Spring Training 2006: The Big Hurt Shows Up Big

On my 4th and last day of this short visit to Spring Training, I went to a terrific ballgame in spectacular seats at Phoenix Muni. I finally see what the other fans like about this stadium. It normally reminds me too much of McAfee (Oakland Coliseum) in that there’s too much foul territory, the players are too far away from the fans, etc. But today I was sitting in box seats in back of the Athletics’ dugout. Today I was up-close-and-personal to the field and the players.

And it was quite a game! Danny Haren was pitching for the A’s. His 2nd pitch was hit for a solid single, and every inning he seemed to have one man on base, causing Swisher to play close to the bag, but that was it. One homerun was the Rockies’ scoring, ‘cause that’s all they could get; they didn’t even come close to scoring again.

And we got to see Frank Thomas in an A’s uniform in his first official spring training game. Wow. I thought Vladimir Guerrero filled out a uniform. Marco Scutaro could fit inside one of Frank’s sleeves. This guy is the Hulk, and you can see why he’s called the Big Hurt.

After stretching a bit and running and chatting amiably with the other players, Frank casually walked over to the sideline where I was sitting and started signing autographs, just like that. Whoa!! All of a sudden, there were kids of all ages climbing over me to get to the fence. (I was one row back.) That wasn’t pleasant, but it was certainly understandable. The Hurt is here, he’s happy to be here, and he’s saying his first hello to the fans. Awesome.

And he didn’t disappoint on the field, either. His second at bat, he hit a shot so high, so fast, that I didn’t even see it clear the right-field fence. But it did. It certainly looked like his injuries were just memories.

This wasn’t a hitfest. It would seem the A’s are having problems hitting except that they’re making contact. And the split squad game yesterday was a 20-run rout in their favor – but this was the game I didn’t see, the one in Peoria. Eric Chavez is Oh-fer in his last 16 at bats. But he’s making good contact so I don’t think we should worry.

Nick Swisher hit a homerun, his second in two days. Jay Payton, who seems relegated to only part-time work, also hit a homerun. (I’m a real Payton fan. I think this guy breathes baseball, and has the talent to back up his swagger.) Those three runs were the only runs the A’s scored. The Rockies also scored their only run on the long ball. It was, outside of these homeruns, another pitchers’ duel, with both pitchers performing well.

I knew I had to leave early, but the game was running so fast that I was able to stay until the 7th inning. I found the rental car facility easily, driving down Van Buren all the way until 24th street, and then making a right. Took me right there. The plane ride, however, was the trip from (and to) hell. I’m thinking with all the time I invest in going to the airport, that shaves 3 hours off a 10-hour trip. I am thinking that, if I do this again next year, I’m driving. No more schlepping luggage to three different gates in an hour.

But before I leave, thanks to Candi again for organizing these trips for us. For spectacular seats. For her patience. After all, we seniors are rather grumpy at times, especially if we don’t get our beans.

Spring Training 2006: The Case of the Missing BBQ

Friday night, the game was at night at Phoenix Municipal. I got to the parking lot at 4:45 pm, 15 minutes before the gates to the park opened. I bought a new spring training hat in the shop (open from the outside). When the gates opened, I moseyed over to the BBQ, held in a fenced-off grassy area over by left field.

The folks at the BBQ were very friendly. We kind of had to be, as we all had to share the limited number of tables. As soon as others joined me, the gentleman with the old A’s cap in front of me immediately started in, telling me about the site where the Oakland Coliseum is today. “I worked for EBMUD back then. EBMUD sold that spot to the Oakland A’s back in 1966.” I don’t remember much about what he told me; there was so much noise around with the Boosters talking and the music from the live band next door, it was hard to hear. Something about the Coliseum’s lower levels being below 22 feet sea level.

The woman next to me – I’m guessing she was close to 80, as her husband will celebrate that mark in a year – told me she keeps score for every A’s game, even the away games. “I do it over the radio,” she said proudly. “Whenever my family wants to give me gifts, I tell them to give me score cards. You know, it takes 7 books to get through an entire year.”

When our table got up to go through the BBQ line, we were disappointed. They were out of beans. They were out of potato chips, mustard, catsup -- well, most things except for hot dogs and hamburgers. The seniors were starting to get angry (as angry as they get, murmurring in the crowd). The server when I was up there was murmurring, too -- about how much seniors eat. "The beans are all gone," he said, shaking his head and talking to nobody in particular. "These people -- they eat too many beans." Candi worked with the caterer, who promised to come up with more food in a hurry (but not beans, because, as we know, "the beans are all gone"). Finally the A's coordinator came up to talk with her. He explained to her that they hadn't expected to run out of food only halfway through the line. "Hey, these people can eat!" she told me later that she explained it all to him. "Have you ever seen my mother at a banquet? She brings her own doggie bag." She said she didn't want to piss off these people and lose the Boosters' $18 tickets and all the other perks they give us, so she tread lightly. The servers finally brought over all the brownies and grapes from the A's pre-game meal, but by then almost all of us had gone to the game. (The food was available from the A's because the players had to go to the game, too!)

I must admit that I left every game early, either because I was too hot, too tired, or I had to go to the airport (twice). Every time it looked like I was leaving, the people around me would frown and question me. While spring training urges a laidback attitude, apparently that doesn’t apply to attending the games. I would arrive two hours early before every game to be assured of parking and observe the players on the field as they loosened up, but I didn’t get any points for that among this tough crowd.

On this particular night (Friday), pitcher Barry Zito, the ace of the A's squad, did not look sharp. He gave up hit after hit. While it's hard to tell if Barry was working on something, it's tough not to be worried that Uncle Charlie (his nasty curveball) is suddenly hittable.


On Saturday morning, after my friend Val flew in to join me in one game for Spring Training, we drove to Hohokam for the A's vs. the Cubs. Hohokam Park is in Mesa, Arizona, a good 10 miles southeast of Phoenix. I’m sure there’s lots to see in Mesa, but when you’re standing in the stadium there, there doesn’t seem to be anything surrounding the place for miles. Just brownish-red mesas and blue skies. The park itself is 9 years old, has a little underground passageway behind the grandstand, a cool place to shop for souvenirs. And almost all the souvenirs were Cubs-related. LOTS of Cubbie fans strolling around. And you’d never know this was a spring training game, a game where not much mattered. The Cubs fans were out in their colors, and cheering on their team. The Cubs ended up winning this game, 1 – 0, in a pitching duel.

Rich Harden of the Oakland A’s looked particularly sharp, giving way in the fifth inning for Jay Witasick. Rich’s pitches were rarely even hit; very few balls had to be fielded. The A’s hitters couldn’t do much against the Cubs pitcher, flailing away at breaking ball pitches or trying to catch up to a steaming fastball.

I did get my first glimpse of Milton Bradley. Milton took his whacks, but ended up walking most of the time. That showed me that he wasn’t above the A’s philosophy, and as long as he could get on base, even in spring training when he’s working on his swing, he’d be satisfied. Marco Scutaro put in his first appearance since his injury (in the four days I have been in Phoenix), and looked fine. Bobby Kielty appears to be over his injury as well, and, although he didn’t get any hits, he did flag down a few tough fly balls.

Spring Training 2006: Watch Freddie Run

I mentioned that last night was a real treat for the Oakland A’s Booster Club, as we had Robert Buan and Freddie Bynum to talk to us. Robert, of course, is the silver-tongued announcer who gave away the cars last year and who runs Extra Innings after every A’s broadcast. He introduced player Freddie Bynum, and urged Freddie to answer his questions and ours.

Freddie grew up in North Carolina. He had no intention of going to college at all, figuring he’d join his father in factory work, but his grandmother offered him college. “I could go and not have to pay for anything. So….I went to college,” he said quietly as we all laughed. “While I was there, I discovered they had baseball. Might as well play as long as it’s there. I ended up paying for my years of school with scholarships.”

Freddie is a 26-year-old minor leaguer who has run out of options. If the A’s don’t pick him for The Show this time around, someone else can. And that would really hurt. Especially since Freddie isn’t making it easy for the Powers That Be to let him go. He’s batting close to .400 in the games he’s been in; it’s almost like the Athletics are trying to showcase this young player for other teams, or let him prove what he can prove.

Robert asked Freddie, “If the A’s picked you up, do you think you’d continue to steal bases? After all, they’ve had this philosophy for years which discourages base stealing.” Freddie thought a moment, and answered, “I’m thinking not.” When he heard a lot of disappointed groans, he continued that management wouldn’t want to leave the bases open for the A’s power hitters, as opposing pitchers would just walk them. But maybe at certain times he’d be allowed to steal, he mused.

This young man is out of North Carolina, soft spoken but full of confidence. “I don’t worry about what I can’t control,” he said more than once about what the A’s would do about his options. As he told the Boosters that night, “But I can tell you one thing. I’m going to try to take someone’s job.”

Looking at his production and the fact that a few of the regulars are injured (e.g., Kielty), I’m predicting right now that Bynum will be on the roster on April 2nd when the rosters have to be in. The A’s may not want to play Freddie full-time, but he’s lightning in a bottle, and I don’t think they’ll give him up for nary a whisper.

Spring Training 2006: The Super Halo & the Ample-Butt Women

It was an early wake-up to catch the flight to Phoenix. And the flight itself was rather miserable. It was pretty much sold out, and although I had an aisle seat, my neighbor was overweight and, once seated, she had no place to put appendages within that narrow America West seat. Luckily (for both of us, I think), I understand her predicament. We managed to overlap territory without much drama.

But the 6 am flight was a good way to go, as I could get in, rent my car at the new central facility, get lost a few times and then finally find the Embassy Suites, all before making my way to the ballpark. The hotel is only a few miles from the airport, but, I swear, it takes me at least half an hour to get to it.

I checked in early and headed out with ample directions to Temple Diablo Stadium. I have no idea why it’s called “Diablo” if it’s the home of the Angels. It’s a nice, small park, but the parking is still limited. I arrived at 11:45 for a 1 pm game, and I was shunted off to the third parking lot behind the outfield.

Tempe Diablo Stadium is the home of the Angels, and holds over 10,000 if you count the 2,500 on the lawn. This day all the seats were filled, but the lawn wasn’t quite. At $8 for my just-off-third-base seat, four rows from the fence, it seemed like a great deal.

By the time the game started, however, the sun had already started to cook the back of my neck. I had put sunscreen on before I left the hotel room, and put some more on in the 3rd inning, but I still felt hot. So I left the seat in the 5th and went to the covered area where the concessions were. “Seat?” Huh. They were marked numbers on a continuous bench. As the woman next to me couldn’t find area for her husband and son between us ample-butt women, she suggested I move to the end of the row. I got kind of stubborn – and how silly this seems now – as I didn’t want to be stuck if people showed up with those tickets. Nobody ever did, but the Boosters area did fill up a bit as that late bus pulled up. So her husband started a baseball conversation with his neighbor, and her son disappeared into the concession stands for several innings. And everything worked out.

It was weird to see Angels superstar Vladimir Guerrero show up, at least half an hour after the other Angels players had started working out. He’s twice as big as an ordinary player. I took several photos of him as he stretched on the sidelines and got ready to play. I saw our new shortstop Antonio Perez come up to talk to Vlad during this routine. When Vladdy made two rare errors in the outfield later on in the game, the 40’s-ish A’s fan next to me hooted and hollered. “How many millions per error is that?” he cackled, continuing to mispronounce “Vlad” as “Vald.” Those superstars are never going to get a break.

The A’s threw Triple A pitcher Danny Meyer out there, who went 5 innings. He looked just fine until the Angels hit back-to-back homeruns against him – one by Vladdy, a shot that cleared the entire stadium. The A’s bats looked pretty solid to me, but a Booster senior that evening remarked that the A’s went 4 innings without a hit and wondered when they were going to wake up. But spring training is a mixed bag, a mixture of veterans who are just loosening up and up-and-comers who are trying to impress, and you’re not going to get perfect games.

One of those up-and-comers is Freddie Bynum, an infielder who seems to be playing the outfield a lot. Freddie went 2 for 6 in today’s game of 10 innings, and stole two bases as well. Much to our delight, Freddie turned up at the Booster Banquet that night, introduced by Robert Buan, one of the A’s announcers. When I asked how he remained so consistent at the plate and what was his approach, he mumbled a bunch of usual rhetoric, but then finally threw in, “And I look for that fastball.” More about Freddie later.

I discovered that the Friday game is the only night game of the season at Phoenix Municipal. It’s preceded by a Booster Club BBQ by the left field at 5 pm. Since parking fills up quickly, it’ll be good to get out there early anyway. But I have no idea what I’m going to do in the afternoon. I had looked at the Giants game in Scottsdale, but it was sold out. I guess I’ll just try to stay cool.

The Coronation of George

I answered my cell phone in a hushed whisper. It was Rick, talking about George's retirement party, a usual topic these days. "What's that screaming in the background?" he asked. The musicians are warming up, I replied. I'm at the symphony.

I have tickets for a plethora of events this year at Davies Hall, the magnificent home of the San Francisco Symphony. Today was Mozart's Coronation Mass. It's Mozart's 250th birthday this year, you see. Except that he only lived to see year number 35. Amazing that his work has been revered for so long.

Mozart composed this Coronation Mass for Easter Sunday in 1779. Since it's widely known he tended to compose on schedule (meaning, he waited until the last minute before he would finish), it's likely he finished the work only days before it was scheduled to be performed in the Salzburg Cathedral.

According to the program notes (Playbill, March 2006), "most of Mozart's Masses are of the Missa brevis (Short Mass) variety." As he described to a friend in a letter in 1776, "A Mass with all its parts -- the Kyrie, the Gloria, the Credo, the Epistle sonata, the Offertory or motet, the Sanctus, and the Agnus Dei -- must not last longer than three-quarters of an hour; this applies even to the most solemn Mass said by the Archibishop himself."

Applause for guest conductor Martin Haselbock, and we get under way. As Haselbock throws his arms out in boomerang effect, the musicians start. And Perfection begins.

But even in such heavenly company the mind drifts. In true Joycean style, uncontrollable and without punctuation, thoughts hurtled about at the speed of light, faster than sound.

George's retirement party. God, he's asked millions. Everyone he's ever met, clearly anyone he ever worked with in 35 years. Our little restaurant room isn't large enough. The Coliseum wouldn't be large enough. I wonder if I can get out of town before anyone notices...

Kyrie eleison.
Gloria!
Gloria in excelsis Deo. Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.

The 217-member choir shouts its praise to God in voluptuous harmony. I wonder why there are so many women in the choir. Couldn't they get any men?

George is driving us to drink. I won't drink at all during the party. I'll drink afterwards. I'll share a drink with Rick, or two or three. I sure hope our presentation is funny.

Credo! Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem coeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium.

The four guest soloists step up and begin. Three of them may just as well sit down and stare at the audience. The soprano voice of Cristine Brandes rises above the rest, hovers, and takes us on its angelic journey. She's incredible. I wonder if she speaks everyday Italian?

Maybe if we just have a cocktail party. But we have all that food. They have to sit down to eat the food. There aren't enough chairs. How are we going to squeeze...

Nostras deprecationes ne despicias in neccessitatibus nostris! Sed a periculis cunctis libera nos semper.
Benedictus! Benedictus!

Some of those choir members are paid. Most are volunteers. I wonder which ones?

Agnus Dei! Qui tollis peccata mundi miserere nobis.

O Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

I have witnessed, in my short life, some true perfect moments. This was one. I listened to Haydn just a moment ago, and he rarely took chances, risks, except in retirement. But Mozart lived for the risks, reached for the golden ring, each and every time. Everything he did was for the first time. And over 200 years later, we're still here, listening.

A full 45 minutes later, I applauded this exquisite performance by the San Francisco Symphony and its Choir. Five minutes later, I was walking towards BART, stepping deftly to avoid the three-foot tall women in my way, leaning on their canes and their bent-over men, as they move away from Davies Hall. The average age at these matinees is one click over The Golden Girls. They, like me, like to experience their music in the light of day.

A few moments in my life that have been Perfect. The Coronation Mass. A no-hitter. That chicken piccata at Francesco's. That retirement party for George.

Well, the last remains to be seen. In two short weeks. If we survive.

O Lamb of God....have mercy upon us....

Remodel Hell: One More Thing...

I'll bet contractors hate hearing that, "while you're in there, one more thing I'd like you to do is..."

I don't like doing that. I don't like adding on. First, it's pretty stupid, often happens after they've already sealed up the hole. Secondly, it's very expensive.

However....this time I had to do it. I discovered I didn't have enough outlets in the small (now smaller) middle room, so I asked Ernie if he could send his electrician (a different one than the last two times, please?) out to do the job. He said it would only take about two hours.

So Dave arrived this morning, asked me all kinds of questions I wasn't good in answering. And then he broke open the switch box (there goes the new plaster!! Groan...) to figure it all out. He looked at the crawl space under the house, re-emerged and said the job was probably going to take a day.

No, no, I said. I have a cleaning crew showing up in an hour. We had better re-schedule.

But Ernie drove up just then, came in, and showed him there was already a dedicated line to the new bathroom that he could feed off to supply electrical power to the new fourplex. So Dave rolled with it, smiled, and said, Hey, we'll be out of here in two hours!

Thank God for Ernie. Again. Ernie also told me he discussed it with Dave Martinez, the owner, and they decided they wouldn't charge me for the last go-round (not this one) with the electrician and the plasterer. Just materials. How nice is that?

So today it's finished....let me say that again...The two-month five-month remodel is FINISHED!!!

I gotta go now....I've got the cleaners coming in a few minutes! Cleaning up for the party on Sunday!!

WHOOPEEEEEE!!!!

Remodel Hell - The Final Inspection

We failed the last electrical inspection, or as Ernie said, "Two out of three ain't bad." It's bad when you still have one to go.

So a week later -- today -- we had another inspector come out. Ernie was running around buying breaker switches and bringing in a new smoke detector for the bedroom, showing up at 8:05 am to get a head start on it all, to clean up after the electrician. (That electrician showed up about an hour after Ernie left, last Tuesday, and spent less than half an hour....doing what, I don't know. He refused to ground the loose wires or put in the code-required breakers.) The inspector came while I was at the dentist's, but we did the hidden key thing, and he got in and let the inspector in for a good result.

So, that's it, right? Well.... No. Ernie was nice enough to notice that the plaster surrounding the old switchbox in the den is all broken up (because of the electrician pounding on it to break it free from the wall), and promised to send his plasterer out to pave it over. "It's too big a job for me and my tools," he said, apologetically.

I also mentioned that I need some more electrical sockets in the middle room, my new office. He said he'd try to get an electrician out there, if not tomorrow, then soon. We didn't want to confuse the electrical inspection by including a couple of new sockets! Oh, noooo.

But....WE PASSED INSPECTION!! WE PASSED INSPECTION!! So in my mind, this darned project is DONE!

The End of Remodel Hell Party is scheduled for Sunday!

Remodel Hell - Hell Hath No Fury like an Electrical Inspector

Ernie from Martinez Construction called me bright and early this morning to say that the building inspector was going to show up at about 10:30 at my place to sign off on everything: mechanical, plumbing, electrical. Ernie was coming over early so that he could make sure the old switch box would open (it had been plastered shut, which is why the electrician on Friday was pounding on it), and to mark the switches so that the inspector, and I, would know which went to which room.

The first thing he did after he pulled up in his '68 Cougar (his truck had broken down) was to try to get my gate to close. Aha! There was something wrong with it after all....it won't shut because the old fence wasn't anchored, and when the Honey Do carpenter tore the old fence down, there was an impediment to the newly installed gate. So he spent the first 20 minutes trying to sand it down so that it would close.


Then we tried all the switches in the old box inside the den. I would stand in the room with something on, like a hair dryer, and yell to him when it went off. We did this until we were down to 3 switches and just couldn't figure what they went to. Finally, we got two: one was for the microwave in the kitchen, which was installed with the kitchen remodel two years ago, and the other was for the air conditioning, which was installed around the same time. The third unnamed switch, however, was a puzzle. So while we pondered that, Ernie got on the phone to some other customer who had called, and I went to play on my computer....but it suddenly didn't work. I went into the office to check the wireless router, and it was off. The whole power cord was off. "Ernie," I said when he was off the phone, "did you leave a switch off? My whole four-plex in the office doesn't work." "Aha!" he said, and told me he had inadvertently left off the unnamed switch. That problem was solved.

But we ran into a whole new set of problems when the Inspector arrived. He yelled at Ernie several times for not having the gate open, or wasting his time in some other way. At the end, we failed the electrical inspection. He turned to me and said, "Ma'am, I'm going to sign you off on the plumbing and the mechanical, but there are still some problems to take care of on the electrical end. We want you safe, after all." He turned on the charm when he talked to me. Apparently he only yells at contractors.

Something about some wires not being grounded, and some wires that don't go anywhere that are loose in the box. Plus some no-fault adapters, or something like that, missing in the box. The walk-in closet's overhead light was four inches too close to the shelves, according to Mr. Inspector. And I was missing a smoke detector in the main bedroom.

So, the electrician is due out tomorrow morning. And the inspector has been rescheduled for next Tuesday.

As the inspector that day was leaving, he came back to me and said, "You know this neighborhood. Do you know where this address is?" His next stop. I brought him back in and did a mapquest find, and told him how to get here. He was very appreciative, and threw off a pleasant, "That's a real nice bathroom you got back there," in a slight drawl and a smile as he walked away. I wonder if we'll see him again next week.

While we were testing the electrical panel switches, I discovered, much to my surprise, that there's only one tiny outlet in the middle room, in what's to be my new office. Ouch! I can't do office work without outlets. So Ernie and I talked about that. There's more work to be done, as I'll need a fourplex against the wall where the desk will go, and outlets on the other two walls as well.

Ernie also mentioned that they should pave over the plaster the electrician boys destroyed when they had to break back into the panel box.

Let's see....work started in mid-October, I was thinking it would be done by Christmas... So a two-month job is now in its 5th month. Ouch.

Oh, I had my new taupe-colored, leather loveseat delivered today! Here's a photo. Things are falling into place. If I can ever get rid of the workmen traipsing in and out, just think what the place will look like!

My New Part-Time Job: Juror

$15 a day. Well, minus the discounted parking fee of $2.50 a day. Not bad.

I figured that, divided by the time I spent at the Hayward Courthouse -- a community which included the Hayward Police Station next door, plus the bailbondsmen and public defenders' office down the street -- I earned about $2 an hour. Not so good.

I was a juror for on-and-off two weeks at the Hayward Courthouse when The People decided to bring a case against a man who strolled into a Hayward bar and beat up his housemate about a year and a half ago.

I expected to be excused because of my prior enforcement background. Nope. I expected, at the very least, to be questioned about it. Nope. I disclosed a lot, but nothing happened. Well, the judge smiled. But that was it.

It was one of the most interesting points of my life, certainly of my retirement, serving on this jury. As several acquaintances and friends have said, you hope the jury experience confirms your faith in the system. This time it did.

Judge Brenda Harbin-Forte, an African-American judge in the Hayward courthouse, was fair, attentive and engaging. (I googled Judge Harbin-Forte, and she's 52 years old with an impressive professional history, all local within Oakland and Hayward.) She smiled all the time, and seemed quite approachable, even during the jury-selection phase. That phase seemed brutal.

There were about 6 people who asked to be excused in the first phase. She would listen to each and every one, listen to their reasons -- and I'm sure she's heard all of these reasons before -- and excused every one, save one. The one she didn't excuse was a 40's-ish woman Asian with limited English who raised her hand twice to be excused. Her excuse, her reason given not to serve, was that she was inexperienced in such matters and would have a hard time deciding any case. The judge explained to her that almost all of us were inexperienced but that we would find a way, and that reasoning would persuade her for a couple of minutes. And then she'd try again.

She was saved by The People, when the prosecuting attorney excused her. Actually, between the prosecutor and the defense attorney, most of the women randomly selected for the juror pool were set free.

But I continued to find the reasons rather interesting. A lot of entrepreneurs begged off, of course. One older African-American freely admitted he had gotten out of jury duty a full SEVEN times! And the judge stifled a laugh, and after a couple of questions, let him go while admonishing him that he might get caught one day on a trial that would take much longer than ours.

The guy next to me asked to be excused because of two reasons: there were very few in his office to do rescue work, and he had poison ivy. During a short recess, I told him that must be painful; he then lifted his long-sleeved shirt to show me the black scars on his arms, and this only a week after he contracted the poison ivy. I couldn't even imagine the layers of pain. Her Honor let him go.

So, finally, we 14 jurors (12 plus the two alternates) found ourselves together in a little room, sharing newspapers but little talk. We only began to talk during the deliberations.

But before the deliberations, we sure sat around a lot. The court was busy, as the judge had many cases to hear before we would even get into the room. Most days we'd sit in the jurors' room until about 10:45 or so, ring the bell once so they'd know we were all present -- and everyone was good about that -- then wait until we heard two rings in a row to signify we were to march into the juror box in the courtroom again. One day we didn't go in until 11:30 -- and this was because the judge had two matters to hear before we went in -- then we broke for lunch an hour later, then we didn't get back into the courtroom until 2 pm. But that was the day we heard closing arguments, then the judge's instructions, then started our deliberations -- and it was a long day.

I was totally impressed with the education level of the average juror. Most had at least a bachelor's degree, some had master's degrees, and we even had a CEO or two among us. And all of the jurors seemed to possess an uncanny ability to ferret out truth from fiction (or bullshit), or common sense.

The only discussion we had among us was mostly about definitions. What's great bodily injury? What's battery vs. assault? But that's about it. Within an hour we had our verdict. We had to stall the bailiff about ordering out for lunch because we knew we'd have a verdict within minutes.

It was a fascinating bout with the American justice system. Fascinating, interesting, compelling. I wouldn't mind spending more time with those people. We joked a lot, especially after we decided the verdict. I joked about our annual reunion, an event which will never happen, of course. And we were each eager to continue with our lives, picking up where we left off, going back to our routines.

But for one brief, shining moment, we represented American life at its best. And we were very proud to do so.

Remodel Hell - The Gate, the Light Switch and Two Construction Companies

I actually didn't think Honey Do would respond to my tirade on the gate/fence, but, sure enough, on Monday morning, Leslye left an unemotional answer and said Mike would check it out.

In the meantime, Ernie called to say that he, himself, was coming by to replace the light switch. I decided to leave him the hidden key and go on my hour-long walk. I had been neglecting my walks because of remodel hell, and decided enough is enough.

When I returned, I immediately went to the bedroom. Instead of the little limp toggle from before, the light switch worked -- yay!! I now have an overhead light in the master bedroom!

A half hour later, as I was ordering the first of the furniture that would go into the middle room -- now my office, a rather smallish one, to be sure -- the two Fence guys from Honey Do showed up, minus Mike. They rang the doorbell, but I was still on the phone, so I told them I'd be through in a couple of minutes. When I made it to the outside front lawn, they were fixing the latch on the gate -- the wrong gate.

I laughed, thanked them (as that latch had never worked right, put in by -- you guessed it! -- the same company a year ago) -- and pointed to the gate on the other side. At this point, I decided the gate works fine, and just asked them to pull out the two offending screws that could catch someone's clothing, or worse, as they went by. They did so, and were on their way.

So, what's left?

The permit process for the electrical line that was just hooked up -- Ernie scheduled that for this Thursday. I hope I'm done with jury duty by then!

And there's also a matter of staining the beautiful redwood fence. I forgot all about that. I think I'm going to do this one myself...

Remodel Hell - PG&E Redux

Ernie called me while I was in jury duty, and told me that PG&E had agreed to come out again, this time on Friday. He said they had to cancel the appointment because they were backed up but neglected to tell anybody. Thankfully on Friday I was off.

So I sat around on Friday, all day, just knowing they were going to show up just as the sun was going down. It wasn't that late when a truck with a lone driver pulled up in front of my house, facing backward. "Are you PG&E?" I said to the guy, completely missing the big letters on the cab of the truck. "Yep." He whipped out his cell phone and said, "I'm going to call Eddie." "You mean Ernie," I said, as I, too, whipped out my cell phone. "Yeah, right." He then said, "No answer." I agreed to keep calling Ernie, and I left a voicemail.


He said he'd do the work, and I nodded fiercely up and down. "You'll be without electricity..." and I replied, "Fine. Just do it. Please."

I finally reached Dan Martinez, and he said he'd get an electrician out there. "You can still have PG&E do their thing, and the electrician can arrive afterwards." About a half hour later. Great.

So the PG&E little cab was electrically hoisted into the air, he fooled with the new electrical wire springing out of the roof of the house for 15 minutes, then came back down and said I was done. He pointed out the new electrical box....you know, so they can bill me. He then asked me how long I'd been waiting for the service. "Six weeks," I said. It's actually been longer. He nodded. "Yep. We've been busy."

About 45 minutes after the PG&E guy had left, at about 4:30, two guys in another truck pulled up. The Electricians. They immediately disconnected the electricity. They had a really hard time, it seems, getting things to work. One was banging on the old fuse box while the other was in the attic, and they were yelling Spanish to one another while working. Two hours later, as I'm typing in the dark on my computer, one of them emerges to ask me, "Do you have something outside?" I had no idea what he was talking about. He asked again: "Do you have jacuzzi outside?" No, I answered. No jacuzzi, nothing electrical outside except for sensor lights. He disappeared again, saying over his shoulder, "I'm going to try to throw the breakers." Five minutes later, after waiting 2 hours in the dark, all the lights finally came back on.

But before they disappeared for good, I wanted to check everything. The T.V. worked. But the overhead light in the master bedroom did not. He pointed out that the power was on back there, but that the light switch, or at least half of it, appeared to be broken. After some discussion -- no, make that argument -- he said he could not fix the light switch. It wasn't what he was hired to do. So after they left, I called Ernie and actually got an answer at 6:30 at night. He agreed to send a guy out on Monday morning to fix the bleeping light switch.

Oh, and during the two hours of no electricity, I went outside to water -- it was lighter out there -- and noticed that the gate on the left side of the house wasn't latched. I tried to latch it, but the stable hook is a good four inches away from the end of the gate. That wasn't true a few days ago. I surmised that the guys who constructed the fence moved the latch. There were also a few stray nails and screws that seemed to be a hazard right next to the latch, just standing there in the wood. I angrily called Honey Do Remodel, knowing they wouldn't be answering so late, but left a message. Why would they move the latch and not even mention it? But then, with the help of Alberto the Landscaper, I discovered that you just have to lean on the remaining fence to get the gate to move to the proper spot. I felt kind of foolish after that phone call, but will call back and explain....and apologize. A little remodel hell frustration coming out.

So Remodel Hell continues. We're right at the end, I believe, but there are those few nagging problems. And, as we all know, when the crews go off and do other jobs, they're harder to bring back, which complicates the little nagging problems. Just these two left to fix, and I'll be done.

Oh -- and I really like the way the front looks now, with the flowers coming out during this February warm spell and the new fence. THIS is why I like remodeling: the after effect!!

Remodel Hell - The Fence

I booked a job with Honey Do to install a new redwood fence, add some insulation to my roof (a whole lotta insulation, as it turns out), and spray the roof over my den with a reflective material.

The new fence was needed because (1) I need a new fence, and (2) the situation is a little desperate since the gardener/landscaper Alberto tore the top off the front of the fence and then decided he couldn't finish the job at the price we had agreed upon. So the fence was collapsing.

After talking with the good neighbor, the one on the left north side, I proceeded with a pretty standard redwood fence. No gate, no fence on the driveway side, just like before. The object isn't to keep dogs in or people completely out. It's to discourage those walking by from straying onto the grass or dropping trash, and to give the illusion of privacy. It's about four feet high, just like before. But I never have to paint this one.

After a delay of about a month, Honey Do finally got their crew out to my residence....but they were short one guy. So the job has gone four days instead of the promised three. And it had to happen while I was at jury duty. But I left the hidden key behind so they could access the house for the last bit of insulation.

These pictures were taken yesterday morning before I left for the Hayward Courthouse. By the time I returned at 5 pm, the fence was finished. Nice job! Insulation continues today.

Remodel Hell - No PG&E

Two weeks ago, Ernie called me up to tell me that PG&E finally agreed to come to the house and hook up that additional electrical line. It would be on a Friday, February 3rd, a full 5 weeks after construction had been finished.

Ernie had related to me, time after time, about his difficulties in reaching them. He'd book an appointment time only to find out later that the computer didn't record the time. After getting the appointment time and have no one acknowledge his message or show up, he'd call and leave a voicemail, a vain attempt in trying to get to talk to a live person. He finally got an appointment for Friday.

Nobody showed up. Nobody called. At 4:45 pm, after sitting in the house all day, I finally called Ernie to tell him that there's only half an hour left until the sun goes down. I don't think they're coming. He verbally blew his stack.

A week later he called me to tell me that we're on again, this time for today, Friday, February 10th.

Every time I hear one of those friendly PG&E ads on the radio or on T.V., I just want to puke.

Splitting Hairs

I decided I wanted to get a really short haircut. How short? Short. A buzz cut.

Actually, I had decided this 'way before my retirement over two years ago. I didn't do it because, well, geez, there are a lot of reasons. I had to go to the symphony. I had to meet people. But the real reason was, I chickened out.

So when my girlfriend kept asking, "Ooooh, are you going to get that short haircut now?" I finally decided to go for it. I had admired short haircuts on some friends of mine, and, you know, no crushed look when you sleep on it wrong if it's really short. So, today I walked into the generic version of Supercuts and announced I was going to try an experiment.

I'm funny about haircuts. I don't mind spending a C-note on a nice meal. Or paying a lot of money for clothes that will last awhile. But I hate spending any money at all on something that's going to be gone -- or I should say, be back, as it will grow back -- in just a few weeks. I've heard a lot of women, including my friends, say they'd pay almost any amount of money if they could just be assured of a decent haircut, but not me. So every time I go into a cheap place like the one at the Payless strip mall, I take my hair life into my hands.

I had rehearsed what I was going to say. I knew that I'd be dealing with a language barrier, as the women who work at this place are ESL -- skillful with a razor, but not so skilled on figuring out what you want -- so, yes, a double risk here.

As soon as I walked in, one of the women practically yelled out, "Linda!" (I guess good tipping really does work.) I had to give my phone number, but the woman handling the computer couldn't find it. The other woman, the one who knows my name, helped her find me, and then the cashier woman asked me to follow her.

I knew we had a problem as soon as I said my rehearsed speech. "I would like to do something new," I said, trying to ease her into the situation. "I want it short. Very short. About an inch long, if that." So then she said to me, "Same length?" Ooops. No.

So I would speak to the 2nd woman, the woman who knows my name, and she would interpret for the first woman, the one with the scissors in her hand. It was an interesting triumvirate. She'd say something and we'd all laugh. I had no idea what they were saying.

After the first shave-through, I caught a glance of my head in the mirror and said, "Oooh." She immediately said, "All right?" I replied, "Yes!" more to reassure her. I was kind of in shock, but I didn't really get a good look. The 2nd woman with the better English skills walked by and said, "Very sexy!" Must be the first thing they teach you in hair grooming school.

So I didn't know what the result was. Until I strolled into Payless and caught a glimpse of me in one of their makeup mirrors.

Oh My God. I've never had my hair this short. Not even -- no, not even then. I guess when people mistake me for a man now, I'll have to lower my voice. My God.

You know the saying, he didn't have the brains God gave baby ducks? My hair looks like the fuzz from a baby duck. Without the brains God gave baby ducks.


I immediately bought some hair goo in Payless. Something to tame it. But there's nowhere for it to go, you know? It just lies there -- no, it doesn't lie, it's straight up, sorta.

The beauty of this experiment is that it will grow out. I think it will look just fine -- in the near future. I guess I can say, looking at it in a positive way, I finally got to do one of the things I've always wanted to do.

Remodel Hell - More Precious than the One Ring

Smeagol had just killed his brother and was gazing at the beauty of his precious, when a large truck pulled up in front of my house, its cargo more precious than the One Ring. The last rays of the sun glinted off the shiny chrome in the back of the pick-up, and my Shower Door Installer guy came to greet me cheerily even though it was sunset. He had arrived two-and-a-half hours later than he said he would, and I was glad to see him. I had just started "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King" in case you hadn't guessed.

Faramir's army was headed into sheer futility at the base of Minas Tirith when Shower Stall guy finished. He warned me as he stepped out of the front door: "Don't turn on the water for 24 hours! Let it set."

I can't take a shower yet, but I can stare at it. It gleams in the tiny bathroom. And thank God, I noted to whomever was listening, the door clears the toilet. Whew.

It's done! It's done! Oh, except for the PG&E thing which will restore power to the master bedroom. But neither Ernie nor I can control that. It's done.

Oh, did I tell you I already have the next project lined up? Different company this time -- Honey Do Remodeling -- who will forge a redwood fence for me around the front part of the property. And take the old, sagging, collapsing one (in the wrong color) away. And there's also some insulation they'll plant in my attic. There's not much up there.

It's an old house, you know. Always needs work. But it's getting newer all the time.

Remodel Hell - Another Part of "The Last Day"

I got up at 6:30 this morning, but there was no need. Jose and friend from Martinez Construction didn't show up until 1 pm.

They are so funny! Jose got into the house, put down the tarp to catch paint, talked with me about the patches in the bathroom wall that obviously needed another coat, and then asked, "Where's the paint?" I thought he was kidding! He wasn't kidding.

He finally found the paint at the foot of the deck stairs. Phew. Two wild and crazy guys.

In another 2 to 3 hours, Shower Door Installer Man should be arriving! It's not a Remodel, It's an Adventure!

Remodel Hell - The Last Day?

Is this truly the last day for Martinez Construction? For remodel Hell?

I woke up at 6 this morning, wondering about a million things, but the focus was on the remodel. Ernie is sending Jose over to work the punch list, and is assuming this will be the last day. In fact, he doesn't expect it to take all day.

And at 3 pm today, give or take an hour, the shower door installer is supposed to show up (for the second time). I may actually be able to take a shower in my new beautiful shower tonight! I'll have to clean up the space, of course. There's still a large piece of cardboard lying on the shower pan because I know there will be more footprints on it before all is done.

Even after today, though, I still won't have power in my bedroom. I'm writing this by the hall light. PG&E won't get to me until after their emergencies are done, and, after 4 weeks of waiting, they're not telling us when that might be.

Is this the last day? I don't believe it. But if the shower door gets put in, I'll be happy!

Brave New World

Tonight was the first time I lit shabbat candles for myself.

It's not my first shabbat. Thanks to dear friends Dawn, Mark and Val, I have been at others' houses when they light them. But I think tonight is the day that I finally decided I was going to try to observe shabbat.

I have two very plain candles in little green glass holders. I lit them and said the blessing for the first time. I don't have it memorized yet, but I expect, with the constance of Friday evening in my future, I will learn it. I also said the blessing for wine as I lifted the glass of Chardonnay to my lips. And I said the blessing (although I'm not sure it's the right one) for the beef before I ate it.

I have to tell you: I kind of enjoy the idea of blessing food before I eat, of acknowledging the fact that I did not create this and that I'm thankful to have it. Whether or not you can wrap your arms around the idea of Adonai, you have to admit that you didn't do everything yourself. This piece of fruit is here for a reason. This bread someone made with natural ingredients and their own labor. I am thankful. The blessing slows me down and makes me acknowledge so many things.

I didn't have any challah, which kind of upsets me. And I passed right in front of the Grand Lake bakery today; I could've bought some. I had some rolls with dinner, but I don't suppose my mother's type of rolls would substitute for the tasty, twisted challah. Well, one thing at a time.

And tonight was not ideal. Ideally I would spend the shabbat evening with family and/or friends. I'm alone tonight. But that's okay because I'm practicing.

Ever since I discovered the concept of shabbat, I've been trying to figure it out. I worry about it. What do you do? More to the point, what do you not do on shabbat? I remember Rabbi Dardik's talk about shabbat vividly. He has such an expressive way of talking, and his enthusiasm is so infectious. He told our group about all the ways there are for getting around the restrictions of shabbat. Getting someone to take you somewhere. Having someone lift and carry something for you. Turning the game on with a timer set for after sundown. Rabbi Dardik is an orthodox Jew, so his shabbat rules are 'way more restrictive than that of Reform.

But the other night, Rabbi Broude said that he does not attend performances on shabbat, and he's Reform. "Performances" include movies.

Yes, yes, I can hear all of you out there telling me I should be concentrating on the spirit of Shabbat, the positive view of it, as a time to enjoy with family and friends, and not dwell on the negative of restrictions. Enjoying movies is something I like to do with family and friends, I would argue. Perhaps I could approach it that way, a way of spending time with people I love, something we both or all enjoy. (I also like to spend money and buy things, but I get it that I shouldn't be doing that on shabbat if I want to observe this day in an orthodox, reform or whatever way.)

I'm still figuring out what I should do and not do on shabbat. Lighting candles signifies the beginning. Havdallah (sp?) signifies the end. (But I haven't got there yet. I need two candles intertwined for that.) And in between, I should have a very good time. And I want to devote a piece of time to the study of Judaism -- its practices, ideals, history.

I'll be seeing "Memoirs of a Geisha" with my good friend, Bruce tomorrow afternoon. I hope that qualifies as shabbat worthy.

Remodel Hell - The Other Woman

There's another woman. I'm sure of it.

My trusty band of construction workers failed to show up after the great Lock-Out. No tap-tap-tap. No sound of drilling in the morning. It's quiet.

And now it's two days since then, and still no sign of them. I've actually started parking in my own driveway.

They're on another job. I know it. Now that the rain has stopped, albeit briefly, they can do outside work. In another part of town.

My punch list is still a mile long. I don't know whether I can take a shower or not during the day. So I still live in Remodel Hell. But it's lonely here.

Come back...

Remodel Hell - The Shower Door Lock-Out

It's time for an update.

Ernie came over last week, and together we wrote up a 2-page "punch" list, those items that haven't been done yet or haven't been done to my satisfaction. There's a lot.

He thought that everything had been done except for (1) the installation of the shower door in the new bathroom, and (2) the attachment of the new electrical line by PG&E and his electrician (to give me power in my master bedroom). When he saw the doors off the hinges, the unfinished paint job, etc., he knew better.

The crew came out during the one day it didn't rain last week and poured concrete for the new position of the side gate (to accommodate the new electricial box on the side of the house). Then, yesterday, the crew came out again to finish the gate and start work on the punch list on the inside.

And -- AND!! -- the installation of the new glass shower door was due that day. I was very excited about that.

Except that I got a voicemail several hours later that Glenn had locked the crew out by closing the locked door when they exited during lunch, just when the shower door installer guy was pulling up....

You can imagine the rest. No shower door installed. We were put at the bottom of their list -- actually, Ernie pleaded with them and we moved up a few days. Next Monday. Another week of waiting.

And Glenn and crew couldn't continue work. They also ran out of white paint, and apparently ran out of money to buy more.

This is beginning to look like a circus, except that I have full faith that things will continue and everything will work out.

It just takes time, as it's officially 8 weeks since we started in a project that was estimated to take 5 weeks. And a great deal of patience.