Gobble gobble

Besides the usual squirrels, moles, skunks, raccoons and deer, we have wild turkeys!

Last year a pair were prowling around the hood and were seen hopping off my neighbor's roof. Last week a family of a half dozen congregated around another neighbor's front yard. Guess they're not practicing family planning! This week I captured this one:

turkey on my front fence

They look robust and healthy but I've been advised to avoid these unfriendly creatures.

Urban Tale: recovery of stolen vehicle

The van was stolen from in front of the house in the middle of the night in early August. We'd joked about it being the ideal vehicle for criminal activities: big black van with tinted windows and only a driver's seat. Lots of cargo room! As the weeks went by, chances of recovery got slimmer.

In late September my partner left to do a 500-mile pilgrimage walk from France to Santiago, Spain. He allowed two months, but finished in 4 weeks. You can read about it and see photos from his pilgrimage here.

Meanwhile mail arrived from California Highway Patrol. Turns out the van was "recovered" on 10/19 and towed to a storage yard. To get it out he had to pay the fees: $190 for towing and $75 a day for storage. It was day five. You do the math.

They also required a release from the California Highway Patrol which meant a notarized letter from him authorizing me to pick up the van because I was not the registered owner. By this time we found this out, it was bedtime in Spain. >Ding!< add $75.

The next morning I was off to the CHP office by 8am with the precious notarized letter >Ding!< add $100. I paid the fees (>Ding!< add another $70 for title search) before they walked me out to the van. I had the key, but didn't need it. The thieves broke the ignition - anyone could've started the van with a screwdriver. And they locked a Club onto the steering wheel!

not my Club!

The towing yard couldn't get the Club off. Turns out the van wouldn't start anyway. So AAA towed it home. At least I didn't pay extra for that.

The $600 van has racked up costs of $810 for this incident. It obviously needs new license plates, door locks and ignition; the Club removed; and whatever fix to start it again. Unless the same thieves come back and fix it, it'd be waiting for him.

How much more will it cost to get it running again? Do you hear bells ringing?

Esoterica:

• In California, if the vehicle is picked up by the third day of storage, then no storage fees are charged. In this case, they recovered the van on a Saturday and didn't write and mail the report until the CHP office opened on Monday. Three days were up at a blink of the eye!
• The storage yard will keep a vehicle worth less than $4000 for 30 days before selling it. If the sale price does not cover the fees then they will send collections after the owner for the difference.
• The owner can offer the pink slip to the storage yard before the 30 days are up, but again, if the sale price does not cover the fees, then they will send collections after the owner for the difference.
• Avoid having your vehicle towed in a city like San Francisco. The storage yard advised me they charge for storage by the hour!
• A friend had a vehicle parked on a Berkeley street while she was out of the country. Her neighbor reported the vehicle because it hadn't moved for more than 72 hours. She had to jump through similar hoops to get her vehicle out of storage. The 72-hour rule is California law. 

The lessons learned:

• Don't leave the country if you are the sole registered owner of a stolen vehicle. Unresolved business comes back with a bite! 
• Get insurance coverage for theft and vandalism even if the vehicle is not worth much. It doesn't cost much and may help cover all the fees that rack up. 

cargo trash

Wire diversions

I've long admired Mari Andrews' sculptures ever since visiting her studio a number of years ago. Now am looking forward to her exhibition Over, Under and Inside Out at the San Jose Institute of Contemporary Art. 

Mari Andrews' Hold Mari Andrews' Propensitus Gravitas

Two years ago she offered a one-day workshop called Paperless Drawing - Wire Sculpture at the Richmond Art Center. But the timing didn't work. This year I had another chance so I broke with my nose-to-the-grindstone routine.

After learning about wire - types, gauges, tools, knots - I played, adding other paraphernalia to wire, to create these two small sculptures:

I'm still having fun toying with their orientation.

It was a terrific diversion from the rigors of piecing. Maybe I'll make one every day week month. Oh, heck, just make another one . . .  whenever . . . then another . . .

Ciao!

A big project has come to fruition. But it's not be what you might think. I've survived a butt-numbing flight to Italy!

Tonight I'm staying near Marco Polo airport. Tomorrow the real vacation starts: Trieste, Padova, Feltre and Venice. It's been a long time since a vacation does not mean a week-long workshop!

Ciao, bella y bello!

It's over

I'm done with it.

Income taxes, that is. Met with my accountant today. From sifting through a lot of paperwork, I can see the top of my desk. Oh, it's just a temporary state - paperwork is not my friend.

It's not like I haven't been in the studio. I've been in the studio working on the studio. The new studio is taking shape bit by bit. It's now in that good early stage when it's functional and not too cluttered. Only because I haven't completely cleared out the old studio.

The new worktable has leg bases too big to recess into the risers.  My amateur engineered solution:

worktable leg base

The square board on top is screwed into a thicker board sitting in the recess and clamps down the leg base - a diagonal strip - to keep it from slipping off the riser. Wherever the table goes, the risers go with it.

I've mounted pegboards to hold tools.

pegboard wall

Fun figuring out how to keep the more commonly used tools within reach. The idea is to keep my worktable clearer. Easy to put tools away, but the worktable gets cluttered anyway with current projects.

The studio essentials are there: worktable, design wall, sewing machine and iron. I am working in there though it is still developing.  Just not working very productively. More about that next time.

Zoom!

Last post was about the small and medium sized bumps occurring before and during my last trip. The biggest bump happened a week and a half before my trip.

On my way to the gym and only a quarter mile from home, a minivan driver flung open his door just as I drove by. Thankfully no one was hurt.

not pretty

And you should see the other car's crumpled door! The driver won't be doing that again! The insurance company was very prompt and the settlement check was waiting for me when I returned home.

After some research, I opted for a new car instead of repairing this 13-year-old. More research and dealer visits for test drives consumed many days.

New cars have a lot of techno toys, a lot of computerized controls and parts. Hybrids even more so. I test drove four of them then decided they weren't for me despite the good gas mileage.

At the Barn's Sunday night dinner, they always pose a question to each of us. Last time they'd asked: what was your first car? My first car was not so interesting: a Ford sedan retired from the state of California. But my favorite car? One just like the ad below.

Experts say we love listening to oldies but goodies because those tunes have become ingrained in our brain and body. It must be the same for cars. I drove the RX-7 for 21 years. When I got behind the wheel of a new Mazda3, it felt like right - space-wise, transmission-wise, handling-wise. I knew immediately it was the car for me.

Bedtime reading is now the one-inch thick owner's manual. Gosh, the Advanced Keyless Entry and Start System chapter alone is 66 (boring and confusing) pages!

I still have my Jetta to sell or dispose of (any takers?) but I'm ready to zoom zoom zoom back to more routine life and art!

Speed bumps

Okay. I know everyone encounters bumps on the road of life. Maybe it's just me, but my road seems to suddenly add a few extra bumps whenever I am going to a workshop at the Barn. The two weeks before the trip started most inauspicously. Are the gods telling me something?

Half a week before the trip, my cell phone died suddenly and inexplicably. It was only 2.5 years old. So I replaced it with a different model.

I started the trip with a visit to a good friend near Detroit. After deplaning my new cell phone malfunctioned and then totally quit. Not even a week old.

Thanks to push button technology, who memorizes phone numbers anymore? I panicked before remembering my printed itinerary with phone numbers. And the airport had pay phones. Old fashion technology saved the day. The area's T-mobile store graciously replaced the phone.

A week later, passing through Chicago airport on the way to the Barn, Southwest Airlines lost my luggage. Not the suitcase full of personal stuff but the big duffel bag with quilts and most workshop supplies. Chicago airport is notorious for losing luggage.

Once again, the printed itinerary came in handy: Southwest wanted an address and phone number for delivery - should the duffel be found. It was still missing Monday morning. Southwest's standard reply: they're actively looking for it.

Due to the generosity of the other workshop participants - special thanks to Meredith - I was able to work on the first exercise. All whilst imagining the worst about my missing luggage. If it's really lost, I would be out many many hours of work. Enough to make any grown woman cry.

Then early afternoon I got a message: duffel found and on its way to Columbus. Who knows where it had been. I was just immensely relieved when Bill Morgan delivered it to the Barn before dinner.

For the return trip home, I split up my precious cargo. I would've done that even if I weren't going through Chicago. Lesson learned: halve the valuables, halve the worries, halve the loss.

Those were the medium bumps.

Partly because I'm an unseasoned traveller, partly because I'm a techno-dolt - I encountered a few small bumps too. My cell phone wasn't usable at all in Toronto even though I got a message about roaming charges when I first crossed the border. My iPad got no AT&T cellular data service in Canada nor at the Barn. Service was sketchy the whole trip. I managed anyway without these tech toys. And credit card charges in Canada were denied until I called them - at least they're looking out for me.

Next time I'll tell you about the big bump that occurred a couple weeks before the trip and resonated afterwards.

Spell relief

I had anticipated a month of jury duty. Weeks of public transit to the courthouse in downtown Oakland. Sit in the jury box and pay attention. Four days a week. I'm feeling antsy already.

Last Monday the judge provided some basic information: attempted murder, criminal case, but no capital punishment. Hmm, could be interesting.

The experienced one estimated a month for the trial. A soft collective intake of breath from prospective jurors.

Each of us filled out a lengthy questionnaire for the attorneys’ review. Then we were free until the following Monday. Unless we got a call otherwise.

Meanwhile I was advised by friends and acquaintances about how to avoid jury duty. Yet I resigned myself to be selected and serve.

The $15 per day would cover bus fare and lunch. I’d miss my free time – but hey! I’m retired! In exchange I get real experience – not a fictionalized dramatized televised version. I won't get rich, but enriched. My only time as a juror was for a prostitution charge. That was an education. 

I would have regretted missing one day out of each upcoming two-day workshops: Discover Your Shape Vocabulary with Terry Jarrard-Dimond and Deconstructed Screen Printing with Kerr Grabowski.  I really looked forward to these. Oh well. Half a workshop is better than nothing.

Terry Jarrard-Dimond



Kerr Grabowski

Nevertheless, I was much relieved when I got the call: excused from jury duty! I don't question why, just happy I can count on business as usual.

Falling in love

I fell in love at Neiman Marcus.

With this purse.

Neiman Marcus opened a store in San Francisco a number of years ago. But I've never crossed their threshold.

Then earlier this month, they opened in the shopping mecca of Walnut Creek. I was in town for sewing machine accessories, so why not indulge in window shopping heaven.

The lace front is so not me. The color wasn't this understated taupe, but RED. So not me. I didn't notice the name - Valentino - until I was infatuated. Designer names are so not me. 

Why do I love this purse? I love how it is so feminine yet tailored, well crafted without extraneous hardware, the perfect size and well-thought out compartments.

A good purse is so hard to find.

Nevertheless, I can't even imagine paying as much for a purse as the sales tax would be on this one. So I'm sticking with my plain old black leather bag.

Now that is so me.

Cranky factors

After Saturday night's dinner, my friend remarked that I always get cranky when I get together with my side of the family.

True.

I sewed a little gift for my mother's birthday. She tossed it aside with disgust.

I learned my sister doesn't keep in touch with my Chicago cousin even though they went together on a cruise of the Yangtze River a few years ago. Because of my cousin involvement with Hispanic friends, advocates of immigrants' rights.

I learned my sister's fiance won't travel to any third world countries. Not at all. Explains why my sister travelled with my cousin. Explains those hateful e-mails that my sister forwards.

Another sister remarked on the abundance of gray hair. Said it makes me look old. Told me to dye it. She'll turn 60 in October.

This same sister lives next door to my mother yet arrived without her. When questioned about my mother's tardiness, she jabbered excuses. And kept jabbering until I vanquished her into the restaurant while I waited outside.

That's half the family. The other half were too far across an immense round table in a noisy room to have a decent conversation.

Yes. I got cranky.

Reflecting life

In a public place with a lot of luggage. More than I can carry. An important matter calls for me. I am torn. Left unattended, they may not be there later.

Anxiety. Awoken I realized I've had this dream before.

New age

One decade has passed. A new one begun.

I celebrated my 61st birthday last week. I hardly believe it. I feel like a kid. Yeah, sometimes act like one too. Until my body reminds me. 

Cataract Falls

In his Outdoor and Sunday Drive columns for the San Francisco Chronicle, Tom Stienstra (the one writer I read in the newspaper's Sports section) has extolled the trails to beautiful waterfalls in the Marin Watershed . Until recently, adequate rainfall, good weather and free time have never fortuitously coincided.

When a day of gorgeous weather popped up after a rainy day in the middle of Memorial weekend, I dropped everything and opted for a hike on the longest - 2 miles - and steepest - 750-foot climb - trail of the three – Cataract Trail.

Cataract Falls is not one long drop, like you may find in Yosemite, but a series of cascades, all more beautiful than these photos can reveal. A hobbit's stone house sits in a pool at the foot of one cascade.

Wildflowers bloomed along the trail.

 


 

 

The wildflowr at left with its hooks may have been the inspiration for Velcro.

A lizard takes advantage of the sun in the shelter of a hollowed out tree.




A respite in the picnic dell at the top. After two hours up the trail, sitting felt wonderful.

Another hour back down the trail and justification for a hearty meal.

A good day. 

Give him a 10

I ask for your help in supporting a friend. Vote for his $300 house concept:
http://www.jovoto.com/contests/300house/ideas/12790

The contest has only two days left. His idea ranked no. 11 last I looked.

No fooling

I got my income tax returns done today. Really! No April's fool!

You usually hear a lot of moaning from me this time of year. I've taken a more positive stance. Be more adult 'cuz crying doesn’t help.

So for the past week I’ve hunkered down with receipts, spreadsheets, 1098s, 1099s, schedule. I pulled it all together for my appointment with the accountant this morning. Whew! That’s done! Now let’s get back to art!

Sweetheart's weekend

The weekend with my sweetheart started on Friday. Made special foods. Fed him. Catered to his needs. But it's not what you think.

Last Monday started with pain centered around his left eye. The doctor suspected trigeminal neuralgia. By Thursday night it was twice as bad - like "trying to push the eyeball out of its socket".  Bumps appeared on his face. Three calls to the after-hours advice nurse and a night of extreme discomfort. He almost woke me at 3am for a trip to the emergency room.

Friday morning at the doctors. The revised diagnosis: shingles - his first attack. The prescription for Vicodin caused a delay at the pharmacy but any waiting was nearly unbearable for him. So I took him home, and returned for his meds.

I set up his med schedule. Administered drugs and eye drops. Ensured he had water. Cooked the few foods he could tolerate: jello and pudding. And even spoon fed him. My sweetheart expressed his appreciation for this nurse-maid many times.

Today he's better though half his face looks like hell – lesions, swollen eyelid, enlarged lymph node on the neck. I am back at work knowing he has healed enough to administer his own meds.

That box of chocolates will wait until his appetite returns.

On the verge

Life is spinning out of control when I got a check and can't recall depositing it. Nor can I find it. Oh-oh.

Over the rainbow

A local tv station use to televise Wizard of Oz annually. Always on a Sunday because I'd always missed a section due to the family dinner hour. That movie started me on a reading adventure through every Oz book at the library.

The local jazz station (publicly supported  & you can listen over the web) recently played Somewhere over the Rainbow - though sung by Eva Cassidy, not Judy Garland. Nevertheless it stirred up an old memory once again.

I am on the roof of my parent's house to hang laundry on the clotheslines. It's a beautiful San Francisco mid morning with sunshine and a mild breeze. But I am very sad and long for a happier place. I wish for ruby slippers . . . to click three times . . . to be elsewhere.

I don't remember why I was so unhappy but my childhood was not the best. I've had this vision many times. And the same emotions with it. Everytime I hear this song. Such is its power.

Taxing time

Too bad skipping this is not an option. Two weeks ago, as soon as some necessary paperwork came in, I imposed a deadline by making an appointment with my accountant. Thanks to some prior cleanup of paperwork piles, I managed to pull together all documentation and numbers for the tax returns over the weekend. Then spent last night massaging them into my accountant's forms. In less than an hour this morning, he hashed out the numbers into returns and e-filed. Thank goodness it's done. Back to quilting.

The front garden

When I'm not in the studio, you might find me in the garden.

When I moved into this fixer upper in 2000, it needed fixing both inside and outside. I took on the responsibility of garden planning and plantings. Gone now is the old camellia that dropped thousands of tiny blooms and required many hours of pickup. Gone now is the weedy Bermuda grass lawn.

Here are photos of what it looked like in 2006 and what it looks like now:

I love the way this part of my front yard turned out. The fresh smell of lemon verbena and resinous smell of Russian sage. Feather reed grass dancing with the breeze. Textures and colors galore: spiky orange and green libertia, furry red kangaroo paws, bronzy red flax, round bright yellow-green leaves of the smoke tree, fuzzy gray-green leaves and fuzzy purple flower plumes of Russian sage, and tall buff seed heads of the reed grass.

If I'm not down in the studio, I can look out the window at this.