Huge gaping hole and hope

There is a post that I have to save in draft mode until all the crap that surrounds it blows over. I don't mean to be cryptic, but a call from a private investigator on Christmas Eve pitched me into a deep funk, I had a write about it (the draft), and I am feeling much better. Wyatt is fine. Matty is fine. I am fine.

On the positive side, the slew of beautiful wee babies being sprung in Bishop is making me happy for all the new parents. Yes, we apparently are a breeding town, even if our population is smaller than it was in the 1960s.

Kate, Matty, Zach, Michelle and I tucked into a 1.5 lb barrel of Spudmaster ColossalChips from Bellflower, Missouri. The potato chips were a lovely pressie sent from my lovely friend Steve in St. Louis. Michelle made an exotic lamb stew, we played poker, finished the keg of Brutal, and tucked into the chips. It was a fine night. Picture of our heads buried in the Spudmaster tin will soon follow.

"No good deed goes unpunished"

That's what I have been told.

So, over the years, I've called 911 in the middle of the night when it appears that one of our neighbors is beating his partner. It follows a pattern - tt always has. There is foul swearing. There is the sound of various things and the partner being beaten. There are pleas for the beating to stop. Well, apparently, I have been the only person in the neighborhood to call. Maybe I'm the only one who doesn't fear deportation? So, all my 911 calls are going to be used in the prosecution of the man who was caught beating and imprisoning his partner last summer (The partner made *that* call).

I have been in a deep funk lately in part because on Christmas Eve, a private investigator working for the attorney representing the man wanted to question me about my calls to 911. His long ol' cheery message got me shaking. At heart, I think he wanted me to contradict myself. I say let my calls to 911 stand. I am mostly unnerved because now I know that my name and details are on public record. I have a child to protect from exposure to abusive and degrading behavior. On one hand, it's made me brave. On the other, I feel incredibly vulnerable.

Post script January 15th: Two night after Christmas, a sheriff's deputy tried to serve me a subpoena. We were gone, and Janet found him wandering around our yard with a big flashlight.

On the 30th, the man was banging around outside his trailer, and I called 911. New Year's Eve, poor Michelle got involved when she heard the partner scream for help. A detective even turned up to the Black Sheep to get her statement.

It's been very ugly and emotionally draining. It has taken a lot of energy and talking about it with friends not to succumb to a deep deep depression. Matt has been supportive enough, but just can't see why Michelle and I would be freaked out.

The other night, we decided to have a wee pity party, where a few of us with concerns in our lives would say goodbye to those concerns and send them up the woodstove flames. The beater was top of my list.

Maybe it worked?

I was told all along that despite all the evidence against the man, he demanded a trial. Well, last night, he pled to a deal and will still serve time. He is currently out on his own recognizance until sentencing , but there are definite no contact orders in place.

Michelle and I haven't been sleeping well and still aren't quite, but the ball is rolling and the psychic goo is lifting.

Wow, they must really want the business

We picked an Animas Ping pump for Wyatt. It has a remote control unit that administers insulin from 10 feet away. I called and left a message for our nurse at CHLA this morning to get the ball rolling and she called back within 15 minutes. An hour and a half later, a representative from Animas Ping called and took our insurance, medical, and order details.

It's been great working with competent folks who have all the right answers to my financial, medical, and logistical questions. I wish all medicine worked this well.

These suckers retail for about $7,500, so maybe that has something to do with it?

Proof of a higher being

The Owens Valley. The place where we live. The place we love so much.

Zabars' cinnamon rugelach. They achieve even higher perfection when we leave them on our woodstove for a few minutes.

Russian River's Sanctification: Who's afraid of the "big bad BRET?" We'll tell you who: winemakers! Because of our close proximity to several hundred wineries, we often get winemakers visiting our brewery. (After all, it takes a lot of great beer to make great wine!) Because we use 100% Brettanomyces yeast to ferment Sanctification, most winemakers will only smell the glass, and only a very few will venture to taste the beer. They think the Brettanomyces will attach to their clothing and end up in their winery. A simple solution was offered: keep a smudge pot burning at the door of our brewery so they can burn their clothes when exiting, but even that was not enough. After giving it more thought, we concluded that winemakers think Brettanomyces might scar their taste buds and possible even permeate their skin? Either way, Sanctification is one of the most unique beers you will ever taste! It is fermented with 100% Brettanomyces, rather than the traditional Saccharomyces. 6.25%ABV / 1.060 O.G / 27 BUs Available rotationally in the pub, and rotationally in 750mL cork finished bottles.

Exhausted

That's what everyone seems to be, even in this podunk town of ours.

We went down to LA Saturday and came back Tuesday and are worn little nubbins. Wyatt had a pretty productive diabetes check up Monday. We are going to start the ball rolling and get an insulin pump, which is basically a beeper sized external pancreas. We'll still need to do 2,000 or so glucose checks (involving finger sticks) a year for a few years, but we can skip the 1,500 shots and do about 300something instead. It will mean that we can work towards reducing Wyatt's A1c averages (a good thing).

The gastro check up was canceled because of illness, and I didn't handle the news well. I just kind of zoned out at the hospital and felt a bit overwhelmed. It means that I'll probably be taking the boy down on a Monday for a Tuesday appointment and drive back. 10+ hours of driving in little over 24 hours for a 15 minute appointment.

I was being selfish. Oh well. Luckily, we came home from LA to a wonderful hot lasagna (thanks Janet) and tamales (thanks girls!) and an emptied dishwasher (thanks Michelle).

And today's a better day already.

My list of gratitude goes here:

• We did not get sideswiped by that really fast white car on Hollywood Blvd.
• We did not get into any rain related accidents, even though we saw heaps of them.
  
• We beat the road closure home.
• We are not fighting a big or terminal disease, like so many families who use CHLA are.
• The Santa CHLA provided was vintage and lovely, not cheeseball.
• I have a lovely aunt and cousin who house and feed us when we are in LA.
• The espresso drinks at Intelligentsia on Sunset are getting better and better.
• Matt and I like Silver Lake/Los Feliz. Just as well CHLA is there.
  
• There was a Swiss Mont D'or Vacherin at the Silver Lake Cheeseshop.
• Wyatt is a typical almost four year old dude and lacks no self confidence.
  

My husband has embraced his inner redneck

Matty bought a dirtbike. He is 38 and this is only the second vehicle he's ever owned. He only rode around on a motorcycle for the first time a few weeks ago.

He is not a rash guy. He's an engineer. He's been wanting to get into the mountains more. He helps with and encourages all the shows I want to do. I reckoned that him buying a used dirtbike was easier than him having an affair or other midlife crisis. :)

The Schoberlews are not big spenders. As the exchequer of the house, I would have preferred that he bought it after property taxes were all said and done, but besides the mortgages on the house we live in ($840 a month) and the rentals ($2600, covered by the rent, as long as the units are rented) and $20,000 in a home equity loan that went towards the remodel we did when the boy was born, we have no debt.

So with that, Matty's going to embrace his inner redneck. Long may he ride.

Damned pink eye

Missing a cousin's birthday gathering and feeling like crap because of a cold that settled in my sinuses and then eyes. This is me all cleaned up too.

Getting to the last of my treasured Pino Meat Pies

Troy and Dulcie and Solomon will always have a special place in my heart. They nourished us with their pies!

the laundry list of medical curiosities

• It was a year ago today that Wyatt got diagnosed with diabetes...and what a year! 2,000+ blood glucose tests and some 1,500 shots later, we are starting to get our heads around the disease.
  

• I have a raging case of pink eye.

• I saw Dr. Perry, one of my two surgeons, yesterday and he gave me the go ahead to wait until late spring to have my angle plate removed from my left hip (I have some concerts to put on and some skiing to do) and until fall to have my second femoral rotational osteotomy. He was rather pleased with the x-rays of my hip.

• On Monday, we go see Wyatt's endocrinologist at Childrens Hospital LA.
  

• On Tuesday, we see Wyatt's GERD nurse practitioner at Childrens Hospital LA.

• Genevieve seems to be squeezing out her baby boy today.*
  

• It was also a year ago today that Karen nearly killed herself by allergic reaction to something...on AT's birthday!

*It appears that G labored for 30 hours before they gave her a C-section. Many thoughts for a speedy recovery.

Keeping up Miss Silvia and 1st Line Coffee

Our Rancilio Miss Silvia espresso machine is nearing its second birthday. Forget all you think about Italian engineering, ours is near god damned perfect. We both pull one to two shots a morning, every morning.

The only thing that has happened so far is that the chrome on the group head (where the portafilter - the cup that holds the coffee grounds- sits) shield has bubbled and flaked. The machine was out of warranty when I inquired with the retailer, 1st Line out of New York. They had never heard of the problem but resolved to get us a replacement piece at no cost. It did take months for this to happen, but it happened.

Turns out, the shield is nothing more than chromed plastic. Matt reckons that it is out of necessity, so that the operator doesn't burn him or herself.

Here's to more and more years with the mistress.

A ray of morning sunshine

Now, if he could shoot out a Fender Passport PA and world peace, that'd be super peachy.

Silly fantasy fluff goes here

I have started to play Lotto. For $1-2 a week, I can entertain myself with thoughts of what I'd do with all that ungodly amount of money. I don't fantasize about the good things I could do. I fantasize about my rock and roll promoter ambitions. So, this is how I would spend some of the money:

• Buy a Fender Passport Portable PA and generator so I could do wee concerts outside, guerrilla style.
• Jack the house up and excavate us a basement that could be used as a music venue/dancehall.
• Put on a mini festival featuring those NZers the Mutton Birds, SJD, and the Phoenix Foundation in Golden Bay's Mussel Inn.
• Buy a Mercedes 15 seater transit van that bands could use to tour the States.

Silly, I know.

It is a diversion from the headlines I have been reading re: Mumbai. The picture of distraught 2 year old Moshe Holtzberg, who lost his parents, was so very sad.