Just enough crispness in the air and not too many people on the path made for a lovely midday hike through a forest shedding its leaves, interrupted only by the occasional squirrel foraging for food.
This is the squirrel that throws itself (no indication if it’s a he or a she) at my windows in my home office each day before then bouncing to the tree limbs. I should be used to it by now, and it scares the beejeezus out of me each time it happens.
My house here in Asheville came with a programmable heating and cooling system that I couldn’t seem to figure out. Basically, the house was either 70+ degrees or the heat was off (rendering the house a cool 59 degrees). Friends encouraged me to get a Nest Learning Thermostat. I was intrigued by the remote control aspect of setting heat/cooling. And the box was so small. How hard could it be to install?
I panicked momentarily when one of the first instructions was “Switch off power – this protects you and avoids blowing a fuse in your equipment.” Did I really want to do something that could potentially electrocute me? And then I wondered how long it would take to find my body. I have plans for Thanksgiving, but that’s nearly two weeks away. And there probably wouldn’t be a smell, because the heating would be disabled, and so I’d be preserved in my chilly 59 degree house.
I searched for professional installers and then thought, “This is ridiculous.” Let me at least watch the installation video before calling someone to come out to install a thermostat.
After watching the video, I thought, “I think I can do this.”
And, so step by step I switched off the power, removed the current system (marveled at layers and layers of paint and wallpaper), labeled the wires, disconnected wires, drilled new holes for the Nest unit, mounted the Nest base, unmounted the Nest base because I should have mounted the optional trim plate first, mounted the optional trim plate, realized I’ll need to repaint because said layers and layers of paint are still visible, remounted the Nest base, connected the wires, attached the display, switched the power back on, and prayed.
And it worked! Homeowner, am I!
In San Francisco, I was registered as a permanent absentee voter. The ballots in San Francisco were usually multiple very long pages, front and back, with enough propositions in each election to go through the alphabet at least once. I collected the fliers and booklets and information packets about the initiatives and the candidates in one spot in the weeks preceding the election, then the weekend before the election I would set aside an evening, read through the literature, research pros and cons, and spend a few hours marking my ballot before then dropping it in the mail or taking it to a polling place in person on election day.
I knew that we had an election today, but didn’t receive anything in the mail – no sample ballot, no arguments for or against initiatives, no campaign propaganda. I was flummoxed. I have my voter registration card, so (I thought) I knew where to go. After some searching, I found a sample ballot online. And it was one page. Mayor, City Council, and a redistricting initiative. I researched the candidates and the initiative and drove to the polling place. The volunteers greeted me, I received a ballot, and I voted, all in about 10 minutes. I scanned my ballot and received an “I Voted” sticker. I kind of love this way of voting. 
My first concert in Asheville!
I feel so lucky that I’ve had visitors every week since I’ve moved to Asheville, NC (I hope it never stops!). This weekend Kyle and I decided to explore the Biltmore Estate, also known as America’s Castle. We marveled at the perfect day for touring the grounds: blue skies, warm rays, and great company. It’s a short walk through the woods from the parking lot to the house, and as you exit the forest, you’re greeted by a awe-inspiring view of the enormous yards leading up to a castle-esque structure.
Each room is more marvelous than the last. The seven-story high banquet hall with three enormous fire places side by side, facing a large pipe organ. The more intimate breakfast room with Renoirs hanging on the walls. The library with tens of thousands of books, stacked two stories high. And the views from every window. Breathtaking views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, ridge after ridge after ridge. Listening to the stories behind the rooms, behind the house, behind the family. The basement, where the walls were painted with scenes inspired by the Russian cabaret group La Chauve-Souris, in preparation for a New Year’s Eve party. The kitchen, where the menu for a scrumptious Thanksgiving meal for 26 guests was recalled. And the gardens, the fabulous gardens, surrounded by hundreds of acres of green forest.
Whoever created the audio tour was artful in their final message. One of the last vignettes tells how guests to the estate marveled at the milk and ice cream served, the best they’d ever tasted. We returned our audio sets and walked out of the house, directly across from the entrance to the Ice Cream Parlor. Why, yes, I think we will have a scoop, thank you very much.
LoriLoo 