Monday, July 16, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Shot of a lifetime, and me without my camera!
I'm driving up the onramp at Grand Avenue, after a long and circuitous attempt to find the freeway entrance.
It looks like there's a building on fire on the right just before the freeway.
I drive to the top, looking over to see what's aflame.
SEMI TRUCK ablaze. I have a red light. Totally unimpeded view. No one is in front of me at the light. No one in the lane to my right. At the head of the line of traffic coming from the right, as if about to cross my path, there's a semi with its engine on fire. Flames are shooting out of the front. Heavy black smoke. I roll up my window. The wind is blowing away from me. There are a few pedestrians watching from a distance. Doesn't look to me like a safe distance. I am wondering what to do, whether it's safe to be stopped at the light with a truck possibly about to blow up fifteen yards away. Not my usual onramp, I don't know where I'll end up if I go left. Right is totally wrong, plus it takes me closer to the truck. I sit there and stare. It's a long light. Boom! The fuel tank explodes. I jump, and thank the stars that nothing reached me. The billows of smoke triple in size and the first forty feet or more of it fills with crimson flames. The steel of the engine compartment is visibly melting away. My light turns green. I drive away, parallel to the cloud of smoke. I don't even smell anything. Then I'm gone.
It looks like there's a building on fire on the right just before the freeway.
I drive to the top, looking over to see what's aflame.
SEMI TRUCK ablaze. I have a red light. Totally unimpeded view. No one is in front of me at the light. No one in the lane to my right. At the head of the line of traffic coming from the right, as if about to cross my path, there's a semi with its engine on fire. Flames are shooting out of the front. Heavy black smoke. I roll up my window. The wind is blowing away from me. There are a few pedestrians watching from a distance. Doesn't look to me like a safe distance. I am wondering what to do, whether it's safe to be stopped at the light with a truck possibly about to blow up fifteen yards away. Not my usual onramp, I don't know where I'll end up if I go left. Right is totally wrong, plus it takes me closer to the truck. I sit there and stare. It's a long light. Boom! The fuel tank explodes. I jump, and thank the stars that nothing reached me. The billows of smoke triple in size and the first forty feet or more of it fills with crimson flames. The steel of the engine compartment is visibly melting away. My light turns green. I drive away, parallel to the cloud of smoke. I don't even smell anything. Then I'm gone.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
When life gives you plums
They're falling all over the yard. They bounce off the beehive. They fall on my head. (Truly. Right on my crown. I took it for a sign. I think I took it for the wrong sign.)
I'm on my hands and knees crawling through the grass picking up little red and orange cherry plums. Inch and a half fruits that look like big cherries and taste like mealy tart plums. Why am I doing this? To make plum wine.
I barely even drink. What for do I want plum wine? I can go to the store and get almost any kind of alcohol I want. In fact, I probably have on hand more hooch than I'm likely to drink in my lifetime.
And plum wine? I live in the land of the wine snob. Grape wine that is. Varietals and vintages and terroirs. Where's the snob appeal in plum? Come on, plum wine is for the backwoods. These plums are a weed. They are the local equivalent of the giant zucchini you can't give away.
Admittedly, I need to pick up the ones that are in my path. I walk all over the garden to water. I don't want to step on them and end up with the yard paved with moldy squashed plums everywhere. Nor do I want them to sprout into next year's weeds. And I hate to waste fruit. So as long as I'm filling buckets with them, I may as well use them.
It becomes a kind of sticky obsessive easter egg hunt. They're colorful and bright. I comb through the long grass and crawl into the underbrush where the neighbor cat has a nest. It looks like he has laid a clutch of little red eggs. My friends feel guilty about throwing them away. I feel guilty about spending all this time picking them up and processing them.
If I want to sit on the ground until my legs fall asleep and put things in a bucket, I could pull weeds. That at least would be a useful improvement.
You'd think I'd pick up the ones that are in my way or on the lawn and leave the ones I'm not likely to step on, but no: I feel compelled to be thorough. As long as I'm trying to use them, I want to get them all. And the hidden ones are the most fun to find. Bright red treasure, glowing like gems in the sunshine. They're irresistible.
Initially I was bending over to pick them up. Then they started falling faster. I need to sit down to reach so many without getting exhausted. Now that I've had to be away for a few days, there are dozens of plums per square foot in some parts of the yard. It's not only my compulsive tendencies that keep me picking up every one I find. I need to clear the space so that I can sit there and reach the next area. Most of them I can't even see until I'm sitting near - or, frequently, on - them. I've picked up thousands. It's getting more difficult as more of them accumulate from previous days, squashed or bird-bitten booby traps. And now that they've been there a few days, many of them can't even be picked up to throw towards the fence, where I'm less likely to walk. They're too rotten to grasp. I just have to sit in them.
But plum wine? Nobody makes wine from plums. From plums and water and sugar, perhaps. But just plums? Too thick, not sweet enough. Too much waste. I throw away almost half my volume in pomace. Well, I suppose I could make plum eau de vie with the pomace. But where do I get a still? Hmmm...
And worst of all I'm working with wild yeasts. For some loony reason, I won't do all the sensible steps of washing and cooking and sterilizing and using a proper wine yeast. I'm mashing them and letting them sit. I want to find out what I get with wild yeast. It's going to be tons of work for nothing but mold and vinegar.
But what if it works? It could be really special.
I'm on my hands and knees crawling through the grass picking up little red and orange cherry plums. Inch and a half fruits that look like big cherries and taste like mealy tart plums. Why am I doing this? To make plum wine.
I barely even drink. What for do I want plum wine? I can go to the store and get almost any kind of alcohol I want. In fact, I probably have on hand more hooch than I'm likely to drink in my lifetime.
And plum wine? I live in the land of the wine snob. Grape wine that is. Varietals and vintages and terroirs. Where's the snob appeal in plum? Come on, plum wine is for the backwoods. These plums are a weed. They are the local equivalent of the giant zucchini you can't give away.
Admittedly, I need to pick up the ones that are in my path. I walk all over the garden to water. I don't want to step on them and end up with the yard paved with moldy squashed plums everywhere. Nor do I want them to sprout into next year's weeds. And I hate to waste fruit. So as long as I'm filling buckets with them, I may as well use them.
It becomes a kind of sticky obsessive easter egg hunt. They're colorful and bright. I comb through the long grass and crawl into the underbrush where the neighbor cat has a nest. It looks like he has laid a clutch of little red eggs. My friends feel guilty about throwing them away. I feel guilty about spending all this time picking them up and processing them.
If I want to sit on the ground until my legs fall asleep and put things in a bucket, I could pull weeds. That at least would be a useful improvement.
You'd think I'd pick up the ones that are in my way or on the lawn and leave the ones I'm not likely to step on, but no: I feel compelled to be thorough. As long as I'm trying to use them, I want to get them all. And the hidden ones are the most fun to find. Bright red treasure, glowing like gems in the sunshine. They're irresistible.
Initially I was bending over to pick them up. Then they started falling faster. I need to sit down to reach so many without getting exhausted. Now that I've had to be away for a few days, there are dozens of plums per square foot in some parts of the yard. It's not only my compulsive tendencies that keep me picking up every one I find. I need to clear the space so that I can sit there and reach the next area. Most of them I can't even see until I'm sitting near - or, frequently, on - them. I've picked up thousands. It's getting more difficult as more of them accumulate from previous days, squashed or bird-bitten booby traps. And now that they've been there a few days, many of them can't even be picked up to throw towards the fence, where I'm less likely to walk. They're too rotten to grasp. I just have to sit in them.
But plum wine? Nobody makes wine from plums. From plums and water and sugar, perhaps. But just plums? Too thick, not sweet enough. Too much waste. I throw away almost half my volume in pomace. Well, I suppose I could make plum eau de vie with the pomace. But where do I get a still? Hmmm...
And worst of all I'm working with wild yeasts. For some loony reason, I won't do all the sensible steps of washing and cooking and sterilizing and using a proper wine yeast. I'm mashing them and letting them sit. I want to find out what I get with wild yeast. It's going to be tons of work for nothing but mold and vinegar.
But what if it works? It could be really special.
Friday, July 13, 2012
What I did on my summer vacation
This year my summer vacation happened in the spring. It was exhausting.
May 20 was the date of an annular eclipse of the sun, fully visible from locations a three hour drive from where I live. I had been looking forward to seeing it for several decades. I don't chase around the globe to view eclipses, but I do enjoy them, and have never seen a full eclipse of the sun, though I have tried. Turned out I was not going to be in California for this one. My son's graduation from medical school was the 20th. No eclipse in Vermont.
In February when I tried to plan the trip, I found out he was also getting married. But he didn't have a date yet - actually he hadn't proposed yet, so I should please wait and not buy my tickets for a while. In late March I found out the date: May 19. "This way," he said, " I don't have to get used to one change and then another. I can adjust to them all at once."
Okay. How can I help, from this far away? Who's putting it on? Who's cooking? "Our friends are cooking. I'm sure they'd be glad to have your help." So I planned to show up a few days early, stay a few days after, see how I could make myself useful, hope my son had a little time to hang out.
When we bought the tickets my husband Nels noticed we were changing planes in New York, and having never been there, decided we must stay a few days. And I wanted to give myself a gift for the occasion, which would be a trip to see the Bay of Fundy, since we were as close to there as I was likely to ever be. The trip was becoming long and complex, with three climates and activities from formal partying to hiking.
I found nothing in ready-to-wear, and decided to have a dress made for the wedding. The time was rather tight, so I went with the first dressmaker who responded to my inquiry and was accessible. Tough process, choosing fabric, pattern, fitting, coordinating. I thought it would be ready a couple of weeks in advance. She delivered it late in the afternoon the day before we left. And it wasn't wearable. After an hour of panic, a good cry, and several phone calls, I was saved by a friend who helped me hem up the lining and modify the neckline to make it usable if not glamourous.
Just before we left home Nels got sick. He was quite droopy, sneezing and running a fever. Our ride to the airport was late. At the airport they were paging me before I reached the plane. We landed at JFK with him still feverish, eventually got a cab to town, reached our room a couple of hours later than Nels's optimistic forecast. He had wanted to make a dinner reservation before we traveled. No way. I found us a place to get dinner, excellent beer and sausages, German host and his little black children, seating outside on the sidewalk, right around the corner from our room in West Harlem. Whew! Saved. Felt better enough to walk to Riverside Drive, watch the river, and the families going home, and the rats in the ivy.
Our room was rather depressing. Our hostess was friendly enough, but the place was dilapidated, grimy, airless, and crowded. We were too tired to relocate. When we were asleep it didn't bother us. First day was beautiful, clear and bright. We walked to Cemtral Park. There we met a friend who lives in the city and was willing to show us around. We went to the Cloisters. Enjoyed the gardens, the view, the art. Saw a groundhog (my first) in the garden. Over the several days we were there we went shopping, saw big buildings, rode the subway, went to MOMA and the Metropolitan Museum (it was raining, so we didn't want to go to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, which had been our plan), and had one fabulous meal.
When I was a child I spent a lot of time looking at my mother's art books. My favorite painting in reproduction was El Greco's View of Toledo. While we were at the Met, Nels left. looking for the men's room, and in order to find each other again I said I'd go to the next room and sit down. I did so, and after a moment of just resting my feet, I looked up. Right in front of me was Toledo. Made the trip worthwhile.
The day we left was clear, so we figured we could go to the Botanic Garden on the way to the airport. Similar direction, why not? Turns out, cabs don't stop in Brooklyn. You flag them, they don't stop. By the time we figured that out and got on the subway, it was the time I would have preferred to arrive at the airport. We were not good at the subway yet, and it was full of signs telling about service changes that we didn't understand. It was difficult to carry our bags, and both scary and suspenseful. I thought I'd certainly miss the plane. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't going to miss the wedding even if I was held up a day. When we checked our bags the lady facilitated us through security and we made it to the plane.
We flew into Burlington Wednesday, had dinner with Sulei and his fiancé Sammy, and went to our room. It was a spacious quiet clean house, a useful and pleasant room. Thursday morning we went to Sulei & Sam's house and started thinking about arrangements for the wedding. The main thing I needed to do was cater the dinner. The kids expected about a hundred guests. They had bought seventy game hens, which were distributed among several refrigerators a number of miles apart. We brainstormed a menu. I drove out to collect some of them and meet the bride's mother. and stepfather Not too awkward. They wanted us to stay longer but didn't offer to feed us or anything, so we begged off and went to get dinner. Then we did a late-night grocery run, picked up an enormous quantity of food. OK. Ready to roll.
Friday, my daughter Iris and her boyfriend David had arrived. We went to pick them up. We were staying north of town, they were south of town. Turns out we had to drive to, or through, the south end of town every day, for almost everything we wanted or needed to do. Slow trip, lots of traffic. I got very tired of it, but never memorized the most efficient way to go. We all went to Sam and Sulei's and hung out. I started mixing up the marinade for the chicken. The boys, Sulei's friends from high school who were staying there, had said they wanted to cut the chickens. We waited for them to get back from the bachelor party, but eventually we had to take care of it without them. Sam and her sister Dani called all their friends who were going to help and we hustled up pots (Can I use those buckets on your porch? How dirty are they?), did another shopping run, and managed to get the cooking well started over the course of the day.
Friday night was a party at Sam's mother and stepfather's, so the cooking and other preparations had to be put on hold. Afterwards we did some more shopping.
Saturday was the big day. There was just as much cooking as there had been the day before or more, but the troops were not available. The boys to the rescue! The three young men who were staying there pitched in and made light work of chopping and stirring, and distributed the heavy pans of food to be cooked at borrowed ovens. Even with Dani's help, and she was fabulously dedicated, efficient, and helpful, I couldn't have done it without them. One of the fellows was a little too jocular for me, I got really angry with him, as it seemed he was determined to make the work impossible But the others worked around him and it all worked out.
Or almost all. I totally miscalculated the pilaf. I made way too much, and used way too much water. It was mush - enough mush for 300 people. With the help of the young folk, we tried to boil it down a little. It was a lot of work and made the kitchen too hot, but all it did was make it mushier.
One of the borrowed stock pots had a glass lid. We set it aside while stirring the pilaf. The man who was stirring heard a ticking sound. None of us could figure it out. Eventually he noticed that the lid was on the stove, and we needed to move it. He picked it up and it immediately shattered. Bang! Big scary explosion! And we had to dispose of one five gallon pot of wild rice pilaf mush because it might have broken glass in it. Never missed it, there was way too much even without it.
I was too busy cooking to go to the club and learn how the food needed to be presented. By the time I changed and arrived, ready to party, the food was all laid out randomly on the serving tables. I went to the coordinator, and asked him, wasn't he in change of bringing it out gradually so it could be kept warm? Yes, he said, if it was brought to him, and it hadn't been. So the groomsmen, in their white shirts for the ceremony carried a dozen trays of food to the kitchen to be kept warm.
The ceremony was outdoors by the lake. It was lovely. It was backlit by the sunset, so all the photos came out too dark. Everyone was gorgeous and happy. Hooray!
Afterwards, someone finally got me to sit down and eat some dinner. As I served myself I saw that we were running low on vegetables. I went to the kitchen for more, but they said there weren't any more. After some inquiry it was established that half the vegetables had not arrived, and someone went home to pick them up. Twenty pounds of vegetables and hours of work saved.
The party was great. I haven't danced that much in years. After being the only person my age on the floor for an hour or so, I finally gave up and went home early.
The next day was the graduation. Thank goodness it was indoors; it was long and the weather was stifling. I cried from start to finish and felt really foolish. I'm so proud of my son. I'm amazed at what hard workers both my kids are. People kept telling me what a wonderful man Sulei is, and how much they love him. I did a good job, and he ran with everything he was given. What a relief to have it add up and be acknowledged.
A couple of days after the graduation we flew to New Brunswick for the "vacation" part of the vacation. Boy, was that a mistake! I was so exhausted all I wanted to do was go home. But it worked out just fine. Walks and scenery and geology and time with Nels and old buildings and good beer.
While we were in Canada, Nels's mother broke her hip and was put in the hospital. Nels went through all kinds of conniptions trying to make medical decisions and contact people from the Atlantic Time Zone with a cell phone that doesn't work in Canada. She was sent home to her care facility, and put on hospice.
When it was over I went to the airport in St. John early, so as to have time for customs. But customs was in Toronto where we change planes. So we sat.
When we got off the plane in Toronto, we were told to pick up our bags and take them around the corner. We walked to baggage claim and waited until the last bags unloaded and our were not there. When we inquired, we were told there was another baggage claim we needed to go to. More walking, more standing in line. After a while in line, they pulled us out as our plane was leaving, and tried to expedite us through security. But of course they needed to pat me down along the way. I'm getting used to being paged. Made our plane. Made it to SF.
Once again we waited at baggage claim until all the bags were there. But Nels's wasn't. we talked to someone official, and she told us to sit down and wait. It was getting close to midnight. We had been up since the equivalent of 3am. Our friend was circling the airport trying to pick up up. The bag was not going to appear. I finally walked out, and they delivered the bag the next day.
Home at last! But Nels needed to go to LA to see how his mother was doing and make sure everyting was properly arranged. He wanted me to come help. We stayed home three days, gave him a little birthday party, and drove away. The trip was difficult in every way, but his mom is doing better than we first realized. And now we are really home, picking up threads from months ago, hoping to stabilize some of my projects before I foolishly leave town again.
May 20 was the date of an annular eclipse of the sun, fully visible from locations a three hour drive from where I live. I had been looking forward to seeing it for several decades. I don't chase around the globe to view eclipses, but I do enjoy them, and have never seen a full eclipse of the sun, though I have tried. Turned out I was not going to be in California for this one. My son's graduation from medical school was the 20th. No eclipse in Vermont.
In February when I tried to plan the trip, I found out he was also getting married. But he didn't have a date yet - actually he hadn't proposed yet, so I should please wait and not buy my tickets for a while. In late March I found out the date: May 19. "This way," he said, " I don't have to get used to one change and then another. I can adjust to them all at once."
Okay. How can I help, from this far away? Who's putting it on? Who's cooking? "Our friends are cooking. I'm sure they'd be glad to have your help." So I planned to show up a few days early, stay a few days after, see how I could make myself useful, hope my son had a little time to hang out.
When we bought the tickets my husband Nels noticed we were changing planes in New York, and having never been there, decided we must stay a few days. And I wanted to give myself a gift for the occasion, which would be a trip to see the Bay of Fundy, since we were as close to there as I was likely to ever be. The trip was becoming long and complex, with three climates and activities from formal partying to hiking.
I found nothing in ready-to-wear, and decided to have a dress made for the wedding. The time was rather tight, so I went with the first dressmaker who responded to my inquiry and was accessible. Tough process, choosing fabric, pattern, fitting, coordinating. I thought it would be ready a couple of weeks in advance. She delivered it late in the afternoon the day before we left. And it wasn't wearable. After an hour of panic, a good cry, and several phone calls, I was saved by a friend who helped me hem up the lining and modify the neckline to make it usable if not glamourous.
Just before we left home Nels got sick. He was quite droopy, sneezing and running a fever. Our ride to the airport was late. At the airport they were paging me before I reached the plane. We landed at JFK with him still feverish, eventually got a cab to town, reached our room a couple of hours later than Nels's optimistic forecast. He had wanted to make a dinner reservation before we traveled. No way. I found us a place to get dinner, excellent beer and sausages, German host and his little black children, seating outside on the sidewalk, right around the corner from our room in West Harlem. Whew! Saved. Felt better enough to walk to Riverside Drive, watch the river, and the families going home, and the rats in the ivy.
Our room was rather depressing. Our hostess was friendly enough, but the place was dilapidated, grimy, airless, and crowded. We were too tired to relocate. When we were asleep it didn't bother us. First day was beautiful, clear and bright. We walked to Cemtral Park. There we met a friend who lives in the city and was willing to show us around. We went to the Cloisters. Enjoyed the gardens, the view, the art. Saw a groundhog (my first) in the garden. Over the several days we were there we went shopping, saw big buildings, rode the subway, went to MOMA and the Metropolitan Museum (it was raining, so we didn't want to go to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, which had been our plan), and had one fabulous meal.
When I was a child I spent a lot of time looking at my mother's art books. My favorite painting in reproduction was El Greco's View of Toledo. While we were at the Met, Nels left. looking for the men's room, and in order to find each other again I said I'd go to the next room and sit down. I did so, and after a moment of just resting my feet, I looked up. Right in front of me was Toledo. Made the trip worthwhile.
The day we left was clear, so we figured we could go to the Botanic Garden on the way to the airport. Similar direction, why not? Turns out, cabs don't stop in Brooklyn. You flag them, they don't stop. By the time we figured that out and got on the subway, it was the time I would have preferred to arrive at the airport. We were not good at the subway yet, and it was full of signs telling about service changes that we didn't understand. It was difficult to carry our bags, and both scary and suspenseful. I thought I'd certainly miss the plane. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't going to miss the wedding even if I was held up a day. When we checked our bags the lady facilitated us through security and we made it to the plane.
We flew into Burlington Wednesday, had dinner with Sulei and his fiancé Sammy, and went to our room. It was a spacious quiet clean house, a useful and pleasant room. Thursday morning we went to Sulei & Sam's house and started thinking about arrangements for the wedding. The main thing I needed to do was cater the dinner. The kids expected about a hundred guests. They had bought seventy game hens, which were distributed among several refrigerators a number of miles apart. We brainstormed a menu. I drove out to collect some of them and meet the bride's mother. and stepfather Not too awkward. They wanted us to stay longer but didn't offer to feed us or anything, so we begged off and went to get dinner. Then we did a late-night grocery run, picked up an enormous quantity of food. OK. Ready to roll.
Friday, my daughter Iris and her boyfriend David had arrived. We went to pick them up. We were staying north of town, they were south of town. Turns out we had to drive to, or through, the south end of town every day, for almost everything we wanted or needed to do. Slow trip, lots of traffic. I got very tired of it, but never memorized the most efficient way to go. We all went to Sam and Sulei's and hung out. I started mixing up the marinade for the chicken. The boys, Sulei's friends from high school who were staying there, had said they wanted to cut the chickens. We waited for them to get back from the bachelor party, but eventually we had to take care of it without them. Sam and her sister Dani called all their friends who were going to help and we hustled up pots (Can I use those buckets on your porch? How dirty are they?), did another shopping run, and managed to get the cooking well started over the course of the day.
Friday night was a party at Sam's mother and stepfather's, so the cooking and other preparations had to be put on hold. Afterwards we did some more shopping.
Saturday was the big day. There was just as much cooking as there had been the day before or more, but the troops were not available. The boys to the rescue! The three young men who were staying there pitched in and made light work of chopping and stirring, and distributed the heavy pans of food to be cooked at borrowed ovens. Even with Dani's help, and she was fabulously dedicated, efficient, and helpful, I couldn't have done it without them. One of the fellows was a little too jocular for me, I got really angry with him, as it seemed he was determined to make the work impossible But the others worked around him and it all worked out.
Or almost all. I totally miscalculated the pilaf. I made way too much, and used way too much water. It was mush - enough mush for 300 people. With the help of the young folk, we tried to boil it down a little. It was a lot of work and made the kitchen too hot, but all it did was make it mushier.
One of the borrowed stock pots had a glass lid. We set it aside while stirring the pilaf. The man who was stirring heard a ticking sound. None of us could figure it out. Eventually he noticed that the lid was on the stove, and we needed to move it. He picked it up and it immediately shattered. Bang! Big scary explosion! And we had to dispose of one five gallon pot of wild rice pilaf mush because it might have broken glass in it. Never missed it, there was way too much even without it.
I was too busy cooking to go to the club and learn how the food needed to be presented. By the time I changed and arrived, ready to party, the food was all laid out randomly on the serving tables. I went to the coordinator, and asked him, wasn't he in change of bringing it out gradually so it could be kept warm? Yes, he said, if it was brought to him, and it hadn't been. So the groomsmen, in their white shirts for the ceremony carried a dozen trays of food to the kitchen to be kept warm.
The ceremony was outdoors by the lake. It was lovely. It was backlit by the sunset, so all the photos came out too dark. Everyone was gorgeous and happy. Hooray!
Afterwards, someone finally got me to sit down and eat some dinner. As I served myself I saw that we were running low on vegetables. I went to the kitchen for more, but they said there weren't any more. After some inquiry it was established that half the vegetables had not arrived, and someone went home to pick them up. Twenty pounds of vegetables and hours of work saved.
The party was great. I haven't danced that much in years. After being the only person my age on the floor for an hour or so, I finally gave up and went home early.
The next day was the graduation. Thank goodness it was indoors; it was long and the weather was stifling. I cried from start to finish and felt really foolish. I'm so proud of my son. I'm amazed at what hard workers both my kids are. People kept telling me what a wonderful man Sulei is, and how much they love him. I did a good job, and he ran with everything he was given. What a relief to have it add up and be acknowledged.
A couple of days after the graduation we flew to New Brunswick for the "vacation" part of the vacation. Boy, was that a mistake! I was so exhausted all I wanted to do was go home. But it worked out just fine. Walks and scenery and geology and time with Nels and old buildings and good beer.
While we were in Canada, Nels's mother broke her hip and was put in the hospital. Nels went through all kinds of conniptions trying to make medical decisions and contact people from the Atlantic Time Zone with a cell phone that doesn't work in Canada. She was sent home to her care facility, and put on hospice.
When it was over I went to the airport in St. John early, so as to have time for customs. But customs was in Toronto where we change planes. So we sat.
When we got off the plane in Toronto, we were told to pick up our bags and take them around the corner. We walked to baggage claim and waited until the last bags unloaded and our were not there. When we inquired, we were told there was another baggage claim we needed to go to. More walking, more standing in line. After a while in line, they pulled us out as our plane was leaving, and tried to expedite us through security. But of course they needed to pat me down along the way. I'm getting used to being paged. Made our plane. Made it to SF.
Once again we waited at baggage claim until all the bags were there. But Nels's wasn't. we talked to someone official, and she told us to sit down and wait. It was getting close to midnight. We had been up since the equivalent of 3am. Our friend was circling the airport trying to pick up up. The bag was not going to appear. I finally walked out, and they delivered the bag the next day.
Home at last! But Nels needed to go to LA to see how his mother was doing and make sure everyting was properly arranged. He wanted me to come help. We stayed home three days, gave him a little birthday party, and drove away. The trip was difficult in every way, but his mom is doing better than we first realized. And now we are really home, picking up threads from months ago, hoping to stabilize some of my projects before I foolishly leave town again.
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