Coming up for air

WE'RE BACK- not because the renovation is over or we finally have some time to breathe. (Don't be silly!) No, we're back because it has been two weeks since the last entry, and if I don't write something now, this black hole may just swallow us up completely.

Looking back at my last entry, I pity my 2-week-ago self who, with charming naivete, actually believed that the computerless haitus would only last a few days. Instead, one debacle has followed the next, each week our contractor Wally assuring us our kitchen would be functional by the weekend, and each weekend passing without this actually happening. So, here is a glimpse of our lives at this moment: picture a dust bomb, the new hard wood floors covered in paper, all of our belongings strewn out randomly in boxes and teetering piles, the kitchen half-finished with the refrigerator bulging out of its nook (the drywall, that I had woken up early one morning to paint, torn out because - surprise! - the nook was built too small to house the fridge), all of the bedroom furniture pushed into the center of the room since last Sunday in preparation for Monday's installation of the trim that hasn't yet happened, the office (finally finished) now serving as the werehouse for all things we hold dear (protection against the workers, who believe that any horizontal surface - whether clean or beautiful or labeled fragile - is a suitable table for greasy old pipes or anything else they wish to set down.)

Despite the continued chaos and clown circus back at the homestead, life has pushed forward. We've managed to continue to enjoy this amazing city despite a few lost opportunities due to home improvement. This entry will be too bloated if I try to cram in everything I want to share with you, so I'll forecast the entries to come: Soon, I will tell you about the night that Jess and I decided to take a dinghy with a massive air and water leak to the Pink Martini Concert at Humphrey's (which is on the bay). I'll also write about how we went on a 32-foot sail boat and watched the Red Bull Air Races with Jess and her friend, an ex Naval Pilot. I'll show you pictures of the daredevil aerial pilots who weaved their planes deftly through pilon obstacles, coming within 10 feet of the water. Hopefully, I'll also find time to tell you about the rain shower (a small miracle, since it was San Diego's first since April 22) and about the strange way that autumn has heralded its arrival in this place famed for everlasting springtime. And, if I can stomach it, I'll tell you more details our extreme home make-over.

(There are some things that I won't be able to tell you about, though. Because of our roles in this renovation (painting, moving, cleaning), we also missed some amazing things - a huge beer-tasting festival that we completely underestimated from our friend's description (which ironically occurred on the same day as our favorite Brewgrass Festival in Asheville, which we nearly flew home to attend), the Old Town Art Festival, and Street Scene, a huge outdoor music festival where Spoon, one of our favorite bands, played. Hopefully we'll be able to tell you about these things next year.)

Black hole

For the next few days, we will be computerless at home. We are going into a technological black hole.

Our belongings have been pushed from the back of the house into the front and the computer has been disassembled. The hard wood floors did not get installed today (shocker), but the tile floor is being laid, walls are getting finished, doors are being hung, and paint applied. We hope to have amazing photos to show you once we have returned to cyberspace. Or maybe even just photos showing modest progress. Anything.

In the meantime, have a wonderful weekend!

Chaos

We live in an episode of Survivor meets Extreme Make-over, Home Edition. And we're about to vote somebody off the island.

Every surface of every object in our home is covered in a thick layer of dust. My fingertips are dessicated from the layer of dry wall dust coating the keyboard. Our noses and lungs are full of it. Our bodies are launching a counter-attack, and I feel very sleepy. Our only remaining fortress is our dusty bed - not even our bedroom (which is more of a portal these days, since walls have become more figurative than literal). Other than the bed, we have one semi-accessible chair, and I'm sitting in it now as I write to you. Geoff has to stand. We went to a movie tonight because there is no place to be at home. We feel defeated.

The other night, after two days straight of pulling up carpet and carpet tacks and prying off baseboard by myself, I dreamed that the workers shoved something else into the nook designed for the refrigerator. It was disturbing. I bought a Dyson vacuum in a futile effort to regain control of our environment.

In anticipation of the new flooring, we crammed all of our possessions into the back part of our house and onto the back porch, confident that we'd be moving it all back that night. Instead, the construction crew creeps along in their efforts to lay the hard wood floors. Good thing it never rains. They did make headway in demolitions to put in the second set of French doors in our living room (see before and after) and to enlarge our master bath (the torn up tangerine-colored room) and add a second closet. Meanwhile, our kitchen deadline has also been delayed. The granite guy Peter, of "Stone Surgeons" has to get another kitchen ready for an open house, STAT! What could be more open than OUR house?!

Yesterday, we were so upset to discover that almost no headway had been made on our floors (sentencing us to another night as captives on our own bed) that we were thrilled when a car paused then lingered in front of our house on the street. Geoff ran out to see what it was. A woman was wrangling a king snake (which Geoff, the herpetologist, identified). She was trying to get it out of the road using her dog's chuck-it. Geoff pulled a Steve Irwin and pinned its snakey head down, then picked it up. I snapped a few photos of Geoff posing with the snake because it was hands down the most fun we had had all day. Geoff completed the picture in his wife beater. You can take the boy out of Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina out of the boy.

Today, to add more drama, our contractor Wally almost had a panic attack. He called me urgently today to inform me that Mishka (who should have been confined to the back rooms) had been let out and had dashed off suddenly, traumatized by the loud sound of the concrete grinders. Thirty minutes of searching by several men had revealed nothing. Geoff and I raced home. Geoff found her on her way back from the dog park, skipping down the street and making sure to look both ways. I took the afternoon off to babysit her and run errands.

Even though this is tougher than we anticipated, we can already see how good everything is looking, and we can't wait for everything to be done so we can start our new lives in our new home. After all of the dust settles (and gets promptly sucked up by the Dyson), we plan to go hunting for furniture so we'll be ready for your visit!

Cooling off

Finally we can get back to boasting about the absolutely gorgeous weather in San Diego.

Last week was infernal. Even the water from the spigot came out hot. Our ankles and other weird body parts wouldn't stop sweating. There was no relief. Misting yourself only made the heat muggier. There was nothing you could do. Over the airwaves came urgent announcements calling for people to conserve energy, that a black-out was imminent if everyone didn't cut down their A/C. Now there was something we could be smug about: since we don't have A/C, we don't have to feel guilty about it.

Yesterday, the heat wave finally broke and the night cooled off in that familiar way. For the first time in days, I could sleep with the covers on. The evening air spilling in from the window above my computer has a crisp edge to it. Mishka is warming my feet.

Heaven, again.

Labor Day BBQ on PB

Beach barbecue, anyone? Ahhhh, life is sweet!

On Labor Day, we met some friends from my residency (Jess and Matt) at Pacific Beach for a barbecue. Geoff carted our trusty $15 grill to use it finally for what it was intended (as opposed to serving as a ghetto kitchen on our condemned back deck).

So we were going to go to a beach in La Jolla called Windansea, but, instead, we ended up at PB because that's where Jess lives. Allow me to "explain" PB to you: Beverly Hills 90210.

OK, there.

PB is San Diego's beach town, kind of like Myrtle Beach for those of you from NC (but with more surfboards and far fewer mullets). There's a permanent theme park with a rickety old roller coaster and bags of cotton candy, almost everyone is blond and tan, the mean age is 22, and the dress code is bikini or surf shorts.

Since alcohol is permitted on the beach, and this crowd just loves the beercahol, you can imagine what interesting cocktails ensue. Perhaps you heard the news of the riots that broke out in PB earlier in the day before we arrived.

OK, now insert us.

As you can see from the photo, only Jess blended in with the local folk (and only because she had decided, at dusk, to go for a dip). The mean age of our group was 34. And, oh yeah, instead of Budweiser, we were drinking a fine Argentinian Malbec and grilling marinated carne asada for fajitas with homemade pico de gallo, guacamole, red peppers and vidalia onions.

The drunk, golden kids actually came sniffing around, wondering what smelled so good. Two surfers tried to bum beer off of us.

Luckily, no one puked on us or tried to start a fight. Besides some beach wrestling, which was held at a comfortable distance, they didn't bother us much, which was good, because it was a spectacular sunset and an unbelievable dinner. We stayed until the sun had melted completely away and all the kiddies had gone home.

Sweltering heat

Most will agree that San Diego has the best weather in the country. What they don't tell you is that, some time around the end of August, both the temperature and the humidity creep up. The evenings don't cool off as dramatically as before, and the lack of air conditioning becomes all too obvious. Your appetite diminishes, you stay parched, and you drape yourself across the sofa in your underwear as the tiny fan blows hot air in your face.

What makes this worse is this renovation we're going through. All day long the doors and windows are kept wide open for the workers to move in and out, letting in the heat and mugginess but doing little to clear out the dust from the construction. Without a kitchen, it is hard to locate a clean cup for water, and, anyway, we're filling the Brita pitcher in the bathroom. Even with the filter, the water tastes weird. Still, it is better than heat stroke, so I've taken to leaving a bowl in the fridge for when I get thirsty. I would have left a cup, but I didn't feel like washing dishes in the bathtub.

Saturday was particularly oppressive. The cabinet guys were here installing cabinets. Before they arrived, I was cramming to get the kitchen primed and painted, including the ceiling, because I didn't want to worry about painting around these brand new cabinets. It was so hot, I hardly ate anything. Geoff had to go to work to finish some charts before he leaves for LA for a week-long Boards Review Course. By 3 PM, I was spent. I grabbed a beach chair, my beach basket and Mishka (who was also spent), and we headed for the Coronado Dog Beach. Living near the coast is a luxury. You can decide on a whim to head for the beach in the late afternoon, a really lovely time to go. The waves were huge, crashing sometimes with sprays that would reach the horizon. Amazingly, though, it was calm enough near the shore to go wading, and Mishka and I enjoyed a few dips into the water, which felt much fresher and cooler than usual. The water also had a stronger ocean smell and there was no seaweed around. It was like a different beach. We found a tennis ball, and Mishka never got tired of chasing it in the waves or running up the beach after it. Usually she gets bored when we play fetch, but she was exuberant yesterday. Later on in the day, I got caught up chatting with another dog owner on the beach, and I spied Mishka running back to the water on her own to play in the surf with another black dog with a tennis ball. She ventured into the shallow water on her own!