I have never lived in another country where the native language wasn't English, except on a short vacation, which doesn't count. I do not speak another language, unless you count three years of high school French, dusty from 30 years of non-usage. However, two years ago I did move back to the New York City area for six months.
In the New York City area the culture is so different from California, where I make my permanent home, that it certainly qualifies as a "foreign" to me. They claim to speak English here, but sometimes I wonder if the California bay area and the New York metropolitan area are even part of the same country.
I know that I am in New York as soon as I board the shuttle from JFK and hear the airport traffic cops yelling at the vehicles. "Hey buddy, MOVE IT!" said with a New York attitude and a New York accent, difficult to translate to the written page.
When my sister came to visit me in California, she was amazed. "Are they always this polite?" she asked me after returning from a simple trip to the grocery store.
And so, as I visit the east coast for the holidays this year, I am constantly asking myself if I can see myself living back here, an eventuality which I am more and more certain will one day happen the older I become.
The cold grey winters, the wariness of strangers, the conservative politics, the old dilapidated buildings, the small minded attitudes, the rudeness of strangers....it all seems so depressing to me. While it is true that everyone speaks English, it is the general attitude that seems so foreign to me.
I miss the California sunshine, the cultural diversity, the friendliness of Californians, the liberal politics, the diversity and acceptance of alternative lifestyles.
Even though literally we all speak English, figuratively speaking, we do not speak the same language at all. And I am at a loss for how to translate.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The Newest Fad
No, its not the iPad. Or some fashion wear from "Forever 21". Or designer shoes or handbag. I'm talking serious fad here.
I am speaking of the newest "diet". And I know this how? Because this new diet has finally made the magazine slots by the grocery check out stands. I have seen the magazine, and it is called "Gluten Free".
I have known about the gluten free diet for several years because my sister jumped on the bandwagon a number of years ago. This was after her "no-white-sugar" diet of several years. And her "eggless" diet, which I think she still follows. Now she touts the gluten-free-way and preaches its merits to any bread or pasta lover willing to mend their ways.
Over the past few years, more and more products have been sold in a gluten-free variety. At first, Rice Chex and a few other products that had never contained wheat gluten to begin with, began advertising that they were gluten free. Then some gluten free products that were usually sold in health food stores started appearing on Safeway shelves - pancake mix and the like. A year or two ago, Betty Crocker came out with a gluten free brownie mix. And now, this.
Not an article in a magazine, not a magazine devoted to health food devotees, but a $4.95 recipe magazine at the checkout counter, with all the other women's magazines.
Does this mean the gluten-free-way has moved from fad to mainstream? My sister seems to think so. Ask me again ten years from now. Only time will tell.
I am speaking of the newest "diet". And I know this how? Because this new diet has finally made the magazine slots by the grocery check out stands. I have seen the magazine, and it is called "Gluten Free".
I have known about the gluten free diet for several years because my sister jumped on the bandwagon a number of years ago. This was after her "no-white-sugar" diet of several years. And her "eggless" diet, which I think she still follows. Now she touts the gluten-free-way and preaches its merits to any bread or pasta lover willing to mend their ways.
Over the past few years, more and more products have been sold in a gluten-free variety. At first, Rice Chex and a few other products that had never contained wheat gluten to begin with, began advertising that they were gluten free. Then some gluten free products that were usually sold in health food stores started appearing on Safeway shelves - pancake mix and the like. A year or two ago, Betty Crocker came out with a gluten free brownie mix. And now, this.
Not an article in a magazine, not a magazine devoted to health food devotees, but a $4.95 recipe magazine at the checkout counter, with all the other women's magazines.
Does this mean the gluten-free-way has moved from fad to mainstream? My sister seems to think so. Ask me again ten years from now. Only time will tell.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
37 Degrees
I am the first to admit that I am not good with cars. I am speaking of fixing them or keeping them properly maintained. I suppose I could be better at it, I am simply just not interested. And as I get older, and my memory gets worse, my car maintenance becomes more lacking. If there were a service to keep track of my car maintenance and drive my car to Jiffy Lube at the appointed times, ideally while I am at work, I would gladly pay for such a service.
Within two months of getting my current car, a 2005 Toyota Prius, I ran out of gas, not a great thing to do with any car, but really, really bad for a Prius. My beloved red 1990 Toyota Corolla met a similar but slightly worse fate when I bled it's lubrication system dry. (Not 100% my fault - the oil gauge had stopped working.) I also managed to blow out a very worn tire on this same vehicle, before it met its untimely end. The tow truck driver really blasted me for driving with having such worn tires, saying I was a menace on the road.
Yes, we drivers are responsible for making sure our cars are in good working order, lest we cause an accident due to poor auto maintenance. I am aware of this. But the thought just never crosses my mind to check my tires or my oil. On my older cars, I was used to bringing the vehicle into the mechanic every 15,000 miles, whereupon he would check the tires and the oil and the brakes and fluids and other important things. (Truth be told, I did change my oil in-between check-ups, although I wasn't religious about it.)
Because I know all of this, when a bright red flashing light starts blinking on my dashboard, I take it seriously. Out of gas? PULL OVER NOW screams the light. I get it.
And so, I was confused when an orange light began staring at me the other night from the dash. Not urgently critical, but still, it was a dash light, trying earnestly to tell me something that must have been important. I didn't understand the symbol, and had to pull over under a street light and pull the car manual out of the glove compartment.
37 Degrees. That's what the symbol means - 37 degrees outside temperature. Okey-dokey. What happens when the temperature drops to 37 degrees? I have absolutely no idea. This must mean something universal to the Japanese, but its a mystery to me. Perhaps if it was warning of freezing temperatures (as in "remember to put antifreeze in the coolant system") I could understand it. But 37 degrees? What the heck that mean? The manual was of no help in explaining why a dashboard light goes on at 37 degrees, as if everyone should know why this information is important.
It is December, that is true. Temperatures have been known to drop to freezing in December and January, at least overnight, even in California. But we usually don't panic about these things, unless we are headed to the mountains. Our daytime temperatures never stay below freezing, ever.
I am still at a loss as to the importance of this information, so if anyone out there has a clue, please let me know. In the meantime, my odometer says 94,000 miles, which is 34,000 miles since this car was last "tuned" up, which is about 4,000 miles overdue.
Anyone know a good mechanic in the Redwood City area?
Within two months of getting my current car, a 2005 Toyota Prius, I ran out of gas, not a great thing to do with any car, but really, really bad for a Prius. My beloved red 1990 Toyota Corolla met a similar but slightly worse fate when I bled it's lubrication system dry. (Not 100% my fault - the oil gauge had stopped working.) I also managed to blow out a very worn tire on this same vehicle, before it met its untimely end. The tow truck driver really blasted me for driving with having such worn tires, saying I was a menace on the road.
Yes, we drivers are responsible for making sure our cars are in good working order, lest we cause an accident due to poor auto maintenance. I am aware of this. But the thought just never crosses my mind to check my tires or my oil. On my older cars, I was used to bringing the vehicle into the mechanic every 15,000 miles, whereupon he would check the tires and the oil and the brakes and fluids and other important things. (Truth be told, I did change my oil in-between check-ups, although I wasn't religious about it.)
Because I know all of this, when a bright red flashing light starts blinking on my dashboard, I take it seriously. Out of gas? PULL OVER NOW screams the light. I get it.
And so, I was confused when an orange light began staring at me the other night from the dash. Not urgently critical, but still, it was a dash light, trying earnestly to tell me something that must have been important. I didn't understand the symbol, and had to pull over under a street light and pull the car manual out of the glove compartment.
37 Degrees. That's what the symbol means - 37 degrees outside temperature. Okey-dokey. What happens when the temperature drops to 37 degrees? I have absolutely no idea. This must mean something universal to the Japanese, but its a mystery to me. Perhaps if it was warning of freezing temperatures (as in "remember to put antifreeze in the coolant system") I could understand it. But 37 degrees? What the heck that mean? The manual was of no help in explaining why a dashboard light goes on at 37 degrees, as if everyone should know why this information is important.
It is December, that is true. Temperatures have been known to drop to freezing in December and January, at least overnight, even in California. But we usually don't panic about these things, unless we are headed to the mountains. Our daytime temperatures never stay below freezing, ever.
I am still at a loss as to the importance of this information, so if anyone out there has a clue, please let me know. In the meantime, my odometer says 94,000 miles, which is 34,000 miles since this car was last "tuned" up, which is about 4,000 miles overdue.
Anyone know a good mechanic in the Redwood City area?
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Question
I think Shakespeare had it all wrong. According a query I recently saw on Facebook (the touchstone of our times) the major life question today is not "To Be or Not to Be", but "To Go or Not to Go".
My friend's son Nicolas is a freshman in college. He is attending college on a wrestling scholarship. But he hates it there and wants to come home. Hmmmm....he could always go to school elsewhere, but the other scholarship opportunities that once begged for him are long gone.
When I lost my job (and house), there was no question that I would move back "home", to the area where I was born and where most of my family still lives, which is 3,000 miles from my beloved California. I didn't want to "go"...but finances dictated otherwise. Fortunately for me, some six months later I was able to return to CA and find a job. But sometimes it doesn't work out the way you hope.
I watched a documentary on life in China the other night. The filmmakers followed a Chinese couple who had left their two children in the country with grandma while the couple moved to the city in order to find work, so that their children could have a better life. The thing is, it was a two day journey from the city back to the farm, and the couple could only afford to make this trip once a year. Perhaps unfathomable in the US, but this is not uncommon in China. Which is not to say it is not difficult. How hard it must have been to make this decision, for this couple to leave their young children and not see them for a year at a time?
My ex-boyfriend is from Israel. When he was 40, after spending all of his life living on a kibbutz, he moved to the US after his marriage fell apart. He left his young children in Israel, and left his homeland, to find better job opportunities than he was facing in Israel, and he made this move in order to support those very children he left behind. I don't think that his children, who are now adults, ever fully understood this very difficult decision he made. He was able to see them more often than once a year, but still ended up spending huge blocks of time away from them.
I think of all the people who have tried to escape brutal dictatorships. Some made the decision "to go" early, and got out. Others waited too long, and didn't have a chance. By the time they changed their minds, it was too late to leave.
To Go or Not to Go? To college? Across the country? To the City? Halfway across the world?
There are all major life decisions certainly. But then there is the other question, the other decision, the more difficult one, the one much closer to home, the one that involves a relationship with a spouse or "significant other". Many of us have been there. At what point do you stop trying to fix the relationship, and move on? And how much more difficult is this decision if children are involved?
To Go or Not to Go, that is the question.
My friend's son Nicolas is a freshman in college. He is attending college on a wrestling scholarship. But he hates it there and wants to come home. Hmmmm....he could always go to school elsewhere, but the other scholarship opportunities that once begged for him are long gone.
When I lost my job (and house), there was no question that I would move back "home", to the area where I was born and where most of my family still lives, which is 3,000 miles from my beloved California. I didn't want to "go"...but finances dictated otherwise. Fortunately for me, some six months later I was able to return to CA and find a job. But sometimes it doesn't work out the way you hope.
I watched a documentary on life in China the other night. The filmmakers followed a Chinese couple who had left their two children in the country with grandma while the couple moved to the city in order to find work, so that their children could have a better life. The thing is, it was a two day journey from the city back to the farm, and the couple could only afford to make this trip once a year. Perhaps unfathomable in the US, but this is not uncommon in China. Which is not to say it is not difficult. How hard it must have been to make this decision, for this couple to leave their young children and not see them for a year at a time?
My ex-boyfriend is from Israel. When he was 40, after spending all of his life living on a kibbutz, he moved to the US after his marriage fell apart. He left his young children in Israel, and left his homeland, to find better job opportunities than he was facing in Israel, and he made this move in order to support those very children he left behind. I don't think that his children, who are now adults, ever fully understood this very difficult decision he made. He was able to see them more often than once a year, but still ended up spending huge blocks of time away from them.
I think of all the people who have tried to escape brutal dictatorships. Some made the decision "to go" early, and got out. Others waited too long, and didn't have a chance. By the time they changed their minds, it was too late to leave.
To Go or Not to Go? To college? Across the country? To the City? Halfway across the world?
There are all major life decisions certainly. But then there is the other question, the other decision, the more difficult one, the one much closer to home, the one that involves a relationship with a spouse or "significant other". Many of us have been there. At what point do you stop trying to fix the relationship, and move on? And how much more difficult is this decision if children are involved?
To Go or Not to Go, that is the question.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Its Raining Cats and Dogs...and Pine Needles
When I moved up to the hills, to foggy redwood country, I expected dense fog, which results in weather that I call "dripping". Dripping is like a soaking rain, except that the heavy drops fall not directly from the clouds but from the ends of the redwood tree branches.
I did not expect to need a four wheel drive vehicle to get through three inches of "green" that fell yesterday, a particularly windy day. Small redwood twigs and branches littered the ten miles of skyway I take to get home. In some places I had to drive on the wrong side of the road, or slow to 10 miles an hour, there was so much debris on the road. And still, I got stuck - with a large branch that got jammed in my undercarriage for the last two miles of my drive home.
Seeing the road covered in several inches of greenery was bizarre to say the least. I felt like I had landed in one of Dr. Seuss' books.
I fully expect that winter storms are a comin' my way, with wild rain and wind, and the inevitable fallen trees blocking the road. There may be mud and rock slides and even roadway washouts. I am expecting these.
I just did not expect pine needles to be a hindrance to my commute.
I did not expect to need a four wheel drive vehicle to get through three inches of "green" that fell yesterday, a particularly windy day. Small redwood twigs and branches littered the ten miles of skyway I take to get home. In some places I had to drive on the wrong side of the road, or slow to 10 miles an hour, there was so much debris on the road. And still, I got stuck - with a large branch that got jammed in my undercarriage for the last two miles of my drive home.
Seeing the road covered in several inches of greenery was bizarre to say the least. I felt like I had landed in one of Dr. Seuss' books.
I fully expect that winter storms are a comin' my way, with wild rain and wind, and the inevitable fallen trees blocking the road. There may be mud and rock slides and even roadway washouts. I am expecting these.
I just did not expect pine needles to be a hindrance to my commute.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
The Non-Custodial Parent
I would have thought we as a society would have come further in 25 years. But this does not appear to be the case.
My husband and I split up 25 years ago, when I left our marriage and our home, taking my four year old son with me. I won't splatter the private details of our married life all over the internet; if you are looking for salacious tidbits, I can refer you to another blog.
By the time we finally divorced after living apart some two years later, it was an amicable separation. I got the kid, he got the house. Sort of. I had physical custody of our son; we had joint legal custody. Jim stayed in the cabin he had built (on land that did not belong to us) and in which had all lived as a family, up in the peninsula hills.
I don't recall much squabbling over legal papers. It was a do-it-yourself divorce; there were no attorneys, only a paralegal. There was not much property to separate; the cabin was not ours; we each kept one of the two cars we owned. Custody was the only issue for discussion.
By the time I started legal paperwork two years after we had split, our emotions had calmed down. We had established a routine for physical custody and visitation. I had rented a house on the peninsula and Jim would visit Sean at the house one night a week and every other weekend. This arrangement gave Sean great stability in having only one place to call "home". At some point, we put the arrangement on paper, and filed it with the court. It was a pretty typical divorce, mom gets physical custody, dad has visitation rights.
Fast forward 25 years. In this much changed world of today, at least technologically speaking, I have come across a blog written by a divorced mother of three children, who gave up physical custody of her children ten years ago to her ex-husband. She gave up physical custody solely in the best interests of her children at the time of the divorce, not because she didn't love her kids and want to be with them and not for any other reason. So here's the rub: why do I even find myself explaining this? Because we as a society still expect the mom to get the kids, unless there is "something wrong" with her, as in she is an "unfit mother".
And I know one or two who are unfit mothers. Drug addicts, alcoholics, emotionally unstable women whose ex-husbands ended up being the custodial parent. But, why is this the assumed reason if the wife does not end up with the kids today? We are living in a time when women can have just as successful and demanding careers as men, have just as much earning power to afford a nice place to live, in a time when dads have more flexible work schedules thanks to the ability to work from home, in a time when dads taking "paternity leave" is not unheard of - why do we still poorly judge those women who have chosen to give up physical custody?
We do, still, jump to that conclusion. At least, according to one woman's story.
But I have also read a few comments on Facebook regarding this issue, which indicate that there is some progressive thinking out there on the topic. So perhaps we are making progress, even if I find that progress glacially slow. Couples living together was not socially accepted by my parents generation when I met my husband some 35 years ago. Today, unmarried couples living together is hardly questioned, if not always sanctioned. Perhaps there is hope for other alternative lifestyle choices, such as non-custodial mothers. I certainly hope so.
My husband and I split up 25 years ago, when I left our marriage and our home, taking my four year old son with me. I won't splatter the private details of our married life all over the internet; if you are looking for salacious tidbits, I can refer you to another blog.
By the time we finally divorced after living apart some two years later, it was an amicable separation. I got the kid, he got the house. Sort of. I had physical custody of our son; we had joint legal custody. Jim stayed in the cabin he had built (on land that did not belong to us) and in which had all lived as a family, up in the peninsula hills.
I don't recall much squabbling over legal papers. It was a do-it-yourself divorce; there were no attorneys, only a paralegal. There was not much property to separate; the cabin was not ours; we each kept one of the two cars we owned. Custody was the only issue for discussion.
By the time I started legal paperwork two years after we had split, our emotions had calmed down. We had established a routine for physical custody and visitation. I had rented a house on the peninsula and Jim would visit Sean at the house one night a week and every other weekend. This arrangement gave Sean great stability in having only one place to call "home". At some point, we put the arrangement on paper, and filed it with the court. It was a pretty typical divorce, mom gets physical custody, dad has visitation rights.
Fast forward 25 years. In this much changed world of today, at least technologically speaking, I have come across a blog written by a divorced mother of three children, who gave up physical custody of her children ten years ago to her ex-husband. She gave up physical custody solely in the best interests of her children at the time of the divorce, not because she didn't love her kids and want to be with them and not for any other reason. So here's the rub: why do I even find myself explaining this? Because we as a society still expect the mom to get the kids, unless there is "something wrong" with her, as in she is an "unfit mother".
And I know one or two who are unfit mothers. Drug addicts, alcoholics, emotionally unstable women whose ex-husbands ended up being the custodial parent. But, why is this the assumed reason if the wife does not end up with the kids today? We are living in a time when women can have just as successful and demanding careers as men, have just as much earning power to afford a nice place to live, in a time when dads have more flexible work schedules thanks to the ability to work from home, in a time when dads taking "paternity leave" is not unheard of - why do we still poorly judge those women who have chosen to give up physical custody?
We do, still, jump to that conclusion. At least, according to one woman's story.
But I have also read a few comments on Facebook regarding this issue, which indicate that there is some progressive thinking out there on the topic. So perhaps we are making progress, even if I find that progress glacially slow. Couples living together was not socially accepted by my parents generation when I met my husband some 35 years ago. Today, unmarried couples living together is hardly questioned, if not always sanctioned. Perhaps there is hope for other alternative lifestyle choices, such as non-custodial mothers. I certainly hope so.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
How I Forecast the Weather
There is no weather.com location for mountain weather. I live outside city limits of the nearest town. Even if I lived within the limits of the nearest town, the town center is at the bottom of the hill....and the mountain makes its own weather.
I have to check three different locations (north/west, south, and east) to get any reasonably accurate predication of the coming weather. And even then my "forecast" is often not reliable.
Today it is raining and foggy up here on the mountain. According to Weather.com, it is merely "cloudy" in San Francisco, Woodside and Redwood City, while the mountain is getting doused. I live high enough up the mountain to be right smack dab in the middle of the "cloudy" part of that weather prediction.
But, sometimes, I am above the forecasted "cloudy" weather. On those days, it can be brilliantly sunny at my house on top of the mountain. When I drive down the ribbon of skyway towards town, I am above the tops of the clouds on either side of me, pink or orange or rose colored from the rising sun.
And so, I have learned that a "cloudy" weather forecast on Weather.com could mean sunny...or raining...or foggy....up here on the mountain...or, it just might actually mean cloudy. I guess I will just have to look out the window to know for sure.
I have to check three different locations (north/west, south, and east) to get any reasonably accurate predication of the coming weather. And even then my "forecast" is often not reliable.
Today it is raining and foggy up here on the mountain. According to Weather.com, it is merely "cloudy" in San Francisco, Woodside and Redwood City, while the mountain is getting doused. I live high enough up the mountain to be right smack dab in the middle of the "cloudy" part of that weather prediction.
But, sometimes, I am above the forecasted "cloudy" weather. On those days, it can be brilliantly sunny at my house on top of the mountain. When I drive down the ribbon of skyway towards town, I am above the tops of the clouds on either side of me, pink or orange or rose colored from the rising sun.
And so, I have learned that a "cloudy" weather forecast on Weather.com could mean sunny...or raining...or foggy....up here on the mountain...or, it just might actually mean cloudy. I guess I will just have to look out the window to know for sure.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Who Gets the Kids?
A common theme in a common scenario. Mom and Dad divorce, and the big questions are: Who gets the kids? Who gets the house?
Yep. Been there. However, in my divorce, there was never any question of who got what. He got the house, I got the kid. Technically we had joint custody, but realistically I was the one who made any decisions related to the kid. It was helpful that our values are pretty similar. Jim built our cabin, and I was the one who left, so he got the house.
But...what happens when a couple splits up and there are no big ticket items to split up? What happens then?
I guess you fight over smaller things, like who bought the lamp or the patio furniture. And for pet lovers, "who gets the dog?" is probably a big concern. Divorce is never easy.
What about an unmarried, not living together couple? Easier yet, at least physically. There isn't any "moving out" for one thing. But still, "breaking up is hard to do".
With all of these various scenarios, there are some things not so easily divided up - friends. Who gets the friends? If I am a friend of one, can I remain a friend of the other? In theory, yes, in reality, this is difficult if not impossible to do.
Which brings me to my last point - what about places? You know - places you used to go together, things you used to do together. Do you still go to that restaurant the two of you used to frequent? Do you still go to the same church, the same grocery store, the same hardware store? What about the same coffee shop, the same entertainment spot? Do you split these up? If not, do you change your behavior to not run into your former lover?
Curious minds want like to know. Let me know what you think.
Yep. Been there. However, in my divorce, there was never any question of who got what. He got the house, I got the kid. Technically we had joint custody, but realistically I was the one who made any decisions related to the kid. It was helpful that our values are pretty similar. Jim built our cabin, and I was the one who left, so he got the house.
But...what happens when a couple splits up and there are no big ticket items to split up? What happens then?
I guess you fight over smaller things, like who bought the lamp or the patio furniture. And for pet lovers, "who gets the dog?" is probably a big concern. Divorce is never easy.
What about an unmarried, not living together couple? Easier yet, at least physically. There isn't any "moving out" for one thing. But still, "breaking up is hard to do".
With all of these various scenarios, there are some things not so easily divided up - friends. Who gets the friends? If I am a friend of one, can I remain a friend of the other? In theory, yes, in reality, this is difficult if not impossible to do.
Which brings me to my last point - what about places? You know - places you used to go together, things you used to do together. Do you still go to that restaurant the two of you used to frequent? Do you still go to the same church, the same grocery store, the same hardware store? What about the same coffee shop, the same entertainment spot? Do you split these up? If not, do you change your behavior to not run into your former lover?
Curious minds want like to know. Let me know what you think.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Giving Thanks
Thanksgiving has long been my favorite holiday. Everyone can participate, regardless of ethnic or religious origin. There is no wondering what to buy for Aunt Martha, no lavish spending on displays of lights and plastic reindeer, no maxing out the credit card on gifts that no one will use.
There is no exclusion from this holiday for those who do not believe in the reason behind it. No requirement that you attend some religious ceremony. Just family, friends, food and drink, and giving thanks. I can not think of a better reason to celebrate, essentially, to have a nationwide party.
For the past eleven years I have spent Thanksgiving with my family in Connecticut. But this year, I will not. This year, I will be staying in California. I decided not to fly across the country this year because I only have four days off from work.
And so I will stay here in California, spending the day at my cousin's house across the bay. On Thursday, I will eat, drink and be merry. And I will give thanks - for my family, for my friends, for my health, for the beautiful state of California that I am lucky enough to call home....and for my job.
There is no exclusion from this holiday for those who do not believe in the reason behind it. No requirement that you attend some religious ceremony. Just family, friends, food and drink, and giving thanks. I can not think of a better reason to celebrate, essentially, to have a nationwide party.
For the past eleven years I have spent Thanksgiving with my family in Connecticut. But this year, I will not. This year, I will be staying in California. I decided not to fly across the country this year because I only have four days off from work.
And so I will stay here in California, spending the day at my cousin's house across the bay. On Thursday, I will eat, drink and be merry. And I will give thanks - for my family, for my friends, for my health, for the beautiful state of California that I am lucky enough to call home....and for my job.
Transplanted
By late November, most of the trees have lost their leaves on the East Coast. In California, our oranges and yellows and reds still adorn tree branches. Our "fall" starts a little later, and lasts a little longer.
"What fall?" my sister asks, incredulously. By east coast standards, we don't have "fall" in California; we have a warm green season and a cool green season. It is true, we have many trees that don't lose their leaves at all. But this only makes those trees whose leaves do turn color even more brilliantly spectacular.
And, yes, sister dear, we do have some trees whose leaves turn burning orange and flaming red. We have brilliant red maples, and fiery orange Chinese pistachios, and bright yellow gingkos that can compete with any east coast tree. These trees may not be native to California, having been planted as shade trees in neighborhood front yards or to line city streets, but they are flourishing here now, just like many a transplanted Californian.
Just like me.
"What fall?" my sister asks, incredulously. By east coast standards, we don't have "fall" in California; we have a warm green season and a cool green season. It is true, we have many trees that don't lose their leaves at all. But this only makes those trees whose leaves do turn color even more brilliantly spectacular.
And, yes, sister dear, we do have some trees whose leaves turn burning orange and flaming red. We have brilliant red maples, and fiery orange Chinese pistachios, and bright yellow gingkos that can compete with any east coast tree. These trees may not be native to California, having been planted as shade trees in neighborhood front yards or to line city streets, but they are flourishing here now, just like many a transplanted Californian.
Just like me.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Our Own "Miss Rumphius"
It was a memorial to a man who made the world more beautiful, or, at least, his part of the world. Officially it was a dedication ceremony, to dedicate the grounds at Fremont High School as "Stahl Gardens". The ceremony was short and sweet. The high school band played on the large front lawn, friends and colleagues spoke, the plaque designating the grounds as "Stahl Gardens" was unveiled by Bob's family.
I can't say I knew him well. I can't say I really knew Bob at all, except that I knew who he was. Everyone knew who Bob was, at least everyone who set foot on the Fremont High School campus over the last 25 years.
Bob had been the head custodian at Fremont High School, for many, many years. But Bob was more than a custodian. Bob was legendary for his gardening skills, skills that he brought to fruition at the high school. Tall red roses adorned the front walkways of the campus. Hundreds of brightly colored tulips bloomed in early spring underneath the roses. And in May, the tulips were replaced with red and white petunias, Fremont colors, just in time for graduation, while red roses bloomed over their heads, all surrounded by an expanse of bright green grass.
Fremont High School, the step-child in an otherwise wealthy school district, is not a school with funds to spare, and flowers are expensive to purchase and maintain. But people loved to donate to Bob's "flower fund". People not connected to the high school in any way would often stop to admire the flowers that graced the lawn in front of the high school. The local community was enhanced by Bob's gardening talents - as cars passed by on the busy street, or stopped at the light on the corner, people would glance over to the front lawn to take in the colorful displays.
Never in all the time I have spent at Fremont HS over the past 15 years have I ever seen or heard of any Fremont student ruining the flowers in any way.
Although students can learn without a flower garden, the flower garden at Fremont is important to keep. Especially for a school that struggles to purchase the amenities that other wealthier high schools in the area have, the garden is something tangible in which its students can, and do, take pride. For that reason, if for no other, Fremont High School should continue Bob's legacy of making the campus a nicer place, and maintain Stahl Gardens with tulips, roses and petunias, for many years to come.
I can't say I knew him well. I can't say I really knew Bob at all, except that I knew who he was. Everyone knew who Bob was, at least everyone who set foot on the Fremont High School campus over the last 25 years.
Bob had been the head custodian at Fremont High School, for many, many years. But Bob was more than a custodian. Bob was legendary for his gardening skills, skills that he brought to fruition at the high school. Tall red roses adorned the front walkways of the campus. Hundreds of brightly colored tulips bloomed in early spring underneath the roses. And in May, the tulips were replaced with red and white petunias, Fremont colors, just in time for graduation, while red roses bloomed over their heads, all surrounded by an expanse of bright green grass.
Fremont High School, the step-child in an otherwise wealthy school district, is not a school with funds to spare, and flowers are expensive to purchase and maintain. But people loved to donate to Bob's "flower fund". People not connected to the high school in any way would often stop to admire the flowers that graced the lawn in front of the high school. The local community was enhanced by Bob's gardening talents - as cars passed by on the busy street, or stopped at the light on the corner, people would glance over to the front lawn to take in the colorful displays.
Never in all the time I have spent at Fremont HS over the past 15 years have I ever seen or heard of any Fremont student ruining the flowers in any way.
Although students can learn without a flower garden, the flower garden at Fremont is important to keep. Especially for a school that struggles to purchase the amenities that other wealthier high schools in the area have, the garden is something tangible in which its students can, and do, take pride. For that reason, if for no other, Fremont High School should continue Bob's legacy of making the campus a nicer place, and maintain Stahl Gardens with tulips, roses and petunias, for many years to come.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Besotted
I cannot think of any other word to describe my feelings. I am besotted with music. Drunk with the music, infatuated with the music, made stupid by the the music. (Definitions curtesy of dictionary.com.)
In the past week, I have been to several live music performances. American Bluegrass (church auditorium); Bulgarian music (house concert); Czech Republic blue grass concert (coffee house); Quebecquois fiddle music (house concert). This upcoming Friday night there is Irish singing; on Sunday I am going to hear a classical music concert, with a world famous violinist, at Stanford University. I get to hear all of this wonderful music without having to drive into "The City" (ie, San Francisco).
We are most fortunate in the SF bay area, to have so many varied musical options, most of exceptional quality. There is folk music, and bluegrass music, classical music, and Celtic music; there are coffee houses, and house concerts, universities, and major symphonies. All of these venues are within an hour's driving distance from any central bay area location.
I have attended so many wonderful concerts lately that I have become quite drunk from the local bay area music scene. It is both intoxicating and addictive. With just about every concert, I take home a little bit of the music with me, in the form of a CD, so I can listen to the music over and over and over again.
I love this wonderful bay area, for many reasons - cultural diversity, great weather, proximity to the ocean, incredible county parks for hiking - but I think that I love it most of all for its musical diversity.
If I ever have to leave the SF bay area, it will truly be a sobering reality.
In the past week, I have been to several live music performances. American Bluegrass (church auditorium); Bulgarian music (house concert); Czech Republic blue grass concert (coffee house); Quebecquois fiddle music (house concert). This upcoming Friday night there is Irish singing; on Sunday I am going to hear a classical music concert, with a world famous violinist, at Stanford University. I get to hear all of this wonderful music without having to drive into "The City" (ie, San Francisco).
We are most fortunate in the SF bay area, to have so many varied musical options, most of exceptional quality. There is folk music, and bluegrass music, classical music, and Celtic music; there are coffee houses, and house concerts, universities, and major symphonies. All of these venues are within an hour's driving distance from any central bay area location.
I have attended so many wonderful concerts lately that I have become quite drunk from the local bay area music scene. It is both intoxicating and addictive. With just about every concert, I take home a little bit of the music with me, in the form of a CD, so I can listen to the music over and over and over again.
I love this wonderful bay area, for many reasons - cultural diversity, great weather, proximity to the ocean, incredible county parks for hiking - but I think that I love it most of all for its musical diversity.
If I ever have to leave the SF bay area, it will truly be a sobering reality.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Mothra, Revisited
I am not afraid of spiders, or venomous snakes, or as it turns out, coyotes, having encountered all of them up close and personal. But, the giant moths kind of freak me out.
These are not your typical flimsy-winged flutterers that hover close to the lights. These are mountain moths, and they are gigantic. You know, like "Mothra". (OK, well maybe not quite that big.)
For the uninitiated, those of you who don't watch 1950s Godzilla movies, Mothra is a Monster Moth who battles with Godzilla. (And I know this how? Lets just say my son loved watching old "B" horror movies.)
These moths up here on the mountain have enormous bodies, which take enormous amounts of energy just to become airborne. As a result, their wings sound like mini chain saws buzzing at a million flaps per second just to keep them aloft. And when 25 of these creatures are beating on your sliding glass door to get close to the light - well, its just creepy that's all.
Then again, perhaps I have watched one too many Alfred Hitchcock movies. ("The Birds" comes to mind.)
These are not your typical flimsy-winged flutterers that hover close to the lights. These are mountain moths, and they are gigantic. You know, like "Mothra". (OK, well maybe not quite that big.)
For the uninitiated, those of you who don't watch 1950s Godzilla movies, Mothra is a Monster Moth who battles with Godzilla. (And I know this how? Lets just say my son loved watching old "B" horror movies.)
These moths up here on the mountain have enormous bodies, which take enormous amounts of energy just to become airborne. As a result, their wings sound like mini chain saws buzzing at a million flaps per second just to keep them aloft. And when 25 of these creatures are beating on your sliding glass door to get close to the light - well, its just creepy that's all.
Then again, perhaps I have watched one too many Alfred Hitchcock movies. ("The Birds" comes to mind.)
Sunday, October 16, 2011
"Life"
It was a memorable event. The dignitaries were introduced, official proclamations were presented. Stories and accolades to his memory were told. The plaque was unveiled, songs sung, reception held. And then, the show went on. (Literally.)
The auditorium at Fremont High School has now been officially dedicated as the Shannon Theatre.
Tim's step-son wrote - "As true as "What, I had to die to get the theatre dedicated to me!?!" might have been, I know this would have really meant a lot to him." Yes, it would have Drew. It certainly would have.
The real reason that the auditorium was named after Tim is not because he died at a relatively young age (49); it is because of the effect that he had on the lives of all of his students. As drama alumnus Andrea Nysen pointed out so well at the dedication - Tim didn't just teach drama and stagecraft; Tim taught "life".
The auditorium at Fremont High School has now been officially dedicated as the Shannon Theatre.
Tim's step-son wrote - "As true as "What, I had to die to get the theatre dedicated to me!?!" might have been, I know this would have really meant a lot to him." Yes, it would have Drew. It certainly would have.
The real reason that the auditorium was named after Tim is not because he died at a relatively young age (49); it is because of the effect that he had on the lives of all of his students. As drama alumnus Andrea Nysen pointed out so well at the dedication - Tim didn't just teach drama and stagecraft; Tim taught "life".
Sunday, October 9, 2011
October 11
The sun is shining, the sky is a clear blue and a hint of coolness fills the air. Crows in the redwoods are cawing to each other, back and forth. Periodically, I hear the muted roar of motorcycle engines, as they race up and down the ribbon of asphalt that is Skyline Boulevard. It is a beautiful fall day up here on the mountain.
And yet...there is a melancholy to my happiness. Last night, I dreamed of Sean, eleven years gone, still a boy in my dreams. I dreamed that I had forgotten him, that he was alive and I had not seen him in years.
Part of that is true - I have not seen him in years. Eleven years in fact. But I have not forgotten you, Sean. I will never forget you, ever. I have been distracted lately, I will admit that. But I have not forgotten.
Later today, Jim and I will meet at the Land. We will winterize the bench, the bench your friends built in your memory, like we do every fall. We will go up to the old cabin, what's left of it, and think of all the good times we had with you up there when you were young. We will walk to the deck and to the pond. And then Jim will come with me to see my new place on Skyline. Yes, I have a new place. Life moves forward, without you; I cannot change that.
Tuesday I will visit the high school and the auditorium, your home-away-from-home. It will be hard, because Tim won't be there, but I will visit none-the-less. And I will remember you both, and miss you both, the two of you, forever entwined in my heart, forever associated with Fremont High School and its auditorium.
And on Tuesday, I will lay a red rose - one at the condo where we lived, one at the railroad tracks where you breathed your last breath, and one down at the high school, as close as I can get to the auditorium. Because, now matter how busy or otherwise distracted one gets on this earthly world, a mother never forgets her child. Ever.
And yet...there is a melancholy to my happiness. Last night, I dreamed of Sean, eleven years gone, still a boy in my dreams. I dreamed that I had forgotten him, that he was alive and I had not seen him in years.
Part of that is true - I have not seen him in years. Eleven years in fact. But I have not forgotten you, Sean. I will never forget you, ever. I have been distracted lately, I will admit that. But I have not forgotten.
Later today, Jim and I will meet at the Land. We will winterize the bench, the bench your friends built in your memory, like we do every fall. We will go up to the old cabin, what's left of it, and think of all the good times we had with you up there when you were young. We will walk to the deck and to the pond. And then Jim will come with me to see my new place on Skyline. Yes, I have a new place. Life moves forward, without you; I cannot change that.
Tuesday I will visit the high school and the auditorium, your home-away-from-home. It will be hard, because Tim won't be there, but I will visit none-the-less. And I will remember you both, and miss you both, the two of you, forever entwined in my heart, forever associated with Fremont High School and its auditorium.
And on Tuesday, I will lay a red rose - one at the condo where we lived, one at the railroad tracks where you breathed your last breath, and one down at the high school, as close as I can get to the auditorium. Because, now matter how busy or otherwise distracted one gets on this earthly world, a mother never forgets her child. Ever.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Third Class
Despite efforts at integration in America, we are not a class-less society. In the US, there is the upper class, the middle class and the lower classes. We have premium, super and regular; first class, business class, and economy. And now, there is third class.
I am speaking of the airlines. I thought there were just the three seating classes, but I have found out today, when booking my winter holiday vacation, that I am mistaken. There is definitely a class lower than the "regular" economy class.
It appears that American Airlines, who usually has the best times and prices for my wallet and destination, has created this extra class. I have now been relegated to the very, very, very back of the airplane, right by the lavatories. First class and business class sit much further up front, and have all kinds of amenities which the "economy" section lacks, such as a place to put your legs and feet. For years, economy class has been where most of us "regular" (ie, non-business, non-wealthy) people sit.
But now, it appears that American Airlines has split economy class into two sections. If I want to sit closer to the business and first class sections, and board and exit the plane two minutes sooner than those at the very back of the plane, I now need to pay an additional $75. I refuse to pay $75 for this "privilege". We regular folks already bring our own food, our knees hug our chests, and we are (or were) the last group to board.
What scheme will the airlines think of next to wring a few dollars out of air travelers? Perhaps they could sell tickets to use the lavatory, or require payment to reserve an oxygen mask or flotation device. I wouldn't put it past them.
I am speaking of the airlines. I thought there were just the three seating classes, but I have found out today, when booking my winter holiday vacation, that I am mistaken. There is definitely a class lower than the "regular" economy class.
It appears that American Airlines, who usually has the best times and prices for my wallet and destination, has created this extra class. I have now been relegated to the very, very, very back of the airplane, right by the lavatories. First class and business class sit much further up front, and have all kinds of amenities which the "economy" section lacks, such as a place to put your legs and feet. For years, economy class has been where most of us "regular" (ie, non-business, non-wealthy) people sit.
But now, it appears that American Airlines has split economy class into two sections. If I want to sit closer to the business and first class sections, and board and exit the plane two minutes sooner than those at the very back of the plane, I now need to pay an additional $75. I refuse to pay $75 for this "privilege". We regular folks already bring our own food, our knees hug our chests, and we are (or were) the last group to board.
What scheme will the airlines think of next to wring a few dollars out of air travelers? Perhaps they could sell tickets to use the lavatory, or require payment to reserve an oxygen mask or flotation device. I wouldn't put it past them.
Friday, September 30, 2011
The Sooner, the Better
I admit that my Prius is not the fastest car on the block, but I chug along at the speed limit or better most of the time. In general, I have no problems on the bay area major highways. But up here in Foggy Redwood Country, they all think I'm a slow poke.
The main drag up here is called "Skyline Boulevard". Long ago, locals realized this gently curving two lane ribbon of road was their own "Autobahn". It is a favorite of bay area motorcyclists on the weekends. I hear them roar by from my humble abode and I see them in the parking lot of the local eatery if I head out to town in that direction. Bicyclists love riding on Skyline, and on downhill sections they whiz by just as fast as motorized vehicles. I have no problem with either kind of cyclist.
Its the weekday commuters who drive me crazy. I drive the speed limit, more or less, mainly because I never know if I might run into a deer or a bicyclist as I come around the bend at 50 mph, especially with limited visibility in foggy weather. But the commuters seem to think they are race car drivers on a limited access road. Seriously.
They tailgate me, at night, with their headlights on BRIGHT, until I pull over. Or they stay 10 feet from my bumper as we navigate through thick morning fog. At some point, I usually end up pulling over to let them pass. The funny thing is, when we reach the end of the road, at a yield sign at the entrance to the highway, I usually pull up right behind them. So they can't really be saving any time to speak of by streaking down the road a few seconds ahead of me.
The only thing I can figure is that an "autobahn complex" is responsible for such behavior. And, I doubt anything I do will change the situation. In the meantime, I think we should rename the roadway, to reflect the driving conditions. I propose that the name be changed to "Skyline Speedway" - immediately, if not sooner.
The main drag up here is called "Skyline Boulevard". Long ago, locals realized this gently curving two lane ribbon of road was their own "Autobahn". It is a favorite of bay area motorcyclists on the weekends. I hear them roar by from my humble abode and I see them in the parking lot of the local eatery if I head out to town in that direction. Bicyclists love riding on Skyline, and on downhill sections they whiz by just as fast as motorized vehicles. I have no problem with either kind of cyclist.
Its the weekday commuters who drive me crazy. I drive the speed limit, more or less, mainly because I never know if I might run into a deer or a bicyclist as I come around the bend at 50 mph, especially with limited visibility in foggy weather. But the commuters seem to think they are race car drivers on a limited access road. Seriously.
They tailgate me, at night, with their headlights on BRIGHT, until I pull over. Or they stay 10 feet from my bumper as we navigate through thick morning fog. At some point, I usually end up pulling over to let them pass. The funny thing is, when we reach the end of the road, at a yield sign at the entrance to the highway, I usually pull up right behind them. So they can't really be saving any time to speak of by streaking down the road a few seconds ahead of me.
The only thing I can figure is that an "autobahn complex" is responsible for such behavior. And, I doubt anything I do will change the situation. In the meantime, I think we should rename the roadway, to reflect the driving conditions. I propose that the name be changed to "Skyline Speedway" - immediately, if not sooner.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
68 Degrees
Its the new normal - 68 degrees.
When I was a kid, my mother used to make her children wear sweaters if the temperatures dropped below 72. Of course, once out the door, we kids would run around and get all hot and sweaty in minutes, and the sweaters peeled off in no time. But at least we walked out the door with our sweaters on, which probably made my mother think that she was being a good mama. Parents forget that kids engines run at much hotter temperatures. Kids and women with hot flashes that is.
As if I would know about things like hot flashes. Just saying, you know? (Unhhhhhuhhhh....)
They keep the air conditioning pretty cool where I work. I am very comfortable in my typical workday attire, which essentially consists of a fancy tee shirt, brightly colored, and stretchy black slacks, while my (younger) co-workers wear long sleeves and additional layers. They must have grown up with that 72 degree rule and a mother complex.
I am happy to have slightly cool-to-the-touch skin and an engine in my chest that's not on fire. Sounds like an advertisement - "Never burn with the Cool-Touch iron". Right. That's me. Cool-touch.
I used to LOVE wearing turtleneck shirts; now I cannot stand wearing them, even in the coldest winter, in Connecticut. I must have my neck open, as a major component of my ventilation system, in case I get overheated, which I do, quite easily and quite often.
I read a post on a friend's Facebook page recently, whereby she was talking about how her family was complaining because she had the A/C set to 68 degrees, and they felt cold. But 68 degrees sounds pretty comfortable to me.
When I get in my car after work, in my fancy tee shirt and no sweater, unless the outside temperature is less than 70 or so, I turn on the car A/C, to 68 degrees. (Well, until I hit the fog bank, which is a very consistent 55 degrees.)
68 degrees - its the new normal, at least for women of a certain age.
When I was a kid, my mother used to make her children wear sweaters if the temperatures dropped below 72. Of course, once out the door, we kids would run around and get all hot and sweaty in minutes, and the sweaters peeled off in no time. But at least we walked out the door with our sweaters on, which probably made my mother think that she was being a good mama. Parents forget that kids engines run at much hotter temperatures. Kids and women with hot flashes that is.
As if I would know about things like hot flashes. Just saying, you know? (Unhhhhhuhhhh....)
They keep the air conditioning pretty cool where I work. I am very comfortable in my typical workday attire, which essentially consists of a fancy tee shirt, brightly colored, and stretchy black slacks, while my (younger) co-workers wear long sleeves and additional layers. They must have grown up with that 72 degree rule and a mother complex.
I am happy to have slightly cool-to-the-touch skin and an engine in my chest that's not on fire. Sounds like an advertisement - "Never burn with the Cool-Touch iron". Right. That's me. Cool-touch.
I used to LOVE wearing turtleneck shirts; now I cannot stand wearing them, even in the coldest winter, in Connecticut. I must have my neck open, as a major component of my ventilation system, in case I get overheated, which I do, quite easily and quite often.
I read a post on a friend's Facebook page recently, whereby she was talking about how her family was complaining because she had the A/C set to 68 degrees, and they felt cold. But 68 degrees sounds pretty comfortable to me.
When I get in my car after work, in my fancy tee shirt and no sweater, unless the outside temperature is less than 70 or so, I turn on the car A/C, to 68 degrees. (Well, until I hit the fog bank, which is a very consistent 55 degrees.)
68 degrees - its the new normal, at least for women of a certain age.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Horse Country
On top of the mountain today, our foggy weather was "dripping", all day. Regardless, I pulled on my rain jacket and set out to get the mail. In the mail box was the town newsletter, which I have not seen before. Instead of the newspaper rag pages I am used to seeing in my San Jose neighborhood free newsletter, this newsletter is printed on glossy paper and dropped in every mailbox with a town mailing address. (I live outside of the official town limits, but received one anyway.)
The newsletter appears to be issued quarterly, as this edition simply says "Fall 2011". So, what is going in Woodside these days? Let's take a look inside. There is a Rummage Sale in early October at a local church. That's pretty exciting. There is a town "clean up" day in early November. Hey, there is a Barn Dance on October 1st. Big time excitement here! And, the biggest spread of all - the Horse Fair, on October 8th at Woodside Town Hall. Whoopee-do!!! And this event is Free!! It features a Progressive Trail Ride through town, live music, and pony rides! Petting zoo and a carrot cake and apple juice social! How can I resist? This is must attend event!
I live in a converted barn. It is not unusual to see people on horseback on the trails behind my house, or even in town. I pass by the "Horse Park" on my way into town, which is a large parcel of land on which you can ride your horse and socialize with other riders. So, having a Horse Fair should hardly surprise me. In fact, it doesn't. I am actually kind of excited about the Horse Fair and the Barn Dance. After all, I live in Horse Country. I might as well embrace the local culture.
The newsletter appears to be issued quarterly, as this edition simply says "Fall 2011". So, what is going in Woodside these days? Let's take a look inside. There is a Rummage Sale in early October at a local church. That's pretty exciting. There is a town "clean up" day in early November. Hey, there is a Barn Dance on October 1st. Big time excitement here! And, the biggest spread of all - the Horse Fair, on October 8th at Woodside Town Hall. Whoopee-do!!! And this event is Free!! It features a Progressive Trail Ride through town, live music, and pony rides! Petting zoo and a carrot cake and apple juice social! How can I resist? This is must attend event!
I live in a converted barn. It is not unusual to see people on horseback on the trails behind my house, or even in town. I pass by the "Horse Park" on my way into town, which is a large parcel of land on which you can ride your horse and socialize with other riders. So, having a Horse Fair should hardly surprise me. In fact, it doesn't. I am actually kind of excited about the Horse Fair and the Barn Dance. After all, I live in Horse Country. I might as well embrace the local culture.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Robin's Egg Blue
As I clean up, the liquid swirls around the kitchen sink drain, the color and consistency of skim milk. At least the paint is water based and not oil.
A small patch up paint job turned in a two hour late Sunday afternoon project. There were no signs of late afternoon fog, no chill breeze whispering over the hills from the coast. In fact, there was no wind at all this afternoon. A good day for paint to dry up here in foggy redwood country.
The landlord painted my small deck two months ago, the day after I moved in. I moved my few small plants, in rust colored terra cotta pots, onto the deck after the paint had dried. A few weeks later, when I went to move them into sunnier spots on the deck, they took the paint with them. So, I thought I would patch up the bare spots with a few swipes of the paint brush.
Except, when I was done, the rest of the deck looked - well, dirty, after only two months. I ended up painting the whole damn thing. It looks nice, right now. Give it a week or two, and it will probably be covered with dirty footprints again.
Who in their right mind paints a deck robin's egg blue? (Which is basically white with a little blue tint thrown in for coloration) Especially up here in the hills, where we have dirt driveways. Dirt, people, dirt. As in "becomes mud in the rainy season". Painting the house a light color, that I can understand. But the stairs and deck will look dirty in no time.
My landlord, whose house I can see through the trees, has painted all the buildings on the land he owns up here in the same colors. The barn, the house and the garage are all the same robin's egg blue, with dark blue trim. And all the decking and stairs to the decks (each one of the three building has stairs and a deck) are robin's egg blue.
As I wielded the paintbrush this afternoon, I couldn't help thinking that maybe a medium grey would be a better color for a surface that gets a lot of foot traffic.
For now, as we head into fall, I have a deck painted robin's egg blue. Come spring, I'm going to see if my landlord will let me paint it the same color that I am sure it will have become by then - a nice shade of Sierra Foothills Brown.
A small patch up paint job turned in a two hour late Sunday afternoon project. There were no signs of late afternoon fog, no chill breeze whispering over the hills from the coast. In fact, there was no wind at all this afternoon. A good day for paint to dry up here in foggy redwood country.
The landlord painted my small deck two months ago, the day after I moved in. I moved my few small plants, in rust colored terra cotta pots, onto the deck after the paint had dried. A few weeks later, when I went to move them into sunnier spots on the deck, they took the paint with them. So, I thought I would patch up the bare spots with a few swipes of the paint brush.
Except, when I was done, the rest of the deck looked - well, dirty, after only two months. I ended up painting the whole damn thing. It looks nice, right now. Give it a week or two, and it will probably be covered with dirty footprints again.
Who in their right mind paints a deck robin's egg blue? (Which is basically white with a little blue tint thrown in for coloration) Especially up here in the hills, where we have dirt driveways. Dirt, people, dirt. As in "becomes mud in the rainy season". Painting the house a light color, that I can understand. But the stairs and deck will look dirty in no time.
My landlord, whose house I can see through the trees, has painted all the buildings on the land he owns up here in the same colors. The barn, the house and the garage are all the same robin's egg blue, with dark blue trim. And all the decking and stairs to the decks (each one of the three building has stairs and a deck) are robin's egg blue.
As I wielded the paintbrush this afternoon, I couldn't help thinking that maybe a medium grey would be a better color for a surface that gets a lot of foot traffic.
For now, as we head into fall, I have a deck painted robin's egg blue. Come spring, I'm going to see if my landlord will let me paint it the same color that I am sure it will have become by then - a nice shade of Sierra Foothills Brown.
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