NAME: Buzz, known to his former owners as Maverick (A name with bad associations for the liberal Democrats in this household, hence the change)
BREED: Papillon
DOB: 9/5/2008
JOINED OUR HOUSEHOLD: 1/27/10
WEIGHT: 5 lbs., 2 oz.
1.31.2010
Notre petit chien nouveau
NAME: Buzz, known to his former owners as Maverick (A name with bad associations for the liberal Democrats in this household, hence the change)
BREED: Papillon
DOB: 9/5/2008
JOINED OUR HOUSEHOLD: 1/27/10
WEIGHT: 5 lbs., 2 oz.
1.27.2010
Oh, puh-lease . . .
Tomorrow begins the tenth week of our leaky roof problems. Nothing has been fixed (nor do we have a timetable for the remediation and repair work), which made us howl with laughter yesterday when one of our neighbors, who is in contact with our landlord, forwarded this e-mail from Gracey:
Other than that, please let Jim and Kate know that we continue to plug on with the roof. Frank has been in constant contact with property manager and insurance company and we are all determined to have it done right. The timing of this all during the holidays did not help, but as slow as it may be going, and inconvenient to all, I really want this situation to be taken care of properly.
Gosh, I wonder how bad things would be if Frank wasn't on top of the problem.
Other than that, please let Jim and Kate know that we continue to plug on with the roof. Frank has been in constant contact with property manager and insurance company and we are all determined to have it done right. The timing of this all during the holidays did not help, but as slow as it may be going, and inconvenient to all, I really want this situation to be taken care of properly.
Gosh, I wonder how bad things would be if Frank wasn't on top of the problem.
1.25.2010
Competitive Spirits
We went to two competitions this past weekend and had a wonderful time at each, even though the competitors in one had heavenly voices, and the competitors in the other were sometimes scrambling on their bellies in the dirt.
On Saturday, we attended the Rocky Mountain Regional Finals of The Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions, or, as Jim's brother-in-law referred to it, "American Idol Goes to the Opera." For two hours, we sat in the third row of Denver's exquisite opera house and listened to eight young classically trained singers vie for a chance to go to New York to "compete for $15,000 cash prizes and the chance to perform in the Grand Finals Concert on the nation's most prestigious opera stage . . . Over 1,500 singers between the ages of 20 and 30 will participate in the National Council Auditions, the oldest and most wide-ranging singing competition in the country."
Much as I love our new home state, Culture-With-a-Capitol-C sometimes feels lacking here. Saturday's performances filled a little of the artistic vacuum I've experienced since leaving Europe.
Sunday's competition, on the other hand, was pure Colorado: the final sheep herding trials of the 2010 National Western Stock Show. Last year, we saw the novice dogs compete, which involved a lot of automatic DQs for biting sheep that refused to be herded. (One young dog actually slunk out of the ring with a mouthful of fleece.) This year's dogs were more experienced, but some of them still nipped their charges or crawled on their bellies when they were supposed to be motionless or couldn't accomplish all the required tasks under the five-minute time limit. The winner, Lad, belonged to an elderly gentleman who worked in perfect harmony with his dog, communicating only with whistles. (Shades of "Babe") Laddie put those sheep through their paces in a mere 2 minutes, 10 seconds. Bravo!
On Saturday, we attended the Rocky Mountain Regional Finals of The Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions, or, as Jim's brother-in-law referred to it, "American Idol Goes to the Opera." For two hours, we sat in the third row of Denver's exquisite opera house and listened to eight young classically trained singers vie for a chance to go to New York to "compete for $15,000 cash prizes and the chance to perform in the Grand Finals Concert on the nation's most prestigious opera stage . . . Over 1,500 singers between the ages of 20 and 30 will participate in the National Council Auditions, the oldest and most wide-ranging singing competition in the country."
Much as I love our new home state, Culture-With-a-Capitol-C sometimes feels lacking here. Saturday's performances filled a little of the artistic vacuum I've experienced since leaving Europe.
Sunday's competition, on the other hand, was pure Colorado: the final sheep herding trials of the 2010 National Western Stock Show. Last year, we saw the novice dogs compete, which involved a lot of automatic DQs for biting sheep that refused to be herded. (One young dog actually slunk out of the ring with a mouthful of fleece.) This year's dogs were more experienced, but some of them still nipped their charges or crawled on their bellies when they were supposed to be motionless or couldn't accomplish all the required tasks under the five-minute time limit. The winner, Lad, belonged to an elderly gentleman who worked in perfect harmony with his dog, communicating only with whistles. (Shades of "Babe") Laddie put those sheep through their paces in a mere 2 minutes, 10 seconds. Bravo!
1.22.2010
Adventures in Real Estate
Although we contacted the owner of our rental property about the possibility of buying the house, we haven't received a response. The holes and water stains on the ceiling and walls remain unfixed, although two more contractors paraded through in the past six days and took pictures. Jim and I are exploding with frustration and have kicked our house-hunting into high gear.
I've always enjoyed looking for houses. In part, it's the fascination of peering into other people's architectural and interior design choices: Why is that dining room decorated to look like a cave? Why did someone add a tacky, lean-to sun room with 70s-style green indoor/outdoor carpeting onto a large, otherwise attractive home? Why are so many fireplaces stuck in a corner of the family room, rather than centered on the wall? Why does the master bathroom, rather than the master bedroom, have the best view of the lake? When you've spent tens of thousands to update a kitchen and put in hardwood floors in your home, why do all the bedroom closets sport metal folding doors circa the 1960s? Or how about that 14-year-old house in an upscale area in which none of the floors on the western side of the house are level? (I jokingly told our realtor that I'd had only one glass of wine the night before, so I knew that it wasn't a hangover causing everything to tilt.)
There's also something psychologically intriguing about house-hunting. Why, especially in a buyer's market, do some sellers meticulously stage the house and yard, while others seem to care less about how their property (their PRODUCT, from a marketing standpoint) looks? For example, I went through a fairly expensive house the very first day it went on the market. Although it had a spacious back yard--at least by Denver metro area standards--the yard was full of dog poop. Why didn't the owners clean it up before putting the house on the market? What were they thinking?
I've always enjoyed looking for houses. In part, it's the fascination of peering into other people's architectural and interior design choices: Why is that dining room decorated to look like a cave? Why did someone add a tacky, lean-to sun room with 70s-style green indoor/outdoor carpeting onto a large, otherwise attractive home? Why are so many fireplaces stuck in a corner of the family room, rather than centered on the wall? Why does the master bathroom, rather than the master bedroom, have the best view of the lake? When you've spent tens of thousands to update a kitchen and put in hardwood floors in your home, why do all the bedroom closets sport metal folding doors circa the 1960s? Or how about that 14-year-old house in an upscale area in which none of the floors on the western side of the house are level? (I jokingly told our realtor that I'd had only one glass of wine the night before, so I knew that it wasn't a hangover causing everything to tilt.)
There's also something psychologically intriguing about house-hunting. Why, especially in a buyer's market, do some sellers meticulously stage the house and yard, while others seem to care less about how their property (their PRODUCT, from a marketing standpoint) looks? For example, I went through a fairly expensive house the very first day it went on the market. Although it had a spacious back yard--at least by Denver metro area standards--the yard was full of dog poop. Why didn't the owners clean it up before putting the house on the market? What were they thinking?
1.15.2010
Stress Points
Yet another contractor--this one representing the owner's insurance company--walked through our rental house today, taking pictures of the water damage and expressing shock that nothing substantive has been done to take care of the problem. "They didn't drill holes in the walls and blow hot air in?" Nope. "They didn't remove the wet insulation?" No on that, too.
You could probably fill two fat photo albums with the pictures that have been taken in the last two months by various contractors, insurance adjusters, and staff from the property management company. Very little has actually been done to ameliorate the problems, although the living room ceiling and walls now sport five large holes. Those holes, ranging in size from 4x6 inches to 18x72 inches, are covered in clear plastic stapled to the surface, lending the house the ambiance of a lean-to.
Although we've approached the owner about buying this house (lunacy, I know, but we adore our neighbors), we've also kicked our search for a property to buy into high gear. We drove by over 40 houses in the past week, walked through six of them, and have showings scheduled tomorrow for another eight or nine. Of the houses we've toured, only one is even a possibility, mainly because it has a kitchen that looks like something out of a home decorating magazine. (The rest of the house needs updating, unfortunately.)
I had an interview last week for a part-time reference job at a local public library. It was one of the most bizarre interviews I've ever had, in part because the three librarians in the group interview gave no indication that they had ever seen my resume or cover letter. (All the applications went through the city's HR department.) They had a three or four page list of questions that they trudged through as though their lives depended on sticking to the script.
As I told my friend Sheila, who's also a librarian, some of the questions made me think that I was interviewing for the presidency of the American Library Association. "What kinds of Web 2.0 technologies could you use to attract teens to the library?" "How can reference librarians prove that they're still necessary when 85 percent of people say that they just go to Google to get their questions answered?" "From the following list of technologies (which included everything from PowerPoint presentations to wikis and RSS feeds), please tell us which you have worked with and describe how you have worked with them."
By the time they got to questions about traditional library services ("What books would you book-talk for young patrons? Please provide titles for both children and young adults."), my brain was fried. Sheila said that she probably would have walked out mid-interview, and, in retrospect, I probably should have done just that. At least then I wouldn't feel so astounded that they didn't even have the courtesy to send me an e-mail, much less snail mail, thanking me for my time, but notifying me that they wouldn't hire me if I were the last librarian in the solar system.
You could probably fill two fat photo albums with the pictures that have been taken in the last two months by various contractors, insurance adjusters, and staff from the property management company. Very little has actually been done to ameliorate the problems, although the living room ceiling and walls now sport five large holes. Those holes, ranging in size from 4x6 inches to 18x72 inches, are covered in clear plastic stapled to the surface, lending the house the ambiance of a lean-to.
Although we've approached the owner about buying this house (lunacy, I know, but we adore our neighbors), we've also kicked our search for a property to buy into high gear. We drove by over 40 houses in the past week, walked through six of them, and have showings scheduled tomorrow for another eight or nine. Of the houses we've toured, only one is even a possibility, mainly because it has a kitchen that looks like something out of a home decorating magazine. (The rest of the house needs updating, unfortunately.)
I had an interview last week for a part-time reference job at a local public library. It was one of the most bizarre interviews I've ever had, in part because the three librarians in the group interview gave no indication that they had ever seen my resume or cover letter. (All the applications went through the city's HR department.) They had a three or four page list of questions that they trudged through as though their lives depended on sticking to the script.
As I told my friend Sheila, who's also a librarian, some of the questions made me think that I was interviewing for the presidency of the American Library Association. "What kinds of Web 2.0 technologies could you use to attract teens to the library?" "How can reference librarians prove that they're still necessary when 85 percent of people say that they just go to Google to get their questions answered?" "From the following list of technologies (which included everything from PowerPoint presentations to wikis and RSS feeds), please tell us which you have worked with and describe how you have worked with them."
By the time they got to questions about traditional library services ("What books would you book-talk for young patrons? Please provide titles for both children and young adults."), my brain was fried. Sheila said that she probably would have walked out mid-interview, and, in retrospect, I probably should have done just that. At least then I wouldn't feel so astounded that they didn't even have the courtesy to send me an e-mail, much less snail mail, thanking me for my time, but notifying me that they wouldn't hire me if I were the last librarian in the solar system.
1.11.2010
Why I Don't Cook
E-mail today from my darling daughter:
Will you be offended if I say this is how I imagine you in the kitchen?
Which she follows up with a link to a recent New Yorker article titled "The Cursing Mommy Cooks Italian" . . .
Will you be offended if I say this is how I imagine you in the kitchen?
Which she follows up with a link to a recent New Yorker article titled "The Cursing Mommy Cooks Italian" . . .
1.06.2010
Favorite Books, 2009 Edition
She was not a writer herself, but she was a very good reader, passionate and eclectic in her tastes . . .
David Benioff, City of Thieves
I read 120 books last year. Don't be impressed--some, such as Ann Patchett's What Now?, were so thin that they couldn't balance a wobbly table leg. One, The Graveyard Book, was nominally written for children. Plus, I had a lot of unique opportunities to read in 2009, including the time I spent on "the rack" (Rick, what's that machine really called?) during physical therapy.
When I finish reading a book, I add the title and author to an ongoing list in my journal. If I really, really liked the book, I put a star next to its title. When I went to compile my 2009 favorites, I was shocked to find that many of the titles, starred and starless, featured one or more deaths. What's that all about? It's not as though I read a lot of murder mysteries.
[Our dog, Berry] might not realize that I am going to die, for a start. He doesn't know about death. As I lie expiring, surrounded by people who got tickets for the event in time, how do I know that as I open my mouth and prepare to utter my carefully prepared and rehearsed last words, he may not burst in and demand to be taken for a walk?
And that my last words, after all that, will turn out to be: 'Oh, for God's sake, not now, Berry!'
Miles Kington, How Shall I Tell the Dog? and Other Final Musings
On the other hand, my favorite book of the year, Manhood for Amateurs, a collection of essays by Michael Chabon, was short on death and long on life with all its vagaries. I read Manhood toward the end of 2009, so perhaps it's a harbinger of happier reading ahead.
With that lengthy aside ("No, I am not preoccupied with death!"), here are my other 2009 favorites, listed in the chronological order in which I read them.
The Mercy Papers (Robin Romm)
Sing Them Home (Stephanie Kallos)
The Elegance of the Hedgehog (Muriel Barbery)
City of Thieves (David Benioff)
Between, Georgia (Joshilyn Jackson)
The Exact Same Moon (Jeanne Marie Laskas)
The Graveyard Book (Neil Gaiman)
Angels of Destruction (Keith Donohue)
Missing Joseph (Elizabeth George)
Losing Mum and Pup (Christopher Buckley)
The Family Man (Elinor Lipman)
Eat, Drink, and Be From Mississippi (Nanci Kincaid)
The Little Book (Selden Edwards)
The Likeness (Tana French)
Home Safe (Elizabeth Berg)
Her Fearful Symmetry (Audrey Niffenegger)
The Magicians (Lev Grossman)
Blockbuster note: I loved Angels & Demons and enjoyed The Da Vinci Code, but I got through only 35 pages of The Lost Symbol before returning it to the library from sheer boredom.
"Are you kidding? That guy was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and crudely stapled to a ticking fucking time bomb. He was either going to hit somebody or start a blog."
Lev Grossman, The Magicians
David Benioff, City of Thieves
I read 120 books last year. Don't be impressed--some, such as Ann Patchett's What Now?, were so thin that they couldn't balance a wobbly table leg. One, The Graveyard Book, was nominally written for children. Plus, I had a lot of unique opportunities to read in 2009, including the time I spent on "the rack" (Rick, what's that machine really called?) during physical therapy.
When I finish reading a book, I add the title and author to an ongoing list in my journal. If I really, really liked the book, I put a star next to its title. When I went to compile my 2009 favorites, I was shocked to find that many of the titles, starred and starless, featured one or more deaths. What's that all about? It's not as though I read a lot of murder mysteries.
[Our dog, Berry] might not realize that I am going to die, for a start. He doesn't know about death. As I lie expiring, surrounded by people who got tickets for the event in time, how do I know that as I open my mouth and prepare to utter my carefully prepared and rehearsed last words, he may not burst in and demand to be taken for a walk?
And that my last words, after all that, will turn out to be: 'Oh, for God's sake, not now, Berry!'
Miles Kington, How Shall I Tell the Dog? and Other Final Musings
On the other hand, my favorite book of the year, Manhood for Amateurs, a collection of essays by Michael Chabon, was short on death and long on life with all its vagaries. I read Manhood toward the end of 2009, so perhaps it's a harbinger of happier reading ahead.
With that lengthy aside ("No, I am not preoccupied with death!"), here are my other 2009 favorites, listed in the chronological order in which I read them.
The Mercy Papers (Robin Romm)
Sing Them Home (Stephanie Kallos)
The Elegance of the Hedgehog (Muriel Barbery)
City of Thieves (David Benioff)
Between, Georgia (Joshilyn Jackson)
The Exact Same Moon (Jeanne Marie Laskas)
The Graveyard Book (Neil Gaiman)
Angels of Destruction (Keith Donohue)
Missing Joseph (Elizabeth George)
Losing Mum and Pup (Christopher Buckley)
The Family Man (Elinor Lipman)
Eat, Drink, and Be From Mississippi (Nanci Kincaid)
The Little Book (Selden Edwards)
The Likeness (Tana French)
Home Safe (Elizabeth Berg)
Her Fearful Symmetry (Audrey Niffenegger)
The Magicians (Lev Grossman)
Blockbuster note: I loved Angels & Demons and enjoyed The Da Vinci Code, but I got through only 35 pages of The Lost Symbol before returning it to the library from sheer boredom.
"Are you kidding? That guy was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and crudely stapled to a ticking fucking time bomb. He was either going to hit somebody or start a blog."
Lev Grossman, The Magicians
1.04.2010
Decisions, Decisions
For years, my overhead bin at work sported a magnet with the phrase "Leap and the net will appear." (It was supposedly a Zen saying, but I was doubtful.) After we decided to leap, er, move to Belgium, I gave the magnet to the Head Librarian, who was contemplating a little leaping herself.
We now find ourselves trying to decide whether to leap back into home ownership, which seemed desirable in our 20s and 30s, but is less so now. We hadn't planned to even consider that decision until spring, when our lease is up and Jim will have been at his new job a bit longer. However, we're facing the prospect of living for many weeks (6? 8? more?) in a Marriott Suites sort of lodging while a major portion of our rental home's interior is gutted to repair the damage from the roof fiasco. Although the property management company has hinted that it would release us from our lease, I haven't found another decent rental house, particularly one that will accept dogs, even a dog who is literally on her last legs. I haven't even been able to find much in the way of homes for sale at this time of year.
Jim feels that we should explore the option of making an offer on this house prior to the start of the remediation work. His thought is that, since the house is going to be torn up anyhow, why not have some other work done on it, work that we had discussed back in the days when the roof didn't leak and we thought we might want to own the house? New windows, for example. A remodelled kitchen. New floors in the bathrooms. After the never-ending fallout from the roof disaster, though, I am leery.
But . . . I like the neighbors, the neighborhood, and the proximity to the mountains and to downtown Denver. I like many things about the house itself--the cozy family room, the view out back to the woods, the fact that the interior, with its many windows, is très lumineux, as the rental listings in Brussels used to boast. (Of course it is much easier to be très lumineux in a part of the world with over 300 days of sunshine.)
Maybe I need that magnet back, or at least the ignorant optimism I briefly had that nets do appear to catch those who have abandoned all that was once certain in life.
We now find ourselves trying to decide whether to leap back into home ownership, which seemed desirable in our 20s and 30s, but is less so now. We hadn't planned to even consider that decision until spring, when our lease is up and Jim will have been at his new job a bit longer. However, we're facing the prospect of living for many weeks (6? 8? more?) in a Marriott Suites sort of lodging while a major portion of our rental home's interior is gutted to repair the damage from the roof fiasco. Although the property management company has hinted that it would release us from our lease, I haven't found another decent rental house, particularly one that will accept dogs, even a dog who is literally on her last legs. I haven't even been able to find much in the way of homes for sale at this time of year.
Jim feels that we should explore the option of making an offer on this house prior to the start of the remediation work. His thought is that, since the house is going to be torn up anyhow, why not have some other work done on it, work that we had discussed back in the days when the roof didn't leak and we thought we might want to own the house? New windows, for example. A remodelled kitchen. New floors in the bathrooms. After the never-ending fallout from the roof disaster, though, I am leery.
But . . . I like the neighbors, the neighborhood, and the proximity to the mountains and to downtown Denver. I like many things about the house itself--the cozy family room, the view out back to the woods, the fact that the interior, with its many windows, is très lumineux, as the rental listings in Brussels used to boast. (Of course it is much easier to be très lumineux in a part of the world with over 300 days of sunshine.)
Maybe I need that magnet back, or at least the ignorant optimism I briefly had that nets do appear to catch those who have abandoned all that was once certain in life.
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