Adventures With Patti

Anticipating long lines, Gauss voted early, but I headed to my polling place, the nearby elementary school, on Tuesday. It was full, but I only had to wait in line for about 10 minutes. People were happy to be there, smiling as they walked in, and walking out with a little bounce in their step. It’s such a simple thing, but voting always makes me feel powerful. I love that the “I Voted” sticker here is in English, Spanish, and Chinese! When Gauss got home from work, we put our little portable TV on the kitchen table and watched political commentary as we made dinner. Exit polls leaned toward Obama, but nobody was making a commitment until our polls closed here at 8:00 p.m. I didn’t dare to hope too much. Then a flood of returns came in, eastern states going heavily to Obama. When the networks called Pennsylvania for him, we started to get excited. Then, when they called Ohio, we went ballistic. Our guy was winning! If we had been back in Minnesota, we would have been spending the eveni

OK, so I said my challenge was to have fun despite my homesickness. I got my wish on Saturday. Gauss and I went to San Francisco for dim sum with a meetup group to discuss a book about Joseph Needham, an Englishman who spent years in China traveling and researching Chinese inventions. Since the topic was China, we took our pictures to share with the group. Dim sum was yummy, and we had a nice time. As we walked back to the car, we stopped at a grocery store and picked up a few items. We kept thinking we should do something more exciting in the city, but we wanted to relax, so we headed home. As we pulled into the driveway, we realized that we had left the photo album and discussion book back at the store. So, after a couple hours’ rest at home, we drove back to the city, enduring a godawful traffic jam on 101. (On Sunday evening?? Go figure!) We picked up our stuff from the store and then decided that since we were in San Francisco and it was dinnertime, we should look for a place to

Now that we’ve gotten the living room set up, we have actually had house guests. Last weekend, Patty, Dan, and Annie from the running group came over for the evening to play board games. Patty (the iPhone junkie) took this pic of us and the bug, with the kitchen wing of the cottage in the background. I’ve joined up with a bicycling group that meets midweek after work. It’s a fun group of people, and there’s always dinner afterwards. We usually meet in Woodside, a cute little town that reminds me of Marine, and then bike through the hills. The big challenge for me is CLIMBING. Unless I stay right by the bay, roads here go up and down hills, and they’re not just the little roller-coaster things we have in Minnesota. Climbs may be gradual or steep, but they go on for a mile or two. I’ve made it a point to go out at least once in between group rides to do a loop through the hills west of Menlo Park, and it’s paying off. I don’t slow down quite as much when I’m out with the folks on Tuesday

The morning started with a bomb—a stink bomb, actually, at about 5:00 a.m. Gauss and I were awakened by some kind of wild yowls outside (not Spicy, he was asleep on the sofa) instantly followed by the pungent aroma of skunk. It was worst in the bedroom and kitchen, almost nauseating. We went outdoors to see where the smell was coming from, but out in the yard...nothing. Inside...BAM! STINK! Since I was up, I opened my emails, and the first one was a panicked message from the Paragon tenants—they had no water, hadn’t had it for a couple of days and now they were at the end of their rope. I made emergency calls to the well drilling company and to a neighbor, asking if the tenants could come by to at least get water from her hose. $1200 later, there is water again. Gauss had taken the train to work. I was going to give the car a rest and take the train to my well-deserved appointment with a massage therapist, but just as I was leaving, the phone rang. Gauss’ boss had forgotten to tell h

I made a tablecloth for the rusty metal patio table, and with the addition of four cheapo plastic chairs, we now have a place to eat al fresco.

Spicy somehow managed to get himself up onto the roof, and then he couldn’t figure out how to get down. I kept hearing thumps overhead. Spicy had made his way to a skylight in the kitchen and wedged himself beneath the glass so that he was resting on the screen. When the screen started to bow like a hammock, Spicy got nervous and scrambled to the ridgeline of the roof. Then he paced and yowled intermittently for about half an hour until Gauss went up with a ladder, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck (traumatic for a 15-lb. cat, and cause for additional wailing) and brought him back to terra firma. Later he forgave us and came in for some food.

After weeks of painting the bookshelves, we have transformed the living room of the cottage into a livable space. Gauss has set his office up in a corner so that our guest room can really be a guest room.

So the last post was my lengthy reflection on returning to Minnesota as a visitor. This post is about the fun part of the trip home. Back in the land of 10,000 lakes, I spent a couple days at a little resort near Brainerd with the Toeniskoetter clan. We did exactly what we were supposed to do at a cabin: played board games and card games: swam, boated, fished and lazed around; ate too much; drank too much; and exchanged insults and pulled practical jokes on each other. I had brought a magnetic Obama for President bumper sticker with me. While Jane’s conservative Republican brother was running into town for goodies, we slapped that puppy on his Intrepid, then lurked behind the bushes waiting for his reaction. He didn’t disappoint. Here is a photo of Jane eating her sister-in-law’s patented “Cookie salad.” Yes, California friends, this passes for salad in Minnesota, and can be found at family gatherings and church basements around the state. The ingredients are Cool Whip, vanilla puddin

My recent trip back to Minnesota gave me a chance to reflect on life in my new home. Here is what I wrote as I sat in a cabin at the shore of a little lake in central Minnesota with my best old buddy, Jane, and her family: I’m back home for a visit, two months after moving to California from my native Minnesota. As my plane approaches the airport at dawn, I look down on the familiar green landscape. It’s unassuming, low and flat, but festooned with silver paillettes: lakes ringed with the pompom crowns of elms and cottonwoods. Away from the water, county roads form a grid around furrowed fields. Like morning stars, occasional yard lights still twinkle on remote farmsteads. It’s bizarre to be coming here as a visitor, to this place that has been home for half a century. Walking into the concourse, I hear the Minnesota accent with its singsong-y cadence and its nasal, flattened “a”s and protracted “o”s. I had strained to understand the Hispanic gate attendant as we left San Francisco, bu

Repainting red and black bookcases white is a big job! We started by sanding the gloss off the old paint. Then it took three coats of stain-hiding primer, followed by two coats of oil-based semigloss. We got the final coat done a day before I left for a two-week visit back in Minnesota. In my absence, Gauss unpacked several boxes of books and living-room knick knacks.

Bit by bit, we and our possessions are becoming Californian. It feels very weird to carry a California driver’s license, and to know that Arnold Schwarzenegger is our governor. I thought it wouldn’t get any weirder than having Jesse Ventura when we lived in Minnesota. Our cars both sport California plates. This is jarring to me every time I look at them. The washing machine isn’t in the basement or a utility room, it’s in the garage. I feel weird every time I walk out there to put in a load. Minnesotans know that if you put plumbing in a garage, it will freeze. Californians do not know this. Even Spicy the cat is adapting. He arrived here just after a cold Minnesota winter, bulked up with his extra layer of insulating fur. On these hot days (although it cools off at night, we’ve had several days in the 90s) he sheds copiously. Here is Gauss brushing Spicy’s winter coat. Spicy tears around the house, shedding cat hair wherever he goes. I am constantly vacuuming to try to keep ahead of i

On Monday, July 1, I ran errands by bike: a trip to Target and a Mexican grocery store (great prices on produce), and stops at the bank and hardware store, where I bought wire mesh to put between the storage room and the rest of the attic (rat room.) I was proud of all the stuff I managed to haul home without burning a drop of gas. I leaned my bike against the house, hauled my purchases inside, threw a load of laundry in the machine and then and hung it out on the line. After that, I got busy with work until Gauss came home. We ate dinner, and I went outside to get the dry clothes. Seeing that the bikes were no longer leaning against the house, I thanked Gauss for putting them away. “I didn’t put them away,” he said. “I thought you did.” Crap! It dawned on us that someone else “taken care” of our bikes. The landlady swore that in 25 years, they haven't had to lock their doors, and most people don’t even know that our cottage is back here—but apparently someone has been watching. W

OK, so now that we live in the Bay Area, we needed to go into the city—also because it was 99° in Menlo Park on Friday, and a similar high was predicted for Saturday. Why not escape to San Francisco, the air-conditioned city? Gauss and I have been visiting Sam Woh’s in Chinatown since the mid-1970s. It is our favorite “greasy chopstick” restaurant, and it didn’t disappoint. We walked past the first-floor kitchen, where a couple of guys were chopping vegetables, and up the steep staircase to the second dining area. It is furnished with rickety tables of varying finishes and vintages, and little backless stools. Service is about what you could expect from someone who has eight full tables to set up, serve, and bus in addition to operating a dumbwaiter and keeping the kitchen staff in line. The abusive male waiter from the last century is no longer there. Now it is staffed by a tiny woman with a very big voice who alternately charms and berates the customers. Hint: when you go to Sam Woh’

Gauss displays the find of the week: a fresh porcini mushroom, fated to become risotto this evening. New bedroom curtains Gauss cleared out the guest room and has set up his computer there. Gauss returned after spending the week working in L.A., so we worked on setting up the cottage. I biked to the local Ikea (3 miles) and found some heavy curtains on sale for the bedroom. When winter comes, we will need the insulation, as the cottage is cobbled together from plywood and single-pane windows. We unloaded a few more boxes, and he got his office set up. We also purchased a washing machine on Craigslist, the source of all things cheap and wonderful. This week the plumber hooked it up in Robin’s garage, an odd concept for this Minnesotan who is certain that it will freeze in the winter. Now we no longer have to drive to the laundromat carrying our grungy clothes and enough quarters to sink a small boat. We are on Rat Patrol here—we had heard the vermin running around in the attic when we f

I’m beginning to sort out my place here. Best bet: leave the Villager in the driveway, take the bike. First, because gas is nearly $4.50 a gallon. Second, because there’s a thriving cyclist/green community here. It’s common to see people of all ages in helmets and bike shorts walking the aisles of Trader Joe’s or the hardware store—the two places I frequent the most.) So I can forego the spike heels and designer clothes and still have my own brand of “chic.” Gauss has begun riding his bike to the train station, where he catches Caltrain to work in San Mateo. There’s a special car just for cyclists, so he can ride to his office at the other end. I’ve also discovered Menlo Park’s huge and sparkling-clean municipal pool. Uncrowded, twelve lanes wide, and outdoors under the California sun, swimming really doesn’t get much better than this. The pool is a 1-1/2 mile bike ride from the cottage, so I get a double workout each time I go, and the car stays in the driveway. Today I bought an unli

Stacks of empty boxes in the kitchen/dining area. I've spent two days scrubbing shelves, unloading boxes, and organizing the cabinets. Hallway from kitchen to bedroom. Door to bathroom is on the right; door to living room is on the left. Our only phone jack and DSL connection are visible to the right of the doorway. Until we figure something out or get a wireless card for my computer, we have cables snaking around the house. Bedroom, semi set-up Boxes in living room, waiting to be unpacked. As it turns out, the spaces behind the doors of the cabinets are moldy and will need to be painted with antifungal paint before we can put our stuff in them, so it will be awhile before we can set up the living room.

Gauss, Ginnie, and I went into downtown Menlo Park for breakfast this morning. A lady showed up in the bakery wearing 4" spiked heels. I feel like the lumpen proletariat among the cake-eaters. Menlo Park is full of Mercedes and Lexus SUVs; we are driving the Mercury Villager with 180,000 miles on it.

The misshapen chocolate stash that got us across America: We prod ourselves across Nevada's 400 miles of emptiness by judiciously doling out Dove chocolates at intervals. When motivation sags or boredom sets in, we give each other meaningful looks that say, "It's time for chocolate!" Whomever is riding shotgun then peels the foil off a chocolate for the driver and administers the dose. The bag of chocolate got a little too warm that first day, softening and deforming, and then re-hardening so that for many of the pieces, the foil wrapper has become incorporated inot the solidified candy. It becomes a kind of useful meditation for the passenger to carefully remove all bits of foil before serving the driver. And it has the advantage of keeping us occupied whild five or six additional miles tick by.

A comical place, full of casinos and smokers, plus a handful of folks who look really down and out. After our sizeable lunch at Penny’s Diner in Green River, Wyoming, Ginnie and I were determined to go light and have salads for dinner. Parking the rig is always a challenge, so our first order of business each evening is to find a safe place to park it and then head out on foot. As soon as we got it parked in Elko, the rain started. This has been our pattern: the minute we pick a hotel, the sky opens up and we are hauling our crap across the parking lot in the rain. Ginnie had thought to pack a raincoat but I had not. My solution was to get an old aqua-colored bath towel out of the truck and drape it over my head. We laughed at how we must have looked, Ginnie in mesh jogging capris and a T-shirt with a prominent chocolate stain front and center, me with a towel over my head, walking in the pouring rain through the casino parking lots. Nobody walks in Elko but the down and out. People co

At Penny's diner in Green River, Wyoming After fueling up at everybody’s favorite gas station in Iowa Ginnie C over, truck-drivin’ woman Our rig: a 26 foot diesel truck with the bug riding on a trailer, at our first rest stop in Iowa

Master bedroom, completely cleared out I slept on an air mattress on the floor of my office the last night Front hallway minus everything A very cleaned-out living room My office setup the day before I left

Still no pix, sorry. We are in Laramie, Wyoming this evening. Today we drove across Nebraska under partly sunny skies. Our only snag was a minor truck issue when I inadvertently hit the "economy" setting on the transmission, a no-no when towing a trailer. I realized it immediately, pulled over and shut it off, but then the "Check Engine" light came on. We were in far western Nebraska, receiving only intermittent cell phone signals, so it took a few tries to reach the Penske help line. The guy told me that, much like a computer, the best way to reset the engine light is to turn it off, wait a few minutes, and turn it on again. Success! Back on the road, we hit heavy rain, but no funnel clouds, when we reached the Wyoming border. We drove past snowfields as we went through the high pass between Cheyenne and Laramie. Ginnie and I are no doubt the laughingstock of the truckers when we pull in to fuel up. We meander around, looking for a way to line up the truck with the

It was an emotional day, complicated by news from Luca that the cockatiels haven't been doing well at his place. Susie has become very aggressive and takes it out on Tubby, who seems lost and depressed. Just before leaving home, I had called and emailed Jeanne, my favorite bird-sitter for advice and help, but it appeared she was gone for the weekend. Ginnie and I closed up the house at 8:30 and stopped for final coffee and goodies at the Liberty Cafe. The pastry selection was thin, so I ate chocolate mint gelato for breakfast, which I deserved to do. We adjusted to driving a 26' truck with the bug trailered behind--no sudden moves! As we drove through Iowa, cool, cloudy weather gave way to heat and humidity. I checked in with Luca, who confirmed my fears that the birds were not making the adjustment, so I had Gauss contact the Twin Cities Parrot Rescue organization to see about some foster care. Knowing that something was being done eased my mind somewhat. After eating dinner j

Left to right: Pam Schmid, Eli (in baby bag), Sharon Soderlund, Patti, Sue Leaf, Judy Helgen, Sue Narayan. Photo taken by the talented and charming Sankar Narayan. Sue Narayan hosted a memorable potluck lunch and writing meeting at her house. We had delicious salads, fruit, great bread—and a killer torte contributed by Sue Leaf, who knows when it’s time to bring on the chocolate. Members of the group shared readings of their own writings on the theme of transitions. No dry eyes, except perhaps Eli, who is male and slept through it. He cried later. Thanks, writers, for the years of friendship and really good advice. I will miss our bi-monthly meetings but look forward to critiquing via Internet and watching the progress of everyone’s work. This is not adieu but au revoir!

Bev has been tearing through the house with her rug cleaner... Karen, Margie, and Anne O’Brien tore through the furnace room...