La Fortuna

I flew out to Boise to help HomoDommus and FemmeDommus move (finally!) from their three-plus year rental to a realio-trulio owned own home.  And such a marvelous home it is!

Four bedrooms, three livable stories. A gorgeous patio with a thick awning of wisteria, overlooking a view south and east across the city of Boise and some distant (low) mountains beyond.  A densely planted garden of flowers and fruit trees and bushes, and a vegetable garden.  A babbling (man-made) stream that flows down to a pond with 6 koi in it.  Four chickens and daily fresh eggs.

Curiously, it is a recently built house (curious, because that tends not to be "our style").  The former owners built it to their specifications -- she (or maybe he) is an avid gardener, and she is a writer (of Young Adult novels, I believe leaning towards paranormal and romance, since that is what all Young Adult novels do these days).  The house is full of built-in bookshelves.

The house is built on top of a finger of a foothill, with snow-covered mountains (snow-covered, at least, in early March) at its back.  There is a small yard (as I said, densely planted), and a very, very, steep drop off to the edge of the property.  They are just four houses down the street from an impressive mansion built by Mr. Simplot (of Simplot Potatoes).  He gave the house to the state of Idaho, on condition that the huge flag be flown above it daily -- it has been in use as the Governor's Mansion for several years. (Click here to read the wikipedia.org article about it.)

You can see the Simplot Mansion (under the flag - no kidding about the size of that flag) in the photos below.  All the land between the camera and the flag is part of the mansion -- it is a city landmark; a dog park; and the biggest, steepest sliding hill in Boise.

The Boiseans new house is the last one down the hill to the left of the flag.

(Remember to click on the photos to see them larger.)

HomoDommus driving one of the moving vans to the new house.

La Fortuna, as I call it, is the green house on the far left.  The Simplot Mansion is beyond the flagpole.

For those who have been tracking the house purchase, the windows,
from left to right are: Ground floor: closet of Master Suite; guest bathroom;
dining room; and the multi-paned window next to the garage is in the kitchen.
Upstairs: two windows of "The Fourth Bedroom" as it's called, and the family bathroom window.

From the back, the house looks quite like any other 21st Century house -- a two car garage, a shy entrance tucked in a corner.  When FemmeDommus and I arrived on Friday morning (awaiting the delivery of the new refrigerator) a thick mist obscured the view beyond the house.  But the mist burned off and we had two full days of sun and warmth -- perfect moving weather.

The view from the wisteria-overgrown patio.

The same view that evening, from in front of the patio.

The first day, the new refrigerator was installed, and we moved the kitchen things, and a few chairs and rugs, and beds, so we all could sleep in the house that first night of occupation.  There was also quite a bit of last-minute desperation packing, but we ended with pizza eaten in a picnic on the floor in front of the gas fire.

I'll talk about the interior of the house, and the special features, tomorrow.

Moving Out

So I'm back from Portland.  For those of you who didn't know, we will be selling the Portland house; I needed to get my stuff out so that the house can be put on the market.  

(Portland has had a cold, rainy winter -- rainier than usual, just as our Minnesota winter has been dry and warm.  I took these photos on the one sunny day -- although it rained every other day, there were many moments of sun during them, too.  The daffodils are in prime, and the hyacinths, and the cherry blossoms, but not yet tulips, and strangely, no tree leaves yet. Not even buds.  In Minnesota, we have leafed trees, but no flowers yet.)

I went with the Pod solution -- you hire a shipping container, essentially.  I packed it myself (with help from HomoDommi and friend J, not to mention the Texan and anyone else who I roped in to carry stuff) -- PODS deliver and take it away, and store it for as long as I need it.  

The pods that are available to move across country are either 8x8x8 or 8x8x16.  I had more stuff, I knew, than an 8x8x8, but not as much as needing to fully fill an 8x8x16.  Still, it was nice to have elbow room.

I thought, when I took this photo, that I was done with boxes, and about 1/3 done with furniture. That was an underestimate.

In good bass-ackwards fashion, I filled the Pod with small things first, ending with the big things -- the couch and the bed (both of which were in use until the morning I left).  But even this photo, taken when I really thought I was done, was before I uncovered the antique writing desk that I had as a child, and the rocking chair that I was given by my Australian friends, at the back of the studio.  They fit in with little maneuvering.

One of my beloved Turkey rugs, which had been languishing on the floor of the basement, was discovered to have been a haven for moths for the last year or more.  Several big three-inch holes eaten through it.  I ache, a little, although luckily, it was my least favorite of the rugs (although still beloved).  Anyway, the moths have undoubtedly laid eggs in it, and who knows what else.  So the last thing we did before locking the Pod, was to throw in a Bug Bomb, which should kill everything in any of the textiles.  We had raccoons and possums crawling in the basement (not to mention indoor/outdoor cats), so this should take care of the fleas, too.  

The Pod will be picked up tomorrow. They will store it in secure facility, and then deliver the unit to me in Minnesota when I'm ready for it.  

I'm not yet ready for it.

The Joads are on the Road

What day is it? Lemme see... On Thursday, we rented the moving truck and unloaded all of FemmeDommi's still new, handsome, but particle board (and therefore ferociously heavy, yet brittle) office furniture out of storage, as well as what remained of my own stuff.

On Friday, we started by donating all of FemmeDommi's office furniture to the church, so that she doesn't get hit with nasty taxes, and so we don't have to deal with storing it and selling it. This meant, moving the truck, then unloading the bookshelves, credenza, file cabinet and desk into the foyer of the church next door. Then, with the invaluable help of our friend The Engineer (with only one working clavicle -- he was in a bike accident on Wednesday), and a kind (but nosy and officious) neighbor, we loaded the truck. A 16 foot truck, packed full, but comfortably.

That would make today Saturday. Ma Joad and the kids rolled out at noon, and Pa Joad followed with the truck about two hours later. They have gotten as far as Baker, Oregon tonight -- Pa had to stop and throw up about three times on the trip. He delayed leaving because he felt awful, finally left when he thought he was getting better, but he was wrong. We don't yet know if he is the first family member to get the Flu -- friends have started coming down with it -- or if this is the culmination of weeks of dawn-to-dusk work around the house, packing, moving, and a dram of a very old, very smoky Scotch whisky pressed upon him by a friend late last night. Ma Joad is feeling a bit peaked tonight, so we are considering the first alternative likely and carefully monitoring our own physiologies.

Meanwhile, The Texan and I are now outnumbered by cats, who aren't all that keen on the changes. I have moved my bed upstairs, and the cat food bowls, but nothing else (i.e., not the bureau, my desk, any clothes or books, etc.). In fact, I am typing this at my usual place in the cellar, with Winnifred curled up for the night in her usual spot on top of the wardrobe, and Harry stretched out on the floor behind me -- in the position where he usually would be lying on the bed. He doesn't seem to notice the 3 foot loss of altitude.

Many changes in store. But at least they've started happening.

The things we carry along with us

"Moving", such as it were, has begun. The children and FemmeDommi are at a family reunion up north, so those of us left behind are taking advantage of their absence to pack (if asked, every crayon would be needed -- this way, we can filter out a lot of the broken and less-played-with stuff). They return on Thursday. On Friday, we will load the rented moving van, and on Saturday morning, early, the AffinitusDommus will set out on their new adventures in a new house, a new city, a new state. (I shall have to find a new name for them, as well, because they will be living in a complete absence of cats; pets are not allowed by the landlord.)

In the meantime, I am emptying my storage unit. With only two people in this house, we will have room in the cellar for my stuff, and room in the studio for FemmeDommi's office furniture. Also, AffinitusDommus will need a deal of kitchen furnishings at their rented house, so I'm pulling out my own, for the Texan and me to use here. We have borrowed a friend's truck, and I am single-handedly moving all my things. That is, I'm moving all the boxes and liftable furniture -- the couch, some desks and a large bureau will have to wait for Thursday when we'll have friends helping us.

Sooooo, today and yesterday I moved 34 boxes from the storage unit to the basement, as well as five pieces of light-weight furniture. All of those were carried downstairs individually, so I reckon I've climbed at least 350 steps up (and down) today, carrying weights (yeah glutes! Frankly, I ache all over). The unit, 9 feet by 11 feet by 20 feet high, is about half empty.

So, what have I been paying to store since September 2005 (and which I also paid to bring out to Oregon in late 2006)? About a third of the boxes are books. Some of these books I have missed -- an entire box devoted to multiple copies of Dorothy Dunnett novels (some of which I've had to buy additional copies of, in the intervening years). Or my copy of Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, which I purchased again to read again last year. Or my hard cover edition of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, which I have prevented myself from purchasing several times because, for Pete's sake, I have the hard-cover version in storage! Sadly, this also means I have not yet read that novel. Presumably it is packed away in the large, leaden, box marked, Books I Do Still Intend To Read. Someday.

Others I have not missed -- what could be in the preposterously heavy box labeled, Books - #3 - Living Room? I'm guessing that holds the picture books -- a history of rally cars (with early Mini Coopers) and I dimly recall a photographic chronology of World War I. These and a few others, although outside my usual interests, were too fascinating not to buy for Less Than $9.99 on the Bargain Table in the entrance to Borders Book Store. And maybe that box has the exhibition books accompanying the show I saw at the Uffizi in 2003? I will enjoy looking at them again, but I didn't miss not having them.

About half the boxes are kitchen stuff. Some of that is because kitchen stuff is large, and thus fills a lot of boxes. But have I needed to store twenty (nice quality) Rubbermaid food storage boxes for four years? What about the cheap pots and pans -- cast offs and filler pieces when I got them? They will be handy now, but I'm noticing the scratches in the teflon, and the permanent stains -- should I just buy some new, less toxic pans? I've got spatulas and wooden spoons and mixing bowls and three sets of measuring cups. Did I really need to keep all this?

Did I really need to own all this in the first place? But I felt a rush of pleasure to rediscover my ivory wire fruit bowl, and my Italian tea towels. Doesn't that rush -- especially when it is sustained over four years -- justify the cost? (That is, the cost of purchase and the cost and hassle of storage.) The Rubbermaid containers elicited a feeling of familiarity, but no rush. Yet, frankly food storage containers are something I use -- a lot more frequently than linen tea towels. Instead of storing them, should I have discarded the containers, necessitating a new purchase now? Is it more wasteful to have had them in the first place, when they are not something I cherish?

What about things that are of no practical use, nor are they lovely? Should I be storing the suitcases, long outdated and mostly worn out, given to me by my parents when I went to Cambridge U. in 1983? I carried the little one across Europe for three months, but it is sagging, tattered and torn, and I doubt I'll use it again. Is the sentimental value of that well-traveled gray case worth keeping it in the basement for another six months?

These thoughts dogged me today. I would park the truck next to our rose bushes, so the scent of roses overwhelmed the dust that puffed up from the boxes as I unloaded them onto the dolly. In groups of two and three, I wheeled them up the steep driveway, past the cats lying sprawled in the August sun to the side door of the house. There, each box was carried down the wooden stairs into the cellar, and stacked neatly according to label, kitchen, books, textiles, other.

These are only my things. These are all my things, the total. Every one of these things, in all of these boxes, is going to have to leave the dark, cool cellar, someday.

Previously on Cattus Dommus

For those viewers who haven't read the blog entries I haven't posted over the last month, here's a short summary of what has happened.

Shortly before I last posted, FemmeDommi accepted a job in another state. The job starts next week; she'll be able to work in the Portland office for another month or so, and then she will move to Idaho. The Nuclear Family Unit of Cattus Dommus will follow her mid-summer, after school is out and after various family vacations around the USA. The extra bits of our extended family (the Texan, myself, and all the cats, because the rental in Idaho won't accept cats) will remain behind. The Cattus Dommus domicile, with the mural and the bike cellar and the gardens and the studio -- well, that's for another entry.

During the hiatus, Nuclear Family Dommus took a trip to Idaho to check it out. Many fears of the unknown were allayed -- the children will each get their own room (Girl-child a large, meandering Little Princess space on her own floor under the dormers, Boy-child a small, snug chamber with his very own bathroom) and the neighborhood they will be living in is a little piece of Portland in Boise, complete with a nice used bookstore, youth soccer, and liberal thinking.

HomoDommi being artistic on the trip east

The day they left, as I was writing an email message, between two wo





My computer died. I may write an entry about this later, but for this Previously on... segment, suffice it to say that it's been three weeks and a bit, and I'm still straddling critical gaps in information due to learning a new OS, updated -- and therefore strange -- applications, insufficient file organization, and feeling all around pissy about supposedly "user-friendly" technology.

I do, now, have a shiny new laptop but it only occasionally brings me a moment of pure happiness (for instance, I have iSight now, which is fun, and a great new trackpad -- but nothing is where I expect it to be, and the computer is significantly bigger than my old one). Like the woman said to the younger, more-puppyish brother of her dead fiancé, "Marry me. My heart is constant, but my needs are constant, too." I did manage to carve the heart out of my old beloved (i.e., rescue the hard drive intact with all data) but because of the age and uniqueness of the drive, that took an additional week of frantic scrambling to achieve.

Continuing our story, I was stumbling back towards computerized normalcy when I was invited to house-sit for Bride of COG (and COG) while they visit the scene of their early married life. Happy to oblige, this left me a mere six days to file and pay my taxes (all financial data carefully kept on that old hard drive) and prepare for three weeks on the other side of the country.

A Canada Goose on the pond in the COGses garden

So that brings us to today. After an unusually long jet-lag recovery period (4-5 days), I am comfortably ensconced in the House of COG, still learning the ways and needs of the resident household -- Dog of and Cat of. While I speak fluent Cat, my Dog is worse than my French (usually involving a raised voice and much gesticulation -- both Dog and French, actually). Dog of is missing the COGses, and is not interested in learning the vernacular of strange west-coast Humans. She sits frustratingly still, head cocked on one side, tail down, uncomprehending of anything but dog treats. So we communicate largely by dog treats.

The COGses return a week Sunday. During my time here, I plan to take full advantage of my opportunities. Yesterday I was treated (by Neighbor of) to a day in Boston, during which we attended a marvelous performance by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Tomorrow I drive down to the Cape to visit Son of. Crane Beach is just a couple of miles away. When Bride of has returned, we hope to get to the Museum of Fine Arts, to the Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese exhibition there.

There is also the blessed solitude. This house is comfortable, with a marvelous garden popping into Spring, birds by the dozens, a rollicking wood-pellet fire, wireless internet and oh glories of glories a 60-inch HDTV with an unlimited Netflix subscription and complete control of the remote. And an equally unlimited supply of books, owned by the very woman who serves as my book-pimp, so reaching out at random is all I need to find one of interest. I'm going to pester the COGses to build an ofuro, the only thing wanting in my spa vacation.

It has been a somewhat stressful and strained six weeks past, and I am hoping that this coming week by myself will be restorative. I have a lot of thinking about what's to happen next in my life, and this is a good time and a good place to do so.