Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays for 2009
Seasons Greetings from Seth –n- Jode!
Memories from 2009
Just a short drive to Moab…
We planned this bike trip right. A full night’s sleep, a pleasant morning breakfast, fresh cups of coffee in our travelling mugs, and a casual three hour drive to Moab. We’re well rested. The weather is clear. The car is running smoothly. Everything is going perfectly ….until we hit the deer.
Imagine the situation. We’re climbing out of a gully with steep inclines to both sides of the two lane highway. One car is fast approaching in the oncoming lane. A second car is directly behind us. And “EGADS”, from out of sight, a deer jumps down the slope to land in front of us. Jody handles the situation perfectly – which is to say “sayonara deer.”
One second we’re looking forward to the days bike ride and the next second we’re barely able to see over the trucks smashed front end and hood. Just one year ago I was “the deer” and can tell you confidently that I am far happier to be in the car rather than in front of it.
We pull over to the edge of the road, and it takes us but a few minutes to decide that waiting in the middle of the Utah desert for assistance isn’t likely to amount to much. We’re 60 miles from anywhere and neither of us is mechanical enough to try anything fancy. We secure the hood as best we can and keep driving (slowly & with crossed fingers) towards Moab. We must have some good karma in the bank as we make it to the edge of town before every light and gauge on our dash start going crazy (trust me there are more lights on your dash than you realize) and the engine says “NO MORE”. We stop immediately.
Thankfully we’ve just arrived in Moab which is a premier town for 4-Wheel Drive enthusiasts and fifty feet ahead, we spot a mechanic shop. We try to open the hood but it doesn’t budge and now appears to be completely stuck. So, acting nonchalant, I walk confidently to the shop…point back to the abused truck…and (after lowering my voice a few octaves) self-assuredly ask the mechanic for a crow-bar to pry open the hood. The mechanic hands me a crow bar and politely walks with me back to the truck.
I’ve just inserted the business end of the crowbar under the hood and am beginning to apply some serious leverage when the mechanic casually asks “Have you tried releasing the hood latch?” I stop dead because I haven’t actually tried that yet. Nonetheless I’m CERTAIN that the hood latch couldn’t possibly be working given the new origami shape of the hood. I carelessly reach under the dash to pull the hood release. The audible “POP” sound that results is both encouraging on one hand…and entirely humiliating on the other. Any suggestion that I’ve tried to convey about my supposed familiarity with crumpled vehicles, evaporates in that instant. I thus cease any pretended suggestion of swagger and meekly ask if he can help.
That’s when magic happens. The mechanic lifts the hood, examines the smashed radiator, destroyed battery, other crumpled stuff. After mumbling to himself for a few seconds, he says with complete confidence that he can rig a fix that will get us back to Durango. I arise from my knees and give thanks. He directs us to purchase a new battery and three gallons of radiator fluid while he gets to work.
In the ½ hour it takes us to return, he’s putting away his electric drill, has plugged rubber tubing into unknown places I didn’t know you could or should plug tubes, and begins to pour in the new fluid. In but a few more minutes, he’s installed the new battery and we’re back in the truck. It starts smoothly and all the warning lights have stopped flashing.
We’re amazed and thrilled but now are completely at his mercy and we know it. What is the “idiot surcharge” anyway? We haven’t yet seen the demand for payment and start sweating as soon as he begins to write up the ticket. Several anxious minutes later he steps out to present us the invoice. Gulp. With a sense of dread, we look at the bill of charge. The total bill is $12.53 for services rendered. I break a fingernail and nearly fall on the floor trying to frantically get at my wallet. I now and forever consider Moab to be one of my favorite places.
4th of July “party” at our Cabin
We’ve invited 20 folks up to the cabin in Silverton to enjoy the weekend with us…just bring a chainsaw. We have something like 300 dead trees on the property that need to be cut, and we’re hoping to make a bit of progress. Nevertheless the cabin is 60 miles from Durango and another 2.5 miles up a steep and rocky 4WD road and lies at 11,000 feet. We’ve arranged events before, but nothing this demanding, and expect a 50% turnout at best. Jody and I are awestruck when everyone we invited shows up well outfitted with sturdy clothing, boots & gloves, safety glasses, ear protection…and chainsaws..lots of chainsaws J
We expected to take advantage of a few brave souls, but this turnout is overwhelming. We’re just beginning to gather our wits when the chainsaws start growling and the hydraulic wood splitter begins barking. We frantically look around to help put some organization into the flurry of potentially dangerous activity…and instead see a precision ballet.
Teams have magically formed to cut, move, split and stack. While we’ve been worrying how to organize and direct, everyone has found their natural strength and started working. It’s entirely obvious to me that I’m not critical to managing the exercise. I float around looking for my niche and soon find the perfect job. I comfortably settle into the very important duty of water boy.
The Cabin Continued
I simply don’t understand how this could have happened. We measured twice and once more again to prevent exactly this from occurring. Nevertheless it’s become clear that the custom bench we ordered, built in Mexico, delivered across the border 3 days ago, and that we just hauled laboriously up to the cabin, is 3” longer than the gap into which it was designed to fit. We can analyze how this happened as long as we’d like, but the problem 3” remains.
We’re seriously evaluating whether the bench can be trimmed (nope) or cut apart and rebuilt (nope) and then in a “Eureka!” moment, Jody exclaims that we simply need to make the cabin 3” wider. It takes me a minute to follow her thought, but soon realize that the log cabin is constructed with 20” logs and shaving 3” isn’t necessarily impossible. It can be done and why the hell not. It is our cabin. Our cabin which previously measured 16’ wide is now 16’ 3” with a beautiful custom bench in place. I don’t expect any surprise when I report that it fits perfectly.
What does the Cabin have to do with the Garden?
There is one more advantage that the cabin offered us – the “extras” that came with the purchase. And though these “extras” were somewhat of a burden, (why don’t you try to bring a 300 pound Claw-foot Cast Iron Bath Tub off a mountain) one item did indeed serve a useful purpose.
It all starts with Jody wanting to plant her garden seeds early so that the plants will have a longer growing cycle. Only real live sunshine will suit her expectations, so we have a need to plant seeds in an area exposed to sun. However, she wants to plant the seeds a full month before we are past the risk of a late spring frost. This means that daily we must transport seedling trays to our porch during the day and back inside for the evening.
This is where the “extra” Land Tamer Remote Access Vehicle (imagine a vehicle blending features of HUMV and a boat) comes in handy. We’ve had this monstrosity in our garage for several months while we advertise it for sale, and find ourselves trying to sneak around this outrageous 4-axle 16 wheeled vehicle. There’s not much room left in our 2 car garage with the behemoth parked.
Jody in yet another “Eureka” moment proudly introduces an idea. She marches out to the garage with our dozen trays of seedlings and lays them across the back deck to the RAV. Thereafter it’s a simple matter to back the vehicle out of the garage during the day and pull it forward into the garage at night.
If you are a garden lover, I need not try to defend this practice in any way. For the rest of you, I don’t have anything to say beyond “Jody is a garden lover” and I’m married to her for better or for worse. Let’s leave it at that.
Maps Schmaps!
We’re on the first day…nay the first hour of our weeklong 200 mile mountain bike journey - which follows a horde of dirt roads and trails from Telluride to Moab - when things start to break down. We’re initially just trying to successfully ride from our truck to the coffee shop two blocks away. This takes about one hour. The breakdown occurs on our very first intersection. Four people turn right, two ride straight, and there are two coffee shops in Telluride. I need not explain further.
The importance of this event becomes apparent when everyone finally assembles and everyone asks everyone, “who has the maps for this ride?” Apparently everyone thought that everyone else had printed the maps. The silence is deafening. Thankfully Jody and I have been to the first hut before and know the way.
That would work out just fine if we were the fastest riders in the group. We’re not. We do all manage to locate the first hut before dark…with the timely assistance of a saintly Forest Ranger who magically appears to offer guidance.
From then forward we somehow manage to make progress in the right direction by stopping at every intersection and making prayers. We choose direction by the flip of a coin or by the wind or by the threat of a storm. We mostly guess right. Mostly. Eventually we cross paths with another set of riders who have the trail maps and painfully transcribe everything onto our only available writing tablet - a roll of toilet paper. I won’t answer how we wipe ourselves thereafter.
Seth’s Accident
I’m nearly 100% and the aches remaining are just a reminder to “be careful out there.” There was one stainless steel brace in my right tibia/fibia that irritated whenever I walked which I asked the doctor to remove. She agreed but explained that if she broke any of the eight screws holding it in, she’d just leave the broken screws in place. Given that I have 20 other screws in other places, I agreed without hesitation.
The challenge was introduced by Jody. She remembered that the last time I was in surgery (to bolt me together in the first place), that I didn’t wake up for an entire week and couldn’t talk for two weeks after I woke up. She didn’t want to face that scare again and therefore would not agree to the use of any general anesthesia during the operation. I was planning to have the doctor remove an 8” steel brace from my leg that is held on with 8 screws…big screws that go entirely through the leg bone. Not allowing for general anesthesia complicates things a bit. Surprisingly the anesthesiologist agreed, stating he could do a nerve block on the leg. So far so good…I thought.
In the pre-op room the anesthesiologist starts fiddling with a huge syringe with 4” needle and wires leading to something that looks like a car battery charger. He says to relax. Right. I won’t get into the details, but the next five minutes are relatively uncomfortable. After that, I can’t feel my leg.
They roll me into the operating room and by now I’m a bit anxious. Call it nervous energy, but I can’t shut up and ask a lot of questions. At the end of the day, they bill be as the “chattiest” surgery patient they’ve ever had. The nurse putting a tourniquet to my leg answers “to minimize bleeding”. It’s very cold in there “to minimize bleeding.” I gab with anyone who will listen, including the doctor doing the work on my leg. The procedure sounds much like a typical day in wood shop – with the addition of scalpel and blood. Drill, hammer, ratchet, screwdriver. I ask if she’s joking when she asks for the heavier mallet. Until I feel the impact of the chisel. My bone has apparently grown around the metal brace and it needs some encouragement to break loose.
Two hours later I’m free to go home. Eight new holes in my leg bones will take a couple months to heal up, but the relief from the removal of the brace is well worth it. The rest of the steel and titanium stay where they lay. I remain amazed that when travelling through an airport I don’t trigger alarms. But I’m not complaining.
We both want to again extend a sincere “Thank You” to all our friends, family and co-workers who gave us tremendous support during our recovery. Your love, prayers, thoughts and deeds helped us immeasurably. Your support showed us what is most important in life and we can’t thank you enough.
Two cats – minus one :(
A month ago Tigger the Tiger Queen of Sheba (aka Kitty) went missing. We hoped for the best but feared for the worst. Two other cats have also disappeared from the neighborhood recently. It seems likely that we have a predator preying on the local cat population. We miss her and hope she’s climbing trees in kitty heaven.
Thomas, who she always scorned as “the new kid on the block”, has been adopting some of her skills. He now climbs trees halfway (and then looks over to see if you’re watching), drinks out of your hand, and has taken over the previously reserved top bunk of the Cat Condominium and Scratchy Pad.
We’re thinking that he needs a baby sister (kitty not human!) to keep him on his toes.
Jobs and Work
Jody and I are both happily employed. Jody remains a business process / system design expert with IndyMac Bank / Indymac Federal Bank / One West Bank after surviving a harrowing series of company turnovers and staff cuts to the tune of ~7,500 people. I have returned again to be an employee of Science Applications International Corporation as a proposal support specialist.
Well that seems to be a good summary of the past year. Please feel free to call or write us at any time.
Jody has created a Year at a Glance Photo Album for you set to music! Enjoy!
http://smilebox.com/playBlog/4d5449334e6a63324f54593d0d0a&blogview=true
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Jody and Seth Furtney
11 Molas Drive, Durango, CO 81301
Seth Phone: 970-385-5547
Jody Phone: 970-385-5567
Seth Email: sethfurtney@hotmail.com
Jody Email: jodyfurtney@hotmail.com
Jody
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays for 2008
Log Cabin above Silverton, CO
It took our realtor friend a bit of cajoling to convince us to visit a property that was for sale. The details matter quite a bit. The property is an unfinished log cabin located on a mining claim on Kendall Mountain. It is located at tree line up a steep 4 Wheel Drive road (a climb of 2,000 feet to ~11,000 feet) for 2.5 miles. And, perhaps most importantly, this is May. So what, you say? It was a heavy winter in Colorado. The road is currently buried under several feet of snow. There isn’t any way to get there except to cross county ski to the cabin. As you may expect, he was persistent. I suspect he knew we were probably the only people on earth that would give the idea any thought whatsoever.
After he casually hinted that the seller was “motivated”, we were hooked. The hike took three hours. We’ve talked about owning a mountain cabin for years, but have been dreaming about it for so long that it has become more a fuzzy fantasy than a distinct reality. After the exhausting climb, we came around the final corner. There it is. We see a small cabin with a footprint measuring about 16’ X 20’. The snow is still deep and the cabin is nestled into the mountainside comfortably with snow banks reaching up to the roofline. No heat. No lights. No water. The view of the surrounding San Juan peaks is astounding. I hear Jody draw in her breath and know a decision is already being made. It is perfect!
Some weeks later, we are riding our scooter into town to finalize the purchase. The weather is springy and warm as we scoot into town. We have all heard the phrase “If you don’t like the weather in Colorado, wait 5 minutes.” In this case, the weather gods bested their time. In a few short minutes, it starts to hail explosively. I’m unfortunately wearing a jean jacket and open face helmet. In the next few minutes, I become Frosty the Snowman. When we enter the realtor’s office, the receptionist drops her pen in surprise. After a moment she has the presence of mind to suggest that “perhaps we’d like something hot to drink.” She is even considerate enough to assume the proper answer. That’s good because I can’t yet talk because of the snow still in my mouth.
The receptionist leaves to the kitchen area to giggle quietly and pour cups of hot coffee. We slurp well into our second cups before we are thawed enough to begin the process of signing the purchase documents. As water drips into my underwear, Jody explains how the weather gods were blessing our decision. She bubbles on that there isn’t anything better than an unexpected spring snowstorm to commemorate our purchase of a mountain cabin. I’m still digging snow out of my ears so she has to explain this to me twice. She was huddling behind me so she hasn’t experienced the full impact of the storm. After 15 years of marriage, I’ve learned that my best response is to mumble encouraging sounds and otherwise remain silent.
By the time the paperwork is complete, the sun is shining and it is spring again.
Spring Kayaking on the Piedra River
We’re not idiots. But its April now and the rivers are flowing. In Colorado you can’t count upon water for long. Durango is now experiencing the hopeful blush of an early spring so we eagerly pack our boating gear and begin the two hour drive to the put-in. As we drive up into the mountains, we encounter deep snow and start doubting the sensibility of this venture. But we aren’t about to turn tail without at least making a decent fight. When we reach the put-in, the wind starts to blow. The temperature outside, which appeared mild while sitting in the heated car, isn’t so mild anymore. We each begin to reevaluate the sanity of this venture, but nobody is willing to be the first to admit defeat. We huddle around the vehicles chatting aimlessly and waiting hopefully for someone to admit that this idea is just a bit crazy. Somebody might be wise enough to even float the idea that the bowling alley isn’t very far away.
But nobody is prepared to initiate such an intelligent discussion. The conversation dies and we advance our preparations. We start by putting on every single stitch of whitewater clothing that we own. That’s a lot. For me, this is three layers of fleece underwear, fleece hat and socks, waterproof jacket, waterproof pants, latex bathing cap, neoprene hand-pogies, neoprene booties, and a laundry basket of other fuzzy or rubbery stuff that I squeeze over body parts and fit into any gaps.
Finally, we waddle down to the river. The first boat breaks the ice off the edge of the river and it floats on ahead. The rest of us cautiously follow the ice flow as it bobs down the river. As snow falls from the branches of the trees, we speculate whether our combined intelligence adds to much. That’s when we come upon the icefall that reaches down 60’ from the top of the canyon rim to the shoreline. Melting water courses down, around, in-between the frozen ice to finally crash into the river. We’re so charmed by the spectacle that we forfeit whatever sensibility we have and intentionally paddle under the ice-cold waterfall. The waterfall splashes and crashes upon us, but we’re swaddled in layers of impermeable insulation and can barely feel the ice cold water.
We smile at one another when we realize that this is really fun. We’re still uncertain how this trip will end but you don’t have this kind of chance just every day. Encountering elemental beauty and experiencing such challenges is why we do these things.
Jody’s Anniversary Present
According to some tradition somewhere, you are apparently supposed to gift your spouse a present made of ‘crystal’ for your 15th wedding anniversary. I tried. Really I tried. Apparently the countless opportunities that present themselves to one living in a place like New York City don’t present themselves to one who lives in Durango. Despite looking everywhere in town, I can’t find a “traditional” gift made of crystal. Nothing. Nada. I looked for a “modern” gift alternative made of glass. Nope.
I’ll admit that I’ve ignored the traditional gift suggestions for some years now. Heck does anyone really want a gift made of aluminum for your 10th anniversary? I have even tried my hand at convincing Jody that paper (an anniversary card) was really truly the proper gift selection for the past 10 years. I’m sure this is consistent with some tradition somewhere. This time however, I was committed to delivering the goods. Then I experience a bolt of genius :) - maybe.
I packaged my chosen gift and bring it to Jody with a big smile on my face. She unfolds the package carefully and with great anticipation. The final wrappings fall. The gift shines a crystalline blue. It fits her hand perfectly. My smile widens…then she rolled her eyes in exasperation. My sense of joy and contentment abandon me. Her eyes tell me that …a new bottle of Windex glass cleaner just doesn’t satisfy.
Before you think me a heel, please note that I also presented her with a beautiful card. A hail Mary pass that, but ultimately weak and pitiful.
Continuing Saga of the $67 Dollar Tomato
We recently received a visit from an agent wearing a black suit and sunglasses who handed us his card listing initials from an unspecified space agency. He informed us that the earth has apparently recalibrated its axis to adjust for some astonishing new mass that his agency has calculated to be located exactly at our address. He started with possible explanations involving alien influence on earth. I stopped him cold and pointed to our back yard. Our latest project - call it “Project Tomato” - involved depositing 60 tons of rock. This is in addition to our previous landscaping ventures which have put down over 200 tons of stone.
Even now I’m somewhat uncertain why I relented to Jody’s request to build some “undulations” to replace our back lawn. Most people would call our construction “raised bed planters” but I’ve given up arguing the point. Jody likes to call them “undulations” and I’m not going to win her over. I guess we can compromise in that our four raised bed planters undulate over the landscape. And in fact “undulations” more accurately identifies some of the corollary experiences resulting from the effort. Since the last stone was laid, I have experienced various sorts of “undulating” pain, “undulating” misery, and “undulating” despair. I’m hoping it will end soon.
We have long since blown through the $67 tomato figure into numbers unknown. But then I recall memories of the tomatoes. Red ones, yellow ones, big ones, small ones. Tasty and sumptuous and plentiful. Lots and lots of tomatoes. We completely overwhelmed our considerable personal threshold of tomato consumption and we were forced to give away bags and boxes of tomatoes to most everyone we knew. We may have gone beyond good form when we stacked boxes of tomatoes at our front door and forced unsuspecting visitors to take a box before we would allow them to leave. The growing season is now over. Thank goodness. Yet in some secret corner of our brains, we look forward to another bumper crop.
The simple fact remains that we must change our accounting system. The dollars per tomato calculation is at this point ludicrous. We have thus decided to measure our tomato productivity in terms of tomato pounds per ton of landscaping. By this measure, we are producing nearly two tomatoes per ton. We quite prefer this to .006983 tomatoes per dollar. Since this is a nonstandard measuring system with no baseline for comparison, we’ve convinced ourselves that the figure is quite astounding.
Seth’s Accident
I’m quite glad that I don’t remember anything about being hit by the Jeep Wagoneer while riding my mountain bike in mid June. Some of the details like 50 MPH collision and 4,500 lbs vehicle weight don’t invite fond memories. It is pretty clear to me why one’s memory gets flaky after a major accident. You just don’t really need (or want) to remember what just happened. Jody later told me what she saw when she rode up. My body was bloody and crumpled lying in the middle of the road. The EMTs turned me over and legs just aren’t designed to move in those directions. It makes me queasy still.
Jody now regularly says to me “thank you for living.” I considered this to be an overly dramatic statement and it took me a few repeats to realize that she’s completely serious. For the first week after the accident I was sleeping soundly and no one, not even doctors with years of training, could predict when, or if, I would wake up. Jody had to hold onto hope in the face of the complete unknown. Often when I wake up in the mornings, I find her just looking at me. She says that she loves to see me open my eyes, smile back, and … be alive. After three months of hospitalization in Denver, my recovery is progressing smoothly. We returned home to Durango in September and love every minute of it.
Jody kept a beautiful daily blog in which she documented my hospital care and her own intense journey as well. The blog follows this entry in reverse chronological order. Jody is very proud to report to anyone who will listen that I made my first goal for “THE PLAN” which was to snowshoe up to a 10th Mountain Hut on Thanksgiving 2008. The picture above is me mountain biking in Moab in May of 2009. Finally back on the bike! This past summer, Jody tirelessly indoctrinated every doctor, nurse, and therapist that touched me on THE PLAN. According to THE PLAN I will be skiing, biking, hiking, and kayaking by 2009. I intend to deliver.
I have a considerable amount of titanium holding together my hip and leg bones (the marvel of the medical age we live in), but I am feeling great and hope to be 100% by next summer. Summer 2009 is also important because until then I am obliged to abide by several health restrictions for one full year following the accident. First and most important among these admonitions is, “Don’t hit your head.” Simple enough statement but Jody nearly fainted when I bumped my head on an open cabinet door. I’ve tried to convince her that such minor bumps aren’t what was intended. The more difficult part of honoring this restriction is that I promised to avoid any “speed” or “gravity” or “impact” sports for a year. That means no skiing, mountain biking, cliff diving, and the like. I find it hard to wave good-bye to my friends without a sense of jealousy when they are heading off for another epic powder day.
Most importantly we both want to extend a sincere and heartfelt “Thank You” to all our friends, family and co-workers who showed tremendous support during my recovery. Your love, prayers, thoughts and deeds helped us immeasurably on this journey. Your support showed us what is most important in life. We have both discovered that our world is truly an ocean of love.
Jobs and Work
Jody’s employer Indy Mac Bank is one of those banks that dabbled in the “new economy” of risky home loans and discovered that prudence is the better part of valor. They were taken over by the FDIC as one of the fall-outs from the mortgage crisis and are now Indy Mac Federal Bank. Jody was lucky in that she kept her job (thanks to her boss) while unfortunately over 3,400 people were let go. The FDIC is now looking for a private firm to acquire the company. The FDIC solicited bids from potential buyers and is evaluating proposals right now. We are hoping that the acquiring company will want to retain key staff and that she will be able to find a position with the new company.
I have applied for a position with Science Applications International Corporation serving in a role similar to that I’ve provided to them for years as a consultant. We are hopeful that they will select me to return to the company as an employee. I also do a bit of Contract Management consulting for some other firms.
Newest Addition to our Household
Most of us have experienced the sock monster. His source of food & entertainment is obvious to all when you find a sock is missing while folding your laundry. In our home he has at least a dozen sock victims to his credit. Maddeningly he only attacks expensive wool socks, leaving cotton tube socks entirely untouched.
But, how many of you have actually seen him? We have! He lives in our house. He’s slippery as a snake, strong and stringy at 4 lbs, orange, sharp claws on his four feet, and pointy teeth along his powerful jaws. He’s devious and exasperating and…adorable. He sleeps on our bed emitting a creaky purr.
If we had known that Thomas the Tom Cat was THE sock monster, we might have thought twice before picking him up at the pound. He punch boxes endlessly with Tigger (despite her obvious distaste for such behavior) and interprets her cranky responses as encouragement. I find their wild behavior charming until I find myself shooing Thomas off the bed grumpily after he pounces on me just one too many times. But now he’s part of the family. He’s training us to be very careful with our socks!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
If you ever find yourself in this next of the woods, look us up. You may find us strolling the neighborhood, working the garden, petting the kitty cats or just generally enjoying each day.
Jody and Seth Furtney
11 Molas Drive, Durango, CO 81301
Seth Phone: 970-385-5547
Jody Phone: 970-385-5567
Seth Email: sethfurtney@hotmail.com
Jody Email: jodyfurtney@hotmail.com
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