Hi everyone! I’ve been wanting to start a blog for a while, but it never seemed like the right time. Nothing momentus ever happened. Well, nothing momentus enough. On the other hand, Dave and I would like to keep in touch with all of you, so I guess now is as good a time as any to begin. I can warm up for the inevitable New Year’s resolution, in which I promise to blog every day. Which will likely last, as these things do, until the second week of January. Maybe you can keep me honest.
We had a reasonably eventful weekend, actually. After some discussion, I wound up riding Tatonka to work on Friday because Dave had to go back to the doctor for a week-long sore throat, so he needed to drive Taco. I couldn’t ride the bus because I had a Rowman & Littlefield reunion to attend after work. I’ve only been gone four months, but several friends and I had been planning to get as many ex-R&L-ers together as we could. We thought of more than fifty people who have passed through the Boulder office! We wound up with thirteen people that evening, and we had a lovely time at Dolan’s, which Dave calls the “old people’s steakhouse.” (He might have stolen that from someone.) I’d never been there before, but the happy hour prices were great and there’s a cool room way at the back that easily accommodated us. Anyway, I had fun catching up with old friends, and I was among the last group to leave. When I got out to the parking lot, my motorcycle wouldn’t start! It tried to turn over a couple of times early on, but mostly made a “cccccccc” sound when I pressed the starter. I took out my “MOM” (motorcycle owner’s manual) and tried to find the problem. The manual mentioned that the engine might be flooded, so I followed the instructions for fixing that, to no avail. I went back into the restaurant and called Dave to tell him what was going on, and then I gathered up my helmet and two motorcycle bags, which I didn’t want to leave out overnight. I headed for the bus home. I was walking down the wrong side of the road when I saw the bus, behind me a bit. I managed, miraculously, to cross the road before the bus and took off running to get to the stop. Running in motorcycle boots is uncomfortable and it was really awkward with all that stuff in my hands. I could tell I wasn’t going to make it, and the bus only comes once an hour, so I was feeling pretty dejected (while still running). But the bus pulled up next to me and the door opened! The driver shouted, “I wasn’t going to make you run all that way!”
Perhaps my luck had turned! I got on, set my stuff down, and found the right change in my jacket–another surprise, since I don’t usually have cash. The driver told me that he’s a biker and he stopped because he saw my helmet. “Where’s the bike?” he wanted to know. I explained about the noise and he said that the battery must be dead. He said I could buy another one at Wal-Mart, much cheaper than going to a bike shop. I said, “But what if I don’t shop at Wal-Mart?” and the only other guy on the bus pointed at me and said “right on.” Then he pulled the cord and got off. The bus driver–Michael–and I got to chatting about bikes and his previous life. He rides a Harley, has been in two bad accidents, and keeps a couple of Hondas around to work on. He did a stint as a physicist, working on lasers, in California, but quit when he realized that his co-workers never got his jokes. Plus, he was just doing the work to make his dad proud. He quit the high-paying job, sold his house, moved to Boulder, and still enjoys driving a bus, because he likes to be around people and, as a little kid, he always thought it would be cool to drive something that big. Did I believe him? Mostly. Let’s say this: I really wanted to believe him. And I was pleased to hear that his dad wasn’t disappointed.
It turned out that the bus route was to Erie, which is nearby, but isn’t Lafaytte, where I was trying to go. So Michael let me off as close to home as the route went, at the King Soopers where I usually buy groceries. (Dad, if you’re reading this, it’s at Baseline and 287.) I called Dave to pick me up, which didn’t take too long. The next morning I woke up worrying about Tatonka. Dave had a meeting with some church folks at a coffee shop in Lafayette, so we had breakfast together (Santiago’s burritos–the cheapest and best breakfast in town!) and then parted ways. I drove into Boulder and discovered that CU was playing football at home that afternoon. That meant that Dolan’s was renting parking spaces for $15, but luckily my bike was still there and wasn’t ticketed. I took out the battery, following the instructions in my MOM closely, and making due with the tools I had. I brought some extra sockets, but I brought the wrong wrench and couldn’t attach them. I ended up making a handle of sorts by jamming an Allen key into the end of the socket and holding my breath. It worked! I learned a few interesting things about some tools I should add to the kit that came with the bike. I drove the battery over to Powersports, where I bought Tatonka. They confirmed that the battery was dead and sold me a new one (at, I later discovered, a very steep markup!) and a trickle charger, which I’d been meaning to get anyway. Since the guy told me the battery needed to be charged, which he told me would take six hours, I met Dave and we headed home. What do you know? It was charged in about an hour, so I’m sure it would’ve started the bike. Oh, well. I learned another interesting thing about not buying stuff without looking around first, even if you’re eager to get your bike home safely in the garage.
New topic, having to do with Saturday afternoon.
We recently had the house painted, and it’s gorgeous. The main color is Wine Barrel, which is a red with a lot of brown. The trim is Mountain Elk, a green with a lot of gray. We generally do home improvements ourselves, and were totally thrilled to come home each day to see more and more of the house painted. Without us doing anything! If you’re in the Boulder area and need a painter, we recommend Bill Wilson of We Bee Paintin’. He was terrific and reasonably priced. (Plus he’s a Browns fan!) However, we had asked him to match the paint scheme of the houses next door, so he’d painted some of the window trim Wine Barrel. We decided that we wanted it to be Mountain Elk instead. I wanted to get it done before the winter, so we wouldn’t be putting new paint on a slightly faded house. (Even in the winter, the sun is out almost every day, and the UV is powerful!) So I went out and painted the first coat of most of the trim. That felt like a good accomplishment, and then we drove into town to put the new battery into Tatonka. It didn’t take too long to reverse the process, with better tools this time, and it sure was nice to hear the engine start up!
Then we headed over to church for a concert. Our music director, Jim, is just terrific, and he has a bunch of talented friends. This concert featured him on piano, our organist, Kristina, on organ, and dynamic soprano Julie Mark, singing the heck out of some opera music. How nice to hear live music on a Saturday night! We got home in time to watch Eastern Promises, our newest Netflix rental. I’d heard that I’d have the pleasure of seeing Viggo Mortensen in his altogether (albeit in a knife fight in a sauna), so I’d been wanting to see it. Too much gore in places, although I suspect that’s normal in a Russian gangster movie. I think I ended up liking it more than Dave did, even though I thought it ended right in the middle of the story. And of course, as always, he had to explain who was who the whole time and what the heck they were talking about. I’m one of those people who never figures out the answer to the murder mystery until the author tells me…and sometimes I don’t even really understand it then.
Sunday was nice too. I woke up at 8:00 a.m. with the sun in my eyes, so I got up and made this frittata I’ve been wanting to cook. I was looking for a recipe that includes both pumpkin and zucchini (two vegetables that seem to work in my garden). You brown the vegetables and then pour eggs mixed with cream and feta cheese in with the veggies. Then bake. The Australian recipe I got online said “in a moderately hot oven.” The translating from metric to English wasn’t too hard (thanks to Google), but since I’m not a grandma yet, I don’t understand directions like “a pinch,” “moderately hot,” or “until it’s workable.” I tried 350 and, lo and behold, it worked! I thought it was delicious, especially with pepper. Dave thought it was too sweet, but ate it anyway. He’s such a good guy! Then we went to church and listened to a great sermon that tied chosing to live as God asks (the five silly and five wise bridesmaids) with stewardship. (I also spent plenty of time making faces at John Brinkman, our friends’ six-month-old. He was in a great mood and wearing little overalls with a football on them and a matching shirt. How could I resist?) Then I dropped Dave at The Laughing Goat, a terrific coffee shop in town (Best. lattes. ever. Well, okay, they’re really good at Amante and Trident and Vic’s, too.) I went home to finish the painting, which included trying to surprise Dave by painting the trim on the two high windows that our ladder wouldn’t reach. I sat on the windowsill and leaned out. (Carefully, Mom.) I also did the second coat on yesterday’s work. And then a second coat on the high windows.
It was 3:30 by the time I was done, so I drove into town to meet Dave, Ben, Christina, Elijah, and Matt for a bit of soccer. It was a gorgeous day, warm enough for short sleeves, even for me. I remember that November 1 was that warm, and now we’re already at November 9 and the sun is still out! The weather is supposed to turn crummy tomorrow. After soccer we had some dinner (Little Ceasar’s Hot and Ready pizza) and watched some Sunday night football (the Giants beat the Eagles). Now I’m here, starting a blog. Not too shabby! I think I’m even ready for work tomorrow. It’s a three-day week because we’re headed to Portland. But more on that later.