Is It Spring Yet?

This past Sunday it was snowing to beat the band.
Today, the high was in the upper sixties.
Yet, ol' man winter isn't quite ready to give up just yet - Monday's high is supposed to be back in the thirties, with a chance of snow.

Ah, the vagaries of spring!

I was among the small minority who actually liked Sunday's snow.  It was messy out, so I changed all my plans and stayed home.  Did laundry, exercised, read a book, slept in - there are far worse ways to spend a day.  And, it was pretty!

Today, I spent the day working on my new house.  Dull stuff - I liked it better back in the days when I didn't know how to prep walls, so just painted 'em.  They didn't look near as good when I was done, but I didn't have to spend several days spackling and sanding and priming before I started.

In between, I had my one-year checkup with my oncologist.  All is looking good.  My blood numbers are good; from all appearances, the beast is still tied up by the side of the road in northern Egypt.

I didn't know how worried about it I was until after the visit.  Part of me was just SURE that it was going to come back and I was going to be stuck with this house with no way to finish the project and I'd have to move in and the walls would still be all yucky and mustard yellow and in desperate need of paint.  I guess the Universe had other things on its mind than making my life miserable - and I appreciate it!

This painting is taking longer to finish than I'd anticipated, and there's a part of my mind that is convinced that it'll be mid-May and I'll still be working on the walls.  (No, it's not the logical part that looked at a calendar, it's the worry-wart part that's convinced that if the sky is not falling today, it's sure to start coming down tomorrow.)  Still, I'll be glad to have it done.  I'll be there again all day tomorrow and part of Sunday.  Maybe I'll be able to make enough progress to still my worry-wart mind.

Happy Easter!

Bonding Moments

You know, I think every mother and son should plan a bonding activity every once in a while.  Joe and I had one just yesterday; we took down a chimney together.

The shared driveway on my new house is only about nine feet wide as it runs between the two houses.  There was an abandoned chimney, originally used by the gravity furnace (we think) on the north side of my house, taking up a good 16 inches of that valuable driveway real estate.

Joe was home for the weekend because he doesn't care for the St. Pat's festivities down in Rolla, so I took shameless advantage of his presence and asked for his help tearing down the chimney.  (Yes, I still have a fireplace - there's a second chimney on the south side of the house.)  He, being a good and dutiful son (or something like that), agreed to help.

Yesterday, I hauled him out of bed at the crack of ten and we headed to the hardware store to pick up a ladder and a few other things we needed.  (All good projects start with a trip to the hardware store.  For the best ones, you get to buy new tools!)  It was a beautiful and unseasonably warm spring day, and by the time we got to the roof, just before noon, the temperature was perfect.

I'd read on the web about how a hammer and chisel would be good to take out old mortar, and they were spot on.  Joe had a wonderful time with the upper three feet of the chimney - he got to tear things apart, make a mess, AND throw stuff off the roof.  How much more fun can a guy have?  He didn't even need to use his chisel much; that old mortar didn't need much encouragement to give way.

The job did get a little long about halfway down the wall, but we stuck with it, trading off stand-on-the-ladder-and-free-up-bricks vs. haul-the-bricks-off-in-a-bucket duty each time we lowered the ladder.  Joe got his second wind about the time he didn't have to stand on the ladder any more (he REALLY doesn't like ladders - or so he informed me, at least once...), and pulled the last 8' down by himself in about an hour.  I felt a bit like the Sorcerer's Apprentice, going in circles, bringing back the empty bucket and picking up the one he'd filled with bricks in the time it took me to drop off the previous load.

It was just after nine by the time we finished; long dark and beginning to cool off.  But, we got 'er done, sweeping the piles of debris off the driveway with an attitude of tired accomplishment. 

NOTICE:  bragging ahead:  And, I was QUITE pleased with myself this morning because it only took two Advil and I was moving around without undue stiffness or soreness.  I guess I'm not entirely out of shape, just yet...

House Hunting: Done

These last two weeks have been NUTS!

Things with the house sale were going along beautifully, I was all set to close on March 1st.  Then, on Feb. 28th, around 4PM, the appraisal came back to the lender - 10K shy of our agreed upon purchase price.

rrrrrrkkk!  I put on the brakes.  (I'm not positive how you spell the screeching brake sound...)

I didn't think, in this day and age, paying 10K above the appraisal price was sound financial practice.  The sellers were (are) of the opinion that because they invested X dollars in the house, it HAS to be worth that much, my bank's appraisal was completely bogus, and they weren't going to budge.

Thus started a week of:  It's on.  It's off.  It's on. It's off.  (I have a whole new crop of gray hairs.)

I thought we had a agreement - if the bank would come up 5K, the sellers and I would split the other 5K.  The bank re-looked at the appraisal, and came up, not 5K, but 6K.

OK, that just leaves 4K to split.  But, oh, no.  After agreeing on the phone over the weekend, when the time came to amend the purchase contract, they wouldn't do it.  Arrggh!

Finally, last Friday morning, after an attempt Thursday by their agent to deceive me into thinking they'd amended the contract per our latest agreement, when in fact, all the advantage went to the sellers, and the entire over-appraisal difference landed on my side of the balance sheet, I'd had enough.

First thing in the morning, (3:40AM is first thing, right? - I was a bit peeved and couldn't sleep), I sent my agent an email saying I'd had it.  I outlined my final offer, and gave them until noon to respond.

They accepted it at 11:45 - with the stipulation that I close that same day.  (say, what???) Thank goodness my bank had penciled me in, just in case.  I closed at 5:00, had the locks changed by 6:30.

I guess I'm glad I own a house again.  Any ideas on how to get the bad karma cooties out of it?  It's not its fault it belonged to those entitled jerks.  (I'm thinking maybe a party with lots of laughter.  Bad karma cooties just HATE joyful noises...)

Anger in the Snow

As I was thoroughly enjoying my walk through the new-fallen snow last week, I rounded a corner and came across a black man who seemed out of place in the scene.  He came too quickly from an set of townhouse driveways.  I said good morning, and he returned my greeting, but something was off.  As I walked on, I looked down the drive he'd come out of, and there on the ground was about 16' of copper line, freshly dropped, cut from the air-conditioner at the far end of the drive.

Instantly, I was furious.  I didn't stop immediately (a confrontation would have been risky, possibly dangerous, and the damage had been done), but continued a couple of dozen feet down the sidewalk, then stopped and turned back to look at him.  He was very carefully NOT watching me, totally absorbed in taking his scarf off and rewrapping his neck.  Once he finished, he crossed the street and left my field of vision.

I thought of calling 911, but discarded the thought immediately - I know the police can do little about property crimes at the best of times, and this was in the midst of a snowstorm.  They would have a hard time even getting to the street to file a report.  Seeing a gentleman shoveling out his truck at the other end of the block, I did the next best thing and walked down to let him know what had happened, so he could alert the neighborhood email list.  As I was pointing back down the street, telling him the story the black man came back, casually picked up his loot and again sauntered out of sight.

As I continued on with my week, I realized I was and am disproportionately angry at the black man.  He did $500 worth of damage so he could steal $30 worth of copper, for which he will receive $5 from the recycling center (if that).

Far worse, he ruined things for the young black men I work with each day.  They are good kids - they work and study hard and have every intention of being college-bound.  Because of 'that man', should they walk down that street acting like normal teens, doing normal teenage hijinks, they will be met with looks of suspicion and fear.  People will watch them go down the street, and the looks that follow them will be neither friendly nor welcoming.  That man perpetuated the worst of the stereotypes our young men are trying to break, and we are all worse off for it.

grrrrr.

postscript:  Today at work I asked one of the black men there how he keeps from being angry with men like the one who stole the copper and ruin things for everyone with skin like him.  He had a two-word answer:  "I pray."  I will try to follow his path...

Hacked!

I know, it happens to the best of us.  But I'm supposed to be a data professional.  My email account is not supposed to get hacked.  My pride is stung just a bit; but it could be worse.  At least it was a sophisticated hack.

You see, like most data professionals, I have three levels of password security.  Level one goes to my bank account password.  It's long and complex and hard to guess.  Level two goes to my e-mail accounts - they're shorter, but still don't spell anything, and should be hard to break.  Level three goes to my shopping and utility accounts.  I don't care so much if someone breaks in and gets to my electric bill.

When I first set up my iTunes account, three years ago when I got my iPhone, I set it up as a shopping account.  Time went on, I got an iPad, iCloud arrived to back up my data to the cloud, and I wasn't thinking that part of the data backed up to the cloud was my e-mail contact list.  I still had it on the simple password list.

Silly me.

I found out about the hack about ten minutes after it happened - my friends on the west coast were up and checking e-mails, and one of them texted me.  I cussed a blue streak, got online, changed my password and started on damage control.  I was puzzled by some of the bounced messages - they were sent to people who weren't on my personal e-mail account.  So, I puzzled and puzzled some more (in the immortal words of Dr. Seuss).  How did the hackers get the addresses?  It wasn't until morning that I figured out the link to my iTunes account - it's the one place where my personal and work emails blend.

I felt a little better; my email account password hadn't been hacked after all.  But really stupid.  I should have thought about the security of the iTunes account when I set up the online backups.  Fortunately for me, it was a hit-and-run hack.  They sent out some stupid link to a magical weight-loss site.  **sigh**  I do wish these people would use their powers for good...

So, for those of you who are not data professionals, here are a couple of ways for you to avoid the trap I found myself in:

• For anything that involves money or your email accounts, the password should be 10-16 characters long, shouldn't spell anything, and should be used on one site only.  A good way to come up with a secure password is to pick a phrase:  The sun will come up tomorrow.  Then, pick the first letter of each word:  Tswcut.  Add some numbers you'll remember.  (The last four digits of a friend's phone number work well, for those of us old enough to remember when we had to remember phone numbers without the help of our phones.)  And you have it: Tswcut6403 - a hard to hack but easy to remember password.  (And yes, I have a list of websites and passwords written down somewhere.  I figure it's really hard to hack my paper files...)
• I have a separate email account I use for shopping accounts.  I figure since I use simpler passwords on those sites, this way if the accounts do get hacked, they don't get much - just links to places that send me shopping e-mails.  I also don't allow the sites to save my credit card number - it's not THAT hard to type in each time, and I've heard of too many places getting broken into and those lists of card numbers stolen.

Here's hoping I'll save at least one person from getting stung as I was...  grrrrrr.

A Year Ago Today

It was the fifteenth day of the second month of the 2012th Year of Our Lord, and the good surgeons did undertake to rid my life of the demon Asmodeus.  Their sure and steady hands were well guided by my champion, the Archangel Rafael.  With precision, they did cut into my flesh and ferret out all traces of the demon.  Asmodeus was removed from my flesh and cast into the deserts of Northern Egypt, bound hand and foot, where he impotently gnashes his teeth and wails his threats unto the uncaring skies.  To guard against his return, I daily partake of a potion of mixed favors.  Whilst on the one hand it bringeth aches to my joints and removeth the strength of my fingernails, on the other it provideth patrols of guardians who guard my inner passageways, searching for traces of the demon or his cursed minions.  Should the guardians happen upon the blighted spawn, they quickly dispatch them with blazing swords, banishing them anew so I may yet live to see my children's children grow unto the fullness of their lives.

Or something like that.

A year ago today was my last day on the other side of one of the great divides in my life.  To the previous division of before-and-after-Mom-died, I added before-and-after-cancer-surgery.  While a good portion of the time after surgery is mercifully lost in the fog (painkillers do a great job of preventing memory from working well), there are a few things that stick out in my mind.

First and foremost is waking to hear that Asmodeus had not yet managed to invade my lymph system.  I hadn't quite dared hope it could be so until they told me the news.  Despite everything else, when I heard I was swamped with relief as I dropped the heavy burden I hadn't even let myself acknowledge I had been carrying since I'd first found the cancer over a month before.

One of the others is the well-meant but insensitive comment that since I didn't lose my hair, it must not have been 'real' cancer.  I secretly feel that way myself.  So many go through years of hell once they have the disease.  Why was I excepted from the rigors of chemo when my good friends who are fighting similar battles are not?  On the other hand, I've decided those who say they don't even notice the implants after the first year are lying to make everyone else feel better.  How can you not notice that you have a six-inch wide band of numbness across the front of your chest?  I mean, really!

There are memories I treasure:  Of those who brought food and helped clean and made sure I took my medicine and brought me out so I wouldn't go stir-crazy when I probably should have stayed home (I'm really not good at letting people help; I haven't had much practice).  Of the outpouring of cards and love from people who are part of my everyday life, and from those I hadn't heard from in years.

There are memories too painful to touch even now:  Of driving free and doing just what I wanted to do each day.  Of waking each morning to readily see the hand of God in the beauty surrounding me, knowing I was part and parcel of the scene.  That road is now closed to me.  Where ever I go from here, it can never be down that same carefree and joyful path.

It is a year later.  I am alive.  I have not only survived, I am well down the road to health.  That is more than too many who have heard the dreaded diagnosis can say.  I am trying to be happy about it, but it's not working so well tonight because I am afraid.  I am afraid that when I go in for my checkup next month, they will tell me my guardians have lost the battle, and the cancer has again gained a stronghold in my body.  That's what happened to Mom.  Tonight, the words of logic, which tell me all the good reasons the cancer will not return, are lost in the roar of the wind of what might-could be.

Yet, I've made it this far.  And I refuse to let fear rule my life.  So, tomorrow night I will go out and celebrate anyways.  Because life is good and I have today.  And today is all any one of us has.

House Hunting II

OK.  This house hunting stuff isn't so bad after all.  You just have to look in the area where the Universe has decided you should look instead of the area you thought you wanted to live.

I'd spent over two decades living north of the Plaza, and I wanted to stay there.  (Yes, the distinction is meaningless to many - we ARE talking houses less than three miles apart.)  North of the Plaza is scrappier, less of a sure thing; the people who live there band together to support each other in their work of reclaiming these beautiful old city neighborhoods.  South of the Plaza is more established.  Safer.  More sure of itself and its place in the world.  It doesn't need to be reclaimed because it was never unclaimed.

Yet, when I looked north of the Plaza, I couldn't find ANYPLACE I could both afford and was willing to move into.  As soon as I looked south, ta-da!  There was not one, but two good options.  ('Go here', says the Universe...)  So, I picked one, and jumped in with both feet.  It's the one that needs more work (of course?  I never said I'd never pick up a rehab house again, did I?  I hope not.  If so, I'll have to eat my words), and it's in a great location.

When I first moved to Kansas City, I fell in love with Loose Park, just south of the Plaza.  It's beautifully landscaped, with a walking trail and lots of kids and dogs accompanied by their adult people.  The house I picked is just a few blocks from the park; I'll be able to go there for my walks.  I've missed my walks this past year.

The house has lots of big windows, and no closets to speak of.  The kitchen is beyond redemption; I'll have to add to the back of the house to make it into a workable space.  It's not a big house.  I like that part.  And it doesn't need a total makeover.  'Just' the kitchen.  and, as long as you're going to do that, you might as well make it a two-story addition, and redo the bathroom just above.  and it IS a two car garage, but wouldn't it be nice to have a little workshop space out there....

No, I'm not sure about what I'm doing.  But I'm doing it anyways.  I close on March 1.

Lexi Time

Lexi, January, 2013

It seems my daughter missed me as much as I missed her.  So, last weekend she loaded up the baby and headed to Kansas City.  Yes, I'd seen her the weekend before when she got home, but it was such a quick visit; we had little time to enjoy each others company.

Our visit was delightful.  Kate and I spent our time vastly entertained by the antics of the baby. 

We spent three whole days on Lexi time.  On Lexi time, you get up early, but you get to take naps.  You go to bed early.  You take longer to eat because you stop to closely examine and enjoy your food.  It takes longer to walk anywhere, because you have to stop and look at all the interesting stuff you see as you journey.



You don't worry about getting your socks and pants wet as you discover the joys of going in and out of the shower.  Open the door, close the door.  In, out.  Smile broadly every time you manage to open and close the door.

You delight in learning new things.  She was having a hard time turning one of my lamps on and off.  (It has one of those switches where if you turn it the right way, it switches, but if you turn it the wrong direction, it just unscrews itself.)  But she kept trying it.  And every time she managed to make it work, she'd turn around, clap her hands and say, "Yay!"  (I need to remember that for myself - to say "Yay!", if only to myself, when I manage to master a task...)

She is amazingly well behaved in restaurants, as long as you bring a large supply of toys.  (any one item holds her attention for, at most, five minutes.)  She managed to charm all the tables around us by watching the door; every time someone left, she'd call out, "Bye!", in her toddler voice - the one that carries further than you'd often like it to, especially when they're upset.

She is a city child.  One afternoon, it was quite warm, and we took her out for a walk.  She was fine as we headed down the sidewalk, but when the concrete ended and we had to walk on the grass, she didn't care for it.  She kept heading for the street, we kept heading her off.  A block or so down, we came to a roped off parking lot.  She was delighted, and just loved running around - finally, the proper surface upon which to play!  (Kate PROMISED to get her out to parks more often come spring...)

It was a right proper weekend, if I do say so myself.  As always, when they left, they took a piece of my heart with them as they drove away...

Joy!

Lexi, Oct. 2012

Kate, my daughter has been doing research in the Antarctic for the past 2 1/2 months.

It's been a hard time for her, and for those of us who love and missed her, especially over the holidays. 

Her daughter, at eighteen months, probably had the easiest time of all of us.  While she most certainly missed her mother, she is young enough to not yet have a sense of yesterday or tomorrow.  As near as we could tell, from her point of view, Mama wasn't here right now because Mama had gone away to live in the iPad.  (they got to see each other a few times via Skype, and so she figured that's where Mama had gone.  Whenever she saw one of the devices, she'd point to it and say, "Mama!")

I was telling the people at work about Kate and the baby and how long she'd been gone and how much we missed her and how much I'd love to see the baby's face when she finally got to see her mama again, when I stopped and thought, "why not?  It takes her 36 hours to get home, I can get to Minnesota in eight. hmmmm..."  

So, when Kate e-mailed this past Saturday morning, to let me know she was coming home, I decided to put my wild idea about driving up to meet her plane into play.  I called Joe, who dropped everything and headed back to Kansas City from Rolla.  I called Vincent, to find out exactly when she was due in, and to make sure he didn't mind if we joined him to pick her up at the airport.  I sent a note into work to let them know I wouldn't be in on Monday.  Sunday morning, Joe and I left for Minnesota.  (The weather gods cooperated - it was clear and cold; no precipitation coming down to slow us down.)

We got there just in time to stop at the house, drop off our car, and climb in with Vincent and the baby.  As we were pulling up to the baggage claim area, Kate called to let us know she was in.  (Vincent had inadvertently ruined the surprise when Kate's plane was delayed in Chicago, and let her know we were coming.  Oh, well - this way she had something to look forward to on the last leg of her flight.)  Joe went in first, to help her with her bags, and when they didn't come out right away, I followed with the baby (leaving Vincent at the curb in the car).

As I walked inside, I was telling Lexi, "there's Mama.  See, there's Mama!"  She didn't get it.  She was looking around, but all she saw was a crowd of people.  But Kate heard me, and started towards us.  I was watching Lexi's face as she saw her beloved Mama come into focus.  Her eyes grew wide, as if she didn't quite understand what she was seeing.  Then, as she began to believe, she smiled a little half smile.  When Kate came near and it was clear that she was REALLY here, the half smile turned into the biggest smile ever.  Mama was home!  She had gotten out of the iPad to come home!

Those few moments made the trip worthwhile.

House Hunting

I wouldn'a thunk it.

House buying is hard work.

These past two weeks of dipping my toes into the real estate market from the buyer's side have been most enlightening.  and frustrating.

I've never looked for a house to buy before.  My ex-husband found both the houses we bought before we split up.  I stayed in the second for 24 years before selling it so I could go on my adventure.

I thought it was easy.  You look at the listings, pick the top ten in your price range, go look at them, and buy the one you like the best.  Somehow, it never occurred to me that I'd not be able to find ten I'd even want to consider, or that the first four I'd look at would ALL be unsuitable.  I mean, of course I know people that have had problems finding the right house, but I somehow just figured they were too picky.  or something.

I knew real estate only from the seller's side (in a down market at that).  The sprucing the place up to appeal to buyers.  Making my bed EVERY morning, lest they call to schedule a showing that day.  The nervous tension when the real estate company called to schedule a showing.  The disappointment when the house didn't meet their needs - again.  The self-doubt about the price the paint the floors the kitchen, as the months passed and the house sat on the market.

I never thought about the buyer's frustrations.  What they call a second bedroom, I call a porch.  Those stairs could more accurately be called a ladder - I can't imagine carrying groceries or laundry up and down.  You access the master bedroom off the back porch?  Really?  One house had some appeal, until I looked at the surrounding places, and the junk they'd stored on their handy front porches.  Nix that one, too.  **sigh**

I know, I know.  I've just started looking.  Good thing I started before I HAD to move.  (I have new-found sympathy for people who relocate and have to find a house in a weekend or two of touring.)  There are three more houses on my short list; I'll look at those sometime next week.

Stay tuned...