Tag Archives: Palm Springs

It’s that time of year! Frango time!

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Every year, for as long as I can remember during my married life, I’ve helped my husband with Holiday cards and small gifts of appreciation for his clients. I add that to my personal cards and friends and family gifts.

Frango mints hold a dear place in my heart. When I was in elementary school, Mom would drive me to the city (Seattle) for back-to-school shopping at Frederick & Nelson’s, an old fashioned department store. Frederick’s had an amazing toy section, books, clothing, even a Steuben glass room and a whole floor of fabrics, patterns and notions. We’d have lunch at the counter in the basement and after lunch, Mom would buy me a single Frango mint.

When I have a Frango mint, I remember Mom.

For the past years, I’ve mailed out Frangos to my husband’s clients. It’s quite a project and I’m pleased that over our quiet Thanksgiving weekend I got started.

I enjoyed when my daughter was in high school and helped me with this project because two hands are better than one!

I’ll never forget one year in the Palm Springs post office, when the postal worker asked me to re-label my stack of Frango Mints to save money on mailing. My daughter and I wrote new labels as fast as we could, and the postal worker was ringing them up and punching into her computer. We actually had teamwork going and it didn’t slow down the process at all for those waiting behind us. It looked like it did — because of us filling out new labels — but in reality it took no more time. The postal worker was moving as fast as she could and she hadn’t caught up to our new labeling.

But the comments and cursing I heard that day! My daughter had my back and defended us loudly to those behind us. I was afraid one impatient person was going to come to blows with us. Or my daughter would get into a fight defending me.

I’ve made friends with our postal workers in Carefree (like I did for 30 years in Palm Springs) and gave them their own box of Frangos. This will be my third year of overwhelming the small Carefree post office with packages. They’ve told me to never come in on Mondays and what hours are best. I’ve also learned to come in on multiple days with no more than ten to a dozen boxes. It may take a few more trips, but I understand how people in line get annoyed at having to wait.

I’ve never had a bad experience with a postal worker. Just the people waiting behind me. I’ve also found people in Carefree are happier and more patient than the Palm Springs customers.

Thankfully, gift giving in our family has gotten smaller and easier. It’s spending time together that’s most important. I can’t wait for Christmas this year with our kids coming to our home for the first time to celebrate. The past few years, we’ve rented a place in Palm Springs or Santa Barbara to be together.

So what are Frangos?

Remembering Olive

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Kitten Olive with her best friend Angus, may they both rest in peace.

It’s been a sad few days for me. But I’m forcing myself to go outside and walk. I also spent time going through all the Olive photos on my iphone. I’m sharing some of my favorites here today.

Olive enjoying the Palm Springs lifestyle.

angry kat shreds tp
Olive in a negative mood

Olive found herself locked in the car. I have no idea how that happened. She was deathly afraid of cars and hated them.

A picture taken by my daughter on one of Olive’s first days with us.

Below is Olive enjoying indoor/outdoor life in Palm Springs.

Indoor Arizona life.

My favorite photo of Olive.

Closet cruising.

A stowaway in my suitcase.

My pretty kitty.

One of Olive’s favorite things to do. Harass the quail.

Which is your favorite Olive photo? And why?

Thanksgiving awaits

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The Harris Hawks are feeling right at home in our yard. This was the second day of them hanging out. I wrote about hawks on Wednesday, HERE. This guy is looking mighty plump.

Next week is Thanksgiving. I have mixed emotions about the holiday. I do like getting together with family or friends. I enjoy cooking the meal and having a bounty of leftovers. I enjoy the compliments my Thanksgiving meal gets. It’s satisfying.

But the dark side of Thanksgiving awaits.

Thanksgiving 2021 our dear friend passed away.

Decades earlier: When I was unmarried, living in Seattle, a recent college graduate, this friend (who also lived in Seattle) introduced me to my husband. My husband was visiting for Seafair, which is a summer festival highlighted by hydro races and a Blue Angels show.

As they say, the rest is history.

Eventually our friend left Seattle, sold all his property (real estate was his business) and moved to Arizona. He turned his Seattle real estate into an even greater empire in the Scottsdale/Phoenix area. Prices were way more affordable. Taxes were much better and the business environment was exciting to him.

We would visit our friend in Scottsdale a mile or two from where we now live. We would drive for the weekend from Palm Springs and stay in his casita. My husband was convinced that when he retired, Arizona was the place to be. We’d say good-bye to the high cost of living and taxes of California and embrace Arizona life.

COVID hit and my husband worked remotely. Home prices were skyrocketing in Palm Springs because people wanted out of apartments in San Francisco and LA. They wanted space, a yard, pool and our prices were much lower. We had a new next door neighbor who moved in from SF with his mom sight unseen and called the home his “COVID” home. He was worried about his elderly mom’s health.

My husband decided that it was time to make our move. Especially since he was working from home. I wasn’t sold on it, but told our kids that I was going to ask for a ridiculous price for our home that nobody would consider. That was my secret plan to stay in my dream home. Our house of almost 30 years sold in four hours with offers above asking. So much for that.

So we moved to Arizona close to our friend. He was our first and only friend in the state. We had been friends for close to 40 years. He loved to grill steaks for us. We had him over to our house for dinner. We watched football together and went out to great sushi restaurants. My husband would help him with his properties on weekends, schlepping refrigerators into apartments, or other DIY stuff. Like I said, that was his business. He appreciated my husband’s help.

He introduced us to his entourage, his brother and wife who also moved from Seattle to Arizona. Then another couple who will be retiring from Seattle to Scottsdale in a few years.

A few weeks before Thanksgiving 2021, he was hospitalized. He had a cough and was having trouble breathing. He was put on a ventilator after a week. He’d call my husband to bring him things from his home, like his razor and a pillow. The hospital tested him eight times for COVID — all negative.

Thanksgiving night, 2021 we had our friends who moved from Palm Springs over for dinner. My husband told them that he was worried about our friend, who was finally diagnosed with Valley Fever. Thinking it was COVID, the hospital had treated him the entire time with antibiotics, which is the wrong thing to do to a fungus like Valley Fever. Antibiotics allowed the fungus to grow unchecked.

The harsh words from our dinner guest, who retired from running the ER in Palm Springs said, “He’s not going to make it.”

He died a few hours later.

What holiday that is supposed to be joyous has dark undertones for you?

My super busy week

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A cactus in bloom last May.
A cactus in bloom last spring.

Ever have one of those weeks? Where everything seems to be happening at once? I’m having one and I’m thankful it’s Friday.

My week started with one thing on the schedule each day. That’s unusual for me. I usually have more down days than days with things planned. I had appointments, my lunch bunch went to a fun new restaurant, I had a board meeting for my women’s group that supports sex trafficked women. We invited a neighbor over for dinner Thursday because his wife is out of town. I had my zoom call where we discuss all the things you’re not supposed to in polite company — current events, politics and yes, religion!

I even made it to the YMCA and started lap swimming again! Yay for me! It feels wonderful to be back in the water and helps my toes that have started to hurt again during my walks. I will credit swimming to keeping me calm during my super, busy week.

I got a phone call while out to lunch with my friends. A swim mom friend from Palm Springs called. We usually talk for an hour. I didn’t answer because like I said, I was out to lunch. I forgot about the call and then I saw they texted me several times. I realized I had missed a few calls from her earlier in the week, too.

This mom was one of my best friends on the swim team. I went to my first swim meet when our son was in second grade. I was overwhelmed. It’s like landing on another planet. I didn’t know what was going on. Our son was scared. We couldn’t figure out how we were supposed to know when he was supposed to line up at the blocks.

The first person to greet me with a big smile and welcome was this woman, who would become one of my best friends.

Our two kids swam with her daughter, who went to the Beijing Olympics at age 16 and London at 20. Their daughter is so humble that once our daughter said to her, “Wow. I get to train with an Olympian.”

She looked around and answered, “Really? Who? Where’s the Olympian?”

Our son and her daughter would do homework together at the pool before practice when they were in high school.

Wednesday night I called and my friend asked if they could stay with us for three or four days starting the next day. Her husband is in a spear fishing tournament at a lake by us. He wants to scout out the lake before the big event. Of course I said yes.

They are arriving Thursday, while we’re having our neighbor over for dinner.

Thursday morning, I moved Olive and all her cat stuff from the casita into our master bathroom. I moved my files, books and laptop, too. We had guests a little over a week ago, and I prepped and readied the casita for them. Gradually, my stuff and Olive’s found it’s way back in there.

Sheets are washed, bed is made and grocery shopping is done to stock their fridge with a few goodies. I’m good to go. I did let her know that I had two meetings on Friday and would be gone most of the day.

She said she’s not expecting me to entertain her. So all is good! But I was a bit overwhelmed….

Do you like busy weeks, or quiet alone ones? Or a mix of the two?

The Job Hunt

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Baby Waffles
Baby pic of Waffles, our daughter’s pug, turned eight-years old this week!

My husband and I were talking about how it can be difficult looking and applying for jobs. Currently our DIL is on the job hunt after her recovery from cancer surgery and chemo.

That reminded me of when I moved to Palm Springs to get married. I was perfectly content to spend my days soaking up the sun, floating on an air mattress in the apartment complex’s pool, when my hubby said I needed to help out and get a job.

My husband said, “I’ve been there and it sure can be tough finding a job.”

He had been literally pounding the pavement for a job and finally got hired.

As a journalism major, I applied to the local newspaper, The Desert Sun, to be a reporter.

I went through an interview process that took a few weeks, including literacy and writing tests.

My husband suggested that while I was waiting, I interview at a few more places like local radio stations where he had connections.

Then sitting one day sitting by the pool, the phone rang. My husband said it was for me.

It was a man named Cliff Brown from Cliff Brown and Associates, a PR firm located in the Bob Hope building at the local medical center. Cliff asked me to come in for an interview. I had never applied there. It turns out he was too cheap for classified ads, so on his daily trip to The Desert Sun to drop off press releases and photos, he rifled through their employment files. He pulled out my application and resume and called me. I was hired the next day.

My husband shook his head and said, “That’s now how it works!”

I told my husband that yes, that was how my first PR job in Seattle worked. I was working in a hotel restaurant as a waitress through college and one of my regular customers asked me what my degree was in. He asked me on the spot to come work for his company, which was a Native Alaskan fishing and timber company. They needed a brochure and other material. I worked there until the Seattle office closed down and I met my future husband.

How did you get your first career job? Did you have to send out resumes and pound the pavement?

It’s the Little Things in Life that Count

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I knew exactly what I wanted to write about for today. But it involved my daughter, so I called her to ask permission. Her response, “Mom, I’m a person. I’m not content.”

Well, so then I didn’t know what to write about. So, I looked back on old posts and found this one from 2017 when we lived in Palm Springs. I find many of these little things in life make me happy –even though my views may have changed.

IMG_3210The view from our pool makes me happy.

I’m proud of myself today, because I started off the week with 5:30 a.m. practice. I’ve been trying to get up, half-heartedly I’ll admit, for the past month but the comfort of bed is just too much for me at 5 a.m. An extra hour of sleep usually wins out. But, today I did it. I made it to practice on time, began my workout in the dark and found joy in watching the views of the sunrise and pink-hued mountain change color during my workout.

I find a lot of happiness and excitement in the little things in my days. Our lives are made of small moments strung together and if we spend too much time worrying or focusing on the past or future, we miss the little bits of joy in the present. IMG_6878

Happiness is my daughter with her puppy.

Here’s a list of moments that make me truly happy:

Hearing the birds sing early in the morning.

My fourth flip turn during my second 200 at practice this morning. I nailed it.

Having lunch yesterday with a good friend and spending a few hours catching up with our lives.

Noticing that a family member got their dish off the table, into the sink and miracle of miracles—into the dishwasher.

Olive the cat honoring me with her presence and stretching out for a cat nap while I’m laying on my side. I have to be careful not to move, so she doesn’t fall off.

IMG_6921

Olive the cat in our back yard.

My kids calling just to talk. They aren’t asking for anything and there’s nothing big going on.

Sitting under an orange tree in my back yard reading a really good book.

Walking with my husband and marveling at the beauty surrounding us on a weekend morning.

Reading a positive comment on one of my articles.

Checking things off my to-do list and feeling productive.

img_7015.jpgBeautiful views of bougainvillea.

What little things in your life make you happy? What little things in your life make your day?

You can never go home again

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This was the entrance to our Palm Springs home of 28 years. It was an incredibly beautiful, unique home built in 1937. I loved living there and it was hard to move. It may sound like I am bragging, but it was beautiful. Not that livable. That was was one of the downsides.

WARNING: This may turn into a rant.

You can imagine my shock when a friend sent me a video from an Instagram account for our former home. The buyers, who we thought loved our home and lived in an old Spanish Hacienda themselves, are turning our home into a short-term vacation rental. They told us they liked our house better than theirs because we had a spectacular view of Mt. San Jacinto.

They’ve totally gutted the house inside and it’s lost it’s rustic charm and is filled with white marble with gray streaks, dark glossy floors with a bizarre tile shape. They removed wood-beamed ceilings, the columns and the original Sausalito tiles and everything else I loved about our home. It no longer has any character.

My daughter and I were ranting to each other by phone. Absolutely horrified by what we saw. We felt violated.

I made a comment on their Instagram account, “That’s my old home.” My daughter added a comment, “Why did you remove the original tile floors?” We were blocked. I guess the good news is we don’t have to look at more videos and photos of how they turned an authentic 1930s Spanish Colonial into a Mid-Century Modern Hollywood Nightmare. Tacky without taste.

Living room in Palm Springs
Our living room, the way it was.
master bedroom
This was our master bedroom.

In our Master bedroom, they removed the columns, floors, wood beams, granite wall paper, tub (at the far end) and built a wall with three archways to cut off a large portion of the room. Now the master looks much smaller. The shower and bathroom were behind mirrored doors on either side of the tub. Now they are behind archways and they put in a modern circular white stand-alone tub.

When I ranted to my husband, he was shocked when I showed him the pictures. He didn’t recognize our home. Then, being level-headed he said, “We don’t own the home anymore. We sold it.”

I know he’s right. But I have so many memories of living in that home. When we moved in, I was pregnant with my first child. It’s the only home our kids lived in before they went off to college.

FYI, we moved out December 12, 2020. We asked the new owners if we could have a little extra time to move. Escrow was 30 days and we lived there for close to 30 years. They were gracious and agreed. Then, we asked if we could stay for one last Christmas with our kids and DIL’s family. They said, “Sure. For $7,000.” We moved and spent Christmas alone getting settled in our new home.

We are better off for moving out of California to Arizona, I will admit. I liked the downtown Palm Springs location, but it had a downside with a homeless guy living on the steps to our entrance. Also, my husband said he’d have to work until he died to support the expenses.

At least I have these photos to remember what once was.

I guess it’s true. You can never go home again.

Palm Springs Old Spanish home
Outside view of our former home at night.

Have you ever been surprised at what has become of a place you lived in before?

What changes have you seen to your old home or home town?