June 30, 2005

Building the Perfect Ranchero

Our ranchito is taking shape, at least in our minds' eye. I still wonder and worry about where all our possessions will go when we arrive; one of the nice things about houses with basements and attics is that you do not have to look at boxes all the time. It may be a while until our living spaces are free of cardboard clutter. The present incarnation of our imaginary home (which will become distinctly less imaginary once I see it in person on Tuesday) is insufficent. Roomie's plan is to arrange for someone we know and like to buy the place next door which was owned by the same people and would make a delightful addition to the compound. We would love to be able to buy both and keep them together, but the other house is about 100k more than we can afford to spend. From my self-interested perspective the 2+ car garage is nice but we do not need more bathrooms and kitchens. By the way, the house next door includes its own casita.

The current ideal plan is to construct (a) a quonset-style structure to serve as motorcycle shop and storage and (b) a purpose-built studio on the southern end of the lot. The studio would face north¹ and look out on the open space to the adobe buildings. We like the Rocio Romero structures; the Base Camp seems a little large for the lot and the Fish Camp a little small for both of us to have clean workspaces in it.

It occurs to me that an adobe-style studio might be a nice alternative to a Romero building. Perhaps we can salvage some large industrial windows and large beams to span the openings. Rather than be constrained by Romero's predefined sizes (12'*12' for the Fish Camp and 15'*37½' for the Base Camp) we could make the spaces just the way we like them.

The addition of the two structures (the first of which is pretty much non-negotiable) would also free up the casita to be a delightful guest-house / screening room. In such a case, the kitchen there makes all kinds of sense: guests can make a late night or early morning cup of tea, and Roomie and I can have the all-important popcorn making station.

¹ Traditional pueblo architecture favors north-facing windows because they admit a lot of indirect (and hence cooler) light, because the sun comes from the south. Northern entrances are also more protected from the weather since rain and wind also tend to blow from the south. Artists favor northern light because it does not shift throughout the day (imagine the paintbrush and canvas as sun-dial). This intersection of interests may explain part of the attraction of artists to traditional southwestern architecture.

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June 29, 2005

Getting Things Done

The past 24 hours have been something of a whirlwind of errands; I have so far checked off the following:

  1. Pack boxes of books.
  2. Call the realtor and the title company to arrange delivery of the Abstract of Title.
  3. Find and assemble the three papers I need to revise for my Master's.
  4. Take car to dealer to have antenna fixed and get estimate for steering rack and fluid leak.
  5. Clip some stray grape and Virginia Creeper vines.
  6. Mow lawn.
  7. Whack weeds along borders.
  8. Dismantle exer-cycle, move it to the garage, and reassemble the thing in preparation for the garage sale.

That is enough for now, isn't it?

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June 28, 2005

The Second Part of a Dream

I was driving with Roomie on a city street, finding our way to an airport. As an airplane flies over, I point out a large lump on the top of the fuselage. "That is for the navigation equipment." We arrive at a diner and pull our plane into a large parking space.1 After figuring out how to block the wheels appropriately, my stepfather comes over and admires the plane. "It's a Jenny"2 I say. "What till you see this" say I, and I point out the restored Heinkel scooter.3 He appreciates it. He is wearing a suit.4 I ask if he wants to go for a ride and he says yes. We take off on the scooter and ride through neighborhoods very reminiscent of Palo Alto. We arrive at a corner and it is very city-like. We ride around San Francsico up hills and down, admiring the views. It is a spectacularly gorgeous day. "Your mother and I didn't really appreciate San Francisco until last year. Now we love the city." Shortly afterward, I am cruising to a stop at the bottom of a hill, intending to turn right onto Van Ness. What happens instead is that the bike stalls, or runs out of gas.5 I go into a bathroom and look in the mirror. In the part of my hair are large bumps like pimples but taller and not as painful. I squeeze them, and awaken grateful that they are but figments.

1 Roomie and I recently admired a newspaper image of an airplane taxiing on a Connecticut street.
2 My grandfather said his Jenny was his favorite plane to fly.
3 Back in the day, I had several of these. On a recent ride back from the ice cream shop, Roomie asked me if I would ride "one of these" across the country. "Not this scooter, but the Heinkel." Several months ago, I had been looking into getting another copy of Peter S. Beagle's I See By My Outfit, a cross country on Heinkel travelogue from 1963.
4 He does admire motorcycles, or did once. He is also a businessman.
5 I believe that I have never had a motorcycle that I did not have to push home, at least once.

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June 27, 2005

A Pair of Kings

I went to REI today after work, mostly to cheer myself up. Roomie and I awake with backaches when we use our Thermarest Trail sleeping mats, and I was tempted to purchase lighter weight, though non self-inflating air mattresses which are both thicker and lighter than the Trail. They also happen to be on sale. On the way in, I see a hobo type by the door putting some laces on his shoes.

I could not find the size mattress I wanted on the shelf, but the customer service clerk checked the computer and found there were supposed to be two there (there had been four when I called on the weekend). While clerk looked around in the back for the mattresses, I used the bathroom which was right behind the customer service area. Behind the flush plumbing on the urinal was a business card "Please Elect 'Iowa Poet Blackie PRESIDENT." On the flip side was an advert for a book of hobo poetry. Being the Sharpie I am, I put the card together with the figure by the door.

Clerk returns empty-handed, and proceeds to call in a floor clerk to pick up the trail. No luck. After passing by the area one more time, to see if perhaps someone was walking around with one and had returned it, I check out the lighter weight (and not as infernally hot as my Down Time) sleeping bags. Definitely lighter. On sale, too. In any case, I resist.

On the way out I walk past the hobo to the door. And then I think of Road Hog, who was once King of the Hoboes and who lived in Dunsmuir, and I stop. I return to the hobo, who is still lacing his boots (and probably ducking the rain and / or the sweltering heat inside).

— Say, did you ever know a fellow by the name of Road Hog? I guess he was King of the Hoboes some time back.
— Road Hog? Sure! I haven't seen him in years. How do you know Road Hog?
— He used to live in the same small town as me. A good guy.
— I heard he was a gravedigger.
— He was. He was the caretaker at the cemetary in the town I lived in. I remember when he took the job.
— Really? Road Hog was a good guy. Of course he had his brushes with the law.
— Yeah, the bank robbery. What was he thinking? I heard he died a ways back.
— Did he?
— I believe so, yes.

Blackie pulled out a Hobo almanac and reminded me that some robber baron was born on this day a long time ago. I told him I had never heard of the man. Then he pointed out that 100 years ago today, the IWW was founded. "How about that? Today is the centennial of the Wobblies!" And so it is.

Blackie then gave me a "free sample" of his poetry. I can't say I'm a fan; the rhyming of every other line makes me read just the rhymes rather than the words. However, I did notice that the sheet he gave me advertises a $30.00 price for his book of poetry, while the card in the loo advertises it for 10.

Recently, I have been trying to figure out whether it is better to think that things happen for a reason. Perhaps my reason for going to REI was not to indulge a thirst for lighter weight packs but to connect somehow to a fellow who has hitched a ride on the northbound freight. Godspeed, Road Hog!

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Destiny

I really enjoyed reading Antonia Fraser's Cromwell: Lord Protector (thanks Andy!). She paints a mostly sympathetic portrait of a man who had greatness sort of thrust upon him. According to Fraser, Cromwell was a big believer in the Will of God; he would await a sign, or when this or that happened, he would take it as a sign.

A friend of mine has been diagnosed with a fairly rare disease which apparently only affects women. She seems to be in pretty good spirits about it, but it must be awfully unnerving to confront a lifelong course of treatment.

In my own life, I was really hoping that I would easily find a job at the U. in Albuquerque. I may yet end up there, but it will not be as easy as I had once hoped.

I suppose that we hope that even the bad things in life happen for a purpose. Small defeats make subsequent successes taste that much more sweet. Knowing this does not make going slogging through the low times any easier however. And what kind of a sign can life's punishments great and small mean for us? Do we give into the "signs" or do we do our best to prove them wrong?

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June 26, 2005

Buyer's Remorse

Seems like we bought the farm. Or the Ranchero. Defintely a pickup truck kind of place: See for yourself.

The two of us fit neatly in a four-bedroom house with a 2½ car garage, attic and full basement; now we get to see what the same amount of junk looks like in a one bedroom house, guest cottage, and a smattering of sheds, a tiny garage, and a chicken coop. Wish us luck.

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June 25, 2005

Friendship

I have not been a good friend to many people. Perhaps it is a conservative Romanness that is coming to me later in life than it should, but

Few feelings linger longer in me than the sting of rejection from people I once considered friends.

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June 24, 2005

Moving to New York City: Pros and Cons

Reasons why a sensitive gentleman might consider moving to New York City:

  1. It really is all happening there.
  2. New York embraces any and all personal quirks and makes it easy to indulge them.
  3. The Hudson River at night.
  4. An endless supply of 24 hour restaurants.
  5. Little Italy.
  6. Every movie plays there.
  7. Exceptional people-watching, grist for the creative mill.
  8. No one gives a rat's ass about anything you do.

Reasons why he might consider not moving to New York City:

  1. Unthinkably unimaginable sweltering heat.
  2. Ripe garbage in the streets, sanitation strikes scheduled for summer.
  3. No markdowns on groceries.
  4. Subways which are havens for the hygenically-challenged.
  5. Pervasive crime.
  6. Nosebleed-inducing real estate prices.
  7. No one gives a rat's ass about anything you do.

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June 23, 2005

Camping: Pros and Cons

Reasons why a sensitive gentleman would not like camping:

  1. Physical effort: Canoeing, portaging.
  2. Biting insects.
  3. Limited food selection: no cold beverages (pop, chocolate milk) to have at any time.
  4. The caibo.
  5. Thin sleeping pads.
  6. Breakfasts of coffee, oatmeal, and bannock.
  7. Constant activity: paddling, pitching the tent, cooking, cleaning, filtering the water, hanging the food-pack, lowering the food-pack, breaking camp etc.
  8. Dirty hair and clothes.
  9. No TV, videos, DVD's, or computers.

Reasons why he might:

  1. Aurora Borealis.
  2. A still and quiet lake, mirroring the sky.
  3. Wildlife viewing.
  4. The great unknown, adventure?
  5. Candy and sweets for breakfast and lunch.
  6. No TV, videos, DVD's, or computers.

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June 21, 2005

Cub

Roomie guessed it: The iPod was a great asset in the grocery store when a child screamed. iPods provide a soundtrack for everyday life; if any part of my life needs an improved soundtrack, it is the ritual of going to Cub Foods on University, in the poor people's mall.

I had resisted going to Cub for about a year or so. The lines tend to be long, and I feel bad for holding everyone up as I pack a cart's worth of groceries. Today, I gave in to the inevitability of shopping, and I knew that given our list it would cost a bunch more at Kowalski's. We don't spend less at Cub, but we sure take away a lot more food for the same amount of money. Giant things of strawberries, two large packages of skinless boneless breasts, Bugles, Wheat-Thins, and Triscuits.

The people-watching is better at Cub too. The Kowalski's crowd are always talking on their cell-phones and appear to picking up the things they could not trust the nanny to buy. As I slowed my cart to pick up some soy milk, a man with a pony-tail about my age or a little older grabs one for himself. Then, he goes for the Claussen pickles. Those are the pickles I get! What a coincidence. A dreadlocked man takes in interest in my look; is it the plaid shorts, the blindingly white legs, or the look on my face that says my life has a soundtrack? By the Tropicana Juice section, a pair of young women appear to be having a good time at the grocery store. One is blonde and kinda cute, but she wears too much makeup. The other has a rather severe look: tank top and very short hair.

A downside to Cub (in addition to having to pack your own grocery bags) is that it is just too big: I tried in vain to find the enchilada sauce with the salsas because the liquidy salsa type goods have their own section across from the other Herdez products. I might never had found the stuff had I not averted my gaze from uncomfortable eye contact with another shopper. After criss-crossing the store several times to get everything on the list (and then some), I wait in a short line. Two carts ahead of me is the soy milk and pickles guy. Looking at the women's magazines next to the checkout are the two young women. The man ahead of me has a dozen bags of rice flour. I am thankful for the soundtrack.

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Adventures: June 2005 (6) Commuting: June 2005 (2) Dreams: June 2005 (2) Grad School Purgatory: June 2005 (1) House and Home: June 2005 (7) Maicoletta: June 2005 (5) Notices: June 2005 (4) Open Letters: June 2005 (7) Rants: June 2005 (1) Tales: June 2005 (3) Trail 90: June 2005 (1) Wheels: June 2005 (3)