It was a dark and stormy night...

...when I emerged from a day-long training course clutching my official Washington State Private Investigator's certification.

But I'm not yet a licensed PI. That will require either starting my own agency or landing a gig with a recognized private investigation agency in the state. Stay tuned.

Ready for the rain (and snow)

For the past several years, I've been trying to find an attractive, comfortable pair of dressy winter boots.

The results of my unsuccessful experiments are about to be photographed and put on eBay (many have been worn only once or twice) or taken to Classic Consignment. The bottom line is that the ones that look good hurt like hell and the ones that don't hurt look like hell.

How long has this been going on? Well, there's a pair headed for eBay that my father bought me as a birthday gift. And he died three years ago.

This year I've mail ordered and returned three pairs of boots already. I've tried Nordstrom, J. Jill, Eddie Bauer, and Sierra Trading. In desperation, I occasionally pop into trendy little boutiques downtown and try on boots. God knows why. Even if I find a pair that don't have stiletto heels, bizarre elf-like toes, or jangling hardware, they don't fit.

I even wasted an entire Saturday at Bellevue Square Mall looking for boots.

A few weeks ago, on my way to the Seattle Art Museum, I spotted an intriguing boutique with boots on First Avenue next to the Lusty Lady (!). But I was late to meet someone at the museum, and when I got out I was rushing to meeting Zorg at REI. The next time I was downtown I was rushing yet again to get somewhere.

This evening I was downtown with my friend Ellen from D.C., who has the world's most impressive shopping karma. We'd already engaged in major retail therapy at Pike Place Market Tuesday, and this evening we were doing downtown. I told her about the little boutique I'd been wondering about (Nuvo Moda, it's called) and we headed for First Avenue.

When we stepped into Nuvo Moda, my first thought was that I was a bit north of their target demographic. But I went over and looked at the display of designer boots and was impressed to see quite a few that had relatively modest heels. And all of them were made of lovely high-quality leather. Then the saleswoman (wearing a stunning turquoise sundress, despite the fall weather) came over and suggested a pair of boots I hadn't noticed. I tried them on. And they were perfect.

No question, Ellen is going to have to move to Seattle. Or at least come out here and take me shopping with her a few times a year.

The boots, by the way, are made by Corso Como (a Brazilian brand named after a street in Milan). They are also available on the Nordstrom website.

So, now I have a rain-resistant winter coat and some boots. I declare my winter shopping season officially closed.

Dance - Level 70

Michael Flatley. Napoleon Dynamite. MC Hammer. Michael Jackson. Britney Spears. Chubby Checker. John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Now, imagine them dancing with scarily similar-looking World of Warcraft characters. Hilarious. (And, through this, I discovered Daler Mehndi.)

Tying up loose ends for September

In the past few weeks I've blogged about some unresolved situations; this blog post is devoted solely to updates.

First of all, if you've lost track of Zorg's blog, he's now settled in again at http://zzzorg.blogspot.com/
where he will regale you with tales of biking in Seattle -- or at least, attempting to. ("Another thing I noticed is that pedestrians are all drunk - they never walk in a straight line. Not one of them. Even the attentive ones weave back and forth.")

The pain in my neck is slowly abating, thanks to my new chiropractor. I have had to put an end to doing headstands at yoga for a while; instead, I'm practicing that weird pre-headstand pose where you balance with your shins on your upper arms and all your weight on your hands. It's probably a better workout, anyway. The new chiropractor has the most amazing tables in his office. You start out standing up like Frankenstein and then the table tilts down with you on it!

I am planning to revisit the Austin Cantina tonight with Rae to see how their menu is developing. They've apparently won a big following...some friends who swung by for dessert the other night said there was a line out the door.

We're all missing Betaille, though the household chores sure are a lot simpler now that we don't have a very sick cat to attend to. The other three cats are so low maintenance! Though, of course, we have a neighbor's cat trying to join the household -- she comes in the cat door at night and watches TV with Zorg. Betaille's ashes came back from the vet in a handsome little stone urn. I placed it on the sheepskin she liked to sleep on, and was alarmed when I walked by late that night and saw Zoe asleep the sheepskin and no sign of the urn. It wasn't on the floor, and I eventually spotted it: Zoe was curled around it, holding it in her paws as she slept. Betaille had always been less-than-appreciative of Zoe's cuddling, but now there's not much she can do about it!

My Honda Civic station wagon with the failing clutch is parked in front of the house while I wait (an estimated five weeks) for a Honda Fit automatic to turn up at a Western Washington dealership. Zorg and I have tried sharing his car (he's begun biking to work) and I'm considering trying one of the local Flex cars. Honda Fits are in such short supply that one local Honda dealership refused even to let me test drive the one they had unless I signed a commitment to buy. (So what would the point of a test drive be?) Needless to say, I went to a saner dealership in Edmonds and test drove a Fit there -- though I test drove a manual instead of an automatic.

A label a day...

My usual afternoon snack is an apple with peanut butter or cheese. Half the time I forget to remove the little sticky oval label that says "Fuji" or "organic" and end up chewing on it. Today I was eating the last quarter of the apple and my subconscious began saying "watch out for the label."

Then I realized there was no label. The apple, a bit on the bland side but very nice and crisp, is from our tree.

Geek concert

Jonathan Coulton's concert at the Triple Door Sunday night fell somewhere between a rock concert and a professional seminar.

It took place in the club's main performance hall, which is set up almost exactly like a seminar room, with tiers of long tables at which attendees sit facing the speaker -- er, performer. Of course, at the Triple Door the tables are curvy and black, and the attendees have candles and martinis in front of them instead of notebooks.

Well, actually, some of them had all three.

As Coulton noted from the stage, several people in the audience had game devices and smart phones with them. And I saw at least one woman with a Mac notebook open in front of her. Which might have seemed rude, except that Coulton, and the duo that opened for him and accompanied him on some songs, also had a Mac notebook on the stage. (Was it for the lightshow? a mixing board? not sure.)

I'm crazy over Coulton's online hit "Code Monkey" and all the animated versions it's spawned on You Tube. I had no idea if he could sustain an entire evening of solo entertainment, but it turned out that he could, firmly staking out a position in the pop music continuum somewhere between Warren Zevon ("All We Want to Do Is Eat Your Brains") and Tom Lehrer ("Mandelbrot Set").

The opening duo, Paul and Storm ("professional singing persons"), was screamingly hilarious, though I suspect their songs and performance are better live than on recording. Their opening number was jaw-droppingly funny, and their Borscht-belt stylings (including ad jingles and imitations of imagined Randy Newman film scores) help round out Coulton's solo performance, which can get very, very, very weird. (For a taste of Paul and Storm, scroll down this page and click to listen to "If Aaron Neville Were Waiting for a Parking Spot at the Mall, But Someone Else Snagged It." You'll find "The Opening Band" and "Randy Newman's 'Theme from The Lord of he Rings: The Return of the King'" there, too.)

The audience, 75 percent software engineers, loved it all. So did Zorg. We'll be there when Coulton is next in town, though we haven't decided if we are going to be in the Zombie contingent or the Pirate contingent.

And we'll order the Triple Split for dessert again, too. With rum raisins and brandied cherries, it was almost too entertaining to eat that while listening to Paul and Storm sing "The Easter Song." Come to think of it, it's probably too dangerous to eat anything while they're singing.

Coulton says he had a good time, too.

Patisserie Nilos

The Spies were slightly more interesting than the other apples, and the turnovers fell into three categories: delicious, amazingly delicious, and exquisitely delicious.

Less insanity

Today is my 1-year anniversary of working out with my friend (and Seattle neighbor) Susan Powter.

Here's a video of Susan (from 20 years ago) that will give you an idea of why working out with her is such a hoot.

Here's Susan's updated look (one of her promos for the free web-based fitness program she's experimenting with).

Crewcut or dreadlocks, she's fabulous. Thank you, Susan!

I hate shoes

Go ahead and tease me about all the shoes I have, but if you look at my shoe shelves what you'll find there are sandals and boots.

I love sandals -- strappy little flats, chunky platform sandals, and rustic-looking walking sandals.

I also love boots -- hiking boots, dressy ankle boots (especially those by Naot), lace-up dance boots, cowboy boots, Italian leather riding boots, and big fuzzy cozy Uggs and Merrells.

But I hate shoes. They are too warm in summer, and too complicated (what with bulky socks, uncomfortable pantyhose, etc.) in winter. This year I have nearly eliminated shoes from my wardrobe...just athletic shoes, a pair of dressy pumps, and a pair of Clarke's Privo "Leslie" slip-ons to wear with little toe socks.

Naot "Niagara" sandals, Merrell "Primo Stitch" boots, and Clarke's Privo "Leslie" shoes.

Changing gears

This morning I dropped off my 1990 Honda Civic station wagon at High Road Automotive for its routine quarterly oil change and checkup. I wandered home along Ballard Avenue; it was nearly 9 a.m. but only the old industrial buildings were open. Most of the trendy new shops don't wake up until 11.

I headed up 24th Avenue NW and had just stopped in at the java place on the corner of NW 59th Street for a latte when my cell phone rang. It was High Road. They said the car needed a new clutch, but the new clutch, with labor, would be quite a bit more than the book value of the 1990 Civic.

I asked them to give me half an hour to think about it. Then I walked out of the coffee shop, sat down on the curb, and burst into tears. I really like that car. In addition to having it thoroughly pampered at High Road, I get it detailed every spring, touch up scratches in the metallic paint, and, of course, have it decorated with custom bumper stickers.

I can make the case that it's worth installing a new clutch and keeping the car because it's in otherwise excellent condition (only 80,000 miles in 17 years) and likely to keep running to 200,000 miles. But it's also true that the car lacks airbags, and that Zorg dislikes driving it because it has a manual transmission.

For the past two years, I've been looking at the new Honda Fit, a very similar compact station wagon. It has great ratings from Consumer Reports, a more-than-reasonable price tag, all the safety features, and even a connection for my iPod.

So perhaps it's time to move into the 21st century.

But not until I find a good home for the Civic.

Betaille: October 1990 - Sept. 5, 2007

A.K.A. "Madame Fur Coat"

Austin comes to Ballard

Zorg and I strolled over to 24th Avenue NW tonight to try out the new Austin Cantina that just opened (in the spot where Dandelion used to be, just across the street and a block north of QFC).

It turns out to be a relaxing, friendly place where the emphasis is on fresh, high-quality ingredients at reasonable prices.

Our orders were taken quickly, and mojitos appeared moments later, followed by Zorg's cup of chili. The main courses took a bit longer (the kitchen is still experiencing some opening-week franticness). We sipped our drinks and listened to a mix of Willie Nelson and Tex-Mex tunes (at a pleasant volume that I hope the Cantina will maintain).

We both liked the rich, meaty, smoky chili (Texas style, no beans) though Zorg commented that it seemed to lack salt. Since he's more of a salt fan than I am, I shrugged this off. But when our main courses arrived -- enchiladas, his filled with a tender pot roast, mine with pulled pork with apples -- I had to agree that salt was definitely not figuring in the otherwise-interesting culinary equations. Zorg employed the salt shaker on the table; I mused about why the food was being cooked this way, because I sometimes cook without salt to try to adjust my palate to more natural tastes.

I was wondering if I'd be able to lure Zorg back the cantina when dessert arrived and completely won us over. The flan was delicate and not too sweet, and the big bowl of banana pudding with meringue was rich and fabulous. Zorg did not leave a molecule of pudding in that bowl. He swears he didn't actually lick the bowl, but I wasn't watching that closely.

Jefe Birkner, the chef and owner, came over to ask us how we liked our meal. I inquired about the salt (or lack of it). He admitted that he is making a concerted effort to serve interesting regional food that people can eat without freaking out about salt, grease, and calories. He said he is definitely using salt, though not much of it and not the usual type -- he brought us a sample of the special flaky sea salt he favors; it's definitely more subtle and complex than your basic shaker salt. He indicated that the banana pudding didn't exactly fall into the healthy food category, but I noticed that much of its richness came from the banana texture; it did not have too much sugar, and the gorgeous topping was a meringue, not whipped cream.

We're definitely going back to try the dishes we missed on the first go-round. According to Metroblogging Seattle, the chicken fried steak, made with a great local organic beef, is "amazing." And I want to check out the grilled-corn-with-lime-butter side dish.

A few notes about death

Many year ago, at the Northwest Folklife Festival, I had my palm read by a woman from the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh community in Oregon (remember them?). She said that I "dance with death," not in the sense of inviting it, but in the sense of being comfortable around it.

In the past few days, I've certainly been around it too much.

Our ancient Himalayan-Abyssinian cat is slowly running out of steam, but determined to hang in there, eating and drinking and demanding attention. She has some sort of tumor that is affecting her ability to breathe, and may have some other issues as well. The vet prescribed pills to stimulate her appetite and help her lungs. So twice a day I get to wrestle with a skeletal but still quite feisty cat.

This makes life at home intense and tiring, although we love Betaille very much and are grateful for all the companionship and pleasure she has provided over the past 17 years.

Three weeks ago, one of my yoga-group friends found out that her husband had a very advanced cancer. It progressed rapidly, and he died at home Wednesday night. She had barely gotten her head around the idea he was sick! I can't imagine a more horrifying experience.

This morning (after I'd had a trying night with Betaille) my mother called with news of a death -- and a completely different perspective on the subject.

My mom lives in a four-unit condo, and for the past few years, she and two other unit owners have been trying to deal with a weird situation in the fourth unit. That unit has been occupied for many years by a reclusive elderly woman who never leaves (unless by ambulance), and who has breathing and mobility problems. She sits all day in her livingroom with an oxygen tank, watching TV, and refuses to consider moving to a retirement community or nursing home. A few years ago, her middle-aged son, who is a schizophrenic, came to live with her. He takes care of her shopping and cooking. Unfortunately, he also brings drunk friends over to stay in the condo's storage unit, and last year urinated repeatedly in the foyer, to the point that the Post Office refused to enter the building to deliver the mail. (He also urinates off the front balcony, to the consternation of the woman in the condo building next door.) The son is a heavy smoker, and often the building reeks of smoke (my mom had her unit sealed off with special paint and caulk) and the ventilation system for the building has had to be re-done a few times to prevent the smoke from getting into other units. A couple of years ago, this guy set the balcony on fire, resulting in so much damage to the stucco that the entire building had to be re-stuccoed. According to workmen and fire inspectors who have been in the unit, it's filthy.

The police have been called again and again, letters have been sent, but the condominium association has been unable to do much of anything about the situation; once they address one problem, another one appears. My mother, who is planning to move to a retirement community next year, has begun to worry that it will be very difficult for her to find a buyer for her unit with such a weird and possibly hazardous situation in the building.

So my mom wasn't exactly mournful when she called me this morning with the news that the elderly neighbor (let's call her Margo) had died during the neight. It seems that the retired gentleman who is the head of the condo association had just gotten a call from Margo's son, wanting to know what to do with the body.

"Did anyone call 911?" I asked.

"No, they don't want to cause a fuss," my mother explained.

I tried to point out that the death has to be reported and checked out by a medical examiner, so a death certificate can be issued. Since everyone was so resistant to the idea of bothering the folks at 911, I suggested as casually as possible that they just call over and ask 911 what they should do.

Now I am trying to let go of the vision of all of them wrapping Margo up in a tarp, putting her in a car, and driving over to the local funeral home...

Sigh.

Someone gets the big picture

I often wait for films to come out on DVD because movie theaters are, for the most part, disgusting, garish, uncomfortable environments with revoltingly unhealthy food, Neandertal staff, and boorish patrons. (There are, of course, a few that are merely tacky environments offering unhealthy food, with hip, vaguely apologetic staff and resigned patrons. But those are in the distinct minority.)

When my friend Eric blogged about going to an attractively furnished theater in Redmond, at which filmgoers can enjoy mixed drinks and are served popcorn in real bowls (not bags or boxes), I thought he was hallucinating. But, no. Apparently someone gets The Big Picture in Redmond, and in Seattle as well.

A cat winds things down

My yoga class is back from hiatus, and my neck is responding to chiropractic care, which means I was able to burn off some of my tension and worry about Betaille, our 17-year-old cat.

Betaille is old, and so frail that even a few days of ill health could spell the end. She had a secondary tumor removed a few weeks ago, but the vet is unsure where the primary cancer is located. All they can say is that since there was already a significant secondary tumor, her condition is likely to be inoperable. (Her kidney disease makes it impossible for her to handle most strong medications.)

Betaille hasn't wanted to eat much for the past two days, and seemed clearly unhappy. She's not the kind of cat who goes off in a corner to suffer, either. She walks up to you and stares until you take action.

So we took Betaille over to the vet this afternoon, where x-rays indicated that there is something impairing her lung function -- possibly a tumor, but possibly fluid caused by a tumor. Betaille's still alert and energetic, so the vet prescribed prednisone pills to address the lung condition and stimulate her appetite.

Of course, when we got home Betaille promptly ate a bowl of cat food. She then took a nap on the sheepskin-covered hassock; Zoe, our big tabby, snuggled up against her. I sat next to them and read a book, because Betaille likes to be where she can see me. Eventually I went out to work in the back yard. When Betaille came out she did something very odd. Although I rarely see her leave the back yard, today she went slowly along the north side of the house, down the stairs to the driveway, around Zorg's car, and up the path in front. She left the path, circled the maple tree on the front lawn, and went back to the path and followed it along the south side of the house, ending up on her usual patio hangout in back.

What, I wondered, was the yard tour all about?

Home

Today my mom put down a deposit to get on the waiting list for an innovative retirement community under construction at South Lake Union in downtown Seattle. If all goes as expected, sometime in 2009 she'll move into Mirabella. The community, which provides all levels of care from independent condo-style living to skilled nursing in private rooms, is run by a well-regarded non-profit that created the Rogue Valley Manor in Medford, OR. My mom and I toured one of the model apartments today, and it was absolutely gorgeous.

So much for today's look into the future.

And now, for today's look into the past:

The date's been set for an unusual reunion at the high school I attended in Northern Virginia. The event is based not on graduation year, but on common interests. Students from nearly 30 graduating classes will be gathering Oct. 27 to honor one of our teachers, a rather colorful woman who taught advanced placement English and journalism, and who sponsored the school newspaper and the cheerleading squad. (It may surprise you to hear that, although I took the journalism class, I was not on the newspaper -- in part, because I'd thrown my lot in with the rabblerousers running the underground newspaper. However, I was on the JV cheerleading squad. At the same time.)

I've had some involvement with the folks organizing the reunion, and it's been fascinating to watch the generations in action. The women from the 1960s classes are very clear about email and conference calls, but are pretty much clueless about how they could have used things like Classmates and Evite to communicate. The folks from the 1970s classes are more digitally aware, but not as eager to take charge of anything. And the folks from the 1980s classes have initial energy, but don't have the patience to do the sleuthing and grunt work the 1960s organizers believe is the way to organize the event.

So be it.

At any rate, we've got a date, we've got a banquet hall, and we've got a invitation list. I've got a fabulous dress, and a plane reservation. This should be a hoot.

A pain in the neck

The good news is that I've found a great chiropractor (my longtime favorite chiropractor, Mike Fuhrman, moved back East a few months ago). The new doc, Lee Phelps, was recommended by an SEO college. He's up at Abrams Chiropractic in Greenwood, so after getting my neck fixed I was able to celebrate with an iced latte across the street at Diva on Greenwood.

The bad news, of course, was the I'd somehow done something awful to my neck -- which had never happened before. The massage therapist who worked on my muscles twice in the past week said they were tight because they were trying to cope with something terribly wrong at the top of my spine. She suggested I get an adjustment. She was right: The x-rays were ugly. I feel better now, but would be curious to know what happened that ended up rearranging three of my vertebrae.

Fortunately, my yoga classes are on hiatus this week, so my neck can rest up while I go walking. And there's a fitness class being taught by one of my fellow Biznik members Thursday night. I'll probably drive over to Kirkland to check this out, since he's a client.

We feel winter coming on

Much is made about the pull of "back to school" traditions, which have even those of us decades out of academia neatening our desks, buying new clothes and furniture, and signing up for self-improvement programs. Must be ready for September!

Surely the only way that the school calendar could continue to exert such a tug on our souls is because back-to-school preparations sit atop a far stronger instinct: The one that tells us to get ready for the coming of winter. (Or, in Seattle, the coming of rain. It's about six weeks until the nine-month rainy season begins.)

I've been washing, ironing, and sorting clothes, and boxing quite a bit of stuff to take to Goodwill. Zorg is reorganizing his home office. My friend Susan is blogging about cleaning rugs. Neighbors next door are rushing to complete a porch and second-floor balcony; across the alley from us, the roof is being replaced.

I feel particularly unhappy about the coming of fall this year. Our elderly cat Betaille, who loves to hang out in the warm, sunny back yard, is becoming increasing frail. The vet says her outlook is not good. I'm suspect the cold, rainy fall will mean the end for her. Though she comes in and hangs out in various cat beds upstairs and in the living room, she clearly prefers the outdoors. Short of relocating the entire household to Southern California, I can't think if anything we can do for her.

Tales of eBay

My first husband used to refer to me as a "world-class shopper." He meant it as a description, not a compliment.

Fortunately, he was long gone when on August 16, 1997 (10 years ago today) I discovered a whole new universe of shopping: eBay.

I can't remember what the first item was that I bid on. Most likely it was a piece of 1930s Stangl dinnerware. (That's because I was still painstakingly rebuilding the collection of family Stanglware that had been shattered in 1986 when a stag party hosted by my first husband got a bit out of hand.)

My memories of my early years on eBay include:

• Several nasty bidding wars with a fellow from Washington D.C. who collected green Stanglware. The "fellow" turned out to be a woman, and she turned out to be a friend of a friend from journalism school. We started buying large lots of china together and spitting them. When I visited D.C. in 1999 for business, she took me out to lunch.
• Running 10 blocks from Green Lake to our old house because I'd forgotten that an auction on a Stangl cigarette box was about to end. I didn't make it in time, and lost the item.
• Winning one of the few Stanglware pie plates still in existence. Unfortunately, our cat Sheba later used it as a toboggan in the kitchen; it didn't survive.
• Helping my mom, then in Cape Cod, sell my late Aunt Helen's frou-frou collection of antique European tea cups. My dad took, printed, and numbered the photos; I scanned them and uploaded them to eBay with coordinated descriptions. (This was before cheap digital cameras.) I had carefully impressed upon my parents the need to pack each teacup and saucer in oodles of bubble wrap for shipping long distances. So we were all surprised when the first sale was to a woman who turned out to live a mile away from them on Cape Cod. She drove over and picked it up.

My more recent sales on eBay have involved old technology (cameras, Treos, etc.) while my more recent purchases have been clothes. If I like an item I've purchased from Nordstrom, J. Jill, or Eddie Bauer, I find I can usually pick up a second item (new with tags, or in like-new condition) for less than half that price on eBay. This works particularly well for buying seasonal clothing off-season, for getting a style of jeans that has been discontinued in the stores, or for tracking down an obscure designer label. I conduct and refine a search, then save the search so eBay sends me email whenever the item appears in my size.

According to eBay, I've bought and sold 456 items in the past 10 years. Forty-five transactions a year is not much in the world of eBay power sellers, of course, but it's really worked for me. In that whole time, I've only had one "problem" transaction, and that was fairly easily resolved.

My favorite eBay purchase? That would have to be the electronic locator beeper systems we use on Sheba, our deaf cat. Discontinued by the manufacturer because they were so fragile, they turned up in a liquidator's shop on eBay. After a few bidding wars with some guy from Atlanta, I was able to snap up 44 of them. We figure those should last Sheba for a lifetime. But just in case, I still have an active eBay search for them.

10 seconds to noise-cancelling iPhone headphones!

Macworld's Rob Griffiths, who kindly posted the detailed photos and instructions for this hack, said he was able to convert his Bose noise-cancelling headphones to fit the iPhone's proprietary recessed jack in "less than a minute" using a box knife.

I did it in 10 seconds. The good news is that you're just cutting a very soft plastic ring off a hard metal plug that no box knife could possibly damage...

And now, for a delightful flight to Las Vegas Wednesday, watching a movie on the iPhone.