Suzy Says

Calm seas

Last night, I happened to be channel-surfing and came across the shocking footage of the Japanese earthquake. Any Californian feels a certain kinship with fellow earthquake sufferers, and I was appalled by the size of the disaster: 8.9 on the Richter scale. To put it in perspective, the 1989 Loma Prieta quake was a 6.9, and the 1906 “Great” quake, which devastated most of the city, was about an 8. Keep in mind that a quake measuring 9.0 is 10 times greater than one measuring 8.0. This is one of the five strongest quakes in recorded history.

Scary, scary stuff.

This morning, I woke up to an announcement in my email* saying that the one and only road to San Francisco was closed, as were several state parks (including the beach I pass on my way to work and back) and schools. I quickly called Megan, since she and Rob were planning to go to San Francisco this morning to consult with some specialists about Rob’s continuing spinal issues (yes, there is more surgery in his future). Fortunately, they hadn’t left yet, though they wouldn’t have gotten far.

They rescheduled the appointment, and we all headed down to the local store, partly to get propane and partly to find out what was going on and have a peek at the ocean. The ocean, as you see above, was living up to its name and was actually calmer than it was yesterday. The local fire department and emergency services were on alert, though nothing had happened yet. This afternoon, I got another email alert saying that there had been serious destruction caused by the tsunami in the harbor in the big town. The very harbor where we have our few but fabulous girls’ nights out.

Wow.

As I write, Dad’s famous honey mustard chicken is slowly cooking in my little oven, filling the house with a delicious, comforting scent. Pretty soon I’ll start the brown rice and later I’ll steam some broccoli. Megan and Rob are coming over for dinner tonight. Maybe there’s something about a disaster that makes you want to keep your loved ones close. I feel lucky that we are all safe, but my heart aches for the people of Japan. Our thoughts are with them.

*I recently joined a local Listserv for announcements, and it’s been quite useful so far. Weather warnings, an armed fugitive in the village (he was caught)…things like that. News you can use!

Yesterday, Rob and I car pooled to town together. It was so fun!

Unlike most Americans, I hate to drive, so I was happy to hand over the wheel. I’ve always wanted a chauffeur*. And Rob makes interesting company. We also brought Star along for the ride. Sometimes she stayed in the back seat, and sometimes she didn’t.

We stopped off briefly so Rob could express plant some daffodils he found in the wilds of my garden at the front of my brother’s property. Rob has landscaped it nicely there, with the pointy bush from their garden, crocuses, and now the daffodils. I’m pleased to say that my tulips are coming along nicely.

Rob had a ceramics class in the morning and an appointment in the afternoon at 4:00. So just in case he couldn’t get home in time to return the car to Megan at 5:00, when she leaves for work, we decided to share my car. Those of you who are wondering why he didn’t take his trusty truck don’t live where gas is $3.79 a gallon and have a truck which gets about 5 miles to the gallon.

We arranged to meet up at Monica’s store (conveniently located a block away) at 4:30. I ended up leaving work at about 4:15, having successfully labeled, stamped, stuffed, and sealed 500 envelopes. There was no way I was leaving work until I had wrestled them into submission. You haven’t lived until you’ve processed 500 envelopes. Or maybe you’ve died and gone to hell.

As I approached the corner, Rob pulled up beside me. Perfect timing and curbside service. What’s not to love?

*All those Hollywood starlets who keep getting arrested for DUI? I can never understand why they don’t have chauffeurs. Talk about a sensible luxury!

On Sunday, my family and I finally had dinner together. It’s been a long time. We cancelled Thanksgiving, Jonathan couldn’t make it for Christmas, and somehow we’ve slipped into the new year without dining en famille. It’s been harder than ever to make our schedules match up since I started the jobette. So it was about time.

I made a salad and a new recipe: Spaghetti with Fresh Sopprassata. Apparently actual sopprassata is a kind of cured sausage, like salami, but this is an uncured, fresh version. Note that you need to start it the night before. I did an excellent job of misreading the recipe (or not reading it carefully enough), so I missed that part, and instead put it together in the morning, which is not the time you want to smell wine. Especially cheap Gallo wine bought for the purpose of cooking. I also missed the “extra can of crushed tomatoes” part, necessitating a trip to my sister’s pantry (fortunately, not the store, which is several miles away).

So, you have been warned. Here we go:

Spaghetti with Fresh Soppressata

4 garlic cloves
1 1/3 cups dry white wine
1 pound sweet Italian sausage, casings removed (I used turkey instead of pork, and if you like it spicy, you could use hot sausage instead)
1 teaspoon fennel seed
1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper (or more, for the spicy-minded)
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 small carrot, finely chopped
1 celery rib, finely chopped
One 28-ounce can plus one 14-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes, crushed, with their liquid
Salt
1 pound spaghetti
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1/4 cup chopped basil
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley

In a blender, puree the garlic, fennel, and peppers with 1/3 cup of the white wine. Transfer the mixture to a medium bowl. Add the sausage and knead lightly to combine. Cover with plastic and refrigerate overnight.

In a large, deep skillet, heat the olive oil. Add the sausage mixture, onion, carrot and celery and cook over medium heat breaking up lumps with a spoon, until lightly browned, 6 to 7 minutes. Add the remaining 1 cup of wine and cook, scraping up any browned bits, until nearly evaporated, about 5 minutes. Add the crushed tomatoes and their juices to the pan and season lightly with salt. Simmer over low heat, stirring occasionally, until thickened and reduced to about 5 cups, about 40 minutes.

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the spaghetti until just al dente. Drain, add the pasta to the sauce and toss with the grated cheese, basil and parsley.Toss the pasta over moderately high heat, until nicely coated, about 2 minutes. Serve immediately.

It turned out great and there wasn’t much left, although the recipe is supposed to serve 6. The perfect ending to the meal was one of Megan’s famous huckleberry pies. It’s worth having temporarily black teeth to eat one.

We had such a good time that we have promised each other to get together for dinner more often. Is it too late to make a new year’s resolution?

Hey! I just found something else I can’t do: bake cookies!

Notice that I didn’t say “make” cookies. My incompetence is even more impressive when you take into account that I was merely cutting pieces off logs of dough (made by my sister), applying them to a baking sheet, and putting them into the already heated oven.

Now you’re impressed, aren’t you?

The results were uniformly poor, though not in a uniform way. In fact, I should probably get extra credit for finding so many ways to make bad cookies. Some were discouragingly flat; others were lumpy; some were resolutely doughy in the center, while others were burned around the edges. Some were a winning combo of burned on the bottom while doughy in the middle. Some of them melted together during baking, so when I separated them, they had the odd look of having already been half eaten. Neatly eaten, but eaten all the same.

None of these beauty pageant problems would have really mattered to the exasperated bakers if we weren’t supposed to sell the damn things. Looking at the pitiful parade of cookies, it was pretty obvious that our only potential market was sugar-deprived elementary school students.

But it was a confectionery emergency. The cookies were to be sold at today’s Purge Party*, the annual fundraiser for Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue. Someone had promised to make 150 cookies for the sale, then backed out at the last minute, making it Megan’s problem. And I do mean problem.

I suggested that we make Rice Krispie treats. Although Megan objected that she had never made them, I assured her it was easy. So she raced down to the store, five bumpy miles each way, while I tended to the last batches of the saddest cookies in town.

She returned triumphant with shockingly expensive Rice Krispies ($7 a box, anyone?) marshmallows, and colorful sprinkles to make the finished product more festive. They turned out to be Suzy proof, and the day was saved. We also have enough unattractive cookies for the rest of our lives. Bonus!

*I can’t help it, but every time I hear this I picture a bunch of bulimics with balloons and noisemakers. It’s entirely possible that I will never grow up.

While I was getting a new job and falling off a log (amazingly, the Horror Hand still hurts, though it has deflated), Jonathan and Rob were making a windmill.

Yes, making it. Mostly out of spare parts and found things, as is the Way of Rob. It’s seated firmly in cement, set three feet deep into the ground.

The welder came in handy when they welded the hinges and attached the pole they used to raise it. It’s about 20 feet high, and there are plans afoot to make it even higher and take advantage of the wind that is supposed to be up there. The sunny weather continues, and needless to say, the wind has been uncooperatively calm lately.

But when it starts up again, my brother will have an extra power source in addition to the solar panels. If it gets too windy, they can tilt the windmill’s blades back and fasten them there so there isn’t too much strain on it. All in all, a great design and a great job. I have to admit I’m kind of in awe of their abilities and ingenuity.

A during her modeling years

My friend A is a remarkable, accomplished woman. I’ve been lucky enough to know her since we were seventeen.

She was born in China, and her family fled to Canada to escape the Cultural Revolution (her uncle, if I remember correctly, was Deng Xiao Ping). In Canada, she learned to speak English and French, and in her twenties, became an international model, working for some of the most prestigious agencies in the world and gracing magazine covers. I still remember walking into Harrods and being surprised by huge banners bearing her face in a campaign for Shiseido cosmetics.

As models often do, she fell in love with a photographer. Her particular photographer, C, is from Amsterdam, and that’s where they settled, buying a 17th century house in the heart of the red light district. It is remarkably quiet in their house, which looks out over a music conservatory and the old part of the city. They have lived there ever since they married, 25 years ago, A wearing Comme des Garçons (to her mother’s horror: “Brides shouldn’t wear black!”).

As models don’t often do, A went back to school and received a PhD in pure math (in her fourth language, Dutch). She is currently a vice president at Barclays Capital in London, though they retain their Amsterdam home and go home as often as they can.

C sent me an email a few days ago, telling me that A had a flu which morphed into pneumonia and then got so bad that she has been in Intensive Care for five days. She’s on dialysis and is in a medical coma. Apparently the dehydration of the flu caused strain on her kidneys and in turn, her heart. C and I have been in touch every day, and I hope all my readers will join in me in sending A and C our best wishes for a speedy recovery.

Once again, I am thankful for my sister, who has spent more time on the phone with C than I have, explaining medical jargon and what is happening to A at the hospital. After yesterday’s call, I walked home in the rain, feeling so lucky that I can I breathe on my own, and walk, and talk. I found my brother at my house, and I updated him. As we hugged goodbye, I felt so grateful to have my family close by and know that they are always there for me and the people we love, no matter how far away.

I can’t believe that I haven’t told you yet about the Conspiracy Christmas Present I gave Megan.

In October, we were walking the dogs at Big River when Megan said she wished she could afford a professional photo of Schatzi before she gets old and infirm – the Schatz is 11 years old now, and just beginning to show signs of wear. I filed this away in my mental filing cabinet, which is dusty and overflowing with ridiculous things like 1970s radio songs, the difference between carat and karat, and the names of Ava Gardner’s husbands, so it took me a little while to act on it.

This little corner of the world is allegedly home to more artists per capita than anywhere else in this great country, so it’s not surprising that just the person was close at hand. Gerri created the logo for Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue, and has been a tireless photographer at fundraising events. I asked her if she could find time to photograph Schatzi, and we figured out a time right before Thanksgiving.

Lu was going to be away then, visiting family, so I asked if I could use her garden. Lu agreed, and alerted her dog sitters. Rob stole Schatzi while Megan was sleeping, and met Gerri and me at Lu’s house. It takes a village!

We spent over an hour taking photos, and you can see the best of them here.

A month was a long time to wait for Megan to open the present, and both Lu and I almost let it slip a couple of times. There really is nothing as good as giving someone the perfect present and seeing their happiness.

I gave them to Megan on a disk, so she could decide which was her favorite and then frame it. So far, she hasn’t been able to decide. Can you?

Kitten proof Christmas tree!

Yesterday morning, I heard the pantry door close and went to investigate. It was around 8:00 in the morning, so I figured it was Rob. But it was Megan, bearing bags of Christmas groceries. We divided up the list on Monday, and on Tuesday I braved the crowds to get my part on a day when all the other shoppers appeared to have had their brains removed or somehow become zombies while simultaneously equipping themselves with an outsize number of screaming kids. Megan shopped at 6:30 in the morning, when there are few shoppers, but the shelves are being stocked and there are huge carts and stockers everywhere you want to be. Also she was shopping after twelve hours of work.

I think I know who had the worse shopping experience.

While I was decanting bags in the pantry and feeding the cats, Megan put the gel tree you see above on the sliding glass doors in the living room to surprise me. “Now you finally have a tree the cats can’t mess with,” she said.

I have the best sister ever.

In the spirit of Doing Things Ahead, which I firmly believe is the key to surviving the holidays with a modicum of sanity left, I made Thursday night’s turkey chili on Wednesday (chili is always better the next day) and am starting the lengthy process of Christmas Eve’s parsnip vichyssoise today. We have had this soup for Christmas Eve dinner for many years, going way back to the halcyon days when Dad spent every other Christmas with us. I hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

Parsnip Vichyssoise

2 large leeks, white part only, halved lengthwise and sliced crosswise, 1/2 inch thick
2 & 1/2 pounds parsnips, peeled and cut into two inch chunks
3 medium boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into two inch chunks
8 garlic gloves, peeled and lightly crushed
1 onion, halved and sliced thinly
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
6 cups chicken broth
4 ounces butter, cut into small pieces
3/4 cup fresh lemon juice
3 cups milk
2 cups cream (I use half and half)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
12 whole chives, plus 2 tablespoons, snipped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large, shallow roasting pan, combine the leeks, parsnips, potatoes, garlic, and onion. Sprinkle with cardamom and brown sugar and stir to combine. Pour two cups of stock over the vegetables and dot with the butter. Cover tightly with foil and bake for two hours, until the vegetables are very tender, stirring occasionally during cooking.

Transfer the vegetables and any liquid to a large saucepan. Add the remaining 4 cups of stock and the lemon juice. Bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Working in small batches, transfer the vegetables and liquid to food processor and puree until smooth (I like it a little chunky). The soup can be prepared to this point up to two days ahead. Let cool, cover, and refrigerate. It may be necessary to thin the soup with a little stock before reheating.

To finish the soup, add the milk and cream and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until warmed through. Do not boil. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve with whole chives and snipped chives for garnish.

If, as Lewis Carroll says, there are 364 days a year to receive un-birthday presents, the same goes for un-Christmas presents. And they may be even more delightful.

Rob has been taking a ceramics course a couple of nights a week, a birthday present from our thoughtful Erica. So my unbirthday presents arose from a birthday present.

Exhibit A is this bowl:

He molded it from cabbage leaves, fired it, and glazed it with both green and blue:

I know I could eat a salad out of it, or even cabbage, but so far, it remains an objet d’art on the shelf above my sofa, along with this beautiful little box:

I thought Rob made the texture by pressing grass into the clay, but he actually achieved this bucolic effect by wrapping an empty plastic bottle with crinkled plastic wrap. However he got there, I love the look and shape of it. It also happens to look perfect with a string of hand-carved amethyst beads:

On a more practical note, while still being both decorative and delightful, Erica made me a hat. Which doubles as a scarf/neckwarmer:

I can wrap it around my head, kerchief style, and button it in place so my hair sort of cascades out the back. Or I can wear it around my neck. It’s incredibly soft and luxurious, and comforting to wear inside my drafty house or outside in the wind.

I’m so lucky to have such great friends. And speaking of friends: Paul arrives tomorrow!

Well, the meatloaf was a big hit. “Three thumbs up” from my sister. I’m definitely adding it to my repertoire.

Last night’s dinner featured a guest star, our brother. He usually has fire meetings on Thursdays, but decided to duck out on this one to have dinner with us and bring us up to date on the firehouse gossip, or as he calls it, “As the Hose Blows”. There’s a surprising amount of drama in a small town. He also brought banana bread for dessert, and I couldn’t stop laughing when I realized that dinner and dessert looked nearly identical.

I’m easily amused that way. I also laugh for miles after seeing the dairy company Clover Stornetta’s billboards on my way through Santa Rosa. My favorite is a cow dressed up like Dirty Harry with the slogan “Clo ahead, milk my day”. And I don’t even like milk.

Speaking of not liking things, the meatloaf did a great job of dealing with all the phood phobias, though it did contain an egg and I never told them that I put in Heinz chili sauce instead of ketchup, which they don’t like. I’d like to mention here that Rob is not at all picky and would cheerfully eat any and all of the food outlawed by his in-laws.

Old Fashioned Meatloaf, Suzy Style

Half a large onion
3 garlic cloves
1 stalk celery
4 green onions
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce (I used a little more)
2/3 cup ketchup (I used chili sauce instead)
1 pound ground turkey
1 pound turkey sausage, casings removed
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1 egg, beaten
1/3 cup parsley leaves (stolen from my sister’s garden)

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

The original recipe says to mince the vegetables. I threw then all in a food processor so they were finely chopped, then sautéed them for about ten minutes. The recipe says to use 2 tablespoons of butter for this (!), but I just sprayed the pan with Pam and it was fine.

Stir in salt and pepper, Worcestershire sauce, and 1/3 cup ketchup, and cook, stirring, for one minute.

I let the veggie mixture cool while beating the egg with a whisk in a large bowl. Then I mixed the meat into it (note: the recipe calls for 1 & 1/2 pounds of ground chuck and 3/4 pound of ground pork). I ran the bread and parsley together in the food processor and then tossed that in the bowl, along with the cooled vegetable mixture I mixed it together with my hands, but you could use a big spoon instead.

I would have put the other 1/3 cup of chili sauce on top if the food police hadn’t been there. I packed it all into a loaf pan and covered it with foil for half an hour, leaving it uncovered for the remaining half hour of cooking time.

We had mashed Yukon Gold potatoes and steamed green beans with it, and it was just the thing on a cold, rainy evening. When I walked home, I was happy to see the warm lights of my house glowing through the dark, rainy trees, and the balcony Christmas lights were an added pleasure. I stood there in the rain for a minute, enjoying the bright colors in the darkness.

Mushrooms and art in my garden

Mushrooms are as much a sign of winter around here as the appearance of robins. The poor saps come here for the winter, if you can believe it. The wiser whales, however, have already begun their majestic migration to Mexico. Guess which species has the bigger brain?

Today I tested the waterproofness of my new sneakers by sneaking over to my sister’s place in the rain. I pulled my hat down over my forehead and zipped my jacket up to my ears. Halfway there, I realized that I was not carrying an umbrella. Am I turning into a country girl? Oh, the humanity!

At Megan’s, I went in through the garden gate and slinked over to the parsley section, where I picked as much as I needed for tonight’s dinner. The fresh smell of parsley was delightful in the rain-washed air. Back home, undetected, I went in through the laundry/pantry/cat diningroom door. The floor there is cement, and equipped with a drain, making it useful when the cats spill their water (a nearly daily occurrence). I recently moved the coat tree in there, too, so I had a place to hang up my wet things and slip into slippers.

Tonight, I’m attempting meatloaf for the first time I can remember. I’ll use ground turkey, since none of us eats beef*, and hope for the best. I’ll also make mashed potatoes and green beans for the full Mad Men era effect. If only I had the long-suffering Carla to clean up after me!

*It’s not easy to come up with a dinner once a week for 4 or 5 people who are picky eaters. Outlawed foods include beef, pork, lamb, fish, eggs, mustard, raisins, yogurt, mayonnaise, and others too numerous to mention. Making us – or attempting to make us – eat everything on our plates when we were kids seems to have backfired.

Friday sunrise

Those of you who were perturbed to hear about our non-Thanksgiving will be happy to hear that we had dinner with a friend on Friday night. No turkeys were harmed in the production of this dinner.

Our friend/nephew Jarrett lives about a four hour drive from Hooterville. We have known him since he was four years old or so, back when he and his mother and my brother and sister lived on boats at Pier 39 in San Francisco. When Jarrett was in high school, he was having a difficult time in the city, so he came up here and lived with my brother and sister in turns while he finished school, much as Megan lived with me for her last couple of years of high school.

That kind of thing creates a special, parent-esque bond, even for the most unmaternal of us, so Jarrett is part of the family.

He drove down on Friday, while Megan and I did a quick shop for groceries, along with some early Christmas stocking items. We put a pork roast in my tiny oven, and later added potatoes, parsnips, and carrots. One dish dinner! It also gave us time to catch up on each other’s news and drink wine, which is always good.

Jarrett brought a recipe for Dutch apple pie with a parmesan crust*, which he and Megan made at her house, my oven being fully occupied. As you can see, it looks delicious:

Megan used brown sugar instead of white, and much, much less of it, and skipped the raisins, which she hates. Recipes, after all, are just a suggestion.

*You can find the recipe here.

Through the woods, if not over the river

How’s this for going rogue? We are skipping Thanksgiving!

Yes, on the busiest travel day of the year, when others were braving the fearsome pat-downs and the arrivals of in-laws, I just worked, walked on the haul road (above), and tried to stay warm on the coldest November 24 since 1892 (at least in San Francisco). No worries about cooking or blown diets or difficult guests.

It just kind of happened. Our brother is out of town, Lichen is camping in the Everglades, Erica is sick of driving Jessica to Hooterville every day to go to school, Megan is coming off her third night shift, and basically, none of us were feeling it.

So tonight – well, later on today – I’m making Thai chicken coconut soup for Thursday night dinner. Something new!

Welcome Home!

Note: Looks like the Doc fixed the comments. So comment away! Don’t be shy!

My last morning in San Francisco was nothing but a foodapalooza. I started out with breakfast at Polker’s, where I had eggs scrambled with fresh herbs, zucchini, and tomatoes, and enjoyed the parade of passers-by. I walked back to the motel in the sunshine, packed up the car, and headed back to Polk Street. First stop was Bob’s Doughnuts, with its perennially cheerful cashier, and next was Victor’s, where I picked up Thursday Night Dinner. Not exactly new, but the first time we’ve had it this year.

The last stop was the gas station, where it cost $41 to fill the car. Gas in the big city is $3.31 a gallon, instead of the relatively modest $3.03 in Fort Bragg. Good thing I can expense it.

I set off across the familiar Golden Gate Bridge, feeling a pang as always as the dreaming spires of San Francisco dwindled in the rearview mirror. I don’t think I’ll ever really feel that it’s not home.

I stopped off at Gowan’s fruit and vegetable stand. Here you can see some of their many apple trees:

This is the view across the road. I love the rolling hills and the live oaks.

When I got home, the cats were definitely happy to see me, even though Rob and Megan had spent time with them and petted them while I was gone. They have all slept with me every night since. This morning, I woke up to Roscoe sleeping against my chest (I sleep on my side, and he stretches out full length along my body), Clyde curled around my head with his head on my ear, and Audrey at my feet. I love hearing them purr until they fall asleep. The purr gets slower, then patchy, then there’s a big sigh and it’s dreamtime.

On Sunday, Megan and I got our chores out of the way in the morning, and then she came over to my house for a fun, girlie afternoon.

First, we put a load of her laundry in, and made ribollita soup for that night’s dinner. As usual, we had the ingredients between us, and as it simmered away, we watched “Sex and the City 2” and did our nails. We enjoyed it as much as we did when we saw it at the theater in the summer. It’s been a not great year with not great weather, and neither of us can remember the last time we actually went on vacation or even left the state*, so we need all the escapism we can get.

People have been asking me where the Thursday night dinner recipes are. The sad truth is that I haven’t made anything new recently. So this week, I have vowed to make something new. I have a couple of ideas in mind, but suggestions and recipes are always welcome!

*With only one month left to go this year, I have gone to San Francisco exactly once, for one night. And that’s the only non-Hooterville place I have been this year. You can see why I’m planning to let my passport expire for the first time in my entire life, including childhood. You don’t need one when you never go anywhere or do anything. $100 is a lot to pay for wishful thinking.

Friends

Friday was cloudy and threatening to rain, but Megan and I took the dogs with us to run some errands in the village. Afterwards, we took them for a walk on the headlands. That’s the thing about being a dog: you never know whether you’ll get stuck in the Safeway parking lot or get to run around in the woods. Dogs are always hopeful. There’s probably a lesson there somewhere.

We parked near this sign. I have no idea what it means. What do you think? Love is a one-way street?

This one is much easier to understand, but it makes a girl a little nervous. Maybe Star should have read it last winter.

Apparently, she can read now.

Here’s the village in the cloudy distance:

And the bridge over Big River in the distance, too.

The ocean was feeling frisky, as it often does before a storm:

But you’d never know it to see the sky reflected in these still pools.

Even when the weather isn’t great, or we’re grocery shopping, or even driving all the way to Colusa and back in one day, I always have fun with my sister. I’m so lucky to have her in my life. And that goes for Star and Schatzi, too!

The other day, I dropped by my brother’s place to inspect the solar array. That’s what they call it when solar panels are mounted. Who knew?

Of course, since it was my brother and his trusty assistant Rob, the panels were mounted with found and bartered materials. A neighbor lent them the welder they needed to create the hinges and other mounting gear. They learned how to weld from books I ordered from the library. We were all kind of surprised that they had never had to weld before. They both enjoyed learning how.

Here you see the solar panels mounted on the shipping container:

My brother bought the shipping container when we emptied out Mom’s expensive and distant storage unit last year. Remember how fun that was? Especially for him.

The shipping container now holds that stuff, plus the batteries and other things that convert the sun’s power into electricity to give my brother light and power. I’m really proud of him for getting his power from the sun and water from the well he and Rob dug with their own hands. Plans are in the works for a windmill. More power to them!

Here you can see the hinges and fastenings that had to be welded.

The solar panels can be tilted at different angles for summer and winter, to take the most advantage of the sunlight. It’s always warmer at my brother’s place, since he lives in a meadow with trees at the perimeter, instead of right in the woods like his sisters do.

Here are other panels waiting for their own array:

When I had admired everything, I went to say hello to Henry Etta and tell her what had been happening lately. I also weeded around her resting place – still with its driftwood in place – and pulled out the starter manzanita and bull pine that seed themselves everywhere. Then I rearranged the leaves so it looked peaceful again. I find it comforting to know she’s safe and peaceful there.

After that, I took Star for a walk. Among her other qualities, it turns out that Star is what my brother calls “a good ranch dog”. This means that she stays in sight while they’re working and doesn’t get in the way or get startled by things like welding and power saws. Here you see her hanging out while they work:

After the walk, I got in the car to go home. I soon realized that Star was following me. I stopped, and when I tried to get out, she tried to get in. I started back to where the boys were working, and she came, too. I put her in Rob’s truck, but the windows were open, so she jumped out. I brought her over to the boys and tried to walk away, but she followed me. In the end, Rob held onto her until I was safely out of sight.

Before we get back to our regularly scheduled post, I just have to say (well, shout):

I followed the game’s finale with the final two episodes of this season’s “Mad Men”, and without giving away the plot, I’ll just say that I found the ending unconvincing and weird. Also that it was the bleakest season yet. Can’t wait for next season, though. Same goes for the Giants.

And now back to Halloween…

Roscoe gets in the Halloween spirit

On Halloween morning, I introduced Jessica and the kittens to “The Munsters”. Jessica was immediately captivated, especially by Lily*, seeing through the make-up and finding her beautiful. She also liked Lily’s signature bat necklace, saying “And it’s bling, which we love.”

Megan came by to pick us up, and we started our grand Halloween tour in town, where there was a party at a pet food emporium. We met up with Lu and Harlow:

You can see that Harlow is much bigger than last year.

In addition to bobbing for hot dogs for the dogs, gift bags for all, raffles, and games, there was face painting. Jessica got in the Halloween spirit with a spider:

Then we stopped in at the Town Hall to see the Day of the Dead exhibits. It was so wonderful that it deserves its own post.

Finally, we all repaired to Lu’s house so Jessica could get ready. I was charged with putting make-up on around the spider. The white make-up supposedly glowed in the dark, but it didn’t seem to when the time came. It was kind of a challenge blending the white with the green and the spider. Also, Jessica’s skin is so fair it’s almost translucent, and utterly smooth and flawless.

She wouldn’t let me give her witchy eyebrows, so I just darkened hers:

It’s hard to tell from the picture, but there are glow sticks around her wrist and ankle. Needless to say, her mother made the dress:

I have to admit I was a little surprised that Jessica didn’t want to be something more unusual. But she looked adorable.

In the village, Dr. Karen’s office was open and decorated to the nines (or thirteens). She was dressed as a mad scientist and dispensed treats for dogs, cats, and kids as well as grown-ups, in the form of free wine. We went on to the street fair, where the Flynn Creek Circus performed:

You can see that the weather had finally cleared up after trick or treating us with ten inches of early rain. As the evening went on, the stars were out in full force, as if they had missed us.

Despite the starlight, trick or treating in the dark was tricky for Self, though Megan and Jessica had no problem bouncing along the village streets. I lagged behind, convinced that I’d trip over something or fall into a hole, but I managed to survive this particular Halloween unscathed, unlike last year.

We ended up at the historic Crown Hall, where there was a costume judging contest for the kids. I can’t begin to describe the racket in that place. Not for the first time, I marveled at parents and their patience, and wondered how my own put up with so many kids and so many Halloweens, so long ago.

*Played by the lovely Yvonne De Carlo. She was the secret Canadian in the show. You’ll find one in every TV show. You’ll see.

I know it’s not very Halloween-y, but my new purple honeysuckle just started blooming on Saturday!

In a more Halloween spirit, Megan and I spent the weekend with none other than Miss Jessica. We picked her up in Navarro, so Erica wouldn’t have to drive all the way to Hooterville and back, something she already does five times a week, every week. The life of a single mother is always intense.

Megan and I arrived first, so we had plenty of time to play “There’s your boyfriend” in the general store’s parking lot. I’d say approximately 90% of the 69 people who populate Navarro could easily have been extras in “Deliverance”. Before we could decide between the toothless guy and the one with the ZZ Top beard, Erica and Jessica arrived, injecting a much-needed note of loveliness to the proceedings.

Jessica hopped into Megan’s car without a backward glance. Unlike many kids her age, she’s perfectly comfortable staying overnight with us, which is nice.

Jessica came equipped with a bag large enough for a visiting Anna Wintour, along with a pumpkin and a book of designs. Needless to say, she had her heart set on the most difficult design of all. Megan and I cleaned out the guck and grossness while Jessica supervised. Once again I wonder how Dad put up with it when we were kids. Though maybe scientists aren’t all that easily grossed out.

Megan set aside some seeds for Jessica to grow next year, and roasted the remainder. We ate the roasted ones while watching “The Witches”, based on Roald Dahl’s novel and starring a wonderfully wicked Queen Witch, Anjelica Huston.

Rob came home and carved the pumpkin in true Rob style. I think he enjoyed it:

After dinner, I read “The Princess and the Goblin” aloud. I remember reading it when I was little. Though I was a little surprised that Jessica knew what “inundation” meant. I probably shouldn’t have been.

What else is there to do on a rainy day?

Not much has been happening here in Hooterville, other than the seemingly endless rain. I have the heater set at 64, and it keeps coming on and burning luxurious propane alarmingly often, since the temperature refuses to get out of the 40s outside. It’s dark and depressing, too. Even the cats don’t want to be out there.

Hopefully, Game Two of the World Series, which is scheduled for 5:00 this evening in beautiful San Francisco, will not be rained out. The Giants have never won the WS in their California incarnation, and the last time they won the title was way back in 1954 and way back in New York. So here’s hoping.

I voted by mail the other day. Even if it’s not raining, I’m too lazy to go and wait in line. My natural impatience and slothfulness forbid it. But my grandmother, who did not have the right to vote until after she married, impressed on me the importance of voting, especially for women. So I’ve never missed an election, even when I lived abroad.

There were the usual passel of murky propositions to wade through. It’s remarkably time-consuming to read all the pros and cons and make up my fluffy mind. I had no hesitation, however, in voting for David Eyster to replace the District Attorney who gave poor Aaron Vargas nine years in prison for killing the man who molested him for years. Or in voting for Jerry Brown. If Meg Whitman buys the governorship of this great state, I’m moving to Canada.

You have been warned, Canadian readers!

As for Thanksgiving, we may have a change of venue. Lu is heading to Arizona to visit her family, and Megan is going to stay at her house and take care of Lu’s dogs. We’re trying to decide whether to have Thanksgiving at Lu’s place instead of mine.

In favor of Lu’s place is that it’s a real house, with real heating and a real kitchen. There’s even actual high speed internet and cable! Imagine! And there are three bedrooms, in case some or all of us don’t want to drive home. Also, it’s about five minutes from the Safeway, always important when dealing with T Day.

Against it is the longer drive for Erica and Jessica, the difficulties of making a big dinner in an unfamiliar kitchen, and the sentiment of having it in your own house, however humble.

What do you think?