Steven Harper's Blog, page 44
July 16, 2020
Lake Living: Retiree Snowbirds
So far, all the households we've seen at the condo complex but one have been retiree snowbirds. They all--ALL--live here in the summer, then zip down to houses in Florida or Georgia or the Carolinas for the winter. The one exception is a younger family with three elementary-school age kids.
The HOA manager, a nice man named Jerry, is in his 80s. He and his wife live right below us. (And they're hard-hit with the parking lot problem, let me tell you.) He is tolerant of my treadmill ("can barely hear it," he said) and has a passel of grandchildren and great-grandchildren who come to visit on occasion. He does have one bad habit, though. Our condo was vacant for two years, and he got used to no one being up here. So he sometimes holds phone conversations on his deck, which is under our balcony and our bedroom window, and we can hear every word.
I'm not sure how to address this with him. I'm not sure I want to--we're getting the inside scoop on a number of HOA issues. :)
Additionally, the condo next to ours on this floor is mostly empty. Jerry owns it, and I think he rents it out on Air BnB or something. We've seen some different people come and go from it, but most of the time it's empty--not a lot of call for short-term rentals during a pandemic. It does mean that we don't have to worry about disturbing the people who share our wall.
I'm guessing this place is gonna become awful quiet after Labor Day!
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The HOA manager, a nice man named Jerry, is in his 80s. He and his wife live right below us. (And they're hard-hit with the parking lot problem, let me tell you.) He is tolerant of my treadmill ("can barely hear it," he said) and has a passel of grandchildren and great-grandchildren who come to visit on occasion. He does have one bad habit, though. Our condo was vacant for two years, and he got used to no one being up here. So he sometimes holds phone conversations on his deck, which is under our balcony and our bedroom window, and we can hear every word.
I'm not sure how to address this with him. I'm not sure I want to--we're getting the inside scoop on a number of HOA issues. :)
Additionally, the condo next to ours on this floor is mostly empty. Jerry owns it, and I think he rents it out on Air BnB or something. We've seen some different people come and go from it, but most of the time it's empty--not a lot of call for short-term rentals during a pandemic. It does mean that we don't have to worry about disturbing the people who share our wall.
I'm guessing this place is gonna become awful quiet after Labor Day!
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The Plague Diaries: COVID-19 Tests and Unexpected Cats, 2 of 2
I hauled two tubs of laundry all the way down to my car (remember the torn-up lot?) and drove to Albion. The cats were thrilled to see me and demanded a great deal in the way of petting after being abandoned for several days.
I started up the laundry. My intent was to write while the machines did their work, but there were a lot of sundry chores around the house that needed doing. I also gathered up all the cat stuff. It was time to move it all.
See, we'd brought Dora and Dinah to Albion because we didn't want them in the way when we were selling the house, packing, moving, and unpacking. But our intent had been all along to have the cats permanently in Waterford. Darwin barely tolerates Dora and Dinah, and definitely doesn't like having them at the house in Albion, where he has to do most of the cat-related chores, since he's there four days out of seven. The cats are really mine (though I frequently remind Darwin that HE chose Dora, not me), and they needed to come to Waterford.
We'd figured on bringing them down in another week. But then Darwin got sick and there was no one at the Albion house to take care of them, and wouldn't be for quite a while. So we moved up the schedule. I would bring them today.
My original plan had been to get some tranquilizers from the vet and set the carriers out at Albion for a week with their food inside them to get them acclimated to them. But--new schedule. No time. It would have to be the hard way.
I set out the cat carriers, which made the cats uneasy, but I gave them treats and turned my main attention to household chores--so much laundry--which calmed them down again. But at last, all the chores were done and I'd loaded everything into the car.
I lured Dinah upstairs with more treats and locked her in a bedroom, then snatched up Dora before she quite understood what was going on, stuffed her into the carrier, and zipped it shut. She freaked badly. She yowled and clawed, and the carrier shook like the Tasmanian devil cage in a Warner Brothers cartoon.
Meanwhile, I cornered Dinah upstairs and slid her into the other carrier. She's smaller and more tractable, so it wasn't difficult. But both of them shit in the carriers. I couldn't open the carriers to clean them out, either, because I'd never get the cats back in.
I drove back to Waterford with a carload of yowling cats. Darwin and I hauled them up to the condo and let them out (though I had to clean cat poop off Dora's fur first). They prowled uneasily around the place while I brought up load after load of stuff--two tubs of laundry, cat trees, cat litter, cat food. Why do I have cats, again?
The condo isn't really set up for cats. There's no good spot for a litter box. Neither bathroom is big enough for one, and we didn't want it in the dressing room or in the storage closet with our clothes. In the end, we settled on converting the exercise room closet into the kitty space. I laid down a vinyl floor mat, and there's just enough room for the litter box, bag of litter, and their bowls.
This was four days ago. Dinah and Dora have settled into a new normal, though neither of them is willing to set paw on the balcony, which I find interesting. Dinah stares out the window at the lake like she's trying to figure out what it is. Dora discovered she can lay in her customary place under my desk again, which is what she's doing now.
And the cats are back!
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I started up the laundry. My intent was to write while the machines did their work, but there were a lot of sundry chores around the house that needed doing. I also gathered up all the cat stuff. It was time to move it all.
See, we'd brought Dora and Dinah to Albion because we didn't want them in the way when we were selling the house, packing, moving, and unpacking. But our intent had been all along to have the cats permanently in Waterford. Darwin barely tolerates Dora and Dinah, and definitely doesn't like having them at the house in Albion, where he has to do most of the cat-related chores, since he's there four days out of seven. The cats are really mine (though I frequently remind Darwin that HE chose Dora, not me), and they needed to come to Waterford.
We'd figured on bringing them down in another week. But then Darwin got sick and there was no one at the Albion house to take care of them, and wouldn't be for quite a while. So we moved up the schedule. I would bring them today.
My original plan had been to get some tranquilizers from the vet and set the carriers out at Albion for a week with their food inside them to get them acclimated to them. But--new schedule. No time. It would have to be the hard way.
I set out the cat carriers, which made the cats uneasy, but I gave them treats and turned my main attention to household chores--so much laundry--which calmed them down again. But at last, all the chores were done and I'd loaded everything into the car.
I lured Dinah upstairs with more treats and locked her in a bedroom, then snatched up Dora before she quite understood what was going on, stuffed her into the carrier, and zipped it shut. She freaked badly. She yowled and clawed, and the carrier shook like the Tasmanian devil cage in a Warner Brothers cartoon.
Meanwhile, I cornered Dinah upstairs and slid her into the other carrier. She's smaller and more tractable, so it wasn't difficult. But both of them shit in the carriers. I couldn't open the carriers to clean them out, either, because I'd never get the cats back in.
I drove back to Waterford with a carload of yowling cats. Darwin and I hauled them up to the condo and let them out (though I had to clean cat poop off Dora's fur first). They prowled uneasily around the place while I brought up load after load of stuff--two tubs of laundry, cat trees, cat litter, cat food. Why do I have cats, again?
The condo isn't really set up for cats. There's no good spot for a litter box. Neither bathroom is big enough for one, and we didn't want it in the dressing room or in the storage closet with our clothes. In the end, we settled on converting the exercise room closet into the kitty space. I laid down a vinyl floor mat, and there's just enough room for the litter box, bag of litter, and their bowls.
This was four days ago. Dinah and Dora have settled into a new normal, though neither of them is willing to set paw on the balcony, which I find interesting. Dinah stares out the window at the lake like she's trying to figure out what it is. Dora discovered she can lay in her customary place under my desk again, which is what she's doing now.
And the cats are back!
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The Plague Diaries: COVID-19 Tests and Unexpected Cats, 1 of 2
Last Sunday while Darwin was up from Albion for the weekend, he started getting sick. Slight nausea progressed to greater nausea. Muscle aches and malaise followed, then fever. Uh oh. We had just attended the viewing for my uncle Indul, and not everyone there practiced good social distancing.
On Monday, Darwin was still feeling awful, so we decided it would be a good idea to get tested for COVID-19. This touched off a search. I called my doctor's office. Turned out they only did testing after a telemedicine consultation, and would be happy to make an appointment for some time late in the week. Darwin's doctor didn't offer testing at all. The web site of a nearby urgent care clinic said it offered no-reason, no-referral testing, so we drove down there, only find a sign on the door that said they were out of testing kits and expected more in a few days. More web searching told us a medical center maybe 15 minutes away had no-referral, no-reason testing, so we drove on down.
When we arrived, we found a long line of cars snaking around the building and across the parking lot. (The testing at this site was drive-up.) I joined the line while Darwin looked for another test site, but in the end we figured lines would be just as long anywhere else, so we stayed put.
The line moved reasonably fast, though, and it took maybe twenty minutes to get to the front. A PPE-clad nurse took our information from a distance, then waved us to a parking spot. She said we'd get a phone call in a few minutes when it was our turn. In due time, the call came, and I drove up to the tent they'd set up. Another PPE-clad nurse slid a long swab up my nose. It didn't hurt. Quite. Much. But "wildly uncomfortable" would describe the process accurately. Darwin underwent the same process. They told us to check the center's web site after 48 hours to see if our results were in. Total time, including driving: 90 minutes.
The following evening, on a hunch, I checked the web site. You give the site your vital info, and they send an email with a code. You enter the code and the site gives you your results. A lot of times, test results come in faster than they tell you, so I checked early. The results were indeed in.
Negative for both us. No COVID-19.
Whew.
The verdict for Darwin? Probably mild food poisoning.
But this touched off another event: moving the cats.
Darwin was sick here in Waterford. The cats were in Albion. He was supposed to be back on Monday, but was too sick for it, and the cats would be running low on food.
I settled on a day trip to Albion.
More . . .
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On Monday, Darwin was still feeling awful, so we decided it would be a good idea to get tested for COVID-19. This touched off a search. I called my doctor's office. Turned out they only did testing after a telemedicine consultation, and would be happy to make an appointment for some time late in the week. Darwin's doctor didn't offer testing at all. The web site of a nearby urgent care clinic said it offered no-reason, no-referral testing, so we drove down there, only find a sign on the door that said they were out of testing kits and expected more in a few days. More web searching told us a medical center maybe 15 minutes away had no-referral, no-reason testing, so we drove on down.
When we arrived, we found a long line of cars snaking around the building and across the parking lot. (The testing at this site was drive-up.) I joined the line while Darwin looked for another test site, but in the end we figured lines would be just as long anywhere else, so we stayed put.
The line moved reasonably fast, though, and it took maybe twenty minutes to get to the front. A PPE-clad nurse took our information from a distance, then waved us to a parking spot. She said we'd get a phone call in a few minutes when it was our turn. In due time, the call came, and I drove up to the tent they'd set up. Another PPE-clad nurse slid a long swab up my nose. It didn't hurt. Quite. Much. But "wildly uncomfortable" would describe the process accurately. Darwin underwent the same process. They told us to check the center's web site after 48 hours to see if our results were in. Total time, including driving: 90 minutes.
The following evening, on a hunch, I checked the web site. You give the site your vital info, and they send an email with a code. You enter the code and the site gives you your results. A lot of times, test results come in faster than they tell you, so I checked early. The results were indeed in.
Negative for both us. No COVID-19.
Whew.
The verdict for Darwin? Probably mild food poisoning.
But this touched off another event: moving the cats.
Darwin was sick here in Waterford. The cats were in Albion. He was supposed to be back on Monday, but was too sick for it, and the cats would be running low on food.
I settled on a day trip to Albion.
More . . .
comments
The Plague Diaries: A Parade of Workmen and Pavers
The condo touched off a parade of workmen. A plumber was needed to correct some bad faucets and to tell us that it would cost at least $1,100 to install a shower in the master bathroom. An electrician was needed to install a proper electric hookup for the dryer and to tell us that the circuit board hadn't been updated since 1972 and was no longer up to code, so we'd have to replace it. (He had a shockingly handsome apprentice, though, so that cushioned the blow a little.) A handyman was needed to hang the new curtain rods and deal with other sundry tasks that are outside my toolbox.
For over a week, I had to greet and supervise workmen. While I was trying to unpack and do all the other stuff required of a new place. Darwin went back to Albion for work, leaving it all to me. I don't much enjoy bringing workmen into my house. My response is usually to point them in the direction of what needs doing and go back to my writing. They're probably grateful I'm not one to loom over them while they work.
The most difficult of the workmen thing isn't actually in our condo. When we were first buying the condo, we noticed the Dreadful Awful Parking Lot. The pavement was so cracked and riddled with potholes and badly-done patching that you had to go over it slow as a tank making its way through a bomb zone. It was awful, the worst of Michigan roads--and it wasn't even a road.
But the day we moved in, the head of the HOA (who is very nice and lives directly below us) told us the entire parking lot was being repaved. Yay! But it meant that everyone would have to park in the strip mall a little ways from the condo group and walk back. The walk is about a quarter mile, all told.
"It's supposed to take about two weeks," the HOA prez said. "But you'll be able to drive on it for most of it. It'll only be a handful of days when you'll have to park far away."
It didn't work that way.
The paving company came out the Monday after we moved in and in one day tore out the entire parking lot, right down to the sand. And then they vanished. For three days. No machinery, no workers, nothing. Then, with no explanation, they returned and set to work again. More industrious digging with steam shovels and caterpillars followed. They uncovered a water retention tank, which they knew about and were ready to remove, but for whatever reason, it turned into a Major Problem, and took two full days to deal with. No parking down there, you may be sure!
Yesterday, I asked one of the workers when the actual paving was supposed to start.
"Thursday," he said. "You'll be driving on it by the weekend."
Today is Thursday, and the lot is still all torn up. Half of it is graded, but the Major Problem water tank half is all hills of sand.
Meanwhile, we're hauling ass. I mean that literally. We're hauling our asses from the strip mall all the way down here every time we want to go somewhere. Grocery shopping is a fucking nightmare. I finally hit on the idea of putting the car in the NO PARKING ZONE of the parking lot for the condo group next door long enough to unload. This is way closer than the strip mall, sure, but we have to bring anything and everything down a hill, across an uneven lawn, and through a border of bushes to get it inside. It's hell. Getting food delivered means we have to meet the delivery person a block away from the front door (again by navigating hill, lawn, and border). We don't have a washer and dryer yet (can't get them delivered because of the parking lot), so I do the laundry in Albion once a week, but that means hauling a huge basket down to the car and back.
I do know lots and lots of people live in cities where they can't park anywhere near where they live, and lots and lots of people have to park in an expensive structure, then hoof it many, many blocks home. I get that. But at least such people can usually park temporarily in a loading zone or even by a fire hydrant and drop off groceries or laundry, and they can accept deliveries at their home. We can't do those things. And after the hell of moving and with the added difficulty of doing anything at all during a pandemic, I'm very, very tired of having more obstacles added to basic life.
And more meanwhile, the sliding glass door and windows to the balcony have to be replaced. They're . . . vintage 1970s aluminum windows and are falling apart. So another set of workmen have been summoned. We got the hair-raising estimate from them today, but they said due to the pandemic, they probably won't be able to do the actual work until November. So hopefully we'll get a new sliding door and a new president at the same time.
I'm hoping that pavement goes in tomorrow. At least the parade of workmen has paused for now.
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For over a week, I had to greet and supervise workmen. While I was trying to unpack and do all the other stuff required of a new place. Darwin went back to Albion for work, leaving it all to me. I don't much enjoy bringing workmen into my house. My response is usually to point them in the direction of what needs doing and go back to my writing. They're probably grateful I'm not one to loom over them while they work.
The most difficult of the workmen thing isn't actually in our condo. When we were first buying the condo, we noticed the Dreadful Awful Parking Lot. The pavement was so cracked and riddled with potholes and badly-done patching that you had to go over it slow as a tank making its way through a bomb zone. It was awful, the worst of Michigan roads--and it wasn't even a road.
But the day we moved in, the head of the HOA (who is very nice and lives directly below us) told us the entire parking lot was being repaved. Yay! But it meant that everyone would have to park in the strip mall a little ways from the condo group and walk back. The walk is about a quarter mile, all told.
"It's supposed to take about two weeks," the HOA prez said. "But you'll be able to drive on it for most of it. It'll only be a handful of days when you'll have to park far away."
It didn't work that way.
The paving company came out the Monday after we moved in and in one day tore out the entire parking lot, right down to the sand. And then they vanished. For three days. No machinery, no workers, nothing. Then, with no explanation, they returned and set to work again. More industrious digging with steam shovels and caterpillars followed. They uncovered a water retention tank, which they knew about and were ready to remove, but for whatever reason, it turned into a Major Problem, and took two full days to deal with. No parking down there, you may be sure!
Yesterday, I asked one of the workers when the actual paving was supposed to start.
"Thursday," he said. "You'll be driving on it by the weekend."
Today is Thursday, and the lot is still all torn up. Half of it is graded, but the Major Problem water tank half is all hills of sand.
Meanwhile, we're hauling ass. I mean that literally. We're hauling our asses from the strip mall all the way down here every time we want to go somewhere. Grocery shopping is a fucking nightmare. I finally hit on the idea of putting the car in the NO PARKING ZONE of the parking lot for the condo group next door long enough to unload. This is way closer than the strip mall, sure, but we have to bring anything and everything down a hill, across an uneven lawn, and through a border of bushes to get it inside. It's hell. Getting food delivered means we have to meet the delivery person a block away from the front door (again by navigating hill, lawn, and border). We don't have a washer and dryer yet (can't get them delivered because of the parking lot), so I do the laundry in Albion once a week, but that means hauling a huge basket down to the car and back.
I do know lots and lots of people live in cities where they can't park anywhere near where they live, and lots and lots of people have to park in an expensive structure, then hoof it many, many blocks home. I get that. But at least such people can usually park temporarily in a loading zone or even by a fire hydrant and drop off groceries or laundry, and they can accept deliveries at their home. We can't do those things. And after the hell of moving and with the added difficulty of doing anything at all during a pandemic, I'm very, very tired of having more obstacles added to basic life.
And more meanwhile, the sliding glass door and windows to the balcony have to be replaced. They're . . . vintage 1970s aluminum windows and are falling apart. So another set of workmen have been summoned. We got the hair-raising estimate from them today, but they said due to the pandemic, they probably won't be able to do the actual work until November. So hopefully we'll get a new sliding door and a new president at the same time.
I'm hoping that pavement goes in tomorrow. At least the parade of workmen has paused for now.
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July 9, 2020
Lake Living: A Kayak
Now that some of the stress of moving has worn off, I'm liking living at the lake. Eagle Lake is a smallish, shallow lake that isn't great for swimming, but makes for wonderful scenery and slow, lazy boating. We have a family of ducks and a flock of geese and a pair of swans sharing the lake with us. Pontoon boats putter sedately past. The occasional Jet-Ski zips about, but they don't stay in one place long enough to be annoying, and anyway, they're fun to watch and make way, way less noise than the Leaf Blower Brigade at the previous house.
I love my balcony. It faces north, so it's shady all day and stays relatively cool. I've been writing out there and realizing I've become That Author ("Steven Harper lives on and writes his novels at Eagle Lake"). Today, I made a batch of syrup and hung my hummingbird feeders from the gutters. I wonder if I'll get any!
We also bought a kayak. There's a sporting equipment store within easy walking distance of Eagle Lake, and they sell them. When we went in (properly masked, thanks), we located the kayaks just fine, but couldn't figure out how much they cost. We finally flagged down a Very Handsome Clerk who said that this year, kayaks sell so fast, they don't even have time to put prices on them. (!) He pointed us toward a poster tucked into the corner that showed various models of kayak and their prices. Most of them were shockingly high-priced. (A thousand dollars for a plastic kayak? Does it do the paddling for you?) But after a great deal of hunting, we found one with a price we could live with.
The Very Handsome Clerk hoisted the kayak over his Very Handsome Shoulder and carried to the front of the store, where Darwin and I paid what we still felt was a scandalous amount of money. But we'd only have to pay it once, I guess. We carried the kayak down to the condo.
That evening, after the day cooled down, I pulled the kayak down to the grassy lake shore, slid it into the water, climbed aboard, and took up the Shockingly Expensive Paddle. Off we went!
It was lovely. I paddled serenely past a combination of trees and houses, tracing the shoreline of the lake. Fish jumped here and there. The flock of geese drifted pointedly away from me. I paddled over patches of lily pads and over both mud and sand. The sun was heading for the horizon, and the clouds turned pink. It was a delight.
And I can do it every day!
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I love my balcony. It faces north, so it's shady all day and stays relatively cool. I've been writing out there and realizing I've become That Author ("Steven Harper lives on and writes his novels at Eagle Lake"). Today, I made a batch of syrup and hung my hummingbird feeders from the gutters. I wonder if I'll get any!
We also bought a kayak. There's a sporting equipment store within easy walking distance of Eagle Lake, and they sell them. When we went in (properly masked, thanks), we located the kayaks just fine, but couldn't figure out how much they cost. We finally flagged down a Very Handsome Clerk who said that this year, kayaks sell so fast, they don't even have time to put prices on them. (!) He pointed us toward a poster tucked into the corner that showed various models of kayak and their prices. Most of them were shockingly high-priced. (A thousand dollars for a plastic kayak? Does it do the paddling for you?) But after a great deal of hunting, we found one with a price we could live with.
The Very Handsome Clerk hoisted the kayak over his Very Handsome Shoulder and carried to the front of the store, where Darwin and I paid what we still felt was a scandalous amount of money. But we'd only have to pay it once, I guess. We carried the kayak down to the condo.
That evening, after the day cooled down, I pulled the kayak down to the grassy lake shore, slid it into the water, climbed aboard, and took up the Shockingly Expensive Paddle. Off we went!
It was lovely. I paddled serenely past a combination of trees and houses, tracing the shoreline of the lake. Fish jumped here and there. The flock of geese drifted pointedly away from me. I paddled over patches of lily pads and over both mud and sand. The sun was heading for the horizon, and the clouds turned pink. It was a delight.
And I can do it every day!
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The Plague Diaries: Living at the Hardware Store with Maskless Assholes
The Great Condo Move has sent us to the hardware superstore so many times, it feels like we live there. It's always stressful to make another hardware store trip because you have to stay alert for Maskless Assholes. Darwin isn't adept at noticing as I am, and I'm constantly warning him. "Behind you!" I say. Or, "Look out to your left." I pointedly move to the other side of the aisle and flatten myself against shelving to keep six feet from Maskless Assholes who come toward me. A few Maskless Assholes act sheepish when they see this, others give me dirty looks. Fuck them both.
We've had to buy picture hangers and door handles for the balcony door and a new washer and dryer and . . . and . . . and . . . At one point, we visited the hardware store seven times in six days.
I've discovered that the hardware superstore near the condo has a much better class of customer than the one down by our old house. Nearly all the customers wear masks, and the employees are much better about it themselves.
We've also made almost daily trips to the grocery superstore, and not just for groceries. We needed drawer organizers and wastebaskets and ice cube trays and a thousand other sundry stuff for a new place. The grocery superstore is also a magnet for Maskless Assholes.
I'm so done with this pandemic.
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We've had to buy picture hangers and door handles for the balcony door and a new washer and dryer and . . . and . . . and . . . At one point, we visited the hardware store seven times in six days.
I've discovered that the hardware superstore near the condo has a much better class of customer than the one down by our old house. Nearly all the customers wear masks, and the employees are much better about it themselves.
We've also made almost daily trips to the grocery superstore, and not just for groceries. We needed drawer organizers and wastebaskets and ice cube trays and a thousand other sundry stuff for a new place. The grocery superstore is also a magnet for Maskless Assholes.
I'm so done with this pandemic.
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The Plague Diaries: Unpacking
Unpacking took a full week. The kitchen stressed me out the most. We had a whole bunch of pandemic-shopping food and I didn't see how it would fit into the little pantry. But in the end, I managed it. Then it was the bedroom/office and the bathrooms and . . . and . . . and . . .
The condo was built in the early 70s, but was incredibly forward-thinking. The main area is a great room--living room and dining room that open onto a balcony. The most striking feature of the kitchen is the bar that separates it from the dining room, so there's even more open space, and you can look from the kitchen across the bar through the sliding glass doors onto the lake. A pair of French doors in the dining room open into the main bedroom, which is so huge, Darwin and I decided to make it into our office as well. This was mostly my insistence--the smaller bedrooms look over the parking lot, and I told him I wasn't going to spend most of my workday in a lakeside condo and not be able to see the lake.
The main bedroom has no closets, however. Instead, another door opens into a large dressing room with Jack and Jill sinks (or, in our case, Jack and John sinks). The dressing room has a great deal of floor space, and it took me some time to work out that the big empty area in one corner was meant for a lady's vanity table. Off this room is a walk-in closet big enough to be a bedroom of its own--a good thing to have in a condo without a garage or basement. The dressing room also has a bath tub and toilet room, which is nice because one person can be using the toilet while someone else is at one of the sinks. However, that room has ONLY a tub. No shower. We're planning to fix that later.
Yet another door from the dressing room opens into a hallway, off which are the other two bedrooms (one of them for Max, the other for my harp and the exercise equipment) and the main bathroom. Follow that hallway down, and you arrive at the front door on your left. On your right is a shorter hallway with a long closet along one wall. This takes you into the great room--a full circle!
We discovered that if you open all the windows and the sliding door to the balcony, you get a constant breeze from the lake. You can also hear redwing blackbirds chirruping and bullfrogs chugging in the reeds. The lake is lovely to look at, and so far, we haven't had a problem with loud people or loud boats.
We spent a great deal of time working out what would go where. What do we do with these bookshelves? What do we do with all the DVDs? Should this table go in this room or that one? This sparked some more arguments, with apologies afterward.
On Monday, Darwin went back to Albion and Max had to work. This left the rest of the unpacking to me. I was working literally from sunrise to sunset. It was tiring--constant decision-making and stressing out over where to put everything.
By Wednesday afternoon, though, there was only one chore left, and it's always the last one whenever people move: hanging the paintings and pictures. It's always so tempting to put that off. They aren't NECESSARY, after all, and we're always so sick of doing stuff. And I was supposed to go to the house in Albion for a couple days. But . . . no! I wasn't going to stop. I put all the pictures and paintings on the floor under their spots on the new walls and went around with hammer, nails, and measuring tape to hang them. It took forever, but when it was done, I was DONE!
I wandered around the circle of the condo, admiring how everything was in its place and all the walls were decorated and relishing in the fact that it was FINISHED.
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The condo was built in the early 70s, but was incredibly forward-thinking. The main area is a great room--living room and dining room that open onto a balcony. The most striking feature of the kitchen is the bar that separates it from the dining room, so there's even more open space, and you can look from the kitchen across the bar through the sliding glass doors onto the lake. A pair of French doors in the dining room open into the main bedroom, which is so huge, Darwin and I decided to make it into our office as well. This was mostly my insistence--the smaller bedrooms look over the parking lot, and I told him I wasn't going to spend most of my workday in a lakeside condo and not be able to see the lake.
The main bedroom has no closets, however. Instead, another door opens into a large dressing room with Jack and Jill sinks (or, in our case, Jack and John sinks). The dressing room has a great deal of floor space, and it took me some time to work out that the big empty area in one corner was meant for a lady's vanity table. Off this room is a walk-in closet big enough to be a bedroom of its own--a good thing to have in a condo without a garage or basement. The dressing room also has a bath tub and toilet room, which is nice because one person can be using the toilet while someone else is at one of the sinks. However, that room has ONLY a tub. No shower. We're planning to fix that later.
Yet another door from the dressing room opens into a hallway, off which are the other two bedrooms (one of them for Max, the other for my harp and the exercise equipment) and the main bathroom. Follow that hallway down, and you arrive at the front door on your left. On your right is a shorter hallway with a long closet along one wall. This takes you into the great room--a full circle!
We discovered that if you open all the windows and the sliding door to the balcony, you get a constant breeze from the lake. You can also hear redwing blackbirds chirruping and bullfrogs chugging in the reeds. The lake is lovely to look at, and so far, we haven't had a problem with loud people or loud boats.
We spent a great deal of time working out what would go where. What do we do with these bookshelves? What do we do with all the DVDs? Should this table go in this room or that one? This sparked some more arguments, with apologies afterward.
On Monday, Darwin went back to Albion and Max had to work. This left the rest of the unpacking to me. I was working literally from sunrise to sunset. It was tiring--constant decision-making and stressing out over where to put everything.
By Wednesday afternoon, though, there was only one chore left, and it's always the last one whenever people move: hanging the paintings and pictures. It's always so tempting to put that off. They aren't NECESSARY, after all, and we're always so sick of doing stuff. And I was supposed to go to the house in Albion for a couple days. But . . . no! I wasn't going to stop. I put all the pictures and paintings on the floor under their spots on the new walls and went around with hammer, nails, and measuring tape to hang them. It took forever, but when it was done, I was DONE!
I wandered around the circle of the condo, admiring how everything was in its place and all the walls were decorated and relishing in the fact that it was FINISHED.
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The Plague Diaries: Moving
We spent most of last week packing. We (and by "we," I mean "I") went methodically through the house, packing one room a day. We dismantled electronics systems, threw out old stuff we didn't need, figured out what needed to be left out until the last minute, and more.
In the meantime, I also hired a moving company that turned out to have two gay men as the owners. That was a nice surprise!
Packing, as it always is, turned out to be stressful and difficult. I looked at the growing stacks of boxes with increasing dismay. How would all this stuff fit into the condo? We'd already emptied out the basement and garage, sure, but that still left a hell of a lot of stuff. I became increasingly nervous and irritable and Darwin and I found ourselves arguing more.
At last, Moving Day arrived. The company sent three guys, and they quickly set to work. It took them about two hours to load up the truck.
I said good-bye to the house. It was sad leaving it. This was the first place Darwin and I lived together, and we created a lot of good memories there. I was happier there than I had been in a long time. We were moving a year earlier than we'd intended because of the pandemic, and I felt wrenched away.
I drove ahead of the movers to the condo while Darwin stayed behind at the old house to hand the keys and garage door openers over to the new owner, who was already making plans to paint and install new flooring.
At the condo, I supervised the movers, who gamely hauled everything up to the second floor. "That goes in the living room. Main bedroom, please. Storage closet! Oh--kitchen." Their greatest triumph was moving Darwin's dining room table, which has a solid stone core. I was never so glad to be able to hire someone.
At last everything was in place. Darwin tipped the movers heavily (it was a hot day, and . . . stone table) and they left us in a forest of boxes. We made the beds first--my standard policy during a move, on the grounds that you don't want to reach the end of an exhausting day, only to realize you have no place to sleep yet. Then we dug in.
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In the meantime, I also hired a moving company that turned out to have two gay men as the owners. That was a nice surprise!
Packing, as it always is, turned out to be stressful and difficult. I looked at the growing stacks of boxes with increasing dismay. How would all this stuff fit into the condo? We'd already emptied out the basement and garage, sure, but that still left a hell of a lot of stuff. I became increasingly nervous and irritable and Darwin and I found ourselves arguing more.
At last, Moving Day arrived. The company sent three guys, and they quickly set to work. It took them about two hours to load up the truck.
I said good-bye to the house. It was sad leaving it. This was the first place Darwin and I lived together, and we created a lot of good memories there. I was happier there than I had been in a long time. We were moving a year earlier than we'd intended because of the pandemic, and I felt wrenched away.
I drove ahead of the movers to the condo while Darwin stayed behind at the old house to hand the keys and garage door openers over to the new owner, who was already making plans to paint and install new flooring.
At the condo, I supervised the movers, who gamely hauled everything up to the second floor. "That goes in the living room. Main bedroom, please. Storage closet! Oh--kitchen." Their greatest triumph was moving Darwin's dining room table, which has a solid stone core. I was never so glad to be able to hire someone.
At last everything was in place. Darwin tipped the movers heavily (it was a hot day, and . . . stone table) and they left us in a forest of boxes. We made the beds first--my standard policy during a move, on the grounds that you don't want to reach the end of an exhausting day, only to realize you have no place to sleep yet. Then we dug in.
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Indul Piziks
My uncle Indul Piziks passed away last night. He had heart problems, and then he contracted COVID-19. It was too much for him.
Indul fled Latvia as a child with my grandparents and his two brothers (two sisters were born later) just ahead of the Russian invasion toward the end of World War II. They spent several years as refugees in Europe and finally immigrated to the United States in the 50s.
Indul worked as an engineer for GM and had several patents. He also built a sailboat in his driveway and took it all over the Great Lakes and even down to the tip of South America and back.
He leaves behind his second wife, five daughters, and nineteen grandchildren.
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June 27, 2020
Rapacious Employers and Remote Employees
A lot of companies and employees are discovering it's possible, even desirable, for people to work at home. Companies are realizing they can save money in office space, utilities, office supplies, equipment, and more. Companies are also claiming they can pay less, because employees who work remotely can live in cheaper places and therefore don't need as much.
This reasoning is terrible. It benefits only the company, and no one I've seen is talking about the cost of remote work to the employees. A remote employee has to provide work space, pay for the electricity (to run the computer) and water (when you go to the bathroom or get a drink at work, your employer normally pays for that), office supplies, and a fast Internet hookup. Worker's compensation insurance does not cover employees who are injured while on the job at home. And, of course, many remote workers find that they're basically "on call" from dawn until dusk.
Employees aren't used to thinking of their electric bill, water bill, Internet bill, insurance, and home space as something "extra" they pay for, but when you work at home, you are providing these things FOR THE COMPANY'S BENEFIT, not your own.
Companies are trying to trick their employees into thinking that working at home is a begrudged gift that employees need to pay for by accepting a reduced salary when the company is actually benefiting greatly.
I like the idea of people being able to work at home. However, companies must not be allowed to claim they can lower salaries or avoid paying for work expenses for employees who work there.
https://finance.yahoo.com/news/how-a-...
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