It Fills Your Heart

Friends,

Sometimes an offhand comment just hits you. My sweet wife and I were driving North on the first leg of our Spring vacation (because there needs to be a lot of them this year, so I’m holding out hope that they’re at least seasonal). We were winding our way through a stand of trees and she simply said, “I know it sounds corny, but this—the trees—they fill my heart. They fill it back up. Is that weird?” I had felt the same thing, but didn’t know how to put it into words. When your job is to make things up and write them down, that’s a big problem, but I felt it too.

Maybe there’s a point when the trees, the scale of the forest here, can help us remember the words. Maybe the sea air, the waves crashing, the salt spray, can clean up the mess on aisle five left by pandemics and rancor and a shoe that stubbornly refuses to drop.

No, it isn’t weird. Yes, it fills my heart too.

Your best pal,

– bob

What’s All Dat?

Friends,

It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? Since we last convened, I have injured my back rather severely, gone on a three-day work trip to New Orleans, Louisiana, adopted and brought back to life a very slow and very charming old computer, and I’m getting ready to put a roof on The Secret Alpine Laboratory. I also have very bad news about the Idyllwild Weather Clam that I can no longer suppress. Sufficiently teased? Great!

Remember to stretch

I thought that storm waters were flowing under the stem wall into the crawlspace under the cabin. Add some dirt, and the resulting mud flow had swamped some stacked drywall and lumber. Their stinky and moldy corpses were immediately punted to the landfill. However, it wasn’t local flooding at all. The problem was a perforated iron drain pipe from the kitchen sink. I cut it out, removed the mud, and jammed everything back into the garage.

Now, when I need to move equipment out, I’m navigating over a couple welders, around dead batteries, and through a narrow passage before I get them through the door. It’s tight and the obstacles are stabby. I grabbed the miter saw to chop the new custom threshold that was the wrong size. The first injury must’ve made a cartoon “sproing!” noise inside my back somewhere in the neighborhood of T10 or T11. The second part, where I turned the wrong way while still carrying the saw surely sounded like a Spanish galleon running aground on the rocky shores of L5-S1. I wouldn’t know because all I could see was white and all I could smell was pain.

That was on Labor Day.

Economy class

Three days later, I was on a plane headed for New Orleans to meet my coworkers in person for the first time. It’s hard to fault United Airlines for wanting to crowd as many people in each plane as possible. After all, the industry has received billions of dollars in loans and relief from American taxpayers over the last decade. They’re hurting for cash!

I haven’t been on a plane since our honeymoon before the pandemic. Since then, the seats have been moved even closer together, the cushions replaced with ones that are much thinner. Would the pain meds kick in soon? Maybe they already had and the pain from the back injury, plus the seats, plus the knees belonging to the woman seated behind me, was actually much greater than this.

This was the theme for the entire trip, unfortunately.

An intersection in New Orleans

I had to plan ahead for every walking adventure. Is it too far? Can I make it back to the hotel on foot or will I have to call for a ride? After checking in at the hotel, I left to meet everyone who had arrived first and it was like old friends picking up where we’d left off. Except we’d never met in person. It’s a good group and we had a lot of laughs.

Even the next day, when we ventured out to hit a particular tourist spot, everybody had a great time.

Beignets a Café Du Monde, because that's what you do.

Team building exercises, cajun bánh mì for lunch (You didn’t know that was a thing, did you?), then dinner at The Roosevelt. A packed schedule, for sure. The next day was just as packed. Vegetarian eggs benedict (Cajun style, ‘natch), quality time in an escape room, then off to the return trip home.

A funny thing happened on the way back. Same planes, but they were only half full. It took two planes to get home and both flights had a lot of empty seats, including the middle seat. I could spread out, stretch, and stop whimpering about the persistent back pain which had not relented.

It wasn’t until 10:30 or so that evening that I finally got home and was greeted by the welcoming committee.

A fine picture of a grumpy pup.

Is this the party to which I am speaking?

Before I left on my trip, I won an auction for this little nugget…

Yup, it's an Apple Newton eMate 300. From your childhood.

Yes, that’s right. It’s an Apple Newton eMate 300 portable computer, from your childhood. This one seems to be in remarkably good shape, even though the battery was as flat as can be. It ran for about five minutes after a full charge, complaining about imminent automatic shutdown after two. Back to ebay for a five dollar nickel-metal hydride battery pack intended for a baby monitor. It’s the right shape, I just transferred the temp sensor so the charging circuit can detect if it’s overheating.

Original eMate battery pack with temp sensor.

It’s that thing under the tape in the center of the batteries. Peel it off, cut the power leads and solder on the new ones. Stick the sensor down on the new pack and tape everything back together. Not only easy, but also peasy.

Now there’s the small problem of getting the thing to talk to any of the modern computers around here. Modern like the Clamshell iBook, or the 12-inch G4 Stuntbook. I installed the software and adapted the adapters, but still get a “can’t communicate with this computer” message. I’m stumped.

Cement pond

You know the old chestnut about how the cobbler’s children go barefoot? I never truly believed it, myself. Who’s going to raise a family with a fruit crumble? Absurd. (unless it’s peach. i love a peach cobbler. -ed)

Even though my Dad built pools for a living, he did next to nothing to repair the swimming pool at the family home. The tile was falling off, plaster cracked, diverter valves frozen in place, wiring strapped to piece of plywood held up by a single rusty nail. It was a real mess, but he was unwilling and later unable to do anything about it.

Since his passing, Mom has taken on the big projects, like rehabbing the pool. I have to say that it looks great.

Backyard photo with pool.

An added bonus is that I’m the first person to actually go for a swim since its rehabilitation. I’m happy to report that it’s great. Wouldn’t change a thing.

The Sad and Tragic Demise of Big Fine Salty Mountain Tide Pool

As you know, we’ve been dealing with a longstanding drought here in California brought about by climate change. I’ve been doing my part to solve the problem, but not enough, apparently. Our gal, the Idyllwild Weather Clam was nowhere to be found when I arrived at my Secret Alpine Laboratory to have the roof replaced. Her tidepool was a dry and desolate place, since we’ve had next to no rain this summer and she has apparently packed up and left. Yet another climate refugee, I fear.

If you hear from her, please ask her to call and let her know that I put more minutes on her prepaid phone.

If only she had waited

Why am I still here at the Lab, you ask? The gigantic and very expensive roofing job had to be postponed for most of this week due to torrential downpours. A inch and a half of rain on Sunday and another inch yesterday. It’s enough to spook a roofer, so we start tomorrow, and by “we” I mean “they” start tomorrow. My involvement is to keep a fire extinguisher nearby and to see if my noise-cancelling headphones are good for anything beyond plane travel.

Whew! That was a lot. I’ve been having trouble with my web host, so this may not post correctly. Cross your things for good luck.

Your pal,

– bob