Rachael Herron

(R.H. Herron)

Archives for July 2006

The Dispatch Channel

You know when we get the happiest in dispatch? Besides when we give successful CPR instructions, or we hear the first cry of the new baby, I mean?

When America’s Funniest Home Videos is on. That and Cops.

I know, who am I? Normally I have a reasonable intellect. I am not a moron. These shows don’t normally suit me. Let me explain: At my last job we weren’t allowed to watch TV, but here it’s always on — news in the daytime, and whatever at night. When it’s busy we don’t hear it or notice it, but it sure is nice when it’s quiet. Every show is interrupted, of course, by routine business, as is well and good, so DVDs are good, because you can pause when the phone rings.

But I have a new theory — there should be a 24-hour channel for emergency workers: showing Funniest Videos and Cops. They’re segmented, so you never care if you watch all or part of the show, and they cheer you up. People behaving badly and animals being extremely cute. In this kind of environment, it would be perfect. We’d watch.

Early

The Dyl-pickle is getting so big!

Picklenme

We heart our godson. (This was at the beach — Joni brought her dog, and all the dogs romped. But Dylan stole the show, of course.)

I am at work. It is early, early morning, on my first day of a 60 hour work week. I tell you, unless you have a LOT of coffee, Antiques Roadshow is not going to keep anyone awake when the phones aren’t ringing (not that I’m complaining. This is fire season. The phones have been ringing a hell of a lot lately, and the radios have been blaring. I suppose this is a nice break. But I need more coffee).

A Close Call

This is my favorite email of late, shared with permission:

I just had to email a great big THANK YOU, as you may
well have saved me from some major distress.  How, you
may ask?  Well, I was browsing through your blog
archives while knotting this evening, and I hit the
entry about your running the SF 1/2 marathon last
year.  While I reading your description of the course,
I said to my husband that the course seemed to run
right near our place (we live on Stockton St, about 3
blocks inland from Pier 39). 

Then I looked at the date on the entry: August 1.
Hey, that’s soon!  Hmmm, I wonder if this year’s
marathon is the same weekend…..

So I locate the marathon homepage, and there’s the
date: July 30.  Which happens to be the very same day
that I have to catch a rather important flight at SFO
(flying back East on business, but also to see all my
friends that I moved 3000 miles away from 6 months
back, and Sunday is the day we can all get together).
And to get to the airport, we use the Embarcadero,
which will be closed as of 4 AM (which I also gleaned
from your post).

So anyway, thanks to your post we now have an
alternate route planned, and will leave a little
earlier, and I will not, in fact, be having a
type-a-punctuality-freak-OMG-I’m-going-to-miss-the-plane
freakout at 5 AM on the 30th.  This is a good thing
for me, and an even better one for the husband.
This even makes up for your reducing me to
sentimental, PMS-enhanced tears when you wrote about
your wedding (the husband and I just celebrated our
first anniversary, so I have a soft spot for newlyweds
:-).

My best to your lovely wife, and good luck on the half
marathon, if you end up running again
—Amanda, grateful blogfan across the Bay

Isn’t she great? And how much do I get that late-to-the-airport terror? I have three recurring nightmares: 1) Can’t get to the airport, watching the clock tick past the appointed time, still packing and looking for passport; 2) Being on the beach and watching a tsunami getting closer and closer, being able to grab onto the cliff with one hand, and only able to grab one other loved one with the other, watching the others being swept away; 3) I know I have another one but I can’t remember it. It’s 3:16 in the wee sma’s, for god’s sake. Wait, that might be it.

So I’m pleased I helped someone not be late to the airport. And a nice someone, at that.
Now, about that 1/2 Marathon. Let’s talk. So I got the weekend off work. Blessed trades and overtime. The day before the run is Lambtown. I HAVE to go to Lambtown, because there will be not only fiber, but dog trials, with sheep. Border collies chasing sheep. I have always loved dog trials, but this year I will be out of my mind about them, since I have a little sheep-herder of my own at home. So look for me hanging onto the ring rails, waiting for the next round to begin.

And that night, the night before the race, the Whoreshoes are playing Bolinas. Y’all know how I feel about Bolinas — the old saloon, the girls playing their music to the local beach bums and poets and musicians and whatever random people wander in from whichever wedding happens to be occurring in town. One time we slept on the outside balcony on an air mattress, and woke in the sun to the smell of eggs and barbecued oysters. You can camp on the beach for free with your dogs (which we may do if I don’t get around to making a reservation soon-like). (Oh! We have a station wagon! What do you think it would be like, two gals sleeping in a station wagon with three dogs? Yeah, maybe you’re right.)

I’ve missed the last two Bolinas shows, and I don’t wanna miss this one. So, explain to me how I’m going to fondle fiber, watch dogs work sheep all day, drink and dance all night and then run 13.1 miles the next morning? Nope. No 1/2 Marathon for me this year. Or at least not this one.

Also, I haven’t run in like a month. That may have something to do with my decision.

Okay, nah. It doesn’t. I just want to watch dogs and dance to m’girl’s music. There you go.

So, Amanda, we’ll both avoid the marathon at the end of the month, shall we? Good.

Believe the Date

A word to the wise: When you find that container of mozzarella (the kind packed in water) in the fridge, the one that says it’s expired, believe the date. I didn’t. It is regrettable. I looked and sniffed, and it looked and smelled just fine. But a bite? Whew. I’m still rinsing my mouth. I believe Tabasco might help, if only to burn off my offended taste buds.

That is all. Oh, and I’m knitting Cookie’s brilliant socks. They are wonderful. I heart this pattern. Also, I met her once at Stitches, and not only was she wearing a FANTASTIC sweater, one she designed herself, but she’s cute as a button.

Yes. Now that is officially all.

Apartment 4 Rent

Okay, the condo is officially off the market. We’re keeping it. Hooray! (Ohmygod, please let it get rented soon.)

Anyone want to live in a cute little place? You readers know it, love it, you know I loved living there: if any interest, or you know anyone who might be, send ’em over to my craigslist ad, wouldja? I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if this works, actually. You all are quite amazing.

Meantime, I’ve done all the stuff I didn’t want to do — starting with getting up. But I did that, and then I paid bills and dealt with Things. Now I have the day to myself. Me and my sisters, actually. Christy’s going to be in a wedding, and she needs a red shawl for it. So we’re going yarn shopping. Hoo boy. Yarn shopping, and I’m not buying. That’s the best kind. And then later Bethany and I are going to take the dogs to the beach. I’m seriously digging this whole Must Go To The Beach Everyday thing. Clara has to get out and run and cramble with dogs every day or she would go a little stir-crazy, I think. (That’s what it’s called, by the way, what they’re doing when they’re chasing and chewing and mock-biting and knocking each other down and over: crambling. I think it was a roommate of Lala’s who said that.)

So I have to go to the beach and watch the crambling. Poor me.

Also, the house is already clean, ’cause we had some folks over last night (Hi, new knitter Michelle!). I cooked. And it was good. Roast chicken with lemon and rosemary from the yard (hey, I forgot to brag about that), potatoes, and Not Your Mother’s Green Beans from the new Moosewood (roasted pine nuts, shallots, and basil, yum). It felt like an easy dinner, and it was fun, and I didn’t hate cooking.

Clara’s on her couch (yes, she got one. Isn’t that sad?) chewing on an allowed substance. Harriet is at my feet, dreaming about stealing all of Clara’s bones. Miss Idaho is tucked up next to me on the people couch. I saw Digit run by earlier and he yelled at me as he went (he slept on my head all night). Adah is on top of the fridge, her new favorite place to sleep. (Yesterday Christy was standing in front of the fridge, looking at something on it, a picture perhaps, and suddenly screamed in terror as a face popped up RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER and said, "Mrrrwh?") And me, I’m going to…. dunno. That’s a nice thing.