In the time since Mom disappeared and reappeared, it has become obvious to her that she can’t live on her own anymore. This was obvious to us a year ago when we started discussing it (fruitlessly) with her.
A trip to the emergency room and two months in a convalescent home has her convinced. She’s excited about moving into a good-smelling (this is a big deal) food-oriented (another big deal) assisted living facility.
That means she needs to downsize. By about 75%.
It’s going to be a challenge for everyone involved. I’m thankful every day we’re here for Best Beloved and my baby sister who was able to join us.
I first met Mark Dyck (he pronounces it “dick” so I was saying it wrong in my head lo these many years) in Seth Godin’s Triiibes network, closed long ago. He was in the process of quitting his job (something in tech? I don’t remember) to service his baking customers full time.
He had a mailing list of over 1,000 members, and spent his weekends baking bread as fast as he could in his backyard oven, trying to meet the demand for artisanal bread. The result was Orange Boot Bakery, and I’m sad I never made it there for a slice and a cup before Mark &co closed Orange Boot and moved on. Running a bakery is more work than most people see in a lifetime.
These days he calls himself a storyteller. Having just launched his 67th podcast episode I’d say he’s fairly well established in that arena. It’s called Rise Up! and focuses on baking, but with Mark, any subject is fair game; seems to go for his guests as well.
Those stories where one thing at a time, everything goes wrong, wronger, wrongest?
This is about our 5th wedding anniversary, and it’s the opposite of that.
On our honeymoon we’d seen a brand new hotel being built at Lake Havasu, and wanted to stay there on the first night of our anniversary trip. The room at the Agave wasn’t expensive at all, for such a spiffy place.
Our anniversary is December 26th. Since we don’t celebrate Christmas, that pretty much leaves the day before our anniversary full of fidgeting until we can leave for our annual trip. By our 5th anniversary we’d developed the habit of leaving the night before, knowing we’d never sleep anyway.
This time, we left a day and a night before: late on the evening of the 24th.
Arriving in Lake Havasu about 10am on the 25th, Best Beloved called and asked if the room we’d booked might be available today, a day early. They said, sure.
Then the big ask: we were in town with nowhere to stay; might we be able to check in early?
They said, sure, the room’s ready.
When we arrived, the woman at the check-in desk said, you’re here on your anniversary, right? Why yes, we said, we are.
They’d upgraded us to the honeymoon suite. Half of the top floor. About a $500 a night room, for which we were paying about $70.
We made use of the separate private bathrooms, just because. Ding! And the oversized tub in the middle of the room, with the spigot in the ceiling so the water fell 10 feet to the tub. Ding!
We lounged and wallowed in luxury and generally made sure we got their thousand dollars’ worth.
We know a teacher in Denver who likes to take us out for exotic food every time we’re in the area.
The first restaurant she shared with us was a Moroccan place. As we walked through the front door and we saw people sitting on the floor on cushions I wish now that we’ve done that, uncomfortable as it might have been at my age. We sat in a regular booth.
Our daughter Fiona, who at the time was the pickiest eater in the world, was determined to try everything. We call her ‘travel Fiona’ when we’re traveling because she is always a little bit more adventurous.
Our friend warned us to try everything no matter how strange it looked . For instance, grilled chicken between 2 tortillas covered with powdered sugar. It’s delicious.
The restaurant seemed to be family run; it looked like a father and mother and 3 sons. When one of the sons noticed that Fiona was trying things but not eating very much he said “I’ll bring something you’ll like.” He came back with a dish, I don’t remember what, and she took a taste and he looked expectantly and she said “I don’t like it.”
His brother laughed and ran off to the kitchen saying “I’ll bring something you’ll like” and he came back and they took turns through the whole evening bringing us plates of food, for which we never got charged, to try to tempt Fiona into liking some kind of Moroccan food. She’d always taste it very politely and think about it and say no, I don’t really like it. And then whoever had brought it got laughed at.
At the end of the evening the father came. He’d been watching this the whole time and he said that he was going to bring something that he knew Fiona would like. He came back with a plate of what he called ‘genuine Moroccan cheesecake.’ Now, it looked and tasted to me like regular old cheese cake. But the 3 sons stood back and their father won.
I begged Best Beloved to add an extra week to this trip north.
If I hadn’t done that, we’d have left for home this morning.
I’m having a hard time finding the joy. I made a bunch of changes to my online life the weeks before we left home and I’ve found myself more than bored.
I haven’t been bored in 15 years.
Things are complicated by an injury to my right foot that makes walking excruciating. Otherwise I’d take long walks every day, enjoying the beauty.
There’s always going for a drive. In my socks.
Jake Calcutta’s first story is going well. Fully outlined. I’ve written 1,500 words so far, and that’s just quickdraft. I’m pleased with how it’s coming out, though it’s not the Edgar Rice Burroughs clone I was hoping for. Maybe I’m not Edgar Rice Burroughs. Maybe I’m me.
In Vagabonding traveler and author Rolf Potts talks about choosing how we define wealth. Rather than assuming that “wealth” and “money” are the same thing, he suggests measuring wealth in what we value. Wild concept, I know.
I would love to have more money for things like a trip to Ireland or new tires on the car or a new instrument (still deciding between octave mandolin and mandocello, but it looks like I’ll have plenty of time to ponder it.)
It’s not what I value most. Every time discontent creeps in I remind myself that I have plenty of the stuff live is made of: time.
I rarely wake to an alarm.
Nearly every day, I play some kind of game with my daughter, the last of our 7 children still at home.
Every day, I cook three interesting meals for my wife while she runs the business.
Every day in February, I’ve written a song. Every single day. And recorded a demo thereof.
Deadlines are almost unknown around here. A day off only requires balancing personal needs or desires with what’ll have to be done tomorrow.
Want to spend August in northern Wisconsin (highs in the low 70s) instead of southern Arizona (highs in triple digits and humid as an old sock)? Arrange our work schedule to allow it, plan for gas, the primary expense, and go. (Our travel requires two other factors, a location-independent business [check] and oodles of friends to stay with to avoid expensive hotel bills [check] but those didn’t happen by accident either.)
Today I’m worried about money. Ausoma has lost two big clients (they love us, but need to get other things done before they come back and work with us again) and for the first time, rent for the 1st of the month isn’t a slam dunk. It always works out. Always. We both have faith, Best Beloved and I, and it always works out.
So today, I’m going to enjoy the time I have and not worry about what I don’t.
Because I (usually) drink decaf, apparently people think I like weak coffee. One place I worked, my morning ritual was to dump out the watery half-strength muck someone had just made and make a pot of strong-and-a-half decaf. At home, my coffee is the strongest you’ll ever taste. Not kidding. It will punch you in the tongue. I love the taste of coffee. What I don’t like is the caffeinated shakes.
When we were traveling, everyone we stayed with or even drove with assumed that because we were from California, our preferred temperature was somewhere around 80ºF. It’s closer to 65º, thank you very much. We’d sweltered our way through two experiences as guests when we realized what was going on.
Having moved from far northern Wisconsin to southern Arizona, it is only natural that every single person we meet comments on how nice it must be to finally see some decent weather. I’ve learned to respond that it sure is sunny here, oh ho oh ho.
We hate the heat. We love the snow. Since we work from home and don’t have to go out if we don’t want, two feet of snow overnight is fun for us. We all prefer sweaters to short sleeves, and a roaring blaze in the fireplace to living cooped up with a/c for six months.
Also, apparently from the way I talk, everyone assumes I love bacon.
My 13 year old daughter has never known me as anything but a writer. She came along well after my life in accounting, construction, janitorial services, computers, and the web.
When asked the inevitable “What do you want to be when you grow up?” she’s always had one answer:
She has sleep issues. Sometimes she uses her sleepless hours to write. This is something I found this morning.
once i went to a coffee shop and in one room of that coffee shop was a white piano and a white bench and a marker and people had written stuff all over the piano and the bench with the marker and honestly i thought that was so cool.
i really like that kind of stuff.
i think it’s really neat.
people years from now may never meet you, never know you, never know anything about you, and you can scratch something into a tree or a wall or write it on a chair and someone out there will see that and know you exist.