Flipping Mind

Inspirational song: All Day and All of the Night (The Kinks)

It took me hours to move from the chair to the bedroom, where my laptop was plugged in. When the laptop turned out to be running slowly, I was content to wait a long time for it to freeze during restart, and then take a long time to wake up after a hard reboot. I don't have the energy to write, but then, I haven't really had it in a long time. I can clearly see what is taking up all of my attention and ATP lately, and I am pretty sure I still smell of it. I've been painting and cleaning and cursing boy cats who did bad things to the MDF baseboards in my condo. We will be replacing two of those crappy baseboards (would have done already, if the 3 1/4" size were not standard -- the big box stores sell 3 3/8 or 3 1/2), and I spent hours on the floor this afternoon with vinegar, baking soda, peroxide, and crushed dreams.

It startled to me to realize just now that it really did absorb my entire day working at the condo. Yes, we didn't leave to go over there until noon, but that was because I was trying all morning to convince myself to work on it again. We packed up a ton of stuff to keep cleaning, wasted a bunch of time in Lowe's wanting someone to explain to us where we could find the right size of baseboard, and then we toiled in Boulder for hours. It was all we could do to chew when we stopped for dinner on the way home.

Once upon a time, I imagined that we would be great house flippers. We know what we are doing, and have great taste and skill. If we were still in our 30s, it might have been possible to make money at that. We aren't kids anymore, and this is not a job for used up bodies that have more than a passing familiarity with chronic pain. (That applies to both of us, to be fair.) This condo is tiny, and it was already in pretty good shape when we started messing with it last week. The kids hadn't polished it to a gleam, but it was generally clean. We have discovered that the tradesmen who did the restoration did the laziest, crappiest job they could get away with in 2014-15. We have found window handles, heater vents, and plenty of other removable objects covered with a layer of cheap white paint. They went wild with the paint sprayer, but only enough to jack things up. So here we are two years later, "flipping" a recently restored unit, in order to get enough money to be worth our time. I am trying to get out of the business of renting to college students. I've been doing that since 2009, and while it was fine when my own kids were that age, I'm ready for one or two professionals who will want to stay in place a long time. Other than my own kids, we've gone through roommates like each condo had a revolving door. The kid who had never written a check in his life, who skipped out in the middle of the night on the eve his 3rd rent payment was due was interesting. I'm over that now. I want to play up the fact that it's biking distance to the new Google campus, and find a refugee from Silicon Valley who thinks my Boulder-level rent is a steal.

Once we are done, I will hold an open house and see who walks through. They can expect to provide references and let me run a background check. Until then, I need to go pick paint off of heat vents and hope that something actually neutralizes cat pee smell.

With the Grain

Inspirational song: Bad Case of Loving You (Robert Palmer)

I failed to take pretty pictures again today. I think the only one I took was of what was still remaining to be cleaned in the condo, so that I could remind the former tenants that they have until tomorrow night to finish returning it to as close as we can get to the condition they received it in back in 2015. It was more than 50% brand new when they moved back in after the flood, and some wear and tear in 2 years is to be expected. I was totally fine going in with a new fridge and range, and taking it upon myself to put fresh paint on the wall. But I draw the line at deep cleaning their bathroom or picking the Cheerio out of the dirty kitchen drawer (when oats are the grain that negatively affect me more violently than all others combined--I'm afraid even to touch them).

Our work in the condo is nearing an end. Almost every square inch is painted taupe that is going to be. I have a few baseboards to touch up, but they aren't in bad shape, except the two boards where there's damage from our little old man cat (who I still think of as my naughty baby boy Rio, from the Godzilla's Kittens trio that included my Cricket and tiny Smacky who still lives in California, and wonders whether that litter of kittens heralds her replacement(s)). The man replaced several electrical outlets that had either been painted outright or splattered with wall texture during the flood repairs. He also installed a new programmable thermostat, replaced the furnace filter, and did other handyman jobs that needed to be done before a new renter moves in (and pays more rent than the "friends and family discount" brought in). It's so close to done. Getting a new renter and not getting scammed or duped is a hurdle I'll worry about later, after we fix it up nicely.

Met a new doctor today. Not ready to talk about it a whole lot, until I find out what sorts of things he tells me. He did a lot of nodding, a lot of uh-huhing, and an uncomfortable amount of smiling. Then, when he told me about the tests that were coming and why, he just slipped a couple scary words in the middle, as a "we just need to rule this out" kind of talk. So... I'll wait until they are ruled out, and see where we are after that. Two more new doctors next month, but they are most likely going to be less scary and more relieving.

Civic Engagement

Inspirational song: We Built This City (Jefferson Starship)

It might have been the fumes talking. But tonight, as I drove back through the southwest side of my town, super tired from painting the condo, and really more loopy than I ought to have been for driving on the highway and through the busy retail thoroughfare of town, I felt an overwhelming sense of rightness about my new hometown. I've had this reaction before, but today felt extra special. I felt powerful about it. That was new.

I have old friends from college who have cycled through this town. Some liked it, some still curse and spit when the name is mentioned. It all depends on what you make of a place, how you perceive it. I've lived in places where the town elders are referred to by names like "the Shifty Fifty." I've lived in sprawling tri-county metropolises where it's easy to get lost in the crowd. I've lived in towns that span two states, separated by a river, and separated from the air force base by a "townies vs basers" attitude. Here, I feel like I am taking a direct route to being part of the In Crowd, and I feel no shame or remorse over that. I'm doing this on purpose. And when I drove into town tonight, tired and not fully in my own mind from cleaning chemicals, I thought, "I'm gonna own this town." I don't mean that in a financial sort of way, and I know that I'm never going to have the sort of energy again to run for mayor or anything so far above my health abilities. But I am going to wear this city like a bespoke suit. It fits me and I'm going to make it look Gooooood.

I didn't intend to be noticed at Rotary today. I did my hair a little extra special, by washing it last night and sleeping in French braids, so that when I took it down right before the meeting, I'd look like a mermaid who crawled straight out of an ocean wave. I dressed in just a plain blue Target t-shirt and jeans, and for make up I wore sunscreen and eye liner. I brought bulky things to give to people, as I was directed to do, but forgot a pad of paper to write on because it was my first real turn at being the editarian. And then I was asked to speak to the crowd. The last time I did this was over the winter, when I shakily gave my vocational talk, reading from a prepared speech, hating talking about myself. Today, the president of the club asked me to make the pitch for volunteers for the Palisade peach sales this weekend. I had only about 15 minutes to think about what I would say, and I just ended up improvising on the fly. I was much less nervous, although I forgot to give the prices for the peaches. My main concern was getting someone -- anyone! -- to help volunteer to sell them with us. At least my voice didn't shake or go into the higher registers.

This evening, right as I got home, I got a second call from a woman who is running for Boulder County Commissioner. She called the first time while I was driving back through downtown Denver after Frozen, and I said please call when I'm not terrified I'm gonna wreck. She did, and we had a very pleasant chat. She wanted to know what my concerns were, and since I am on the central committee who votes to advance candidates to the ballot, I got a serious phone call from her. I told her that I've just gotten into real estate, and I wondered whether she had a policy position on that, particularly from the standpoint of development or affordability, and she was able to give me a thoughtful, broad AND deep answer that covered a fifteen minute conversation. I was very impressed, and I assured her that I would indeed make a point of going to the Truman dinner to meet her. This all happened within 10 minutes of me thinking to myself, I am going to be involved locally, with business, politics, and civic participation. I'll be damned if the Universe didn't take me seriously!

Web Work

Inspirational song: Code Monkey (Jonathan Coulton)

Oh, right. I can't just close up the laptop and vegetate yet. I've been staring at this thing most of the afternoon, and I am not allowed to walk away yet. I haven't been able to devote the time required to put out the weekly newsletter for Rotary for nearly three weeks now, and I had to stop myself from wandering off from it at least 30 times since noon. I've been so scattered, and every time I walk across the house, I keep hitting that "oh, while I'm in this room, I'll do this" impulse. While typing in the newsletter, I literally kept flinching as I remembered tasks I wanted to start, but would not allow myself to do until at least one newsletter was sent out, preferably two. I had to call it at quarter of eleven, when I realized two thirds of the way through the second issue that I had a story about a new guy (and accompanying photo) and I couldn't remember his last name. I paged through the whole members list, and it didn't help. At least I got one out, and I'll be able to email the second tomorrow, as soon as I find someone to give me this dude's last name.

The program that we use to build the Rotoreador is unfamiliar to me. I've never been one to spend lots of time programming, well, anything. This blog is on a platform that is as simple as can be, and I really don't dig in the weeds to make it fancy or elaborate. I don't necessarily need to know much about html to put out the newsletter, but it's significantly more advanced than Blogger, which is as user friendly as writing an email for the work I do. Each section on the Rotoreador is its own linkable story, I have to resize each photo by typing in the height and width rather than clicking "x-large," and I have to click "save and publish" twice or more on each updated section, waiting for it to refresh and reopen in between each save. It took me over an hour to put out the first one this afternoon, after which I took a break to make dinner and clean my room. I did as much as I could on the second until a few minutes ago when I gave up trying to remember that guy's name. Tomorrow I can investigate what happened to August 22nd's notes, which I swear I had received several days ago.

I couldn't sleep at all Saturday night/Sunday morning, even though when I got home I blogged about how tired I was from driving home from the mountains. I tossed and turned until 1 am, woke again about 3:30 and walked around a few minutes, and then when I woke a final time at 5:30, I gave up and stayed awake. I had so much on my mind about all the millions of demands on my time and energy, that I grabbed a notebook and a pen, and in the soft glow of the night settings of my iPad (I didn't want more light than that), I started writing a list of everything I knew I needed to accomplish this upcoming week. It ranged from nitnoid tasks like "refill pill holder" and "take out trash, recycling, and compost," to giant pressing missions like "list and rent condo." I have only scratched out 5 things since yesterday morning (the pill holder thing, "wash sheets," "order new washer/dryer," "go see Frozen with [BFF]," and "Watch Game of Thrones season finale."). That makes me 13.9% done, of the stuff I've identified so far. I need an assistant, I swear. And a housekeeper. And a gardener. And a whole lot of other support staff. Oddly, no one seems to be rushing in to do all of that for no salary.

Winter

Inspirational song: For the First Time in Forever (Frozen)

I don't know whether this is a common thing or not. Disney is putting together a Broadway version of Frozen, in the style of Lion King and Beauty and the Beast. Before it debuts on Broadway, it is in the Buell Theater at the Denver Center for Performing Arts, working out all the kinks. Are we a typical stop on the "test it in the Heartland" stage circuit? I haven't been living back in Colorado long enough to know how rare this is.

This was the last ticket in my BFF's last season package. She decided not to re-up this year, because her daughter stopped being her steady date, and it was an awful lot of money to risk not being able to find a girlfriend willing to buy one or both tickets off of her when kid didn't want to go anymore. I have deeply loved being her frequent date on Sunday afternoons, when there was a show in the package that we both wanted to see. Next year's docket doesn't appeal to either of us enough to push for the tickets, and I suggested to her that if the year after that is back on track with shows we are interested in seeing, maybe we can split the cost of a pair of season tickets, and shell out enough to move closer to the stage. The tickets she had were the absolute best she could do in that price range: two dead center seats, on the front row of that price tier. If we do it in future years, by splitting the cost, I think we can afford to move closer. We were just far enough back that the eye strain when the stage is dark but for a single spot on a soloist makes my eyes blur and tear, and I start to nod off even during critical plot points in the shows.

We thought maybe the production would be too childlike for us, but much as we liked the Lion King (particularly the costumes, vocal performances, and NEAT animal effects), this was very entertaining, and as they love to say about Broadway shows, "fun for the whole family." The casting was good, and they had wonderfully strong female singers, for adults and the child versions of Anna and Elsa. Grown up Elsa was particularly good, and she had to be, to compete with everyone's familiarity with Idina Menzel (or Adele Dazeem, depending on your sense of humor). The way they portrayed Olaf the snowman was charming, and the actor in the Sven costume must have been an absolute beast to be strong enough to do what was required to run and dance in a cool reindeer suit. The snow and ice effects were perfect, and they made me ready to settle in under a blanket while a storm rages outside. Come on already, winter!

While we watched the Game of Thrones season finale with our neighbor buddies, I kept tempting them with kitten pictures. I really want the girlfriend to take one of the Uninvited Guest Kittens (the ones in California), and she really wants to also. Even her boyfriend, our neighbor, says YES, get a kitten! As I showed her pictures and talked about how wonderful they are, we came to some conclusions. She really, really, really wants Lida Rose, the calico I thought I would take. And the more I see pictures of Richard Hell, the solid white one, the more I want him instead. So if Lida comes out here, to be neighbor girlfriend's cat, I still get to see her grow up, and I get to cuddle her and make sure she has the best possible home. But I also would get to raise a solid white cat, whose face melts my frozen heart, every time I look at him. I think he would be so irresistible to Rabbit, who is an excellent nanny cat, that she would love on him too. Problem is, even though I came up with the foster name of Richard Hell, that's not the name I want to give him permanently. If I'm going to have an all-white junior rabbit, there are only two possible names for him in my mind. If I want to avoid triggering anyone's PTSD from the storm this week, I will name him Elwood P. Dowd. Otherwise, this baby pooka will be my Harvey.

Badge of Honor

Inspirational song: Keep Young and Beautiful (Annie Lennox)

Guys! Guys! It happened again! We were walking into the casino, and they had a whole bunch of new signage and the casino employee who usually sits by the wall just past the bridge from the parking garage was now posted right in the center of the path. Mr S-P walked past her and they just sort of nodded at each other as they made eye contact. She looked at me, and since she was new (at least, new to me, since she obviously wasn't the much older man with the Irish accent nor the 50-ish guy with the wavy hair that looks one step away from a mullet), she stopped me as I was even with her, and she asked for my ID. I smiled and chuckled a bit, while I dug for my wallet. She said, "Plus, I want to get a good look at your purple hair." I told her that once she saw my birth year, she'd see why I was so amused. She swore she was probably still older than me. I told her I doubted it. I won. She was one year younger. She and another employee, another older gentleman I'd never seen before, were very surprised, and among other factors they assumed had contributed to me needing to be carded before I entered a facility where 20 year olds cannot roam unsupervised was a generous application of Oil of Olay. I told the lady, actually, I have religiously moisturized my face every day since I was 16. I tell people all the time, take care of your skin! Eat real food and use moisturizer. It is super fun getting carded on a semi-regular basis. When I feel down in the dumps otherwise, it is a great pick-me-up, even if the restaurant/bar/liquor store/casino/whatever has a big sign that says if you look younger than 40, they're gonna ask for ID. Still a compliment, folks.

I wore that green wrist band all night like a badge of honor. I felt like waving my arm around and saying, "Look! My kids are old enough to be in here and consume any beverage they want, and they still asked me for ID! Woohoo!"

But, now that I'm home, and the drive sucked the life out of me, I probably don't look as youthful. I started feeling barfy somewhere between Jay Road and 63rd, many miles from home, and it was all I could do to hold it together long enough to make it to my own driveway. If I'm lucky, I'll get to sleep in until about 9 tomorrow, and maybe I'll feel recovered enough to go watch a live production of the hottest Disney story to thrill children and annoy parents in a decade. I'm going regardless, recovered or not. If I try, I'll blend in with all the little Annas and Elsas in the audience.

Perfect Taupe

Inspirational song: Colour My World (Chicago)

I always knew my younger daughter was a unique butterfly who sees life so differently than you and I. We tried to be so careful all of her life, to try to teach her how to function in this world while never crushing her effervescent spirit that makes her so special. But sometimes, what she sees as pure joy and happiness leaves many of us completely befuddled. Like her paint choices. When they first moved into the condo we rented out to them six years ago, I allowed them to paint it whatever colors they wanted. The carpet was trashed, the kitchen counters were a giant Pinterest fail, and I figured there was little they could do to it with random paint colors that would lower the value any more than the absolute steal we got buying a foreclosure at the bottom of the market. I teased my daughter relentlessly over the Partridge Family transition from the yellow kitchen, to white stripe, to blue living room. I thought the green and purple bedrooms were a little much for me, and I absolutely hated the weird dark rose bathroom and orange-of-insanity hallway. In 2013, when the biblical floods came, I often wondered what the restoration crews must have thought about the whole thing.

Over the following sixteen months, while we waited for three successive contractors to complete the work on the renovation project post-flood, we made multiple selections for tile, bamboo flooring, countertops, trim, and everything else required to bring the condo back to livable status. I begged my daughter to settle on "grown-up colors" for the paint, and not to try to put in too many transitions. My pleas fell on deaf ears, and even caused a bit of resentment from those who would be living in the condo. I knew they would not be living in it forever, and I wanted my income-producing investment to maintain as much value as I could keep in it. She toned down her crazy candy colors a little, but she still insisted on saturated purple and green for the two bedrooms, and a rather intense canary yellow that flowed from the kitchen to the living room. The hall and bathroom stayed white, mostly because the contractors refused to put in any more custom colors than that.

Now we have reached the moment that all the kids moved out of the condo. They emptied it well, but there was a phenomenal amount of cleaning that had to be done to bring it up to my standards (developed from years of practice moving out of base housing and needing to pass ludicrously strict inspections, and from growing up with parents who faced the same requirements). I spent all of this afternoon over there cleaning parts that I really shouldn't have been touching, because it wasn't my mess, but I'm on the clock here, needing to rent the place out again sooner than later. As we scrubbed stains off of walls and trim, and realized just how horribly cheap was the paint that the contractor used (and how poorly applied), I leaned in to my daughter, so her father couldn't hear me mutter this, and said, "Dad is gonna hate me, but I'm going to go ahead and paint the living room and kitchen, as well as the hall and bathroom." She looked at me aghast and said, "But... My yellow! It's the color of happiness!" I firmly but gently reminded her that she has her own house now, and she won't be living there anymore. I am hoping to get a professional person or couple, like maybe a computer programmer employed by the new Google campus opening up not two miles away. I also am hoping to raise the rent, at least enough to cover the new appliances we bought, and the new windows we intend to install.

We had a huge shopping trip to Home Depot this afternoon, and without letting myself overthink it, I chose "Perfect Taupe" and got three gallons of it. I started in on painting behind the new stove first, so that it could be pushed back into place and be done. I painted down low between counters and upper cabinets, while my foster daughter's new husband helped me paint the biggest wall in the house. We made good progress, but it's going to take another couple days to complete the process (which is why I started immediately). It's a strong color. I didn't want to make the mistake of putting light, bland walls that would show every smudge, and need repainting between each tenant. That way lies pain and grief. But it is a neutral color, and anyone who hangs art will appreciate how well it makes colors pop against it. It's very close to the color I intended to put in my own house, before the "Dark Pewter" that ended up just as blue as blue could be. I hope it helps my next renter feel like they are living in a home, not just a temporary space.

Prescription to Nap

Inspirational song: I'll Sleep When I'm Dead (Warren Zevon)

A week ago, I was so excited that I'd be done with stuff for a while. I am theoretically between clients, although I have more leads than I thought I did. I was going to turn around and catch up on sleep and clean house and maybe even sort through some more cardboard boxes full of belongings that have made two or more moves with me. I have done none of that so far. In fact, I am pretty sure I'm more behind on critical tasks now than I was when my world was absorbed in the final run up to the two deals from last week.

Remember a year and a half ago, when I thought it was so hilarious that my doctor told me that she wanted me sleeping six to seven hours at night, and two to three hours in the afternoons, and I bragged that I had a prescription to take naps? I think that lasted all of two months, and then I was physically incapable of doing it at all. I was changing so much physically, emotionally, mentally, that I had no ability to sleep in the afternoon. I was so stressed out by the, ah, let's call them "personnel changes" at Smith Park, that I barely slept at all. (And the hot flashes that really spooled up as of last summer did not make anything easier.) I know there have been a couple of days in the last year that I slept a solid seven hours or more in a single night, with only one or two wakes before dawn, but I guarantee there have been fewer than five. In a year. Does this get better, ever? Now that I am une femme d'un certain âge, can I hope that someday I will sleep at night, and be a normal temperature ever again? At this rate, I'd settle for being able to set a computer on my lap without immediately sparking a hot flash, but surely it will get better someday?

I suppose I'm not as bad off as it feels like I am. I managed to make three new doctor appointments today, after the referrals only sat in my health account for two weeks. I followed up on some paperwork from my Johnstown deal. I pitched my services for a listing for a friend. I made some selections for replacement materials for the condo before it is rented. I am set up for price quotes on more. And I might be moving up my target date to replace my washer and dryer (which still work but can be moved on down the family tree), now that I stumbled on a fabulous sale that I probably can't pass up. If I could just apply some of my newly rediscovered multitasking ability and reserve energies to Rotary PR, I'd be in business. But for now, I think I need sleep.

Abso-bloomin'-lutely

Inspirational song: When You Wore a Tulip and I Wore a Big Red Rose (American Quartet)

There area a lot of things that Boulder does that give the city a bad reputation. It's a horrible town to drive in, and an even worse town to park in. They are actively trying to make parking more difficult to find, by cutting down the numbers of available spaces, in order to discourage driving. It is one of the more expensive cities to live in, with property values so high that most of the people who work regular jobs there can't afford to purchase, and even renters struggle to find housing. And I have made references to the excellent compilations of quotes actually overheard by clueless (mostly white, mostly female, mostly wealthy) people around Boulder on that frothy perfection that is Stay Out of My Namaste Space. But sometimes Boulder does things that are truly spiffy. Today was one of those days.

I already had plans for a girly day out with my buddy for life, now that her kids are back in school and my uber-busy few weeks have ended. We were going to meet for lunch and maybe do some shopping. Then she sent me a link to a city of Boulder event that we could not possibly miss, and we adjusted our meet-up time. Every year the city (Parks Dept, I think) maintains the planters along the Pearl Street Mall, changing them out with the seasons so that there is always something blooming when the weather is vaguely warm enough to support it. Right now everything is full of gigantic zinnias, marigolds, lantana, verbena, salvia, sweet potato vine, and all sorts of other high-summer blossoms. In the spring, they have thousands of tulips blooming from bulbs shipped here from the Netherlands, planted in neat little grids up and down the pedestrian mall. By the end of spring, all the tulips are spent, and dug up so that other lovelies can take their place. What we learned last week was that the bulbs are not stored and reused. They are given away. Let me repeat that. They are Given. Away.

We arrived at the 15th Street parking garage about 9 am, and strolled calmly to the roped off area in front of the courthouse. They were just setting up, with a little stage, PA system, and crates of paper bags. My BFF got in line at 9:15, and I trotted up two and a half blocks to Lucile's to get a cup of spice tea to go. By the time I got back, she was still maybe 10th in line, but the line now filled all of the roped maze and started back in a line toward 14th Street (to the east of the courthouse). The sun came out maybe 5 minutes after I got there, and another 5 minutes later, I was ducking out of line again, to sit in the shade just next to the line. There were six or seven women around my friend in line carrying on a conversation with her, mostly about gardening, and my friend was very good about drawing me into it even from my spot under the tree not 10 feet away. Just before 10 am, I got back in line, in time to hear the announcement from the organizers: Traffic along Pearl in that section was first blocked off 40 years ago, and the pedestrian mall was created soon after. It became a hub for cultural and social life in Boulder, and it is one of the most recognizable man-made features in town. They gave a shout out to the crew of the Parks Dept who maintain the plantings and appearance of the mall every day of the year. And then, they said that they had 450 bags of bulbs, with maybe 15-20 bulbs per bag. We walked up and got our free tulip bulbs, and dropped a tenner into the donation box for the continuation of the process. When we turned back east to put the bulbs in my car before shopping on the mall, we realized how long the line had grown. It went all the way down to 14th, turned the corner, and wrapped to the far side of the courthouse. The line moved quickly, but there were only 450 bags. I couldn't tell you how many people were in line, but I would be highly surprised if they all got flowers. If we do this again next year, we will do it exactly the same. Come early, get tulips. It's a plan.

Lag Time

Inspirational song: Time (Alan Parsons Project)

I'm doing time backwards again. I've been accused of living backwards in time, and called Benjamina Buttons more than once, for looking younger now than I did at 25. But that's not what I'm talking about. When I went to Los Angeles, I was up later at night than in my own regular Mountain time zone. I woke up a lot during the night, and for all that I always move slowly in the mornings to get coffee and clothes on, I was up at or around a normal time. Now that I'm back, I've been ready for bed since about 8 this evening. I literally can't keep my eyes open, and my head is swimming from fatigue and jet lag.

I had to watch Game of Thrones as soon as we could time it now that I'm back. A whole bunch of poopyheads on the internet kept throwing out spoilers, from the time it ended on Sunday night onward. It's getting crazy the closer they get to the season finale and the last season next time around. I'd heard a lot of griping about the rapid messaging service the ravens provide, and how the ships and armies easily travel through time and space on a heartbeat's notice. We've seen this throughout the last four or five episodes, and ether this land is much smaller than it's described, or there are fantasy army superhighways that I'd love to travel on one day. As it is, I have decided I really want to travel to Croatia where much of this is filmed, especially after listening to our new foreign exchange student who is from there talk about how cool her country is.

In the day and a half since I last saw them, the Uninvited Guest litter has matured from a pile of furry sausages to a family of kids who are actually kitten shaped now. I had some pictures waiting for me after GoT, and they already look so much bigger and stronger. Most of them have both eyes open now, although some aren't super wide open. I have to say, I really enjoyed my time out west, seeing how well my daughter adapted to LA, how well her own dog and cats are doing, and getting to know the new rescue and foster babies as well as I could. It's hard being back to only watching them on the internet. I'll get used to it. It's how I do it all the time.

Was There Something Happening Today?

Inspirational song: Bark At the Moon (Ozzy Osbourne)

Once upon a time, I thought I would convince Mr S-P to pull his RV jalopy out of storage, so we could drive up to the Colorado/Nebraska border, and watch the eclipse. I was really going to push for that. Then he offered me his airline miles that had to be used by the end of the month, and my return flight from California wasn't until hours after the eclipse. Then he got a new gig that I don't know whether I'm allowed to talk about yet (I'll ask later), and he wouldn't have been available for the drive anyway. I totally gave up on the idea of seeing it, and I pretty much got over my mild case of eclipse fever. I figured I was around to watch the one in 1979, with all of my adolescent friends, holding paper plates and wondering if that little crescent of light was what the big deal was about.

I have been getting terrible sleep the last few nights. My daughter was kind enough to offer up her bed and she camped out on the floor of her one bedroom apartment, but the disruption in my routine was a lot to overcome. I woke up a lot during the nights. Also, we've been doing a ton of activities that kept us up late, and I have been staying up even later trying to get the blogs out as usual. When she found out that she had to work this morning, even though she was scheduled to have one more day with me, we had to get up super early to beat LA traffic to the spot in the hills where her job sent her this week. I am not allowed to be very close to it, for a number of reasons, so I had to hang out rather far away while she did her thing. I took advantage of the time to nap in the vehicle. Mid-morning, she woke me up and dug out a piece of cardboard that we had ditched in the back seat. We created a pinhole camera, and watched the eclipse after all. Down in SoCal, we got maybe 70 percent occlusion, which was still enough to dramatically affect the light and ambient temperature. It also set off all the dogs in the houses just up the hill from where we were. There was a chorus of at least ten dogs barking and howling as the light dimmed.

I can't believe it has been more than four years since I flew from Charleston to Boulder to watch my daughter graduate from CU (getting the degrees she was putting to use today). At the time, I wrote about the mystery ailment that bothered me when I traveled. I remember posting the pictures of my massively swollen feet and ankles, with my toenails painted gold with a little black "CU" on one big toe and a carefully painted buffalo on the other. At the time, I had no idea what was causing this horrible reaction to sitting up in planes, trains, and automobiles, but obviously I have since seen this in several lists of symptoms to watch for in my long series of maladies. Yesterday after the trip to the beach, my feet started getting a little puffy, and by the time my flight started its final descent, I knew that my lower extremities were stretched to their breaking point. The skin on my left foot was so stressed that just having the strap of my leather flip-flop on it rubbed a hole in the skin. I walked back to the main terminal from the A Concourse at DIA, so that I could initiate more circulation in an effort to pump fluid out of my ankles. Didn't work. By the time Mr S-P picked me up, he cracked jokes about how long it took him to drive down to the airport, that southbound traffic was really backed up on the 25, and what a mystery it was to have that many cars out late on a random Monday night. I was so absorbed in the screaming pain in my ankles and feet, I totally didn't get the joke. I felt like a heel when he had to explain it to me.

Sand Everywhere. Ev. Ree. Where.

Inspirational song: The Ocean (Led Zeppelin)

We were supposed to go to the beach twice today. Once to swim, once to the dog beach. It was an absolutely air tight clever plan. Just forgot one tiny detail. Once I spend an hour or more in the sun, I need a nap. Let me clarify. I get a nap whether I know it's coming or not. I slept through the opportunity to take Sheba to the dog beach. I feel bad. Not because of my sun exposure and subsequent fatigue. I feel bad because the derpy little dog was counting on a chance to be out.

My trip is coming to an end. I have a little time to wait for my flight tomorrow, while everyone and their dog is watching the eclipse. I'll probably be chilling at LAX, forgetting what time it is, wondering why everyone is looking out the windows.

It's late and I'm almost packed. I'll sort through the rest of my pictures over the next week. There's probably good stuff in there.

Picture Problems

Inspirational song: Tired of Waiting (The Kinks)

I can't do it anymore. I just spent well over an hour, starting around midnight, trying to delete photos from my One Drive, so that there is space for the most recent ones to sync, and then I can upload them from my laptop to the blog. It's slow going, because every time I sort and select a handful, then delete them, I have to wait while it processes the deletions, and then it goes back to my phone, syncs more, and adds them to the cloud file. The whole time the screen is jumping around, making images appear and disappear at random, and I have to wait for the dance to stop before I can select more, or it makes it take longer, because it opens photos s-l-o-w-l-y. I am exhausted from two big, massive, huge days of touring SoCal, and my ankles are the size of rain barrels from walking and riding in the car. To top it off, when I was finally ready to give up and just write with what I had, I dropped my phone between the bed and the wall, and had to get up and move furniture to retrieve it, and as soon as I had done that, Ralphie, my obnoxious grand-kitten, came up and crawled into the bag that my souvenirs came in, dancing on stuff, threatening to chew up more packing paper. And my One Drive still hasn't synched, so I can't even show you the picture of Ralphie tonight. I have to give up and go to bed.

I have some pictures from yesterday, from a drive around the coast, but I barely have energy to describe what they are. I'll just throw a few on, and see whether I can say a single thing about them.

Vacations are hard, y'all.

There was a Korean bell and temple in a sort of US-Korean friendship park. I took a picture of the sign somewhere. I don't think I downloaded that picture.

We went up around San Pedro to some really nice neighborhoods and hung out in lovely little parks with million dollar views.

All three of us girls were in the Golden Buffalo Marching Band (just not all together). Hence the group photo in front of the buffalo display, angled that way to try to catch the magpies on that side of the diorama. Lighting wasn't so great, though.

Big body, little brain. They called it the Sheba of dinosaurs. (Sheba is my grand-puppy.)

Okay, I know where the eye sockets and nose actually are, but I am amused by where they appear to be on this skull.

I could have a rotunda like this in my house, with this Art Deco statue. It would make me happy.

Love me some magpies.

"No, thanks. I already own a penguin." (W. Allen)

Tiny sculpture of a weaver. Gorgeous.

This statue is either a jester reevaluating his life choices, or he's pooping.

Most of the creatures in this hall of dioramas had predators and their prey featured together.

Out the back door of the below entrance to the museum. This is the long shot they used for the exteriors of "the Jeffersonian," the fictional scientific institute on "Bones."