Category Archives: Adventures in Los Angeles

Welcome to the Beach House

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It was a mad dash getting ready to leave our house for a month during the kitchen remodel. My wife did most of the work emptying the kitchen cabinets, carefully packing at first, followed by filling our living room with food and cooking utensils. We’re ready to be featured in an episode of Cops with viewers at home commenting, “how can people live like that?”

Adios, old kitchen. Goodbye to the mismatched stove and hood, Home Depot cabinets, tile with crumbling grout, and 17-year old microwave. In with the new.

Before leaving for the rented beach house, the Universe punished me for my good fortune. Blood from my lungs. I told the dang doctors in the hospital that I had some blood coming up, but they kept telling me it was from the sinus surgery. Wrong. 15 days in the hospital and I get out for over a week and I have bleeding. Argh. Moments like that test me the most, as just when I think I’m in the clear for a period of time, I find out I’m not.

Hello to two weeks of cipro. Crossing my fingers it does the trick.

I’m writing this post in the house that is close enough to the ocean to hear the waves crashing on the beach. It’s pretty awesome. Today after work the three of us and two dogs walked the couple hundred feet to the sand. Again, awesome.

I did, however, under dress. It’s July, 100 degrees where we normally live, and yet, 45 minutes away here at the beach it’s 65 to 70 – and cold at times. I need to drive home and get some warm clothes, like a jacket to protect me against the wind at the beach, and my Denver Bronco pajamas to keep me warm in the morning. And though it’s overcast most of the time, it’s as good as I dreamed it would be.

Yes, I am still the luckiest guy in the world.

Day 13 in Solitary, July 2012 – Fear of a Derailment

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My neighbor called me at 11:30 last night. He had a heated argument with our shared neighbor, someone we feel is on the verge of madness, if he’s not already there, or violence based on the tone, language and volume of the arguments. This is the same neighbor who said something to my wife last year, which led to my showdown with him and my request for him never to speak to my wife again. He hasn’t spoken to either of us since, and that’s a good thing.

It’s hard being locked up at moments like this, my wife and daughter alone. An alarm system, security cameras, and two dogs don’t seem like enough against a neighbor showing signs one might associate with insanity. And knowing he has a gun adds to the great unknown and my fear. And once again I want to move. There is something very scary about this guy. Talking to him is the same as shooting yourself in the foot. Pointless and painful.

I may be released Monday or Tuesday. It’s not soon enough for me. I can breathe out of the right side of my nose now. The blood is minimal. My lungs feel good. And even my stomach, which has caused me four moths of problems, may be responding to a new medicine, Prozac. Yes, they put me on it because of my stomach. I’m hoping I get the side benefit of the anti-anxiety part because I have to confess I’m really tired of anxiety. It has little value in my life.

If there is a bright spot to this visit, it’s the view from my room, despite the filthy window. I mentioned the fireworks last week. However, I also have great view of the mountains. And I can see and hear the trains that go by, which is a treat here in LA. I love trains though I would never ride on one because I have a fear of derailment. Part of that is because of the bad drivers here in LA who are always trying to cross the track at the last minute. Some mistime it. Some commit suicide. Everyone pays.

So, here I sit fearing a derailment, not of trains but of my neighbor. And I can’t wait to escape to the rented beach house in two weeks and a month away from our neighborhood. The question is, will a month be enough time away?

The 4th of July from a Hospital Room

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In the haze of two days of fevers and chills that came on suddenly Monday and sent me to the Hospital California Tuesday, who knew the universe would throw me a bone and deliver one of the most amazing fireworks displays I’ve ever seen. But that’s exactly what it did and I’m forever grateful for the gift.

I was arguing with a nurse for Tylenol, which I’m still shaking my head about in disbelief. I have a feeling I should have just asked for a morphine drip and compromised with Tylenol. But who knew Tylenol was a such a hard drug to secure in a hospital. I had to answer a series of questions at the time to get it. Last time I checked it wasn’t being used to make meth, and I didn’t bring my portable meth lab with me. But it went something like this.

“You don’t have a fever.”

“I have the chills. That’s why I’m wrapped up in blankets.”

“Your temperature is low, not high.”

“Okay? And that means I can’t have Tylenol?”

“You have to have a fever.”

“I have a headache.”

“Let me check with the doctor.”

Now picture that conversation three times longer and 10 times more frustrating. I wish I were making it up. But when the nurse was off duty this morning, the first thing I did was take her picture out of the plastic wall frame, which is something new here at the Hospital California, and tear it into pieces and despose of it. I couldn’t take her staring at me like a horror-movie painting where the eyes follow you everywhere.

At that time, a bit angry, I got up and looked out the window to my view of East Los Angeles. Fireworks everywhere. Not one location, or two or three or four. Try 20 different locations. Bagdad on the eve of the invasion. I have never seen anything like it.

I’m sure not all of the fireworks shows were sanctioned or legal. Many of them were backyard shows that put to shame anything my family ever did when fireworks were legal. We fired off pop-bottle rockets and roman candles, and ran from black cats ready to blow. Nothing like what I witnessed as apartment complexes gave mini Disney-like shows. And they were beautiful. 180 degrees of exploding lights.

I watched, for a long time, waiting for it to end. But it went on and on. And finally I had go back to the bed. And every time I got up there were fireworks in the sky. Over two hours of it, though it got more scattered late into the night. Huge props to East LA. They know how to celebrate Independence Day!

Earlier, my wife and daughter came to visit with patriotic red velvet cupcakes in hand. They had poppers with them and tried to convince me not fire them off in the room. Fear not, I said, pulling the string, I’m an expert. Bang, a spark, the smell of gunpowder. A nice change from the normal chemical smell. No nurse came running. It takes more than that. Trust me, I know.

And later during the fireworks show, I fired another one off, though it was equally disappointing, as it spit out a wad of confetti and not the expected wide spray of it. Party Poopers would be a better name.

That was my 4th of July. And though I was spent it in a tiny hospital room, it was awesome – except the nurse part. Not so awesome. And I’ll be bringing my own Tylenol to the party next time – thank you very much.

More kitchen appliance shopping – death of a salesman 2012

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I ordered all of our new kitchen appliances on the Internet.

And though I’m thrilled to be finished with this dentist-visit-like step in the kitchen remodeling process, I feel bad about it.

I passed on the three retailers I mentioned in the previous post. It’s hard to buy something from a store when you’re not approached by anyone. I do, however, give Sears some props because when I tweeted about it they were concerned and wanted to know more about the experience. And Lowes tweeted too.

But that’s not why I feel bad.

Here’s a sample kitchen we like. It’s a lot of fun trying to pick the right shade of green. Almost as fun as sticking your hand in a running garbage disposal.

Our contractor gave us a tip on a family owned appliance business here in the valley. I called the store and spoke to a very helpful and knowledgeable salesperson. Tom, we’ll call him for this post. He gave me a good price on the appliances I wanted and was responsive by phone and email. I did the math and they were around $400 more than what the appliances would cost me on the Internet, figuring in no tax, but higher shipping costs.

My wife and I discussed it and decided it was worth it to buy locally and have better peace of mind should one of the appliances break down.

After looking at tile and more granite (don’t ask), and quartz, we went to the appliance store and met Tom. Again, super nice. And I had my credit card out and ready to go. But the stove I picked out didn’t have the hood style we liked and back in my wallet went the AMEX card. We drove home to research generic range covers and new stoves, telling Tom we would be back the next day to purchase the appliances.

I spent more hours Saturday night looking at stoves and reading reviews, which by the way was a killer, going back again – how many stoves and stove reviews can one wade through? Food for thought: angry people always take the time to leave negative reviews. And they always tell people not to buy anything from the brand they’re upset with. I soldiered past these.

Sample number 2 with green and white.

Up early Sunday morning, I continued reading and researching, wading through comments to sort out key points, like if a stove had a fan noise problem, or the dials melted (some do), or if the LED displays petered out over time. My OCD comes in quite handy at these moments.

Finally, I upgraded the stove, which made my wife happy because it’s all silver, no black, has a griddle feature, which made my daughter thrilled for the future pancakes she’ll try to flip but miss, turning them into taco shells.

This is the most I’ve ever spent on an appliance. It better cook like a charm and come with a personal chef to make me my McGriddles each morning.

I looked up the price of everything on the Internet. The local store doesn’t match internet prices. And the difference was at least $900, with 2/3 of that tax. I thought about calling the local store and seeing if they would match them, but I didn’t, as they told me the day before they didn’t match online-only prices. So, I ordered them off the Internet. And I felt very bad, but was thankful the Internet wasn’t around when I was a salesperson, which leads me to a question that may seem anti-American.

How are brick and mortar retailers supposed to compete with no-tax internet retailers?

It doesn’t seem fair that I can order a Whirlpool refrigerator from ABT and save sales tax, but if I order it online from Sears I pay tax for my state. I understand the early argument about wanting the internet to succeed in its infancy. But it seems well established now. I also understand why sales people stand around in these stores. They’re tired of spending time with customers who are milking them for research, then purchasing the items off of the internet – ask Best Buy how this is working out for them.

We’ve now moved to the “picking out countertops and backsplashes” stage. It’s even more painful, but in a different way. There are a lot of moving pieces. And I now understand why people resort to white subway tile backsplashes – simple, easy choice, and less chance of a mistake.

I wish it were that simple for us, but we like making things in life more difficult than they have to be. And we’re really good at it.

Hi, my name is Unknown. How may I help you today?

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I need a new refrigerator, range, range hood, dishwasher, microwave, sink, and kitchen faucet.  I have a credit card in my wallet on standby. The contractor is waiting, tapping his foot, and ready to build our new cabinets. All systems are go for a blast off to new shiny stainless-steel goodness.

Simple process, right?

[Sound of buzzer signaling an incorrect answer.]

So sorry, that was the wrong answer and a trick question. I have learned that wanting to buy new appliances is different from actually buying new appliances. It’s a maze of frustration and disappointing retail experiences, and I’m lost in its high walls.

I’m an idiot. I wasn’t even thinking of a blog post when I went to these stores. I have a bunch of pictures of price tags, but none of the nasty stained stainless steel frig, which looked like an octopus made love to it at night. I have to remember to take pictures. Argh.

First there was Lowes on Sunday. My wife and daughter in tow, I walked around the appliance section for 15 minutes. We opened and closed doors, stuck our heads in ovens, flipped through the Consumer Reports kitchen issue, and generally did everything possible to look like customers wanting to buy new appliances, even considering filling the frig with charcoal from the BBQ grill section and putting a match to it.

There were two Lowes employees standing talking to each other, probably about how their Saturday nights were so rocking, and how helping annoying customers on a Sunday was the worst job ever. I refused to go up and ask them for help. Sorry, that’s not my job. That’s their job, which clearly they were under-qualified for.

Second up was Pacific Sales, which I must admit had the cleanest and best layout of any of the appliance stores I’ve been to this week. When the power went out in the store upon our arrival, I should have taken that as a bad sign from the shopping gods. And yet, there were hardly any customers in the store, which I noticed when the lights came back on. A perfect time to shop. Wrong. I saw a lot of employees talking to each other, which makes me think they were buying appliances from each other.

So, after about 20 minutes of confirming our Harry Potter invisibility cloaks worked, and failing to steal a range hood by hiding it in my frayed Abercrombie shorts, we left Pacific Sales, appliance-less.

Last on the list was our sorry experience at Sears. Again, very few customers and two employees standing around talking to each other. And again we left. But I did write Sears about the experience and told them they need to clean house by trimming the herd of employees who don’t help customers. And they need to clean the house because the store was filthy. Layers of grimy fingerprints coated the stainless steel refrigerators.

Several frigs were broken, like the $3K Kenmore that puked the ice-maker onto the floor when I opened the door, making a loud plastic BANG, which delighted my daughter as she was no longer the only family member to drop something in a retail store, she having a wee habit of knocking stuff over when we shop. I’m now in the “dropping noisy stuff on linoleum floors” club. Yay, I made it.

My grandfather took me to Sears when I was young. I loved it. He bought Craftsman tools. I buy Craftsman tools. My mother-in-law worked there for years. I bought a TV there, and Kenmore appliances. But this is not the same Sears. This is the Sears filled with apathetic  employees who will have poor work habits (apologies to the hard-working employees of Sears and mixing them with the ones soiling the company’s name and heritage). It’s not my grandfather’s Sears anymore.

This car is a classic.

These experiences made me think of the following: Retail stores are dead, but just don’t know it, with exceptions of course, such as women’s clothing and shoes, which my wife refuses to buy off the Internet. I can buy clothing and shoes off the Internet. In fact, I prefer it. So wait and watch as Sears and Pacific Sales go under. However, stores like Lowes will probably survive because it’s hard to FedEx 2×4’s and keep prices low.

Leaving the mall where numerous stores were papered up (bye bye Sony store), my daughter and wife had to listen to me rant the entire way home. The problem may have just been me and the fact I look scary with a paper bag over my head.

I worked in retail for over 15 years. And I did well, always a top salesman. If a customer was in the store, he or she was greeted and approached. If there was time to lean, there was time to clean. And we had managers who were crazy about these rules, not shying away from bootcamp-like tactics to make us feel lower than low if we did a poor job or goofed off. I wish we could dig up a few of these Ford Maverick-driving, divorced three times, politically incorrect, chain-smoking psychopaths, and unleash them in retail stores across the country.

The service would be a lot better and people wouldn’t depend on the Internet for product information. And best of all, true, knowledgeable sales people would make a comeback. But we’d probably still order off of the Internet to save a few bucks.

So, change is coming. What will the future of retail stores be? Will they be satellite locations for Amazon where we go to pick up our purchases? I don’t know. But if retail stores continue to provide zero service, they’re doomed. And that is kind of sad.

There won’t be stores and we’ll all be ordering solely from pictures on our computer screen, which in a way is similar to how they ordered products many years ago from catalogs, like the Sears Catalog, which makes me wonder if we’ve advanced. Internet ordering is more convenient and faster, but is it that fundamentally different from 100 years ago and a catalog?  I’ll think about this as I search appliances on the Internet tonight.

 

We are not granite people

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Zion, Aurora Borealis, Orion, Cosmos, Golden Sun, Copper Canyon, Golden Crystal, Espírito Santo, Purple Dunes, Emerald Green, Kashmir Cream, and Lapidus.

This was one of the most interesting granites we found. But even we don’t have the courage to go with a style choice like this. Fear of looking outdated overruled this choice and the fact we’re going with browns, oranges, yellows, etc. But still, this is one cool-looking slab of rock.

We spent Saturday walking granite yards.

It was dirty work and in areas of Los Angeles my daughter has never seen before. Areas with large power-line transformer towers, graffiti, murals on the sides of buildings, railroad tracks, and apartment buildings with cool-sounding names leftover from the 1950s and 60s.

I tossed  in a teaching moment and reminded her how good we have it compared to others. But it was a really a reminder for me, as I’ve been feeling envy of others in Los Angeles lately – the million-dollar home owners and those who can afford exotic granites with names like some of the ones I started this post with.

I should have no complaints about what we have and our good fortune. Driving through LA yesterday reminded me of this. We are lucky to have what we have, despite life  in Los Angeles and advertising constantly screaming that we don’t.

Another thing I realized yesterday is that I don’t like granite. Or, more accurately, I don’t like granite in kitchens.

Looking at large slabs of it is like looking at nature’s artwork. Beautiful, complex, deep – I love a 6 x 10 feet piece of rock. And if we had a kitchen island the size of a slab, we’d have granite. But we don’t even have a kitchen island. And granite when it’s cut into pieces looks busy to me, which makes me an oddball here in LA where granite countertops are ubiquitous.

If you listen to our real estate agent, everyone wants granite and that’s the only thing to put in for the best resale values. But we’re not going to because both my wife and I came to the same conclusion yesterday: we’re not granite people.

We don’t live in a house fancy enough for granite countertops. It’s not us. And we want a clean white kitchen, which is going against the grain of stained cabinets. Busy granite needs a mellow or white subway tile backsplash. We’re more backsplash people. And we want one that looks mind-blowing and is as colorful as an Andy Warhol painting or English garden in spring.

We want something fun. Not something serious and maybe a bit too proper or adult.

This slab is more in line with the colors we’re thinking. Goldfinger (completely random reference to James Bond who probably wouldn’t give a sh** about granite countertops, as he lived he life on the road away from home and ate in restaurants all the time.)

So, we going with quartz,  the number one choice of Consumer Reports for countertops. A nice neutral shade and solid color. And it will be nice and smooth like granite, which we don’t have right now with a crumbling-grout tile countertop.

If I had any courage at all, the quartz countertop would be colorful – orange or red. Or we’d paint our cabinets a color. But that’s not going to happen. We’re still adult enough to realize we will have to sell the house one day, which could be tomorrow knowing how much I want to move every time I deal with some of our neighbors and their demons.  We need to create a kitchen that appeals to a wider range of buyers. Or so conventional wisdom goes.

So, white it is with quartz countertops and an eye-catching backsplash. And though I’m not enjoying the remodeling process this time, I’m doing my best not to sweat it because I know how lucky we are and how many others are not. Kitchens are, after all, just kitchen cabinets and stone. They are not life.

A bad week sends me to the ER

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Last week picked me up like a rag doll and slapped me against the ground hard.

It started with neighbor problems during Memorial Day weekend that led to emails and conversations with the police during the week. Then our yellow lab tore her ACL and went in for a $5,000 surgery for her knee. A rough week at work rocked my equilibrium in the way only work can do, and Saturday morning my heart lost its rhythm and off to the emergency room I went.

Home sweet home.

That’s the executive summary. Here’s the full scoop.

Our neighbor problems continue. Based on my complaint and other neighbors’ complaints, the police visited the parents to let them know the neighborhood was stressed about their daughter. I’m not sure how much it helped. The email from the officer stated the parents understood, but were “not appreciative of all the complaints.”

If we were renting our house, we’d be gone. Owning a home is overrated. My advice is to own a mobile home instead. I wish we did.

Now I spend every night looking at Realtor.com and every available house in our price range. No luck. There’s limited inventory these days. And something about having to move because of uncaring neighbors really upsets me. We may have to move, but it’s not going to be a fast process.

Our six-year-old lab hurt her knee last year. We went to the vet and he took x-rays. He saw a small speck, but felt it was nothing because she was walking okay. But our dog grew more bothered by the knee, so we went back and he gave us the name of a specialist, who diagnosed a torn ACL. In she went in for surgery the very next day. And now our bank account is light almost 5K. We love our dogs in this family. Or I should say we love the yellow lab because we got her when my daughter turned four. She and my daughter have a bond. I can’t explain it. It exists. And my wife loves the dog too.

I may work for one of the top 100 best companies to work for, but that doesn’t mean every day rains gummi bears and I spend half my day at the beach. The term “work/life balance” makes us laugh daily when we talk about the workload. I am going to write more about this in a future post. All I know is that both my wife and I work for large companies and I’m thinking it’s time they started hiring more people to do the work.

Welcome to the ER.

All of this led to my heart going into Atrial Fibrillation Saturday morning and an ER visit. It’s interesting because I thought a heart with no steady rhythm would be a big deal when I got there. It felt like a big deal to me. But despite the my pulse jumping from 60 to 160 and back again, they didn’t exactly rush to help me. I guess if I’d said I was having chest pain, first class service would’ve kicked in. It felt that serious to me. Eventually, they got around to doing something. They gave me a shot of ativan, an aspirin, and a large IV bag of fluid and my normal rhythm returned. But I wonder which came first, the panic attack or the crazy heart rate? I’ll never know.

Now I have to go see a psychiatrist. I know I have a problem with anxiety and need to manage it better than taking an occasional Xanax Skittle. The A Fib episode gave me a scare. I don’t want to go through it again.

And I should add this. I’ve had time to think about the week and what caused the stress. Yes, all of the above happened. And all of the above contributed to the problem. However, it was really the fear of what might happen in the future that pushed me over the edge. What if the neighbor retaliates and hurts my wife or daughter? What if I can’t negotiate my way through the politics of this project? What if I lose my job? My insurance? It really comes down to worrying about the unknown.

I don’t believe in God, but that doesn’t mean I don’t speak to her sometimes as if she existed. And I asked her for a sign. Something to show me I should continue and not give up. To continue to put up with the challenges of life. And she delivered one of my favorite songs, “Blackbird.” Interesting choice. I guess it’s like a dream – it’s my interpretation that matters most, not the dream or the song. And though I thought about not mentioning this part because it feels embarrassing, I’m leaving it in. It is what it is. And it happened.

And we want to become adults because?

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It would have been nice had someone explained to me when I was young how difficult it is to be an adult. It’s not a cakewalk. Nor is every day a day at the beach. I probably wouldn’t have listened, or cared, but it still would have been nice. All those milestones we dream of as children, 16, 18, and 21, blow by. Then we become adults and can do anything we want, including wishing we were 16 again, but smarter.

Okay, moaning over. It’s just one of those days. Let me explain.

So many questions, so little time. © kbuntu – Fotolia.com

I spent two days writing a post about what happened over Memorial Day weekend with a neighbor. I would love to publish it, but I don’t know if I can make it plain enough to avoid all legal scrutiny and not get in hot water. In a nutshell, a neighbor who has caused the neighborhood and my family great stress went to jail this weekend. I and another neighbor followed the instructions of the police the last time they were here: call if she shows up again. We just wanted her out of the neighborhood. The going to jail part was a surprise and not intended. Now I know why some people don’t get involved. It’s easier and requires less effort and stress.

And if you do get involved, it’s easy to muck it up and experience more stress (I know this firsthand).

I’ve been on the phone with a lawyer about my options to sue since then, and I’ve spoken to a police officer about everything happening in the neighborhood for the past year. My wife and I have had stressful conversations about the situation. Unfortunately, there’s no manual on how to protect your family from people with drug habits.

But there should be.

I went to clinic today and my PFTs haven’t gone back to baseline. Not looking good. So, maybe it’s time for IVs to see if we can nudge them back.

When the nurse was reviewing my records, the conversation went like this: Have you made an appointment with the sinus doctor? No. Have you scheduled a sleep study? No. Have you scheduled a bone scan? No. An oral glucose test? No. And so on.

Working 50 hours a week makes it difficult to spend my weeks enduring medical tests.

A new doctor untrained in the mysteries of CF walked in and surprised me. I’m picky about my doctors and my time. I knew in the initial 30 seconds based on the way she entered, spoke, her mannerisms, and plopping herself on the first chair she could find that I had nothing to say to her. And I told her that, then asked for the regular doc. Nothing personal, I said, as she left. One of the regular doctors I like entered the room and it rained happiness and Skittles. I only had to use a third of the words and effort with her compared to the doctor I booted.

A similar situation happened with a temporary member of the staff. I answered her questions as quickly as I could and got her out of the room as fast as possible. But the visit wore me out, as the longer I’m there, the more the work feels like it’s piling up.

So, all of this and more have added up to remind me why some must turn to drugs in life. The future overwhelms. How much of what we worry about will or won’t happen? I wish I knew.

My new pet peeve: really long receipts

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I guess this has been going on for a while, but really long receipts drive me nuts.

I wonder how many trees take a fall each year to make them. Did someone from the logging community suggest this to companies? “Hey, email is killing us. How about making receipts excessively long to make up for it?”

In the picture below is one receipt that deserved to be 17.5-inches long, as it includes the groceries we purchased for the week (and getting through that week wouldn’t be possible without two boxes of chocolate-covered gummi bears).

37 items in the shorter receipt. 9 items in the long receipt, if you count the 4 sprays of balloon juice. Oh, and the 4 identical balloons. So, really, three different items.

My favorite item on the short receipt is “battered halibut.” I love this name. Someone has a sense of humor at Sprouts. This is the fish half of “fish and chips,” not something hit repeatedly with heavy blows, though who knows what the fishermen did to it when it was caught. It’s possible it was netted by really angry fisherman and spouted off in its fish-way with some attitude, “Kiss my fish tail, ugly humans, for ripping me out of my cozy, cold Atlantic home.” Fishermen to rude halibut: “Batter that fish until it shuts up, men.”

The second receipt, Party City, was for balloons for my wife for Mother’s Day, because nothing says “love” like helium-filled rubber. Not only did Party City give me this super-long 21.5-inch receipt for purchasing five balloons and four sprays of a chemical to keep the rubber ones healthy for more than a day,  they delivered what I would call “less-than-friendly” customer service. Yes, the employees who worked at this location appeared to be “less than enthused” about working Sunday morning after a fun Saturday night of beer pong, Xbox, and borrowing the Party City helium tank to speak in mouse-like voices.

Nothing says “torture” for kids in their early 20s quite like filling up and tying 100s of balloons before the clock strikes noon (the latter action would be enough to make me go mad if I worked there for more than a day, as tying balloons is an action I’ll have to repeat for eternity when I’m working 24-hour days in Hell).

So there you have it, a tale of two receipts. And, yes, I’m quite mad.

I’m looking through you, where did you go?

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Thanks to the Beatles for the title of this post. I can’t say for sure if I’ll finish writing it, though if you’re reading it now it’s a good sign I did.

You see, I’ve written – or started to write – many posts over the past month, only to let them live out their lives with the scarlet D on them for “draft.” Yes, I’m having trouble getting motivated to write posts and anything else requiring effort in my life. I caught a bad case of “disconnection.” And maybe that’s a fancy way of saying I’ve been a lazy sod.

So, I’ve started a lot of posts. And each of them sounded great in my head before the act of typing away at the keyboard. But my fingers touch the keys and I lose the inertia to continue. A pin pops my motivation balloon and that usually leads to saving the draft and escaping to an episode of Mad Men.

But I’ve run out of episodes, having caught up to the current season. This means I have lost the perfect distraction when posts go south. Though I’m not sure dreaming I’m Don Draper is a healthy thing either when I’m feeling dissatisfied with life, which to some degree I am these days.

Looking forward to living in the sand this summer. © Dmytro Smaglov - Fotolia.com

There is, however, some good news: We escaped to Ventura for a couple of days last week and found a beach house to rent for a month this summer (deposit given). If I had a bucket list, this would be in the top five things to do in my life. The three of us are pretty excited about the thought of beach life for a month and living a couple hundred feet from the sand and ocean. No loading the car up with food, dogs, towels, and a cooler, then driving 35 minutes. Nope. This summer will be opening a door with two dogs on leashes in tow and arriving at the beach in less than a minute. Yes, this may define “heaven” for me.

And I must say that having things to look forward to makes a big difference in my life. And our upcoming time at the beach is just enough to help me wade through the muck of mundane days, doctor appointments, and the uncertainty of life. I think of the beach air and my life feels a little bit better and easier to manage.

[p.s. I owe my friends who’ve left comments a huge apology for not replying. I’ve been consuming more than creating for the past month. Thank you for leaving them. I have read all of them, and appreciate your words and thoughts.]