CALL THE SHIT GUY

I found the best book mark yet, when I cracked open the next (for me) Louise Penny Inspector Gamache novel, The Great Reckoning. Out of the (sorry, Louise) early pages of the book tumbled a small, approximately three by four inch scrap of paper, on which was scrawled in a remarkably elegant flourish for the subject matter at hand, “CALL THE SHIT GUY Re: moving drain field.” As I’ve examined this objet de la vie courante more closely, I’ve realized that the scrap was reutilized as a book mark after completion of the task, as there is a tidy checkmark at the top of the scrap. As a list maker, myself, I appreciate the wonderful feeling checking of something on a list gives you, and also the relish with which this person wrote the todo note. They clearly appreciated the appellation of The Shit Guy because it’s all caps and the urgency of said capitalization makes clear the need to call. Maybe that’s what made them have to stop reading Louise’s book. Or, alternatively, they did not complete the task and just sent the note back with the books to Thrift Books, where it was subsequently sold to an unsuspecting but appreciative reader.

This note took me back to my early teen years when we lived in southwestern Pennsylvania, in a lovely brick colonial that our parents had constructed on land my paternal grandfather had given them to build a house right down the hill from their own spread. The half-acre property sloped down to the municipal road leading out from the town and the septic field was located in the largest stretch of lawn, which my brothers were tasked with mowing with a riding mower. There was also a gingko tree just below the field where I would sit and watch the cars go by the property, sometimes with my friend Liz. My mowing responsibility from about ten to fourteen was the small circular lawn with an arc of birch trees and boxwoods that nestled into the driveway half circle, so I didn’t have the issues that I know my brothers had when the septic field would get muddy and difficult. As it turned out, our parents’ marriage failed and the house was sold before they had to move the field. I wonder if my very elegant mother wrote notes like this one to herself or if that task was allocated to my father for the weekends. Septic field? Septic tank?

At any rate, this note bemused me and as always, I’m looking for larger metaphors for our objets de la vie courante. Especially as I anticipate a rasher of excrement in 2025. Who will be our Shit Guy to call after the newly elected president is inaugurated? I’ll leave the political spin on this to my Dad to touch on and share instead my recent baby steps toward ultimately changing households and my busy weekend cultural dive. In other words, a complete change of topic.

Saturday I forayed out on an open house day with my friend Mary Joan, who was an excellent second set of eyes. Our choice of the Saturday one week before Christmas week was probably poor because LA traffic in the valley and Hollywood areas was worse than I’ve experience in recent years; we saw a few condos that were helpful in shaping my “must have” and “deal breaker” lists.

The first place, listed as 1457 square feet had been remodeled with some kind of vinyl pale colored flooring, white walls, lighting fixtures that were trimmed in black and bathroom fixtures that were oval and new but seemed unapproachable. The building’s hallways were confusing and narrow and even once in the apartment we had a hard time finding our way. It felt significantly maller than my current place which is 1193 sq. feet, and within about 10 seconds MJ and I were shooting disapproving looks at each other. We left and started off to another condo near the Hollywood Bowl. This second place was bigger, and aside from it’s walkable distance to the Bowl, had lovely views onto the hill behind and a den space that had me reconsidering my timetable. However, a wall of mirrors in the living room and what looked like some ceiling damage deterred me even though it had elements that were very appealing. The realtor was great, too. That can make a big difference in your experience; better realtors have better places to show.

The process of looking for a new home as a single person is fraught. I remember when my husband and I saw the unit I currently live in and he said, “I think this is the one.” I had no sense that this was indeed the one, but have thanked him multiple times both before and after his death for his instincts. Ours is a lovely unit overlooking the skyline of Los Angeles, with a generous outdoor space and an interior flow which is comfortable and spacious in spite of its smaller size. I think I can find those things in a new place so in the interest of clarifying for myself, here are my must haves or really want to haves:

• 1400-1800 sq. feet
• preferably no stairs
• two-three bedrooms
• 2-2.5 baths
• charm of some kind – I realize this is difficult and extremely individual to define
• good closet space
• larger kitchen than I have
• 2 parking spaces
• storage unit
• Nice view/good walkable neighborhood

Dealbreakers:

• ugly floors
• evident water damage (though I’m not averse to having house projects)
• difficulty in navigating the neighborhood either because of traffic or lack of parking – I know those of you who know me are chuckling about where I live now, but I actually have two parking spaces and generous visitor parking
• poor layouts
• dark or narrow hallways outside of the condo within the building
• under an active flight path (my friends in that situation will appreciate the specificity of what I’m referring to)

Just to clarify further, I have an amazing realtor already and she is going to be working with me to find the perfect place in the spring. But if you know of someplace or someone who’s selling a place that meets the Must Haves and avoids the Dealbreakers, reach out and I will take a look! Also taking early recommendations for excellent movers.

Last week was very full of cultural and social events. My friend Rob and I attended La Cage Aux Folles at the Pasadena Playhouse and had a fun evening – a romp. Had a great dinner at Star Leaf, which is very near the PPH. If you haven’t seen it, probably too late as La Cage closed on Sunday. Great performances by Cheyenne Jackson and many of the other talented cast. Saturday night I attended Once Upon A Mattress at the Ahmanson, starring Sutton Foster, who was fabulous as the princess, and Michael Urie and Ana Gasteyer gave knockout performances too. Neither of these shows would be on my preferred type of theatre outing, but I had a blast both nights.

But the biggest treat of all came on Sunday afternoon, when I attended the LA Philharmonic’s and Master Chorale’s performance of Arnold Schoenberg‘s Gutte-lieder, which featured about 150 musicians, including four harps! The Master Chorale had one hundred twenty people on stage, eighty of whom made up the chorus of zombies in Part III. The music was lush and expressive, not what I had expected when I opened the program and saw Schoenberg’s name who I’d always associated with keyless atonality. I quickly add that I don’t have a lot of exposure to listening to classical music. This amazing tripartite oratorio was written when he was twenty-six years old. The program notes were fascinating. And the whole piece was conducted by Zubin Mehta. The last time he conducted it was in 1968. I can’t imagine it’s performed frequently with that orchestral requirement as well as truly accomplished singers like the ones featured yesterday. What a treat!

Readying for the holidays while doing some fixer notes in my condo. Now that I’ve changed out all the doorknobs and repaired the sliding door to the patio, things are feeling good!