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Schroedinger's Bus
October 11 - December 25, 2018
Late fall and early winter in California
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A lonesome monarch on its journey across California.
A lonesome monarch on its journey across California.
Nothing really happened since our return from Czechia, to be individually worthy of creating a journal chapter — mostly due to wildfires raging in Northern California. We lived immersed in smoke actually since sometimes in July, even our vacation in Montana got smoked, but until October it was all a bit inconspicuous. Camp Fire affected our place — on better days there was a brown ceiling overhead and it was hard to breathe; on worse days everything smelled bad like burned. The whole California became contaminated, and there was really no way out of it — neither mountains nor ocean-side was better. Lisa's training sessions got canceled, I skipped my climbing gym, we did not drive out on trips. So I shall just write down our daily minutiae, not necessarily in chronological order.

We could not get rid of the ugly smoke, even on the shore of Pacific Ocean.
We could not get rid of the ugly smoke, even on the shore of Pacific Ocean.
School
Although our children had more or less accessed their virtual school while visiting Czechia, we still had a few projects to finish. For example assignments that required a scanner or a printer, which we naturally did not pack along while seeing grandma around half the globe. Tom had to get right back to his lab sessions — we had planned the overseas trip so that he could cover initial tasks, then skip one session, and catch it all up in December. Tom has emerged rather happy from his lab session, clutching a plastic bag with an aquarium plant, which he got from his teacher. They were monitoring oxygen production response to temperature, light level, and water acidity, and the teacher donated leftover samples to an aquarist. It's fascinating that this was only the second time she had seen him in person — and still she knew he would be pleased by it. Comparing it to a brick-and-mortar school, where teachers, after holding classes for half a year, refused to notice when a student had had a injury, or who had been very and frequently ill, I find the new development practically miraculous.

I have yet another, personal story with the labs. The other day I was waiting for Tom, and entered a local coffee shop. Such a hole-in-the-wall, with mismatched furniture, from high tables with bar stools over regular Formica to fully upholstered seats. The clientele was similarly varied. Besides a few students and two businessmen with laptops, there was a Brazilian women's circle, a tense chess match, and then a table with Vietnamese old men, who chatted, read their newspapers, and overall strongly reminded me of atmosphere in Arco, Italy, where dressed-up pensioners lounge with their morning coffee and lead exactly the same dialog. I don't understand either Italian, or Vietnamese, but my impression of quiet unhurriedness is the same. And I had suddenly realized that after a long time, I was having a coffee and did NOT HAVE TO DO a thing. I was not obligated to leave, hurry, arrange, organize, help, cook, shop, clean up, train, feed, brush, remind, oversee — NOTHING. I could just sit and drink coffee and read my book (and wait for Tom to finish his lab session).

Sunny the hamster.
Sunny the hamster.
Hamster
Since Lisa started in a virtual school, she has been asking permission to have a hamster, wanting to have a pet to cheer her up at home. I kept postponing it for a long time, claiming that it was silly to get a hamster while leaving for summer break and a trip to Czechia in the fall, and that we would discuss it again when we return. Well, we had returned on a Tuesday, and on a Friday we were buying a hamster. When thirteen years old, the kids can't be so easily bamboozled, and they don't forget. Lisa has chosen a long-haired rusty female and named her Sunny. I set up a condition that she was to take care of the hamster, clean her cage, run her out, feed, everything. I must say that so far it's been working. Only according to experts of PetSmart, it is actually a new species — the information on our bill says that we got ourselves a "hampster".

Schroedinger's bus
Our original minivan went crazy about a year earlier; sometimes, the odometer would not work, and consequently the count of miles traveled, but since otherwise it was still functional, we continued to hope that it would last till Tom turns sixteen, and we would find it handy to have a used car for a new driver. A car where we would not mind if the bespoken driver, following an example of his own mother, backs into a house, or misses a post on a parking lot, etc. Thus we maintained the old bus in running condition, registered and passing smog tests. Alas, during one trip to the stables, after disembarking children and tools, I failed to start it again. I gathered that it would likely be an aged battery, arranged with Gary to come help me kick-start it with his truck, and took the kids to see horses. Gary did start me up, and the bus played nice for some time. Then it failed to start again at Costco. Tom and I had to walk back home, there I took the Subaru and brought out our kick-start battery. Nothing. Sid and I made one more trip in the evening, again to no avail. Given the fact that the rest of electronics in the car worked (e.g. clock did not lose setting), we were forced to conclude that battery was not the cause. Yet on the following day I managed to just start it and bring back home. Sid then took it to work and to Tony's, with the plan that in case of the bus dying again, I would pick him up. It did not die.

Vaulting tests.
Vaulting tests.
We had gradually formed an opinion that the bus worked and it had to be some sort of glitch. Then closely before Thanksgiving, it again left me stranded in front of Costco, this time with a trunk full of holiday food shopping. We made it to start again after three days — completely randomly, and with no problem. By then we had installed a voltmeter which clearly showed us that battery had not been the cause. Tony declared that our electronics must have gotten scrambled. Sid adopted the bus for his commute, I reckoned that being stranded in the morning alone at the stables was severely sub-optimal, for I would have a seriously hard time getting back home from there. Then our Subaru needed new brakes and wheel balancing, for which I had to leave it — at Costco. When Sid came back home, he was supposed to take me back to Costco with the old bus — and could not start it. So we probably lost our old bus, as it became unusable, and silly to repair (at least for a price that would be less than the residual value of the vehicle with over quarter million miles). Our bus has decided to become as unpredictable as a Schroedinger's cat — until you open the box (or try to start it) you don't know if it is dead or alive.

Vaulting club participated in Christmas parade.
Vaulting club participated in Christmas parade.
Vaulting
This fall made me check my opinion of drama not being part of vaulting. You see, last year Lisa got picked from a recreational class into a competitive team, and it was a pleasant surprise. This time Lisa had to endure selection of team members, which brought unexpected drama. Just try to split about twenty kids into three teams so that every team contains somebody solid and experienced for base, and somebody light and gymnastically skilled for flying; it won't go without bruising egos. Lisa wanted to stay at the trot level, which we found reasonable, for she kept ailing throughout half of previous year's season, and advancing a whole level up would be wise with a better baseline. When it looked like Lisa's friend Claire would also stay in trot, Lisa was happy — other girls advanced to canter and Claire remained the only girl of similar age and experience (as she had also taken only half of the season). But then there was some drama and Claire got assigned to canter as well. Lisa remained in a team with girls two to five years younger, a full head shorter, and in half of the cases, total novices.

With Santa.
With Santa.
Now Lisa was horribly disappointed — although she (reasonably) wished to stay in trot, such a team was no benefit for her. None of the smaller girls could lift and carry her, so instead of learning new things, she would again "sit on the horse's neck and prop up those who would try interesting stuff". I wrote to Lisa's coach, and to the head coach, that I see it as a problem, and asked them to come up with some solution, for Lisa would need at least one team member on her level. The head coach eventually brought forth a brilliant idea — Lisa gets to be a fourth member of an otherwise adult team. The adults vault in their second year, are pleasantly aloof, doing things for fun, and making fun for others — and they needed a fourth person to be an official team. And when the fourth person is a ninety pound girl, whom they can easily toss around, it's ideal. Now Lisa can fly so much, she could never have dreamed of it in another team. And the adults get trained by the head coach, Emma, who has dedicated her whole life to vaulting, and who can be a hell of a teacher. So in the end, this could become a very interesting season for Lisa.

Lancelot lords over a small herd of golden goaties.
Lancelot lords over a small herd of golden goaties.
Goaties
Two major decision awaited me with autumn. The first one was about Licorice's baby goats moving out. I had agreed in the spring that Berry and Star might return for the summer, but winter was going to be problematic. My pen was simply too small for four adult goats, especially in the case of Nigerians, who get a cashmere coat for winter — which then must not get rained on. Goats know this very well and never walk in the rain, but then they stay penned for days in a very small space. Then, Berry and Star grew up and began to assert their rank in the herd — to the loss of their mama, Licorice. She is nice, mild-mannered goatie, and a very selfless mother, and is not equipped to defend herself from attacks of her own children. So it was high time to send both brats packing, home. They have a huge horse stall all to themselves at Rachel's, a human family, whole heap of pampering, and there's just no downside to it. I'm told they both cried when they took them away, but neither Licorice nor Twilight seemed perturbed — I think they, too, were relieved.

Licorice, Twilight, neighbor's Sheila, Lias and her friend Lucy.
Licorice, Twilight, neighbor's Sheila, Lisa and her friend Lucy.
My second decision also regarded baby goats — those future ones. Naturally everybody wants baby goats, but for me this means a lot of worries and responsibility. Beginning with finding a buck. Shelly has sold Thor and he disappeared somewhere in Central Valley; artificial insemination does not work with goats, and who would keep a smelly, feisty buck? Using a domino effect, I somehow managed, through my goat-affiliated associates, contact Tamara who owns Lancelot. After a few days texting, I invited myself to a visit, to check out the prospective broom and arranged practical proceedings. Goats stay in heat for a very short time; there's no room for hesitation the moment they get into it, everything must be like on rails and too late for guesses. But then weeks passed by and Twilight showed no signs of heat. I had probably missed one round, or my goats had decided that it was too late for babies. Although they cycle all year around, autumn heat is strongest and even the vet had warned me that later in spring even the buck may not be in the mood. They're not stupid — baby goats should come when everything grows and blossoms, not when California gets baked crispy.

In the end I ventured desperately back to Lancelot, equipped with a piece of an old rag. I scrubbed him thoroughly with it, and brought this smelly business card (carefully sealed in a plastic bag) back to my goats. I don't know if the stinking rag motivated Twilight, or if she came into heat all by herself, still I go my desired result. Alas, I had discovered it on the morning when the vet had planned to visit Hazel, the horned goats who got lame on her front leg. So I spend part of the morning by holding the lame goat by her horns for the vet to see her, and subsequently by corralling all the other goats, for I decided to use the vet's visit to have her trim all their hooves professionally. I had arranged with Tamara that we'd bring Twilight to Lancelot in the evening, when she would be back from work. This had created a window for me to do some shopping, a late lunch and cooking dinner — and loading my children, who were curious about Lancelot and his little herd of cute small goats, all golden colored. Our goats have a very dark coat and so we hope that Lancelot's kids would inherit some of his color.

I was only taking Twilight to the buck, and perhaps it was too much for her. For the following day she refused to leave her pen, not even to eat. It's true that on the day before she had to endure the vet, and then got stuffed into a crate and lurched through switchbacks on highway 17, just the get a buck all over her. Licorice only had had the vet, and she let me lure her out with a promise of grain. Still she did not walk far, she kept coming back for Twilight and bleated at her, until even Twilight conceded that there were no other traps waiting for her. I thought that I had won, but on the following day she left the pen, but was very unpleasant — head-butted everybody, being nasty even on Licorice and making an overall pissed-off impression. The worst thing is that we don't have many ways how to find out that she got impregnated. Ultrasound is relatively expensive and requires shaving the goat's belly, which I don't find to be a very reasonable thing to do to in winter. So we're going to find out in May.

Tom's birthday
It seems incredible, but Tom has turned fifteen. Our preemie has grown tall, literally over my head. And he wished a forty gallon aquarium for his birthday, which we had more or less promised already, before we realized it was not as simple as we thought. A hundred liters of water weigh a tenth-of a metric ton; then add some sand, the very glass of the aquarium, some filters and lights — and suddenly you cannot just plop it down on any random cabinet (much less suddenly). Thus besides an aquarium, we had to locate and purchase a sturdy cabinet, come up with a plan where everything would go, and move some furniture around. Including start and stabilization of the tank itself, it consumed several weeks. However, the new aquarium looks very nice, and Tom gained a new room where to move his over-populated fish. Naturally he wanted to keep his old, ten-gallon tank, and so now we have two. Just like with hamsters, there's a rule that Tom shall take care of his fish, and I hope he endures, for I have been quite saturated by my own animals.

Thanksgiving
We had first intended to let ourselves get talked into spending Thanksgiving in a log cabin. Family of Lisa's friend Lucy goes to Samuel P. Taylor Park, in Marin County where one can rent a cabin. But, we were not sure about committing to a non-refundable payment, while the autumn around us remained smoky from wildfires, and after a closer research we concluded that this park was within our usual one-day trip range; thus we had decided to save on accommodations. It was probably a good idea, as it started FINALLY RAINING on a Tuesday before Thanksgiving. It was a priceless feeling, being able to FINALLY BREATHE after weeks of slow misery. Yet it might not be preferable for our whole family to spend rainy days sheltering from rain inside a tiny cabin, while sharing bathrooms with all the other cabins and a campground. Driving out for only one day allowed us to pick one when it did not rain too much. We managed to include a hiking loop through a redwood forest, along a river with migrating salmons, a visit to a farm with a herd of Morgans (horses), where we had a picnic, and even a stop-over on a beach at a bay where, for some reason, rays gather and sometimes flop near the surface. And we could all get a hot shower back home the same night, and collapse into our own beds.

Snow started well by beginning of December.
Snow started well by beginning of December.
Lisa.
Lisa.
Skiing
Any which way I count, I reckon that we had had several bad seasons in a row. I had a surgery in February 2016, after which I did not ski. In fall of the same year, Lisa fell from a horse, and subsequently could not ski until end of January, and it was another season of which there was not much left. Previous year there was another surgery of mine, hence skiing possible again only from January — and by end of February Lisa turned ill. This year we had been hoping that we had accrued enough fateful illnesses and accidents and surgeries, and we could enjoy outdoors some more.

As our children attend a virtual school, we are more flexible with schedule — and we had selected the first Thursday of December as a good day to begin the season. In our system it means that we drive out by eight in the morning, start skiing by noon, and usually run out of stamina before lifts close. On a weekday, when we don't wait at the lift and when we can park right close to them, thus we don't spend much time riding on resort shuttles or carrying our gear, we can cover in few hours more than during a whole but crowded weekend day.

Thursday had worked out; another such day happened on a Friday before Christmas, when our kids already had a break — alas, weather has disappointed, it was rather cold and windy, and we had to de-frost ourselves in a cafeteria. Though we were the only customers there, which was also unusual. We had planned more skiing with Igor for New Year's Eve, but that's a topic for another journal.

Captured tree.
Captured tree.
Christmas family.
Christmas family.
Christmas
Our Christmas this year came and went, kind of, gradually. Lucy came along to help us pick a tree, for their family buys their tree in a city store — walking around a farm and "hunting down" the right tree was a matter of interest for her. Lucy also helped our children decorate it, which helped me a lot. Girls chatted and played some movies while doing it, and I could focus on other things.

Preparing presents was a chore this year. I had a large decorative structure for Tom and his new aquarium, but when I saw how his poor fish cowered under few plants, looking for shade, I gave him this root ahead of schedule. Fishes seemed much happier and Tom too, I think. After all, in his age one does not anticipate Santa Claus with breathless tension. Tom got his second present early too, for he complained that he could not find any professional sources for his seminary biology assignment, for which he had chosen illnesses of fish. Public library had totally failed him, and although you can find an endless array of advice, but it's awkward listing Joe SixPack as your expert for treating fish ailments this or that way. And since Santa had prepared a learned publication on fishes, it has been made available to our desperate student so that he could submit his work due by December 17. Lisa also got one of her presents early, as she needed her new ski helmet at beginning of December. Then she had to wait for her next present, for a backpack with embroidered team name and logo was ordered through her club and simply failed to arrive by Christmas. Tom's helmet — we specifically wanted for him a very loud, bright green color to be visible on the slopes, for it would seem that junior ski wear is made exclusively in shades of gray and black — also came only after Christmas. Eventually the only surprise "under the tree" were two king mushrooms that we had found during our Christmas Eve trip to Monterey Bay. We did not even decorate our house, and kept holidays very low-key — honestly, none of us really dwells on celebrations, and we like our Christmas this way.


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