Day Trips, a Medical Update, and a Bathroom Reveal

At the Marine Memorial Museum with early San Franciscans

It's months since I've posted!  Sorry about that.

Here are a few updates before I pretty much switch to Instagram, if you'd like to follow me there. Instagram is short and sweet, easy to use, and more personal.  I'm turning into a lazy old lady.

Some recent adventures:

1. You may have seen this photo on Instagram a couple of days ago.  I was at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center undergoing a cardiac catheterization to check my coronary arteries for blockages.  Good news: all is normal.   This stemmed from my diagnosis of atrial fibrillation last winter and a couple of earlier tests that were inconclusive.

 Worrying about this test and the two that preceded it has taken a lot of energy since January. Thanks to all the pals who listened, soothed, and encouraged.  You know who you are!

2.  A few weeks ago Jerry and I went on a bay cruise from Fisherman's Wharf.  We might have been the only English-speaking people onboard, except for the couple who sat across from us, who spoke Scottish.   Sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge was a bucket list item of mine, and I dangled a post-cruise visit to Fort Mason (read: insect habitat) to get Jerry to go.

The vistas were splendid, and I highly recommend checking it out (Red and White Fleet, $32 each for seniors). We took BART and the F Muni streetcar to Fisherman's Wharf and left the car at home.

On board

Sliding past Aquatic Park and Ghirardelli Square

The Marina and the Palace of Fine Arts

Crissy Field and the Presidio

Approaching the bridge

And...

...under!  Looking toward the Marin Headlands

Afterward, the Scottish couple was off to Chinatown (she wore a sleeveless shift on this journey; Jerry and I were in fleece), and we were off to:

Jerry's pay-off and a relaxing oasis in the city.

Butterfly hunting

3.  We've also been out to Angel Island to hike and to see what's up since the last time we were there, c. 1976.  The brief boat ride (10 minutes) departed from Tiburon.  We hiked, and then took an hour-long tram ride around the perimeter of the island and then hiked some more.  Good views from everywhere.

Leaving Tiburon

Ayala Cove, where the boat comes in

Searching roadside weeds for butterflies

Historic US Immigration Station, now open to the public

The tram that circles the island 

View from the west side of the island

 

The butterfly hunt continues

4.  Our bathroom remodel is finished!  Many thanks to my sister, who designed it, and to Geoff Semans, the contractor who put it all together.  For four months, Jerry and I  slept in my studio  to be out of the way of the construction, which got way old!  So did sharing a bathroom (spoiled!). 

 

Before

This space was converted from a master bedroom closet by the previous owners, and we'd done little to it since we bought the house in 1984.  Petite but handy and all mine.

 After

New tile floor,; more compact toilet;  new vanity, quartz countertop, mosaic splash, shower door, recessed lighting, and medicine cabinet

 

  

The small magnifying mirror has been a godsend for this blind old bat doing her eye make-up (from Amazon, of course )

And that's it!

I've also been to two quilt shows, and maybe I'll get to posting photos from those.  So much for ending the blog...

"Amazing Grace" and the Curmudgeonette

Last night I went to Berkeley Repertory Theater to see "One Man, Two Guvners," which was funny, clever, imaginative, and entertaining--all the things you want on a Friday night when your spouse is off counting butterflies in the Sierra and teaching people how to differentiate moth genitalia.

Except!  The quite tall woman sitting next to me--since when did theater designers take a page from the airlines and make seats way too narrow for comfort?--irritated me every few minutes by spinning the screw top off a Mason jar full of water, taking a swallow,  and then screwing the top back on and leaning forward to put the jar (clink!)  back on the floor.  Plus!  She was wearing a leather jacket which squeaked every time she moved.  Close to two dozen times she did this.

What was she thinking?

Is it my English side (mother and three grandparents) that makes me an elbows-in kind of gal in places like theaters and waiting rooms?  Am I uptight or was this woman oblivious?  Please vote.

* * * * *

I went to Berk Rep with three friends from West Marin, one of whom told me that she was tired of "looking at lemons," the photo with my last post, and when was I going to write another post?

I know what she means because I follow blogs, too, and it annoys me no end when the blogger doesn't have anything new for me to read.  This includes one beleaguered woman who just had her fifth baby and had to move to Florida two weeks later because of her husband's job.  I mean, so what?  Where's the new post?

More important, where are the baby pictures? 

Which brings me to my next point:

1.  I have no grandchildren, therefore no pictures/stories of adorable babies to showcase.
2.  I'm not traveling (most of the time) and coming up with new adventures every day.
3.  I'm a generalist in this life--not a specialist in much of anything but being a curmudgeonette. Is that a draw?

 Found this in a bookcase recently; someone gave it to me for my 40th birthday. 

It's a bit of a dilemma.  

* * * * * 

And now for some good news, as opposed to angst:

1.  Thank God for Justice Kennedy!  What an eloquent opinion he wrote on gay marriage.  On the other hand, as one of my friends put it, "Scalia's head has exploded."  Does he have any more mean-spirited snideness left in him?


2.  SCOTUS and the Affordable Care Act!  Hurray!
 
3.  What a President!  He SINGS!  How eloquent he is, how in-your-face he's becoming.  Go for it, Barack!  Nothing to lose.  We are the beneficiaries of grace that he is our President.

 Have a good weekend, if you read this before Monday.  And thanks for the push, Gayanne.

Bras, Blog, and a Very Short Marriage

First, bras.

My friend Val found an article in the Huffington Post, "10 Bra Mistakes You're Probably Making (And How to Fix Them)".  These are the mistakes that caught my eye:

Wearing a bra two days in a row.  This is apparently a no-no, because the elastic needs to "rest" between wear.  Now this made me cranky--who's in charge here?  Do I have to pamper my bras?
 (Yes.)

Washing bras with Woolite--very bad (not that I've ever done it--Woolite is too expensive).  Wash in cold water, says a bra expert, because the "cold water shocks it."  See above.

I'm beginning to think bras are lazy.

Keeping bras too long.  Worn correctly, a bra should last only eight months. (At those prices?!)

Fastening your bra on the tightest hooks.  Those are for when it's stretched out.  When you buy the bra, it should fit comfortably on the tightest hooks.

Think you can wear one bra with every type of outfit.  Seamed bras aren't so good under knits, but seamless bras aren't enough support for certain dresses/tops.  Makes sense, but a hassle.

All of this is a hassle. How about going to Ross, buying something that approximately fits, and washing the hell out of it until there's no elastic left at all?

                                                                            2.

Next, the blog.

air mattress test

I'm going to revamp it,--not so much  the content, although I'm open to suggestions (one friend says the blogs that mention Jerry are the best).

I want tabs, for example, so readers can check certain topics, but I got to thinking about it, and the tabs on my blog would look kind of odd: quilting, travel, marriage,  insomnia, vanity, death.  Also,  First Ladies.  A blog of eccentricities.

Now I'm trying to find someone who's adept at designing personal blogs.  Most people are adept enough to do this on their own, but not me.  Any ideas?

With his camera case (since disappeared; he decided it was too foolish, I think)

                                                                             3.

And finally:

Today I read that a bride pushed her husband over a cliff in Glacier National Park in July after a week of marriage.  That was astounding enough, but then I read on. 

A friend of the groom's family said, "Nobody is shocked at all...She'd been telling people she knew she never wanted to be married, she just wanted to have a wedding..."

Wouldn't an annulment have been easier?

Ahoy, Russia!

Woke up this morning nearly catatonic.  Jerry returned from a business trip last night, his plane was delayed in Denver, and we didn't get home from Oakland Airport until 12:30 am.  I've drunk quite a bit of Diet Coke to try to rev up, while staring blankly at the computer screen.

Or not that blankly.  I checked my reader stats this morning on Blogger, and I just want to thank whoever it is in Russia who is a regular reader.  Or readers.  I imagine someone working at the American Embassy, but it could be anyone, of course.  Who are you? 

You don't have to answer that.  Lurking--no, too perjorative--investigating blogs anonymously is one of my favorite pastimes.  I'm currently enraptured by one written by a young Catholic mother who's adopted two biracial sons.  I love her babies, her husband, her house (she has photos of every room, including closets), her roses, and her toile valances.  I don't know what we'd say to each other if we met, but I'm really enjoying dipping into her life.

Bowing Out

As I've mentioned, I've been following the blogs of three young conservative Catholic women.   It's been quite interesting, and perhaps a little voyeuristic,  to read about the lives of women who have very different beliefs from my own.  I found myself drawn to them on a personal level, but editing out their political beliefs.

That worked until Thursday.  I was finally moved to speak up and leave a comment because one of the posts felt like a  personal attack, although this young woman doesn't know me from Adam.  But she thinks she knows my demographic: women in their sixties, "glaring" women who are supporters of Planned Parenthood, the group of women who foisted legal abortion off on the country.  She'll be glad when we've died off, she says, because younger women hate abortion, and therefore it may become illegal after we "gray-haired" people have kicked the bucket.

Readers, I could not let this pass.  It was anecdotal, it was sweeping, it was stereotyping.  I pointed out that Planned Parenthood provides all kinds of health care to women, that her information was anecdotal, that we need facts.

This provoked another of her readers to find the link to my blog and to summarize me as precisely the kind of woman the blogger doesn't like: in her sixties, white, upper-middle class, part of the gray-haired group.  (But I don't have gray hair!  At great expense, I might add.)  On top of that, I live in Berkeley.

This did not feel good.  Not just the personal attack, but the sense that the red/blue divide cannot be bridged.  My comments were mild.  I've read them to two very logical people, who agreed.  They each asked why I was bothering with this, a battle that could not be won.  What bothers me more is that it's a conversation that couldn't even get underway.

I left a comment that I'm bowing out. 

Getting to Know the Other Side

Several weeks ago, I saw a segment on the PBS News Hour about the Vatican deploring the lack of strict orthodoxy among American nuns.  One of the panelists was a board member of Christendom College, which I'd never heard of.  I googled it and found that it's a small college in Virginia with standards  foreign to those of us who went to colleges unaffiliated with a religion. A strict dress code, no drinking, no fraternizing between the sexes, no dancing close, a faculty who must sign a loyalty pledge to Church law.

Who knew?   I have several friends who are "cradle Catholics," born into the faith, some educated in Church schools and colleges, but as far as I know, they're all over the map in their views on contraception, abortion, women serving as priests,  and gay marriage.  They seem a pretty easy-going lot: they drink alcohol, wear whatever they want, and the women don't cover their heads outside a church.   I don't know what they use for birth control and wouldn't dream of asking, but none has more than three children.

More googling, and I discovered an online community of young Catholic women who embrace strict Catholic law, and some of them write blogs. Now I read three of them regularly.

Reader, I'm torn.  These are introspective people, intelligent and sometimes funny; all are converts to Catholicism.  I'm a liberal, agnostic Democrat, and they're conservative, religious Republicans, but now that I know about their pets and children and recipes, I've grown to like one of them and to empathize with two of them.   I'm also agog at how much trouble they go to in order to adhere to their faith.  It's no small commitment.

And it would all be okay, except occasionally--more often with one of them--politics comes up.  Specifically, their positions on gay marriage, contraception, abortion, and Obamacare, and they lose me.  I squint and their faces disappear, and they become The Other Side, the group we can't reason with, the people who want to push their views on everyone else, many of which are unkind.   I really wish we didn't have this fundamental disagreement, but we do.

Blogging: Who Cares?

After  I wrote yesterday's post about our upcoming trip to Chicago, I thought, "Oh, really, who cares?" 

So, this morning I was surprised to get an e-mail from a reader who said, "... I love your pre & post trip analyzing. I admire the fact that you have had the forethought to document & catalog your trips...I love the uniform blank books you have accumulated & embellished."    My sister's college roommate sent several tips about what to see in Chicago.  Thank you!  Who knew that post would resonate with or interest anyone?   Not me.

I have a friend who wrote a column for the "Pt. Reyes Light" for years, and how she managed to a) come up with topics and b) keep it up confounds me to this day.  I don't know if she suffered from "Who Cares," but she's a reader and maybe she'll let me know.  Sometimes it takes a substantial caffeine-hit for me to approach the computer and write a post, because, really, nobody has to read it.

On the other hand, it's fun to write posts, and besides I get to hear such nuggets as the reader who dyes her hair and eyebrows while wearing a designated stained chenille robe.  You never know.

Hey, thanks!

If you read my blog regularly: thank you.  I love having an audience, and I hope I don't sound too much like Andy Rooney, ranting on about bottle openers and how you're supposed to eat an ice cream cone. I used to think,  "Just how much do we need to know about one person's off-the-wall opinions?"  Ditto blog.

We're off to San Jose for dinner with my sister. It's supposed to be an indoor picnic. Yesterday she called because she couldn't find a package of  real linen tablecloths she stores under her bed. I'm assuming that means it's going to be fancier than I thought, but I'm wearing a flannel shirt and jeans.

Happy T-giving.

Libby and Me

Libby McCann is the daughter of one of my college roommates, and she has a blog called "Style Extraordinaire."  It's a fresh, engaging blog with on-the-mark fashion updates geared mostly for women considerably younger than I am.  She's 25 and a fashion stylist in LA.

Her blog for today is "Beauty sleep prep," and she lays out--literally, in a compact arrangement she photographed--the products and implements she uses at bedtime.  I took it all in, from make-up remover to acne wash to clarifying lotion and on through eye cream.  Plus a Mason Pearson hairbrush.

My own sleep time prep starts with a heavy emphasis on dental equipment.  First, floss.  Then an egg cup of toothpicks and an implement I stick a toothpick into, tighten, and then poke around at my teeth with so I can avoid gum disease.  Then floss again. After that, a quick face wash with some blue stuff called "Lait Nettoyant," which is overpriced but I've used it for years and don't want to change horses.  That's followed by "Creme 28," which is for dehydrated skin, or "peaux deshydratees," as the French manufacturer calls it, which sounds a bit more glammy. Oh, and occasionally I work some age-spot fading cream from an ancient sample tube given to me by a dermatologist and dab that on.  All this in my salle de bains.

Check out Libby's blog.   It's fun to read and a bit nostalgic.

Serious business

The sister of a fellow blogger/friend thinks bloggers are narcissistic and who cares about someone's every thought.

I am on the brink of taking this to heart and writing only about the swell of democracy in the Middle East, books of interest, and state and federal budget priorities. To hell with sodden wallets and wall switches.

Yarn bombing Snooki

Bloggers can see the stats on how many hits they get and from where. My post about Snooki has by far the most hits, from as far away as Slovenia and Greece.

This has led me to think I could dramatically increase my web traffic by including "Snooki" in the title of every post. From there, it's just a matter of figuring out how to work her into the story.

I could yarn bomb Snooki, cover her with a giant tea cozy, including a special compartment for her pouf. I saw a wonderful show of knitted pieces at the Renwick Gallery a couple years ago showing towering figures completely covered in what looked like mega onesies, including a drop-seat compartment for convenience (will not take this further re Snooks, leave it at that).

I could go real estate hunting with Snooki. I know what New Jersey Italian housewives want based on careful study of Carmela's house on The Sopranos: an open floor plan so you can yell at your kids and freeze out your husband. Also, indoor pillars.

I could take her to the endodontist. She could sit in the waiting room and read stories about herself in People magazine while I have a root canal, which she would not find interesting at all, or as she has been known to say about anything that doesn't involve drinking or sex, "it's a waste of time."

And the Queen Mum and Snooki! They are practically one and the same: getting drunk, ignoring their stoutness, loving off-color jokes. The Queen Mum, though, opened a lot of hospitals and wore HER high heels to the East End of London during WWII to comfort people who'd been bombed out of their houses. This wouldn't work for Snooks.

Anyway, you see my thinking. Don't be surprised if you see Snooki in the title line.