1949

For some reason or no reason at all, the year 1949 popped into my consciousness the other day, and now it's like a brain worm and won't go away. I'll get to it, but first I have a thing or two to say about household matters that have been giving me grief.

Yay! The heat works again. I've been jiggering and poking the main heater in the living room for weeks after it stopped working just like that. Got a new thermostat ( thanks to Ms Ché who found one at the hardware store the next town over ) and installed it. It didn't seem to work at first, then about 24 hours later, ta da, the heat went on, and it seemed to be fine for a few days when it started acting up again and then stopped. I rejiggered the thermostat and the heater (a Williams console, 50,000 btu) started working again. Hm. Then a week or so later, boom, no heat. Why? Don't know. 

Doing some research, I discovered "You need to clean it out every few months, dude." Oh? OK, so I looked inside and behind it. It has never been cleaned out since it was installed in I believe 2005 or 2006. Lots of dust, lint, cat hair, yada yada in there. Hm. It's kind of like the blower with the burnt out bearings I found out long after the fact I was supposed to oil every two months or so. OK. I didn't get an owner's manual with the heater so none of this was known by me. I found one online though the other day, and I saw there was quite a maintenance checklist that I previously knew nothing about. OK.  

So I managed to get the top off the thing and put the vacuum hose down into the guts of it and got most of the visible dust and fur off the parts I could reach, got the top back on and set the thermostat at 72° and voila! Fired right up, and has been working just fine ever since. Of course the blower doesn't work. I could get a new one, but I couldn't install it to save my life. [It would require detaching the heater from the chimney, moving the whole unit into the room to allow access to the rear panel behind which the blower is installed, removing the old nonfunctioning blower and installing a new one, then reattaching the heater to the chimney and hoping for the best]. And I discovered the oil ports I was supposed to be using all those years were basically unreachable without turning the whole unit around -- ie, going through the same detach/spin around/reattach measures as required to replace the blower. Nope. Not gonna happen.

But thinking about it, we prolly should have a wood-stove instead. Most folks around here have one or more to heat their houses while we continue to rely on the main gas heater and several small electric ones for the bedrooms and bathroom. What I've thought of is replacing the main heater with a wood-stove and adding mini-split units (that heat and cool) to the bedrooms, kitchen and the living room. Well, that's a thought.

In the first part of 1949 I was living in Iowa in my father's ancient house, parts of which dated back to 1849. There was a coal furnace in the basement which heated the house through long pipes and registers. I think they called the coal furnace "the octopus" because of all the pipes coming off of it. 

I remember the smell. Coal burning has a very distinctive odor, much as gas does. It's sharp to my nose, and I don't like it. 

But I remember the house was warm. Maybe overheated. During a cold Iowa winter, temperatures can often be in the single digits or below zero outside. If you're out in it for any length of time, you kind of get used to it, though it might be uncomfortable. Moving from outside to inside, a normally heated house might be 72° but it will feel way warmer to you. Uncomfortably so.

My father's house was kept warm enough at least to my way of looking at it as an infant. Later I would develop a real anxiety and even anger about being cold, but it was due to... other things.

In May of 1949, my parents were divorced and I was bundled into the back of the 1942 Packard Clipper that my mother got in the divorce settlement from my father (along with $1000 and a bunch of other stuff) and we set off for California. 

My mother hated Iowa, hated my father's family -- who happily returned the favor -- and from time to time hated my father. Other times, they were the best of buddies. 

I really don't know how long it took to get to California. There were no Interstate freeways, after all. Just getting to Route 66 from my father's hometown must have been a challenge. I'm thinking it must have taken close to or more than a week for the whole trip. I remember rolling around in the back of the car, falling off the back seat more than once, and actually having a great time. I loved to ride in the car -- unless it was cold. And in May, it wasn't.

When we got to California -- to my mother's hometown near the Coast -- the struggle began to find a place to live. I remember a little house, Spanish style, tile roof on the porch, prolly from the '20s or early '30s. I think it only had one bedroom and my sister slept on the couch in the living room. I was in a crib in my mother's room. But where did the furniture come from? Mystery. It must have been bought with part of that $1000 my mother carried in her purse, right? I suppose. 

The furniture was mostly maple in Early American style. Very popular at the time. I still have some of that early stuff -- a bookcase and drop leaf table. The furniture was simple, inexpensive, and I suspect she bought it because it was in stock and could be delivered promptly. Maybe from Sears. Montgomery Ward?

I remember the lamps were glass kerosene ones that had been converted to electricity with a kind of bulb holder and cord on a cork that you shoved into the wick/fill hole of the lamp, and my mother -- or was it my sister? -- put frilly shades on them. Very authentic. 

My crib was white and I slept in it until I was five or six. I don't remember having a real bed before then. But I may not remember correctly. Given how often my memory cells misfire these days, I may not be remembering at all. Yet there's something there, something genuine. I remember a lot. I misremember some. And I don't remember many things at all.

1949, I shouldn't remember anything, but I do. Quite a lot, still. Even before I could walk.

And now that I have relearn walking, and I'm still as unsteady on my feet as an infant, maybe memories of 1949 are just right.

 

Obsessing on the Little Things

Since I was hospitalized -- actually before that -- and have been in continuing recovery, I've noticed how much I've tended to write and think about and act (when I can) on what most people would consider "the little things." 

Being able to walk, for example, or bend over if only a little bit. Being able to bathe and dress myself, make a sandwich if I'm hungry, go to the bathroom and not have to pee into a bottle. These are tiny victories, but they loom enormous for me given my once pathetic inability to even sit up on my own.

The ordeal with the washing machine(s) has tested my ability to do all sorts of things, figure out a wide range of movement, make repairs, deal with customer service (ha ha) and so on, even managing to move around a lot of stuff in the kitchen.

Having heat in the house and a washing machine that doesn't flood the room makes a big difference in living more or less well, doesn't it?

Oh there's more. I've been putting up reed and bamboo screening fencing in the back so that (maybe) our neighbor's dog (Shepherd) won't see Ms. Ché when she goes for her constitutional walk which she feels obligated to do because of her diabetes. A circuit around our property amounts to a quarter mile, so four times around is a mile, and she likes to do five circuits. If Shepherd is out though, he'll come running to the fence, barking and jumping lustily, and scaring the wits out of Ms., even though she knows he can't really get to her, and according to Mike, Shepherd's owner, he wouldn't hurt her. He just gets excited to see her!

I'm very slow putting up the screening. I'd hoped to do one roll length a day, but that went out the window when the wind came up a couple of days ago and we had to stay indoors or get blown to pieces. Even if I was well, I couldn't do the install outdoors in high wind. But it's partially up and seems to be holding. Seems to be working with Shepherd, too.

There's a lot of clean up to do around our place which I'm plotting out day by day, slowly, slowly, as the weather gets better. I hope to get some things going in the greenhouse, but I don't know. Maybe. Ordinarily, I'd be starting now, but not this year. Too many other things...

I'm just amazed and kind of delighted that I can do much of anything. I wish I could do more, much more, but the little things I can do are surprisingly satisfying, and so much of it is so simple, like an infant learning to walk or a child figuring out how to accomplish tasks. 

I even managed to replace a non-functioning clock hands, quartz mechanism, pendulum and electronic chime with a new outfit I ordered online and it's really a thrill that it works. Keeps relatively accurate time! And doesn't chime between 10:00pm and 6:00am! The chime, too, is modest and not overwhelming like the three mechanical clocks we have that chime so loudly they practically blow you out of your seat. Yay!

Yes, these are all "little things", but damn, being able to do them at all is amazing for me. And how little we notice and appreciate our abilities when we have them.

Washday Redux

So I received an Auertech twin-tub portable washing machine a couple of weeks ago and tried it out. Washed better than the full-sized Maytag in the laundry room by far, and I thought, "Wow, this is cool."

Problems developed pretty quickly, though. The drain seemed to stop draining. Unless the drain hose outlet was literally at floor level, nothing came out. And at floor level, you can imagine the flood. What a mess. I contacted customer service, and after some back and forth, they suggested a fix which I tried, and it seemed to work for a bit -- have the drain hose start discharging into a tub at floor level then raise to sink level -- but it was inconvenient and still messy. Then I found that the drain hose itself had numerous pinholes which were fountaining water whenever the drain was activated leaving puddles I hadn't noticed before. I reported this to customer service and after some back and forth over a partial refund and sending a new drain hose, they decided it would be best to send a new machine altogether. I could do whatever I wanted with the original one. 

The new one arrived in a few days, and I tried it out and the same thing happened: numerous pinholes in the drain hose, failure of the drain pump to empty the washer, puddles on the floor. I contacted customer service again, and this time their solution was for me to purchase a stronger drain hose, they would pay for it and they would also give me a fifteen dollar credit for my trouble. Maybe like a fool, I said OK. 

I found a drain hose online, ordered it, sent the info to customer service, and they credited my account slightly more for it, but no $15. The drain hose arrived in a few days, and I set to work replacing the old one. Not an easy task. But after a bit of struggle, I got the old hose out and the new one in and tightened down, and I was giving it a try.

Ta da. Drain worked. No leaks. Simple. Straightforward. Or so it seems.

The new drain hose is much sturdier. Whether it will last, I don't know.*[See Update below] It's also much longer, so it isn't such a struggle to get it to the sink where it drains. In fact, it's a piece of cake. So to speak.

I thought about my mother in law, Ms. Ché's mother, who had a twin tub Easy washing machine that she never used. In fact, she preferred to wash clothes by hand. Amazing. I never knew how the Easy washer worked until I saw a video on YouTube, a video I can't find now.

But what I recall is that using the Easy twin tub spinner washing machine was something of a challenge. It worked somewhat like a wringer washer without the wringer. The wash tub had to be filled from the laundry sink faucet, clothes and detergent put in the tub and the agitator activated by a lever. Washing could be timed up to fifteen minutes. After the wash cycle, you had the option of draining the wash water and refilling the tub with rinse water, or putting the wet, soapy laundry in the spinner and returning the wash water spun out of the laundry to the wash tub to use for another load of laundry. Interesting. The spinner could also be used to rinse the laundry by having rinse water flow over the laundry while it is spinning and then draining that water into the laundry sink. It was complicated, but it could be done. But I could see why my mother in law didn't want to use that machine. There were so many dials and knobs and levers and water inlet and outlet hoses and mechanisms, all of which involved complexity that seemed outrageous and over the top, that it was much easier just to wash laundry by hand. Easy! Well, that was the washing machine brand name. It wasn't so easy to do, however. This is a different video, but it's also more complete:

These new and very popular twin tub portable washing machines are similar, though not quite so complicated to use. There was a whole spate of similar machines made in the '50s and '60s and mostly sold abroad. Few of them made their way to the US after fully automatic washers became relatively standardized and priced so that average families could afford them.

We had a fully automatic washing machine (Kenmore) by 1954. Most households I knew of at the time did as well. Never looked back until washing machines were crapified both by regulation and by manufacturers' tinkering so they didn't wash very well and would break earlier -- after a few years' use rather than the decades washers once could be relied on -- and they be nearly impossible to fix. And doubled or tripled the price at the same time. Cool, eh? What could go wrong, right?

Buyers revolted. Looked for alternatives. And they found them.

Portable twin tub washing machines are one answer. There are many others. 

For a couple of hundred dollars and about an hour of fussing with the drain hose replacement, I now have two functioning twin tub portable washing machines. As well as a partially non-functioning full-sized Maytag. 

Wash day should be a cinch!

An UPDATE: Harrumph. Well, new drain hose worked the first time just fine. Second time? Not on your life. Pinholes, approximately the whole length of the drain hose. They only showed up when the drain pump struggled to get the water raised to the height of the sink. And I noticed, too, that a number of these pinholes were covered with transparent tape. Interesting, eh? I'm sure, then, that the seller or manufacturer knew of the problem and literally tried to cover it up. Not a good look. 

Because we have two twin tub washers, both with new drain hoses, I tried the other one with the same laundry. No leaks. No fountaining of drain water from pinholes. Don't know whether that will last. But it is... interesting.

[Now the microwave we got a year ago to replace one we used for almost 15 years has given out. Just like that. Appliances these days....!]

The Rigidity of the Rectangle

Since I don't/can't get around much these days and haven't been able to go much of anywhere or do much of anything outside the house and doctor/dentist visits, I've taken to vicarious rambles at art shows -- LA, NYC, Basel (Switzerland and Miami Beach) and various others presented on line, including Sotheby's and Christie's auctions. I can put them up on my teevee and have a grand time for hours and hours. 

I really miss some of the galleries in Santa Fe but oh well, that's how it goes. Enjoy it while you can.

Ms. Ché has been talking about going to Europe this fall. It would be her first and probably only trip to Europe, and she figures she better do it now while she can still get around -- bless her -- and has the verve and energy needed. She's got an itinerary that includes what can only be described as an "Art Tour," to Paris, Giverny, Amsterdam, London and possibly Ireland. She has friends in London who are eager to host her there. She thought about Florence, Venice and Rome and then considered the hordes of tourists even in November and crossed those cities off her list. Vicarious tours will have to do. 

She's very specific about where she wants to go and what she wants to see -- Van Gogh, Monet, Seurat, Renoir, Constable, Turner -- and where she wants to spend her "play time." She's been recruiting friends to go with her since I'm not in any shape to do it, sadly. I think she's got a couple who are more than interested.

At any rate, we'll see. She's working on it. And when she sets her mind to something, it happens. I would say "we can't afford it," but pffft. We can, and she knows it. Just means we can't spend money on something else, that's all.

While vicariously touring art shows on the teevee, I've been pondering the "vocabularies" -- the absolute rigidity of form and often content. And I've been looking for "signs of life."

So much of what we consider "art" is absolutely confined to the rigidity of the rectangle. Artists try to break out of it and for the most part can't. The galleries and museums will only show rectangles with paint daubs within the confines of the shape. Only. Exceptions might include circles or ovals in multiples arranged in -- rectangles.

The form is so absolute that anything that breaks it is jarring and feels unpleasant. 

Content is similarly constricted. It must be abstract, nothingness, shapes, decoration, or emptiness. Representational art is most often confined to expressive portraiture or passive eroticism -- which must feature the feminine form almost exclusively. Male eroticism is a category not typically shown even now.

I look for signs of life even within the rigid constraints on form and content, and it's there, now and then, but mostly what I've seen are relentless copies of one another, artistic plagiarism if you will, all in an effort to attract the same buyers, the same 20 or 200 buyers who want the same things.

This rigidity probably goes back to the Renaissance, no? The Medici and other Florentines demanded X from the artists and got it, over and over again, And they never changed or grew or demanded anything else, so they never got anything else, and now neither do we.

It's all the same, over and over and over again. Some better rendered than others, some more or less provocative, but mostly never deviating from what the artists are told (yes they are) the buyers "want."

Sigh.

Years ago -- how long, maybe close to fifty now -- I did a set design for a 1920s play. I consciously wanted to evoke the art of the time, so I made the background into hommages to Kandinsky, Klee and Miro. I had great fun painting the flats in back, airbrushing them into my interpretations of well-known paintings by these artists, not copies but renderings "in the style of..." I used a slide projector to project photos onto a large screen behind all this, some of them my own "in the style of" Man Ray for example, others lifted from contemporary magazines and books. Again, trying to evoke the art of the era.

The rest of the sets were artistic interpretations of the times. We even had a car made into a rolling art show. The whole thing was great fun to do and extraordinary to view. Much more interesting than the play -- at least to me and some of the audience.

I never did anything like it again. Once done, I didn't think it needed to be repeated, but in the art world, artists must repeat whatever "sells."

The market is confined, and the market wants "X" not "Y" or "Z" but "X" and only "X" and if you want to sell, that's what you do. Period. End of discussion. 

That's why you see so much the same, so much that appears to be someone else's work, so much that has no real "life" to it, but is done solely to please a "market" -- ie: galleries that sell to a select client list, not really to the public at all.

Artists have tried to find ways to break free of this constraint. Some are successful; most are not. It's struggle enough to create the work; selling or creating a market is best left to someone else, no? That's a whole other struggle that can be just as consuming if not more so. Leave it to someone who knows the business.

I won't go into the nature of that business here, but let's just say it's... special. Not for the faint of heart.

I think that has to do mostly with the nature of the clients who buy art. These people are after something in particular, not unlike Renaissance buyers, and have little or no patience for something outside that rigorous, rectangular box.

They want what they want, and that's it.

They usually get it, too. 

So many artists groups in the 20th Century tried to counter this demon of empty sameness with mixed success. Ultimately what they had to rely on was full time jobs teaching because their work didn't sell, or rather didn't sell enough for them to make a living.

That is a continuing problem.

If an artist is not able to sell his or her work, then what are they to do? Online opportunities have really expanded the market for art and democratized it to some extent. That's a good thing, I think. But it is still marginal. 

Part of the problem, I've long felt, is that for the most part, teachers don't teach technique, so artists are largely left to their own devices to figure out how to do something, how to accomplish their objectives with the materials at hand. Some are able to rely on one another for technical advice, how to do something. But often every artist they know is in the same boat trying to figure out technique on their own.

Why this is so -- still - is historical going back to the abstract expressionist movement that denied the necessity for and authority of technique and technical expertise. If you're working in that style, technical proficiency is probably not useful or desirable though the style itself requires its own technical proficiency, and if you're not working in that style, you are definitely left to flounder while you hope to figure out some way to do whatever it is you hope to.

I had to figure out how to airbrush on my own. No one who knew had the time or inclination to teach me, and there was no internet at the time to show me what to do. The few instructions available were... opaque. If you didn't already know airbrush technique, they made little sense. But gradually, I got the hang of it to do what I intended but not to do anything that airbrush artists were noted for then and now. There's no way I could accomplish that kind of subtlety and detail. But that was OK since I wasn't trying for it. But what of somebody who did want to know the ins and outs of airbrush technique?

I have purchased a number of soft pastel works -- portraits and dogs -- that are very delicately and realistically rendered. They might be considered "commercial" in that they are widely produced on commission for sale to interested clients, by artists who are technically proficient. I've done quite a few works in soft pastel, but I am not at all technically proficient. What I do is rather cartoonish, really. A portrait of Ms. got me more than one sideways glance as I rendered her hair orange and did not try for a realistic rendering. It is definitely "cartoonish" and is definitely a portrait. I rather like it and so does she, but some others who have seen it scratch their heads. Other pastel works include landscapes, abstractions, and one of my favorites: "Hommage à Mark Rothko (unfinished)" an orange oops, red square on an orange background, with a little flip on one corner of the orange red square on an orange background. "What?" There. That's it.

And so on.

I've taken to kind of studying my own works because I do them in a sort of frenzy, almost a trance, and it may be a long time before I can actually look at them critically. "Is this any good? Or have I wasted time and materials again?" Hard to say.

And I realize the vast bulk of my work is costume renderings and set designs, hundreds and hundreds of them, some of it rather nice to look at, but none of it intended to be "Art." 

Come to think of it, all these renderings are rectangular. Hm. The rigidity!

I'll close now...

Um, "Royalty"

The other day, for no good reason, I was thinking about my visit to the King Tut exhibit at the De Young in San Francisco some time in the mid '70s. I went with "the wife" (Ms. Ché) and her mother, "Gramma." I was very excited to get tickets as it seemed to be sold out. We drove from the Central Valley, at least 2 hours, and parked, I think, on Fulton St. It was whatever the street was behind the museum. And we only had to walk a little way.

Almost as soon as we entered the exhibit, I began to experience an abdominal cramp. Ultimately, I only saw the famous gold funerary mask and a few of the pretty things left in the tomb before I was in such severe pain that I had to leave. I sat on a bench just outside the doors, then lay down on the lawn in front of the museum, groaning. Maybe an hour or so later, Ms. Ché and her mother emerged from the museum and found me outside. I was still in a lot of pain, but slowly managed to get up and hobble back to the car. Thank goodness it was close. We had planned a number of other stops in San Francisco to eat and to shop, but we decided it would be best to drive home instead. I don't remember whether I drove or she did, but more than likely Ms. Ché did while I groaned in the backseat.

I considered this little aborted adventure one of my few brushes with Royalty, in this case the long dead King Tut -- Tutankhamun. I had a book that was published about that time -- still have it somewhere I'm pretty sure -- that detailed the search for and discovery of the tomb and pictured nearly everything that was found in it most thoroughly and in many cases beautifully. I haven't seen anything like it published since. I wasn't able to enjoy or much appreciate the exhibit at the De Young, but the book filled in most of what I missed. The experience wasn't the same, however.

The abdominal pain was nearly gone by the time we got home, and I didn't have another pain like it for many years. I don't remember ever having a pain like it previously, either. So I still ascribe it to the Curse.

Later that year, or perhaps the year previously or the year after, but still in the mid seventies, I remember lining up on a blacktop driveway with about 20 others working where I was in a little town named Solvang in the Santa Ynez Valley awaiting the arrival of Queen Margrethe and Prince Henrik who were touring the area and were planning on spending a few minutes visiting and having lunch with local dignitaries. I don't know how long we waited, joking about tugging our forelocks and whatnot, being lectured on protocol, etc.

Shortly, the motorcade arrived, led by two motorcycle policemen. The Queen and her consort were being driven in what I recall was a white Cadillac 4 door sedan, but it may have been a Mercedes. What it wasn't was a limousine. There were flags of Denmark and the US on the fenders. The car pulled up to the driveway, and the Queen got out. She was wearing a camel colored coat over a blush pink silk dress, though it may have been sky blue. She had a wide brim camel colored hat on at a jaunty angle, wore white gloves, pearls, and simple beige pumps. She carried a matching purse. As she got out of the car, the small crowd cheered, and she waved. The Prince got out of the other side of the car and came around to meet her. He was dressed in a plain suit, gray I think, and he was very handsome in a Scandinavian sort of way. The Queen, for her part, appeared very young and pretty. She waved and waited a moment while a couple of functionaries appeared from somewhere to lead them to the reception line. 

The Queen said "How do you do?" to everyone as she passed by and shook hands with perhaps five or six of those in the line. I don't recall whether I was one of them, though I can recall the feel of a gloved hand on my own. More likely, she shook hands with the missus who was standing next to me. I think she might have attempted a curtsy, but if she did, it was more in jest than not. 

Prince Henrik for his part followed the Queen at several paces behind, said "How do you do" and shook hands with everyone, thanked people for coming, and seemed quite jolly. The Queen stopped and spoke with the half dozen or so dignitaries and then waved to the rest of us and went inside. We didn't see her again.

For an encounter with royalty, this one was very brief, somewhat surprising, and pleasant. I remember we went to have lunch and chatter about it, then went back to work. 

In October, 2021, I revisited that driveway in Solvang. It was cracked and worn and lined with porta-potties and construction materials. It seemed so much smaller, shorter and narrower than I remembered. Had the Danish royal family really walked this path? I guess they must have, as we stood there in a line, tugging our forelocks and being asked/not asked "How do you do?"

Maybe a decade later, Queen Elizabeth paid a call on George Deukmejian, then Governor of California, in Sacramento. I don't recall whether Prince Philip was with her or not. We'd invited her to visit our workplace a few blocks away from the Capitol, but the Palace politely declined. We walked over to the Capitol to see the Queen, and all I recall is a white gloved hand waving a Royal Wave in the backseat of a black Cadillac limousine as it sped by and then the sight of the same gloved hand waving from the balcony of the Capitol behind thick bullet-proof glass. We didn't actually see Herself at all or if we did, it was only the briefest of glimpses.

I think she was wearing a blue dress and hat.

There was a lesson about these monarchs and their manifestations that we could learn from. They present a very carefully, indeed artfully conceived and prepared facade, rather like the stunning gold mask of King Tut, and they may -- or may not -- be pleasant enough when in the presence of the peasantry, but they don't deal with us rabble at all. No, they have People for that. The ones they deal with more or less directly are the "Dignitaries," the Important People, Those In Charge. Or, contrariwise, those with obscene wealth.

No one else except their staff.

It's been this way for as long as there has been royalty, monarchs and such.We the Rabble sometimes get to look on as They pass by, even now and then see them greet the lowly, but they are not really dealing with us at an official or human level. We are at best useful props, but mostly we're not even there.

This sense of "notness" when dealing with the lower orders is commonplace among many categories of the Upper Crust. The rejection of any contact with People Who Don't Matter is not unheard of. But usually it's a matter of separating and isolating oneself as much as possible while being... um, "polite" when contact can't be avoided. Always maintaining one's distance, keeping the lowly at bay.

Though Tut's tomb was raided and looted by Carter and Carnarvon back in the day, there's a kind of democratization in the presentation of the loot to the public. Anyone who could get a ticket could see the exhibits that have traveled much of the world, and the Egyptian Museum in Cairo showed much of the tomb contents for many, many years. 

While he was alive and at his funeral, his person and tomb contents were not for the view of the People. They were a Mystery.

And that is ultimately what all of those who rule us wish to be. Monarchs must have a public presence, but it's a mask. They hide behind the gloved hands and the "How do you do's". What else can they do? What should or could we do about it?

After a while, we might begin to understand how much they loathe us.

Then what?

My mother liked to tell a tale that she was "a direct descendant of Marie Antoinette." I never knew where she got this notion, but when she said it, she adopted a very aristocratic bearing, head high, nose up, chin forward, and spoke in a nasal pitch that was her imitation of posh. No, she wasn't an aristocrat, far from it, though she tried to marry into what she thought were aristocratic families -- well, for America -- and largely failed. But she said her mother's mother was independently wealthy and her mother inherited a fair chunk of money when her mother died. My mother's stepfather, may he rot in hell, then spent it on hairbrained schemes: a motor court and filling station on the Redwood Highway in Willits and then on a very bogus gold mine in Nevada that went belly up when the two "partners" took off with the cash leaving her stepfather to hold the bag, and he just barely escaped going to jail for fraud --- even though he was the main one defrauded. So he lost all the money, his and his wife's inheritance, and moved back to California where he went to work at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard, while his wife, my mother's mother, wasted away from untreated stomach cancer -- they were Christian Scientists -- and died in agony a few months later. My mother never forgave her stepfather whom she blamed for her mother's death and for losing her inheritance.'

Much later through Ancestry.com, I learned what may have been part of the source of her claim of Royal descent. My mother's biological father was from a semi-prominent Indiana family that claimed descent from noble Huguenot refugees who settled in Scotland in the 17th century. That was their claim -- passed on to me through a cousin I never knew about who got it from a descendant of my mother's uncle still in Indiana.

I never found a shred of evidence that the story of descent from Huguenot refugees was true, but there was plenty of evidence of rebel Scottish blood coursing through the veins of that family.

Scots and English. Natural enemies united in the United States, raising six sons, maybe not so happily, but surviving and only losing one son to an accidental gunshot wound, and then, of course, losing their black-sheep son -- my mother's father -- to an accident (or maybe not an accident) that cut him in half in a St. Louis railyard when my mother was five years old. 

So it went. My mother was not raised in poverty by any means, but she never had the social status she believed she deserved. She didn't know poverty until she married for the first time. He was a gas station attendant working for her step father -- who always ensured she had "enough" and even gave her a new car in the middle of the Depression. Later her husband became an oil jobber -- selling petroleum products to stations up and down California -- and later still, he claimed to be a vice president for sales at Chevron oil. Was it true? I don't know. But it hardly mattered. He and my mother divorced in 1941, and she struggled for years until she got work at the air base and met my father, scion of what she thought was a rich family in Iowa. Well, that saga will have to wait. 

But this story is already too long. And I'm happy to say the only "royalty" I've found in my ancestry is the possibly bogus story of a Native American "Princess Snowflower" ancestress on my mother's side (she knew nothing of her) and deep in the past, complicated relationships with the Drake family in England. Sir Francis Drake's uncle Sir John was apparently an ancestor, and then there were threads through the British royals through him and his ancestors so deep in the mists of time, Camelot may just reappear in mystery and majesty. 

So it goes....

The Wedding

Friends of ours are getting married -- after nine years together -- in Colorado in October. There is much excitement over it, and much family togetherness being developed during the interim. The bride and groom are both "half" -- one parent Hispanic, one Anglo -- but both were raised by the Hispanic parent. 

Both are artistic. She's a crack fiction writer, specializing in young adult-ish, fantasy, horror, and humor. She's a terrific storyteller. He's a visual artist focusing on graphics, illustration, and -- on his own -- contemporary fine art painting and portraiture.

They're working on a joint project, a fantasy screenplay they hope to sell to Disney. 

They're young... well, under thirty, barely. They figure they better get married now, cause they aren't getting any younger, and if they intend to have children, they better get to work on it. 

Both, interestingly, were only-children, so they didn't have brothers and sisters to contend and compete with. Both were spoiled rotten in my view, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing in their case. One of their parents in both cases worked for decades in public service and they are about to retire with fairly fat pensions. That's a blessing, one that is increasingly rare in the hardscrabble existence laid out for our collective future by Our Betters.

They live in Santa Fe, have lived their whole lives there, but are eager to move somewhere "better". They consider Santa Fe dull and insular and unable to provide them with the kind of creative lives they want to live. Where would they go? Denver. Los Angeles. San Francisco. Seattle. Somewhere "out of here."

Somewhere where people ("who matter") appreciate what young people have to offer and bring forth from their imaginations and creativity.

That's not, they say, Santa Fe.

I'm in no position to argue. While us old fogies see Santa Fe as a brilliant hotbed of arts and creativity, we don't live there, and likely wouldn't under nearly any circumstance. It is tight and insular and often backward looking. Instead, we live way out in the wilderness, where we don't have to conform to anyone's "idea" of happy retirement and we feel we have the freedom/liberty to do and be whatever moves us. In Santa Fe, we know there is a code of conformity to one's status, wealth (or lack thereof) and position in life that cannot move even a millimeter from where you've been, though you may have moved thousands of miles from wherever you lived before to settle in Santa Fe.

Out here in the wilderness, there is the liberty to do and be whatever you want and live in any fashion that appeals to you, limited only by the absence of an infrastructure to support certain objectives and ways of life. Well, if we didn't have an income to get by with as retired old fogies, our lives here would be rough, maybe impossible. If we didn't have decent health care insurance, one or the other of us, if not both, would have been dead long ago. If we weren't able to find and stay in a home of our own out here, it's hard to imagine we'd live as well in a rental -- if there were one. 

So in many ways, we're lucky and grateful.

Our young friends planning to get married in Colorado in the fall reject Santa Fe -- where they've lived all their lives -- as an appropriate long term home for them and their children (if they have any) because it's too hidebound and insular. It's very difficult for creative efforts to get out of Santa Fe.

From our perspective, that's true anywhere, but they have a far more intimate understanding of the difficulty than we ever could.

But then I think of Meow Wolf, which we've never quite figured out, that began in Santa Fe and has become a multi-million dollar arts/curiosity enterprise that has expanded to a number of other cities in the West and appears to be rock solid financially and artistically remarkable if not high-end brilliant. It doesn't represent High Art, but it is filled with New Art, experimental whatevers, and immersive arts experiences. I'm told, though I'm not quite sure, that it provides a handsome living to dozens of creatives throughout the West, something that is difficult to achieve anywhere. 

It's one way Santa Fe has tried to reinvent itself from a rather staid -- and let's face it, segregated -- traditional Art Market -- selling high end High Art by nationally and internationally "known" artists in expensive galleries along Canyon Road and scattered throughout the city, but creating not much at all and largely ignoring much of what is locally created -- to a potential hotbed of cutting/leading edge contemporary creativity.

Our friends could stay and be part of what's emerging, but they say they'd rather not. There's "something better" out there, and they'd rather join that. We don't necessarily agree, having had a good deal of experience in Los Angeles, San Francisco and Seattle (not Denver, though, only a superficial long-ago taste of what might be coming). 

The wedding is in Golden, Colorado, in October, and we've been told to "wear autumn colors." Forbidden is black on black which has been my "going to events" outfit for a while now -- not that I've been able to go to Events for quite some time. 

So now I have to think about and plan a whole new outfit. That'll be fun and a change of pace. I get some of my clothes direct from India. I think I'll start looking there. Heh.

The Art Market

Over the years, we've bought a lot of art: paintings, prints, photos, posters, sculpture, etc. We're overloaded with it because we hardly ever get rid of anything. And of course being the kind of folks we are, both of us create art. I'm looking around our living room as I type, just to get an idea of what's here on view right now, and it's kind of overwhelming, starting with some art photographs under the Art Deco mirror over the sofa. There's one of Half Dome in Yosemite, one that I took in the early 2000s of the Aztec Motel on Central in Albuquerque (since demolished), and one of the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers at Harper's Ferry. Each has meaning to us, places we've been, places where the spirits of the place seemed very alive and stayed with us to the present day. The Aztec was especially notable in this regard, for when it stood, the buildings and grounds were literally covered with art. Anything and everything was put on view, and the result was what I thought was a folk art masterpiece. The city apparently ordered it to be demolished, and its loss is still keenly felt by many. But of course, many more don't even remember its existence. 

There's a small tray with an arrangement of tropical butterflies, and on the other side of the photos is a framed crocheted piece featuring my last name which was done by a friend in Wisconsin and gifted to us for an anniversary (not sure which). Above that part of the wall are three large prints by Native American artists, a raven, a wolf and a bison. 

That doesn't cover all the art on that wall, but it samples some of what's here.

The Native prints were bought directly from the artists. I'm looking around to see if there's anything we bought from a gallery or at auction, but I would say not in here. There are several pieces in the entry hall, photos, prints, paintings and sculpture that came either from galleries or auction purchases, and there are more in the bedrooms, and even in the bathroom. 

Since I've been home recovering from my illness, I've taken to watching art auctions by Christie's and Sotheby's on the UTubesTV, and while we've sat in on and bid on similar events from time to time, they have really not been anything like what I'm seeing the big auction houses do. We haven't been to auctions featuring high end "name" artists like Van Gough and Rodin and Picasso and such; we haven't been to auctions where we have to prove our wealth to get in; we haven't ever witnessed an auction bid over $1,000,000. I'm not sure we've seen one even that high.

Christie's and Sotheby's focus on the Names, and they sell and resell collections with values almost beyond belief. There was one auction I saw where a collection brought in over $300,000,000. Mmm. Part of a collection of a very wealthy man (now married to one of our former Congressional representatives) was auctioned and brought over $20,000,000 to benefit his "good works" foundation. Warhols have brought $60-70,000,000 at auction or more. I thought about that and how friends of a friend's collection in California included a number of Warhols (the Elizabeth Taylor I remember most of all) that they said they bought in New York directly from the artist when they lived there. I think they said they spent a couple of hundred dollars each and they had at least a half dozen hanging on their hallway walls. They had many other prints and paintings by "name" artists which they'd bought, mostly in New York, before the artists became famous. They died, at least 20 years go, and I recall reading their collection was to be sold and was expected to bring $2-3 million but I didn't follow what happened. I can only imagine what their collection would bring today. $2-3 million per piece is more likely.

But why?

The art market is a fickle and funny thing. What you see on the surface obscures what's really going on. Kind of like life, eh?

The works of a certain number of "name" artists are assured of increasing value almost in perpetuity, but recently, those artists' works have exponentially increased in value, from low millions to stratospheric levels, never seen or imagined before.

What's happened?

One thing I know has happened is that enormous amounts of money have flooded the higher classes, most not "earned" through hard work as it were but just given to them by governments and central banks, particularly the US government, in what seemed like endless QE* efforts to overcome the effects of the GFC** on the best off among us. This money, trillions and trillions of dollars, had to go somewhere, and a percentage of it went to buy art.

The inflation in the high end art, jewelry, precious objects and real estate markets should not be underestimated. This inflation has been going on for years and years and yet it was never noticed by our crack economists who only became aware of inflation when the lower orders started having to pay more for groceries, gasoline and rent, and they decided the best way to stop that inflation was to give the upper classes more while curbing or eliminating the ability of the rabble to acquire or pay for debt.

Interesting tactic. 

Whatever else happens, the upper classes must be protected from economic harm at all costs.

So they spend what appears to us to be astronomical sums on the works of mostly dead artists, assuring that the artists themselves, even if living, get nothing. Not a red cent.

One of our Taos friends has been having a Moment in art. He's technically proficient, very handsome and charming, and he has basically stormed the Western art market with his evocative "old fashioned" tributes to art of the past. He's seen the value of his works increase substantially. Now his large scale paintings may bring as much as $200,000, about double what they would bring a few years ago. But this is nothing compared to a Warhol, say. 

After he's dead, of course, he knows his originals will probably bring millions. And millions. And he and possibly his descendants will never see a penny of it.

That's one of the many cruelties of the art market. 

Jean-Michel Basquiat  did well while he was alive and the protege of Andy Warhol. His works are unique to say the least. Instantly identifiable. But once he was dead, the prices of his works skyrocketed in the market to the point where they now sell at auction for tens of millions. And their appearance in an auction is eagerly anticipated. 

Yet it wasn't that long ago that his rough-street style was rejected. If he hadn't been Warhol's protege, it's highly unlikely that the People Who Matter would pay any attention to his work at all. But while he could sell his works for tens or hundreds of thousands while he was alive thanks to his association with Andy Warhol (a few hundred dollars if that before then). But now, the sky's the limit, assuming there is one.

What's happening, I believe, is that a small number -- maybe 20 -- of absurdly wealthy people are competing with one another to possess something that nobody else has or can have. Back in the day, collections could be formed from available works by living and dead artists, and having art in that way could be seen as ostentatious display, or contrariwise as public service. A public service when the collection was put on view by the public at little or no cost as an educational effort. 

Then, when the collector died, the collection could be/would be donated to a museum which in turn would open it to more or less permanent public view.

In some cases, collections still go to museums, but often it can't be done. There's no room. Museums won't take them. Collectors can open their own museums, or they can trade the works among themselves. Back and forth between those 20 or so. With dealers, agents and auction houses taking an ever larger cut. 

What could go wrong?

In a way, it's funny. In another way it's very sad -- and a model of our economic failures -- because artists are the losers. 

*QE=Quantative Easing (ie: Giving more money to the rich)

**GFC=Great Financial Crash/Crisis (The meltdown of 2008 which led to a decade of economic blah)

Wash Day

We've had a Maytag Centennial "Featuring Commercial Technology" washing machine for a number of years -- probably 8. It has a big tub but no agitator. An impeller at the bottom of the tub takes its place. The washer is modern in that most of its settings use minimal amounts of water to sort of clean clothes. There is one setting that will nearly fill the tub with water, but it doesn't work very well any more. Sometimes you can get it to fill, other times -- most times -- it won't. After a partial fill, it just stops. Most of the settings are just as chancy. It's been frustrating to use since we got it, but lately it's taken on what seems like a mind of its own, rarely following instructions, and cleaning clothes worse and worse with every use.

Well. Repairs -- if they were possible -- would probably cost about $500. A new washer would run well more than that and we're told they are very hard to get due to something something. Be prepared to wait six months to a year, mKay? So what to do? There are some used machines available, but they are relatively costly and their functioning isn't necessarily any better than the Maytag in our laundry room. 

I thought, "Well why not try something?" For years, I've been seeing glowing reviews of twin tub portable washers, relatively small and surprisingly inexpensive. $150-200 range back in the day, somewhat more now, but still in a reasonable range. 

I ordered one, and in a few days it was delivered. It looked great, blue and white with see through tops on the wash side and spin side. It was light weight. Mostly plastic. Three knobs; a timer for washing, a function knob for gentle or normal wash, or drain function; a motorized drain pump was supposed to make that process easier. There was also a timer up to five minutes for the spinner.

There were two water inlets and a hookup hose to take water from your sink to the washer. Everyone who has these machines complains that the hookup hose doesn't fit on any normal faucet so hacks are necessary to fill the washer. Most use buckets. Well, I found the hookup hose fit perfectly on the kitchen sink sprayer, and it was an easy thing to use a small clamp to keep the sprayer open and to fill the wash tub with water. Hot water, something impossible on the Maytag. You may select hot water wash, but the machine mixes hot water with cold and the result is hot-ish. Barely above warm. And this hot-ish wash does not necessarily result in hot-water clean clothes.

We're told that the compact portable machine will wash 18 lbs of dry laundry in the wash tub, but I'm dubious. That's quite a lot of laundry, and as the tub was filled for the first time, it seemed that maximum capacity was reached at about 12-14 lbs. That's still a fair amount of laundry. 

Adjusting the amount of laundry detergent to suit the smaller machine was something of a challenge, but it seemed like two tablespoons was more than adequate. In other words, a small percentage of the amount used in the full sized machine. With hot water, that was plenty.

Turned it on, and the wash action was amazing. Like the Maytag, there was only an impeller at the bottom of the tub, but boy it worked to agitate the laundry and turn it over and over in the water. Nothing like the Maytag impeller that barely moved the laundry at all. We could see the dirt being released from the laundry as well. The water kept turning browner and browner. Wow.

So we gave it an initial ten minute wash, drained the wash tub and refilled for a rinse. The rinse water was kind of brownish at the end of the 5 minute cycle, so we rinsed again. However, on the second rinse, though we could hear the drain pump working, nothing came out of the drain hose. Hm. After repeatedly trying to drain the tub, we resorted to positioning the drain hose in a tub on the floor, and the water drained. Though the drain pump was working, or sounded like it was, the operation was of a gravity drain. And this was not what we paid for, so I contacted the seller who said there was something not allowing the the pump to form a vacuum to drain properly. Could I use the machine with a gravity drain? Well, yes. But that isn't what we paid for, and keeping an eye on it was quite an inconvenience. Seller said to check for clogs along the length of the hose and in the pump. That took some doing, but I didn't find a clog anywhere. What I did find, however, were tiny pinholes in the drain hose, and water was fountaining out of them. These holes were not visible, but I suspected they were the problem that didn't allow the drain pump to pump the water up to the sink.

I told the seller that if this problem couldn't be resolved, I'd have to return the washer. The seller suggested I install a new drain hose which he would supply, and he offered a $70 credit. 

On another test, I found out the wash tub filter would fall out of its housing. It seemed to be too small for the housing. I told the seller this was getting ridiculous. After a bit of back and forth, the seller offered to send a new machine, and I could keep or dispose of the one I had as I saw fit Just don't send it back.

I said OK. Give it a try. Why not?

The new machine arrived in a few days, and we tried it out. Everything went fine until it came time to use the spinner. The spinner worked but it drained into the washer tub rather than into the sink. The suggestion was to start the spinner drain in the tub on the floor, then raise it to sink level. I thought that was too much work, so we just let the spinner drain into the tub. It was annoying, but not a deal-breaker.

The washing action was and is startling. The results are 100% better than the full-sized Maytag, and the full wash/rinse/spin process is quicker. You do have to keep your eye on it and be prepared to do some work to fill, wash, rinse, drain and spin the laundry. This is not unlike what you had to do before fully automatic washers became standard in the early 1950s. I remember a neighbor woman who did her wash in a wringer washer on the back porch. She had to stand over it and keep track of it and run the laundry through the wringer because there wasn't a spinner. It took her a long time and was a lot of work, I thought.

Then there was another neighbor who had an Easy spinner washing machine. Even though there was no wringer, it was still quite a lot of work to do the laundry in it. Washing and multiple rinsing and spinning required her to stay with the machine for most of the time -- she could leave during the wash and rinse cycles only. The whole process from filling the tub to final spin took 45 minutes to an hour. Then of course she still had to hang the laundry on the line. 

A fully automatic washer -- something my mother bought in the early '50s -- could be left to do its thing and wouldn't have to be watched. No attention was required until the laundry was done, 25 to 40 minutes after the machine was started.

It was almost magical.

Then thanks to energy and water saving regulations, complex computer controlled washing machines that used very little water or energy became mandatory. Our Maytag is one of those.

However, complaints about them not cleaning clothes properly, not washing, not rinsing the way they should began immediately and haven't ceased. Complaints about them breaking down way too soon -- 3-5 years in many cases, compared to washers of the past that would last 20-30 years or more with only minor adjustments -- were filed constantly. I don't know anyone who had an old washer who is satisfied with their new washing machine. 

The twin tub portable washers have sought to fill that void. They are old fashioned, and they work like old fashioned Easy twin tub machines which requires you to stay with it and juggle things -- washing, rinsing, draining, spinning, and such -- throughout the process. It seems to me it becomes a Zen practice. It's not automatic. You have to think about it, think about where the laundry is in the process, and think about what you have to do in the Now to ensure the process goes right.

Is this progress? Not on the surface. And yet, as we struggle toward a common future, bits of regression, such as on wash day, may become more common. By necessity. 

[The first twin tub washer is going in the greenhouse to use for all the washing that needs to be done of the outside fabrics. It can drain on the ground without making puddles in the house. So far as we know, it washes and spins just fine. It's the leaky drain hose that's the problem.]

Julia Child's TV Kitchen c. 1964

 Fascinating.

Later in her TeeVee career, she used her own kitchen in her Cambridge, Massachusetts, home rather than a television set, but early on, she worked in a number of somewhat different studio kitchens that strongly resembled what an average middle class housewife would have. It's interesting to see them now and compare and contrast with today's "insane" kitchen renovation ideas.

The first thing you notice in her "Chicken Dinner in Half an Hour" video is... the island. Islands were not common in real kitchens in those days -- except on TeeVee. And why? Well, in order to demonstrate her cooking on screen, she -- and the food -- needed to face the camera. Prep and cooking in a real kitchen would almost always be done with the housewive's back to the room. And in her Chicken Dinner video we see her using a GE push button electric cooktop on the island while there is another similar cooktop on the counter to her right. She never uses it on the screen. Electric wall ovens -- which we don't see in the Chicken Dinner video, but they're there -- are to the left of the countertop cooktop, and a bottom freezer refrigerator is to the left of that. Uh no. The refrigerator is a top freezer model and it is way to the right of the sink, barely seen most of the time. Behind her is a double bowl porcelain on iron or steel sink with a pull out sprayer. Bench tops/counters form an L-shape. The kitchen set is compact, and if it were real, the island would probably be a counter (without the cooktop) against a wall.

What is a GE push button electric cook top? Indeed, you don't see those any more. We had one in our house built in 1957. It was considered ultramodern at the time. A built in cook top with push button control was very Space Age, though GE had been producing push button freestanding ranges since the '40s. The burners were Calrod open coils, and the push buttons allowed for several levels of heat from Lo-simmer to High-sear. The burners heated up pretty fast but not as fast as a gas burner, and they cooled much more slowly than a gas burner, meaning that pans had to be taken off the burner altogether to lower their temperature quickly and prevent burning the food. OK, you had four burners on the cook top, rarely used more than three at a time, so there was one open burner where you could put a pan to cool. 

Julia wound up facing something of a dilemma as she cooked her Chicken Dinner as she was using all four burners at a time, and she didn't have any place to put a pan to cool. So she turned the burner off under the pan that needed cooling and hoped for the best. It seemed to work out ok. Whew.

She had three saute pans going at once and a huge boiling kettle. Each of her saute pans was different. The first was a Farberware stainless steel (with aluminum core) frying pan. I know because we had one just like it. In this she sauted her cut up chicken. The first thing I noticed was that the chicken didn't stick. I never had a problem with sticking on Farberware stainless steel saute/fry pans either, but they say newer stainless steel pans -- like Allclad and so on -- are notorious for sticking. Everything. There are supposedly work-arounds to make them nonstick, but experience says it's hit or miss at best.

Julia also used a Teflon coated fry/saute pan to cook her diced potatoes. She often said how much she loved the non-stick pans that were just being introduced at that time. Very Space Age. She never mentioned the obvious problems with them - the fact that the Teflon would peel off all by itself or when the surface was scratched in normal use. Interestingly, Teflon coated pans still have that problem. 

Her third saute pan appeared to be a professional kitchen aluminum pan that was not widely available for civilians at the time. Much later, we had one and we loved it. Even heat, excellent cooking, easy clean up. As long as it wasn't used for acid foods like tomatoes, it was a joy to use. 

Her boiling pot was an enormous aluminum job, which once it was filled with water was practically unmovable even by someone as sturdy as Julia. She boiled her eight zucchinis and three tomatoes in it. These days such a pot would be used for pasta, spaghetti especially, and not much else. Because they are so heavy and awkward when filled with water, renovators have taken to installing "pot filler" faucets at the cooktop/range, but there is still the little problem of disposing of the water once the boiling is done. An alternative method of cooking pasta has become fashionable: boil it in just enough water to cover, let the pasta absorb most of the water, and then have very little to drain and wrestle around. 

There appears to be no dishwasher on her kitchen set, actually there is one to the left of the sink, I just didn't see it initially, but not having  dishwasher would actually be the situation in most homes at the time. Our 1957 kitchen had a space that could be used for a built in dishwasher but none was installed, and that was fairly typical of all but the fanciest middle class homes at the time. They save you the trouble of washing dishes, but they don't really save you at all since the dishes and pots and pans need to be washed by hand first before they are put in the dishwasher. Hopefully they will come out cleaner. We had a portable dishwasher rather than a built in, and we used it now and then. The point was to "disinfect" which the hot water and soap was supposed to do. You still had to wash the dishes and pots and pans by hand first.

Julia had a lot of counter space in her TeeVee kitchen, and that was pretty typical of home kitchens at the time, too. Her counters appeared to be surfaced with Formica. Now of course Formica has fallen out of favor, and no renovator with any sense of pride or dignity would use it. That's too bad. Formica and its variations were excellent counter top materials and they still are. The issue these days is that Formica is "cheap," and "cheap looking." Whether or not it wears well and serves the purpose is irrelevant.

Counter tops must look and be expensive, which stone and its many synthetic imitations are. So stone and quartz and whatever actually is expensive are mandatory in new renovations -- or you may as well disappear.

Formica was good enough for Julia Child, though. Even in Cambridge. At least that's what her counter tops appeared to be. Most of the time. (Actually, according to the Smithsonian which proudly displays her Cambridge kitchen, her home counter tops were wood, butcher block. Hm.)

On her TeeVee set she also had a large wooden cutting board that sat on the counter top beside the island cook top/range. There she chopped and chopped and chopped and chopped. Later, I think she had a marble pastry board installed on the other side of the cook top. But as far as I remember, at no time did she replace her work surfaces with granite, all marble, or quartz.

Julia also had a large number of built-in cabinets on her TeeVee set -- but not, as I recall, at her home. These cabinets, uppers and lowers, stored everything. There were no open shelves. The idea of open shelves was appalling. Dust, grime, the mess, endless cleaning. Every upper cabinet had doors, as did every lower storage cabinet. Drawers held miscellaneous tools and equipment, but she also had a magnetized knife rack on the wall beside the sink and what looked like a plastic fishing tackle box with many little drawers screwed to the wall on the other side of the sink for spices and other condiments.  I imagine that was her idea, or possibly her husband Paul's. 

Julia's TeeVee kitchens changed and changed over time, and finally, she used her home kitchen -- with an island installed so she and her guests could face the cameras. It was... cramped. 

But the kitchen set where she prepared her half hour chicken dinner was perhaps the best of the lot, the closest to what many middle class housewives had in their post-war houses -- well, except for the island.

And there is some nostalgia for recreating that among us old folks. 

One thing nostalgic kitchens feature is the built in range and oven, the oven(s) at a convenient height so you don't have to bend down, and a broiler at eye level and not on the floor. It is possible -- but very expensive -- to do that these days. But I guess it's not as expensive as one of those monster French or Italian ranges that are so fashionable! 😄

So a nod to Julia Child for never being afraid and never being a victim of kitchen fashion. You go girl!

Kitchens

 I started a post a long time ago about kitchen renovations and remodeling but I haven't finished it and don't think it really gets to the point.

Our house was renovated fifteen years ago or so to make it habitable after five to ten years of abandonment. It took ten months, and everything that was done was... so so. Job came in under budget, so there was that, but many things that should have been done weren't. Now, fifteen years later, those undone things have caught up with us.

One of them being the kitchen. It's fine and yet, no. The cabinetry is original. The vinyl sheet flooring is wearing through in places. We had to replace the ceiling fan a few years ago because the one put in by the contractor died. I've replaced the sink and faucet a couple of times now -- hard water. There's no dishwasher. The refrigerator came with the house and is at least 25 years old -- horror stories about new ones though are rampant, and maybe we should consider ourselves lucky that we have an old one that works. The gas range was put in by the contractor, and though there's a hood over it, it doesn't vent to the outside. I think we need to do something about that. 

Perhaps the worst part though is that the kitchen floor has a definite slope toward the sink and south wall. Here's the problem: the kitchen, laundry room and entry hall were built within an enclosed front porch/portal. Part of the porch was built over an underground cellar that we found out about when we had a proper drain line installed for the washing machine. Part of the foundation for the kitchen is sinking into that cellar and critters have made their way into it as well. There is no access to the cellar unless you dig --- as the plumbers did as did the critters.

The entry hall is very small and the laundry room still shows evidence of work done to improve the drainage -- by putting in an actual drain line that connects with the sewer line -- and to replace the water heater. The washing machine is 8 years old, and is showing signs of age. So...

Here was my thought before I got sick and Chairman Powell decided that low interest rates were the cause of inflation: We would refinance the house with an inclusive mortgage/renovation loan, move out for the duration, and have the kitchen redone from the roof down. Relatively minor work needs doing in the rest of the house -- new flooring, remodel the bath, paint and paneling, maybe adding a bath on the west side along with a proper garage. Re-roof the whole house.

I figured it would cost $60-70,000 and the total financed would come in well under the valuation of the house after renovations, and our income would be more than sufficient to cover the extra mortgage cost.

Well, that went out the window when I got sick and we came under so many expenses that followed. Most of that extra income is now being spent to cover the cost of dental work and co pays for medical attention.

In other words, there's no extra right now for renovations, even if we could find a contractor to do it. One of the problems is that we live in the country, and many contractors don't like to work out here or outright refuse to. And our budget would not be big enough to make it worth their while. 

The other thing is that interest rates have gone up so much that even if we had the income, the amount we could borrow for renovation might be no more than half what is needed to do a good job. The Universe seems to conspiring to say "No!"

But then I've spent years looking at possible kitchen renovation designs online and in magazines.  and I'm sorry, the whole field is insane. Totally.

There are certain absolute requirements for a modern kitchen renovations starting with: one or more islands. I've seen as many as four islands in one kitchen remodel. One for prep, one for gathering, one for home schooling, one for misc. tasks.  Each island must have two or more (I've seen up to 16) "statement pendants" over them. These are preferably enormous but put out very little light. The next requirement is a "statement range". These are almost always gas, monster-sized, with multiple ovens, sous-vide, griddles and ten or so burners. They must be made in France or Italy. They usually cost between $35,000 and $100,000, but I'm sure there are models that cost way more, and installation must be as difficult as possible. 

"Smart" refrigerators are a necessity so you can check on supplies remotely with your phone. Or contrary-wise, you can get refrigerators and freezers in under counter drawers. Then there are the dishwashers. You need more than one. Two at a minimum, but up to four is gooder. Your dishes must be stored on open shelves, and because of dust and grease and such that the extractor fan in the overstove hood doesn't remove, they have to be washed every day. Well, that's assuming the kitchen is actually used for cooking and not solely for display.

I'm convinced many of these insane kitchens are really just for looks -- and "statements." There's probably a small kitchen in the back somewhere (I've seen them called pantries and whatnot) where actual cooking is done -- when it's done at all. The residents either have take-out, delivery or catering at home, but they probably eat out as frequently as possible and never use their statement kitchens for anything but display.

"Lookit what I have!" 

And the costs for one of these statement kitchens is upwards of $300,000. Far more than we can afford.

And unless we expand the kitchen, essentially doubling its size, we can't do an island at all, let alone multiple ones. Our current kitchen is essentially a corridor from the side door in the laundry room to the door to the living room. It's wide enough so that someone can work in the kitchen while others pass between doors, but it's not nearly wide enough for an island, too. Because of the adobe construction of the house, there's not a lot we can do to expand the kitchen or "open it up." I've thought about incorporating the current laundry room into the kitchen and building another laundry room and bathroom in part of a new garage. But adding the laundry room space to the current kitchen doesn't do anything about the width of the room, only the length. 

The whole process requires rebuilding the parts of the house that were once a porch and doing something about the cellar. Filling it in would probably be good.

I've thought about expanding the entry hall by eliminating the closet and moving the front door to the end of the tiny porch that's there now, then adding a 7' wide porch/portal across the front, about 32' long, that would provide shade and protection from the sun and rain and a place to sit and watch the world go by.

It would change the look of the house, but not radically. There was a porch across the front at one time after all.

What would really change the look of the house is removing the siding, repairing and restoring the stucco over adobe exterior, replacing the current black-framed windows with white ones with muntiins for a much more historic look.

That and a new metal roof would be an enormous change in the look of the house, and while it wouldn't be cheap, it wouldn't be all that expensive. Probably less than one of those "statement" ranges from Italy or France, no?

But all this and more of what we wanted to do depended on: availability of contractors (ify these days), low or moderate refinancing interest rates (nope!), and relatively inexpensive move out/alternate residence for the duration (we had one in mind, but it's no longer available.)

My ideas for the kitchen are more along historic lines, either mid-century (when the current kitchen was built) or going back to 1900 when the first part of the house was built. Either one would appeal to me. But we can't do it right now and will have to putter along with what we've got.

The more things change, the more they stay the same....😉

Not Taken For Granted

I've recently focused some thoughts on the fact that I can walk but not very well these days -- very unsteady on my feet and must use a walker outside the house or I'll fall down -- and I can't and don't take simple things like walking or sitting or standing on my own for granted. No, not much. In some ways, it's a reversion to infancy, come to think of it, when I was just learning to walk on my own, except I can't be sure that this time, I'll be able to.

It's a fascinating -- and scary -- situation to be in. I don't know that I'll get better... 

One of my Zen teachers, Kaz Tanahashi, is fond of pointing out that each moment is full and complete and miraculous. 

We don't know what the next moment holds, but it, too is full and complete and a miracle. So it goes throughout one's days and life. 

Not taking anything for granted is a key to open many doors.

Or...

Not...

More on this later.

"Death by Chocolate"

"Death by chocolate. Is that the one?" I asked Ms. Ché yesterday as we munched on the chocolate cake that I baked. She laughed and nodded "yes," and said, "Mmm. Mmm. Mmm." 

Every now and then, I bake a cake for a treat. Spice cake or carrot cake are my favorites, but Ms. Ché is fondest of chocolate by far and with the ganache frosting I put on it, she's just about in heaven. Makes me happy to see her so pleased.

She's been cooped up writing quite a bit since I've been home from the hospital, but she also does all the shopping, fetching water, feeding the cats, and so on. For the first couple of weeks I was back, she also did all the cooking and washing up. I could see her aging before my eyes and I felt terrible I couldn't do more to help myself. Physical therapy at least got me back on my feet and walking -- slowly and carefully -- but it took a while to get back into a useful routine. It's so frustrating when I can't do much even though I can get around (the house).  

So far, I haven't been doing so well outside the house. Even going outside at our own place has been infrequent. I've tried things. Cleaning up in the yard, moving various things around, thinking about planting veg and flowers once "winter" is over.

"Winter." Huh. We haven't really had one. Oh, there have been some cold days and overnights, hard freezes, and more to come. But there's been very little snow, maybe an inch total so far, most of which is gone by the next day. There's been rain instead, sometimes quite a lot, flooding the streets -- temporarily -- and making much mud. For the ten winters or so we've lived here permanently, this is very unusual, all but unheard of. Warm-ish days, close to or over 60 degrees, have come many times this "winter." I've remarked to friends that this has been much more like winter in California than what we're used to in New Mexico. Global warming, right? 

Well, I don't know. I suppose it could be. It might be just a wintery fluke, too. A one off. Usually, even in drought years, we have a fair amount of snow -- one to three feet -- over the course of a winter, no rain, and temps in the lowish double or single digits with occasional below zero readings that play havoc with the pipes. Yes, one or more frozen pipes is practically guaranteed every winter. 

This year, we had one overnight at close to zero (maybe 2 degrees?) and a drain pipe froze which has happened before due to a "dig" that the plumbers did to run a proper drain from the laundry room. The refill actually exposed a prior drain line from the kitchen and every time we've tried to bury it again, critters -- skunks and others -- dig it up. So, if the temp outside is low enough, it freezes, meaning we can't drain water from the kitchen or laundry except by bucket until it unfreezes, which is usually the next day, except once, it took a week. It took that long because temps never got above freezing outside. Despite much sunshine!

We can't fix it without spending around $4,000 -- which right now is not feasible. I'm still paying medical debt from treatments and hospitalization, although it's not nearly as much as I thought it would be. I expected something in the $3,000-$7,000 range but no. It so far is less than $2,000, not counting medications which can sometimes run to several hundred a month, though that's on the decline as I cut back on the number of drugs I'm taking. (Yay). No, the major expense right now is dental treatment which seems to be climbing into the stratosphere.

I've discovered my dental insurance is practically worthless. Of course, that's what many people discover when they need extensive dental repair and treatment. There are so many limitations, especially when a lot of work has to be done, and despite really high premiums -- I think mine is nearly doubling this year -- the coverage is actually declining. If all you need is cleaning and occasional filling, I guess it's OK, but I'm in late stage extraction and dentures and stuff, rebuilding jaw bones, all sorts of stuff, all of which costs a lot and is not fully covered or even partially in some cases. It's expensive. 

So that's the priority expense right now. 

Well, that and a new furnace. Oh, that. We figure it will cost about $2,500-$3,000 to replace the old one. Not that much, really, considering what people pay these days for new furnaces. Ours died a couple of days ago. It may be repairable, but it will fail again soon enough, so we may as well get a new one.

On the other hand, maybe we won't replace it but bite the bullet and do what I've thought of for years: get a mini-split system. 

Well, an update: I asked Ms. Ché to buy a new thermostat as a test. It seemed to me the problem was likely an old and bad thermostat, though the heater is pretty old too. She found one at the lumber store the next town over, and I installed it. Nothing happened. The furnace did not go on, and I thought the thermostat wasn't the problem. The next day I was about to re-install the old one when suddenly, the fire went on. Well, how about that?

The house heated to the set temperature and then the furnace went off. So it has been ever since. It works fine. Better than ever. I don't know why the new thermostat didn't seem to work at first. But if it now works and there's no need for a new furnace yet, so be it. As Ms Ché said, ¨We're blessed, you know?"

That's a much deeper sentiment than I want to go into in this post, but yes. 

So it was time to bake some gingerbread. Then chocolate. And not take it for granted. Or anything else.

On "Know Thyself"

IN Buddhism, the question of "knowing thyself" is fundamental because there is nothing knowable literally or figuratively outside oneself. Everything we think or think we know or perceive is purely a product of "ourself". And as we explore the Buddhist conception of "self" we come to realize there is no "self" or anything we consider real. It is all fundamentally illusion or delusion that we ourselves create out of... nothing. And the Buddhist insight -- which liberated Shakyamuni Buddha -- was that "nothing" was the ground of existence, that everything we perceive or think we know and everything beyond it arises from and ultimately is "nothing."Including we ourselves and Shakyamuni Buddha and all the Buddhas before him and all the Buddhas to come. And then, if this is true, and it is true, then everything, including oneself, is a unity, All arise from the same empty source; all partake of the same empty source. All is simultaneously the same empty source and the illusion/delusion of individuality and separateness. 

This is not actually a difficult concept to grasp and it has become a routine concept in scientific exploration. For example, the deeper scientists probe atomic structure, the less one finds; there is nothing there. No substance, no energy, nothing. And from this primal nothingness arises everything, which, on the deepest level, consists of... nothing. 

At the same time we perceive things as individually separate and distinct and we experience ourselves as not the same as the other. Buddhists will say this is an illusion created in our minds, but knowing as much does not in any way change the fact that this is how we perceive, and therefore understanding our perceptions of what "is" requires that we know ourselves as deeply and thoroughly as possible.

And that, as Shakyamuni Buddha in his time knew better than anyone, is difficult, almost impossible for most people. One tries practically any strategy not to know oneself fully. One recoils from that knowledge. 

One pretends that false knowledge, illusion/delusion, is real.

This happens over and over again throughout one's life and there is no easy way past it. It's simply a fact of being alive. 

One could ask, "Does a stone know itself?" Well, how can a stone not know itself? A stone, not being alive, has no illusion or delusion of "self." No pretense. A stone does not have to explore. A stone simply and fully is, which ultimately resolves to... nothing.

A living being like ourselves must let go of illusion/delusion in order to come to knowledge of oneself, and it is very hard, for most people, impossible to do.

And yet, we study and sit, and act in the world of illusion and some of us, over time, get to know ourselves deeply and fully. This was the World Honored One's insight and enlightenment. He got to know himself, and how his "self" created the "reality" of his experience in the world of illusion. He came to understand that he had a role in that world of illusion: to teach.

And this he did through the rest of his life, and this he continues to do through the sutras and practice of Buddhism and all its variations.

One of the first teachings I received was "Don't get caught up in the commentaries," of which there are many. In fact, most of the sutras are buried in commentary. Find the gem of the sutra, it's there, and follow its guidance. Don't worry about what anyone, even the ancient sage, has to say about it. 

I've stuck with this teaching ever since, generally ignoring the commentary. It's served me well, but as I get older, I'm more interested in what the sages and others have had to say about the sutras and the koans to compare and contrast with what I have learned from them.

Some of the commentary actually gets to the nub of things.

But most seems to be intellectualizing for its own sake, obscuring the point, hiding it. As if in fear of the consequences of knowledge.

For there are consequences.

The only knowledge one can truly gain is self-knowledge. And self-knowledge requires understanding our delusions of "self." Who we think we "are" is not who we are. The understanding is that we create an image of "self" that is not real. And our created image can be so far from what we truly are that there is little or nothing (ah, that word again!) that connects them.

Let go.

Oh, it takes time, so much time. Let it. Most of us won't have so much time, but don't fret. Our singular lives are not all there is. Our lives connect to all other lives, and if we have descendants, the connections are direct,  and time is ultimately infinite. So there is time enough to learn enough.

It just may not be your singular self that does it!

Self-knowledge often comes in a series of "moments." Satori in the Japanese terminology, "sudden enlightenment." Seeing ourselves momentarily from Outside ourselves. Sometimes seeing what others see but more often seeing more deeply into our own self, recognizing what others may or may not see.

So it goes. It takes as long as it does. It's unlikely that most of us will complete the task in a lifetime. 

Frustrating, yes?

Certainly. 

Yet we continue on.

In the Realm of the Planets

I haven't forgotten my long-time interest in the Planets and all things exploratory among them. I haven't followed as closely as I once did. in part because the field and the probes seem to have fossilized (maybe like I have...?) over the years, and the explorations seem to be off point and repetitive.

I could use what happened after the Viking landers (in 1976!) as an example. The Vikings couldn't move and could only explore what their cameras could see and their arms could reach. Nevertheless they did extraordinary explorations as the first landers on Mars and arguably they found evidence of active life on Mars as well as many discoveries about the surface and atmosphere of the Red Planet that overturned or could have overturned many of the prior conclusions of the planetary science community.

But what happened? There was no follow up, especially no follow up to the possible discovery of life on Mars, and no follow up to the conclusion that there was instead "exotic chemistry" that mimicked life signals. Nope. Nothing. Not for decades. And only recently have Mars landers and rovers begun to check up on some of the findings of the Vikings (such as potential surface ice/water sources, both historical and current) so very long ago.

Probe after probe was sent to Mars, but none of them actually tested for the supposed "superoxides" that were supposedly sterilizing the Martian surface, one of the conclusions derived from Viking experiments and one that was taught as fact for decades. None of the probes sent post-Vikings (until very recently) tested for the presence/absence of carbon compounds at the surface -- their absence being required for the Viking results conclusions. On and on. No follow up. Extraordinary conclusions with a paucity of evidence, and nothing done in the decades to follow to sustain or refute (or something in between) these conclusions.

Why? 

Much the same -- without the issue of is there/isn't there Life -- took place with regard to all the planetary explorations that took place between the 1970s and the 2000s. WTF? Had the whole field fossilized into a routine of dismissing clear (or murky!) evidence that contradicted or even expanded on expectations? I don't know. 

Some time back I intervened in a controversy between Phil Plait at Bad Astronomy and a young man who had had an insight about how the Solar System actually rotates and makes its way through the Galaxy and had made an animation of it which had become a YouTube sensation. It was a lovely illustration and more accurately showed solar and planetary motions than the standard versions we're all taught. 

Phil went batshit over it and excoriated the young man for his Errors, and worse for not belonging to the Planetary Science Community and for daring to come up with something so... beautiful... without credentials, without approval, and without consulting his betters. Even worse, according to Phil, the young man had come to his insight after the reading false and unacceptable planetary "science" of an East Indian mystic whose bullshit theories were dangerous to any serious examination of the facts.

I felt I had to intervene. Phil's attack was simply wrong. Ethically, morally, and scientifically. 

The young man had done something no one in the planetary science field had publicly tried in all the history of the field. He had illustrated in a very compelling way what he could of the actual movements of the Solar System through the Galaxy would look like to an observer. And it was beautiful. Compelling. There were errors, yes, in his initial illustration and animation, but they weren't fatal, and they could be corrected fairly easily. 

The claim was made that "science" had long known what the actual movements of the planets and the Solar System looked like from outside the system, and that scientific papers were published from time to time to describe it. Therefore, it was "known" widely -- which was simply false. 

No, what "science" had done was utilize a several hundred year old illustration of the Solar System -- that I called the "dinner plate model" -- to show and explain planetary movements and the Solar System's place in the Galaxy which was simply,,, wrong. I said so. Over and over again.

The young man, for his part, corrected his animation to make it more accurate and compelling and the corrected version was even more popular which seemed to drive the field nuts.

Someone, I forget who, but someone with credentials attempted to animate some version that derived from a published paper and to say the least, it was an effort, more than the field had bothered with in hundreds of years, but it was weak. Close enough, though. 

The controversy over an Outsider doing such a thing continued for several years. Eventually, an actual planetary scientist got involved and agreed to work with the young man to both educate him in the field and help him create even better illustrations and animations. That was nice, but this is what happened: the young man's work to animate and illustrate the exquisite movements of the planetary bodies and the Solar System through space literally stopped. I've heard from him but haven't seen anything since the corrected animation he did as a follow up to the criticisms he was slammed with. Becoming part of the scientific community -- or at least its periphery -- effectively shut him up.

Since that time, quite a few years ago now, I've seen both progress and reversion in the field. Lay people are now routinely included in the science to do all kinds of observational and illustrative efforts that more widely disseminate the exploratory work of the field. Some of it is accepted by the field as good science, too. I remember Greg Orme's observations of "spiders" on Mars that he worked for years finding and attempting to explain only to be dismissed or ignored until... suddenly... the field not only accepted his observations but praised him for his discoveries. 

In my own modest way, I presented evidence of geysers on Mars that was essentially rejected as all but impossible for decades until -- suddenly again -- they became standard scientific knowledge. Wow. How did that happen?

It was complicated. The field is largely the product of Big Men whose conclusions -- and speculations, sometimes -- become standard models. Goes back to Copernicus. Their errors continue on indefinitely. Like the bizarre conception that the outer planets are "Ice Giants." I'm not going to go into the whole Ice controversy and enforced belief, but it is a very old way of looking at the planets in the outer Solar System, it's wrong, grossly so, and the field knows it but keeps repeating it no matter. It's one of the many self-contradictory things the field does largely because of the continuing influence of and deference to the Big Men of the past.

But in recent years, the field has reached out to lay observers and offered them a role to play within the field  and has actually included their findings and illustrations in the process of planetary science. Years ago, that would never happen, as the field was literally a closed society that had no contact with or respect for the efforts of lay observers to understand and appreciate the wonders of the Universe.

That has changed somewhat and I think it is a good thing worthy of praise. But I no longer spend the kind of time and effort I once did as a lay observer of planetary (particularly Mars) discoveries. That time passed in part because of other discoveries that made Mars quite a difficult and likely impossible planet for human colonization and ultimately due to my questioning of the whole "colonization" enterprise. 

Is this something we should contemplate and do? Is there really a compulsion to colonize outside the Earth? And so on. 

Leave Mars be.

But I still have an interest. Oh my yes. It's just that the upshot has... changed.

🙏

Survival

Ms Ché and I are well into our seventies. Neither of us really thought we'd be around this long, especially given our wild youth. But her mother lived to be 89, and she would have lived longer if she'd been diagnosed and treated correctly for a couple of serious ailments that somehow the doctors missed -- over and over. Makes you wonder, I guess... Her father died when he was 84, I believe, in a board and care home where he was not well looked-after, but that's how that goes, isn't it? There are so many horror stories of what happens to the elderly in our society. I think he was an early victim of the System. Nevertheless, after his stroke, he held on for quite a while despite the deplorable conditions of the care home. 

I'm now and then in cahoots with the Winter Practice sangha, a Buddhist practice community of several hundred participants around the world who come together mostly online to share experience and insight and just be together for a period of sitting and study. Many -- most by far -- of the participants are elderly women, some of whom are not in the best of health, some bed-bound, a few alone. Maybe more than a few. And my heart goes out to them. They know how easy it is for things to fall to pieces when your health gives out and you're by yourself and you can't take care of any more than the simplest of things. You know how easy it is for small failings to pile up and multiply like locusts and to bury you in their debris. This is how most of the elderly single women on the "Hoarders" TV program wind up in that condition. Their health goes haywire and they can't physically or sometimes mentally take care of their residence anymore. The debris of living piles up and they can't get rid of it. They don't have the kind of help they need -- and sometimes they reject it if offered -- and eventually they give up trying. There's no point, right?

No point. Well, no, there is "no point," but that doesn't mean that your life or mine has no meaning, usefulness, or direction. You may take a Bodhisattva Vow and your life becomes dedicated to service.That can take many forms whether publicly and prominently or on a modest personal level. Many of the elders in the sangha have lived a Bodhisattva life but now near the end of it, they are set adrift. So many things that they want to do and feel they need to do both for themselves and for others they can't do without help or at all, and they're left feeling they've failed. A feeling that compounds. So the sangha serves to relieve some of that feeling, for in community, we're not alone. 

But still, it must be tough for those who can't get around very well, or in some cases at all. Doing takes mobility. Other problems include chronic pain. Our practice and training says "Lean into the pain." Welcome it, even learn to enjoy it., Well, maybe that's too strong a term, but the upshot is to use the power of your mind to overcome the pain or at least to control it. This works for some people, not for everyone. Pain manifests differently in different people and it may be controlled or overcome by different means depending on the individual. I've had to deal with so much pain over the years. "Making it go away" by mind power alone doesn't work for me, but it may work for others. Certainly worth giving it a try.

What surprises both Ms Ché and me about still being around at our now-advanced age is that we don't feel "old" -- except when physical limitations intervene, and we can't do what we used to or think we should be able to. Physically our age has begun to catch up with us. There are times when we just can't "do." And it's frustrating. 

For me of course, I was caught unaware by the growing infection in my spine, and I was initially undiagnosed and misdiagnosed when I sought medical care. So the infection had at least another month to develop. 

For a time in the hospital, I couldn't sit up, stand or walk. Pain was so great I was in agony. I lost control of my bowels and bladder. I was a wreck. Useless, right? Well, no. For half the time I was hospitalized, I had a roommate whose condition was considerably worse than mine. He'd had surgery for a blown-out knee, and something had clearly not gone right. He was in extreme pain, could not stand or walk, and not even morphine made his condition tolerable. I had my own problems, but I offered what I could -- mainly friendly listening and modest advice -- to help him feel a little better. Encourage him not to give up. Give him some psychological tools to cope with the pain if not overcome it. And so on. I don't feel I did much, but he sure thought so.

Ms Ché visited every day and she did what she could, too. Between us, we were tag-teaming help for Mike, letting him know we were there and cared and would help.

Bodhisattvas? Sure, why not? It was little enough, but it was something. When called, we don't say no.

I'm so glad to be home, but since I've been home, it's been quite a struggle. A month of physical therapy got me up off my back and moving, but once I finished the 12 week antibiotic treatment pain returned, initially just like the pain I felt prior to being correctly diagnosed and hospitalized. Sometimes the pain has been severe. I need to adjust my meds, but from experimenting, I've been able to mostly control the pain, but the downside is I have very limited mobility because of the numbness in my left leg and foot. As Ms Ché pointed out yesterday, "You can barely get around in the house; you're not going out on your own." I was planning on going to the grocery store to save her a trip, and she said "no." And she went on her own so cheerfully!

We've come this far. There's no telling when our time will be up, and it's really not an issue. We carry on. 

Survival is a strange thing. That we're still around is allowing us time for more service. As little as it might be.

Recovery

 I completed a 12 week course of antibiotic treatment for osteomyelitis in early December and thought that with enough physical therapy, I'd be more or less OK, at least well enough to get around and do most of my tasks,

Well, it hasn't worked out that way. Not quite. I've had some serious problems with pain. I cannot get around very well, both because of pain and a surprising amount of numbness in my left leg and foot. I limp. I drag my left foot when I walk, and I often have little idea where it is in space. I'm very unsteady on my feet and have nearly fallen many times. I have actually fallen twice since returning home from the hospital, both times acquiring some interesting bruises and fierce pains in one or both knees. 

Yesterday I got a call to set up an assessment appointment with a neurosurgeon. I am pretty well convinced that the problems I continue to have are due to nerve damage from the infection but I don't know whether there is any reasonable solution. We'll see.

And then there are dental issues. But that's for another time and place.

"What a drag it is getting older..."