Reading post: Books from other living room shelves

September's not quite over, but I ended this month's reading challenge several days ago, so I thought I might as well post this now. In September I planned to read books from two sets of shelves in our living room: the long shelf under the steins & demitasse sets, and the biography shelves above the piano. This is how the reading month went.

1. Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell. I've had this little paperback for eons; the price on the cover is 75¢ but I know I got it used. I think I put off reading it because I hated 1984 and thought it might be similar. It's not -- it's (more or less) nonfiction. Also (though this sounds contradictory), I thought it was about living a romantic "Bohemian" lifestyle. Wrong again. It's about being desperately poor. In Paris, Orwell at least found work, though the work was more like slavery. In London, he simply tramped around, and his description of what it was like to be a tramp in London in the late 1920s-early 1930s is eye-opening. Especially so since I've been thinking so much about the homeless. The homeless life hasn't changed a great deal in 100 years, in the USA at least. We have some homeless shelters, with all sorts of rules associated with them, and laws against sleeping in parks... and people like me hate and fear the homeless, just like everyone hated George Orwell and his compatriots for being tramps. Eye-opening, thought-provoking -- this is a good book for someone like me to read, maybe even shifted my thinking a little. It was well-written, too, if a bit repetitive, since the life of a tramp is not very interesting, just endless boredom and misery. Keeping it, but moving it to the dining room bookcase, because it's not really a memoir, more of a sociological treatise.
   
   
2. Adventures with a Desert Bush Pilot by Sylvia Winslow. Now this book is a memoir, of Sylvia Winslow's experiences flying around the Mojave Desert with her pilot husband in the 1950s and 1960s. I think my husband brought this home one day (when we lived in Ridgecrest), but he has no memory of doing so. Maybe I brought it home. It was published by the Maturango Museum in 1984 and, puzzlingly, tucked in the pages of our copy was a 2002 article about Winslow from the Ridgecrest Daily Independent. We lived in Ridgecrest from 2009 to 2013. Why would we have a clipping from a 2002 newspaper? Anyway, I didn't expect to find the book interesting, but I did. It brought back so many memories of our years in the desert, going out every weekend to explore. We didn't have a plane, and we took all our trips with toddler twins, but those are minor differences. I hated moving to Ridgecrest but I ended up loving the Mojave Desert, still do, still miss it. As I finished the book, my heart was aching -- and there's some of that in the book as well, because Winslow was writing 10 years after her husband died, at a time when many of the spots they'd visited were no longer open to the public and she knew she'd never see them again. I don't know whether my husband and I will ever visit the Mojave Desert again -- I think we will, but we won't go everywhere we ever went. And even if our boys should happen to go with us, which is less likely, we'll never see those toddler twins again. I'm keeping this.
   
   
3. I Really Should Be Practicing by Gary Graffman. Another memoir, this one of a concert pianist. This was my father's book and I've always loved the title, so it was fun to finally read it. I enjoyed it very much, although it sagged a little in the middle. The parts about his family background in Russia were fascinating (perhaps especially so because I read two books about Russia last month). Some of the detail in the middle chapters was a little dull, but the book perked up again in the last 60 pages or so. Graffman sounds like such a nice person. I looked him up -- he's still alive at 94, though his wife Naomi, who helped him write this, died four years ago at the age of 90. After he had to stop performing, due to a problem with his hands, he turned to teaching, and taught such great current pianists as Yuja Wang and Lang Lang. Reading this book took me back to the years when I was very interested in piano music and attended concerts with my parents (we heard Jean-Philippe Collard, Tamas Vasary, and Murray Perahia). I still love piano music and sometimes I go to a faculty recital at CU, but it's not a big part of my life anymore. Maybe later on, when I'm not so busy raising twins. Anyway, keeping this.
   
   
4. The Search for the Giant Squid by Richard Ellis. Not a memoir! Not even a biography. When I started thinking about doing this challenge, last winter, this is one of the books that came to mind. It was published in 1999 and I asked for it and received it from my older sister for my birthday that year. I remember being so pleased to get it -- and then I never read it! So now finally I have read it. It wasn't quite what I was expecting. In 1999, very little was known about the giant squid, so a large portion of the book is about how the giant squid has been portrayed in literature and film. There's just one chapter that's actually ABOUT the giant squid, called "What Do We Know About Architeuthis?", and it's only 24 pages. Even the soporific chapter about models of squid in museums is longer! It's not that Ellis didn't do his job, it's just that nothing was known for him to report (a little more is known now, but not a lot). I would have preferred more scientific information about other kinds of squid, rather than the exhaustive (exhausting) catalog of books and movies that portray the giant squid incorrectly. But apparently there still isn't anything better out there, so I'm glad I have this and I'm glad I finally read it. Keeping it.
   
   
5. Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter by Simone de Beauvoir. Yes, as the title tells us, this is another memoir, of the famous existentialist philosopher, novelist, feminist. It's the story of her early life, I've had it for decades, and I've tried to read it before. I tried again. I failed again. I don't know why -- another year I might have succeeded. It's supposed to be a good book. Wikipedia calls it "her most enduring contribution to literature." But I decided that I'm just not that interested in existentialism, philosophy in general, and the memoirs of a pedophilia enthusiast (which she was), and the world is full of other things to read. I closed the book after about 20 pages and put it in the donate pile.
    

In October I plan to read books from one more location in the living room: the tall bookcase by the front door. This bookcase used to belong to my brother-in-law's parents, in Michigan. It's actually four pieces that fit together, and if it is too tall for your home when assembled it's possible to break it up into sections and scatter them around (I have done this, in the past). But in our house all the pieces fit together very nicely in this little space by the front door.

This bookcase contains mostly science books and travel books. My bird books are here, and wildflower books, and a lot of Colorado history, that sort of thing. There are many many books in this bookcase that I haven't read, so I decided to pick one from each of the eight shelves... but I couldn't find anything I wanted to read on the bottom shelf (mostly coffee-table books), so I settled for seven. It is unlikely that I will manage to read seven nonfiction books this month, so I'll just do what I can, no worries. 

It seems a little sad not to be reading spooky books in October, but maybe I can spice up my non-spooky reading with a few extras from elsewhere in the house (or the public library). I tried to convince my book group to read a spooky book this month, but they went with a 700+ page serious novel instead (it's OK, it's a good book, I've read over 400 pages already).

Actually, there are a few in this stack that look a little spooky: bugs, earthquakes, frozen dead guys...

And now it's fall

As of yesterday, it's officially fall, which is kind of a relief. It's felt fall-ish for a few weeks now, even though most of the trees are still green. The nights are blissfully cool and I haven't run the fan in the office in ages.

My flowers in the front yard are changing. The purple petunias, which bloomed vigorously all through the hot months, have gone mostly dormant, very few flowers. The snapdragons, on the other hand, are putting out their deep red blossoms, after months of just green (they did bloom in early summer). The cosmos are pretty much done, but the zinnias are FINALLY blooming -- three of them! And the fuchsia keeps putting out more flowers, even though the hummingbirds are gone. So it's like a completely different garden from a month ago. I didn't need to buy any chrysanthemums or fall pansies -- what I'd already planted was just waiting for its time. 

I know it's a pretty pathetic looking "garden" but it's a start, you know? This has been just a weed bed the last few years. Next year I'll try to do a bit more.

I didn't feel as depressed this week, probably because something else took its place. I'm on this new drug, Rybelsus, and its promised symptoms crept up on me over the past seven days. The first change was that I felt a little more energetic -- Rybelsus is supposed to raise your heart rate slightly, and maybe that's what that was. Then I began getting tired. At first I would get sleepy while reading to the kids, and then I started taking naps. On Wednesday, which is Late Start, I woke up at my usual 7 am and took my pill -- and then went back to sleep, because I didn't have to get up until 8. I woke up again at 9 am! The kids needed to catch the bus at 9:10! I screamed at them to get ready -- they made it out the door in time, but it was frightening. And then that afternoon/evening I took another long nap. 

The gastrointestinal symptoms didn't really appear until Friday. Saturday (i.e., yesterday) was the worst. Terrible diarrhea followed by terrible nausea. I had a Zoom call with old friends in the morning, and the whole time I kept thinking about how I was going to have to get off the call any minute or I would have an accident. Fortunately the call ended in time, but then I had to go out to lunch with my book group. At the restaurant (the Roadhouse Boulder Depot, where I'd never been), I didn't see anything on the menu that I could eat, but finally chose the Truffled Mushroom Skillet -- which was delicious, but much too rich. When I got home I went back to bed. I should have gone driving with the kids, but I just couldn't. 

Of course, Saturday night is Eat Out night, so I had to go out again. We went to Panera, where I had their squash soup in a bread bowl because I thought that sounded simple and easy to eat. Maybe I'd just had too much to eat that day, but the whole rest of the evening I thought I was going to throw up. Just awful. Not to mention how tired I felt.

When I went to bed, I thought -- I can't go through with this! I'll have to tell my doctor I can't take this drug. And then I started thinking... what does this remind me of? When have I had this feeling? Oh, morning sickness! The tiredness, the nausea that doesn't quite lead to vomiting -- though of course it sometimes does, but not always. It's just always there.

This drug makes me feel like I'm pregnant. And, you know, I survived being pregnant. So maybe I can survive this drug. They say the side effects wear off after a while. It should get better by the end of the first 30 days, and then I have to go up to a higher dose, at which point things will get much worse... but after a few more weeks I should feel better. So maybe by Thanksgiving I'll feel better. Or Christmas, if I'm unlucky. Right now I'm taking 3 mg/day, then I go up to 7 mg/day, and then I could go up to 14/mg a day, but I'm not sure I have to. I'll try to argue for sticking with 7 mg.

So now it's Sunday again. The nausea is hanging around the edges, teasing me. All I've had to eat so far today (it's about 2 pm) are two scones and two cups of tea with milk. I might get another cup of tea. I know I have to keep eating -- the nausea gets worse if you don't eat -- but I can't eat very much, or the wrong type of thing. I don't know what I can cook this week. No vegetable masses, like last week. Something very simple.

I should take the twins driving. I don't want to.

I want to go back to bed (despite not getting up until 9:30 am this morning). Maybe that's the best thing. I could read for a while and then take another nap. I've started reading the next book for the book group: The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese. It's very long, 715 pages, and I know I'm going to end up associating it with the nausea. (Like when I was pregnant -- I listened to a Pink Martini album, "Hang On Little Tomato," during the worst of the morning sickness, and now I can't even look at the cover without feeling sick to my stomach.) I've decided to sacrifice this book: I'm enjoying it, but I don't think I'm going to keep it, so might as well let it be my nausea book. Maybe by the time I finish it I'll start to feel better.

September slide

Reading back over blog posts from years past, I see that getting depressed in September is just something I do. We always have a spell of colder, wetter weather (three years ago it snowed), the nights get cooler, the sun goes down earlier, and I get depressed. Regular as clockwork, really.

Maybe saying goodbye to the hummingbirds is part of it. On Wednesday, I was thrilled to hear one buzzing. It wasn't at my feeder -- it was at my little fuchsia! The fuchsia, inspired by the cooler weather, recently put out several flowers, and the hummingbird was sampling them. After it left, I hurriedly changed the sugar water in the feeder, but I never saw a bird go to it. I probably should take it down. Maybe tomorrow.

The next day, Thursday, we had a big storm, so I hope the hummingbird made it out of here safely. There has been no more buzzing since then. I think they are all gone.

On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday I managed to get some things done. I made veggie enchiladas on Tuesday, enough for two nights, so that fed us on Wednesday too. Thursday I was scheduled to make Cauliflower Shawarma -- and I just couldn't. The thought of eating it made me choke. Friday I had planned to make Couscous with Seven Vegetables, and again, just couldn't, even though I had so enjoyed picking out the seven vegetables at the grocery store on Monday. I took a nap instead. Last night we ate out, at Village Inn. Tonight I'm going to try again to cook, although I don't usually cook on Sundays. But it might help me if I do.

Depression at my age, and in my life, seems so silly. You look at the 2000+ people killed in the recent Morocco earthquake, and the 10,000+ people drowned in Libya when those dams broke and you think: what on earth do you have to be depressed about? Nothing, obviously. But this kind of depression isn't about anything, much. It's chemical, a reaction to the changing seasons. It's like having a cold or flu.

Knowing that really does help. If you have a cold or flu there are things you can do to get better, like getting enough rest and fluids, eating healthy foods. When you are depressed, those things are important too, but also it's good to exercise and to keep busy. Not beat yourself up because you can't do all the things on your to-do list, but keep trying to do some of them. When I'm depressed I switch from the 1-2-3 method (write down 3 things to do and then do them) to the 1 method (write down 1 thing to do and then try to do it). I let myself do smaller versions of things, too: 20 minutes of yardwork instead of 25, 7 minutes of dusting instead of 10. 

I guess one thing that happened this week was actually depressing: I saw my doctor and learned that my A1c level has gone up to 7.5, after several months of walking and doing yardwork and getting more sleep than I do during the school year. Six months ago, after a long stretch of no exercise, my A1c was 7.0 (3/23), and five months before that it was 7.1 (10/22) and four months before that it was 6.5 (6/22). In June of 2022 I was about five pounds lighter than I am now, but would 5 lbs make that much of a difference? I'm afraid my pancreas is just wearing out.

When I saw my endocrinologist last fall, she didn't think my A1c was bad, but she said if it kept going up "we have lots of other drugs to try." My regular doc decided this week that it was time for one of those drugs. So as of today I am taking Rybelsus, which is basically Ozempic in pill form. I take 3 mg/day for 30 days, to get used to it, and then go up to 7 mg/day, which is a therapeutic dose. It has glorious side effects at that level: nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. I'm so looking forward to Month 2. (Day 1 on the low dose has been OK.)

My doc said, "If the copay is terrible, like $350, tell me and we'll try something else." I was hoping it would be $350, but instead it was $25, so I paid it. I was also hoping that the pharmacy wouldn't have it (aren't there supposed to be shortages of Ozempic?), but they did. The pharmacy clerk insisted I talk to the pharmacist and he was just so excited to talk to me about it. He assumed I would be taking it to lose weight, but I corrected him: "It's for my blood sugar, it keeps going up." Actually, I'm quite sure my doc chose Rybelsus because of the weight loss aspect, but I'm ignoring that part. She said, "If you could just lose some weight, I'm sure your A1c would go down and the sleep apnea might even go away." Dream on.

My doc also wants me to see a dietician, and she put in a referral for one. I was hoping my insurance wouldn't cover it, but whaddaya know, they do. I guess I'll call her next week.

So anyway, I know I shouldn't be unhappy about this -- I'm so lucky to have health insurance, especially health insurance that covers this stupid drug AND the dietician my doc wants me to see. I could be a refugee from Venezuela with none of those things. I could have died in the disaster in Libya. I have NOTHING TO BE DEPRESSED ABOUT. I know, I know. 

But when you're depressed, rational thinking doesn't help much. What helps is (a) not letting yourself dwell/ruminate on stuff, and (b) putting one foot in front of the other and getting little things done.

***

A good thing happened this week. The concrete guy that Rocket Boy found to fix the collapsing crawl space entrance at our rental house came over on Monday and looked at the situation. "You don't need concrete," he told me. "A metal bar screwed into the sides here would be stronger." "Who would do that?" I asked, sadly. "Any handyman could do it," he said. "You don't want to do it?" I asked.

Long story short, he took pity on me and did it, on Tuesday while I was seeing my doctor, for $300 (his minimum charge) and $10 in parts. I gave him a $40 tip, so $350 total. I had been expecting to pay more in the neighborhood of $5000 (I don't really know what these things cost, but everything is always so expensive). So now, after six months of stressing about this, the problem is solved. And now I have to move on to calling the plumber who didn't want to do the complicated repairs that need doing over there if the crawl space entrance was going to collapse on him while he worked.

Maybe I'll call him this week.

***

Some bad things also happened this week, almost certainly because Rocket Boy went back to St. Louis.

1. The light at the bottom of the microwave that shines on the stove burned out. Replacing it will involve unscrewing the bottom of the microwave, locating the bulb and removing it, going to McGuckin's to buy a replacement, putting the new bulb in, and screwing the bottom back on. Doable, I think, but not something I feel up to right now.
   
   
2. The dishwasher broke, mid-cycle. Thursday night I turned it on and then got ready for bed. When I turned out my light, it suddenly occurred to me that it was awfully quiet in the kitchen. I turned my light back on, went in the kitchen, and discovered that the dishwasher had stopped, none of its lights were on, and it did not respond when I pushed various buttons. The next day I called Rocket Boy and he suggested I check the fuse box in the garage, but no fuses were tripped. So he asked me if the dishwasher's outlet under the sink had a red button to push. It did. I thrust my hand through a spider web and pushed the red button. The dishwasher started again and went through its whole cycle. I'm running it again right now, a few days later, and it seems OK.
   
   
3. The vacuum cleaner plug broke (fortunately not while in an outlet). On Friday, before talking to Rocket Boy, I decided I would probably have to call an appliance repair person, so I should do the cleaning chores that I hadn't managed to do so far that week (due to being depressed). So I got out the vacuum, did the rugs in the living and dining room, pulled the plug out before moving on to the bedroom, and one of the prongs broke off the plug. I watched some YouTube videos on how to replace a broken appliance plug, decided that was WAY out of my comfort zone, and started researching new vacuum cleaners. I told Rocket Boy about this (after we fixed the dishwasher), but he wants a chance to fix the old one. I agreed to store the old vacuum in the garage for him to fix someday (maybe) and that I will think about a new vacuum, but in the meantime I will use RB's ancient vacuum instead.
   

After all that, I was slightly nervous about driving with the twins on Saturday -- too many things going wrong at once, maybe something else bad will happen too. But I was brave and did it. They both wanted to go to Safeway to buy Steam gift cards (some video game thing), so I planned a long complicated drive to the Safeway in Rock Creek, where I'd never been. Teen A wanted to go first, and let's just say a trip that Google estimated would take 40 minutes took more like 80 minutes. We also spent a few minutes inside the Safeway (when we FINALLY found it). Multiple times we pulled over so I could check my phone for directions, both going and coming. At one point we drove into a dead end, made a U-turn, and acquired a large grasshopper, which rode with us on the windshield most of the way home. 

Teen B and I went to a Safeway in Boulder -- there was no way I was going to get lost in Rock Creek again -- and his trip took about 40 minutes: 25 minutes there and 15 minutes home (plus a few minutes in the store). He drives very slowly, while people pass us on the right. I mainly let him do it, although I do remind him of the speed limit. He's getting better at driving, slowly, and I want to build up his confidence.

I don't think those trips count as "something bad." As I kept telling Teen A, "you're getting more driving minutes!" We should get lost every weekend.

And the CU Buffs won their football game that night, long after we'd all gone to bed. I turned off my phone and put it on the charger when it was 28-21 CSU, with 7 minutes left to play. Read to the twins, cleaned up the kitchen a little, went to bed, read a couple chapters, turned off my light, tried to go to sleep, and then BOOM! and BOOM! BOOM! Plus a lot of traffic sounds from Broadway. Why are so many people driving around so late at night, I wondered. Tried to settle down again. BOOM! Why are the students setting off fireworks if the Buffs lost? Finally I got up (it was after 2 am), got my phone, and checked the score. The Buffs had somehow managed to win, 35-43, in double overtime, at some point after midnight (I haven't yet found an article that mentions what time the game ended). That is really some new coach they have.

Today has been All Homework All the Time, which is how our Sundays go now. I'm resigned to it. Saturday is supposed to be Family Fun Day (according to the FlyLady), and that's when we drive. Sunday is Renew Your Spirit Day, and that's when we catch up on homework. It is nice to go into the week knowing that the twins are all caught up, or mostly so.

I have quite a few things coming up this week. On Tuesday, my parent support group is starting up again, and Tuesday night is book group. Thursday I see the orthodontist (what color bands should I get?), and on Saturday I have a Zoom call and a lunch date. Oh, I just realized that means we'll have to drive later in the afternoon, which is undesirable. Well, it'll work out. 

I hope I can be a little more cheerful this week. But if not, I'll just keep pushing along. Eventually I'll feel better. It will be OK.

Trying to think positively about September

September's not a bad month, right? School is buzzing along, the weather is still warm (but getting cooler), the leaves on the trees are still green.

But the hummingbirds are gone. No! Not true! I heard one this morning when I went out to get the paper. But they're almost gone. I saw one at the feeder yesterday, just one. I haven't seen one yet today. I will miss them so much! 

I was thinking, maybe I could put a regular bird feeder on the porch instead, one of those tube feeders. Would regular birds come to a feeder on the porch? It seems too exposed. But I could try it. Or maybe I could hang it in the trees nearby. But Rocket Boy wouldn't appreciate having birds poop on his old Montero if I hung it over there. And I don't really want to encourage squirrels to come onto the front porch. 

I'll think about it.

Rocket Boy left yesterday, so I am kind of down. I know in a day or two I'll pick myself back up and get my routines re-established, but the transition is always hard. Yesterday morning I woke up early and took my phone into the bathroom with me -- where I proceeded to blow my 112-day streak on Wordle. The word I was trying to get was "lucky" and I guessed first "heart" (my usual starting word) and then four other wrong words, at which point I was so close... and my sixth guess was "yucky." Wrong. Why would I guess "yucky" when "lucky" was a possibility? Well, of course I decided this was an omen, and it meant that Rocket Boy's plane would crash.

It didn't. He made it to St. Louis just fine and had dinner at some restaurant called the Golden Pancake House. I could just picture him there, tucking into a nice spinach omelet. No yuckiness. I realized that my Wordle guess wasn't an omen, it was a reflection of my mood that morning: yucky, because Rocket Boy was leaving.

Before he caught his 11:36 bus to the airport, we all walked over to the park to attend the neighborhood Pancake Breakfast, which is always held on a Saturday in early September -- except when there's a pandemic and they don't have it for two years running. Last year (I checked my blog) it was raining and they didn't get much of a turnout. Rocket Boy wasn't home, but the twins and I went, and Teen A ate nine pancakes and Teen B ate six. This year it was warm and sunny and there was a long line and we only got one pancake each because they couldn't cook them fast enough for the crowd. 

Still, it was really nice to be there. I don't know why we like the pancake breakfast so much, but we do. I can't remember whether Rocket Boy and I used to go before the twins were born, and of course when they were little we were in Ridgecrest. But as soon as we got back to Boulder, we started going to it. Except, hmm, I don't think there was one in September 2013 because we had a 100-year flood instead. What about 2014? I didn't write about it if we went. Same with 2015, 2016. I guess I have no idea when we started going, but I do remember standing in long lines with the hot sun beating down on us and seeing lots of their elementary school friends in line too.

Rocket Boy would have preferred that I drive him to the airport, but I hate that drive, and the bus is so much easier. I checked the schedule and found $10.50 to pay his fare and walked him to the bus stop on time. Probably the bus wasn't as crowded as the day I left for San Diego, because that was Labor Day weekend and this is just an ordinary weekend.

I went back to the house and sunk into gloom. I should have done a bunch of stuff, taken the twins out driving and all that, but I didn't. I did manage to go for a walk myself around 7pm. And around 8 I pulled myself together and went to MacDonald's to get "food" for the twins, and then I fed the cats and got Teen B to choose a new bedtime book.

We finished our last book -- Jackaby by William Ritter -- Friday night, because Rocket Boy wanted to hear the ending. So we needed to start a new book on Saturday. I had some books in the pile that looked interesting (to me), but Teen B ended up choosing Betsy in Spite of Herself by Maud Hart Lovelace, because it's about Betsy's sophomore year of high school (and of course they're sophomores now). It's a good thing no one reads this blog, otherwise the twins would probably be subjected to public shaming for reading such a dumb book. Old-fashioned. Girly. Teen B looked at the cover and said, "That's not Betsy! That looks like Barbie!" I explained that it must be Betsy getting ready to go to a dance, but I was amused that he would have an opinion about how Betsy should look.

The twins asked me if there were more books about Betsy, and I said yes, there was a book about her junior year of high school, and her senior year, and then there's a book where she goes around the world and a book where she gets married. They were horrified -- or something. I'm not sure how to describe their reaction. 

Then I did the dishes and went to bed, and this morning things were a tiny bit better. That is, I'm feeling really gloomy -- aided by the gloomy weather -- but I'm marching along, not sitting around glumly staring at my phone. I fed the cats, put away the clean dishes, and started a load of the twins' laundry, took Teen B on our Starbucks run, started this blog post, and so far have worked on homework with Teen A twice and Teen B once (and I'm gearing up for the second time with him). Teen B has to write the draft of a paper for Language Arts, due tomorrow, so we're slogging through that. His teacher has fortunately provided a lot of "scaffolding," since otherwise we'd have no idea what to do. He's writing about "archetypes" in a movie they watched. We chose black, white, and Mentor as the archetypes. They're supposed to be the most important ones in the movie. I don't know if they are the most important ones. He claims to have no idea. We are winging it here.

It is getting ready to rain and I really should go out and do some yardwork, even though it's Sunday, because I need to put some stuff in the compost bin. When I got home from my trip last Monday, I walked in the house and said "Oh yuck, what's that smell?!" Rocket Boy said, "What smell?" He and the twins really couldn't smell it, even though it was totally nauseating. 

For the next two days I tried to understand what the smell was -- at first I thought it was the shells from the shrimp he'd cooked the day before. But I took out the compost and the smell was just as strong. Finally we figured out that it was the uncooked cod in the fridge. He'd bought some cod on Friday and cooked it the same day -- but only half of it. The rest of it sat in the fridge. You wouldn't think it would go bad that quickly, but it did. Oh, it did. When I finally realized that it was the problem, and untangled it from all its wrappings and put it in the compost bin, the smell was just unspeakable. I quickly took the compost to the outside bin (and took the trash, including the fish wrappings, to the trash bin), but then we could smell it every time we stepped outside. I have no idea why a bear hasn't come by and raided the bin.

The smell was so strong that it lingers on everything in the fridge. Last night I got a container of Ben & Jerry's out of the freezer and sure enough, it smelled of rotting fish.

So I need to rake up some old leaves or something to put in the compost bin on top of the fish. I should do that now.

Maybe later.

Rocket Boy actually did quite a good job of taking care of the house and the cats and the twins while I was gone last weekend, but he does have these lapses. 

But I miss him.

Home from paradise

Well, I don't know if San Diego is really paradise, but it's a very nice place. And staying at an upscale hotel with my sister, and getting to go to three Giants baseball games (all of which they lost), no family member (i.e., twins and Rocket Boy) complaining, and seeing an old friend from grad school, and having wonderful meals (outside the ballpark), and going for walks along the water... let's just say it was very very nice. An added bonus was getting to see Matt Williams, former Giants player and now Padres 3rd base coach. He's in this picture, very tiny, looking silly in his "City Connect" uniform. I spent a lot of time imitating his hand signals (which we were not sure the runners were even looking at).

I'm trying to think of anything I would have changed and not coming up with much. 

• I would have brought my orange t-shirt to wear to a game (I forgot until the last minute that I should bring Giants gear along -- not that I have any, but I do have a pale orange t-shirt). 
• And maybe done a little research on the players, all of whom were completely unfamiliar to me. 
• Oh, and I should have remembered to shave my underarms. Most of the time these days I forget that I even HAVE underarms, but when you go through security at the airport you have to lift your arms, and also when you're doing the wave at a baseball game.
  

But other than that? I was happy with everything else I packed -- my clothes were fine (other than not being Giants-themed), I had about the right number and style and weight, etc. I took the bus to the airport on Friday and got there in plenty of time. Nancy's flight got in before mine, so she waited for me and we took a Lyft from the airport to the hotel, so there was no need to rent a car. On Monday we took a Lyft to the airport and got there in plenty of time (her flight to San Jose left before mine). 

I thought I hadn't brought enough cash, but since they don't accept cash for anything at the ballpark, I actually had more than enough.

Sharing a room with my sister worked out well. We're different in many ways, but similar in others. We both did Wordle every day, and she introduced me to Connections (we both agreed that we don't want to subscribe to the New York Times "Games" section, not because of the money, but because we don't want to spend more time playing online games!). We both texted our families constantly and reported on what they said (I texted Rocket Boy and the twins; she texted her husband and our niece). We both brought hardback books to read in bed (Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver for me and Three Bags Full by Leonie Swann for her -- which I have already requested from our library). We went to bed pretty early each night -- I was trying to stay on Colorado time, and she just likes to go to bed early. I took my showers at night; she took hers in the morning after working out in the hotel exercise room. I didn't join her in the exercise room, but I attempted to swim in the (very shallow) hotel pool on Saturday night (a failure). The most fun exercise we did was walking. On Saturday we walked along the harbor with my friend Betty and on Sunday after the game we walked 1.25 miles to a restaurant and back again.

Meals were great: Each morning we ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant and each day I had a Chai tea latte and wonderful oatmeal with all kinds of interesting things in it. Each day the pattern was different. That's pistachios, dried hibiscus, cocoa nibs, and coconut sugar on the right, goji berries and turmeric on the left, plus an extra slash of turmeric at the top. 

My sister had something different every day, because she eats oatmeal for breakfast at home. But one of my joys of travel is having oatmeal in restaurants.

That oatmeal cost $13, by the way. But everything is so expensive now, it's starting to not make sense. And who am I to criticize -- I don't know how much all those funny little ingredients cost.

Hmm.

I ate two lunches in airports, on Friday and Monday (I had the same thing both days, a plain bagel with cream cheese, toasted, from Einstein's Bagels). Sunday we ate at the ballpark: I had a hot dog and Nancy had a pretzel and ice cream. But Saturday we were picked up by my friend Betty, who lives in San Diego, and taken to a delightful Mexican restaurant on the water, called Miguel's Cocina.

When Betty asked me what type of food I would like to eat, I said "something soft" because of my braces. Miguel's had four different kinds of enchiladas to choose from and I almost couldn't decide between the Enchiladas Suizas and the Black Bean & Corn Enchiladas. I asked the server for a recommendation and she said she loves the Suiza sauce, so I went with that, even though it was chicken. It was so delicious, I ate every bite. If I ever go back, I could try the other one. 

While waiting for a table, we walked along the harbor for about 15 minutes, and afterwards Betty drove us to a quieter spot where we could also walk along the water and talk. We had a great many things to talk about, and I thought of all sorts of other things later that I'd forgotten to bring up. But fortunately we did manage to tell Betty about the girl in my freshman year dorm at UC Davis (1978-79) named Sharon Blaha, whose name on sign-up sheets in the dorm was always altered to read "Sharon Blahahahahahaha" by persons unknown. It was apparently really important that we share that with Betty. We all laughed hysterically. Poor Sharon Blaha, how can I still be laughing about that after 45 years?

I'm laughing as I type.

And then there were the dinners. The night we got there, Friday, we had to go to a sort of Welcome Reception for the group we were a part of, before the game. Our tickets and hotel reservation were part of a package that Nancy found, called Giants Vacations, and that first night we could have met all the other people in the group -- except that we were very late, because my plane was an hour late. So we got to the reception when it was almost over. But we did meet a few people and received Giants shirts and lanyards, and ate dinner: salmon, tortillas, beans, guacamole, that sort of thing. Later we sat near the other people at all the games, so we talked to a few of them over the three days. I think I was the only person who had come from outside California (which makes sense, since this was supposed to be a group of Giants fans). The woman running the tour was sure she knew me from somewhere and this has been bothering me ever since, because she looked familiar too. You know, it could be anything. Maybe she was a student in a class I taught at Michigan a million years ago. Maybe we were in Weight Watchers together. I just don't know.

Saturday night we'd had that big lunch with Betty, so we just ate snacks at the ballpark: ice cream, Cracker Jack, a pretzel.

Sunday, after the disappointing day game, we had to think of a place to have dinner. We'd already had Mexican food, so the other obvious choice in San Diego would be seafood. We were looking at our phones for seafood restaurants when Nancy remembered that there is a Fish Market in San Diego! And it was only a little over a mile from our hotel. "Why don't we walk there?" I suggested, but Nancy hesitated. "Can you walk that far?" she asked. Fortunately, since I've been using the "Map My Walk" app on my phone at home, I knew that I could. "That's the length of my usual walk," I told her, so we set out.

It was a little bit rough going on the way there, because a strong wind was blowing and I think it might have been just slightly uphill, plus my left foot kept hurting. But I knew I could do it and I did. When we arrived they said the wait was 40 minutes, but that was fine with us, because it was only about 5:30. We sat on a bench outside to wait, and I think they actually called us in about 20 minutes, not 40. Maybe 30. Anyway, it was fine. And oh, the food. I'm not really a foodie -- OK, I'll start over. I'm not a foodie. I just don't pay that much attention to what I eat. Left to my own devices, I'd live mostly on cereal and muffins. But swordfish at the Fish Market... and the bread and butter... and the iced tea... and the strawberry shortcake I had for dessert... My taste buds were in heaven. It was really really good.

Walking back was much easier. I think it must have been slightly downhill. Or I was inspired by the memory of that dinner?

Several things struck me about San Diego. First of all, the weather! We were right by the water, so there was fog, but it never got cold. It didn't get cold at night, and it didn't get cold during the day when the clouds covered the sun. I would look at the weather forecast and it would say things like: "High 71, Low 68." Every day! There was almost no difference between night and day, high and low. All the same. It was never too hot -- except possibly at that Sunday day game -- and never cold at all. I had brought a sweatshirt, but I certainly didn't need it. I didn't wear sleeves the whole weekend.

The second thing I kept thinking about was how safe and clean everything seemed -- where we were, in the Gaslamp District, which is the touristy area. Nancy and I walked back from the restaurant around 8 pm Sunday night, and it was getting pretty dark, but I never felt even slightly worried. No homeless people, no shady people, no scary people. No trash. No encampments.

It was lovely -- but I kept wondering, WHERE ARE THEY? Because of course they had to be somewhere. It wouldn't make sense for a big city in southern California to have no homeless people. And in fact Betty said that when she was coming to pick us up, she took an exit that led her by a huge encampment. So they're here. San Diego just does a really good job of hiding them, of keeping them away from the tourists.

I'm not going to lie and say that made me unhappy. It was wonderful to be able to wander around and not have to worry about danger. But is hiding the homeless really the way to deal with the problem? I don't know.

I do know that when I have to interact with "unhoused" people on a regular basis, as I do if I go to downtown Boulder -- or any big city other than San Diego -- I tend to get angry at them. Why do you have to be so dirty and nasty, I think to myself. Why don't you go back where you came from? (You always assume that "where they came from" is somewhere other than where they are, because how could anyone from here end up looking like that?) Go back to Alabama, I think, because once there were some homeless people here from I think Alabama who accidentally set a small forest fire because they didn't understand how quickly fires spread out here. But you know, they're not all from Alabama. Some of them are from here.

I know they say out of sight out of mind, but really, having the homeless people out of sight in San Diego somehow caused them to be on my mind almost constantly.

I want there to be no homeless people, I want everybody's city or town to be full of happy people, not miserable people. But that's not how things are.

Finally, and I guess this isn't a thought about San Diego, but about the trip in general, it was so fun to be with my sister and I felt so lucky to have a sister who I can travel with. We agreed that we mustn't wait so long between visits -- we hadn't seen each other in two years -- but it's all due to her that we were able to do this. She planned and paid for everything. (She also came out to Colorado two years ago, to help me through surgery.) I have the desire, but not the wherewithal -- with Rocket Boy in St. Louis it's pretty hard for me to go anywhere, and any travel money we have, we spend on trips with the twins. I am really lucky to have a sister who does have the wherewithal to do this, as well as the desire. 

We talked about doing another "Giants Weekend" in 2024. For example, they'll be in Cleveland the weekend of my birthday, lol. I've never been to Cleveland. My sister didn't seem to think that was a good idea.

Whatever we end up doing will be great. But this was one special weekend. Thank you, Nancy!