Last weekend, I had occasion to drive from Portland, OR to Monterey Bay, CA.  (Yes, yes, planes fly — but circumstances dictated driving.)

And, as it happens, I was leaving the Monterey Bay area on Monday morning and needed to be home Monday evening.  There’s just no way to avoid the morning Bay Area commute under those circumstances, including driving Highway 17 in the commute.  What to do?  What to do?!?

Well, duh.  I used to drive Highway 17 every weekday, commuting between Capitola and Hayward.  In fact, People I Respect refused to let me drive 17 if it wasn’t during the commute because those idiots/tourists/amateurs clearly couldn’t drive and, um, I tended to be vocal about their inabilities. (There are two kinds of drivers on 17, we used to day: the quick and the dead.)

So, last Monday morning, I drove 17 in the commute.  And (with all due modesty) it was a blast.

In fact, I think it was a bit easier than it was the days I drove it regularly.  Even at 6 a.m., I didn’t see a single sand truck.  And (mind you, almost two decades have passed) I think there was actually less traffic.

Even odder, I think the pace was slower.  Back when I was driving the ‘tola-Hayward-’tola trip daily, once you got through San Jose and hit 880, the opening ante on the right lane was 80, and speed clicked up about 5 mph/lane as you moved left.  This drive was a fairly sedate — in the inner-most lane — 5-10 mph above the speed limit.

All that said, I spent less than 12 hours, total, on the road Monday.  (It was a bit discouraging to have the GPS tell me, when I got to I-505/I-5, “continue for 569 miles”.)  Nonetheless, I arrived home with plenty of time to do laundry, have dinner, and make lunch before returning to work on Tuesday.

I’m glad my current commute is shorter and contains no mountain passes.  I’m also glad I got to drive 17 in the commute again!

My fridge finally died.  I probably should have replaced it back when I noticed it was running oddly.  And, looking back, I’m surprised that it was last summer when I made a mental note that the fridge was giving notice that it was leaving.  I had time to find a replacement, but, well, what with one thing and another, I didn’t.

Still, the fridge sent more warning signals.  I kept turning the dials to “colder” to keep things going.

Friday, I got something (okay, a TJ’s ice cream cookie sandwich — the ones with teeny chocolate chips around the edges of the ice cream — yum!) out of the freezer… and it was soft.  Squishy, even.  Usually I have to let it sit on the counter for a minute or so before it’s soft enough to bite.  This one was squishy.

On Saturday I noticed, somewhere mid-day, that I hadn’t heard the fridge run for a while.  (Yes, the fridge made enough noise — and the “normal” noises were sufficiently odd — that it registered somewhere in my brain.)  Hrm.  Checked and most of the food in the freezer seemed okay, but food in the fridge was warmer than fridge temps.

Okay.

Fine.

I’ll go buy a fridge.  So I trundle off to Standard Appliance.  I chose a lovely, freezer-on-the-bottom fridge.  It’s similar to the one Todd (the ex-husband) and I bought to put into the house we built, similar to the one Todd (the ex-husband) and I bought to put into the house we remodeled that financed half of the house we built.  It’ll be delivered tomorrow morning.

The fridge decision isn’t the “can’t escape the past” bit; I made the decisions on the previous refrigerators because (here’s a surprise) I have opinions about fridges.

The “can’t escape” part came when I got into the car to go to Standard Appliances.  My radio is preferentially tuned to OPB so, as I pull out of the driveway, I hear a re-run of Robert Krulwich’s on Time..

…including the interview with Todd (the ex-husband), which was the first voice I heard.

I think the word I’m looking for is “surreal”.

Meantime, I’m having frozen pizza for dinner, ’cause that box didn’t come close to fitting into my ice chests.

It was rare that I could find jicama in an east-coast grocery store, and even rarer that the checker knew what it was. Conversations would go like this:

“Is this a turnip?”
“It’s jicama.”
“Never heard of it. What’s it taste like?”
“Kind of like water chestnut. You peel off the skin, then slice or chop it up and eat it raw. It’s great in salads.”
“Interesting — let me find the code…”

Thinking to speed the process (and suspecting what’ll come next), I spell, “J - i - c - ”
“You said ‘HICK-uh-ma’.”
“It’s like the ‘j’ in “Tijuana’. It’s pronounced ‘h’ but spelled ‘jic’.”

Once, the checker couldn’t find the code in her flip chart. She also thought I might be fibbing about the pronunciation (”I’m not saying THAT over the PA!”), so called the produce department for a price.

Moments later, over the PA we hear “The juh-CAM-uh is 99 cents a pound.”
“See?” the checker said. “I was pretty sure you weren’t saying it right.”

It’s nice to be home! (Added bonus: local blueberries are currently two POUNDS for $5!)

As much as I’ve been knitting recently (it is considerably more transportable than quilting), I’ve only momentarily slowed down — not stopped — my fabric addiction.  And I’m delighted to be associated with a spin-off of an old usenet group (RCTQ (rec.crafts.textiles.quilting)) known as the Baseball Swap.  Each member of the Baseball Swap has favorite teams, and there is much back-and-forthing about whose team has the cutest shortstop.  And so on.

Last weekend, I had the good fortune to drift Seattle-wards to meet with two swappers I hadn’t met face-to-face (although I’ve known them for years).  Even better, we — and a woman I’ve known since grade school because she was one of my sister’s pals — got to go to a Mariner’s game on Sunday.

Quilters, baseball, fabric, baseball, kettle corn, baseball, an easy drive back to Portland, baseball, excellent company — it may not have been a traditional July 4 weekend, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

(completely aside, of course, from the fact that the Mariners lost in the 15th…)

My non-work life runs on a MacBook Pro. I do have Boot Camp installed and, on that side, run Microsoft XP so that I can update the website for an organization with which my dad is involved.

The head of that group knew I was job hunting, moving across the country, buying a house, and (in general) distracted. She hasn’t sent me updates for a while. She recently, graciously checked with Dad, who confirmed that I was (to the extent that I ever am) organized, and sent me the current updates.

Being relatively security conscious, the first thing I do whilst booting into the Windows side of my Mac is check for updates. And when I booted into Windows, I discovered that I’d missed several updates.

“Wow!”, I think. “An entire service pack! And all of the subsequent updates rely on having Service Pack 3 installed!” I’m a geek. I can do this.

Well.

First attempt: Service Pack 3 requires 4 MB more than is available. Please delete something and try again.

I own a Mac. I boot into the Windows side maaaaybe once a month. The Windows version of iTunes can certainly go, and that’ll free up 68(ish)MB.

Sa-weeet. Done, and done.

Second attempt: Service Pack 3 requires 4 MB more than is available. Please delete something and try again.

Uh… Oh, yeah. Windows. Reboot, then try again.

Third attempt: Service Pack 3 requires 4 MB more than is available. Please delete something and try again.

Excuse me?

Well, okay. (think-a-think-a-think) Wait! Maybe the update needs 4-contiguous-MB? De-frag and generally clean up? What the heck, there’s no harm in trying!

Fourth attempt: Service Pack 3 requires 4 MB more than is available. Please delete something and try again.

I walked away. I muttered rude comments. I updated Dad’s website and ignored the potential security risk of using an out-dated version of XP on a Mac.

Evenutally I came to my senses, and Googled.

Ah. Update Boot Camp, THEN attempt to install Service Pack 3.

Done, and done.

(And people wonder why folks love Macs, and are annoyed by Windows? You coulda given me a teeny bit more of a clue in the error message!)

I met a new friend (TracyBird, on Ravelry) at World-Wide Knit In Public day. We chatted a bit, and discovered that neither of us had time (or, on my part, inclination) to spend more than a day at Black Sheep Gathering. Since she was already planning on a day trip Saturday, we agreed to go together.

Well!

What a fun trip that turned out to be! TracyBird is great company, we accommodated each other’s interests without (I think) particularly noticing, served as reciprocal enablers and stash enhancers, were both ready (again, I think) to leave about the same time, and generally had a fabulous time.

We ran into Gail, Duffy (of singing-to-the-Harlot fame), and Susan (all PDX bloggers) in the parking lot, but only ever saw Duffy again. We did get to see Tammy and Debbie from Blue Moon Fiber Arts (Socks That Rock!) (and I finally got to meet Kim, Tammy’s almost-grown, and very charming daughter). And I bought (without flinching three skeins of Rare Gems (bless you, Tina!)

All in all, a great day — and credit to TracyBird for allowing someone she’d just met to tag along!

I’ve begun to think that maybe I can stop analyzing every move quite so much — I may be getting to the point where I can stop thinking about *how* I live in the house, and start just living there.

But…

I noticed a couple of days ago that the fridge is running oddly. It turns on for a minute or two, turns off for 30 to 45 seconds, then turns on for a minute or two, then turns off for 30 to 45 seconds… I’m pretty sure that’s Not A Good Thing.

 sigh.

The DISadvantage is that no one expects you to blog, so you don’t make it a priority.

Since last post, I’ve gone to sock camp (hooray, Blue Moon Fiber Arts!) with my friend Susan — and made new friends in the process AND learned a ton. I also got to see the Yarn Harlot at the PDX stop of her book tour, and ordered Cat Bordhi’s “Magical Knitting” (because, of course, I don’t have enough books in boxes in my living room), and joined the Monkey KawKaw knit-along hosted by equally odd ex-campers.

On the “seriously hopeful” side, my sister is coming to visit in a couple of weeks, and promises to help me choose furniture. On the “less hopeful” side, I still haven’t figured out how to post pics to this blog! Hmph!

Found a house that fits me at a price I can afford, my folks visiting for the weekend tomorrow (and have promised a longer visit this summer) (and I’ve even managed to vacuum the guest room after setting it up), a pal is arriving next weekend for a fiberishly delicious week … it’s hard to imagine how this could be better.

Okay, that’s not *exactly* true. Everything unpacked, wireless working flawlessly, detritus removed… THAT would be better. But I’m well on the way