November 20, 1997
Dear Everyone:
This last Tuesday was the day that all the effort
involved in selling the condo and moving to the townhouse really paid
off. It started raining just
before quitting time.
Traffic on the freeway ground to a complete halt at Crow Canyon Road,
which just happens to be where I get off now.
As I drove by on the overpass, I could see brake lights going on
as far as the eye could see.
I got home in less time than it would have taken me to get to the next
exit if I was still living in Concord.
Most of the minor inconveniences have been ironed
out. The biggest was not
having a dryer.
The movers appeared to take great pleasure in pointing out that
the power cord did not reach the outlet.
They blithely assured me that I could go to any hardware store
and buy an extension cord.
This, it turns out, is untrue.
In fact, it is illegal
to make an extension cord for either a clothes dryer or a stove because
of the amount of electricity these appliances require.
It would be necessary to purchase a new, longer,
power cord and replace the existing one.
I didn’t see much problem with that except for the matter of
pulling the dryer far enough away from the wall to get at the back of
it. As I was moaning about
this to a co-worker, she said, “Oh, my husband can do that for you.
He does that kind of thing all the time.”
Sure enough, last Saturday afternoon, she and
husband showed up, and husband cheerfully climbed behind the dryer and
hooked it all up, including making sure that everything was properly
grounded (he keeps a tester in the back seat of his truck).
Then he used a pocket knife to jimmy open the primary lock on the
sideboard, which
allowed the secondary lock to fall open.
Thus we got the secondary lock closed again and now all I have to
do is move things back into the sideboard.
There are still plenty of things to be done,
pictures to be hung, need to buy and install vertical blinds over the
patio door, change the locks, get the lock on the patio door changed,
etc., etc., etc. But it’s
beginning to feel a lot more like home.
I’ve even found the stickers that I sometimes put on the backs of
the Snail Mail
envelopes.
And then, I promised “Jeannie” that once things
settled down, we’d do some window treatments.
Her eyes glowed.
In other news...
Having finally got a firm head-count, I’ve ordered
$1200 worth of tickets for
Ashland next year.
All things notwithstanding, “Jeannie” and I went to
see
Seven
Years in Tibet on Sunday.
We figured it wouldn’t be out much longer and were lured in by
the promise of great cinematography and music.
Brad Pitt
plays an Austrian
mountain climber who wants to climb a mountain in the
Himalayas in the
late 1930’s. Lots of shots
of snow. Then the British
show up and announce that the climbers are now prisoners of war.
Lots of shots of Pitt trying to escape.
Eventually he gets away from the British and, with another
climber, makes his way into
Tibet. Lots of shots of
the insides of Tibetan buildings.
The Tibetans don’t want them around until the
Dalai Lama
expresses an interest in one of the foreigners (Pitt, of course).
Lots of Pitt and the kid.
The cinematography had fewer vistas than we
expected and the music was surprisingly subdued, considering it was by
John Williams.
The movie is supposed to be about how Pitt’s character grew into
someone who could be considered an advisor to the spiritual leader of
all of Tibet. Actually, as
“Jeannie” put it, he started out as rude, arrogant and obnoxious; and by
the end of the film, he was mildly pleasant and relatively tolerable.
On the other hand, Pitt managed to hold your attention for over
two hours.
Bottom line:
It’s not one I’m going to want to go back and see again.
I’m on vacation next week.
Everyone have a safe and Happy
Thanksgiving.
Love, as always,
Pete
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