Suzy Says

Frank

Faithful readers may remember how I fell in love from afar with a gorgeous, if pugnacious, flame point Siamese cat named Frank. Frank started hanging around John’s place, looking adorable and acting hungry, and of course John started taking care of him, as he does all the strays who cross his path.

I have enjoyed the Frank news, videos, and photos John sent me. Frank often showed up with scars and wounds, as befits a tough guy who is a street fighting man. John tended to the wounds, and eventually Frank warmed up enough to be petted. His territorial and fighty nature made it impossible for him to join John’s cat family, but as it turned out, John told me a couple of days ago that:

Frank is a goddamned con artist!

Here’s Frank from yesterday, with my expensive food on his nose. (That’s the photo above)

He’ll always be Frank to me, too. Olaf is a pretty bad name. Knowing that Frank is a con artist only makes me love him more. It’s a total relief knowing he has a home and is cared for. I wonder how many other people are feeding him and thinking he’s a homeless waif?

Never change, Frank.

A YEAR AGO: A magical encounter with a deer. I told a friend about it, and she said it was Dad checking in on me. I love that thought.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The horrors of the annual fundraiser.

TEN YEARS AGO: Storms, and some great dump scores.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Snow days, San Francisco style.

Me and the moon…we go way back. Our most dramatic encounter was a few years back, and it has never ceased to affect me. I even bought this ring:

to remember that occasion, and every time I wear it (like today), I think of that breath-taking moment with the eclipse and the shooting star, and my beloved former father-in-law.

Even though I’m a morning person, I still have a strong bond with what the Moody Blues called the “cold-hearted orb that rules the night”. I don’t think of her as cold-hearted; I think of her as beautiful. And although I’m a morning person, it is generally dark when I get up and still dark when I go to work. I start by 7 am, and for years, when I lived in San Francisco, I got to work by 6 am, in time for the stock market opening in New York.

Even on weekends, I’m generally up and about by 6 am or 6:30. Go ahead and hate me. At least I’m not perky and/or chatty at that hour. I don’t want anyone, even the cats, talking to me that early. I am unable to deal with anyone or anything until I have had my one cup of black coffee out of my starry mug:

And when I walk to the car, I take a moment to look at the stars blazing in the blackness, and to admire the moon, if she is beaming down. Then I head into my day, toward the ocean, where I often see the moon through the dark, ancient redwoods. Sometimes she is huge and orange, sometimes she is a sliver of silver, but she is always beautiful.

As I wend my way down the curvy Ridge, the Lady is sometimes on my left, and sometimes on my right, and it reminds me of how I believed my grandfather put up the moon at night with a long ladder. When I asked him about its ability to move from one side of the road to the other, he explained that the moon was on a spring. I bet you didn’t know that. Or that the astronauts got up there when my grandfather shot them out of a catapult.

By far my favorite moon view is when I first see the ocean, when the Ridge meets storied Highway One, and that is what I attempted to capture in the photo above. I love it when there is a wide, silvery path of moonlight on the black ocean. It is so magical.

A YEAR AGO: Meet my new love, Frank. Loving from afar is still love, you know. I’m pleased to say that Frank remains his tough, lovable self and makes regular appearances at John’s place for food and petting. Just the essentials.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Rain flooded the roads and prevented us from going to the ballet. I wish we were getting more rain this year.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Sunlight and shadow.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Some baby photos.

I noticed on my home yesterday that the first daffodils of the year were in bloom:

They looked so bright and sunny against the dark tree trunk and the cloudy sky, a reminder that our short California winter is moving slowly toward the spring, with the solstice a month behind us.

This also means that we are running out of rainy season. We started off pretty well, and have gotten about 29 inches so far, but it’s been a while since we had any rain, and I don’t see any in the immediate forecast:

It’s beautiful, but also a little concerning, since the less rain we get now, the more our wildfire risk is later.

Arriving home, I noticed that the orchid on the back porch has a flower spike:

It looks like this when it blooms:

It used to always bloom in February, but over the last few years, it can be as late as March, no matter when the buds appear. Whenever it decides to bloom, it’s something to look forward to, and a sign that spring is on its way.

A YEAR AGO: Getting to work was a bit of an adventure.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Enjoying the fine wood-working show.

TEN YEARS AGO: Power outages and other things.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Yup, I’m lazy. What can I say? Idle rich really would have been my perfect career.

It’s a Girl!

Babies are rare in our family. The most recent ones were born nearly 40 years ago, and they are showing no signs of reproducing themselves, so babies may well be extinct in our family. No wonder our family tree is more like a twig.

So it was extra exciting when our beloved Ben told us that he and his fiancée Erica were expecting a baby girl for Christmas.

As girls often are, this little lady was a little late, probably putting on some finishing touches for her debut, which coincided with the year’s debut. She arrived on New Year’s Day, sporting a full head of dramatic hair and capturing the hearts of her entire family. Here she is with her adoring father:

It took Ben and Erica a little while to choose the baby’s name. They wanted to get to know her a little first. They finally decided on Anna, in honor of Ben’s great aunts, one on his mother’s side and one on his father’s sides. These ladies meant a lot to Ben and had passed recently, the great-aunt on his paternal side at the amazing age of 102. It’s nice to know that she has a family name that is meaningful to her parents and hopefully will be to her as well. I like it that it’s classic and easily spelled and will not limit her possibilities in life.

Ben gets five weeks of paternity leave, and he loving being with Anna. He is already listening to music with her and enjoying every moment. I am so happy for all of them!

A YEAR AGO: The annual library meeting.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Cheers to the sunset, even though it was a school night.

TEN YEARS AGO: Why I’m here.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: My alphabet.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: My in-laws were planning their first visit to San Francisco.

Still Standing

I may have been early in putting up my tree, but I am late in taking it down. Twelfth Night, aka The Saddest Day of the Year, has come and gone, but the tree is still standing, and I am still enjoying its comforting glow when I come downstairs on these dark winter mornings and during the long winter evenings*.

I was planning to take it down late, anyway, but it’s a longer reprieve than I expected. My plan was to take it down on the 8th, and at the same time do at least some preliminary organization in the Closet of Doom, starting with putting the holiday ornaments in the back, under the stairs, the least accessible part, and then assessing where the rest of the stuff should go and what could go up in the water tower.

Instead, I ended up in dental hell, where they are going to start charging me rent if I don’t look out.

Late on Friday afternoon, it started to feel like something was brewing on the right side of my mouth, the side most popular for crowns and root canals. Do I have any undoctored teeth left there? Apparently I do, because by the time I got home, it was screaming. I had taken Advil when I first felt the grumblings, but unlike during my other dental (mis)adventures, the pain just laughed at it and suggested it try again later.

Liver be damned, I took more Advil, but the pain was undefeated. At this point, I was actually crying with the pain. I texted my doctor, who responded that she would call in a prescription for antibiotics, but since the pharmacy was closed, I would not be able to get it until Saturday, aka the day I was planning to deal with the Tree and the Closet.

I texted Megan, who magically, somehow, came up with antibiotics and pain reducers (I know now that painkillers do not in fact kill pain, only reduce it, which is one of the major disappointments of my adult life), and went to meet her in town outside the ER to get them. Knowing her sister’s silliness, she also provided me with written instructions and the advice to eat something and get some ginger ale in order to keep all the pills swimming in my stomach.

It was a long night with the terrible pain – worse, somehow, than when my face was giant – but after the second dose of antibiotics, I began to feel semi-human again. A trip to the dentist revealed that the culprit was my wisdom tooth, which apparently needs to be evicted, a horrifying prospect. Stay tuned for more on that.

So far, I am unimpressed with the New Year. It needs to try harder.

*I have noticed that it’s not pitch dark at 5:30 anymore. We are returning to the light!

A YEAR AGO: An unappreciated visitor.

FIVE YEARS AGO: In the midst of a long and cold power outage.

TEN YEARS AGO: Some technical difficulties.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Carrie’s new baby. Who I now realize is, uh, a grown-up.

Who, Me?

Dodge got a jump on celebrating New Year’s Eve. Why stay up all night on December 31 when you can stay up all night on December 30?

When I went downstairs on last day of the year, I was happy to see the light and sparkle of the Christmas tree, but surprised not to see Dodge. He is always interested in getting his spoonful of wet cat food, whereas Clyde, careless of the drought, is interested in drinking from the tap and Audrey, who disdains us all, doesn’t bother to come downstairs, knowing that she will get room service. She has trained me well.

I didn’t see him anywhere. I peeked into the Closet of Doom, where, terrible cat parent that I am, I have accidentally shut in the cats from time to time, and he was conspicuous by his absence. I finally opened the door to the back porch, and Dodge shot into the house like he had been shot from a cannon. He was up the stairs before I was really sure what had happened. He was a cartoon-esque blur.

Somehow, he had sneaked past me at some point and then spent the whole night outside in the dark with the monsters. He is aptly named, our Artful Dodger*, dodging past me even when I’m looking for him to do it. He is a habitual sneakyboots. Lately he has had an insatiable lust for going outside, even though the weather could hardly be less appealing. I have no idea why this is, but in the battle of wills between me and this small Siamese cat, I am rarely the winner. I only let him out in the daytime when I’m home, or at least that’s the only time I knowingly let him out.

I have already begun to try and steel myself against the possibility of his not coming home, like the beloved Roscoe. But I think, if I could tell Dodge or Roscoe that if they stayed in the house, they would be safe, but going outside is fraught with dangers up to and including death, they would still choose to go out. They are both Adventure Boys. Sometimes I think that Roscoe died doing what he loved, and that he loved his time in the woods. I just hope the end was swift and merciful**. I still miss him every day.

Dodge eventually came downstairs for his breakfast, though he kept doing that bobblehead thing he did when I first adopted him and which he does when he is nervous, He kept looking at the back door. I expected him to stay home and sleep all day, but in his resilient, Dodge-like way, he was his old happy self before noon, and, yes, asking to go out again. Request denied.

*The same day I wrote this, I watched an episode of Perry Mason called “The Case of the Artful Dodger”.

**When I moved, I felt really sad about leaving him there alone, even though I had no idea where he was. I’m not known for my logic.

A YEAR AGO: My morning drive.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The saddest day of the year.

TEN YEARS AGO: Propane problems.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Shopping in the neighborhood.

The Last Evening of the Year

The last day of the year dawned rainy and misty. I am pleased to say that we have gotten around 29 inches of rain so far this season, with more to come, though we are running out of rainy months, with only the rest of January, February, and March (the secret winter month) to go.

I had the day off, and I headed to the beautiful South Coast, enjoying the winter beauty:

and the sun shining through the clouds over the ocean:

The ocean is beautiful in all its seasons and moods, just in different ways. In some ways, I think the crashing, silvery winter ocean is more beautiful than the calmer blue summer one.

It was a beautiful drive:

When I got home, I made a tourtière:

That’s supposed to be a star in the middle. I always cut designs into my pies, because that’s what my American grandmother did. As I made this pie, I realized that I was taught to cook (and to iron clothes) by two Victorians, since both of my grandmothers were born during Queen Victoria’s reign. It’s nice to think that they live on in me*, and to feel that link to history.

I watched the ball drop in Times Square, along with an attentive Dodge. Maybe it’s because I was born in New York state, but I always think that the New York New Year is the “real” one, even though I have lived in California most of my adult life. I don’t think any west coast celebrations can touch the New York one.

And so we bid farewell to the old year, and greet the new one, which so far bears a striking resemblance to the old one. We shall see what it brings. Happy New Year from me to you!

*As I write this, I am wearing my America grandmother’s gold bracelet, which is etched with her maiden name initials, EFH. It probably dates to around 1914 or so. I wear it often and think of her.

A YEAR AGO: A few plumbing issues to start the year.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Oh, Clyde! I still miss the ornament he broke.

TEN YEARS AGO: Fantasy hockey, Suzy-style. Go Leafs!

TWENTY YEARS AGO: I was less than thrilled with the rain. Well, we got more of it in those days. I note that I watched “Beautiful Girls” a couple of days ago. Still love it.