I feel like such a jerk.  I got an email from my brother’s girlfriend saying she had been the one who took the album home; that my brother knew nothing about it.  It seems odd that she didn’t mention that when I was over there, all in his face about it.  And it seems odd that she didn’t give it to me when she gave me the other pictures or at least remember to mention it.  

My middle daughter graduates from art school tomorrow.  FINALLY.  She almost graduated from The Academy of Art in San Francisco but moved back to Portland her senior year.  Lots of the classes weren’t transferable plus she changed her major.  AGAIN.  Anyway, tomorrow is the big day. 

Which is piss-poor timing because it is the first day of the blues festival I always go to at the beach and I’m going to miss one of my favorite bands  For those of you who pay attention you know what else I’m going to miss.  I know, I sound like a bad mom.  I’m not.  Believe me, I have been there for this kid every step of the way.

Emily, at the last minute I couldn’t bring myself to eat the eggs any way but over-easy, not wanting to miss the pure essence of yolk and egg white bathed in bacon grease.  I felt kind of sick for a couple hours due to the grease but once or twice a year aint gonna kill me.  I had three pieces.

Every once in a while I am struck by the progress I’ve made.  I make a mental check off my life’s to-do list.  Sometimes it feels monumental, like when the floor finally got done.  Today’s leap forward might not seem huge but for five years I have been looking for a local source for inexpensive, organic eggs, and tonight I scored my first dozen.

I found these people at the Farmer’s Market one day last month and discovered they lived five minutes from my house.  I got her card and then forgot all about it until I was in Safeway today buying eggs for the first time since I’d met them.  I’ve been gone a lot plus I don’t eat eggs that much.

I can hardly wait for morning.  I think I’ll make a frittata.

I just got an email from the IRS saying something about a suspicion that I underreported my income.  This is highly unlikely as I’ve used the same accountant for the last eight years.  The email provided a link to a website with my first name and a number.  It’s probably bunk but I got scared.

I made the mistake of clicking on it.  Not the link just the email.  Is that enough to allow the virus in?  I mean I hope that’s what it was; being the lesser of two evils. 

Speaking of evil, all is not going well on the home front.  My mother’s home is in shambles.  The beams are rotting and there are many, running the whole length from the carport to the end of the living room.  It’s so bad the sawdust is falling on the carpet.  It’s probably not even safe to be in the house.  The whole roof will have to be replaced.

Only one of the bedroom windows opens, the rest were not designed to.  It was one of the first modern houses built in that area in the late ’50s.  The electrical is in dangerous condition, as well. 

My brother, I suspect, advised my mother to hold off on repairs.  He wanted to get the house for next to nothing and fix it up himself.  He can do the windows himself but I’m sure the beams and roof are daunting.  The electrical, too, he’d have to hire out. 

Somehow they had a cleaning party I was not invited to.  I am out of the loop, as punishment for leaving town it sounds like.  Also they planned a memorial service while I was gone, something we had agreed not to do.  I wrote an email to them saying I would rather spend money on the house and hire professional cleaners.  Or at least pay those of us who like to clean so I wouldn’t feel so guilty.  They know I hate to clean.  For some reason my youngest sister feels “obliged” because of her “inheritance.”  She is all hung up about that duo which I can’t figure out.

But what really got me yesterday was that Robi…called and said if I wanted to come over and clean that she was there.  When she added that my wedding album was in my brother’s closet (my mother put all the pictures there) I said I was on my way.  I’d left all the photo albums with the kids.  But when I got there the album was gone.  I had her call my brother and she never got a clear answer.  This is sounding stupid. 

The bottom line is that he kept it at his house for some reason, his girlfriend having brought over the rest of the pictures which were in the same closet.  He also had been holding onto a picture of us as newlyweds that I wanted.  He said he wanted to keep it so he could make a copy.  At the time I thought it seemed silly to make a fuss and then I forgot about it.  But I was pretty worked up by the time my sister and I had gone to dinner after the cleaning.  So I drove over there and demanded to know where my pictures were. 

I’m trying to remember the calm of the water, the peace of the moon.  But I am feeling a petty anger; who is he to be the boss of my pictures?  Like I say, this is sounding stupid. 

Homer

I got back from my trip last night, late.  Two days in Homer, Alaska and two days in Seattle.  I’d never been to Alaska and was mesmerized by its beauty.  Homer was no place I’d even heard of but my sort of sister-in-law (they’re not married), chose the place for my Saturn return based on its proximity to the equator and the way the planets lined up there on Sept 5th. 

As it happened, there was a full moon.  Which I guess was good timing as the ”North Node” has everything to do with the location of the moon.  What she hadn’t realized when she chose Homer was how key the North Node was to my chart.  I hardly know what she is talking about but I gather it couldn’t have been more auspicious for my next 28 years.

I’m driving through wilderness, past my first moose, some 4 1/2 hours, two of them dark.  The moon shows me the way.  I drive clear out to the end of Homer Spit and park in front of an art gallery, taking the stairs around back, up to a long deck.  Directly below me water laps up on shore.  I find a note taped to the door of the apartment at the far end, addressed to me.  My half of the deck enjoys the only second story view as far south as I can see and I can’t see anybody from the north, so I have the place to myself. 

I set my bags down and take in the night air.  Gazing out over the bay, it looks like a picture framed in rock.  Gargantuan, prehistoric looking bolders rise up out of this quiet water, the whole scene lit up by Mr Moon.  He’s smiling down on me and I feel like it’s just the two of us here in this private paradise.  I let myself in through the sliding glass door and find the key on the kitchen table.  It is quaint and clean but nothing special.  What’s special is outside. 

I leave the window open so the first thing I hear Saturday morning is the rhythm of the tide.  It reminds me to pay attention to my own rhythm, my breath.  I get dressed and venture back down the stairs, surprised to find myself in the midst of a bustling little tourist town.  Cute, colorful shops line a boardwalk that stretches the whole length of the spit.  Everyone is on foot in fishing boots, just off or getting on a boat.  The coffee shop was across the street and the line long so I heard all their news.

That’s where I learned about Halibut Cove.  I made the voyage over that afternoon.  It’s only accessible by boat; no cars allowed.  They have a five-star restaurant along with two galleries and a hike that takes you through the village of artists, up through the meadow, past the horses to the top of the ridge where you have a 360 degree view of million-dollar cabins already vacated for the summer.

I made friends with a woman and her mother and after the hike we ate dinner together.  Later, as the boat was pulling out to go back, the moon crept out from behind these two massive rocks.  I am standing in the back, along with two lovebirds who have an impressive looking camera.  She squeals when she spots the moon rising and the rest of the boat takes notice.  Seriously, I’ve never seen a moon look like that, like it was solid gold.  All the way back we are transfixed.

I walk the two blocks back to my deck and watch the moon some more, saying my thanks and sending my love, so appreciative for the sunny day and the beautiful bay.  What I was to do in Homer was focus on being grounded and calm, with the intention of manifesting the kind of peace and happiness I want to live in the next 28 years.  I sat with that peace ’til the stars came out. 

What I found out the next day was that my mother passed while I was sitting on the deck, the very night of my Saturn return.  

I saw my mother Saturday.  She was awake, sitting in the recliner, her head leaning to the right as it seems to want to.  I got in the wheel chair and pulled up close so I could help her drink out of the sippy cup. 

All of a sudden she reaches down and starts stroking my bare leg with the back of her hand.  Not like you’d nuzzle a child but for a prolonged period of time, just back and forth.  I actually straightened my leg so she could reach more of it, saying, “Does skin feel good?”  It kind of creeped me out.  I mean she’s never touched me before. 

I’m guessing hospice has been lotioning her feet and legs and she was tapping back into that any way she could.

“An Uncommon Life”

I’m toying with the idea of trying my hand at options.  I did some with commodities but now I’m thinking about stocks.  My commodities broker talked to me yesterday about an October sugar option. 

He thinks it’s a buy.  I looked at the chart, which had gone straight up, and I thought it looked like a sell.  I don’t know anything about how sugar acts going into fall or if the time of year even matters.  You’d think it would but I didn’t see any reflection of that in the yearly charts.  I tried to find stuff to read about the sugar market but couldn’t. 

Stocks are so much more familiar to me.  I spent a long time yesterday going through my extensive watch list, seeing what was still up on a not great day.  I’ve been keeping track of  the ones that are at or close to their 52-week highs with the idea that I’m gonna get my nerve up to short them.  I’ve started watching the tape the last couple weeks and listening to CNBC again. 

The stock market seems to be driving the price of oil instead of the other way around and since volume is so low and nobody has much conviction either way not much is happening.  Which is good because I need some time to plan my moves.  I’ve sold five stocks, raising cash for the beach house I was going to buy.  But I’m thinking maybe I should put some of that money to work.  It scares me just thinking about it.

Today I spent in “The Pearl.”  It’s the district where most of the overpriced restaurants and shops are.  There are trendier neighborhoods but none more urban.  This is where all the cool lofts are and it’s where this year’s Street of Dreams was held.  Instead of homes in a new development we looked at condos in refurbished buildings.  

My favorite room was in The Encore.  The condo was called “An Uncommon Life.”  Almost 2,000 sq ft for $1,640,500.  Altogether, we saw nine condos in four buildings.  I say “we” because these two ladies and I kept bumping into each other.  At one point the three of us were in a bathroom listening to three sisters who had run into friends of theirs in the bedroom.  The sisters have decided to live together when their husbands die and they thought this was just the type of place they’d like.

I didn’t relate to much of the decor and disliked all the kitchens but the two buildings on the river had killer views.  And most all of them had really cool living rooms.  I go for that open feeling where the kitchen and dining room and living room all spill into each other.  Wrap-around decks were visible and accessible from every room — Well, not the bathrooms or kitchen– and floor-to-ceiling windows with sections that opened brought the breeze in. 

I had a hard time dragging myself out of the last one in The Encore.  Somebody with soul lived there.  You combine that with good taste and lots of money and you’ve got yourself a boudoir that feels like no other room you’re likely to find in this state.  By now you know I don’t take pictures but this room is etched in my memory. 

I ate at a little Italian bistro out on the sidewalk and thought about the people who owned those places we’d all traipsed through, the difference between us.  I see no reason why I shouldn’t live in that kind of luxury. 

Edited to add:  Tonight I was putting groceries away when it suddenly ocurred to me that I was suprised he was okay with just the S.  I put my cursor over it and, sure enough, he wasn’t.  I’m also surprised he is in favor of letting you know.  He expects respect.

I told my sister I’d meet her at Gustav’s, across the street from our old shopping center.  I rarely go now, as I’m much closer to the one on this side of town.  Plus, I didn’t think I should spend any money since I’m going on that trip.

We had a nice lunch, and as I headed back out to the highway I looked longingly at the stores.  Just on the off chance, I said to Spirit:

Me:  It’s okay to get this information. 

S:  Yes.

Me:  I should go home.

S:  No.

Me:  What??!!! (I immediately thought about shoes.)

S:  Yes.  (I don’t even have to say the words).

Me:  Yesss!!!  I do need new red sandals.

I drove to the front of Nordstroms, trying to emit good parking karma, and a guy starts backing out right in front of me.  Nice!

I walk through the section that has overpriced dress clothes, hesitating at each row long enough to get a yes.  I don’t.  When I get to the shoes the first thing I see are these gladiators with a low heel, somewhere between red and burgundy.  They fit perfectly.  I have been looking all summer for a pair to replace the ones I love but are too beat up to wear except around the house.  Now I have them. 

I’ve probably mentioned that I was thinking of selling my house next year.  Originally, I wanted to live in Florida part of the year and find a smaller house here for the summers.  But then I got that job so Florida was out of the question.

That’s when I started looking at beach houses here.  They are half the money it would cost in town.  And I adore cute little shacks.  I met a realtor earlier this summer and he started sending me emails when a house would come on the market in my price range.  Last week I made an offer.

The house was listed at $128,00 and I got that I was supposed to offer $88,000.  Not from my realtor, he was pissed.  No, this was Spirit’s idea.  It wasn’t until I was halfway to the beach that I realized his plan was that I pay cash. 

There were two other offers on the table, the third one having fallen through.  It was owned by the bank and I figured even though I was lowballing them it needed a new roof and most people looking to buy a little house like that (teeny, tiny) wouldn’t have the money for and in this market couldn’t justify the price of much more than $100,000 and those people would start in the $90s.  Or so I thought. 

I got a little pissed when the 48 hours expired and the bank didn’t respond.  I called my broker and he acted like it was normal for the bank to go over the deadline and that my offer was just “in limbo.”  My friend whose wife decided she wants him back said he thought Fannie Mae was obliged to take the offers in the order in which they were received.

Last night I got word that they had declined my offer, and this morning he sent me a lengthy email.  I want to share one especialy interesting section, which he made bold.

I get that he’s pissed I made such a low offer, and I did call and request that he contact the bank to see what they had decided, after my offer expired and he acted like it was still good.  And I did express discomfort that he shared an office with the listing agent, so I could see how that would be insulting.  But what he seems pissed about is isn’t any of that I don’t think.  At least it doesn’t sound like it.  And I liked the guy.  I certainly didn’t treat him like I thought he was stupid.  I even thanked him for being gracious about my low offer.

My friend, the artist, gave me the impression that my realtor was fairly new to this work; that it was his dad’s office.  I did remark to my friend that it seemed like he wasn’t that familiar with the paperwork. 

I guess I’m switching realtors. 

I don’t know why it took so long but it finally occurred to me to ask:  Why me?

What I got, not in this order, was that I knew Steven, I didn’t have any preconceived ideas about God and the bible (When I said the bible was baloney I got a yes), I was willing, I could write, and I was intuitive.  That was why.  Originally I got that it was because I was brave but really it was about being willing.  I was supposed to take the brave out.  He doesn’t like ego.

What did occur to me at first was who else does this.  Like in my city, I wanted to know if there were others, besides me and Steven.  I got that there were two, both women.  I even know one of them.  Holy Crap!  I just now discovered this.  Holy Crap!

For some reason last night I didn’t have permission to say who it is and this morning I do.  It’s the young woman I call Elizabeth, the one I met at a recorder function, the one who introduced me to Derek, the one who has that little brat-of-a boy, the one I used to go drinking with who is an herbalist and a hell of a musician — She plays another instrument in several orchestras.  She has made such a huge mess of her life which I find unfathomable now that I know she has access to the kind of direction I’m getting.  She chose to ignore it, is what I get.

I can’t stand to be around her; the disarray scares me.  We got together several months ago when she contacted me to say she was moving and needed a book back.  She was always loaning me all these great books I never read. We went to Powells and I bought her a new one.  Somehow the sack with all her stuff disappeared when I came back from Florida.  Then we drove to a place she’d taken me to that I loved, down in the basement.  She had a few beers and I drank tonic and lime.  We had a nice time but, and I love her, but her life is just nothing I can stand to hear about. 

I just got back from going out after work with the young woman who has been training me, another court reporter.  She’s a year older than Elizabeth, also an herbalist, fantastic cook, beautiful inside and out, a little crazy though.  She, too gets yeses and nos, and knows how to clear energy.  What’s going on???