Studio Ruthe

Back to normal

Five week and two days later I am finally feeling as well as before I fell. No fooling, it takes a long time to heal. I've been to a nurse practitioner at my primary care office and two different eye doctors. I was beginning to think I would never get back to normal, so I'm very pleased with this day. I've also been involved with a lot of financial nonsense. Just when I most needed everything to function without my intervention, it was not to be. The pharmacy department of my health insurance decided I was expired. I don't know if that meant dead, or that I was no longer covered by the policy. The hassle with the pharmacy and then the several calls with the company was annoying in the extreme. I cringe inside every time I have to call a company. That's just one example. So I cleaned up the kitchen, started a crockpot with soup, and got a haircut. Now, if those dark circles under my right eye would go away, everything would be wonderful.

I don't want to write this one

I am not moving. I had sorted and packed most of my studio, thrown out or recycled an amazing amount of stuff, then signed a lease with my present landlord. So, what happened? My deal fell through. After four days of hearing nothing I was asked to make the offer a little better, but no counter offer was made. We added a thousand dollars. On the fifth day, deadline day, we were told we had a deal, went into the office to make application to the co-op, and were told no deal. The apartment has been on the market since last October, they haven't been paying their monthly assessment, but no go. There was an additional bit of nonsense looking at other apartments, but I came away with nothing.

I am slowly unpacking or putting the boxes away. I will keep looking, go to New York for three weeks next month and Chicago in October. Maybe I can think of other ways to stay away from here. Someone suggested I look for a place in New York. It's a tempting thought.

I took a break from my unpacking yesterday and spent the day working on another iteration of my tunnel book. I've got it all printed and all of the pieces that get folded are scored. Next comes the glueing and cutting out the centers. Pictures soon.

Maybe I am moving, maybe not

I made an offer on one of those apartments in the building I didn't want to buy into, having found out they might accept me in spite of my lack of four times income. I haven't signed a new lease on this apartment, and the contract needs some renegotiation before I will sign it. I am getting ready to move out at the end of this month if necessary. My workroom, the second bedroom, has the most stuff in it and is the most chaotic. This is where I am working and suddenly I realized I am relinguishing parts of my life. You know, throwing out the souvenirs: class notes, web design information (I did that for a while), font samples from my printing business, Excel text books (tried to become an expert a user) technical writing manuals, even some I wrote myself, like going from QuarkXpress to Adobe Indesign, and some magazines with beautiful pictures and papers. A few books of paper samples still on the shelf really should go. I'm gearing up to it. I haven't looked at any of this stuff in the six years I've been in Pittsburgh. I don't suppose I'll miss it. Three of five shelves in one bookcase are now empty.

The new apartment, assuming I get it, needs the carpeting removed, wood flooring installed (I have area rugs) and complete redecorating. All of this will have to be done before I move in. I would also like to put in a shower instead of the tub, but that can be done after, there being two bathrooms. 

I don't know what this will do to my New York trip. With any luck I should be able to go, I hope. Sale of the new apartment wouldn't close until the end of August, at least, so it's just a matter of what I do with my current arrangements.

Russians, no Japanese, no new digs

Yesterday I went to a birthday party for my Russian friend/ESL student. It was a lovely party with many Russians, most of them US citizens, and several of us born-and-raised-here, Americans. My friend's oldest son made the first toast, the first time his mother could celebrate her birthday and Independence Day. He expressed his gratitude for the family coming here and for the opportunities they have found. These are not children. Both sons are adults who are making important contributions to American life. My friend, who has an MD and PhD could also make an important contribution, but, because of her age (70) and her language difficulties, although her English is progressing amazingly, this is unlikely. In any case, I was very impressed with the obvious appreciation for our country expressed by the Russians. I don't think this happens these days in all-American circles. This Russian family is exceptional, but I suspect we get much more than we ever give to them from most of the immigrants who come here.

I made another Birthday Book for my friend, which occupied most of my time the last few weeks. Just before the party I was told by an acquaintance that I shouldn't be collecting birthdates from the Russians. That this kind of thing was not part of their culture. It worried me for about 15 minutes, but I had received encouragement from everyone in her family and birthdates from most of the people pictured in the book. At the party everyone seemed pleased and told me it was a great idea. I don't know what to think.

Do you remember my great poster? It sits framed, on the floor leaning against the wall, because I didn't want to make another hole in the wall just before I moved. Each time I walk past it reminds me I have now pushed two major events into the next year: my Japan trip and moving out of my apartment. Japan only bothers me a little, but not moving is making me very unhappy. I will be signing a new lease, which will have an escape clause in it, but it hasn't happened yet so I keep hoping I'll find something. Sadly, nothing new has come on the market in the last three weeks.

One small consolation for all of this is I will go to New York next month and spend enough time to see all of my friends, and probably all of the museums.

A moving week

With the date for my exit from my apartment rapidly approaching I'm feeling increasing pressure to find another place to live. I've spent most of the last week looking at apartments, without finding anything that makes me happy. My requirements are, first, size. I want two bedrooms. Second, location: I want some place interesting to walk to or about. Of course, affordability is very important, but there seem to be lots of places I could afford, or almost afford. Third is resale potential. This might not be the last place I will live.

I found a great condo I can almost afford in a building I don't want to live in. Location is OK, but not the greatest. I will have to get a mortgage, which I'm not sure I want to do.

A co-op building near Pitt and CMU has a number of empty apartments, several of which I like. The location would be great and the apartments are cheap reasonably priced. I kept wondering why they were so hard to move and finally got an answer. Co-op rules require you to pay cash for the asking price, have an additional $100,000 in the bank and have an income four times the monthly maintenance, about $4000/month. I can't meet the income requirement, and I suspect few people who might want one of those apartments have that kind of income. 

I think a case could be made about discrimination against elders, however I think the rule was made to keep parents from buying their student children an apartment, another kind of discrimination.

I owned a co-op apartment in New Jersey and swore I would never do it again. This brings it all back to me. Too bad; one of those apartments would be ideal.

So I'm still looking. I won't be homeless: worst case, I put my stuff in storage and move in with Robin and Steve until I find something.

This week

Lots of things happened.

Still taking Cipro (until Tuesday). Slightly better each day, but still a problem.

I am going to move again. I didn't really plan to do this, but I've been unhappy with this apartment for some time now. After my fight with the landlord I think it's best if I get out. So I've been spending a lot of time looking, online and otherwise. There are lots of apartments for rent but not many I want or can afford.

Because of this, and because I should do it anyway, I'm trying to get rid of stuff. Last week I shredded or threw out tax returns from 1988 through 2002. I didn't even know I had them. They came with my divorce.

Last weekend I went to a benefit concert for Japan, actually the second one I've been to. This was at Pitt and included some Japanese cultural things as well as good music. This photo is from the tea ceremony.

I found it strange and interesting to have the camera man right in there with the participants while a ghostly image of the action was projected onto the screen behind. It reminded me of the Bunraku performance I saw in Osaka where the puppet masters stand directly next to the life-size puppets. All the camera man needed was a black hood around his head.

More beautiful trees from the 'burgh. These are in a somewhat run down park that was once the site of George Westinghouse's mansion.

Telephones and email

Ronni Bennett has an interesting post about telephone culture. While I largely agree with her, sometimes I think I email are useful. I live in a duplex. For the past 2+ months the landlord has been renovating the other apartment. Mostly, it hasn't been a problem, but getting in and out of the driveway, which is the only entryway into the building, has become a huge problem. Last Friday I came home with bags of groceries and couldn't get past the two trucks in the driveway. My neighbor helped me, but I finally lost it, called and left an unpleasant message about entry and egress, all the dirt inside and outside the building, the light in my kitchen that no longer works, and so on. I really wanted to put all of this in an email. It probably would have been less sarcastic (I can be very bad) and generally more even tempered if he couldn't hear my voice. Emoticons don't have the same effect. I accused him of forgetting I was still here and paying rent.

When he finally called back he yelled at me--I guess, for complaining. I thought I was being wonderful. It took me a long time to finally complain (2 months). I don't like being yelled at, so I hung up. When he finally called back he said he thought we were cut off. I told him I hung up. He stopped yelling. I've never done anything quite like this, that is, being so forthright and not backing down. I'm rather proud of myself. And, I think he owes me an apology. This is supposed to be finished this week. I can only hope.

Oh, and he did some cleaning and the workmen are being more careful about the trucks.

Lots of little things

My refugee student passed his citizenship exam. Three cheers. He wants to continue learning how to read. I'm very proud of him.

Most of my classes are finished for the year. I have one last one tomorrow, but I think I'm going to pick up Eli from the airport instead.

I've been going to the health club and doing more organizing in my workroom. It's a long way from finished, but I'm making progress. I have a very old drafting/light table. It was useful when I was taking lots of slides. Now it's just another surface to clutter. As soon as I finish removing the clutter I'm going to try to sell it. It's really an antique.

I fixed two pairs of pants that needed repairs and took apart two jackets that need altering. I hope I still remember how to do it.

My new doctor told me to get one of those medical alert bracelets because of the Coumadin. It arrived yesterday and I'm wearing it. I feel like I've crossed a line between health and chronic illness, although nothing has really changed.

Big booboo

I screwed up big time today. My calendar said I had a 9:45 appointment for a pacemaker clinic. I went to the cardiologist's office only to find I was supposed to show up last week. The nurses were very kind, didn't scold me and got the Medtronics technician to come in just for me. Everything's fine, but I'm not happy. As I have aged I have tried extra hard to be organized and keep track of things. I don't know how I made this mistake. I vaguely recall getting a letter telling me about the appointment, which I probably discarded after I made the note in the calendar. I always feel like I'm drowning in paper so I try not to hang on to everything. But I'd love to see that paper. Also, they always call me if I'm not on time for my pacemaker phone check, but they never called about the clinic. I guess I just have to forget about it, but it really bothers me.

Me and Ayn Rand

This is the story I'm writing for my memoir class. I'm having fun with this after all.

I am embarrassed to confess the influence Ayn Rand has had on my life, so I haven’t told this story often. I prefer to think it was all because of Gary Cooper as Howard Roark.

Saturday afternoon was always movie time. There were five theaters in walking distance, but we usually went to the Terminal, a Balaban & Katz 1920’s picture palace, named after the elevated train terminus just down the block. It was the best theater with almost first run features. That day we were seeing The Fountainhead, taken from Ayn Rand’s book of the same name, about an individualistic Frank Lloyd Wright type architect who refuses to compromise his work or his ideals, regardless of the money involved.

Sitting in the dark, totally enchanted by awesome Gary Cooper and beautiful Patricia Neal, my unhappy, depressed 15 year old self, certain high school was a terrible compromise, totally bought into the idea of taking action to be true to herself. By the time the movie finished I was so excited and so convinced I had found a solution to my misery I couldn’t sit through the second feature. I did not want to think about anything else as I waited for my friends in the lobby.

Wanting desperately to be an artist, maybe even an architect, the movie affected me deeply. I was convinced my life until then had been a terrible compromise; I had to change things. I thought about all my alternatives and realized there was only one that was acceptable: I could go on to college after one more year of high school. My friend Eva, whom I met in classes at the Art Institute, went to U high, the laboratory school of the University of Chicago. From her I learned U High was only two years and then students could go on to college at the university. Also, the university would accept students from any high school after two years. Robert Maynard Hutchins, Chancellor of the university, believed students didn’t learn anything in the last two years of high school. I felt I was a living embodiment of his belief.

I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. First, I had to convince my parents, who thought I was too young to go to college. Then, of course I had to be accepted at the university. My high school teachers and principal hated the university; I had trouble getting recommendations; Hutchins arrows had hit their mark. Adding another layer of angst, Hutchins went before one of the communist witch-hunting committees and defended his faculty, assuring the committee that being a communist would not be grounds for the dismissal of his professors. It was a very difficult year, but I prevailed. Three months after my sixteenth birthday I went to college. I learned how to read critically and how to think. I did not become a communist. I met my husband there, our daughter met her husband there and now both of my grandchildren are going there. You can see that Ayn Rand and Gary Cooper certainly influenced my life.