Alas, Babylon

This will be my last post...
Unless all those nutballs are wrong, and the world doesn't come to an end tomorrow.
In that case, I will probably continue.
So the roof did its job Wednesday, none of the rain got into the house. But this blog is about adventures.
At the end of the day, Monday, as we stood reviewing the new roof as the last clean-up was being accomplished, we noticed a hole in an upstairs window. We could only surmise that a dove had flown into it. That happens a lot. Though no holes have been created before. Since tall ladders were still available, we coerced one of the workers to apply packaging tape to the glass. And begins the next adventure. We use the word "adventure" in this instance to mean another non-pleasurable use of money. Window companies are actually in the window replacement business, as opposed to the window glass replacement business. So we must get several estimates because the first one came in at four digits. To the left of the decimal. For a window.
We were entertained for 90 minutes last night by one guy. We get another hour or so tomorrow from a competitor. I never really wanted to know this much about windows. In my neanderthal view I thought it was just a piece of (broken) glass that could be replaced. That's what they do with windshields. They don't have to replace the entire front of the car.
I could do the job myself. (Who is that laughing? I can hear laughing!)
Even if I could buy a sheet of glass cut-to-fit within a millimeter (that's 1/25 of an inch) of tolerance, I would have to carry it up to the second story window using an extension ladder and get it in place, and secured, without dropping it. I would definitely drop it. Then I would have to make a second trip to the store. The next time up the ladder, just before I finish getting the rubber gasket in tight, it would break. Then I would have to make a third trip to the store, where they wouldn't have the right rubber gasket, so I would have to visit three other stores, the last one on the far side of town.
So, no. As handy as I am, and as much as I enjoy being twenty feet above a slab of concrete on a rickety ladder juggling a sheet of glass, no. This is not a job for me.
So the adventure continues tomorrow. Maybe we can actually find somebody who can just replace a piece of glass without reinventing the concept of "window."
Or the nutballs will turn out to be the smart ones and I won't need to worry about windows.

A break in the routine.

Ah yes!
Remember the good old days? Alarm clocks beeping in the dark early morning. Rolling out of bed into the chilled air. Stepping out of a warm shower to get goose bumps before you could dry off. Getting into a cold car after scraping frost from the windshield. Remember the good old days?
Nah!
Those days meant working for a living.
These are the good new days. Sleeping until you wake up because you are fully rested. Sitting up carefully in a room already warmed from the sun. Showering later, after coffee. Leave the car in the driveway until rush hour is over, if you have to drive at all today. These are the good new days.
Except today.
Today we are getting our roof replaced. Like all construction crews, they start at 5:00 a.m. Even in the winter. When it is dark and cold at 5:00 a. m. Jane, and other northern readers, remember it is all relative. This is our winter. It was 40 degrees at 5:00. So I get to whine a little.
For the last two hours they have been scraping, LOUDLY, to get the old roofing shingles and tar paper off.
It sounds like destruction. Which it is. Six men STOMPING around on the roof. The loosened shingles CRASHING to the ground on all sides. Surely, at least one of them (the guys, not the shingles) will come crashing through the roof at any minute. If they don't fall over the side first.
And in another hour or so, the new shingles will go on. You know how they do that, right? Hammers and nails. For hours. Hammer, hammer, hammer. Hammer, hammer, hammer.
I think I need to go see a movie today.
Yeah, that's the ticket.

Happy Birthday, Tomoko!

Today is Tomoko's birthday. Yes, 12-12-12! 

Have a wonderful day!

The casinos in town are doing lots of specials so gamblers can win spend lots of money. I don't see Tomoko gambling the day away.

Grandparenting is the best thing ever

I just returned from Phoenix SkyHarbor Airport, where I dropped off GaT.

We enjoyed their whirlwind weekend visit. They came because there was a gonga ticket price, but it was a quick turnaround. Ariana is the cutest, smartest, most amazing almost five-year-old anywhere, anytime, since I was that age, of course.


Peggie, Ariana, and I attended Casey's birthday pajama party (Happy Birthday, Casey) while Greg and Tomoko did adult visits.

Casey has a group of fun, interesting friends who actually showed up in pajamas and spent the early part of the evening making graham cracker "gingerbread" houses. The guys really went all out.



 I don't know what happened later. Being good parents, we left early enough for any wild stuff that came later.

Peggie and Ariana had a lot of artistic adventures in the studio. The results cannot be told until after Christmas.

So now we wait for the birth of our grandson. We already have our tickets for that visit.

Thank you, Dad.

I like to drive on old, rough, dirt roads and trails that wander up and down and in and out and around and about.
For pleasure.
Not for work, or to get to and from work.
I call it jeeping. I do it for fun.
Don and I were doing some jeeping last week. We had gone many miles, up one side of a mountain and down the other side. We had seen no one. That is the kind of jeeping we like.
Then we came around a curve and saw a pickup stopped in the (very narrow) road. Three cowboys were standing by the front of the truck. Apparently, they were having a "palaver." That is what cowboys do at trucks, corrals, cafes, and feed stores. Palaver.
My father was an accomplished palaver-er. That's 'cause he was a cowboy.
Well, we had to stop while they moved the pickup to one side so we could drive past. We got a good look at the cowboys while they did this. We are not bad at palavering our own selves, so we pulled up beside the moved-over pickup and stopped between the cowboys. There was one on my (passenger) side looking down the slope. I asked what they were doing. "Looking at our cattle." Sure enough, in the wash at the bottom of the slope, at least a half mile away, were some cattle. Meanwhile, Don was shootin' the breeze (that's another form of palaver) with the men on his (driver's) side. So, after more palavering, we determined that the cowboys had come up the mountain to check on a fence mending crew.
How many cowboys does it take to check on the fence? Three. One to look over the crew and evaluate their competency, one to drive the pickup, and one to keep the others company and thus avoid the chores around the ranch.
During their reconnoiter, they had observed that several head of cattle had passed through the in-need-of-repair fence, and were grazing in the wrong place. Their palaver was directed at correcting the situation. The cattle were over half a mile away from the road, down a steep slope thickly covered in scruboak and manzanita. Not fit terrain for a man on foot. The cowboys had determined that the solution was to drive back to the ranch, saddle some horses and ride out to drive the cattle back through the hole in the fence before the  repair crew had reached that point. They pointed out where the ranch hq was located, "way over there in the valley below that jutting rock." Maybe fifteen miles by air. Maybe forty miles by old, rough, dirt road that wanders up and down and in and out and around and about.
As I said, fun. But not for work. Not followed by a ten mile ride in the saddle over brush covered hills to locate and drive cattle that might have moved to a new spot. Or might be scattered and skittish.
I mentioned that we got a good look at the cowboys. None of the three stood straight. All three were bent and stiff.
So, thank you, Dad, for getting out of ranching before we would have become cowboys, working in country that is much better suited for jeeping than for working in.

Adventures in Art

Those of you who follow Peggie on Facebook may already know that she has now sold two of her pieces.
No, I don't intend to cover each and every sale from now on, but the first two are significant steps.
Her FASA (Fiber Artists of Southern Arizona) group hung a show at The Source, which is the salon where Peggie gets her hair done, last month. One of Peggie's pieces sold the first day. Then, last weekend, the group participated in Open Studios by occupying a classroom at St. Gregory's school. They all took examples of their work, but the idea was to be able to talk about, and demonstrate techniques they use. Not surprisingly, Peggie set up to demo rust dying. But, one couple talked her into selling a small piece we've had hanging in our dining room for a while. She had to make up a price and a title for it on the spot, as this event was not intended as a sales venue.
She is busy now getting some additional pieces finished for the up-coming show at the Jewish Community Center from December 14-January 3.
We are quite proud that Peggie is now a professional Artist!

got my head on straight

I mailed my ballot weeks ago, so the election is out of my hands. I cannot control the outcome.
So, tonight I will watch the Wildcats play basketball. It is not on TV, but will be live streamed. By watching, I will help the 'Cats win. Really. We will win  if I cheer.
Unless they lose. Then it is Peggie's fault.