Summer in the backyard and kitchen

the Lurgy returns, Levon Helm, and off to the Mendocino Coast

• Have been bathing in a pool of my own sweat. Got struck down with the Lurgy that everyone in town has/has had. It is running its course. The sweating is only intermittent now.
  
• Off to Mendocino tomorrow afternoon to go camping with friends from Matty's UC Davis days. Erin will be there! She is game to be my bad girl in crime and to sneak off to the North Coast microbrewery for a pint. Erin has always been so good to Matty and me.
  
• We are picking up a 10x10 Kodiak Canvas tent. I'd bought a cheaper one made of nylon, but decided that with my advancing bad hips, more forays in car camping, and the possibility of more New Zealand bands visiting, I'd better not cheap out. So, I bought a good tent that will last a very long time. Luckily, returning the nylon tent, still unopened in its box, will be a piece of piss.
  
• Saw Scorcese's "The Last Waltz," and Levon Helm ("He can drum, he can sing!") moved me. Somebody once called him the only drummer who could make you cry.
  
• My dear Mutton Birds' English penpal of many years, Spence, finally got to meet Don McGlashan the other day. He and fellow longtime birder Dave were lucky enough to catch Don McG do an impromptu set in Sherwood Forest before the Crowded House show. McG is touring as a member of the CH band. Spence and Dave also got the chance to do an interview w/ McG after the show. I was thrilled for them. They have worked so hard over the years to foster folks' interest in the band and to archive all that is available. Roger King was a star to arrange the tickets, passes, and meeting. Don McG seemed to indicate that there will be a U.S. West Coast tour in the not too distant future. I have cast my lines out for the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra, Don McG, and the Phoenix Foundation (folks here still ask after them often). Fingers crossed that I'll know how to set my lines if and when the time comes.
  

Exactly 10 years ago today

We were rather newly engaged, frying our thinner backsides snorkeling hours each day in the Perhentian Islands in Malaysia. Matt was on his way to a massive sinus infection from all the biofecal matter from D-Lagoon taking up residence in his nose. I was still a BBC World Service shortwave freak. We'd just learned about roti canai.

Summer is here

We have a keg of Hoegaarden on tap. Good thing, too, it's getting to be near 100 degrees daily.
We're going to the State High School Championship Rodeo tonight.
Karen plied me with glass after glass of Black Chook Sparkling Shiraz last night. I came home and watched endless clips of Cyd Charisse dancing on Youtube. I had a wee cry in honor of her otherworldly ability and looks.

A toast of health and happiness to all the couples

getting married in California this summer.

Now, if we can just find Tyler the man of his dreams....

Skived yesterday afternoon to go on a hike w/ Matty and Marsha

We went to Little Egypt. The cacti were blooming, and the sun was out. I was having my doubts about hiking - nothing a few ibuprofin couldn't fix. The unoperated hip *is* starting to go, though.

dodgy rickety bridge

Prickly pear

the Sierras

Yay for Marsha's return

lone tree rock

Mariposa Lily

"If there could be another...."

The boy's first Owens Valley redneck buzzcut. Like father, like son.

A boy being punished

What happens when Wyatt decides that kicking and hitting are alright. In positive news, he is now pretty much potty trained thanks to Miss Katy at daycare and Matty's diligence.

Wait, there's more

The bruise from last week traveled down Matty's leg.

We went to camp

Wyatt had the best time at Fallen Leaf Lake because 6 year old Jesse was there, too.

Man Nil, Tree One

Matty's little souvenir from last weekend. Actually, since no bones were broken, I'd say Man One, Tree One.

My wee patch o' paradise

Looking forward to tidying up the garden Saturday. Most of the snow peas need to come out. Some annuals and veg need to go in. Have not done a headcount of my tomato plants, but I think I have about three dozen in the ground.

The weather has been overcast the past week. Unusual for these parts. I wonder if we're in for a wet summer? The plants are psyched.

Going away this weekend to Lake Tahoe for a work conference. I get to see Diane! In addition to being one of my closest friends ever (she married Matty and me), she is my boss. Matty and the boy get to come along, too. There'll be boats, hiking, three meals a day plus snacks, great workmates, etc. My office hosts this conference every year or so to help communities adopt clean indoor air laws, and it's the only time I'm obliged to show my face.

Mule Days 2008

Auntie Time

Reunion on Main Street.

Man vs. Tree

Man nil, Tree nil.

Matt got lucky. We got the idea to ski Mammoth's penultimate day of the season because of the novelty that it was going to be be "fresh pow" (it was a whiteout) and because it'd been 100 degrees earlier in the week. Well, Matty met the fallen tree when he missed a jump turn and smashed into it. Luckily Lesley was there because Matty passed out. She thought he was kidding around when he face planted in the snow. A few slaps and yells proved otherwise. I found Matty in the patrolman's sled at the bottom of the Mountain. We made an easy peasy trip to the ER for some Xrays, and Matty got the good news that he only had some bad contusions on his thigh and shin.

I have a bad habit of laughing when Matty hurts himself. When I see that he's green in the face, I know he's going to pass out or has just done so. It's his party trick. We asked what causes this and the nurses and doctor thought it was the pain. Tough guy.

Dear Mayumi came up to Mammoth with us. She and Erika have been visiting, and it's such a great comfort to be with old friends. We just sit around and chill. They are great with Wyatt, and I'm so lucky to still have them in my life.

Good bye, Gung Gung

We were also down in LA for my Gung Gung's 85th birthday and Wyatt's diabetes checkup.
Gung Gung always looked younger than his years in part because he had a stroke in the early 1970s leaving one half his body paralyzed, but he's starting to look wan and weak.
Family drama has dictated that he's going back to Hong Kong ostensibly to die. He's been in the States since the mid 1970s.
Wyatt, Matty, and I waved our goodbyes to him the other day. Wyatt was sweet and blew enormous kisses, making the old man smile.
I am not very close to my Grandfather, but I do really wish him nothing but comfort and fun (he loves Mah Jong) in his last days.

Night two. NZ Music holds court in a basement somewhere in Downtown LA

I got to meet Don McGlashan minutes after weeping like a maudlin baby for Paul Hester. Crowded House closed the tour with "Better Be Home Soon" for PH, and after the high emotions of the week (all the Schoberlews are being treated for strep, family reunion dramas, personal dramas, blah blah), the thought of poor, fucking Paul Hester hanging in a public park just made me very, very sad.

Don McGlashan is cheekier than I imagined. He got and ran with it when I thanked him for "embracing his 'inner Black girl' on this tour." He said, "Ah, but you should have heard me sing "Bathe in the River" (a song of his in the gospel style with lovely falsettos) in New York." Matty thanked him for writing love songs to civil engineers the world over (McGlashan's father was a civvie). Roger King was lovely for offering us a chance to go after the show to say "hullo." I initially said, "Thanks, nah [strange melancholy twitter goes here]," but Bibi kicked my ass. I guess part of me wanted to always be able to refer to the "time I turned down the chance to...."

Don McGlashan loves the Phoenix Foundation, too. Joy. Pure Joy.

So, in the dank green basement of the Orpheum Theatre in rundown Downtown LA, I got to say a heartfelt "thank you" to the man who sings the Very Important Songs inside my head. Matty and I spent the rest of the time people watching or chatting with each other or with Bibi or with a lovely college concert promoter from Vancouver who flew in for the night to pitch to Don, too. All I have to say is Bishop puts together better appointed afterparties in our backyard.

Roger and Don seemed to appreciate the Woodford Reserve Bourbon we brought. I am getting superstitious. Woodfood, I think, helps me with "closing" (if I may continue to use the Glengarry Glen Ross references). I think it's what did it for with the Phoenix Foundation fellas. Thank you, Woodford, for making a good, lasting impression.

Extra highlight of the night: I got to thank Bret McKenzie for telling me how to get the Phoenix Foundation (and the Black Seeds) to Bishop (Stop wasting your time with the band. Convince Matt, the manager. His bands will go where he books them). I was touched that McKenzie asked, "Didn't I meet you outside Spaceland? It (the Phoenix Foundation show) happened? How did it go?" I just thought, "What a classy guy." I mean, here he is King of the World and he a remembers talking to some crazy woman (of which there are more passing through his and Jemaine Clement's lives than probably anybody else in the world) a few years ago and then asks how his friends were received in a small town in America....

I also got to tell Greg Johnson that "Liberty" was a fine song. Bibi told him that his cornet solo on the Able Tasman's "Michael Fay" (one of her fav. songs of alltime) is stellar. I did the Bishop pitch lite. He seemed interested. I couldn't tell if it was because he's been living in LA too long and has become a good actor or because he *would* come play in my living room for little more than a band of interpretive dancers, gas money, food, lodging, some CD sales. We exchanged email addresses.

International observer

Don McGlashan's set at Crowded House's technically wonderful* show was the best 20-25 minutes I've spent in a while**. The songs were: Winning Numbers, A Thing Well Made, While You Sleep, something referred to by folks in the audience as the Boyfriend Song, Andy, and Anchor Me. His voice was strong, clear, not showing signs of an intense tour. He was cheeky. He was no longer a luddite and his loops worked beautifully. I was moved more than once, I was lucky to see the man perform again, I was lucky to hear the soundtrack to my life live.

I am not a very good stalker.
I am a librarian at heart, a collector and indexer of facts and information.
I am also a keen observer - although you'd never know it by how my mouth sometimes "blah blah blahs" and my arms flap when I should just stand still and smile.

I walk into a lot of situations and suss out certain facts and factors and extrapolate. I can spot certain folks from a mile away. Matt calls this my "Terminator Eye". Bibi has seen me use it more than once.

Tonight, Bibi and I met the lovely Marc who is a VERY BIG NZ music aficionado and a fellow Mutton Birds, Humphreys and Keen, and Flying Nun fan. Marc and I have been sharing "mixtapes" on and off for about 4 years now. We found him with my Terminator Eye. Within minutes of meeting Marc, I zeroed in on a man with a tag flapping on a lanyard. I didn't mean to scare Don McGlashan's manager when he walked by, but I just blurted out "Roger King?" and lo and behold, it was him. He just had cool angular metal framed glasses and a shirt that was a shade of sky blue that nobody from LA wears because they are all wearing black or now, brown.

If I see him tomorrow night, I must apologize for my Glengarry Glen Ross hard sell of Bishop. I just kind of get excited, and it just comes out like a steamroller. Bless, bless, bless Sam Scott of the Phoenix Foundation for doing the advance work for me and for just telling Roger about the show and experience TPF had. Sam did more to sell Bishop than my said blah blah blahing and flapping of arms. I said I could suss out situations. I didn't say I knew how to behave in them.

Roger King said he also manages the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra. I oohed and ahhed and flapped my arms at that, too. I had visions of the best time in Bishop, with Lynne bringing along any number of her six ukes and folks really getting into the singalong to "Ziggy Stardust." Interesting times ahead, Inshallah. Hope I didn't kill them with my aggressive geek routine.

I did feel happy wearing my butchy cowboy costume I wear to NZ artists' shows (the "I Love Te Aro" teeshirt, jeans, packer boots). I don't know, I just feel like a tomboy on a mission in my guise- like I am channeling the person I was when I was an optimistic energetic kid. After the surgery, I was not sure if the boots, which weigh nearly 10 pounds for the pair, would need to be retired. Three cheers, they don't.

*As nice and pitch perfect and even spontaneous as the CH show was, I wasn't moved - other than by watching Don McG let his hair down and enjoy being in somebody else's band for once.

**I had a great time at the Over the Atlantic show - really and truly. But, Don McG's all too brief set allowed me to have a few of those experiences when you kind of leave everything you know and exist purely in the moment.

It's still spring

as evidenced by the bare trees at my inlaws' up the road.

Middle class, middle aged neurosis

It's embarrassing. I've lost sleep over this. I worry about how to break the news to the kids of in the neighborhood that our backyard is now off limits. It's just getting to be too many kids, most of whom I have never seen before.

I hate policing "Hey, don't poke your sister with that sharp stick, don't throw those balls into my plants, don't go in that shed with all the chemicals, don't go up that rickety staircase, don't put the baby on the playset."

So screw it.

My right on liberal values were put to the test. Surely the kids (all Latino) deserved a patch of grass to play on, but in the end, with so many kids, I just couldn't take responsibility. I was becoming their babysitter and cop. I'm not even my own kid's babysitter. Where are their parents? (Yeah, yeah, and here is where I cringe. I sound like my right on conservative mother). Who would I tell if one of them got crushed by one of our bowling ball sculptures or impaled on a garden stake?

I still like the kids next door, but for now, I just need a break. No kids.

I'm a big wimp.

In other news, my tomatoes have aphids. It's been a tough seedling year.

Three cheers, "Motorcycle" is here

"Auntie Motorcycle Michelle" has made the move up to Bishop. It's not permanent. She'll be here for most of the summer, climbing peaks, until her trip around India on an Enfield Motorbike.

Still, Bishop will never be the same.

*Motorcycle is different from Auntie Mixologist Michelle who is equally wonderful.

You aren't from 'round here, are you?

Blink took this awesome picture of the Over the Atlantic boys on their day off. The Buttermilk, Bishop, CA.

* In addition to being talented musicians, Nik and Ash have the distinction of being the fellas who graced town with the tightest jeans on man ever seen!

Unease with these modern times

A fiber optic cable got cut over 100 miles from here and telecommunications in the Owens Valley was intermittent at best yesterday.

I could make local calls and calls to Berkeley, where my office is and where AT's office is (I called in incommunicado for her), but to call Denver, I had to get on our cheap pay as you go cellphone that we use for emergencies. I was one of the lucky ones who could dial out.

911 didn't work, and the internet was down for most of the day.

Because long distance and web connectivity were down, nobody could bank (a few banks locked their doors). Some prescriptions could not get filled because pharmacies rely on a central computer network to verify patients and their insurance. Gasp! My credit card was useless unless a) somebody had a credit card franker b) knew how to use it.

Everybody in town sort of walked around aimlessly and got a bit anxious. I did what I always do when I am by myself and have a window of time. I gardened.

If nothing else, the wee window of manmade unease made me feel glad that I horde Wyatt's insulin. I think about the poor people left to their own devices during Katrina.

We live in a really remote place that is served by few roads. All it would take is a breakdown in transportation, say a bad snow storm, or something happening in Los Angeles, and we'd be left to our own devices. With a pantry full of food, a garden with a bit of year round greens, and now a fridge full of insulin, I think we'd be ready.

backyard epiphanies

It is spring. Nearly 100 of my wee baby apples are wearing wee stockings in an effort to foil the coddling moth. My husband and son are working side by side on my rather expensive, but out of warranty, blender in the next room. I have a beer buzz on.

The pin oaks are leafing out, starting with the northernmost trees, working their way south. There is a Sierra wave cloud formation.

We showed the Over the Atlantic someplace special and they gave us a lovely, fun show.

We hit our $3,000 medical deductible in less than three months, so theoretically, prescriptions and procedures will be free from here on out.

All the accoutrements of middle age (e.g. the statins for the cholesterol) seem to be working.

The drip watering system is making our backyard a lush oasis in the high desert. We seem to have the most hummingbirds of anybody in town.

I can say "no" to the heaps of neighborhood kids who want to play on the playground set Nicole gave Wyatt, but invite them back for a playdate when either Matt or I can be around.

Our renter at our "retirement home" is great.

Tomato and basil planting season has begun. The snow peas have started to blossom and pod out.

Matty, Wyatt, and I are all in a lovely, mellow mood. (and this is where the great "Kids in the Hall" line goes, "Yes, but for how long?")

Over the Atlantic - in the Living Room - Bishop Style

Shimmering songs fall on Bishop - Over the Atlantic

It is safe to say that Over the Atlantic went over really well in Bishop last night. Nearly 50 punters turned up, and up to 40 of us took turns on the dancefloor at any given time (Karen counted).

We are the lot for whom jangly guitars, driving beats, and romantic and melancholy songs were made. We are the lot who spazz and interpretive dance and don't talk through sets. We are precisely the lot who loved Nik Brinkman on guitar and vocals, Ash Smith on bass, and Rhys Telford on drums and backing vocals for playing their honest to goodness asses off for us.

Babbo was up front in his ear protector headphones rocking out and learning the mechanics of bands. Our wee man swayed and pumped his arms and legs, mesmerized by Nik's singing and playing. Many of Nik's songs start as slow burns, build layers, and become walls of lovely melodies. It doesn't hurt that they make you want to move, be it a sway or a full on bop. As lovely as Over the Atlantic's Junica is as a record, I think the songs benefit from the backing of a real live drummer and a real live bassist. To be honest, I wasn't sure how to pitch the band to friends. Were they shoegazey? Were they spazzy new wave? Were they cerebral electronica? In the end, I didn't need to worry. They were just damned good.

The show was a stone soup effort. Derik donated his time and PA. The Inyo Council for the Arts donated their stage. Peter at the Black Sheep donated caffeine. Goike made a great recording. Janet plied the band with wholesome salads and homemade organic lemonade. Kate played "merchbitch" extraordinaire and probably got 10 extra cd sales. We were probably both the oldest and youngest crowd the band have ever played to.

We started the evening with a potluck and ended the earlyish set (started before 7:45 and ended before 9:15) around a firepit (thanks Janet for facilitating that, too!) chatting with the fellas. Folks bought vinyl (who would have thought there were so many closet DJs in Bishop?) and cds and had the band sign both (I didn't say we weren't dorks).

Thanks to Blink and Over the Atlantic for bringing their magic all the way from New Zealand (actually, it does not matter where Over the Atlantic are from, they should not be missed)! (Shout out to the Phoenix Foundation, too, for teaching me about putting together a show and for vouching that we hicks were worth a visit.)

NZMusic fandom starts young

Babbo rocking out to Paselode's C'mon Hallelujah. He met the drummer, Rhys, and it kind of blew his mind.

"Oh boy!"

We're taking two cases of Alaskan IPA and a 5 gallon keg of Sierra Nevada Pale. For the band, we've got a case of Pacifico with limes (Kiwi bands seem to like Mexican lager, maybe it's what you do when you are on a working holiday?). Derik has a sixer of Lost Coast's Downtown Brown for the lovely donation of his PA and lights.

Oh yeah, we have a standing order for Cantillon Kriek, Framboise, or gueuze, whichever turns up first.

Over the Atlantic will be live in the living room - let's spazz!

and who hasn't wanted to look pretty in black and white? (Vanessa Redgrave in Blow Up comes to mind).

On this tour, the band are appearing as a trio of Nik Over the Atlantic/Ejector Brinkman, Rhys Hot Swiss Mistress/Paselode Telford, and Ash Smith.

Here is a link to Blink's blog. He is my hero of DIY live music, and I learned so very much from his A Local Knowledge publication from a few year's back.

Oh crap, I've got a show to put on

Kind of sleep deprived lately.
Wyatt sick with a cold, so been watching out for very high blood sugars. That, and there's a domestic violence case that has reared its ugly head again in the neighborhood.

After I get some sleep, I'll focus on getting the Over the Atlantic show together. Actually, it's been going pretty smoothly. Matty sort of reads my mind and tends to things around the house, like the big stinky roll of insulation that needed putting away. We're snagging one section of the Arts Council's 4 x 8 stage to cram one or two of the fellas on. Potlucks sort of take care of themselves in this town.

In other concert promotion news, Roger King, McGlashan's manager, sent a note essentially saying, "I've heard about you. I've been waiting for you to make your pitch...." It won't happen this go-around, but we've seemingly entered the "never say never" phase of having Don McGlashan perform in Bishop.

Ticket success and a full night's sleep

Got tickets to the Crowded House/Don McGlashan shows - sixth row off center the first night and third row center the second night. Part of me really hopes but knows that McGlashan won't sing "She's Been Talking." If he does ever make it here, he can sing it to us (and the line "the whole town's still at the show" will mean so very much).



Wyatt didn't bonk last night. So, we got a full night's sleep. Hurrah! Now, for some fine, fine tuning.

The boy can't get a sugar high to last

The boy has been having some episodes of low blood sugar the last few nights. He seems to be really sensitive to insulin and we can't seem to load him up with enough fats and carbohydrates to last him through the night.

It's bad. I will usually wake up at 1, 2, or 3 am on my own, and I will have the brief thought of going back to sleep. But conscience wins the morning and hauls my ass out of bed. It's a good thing too - he's usually bonking and in need of sugar. We tried the glucose gel the other night and it was very thick and viscous. This morning, it was juice, goldfish, and raisins.

I'm still grateful that we haven't had to inject him with glucagon to rouse him from a coma.

We're just rolling with the punches. Tonight, we'll feed him up with something starchy and fatty and see how that goes. If it doesn't work, it will be time for a call down to Childrens Hospital's hotline.

Instant Nostalgia

Wyatt, Mommy, and Gung Gung at Mammoth Mountain yesterday. The snow on Discovery was good for the boy and the dad who hadn't been on skis in 20 years. The top of One was bulletproof.

Matty took this snap through the lens of his goggles.

Massive damping off

In my 8 years of starting tomatoes, I've never had the amount of damping off as I've had this year.

The seedlings, suffering from too much water, nitrogen, and/or shade, just flop over and there is necrosis at the soil line.

I definitely noticed it with seeds from one supplier. My own stock of Snow White Cherry have not suffered in the least. It seems quite random.

Fingers crossed the tomato pogrom has stopped.

Still, I reckon there will be over 200 healthy ones to give away. Yay!

The soundtrack of my life - live in LA

Don McGlashan, the man whose songs played on endless loop in my head for over a decade, is opening for Crowded House on their American tour. McGlashan was behind the bands Blam Blam Blam, the Front Lawn, the Mutton Birds, and his own solo efforts. My Mutton Bird and NZ music partner in crime Bibi is flying out to Los Angeles from Atlanta, and I am trying to convince fellow Mutton Bird forum listees Steve C. in St. Louis and Marc H. in San P that now would be a lovely, lovely time to meet. Matty will be there for one of the two nights and watching Wyatt the other.

There will be the stress of trying to have nimble and accurate fingers on the computer the morning of the presale. There will be the excitement of seeing McGlashan perform the songs that have been the soundtrack to my adult life live. There will be the sober grown up things that Matt and I have to address in the days after the shows, when we take Wyatt to his diabetes and now, Gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) consultations (the Prevacid only works so well).

Ever the Pollyannaistic opportunist, I have fired off an earnest letter to McGlashan's Manager Roger King pitching Bishop as a wonderful decompression spot for singer songwriters who like playing in front of enthusiastic crowds. Luckily, Sam Scott put in a good word for our efforts when he was on tour with King last year.

Nothing ventured....

*and I might ask for my first autograph ever if Harry Sinclair, one half of the brilliant brilliant Front Lawn, should be there.

Strengthening Owens Valley-Kiwi relations since 2007

We're on for Over the Atlantic
Monday, April 21st.
House concert. Our house.
Get your overbites out, y'all.

Fancy a ski?

Again, Monday was rad. The left leg, even with the angled plate in the femur, was still the stronger one.

The first couple of runs were terribly ungraceful, but fun.

I dropped knee into a telemark stance when nobody was looking, and it will be a while before I get that floaty surfy feeling back. I can't seem to set my edges in tele. I can feel the spooky loading of my weight onto the metal plate, but it's bomber, and I'm grateful.

Monday reminded me of how much I loved skiing. Between my aversion to crowds and sensation that I should be doing something else more "productive," I haven't had that feeling in years. Thanks Matt Birch for being the impetus.

Birch is leaving

My tea drinking partner in crime and friend, Matt Birch, is packing up the trailer and getting ready to head to other points south and west.

It's been a fun month and some hanging out with him.

Matty, Birch, Ray, Lesley, Brian, and I got away for a ski at Mammoth Mountain yesterday in honor of Birch's penultimate day in the area. It was bluebird. It was glorious. Even Stevie Wonder was reportedly at the Mountain enjoying a ski.

I once had a crazy mad crush on Birch, and I am glad that it's mutated to something very different. I am glad because he is such a lovely old soul, and I can see that now.

Birch didn't finish his crazy hard bouldering project (the sit start to Rastaman Vibration in the Buttermilk), but we all reckon he'll be back for it. Cheeseburgers on the grill in that honor, Darlin'.

This was the month the boy turned three

Matt and I are not normal parents. We have yet to have a "proper" birthday party for the boy. No, all his birthdays have meant a month of cakes, surrounded by adults [see hand holding pint] who [mostly] love him.

One day, I will get my act together and put together a party for Wyatt that features children! games! party favors!

Wyatt did love his Cars (registered trademark goes here) cake topper. When you are a diabetic, who needs the cake?

Thanks Birch for the really lovely photo.

Houston, we have contact

with Ian Blink Jorgenson, New Zealand's own fly by the seat of his pants music impresario. I've been sending him annoying "Ooh, please put in a good word for Bishop when bands you know come to Americker" notes for going on two years now.

Looks like we might be on for a house concert featuring Over the Atlantic at the Spruce Hoose sometime around Earth Day. Awesome! It won't be as big of a production as was for the Phoenix Foundation, but I am fairly confident that it will be worth everyone's while.

The Bishop operatives are ready. Derik "Bless 'im" Olson has already volunteered his PA system.

Let's do this thing.

vestiges of a girlie girl

Naomi treated me to my first mani and pedicure the other weekend. I still kind of freak out when I catch glimpses of my shiny toes. Thanks, Easter Bunny!

Pino Pie redux

The Pinos are moving back to New Zillund, but not before I have the chance to buy the last of their frozen backstock of steak and guinness and steak and cheese and chicken meatpies!

Bought 48 of 'em yesterday. I'm so grateful that Dulcie gave me a ring.

Got to hang out with the Pinos for a bit, and that young Solomon made me pine for a cooing, sweet, endearing six month old baby. Scary. THAT has NEVER happened before.

But, luckily, Matty and I are still happily smug with our one child-selves.

Proof positive that my potty mouth needs to stop

A few weeks back, Wyatt and I cycled home from the doctor's, and we went by some horse pastures that were flooded.

Wyatt: Holy ships Mommy, water!
Mommy: what?
Wyatt: Holy ships! Water! Holy ships!

Holy schmoly. It is the end of innocence. I tried to teach him that "schmoly" would be okay, but maybe not "ships." Only problem is, "holy ships" has entered the grown ups' vernacular, and we seem to use it every day.

he loves his trucks, too

Thanks Paul and Sheila in France for the new trucks!

The boy dug my Dragon Lady shoes

The night we snuck away for Michelle's birthday party down at Rossi's, I let the boy traipse around in my Chinese Dragon Lady heels.

He's wearing his cool and sad threadless.com tee of a bear watching tv in the woods.

We call this picture "Portrait of a Wallace in Drag."

All roads leading to Bishop this weekend

I keep telling Matty we need another trailer.

Doreen, whom all of us had a crush on in Hong Kong, will be here this weekend. It will be good to see her again, and if she has a good enough time with us rednecks, she'll drag her lovely easy going funny Patrick out on their next trip West. They are our glamorous friends who live in Manhattan. I've missed geeking out about film and pop music with them.

Michelle, sans motorbike, will be here, bearing samosas from the big city. Bless. She and Davey will do some climbing. Michelle is getting ready to make her move up to Bishop for a serious climbing summer. I am hoping that Michelle and Doreen find that they are somewhat kindred spirits. They are aficionados of slightly twisted documentaries and feature films.

Davey and Naomi will be enjoying the few quiet months before Sproglette Hansen makes her (that's my guess, a girl) appearance. I'm so excited for them. They will be great parents, and Wyatt will have a "cousin!"

Oh, and Rodney in Wellington saw the Phoenix Foundation play the Newtown Festival the other day and reported that Luke Buda mentioned that the band just finished recording a song with a Bishop reference in it. Holy hell. Wow and all that. The sun shines bright on my high desert, alright. (Unless, of course, the song goes, "There's a town in the desert/and it's such a mighty s*&^hole....")

A moment of gratitude and acknowledgement for modern medicine

• I still have pain in both hips, but the operated hip hurts a lot less than it did before and hurts a lot less than the unoperated hip.

• Insulin. Even though the 3/4 doses of short acting insulin have been a bit much these past few days, it keeps our wee boy alive, healthy, and mostly happy. How awesome is that? [post script: the boy is fighting off the cold and now needs 1 1/4 doses to start addressing the high sugars. Like I said, though, I'm grateful we have something at hand and we are learning how to use it to keep him happy and alive].

• Statins. Matty and I are fat bastards. Even when we are in our thinner summer incarnations and exercising like the devil, we have high cholesterol. It runs in both families, and I don't see us taking up vegetarianism to address it. So, we are now on statins (Vytorin for him and Lipitor for me). Dr. Beck, who was Matty's pediatrician and now allergist, prescribed the Vytorin to Matt after ordering up his lipid panel. (Matty doesn't use a GP). Beck's own father died from a heart attack in his early 30s. Yes, there is controversy surrounding the use of statins and whether cholesterol even contributes to heart disease, but with the cards genetically stacked against us, we figured it was time to
  try to stick around a bit longer in this mortal coil.
  

• Hormones. I am using Yaz, the same birth control pill I was on BC (before child). Yes, yes, I am a bit on the old side to be using birth control pills, but I was at the end of my tether. After only a few days, I feel that many of the things that have plagued me (namely, perimenopause - all the things you went through as a teenage girl, but even worse), are being addressed. It's not a long term solution, but it will help me get over this hump of being in nowoman's land.
  

2008 tomato bachelors and bachelorettes joining the party

Yellow Plum - why not?
Rosalita - a pink w/ white speckled grape
Mule Team - for the name
Mortgage Lifter - Matty chose for the name
Paul Robeson - A big black tomato tribute to a remarkable man.

the other, other Matt; Michelle; and stuff

English Matt Birch has been living in the trailer and climbing the hard boulders in Bishop, and Matty and Wyatt and I are enjoying his easy-going company. I especially enjoy his tea making abilities.

Last night was Michelle's (tall blonde Michelle, not motorcycle Michelle) birthday. She had her fun dinner down at Rossi's Steak and Spaghetti Western-Redneck-Wild West restaurant down in Big Pine. The Manhattans were cheap and strong, and the company was fun. Thanks to Kate (for babysitting Wyatt) and Birch (for designated driving).

Yes, the picture of the hung (as in by their necks) white dudes next to the Victorian woodstove with the reminder that rudeness would not be tolerated in the banquet room was disconcerting, but hey, it is the Owens Valley.

Introducing the 2008 Tomato Lineup

Snow White Cherry*
Black Cherry
Black Russian
Aunt Ruby's German Green
Green Grape
Kosovo*
Kellogg's Breakfast*
Earl of Edgecombe*
Mystery Pink spawned from last year's Crnkovic Yugoslavian
Jaune Flammee
Principe Borghese
Riesentraube

There will be a few others, for sure. These were sown last Saturday and will start appearing by next Monday. I cannot read or hear the word Kosovo without thinking of my dear Glenn Parker, who introduced the variety commercially...and Kosovo has been in the news a lot lately!

All, except the Principe Borghese, were from saved seed going back to 2002-2007.

*perennial MVPs

Floating free

Dr. Mast cut me loose from the follow up visits. I won't be seeing the folks at the clinic again until the next surgery.

Mike, the physical therapist, also cut me loose.

So, I can do whatever I want, within reason. My leg will be the guide.

We've booked our flights for and rooms at Portillo for September. Because scheming for frequent flier miles is my passion, we are all flying on $3,000 tickets for $50 each. It's an open jaw into Santiago, Chile, and out of Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Anybody up for a ski on the bunny slopes this weekend?

Thanks for the great idea, Diane

We still use the sauna a lot. It helps that Janet is so good about firing it up at least once a week. I marvel that it still works as well as it does after five years.

Glad I didn't divorce Matty over how hard he worked me when we were building it.

The internet makes the world very small

RRR Breakfaster's coverage of Sorry Day in Australia was incredibly moving. The Aborigine activist Kura (?) Cooper they spoke to in Canberra was so excited about the meaning of the day. She spoke of Aunties there hoping to reunite with their stolen siblings from a lifetime ago, and the thought made me cry.

I reckon the momentous nature of the occasion coupled with the positive change that seems to be afoot here in the U.S., with people having dialogue about the election without rancor, gives me heaps of humandkind hope for the first time in years. I could laugh at the radio when I heard Bush this morning. That' s not happened before.

I dropped DJ Fee B-Squared a note to thank her for the interview with Ms Cooper. In her note back, she mentioned that she'd JUST gotten the Phoenix Foundation's Happy Ending and thought of me. I missed it, but she did a shout out and played "Bright Grey."

The internet for me serves as a blender of good will connections and makes the world a less daunting place.

My liability for the hip surgery

came to $840. This is out of the $63,000+ billed.

I met my $250 deductible and most of my $3,000 copay, and the $840 was what was left.

I am GRATEFUL that the insurance mostly worked as it was advertised. For nonAmerican friends, bear in mind that Matty's employer and we cobbled together something like $850 a month in premiums for the privilege.

We switched policies a few weeks ago. We went with a Health Savings Account (the Bush Administration's way of saying, "here's a really dumb way for you to put money in a bad 'investment' vehicle") that is coupled with a high deductible health insurance policy. We went with it because theoretically, once we hit the $3,000 family deductible, we will get 100 percent coverage....we'll see. Matty's employers were really pushing the HSA because it's cheaper for them. It will cost something like $550 a month to insure us.

Between Matty's asthma, Wyatt's diabetes, and my hips, we're pretty sure we'll meet our deductible early each year.

Welcome to being middle aged and middle class.

Reforms are definitely needed so that the lower middle class and working poor, like most of our self employed or younger or alternative livin' friends, don't get screwed.

Just add hormones

This would explain the rage and despair and humorlessness of last week.
On the plus side, a fair few of us enjoyed the Korean barbecue we put on. I guess I needed the iron.

Matty away to testify at a planning commission in some very posh neighborhood S. of San Francisco tonight. Poor bastard. I don't care how well he does. I just like it when he (and all my friends and family) come home safely.

Cycled to and from Wyatt's daycare to administer his lunchtime insulin. It worked out well.

Cycled three blocks to the bank today

Cause to celebrate.

this be the hardware

Matty says we should turn what's keeping my hip together into a bottle opener when all is said and done.

Just add sunshine...and beer

I have been riding a low of late. Maybe the end of 2007, with the diabetes and the whole leg thing, was a bit much. I get rather crabby on the days that Matty goes for a ski, and I wander around the house trying to keep one eye on the boy and the other on the "to do" list in my head that always reads Greek to me.

I go back to work tomorrow. Parts of the last three months had been bliss and other good things, but perhaps, most of all, I need discipline in my life again. I need to focus four full hours on the work in front of my face. (I still will only work part time for the wonderful ANRF. I will seek an apprenticeship to help Peter roast his coffee beans as soon as I can haul my butt up the Black Sheep's rickety wooden staircase).

In short, lately I have been scattered in the extreme, and I think that this has contributed to the crabbiness. There are many, many loose ends - laundry, a disorganized house, a leg that sort of works, appointments to be made, taxes, a rental that needs showing, a child that needs chasing, blah blah blah, and all this has been driving me crazy.

BUT, the best thing that happened in many months, happened today:

We went for a play in the snow.

Wyatt put on his downhill gear and skied down a wee slope with all the glee and joy a nearly 3 year old could muster. He was a star. We were a happy family. Mood improved.

I snowshoed for nearly half an hour. It was the most physical thing I've done since the surgery back in November. Mood more improved.

Matt and I had a beer in the snow. Mood most improved.

Just add insulin...or sugar

We went down to Childrens (there is no apostrophe) Hospital LA to meet Wyatt's diabetes doctor, nurse, and nutritionist. The team were wonderful. They kept asking if we had any questions and gave us the assurances that we were going down the right road to good diabetes control. The new protocol will just involve more finger sticks to check blood glucose levels and a few more insulin shots to "cover" the carbohydrates eaten during snacks.

The boy cheerfully gave two vials of blood for a thyroid antibody and Celiac Disease test. Fingers crossed he is fine in those departments.

CHLA is a behemoth of a facility and is like a well oiled machine. Matty, ever the engineer, appreciated that.

Seeing all the families and kids with varying degrees of conditions and difficulties made us grateful that we can do easy things to make the boy's life a healthy and full one.

My own LA Chinese food trifecta

• Mandarin Deli in Northridge for Shanghai dumplings, cold stewed tripe, and moo shoo. Believe it or not, real Chinese will occasionally stoop to eat moo shoo.

• Empress in Chinatown for dim sum and no crowds. It's fun to watch Mr. Empress, an old Chinese man in pretty simple clothes, survey his domain.

• Sam Woo's Van Nuys for hot greasy chowmein (Hong Kong "stylo") and roast meats over wonton noodles. They have a Chinese American guy working and the nicety level has shot through the roof.

Oh yeah, Naomi and Dave Chan Hansen's for Chinese New Year feasting over sticky rice, oyster lettuce wraps, shrimp chips, roast pork, etc. They have been putting back the Chi in Chinese since 2006. Bless.

Pop single of the week - Mansard Roof

Active had been thrashing this single and I kept missing the back announce. Just finally made a quick call to Wellington to find out who it was.

Vampire Weekend. They are out of New York.

I am a sucker for speedy pop hooks. This single is up there with "80's Celebration" (by the Reduction Agents, whom I first heard on Active, too.)

Babbo, Pedal King of Bishop

and if he ends up a poor musician, you can blame the family.

And now for something completely different

a spate of good news:

My other surgeon (I was double teamed. I think this is why my stitches were so long, they needed room to get two sets of hands in there) Dr. Perry gave me the go ahead to weight bear as much as I could stand (oh, the pun!). I can begin strengthening physical therapy exercises in a month and skiing beginner slopes in two months! He seemed dead chuffed about how the bone was healing (the Xray looks like a bit like an ice cream sandwich, with the vanilla being the new bone) and how the hip now looks like a classic textbook hip, especially when juxtaposed next to the old school wonky one.

It's as if the news took out some of the wobble from my hobble. I was getting concerned that I would walk like an Igor for the rest of my life.

I celebrated with my first cycle around the block.

We got a date with Children's Hospital LA at the end of the month with Dr. Debra Jeandron. She was part of the country's best doctors list for 2007. This appointment will be just in time as it seems as though Wyatt has entered ANOTHER honeymoon phase. This means easing off the insulin doses to almost nil. He still needs some insulin to keep the remaining insulin-producing bits in his pancreas alive for as long as possible. I underdosed him this morning, and he still got hypoglycemic by lunchtime. We are watching him like a hawk, though, and he likes the attention.

Our lovely renters over at our "retirement house" (we bought Matt's Mom's property last year in lieu of doing IRAs for a few years) will be staying on another month. This gives us another month to look for a replacement. It was looking grim and possibly eating into our vacation budget.

Dividends from a misspent youth

We saw Paris Je T'aime over the weekend and the Ben Gazzara/Gena Rowlands' Latin Quarter segment touched me. It was only because when I was at Cal, Tyler and I would sneak off to see John Cassavetes' films, many of which starred Gazzara and/or Rowlands. It was a joy to see them again, delivering their lines wickedly and credibly (they play a divorcing couple).

So many times I stumbled out of the Pacific Film Archive in Berkeley pretty much with the sensation that I totally didn't get the Cassavetes film I'd just seen. I have seen The Killing of a Chinese Bookie twice, and I still don't get it. It was almost as if I willed myself to see the films knowing it would one day be good for me.

(The other Paris Je T'aime segments I was fond of were the Nigerian stab victim, the American woman abroad, and the boy who follows the Muslim girl to her mosque.)

Wyatt's Bits and Bobs

He might have had the shortest Honeymoon Period ever - all two days of it. He then caught a cold and his blood glucose levels shot up, and we seemed to always be a day or two behind figuring out what was going on.

I am happy to report, though, that we seem to have reached equilibrium with his insulin needs and for the first time since his diagnosis, his levels are where they should be. As the Kids in the Hall zombie sketch punchline goes, "Yes, but for how long?" One growth spurt or virus will send it off kilter. Perhaps this disease teaches us, more than anything, to learn to roll with the wee punches.

I have lately revisited that funny habit that all mothers of newborns have and taken to waking him right before I go to sleep to make sure that he is still alive and not unconscious. Usually this means just smooching on him and tickling him until he rolls over in disinterest or starts to laugh.

I have started to take part in the 3:00 am glucose readings. Rare is the night that the parent who stays in bed stays asleep. The reading is like a magic number and there is intense curiosity surrounding what it could be.

Newest nickname for the boy: Comb-over Larry. He so looks like a very small middle aged man, potbelly, thinning hair, saggy bummed trousers and all.

Wyatt is the owner of a pair of bitchin' Rossignol downhill skis and Nordica boots thanks to the Griffiths, one of the other laissez-faire, liberal, parents in town.

Passings

Our dear Mayumi lost her mom, Harue, on New Year's Eve. Mrs. Stroy, as I knew her, was a beautiful, beautiful woman. Together with her husband Albert, they always made sure that Mayumi's friends were well fed and taken care of.

Mrs. Stroy was born in Japan and still made a lot of Japanese dishes. She used to harvest roe in the waters off Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. She told me that she felt like such a "Mahr-maid" standing there in over waist deep water, with the Bay flowing around her. I had not seen Mrs. Stroy in years, but we always hoped that she would get the chance to come over the mountains and to go for a swim in the various hot springs we have here. The opportunity has passed, but I will think of her when the water at the springs pulls this way and that.


I have also been moved by Sir Edmund Hillary's passing. I was struck by pictures of his Everest ascent as a little kid and really struck by the Himalayan Trust school we passed through in Pangboche on our Everest Base Camp trek in 1996. These sentiments gave away to a stint about 8 years ago of reading as many books as I could about him. He was remarkable for his spare words and honesty about his abilities, his drinking, and the loss of his first wife and youngest daughter. His modesty was not for show, and I reckon that they just don't make many men like him anymore.

the Weakerthans

Digging on this Canadian quartet's release "Reunion Tour" thanks to Mary and Mark, who made sure we got our fill of Can-Con (government mandated Canadian Content in the arts) for Christmas.

The Weakerthans are from Winnipeg and are unabashedly North American. Considering that a lot of popular bands these days sound like they are from somewherelse (the Decemberists with their sea shanties and over articulation come to mind), it's neat that a band can just crank out pure pop with unforced references.

(Actually, I like sea shanties and over-articulation heaps).

Sundry things in the new year

• We got about 4 inches of rain, over 3/4 of our annual average, over a 15 hour period last week.
  
• The Schoberlews have a bad case of gas.
• Wyatt told his daycare provider that he had nipples and that she had nipples, all while he was sitting on the potty.
• He does not do number twos at school. Ever.
  
• I probably have Attention Deficit Disorder. It makes sense and explains so very many things.
  
• Wyatt's diabetic honeymoon period might have only lasted two days.
• The boy thinks he's Sleeping Beauty and needs a lie in until 9 am. I think it's a growth spurt.
  
• We are addicted to HBO's The Wire. It is teaching us to swear creatively.
• Bishop is in need of another rock and roll show.
• Still angling for a way to go to Portillo, Chile, for a ski at a self-contained resort (free daycare included and medical staff on hand) this August.
• Matt and I are handling the new stresses of life quite differently. Sometimes we communicate effectively, sometimes not. My skills and sense of humor improve remarkably when I've had my evening glass of beer. His, when he has had a ski.
  

The Lives of Others

We saw this incredible German film two nights ago, and I have been thinking about it ever since.

Ultimately, it was a film with a kind of redemption that I could live with - the kind that didn't make me throw my hands up in the air and run screaming from the room. The other work that makes me feel this way is the BBC production of the Singing Detective.

I found the film's pitting of restraint versus desire, morality versus immorality, comfort versus loneliness, and power versus powerlessness in a backdrop of total fear and paranoia, arresting.

I knew I had to see the film when I read Anthony Lane's ecstatic review in the New Yorker.

The late Ulrich Muhe's work in this film breaks my heart.

Matt noticed that no one ever raises their voice in the film.

Grouse Mountain - thanks Michelle!

Igor at your service

The lovely sun was out on New Year's Day and those of us at Camp Spruce Hoose buggered off to the desert to enjoy it. I hadn't been literally outside in ages and hobbling around the sage and sand on Jon's borrowed cane was pure joy.

The Vancouverites and everyone else went home and the house felt a bit empty. Christmas and New Year were great, with everyone pitching in, like we were cast members of a production of "Stone Soup." It was wonderful to still feel a connectedness to friends made what now seems like so many years ago.

When I can't find the cane or crutch, I hobble around the house like Igor. I am even of some use in that state because for the first time in months, both hands are free!