Gosh, what to say. It’s been a challenging week.

On Tuesday morning, Dad and I flew down to California for my cousin Valerie’s funeral. Click beneath the fold for more details. Suffice it to say we spent hours creeping through L.A. traffic in order to gather with family from all corners of the country and cry together over the pain of the loss of my cousin. It was exhausting and very, very sad. I am deeply saddened that I will never know Valerie better. It was hard to spend Thanksgiving time with family, but for the worst possible reason. Checkers kept asking us “Are you in town for Thanksgiving?” and we never had a good answer.

More details:

I threw up twice on the flight down to Burbank, even though it was a smooth and boring flight. I generally tell people that “I don’t fly well,” which is true, but I try not to embarrass myself too much by detailing just how badly I fly. This was particularly bad because I happened to be seated next to a lady who works at Microsoft managing the Visual Studio documentation team — that’s right, a technical writing team. Despite my vomiting, she gave me her business card at the end of the flight.

Mom and my Uncle Bob, who had flown in from Boston late the previous evening, met us in Burbank and whisked us back to Pasadena. A lot of whisking people went on during this trip. IT was a logistical nightmare, getting my three uncles, me, Dad, Mom, Nana, and Colleen and Jordan to all the right places at all the right times. Mom took point on that and turned into a formidable organizing juggernaut, without which the family side of this whole thing would have been a disaster. Props to Mom.

We had a little bit of time between landing and our first funeral-related activity, so Dad and I walked down and saw Grandpa Koskovich. It felt good to stretch our legs after hours of driving and flying. It was also really good to see Grandpa, who I haven’t seen in a couple years. He has Parkinson’s, among other health issues, and he’s aged pretty dramatically since I last saw him, but he was in good spirits and as sharp as ever.

Then we crept along the L.A. freeways over to west L.A., where my Uncle Dan and Aunt Deb live. Valerie was their daughter. There we met my Uncle Gerard, who had just flown in from San Francisco. Mom, Uncle Bob, Uncle Gerard, and I went to Subway and had mediocre sandwiches, obtaining a couple other sandwiches for Colleen, Jordan, and Dad. I mention this because Subway sandwiches became a bit of a joke by the end of the trip.

Anyway, then we went to St. Jerome for the Rosary. I have never been to a full Catholic funeral before, but I now know that it involves:

1. The Rosary: Seemed like almost a full Mass, but omitted the sermon and instead of communion we said the rosary. Pallbearers walked the casket in. Everybody attending queued up and hugged the immediate family.

2. The Funeral Mass: The whole shebang of Mass, plus time to remember Valerie.
3. The Procession: We did the whole car procession following the hearse to the grave site, including the police escort and getting to go through red lights.
4. The Graveside Service: The priest did a short little mini-mass thing at the graveside, and that was the chance for everybody to say goodbye to Valerie.

The Rosary involved a lot of crying for all of us. Seeing Valerie’s casket I think brought it home for me: She’s right there, inside, and that’s it.

After the Rosary, we went back to Uncle Dan and Aunt Deb’s house, where we awkwardly hung around for a while. I didn’t say too much. Eventually we left and got back very late to Mickey and Bob’s house, where we were staying. Mickey and Bob are Nana’s relatives who had extra beds that Dad and I slept in.

The next morning we got up early and drove back out to west L.A., ate a nasty, greasy diner breakfast, and then went to the church for the funeral, etc. It was also sad, but on average a little bit less so than the Rosary, I think because we had started saying goodbye yesterday… and we were all exhausted already. The funeral went as well as you could hope for, although having Subway cater began inducing Subway overload for those of us who had just eaten it for dinner the previous day. The most heart-wrenching moment for me was when Aunt Deb said goodbye to Valerie at the graveside. Seeing her face as she kissed the casket and turned away was the most heartbreaking moment I think I’ve ever witnessed. I cannot imagine losing a child like that, but I have an inkling, because in that moment, I saw the whole pain of it written on her face. We all spent more time crying.

Then Mickey and Bob crept us home in horrific L.A. traffic. It was horrendous. I resolved during that ride that even if somebody gave me a house for free in L.A., I wouldn’t take it. When we finally got back to Pasadena, Dad and I went on a good long walk. We walked from Mickey and Bob’s to Nana’s house and spent the afternoon there with Uncle Bob, Uncle Gerard, Mom and Dad, and Nana (I made a spinach salad and bread for dinner — no Subway, although Nana had a plate of Subway sandwiches left over from the funeral, gag). That was actually really nice. We were able to laugh and joke about stuff. Then Dad and I walked back to Mickey and Bob’s for our last night there.

Thursday morning we got up, ate breakfast, packed up, and Bob dropped us off at Nana’s. We spent the morning there as family slowly arrived for Thanksgiving. Mom, Dad, Uncle Gerard, and I walked over to see Grandpa again. Everybody showed up for Thanksgiving: All of Uncle Dan’s family — my cousins Lisa and Shelley, Shelley’s boyfriend Rob, and Uncle Dan and Aunt Deb — plus me, Mom, Dad, Uncles Bob & Gerard, Colleen and Jordan, and Grandpa and Nana. We had Costco lasagana, salad, garlic bread, brownies, and pumpkin pie. I don’t really feel like Thanksgiving has happened. But it was nice to see that side of the family in less grim circumstances than the previous couple days.

Midafternoon Colleen and Jordan whisked us back to Burbank airport, where we caught a small airplane to Portland. I used earplugs, and did fine, minimal motion sickness. There we waited an hour and then caught an even smaller plane — a turboprop puddle-jumper, really — to Seattle. Thankfully that leg only took about 35 minutes, because it was turbulent and I didn’t feel at all well. Ian met us at SeaTac and whisked us home. We crashed into bed about 10:00 pm, 7.5 hours after leaving Nana’s house.

Like I said: Very long week, and it’s not even over yet.

I’m itching to get on my bike, but the weather looks iffy, so I’m going to try out my new-to-me trainer for a while. I have avoided trainers for the same reason I avoid running tracks: They’re boring as all get-out. But it seems training on an indoor trainer is part of this bike racing gig, so here goes…

May my back one day learn to forgive me. Yet another Saturday sacrificed to the yard, and it was sunny and 60°, too, perfect for riding — and for moving dirt. Ah well, what’s yet another Saturday off the bike? (Excuse my bitterness; any ride tomorrow looks rainy. I missed my chance.)

A million thanks to Jane, who came back again and who made finishing today possible. And kudos to Ian, who has worked like a slave on a project I dreamed up and he wasn’t so sure about.

Of course “done” and “finish” imply that we don’t have any more work to do on this. That, unfortunately, is fallacious. We still have to purchase and plant the plants, and our rain garden handbook, which has an example very like our situation, indicates we’re talking 200 – 250 plants. But I’m going to worry about that another day. Today, we’re going to savor the sweet taste of a mulch-less driveway and a gorgeously mulched pond area.

Do you remember the Alanis Morissette song “Ironic”? If you don’t, here’s a refresher for you.

Ian was telling me a while ago about a comedy routine he’d seen based on that song. He then proceeded to quote it almost verbatim to me, as I found out later when I looked the video up. Typically I don’t enjoy stand-up comedy that much, but this segment is quite amusing.

Having just had this reminder of what is and is not ironic, I now present you with my little personal irony anecdote.

The other morning, I heard a preview on NPR for a program they’d have on later in the day. The topic was willpower; a couple guys who had done some research and then written a book on willpower were going to talk with the host about their findings. I thought that sounded interesting, so I made sure to have the radio on for that. When it came on, I had finished most of my chores, so I moved on to doing my back stretches. The first one I usually do is laying on the ground on a couple of strategically-placed towels for 10 minutes. I situated myself at 12:22, started listening… and the next thing I knew it was 12:40 and the host was wrapping up that segment. I had fallen asleep during the segment on willpower. If that’s not ironic, I don’t know what is.

Here’s a group and song I’ve been enjoying lately.

I tend to be a sucker for classic rock songs reinterpreted by string quartets (for example, Hampton String Quartet), classical songs reinterpreted as techno songs (for example, Bond), or other similar musical genre mashups. Songs with words don’t tend to interest me as much these days, although I do enjoy this one.

Words in a non-musical context, though, are on my mind. I’m thinking about NaNoWriMo plots — it’s never too early — and updating the cookbook. Expect a new Home on the Range PDF to be posted…oh…eventually.

On my walk home today, I encountered a guy standing in this blue-and-glass box. He seemed to be talking to himself. What the heck?

In Seattle, a bus passed me and when I saw it, I literally stood openmouthed for a good 30 seconds. Why? Because apparently now Community Transit has DOUBLE DECKER BUSES. This is so incredibly cool that I may have to ride one of them just for the heck of it, even though I don’t actually need to go anywhere on the route. (Community Transit primarily serves Snohomish County, and I don’t think I’ve ever had cause to use one of their buses.) I hope Metro and Sound Transit gets some double decker buses soon!

Finally, I’m instigating a new Calvin and Hobbes day. Once a week — whichever day seems best to me — I’m going to post a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon. I’ll start us off with probably my favorite Calvin and Hobbes cartoon ever: “Is this a trick question?”

Two days until RAMROD. Not that anybody around here is counting.

All the cool kids are biking to work tomorrow. You should, too. Why? Because tomorrow is Bike to Work Day. Here in the Pacific Northwest, it’s looking like possibly the most gorgeous Bike to Work Day ever created — 70° and sunny — and that means there should be lots of people riding to and from work. Ian even consented to let me dust off and ABC Quick Check his trusty Gary Fisher, which he’s going to ride to StrataGen tomorrow. Here he is test-riding it tonight:

See how happy he looks? That’s 100% excitement about being on a bike again, let me assure you.

Another beautiful thing about being in the Northwest on Bike to Work Day is all the stuff going on tomorrow. Cascade Bike Club has all manner of Bike to Work Day events, including commute stations all over the area that typically give out swag and food to people riding by. Why can’t every commuting day be like this?

Now, you may be thinking, “But where’s Katie commuting to? She doesn’t have a job.” A couple things about that: (a) Technically I still have a contract with the Bicycle Alliance of Washington to teach their Safe Routes to School PE teacher training seminars, so I’m not strictly jobless, only workless; (b) Tomorrow I’m escorting Mom in to BCS. By coincidence, I plan on bringing both my panniers, just in case we happen to pass commute stations along the way. I may, also coincidentally, take a route home that passes me by another couple commute stations.

Then I’ll spend the rest of tomorrow at Mom and Dad’s house waiting to receive and sign for Dad’s new S-Works Tarmac (that’s a very, very expensive bike, for those who don’t know, and I’m already insanely jealous and also sure that I’ll be lucky to maybe hang on to Dad’s wheel once he starts riding it).

This Dutch researcher did an interesting study that examined the influence of the environment on peoples’ behavior. Specifically, when garbage collectors went on strike at a train depot, he polled people at the station during the messy period. Then, after the strike was resolved and the place cleaned up, he polled people at the station again.

He found that a messy environment caused people to seek order elsewhere — namely, by subconsciously reinforcing internal stereotypes. Basically, if there’s disorder externally, people seek order internally by viewing life in more black and white terms. The researcher put it this way:

Physical disorder makes people create order in their minds by making them use very simple categories (all Blacks are X, all Democrats are Y etc). It is THE way of coping with chaos.

This has some interesting implications. He focused on how governments can reduce crime by keeping areas clean. But that makes me wonder: Could you raise more tolerant, open-minded kids by maintaining a neat home environment? What does an adult’s choice to be messy or not say about his or her inner workings? Does a workplace that’s neat and orderly encourage smoother cooperation between employees?

In any case, this study simply reinforces what we already knew, namely, that there’s value in keeping any environment clean.