if young-uns are going to start calling it "closing the windows." (Do they ever even open them any more, with this fancy air conditioning that's going around? Oh, yeah, there's the drive-through...)
And, of course, our Civic still has window handles, as do half the cars I rent...
Do other people still say "dial a phone number?" We haven't really dialed in a while, and, for the most part, I use the address book feature to call people these days, but if I call a new number, I still think of it as "dialing." There must be a word for words that hang on after their descriptiveness has waned.
There must be other words that fit this category, or (like rolling up windows) are on their way. Put some in the comments section.
The National Hotel
We're back in Nevada City for some more house-hunting. We're staying at a Best Western tomorrow, but tonight the only place we could find was the historic hotel downtown. The light fixture is nice:
The wiring must be historic, too:
The sink's faucets are fascinating:
And the TV has these weird round doo-hickeys. The Brunette thinks they're called "knobs", but I think she's pulling my leg.
But at least we found a room. There's some sort of equestrian thing going on, so the hotels are all packed.
You Make Bathtime So Much Fun
Our cooperative is resurfacing our tub for us today in preparation for selling the house. They came up with a nice way to keep water from dripping into the tub.
The smell is overwhelming in here. I'm having trouble thinking straight. I had this strange thought: What if Starbuck were a girl? Wouldn't that be cool? I know, crazy-talk. It's the fumes, I tell you.
Setting Free the Bears (John Irving)
"If you were being tortured by an unknown assailant, would you be able to make a list of possible names from your past to try to identify the torturer?" I was with Leadbelly, my imaginary great uncle (on my sister's side). He was supposed to be packing, but once again I was out in the hallway with him. The Republican Retirement Ranch and Rest-home Rodeo was a warren of condos riddled with random hallways and corridors. (Don't believe for a second that I think there's a difference between hallways and corridors; it just seemed to flow there.) I've always pictured the place as a sort of old folks' zoo, a monkey house for OAPs.
"Your mind never stops squeaking, does it, boy?"
"I've just been reading Setting Free the Bears, and it makes me think -- "
"That's the problem right there, you see. Reading gets your brain working. Do you really think that's good for it?"
"Well, Great Uncle Leadbelly, I don't see it as a dangerous thing, no."
"That book you read is all about the War. If people read it and start to think about making another war, that'd be bad, yes?"
"Why, Great Uncle, I thought you were all pro-war and stuff."
Leadbelly halted his progress in the middle of the hallway. "Anyone who had charged up that hill with Teddy knows that, though war is sometimes necessary, it is never to be courted."
"Neither one of us has been anywhere near San Juan Hill. Still, that's awfully --"
"Unless the fight's against the commies, of course. Those Reds made their choice."
We had made it to Great Aunt Iva's condo. Leadbelly tapped lightly on the door and waited. There was no response. He pulled a key out of his pocket with more stealth than I like to see him display.
"I didn't know you had a key to Great Aunt Iva's place."
He shushed me. We entered the apartment. I returned to the subject of the book.
"At any rate, the book is about more than war. There's motorcycle riding, and a human chicken, and a plan to set free animals from a zoo."
"And these are things you're not really allowed to do, either, right?" He stood over Iva's cage of hamsters in the corner of her living room. Their names were Tom, Dick, and Harry.
"Just because people read something doesn't mean they'll do it."
"Oh?" Great Uncle Leadbelly lifted the door to the hamster cage and bellowed, "Fly! You're free!"
Tom, Dick and Harry stopped chewing and stared up at this vision of a prune of a human all red in the face and flapping his arms. Great Uncle Leadbelly beamed down at the hamsters. They did not seem impressed with their newly granted freedom. Tom extended a whisker to the paper towel tube, but withdrew it immediately.
"Go forth!" Great Uncle Leadbelly boomed. He made shooing motions with his hands. "'Fly on proud bird; You're free at last.'" Dick and Harry feigned attention, but Tom was distracted by the water bottle. Great Uncle Leadbelly sighed and pulled each hamster out of the cage. He placed them gently on the floor. They sat still, butt-to-butt, barely willing to wiggle their noses. The great expanse of open floor lay before them and they were unable to grok it. Leadbelly harrumphed. "This was not the stampede I was hoping for."
"You read the book!" I accused. But then my legs locked up as I heard a key in the door. I wavered a bit and fell over.
"What are you, a fainting goat?" Great Uncle ran to the closet. I recovered enough to jump in behind him. "This isn't right. She's supposed to be at fencing lessons." We peered through the cracked door to watch Great Aunt Iva entered her home. She immediately noticed the empty cage and the floor-bound hamsters. They had made a wild dash, too, in the confusion, and moved six or seven inches from where Leadbelly had placed them.
"Leadbelly!" Great Aunt Iva yelled; a cavernous, dark yell, full tilt with her head thrown back. "You low-down, stupid, ugly varmint."
"I guess Iva knows her torturer list pretty well," I whispered. We cringed in the closet and awaited our doom. I found myself urging the little hamsters to move. They didn't seem interested in freedom. Perhaps they preferred the safety of the cage. I think Leadbelly and I were hoping for a little safety, ourselves.
With a Little Help from a Friend
A boy and his dog sit in the sun in Grass Valley, California.
The boy looks like he's ready for some serious water sports.
California Dreamin'
So, we're here in Northern California and after a couple of days of customer interaction, we were able to head northeast for some house hunting. Along the way, we stopped in Sacramento.
Here is the view from the hotel window in Sacramento.
We won't be moving to Sacramento.
We looked at house with interesting neighbors:
His deck was all decked out as the prow of a pirate ship with two huge bells mounted to the left of the tree in the photo. Ropes led from the boat to long knockers that could be launched at the bells. I imagine that's more fun living next to than a church.
At least one hopes the bells don't go off every hour.
The water in the lake we liked so much last trip is a bit lower this time. But at least the ducks have found a home.
After a long day of wandering around, we returned to the hotel at Grass Valley to find that not everyone is very good at identifying car makes and models.
Do You Know the Way?
This was a quick two day session with the customer, then we're heading up to the mountains to look at houses. I took the time to make a little dude though.
This guy's been drinking something caffeinated I expect.
We can try to pan out a bit to see where the heck he is.
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