Adventures With Patti

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.