Impersonating a Cruise Passenger

Yah, that's us.  Jerry took one look at this picture and said, "That's not us.  We weren't standing in front of the boat."

"It's photo-shopped!" I said.

He took another look.

"The ship is way out of scale."

Life with a (literal) scientist.

So, we're back from our trip to Costa Rica and Panama,  have been for two weeks, during which I dealt with taxes (federal and property, awful), renewing my driver's license, and celebrating my 65th birthday--if you haven't done this, let me tell you it is traumatic.  Also, filling out my retirement papers.

Back to the photo.  We were stopped just after we boarded, mid-sprint to the laundry room with a week's worth of dirty clothes, cranky and tired.  I won't say our smiles were photo-shopped, but they were definitely on command.  Later, we saw the photo and bought it for $25, which Jerry thought was nuts.

But our entire approach to cruises is nuts.  This was our third cruise, and once again, we shied away from being social and ate only with each other, often in our stateroom.  During the days at sea, when other passengers threw themselves on chaises in the full-blast tropical sun, we were in our room working on projects.  We didn't gamble or play bridge or bid at an art auction or go to workshops on how to avoid wrinkles (no full-blast tropical sun?).

 The afternoon tea cart.  We did participate in that.

I cannot lie: the food was good

For us,  the ship was a way to get from Point A (Calderas, Costa Rica, after a week of independent travel) to Point B (Miami) and go through the Panama Canal (I recommend), while having really nice meals served to us.

Otherwise, it was boring, and it felt like high school, except it's rich Texas ladies, not mean girls, who checked me out from head to toe. Dubiously.  (Yes, this happened, and I am way too old for it.)  

Of course, there were lots of other people, perfectly nice, but every time I dipped into conversation with a random person, I felt I was from another world.

First question in any shipboard conversation:  "Where are you from?"


Twice my answer stopped the conversation cold.  One of the Texas ladies looked at her shoes, at a loss for words.

So, we came home and cancelled our trip to Europe in August, half of which involved a Baltic cruise.  There were other reasons for cancelling it, financial ones, but the strain of impersonating a cruise passenger figured into it.

Lots of reading and napping

By the time we got to New Orleans, I was delirious to see people in a museum café dressed in an off-hand, interesting way.  No resort clothes!   I spied a New York Times on a table and rushed to read it, even though it was three days old.










 It was a good trip, though, with some truly memorable moments:

 

Hiking in Costa Rica

Touring the Biomuseo in Panama City, designed by Frank Gehry

Transiting the Panama Canal

All fun!  More on those.

But the strain of impersonating a cruise passenger--meaning, delighted to be hanging out in a sea-bound resort, complacent about the luxury, wanting to small-talk with strangers--it's too much for this old Berkeley bag.

Will I ever learn?

Outta Here! Just a little more hand-wringing...

We're outta here on Thursday--bound for Costa Rica and the Panama Canal, with stops in Panama City, Puerto Limon (CR),  New Orleans, Key West, and Miami.  A land trip for the first week and then a cruise.


I'm packing, meaning  trying to talk myself out of taking so many clothes. Sometimes I've done primitive sketches in my travel notebooks (often involves Crayolas) of the clothes I've taken on a trip, and that's been  helpful.  What did I wear all the time?  What was dumb to take? (Lots.)

 Note the number of black tops.  It gets boring.

For me, there are three major categories to cope with pre-trip:

1. Paper.  This includes torn-out pages of guidebooks, maps, vouchers, receipts, etc.  That all goes into a big manila envelope. As we work our way through the stack during the trip, I toss as much paper as I can bear to (you never know!)

Then there is a minutely-detailed itinerary, which I carry in my handbag.  The one for this trip is 2-1/2 pages.  Hotel addresses, phone numbers, room rates, flight numbers,  reservation numbers, shore excursions, you name it.

 The envelopes for this trip

Envelope for a past trip:  they get pretty beat-up

2.  Electronics.  Batteries, chargers, cords.  I'm taking a minicomputer, Walkman, cell phone, and camera.  I keep chargers and cords in this thing, which is really meant for jewelry, of which I take almost none:

I used to throw them all in a Ziploc bag, where they got tangled up.

4. Clothes.  See above.  First step is to wash a bunch of stuff, then try it on and see if the waist fits.  If not, no-go.

I'm going to be posting about our trip on Travelpod.com    If you're a regular reader of this blog, you'll probably get an e-mail reminder with a link to the latest post.   Or e-mail me, and I'll put you on the list.  Or go to www.travelpod.com and type in "LRandal."  Or don't bother (really, you have my permission to skip the whole thing!).

Au revoir!

Good-By, Deanna

 Deanna Davis died last night, a little over year after being diagnosed with cancer.  She was a remarkable person: empathic, kind, creative, and a force-to-be-reckoned with when it came to something she believed ought to be done. 

This is a post I wrote a year ago about her show-within-a-show at the East Bay Heritage Quilters show in March 2014.  At her  upcoming memorial/celebration of life, her house will be turned into a gallery of her quilts, so her friends can once again admire them and reflect on the hugeness of her heart.

* * * * *

 March 2014

 Deanna Davis, out-going president of the East Bay Heritage Quilters, had a show-within-a-show at last weekend's "Voices in Cloth."  She was recently diagnosed with a serious illness, and this look back at her work was a wonderful way for her to see old friends and old friends to celebrate her years of quilting.

Deanna, center

Deanna quilts with the most open heart I know.  There's a personal story behind most of her quilts, a response to experiences (the disastrous Oakland Hills fire of 1991, quitting smoking around the same time), and she doesn't shy away from experimenting with techniques and pushing the envelope in design, format, and media.

I'll stop commenting and let you take a look!  It was hard to get good photos because there was bright sun behind her quilts, but I did my best with my rebellious little Nikon.

Can We All Get Along

Global Warming



Release

Song of Friendship

Collections I, a response to the 1991 Oakland Hills fire, which came within two miles of Deanna's home.



Collections II, "which celebrates the strength and memories used to grow and rise beyond the loss of collections [in the fire]"

New Years 1991, when Deanna resolved to quit smoking after 30 years

Detail of New Years 1991:  The top lifts up to reveal messages about her struggle to quit



Detail of New Years 1991

Detail of New Years 1991



Another detail of New Years 1991

Secrets

Wild Africa Elephants

Woman Dreaming, a quilt I remember seeing at the Oakland Museum in the late '90's as part of a Smithsonian traveling exhibit, "Women of Taste: A Collaboration Celebrating Quilt Artists and Chefs."  Deanna partnered with chef Frances Wilson, whom she depicts here.

Figure Study #2

Scenic Byways #2

Michael's Hat

Figure Study #3

Adrenalin  (with Deanna's daughter Kathryn in the corner--sorry, Kathryn!)

Deanna's family was at the show on Saturday: 

Deanna with her son, John, and her daughter, Kathryn



...and with her other daughter, Donna

(I ran into Deanna's husband, Bob, a few times but never had the presence of mind to get out my camera, alas.)

For years, Deanna has run the guild's Children's Quilt Project, which supplies quilts to needy and sick children through various nonprofit agencies and hospitals.   Guild members donate fabric, piece quilts, sew on bindings--everything needed to produce 1200 quilts annually.  Deanna's designed a zillion quilt kits that guild members pick up and sew together, and she's coordinated every aspect of distribution.  Nobody has a bigger heart!

So I Fell on My Noggin...

What I look like two days post-ER.  I'll spare you the "before-stitches" photos. 

Yep, I fell on my head.   Or rather my left eyebrow.

One minute I was walking along the sidewalk near the El Cerrito Plaza BART station, on my way back from San Francisco, and the next minute my left temple was hitting the pavement hard.  No sense of tripping, no catching myself with my hands.  Ack!

I got out a mirror and saw a deep cut over my left eye where the lens of my glasses had sliced into my eyebrow (I know, the verb).   My first thought--truly--wasn't about scarring.  No, it was not.   It was, "Shit,  I'm going to have to go to the ER."

 View from my cubicle in the ER.   I wasn't wearing these shoes when I fell but some cute flats that don't fit right.  Vanity!

Jerry came home from work and drove me over to Alta Bates Hospital, and there we sat from 5:15-9:15, when I finally escaped with four stitches.

The wait:  long and boring.  After while, we swapped books--I read about endangered butterflies, and Jerry took on my  Barbara Pym novel:

Jerry reading Jane and Prudence

Me:  So what do you think of Barbara Pym's book?

Jerry:  Not much happens.

The actual thread

While the ER doc stitched me up, she told me that she was a Berkeley grad who went to Philadelphia for med school, then on to a residency at UCLA. She worries about her gray hairs and asked where I got my hair colored and how much it cost.  (I was aghast--dollar amounts in front of one's husband?!)  This to distract me from the distinct pattern of pricks I was feeling despite a local anesthetic.

Finally, with three pages of "Wound Instructions" and minus a steep $200 co-pay, we escaped into a very cool, breezy night.


Thanks to everyone who sent supportive messages on Facebook during this this mini-ordeal.  Very cheering!  Also, the follow-up e-mails.

I'm fine.  My knees are skinned ("abrasions," per doctor), and I have a black eye, but the cut ("laceration") doesn't hurt, and tomorrow I'll be allowed to get it wet so I can wash my hair.  My bangs will cover the scar.  Stitches out on Friday.

* * * * *

Today we went for a walk in Lucas Valley, in Marin County, and it felt good to be in one piece and able to walk a trail on a glorious spring day:

Miller Creek Watershed

My caregiver and ambulance driver

On the way home, we stopped at the corner where I fell, because I wanted to figure out what happened:

I think it must have been the raised seam in the middle of the photo that tripped me up, because I was walking up the street and suddenly landed in the smooth rectangle just beyond that seam.  The curb was recently modified to accommodate wheelchairs.

Remodel Before and Afters

 We're done, more or less.  We're still waiting for drawer/door pulls, and we need a pleated shade for the bathroom.  Other than that, three months of construction have drawn to a close.

What we started with:  a 1924 bathroom that had been tweaked but not remodeled in the 1960's, with the exception of a shower added by the former owners.  In 1984, when we bought the house, the walls were covered on bordello-red flocked wallpaper.  We put up the stylized fish wallpaper.

The worst part of the old bathroom:  The location of the toilet, front and center as you came up the stairs.  Awful.  Bugged me for 30 years.

BEFORE

The throne.

AFTER

The toilet partly hidden behind a "pony wall." Yay!

The toilet's hiding place.

BEFORE

1960's-era vanity and white Formica counter.  Original 1924 floor, which was stained and chipped.

                                              

 

AFTER

Quartz stone counter, glass mosaic backsplash, a medicine cabinet (never had one), porcelain tile floor.  New cabinet over toilet.

 A handy feature

The amazingly capacious medicine cabinet.  Jerry loves this.

BEFORE

AFTER

Oversized subway tile, more glass mosaic. Small tiles on the floor make for secure footing

Soap shrine and grab bar

BEFORE

AFTER

We kept the old bathtub. New floor tile and off-white subway tile around the tub.

BEFORE

 A print framed in the '70's that had been banished to the basement

 AFTER

New mat, frame.

 

Re-framed drawing done by Jerry's son about 45 years ago

In place

Family photos yet to be sorted and hung

* * * * *

My studio closet also got an overhaul. I developed a sensitivity to formaldehyde a few years ago, so my quilt fabric has to be stored in drawers, and, of course, I didn't have enough of them.

BEFORE

Small hole made by contractor just before demolition

DURING

Looking into the bathroom: a giant hole where new drawers will go.

 

AFTER

Four beautiful new easy-slide drawers for fabric

At left:  new shelves installed. My sewing machines can now be stored off the floor along with a lot of other stuff.

* * * * *

We replaced the linen closet entirely:

BEFORE

The lower set of doors concealed three wood-on-wood drawers that were murder to open and close.

AFTER

We're waiting for replacement drawer/door pulls

Yes, more fabric!

* * * * *

In case you're thinking of doing a remodel, here's a taste of what we lived with for three months:

 How about a toilet and shower door in the front yard?

 Thermoply protection on the front stairs, entryway, hallway.

Demolition--only the bathtub remained.

 

The tragic phase of a remodel:  rubble

Before the contractor bashed a hole through the wall at right, into my studio closet

Looking into my studio closet through the hole in bathroom wall.

Yes, it was worth it!  Many thanks to my sister, Madeleine Randal, who designed it and put a lot of miles on her car driving between San Jose and Berkeley.  Also to Geoff Semans, of The Original Crafters, who did the construction. Highly recommend.