As of last night, the punchlist of things I needed/wanted to get done at the new place before I move in is significantly shorter!
The guys I used, C and B, were highly recommended to me by several people. Even though they turned out to charge maybe a little bit on the high side, their work was totally worth it. Nothing fazed them and they got everything done and cleaned up after themselves. I KNOW, right??
So here's what's been done:
- The tub in the master bathroom was draining slowly. All of us presumed it was an accumulation of ... well, you know, the stuff that accumulates in bathroom drains, but it turned out not to be that at all. You know the toggle switch you flip up to keep water in the tub and down to drain it? Even when the toggle was in the open position, the little flappy thing under the drain wasn't opening all the way. Fixed? Check.
- Replace front door weather stripping? Check.
- Install gooseneck showerhead in master bath? Check.
- Re-place outdoor outlet that was sort of hanging out of the brick wall? Check.
- Install ceiling fan in master bedroom? Check. This was even more of a hassle than it would normally be because there had never been a light in that ceiling. He had to do into the attic and wire that up.
- Re-wire the switch by the master bedroom door so it now controls the ceiling fan and not the wall outlets which are now always hot like the others? Check.
- Raise 6 bi-fold doors by about this much so they don't drag on the brand new carpet every time they're opened/closed? Check.
- Fix the overhead light in the garage that didn't work? Check.
- Fix a floor lamp switch that didn't work (a "while you're here" thing)? Check.
Seeing that thing start to open as I approach still makes me giggle like I'm getting away with something. The idea of not having to go into the rain and/or snow and/or [insert inclement weather of choice here] similarly fills me with a feeling that someday someone's going to realize what's going and put a stop to that luxury.
Since the garage door is original to the house from 1988, I was braced for the worst -- that I'd have to replace the whole thing. But wait!! Home Depot sold me an aftermarket thing that's just a new receiver/sensor and remote. That's all well and good but I had no clue how to install that. So I handed it to C and B and asked them if we could arrange for them to install it some other time. Their response: "Why not now?" Ten minutes later, I heard that lovely sound: Clunk, whirrrbumprrrrrbumprrrr, thunk. Back in business!
I did manage to resist the temptation to sit in the car in the driveway and then from different places up and down the street and click the new clicker, just to watch it work again.
Ah, but not EVERYthing got done. There's a hairline surface crack in the sheetrock in the hall ceiling that needs to be remudded and taped and painted. And the trim - things like door frames, windows, and baseboards - could use a new coat of paint. I had no freaking idea how expensive it is to get things painted!! Holy crap, I'm in the wrong line of work, seriously! It was all I could do not to openly guffaw at the two estimates I've gotten so far. I'll get one or two more, but have almost decided that the painting is something I can do without for quite some time.
BUT. We now have identifiable progress!! We have no boxes packed yet, though. Note to self: Must start packing. Moving day is two weeks from tomorrow.
My niece teaches 4th grade. Today, she reported, she gave them a spelling test. One of the words was "bankrupt". One kid spelled it wrong but it was all she could do to not give him points for grasping the concept so well, in light of what's happening to so many people in the economy lately: B-A-N-K-R-A-P-E-D
I knew Tanya for just a few months a loooong time ago when I worked with her on a college project, but she had a profound effect on me. We communicated on a level I'd never thought possible, and it changed the way I thought about some important things.
The project lasted one spring semester, and I spent a few hours with her every other day during that time. At the end of the semester, I went home for summer break. When I went back for the next fall semester, she and her family had moved to another city and I completely lost touch with them.
Many years later, I watched a TV show that made me really start thinking about her again but I've been unable to locate her or her family since I've forgotten their last name. I'll never forget Tanya, though.
Tanya was a chimp. I taught her sign language.
I was double-majoring in psychology and sociology. At the beginning of that semester, I was approached by the head of the department who said, "There's a study going on here in [Big City] involving a very young chimp living with a human family. We've been trying to find someone who could help her build her language and [Dr. X] just told me you know American Sign Language. Interested?"
WAS I EVER!
Tanya was about two years old and, aside from obvious differences (body hair and strength to name a couple), she was a lot like a human two-year-old (louder too, but not by much). She was insatiably curious, sweetly affectionate, quick to learn. We even had a moment of "terrible twos" when I walked in one day and she bared her teeth at me. Not knowing what that meant, I did it back to her, causing her to shriek and run to her human mother's arms. I apologized profusely, but the mother said I'd done exactly the right thing: Baring her teeth was a challenge to my authority and when I did it back to her, I'd reasserted myself and she knew it. She didn't stay scared/mad for long, and in a few minutes we were playing and signing again. That was the only moment of unpleasantness the whole semester.
Just as with a two-year-old human, most of her vocabulary had to do with things she wanted -- apple, tickle, blocks -- and with people's names -- Mom, Dad, Jan. As with a two-year-old human, my job was to build that vocabulary and keep her intrigued and interested in new words. I remember we'd started on simple verbs near the end of the semester -- come, go, eat, play.
A lot of people have heard of the first chimp known to have learned ASL, Washoe, who died in 2007 after teaching her "adopted" chimp-kids signs too. You may have also heard of Koko, the gorilla who signed who adored her kitten she called All-Ball and who clearly grieved when All-Ball died.
You may or may not not have heard of a man named Roger Fouts who has been involved in this work for many many years. If you ever get a chance to see an old recording of Fouts reuniting with a chimp named Booie, after not seeing one another for 20y ears, watch it, and have a tissue nearby. There is no question Booie knows Roger immediately, calling him by his name sign, and begins signing even though he's had no one to sign with for all that time. I've looked on YouTube and Google but can't find the recording; it's out there, though.
About 12-15 years ago, I wrote to Fouts, explaining my involvement with Tanya, and I heard back from him several weeks later. Unfortunately, he was unable to find any records of her. The project she was part of wasn't his so all he had to go on was my info which was sadly sketchy. It's entirely possible she's still alive. Well-cared-for chimps can live into their 50s and beyond, so maybe...
Her human parents had told me they were making plans even then for a good place for her to live after she got a little older. The expression "not knowing their own strength" could apply to chimps, or maybe it's just that the human world is pretty flimsy stuff when exposed to chimps. Regardless, combine that strength with maturation, and it was obvious from the outset she couldn't live with them forever. They seemed intent on finding a good place for her where she'd be safe and happy and cared for by people who would continue to communicate with her -- and hopefully teach sign language to other chimps. I'll never know but it's nice to think about.
What a thrill that was, even more than I fully appreciated while I was doing it - intelligent meaningful communication with another species. Portable video cameras weren't around then, and may not have even been conceived of yet. I can't believe I was so foolish that I didn't even get any photos. I do have the memories, though, and they remind me of what a privilege it was.
<--Thanks to Ambookgeek for posting this photo from a National Geographic story, showing a group of chimps attending -- in every sense of that word -- the burial of one of their friends.
I've decided to shift my moving day up from the Monday of Thanksgiving week to the Friday before that, to be sure there's enough time to finish the clean-out/clean-up of the old place, before November 30.
*I* have decided this but have not yet informed the moving company. Probably need to do that really soon.
I did get the water, electricity, and gas at the new place transferred to my name. I still have yet to arrange that for the phone service or cable. The cable thing is strange but in a good way. The condo association provides basic cable TV. I have to find out what I need to do to get internet and fill in whatever gaps there may be between whatt hey provide and what I'm used to. I meant to take a small TV over today to see whether the basic cable is already/still there, but didn't manage to get that done.
This weekend, I acquired a couple of things for the new place, both from CraigsList. One is a lamp that is a perfect match for one I already have. It arrived yesterday. Today I put a bulb in it and ... nothing. I called the woman I bought it from to make sure the switch was supposed to work the way I thought it was, and she assured me it should work like I thought it would. I think it got chowed in transit because the stick you turn is at a weird angle. She offered to bring me my money back but I only paid $10 for it, and I think I know someone who can fix it. Besides, we met in a parking lot for the hand-off, so it could have gotten damaged by either one of us.
I also scored a sleeper sofa and it seems brand new! The people I bought it from live about 45 minutes away and drove it over to me in their truck this morning and brought it into the second bedroom. I'm so psyched -- I've wanted to have a room where someone could comfortably sleep when visiting, instead of piling up on the living room couch, and this looks perfect. The sofa itself looks pristine with no tears, no stains, no smells, nothing, and the mattress in the fold-out is still in its plastic bag! They made me a GREAT price on it and I paid them 20% more for delivering it.
After they left, I flopped down on it and am happy to report it has superior floppage. There is one accessory I need to buy before the actual move. I need a slipcover or a king-sized sheet or something to put over it because the cats will surely claim it as theirs. If I keep it covered, then it will look/be good for company when needed. I think I'll also buy a flat of "egg crate" because, as nice as it is, and IT IS, it's still a fold-out.
Wouldn't it be great if I could report that everything is packed up and ready to move? Wouldn't that be totally amazing? Why, yes, yes it would, but it's not EVEN. I have NOT ONE box packed. What am I waiting for? ...That's not rhetoric. Seriously, what the hell am I waiting for??
Everybody, I have bought a condo!!
Although there were those who picked up on nuances of posts here or in Twitter (looking at you, Darci!), I decided not to talk about it, not overtly anyway, until it was a done deal, and now . . . it is!
I started looking around back in the summer. I decided that I wanted to take advantage of the perfect storm going on at the moment for first-time home buyers (I bought a place before but it was so long ago that it doesn't count!), the perfect storm being historically low interest rates, low home prices, and the $8,000 rebate for buyers who close before November 30. I wanted to take advantage of that but decided early on to be detached about it, not to let my emotions make a decision.
The very first place I decided to see in person snared me. I reeeeally liked it, but their asking price was (put your hand, palm down, in front of you, about 6" above your head) about there, and the top of my price range was (lower your hand to about your nose) there. I made them a very low-ball offer (put your hand at about your chest level) to see how they'd counter. When their counter-offer was a mere squeak, I knew we'd never meet in the middle, so I kept looking.
Weeks and weeks passed, and then one day my agent called me and said, "Guess what." It turned out the selling agent for that very first place had been calling him, pushing him/us to counter. He'd told her we did -- "no thanks" -- and urged her to tell HER client to re-counter if they were serious. And that's what they'd done.
Remember where your hand was on my maximum? OK. Now put your hand at your chest level for my lowball offer. Then drop your first hand to just below shoulder level, and that's how far they dropped their price on their re-counter. In other words, they had re-countered just a tiny bit over my original lowball offer, which was a MAJOR price reduction! "Yes please!"
From what I've learned, it had been on the market since January and they were just ready to get out from under. Apparently it had been owned by a "little old lady" who had lived there for 15 years before her health began to fail and she'd moved in with family. The actual seller was her son, who had power of attorney.
The inspection went well. Several things were found that should/could be addressed, but nothing that interfered with the sale, created safety problems, or anything like that. Almost all of it was stuff that, if it happened after you were already living there, you'd think, "I need to take care of that one of these days." We sent them the whole list as the repair counter, not expecting much, and that's what we got. The only thing they agreed to fix was a faulty gate handle going out from the patio, and that was probably just because it was a safety issue. That's okay -- their new price was so low I was more than willing to accept that. I can get all of it fixed for probably $1000 or less. It's totally "move-in ready".
Then at closing I learned that it had appraised for even more than their very first asking price (when your hand was 6" above your head). The sellers had closed a couple of hours earlier at another location, so the title lady at closing was comfortable saying that she hadn't seen that for a LONG time in this market.
The closing, in fact, was just yesterday! Woohoo!!! From there, I went straight to the new place to meet the guy there to change all the locks. Then my family came over to see the inside and made all the right exclamations. Just having them there for those few minutes made it begin feeling like home, despite the complete lack of anything of mine in it yet.
The new place is about 1400 square feet (about twice the size of where I am now), all on one beautifully flat level which was a prerequisite, given my knees. It has two bedrooms, two baths, and a "bonus" room (I now understand that a "bonus" room is a space that has no immediately discernible intended purpose) which could be a den or a formal dining room or even an office area. I plan to use the second bedroom as my office, but will also put a sleeper sofa in there for company. Not sure what to do with the bonus room; at the start, it will probably be move-in central, where boxes go till they're unpacked.
Oh! And it has a GARAGE! I have NEVER in my whole life EVER had a garage. It's only a one-car garage but that's okay; I only have one car. See how the universe balances things out? ;) There's also room for another car in the driveway and there are "cut-ins" all around the development for visitors to park. It has W/D connections AND A DISHWASHER - something else I'm not used to having! It has a small but really cool patio in back surrounded by a half-high stone wall and a fence above that. VERY private. So I've started trolling CraigsList, etc., for patio furniture. And CLOSETS! A walk-in in the master, and double folding door closet in the second bedroom, and a bigger than average hall/coat closet, and a linen closet! The places I've lived the past 10 years have been most unsatisfactory closet-wise, but I think I've broken that cycle.
My unit is on the end so I get a small side yard and across the street from that is an undeveloped hill that's apparently owned by a nearby church who maintains it nicely. Since the unit itself is a condo, I don't have to worry about yard maintenance! Each unit is a duplex; I haven't met my new next-door neighbor yet but want to introduce myself before long.
Will the monthly mortgage note be more than the monthly rent I've been paying? Yep, but that doesn't say as much about the mortgage as about the fact that my landlord hasn't raised my rent since I moved in here in 2004. If he'd been making reasonable raises each year, I'd probably be paying a little more in rent than the new note. I've been happy renting here from landlord and won't enjoy giving him my notice. ...but I'll do it, "on or before" November 1.
And that's my Big News!! The movers are scheduled for the Monday of Thanksgiving week. I've already had the water, electricity, and gas put in my name. I've begun collecting boxes, and am still living in that happily deluded state of "I've got PLENTY of time to pack!"
(Panic will set in later.)
And to think, I've known him all this time!
This past July, a man, M, who'd worked with me and for me lost his job in a sweeping layoff. He's former military with a wife and two kids. He was one of nearly 20 people I knew personally, in our division alone, who lost their jobs but he was the only one who worked directly under me and I felt compelled to offer to write a letter of reference.
I asked him whether he'd want a "To Whom It May Concern" reference letter, and said he'd appreciate it.
Back at the end of the last century (oy), I made a big career change, and had asked my at-that-time boss if he'd write a reference letter and he was glad to do it. The finished product was ... well, amazing. He praised my talents, he lauded my accomplishments, he practically exalted my name. I have no doubt whatsoever that his letter was instrumental in my getting the job I landed that let me make exactly the move I wanted to make.
I kept that letter in mind when I wrote M's letter. I took a few days to get it just right. I included the fact that HE wasn't being let go, his POSITION was being eliminated, and that, had there been ANY way we could have kept him, we would have (totally the truth; you don't know how hard I tried).
He's kind of quiet and doesn't really promote himself, so I took the opportunity to do that for him, by talking up his strong work ethic, his complete dependability, how he needs no supervision, how you can completely take it to the bank when he says he'll get something done, what a quick study he is when given a new task. I got a lot of good stuff into that one page, and I closed by urging them (whoever It May Concern) to let our loss be their gain.
When I gave it to him, he welled up a little bit, but I acted like I didn't see that.
Happy Ending: He got another job doing somewhat similar work at the same pay with equivalent benefits, and it started July 1, so he didn't lose even one day of work.
He said my letter did it. I say HE did it -- I just wrote about it.
Since then, he emails me every couple of weeks, just staying in touch, and yesterday for the first time the salutation was "Big Sis", and signed by "Lil Bro". I liked that. I am *ahem* several years older than he is, after all, but more than that, I like it that he sees it that way.
I never had a little brother . . . till now!
Yesterday I got my "seasonal flu" vaccination. I get one every year, no matter what. You see, a long time ago, before they had annual flu shots, I once had the honest-to-god real-thing FLU. It is not what people are talking about when they have a stomach bug or a bad cold and say they have "the flu". No.
This thing kicked my ample butt and knocked me down and damn near out, and kept kicking me. I missed two weeks of work, and was in bed for 10 days of that, with a fever that had me delirious most of the time. If I hadn't had a roommate at that time who was able and willing to come home several times a day to check on me, I'd have almost certainly been in deep trouble. I literally don't remember anything from that time except hurting in every cell, and only getting out of bed to drag myself to the bathroom and back to the bed.
TEN DAYS like that, people. In retrospect, I probably should have been in the hospital, but I got lucky and was able to get through it at home. (Thanks, K.) So I never miss my "seasonal flu" shot because, like anyone else who's had it will tell you, you don't ever want that again.
As for getting the H1N1 shot, I haven't made up my mind. From the accounts I've heard on the news, it hasn't been as bad as the seasonal flu. It's a moot point for now since it's not available anywhere here yet.
I also had to get a tetanus shot last week. WHY did I need a tetanus shot, you ask. Okay, this is embarrassing, but we're all friends here, right?
I'm one of those people who talk with their hands. My mother does too. My father used to say that if you tied my hands, I couldn't talk. It worked out well for me when I was a sign language interpreter, but it started before then and has gone on long after. So anyway, I was in a co-worker's office discussing something we were working on together. And of course my hands were moving. I made a gesture accompanying something I was saying, in which my right hand crossed over the back of my left hand.
Unfortunately for me, my right hand was holding a pencil at the time. (You see where this is going now, don't you...) It was a mechanical pencil, one of the ones with a really thin lead, .5mm I think, and it was out. So, as my right hand crossed the back of my left hand, I stabbed my idiot self with that pencil and heard the lead break off under the skin.
Nothing for it but to pull out the girly pocket knife I always have and start extracting it. I did clean the blade with some isopropyl alcohol and teased the lead out till it came out all in one piece. At least, I was pretty SURE it was one piece... but what if there was still some in there?
So I did some math: Pencil lead broken off under skin + pocket knife + can't remember when my last tetanus shot was = trip to the doctor's office. So that's done. It's almost all healed and only a little bit tender anymore. The lump where they gave me the shot, that's another story. It's still there. It's a smaller lump but still a lump nevertheless.
How long are tetanus shots good for, anyway?
There's a famous quote that basically says that, after we die, the good things we've done are still here. It's attributed to Euripides ("When good men die their goodness does not perish, but lives though they are gone.") and Shakespeare ("The evil that men do is buried with them; the good that men do lives on.") and others, but the sentiment is the same. It came to mind today.
A co-worker's brother-in-law, C, died a couple of months ago. He was an integral part of their family and it really took them out at the knees for a while because it was very sudden and unexpected. In the middle of everything, though, they remembered and honored his stated wish that, whenever his time came, he wanted to be an organ donor.
Today that co-worker told me that they'd learned that a 7-year-old boy had gotten C's eyes. Just imagine. A little boy who was blind can see now ("with big beautiful brown eyes", my colleague added), because of the generosity of C and his family.
I'm an organ donor. In fact, I go one step further -- my entire body goes to a specific nationally known medical research facility after I'm done with it and after whatever organs they can use are harvested. After all, medical students need to study real bodies and there's only one "source" for those.
That's a little drastic for many people, but please PLEASE consider becoming an organ donor. Take the extra step and put it on your driver's license if your state has that option, and tell your family about your wishes since they're the ones who will have to carry them out at a very difficult time. Don't leave them wondering whether you would've wanted to do this. Make it clear.
Someday a child could be seeing the world with your big beautiful eyes.
On the way to work today I was listening to a radio show where people were talking about how much pressure multitasking is putting on "the young people of today". (I've looked but can't find a link to the show -- maybe it was a repeat.)
To hear them tell it -- and they were dead serious -- people in their 20s are increasingly beset and upset by how much they're expected to do all at once and at the SAME TIME, people. They have to do their jobs and update their Facebook pages and tweet and answer the phone and talk to co-workers and bosses who, like, totally just WALK IN, and... you get the idea. And people just do not underSTAND the demands of multitasking because this generation is the FIRST ONE THAT'S EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH IT.
Then some other people in their 20s called complaining of how much they had to keep up with in a work day -- did I get all the orders processed? Did I set everything up for tomorrow? I mean, it was just gogoGO from the moment I got there till when I left and then when I get home, I'm so exHAUSted. And this generation is the first one ever to have to deal with these hardships.
I quickly found myself -- as you have no doubt deduced -- sneering at the radio. For one thing, this generation didn't invent multitasking. They didn't even invent the word "multitasking". As far back as I can remember, Microsoft coined the term to sell the concept of Windows, although it was probably around before then. But be that as it may, have the people on the radio show never heard of teachers? Cops? Chefs? Farmers? Engineers? Secretaries? Executives? Nurses? PARENTS??
Having to do a lot of things at once for a long time, and do it all well, is nothing new. Well, I guess it's new to the people who were on the radio show, all of whom apparently have only just now begun to see the real world without benefit of rose-colored glasses, but puh-leeze.
To be fair, between the on-air panel and the people who called in, there probably only about 7 or 8 people, but they all had the same complaint -- "People older than us don't understand how hard multitasking is because no one's ever had to do it before us." -- and it was being handled seriously, as if there is suddenly this never-before-encountered menace threatening the very fiber of our society. I know -- or at least I fervently hope -- they did not represent their generation as a whole.
Then it hit me -- those people are the whining malcontents of tomorrow. I insist on believing they're the minority, but still, they're already well on their way to being full-blown pains in the ass. I've worked with my share of PITAs -- haven't we all? -- but it was interesting to realize I was hearing them in their formative stage. PITA pupas, as it were.
Mary Travers died recently. She was 72 and had been fighting leukemia after a long remission.
If you don't know who she was, she was Mary in Peter, Paul, and Mary. If you don't know who they were, allow me to tell you. If you do know who they were, and if you remember the music, ride along.
In the 1960s, PP&M's brand of beautiful harmonies and songs with conscience provided the foundation for a lot of my life...for a lot of life in general. You've probably heard "Puff the Magic Dragon" (which some people incorrectly presumed to be about marijuana but was actually a song about the loss of innocence everyone faces sooner or later), "Blowing in the Wind" (so much better done than Dylan's version), "Leaving on a Jet Plane", and later, "I Dig Rock and Roll Music" which was a gentle dig at the industry.
One of the best birthday presents I ever got was a surprise from my boyfriend in high school. He picked me up to take me out to dinner, but instead he had tickets to a Peter, Paul, and Mary concert that happened to be that same night. I'd known they were there but the tickets were way beyond my reach and to this day I don't know how he managed them but he did. I'll never forget that concert. (Thanks, R -- good one!)
In the 1970s, I was the "girl singer" in a trio fashioned loosely like PP&M -- trios like that were pretty popular then. We were pretty good, if I do say so myself. We played mostly for non-profit fund-raisers, at USOs, etc. More than once poeople told me my voice was similar to hers which I found immensely flattering.
Of course, back in those days, I was wearing mini-skirts and had legs up to there, and maybe that's what those guys in the USO really appreciated but that's okay too. Now, of course, the mini-skirts and those legs are distant memories, and I'd have to really work at it to even see if I still have a shred of that voice left.
I posted a couple of years ago, in response to a Vox question of the day, about Mary's sweet and simple solo version of "Follow Me", which I asked my husband to sing for me in our wedding. It's about starting out together.
Tonight, I'm posting a PP&M song called "Sweet Survivor". It's from a 1978 album ("Reunion") and, from the first time I heard it, it always struck me as a memorial song -- a melody that's both haunting and uplifting, lyrics that speak to those of us who had all those dreams in the '60s, with Mary's lead vocals and those incredibly blended harmonies. It only seems fitting to play it for her.
Thank you, Mary, for the music and its meanings and all those wonderful memories in the soundtrack of my life.
