Just like in the cities, Christmas in the desert is cold but warmed by brightly decorated houses.

Some people may be surprised to hear that, and I have to admit that I wasn't expecting it, either. It's not that I didn't decorate my place (I didn't), but I don't think I quite expected to be so many people up here and so many of them to be in such a festive mood.

First, a word about living a desert community (if I can call Landers that). In the cities I grew up in there were dense population in apartments and a little farther out, residential areas of homes sitting on modest lots right next to each other. There were many blocks of these, and even farther out, huge tracts of land that had been leveled, paved, and turned into blocks and streets of tract housing, a large collection of homes that all looked pretty much alike since they were all built by the same company.

Here, it's not quite like that.

Along the main highways there are occasional communities of ten to twenty thousand people, roughly, that have pretty much everything in the way of shops and services we've come to rely on. And just like the cities, they have apartment buildings and complexes and those single family houses sitting in rows on the street. But (obviously), there are far fewer of each because of the smaller number of people.

I live about ten miles away from the closest of these, but there are a few more within twenty miles or thirty-five kilometers or so. They're often just a few blocks deep from the highway and beyond them is … land (in this case, desert land).

Some time ago, all of this desert land was marked off into a square grid by the government, who owned the land, and then further divided into smaller parcels. Then, I heard, the land was given to anyone who built a home on it and, I guess, could prove they lived there.

As a result of this, over time, some of those parcels were further divided by the people who owned them and sold to others who were looking to live in the desert, surrounded by sand and who liked this sort of thing.

What we have now can be pictured like this:

Imagine a huge expanse of featureless desert as seen from a small plane. Then, draw a checkerboard of paved roads and, within the resulting squares, smaller checkerboards of dirt roads.

The squares inside the paved roads aren't all the same size, though. The average size, I'm guessing, is five acres, or about twenty thousand square meters, but some are twice that, some half that size, and a smaller number even smaller. Actually, it's not always easy to tell because some lots are empty and there was never any consistent placing of the houses on them, anyway. I mean, somebody looked at their five acre parcel, found the flattest spot, and put up a dwelling, which might be anywhere on the land.

We now have the expected variety of houses up here. About half (?) are “normal” homes, the kind just like you'd see anywhere in southern California, in any of our cities no matter how large or small they are. Regular houses with the only distinguishing feature being a propane tank somewhere close to the house. Some of these places are landscaped beautifully, some only right around the house, and some fill the extra land with horses or what have you.

And not all of the properties have fences around them. In fact, I'd say most don't, but nearly all of them have at least some fencing like mine does.

Anyway, here and there, sometimes in clusters, there are abandoned properties. These are often, but not always, tiny homes like the one I'm living in. Driving around it's easy to spot most of the empty places because vandals have broken windows, walls or roofs have collapsed, or it just looks like no one has been there in years.

Many of the homes up here I figured to be vacation or weekend places where people from “the city” would visit to drive around on the dirt, remember what the night sky looks like with stars in it, use to manufacture meth, or just hang out and drink. But, driving around here at night, it became clear that there were more people living or staying here for the holidays than I thought.

At first it was just a few, but many of the places have the same holiday lighting as I'd gotten used to in the city. With the greater distances between the houses, it was never like the block of lights I saw in Los Angeles, but one here, one there, each one separated by one or more football fields from their neighbors.

I especially liked seeing the inflatable snowmen sitting out front.

So, up here it's cheery, festive, and Christmas-y, just more spread out. Also, Santa made it up here last night and stuck some little treats in the pockets on the back of the Christmas gloves I got from my sister and opened last night.

Tomorrow the world may end, but today's not not looking to be any great shakes, either.

A few days ago I got a postcard from my electricity provider, SCE, letting me know about a Planned Power Outage for today (they, not me, planned the outage) that will go from eight in the morning until about three in the afternoon.

In addition to useful tips (keep refrigerator and freezer doors closed), they also included directions to a website where I could learn about its status (www.sce.com/outage) if I typed in the outage number, 540379.

Which told me less than the postcard did.

I have no idea how widespread this outage will be, but I have a hunch it involves more than just my property. That's what I thought at first, mostly because this little house looks to be the only one with a line running to it from the poles that line the main, paved road. Oboy!, I thought, they're going to bury that cable and get rid of the telephone pole on my lot that Minardi likes so much!

Then, a few days ago, I changed my mind.

Early the other morning I saw what can only be described as a convoy of vehicles heading down the main street (toward the post office, right to left down the road, headed east). Big trucks, long trucks, all lit up with more running lights than a Christmas tree normally has, but it was too dark for me to see what was on the trucks.

So, maybe, it's a real big deal, like they're putting in a new sub-station or something. All that I know is what they tell me on the postcard, which is that they're either doing ongoing maintenance or upgrading the grid “with power materials and technologies.”

I have to say that in all my life I've never gotten or experienced anything like this from any power company. I guess it's a desert thing.

Maybe the area is growing or maybe this is a pretty common thing out here. As a newcomer, I have no idea, but it isn't such a bad thing. I may take the opportunity of no power to putter around the property and sort some things out, will probably drive to town for awhile and do some last minute Christmas shopping, and may even stop at a local taco place and get something to eat. I might even take advantage of the only other working thing, my water heater, and take a nice long bath.

They mention on the postcard that power may (or may not) be going up and down throughout the day, also that they'll do whatever the hell it is they're going to do as “quickly as they can” while still doing it safely. Also, I shouldn't expect the times to be necessarily accurate, but I'm guessing they got the date right. They give themselves a lot of flexibility, I'll give them that.

They don't give any details about what it is they're up to, but that might just be because the postcard is pretty general. Or, they don't want to bother those of us who get the cards with a lot of confusing details that we wouldn't understand, anyway.

Maybe I'll see some people working if I drive to town and back and Minardi and I can watch and annoy them, or maybe they will be right here in my yard and we'll have no choice.

What I won't be doing is keeping up-to-date on budget or debt negotiations in Washington nor the latest hand wringing on either side of the gun talk, though it's always interesting to me to see how a “new” point is picked up and then used as if it's the final, definitive point.

Once someone comes up with something, everyone on that side of the argument repeats it like a trained seal clapping for a fish. I guess that's because it's much easier to hear and mimic than it is to think.

Except for me. I'm so accustom to thinking that it's second nature to me, and instead of actually doing anything, I just sit and think and watch the expansive desert view outside my little home.

It was never on my bucket list, but now I've visited a dump.

In this part of the world there's no trash collection, but us residents pay some tax or other that gives us access to the dump. The other day I received my “disposal use permit,” a wallet-sized bright pink card, along with a sheet of paper describing its use and restrictions.

Roughly, once a week I get to unload 500 pounds of trash at no charge, although to be precise, I get to do that four times a month plus four additional visits. The card has the each month of the year on it written four times, and each time I visit the dump, it gets punched.

My card, now, has one punch.

Yesterday I lowered the top on the Jeep, filled the back with some of the trash I'd accumulated since moving here, and Minardi and I followed the signs to the dump. It's only a few miles, a handful of kilometers, away, and we were there in no time.

At the entrance there's a small building with a woman inside, and every time I've visited it to ask questions, there's been a different one. They've all been really friendly and helpful, but this was the first time I actually waited in line for the green light, drove up next to the building, and waited on the scale.

It just took a minute and after some talk about whether those of us who live here are Landerites (her suggestion) or Landerians (mine), she told me to stop at the scale, again, on the way down after unloading my trash, so the weight of my empty Jeep could be entered into the system.

We made our way past the entrance point, followed the road up the hill (or mountain. I've never been sure about the difference), and once it was out of sight of the entrance shack, became a dirt road.

Minardi, I like to think, enjoys riding on dirt roads as much as I do. There's a lot of them out here, which I use to justify the purchase of the Jeep.

There were some signs directing traffic, separating commercial and septic dumpers from the rest of us, and we kept going up and up the hill. It was a bright, clear day and the view from the mountaintop was wonderful, and there was a sign telling me to wait until directed to move.

There were a handful of trucks stopped a little ahead of me and some guy in a bright, high visibility vest, chatting with their owners. He eventually waved me ahead, pointed to a spot where some trash was sitting, and then proceeded to ignore me.

I parked the Jeep, tossed the bags of trash out of the back and onto the pile, and drove back down the hill, back to the entrance shack. The trucks that were there when I showed up were still there, the huge machines used to move the trash around and crush it were still hanging around, waiting to move the day's additions to the fields of compressed trash that waded around the hilly peaks in the dump.

The place looked pretty much the way I'd imagined, but I was surprised at the number of tires. There were so many of them that they were using some to mark off roads, some to hold signs in place, others piled in cairns of unknown purpose.

I'm in good enough shape that dumping the trash myself wasn't an issue, but mentally noted that with no one watching, I could have gotten rid of anything without drawing any suspicion. I'm not sure I could get away with dumping a body, but maybe …

When I got back to the shack, the woman entered the Jeep's info (which must have included the weight of the dog in the passenger seat) into her computer, wrote the license number on my card, and handed it back.

Then, I was free to go. So, I did.

One thing I liked about the whole process was waiting in line in my tiny Jeep between large pickups filled to the brim, some with trailers holding even more trash, as well as a couple of the huge, commercial trash trucks that show up all over the world. I was dwarfed by them, and my little personal load seemed almost laughable in comparison, but this will be how I get rid of orange peels, used tissues, and coffee grounds for as long as I live here.

And also, of course, those bodies...

Yesterday I paid my water bill, which I admit isn't the most exciting or interesting of all possible activities. Still, there you have it.

A few days ago I got the bill in the mail and was at first a little surprised and shocked. Not by the amount, which was around $25, but by the bill coming on a postcard with the charge and amount of water used and all that visible to anyone.

Then, by the time Minardi found a spot or two on our way back from the mailbox to home, I laughed at myself. Why would I be offended at having this information out in the open? Sure, utility and other bills had always come all sealed up, protected from prying eyes and I'd grown used to that, but then I started wondering why.

I mean, really, why was I so worried or secretive about my water bill?

There are some things I'm not likely to talk about, but most of those are because of shame I feel. Somehow, though, that feeling of being my business and no one else's seeps into areas of my life where it's not really relevant.

I have no idea how much water or electricity or whatever anyone uses, but I think that's because I've never asked. I don't think anyone else considers that a secret, but it's not one of those things I see a lot of people sharing.

Anyway, for years I paid for water usage online through the Los Angeles Dept of Water & Power website. My current water provider, Bighorn-Desert View Water Agency, has a website where I can do that, but it's a pretty basic website and only takes payments through a third party who charges about $4 for the privilege.

That's not too bad in and of itself, but it also works out to nearly a week's worth of water. I don't necessarily object to paying for the convenience, but not when it's a substantial chunk of the bill.

So, Minardi and I climbed into the Jeep and went to their office, which is only a few miles away. I had a secret plan for doing that, anyway, since when I was there before they had a display of desert wildflower seed packages that you could buy for a dollar courtesy of some local something or other. When I was there to start my water service, I picked up a couple of those packages, gave one to my sister for her new home, and had used the other to seed a portion of my property.

I've been thinking I seeded a very small patch, too small to fully take advantage of the impending flowery beauty, so I thought I'd buy some more and try to do the whole thing all over again, this time maybe correctly.

Also, I needed to pay the bill without that service charge for using a debit card.

As luck would have it, the service charge applies both on the website and also at their office since the payment is processed by the same third party. So, I paid in cash.

Worse, they were evidently out of those wildflower seeds since I didn't see them anywhere. But, in what I may learn to be a constant feature, this month they were selling Bighorn-Desert View Water Agency calendars. I'd love it if each month there was some different one dollar thing I could pick up when I paid my bill.

Well, I sorta had been thinking about getting a paper calendar and this one, from what I saw while glancing at it, looks to have all the days on it. With calendars I like to save the surprise of what the next month will bring, so I didn't look at all the pictures, but I saw that January features a pleasant view of the “Ames/Reche Groundwater and Recovery project,” which, to my uneducated eye, looks like pretty much every other picture of this high desert. There's no buildings, no facilities or pipes or tanks, just some flat land bordered by mountains.

I also noticed that I have photos of a snake and, for some future month, a roadrunner to delight me later next year.

So, yeah, I have much to look forward to. Of course this may mean I'll end up with two or more calendars if I get one for a Christmas present, but it will have no effect if I'm lucky enough to get some warm slippers.

I don't watch American Idol or any of the other singing shows on TV for a lot of reasons but mostly because I've never been a big fan of pop music. That may either be a question of taste or it just might be that I'm a snob.

So, until moving to Landers, my little world did not include singing sensation Phillip Phillips. I'd never heard of him, never listened to his singing, and knew no more about him than anyone reading this knows which direction I'm facing or what I have on.

But, in my move up here, I was separated from the music I'm used to. The radio station I listened to pretty much since I was sixteen is too distant and its signal probably can't make it over the surrounding mountains. There are radio stations I was able to pick up in the truck that was hauling my stuff and in my Jeep when I drive from the real world to this desert outpost, and the local one when I was moving in broadcast a few times a song I've come to associate with my new life in Landers.

I first heard it when moving in, and latched onto it as my desert home anthem.

A few weeks after moving in (and hearing it several more times), I learned its name and found a video of the singer performing it (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoRkntoHkIE) . I was unhappy that the song was by an American Idol winner since I try to avoid anything having to do with that phenomenon, but there you have it.

The singer is cute enough to be popular, I guess, it borders on being too country for my tastes, but there's enough flags in the video to satisfy most people. I can't honestly say I love the song. It's just that I consider it my welcome to Landers so it has an emotional appeal that I doubt anything else he does would.

Like most songs on the radio, I just heard it as background noise, never paid any attention to the lyrics, and only heard the “make this place your home” line. Only much later did I pay enough attention to hear it correctly with the preceding “I'm gonna..” part, but it stuck in my mind as “you're gonna make this place your home.”

Fortunately, this blog entry isn't about the song. I've already said too much.

I'm certainly no expert on buying homes or escrow practices, but in the three times I've purchased property I've always been struck by how anti-climatic it is when escrow closes and the property is finally, legally and officially mine. There's never any formal ceremony, no shaking of hands, no official paperwork, just a call from the realtor telling me that I can pick up the key.

Which, after all the stress, frustration, mysteries, and edginess that the escrow process creates in me, is almost a letdown. After all that, after spending or obligating myself to spend more money than I can imagine, I get a key or two that you can pick up in a store for no more than a couple dollars.

In this case, when I bought the desert place to make my home, I got three keys.

Two of the keys are for the door (I almost wrote “front door” just out of habit, but since this place only has one door, that descriptive, limiting adjective is unnecessary), one for the deadbolt and the other for the spring lock. That's fairly typical in the houses I've owned or lived in.

The other key is for the padlock that fastens one of the gates closed.

As I've mentioned before, while the property is 2.5 acres in size, the house is surrounded by a chain-link (hurricane) fence that encloses about half that. At the corner of the paved road and the dirt one is one gate and farther down the dirt road is the other. Both gates are made of two sections and each of them is held closed by a length of chain that is fastened by a padlock.

That's a very common thing, at least around here.

Some people, maybe the rich ones, have actual locks on the gates, some going even farther than that and having electric gates that can be opened from inside the car. Most of us, though, just have a length of chain wrapped around the gate tying it to the post or, like in this case, holding the two sections of gate together.

It was this farther gate that the third key fit, and that gate is the one I'd been using.

The realtor mentioned a third, mystery key that was inside the place and I found it just inside the door. After settling in, some time the next day, I walked up to the front gate, which looked as though it hadn't seen any use for years, and tried it. The key fit in the lock, but wouldn't turn. I sorta shrugged.

Since the lock on the farther, northern, gate was better (bigger, more manly) than the cheap one on the corner gate, I didn't think of it as much of a loss. Also, the entrance to the north gate, maybe because it had seen much more recent use, was smoother.

A few days later in a burst of optimism I tried that key in the corner lock and was just as rewarded as I had been the first time. The key, simply put, just didn't work, not even after the liberal application of graphite.

So, I shrugged, spit on my hands, and attacked the lock with my hacksaw.

After a few minutes of desperate sawing, I'd made no impression on the lock at all. I thought about prisoners and them getting hacksaw blades in cakes, about spending mindless hours working on the lock with hopes of freedom, but soon grew bored with the tiny results my sawing were creating on the lock.

So, I gave up.

Then, about a week ago, there was the envelope left on the north gate with a couple keys inside, the name and phone number of the guy who'd left it, and carrying the message “These might be the for the front gate.”

Well, despite my hopes and eagerness, they weren't.

They were, in fact, two more copies of the one useless key I already had. But, it got me busy and I went back to Home Depot, bought the type of hacksaw blade that actually works on padlocks, and in about ten to fifteen minutes had managed to cut the lock open.

I already had a couple padlocks that I'd used for securing my bike to replace the now cut one, so I could begin using the front gate (if it worked). The years of disuse had not been overly kind to the gate, and it took some work to move the rocks and blocks that had been placed at the foot of the two gates. One of the gates proved too deeply buried in sand and brush to move easily, but less work was needed to swing the other one open.

Next, Minardi and I got in the Jeep and tried out the “new” gate. There's a lot more vegetation around that front gate, even inside the chain-link fence, which I didn't feel like running over senselessly, but we were able to make it in and out of the gate a few times with success (but with much more jostling over the crevices in the sand that resulted from years of water. The beginnings of another grand canyon is up near that corner, but it's still several million years away from completion).

In the end, I swapped the chain and locks between the two gates (the hefty and newer lock doesn't fit in the smaller chain that had been used to hold the front gate closed) and exclusively used the front gate for the past few days.

Then the original lock began giving me problems. It would unlock, but not open, and was getting more reluctant with every use. Rather than being locked outside my own place, another visit to Home Depot ended up with my buying not one, but a set of two new padlocks that were the same model and design as that original, but now failing, one. Even better, both new locks took the same key, so I could fasten both gates and have one fewer key to carry around and confuse me.

I also ended up buying a new set of deadbolt / spring lock for the door, which also use the same key. Not the same one as the padlocks, but instead of carrying around four keys (one for each padlock, one for the deadbolt, and a fourth for the spring lock), I could lessen my load and have only two!

Yesterday I replaced the door locks, fastened the front gate with one of the new padlocks, and as soon as I get some larger chain, will be able to use the other new padlock on the north gate.

This, when you live in the desert, might be considered progress.

Meager Accomplishments

...some meager accomplishments you may have missed because I never mentioned them.

I'll have to haul out that to-do list to see if I've done any of the items it includes, but, while tiny, I've managed to get some things done. A couple official paperwork items have moved from do to done which means that San Bernardino County now contains another “no party affiliation” voter, the DMV knows where I live, the property taxes are paid up to date, and with the issuance of an updated Grant Deed in my name, I'll soon be able to take my trash to the nearby dump for free!

There are some rules for using the dump, some of which I've no doubt forgotten, but there's a weight limit (per visit? Per week? Per month?), a restriction on the number of tires I can annually discard, a prohibition on liquids and hazardous waste, but most challenging is the requirement that my trash be covered with a tarp.

The people who have pickup trucks, which looks to be just about everyone out here, have no problem with this since they just throw a tarp over the bed of the truck, usually one of those blue ones that were all over that Lost island. I have a few of those myself and, if I don't get that trailer, will have to use one to cover the trash I'll haul in the back of the Jeep.

The dump is only a couple miles past the post office, so its just a few minutes away from here.

As far as the area here goes, Minardi and I have done some sightseeing and have possibly visited three of the nearby Landers landmarks. I say possibly because one of them, the Landers airport, no longer exists and what we saw may have been evidence of its absence or simply more featureless desert. The other two we have seen, but not as smoothly as one would hope.

The first true Landers landmark we visited was the Integratron (http://www.integratron.com/). It was closed, so about the only feeling I got out of it was one of disappointment. Any energy, psychic or otherwise, generated or captured by the structure may have been blocked by the chain-link fence surrounding the property, though, but it did look just like it does in the pictures.

Following that, we drove off to find Giant Rock, which is (was?) claimed to be the world's largest freestanding boulder and also supposed to have something or other to do with psychic energy or UFOs or aliens or something. It's only a few miles up some dirt roads from the Integratron, which is only a few miles from my home, so it's not a very long trip.

At first, Minardi and I took the wrong fork on a dirt road and didn't see Giant Rock at all, just more awesome desert. So, we doubled back, took the other fork, and quickly found an outcropping of rocks that looked promising. One of the rocks was big, so we thought we'd found the place and parked the Jeep and began investigating.

It didn't take long to see all the graffiti that I'd read about (http://www.yelp.com/biz/giant-rock-landers) and also the remains of burned out campfires, spent bullet casings, and broken glass that seems to follow teens wherever they go, but it pretty much pissed me off. We went back a day or two later, took another route, and found the actual Giant Rock (http://www.lucernevalley.net/giantrock/) which, while still marked up with graffiti, wasn't nearly as bad as that other place. Minardi marked off a few places to capture for himself some of that vaunted energy, drawn to it, or perhaps just to contain it, and I thought about the guts it must have taken to excavate a home beneath it.

It really is a huge boulder and I can see why the native Americans were drawn to it. Out here in what's pretty much a featureless desert, something like that would be a natural reference point. We got back in the Jeep, Minardi tolerating being picked up a little bit better each time it's done, and began the drive back home.

The road turned a couple hundred yards farther on and took us to the spot I thought was Giant Rock on my first visit. So, yeah, I was wrong, but I was close!

And, in a final burst of optimism and energy, I planted some wild flower seeds. When I went to sign up for water there was a small box of them on the counter, the proceeds going to some organization or other, so I got some seeds for myself and my sister who's looking at properties that are in much more civilized areas, but still desert-y.

So, I followed the directions and put them in the ground, but perhaps over less of an area than I should have, and sat back to wait the four months or so until they show signs of life. Then, we drove to town to pick up a watering can to help them once they raise their little green arms into the air and begin waving for attention.

November 25, 2012

Beds and Trailers

Life in the desert continues, of course, with many of the same ups and downs that mark life in the big city. As they say, no matter where you go, there you are, which is sorta another way of saying you can't go anywhere without taking yourself with you.

Although I'm in a new place with new opportunities, rewards, and challenges, I'm still me. Even if they're not in a nicely (or poorly) labeled box, my virtues and flaws are still with me, but that's okay.

State of the home:

As can be imagined by now, this little place is livable, at least by my standards. Many, if not most, of the things I need are available to me and sitting in places that I'm guessing will be their new homes. My needs, in other words, are pretty much met and it's just down to wants.

That only took me about three weeks, and I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

There is about four or five times as much stuff outside as inside, and just about all of that crap is still in boxes, although none of the boxes are sitting on the ground any longer. No, they're up on tables, covered by a tarp or inside the shed, stacked on top of each other.

To be fair, over half of those boxes are books, which I still have no idea where they'll end up, or computer stuff, including old DOS stuff and games. At one time, I thought I might end up selling them on eBay, and I still might try that.

The inside is still cluttered with things wanting homes. I have fantasies of putting them all away, but one thing or another stands in the way. Like, I feel I need to have a working computer to set up the computer work area.

While I have most of the big shit done, there's still tons of niggling little loose ends gnawing at me and making sure I stay stressed. Most, if not all, of these things pretty much require me to make decisions, something if I was ever good at, is a virtue that's fallen away.

Like, for example, a bed.

I've been thinking about this since before moving in. I had a bed in my old place, of course, but, naturally, the process of having one here is one of those things that I'm complicating quite beyond what's necessary.

First, I really liked my old bed, but it was an old one from Ikea before they went to selling them here in US sizes. I moved the bed, which is all wood and sitting outside, but was talked into abandoning the mattress. The bed was a bit larger than a standard full size but smaller than a queen, and is too large for my current situation.

That's okay: I don't mind downsizing. A twin bed will do me and Minardi just fine (he said hopefully).

And here's where it starts getting complicated or, more truthfully, where I start complicating things.

I've looked around the Internet and have found several beds that will do just fine. Getting them out of the store and up here to my home, however, makes me pause and think, something that's rarely good for productivity or, as the kids say, getting things done or even over and done with.

I have, I guess, three or so ways of handling this.

One, and this was my original plan, is to buy a small utility trailer for the Jeep, one of those 4' x 8' metal frame things that I can use for hauling things around. I even found one, a bright purple one!, and was on the verge of buying it when I started shying away because of the $1000 it would cost.

If it costs, say, $20 to rent one, I'd need to use it some fifty times before breaking even.

Now, I once had plans of building all sorts of additional structures, patios, sheds and the like, up here, and a trailer would be very helpful if not downright necessary for hauling all the lumber up here. Also, there's still the matter of that loveseat, or couch and loveseat, that my niece wants me to take.

I'm sorta putting that off. The loveseat I would love, but I can't see that I'll ever have room for the couch. In any case, getting that loveseat up here means moving it the hundred miles from Murrieta back up here. That could be done with a trailer.

To see how much it costs to rent one of those little utility trailers, I looked on the U-Haul site and they run around fifteen dollars. I'm sure with taxes and all the other, extra charges, that would come close to the twenty bucks I figured. The thing is, according the fine print, they said something about the vehicle (in this case, my Jeep), having to have a hard top.

My Jeep only has the soft, convertible top, so I'm not even sure at this point if they'd let me rent one. It may be something that's required, but that the people at U-Haul wink away, or it may be a real sticking point.

If I owned my own trailer, like the purple one I wanted but am sure has already been sold, that wouldn't be a problem.

Also, my Jeep is the smallest model and can only tow about a thousand pounds, total. Having made the trip up here a few times now, I can imagine it would be long, slow haul up the mountains to get here. I already have to be in the slow lane to let the zippier passenger cars speed past and have to downshift to make it up the steeper parts, but have no idea how slowly I could make it up the mountains bringing a few hundred extra pounds with Minardi and me. My ego doesn't suffer when I'm passed, but I hate holding up traffic. I look in the mirror and imagine how annoyed everyone is at me, and I don't like that feeling.

To get back to the bed, Ikea has one that would be perfect and a perfect fit.

The nearest store, however, is about a two hour drive away, each way. That doesn't bother me, but (if nothing else) adds about forty or fifty dollars in gas alone to the cost of the bed.

Ikea will happily ship the bed, mattress, and supporting slats to my home address for around sixty dollars, but if I had a trailer, I could also buy a bed and mattress at a closer place, maybe even cheaper. Just ten miles away, just down the hill, there's a furniture place, and I think there's a couple more within twenty miles or so.

If I get the Ikea bed shipped, that's one less thing I need a trailer for, and for some reason, I consider that important.

So, now, instead of worrying about beds, I'm back to worrying about trailers. Everything is dependent on something else.

Trailer pros:

I get to move five to six hundred pounds of stuff by myself, when I want

I could haul my garbage to the local dump

I'd own a trailer, which is sorta cool

Trailer cons:

It's a lot of money that I'm not sure I can afford

Slower drives, pissing off more people

What if the purple one isn't available? Do I want a boring black one?

I've heard you can pick up used ones on Craigslist for quite a bit cheaper than the thousand dollars the trailer dealer wants for a new one, but I haven't found one yet. The good thing about the trailer dealer is that they handle licensing and registration and stuff and, since the trailer's new, it would probably hold together for awhile.

Since these little utility trailers are considered by most people who want them to be cheap, I'm thinking most of the people who buy them just have one and hang onto it because it's always coming in handy.

The worst thing, of course, and the most likely to happen, is that I'll order the Ikea bed and have it shipped and also buy a trailer. That would be both stupid and a waste of money, so I can't imagine my not doing it.

November 18, 2012

Shed, Arise!

The clock says it's almost 0630 the sun is just now edging over the horizon,and I hope that event will nudge my thermometer up from the forty (5) that it now reads. It's not supposed to be warm today, but I might be outside working and that should keep me comfortable.

One of the unexpected features of this property was a homemade shack, about 4x8, which would be very useful for storing a lot of my boxes, especially the ones full of books that there's nowhere to put inside. I have a lot of books.

Perhaps the biggest reason the shack wasn't mentioned in any of the real estate hype and description the way similar structures were on all the other offered lots is that it's laying flat on its back. At sometime in the past I'm guessing it was blown over, but it doesn't seem to have suffered any damage.

It is, however, heavier than hell, and I couldn't budge it to save my soul.

My Jeep, however, has no soul, and I'm hoping that might make all the difference.

I've thought about getting that shack standing up for the past two weeks and have decided I really should have spent any attention at all in those physics classes I had to take to graduate. The way I see it, it's a question of friction

While I'm pretty confident that I could attach some ropes to the exposed bottom of the shed and, using the Jeep, drag it around, that's pretty much exactly what people mean by re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. Sure, it would put the shed in a different place, but it would still be flat on its back and not particularly useful. Yes, I could drop stuff in the doorway and climb in and out of it, but I want it standing up, proud and filled with my crap.

So, off and on since I've been here, I've been thinking about how to accomplish that.

What I've decided to try is to screw a couple eye bolts, long, strong ones with those circles on the ends, above the door opening, up near what would be the very top of the shed. In technical terms, on the front near the apex of the roof. Then, run a rope through them, tie it to the Jeep, and by easing the Jeep forward, tilt the shack up and have it end up on its feet.

That's the positive mental image I'm practicing.

The thing is, though, until I actually try that, I don't know if it will work.

The way I see it, one of three things are likely to happen:

1. As hoped-for, the shed is pulled to its feet and there is much shouting and rejoicing
2. Instead of standing up, the shed is pulled apart
3. Instead of standing up, the shed slides around on its back

Thus, my conclusion that this will be a matter that friction ends up deciding. What will be the path of least resistance for a shed on its back when it's asked to move?

Of course, it's also likely that the eye bolts will pull out. Only time will tell.

November 16, 2012

...Then There Was One. Or Two.

I was able to cross a couple items having to do with utilities (loosely defined) off the to-do list yesterday and only have one of those left. Completed, now, are water and electricity (the most important), television and Internet (the most fun), and, added yesterday, gas and sewage. The only one left is garbage pickup, which has to wait until I get proof of ownership from the county, which could take forever given San Bernadino's bankruptcy.

A couple days ago I worked up the courage to call the plumbers my realtor recommended. I have to admit, plumbers scare me. Not only are they able to do something I've never been good at and usually my efforts at make worse, not better, but the cost of their services often comes in at a frightening, sickening number. More than once my hopes, life, and plans have been washed away by having to fork over tens of thousands of dollars to guys with wrenches, shovels, and rooters.

And here I was, the proud owner of my first septic tank, having to ask a professional to search my property and find the damn thing and let me know what kind of shape it was in. I'd been putting this off, afraid of what the answers would be, but when the guy came to install the satellite dish for my Internet, the first thing he asked while he drove through my gate was where the septic tank was.

I shrugged my shoulders, gave a sheepish look, and told him I had no idea, but I thought back to earlier visits to homes like mine out here and the kind of troubles that people driving over plumbing and plumbing-related features can cause. One of the things talked about quite about on the Internet sites I looked at to learn a little about septic systems is how poorly they respond to people driving or parking cars on them.

Since I had hopes once, and maybe still do, of putting up shed(s), a place to keep my Jeep, a patio, walls, floors, and other construction fantasies, it was kinda important to know where not to build. Also, I have to admit I was curious.

So, I called the plumber and left a message when the “out of office” recording suggested I could. Half a day later, I called again, and the guy who answered didn't sound all that helpful and gave no sign of having received my message. He assumed only someone who bought a foreclosed property wouldn't know such a thing but said he'd have someone call me.

Then, they didn't.

The next day, day two, sometime in the morning my cell got a call that I didn't answer, but I called right back. The guy who answered my call was difficult to communicate with, and I ended up deciding he wasn't the guy who was supposed to call. So, that afternoon I called the plumber again and learned the locater guy who was supposed to call me had been sick but was expected to return later that day and he'd call me then to arrange the appointment.

To his credit, he did, and would show up the next day (yesterday) between ten and noon and would be more than happy to locate the tank for $150 cash.

To keep up my end of the deal, Minardi and I piled into the Jeep about eight-thirty and headed the ten miles into town to get the money. We drove back, I drove past my house by mistake, and ended up at the post office, which I knew to be a mile or so past my place.

As I pulled into the parking lot to turn around, I saw the sign that claimed that not only does Landers boast ten thousand residents, but that it's known as the land of unlimited vistas or something like that.

I also learned that Minardi can, in fact, jump out of the Jeep's window should he want to do that.

I slammed on the brakes by the time he hit the ground and only later did I figure out that while I'd secured his snappy green harness to the seat belt, I don't think I'd fastened the seat belt, not that I'm convinced that would have made any difference.

He was absolutely fine and was cowering on the ground when I'd made it out of the Jeep and around to his side, but it was hard to say who was more frightened.

A little after we got back home, Rob showed up in exactly the sort of truck I'd imagined a septic pumper would look like. He was as tall as I am, which is the kind of thing I notice, and was easy to get along with and not at all concerned about Minardi running around. As it turned out, he has eight dogs (!) of his own, and doesn't care much for people who don't like them.

I tried to be helpful and pointed out the two pipes coming out of the ground that I'd found, which he pretty much wiggled and ignored, and also the cleanout, that stub of a pipe that plumbers use to stick rooters in to clean out clogged systems.

He was more interested in that and soon had the rubber cap removed and was sticking something down it. I was more interested in the pipe that the cap had covered, whose top was rusted, uneven, and looked to be rusting away, but he paid that no mind.

He let me know that the cleanout ended up in a V, one side leading directly to the house that it was right next to and the other toward points to the northeast.

That was the more interesting trail for me and, seemingly, him, too.

The trouble there being that there was only a few feet of property before the fence surrounding my house shows up and to get to it you have to exit the gate and walk all the way around.

Which we did.

He wiggled a magnetometer over the ground, and I made a weak joke about using a divining rod. He told me he'd used them, too, and assured me they work, and I just kept quiet but couldn't help internally wincing at his faith in magic.

He found a likely place and using a half-inch metal pipe that attaches to a hose, began poking holes in the ground. I was stunned by how easily he was able to stick the pipe in the ground: it was just like putting a knitting needle into a cup of yogurt. When he made his first poke into the area he'd marked with his shoe, he hit something metal just under the surface and I complimented him, saying something like “You're great!”

A minute or so later, when further pokes failed to turn up anything, he joked that I might want to think about taking that remark back.

He moved a few feet away, about a meter or so due east, and his magnetometer started squealing again. As much as I hoped what it was locating were lumps of gold the size of my fist, his face remained stoic and serious. He poked at the next promising spot and, again, struck metal.

I could hear the “clink” as the metal rod struck something below the surface, and so could he. This time, however, he was able to repeat the results as he kept poking around that first place and spent the next few minutes discovering its outlines.

I was thinking he might be poking too hard and might punch right through the damned thing, but he soon stopped and began talking to me over the fence.

And, it was all good news.

Despite his earlier warning that this might end up being (another) of those old steel tanks that were falling apart, he proclaimed it in good condition. It turns out that when checking other ones, he literally had poked through them, and that's one of the ways he used to figure out if they were any good or not. The septic tank, he explained, has two chambers and there's an access port on each. The one more frequently used (?), the one that collects the liquid from its initial deposit in the one that hold the solid waste, felt like it had a plastic cap, which is newer and evidence of more recent maintenance.

Also, he asked me to pass over a couple of the paving stones that came with the place and placed them on top of the access points.

I'd been thinking of marking off the area for my own, so this was quickly done. One at a time I passed them over the fence, which we both appreciated.

Then, done, he spent half an hour or so talking first about septic systems and then about Landers, where he'd grown up. I learned about trails, where are good places for hikes with dogs, how he rolled his truck when he was a teen on an old runway and ended up losing his car but gaining a wife, and how the area had changed (and his thoughts on what caused that).

Then, he only charged me half as much, which shocked me. Plumbers don't do that! They charge you ten times what you expect to pay!

He took off and, now that I knew where the tank was and that it was safely out of the way, I made my next call to the people who fill the propane tank that sits just to the north of the house.

I had to fill out some paperwork to become a client before they'd do anything, so Minardi and I got back in the Jeep and drove back to town. The tank, since I'd arrived, had a gauge on it that had been sitting at zero, so I'd figured either the tank was empty or the gauge was broken. From what I'd assumed, the only thing the gas was being used for was to fuel the water heater but made arrangements for them to bring 100 gallons of liquid propane out today.

I'm expecting they will, but to make sure they'll be able to get close enough, I need to move a whole pile of boxes that are sitting on tables, the heavy boxes that are full of books.

I'm not looking forward to that, but am looking forward to the future. The next step(s) will be:

• Move the boxes over by the other boxes, just outside the west window
• Try to stand that shed on its back up on its bottom
• Failing that, run to Home Depot and buy a little shed

Then, onto the more recently discovered problem … how to get a working computer.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Survived the wind and am ready for more, which is good because I think that's exactly what's going to happen. Right now, it's as calm as it usually is, but the day is early and much can happen.

Yesterday's big news, of course, was hearing from my sister, who called me at about a quarter to four. She's out of the hospital (yay!) and living in the apartment with Rachael, but the best news was how happy and chirpy and good she sounded! Yeah, I was very worried about her, but it seems she's doing well and, more importantly, going to do fine.

Also, although I'm told he cried for a day, Mika is doing fine as well.

A little bad of disappointment this morning when I went to check the weather: my radio has stopped working. Why this would happen, and happen now, is a troubling mystery. It was fine yesterday (so it survived the move unscathed), but this morning … nada. I'm a bit worried, being me, about the outlet somehow screwing up or screwing the radio up.

Yes, I'm troubled about the electricity here even though I don't think I have any cause for it. Just general, perhaps residual, nervousness.

But that's not the point.

Things to do today:

Around ten or so, Michael should show up to hook me up to the Internet through a satellite. We talked a bit about wireless connectivity, but the more I think about it, the less important getting that to work is. As I was lucky enough to have mentioned to him, all I need is one ethernet port and I'm good to go.

I don't expect any trouble swapping the cable or with running a sneakernet for a little while.

I'm down to four or five kitchen boxes, at least inside the house, and one last bag of clothing. Those need to be unpacked today.

...speaking of electricity, I want to mount the new Belkin octopus/surge protector thing under the west window, but I'm not sure Michael will find it acceptable. Also, I want to put an extension cord behind Stefania so that outlet will be usuable.

I still find it weird that the surge protector I used on Ramsgate doesn't work no matter where I plug it in. Why is electricity giving me problems here? First that, then the radio. Hmmm...

But, the TV is working fine.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Well, this is different, and probably even more different here in Landers than it was in Los Angeles by the airport. According to the radio station the Jeep found, one serving the Morongo Valley ??, it's a light rain and I'd have to agree.

I woke up around four, after seven hours of interrupted sleep, and when the sun rose, it was actually pretty (again). This time, the prettiness came from tinges of red in some clouds, which reminded me of that “desert sunrise” picture on the Landers Wikipedia page.

Also, as it turned out, it should have reminded me of that “sailors take warning” saying. Around eight I got a little concerned by the growing clouds and even though the weather channel showed nothing, that general, national station not only occupied itself more with the storms (Athena (?) on the east and Brutus on the West) than what was happening in the California high desert.

Imagine that.

Anyway, I started by moving one of the bookcases, one of the yellow ones, and by the time I had it inside and a couple boxes stacked on it, the radio was talking about 40mph gusts of wind.

Either before or after that, I'd covered the rest of the cardboard boxes outside with tarps, but the weather warning certainly got my attention. Also, it began sprinkling and, knowing nothing of the weather or the weather patterns here, I had no idea if the little smattering would be all we could expect or if it meant a huge deluge was coming.

I still don't know.

But, as of now, the outside is mildly protected and the inside is more crowded than ever. All three bookcases are inside and, while moving the white cabinet that came with the place, the one I assumed was a closet, I found some more electrical outlets, which could prove helpful.

Then again, that new outlet, which might not even work, is now safely behind the Stefania bookcase.

While pretending to work on the kitchen stuff I made a discovery. One of the small cabinets is actually pretty good sized when you open it and learn that it has a double folding door hiding one of those lazy Susan metal rack things, just like Cybele's.

Since it was designed to hold food, I emptied two cabinets that I'd first stocked with food onto it and then loaded up the cabinet over the stove with pots and pans. This was all before the rain / wind prediction, but I brought in two more boxes (the last ones I knew about) that contained kitchen stuff and moved the water dispenser and bottle back outside.

The rain came around 7:30, and it's now 8:00 with some cute little wind stuff going on. One tiny gust just wiggled the front door.

Whatever it was that I looked at to see when the rain started told me, or I read, 8:25, but I now discount that since I find it unlikely that I've done everything I've done since that first sprinkling in five minutes.

Since that first sprinkling, like I said, I moved all the bookcases inside, re-arranged the boxes to put the group near the west window under some tarps and separated the plastic containers from the cardboard boxes.

I still have no idea what I'm going to do with most of the stuff I brought with me. Of particular interest is clothing and kitchen, but there's a big space under the kitchen sink where I expect to put all the same type of cleaning crap that usually sits in places like that. Upon investigating it this morning (my first look in there), I found what may be a cutting board and a small rack that is separated into five sections. That cutting board has been cut, trimmed, and is marked for the next step, but I have no idea what it's expected use was.

Also, I just heard that it was 43 last night and (??!?) expected to be 39 tomorrow night!

I just tried it and the wall heater / air conditioner does, in fact, throw warm air into the room.

The afternoon's wind is forecast to come from the southwest, and I have no idea how common that is. Give me time.

*** 1500 update ***

Not only have I arranged for Internet service, I've also grown panicky and put some of my clothing onto a bookshelf.

Around two o'clock it was sunny outside, but sprinkling. The reason I was outside to witness that is because I laid down for a nap while listening to the radio and became increasingly worried about the upcoming wind storm.

They're still forecasting 25 mph winds with gusts up to 40, but I'm the only one calling this a wind storm. These desert people, it seems, shrug this off in exactly the same way that I used to laugh at Los Angeles “rain storms.”

My biggest worry was that some of the lumber and things I have holding the tarps down would be hurled off and break my western window. I made some adjustments, but frankly have no idea what winds this strong can or will do.

I expect to find out.

My other worry is the Jeep's paint standing up to the sandblasting, but there doesn't look to be much sand blowing around, not yet, anyway. I guess the lighter dusty stuff blows away all the time and isn't on the surface.

So, it's a little windy outside now, with some little gusts. I think I'd be overly optimistic to think that this is what the wind event will consist of.

*** 1945 update ***

The storm, or wind, showed up and is still going on. My worries and efforts to protect the windows and the stuff sitting in the yard were, as usual, excessive. While 25 mph winds, if that's what we're having, may be too strong for bicycle riding, they're not as drastic and overwhelming as I feared.

So watch, now things will change and by tomorrow morning everything will be scattered all over my lot and each and every window in my home will be broken by the hurled lumber I used to keep the tarps in place. Just you wait.

Today Minardi got a green harness, ideal for Jeep riding, and I tested shopping. Yeah, it was a day off.

I got up, ultimately, around 6:30. The sun was already up, so I missed that, but I didn't feel all that bad and never did, all day. I wasn't very productive, but some little things got started and I did see that, as I'd sorta figured, the nice house across the lane (literal), is up for sale.

Next time I go to the mailbox, I'll check to see if it's the same guy who sold this place. It's Coldwell Banker, so it's the same company.

My morning coffee was decent. I haven't had a great-tasting cup since getting here, but they were always a fairly rare and random event. While enjoying it and the view, I made up a shopping list and tried to plan to get a lot done with Minardi.

He's not only very good at riding in the Jeep, he never complained about being left in it when I ran into the various stores. At first I felt bad about leaving him in the car (that lady shaming me when he and Mik came up for that first visit when I had to stop to get them water), but he gave no sign of complaining. As I tried to point out to him, it's better than being left at home.

I forgot to bring the measurements I'd made, but got some mini window blinds (which are the right size), a hacksaw for that mystery lock by the front gate, did some shopping at Big Lots for a dish drainer, at Food For Less to see what that's like, and a quick stop at Vons for coffee and Pets + for the harness.

It's ten miles from the intersection of 62 and 247 to Reche, and 12.1 from the intersection to my home. That's not really so bad, especially when you consider how quickly many of the miles can be covered.

I wasn't able to make any progress on the lock. Master, evidently, know what they're doing when the build even their cheap locks. I didn't even get half of one of the two brackets needed for one of the mini-blinds screwed to the wall before giving up because of difficulty seeing and driving the screw.

I did the dishes, pretty much for the first time, but where the things go in the kitchen has yet to be determined. I'm thinking it may be better to just put stuff away and worry about it later. If nothing else, moving stuff in and out of drawers and cabinets may give me a good excuse to clean things up, not that any of the cabinets need it yet.

I called Dish to see if I could get hold of Laurie (or Lori), and the guy I talked to seemed to know who I meant, but wasn't able to transfer me or, seemingly, send her a message to call me back. Last Friday, when I talked to her and signed up, she said she'd call me back and arrange for the Internet, but … well … I'm still without it, she hasn't called, and I need to figure out which company has the best price.

I got the phone number off the billboard on the corner of Reche and 62 and while planning my shopping, found great use for the Yellow Pages that were left here, which also include Internet companies. I guess I'll call the mystery people, HughesNet, and Dish tomorrow and see who can give me the best price for a 10Gb a month plan.

There were some clouds forming this afternoon, the first time I've seen any, and it's actually kinda cool now at 1630. One thing on my shopping list, moved over to shopping list 2, was a thermometer, just for kicks, and a clock.

Yeah, the stove and microwave each have a clock, but neither are easy to see. The biggest problem is the direction they're facing, but close behind is that they're both LED displays, which wash out in the sun.

I wish the Dish Hopper Receiver displayed the time, or even the channel, but all I get is a green LED and a red one if it's recording something. So, I need to get a cheap battery clock to put up over the front door.

And so this day begins.

Minardi got up about 0430 and stood by the door. That was my clue, and although it was only seven hours or so after I went to sleep, it's okay.

I got up, opened the door, and Minardi looked out. He ate while I got the coffee going, and is now laying on his snoozy while I'm up, typing, sipping coffee, and watching Morning Joe on MSNBC.

I miss Bloomberg. Sometimes this life of deprivation has its downsides, like when I'm deprived of something I enjoy.

Today's plan: the kitchen.

Things may not end up where they'll go for good, but I'm hoping as I put things away maybe some sense of arranging will emerge. It may end up being a cross between where I'd like to have things and whether or not they'll fit there. I'm expecting to have quantity or size be as major a factor as my desire, and will probably end up with some things going in this or that cupboard because they'll fill it better than whether or not I want them there.

A lot of this life may end up depending on what I can keep.

Also, and this is more related to arranging my shit than you may think, the other plan for today is calling the trash people and maybe even the gas guy. The tank in the yard, I think, is pretty low, but thanks to what I learned yesterday, the only need I have for gas is for the water heater.

I'm guessing it doesn't use much.

And, also on today's schedule, is another Minardi test. He barked yesterday when I left him to run to the store, but he's going to have to learn to be alone here. Neither of us may like it, but chaining him up outside a store may not be anything he likes, either. I'll have to see how people here do things, and I may end up getting him a harness.

Bit by bit I'd like to think we're adjusting.

*** ***

Now it's noon, and by “noon” I mean about 10:30. So far today, I've done nothing, but I did discover that the drooping weather seal on the Jeep's upper windshield, which I just discovered last night, isn't a silly thing from the top but is from around the windshield itself. I'm not sure how concerned I should be, but I can imagine either nothing happening or the whole windshield popping out.

So, I tied the weather stripping out of the way with a tiny red tie-wrap.

Went for a quick drive and Minardi barked again, at least during my return. We walked around the block, and he was moving very slowly and wasn't at all perky or interested in much of anything. I figured part of that might be the altitude, something we both need to adjust to, but I may have been fooling myself.

I called Rachael to check up on her and Cheryl, but had to leave a message. At the time, I'd pretty much decided (again!) to give Minardi to Cheryl to make up for the turtles I lost, to repay, just on general principles, and maybe to give Minardi a little more joy than he seems to be having here.

He would enjoy being with Mik again, and Cheryl, too, and then I convinced myself he doesn't like me much, anyway, and the thought of giving him away broke my heart.

Yeah, there were some tears, but since then I got the top back on the Jeep, something that's getting easier each time either because I'm getting better at it or the top, itself, is more pliable than it was the first time I did it.

Which also may have been the first time it was ever done by anyone.

It doesn't feel all that important that it's election day, but I can follow it on TV and I'm not sure that I would have remembered today was that day without that! Part of that, of course, is because I already mailed my ballot in and don't have to show up and vote today, but remembering that reminds me that Cheryl may be SOL.

I hope not.

November 5, 2012

This morning saw one kinda major achievement, a little more fiddling while Rome burns, and this afternoon brought an introduction to a neighbor who brought some good news and the arrival of television.

Also, a meager windfall when one of the Dish network installers bought my 16' ladder for $60. I think her name was Tanya, but it could have been the other girl, who was equally large and burly looking. Well, this is supposed to be a life of deprivation and I do have another ladder. If I feel silly about owning three or four jackets and coats when my closet is only one square foot, I can't be running around with more than one ladder.

Besides, I think sixty bucks was a good deal and there's a real good chance I won't use it any more, anyway. Not unless I need to get on the roof.

But that's not the point.

I didn't sleep nearly as well last night as I did the first night here, but maybe I wasn't quite as exhausted. It took a few cups of coffee and my usual post-coffee and get-up lay-down before I finally succumbed to the day and got a little busy. With the armoire. Jeez, what a beast that beautiful thing is.

By about nine it was in the house. While it's basically impossible for me to move, roll, or dolly it from the side, I was surprised at how easily it moves if the dolly is on the back. Got it to the door without a sweat, but then I needed to cover the pavers with plywood and lay it down on its side to get it in the door.

That, of course, required the “front room” to have the things in it moved to make a good-sized empty opening. The armoire fell off the four-wheeler once or twice, but it made it in and was all ready.

I was a little afraid, but the TV survived the move and worked when I plugged it in.

My Dish appt was any time between eight and noon, and I moved some boxes onto the tables in the yard and did some measuring with the tape measure I was able to find. The yard, I guess, looks a little neater with the boxes on tables instead of just sitting on the dirt, and there was a hint or two of organization, but it's still mostly random or dependent on weight and box size.

I wanted to leave room for the Dish people, so only the small blue bookcase made it into the house and is now situated under the west window. I plan to set that cowboy table next to it, then the armoire just about in the corner.

The southern wall will hold the black desk, the computer one, and I hope to get the Stefania bookcase next to the entrance to the bathroom.

I couldn't be doing all that, though, not while waiting for the Dish people to arrive, but they got here just after noon and a couple hours later they were gone and the TV was working.

So, there's that.

While they were here, “Mike” showed up.

He used to own this place, or his sister did, or something like that, but he lives next door (the brown place) and had a couple pieces of information. He let me know a little about the neighbors but, most importantly, let me know that when he tried to get a building permit for his garage he was pretty much told to never mind. There's no longer anyone checking on permits, not here, anyway, and the county can't be bothered any more with us desert residents.

That may or may not be a temporary thing because of the county's financial state, but he said something about anything being five feet from the structure being ignored.

Hmmm...

Also, and this just goes to show how little I investigated this place before moving in, as it turns out that through the wall air conditioner is also a heater! Mike mentioned that, and I just checked and he's right: it has settings for heat, cool, and just fan.

I found some more kitchen boxes, but that tiny kitchen is a bit daunting. Sure, there are nine cupboards waiting to be filled, but I've yet to figure out what I want to go where. The cupboards may be numerous, but they're also tiny and, like everything else, I have lots of kitchen stuff.

I pretty much took the day, yeah.

Minardi barked when I left for the store, and I've been trying all day to give him lots of attention and make sure he knows he's still part of a pack. True, the pack is only he and I, but I think he misses Mika, Cheryl, and the life he's known up to now. Fortunately or not, he's getting up there and the thought of burying him disturbs me, but most of the day he spends napping, which I hope gives him some relief from any anxiety he might be feeling.

The Dish installers gave him a cookie, which he was reluctant to take at first, even from me, but he took the second one and the girls weren't worried about him or unhappy with his presence at all.

That was another thing I thought about, but I don't think it rose to the level of worry. I just figured I'd put him inside while they were outside and vice-versa, but there was no need.

After they left, I gave up on doing just about everything (Hey! It was hot!), and ended up spending some time learning about the workings of the Dish network. No, not particularly productive, but it had to be done.

Some food, though, did make it into the cupboard, mostly the stuff I'd packed for Rachael's apartment, leftover candy and more ramen.

As far as getting unpacked and moved in goes, I'm willing to give the books and computer games a pass, at least for the time being. Most of the “misc” or decorative shit can also wait. I think my focus should be kitchen, clothing, and furniture arrangement. And, by furniture arrangement, I don't think I mean any more or less than putting bookcases, shelves, and desks somewhere.

Dad's desk is outside, slated for patio furniture. Well, it would be nice to sit out there and use it with a laptop or something. The cowboy desk may end up being my desk for official crap, and maybe those kind of things will sit on its surface. The black desk will stay as the computer desk, and I plan to put it in place tomorrow.

Minardi is troubling me as much as anything else. I want to get him a big bag of cookies, but I don't know how to do that. I could hop in the Jeep and go to a supermarket, something I'd like to do for me, too, but what about him? If I leave him here, he'll get upset. If I take him with me, I'll have to tie him up outside the store, and I'm not sure he'll like that, either.

Yep. This desert living is new for both of us.

For the record, Minardi and I arrived home, at our place in the desert, about a quarter to eight at night. The few things we brought with us in the Jeep were all removed and we were inside, snug and possibly warm, a minute or two after eight.

What we brought with us are as follows:

Seventy-two packages of Crying Tiger Beef flavored ramen

Three bottles Louisiana Garlic Hot Sauce

Two bottles Dark Soy Sauce

Bread, bagels, some Genoa salami, and Polish sausages

One cactus

One Yucca sapling

Minardi is lying on the floor near the door and a moth just brushed my leg.

Because my glass bowls could be most anywhere, I'm borrowing Minardi's new Butterfinger water bowl for my ramen. To be fair, though, “just about anywhere” describes well over 95% of all the things I own. This, now, is my life.

Mik is back at Rachael's apartment, awaiting my sister's return tomorrow. Minardi has moved to the bed and has learned that the best thing to do in the Jeep is lay down and sleep. Maybe that's because it was night and his window was zippered shut.

In any case, in a very real sense, my new life officially begins now, at 8:00 PST, Sunday, November fourth, 2012. This is when I'm here, all my stuff is here, and this is when and where my new life starts.

Yes, other than a dozen or so things, everything is in boxes and by far nearly all the boxes are outside, sitting on the dirt. But, it's all here, no more moving, but if I'm to be honest, I expect that I will be lifting, moving, and touching everything I own about five times before it's all put away.

Tomorrow I should, if I decide to do it, move that armoire inside, especially if it will fit between the corner and the air conditioner.

I need to exercise my female side, the decorating and arranging side, and figure out how to lay out this small home. It's like The Sims, but that may be the same thing as exercising my female side. It would be easier if I didn't need to use up floorspace for a place to sleep.

Anyway, not doing anything tonight. It's 8:45, or nearly ten in the old money. It may be good, it may be bad to have moved when we changed from Daylight Savings Time to regular, but as they say in the twenty-tens, it is what it is.

It's been official since Oct 31 when escrow closed, but if memory serves I didn't actually get the key and visit “my” property until Thursday, Nov 1. I took the dogs up here for a quick visit and to drop off a few things that I felt I might need.

Those things being firewood, an electric lantern, a hatchet, a metal cookie cooling rack to serve as a grill, the Jeep's rear seat (which was taking up room I felt I might need), and a tiny cooking burner and can of fuel.

As it turned out, I didn't need any of those things because, thankfully!, the water, gas, and electricity were left on and working.

Tomorrow, Monday, November 5^th, electricity and water are being transferred into my name, but I don't remember if I talked to the local gas supplier or not. There's a tank on the property, but it looks like it's near empty.

This morning, the fourth, at nine in the morning I got the last of the things out of the u-haul truck. By ten, I had the truck swept clean and out on the street, ready for the drive back to Murrieta. I need to drop Mika, my sister's pug, off so he can greet and be with Cheryl when she comes home from the hospital tomorrow, a day when I need to be here to oversee (hah!) the utilities and, most importantly, the Dish installation.

Internet access will come later, within a day or two (I hope!)

Yesterday was an adventure in moving, but not anywhere near as bad as it could have been. I walked down to the U-Haul place from Rachael's apartment, and that journey took the half hour I allotted for it. Getting the truck (and buying a hand truck) went smoothly, but it took a little longer than I figured to load up the last of the things from Rachael's. It all made it in and I was at the storage place right on time, just in time to get Barry's phone call. I'd  hired him and a buddy to load the truck because they were veterans and cheap.

He and his helper, Phillip, got everything out of the storage place and into the truck in the two hours I hired them for. For a little while it looked as if there would be time and room to load the love seat from Rachael's apt, but there ended up being neither. I tipped each guy $20, which may be more, less, or about what other people give them.

Two things happened on the drive from Murrieta to Landers. One, I found out that this 27' (the $39.95 model) gets horrible gas mileage. I got worried after driving through Hemet that I would run out of gas, especially since I was climbing up the hill on my way to Beaumont. I was able to make it, though, but had my first truck incident driving over the curb and rattling the stuff in the back on my way to the gas pump.

Then, I kinda screwed up and maybe didn't select debit to pay for the gas, which might have cost me more. For some reason, the gas stopped pumping at a little over $100, so I had to stop and get some more at my favorite little cheap gas station just outside Yucca Valley, somewhere around that Travel Lodge where I first got directions to Old Woman Springs Rd.

There I clipped a trailer belonging to some Mexican guys, who took $100 to make things right.

It got, sorta expectedly, a little hairy making the left onto Old Woman Springs Rd, and I yelled at Minardi more than was necessary. He was blocking my view of the passenger rear view mirror, but that had nothing to do with my driving over another curve or making everything in the back of the truck rattle, again, when I did the U-turn necessary to make it onto 247.

But, we got here, all in one piece.

After the mild excitement of loading up my stuff from Rachael's, using my sister's little truck, Buffy, to transport it all from the apartment to the U-Haul, which I parked on the street and doing my best to protect the TV, we got here and I guess I started unloading the truck around 3:30PM.

At first I was attentive and putting stuff, roughly, where I thought it would end up living and mildly putting it away. This first stuff was mostly the miscellaneous crap that wasn't in boxes.

By around five, I started worrying about it getting dark and running out of time and energy, and was at the start of the boxes. These I just pulled out of the truck and started setting outside, by the side of the house. I was past caring, and the home is way too small to hold more than one-tenth of the stuff I brought with me.

By eight or so, I had gotten most of the boxes out and sitting on the ground and was down to the “major” pieces.

I unfurled the futon Rachael lent me (which I will try to purchase from her) on top of some foam rubber, and was delighted to discover that Minardi, who never slept with me at the apartment, curled right up the way he sometimes did on Ramsgate, right up next to my chest.

I was overjoyed.

It didn't last, though, since I got up a short time later to take a shower, forgetting that the soap and things were places unknown, but I did chance upon a towel.

Refreshed, sorta, from the shower, I laid down and had a great night's sleep (for me). I slept about four hours before waking up and noticed that Minardi had moved to the duffle bag full of clothes from Rachael's that was at my head.

I fell back asleep and got up around 6:30, thanks to Daylight Savings Time.

By nine I had the truck emptied, and by ten it was swept, sitting out on the street waiting to take us back to Murrieta, and I was all done with that part of the adventure.

Before moving the first of the big things, the armoire, I had my first meal in my new home, a box of Thai Basil & Chili, which may have come from Trader Joe's. I boiled some water, twice, in the aluminum pan usually used for popcorn, since the microwave was still in truck. The meal was okay, but I couldn't taste much and even though I hadn't eaten anything yesterday when I did the moving, I didn't have much appetite.

I was getting a little light-headed, though, which I blamed on the lack of nutrition, and wished I had some raw eggs to eat.

Once the truck was empty and swept out, I sat down.

Now it's a bit before noon and the next step is driving back to Murrieta to drop off Mik. I might leave the dogs at the apartment to run to the 99cent store for some eggs or to Stater Bros for some groceries. I really don't have much of an appetite, but I haven't since leaving Ramsgate.

One thing I'd like is a window screen kit for the window overlooking the dining area. The other windows have screens, and I'd really like one for the front door, too.

No, there aren't flies or bees or wasps flying around and getting in, not yet, anyway, but some moths were drawn to the outside light last night and managed to make it inside. I wish there was a way, one that I knew of, to turn that outside light on or off.

I also wish I knew where the septic tank was. I'm a little afraid I've covered it with all the junk outside, but I have no idea how full it is, where it is, where the access to it is, or where the draining field is. Sharon Rose, my realtor, gave me the name of a plumbing company that can help, but I'm strangely reluctant to spend any more money right now finding out. I may see if there's a permit for it at the San Bernadino gov't office, but I have no idea when I'd get around to doing that.

One tiny victory: outside the water heater there's a spigot with a rubber hose attached to it. It was dripping water, but after turning it on and as tightly off as I could, that's all but stopped.

Before heading back to Murrieta, I checked my property to see where Minardi had found to take a dump. Mik's spot was on the east side of the house, but no sign of Minardi going anywhere. Maybe he'll need time to settle in.