Allyson Johnson

Pieces of my Mind

Archive for the category “Memoir”

21 Mar 2023
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A Piece of My Mind: Weather or Not

Photo from CalFire CZU

For three years in California we have bewailed the drought, the shrinking reservoirs, the lowering aquifers, and debated whether or not to build additional dams and pipelines despite the environmental cost.  High winds threatened to snap power lines, spark fires, and drive them at breakneck speed across our forests. My gray water from dishes was poured onto any handy plant that would be grateful, my faucets were not allowed to run, I limited my dishwasher to once-a-day, and recklessly combined colors and whites in my laundry to save an extra load. Something called the Peculiarly Persistent Pressure Ridge was pushing rainfall northward, blocking rainfall during what were normally the soggy months.

Now the pattern has changed, at least for a while.  The Peculiarly Persistent Pressure Ridge has melted away, and now we have Atomospheric Rivers from Alaska (COLD!) or Hawaii (WET!) aiming straight at the midriff of California.  Instead of drought, we have record snow pack and rapidly filling reservoirs.  Instead of wildfires, we have floods and landslides.  Instead of talking of building more dams and pipelines, we are rushing resources to repair and maintain the deteriorating system of levys which protects our farmland.  High winds are still a threat, as toppled trees land on power lines and block roadways.

So instead of moaning about the drought, we exchange news of which house was crushed by trees, which roads are blocked, which neighborhood is without power and for how long.

Still, it’s better than arguing about what “woke” means, or whether racism is ingrained in our society, or if a tax cut for the wealthy will ever trickle down to the middle class, or whether the Ukraine will be our next Viet Nam, or the science behind vaccinations.  At least we haven’t politicized the weather. Yet.

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My debut novel, Fox Spirit, is appearing episode by episode on my sister blog, ajmccready.wordpress.com. New episodes arrive every Monday and Thursday. They’re short, so you’re not too late to check them out, and sign up for future happenings

Posted in California, climate, Memoir and tagged
14 Mar 2023
2 Comments

A Piece of My Mind: Hope for the Future – Neighborhood II

My six-year-old granddaughter made a computer. She fit the alphabet and a touchpad onto the lower half of a folded piece of paper, and divided the top half into four sections, each with a picture of herself or one of her best friends.

“We’re having a Zoom meeting,” she explained.

“What is the meeting about?

“We’re talking about how to make our neighborhood a better place,”

You go, girl!

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My debut novel, Fox Spirit, is appearing episode by episode on my sister blog, ajmccready.wordpress.com. New episodes arrive every Monday and Thursday. They’re short, so you’re not too late to check them out, and sign up for future happenings!

Posted in Memoir and tagged
14 Feb 2023
1 Comment

A Piece of my Mind: Brain Transplant

I drowned it!  It’s dead!

Stupid. Plain stupid.

If it hadn’t been   Christmas, I wouldn’t have moved my “office” from the corner of the living room to the kitchen table.   That corner is where the Christmas tree always goes, so I did this every year. 

If our housekeeper hadn’t been ill, I wouldn’t have vacuumed the living room carpet and noticed how dirty it had become.

If we hadn’t decided to have the dining room carpet cleaned too, I would have eaten my lunch at the dining room table as usual.

But it was, and she was, and we did, and so I had my sandwich and a glass of water on the kitchen table next to my computer, and when I reached for a napkin I bumped the glass and…

Drowned my laptop. The screen flickered bravely for a moment as I froze in horror. I reached to turn the computer off, too late. The screen went black, and it was dead.  Not even a snap, crackle, or pop. I took the battery out and turned the corpse upside down on a towel in the bathroom. It streamed water as though I had cut an artery.  I aimed my small space heater at the keyboard.  The next day there were still no signs of life, so I was off to the Geek Squad. 

The Geek on duty managed to look doubtful, even behind the face mask.  Eyebrows are amazingly expressive.

“We don’t handle water damage here.  We send it out, and it will be 3-4 weeks before we get it back, IF they can repair it.  But it’s long odds.”

Armed with a list of laptop ratings from Consumer Reports, I browsed past dozens of glowing screens and stopped at the sleek silver entity CR liked best – “Special Sale 30% off!” How seductive! I picked it up – so light! A sales Geek materialized at my elbow.  “Do you have any questions?”

“Where are the USB ports?”

“You mean, USB-A ports? Oh, almost no one uses USB-A ports anymore.  They’ve all gone to C.”  She showed me the tiny slit on the side of the computer.

“But my external hard drive!  My multiple thumb drives! My mouse!  How do they attach?”

The sales Geek managed to look amused and condescending, even behind the face mask.  Eyebrows are so expressive.

“It’s all in the cloud.  Backup to the cloud.  Access anywhere through the cloud.  You still use a mouse? You’ve got a touchpad and touchscreen. But you can buy an adapter that lets you use your USB-A stuff.”

Back to the Geek Squad station.  The Head Geek offered to check to see whether my hard drive had survived, if I would allow him to open the case.  I felt as though I was ok’ing an autopsy on the corpse.  OK.  Fifteen minutes later, he came back, smiling.  Eyebrows are amazingly expressive.

Next steps: Buy the silver sylph of a computer, give it to the Head Geek, along with the rescued hard drive, and in a few days I reclaim my old computer’s brain transplanted to a slimmer, more powerful, more flexible chassis.

The new computer takes some getting used to.  That cloud thing – I don’t trust it, but that’s where the Sylph wants to put all my files.  On the entry screen and in the cloud I am “Allyson”, but to access files on the hard drive the Sylph only answers to “Owner.” Worse, it keeps offering to complete my sentences for me (even more irritating from a computer than it is from a friend or spouse.)

I will wrestle it into submission.  After all, I am the live person in control.  But I remember that Dr. Frankenstein had some trouble with his brain transplant project also.

Posted in Memoir, TOWN CRIER
28 Dec 2022
1 Comment

A Piece of my Mind: Outlook 2023 (Los Altos Town Crier 12/28/22)

2023 Outlook

I received an email from my financial advisor starting with “Many of us wonder what lies ahead for 2023 in regard to the markets, the economy, and inflation.” It started me thinking. I confess that when I wonder what lies ahead for 2023, thoughts of the markets, the economy, and inflation are way down the list.  Here are some of the things I do wonder about:

  • Will our school children catch up the education and social time lost during the COVID-19 lockdowns?
  • Will someone pick up the opportunity to develop the foreclosed Dutchints site on El Camino Real?
  • Will the Los Altos School District decide what to build on its purchase of land at San Antonio Shopping Center?
  • Will the Los Altos City Council permanently allow outdoor eating parklets on State Street and Main Street?
  • How will the newly elected trustees of the Los Altos Mtn View High School District make good on their promises to address mental health problems among our teenagers?
  • Will the Walter Singer bust finally find a place?
  • Will the Lehigh Permanente Quarry be reclaimed or restored, or will the buck continue to be passed?
  • Will local animal shelters ever run out of abandoned pit bull terriers and Chihuahuas for adoption?
  • Where will Los Altos find space to build “affordable” housing when residential land in the city is selling at roughly $12-15 million per acre?
  • How many flagpoles will eventually be installed at Veterans Community Plaza to satisfy all the groups who want banner representation?

My financial advisor says that 2023 will be “A Year for Yield.”  He has in mind investments in bonds and international markets.  I have in mind a different kind of yield.

Investments in friendship: Will I keep alive friendships that have been based on monthly meetings but for months have been digital at best? Will I learn to use Zoom for meetings that feel like real conversations rather than just talking heads?  Will I remember how to reach out to people as COVID restrictions loosen?

Investments in community activities: Will my work with the American Association of University Women lead to better outcomes for women and girls? Will my participation in the Los Altos Community Coalition help enable less partisanship and more cooperation among civic leaders?

Investments in family: Can I make time to read stories over Zoom to my grand-daughter?  Can I find events and experiences to share with my marriage partner?  Can I find ways to help family members in trouble when we are separated by miles?

Investments in service: Will my helping tend the gardens at the History Museum pay off with more happy events held there? Can I resume volunteer work with the homeless through the Community services Agency despite COVID restrictions? Should I become more involved with political action groups?

The yield on these investments won’t show up in my bank account or on my 2023 tax return. But if they pay off in serenity, quality of life, sense of significance, that’s plenty for me.

Posted in COVID-19, Memoir, TOWN CRIER
22 Nov 2022
3 Comments

A Piece of my Mind: Get Wired or Get Out

I’ve always thought of myself as pretty tech-savvy.  I was an early (think 5.25” floppy discs) user of computers, had an email address with AOL, a car with GPS, and carried a Blackberry for business.  I was always a little ahead of the curve, I thought.

But twice in one week I’ve been jolted into realizing that all that is so last century, and I’m headed for the scrap heap along with the other technological dinosaurs.

The first jolt was at my beloved alma mater just to the north.  It was a lovely day, and my spouse and I decided to pack a picnic lunch and drive up to the campus, where we could eat our bread and cheese while watching the next generation whiz along on motorized scooters and electric bicycles.  On a Wednesday we would have to pay for parking, but what the heck – we’d splurge. My spouse wrote out our license number to tap into the pay kiosk, and I had my credit card at the ready, being grateful I no longer had to scrounge for quarters for the meter.

But when we arrived at our preferred picnic table, no pay kiosks were to be seen.  Instead, a sign on the curb directed me to pay using my smartphone, with an app to be downloaded if I needed it.

Alas!  I had forgotten to plug in my phone that morning, and it languished on the car charger at only 8%.  No chance of downloading or paying anything.  We cruised around a bit, but every Visitor parking space was marked with the same sign. If one has no functioning smartphone, one is a non-person on this campus.  We turned back to picnic at a local park, where parking was free and the younger generation strolled by on strollers and pushbikes as we ate our bread and cheese.

The second jolt was at my local museum, which is currently undergoing a remodel, but where the staff had created an outdoor exhibit, where visitors could amble through the museum garden along a path where signboards and photos illuminated the career of an illustrious local author.   I love museums, and usually spend at least an hour per exhibit because I can’t resist reading every explanation on every wall and every caption on every exhibit (much to the chagrin of my impatient spouse).

But I zoomed through this exhibit.  Instead of time-and-budget-consuming informative posters, each of the eight pathway markers was adorned with a few photos, a brief paragraph, and four of five QR codes to be scanned for “additional information”.

My phone was charged, this time, and I have a QR code reader on it, but standing in the sun staring at a miniature screen was not compelling.  I passed up hearing a daughter talk about her father’s work habits, the author reading from his own work, photos of the author’s boyhood, and many other QR code- accessible features of interest.  The thre- step process, the scrolling through screen after screen, the phone held to my ear, the ignoring of my surroundings… I decided I knew enough about the illustrious author without that. 

So I may have to confine my visits to my alma mater to late afternoon when the parking limits expire.  And when the local museum completes its remodel, I’m hoping it will have the headphones and placards and interactive displays I am used to.  Meanwhile, look for me at the Computer History Museum.  I’ll be one of the exhibits.

Posted in Memoir and tagged
03 Nov 2022

What I Did on my Summer Vacation

I attended at least three meetings a week on ZOOM.

I stood in line (masked, but not distanced)

I rode in a bus (masked, but not distanced)

I rode in a train (masked and distanced – not many riders).

I flew in a plane (masked, and with a vacant middle seat)

I ate inside at a restaurant (not masked, but distanced)

I served myself food in a cafeteria (with a disposable glove, masked)

I ate meals in a dining hall with people who were supposed to be vaccinated, but no proof was required. (not masked, not distanced, lots of open windows)

I went to an outdoor live music performance (not masked, distanced)

I went to an indoor theatrical performance (singing from the stage, not masked, not distanced, no windows) that lasted two hours.

I attended several lectures, and emceed a variety skit night (not masked, not distanced, lot of open windows, everyone had provided proof of vaccination) each lasting at least an hour.

I attended several exercise classes. (not masked, not distanced, lots of open windows)

I hosted a meeting of eighteen people on one of those 100-degree days, so we moved inside.

I had a COVID-19 test.

Negative! – I got away with  all of it.

BUT:

My #2 son and his family  (fully vaxxed and boosted) caught COVID-19 while traveling.  It took a couple of weeks for them to return to normal.

My #1 son and his family (fully vaxxed and boosted) came down with COVID-19 together the weekend after the son started school with live classes.

I’m getting another booster shot this afternoon.

Some weeks later:

I’m scheduled for a minor precautionary medical procedure. Three days in advance, I’ll need another COVID-19 test, the kind where you send the results to a real laboratory and wait for clearance.

We’re not out of the woods yet. Cross fingers.

Posted in COVID-19, Memoir | Leave a comment
12 Oct 2022

Freeway-free in California: Amtrak Falters, BART to the rescue

We are ready for the parting of our ways:  M and the trailer will return to Davis, where she will dive headfirst into the maelstrom of detail involved with selling a house and buying another, while I will catch a Capital Corridor train at Fairfield and spend a relaxing two hours reading, writing, admiring the scenery, and feeling sorry for the people in the homeless encampments along the tracks.

First wrinkle:  There are now TWO Amtrak stations in Fairfield.  Our faithful GPS unerringly directs us to the new one, Fairfield – Vacaville.  I have been to the Fairfield station before it was re-labeled Suisun -Fairfield, and I am pretty sure this adobe “Transit Center” in the middle of a giant parking lot next to nothing at all is not it. 

Moments of panic –I check my ticket and realize the error.  Is this really a train stop?  Where are the tracks?  Will my ticket be good starting at a different station. Should we head off for the other station? Cooler heads prevail; I spot an underpass which leads toward the tracks, we trundle through and there are a couple of benches and a sign saying that the train I am scheduled to travel on will arrive in 15 minutes, and, most reassuringly, another passenger waiting. 

I hug M, “Wonderful trip!” and watch her pull out of the parking lot.  The train arrives as advertised, and the conductor doesn’t get around to our car to check my ticket until after we have arrived at and left Suisun Fairfield.  My only regret is the lack of a snack machine at the new station – I had counted on a candy bar to get me through to my Great America stop.  Rummaging through my tote bag, I find a forgotten granola bar.  All is well.

Until we get to Richmond.  We stop.  And stay.  An unintelligible announcement is made.  I get out and find a conductor in the next car.  “There’s damage to the tracks ahead.  We don’t know how long the delay will be.  Could be 45 minutes.  Could be two hours.”

I go back to my car, inform my fellow passengers, and we stare disconsolately out the window – at the sign that says “Take underpass for BART”.  The young woman across from me is distraught. “I’ve GOT to get to the Oakland Airport for a flight!  I allowed an extra hour but…”  

I look at the sign.  “There’s a BART stop at the Oakland Airport”, I tell her.  There is also a new BART station in Milpitas, not so much further from home than the Great America station.  We gather our bags and lead a parade of passengers to the BART station.

To our surprise and pleasure, a BART official is handy who tells us “We have an arrangement with Amtrak.  Just go through that turnstile there – no charge.”  A BART train arrives a few minutes later, I phone my Personal Travel Agent at home, he checks the route to the new station, and I settle down to read, write, admire the scenery, and feel sorry for the people in the homeless encampments along the tracks.

Coda: The next day I get a standard email from Amtrak asking about my trip.  I grouse about the lack of signage at the new station and most particularly about the delay and poor communication about it.  The next day I receive another email from Amtrak giving me a voucher good for the value of my trip from Fairfield –Suisun to Great America.  They are trying!

Posted in California, Freeway Free, Memoir, Train travel, Travel and tagged , | Leave a comment
04 Oct 2022

Freeway Free in California: Ocean to Forest to Vineyards – What’s not to like?

We wake from untroubled sleep to fog outside and a healthy breakfast of fruit and granola as a sendoff. We dress lightly in spite of the fog, as we know summer heat is just on the other edge of the fog bank. Bits of sun are already breaking through as we pass Arcata and Ferndale without stopping for the Victorian delights available there.

But now we are truly in Redwood Country, and we can’t resist the Avenue of the Giants, so we take the side road off the freeway through the green canyons of Humboldt Redwoods State Park. We do stop to switch drivers and use a restroom at the Eternal Tree House. (Yes, it’s a cheesy roadside attraction, but the setting is beautiful, the cafe is hospitable, and the restrooms are clean.)

No signs anymore commemorating the great flood of 1964, and there is no trace of the town of Weott anymore, though Google says remnants still exist high above the flood plain.

And then we emerge into sunlight and suddenly the outside temperature is in the 90’s.  Our Redwood RV Resort is right next to Hwy 20, a fairly busy e/w corridor from Willits to Ft. Bragg, but it has shady valley oaks and redwoods, a pool, a splash park, a trail through adjacent vineyards, and lots of Hispanic families and American flags.  We back successfully into our gravel pad (four tries to get close enough but not too close to the picnic table), change to airy cotton frocks, lay out late lunch/early appetizers of hummus and veggies and Ritz crackers on a little table at the splash park, and watch the children playing int the water. It’s 90 degrees in the sun, but we are not in the sun, and we are feeling very relaxed.

Posted in California, Freeway Free, hidden treasures, Memoir, Travel, Uncategorized and tagged , , | Leave a comment
28 Sep 2022

Freeway Free in California – Morning among the Giants, Evening among Friends

 

My old friends T & C, who live in McKinleyville, arrive at our campsite. T is a volunteer ranger at Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, so of course we go for a hike enjoying all sorts of special tidbits of knowledge provided by our Personal Tour Guide – and also the lunch goodies brought by C. We eat our lunch at the foot of the big tree used in a National Geographic article about mapping the redwood canopy. re redwoods.

T&C twist our arms a bit and we desert our campsite in favor of a night in their new “downsized “ 3br / 2ba home with a 270 degree view of ocean and forest. Every wall and bookcase is filled with photos, artifacts, and mementoes. The old house accomodated a family of nine, but looking around, I can’t see what’s missing, other than the seven kids.

T, M and I go for a walk on Clam Beach, a short hike from their promontory. I find a whole sand dollar. Lucky omen for upcoming days, we hope.

After dinner C offers board games, and I choose Scrabble. Fair warning: Don’t ever let me choose Scrabble! Years of crossword puzzles, anagrams, and the license plate game make me near invincible. (However, Son#1 skunks me regularly – don’t know what he practices on!)

Our bedroom – a queen-sized blow up bed, two large glass-fronted cabinets mounted on the walls, both full of Madame Alexander and other collectible and not-so-collectible dolls. All those glass eyes staring at us as we sleep. I’m glad I never saw those Chucky movies.

Posted in California, Freeway Free, Memoir, Travel and tagged , , | Leave a comment
20 Sep 2022
2 Comments

Freeway-Free down the Left Coast

For the next two days we amble our way down the Left Coast, hugging the coastline, stopping once in a while to admire the sweeping surfline, the white sand dunes, the rock stacks, the redwoods. We spend a night near Florence at Honeyman State Park, one of the largest campgrounds in Oregon, we are told, but still offering fairly secluded hookups for our trailer and, I suppose, a hundred others.

We stop at Bandon to visit our nephew J, who is living a bachelor life in a fixer -upper in the charming seaside town of Bandon. When he has finished the re-hab, he will rent the cottage out as an AirB&B. On the day we visit it is still missing a fence, kitchen counters and appliances, but he assures us that his first renter will find it habitable when he arrives the following week. We can see what a nice seaside pied a terre it isgoing to be – but not quite yet.

J breaks for lunch and takes us for seafood sandwiches at Tony’s Crab Shack, and gives us a brief tour of Bandon’s interesting spots. That orange globe in front of the house facing the ocean? It’s a tsunami escape pod.

We continue down the coast, crossing into California, where the highway swings inland to introduce us to the towering trees of the Redwood Empire. More on this next week!

Posted in Freeway Free, hidden treasures, Memoir, Oregon, Travel and tagged , , ,

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