Golfing the Water Hazard

I don't golf.  Jerry does; well, did.  There was a fairly large lake (aka water hazard) at Yale Golf Course that I remember Jerry talking about.  He said he would prefer to automatically take the penalty, walk around the lake, drop his ball on the ground, and continue playing rather than bother wasting his and everyone's time — not to mention golf balls — popping balls into the water.  I apologize to golfers for my lack of correct terminology.  I don't know if you even pop balls in golf (I know you can pop them in baseball).  I did, however, just look up the rules for golfing at a water hazard.  The rules state:  "When a ball is hit into a water hazard, the player may also drop a ball, behind the water hazard, on a line of sight between the hole and where the ball last crossed the margin of the hazard (no closer to the hole), at a penalty of one stroke."  This is one of many reasons I don't play golf.

Anyway, a fellow golfer once suggested to Jerry that he just throw his ball across the lake, which had Jerry laughing since that would probably cost him even more strokes... and golf balls.

HILLSVIEW WATER HAZARD (FORMERLY HILLSVIEW GOLF COURSE), PIERRE, S. DAK.

We drove over today to see Pierre's Hillsview Golf Course.  Hillsview is now basically one large water hazard.

Pierre, South Dakota

SOUTH DAKOTA'S CAPITOL BUILDING.

We spent part of the day puttering in Pierre.  Jerry and I had coffee at Pier 347, the local café.  We were told yesterday when we ordered iced café Americanos and then tried to describe how we liked them (Jerry knows a good café Americano — made by adding hot water to espresso — when he tastes one) that what we were describing was what they called a café latte (which, as I understand it, is supposed to be espresso made with steamed milk,  and nothing like an Americano).

MEMORIAL BRONZE NEXT TO THE CAPITOL.

Well, OK.  So, we ordered two half-caff (half decaffeinated) café lattes.  What we received were two decent coffees that were neither café lattes nor café Americanos.  And they were a bit weak.  So, today we ordered two double-shot café lattes and we received two better coffees (a bit similar to our café Amerianos).  And, yes, Jerry and I have been living on the West Coast way too long and get carried away with our coffee orders.  The month in Spain in January was very relaxing — dos cafés con leche, por favor!  We'll learn.

AGGRESSIVE AMERICAN EAGLE AT THE WAR MEMORIAL.

Along with his coffee, Jerry has been getting Pier 347's bagel bites (deep-fried lumps of bagel dough).  But, until I explained it to him last night, he thought he had gotten doughnut holes and couldn't figure out why these doughnut holes were so peculiar (not that the idea of a doughnut "hole" isn't peculiar in the first place).

CAPITOL BUILDING LOBBY.  VERY IMPRESSIVE FOR A STATE OF ONLY 814,000 PEOPLE.

After coffee, I dropped Jerry off at the South Dakota Cultural Heritage Center, which houses the state archives.  Jerry spent the next two hours looking up dead relatives.  I wandered (drove and walked) around town taking pictures.  All the streets along the river are now blocked off with sandbags and barricades.  The parks and related buildings along the river are completely under water.  Downtown buildings are pumping water out of their basements and hoping the river doesn't overflow the berms and sandbags.

THIS DIDN'T START OUT AS A WATER PARK.

The capitol building is high above the river, so I was able to roam the parks and the halls.  I tried to get pictures of the senate chambers, but the doors were locked and no one was home.  Anyway, most of the members probably wouldn't appreciate a visit from a former West Coast, ultra-liberal lefty who's getting ready to leave the country.

PIONEER WOMAN AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE CULTURAL HERITAGE CENTER.

The Cultural Heritage Center is a beautiful, contemporary building built into the hillside, and it's surrounded by natural prairie grass (which has just started growing for the season) instead of neatly mowed lawns.  I'm not enamored with the bronze sculpture out front, but I do like the fact that it's dedicated to the "pioneer women of South Dakota."

SANDBAGS AND HAY BALES DOWNTOWN.  WHATEVER IT TAKES.

It's Always Nice to Get Approval

We received the exciting news today from the Spanish Consulate in Los Angeles that our visa applications have been approved!  We just need to pick them up.  So, it's now real.  We will be in Spain mid-July. 

We are so grateful to the Los Angeles Consulate for their well-designed and information-rich website.  We are also grateful to the staff who so quickly responded via email to our questions while we were trying to understand the complex application process.  And we are especially grateful to the people who greeted us so warmly and professionally, and then reviewed and processed our applications.  We can't wait to become absorbed in Spanish life and culture!

The Missouri River

The Oahe Dam along the Missouri River just north of Pierre, South Dakota, forms the fourth largest artificial reservoir in the United States.

BEAUTIFUL VIEWS DOWNRIVER FROM THE DAM, BUT MUCH MORE RIVER THAN USUAL.

The dam produces electricity for much of the north-central US.  Sadly, after years of drought, the reservoir is now too high and gates are being opened, flooding Fort Pierre on the west side of the river and any low-lying areas of Pierre to the east.

THE FLOOD GATES.  WE STOPPED SHORT OF THE TALL GRASS, HOME TO RATTLESNAKES.

Linda and Tom spent several days last week sandbagging to help friends and neighbors protect their homes.  The Army Corps of Engineers keeps increasing the amount of water being released, with another big jump this morning. We drove down to the dam yesterday afternoon and couldn't believe the power of the water being released.  We could feel the ground vibrate beneath our feet.  The parking lot and visitor walkways were engulfed.

NO SKINNY DIPPING.  DOWNTOWN PIERRE.  SANDBAGGED, PLUS BRIDGES AND FLOWER BOXES.

Many homes have already been lost.  More will be lost, but others may survive due to huge berms still being built and aggressive sandbagging.  Pierre's downtown businesses are prepared for the worst.  We love Pierre.  Well, admittedly, we love visiting our family in Pierre and we tend to tease them about their choice of hometown — 95F (35C) and 95 percent humidity in summer, minus 40F (-40C) in winter; and the winds blow most of the time.  But the Capitol district is beautiful.  (I'll post pictures soon.)  With a population of about 13,000, and with South Dakota's largest city, Sioux Falls (population 153,000), 225 miles (362 km) away, and only much smaller towns in-between, there's not a lot to do around here (at least from the perspective of this city kid).  The most common activities in Pierre during summer are fishing, camping, and golfing.  The campgrounds and golf courses are now under water.  Fishing is unsafe.  It all makes for very tough times for a lot of people. 

NO FISHING.  GOLF COURSES ARE UNDER WATER.  NOT MUCH TO DO.

From Wyoming to South Dakota

We arrived this afternoon in the capital of South Dakota, Pierre (pronounced PEER).  We drove the final 200 miles (322 km) today and arrived in the center of the state.

FOUR OF SOUTH DAKOTA'S GREAT FACES.

Saturday, we drove 558 miles (898 km) from Evanston,Wyoming, to Deadwood, South Dakota. 

OUTSIDE GREEN RIVER, WYOMING.

That was added to our 268 miles (431 km) Thursday and 489 miles (787 km) Friday.  We surprised ourselves... and everyone else by taking only four days to get here.  We stopped often.  When the gas tank would get down to half, we'd stop to fill up and clean the bug guts from the windshield... and make potty stops and get treats for Jerry.  I don't know how we survived before GPS.  My iPhone worked overtime finding Starbuck's (few and far between in these parts).  (We'd be going to Peet's, but there aren't any out here at all.)

PRONGHORN GRAZING OUTSIDE A MORMON CRAFTS CENTER.
WE WERE NEARLY POUNCED ON FOR THE ADMISSION BEFORE WE TURNED AROUND.

We had amazing sightings of pronghorns along the way and I wish I had my camera to get better pictures.  They're commonly called pronghorn antelope, but it turns out they're not really antelope at all since there really is no native species of antelope in North America.  So much for "where the deer and the antelope play." We'll all continue to call them antelope.

SOUTHERN WYOMING.  LOOK CLOSELY FOR THE PRONGHORNS.

As far as spending the night in Deadwood...  It's a gambling town.  Linda and Tom drove 2-1/2 hours to meet us there and also spent the night.  We gambled.  Those "earnings" Jerry had from our stay in Vegas (the ones that were supposed to pay for our drive from Irvine to Pierre) were re-invested — badly — in Deadwood.  Oh well.  Easy come.  Easy go.  The story of of our lives.

FULL THROTTLE SALOON IN STURGIS.  IT WILL BE HOPPING DURING THE RALLY.

After leaving Deadwood, we passed through the town of Sturgis — famous for the annual motorcycle rally.  From my perspective, it's a real cowboy town, but not a very pretty one.  And it's especially scary around the time of the rally.  We stopped for gas, cleaned the bug guts off the windshield and headed for Pierre.

We feasted on steaks; skewered peppers and onions; and asparagus.  All barbecued.  The car is unloaded and the camera is unpacked.  And the car sits in the driveway covered in bug guts.

From California to Wyoming

We have made it across California, through Nevada, the northwest corner of Arizona, a long stretch of Utah, and into the southwestern corner of Wyoming.  We're spending the night in the town of Evanston, Wyoming, population 12,000-give-or-take.  We just had a fairly mediocre dinner and both look forward to a good night's sleep.

WHERE WE RECEIVED A LOVELY PARTING GIFT.

We left Irvine Thursday afternoon and left Las Vegas behind this morning — after a brief stop at Red Rock Casino where I napped and Jerry gambled, earning enough to pay for our entire drive to South Dakota!  I usually don't encourage Jerry in this vice (because he needs no encouragement), but NICE JOB, JERRY!

My camera is packed safely somewhere in the car.  I have a knack for putting things "safely" away.  Unfortunately, they're usually so safe that even I can't find them.  I know where the camera is this time.  It's in a suitcase at the very bottom of the Rubik's cube Jerry brilliantly created to get our stuff to South Dakota.  So, photos from my iPhone will have to do as I chronicle our road trip.

LEAVING LAS VEGAS.

We drove about 490 miles today, most of it through breathtaking scenery.  We plan to make our way tomorrow from here in the southwest corner of Wyoming diagonally across the state and leaving via the northeast corner — another 562 miles, I think.  We'll cross into South Dakota and settle in Sturgis (home of the annual motorcycle rally) for the night, which means we should make it into Pierre, South Dakota early-ish Sunday.  We're sure everyone is in shock, since we're known for making what should be a 2-hour-drive into a 6-hour drive.  To be honest, we surprised ourselves today.  Can't wait to get out of this altitude.  We're not good at 7,000 feet (2,100 meters).

UTAH FROM THE PASSENGER SEAT.

Setting Sail... Or Setting Ourselves Temporarily and Happily Adrift

BEFORE CRATING THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK.

The packers/movers were here Tuesday. Our stuff — what remains of our stuff — is about to set sail for Europe. We, on the other hand, will hit the road for South Dakota Thursday. We're looking forward to not having to do anything but drive for a few days.  Today, while the final truckload was hauled away (this one for the consignment center), we shuttled stuff down to the garage in prep for loading in the car, returned cable boxes, dropped off gifts of household goods for friends, returned old license plates to the DMV, cleaned house, and still managed to find time to relax with our coffee and newspapers at Peet's and get completely cool haircuts in the afternoon. 

BETTER THAN "NO" SEXY.

Jerry — still having hair — actually DID get a cool haircut.  Mine is what it is, slick on the sides and lonely on top.  When we arrived at the salon, Jerry noticed a product called "Big Sexy" (which I assumed was for "big" hair).  A few shelves below, I noticed a product called "Short Sexy" (which I assumed was for "short" hair).  I wondered what they called the product I would need — for no hair.  "No Sexy"?  But, I left with some style today and, to my surprise, a headful of "Short Sexy."  I've still got it!

ON ITS WAY TO SPAIN...
SO WE'LL HAVE A PLACE TO HANG OUR HATS.

We checked into our local La Quinta Inn(s & Suites) Sunday afternoon.  It's been very pleasant.  Irvine's La Quinta was created from an old bean and grain factory.  Since it's a historic landmark, the building itself is very cool (although the rooms remind you you're still in a La Quinta Inn).

THE CURRENT LOCATION OF THE SWIMMING POOL.

We strolled over to Tia Juana's (right next door in more of the old factory) Tuesday night for dinner.  Great music and phenomenal salmon tacos!

KIND OF MADE US FORGET WE WERE STILL IN STEPFORD... I MEAN IRVINE.

So, tomorrow we tie up some loose ends, load the car, and start our road trip to South Dakota.  Farewell, Stepford (I MEAN Irvine!)...  Several steps closer to Spain!

A Sketch and a Doodle

I used to sketch and doodle wherever I went.  Sadly, the sketching stopped a long time ago. The doodling continued, unabated, through every boring business meeting and conference call.  I am now itching to begin sketching again.

DOODLING RUN AMOK.

While going through some more of my "stuff" this morning, I came across an old pocket-sized sketchbook containing a quick study I did in San Juan, Puerto Rico, in November 1981.  It's not much, but it brought back memories of lounging poolside with Jerry three months into our story.  It was a time when Jerry still wore a Speedo and I was still (blissfully ignorant) striving for the perfect tan.

MEMORIES OF SPEEDOS AND SUNTANS.

Globetrotting with Olivia de Lopez

Of the special things we're taking with us to Spain, Olivia de Lopez is one of our favorites.  Olivia, after being found by our friend Judy, spent her first years at the entrance to Judy's parents idyllic cabin on Lopez Island in the San Juan Islands north of Seattle.  After a winding drive through tall trees, lush rhododendrons, and scatterings of daffodils, we were greeted by Olivia's weathered and haunting visage.  Judy named her.

OLIVIA'S ORIGINAL HOME ON LOPEZ ISLAND.

Late in life, Judy's father decided to sell the cabin on Lopez.  It was right around the time Jerry and I opened Viola's Resort in Palm Springs.  On Judy's first visit, she brought Olivia with her and we immediately placed her right inside the main gate.  It was a drastic change for Olivia — going from cool, shady, and damp to hot, sunny, and arid — but she adjusted perfectly.

OLIVIA DE LOPEZ.  IRVINE, CALIFORNIA.

Olivia traveled with us from Palm Springs to Santa Barbara to Las Vegas and, until last week, she watched over us from an eight-foot height in our kitchen here in Irvine.  She is now waiting to be packed for her longest voyage yet, to Malaga.  Given her Spanish heritage (the name, the name), it seems fitting.

OLIVIA AMONG FRIENDS.  GETTING READY TO SAIL TO SPAIN.

Gathering No Moss

Jerry and I are avid gardeners.  (Jerry, truthfully, is a frustrated farmer.)  Sadly, that doesn't mesh well with our lives forever on the move.  We work insanely to get our gardens laid out and planted just the way we like and we then move before we ever see them mature.  We planted 43 irises in Connecticut one autumn and then moved before seeing them come up in the spring.  At that same house, we hauled in 6 cubic yards of soil and created raised hosta beds under a stand of 75-foot-tall Black Tupelo trees.  The hosta beds were expected to take about four years to reach a respectable maturity.  We moved a year later.  Fortunately, after planting hundreds of daffodils to join the already hundreds of daffodils throughout the gardens, we stayed long enough to see those hundreds multiply into a thousand or more.

A LITTLE BIT OF PARADISE IN SAN DIEGO.

We dug up our 1/4-acre in San Diego, rented a gas-powered two-person auger to drill holes in the hard pan (also known as ouklip, the cement-like soil common just below the surface), so we could plant giant timber bamboo along one fence, hauled in dirt and gravel for the rest, created a mini xeriscape paradise for ourselves, and then moved after only two seasons.  The growing season is long and our plants thrived, so we did manage to enjoy the fruits of our labors during that brief time.  We drove by the house recently and were very proud of our work — the ground covers, miniature bottle brushes, purple hopseed bush hedge, the 15-foot-tall yucca out front, the two giant dracaenas flanking the entrance, and the now-50-foot-tall stand of bamboo out back.  We hope the current owners appreciate what we created.  Sadly, they trim most things to within an inch of their lives (a lollypop jungle); few natural shapes allowed in that garden.

CITY LIFE.

We drove by our old hotel property in Palm Springs a few months ago.  The landscaping we did there is finally lush, enormous and spectacular... 10 years later.

LIKE LIVING IN A TREE HOUSE.

Although we've been renting a small apartment here in Irvine for the last couple of years, we filled our balcony with plants — a 6-foot-tall ficus, wax-leaf privet, palm, philodendron, succulents of different stripes (well... varieties).  Inside, a spectacular Ming aralia graced the dining room, a rare fern took over the bakers rack in the kitchen.  Out on the balcony, the table and chairs, the outdoor carpet, and all the statuary (the dancing frogs, the alligator, the pig, the Mexican figures) have all been placed in new homes.   The plants continue to thrive, blissfully ignorant of the fact that they could at any moment be tossed aside, passed on (we hope, to loving and more stable homes).

THE MING ARALIA MINUTES BEFORE WE CARRIED IT AWAY.

Sunday night, we brought those two remaining houseplants to a good friend not too far away.  She has award-winning gardens.  More importantly, she is loyal and steadfast.  She will not desert them.  Our neighbors took the wax-leaf privet.  Their balcony is small, so that's all they can manage.  Besides, they told me they both have black thumbs when it comes to plants.  The privet is hardy.  Perhaps it will forgive us.

THIS BEGAN 1-1/2 YEARS AGO IN A TINY POT AT ONE END OF THE SHELF.
IGNORANCE, APPARENTLY, WAS BLISS.

We can't wait to get settled in Spain so we can start planting again. 

What a Dump!

This really could be another Jerryism. 

When Jerry finally gets overwhelmed with the mess in his office and on his desks, he dramatically announces, "What a dump" (Bette Davis in "Beyond the Forest").  Unfortunately, he always follows that statement with "Stella!!!" (Marlon Brando in "A Streetcar Named Desire").  He didn't initially realize that the quotes were from two different movies.  Obviously, he didn't give much thought to the origin of either quote.  That's Jerry.

"HEY, STELLA!!!"

But the reason for this post is not to share another Jerryism but to share the "dump" that is Jerry's home office, along with the recent discovery (revelation?) of Jerry's second-grade report card. 

When we lived in Santa Barbara, we didn't have the luxury of a private home office for each of us.  So, we agreed to share one large office.  We had a large L-shaped desk with a computer monitor at the joint between the two desks.  I tend to keep a tidy desk.  Jerry does not.  So, the agreement was that, when Jerry was using the office, he could spread his "crap" all over the desk but, when he was done, he needed to move all his crap to the desk to the right of the computer.  I would not complain about the mess as long as the desk to the left was clear and available for me to work.  If Jerry did not clear that desk, I could simply move everything to the other desk in one stack. 

Jerry was incapable of keeping my side clear of his mess, and he complained that I was always rearranging his papers when I moved them even though his papers were strewn in every direction with no order whatsoever.  I know.  I know.  All my messy readers are going to now tell me that messy people know where everything is.  First, Jerry is constantly asking me where I put things only to find them among the ruins of his so-called order.  Second, Jerry every so often does admit that his office is a mess and he can't find anything.  But, no matter.  The result was that we were completely unsuccessful at sharing an office.  So, after three interminable months, we bought another desk and set up an office for Jerry in the loft.

ONE OF JERRY'S DESKS TODAY.

While going through and scanning old documents today, Jerry discovered his second-grade report card.  According to Mrs. Kremer, although Jerry talked "a great deal without turn," he was a good student.  He did, however, need improvement in one important area of his work habits.  His desk was not orderly and neat.  In second grade!  Who ever heard of being written up for a messy desk in second grade?

AND HIS DESK IS STILL NOT ORDERLY AND NEAT.  SO MUCH FOR OUR EDUCATION SYSTEM.

Scanning the Horizon... and Everything Else

LESS THAN TWO MONTHS UNTIL WE SCAN THE HORIZON FROM MALAGA.

I have scanned, so far this week, 361 individual pages.  That includes: photos, my junior high school yearbook, poems, cards and letters, and a variety of other personal and legal documents.  Jerry has been very busy (and very bored) scanning, as well.  He, not being anal-retentive, has not kept track of how many documents and photos he has scanned.  There have, I'm sure, been many.  But, I'm equally sure he hasn't been nearly as productive as I.  Who could be?  Unfortunately, I repeated this claim to Jerry and he said he plans to count HIS files, too.  I may have to eat my words (or I could just lie when I report the results).  Or, even more likely, Jerry won't bother counting his files (OK... now that I've written that, he definitely will be counting).

We have discarded (recycled) the originals of all those scanned items, which means that I personally have discarded more than 361 pieces of "stuff." Come to think of it, considering the fact that all those cards and letters came with envelopes, I've easily discarded more than 500 pieces of stuff.

A NON-MINIMALIST LIFE IN SANTA BARBARA.

I continue to be amazed by how easy it is to part with things I've been carting around for I-don't-want-to-say how many years.  I think my new obsession may well be minimalism (well in addition to continuing to straighten chairs in restaurants as I pass empty tables).  Don't worry.  I don't walk around the entire table; I just give vagrant chairs a gentle nudge back into position.

STUFF EVERYWHERE (AND THE COUCH IN BETTER DAYS)

A rep from our local consignment store was here yesterday afternoon and they're going to sell some of our remaining furniture.  I should have realized, however, that a posh Newport Beach consignment store wouldn't take just any old thing.  I had created a spreadsheet with a room-by-room breakdown of what we would like to sell — remember, anal-retentive.  The rep started in the living room, looking slowly and deliberately at the first item on the list, the sofa (I believe the view was down his nose).  He then looked up and quietly said, "We'll pass."  I was shocked.  And offended.  But he explained it was simply because of its age.  Admittedly, the matching love seat was so tired that we gave it away four years ago.  He then "passed" on the next two items on the list, our old den recliners (they look like overstuffed wing chairs), not just because of their vintage but because, as he said "the fabric is completely out of date and old-fashioned."  Well!  But, OK, again he's right.  We've had those for 14 years.  He did like — love actually — our dining room table, our kitchen chairs, and many other things on the list.  He turned down our everyday wine and champagne glasses (as if we actually use them every day).  He said he'd love to take the sets of champagne and wine glasses in the antique cabinet.  Of course he would.  We're keeping those.

THESE CAN'T BE SCANNED, SO THEY'RE HEADED FOR SPAIN.

Coulda and Shoulda Are Words We Don't Use

THEY ONLY DEPRESS US AND GIVE US THE BLUES.

CAROL BURNETT AS EUNICE

Words to live by, chanted by Carol Burnett (well, her character Eunice) during her visit to a psychiatrist on the last episode of "The Carol Burnett Show."

"I CHOSE AND MY WORLD WAS SHAKEN.  SO WHAT.
THE CHOICE MAY HAVE BEEN MISTAKEN. THE CHOOSING WAS NOT."

My father used to call my mother the queen of the I SHOULDA Club and, sometimes, the queen of the IF IDA Club.  Regret is a terrible thing.  If you regret a decision and you are able — or are willing — to do something about it, then fine.  But, regretting choices you've made that can never (or will never) be changed is just a tremendous waste of energy.

My mother wastes a lot of energy.  She still regrets buying a new dining room set in 1964.  She hated it the minute she bought it.  She has regretted that dining room set for more than 46 years.  She refuses to replace it, but continues to comment — at every opportunity — that she never "shoulda" bought it.

I, too, waste a lot of energy.

"THERE'S ONLY NOW. THERE'S ONLY THIS."

I spend many nights working on my attitude — while trying to fall asleep — by singing the lyrics from "Move On" (from "Sunday in the Park With George").  When that doesn't work quickly enough, I "move on" to "Life Support" (from "Rent")... "Forget regret or life is yours to miss."

I'm assuming that I get to keep my "gay card" for another year by referencing two Broadway musicals (and "The Carol Burnett Show") in one post.

So, what am I working hard to not say "IF IDA" about?  Everything.

Retirement, our move to Spain, budgeting, and reviewing so much history as we go through our things has me rehashing every major move and every major life change we've made over the years.  Twenty-nine and counting, remember?

I've mentioned before: We have retirement income.  I've also mentioned before that we would have had a lot more retirement income had we not made some of our major moves and taken some of those major chances over the years.  So here goes: 1) if Jerry hadn't retired so soon; 2) IF IDA held on to my business and waited for the economy to turn around; 3) IF IDA kept my corporate job; 4) if Jerry hadn't left his position in Santa Barbara; 5) If we hadn't poured all our money into a hotel (right before 9/11/01); 6) if we hadn't poured all our money into a niche market hotel — the same one — with a limited following (right before 9/11/01); 7) if we both hadn't left our jobs at Berkeley; 8) if we had held onto our house in San Francisco; 9) if we both hadn't left our jobs at UC San Diego; 10) if we had held onto our house in San Diego; 11) if we both hadn't left our jobs at Yale...

We left Yale in 1993.  I can then go back to buying the money pit in Connecticut in 1988, renovating it, and then selling it when the market was weak.  Years before that was a move from Boston to L.A. to Washington, D.C. (1982/1983) over a period of seven months — all paid for by us.  If only Jerry hadn't left his huge corporate job in Boston and I my position there to move from Boston to L.A. (and back again). And... then... IF IDA stayed in my position with the graphic design firm in L.A.

And this is when I realize I am nearly back to my mother's dining room set.

So, no more singing Broadway show tunes (well, I lie), but from now on, any time the words "I shoulda" or "If Ida" pop into my head, I will simply chant "dining room set."

I am now healed... mostly.

IF IDA SEEN THAT BASEBALL BAT FLYING AT ME IN 1962.