Bucket List 2025

My bucket list is so out of date. I am going to start afresh

1. Meet distant family in Ireland

2. Be a balloon wrangler in the Thanksgiving Day Parade

3. Participate in an archaeological dig

4. Milk a cow

5. Learn to drive a forklift

6. Blow glass

1. This is closer than ever. I have applied myself to my research and I now know who our next generation of rellies is on one side of my family. It feels great to accomplish that step.

2. This is also closer than ever. More in these pages soon

3. Just came to me that I have always wanted to do that

4. I finished listening to an audiobook about a woman who lived on a farm in Norway, and was reminded that I want to do this. How hard could it be to get the opportunity?

5. I have always regretted not taking that .25 unit class at school, but it was early on Saturday mornings

6. I can do this easily. I always assumed that my 30 years of smoking would make this impossible, but I haven't smoked for almost 18, so I am thinking this would be possible.

Big Bouncin' Week

If there is one thing I know for certain, it's that people really like forklifts, and this year marks the 30th anniversary of our first forklift line. There's lots of interest. I've been giving talks about the 30th (in Bologna, and for the special forklift fanclub) and it's been going pretty well. Recently I got an invitation from the John Deere Family Museum to do the 30th presentation there and, well, I was thrilled and nervous to do so.

Then a week or so ago my new uber boss recommended me for membership in the forklift academy. Note that there aren't any archivists or categories for them in ForkAcad. But he thinks I'd be a great addition and wants to try. I got the email from ForkAcad, logged into the application form, and there it was -- the golden forklift, the branding that we all know -- the special font -- even getting the first email felt like an honor. Anyhoo --

I'm in the middle of filling out my application, which is like writing a resume. Writing a resume is the depth of misery, in my opinion. People who have helped me write my first resume and read this blog can attest that it's no fun for anyone involved.

I have imposter syndrome. I'm an introvert. I find summoning the words to describe the work I've done to be a challenge, especially when so much of what we do is collaborative. My therapist thinks that this is a fantastic task for me to have to do right now, and I agree. But it's so haaaaaard! This week I kept asking for feedback on my answers to the questions in the application form, because I don't want to bring the forklift company into disrepute by saying the wrong thing. My regular boss says I need to be less granular about describing the work -- "It's not like anybody told you to do those things you've done. You think them up and do them yourself!" And my uber boss, who has been supportive of me since he arrived at the factory 14 years ago, wants more archives stuff in my answers. He's right. She's right. By the end of the week I felt much more confident about what I was doing and saying. The ForkAcad interface keeps eating my answers when I hit "save", but hopefully by the 5pm deadline tomorrow, my answers will be submitted securely.

Yesterday was my big day at the museum. I rehearsed my presentation the week and day before. I left the house on time. I bought a new dress. I wore slimming garments (not really necessary because my cute new dress is VAST), but whatever. I even used a curling iron. My fabulous hair took a hit from the wind at the gas station, but there's nothing that makes a girl hitting the road feel better than having a full tank of gas, so I decided to take that as a win instead.

My sister from another mister and her husband came to see the presentation and be my moral support. This was essential. They ate lunch with me beforehand, and we all walked down to the theater together. Also she wore my mom's favorite earrings which we gave her after mom died. So sweet.

The talk was a big rousing success. They got me. They got the material. They were all pretty knowledgeable, which I pointed out to them while I was talking, because I could see so many of them nodding their heads when I mentioned certain things that were familiar to them. They laughed! When I put up a photo of some of the forklift designers, all really young, wearing super dorky matching shirts, the audience thought it was hilarious because they knew who those folks were and what they look like now. It made it so much easier for me to relax and be myself. "Goofy but authoritative" is my lane.

There was a Q&A -- "You! Man with long arms in back!" and an autograph signing. I predicted that this would be lightly attended, if at all, based on previous experience, and I was incorrect. There were all kinds of people -- they let me sign their stuff, or book plates. I signed a few books that I'd worked on. A student at my alma mater who studies forklifts especially liked my description of forklift color. A girl in my program at my alma mater said I was famous (which is weird and I doubt because I don't have much of a presence out there). I took it as she meant it and was very grateful. I talked to children. To couples. And a friend who I didn't see in the audience who used to work at John Deere was there! People thanked me for the work we do, and everybody super loved the talk. And my dear friends who came with me really liked it. I was hoping I wouldn't bring shame upon them. They asked me for a tour of the factory, so they *must* have liked it! I love them.

I'm still winding down. And feeling really good about the job I did for my kind hosts. I drove back over the bridge in Tiger Brown with a smile on my face and a full tank. Tomorrow I'll finish that application for ForkAcad and will relax. 

After this, I don't have any big dates coming up until Thanksgiving. 

Whooooooo!!!!

Beach Cleanup

Yesterday I helped with beach cleanup near where I work. It was a gorgeous day, the ground squirrels were flitting in and out of the rocks, and the pelicans were flying overhead. My teammates were from HR. We brought in a lot of trash, and put plant flags in the areas where there were hypodermic needles.

It felt good to be outside doing something and to be done by 11:30. 

I really want to know what this one plant is. And this one I know I've seen, but I can't recall the name.

Then I went to the genealogy library to look at a book about one of my family names. As usual, there were just a few paragraphs about that name in County Meath, where my people were last before emigrating. I took photos of a few pages and then went home.

Then off to the store to buy some boeuf and make chili for mrguy, who was very happy and made a little chili song for me in anticipation of his dinner. Chili, cheese Stonehenge and chips was on the menu. It was super tasty, even though I ran out of oregano.

We watched Fake or Fortune, an English show in which they try to authenticate artwork. I've been watching it for quite some time, after I go to bed, but when I showed it to mrguy recently he started referring to it as "My new favorite show". 

The boy does love his art.

What to Do?

Mrguy's half brother and his extended family left the state, leaving behind family cremains. Somebody thought mrguy wanted his stepdad's ashes, not realizing that he wasn't his real dad. Mrguy's step-niece ended up holding them and she reached out last weekend. What to do?

She isn't related to the ashes and never met them when they were a person.

Mrguy isn't interested in them because his stepdad was a creepy dude who punched him.

We discussed many options, including tossing them in the trash and saluting the pail (my idea). But mrguy is a proper fellow and was torn between wanting to do the right thing for his stepdad and wanting nothing to do with this problem and feeling sorry for our step niece because she was stuck in the middle. I pointed out that, yes, mrguy could make a long drive down to pick up the ashes and maybe get a niche near his mom's, but that he only has so much time and energy in his current situation.

Step niece to the rescue. She mentioned her situation to a friend who has a friend with a boat. For $600 the friend will scatter the ashes in the bay. Mrguy and I paused for a sec because that's where we scattered the big guy, and we don't really want their particles to be mixed up, and that's also where *we* want to be scattered and we don't want any of our creepy dude on us. 

But we will be dead then, and whatever.

Four More Typewriters Leave The Nest

I did a handoff in the parking lot at work this week. They're getting rehabbed at a local typewriter joint, and will be owned by writers who like typewriters.  

I hope they go on to lead happy lives.

That Guy

Do you know this fellow? I'm assuming he's AI, and he interrupts my YouTube feed on the regular. He tells me to stop eating blueberries immediately and to eat butter.

You are not the boss of my gut biome, AI guy.

Another Painting

If this painting weren't 55" x 43" I would consider bidding on it.

I have been in that room and know the view. It's a small corner adjacent to the modest kitchen in the house where I used to pose for artists some mornings. It fascinates me that Charles would paint such a grand-sized and dreamy painting of such an austere space. I remember coming in for a gig one day, and in that kitchen he was serving a pork chop to another man, in his bathrobe. I remember the pork chop, a cast iron pan and a striped terry robe.

Houses of that era just post earthquake often had a steep wooden staircase to the downstairs, with a galvanized pipe serving as the handrail. I remember the sweet smell of raw wood rising from the painting studio as I went downstairs, and the striped curtain on a thin cotton rope offering a bit of modesty as I changed into my own robe in the closet. A bare bulb with a beaded nickel pull chain hung overhead in that tiny space.

Few people who had a relationship with the kitchen in the painting are still alive. It makes me feel as if it would be a sin if I didn't buy it, as if I owe Charles and the painting something for knowing it's out there and disconnected from its context.

Or it's ok. My thoughts are just facts, and what Charles meant by painting this setting may have been something else entirely.

Probably gonna let it go.

The Last Potato Pancake

At one point while I was driving around on Saturday, I got a text from my ex-boss that she was having a really really final day at the restaurant and a final toast. I rsvped yes. Then I got a text from the former GM asking if I was going and whether I'd see if I could rally the ladies. None of them were available, but then a plan formed where a bunch of us who worked together circa 1990-1993 would share a final meal.

But first I had an afternoon date with my girlfriend and neighbor at the wine and dog bar. Very fun to catch up and drink wine and pet dogs.

Sunday was delightful, with a walk with a different girlfriend. It was good to get out in nature-ish. She showed me a beach where we could swim if we have another heat wave. Then I had a bit of a rest and went out to the final meal. It was fun and loud and tasty. The GM and I share a name and he'd brought his daughter and a son who also shares his/our name. It's been so long since I'd been in a room with so many people with our name. Someone would say the name and three of us would turn our heads. Reminded me of Friday nights where there were three of us. I had to change my waitress name on my tickets (usually a letter) because GM had claimed that letter.

Anyhoo, I had my final potato cheese pancake with a side salad. Eaten with my hands, rolled up together in bites. It was a perfect potato cheese pancake. Not because it was the final one, and in fact I had a kinda sub-par one a month ago. It is just that it was perfect.

I took the GM and his kids to public transit. So he heard my latest podcast listen -- a history of women in hip hop. He knows how little I know about the subject and cracked up that I was a) interested b) listening to something so academic about music. I'm back in my own lane now, by the way, listening to the story of people who collect eiderdown from duck nests on an island in Norway.

On Monday, after a walk with my tiny but mighty friend, I had a thought. A good one, not like most of my thoughts. It's been weighing on me that I want to get rid of my 19 typewriters, but didn't know how. Some are enormous and not in good shape. In a flash of brilliance I remembered the reuse / recycle place that's near work.

This is what a dozen-ish typewriters look like in Tiger Brown. And on a cart. I feel accomplished!

While I was cleaning the garage I was inspired to find a home for my clown painting. I put it on the free table, making a lady at work very happy.

And just a few more pictures from the week. Mrguy sent me this photo of boy kitten relaxing on a pillow near his Clayton Bailey jug, enjoying his window.

Also there was a shipwreck at the ob/gyn.