Into spring
Okay, where was I? That was the end of January and who knows, that virus I wrote about might have been a mild case of you know what. Time has been passing very strangely. To summarize:
My mom's memorial was on Friday the 7th of Feb. We had a thing at the McGill faculty club, then another thing at home the following day. The airports were closed because of a blizzard, and the trains weren't running because protesters were blockading the tracks at Belleville. (Victoria knows the tribal councillors and they told her it wasn't officially sanctioned, just organized by some guy who did too much acid in the 70s. But the guy did manage to disable the rail routes for a long time.) Plus some of the Holcombe siblings didn't show up for reasons over which I will allow my better nature to draw the curtain of charity. Sandy and Elroy thundered in from Toronto in their tank-like SUV; Tam and Jon got the very last flights into YUL early that morning before everything shut down.
I stayed for a couple more weeks.
Shortly after I flew back to California, Jon had his practical driving test. You have to book those tests months in advance. Jon managed to get a slot in Napa, so we met Marti for lunch at the CIA Copia (her choice). She had even more leftover wine for us to take back, as well as another layer of frozen cake including Isabella's fondant sculptures of ourselves staring up at the sky.
And then the following week, at around nine on Wednesday morning, I got a text message that said "Shit!!!" and then another one that said "I just got hit by a train." The back of the ute got clipped by the southbound Coast Starlight at the level crossing just the other side of San Leandro St. I used to think that could only happen to complete morons, but that was before I learned how level crossings work in Oakland. Anyway. Jon's fine. The OPD, the Union Pacific Railway police, and the conductor in his fancy hat were laughing (I think it's probably fair to say giggling, even) because they were so relieved that no one was hurt. Usually when a train hits something, there are pulverized remains to deal with.
No injuries reported after Amtrak train collides with vehicle in Oakland
The ute was a writeoff but we have another one, a white one that's not quite as good: a sports model with a silly high-up suspension, but that's what we could get.
And then the week after that, my dad was supposed to fly in here and then the three of us were all going to Australia. Obviously that didn't happen. Doug drove out to get him, and now he and Doug and Tam are holed up in Toronto at the Duplex Steet house.
Now to cover the inevitable themed content with a few bullet points:
Sisi's son Frank (whom I last saw as a tiny squirmy puppy) won a ton of prizes at the Beverly Hills dog show and will be profiled on some NBC Easter special. "This is the best thing that's ever happened", Lisa said when she called.
And here are a few of the things I've read in the last couple of months, not in any particular order: Iris Murdoch's Sacred and Profane Love Machine, Joshua Ferris's To Rise Again at a Decent Hour, Salley Vickers's Miss Garnet's Angel and Mr. Golightly's Holiday, Dominic Smith's The Beautiful Miscellaneous, Salley Rooney's Conversations with Friends and Normal People, Joan Frank's All the News I Need, Pat Barker's Double Vision and Life Class. Also I'm not sure I mentioned re-reading Gwen Raverat's Period Piece out loud to my mom while she was dying, for the zillionth time for both of us.
Crossposted from https://loosestrife.dreamwidth.org/194341.html. If you have comments, please either post them there or send email.
My mom's memorial was on Friday the 7th of Feb. We had a thing at the McGill faculty club, then another thing at home the following day. The airports were closed because of a blizzard, and the trains weren't running because protesters were blockading the tracks at Belleville. (Victoria knows the tribal councillors and they told her it wasn't officially sanctioned, just organized by some guy who did too much acid in the 70s. But the guy did manage to disable the rail routes for a long time.) Plus some of the Holcombe siblings didn't show up for reasons over which I will allow my better nature to draw the curtain of charity. Sandy and Elroy thundered in from Toronto in their tank-like SUV; Tam and Jon got the very last flights into YUL early that morning before everything shut down.
I stayed for a couple more weeks.
Shortly after I flew back to California, Jon had his practical driving test. You have to book those tests months in advance. Jon managed to get a slot in Napa, so we met Marti for lunch at the CIA Copia (her choice). She had even more leftover wine for us to take back, as well as another layer of frozen cake including Isabella's fondant sculptures of ourselves staring up at the sky.
And then the following week, at around nine on Wednesday morning, I got a text message that said "Shit!!!" and then another one that said "I just got hit by a train." The back of the ute got clipped by the southbound Coast Starlight at the level crossing just the other side of San Leandro St. I used to think that could only happen to complete morons, but that was before I learned how level crossings work in Oakland. Anyway. Jon's fine. The OPD, the Union Pacific Railway police, and the conductor in his fancy hat were laughing (I think it's probably fair to say giggling, even) because they were so relieved that no one was hurt. Usually when a train hits something, there are pulverized remains to deal with.
No injuries reported after Amtrak train collides with vehicle in Oakland
The ute was a writeoff but we have another one, a white one that's not quite as good: a sports model with a silly high-up suspension, but that's what we could get.
And then the week after that, my dad was supposed to fly in here and then the three of us were all going to Australia. Obviously that didn't happen. Doug drove out to get him, and now he and Doug and Tam are holed up in Toronto at the Duplex Steet house.
Now to cover the inevitable themed content with a few bullet points:
- On the Monday before the restrictions went into effect, we headed out to get what groceries we could. The Trader Joe's on Lakeshore in Oakland was a strange but oddly carnival-like scene: a fast-moving queue to get in, friendly greeter handing out sanitizer and wipes, people laughing and shrugging at the empty shelves; an odd selection of things left. I managed to score just about the last olive oil they had. By contrast, the Whole Foods nearby was also packed with people, but didn't really have inventory trouble at all. In both places the cashiers were very, very cheerful and chatty. People were trying to maintain a six-foot distance but things weren't set up for it and no one had had any practice, so it wasn't working very well.
- Jon's set up in the sort-of dining room, the big front room with the arched windows with most of his books in it; I'm set up in the corner back room with most of my books in it. It's OK for me because I'm now somewhat used to it, but Jon hates it. He paces around uneasily, even though we have a big garden. Also it's cold, and w ordered him some warm fleecy things to wear at home, including two fleeces (the "Better Sweater" -- that's its official name -- and the Yeti) as well as what we call the Velvety Pant. It's been odd for me, going from decades of living alone to zero privacy, but we're doing pretty well. Whenever we don't have late morning meetings, we walk up to the World Ground coffee shop on Macarthur for lattes and a scone. It's the place where an armed robber stole everyone's laptops a year ago. The guy who runs it is a big friendly middle-aged Swede, and it would be nice if he could stay in business.
- We've also done more meal takeout than usual these days: a couple of lunches from Sequoia in the neighborhood, but also dinners from Lin Jia and, last Saturday, Alec's Zoom dinner. He and David picked up delicious pasta and salads from Belotti; we had ours delivered (not because we were lazy, but because we had an earlier online appointment with Peter and Naomi in Brisbane (drinks for us, coffee for them). So we ate together as if actually at the restaurant. The Duplex gang joined us for a bit too, though it was well after dinner for them. Doug wore a bowtie.
- I'm so glad that the rash of email from every entity with which I've ever done business has slowed. It was getting to the point that I needed, or at least pretended I needed, a drink each time I read the word "unprecedented". It's trying, tragic, but only unprecedented in a sort of Heraclitean sense. As a species, we've had plenty of diseases sweep through us. It's just that we personally haven't.
- Our neighborhood mailing list started off sensibly enough encouraging people to check in and let everyone know if they needed help. But then the sanctimony and sniping started. Jill proposed a six-foot-apart, bring-a-chair gathering in her front garden; Carlos and a few others were sniffy and critical. Some of the nurses got hilariously bossy. At one point, a few people declared themselves "block captains". I resisted the urge to offer to design special hats and badges for them. By contrast, kind and sensible Paul and Dante, who bought the house across the street on which we'd unsuccessfully bid a month before we got this place, posted quietly that they take long daily walks and would be glad to pick up from any store along their path for anyone, just let them know by noon and they'll get it to them on the way back.
- Yolanda (featured in this article by Alec) is scrambling to keep the local urban farm store up and running. Two weekends ago we queued out in the rain at proper six-foot distances to score some potato starts. Now she's worked out a cumbersome but less frustrating method: she sends her customers an email when she gets inventory in, you fill out a form on her website, she calls you back to verify stock and get a credit card number, you stop by quickly to pick up behind the store.
- The rowing ergometer in the shed has never seen so much action. I am getting so strong it's ridiculous.
- In England: Mick Robertson, Jon's friend since they were seventeen, is just getting over the virus now. At least he assumes so; he couldn't get tested without a hospital admission. He managed okay at home but said it was horrible, worse in fact than when he had typhoid in India. But Julie didn't catch it. (We had dinner at their house in Abingdon last year.)
- In Australia: Peter and Naomi's daughter Ellen came back from Europe with a slightly swollen throat and elevated temperature, got tested, found out she had it, but never showed any more symptoms. Their whole family are just emerging from quarantine now. They're fine.
Sisi's son Frank (whom I last saw as a tiny squirmy puppy) won a ton of prizes at the Beverly Hills dog show and will be profiled on some NBC Easter special. "This is the best thing that's ever happened", Lisa said when she called.
And here are a few of the things I've read in the last couple of months, not in any particular order: Iris Murdoch's Sacred and Profane Love Machine, Joshua Ferris's To Rise Again at a Decent Hour, Salley Vickers's Miss Garnet's Angel and Mr. Golightly's Holiday, Dominic Smith's The Beautiful Miscellaneous, Salley Rooney's Conversations with Friends and Normal People, Joan Frank's All the News I Need, Pat Barker's Double Vision and Life Class. Also I'm not sure I mentioned re-reading Gwen Raverat's Period Piece out loud to my mom while she was dying, for the zillionth time for both of us.
Crossposted from https://loosestrife.dreamwidth.org/194341.html. If you have comments, please either post them there or send email.