Suzy Says

The last couple of “Vogues” had some amazing shoes, especially if money is no object and you mostly travel by limo or taxi.

In the December issue, these plaid Rochas beauties ($980):

Amusingly, they were in the “gifts for country girls” section, along with a lavender chicken who lays multi-colored eggs. As I observed on Facebook, I wish country life were really the way “Vogue” envisions it. Somehow, I can’t imagine myself prancing through the mud puddles on my driveway in peeptoe slingbacks. Sadly.

Equally impractical, yet equally fabulous, are these curlicue heeled platforms from Charlotte Olympia*:

I had to wonder if the designer was inspired by the Beverly Hills Hotel’s famous banana leaf wallpaper, not to mention the vintage 1940s white wrought-iron bar stools in the coffee shop:

Look no further than the fabulous finned cars of the 1950s for the inspiration for Prada’s gorgeous, limited edition ($1,450) shoes embellished with a crystal rose on the toes:

That’s about the average price of a new car in 1950.

*Vogue claims you can find them at charlotteolympia.com, but I couldn’t. So the price remains mysterious.

Sorry, poodles, I was swept away in a tsunami of work, rain, and power outages. But I’m back!

I missed you, too.

Since we last saw our heroine, she has both recovered her beloved MacBook and acquired a brand-new Pee Cee. This seems very appropriate for a Gemini, and in fact it is completely in keeping with the way things have always been with me computer-wise: PC for work, Mac at home (or Real Life).

Why the Pee Cee, you ask? Are you mad?! It’s like having a small Egyptian curse in the house! This is true, but here’s the problem. The Powers That Be at the firm who maintain our database on line from the traffic wilds of Atlanta saw fit to “upgrade” the system so it only runs on Explorer, which does not run on Mac.

Has upgrading ever made things better?

So my hands were tied with respect to work until I got the Pee Cee. The delivery was complicated by the fact that the FedEx truck broke down on the Ridge about three miles from my house. Since I had already observed the only tow truck going the other way with a trashed white car on my way home, I knew the delivery would be late.

Fortunately, I had already put a note on the door of the shed where FedEx and UPS deliver to our property, so even though I was supposed to sign for it, I didn’t have to, which was good, since it was about 9:00 pm by the time it got here.

Now all I have to do is transfer the files from the Mac and catch up on all the work I have not been able to do over the past week due to technical difficulties.

As for the Mac, I picked it up from the nice local computer fixers embarrassingly cleaned up and working just fine. We bonded over our shared affection for Buffalo, with its splendid Victorians, Frederick Law Olmstead-designed parks, and actual record stores.

The next day, the rain started in earnest, and I do mean earnest. We have received four inches (or more than 10 centimeters) in the past two days, and are slated to get more over the weekend. Don’t get me wrong: we need it, but does it have to be so hard and heavy? It’s so loud in my wood and tarpaper shack that I can barely hear the cats complaining about being stuck inside. There’s something about the curved shape of the roof/walls that seems to enhance the sound. It’s kind of like being assaulted, with the wind howling and the rain smashing and battering against the house.

Needless to say, the power went out, and of course it went out when I was finally done with a long series of conference calls that had started at 6 am. I speed dialed PG&E, only to be greeted with a gloomy recording saying that there were widespread power outages and power could be out for extended periods of time.

Fortunately, it wasn’t out that long, though the house was instantly cold and dark. My brother called a few hours later to ask if the power was still out – his never goes out, since he has solar and wind power – so he could walk me through getting the generator he gave me going. I thought that was really nice of him. It also reminded me that I should get a big can of gas and gas stabilizer, just in case.

I’m pretty sure there are more outages in my future.

Also inside. Let’s put it this way: when I got up this morning, Audrey leapt gracefully on top of the propane heater instead of madly clawing at the door to go out.

The propane heater has a thermostat, which tells you how warm it thinks the room is and also how warm it has (supposedly) heated it to. There’s also a little thermometer on the barometer by the front door. Both agreed that it was a very chilly 40 in the house.

After putting on coffee and the heat, I grabbed a flashlight and ventured outside to check the thermometer there, which read a somewhat shocking 25 degrees. This may be the coldest I have ever experienced here in Hooterville.

I’m glad I left my tap dripping last night, and so were the cats – they wasted no time in drinking from it, even though there is fresh water for them daily inside and outside.

The long string of sunny days and freezing nights is coming to an end, though. We are slated to get at least eight days of rain, possibly heavy, which means there may well be landslides and flooding, the banes of a Californian’s winter existence. At least it will be warmer, as it always is when it rains, the clouds providing much-needed insulation. The high today is supposed to be 40. The low tomorrow, after the rains start, is supposed to be 43.

We haven’t had any significant rain since Thanksgiving, and I read an article in the San Francisco paper which said that this was the third driest winter since 1850. Also that there is more snow in Texas than there is on Donner Summit in the Sierras, a place notorious for snow and requiring chains to drive on in the winter.

Seems the weather is mixed up everywhere, doesn’t it?

Heading to aquafit on a chilly, dark winter morning, I thought about how our brother inspired Megan and me to start swimming again last year. And I realized how strongly he has influenced our lives, without appearing to do so. In a way, we’ve been following his lead.

Our parents separated when Jonathan was 18. He decided to head out to California, where he stayed with a family friend while he got on his feet. He arrived in San Francisco with his cat and $100 in his pocket, and never looked back.

I visited him every year, or more often if I could, and it got harder and harder to leave. Eventually Dad retired back to his native England, leaving Megan and me on our own, so we decided to follow Jonathan and move to San Francisco.

Megan moved into a boat near his on Pier 39 and married Rob. I found an apartment on land near by, and fixed it up while John drove our stuff, and our beloved cat Buddy, to our new home, arriving in time for our wedding anniversary in December.

One day, Jonathan witnessed a man being stabbed to death at Pier 39. He decided that the time had come to leave the city. A good friend of his was from the Hooterville area, and Jonathan had spent a lot of time visiting, as Bay Area people tend to do. It seemed like a good place to start a new life.

So he did, and it was. After a few years, Megan and Rob decided to follow him there. It was hard at first, but of course having our brother there made it easier and better.

Having most of my family living in a place only accessible by car inspired me to finally learn how to drive so I could visit. In my 30s. I do not recommend this. Parents: don’t let this happen to your kids! They’ll think driving means freedom, when what it really means is driving to work, running errands, and traffic jams.

As usual, I’m an Awful Warning.

As you all know, after several years and several changes of venue, I, too ended up in Hooterville, living a few yards from my sister and about a quarter mile from my brother. In fact, the house he used to live in is on the same property, and it’s still kind of weird for me that he no longer lives there. I still think of it as his house, and so does everyone else. Mark calls it “Jonathan’s house”.

Jonathan started swimming over a year ago, working up to his present ability to swim for 45 minutes without stopping four times a week. He loved it so much that he kept trying to convince his sisters to go, and eventually, he persuaded us. As our mother used to say, he could sell refrigerators to Eskimos (are you allowed to say “Eskimos” now? I always thought the spelling “Esquimaux” was more elegant, anyway). And we love it, too.

The next time I see him, I’m going to thank him for being such a great leader. And the best brother a girl could ask for. Or follow around.

My brother’s gate

The other day on my way to work, I decided to drop off some curried chickpeas with spinach and Season 6 of “Dexter” (what a cliffhanger!) at my brother’s place.

I always look to see that his gate is closed when I drive by. It’s a habit left over from the bad old days when he first bought the property but didn’t live on it, and a local villain preyed on the redwoods. He and his good time buddies used to knock down the fences and/or gates we put up in order to steal the trees, mill them, and sell them.

It was hard to catch him, but everyone knew who it was. Jonathan called the sheriff several times, but they couldn’t catch him. Rob confronted the miscreant at the store, and eventually the thievery stopped, though he left us with a lovely parting gift of epoxy gluing the $100 lock we used to keep him out. The gate you see above was villain-proof, once we got the locksmith out here to hack off the glued lock and put on a new one.

So whenever I see the gate open, especially if I’m going to the pool early in the morning, I stop and close and lock it, just in case. Once I locked Rob in there, but he got out anyway. I’ll have try harder next time.

As I pulled up to the gate, I wondered why there was a pine cone on it. Closer inspection revealed that it was one of Rob’s finishing touches: a ceramic sculpture he made which looks like a pine cone, cemented to the gate post to make it look nicer. Rob is a man who appreciates the finer things in life.

I made my way slowly down the magnificent driveway, which has excellent drainage and no potholes or mud, making it approximately 1,000% nicer to look at and drive on than mine. Arriving at my brother’s little enclave, I noticed the frost on the hay bales:

and the huckleberry bushes:

My brother works overnight shifts three days in a row, so he was really, really happy to come home to dinner and a movie. Almost as happy as I was to give it to him.

Diagnosis: my iBook (or MacBook) needs a new inverter cable. Apparently years of opening and closing the lid have worn the cable, so a new one is required. The good news is that this was the cheaper of the two repair scenarios. The bad news is that it will take three to five days to get said part. However, once it arrives, it will take about half an hour to install, so that’s good.

I repo’d my computer so I can use it at a bizarre angle with accompanying screen blackouts. Better than nothing, right?

When I got home yesterday, I found that the new router had arrived. I also found that there were three missed calls from Megan, so I called her back right away, knowing that she only had a few minutes before taking off for work. “Come over,” she said, and hung up.

I went over there, and she handed me a letter. The letter said that Rob finally has a hearing date for his disability claim. It’s February 17. We are excited, but scared. If they deny the claim, I think we can appeal it, but it kind of feels like the end of the line.

I can’t believe that anyone could look at him and think he could work, but you never know. As with most things, there are so many dishonest people ruining it for the honest ones. I’m actually thinking of password protecting my blog, in case the powers that be read it and think he’s fine, even though it’s unlikely that they have time to surf the web or would know who he is in relation to me.

Back at home, I installed the router without incident (!), and sure enough, the Kindle connected right away. So once the computer is up and running again, it will be all systems go at Chez Suzy.

Things are looking up!

Also in the Not Working department is the Kindle Fire I received for Christmas. Sort of.

The device itself, as you can see, works fine. The problem is that my router is incapable of getting along with it. I tried to persuade it to see the error of its selfish ways, but to no avail.

A call to the Kindle customer service people revealed that this is a common problem with Kndles, even for people who live in civilization. As Meryl Streep said after swallowing the magic potion in “Death Becomes Her” – “NOW a warning?!”

I tried it out at Mark’s place and it connected instantly. Same goes for a cafe in the Hooterville Flats. So I gave in and ordered the router. Now to wait for it to be delivered…

But since waiting and patience are not in my nature, I took the Kindle to the jobette yesterday (where, yes, it felt an immediate connection to our router), and downloaded both of the Michael Connelly ebooks (well, estories) that are not available in any other form.

Once I get the new and hopefully improved router and get it set up, the hard part will begin: learning how to use it. Wish me luck!

And not the good kind…

Recently, my little iBook (or maybe MacBook, I was unable to answer that question and a host of others) has acquired the bad habit of blacking out suddenly, preferably when I’m in the middle of working or typing. Then I have to close the lid and reopen it, trying increasingly awkward angles until the screen appears.

For example, I can’t really see what I’m writing now.

On Saturday, it appeared to black out for good (or bad, because I had work due today), so I took it to the one repair place in the Big Town. They had a look and said it was one of two things, but they’d have to open it up and look around. Unfortunately, they were about to close, and today they already had five patients booked, so I will have to bring it in tomorrow and hope that it won’t require an expensive part being shipped here from civilization, or an overnight hospital stay.

So far, the theme of the new year seems to be “nothing works”. Let’s hope it makes some new ones and mends its wayward ways soon.

I can’t tell you how happy I was to see the Amerigas truck lurching its way slowly down the muddy, rutted dirt road that I joltingly call my driveway, heralded by Luna’s barking. “Hello, this is Luna*, your doorman.”

Normally, I’m not all that excited, especially because propane is one of, if not the only, utility you have to pay for ahead of time. They fill it up, charge you hundreds and hundreds of dollars, and you use it up at your convenience. Yes, they’ll let you pay off the exorbitant fee over a couple of months, but if you need another fill up before you’re done paying it off, you have to sell your soul or your jewelry or both to pay it off before they’ll even consider touching your tank. No matter how nice the landscaping is.

But, considering the fact that I’ve been trying to get Amerigas to get off their Ameriass since December 15, you’ll understand why their arrival about three weeks and a dozen phone calls later was a cause for joy in Hooterville.

The tank was at 40% then, and thinking ahead to the cooking marathons of Christmas, in addition to heating up my hippie hovel against the 32/0 degree cold, making hot water for washing dishes and Self, and the dryer for Jarrett’s five loads of laundry, I thought it would be good to stock up before the holidays.

Amerigas pointed out that I still owed them $165. I paid it on line the same day, and called them the next day to schedule a delivery. “The payment hasn’t posted yet, “ they said. “Well, it’s come out of my bank account,” I said. They suggested I call back that afternoon, which I did. Nope. Nothing posted. This time, the helpful person said that it could take five days on their end. Five business days. Try back next week!

So I did, armed with an email confirmation from Amerigas themselves saying they had received my hard-earned money. They still claimed they hadn’t received it yet, which was annoying, especially since I might have wanted to actually use my soul sometime. You never know.

I kept calling them, and finally we got to the stage in our relationship where they lied to me to keep me happy. “We’ll have someone out there this week.” “In a couple of days.” “Call me if he doesn’t turn up.” “He didn’t turn up?” Let’s put it this way: I no longer had to spell my last name.

While all this was going on, the propane level was, not surprisingly, dropping every day. Keep in mind that if the level falls below 20%, they have to pressure test the tank and yes, you have to pay for that too, even if it’s their fault for not coming the first 50 times you asked them.

Kids: this is what adult life is really like. You have been warned.

So, instead of having to pay for 40% of the tank’s capacity, I’ll have to pay for 60 or 65%, and considering that the last time I paid $425 for 40%, I’m afraid of what I’m going to have to pay this time.

Not the best way to start the new year, is it?

*Mark says I’m the only person Luna never barks at. I think it’s because I always pet her and fuss over her whenever I see her. It’s kind of like tipping her for her doorman services.

This year (well, last year), I seriously considered not sending out Christmas cards. I still haven’t reconstituted my lost address book, unless you count scraps of paper and flagged emails. I can’t really explain my reluctance to do so, other than innate slothitude and all the names I can no longer put in it.

In the end, I sent them out unfashionably late, spending about a zillion dollars on postage. It’s close to a dollar a pop for anywhere other than the US of A, and it adds up quickly.

Imagine my surprise and horror when they started to be returned. Well, the Canadian ones, anyway. They bore a sad red stamp telling me that the cards, at about 3.25 inches, were too small to be processed by Canada Post. Though apparently they were not too small to be sent back by the same means. Go figure.

Characteristically, the US approach was to hold the card hostage until the recipient paid a 20 cent ransom/extortion fee to redeem it. The cards are too small to go through the machine, so they have to be done by hand. Apparently American posties’ time is worth about 20 cents a second. Not for the first time, I think I’m in the wrong job.

So if any of you did not receive a Christmas card from me, it’s either being returned or being held in an undisclosed location. Maybe it’s a sign that I should just give up on the whole thing.

New Year’s Palms

It is January, right? New Year’s Day? Because it’s 60 sunny degrees out. I actually have the sliding glass doors open! The boys are outside playing, Audrey is napping under the Christmas tree like the little gift she is:

Here’s a close-up of her Christmassy cuteness:

And there are flies buzzing around like it’s summer. It’s a little confusing.

I’m also confused by the fact that the Winter Classic, the outdoor hockey game which is always played on New Year’s Day, is being played tomorrow, when I’ll be at work. Before I learned that the game would be played on Monday, I was annoyed that the two teams involved were boring ones (New York Rangers and Philadelphia Flyers). Then when I couldn’t watch the game, I got bitter about that.

If I ran the hockey world, things would be different, I tell you what.

1. No corporate name arenas. Maple Leaf Gardens? Yes. Rogers Arena? No, no, and no. Sure, Rogers can sponsor the team or own the park, but they’d have to do the classy thing and keep their name and logo out of it.

2. No ads on the boards or in the ice. Just the team logos in the ice, and nice, clean white boards. No distractions from the play.
3. Same goes for “Coors Play of the Game” and “Molson Canadian Three Stars of the Game”. You see where I’m going with this.
4. For the love of Don Cherry, no more stupid team names (Atlanta Thrashers and Nashville Predators, I’m looking at you). And certainly no team names that have anything to do with movies or cartoons. Anaheim (Mighty) Ducks, I’m looking at you.
5. Better uniforms for everyone! We’ll start with the egregiously hideous, like the Minnesota Wild, and take it from there. Also retro jerseys would be worn at least once a month. It’s unfortunate that Mr. Blackwell is dead. He would have been a lot of help with this project. I’d settle for Erica and Tim Gunn, though.
   
6. The original “Hockey Night In Canada” theme is back. I don’t care how much it costs or how much you have to apologize. Just do it. And reinstate the fabulous animation that went with it, too.

7. The cheesy organ music is back, baby! No more snippets of Queen or Journey or creepy pedophile Gary Glitter. If possible, there would be a live organist.
8. The national anthems are out. The teams come out, skate around, and the puck drops. This would enable games to start on time at 7:00, instead of 7:10. The whole anthem thing takes up too much time, especially when you have to suffer through both the US and Canada’s. At least the Canadian anthem is singable and makes sense (Canada is great! We love our country!), whereas the American one is impossible for mere mortals to sing and is about an obscure incident in a mostly forgotten war. Shouldn’t it be “America the Beautiful” or something instead?

   But I digress.

9. Every team would have Ice Girls, like the New York Islanders do. They would make the game so much cuter!
10. People who pound on the glass would be turfed out of the game. Why do they do this? To get the attention of the players? ‘Cause if they’re paying attention to you, they’re not paying attention to the game. And no, they aren’t going to become your buddy and hang out with you after the game if they notice you through the glass. Face it and sit down.
11. People who have the insanely expensive luxury seats, especially at Maple Leafs home games, but can’t be bothered to get their sorry butts back in them by the time the period starts after intermission will just have to wait in the hallway until the next intermission. It’s disrespectful to the players to value your overpriced beer more than the game you have come to see.

I think the world would be better if it were a Suzy-er place.

Suzy Hockey League. Not to be confused with the National Hockey League, its much less attractive cousin.

This year was about change: getting the jobette; swimming lessons; having to make peace with driving a lot more. Change is good, right?

One deleterious effect of working more is reading less. I read 118 books in 2011, vs. 140 in 2010. The favorites of the year were Sue Grafton’s “V Is for Vengeance” and Candice Millard’s tour de force, “Destiny of the Republic”.

We are also getting a lot less rain this season. Last year, we totalled about 60 inches (or 153 centimeters), and already had half of that by December 31, 2010. This year, we’ve gotten about 11 inches (28 centimeters) so far. I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here by saying there’s probably a drought in my future. Number of power outages: 3. So far this season: 1, and an early one at that.

It was a great summer, though: lots of sun, little fog, no heat waves.

As far as last year’s resolutions went: not bad. I did a lot of work on the garden, though there are more things I’d like to do, given time and money, always in short supply. I still worry about the cats, and probably always will, to some extent. The loss of the beautiful and beloved June was traumatic, and, as Jessica pointed out to me, I’m a worrier. Maybe I should just embrace my inner (outer?) worrier.

This year’s resolutions are to reinstate Thursday dinners for my overworked sister – they fell by the wayside with the increased busy-ness of my schedule – and to spend more time with my brother when there’s no project to be done or special occasion to be celebrated. I always have a great time with him, but I don’t see him often enough.

And, you know, keep working on the garden and trying to minimize Calamity Suzy episodes.

Let me know what your resolutions are. And thanks for reading yet another year!

January:

How to plant tulips. Logging road walk. A check-up for the kittens. A walk with Schatzi. The beginning of A’s life-threatening illness. Another vet visit. A walk through the Village. A surprise visit from Jessica! Falling off a log really is easy. Dealing with two broken fingers: not so much. They still look freaky and witch-like. A brief trip to San Francisco. A is improving.

February:

Back in touch with the outside world. A finally gets out of Intensive Care. And I get the jobette! The boys make a windmill. Week One at the jobette. A’s slow recovery continues. Beautiful new garden chairs. A rare and magical snow day!

March:

A quick tour of the jobette. A graduates from Intensive Care to the HIghly Dependent Unit. Tragedy strikes our sister city in Japan. Doin’ it Rob style. Signs of spring. My beloved father’s 80th birthday. It’s not snow this time, it’s hail! The painting saga. Flooding. The week in pictures. Spring arrives in the garden.

April:

The painting problem is solved – at least, for now. Power outages. Little salon in the big woods. A is finally in a regular hospital ward, while Clyde is a little limpy. A nice little burn to go with my broken fingers. Jessica’s birthday! My blog’s 10th birthday! First BBQ of the year. A sad and loving farewell.

May:

The fabulous circus. New contact lenses. A walk through town. Star’s birthday. My tulips in bloom. Countrified. Fabulous garage sale finds. Girls’ night out. A short visit to San Francisco. The magnificent Balenciaga exhibit. Back home. Megan’s birthday. Car troubles – and a birthday celebration.

June:

Car trouble and bad weather. Truly rural. Bi-coastal. Rainy birthday to me. Happy first birthday to the boys! Rob is scheduled for more surgery. An evening with Erica and Jessica. Rose’s chicken curry. Unveiling the clock of ages. Rob’s surgery is rescheduled. The operation. Back home. Houdini lives!

July:

Audrey turns four. Found poetry. Both Rob and A are on the road to recovery. Kitty updates. Home improvements. Jessica visits the jobette. Musical contrasts. Erica and Jessica move to Portland (~sob~). The last Harry Potter movie ever.

August:

Propane prettifying. Encore de car. A change of address. Garden updates. The tenth anniversary of my father’s untimely and completely unnecessary death. I love you and miss you, Old Bear. More car fixing (or not). The bliss of Brian. Star meets quail.

September:

Mark’s seizure. He has epilepsy and is taking meds for it. So far, so good. Thank goodness. Free palms. The Houdini dog expands her repertoire. Planting the palms. The joys of aquafit. The delights of the County Fair. Clyde takes it on the chin. A visit from the generator fairy. A total meltdown.

October:

The car is finally fixed. I hope. Swimming clinic doesn’t go quite as swimmingly as I’d hoped. Car-share begins (and is still going on). The plague descends. My second anniversary of moving to Hooterville. The arrival of Turbo, Mark’s horse.

November:

Pool problems. Feeding the family. Meetings in San Francisco. Too tired to shop. A delightful day. Back home. The lowdown on high beams. Star and Megan are both stars. Thanksgiving Eve. A happy Thanksgiving. An early season blackout.

December:

Sunny days and sparkling nights. A look around the garden. An amazing experience. Girls’ Night In. A sudden loss. Up with the tree! An adventurous evening. And a tree adventure. Christmas cheer. A magical evening. The wit and wisdom of Jessica.

That’s it for 2011. Wishing you all a happy and healthy new year!

Of course, what you really want to hear about is Jessica.

As soon as she got out of the car, she ran to me and I picked her up and whirled her around, to both of our delights. As I mentioned earlier, she is so much taller now – about chin height, instead of heart height. When I asked her how she got prettier every day*, she said, “I have no idea!”

Erica and Jessica gave me my presents before Jessica dived into hers in the way that only kids can. Can I just say? These girls know me so well. Jessica gave me a scarf she had woven herself on her fingers (!), and to go with it, there was a compact with eyeshadow, blush, and lip gloss which looks like a little Sephora bag. So I’ll always have some Sephora, wherever I am. Also – the sold out everywhere Miss Piggy inspired OPI nail polish, Divine Swine!

It turns out that Jessica is a Candy Land shark. Now, Megan said that Jessica is too old for Candy Land, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t. Jarrett and I played three games with her before dinner, and Jessica won them all. She also got Princess Frostine in every single game, which surely defies the odds, especially since Jarrett shuffled the cards.

Here you see her wearing my red suede shoes (and also my huge wedding earrings, which are clip ons). The shoes are Italian, but I bought them in Russia 20 years ago. Hooray for glasnost! Jessica was also delighted by my Manolo Blahniks and exhibited a surprising ability to walk around in high heels and platforms. Who knew?

Of course, there was time for a tour of my jewelry box. I was wearing Jessica’s favorite diamond necklace, along with a diamond bracelet and diamond ring, but she wanted to explore the rest of the Suzy Collection. She was very interested in where things came from, and once again I realized how many things my father had brought me from exotic lands like China and India.

Jessica was taken with a necklace Dad brought me from India. She told me about Indian kings and myths as she tried on the necklace, which I wear often. It’s made of ruby beads of different shades, along with ornate silver beads. Jessica said, “Everyone who touched this necklace left some of their soul in it.” When she and Erica left, I gave it to her on indefinite loan. I like knowing that my Dad’s gift to his girl is now being worn by another beloved girl.

While we were looking at the jewelry, Jessica said, “All you need to be beautiful is be yourself – and add a little bling.” She paused and looked at me and added, “But you’re perfect just the way you are.”

Later she confided, “Your parents make great kids. I’m so glad you’re my adopted family.”

I have to say, having a rental kid makes your entire Christmas.

*Yesterday Jonathan and I talked about how we should stop telling her how beautiful and smart she is, in case she gets spoiled and/or full of herself, but it’s really hard. As Megan said, “If you could guarantee I’d get a kid like Jess, I’d seriously consider it.” Me, too.

The day after Christmas, I was surprised to be the first one up. I had expected the eight year old to be hopping and popping in the way that eight year olds do. Sometimes I think we’re born with all the energy we’re going to have and just use it up as we go along, dying when we finally run out of the supply. Certainly I was less bouncy at 48 than I was at 8. At least at 8 am.

Coming quietly down the stairs from the sleeping loft, I could see Paul asleep on the air mattress and Erica and Jessica looking like angels on the bed of nails, also known as the sofabed. When I apologized for the bed of nails-ness, Jessica said, “It’s like sleeping on air! And air is so comfortable!”

I was just pouring a second cup of coffee when I saw Jarrett walking by the sliding glass doors with a mountain of laundry. I went to meet him in the laundry room/pantry/cat dining room and we chatted for a while as he started the first of five loads of laundry. Somewhere between the third and fourth loads, I wondered how and when I had become Mom. At least I did it without stretchmarks and exorbitant college tuition.

By the time I returned to the living room, a second pot of coffee was being made and Erica was dispensing toast. Jessica was definitely the most lively at that point, the grown-ups, the house, and the garden looking a lot like that Katy Perry song “Last Friday Night”.

Caffeinated and toasted, Erica and Jessica started to pack up and get ready for the 12 hour road trip ahead of them. I tried to hide their gorgeous dog Lucy to no avail:

They adopted her from the pound many years ago, but she turns out to be some fancy breed called Munsterhound. She may well be the most beautiful and softest dog I have ever seen. All I can say is if there were a whole breed of Lucys, they would all be made into fur coats. Erica had the same thought.

It was hard not to cry as the car packed with fabulous girls made its way down the driveway, but Megan and I are hoping to drive up to Portland this summer.

Jarrett headed home in the early afternoon with a car full of clean clothes, but Paul stayed for a day or two, definitely helping that after Christmas let-down. He might also come back next week, so there’s still something to look forward to.

Aftermath

Maybe I always say this, but it was the best Christmas ever!

I spent the morning making cheese biscuits:

And salad dressing, in the majolica jug to the right of Grammie’s silver:

Later, the cheese biscuits were in the Wedgwood biscuit barrel and the salad in the Wedgwood bowl with matching serving tongs. It was so nice to use them! Also on the table are my American grandmother’s, Nana’s, wine glasses. So both sides of the family were represented.

And setting out the Christmas crackers:

The morning clouds gave way to sun, so Megan and I brought the yellow Adirondack chairs and the wooden outside table out of winter storage. It occurred to me that we could use the metal stove I burn paper in as a warmation device, so we hauled that over to the chairs and collected some wood. This worked out great, and really helped with the seating issues, since some people sat outside by the fire and some hung out inside.

Paul was the first to arrive, followed by Erica and Jessica. Jessica has gotten so tall! She is now up to my chin. She gave us presents she had made herself. Megan’s came with a really sweet note:

[Dear Megan, I miss you a lot! My mom and I are basically living in Beezus and Ramona land! I love you lots and lots! See you at Christmas! Love, Jessica K.]

By the time Jarrett arrived, it was time for presents and stockings. Jessica’s present from Santa was discovered on my front porch. Here you see her opening it:

It was a digital microscope. Apparently you can hook it up to your computer.

Jonathan made the glaze for the ham from maple syrup, bourbon, apple cider, and a secret blend of spices. The ham was glazed and smoked over apple wood we cut that morning. It was magically delicious. With it, we had garlic mashed potatoes, cheese biscuits, and a salad. The salad had endive, frisee, and other bitter greens, along with roasted Bosc pears and fresh pomegranate seeds, along with a dressing of olive oil, apple cider vinegar, and honey. It was a real hit, and the perfect balance for the richness of the other dishes.

Lichen appeared in time for dinner, bearing little bottles of tonic and a flask of Bombay Sapphire gin to mix it with. Jonathan’s friend Michaela brought cookies and a bottle of wine, which vanished almost immediately.

After dinner and before the pies (one cherry and one lemon), Jonathan read out loud to us, as is tradition. Jessica said she wanted to do the reading this year, so Jonathan proposed he read one page and Jessica read the next. But once he started reading and doing all the voices like Dad used to, she forgot all about it and listened raptly:

/>

Surrounded by my family and friends, I realized that Dad is still with us as I listened to his son read aloud the way he used to. And I felt so lucky and so happy.

It really was the best Christmas ever.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

It’s the first cloudy day in a month, or longer. All the better to have Christmas lights on, my pretty.

Once I finish caffeinating, I’ll tidy up the house and start on the final dinner prep. Jonathan is dealing with the ham; Megan’s making the cherry pie, so all I have to do is make salad, my world famous cheese biscuits, and mashed potatoes. I think I can handle it.

At some point today, Paul and Jarrett will arrive from the south and the north respectively. Erica and Jessica will be here sometime this afternoon, and Lichen will come for dinner. Still not sure if my brother will be bringing a guest. But I kind of love it that all these people are drawn to my home and feel comfortable enough to be flexible in their plans. And I love having my house full of people I love.

Last night, I brought the pot of parsnip vichyssoise over to my sister’s house with some whole wheat dinner rolls. Jonathan joined us, and we enjoyed dinner together and then watched “A Christmas Story” and reminisced about our own past Christmases. It was so nice to be all together in that little house in the big woods where we’ve spent so many Christmases over the years, knowing that there are more to come.

I wish you all a joyful holiday. May you be surrounded with loved ones and happiness!

Guarding the tree

You are all familiar with the limitations of my kitchenette. So you probably won’t be surprised that last night I went to bed thinking, “OK. If I start the pie crust while the parsnips are roasting, then I can prep the pears and…”

You probably won’t be surprised that I woke up around 4:00 and lay there thinking about it in the cold and dark, sneezing away (having allergies to things like dust and pollen and trees makes living in the country a little trying at times). I decided to get up and deal with it instead of fretting about it.

The cats watched with benign curiosity from their post beside the heater. I put the oven on, then peeled and cut up all the veggies to be roasted (parsnips, potatoes, leeks, onions, garlic) for tonight’s soup, our traditional parsnip vichyssoise. By the time they were ready to go, the oven was warm. Then I peeled and cut up pears and tossed them in olive oil, ready to be roasted for tomorrow night’s salad.

It was time to start on the lemon pie. It soon became obvious that I had overestimated my lemon requirements, so I’ll have to start thinking of ways to use them up. Hopefully I won’t be up before dawn making lemon curd or something like that.

After five or so hours of cooking, I was more or less done when the phone rang. It was Paul, saying that he was unexpectedly in San Francisco and wondered if he could come up for Christmas. So it will be full houses for Megan and me: Paul and Jarrett, Erica and Jessica. But it will be festive!

Clyde in a tree

At first, the kitties ignored the tree. Seriously. They came in from their outdoor play, sniffed at it, and repaired to their usual evening spots: the couch by the heater (Clyde); the bed in front of the heater (Roscoe); nested into the pillows on the bed (Audrey).

But as time went by, they got more interested. Most mornings, I’d wake up to find an ornament or two rolling around on the floor. Maybe it’s because yesterday I added a star, some clear snowflake ornaments, and a string of white lights:

Here’s a close-up of the snowflake ornaments:

The star and snowflakes were half price at Rite Aid, probably because they figured most people weren’t still decorating their trees a few days before Christmas. But they reckoned without my amazing procrastination talents.

This morning, while waiting for it to get light enough outside to let the boys out, Clyde decided to get in some indoor tree climbing practice. I think it’s a credit to Rob that the tree stand could stand this.

The dynamic duo

Once again it’s 44/6 degrees in my little tar-paper shack. The boys and I are huddling by the heater while Audrey prances around outside in her fur coat and my thimble of coffee gets cold almost as soon as I pour it.

The coffee maker is in the bathroom this morning. Why, you ask? Well, last night was a little more of an adventure than I would have liked.

When I put up the blue icicle lights on the back deck, I installed a doohickey that screwed in where the lightbulb used to be, and plugged the lights into it. It worked, but it meant there was no light at night in the backyard, other than the icicle lights. So I put a lamp out there and plugged it in the outlet beside the sliding glass doors.

Now, this outlet had been repaired by Mark this summer when it alarmingly sparked, though there’s still a burned looking area peeking out. Last night, it sparked again and stopped working. Something must have shorted out, because the outlet in the kitchen for the coffee maker also stopped working, which is why I relocated it to the bathroom.

Of course, the back yard was plunged into darkness, which plunged me into horror, since all three cats were outside. In fact, I was already somewhat horrified, because for the first time in his life, Clyde hadn’t come home for dinner. I hadn’t seen him for three or four hours, and I am a Worrier.

Granted, it had been a beautiful sunny day and it wasn’t cold then, but after the June Bug Trauma I am not rational when it comes to my cats.

I got an extension cord, plugged it into a working outlet, then moved one of the lamps by the couch outside, where it remains. I went out and called Clyde, walking down the driveway and part of the haul road, but it soon became obvious even to the most paranoid that finding a black cat in the country darkness is the real Mission Impossible.

Clyde ignored me, but Audrey and Roscoe appeared. Unfortunately, they also brought a mouse to guest star, and started chasing the poor thing all over the house. I shooed them outside and went back to calling for Clyde.

Still nothing. I checked on John’s flight and saw that he had arrived early to SFO, though the flight itself was a late one. It seems he missed the Customs cutoff at the Ottawa airport by minutes, along with several other passengers, and had to take a later flight. He was most upset by the fact that he would be too late to get his three cats from the boarding place. He also said that he had a lot of late nights with the family and was exhausted.

I went back out again and there was Clyde. My heart leaped to see his little white bow tie in the darkness. Everyone else came running, mouseless, when they heard the distinctive crackle of the treat bag. Everyone was in, everyone was safe, including John. Whew.

I called Mark to tell him about the outlet. He’s heading to Santa Rosa today, but will come by and fix it on Wednesday, hopefully for good this time. After we talked about the outlet, he asked me if I had found Clyde – he had heard me yelling from his house! Maybe I should just embrace my inner (or outer) Worrier and just accept that’s who I am.

The belated tree

So I finally decided to put up the vintage 1950s Christmas tree. I was helped in this decision by Rob coming up with a stand for the tree. I should have taken a picture of it for you before I installed the tree and covered the stand up with a towel, but you’ll just have to take my word for its ingenuity.

As usual, it was made out of found parts. It has a wide base to keep the tree steady and withstand kitty attacks, while having an opening narrow enough to hold the svelte tree.

As you can see, the tree is kind of minimally decorated. There are lights on the banister and outside the sliding doors where the tree is, so it seemed a little too Vegas to light up the tree. Then someone told me that if cats eat tinsel or icicles, it can kill them, so that was out. Rob said he might make me an origami star for the top, and Megan and I might string popcorn and/or cranberries for it. Or not. We’ll see. In the meantime, the halls are about as decked as they’re going to get.

Tonight my brother is coming over for dinner with a friend who is visiting from Syracuse. Syracuse, the city of my birth but otherwise undistinguished, has been rearing its sooty head lately. It turns out that our friend Clayton, who kindly put us up during Rob’s surgery this summer, also hails from that eastern town, and at our Christmas lunch on Friday, I learned that our CEO went to college there. Small world, no?