New Roof!

 

I've been monitoring a couple of water marks on my living room ceiling for a couple of years. They started small, as such marks often do, and they haven't grown quickly, but this spring's series of storms had the dark streaks getting longer and darker. It was probably past time to get the problem fixed.

The water streaks are in an unlikely spot for a roof leak  - in the middle of the room, far from the walls, with bedrooms (and NO plumbing) directly above. I called in my favorite roofer. He climbed up, looked around, and said he'd happily take my money to replace the roof, but he suspected the chimney was the root of the problem. I called in a stone mason. He climbed up. looked at the mortar, and said, yup, the chimney needed a face lift, but he wouldn't guarantee doing that would fix both leaks; he suspected the one was caused by faulty flashing.

I decided to cover my bases, and hired both crews. I had to wait a bit for the stone mason to get to my job, but he came out a couple of weeks ago and got the chimney looking downright spiffy! Re-tuckpointed, a new cap, an acid wash - it probably hasn't looked that good in fifty years.

To my pleasant surprise, the roofer was able to fit me in just two weeks later. The crew showed up bright and early on Tuesday this past week. They rang my doorbell to let me know they were getting started at 6:45 AM, were finished by 4:00. (Angel did NOT care for the process. Once the roof started making noise, she headed straight to the basement, where she stayed, in a defensive crouch, eyes wide, for much of the day.  Sorry, kitty...)

I probably won't know if we managed to fix the leaks for quite a while. We're past spring rain season, and there clearly wasn't too much water getting in, since it took a good two years to make a foot-long mark on the ceiling. That said, I have every confidence that, if it's not fixed, between the two of them, the stone mason and roofer will come back and make it good.

As part of the roof process, I wanted the roofing crew to tighten up a piece of flashing on the north eaves. Squirrels once used the opening to get into their condo, and with the squirrels gone, some birds had nested there last year.

The crew missed it on their big work day, but when Raul came back to do some cleanup work, I brought him around the side of the house to point it out. As we were standing there looking up at the roof, a little bird came to perch on the roof just above the eave. He peered curiously down at us, his black head cocked at a questioning angle. Raul's first language isn't English, but the look on his face said it all, and mirrored my own. "Eggs", was all Raul said.

I sighed. I'd thought the birds had moved on this year, the presence of the little guy on the roof clearly said I'd been mistaken. I didn't have it in me to tell Raul he had to go destroy the nest, and he clearly didn't want to do the deed.

Fine. The birds can stay for the rest of the summer. I'm pretty sure I can get someone out here to set up the ladder this fall, and it'll take about five minutes to set some new screws so they can't use the nest again next year.

The chirps I heard coming from the eaves early yesterday morning as I was working in the driveway told me I'd made the right decision. There is more than enough killing in this world, we need all the birdsong we can get to right the balance just a bit.

Sing on, little guy!

Little Libraries

I found another Little Library near my house the other day when I was out walking. Number me among the people who can't walk by one of the boxes without stopping for a peek inside.

I hit the jackpot that day - I found three intriguing books therein. And then, since I was out, I meandered by the other little library near my house. And picked up two more stories. I tend to pick up books from the libraries that I wouldn't otherwise buy or even check out of the 'real' library. I choose genres I don't normally read, authors I've not heard of before.

Often, I realize there are reasons I don't often read books in a given genre (i.e. romance books. I always think I'm up for a little romance, but usually find the plot to be thin, the writing mediocre.) But then. Then there are the unexpected gems. A well-written book by a  new (to me) author that hooks me from the first page and lets me spend a few hours in an imaginary world.  Yes!

I often feel just a tad guilty about my finds, because I know I'm supposed to leave a book when I take one. But usually when I stop by, I was out on a walk with no intention of book browsing, and have nothing in my hands to offer. I just hope people will understand. I DO eventually get by to return a book - sometimes it's the original book I borrowed, sometimes I choose something neglected on my shelf, hoping someone else will give the story a better home. (Those unexpected gems don't get to go back to the libraries, though I do try to replace them with a neglected good story from my existing book collection.)

I want to do more book reading in my day-to-day life; it's one of the activities I don't have time to do when I spend too much time mindlessly skimming news on the internet. As I walk around the park, sometimes I see someone sitting on a bench in the shade enjoying a book. Back when I was working, I promised me that would be me some day. Now I'm retired, it still hasn't been me, but I'm still determined that it will be one of these days.

My reading time has always been after dinner, after the rest of the chores for the day are completed. Now, there have been just a few mornings where, when I got up, instead of starting on my list of to-dos, I've instead sat down with my coffee to finish the story I'd reluctantly put down the night before because my eyes decided to stop focusing on the page. I count those mornings as a win.

I'm glad there are people near my house who have jumped on the Little Library bandwagon. Their keepers get nothing tangible in return for the work they do to maintain the structures, weeding through the books on occasion, refilling from their own book stashes when the shelves are bare. It's one of those things that gives me hope for humanity - people giving to people just because they want to share.

Does my heart good.

Screen Time

One of these days, I will convince myself that the world will not suffer in any way, shape, or form if I don't do my daily dive into the internet rabbit hole.

It's a bad habit I got into late last year, as the election loomed and the pandemic raged. I'd read most of my local paper with breakfast. (Sadly, that is no great feat these days; it's a shadow of its once-robust self.) Then, with lunch, I'd read all the relevant articles (not just the headlines) in the New York Times, where I also have a subscription. When I ran out of information there, when I had a few spare minutes, I'd switch over twitter for my daily dose of outrage

It was almost as if some part of me thought I was cramming for a final test, and if I somehow just retained enough of the information of the day, I could ace it, and things would get better.

Things HAVE gotten better, but I don't think the information tucked into odd corners of my overflowing brain helped things along much, if at all. While all that reading definitely made me an informed voter, and helped me to understand what was going on with the virus, I'd venture to say a fraction of the time spent online would have sufficed to give me the information I needed.

With the election settled and the virus cases waning, it's long past time for me to limit my screen time. Keeping up with events isn't a bad thing until said keeping up keeps me from spending my hours on the things I really wanted to spend them on.

There will be no T/F quiz on the current outrageous behavior displayed by many of our elected representatives. No multiple choice test will cover the details of the latest state legislative session. No essay exam will ask me to explain the dynamics behind the explosion of mice eating everything in sight in Australia. (Hey, I never said some of this stuff wasn't interesting...)

But I look around my corner of the world at the end of the day, at my pile of activities left undone because I spent so much time reading 'news', and I regret that I didn't spend most of my time on things I can do something about in the here and now. I've discovered, again, that taking regret to bed night after night doth not make for a good night's rest. (Spending time on screens shortly before bed doesn't help the sleep situation either, so I am told.)

I don't remember the news from two weeks ago, but I do remember the plot of the book I took time to read. And, when I retired, didn't I say one of the main reasons I didn't want to work was that I was tired of looking at screens?  Well, duh! 

It's time, and past time, to change my habits. I don't want to drop the world of news completely, but I want to spend a lot less time there. Spring is here, and I'm tired of looking at my stalled to-do list. Cutting my screen time in half will go a long ways to helping me spend my time on more meaningful activities. I'm going to give it a shot.

Wish me luck!

Ted's House

I've been helping my brother Ted do some work on his new house; the first one he's bought. It's a cute little airplane bungalow; it promises to be a good place to call home. He knew it needed some remedial work when he bought it - the kitchen counters were badly deteriorated, and the floors needed some TLC.

But, as he's dug into the place, he's discovered one problem after another. This wasn't completely unexpected - he knew, given the purchase price, that the place had some issues. He just didn't know what they were before he closed.

Someone used latex paint over the oil on the wood, and the pretty white trim in the bedrooms gets dinged up if you look at it crossways. The tub was plumbed wrong, and has no cold water to the shower. (Ouch!) There was once a fire in the kitchen, and the side of one of the cabinets is badly charred. The floor in the back room addition only pretends to be level. The gas line for the stove isn't actually connected back to the supply. Stuff like that.

The part that has me angry is the part where someone faked out the wiring update. They found coating from modern romex wire, took the old knob and tube wire off the outlets, sheathed it so it looked like it had been replaced, then reconnected it. The setup was a fire waiting to happen; thank Goodness Ted found the issue before he plugged in the floor sander.

Most of the other stuff can be explained away by ignorance and having low standards for maintenance. But this one. This one could have gotten someone killed. And given that they knew enough to fake out the system, the person who did the wiring had to have known what a dangerous stunt they were pulling. In what world is this an OK thing to do?

The whole thing got me to thinking about the cycle of poverty and how people get trapped in substandard housing. (The house isn't in the most wealthy of neighborhoods - people like Ted are coming in and fixing places up, but much the housing stock has been neglected for decades and is in pretty rough shape.) Fortunately, Ted either has the know-how to fix the problems he finds, or he knows someone who does. He can afford the parts to do the repairs, and doesn't have to pay himself to do the labor.

But he is an outlier; most people don't have the skills to be able to do the work themselves. If he were part of the majority, he'd be hurtin' for certain right about now. He'd have put most of his available funds into purchasing the house, only to find he couldn't live there without shelling out a bunch of money he wouldn't have available. No wonder people can't escape poverty. It's a catch-22.

Grrrr.

Tonight, I am grateful he has what he needs to fix up his nest, and that I have some time to help him do it. He'll be moving in soon - the repairs won't be done, but the house will be livable. Once he's in, it won't take him too long to finish turning the place around. Good, bad and ugly, it's all his. It's a beautiful thing to see.

Go, Ted!

Small Enjoyments

Like many (most?) people my age, I need to watch what I eat to maintain a healthy-ish weight. For several decades, part of watching my calories meant I was drinking 2% milk. Somewhere, I'd internalized the notion that that's what I needed to do to keep the weight off.

Now, there's nothing wrong with 2% milk. It's got enough cream to give it some flavor, and it does a decent job of frothing up in my morning latte. But, while young Joe was living here, they recommended whole milk for him as he was weaned off formula. It seemed a bit silly to try to keep two kinds of milk in the already-crowded fridge, so I switched up my morning brew just a bit.

Young Joe and his parents left several months ago, but I haven't yet switched my brew back, nor do I intend to do so any time in the foreseeable future. It turns out that whole milk tastes better than 2%. A LOT better to my senses. Who knew?

I checked the labels, and found that all those years of 'virtue' were saving me a whopping 30 calories per cup, which, for me, translates into about 45 calories on an average day. I do recall the article I read some years ago that informed me that 150 calories per day is the difference between maintaining weight and having the pounds creep on, but I've decided to shave those calories somewhere else.

Turns out, I find the higher fat beverage to be more satisfying; I feel full longer. It tastes better on my oatmeal, it makes a creamier latte.

One of the things I'm working to weed out of my life as I bumble along this new path of mine is needless guilt and deprivation. Somewhere along the line, I learned that it's virtuous to deprive myself of small pleasures, as if skipping those 45 calories each day would somehow make me a better, stronger, happier person, help save the whales, and improve the lives of starving children in some unspecified far away place.

Eh. Not so much.

These days, I'm working on a new approach. Allowing myself the small enjoyment of savoring the creamy taste of the new version of my morning latte helps me to start my day off well. It's a small thing, but I've learned it doesn't take a lot of small good things to change my attitude for the better, and I need all the better attitude I can find these waning days of the pandemic. (To the best of my knowledge, the lives of the whales and hungry children have not been negatively impacted by the change - if I thought they had been, I would reconsider.)

Somewhere along the line, I clearly learned a lesson - indulging myself is a bad thing. If I give in on the milk, who knows what will come next! Cookies for breakfast? Eating dessert first? It's the start of a slippery slope! Hmmm. Clearly, that lesson is outdated and needs to be reframed. I'm pretty sure a lifetime of good eating habits isn't going to go down the tubes just because I enjoy my breakfast a bit more.

Besides, I'm worth indulging

Out and About

Kate has her shots. I have my shots. I have missed her greatly, so once the vaccines took hold, and I was unlikely to either contract the virus or carry it to her, I decided it was safe enough to go see her. I found myself some N95 masks for further insurance while traveling, and booked tickets for California. Other than a 'whoa-Nellie' landing at my quick stop in Phoenix, my trip was trouble free; I got here early last week. She picked me up from the airport. As she hopped out of the car, and gave me a big hug, a tension I wasn't quite aware I was carrying with me evaporated. I've missed hugs.

She's busy with work and Lexi goes to school each day, so we have stayed pretty close to home. I don't mind at all; it's been a wonderful visit. I've been able to reconnect with Lexi, who has, as children tend to do, grown leaps and bounds since we last spent time together. We've been able to relax together in the evenings. Since I'm not working, I've been able to get some of the household chores completed, which meant this past weekend was to-do free!

With routine tasks off the table, we had some time to venture outdoors. Kate chose Charmlee Wilderness Park in Malibu as a good spot for hiking. I've been nursing some sore foot tendons, and the trails there are advertised as family-friendly; i.e. easy on the knees and ankles.

The park was all it was advertised to be. Only a thirty minute drive from her house, it was a world away from the close confines of her suburban neighborhood. We stepped out of the car, onto a trail, and were quickly enveloped within a quiet wilderness area. We could still hear some distant traffic at times, but there were also times where we stopped, and the peaceful quiet that can only be found in nature settled around us. The sun was warm, and we were close enough to the ocean to feel and smell its refreshing breezes. 

A fire had passed through the park last year, leaving its mark in the blackened bark of the trees and the missing trail signs. You could see, as we walked, the fire's erratic path - here it lingered long enough to reduce the trees to withered husks, there, the trees show no sign of its passing.

People have given Nature a helping hand in the wake of the fire, and the land has already begun to heal. Scars remain, but we saw birds and lizards in abundance. The trails have been reclaimed, grass scrub has largely replenished itself, and many of the trees wore a cloak of green despite their charred trunks.

We weren't able to go too long or too far, given the givens of my gimpy foot, but it was long and far enough to awaken a long-missed connection to nature in my heart and soul. It's been too long since I stood in the sun with the wind in my hair and feasted my eyes on nature's unedited landscaping.

On our way back to Kate's house, we stopped by a roadside stand for some fresh strawberries; the young vendor told me she'd just picked them yesterday. I was hungry and bit into one as soon as we got back underway. The fruit was amazing. The aroma, the flavor, the texture - they were as good as strawberries can be.

It was a good day. The outing provided soothing balm for some parts of my soul which have been withering in the dry isolation of the pandemic quarantine.

This, too, shall pass.
Good Is.

Procrastination

I'm not sure what this says about me, but:

I finished painting the upstairs here at my house three weeks ago; it took me about three weeks to paint the four rooms up there. I took a few days to pat myself on the back, then tried to talk me into getting back to work, to do the same spiff-up to the first floor.

Didn't happen. I mean, I only had a few weeks until I left to visit Kate. That wasn't enough time to finish up the entire project, and thus and therefore, I couldn't possibly even start. And that was that.

How do I motivate myself when my old tricks to motivate me no longer apply? When I have all of the days free, how do I know which are work days, and which are rest days? All I know right now is that the last three weeks have all been rest days. 

I took particular delight in not doing any of the things I should have done this past Monday. I stirred, and before I was quite awake, thought I needed to go in to work. I thought I had a busy day ahead and started to mentally review the things I hoped to get done between interruptions. I then woke up the rest of the way, realized I was retired and had exactly zero pressing deadlines for the day, and snuggled back under the covers for another thirty minutes, watching the sun glint on the stained glass art in my window. 

When I finally got going and went downstairs, I ate breakfast, looked at my actual to-do list, and picked up a novel. I climbed into my comfy chair, reveling in my rebellion against the 'shoulds' I'd laid out for the day. I snuggled in under a blanket and spent most of the day reading my story, stopping now and again to remind myself it was Monday and I didn't have to go to work. It was a delightful day.

I've known for ages I'm not good at relaxing, so I'm counting this one as a win. It matters to no one, including myself, whether the paint project gets finished before or after my California trip, as long as it gets done before it's too hot to open the windows and clear out the paint fumes. Why NOT take a few days (weeks!) off? I dunno...

I'll keep working on it.

In the meantime, my upcoming trip beckons. I was feeling a bit uneasy about the whole thing, and wasn't sure why. I've missed Kate, and have been looking forward to having some time to spend with her again. Then the lightbulb went on. The last time I went to California, the whole world shut down two days after I got there. I mean, if I started an unprecedented pandemic last time I flew out there to relax and figure out what I want to do when I grow up, what's to say it won't happen again?

I'll just have to take my chances.

Where There's A Will

There's nothing like a session with a lawyer to update my will to get me thinking about life, death, and the meanings thereof. It wasn't so much the will itself that set me to pondering things; that part's pretty straightforward, and it just deals with stuff.

It's the whole end of life health directive part that made me think. What do I consider quality of life? Under which circumstances do I want to invoke the happy pills and pain pills only clause? And, since I'm thinking about being in that state, planning for the possibility even, that means I need to consider that I just might get there one day. Given the givens of this COVID year, it's almost a relief to sit down and think these things through; I think they've been taking up some subconscious mind-space for a while now.

Somehow, putting it all down in black and white makes it more real. I've not been in total denial about things - the ins and outs of my life for the last decade don't lend themselves to thinking it can't happen to me - but I haven't exactly thought them through, either.

Turns out I'm not the hang on to every minute of life sort of person after all. I don't want my body to stick around if my mind is gone. I don't want to live all of the days after all, if living means just delaying the inevitable for a few days or weeks, and those days will be spent in pain. Nope. Bring on the happy pills and pain pills, and let everything else go.

As I thought, I tried to picture the faces of those I love as they will be when they hear I've gone on to whatever-it-is that comes next. Their tears tore my heart, but the images also brought me a measure of peace.

I've been to my share of funerals, but the one that most haunts me was that of a woman I didn't know. This was back in the days when I was cantor at church, and they called me in to sing for her service. She was young-ish, in her early sixties, and there were just seven people present at the mass. Seven. Such a small world she must have lived in, that so few would come to wish her farewell.

I WANT people to miss me when I'm gone, because that will mean I touched their hearts while I lived. It will mean I managed to bring a little light to a world that can seem overwhelmingly dark some days. It will mean I managed to be on the side of Good, at least some of the times. (It turns out that being an agent for Good, at least some of the times, is important to me.) It will mean I found a way to give back in return for the gifts I was given.

Now, with any luck, that day will be many days in the future. (I can hope.) Still, it feels good to know I've thought some of this through; that I can leave a guide for people to follow. They won't have to waste energy wondering what I would have wanted if tough decisions need to be made, because they won't have to guess.

That's something.

Josh's Bad Day

Last Friday was a beautiful, sunny day. I'd taken time out from my current project (sprucing up the paint on the inside of my house - eight years later, it's showing its age) to run some errands. I'd just finished up, proud of myself because I'd completed the stops in less time than I thought I'd need, and was leaving Costco, when, crunch!

It was one of THOSE moments. I was in the drive lane, heading out of the parking lot, when backup lights came on in a big old van and it started out of its spot. I was already in the line of fire. I tried to avoid him by swerving to the left and laying on the horn, but to no avail. The van kept coming and backed right into the corner of my StealthMobile, my bright yellow convertible. 

Argh! It took a moment for him to figure out why his van stopped, but then he pulled back into his spot. I just sat there, fuming at the driver's carelessness, ready to spit, as the driver got out of the van and came around back. As soon as I saw him, my anger evaporated. He was just a kid; looked about eighteen.

He was nervous - this was the first time he'd been in an accident, and it was clearly his fault. He just hadn't looked for cars coming from my direction. He asked what the procedure was, and I told him I needed his license and insurance card. He pulled out his license and handed it to me, then started to pull up his insurance information on his phone.

That's when his face turned pale. He poked buttons and more buttons, to no avail. His most recent payment hadn't gone through, and so his insurance had lapsed. *sigh* Josh was having a very bad day.

I still couldn't be mad. I did stupid stuff when I was eighteen, too. (and, truth be told, plenty of times since then.) I didn't want to call the cops and have him get a ticket. That wasn't going to fix my car or anything else in this scenario.

So, I took pictures of his license plate (the accident hadn't even scratched his bumper!) and driver's license. I got his phone number, told him we'd figure out a way to work things out, and went on my way figuring I was soon to be out the deductible on my insurance because the cost of the repair would fall on me. *more sighs*

I snagged an appointment at a local body repair shop for Monday, and took my car in, expecting them to tell me I'd need a new bumper and fender, to the tune of several thousand dollars. To my pleasant surprise, they said new parts weren't necessary - they could repair the damage without replacing the parts! The total estimate came in at $1600.

I texted Josh to see what he wanted to do next; he said he'd be a bit - he was at the vet with his mom because the cat just died. (????!!! Talk about a bad day.) When he called an hour or so later, I gave him the good news on the estimate. I told him he had two choices - he could pay me the deductible for my insurance, and I would turn in the claim and his insurance rates would skyrocket because the system would know he'd been driving without insurance at 18, or he could pay me the money for the repair.

Somehow, he'd gotten some money over the weekend; coincidentally just enough to pay for the damage to my car. (hello, Universe???) He sent it to me via PayPal on the spot, and it was a done deal. I have an appointment to repair the car in two weeks, and also have a refreshed, improved attitude regarding the goodness of others. I trusted him to make things right, and he did - without his parents stepping in to fix it all for him.

I'm sure he had other plans for his windfall, and I'm also sure it'll be a long time before he backs up before checking behind him in ALL directions. I'd also be willing to bet he'll check every month to ensure his insurance payment has cleared. 

I talked to him for a bit while we were working out the details. I told him I was proud of the way he'd stepped up to the damage he'd done and worked with me to set things right; proud of the adult he was becoming. I meant it. 

Lessons provided by the school of life are never easy, and always come at a price. But, all in all, we agreed, it was a relatively inexpensive way to learn the lessons of the day.

Spring!

 

Spring officially arrived yesterday, and the neighborhood flora is in full agreement.

This is one of my favorite weeks of the year to go out walking every day. It was rainy earlier this week; the only sign of the sun a few lighter gray spots in the cloud-covered sky. The gray trees against the gray sky looked as if they were still hunkered down for the count. Then, right on cue, the sun came out, and it was clear to see that the plants have made good use of the rain. (March showers bring April flowers?  No, that's not quite right...) 

As I walk, I watch to see what's changed overnight. If you squint, you can see where a tree, yesterday wearing only its winter brown-gray bark, has begun to sprout a halo of the most delicate spring green.

The bush in the attached picture, one of my spring favorites, still looked to be winter-asleep as I approached yesterday. But then, as I walked by, I caught a whiff of intense fragrance; it smelled as though someone had unstoppered a bottle of high-end perfume. I stopped to look more closely, and sure enough, among the remnants of last year's leaves, a few delicate flowers have opened.

The sky is blue, the birds are singing. The robins who decided to hang around all winter have let their feathers relax - no longer do they need to stay still and puffed up to preserve warmth and energy. 

The grass is starting to grow, it's almost time to get out and play in the dirt. (I stop to send some mental sympathy hugs to my friends to the north. They still have a few weeks of winter to get through, and memory tells me it can feel like winter is digging in its heels as it gets dragged out the door, wanting to hang around as long as possible.)

I knew, during those dark days in February, that this would happen. I've seen a few turns of the planet around the sun, and spring has come without fail. Despite the voice of experience in my head, there's always a part of me that doesn't believe it'll happen again. I guess its my spirit's way of hedging its bets; not counting the chickens until they hatch - that sort of thing.

This year, spring brings poignancy - I welcome its arrival with an almost too-intense awareness of life's fragility. Because of the virus, too many people are not here to welcome it this year. *big sigh*

But COVID-19 is on the run, and I pray it stays that way. I have gotten the first of my shots, as have most of my friends. The vaccine logjam is loosening, and soon, all who want to take what protection science can offer against the virus will be able to do so. I'm not ready to go anywhere crowded just yet, but soon will be free to gather with friends for coffee or dinner. New life, and the hope it brings along in its wake, is stirring in my soul, mirroring the world out my window.

Soon.