Suzy Says

Our spokesmodel is sporting a pink and white toile hat with wired brim made by her mother

Jessica stopped by Megan’s house of gimpiness yesterday (of the house’s residents, only Ramona the cat and Star the foster dog are not sidelined by some kind of injury) to bring a little sunshine and cuteness to our lives.

She’s getting taller – now “higher than my heart” – and is about the easiest kid to deal with you could ever imagine. She amused herself most of the time, picking blueberries and strawberries from the garden, reading, and playing a Mom-approved computer game with the greatest focus:

Of course, she did this while wearing a head ornament, “because it’s pretty”, which is always a good reason. She also patiently explained the game to me, possibly the only person in the entire US of A who has never played a computer game or X-Box or anything like that.

While Jessica was busy killing zombies, I was preoccupied with making yet another unnecessarily elaborate dinner dish: Poulet au Beaujolais. I used to make it for my Dad, and once I started the lengthy process, I suddenly remembered why I hadn’t made it in ten years. It might be another ten before I make it again. French food is not for the lazy Susan.

While making it, I tried an alternate method of removing the skin from pearl onions. Instead of peeling them raw, I blanched them. This did make it easier, but a couple of layers of onion went along with the skin, so I think that when I make it again in 2020, I’ll just peel them the usual way.

Jessica is over her dislike of onions. I always found it funny that she didn’t like them, since she’d eat (and critique) anything from oysters to lamb tagine to eel sushi. I used to tell her I’d make her onion sandwiches for lunch and she’d run around yelling “No!” Now she’s decided they’re OK, as long as they’re cooked and there aren’t too many of them. But I didn’t make her peel the pearl onions or eat an onion sandwich. I’m not (quite) that mean, no matter what they say.

Elizabeth Taylor wearing the diamond and ruby suite I admired at the Cartier exhibit last year

I seem to be an unintentional Elizabeth Taylor fan.

Last year, I read the extremely enjoyable “How to Be a Movie Star: Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood”. Recently, I devoured the gorgeous “My Life in Jewelry” by La Taylor (one of the Suzy-est things ever), and waiting for me at the library – if I can ever get there when it’s actually open – is “Furious Love: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and the Marriage of the Century”. I read about in the latest Vanity Fair and it sounds like a fun read.

Yesterday, Megan and I immersed ourselves in the spectacle of “Cleopatra”, merrily commenting on the costumes, sets, and make-up, comparing the events* to the Memoirs of Cleopatra and sighing over Liz’s beauty.

Today, we have a special guest star of our own. Jessica is making a cameo appearance while her mother visits the dentist. I think I know which of us is going to have more fun today!

*Was Mark Antony really such a loser?

Audrey sitting in the shower window

You can see that I’m not kidding about the window actually being in the shower, allowing for more opportunities for flashing meter readers than the average house.

In this picture, I have managed to completely avoid showing you any of this past week’s painting endeavors, though I swear I have painted the shower window white, and also the piece of wood crossing the window.

The door to the left leads to the back porch and the outdoor shower.

Today, I peeled the tape off the now-painted many-pained window on the outside and taped the inside. Still to go: the many-pained front door and the electric lime-green floor, plus et ceteras. It’s true that once you start painting, it’s hard to stop. It also makes sense that “pain” is part of “painting”.

I do have the perfect excuse for not painting, though: taking care of Megan as she recovers from her long-awaited knee surgery. This mostly entails the occasional pillow fluff or juice pouring, along with eating junk food and watching “Harry Potter” movies. Sometimes I make dinner and do the dishes. Exhausting.

Yesterday, I did make an express trip to the farmers’ market, which is open for all of two hours one day a week. With Megan’s list in hand, I zipped through the stalls in record time, mentally cursing the idiots who stand in the middle of the aisle in order to converse while taking up the maximum space possible and their buddies who meander across Main Street without bothering to look for cars or other people.

I selected nectarines, plums, blueberries, and goji berries from the controversial fruit people, off in their little corner past the pointed sign saying “Thanks for shopping LOCAL”. I’m sorry, but fruit like that doesn’t grow well on the foggy coast. And if these people, who grew it and picked it themselves, want to bring it here, I’m happy to buy it. They’re really nice people, too.

Next up was local lettuce, onions, our favorite soap from Lovers Lane Farm, a loaf of bread, and I was out of there! I also picked up some corn and tomatoes for me.

I was parked near the new hardware store beside Mendosa’s, so I popped in and asked about floor paint. The friendly and knowledgeable clerk gave me good advice and a great deal on some light grey paint. On my way back home, I stopped in at the local store. Lu had kindly dropped off an industrial ice pack for Megan. I asked the clerk about it, and she called across the store, “Hey – can you get Meg’s ice pack out of the walk-in?” Armed with an ice pack, I resumed my nursing duties and once more marveled at the marvels of small town life.

I’m sorry to say that my first thought when I saw the sun this morning was that the coat of paint I put on the flash heater yesterday wouldn’t be streaky from fog. I actually went out and checked before I had coffee.

Sad, no?

Before I give you the Megan Report, I’d like to wish my friend and fellow blogger Mike the happiest of birthdays. My present to him is not telling y’all how long I’ve known him. Note to Mike: we met in kindergarten, right?

Yesterday, I spent the morning – yeah, you guessed it – painting and cleaning the bathroom. Still can’t tell you which is worse, really. As I stepped out of my hard-earned and (temporarily) spider-free shower, the phone rang. It was my brother, telling me that Megan was out of surgery and they were on their way home.

My morning, however paint- and chore-filled, was a complete joy compared to my siblings’. Jonathan picked Megan up at 4:30 in the morning for the two hour drive to the hospital. His ability to leap out of bed at any time and fight fires both wild and domestic makes him ideally suited for early morning chauffeur duty.

Though Meg was asked to arrive at the hospital at 6:30 am, the surgery didn’t start until 9:00 or so. They gave her what they call “conscious sedation”, but all she remembers is her arms being strapped to the table and then waking up with her knee already wrapped and ready to go. Before the surgery, the anesthesiologist told her that he could sedate her less, so she could watch the operation on a TV screen.

She refused, and he said, “It’s not gory at all.”

“Look, I’ve had brains in my hair. Blood and guts don’t bother me. If it was your knee, I’d watch all day. But I don’t want to watch mine.”

Pause.

“Fair enough.”

Her first words on waking up were “Have you told my brother I’m OK?” He was waiting for her in the recovery room, where he called me while Megan launched her successful campaign to go home ASAP. She has an amazing ability to snap out of sedation and medication. Also, they did some kind of deep numbing of the knee, which was supposed to wear off “sometime in the evening”, but in practice wore off before 3:00 in the afternoon.

While the surgeon was in there, he took out that pesky piece of cartilage which was lodged under her kneecap and started all the trouble in the first place, six long weeks ago, and also a little cyst, some charmingly named osteophytes, some bone, some more cartilage, and a bunch of fluid.

Jonathan dropped Meg off around 1:00 in the afternoon, then with a hug and a kiss was on his way in his usual super-hero manner. I fussed with Megan’s pillows and ice packs, and made turkey chili with cornmeal muffins (thank you, Jiffy corn muffin mix! Every pantry should have some) for dinner. I checked in on her again yesterday evening, and she was doing fine.

It’s still early by our standards, but I’ll call over there soon and get an update. Thanks for all the love and hugs and good wishes, everyone. It means a lot to all of us.

It seems like the more I paint, the more painting there is to do…

Today I anticipate putting the final coat of paint on the hallway bathroom door and then cleaning up in there (also known as “worse than actually painting”). I still have to paint the many-paned front door and its many-paned side window, both inside and out. Maybe “many-pained” would be a better spelling.

The silvery fog sprites anointed my freshly-painted flash heater with freshly-made fog, so now it’s streaky and has to be repainted when we have a couple of sunny days. Today has started out that way, and we’re probably due for a sunny spell, so I think I can expect to have my brush in hand yet again. So far, this is the fifth day of painting in a row. It’s getting to be a bad habit.

It’s also lacking in the usual feeling of achievement, partly because of the terrible paint jobs of the past leaving daubs and splotches everywhere, which I haven’t added to but which still remain, and partly because of the ongoing problem of the electric lime green floor.

The electric lime green floor (ELGF for short), stretches from the foyer (a somewhat grandiose name for an area which is 42 inches wide and 35 inches deep) through the office nook and into the bathroom, where there used to be livid red doors for it to clash with. It’s plywood, dented, and nailed on unevenly, so it’s pretty much impossible to cover with stick-on tiles, and other flooring options would be too expensive. I’d also have to leave whatever I put there if I move, and I don’t like spending a bunch of money on a house I’m just renting.

Yet my aesthetic sensibility is wounded every day by the hideousness of the ELGF, which is also nearly impossible to clean due to all the flaws in the wood. And it shows the dirt, in a house that’s surrounded by…dirt. Or mud, depending on the season.

It looks like I’m going to have to paint it, too, some neutral shade which will hopefully look less crappy with the “distressed” (i.e. in desperate need of refinishing) wood floor in the living room. At least it’s not plywood.

In non-painting news, I’m awaiting the call from our fabulous brother telling me that our beloved sister’s knee surgery is over. I’m on hold to be her lady-in-waiting today. When she gets home, I’ll be there to fetch and carry and watch Harry Potter movies with her as she recovers.

Audrey, Quince, and June, July 16, 2007

More celebrating is in order today.

My beautiful niece and my little cat share a birthday today! It couldn’t happen to more adorable beings.

I remember that my niece took her time arriving in this world, possibly because she knew what an unlovely place it is, but more likely because she was putting on the finishing touches before making her beauteous debut. She was just about the prettiest baby I have ever seen, and set an impossibly high standard for those that followed. I have spent the rest of my days being slightly horrified by the appearance of other babies.

Happy birthday, Petal!

As for June and Audrey (above), you can see that they were pretty much the nieces of the cat world. In that picture, they are about two weeks old. Notice that they are together, as they always were.

Audrey is celebrating her birthday by chasing two very loud and argumentative Steller’s Jays in the garden, and she’ll get her very own tiny tin of repulsive wet food tonight, the cat equivalent of birthday cake.

Happy birthday, precious girl!

Megan and Rob on their wedding day, July 1, 1991

I’m taking advantage of the remaining Hour of Power (well, half hour) before it goes out for the rest of the day. Now that Mark has nearly finished the Great Water Project, PG&E has decided to celebrate Megan and Rob’s anniversary by putting up a new pole on the Ridge, leaving us all powerless all day.

Suddenly, it seems like a good time to go to town and meander some errands!

Power or no power, I hope we can celebrate Megan and Rob’s anniversary. I’ll get a bottle of something, my entire liquor supply having been demolished in the Great Crash of ’10, and if Megan can actually chew actual food, maybe we can have something nice for dinner. Doesn’t that sound like the kind of party we should be having another 19 years down the road?!

I do have a quite fabulous card for them, anyway. Given Megan’s fascination with all things medical and Rob’s with horror movies, what could be better than this? Also I know he’ll adore the scratch-off part. I had the fun of writing on the black envelope and back of the card in gold ink, too.

I really admire Megan and Rob, both individually and as a couple. They have weathered tremendous storms together over the years, things that break many couples up, but when things get bad, my sister says, they “hold each other’s hands and walk through it together.” Happy anniversary, you two. I love you so much.

One procedure down, so many to go…

Dentist B recommended a specialist in lovely Healdsburg, the heart of Sonoma County’s wine region. I’m sure it would have been fun to go there for shopping or wine tasting instead of a root canal, as Megan did yesterday.

As it was, the specialist’s office was very fancy (vanilla water to rinse with, anyone?) and more like a spa than a dentist’s office. The pain was minimal to unnoticeable, at least by my sister’s stoic standards. Thank goodness for excellent dental insurance, which covers all but around $80 of the pricy procedure.

It was news to me that root canals are done in three part disharmony. Fortunately, Parts Two and Three can be handled by local Dentist B, so dental-related road trips are over for now.

Today, she’s heading to Willits to get her pre-operative EKG and blood tests done. There was some debate about the length of time she needed to have between the root canal and the knee surgery, and the date of July 15 was settled on for the knee surgery, which will also take place in Willits.

Just for fun, Part Two of the root canal will be two days before the surgery.

One thing about living so far out in the boonies is that simple to simple-ish things become much more complicated and time-consuming. Instead of just hopping in a cab and doing your shopping or seeing the dentist, it’s an all-day affair. It took at least four hours of driving to get the root canal, and it will be close to that for the tests today. Even going to the Safeway is what we call “the three hour tour”.

But It will be good to get it all done, and hopefully she’ll be able to enjoy some of the summer and eat something other than mashed potatoes and pudding at the Fourth of July barbecue at Lu’s house.

Audrey’s new hangout

1. I followed my sister’s advice and complained to the Motel 6 manager. He apologized and is going to mail me a gift certificate good at any Motel 6 in the entire US of A. I said thanks, but privately wondered why companies whose products have disappointed you offer you more of the same disappointing product to make up for it. “Sure, we lost your luggage and nearly killed you, but hey, why not try it again for free?”

   I kept that thought to myself, though.

2. Rob did fix the cat door of death. It’s sealed at all times, though I guess I could take the cover off during the day. It seems unnecessary with all the other doors being open, some of them in a so far vain attempt to get rid of the booze’n’condiment smell in the pantry.
3. It looks like we’ll have to come up with a Plan B for Star the foster dog if/when Meg has her knee surgery done. Star is just one of those dogs who like to chase anything that crosses her path, from quail to kitties, and the thought of her chasing my remaining kitty makes me quail, so she can’t stay here post-op as originally planned. Hopefully our collective ingenuity will come up with an alternative which will stop Star from bouncing on Megan in her Tigger-like fashion while keeping the local cats un-chased.
4. Speaking of cats, Harriet got sick of being an invalid yesterday and took off all day. [Update: she’s back!] I’m hoping this means that her leg is feeling better, though still dislocated, and also that she is back home by now (it’s too early to call and find out). Megan is much more philosophic about these things than her paranoid big sister. She says, “She’s lived here all her life, and if she doesn’t come home, it’s because she doesn’t want to.” Whereas I have already called Audrey with treats because it’s 8:00 and I haven’t seen her since I let her out two hours ago. She came, ate the treats, and left.

You can see in the picture that she has a new place to hang out. It’s to the left of the sliding glass doors and to the right of the bathroom door leading to the porch (the surprisingly useful one). I’m not sure why this part of the house is open like that, but I’m planning to put potted plants in there one of these days.

That’s one of my vague home improvement plans, like painting parts of the exterior, finishing the de-hippifying and clean-up of the garden, and doing something about that godawful lime green floor in the foyer and bathroom that may or may not ever happen. However, Mark has promised to buy me new carpet for the sleeping loft, so once that’s installed, maybe it will spur me to get going on the other projects.

Or not.

Let’s review.

In the past couple of months, I have lost two of my three adored (and adorable) cats. My sister’s dog hurt her leg, then she hurt her leg, then her cat hurt her leg. Three weeks after her injury, my sister is still waiting for a date for her surgery, and woke up with excruciating dental pain early this morning.

It turns out that her dentist is, wait for it, having knee surgery, so she was referred to a different and unknown dentist, who she saw first thing this morning. She has an abscessed tooth, and the replacement dentist wanted to drain it on the spot and do a root canal. My sister said no. The next appointment they had was in July, but she took it and a prescription for antibiotics and painkillers and went home.

Back home, she called Lu, who called in a favor to her own dentist, who Meg is going to see on Thursday. Lu’s dentist recommended that Meg also take ibuprophen to bring down the swelling, which not only worked, but was not suggested by Dentist One. I think Dentist Two is definitely the way to go.

However…the root canal/abscess situation complicates the knee surgery situation, assuming that a date is ever set. They do blood tests before surgery to make sure there’s no infection or high white blood cell count, and there will be until the tooth thing is dealt with. God only knows how this will affect the whole worker’s comp bureaucracy.

And in other fun news, it looks like Megan’s cat, Harriet, may have to have to have her leg amputated. Apparently the fix it surgery is less likely to be effective when the femur is as dislocated as Harriet’s is – you can see it through her skin, the poor thing – so she might go through the surgery and find it doesn’t work in the long term. Supposedly cats adjust well to being three-legged, but I have to say the prospect kind of fills me with horror.

As I was making chocolate pudding for my poor sister today, I pondered the family curse and its remarkable creativity. It never stops coming up with new and horrible ways to mess with us. I’m beginning to think it might be worth finding a gypsy to remove the curse.

My orchid, beginning to bloom

Like dog, like girl…

Megan was at work on Monday night when she pivoted to her left and felt something pop in her knee. She sat down, and couldn’t get up again. “Uh-oh,” she thought, calling a nurse over. It seems that she has torn the same ligament in the same leg that Schatzi did about a month ago.

Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but in this case, it was also the most painful. She couldn’t find anyone to cover for her, so she worked the remaining nine hours of her twelve hour shift on crutches, then went home with painkillers and workers’ comp paperwork. She’s not going back to work anytime soon.

Today, she’s off to see the orthopedist so will hopefully have more answers to the questions of what, where, when, how, and how much.

Her knees have been troubling her a lot lately – she’s had surgery on them before – and Rob kept telling her she should get them checked and dealt with, but with the foster dog and ailing dog, it didn’t seem like a good time to do it. Turns out Rob was right. He was also right about Henry. Five days before Henry died, Rob said, “That cat’s not long for this world”. I didn’t want to believe him, either.

Yesterday, I went over to see her and remarked that it was a pretty lousy birthday for her. The birthday barbecue got rained out, and now this happened as soon as she went back to work. She disagreed, saying that she loved the pit bull shirt and watercolor card I gave her, we had a great time at the movies with the girls and at the delayed party; she had her hair cut and got a free massage.

I should look on the bright side more often.

The salon

It was almost a year since my hay bale haircut, so it was definitely time for another one. This time, we went to our friend L’s house. To get there, you turn off the main road onto another one which eventually dwindles into a dirt path. You turn off that onto a seemingly endless dirt road, which must be a joy to drive on in the muddy winter, and leave your car near the gate. You go through the gate and climb down a narrow path generously strewn with redwood needles.

Amazingly, I failed to fall and roll down the steep slope, though on the way back I had to pause to catch my breath and wonder how on earth the builders got all their supplies down to the house site. Not to mention every day matters, like lugging groceries.

Arriving safely at L’s house, we were warmly greeted by his wonderful dog Padawan and wowed by the scenery. Since landscaping is both L’s vocation and avocation, it’s not surprising that his house is surrounded by beautiful plants and flowers:

We sat on his deck, which overlooks the view above, and had our hair cut. I think Megan had around six inches cut off her hair, and I had about four cut off mine. After our al fresco styling, we repaired to the picnic table in the garden and drank lemonade before heading back up the mountain to the car.

Somehow, our brother’s offer of making a birthday dinner for Megan morphed into his sisters’ buying everything and bringing it to his place for a barbecue, though he did give her a gift certificate for a massage and made a huckleberry pie. L came with his dog, and it was great to see Star meet her. Padawan is such a gentle, well-trained dog and is a great role model for Star.

Star meets Padawan

We sat around the fire, laughing and remembering the long-ago past when we were children together. The setting sun seemed to burnish our memories, making them golden as the chill of evening set in.

Yesterday was a fabulous girl extravaganza!

Erica called and said that she and Jessica were looking at a house about three miles down the road from my place, so they’d stop by and say hello afterwards. The house won’t actually be available to look at until next week, but they had a look at the outside and grounds, and it looks good so far. I would so love it if they were my neighbors! And it will be nice for Erica to have lots of help on hand if needed, instead of being all alone on top of the mountain where she lives now, with an hour’s drive to the nearest store.

They brought birthday gifts for Megan, including a mug which reads “My dog isn’t spoiled. I’m just very well trained” or something like that. So true! We sat in Megan’s garden in the welcome sun, looking like a huge Clorox stain against the greenery. I don’t know which of us is is the palest. Jessica sat on Megan’s lap and we made plans to go to the Big Fun Fair together next weekend. It’s Jessica’s favorite day of the year.

We’re still working on the June-a-palooza to celebrate my birthday, Lu’s, Erica’s, and Monica’s. Maybe a bonfire at Lu’s with a dessert buffet by Erica…

Yesterday afternoon, the West Coast SJP dusted off her diamonds and dove into some MAC for the first time in a while. Megan and I met up with Lu and Monica at the local movie theater to see the greatly-anticipated Sex & the City 2. We had feared a line, but instead we were the first ones there, and the entire audience consisted of maybe fifteen giggling girls (including us – four friends watching four friends).

We all enjoyed it tremendously. Everything that reviewers have objected to were the very things I loved about it: the clothes, the shoes, the fairytale location in Abu Dhabi, the pure escapism and beauty. Yes, I sighed over Carrie’s closet (and regretted that she and Big let that fabulous Fifth Avenue penthouse go in the last movie) and Charlotte’s matched set of Louis Vuitton luggage. I’m glad the ugliness of the recession and the drabness of everyday life hasn’t touched our glittering girls. Sue me. It was bad enough being returned to reality after two hours.

My only complaints were that there wasn’t enough Jason Lewis, who plays the swooningly handsome Smith Jarod, and there was too much Liza Minnelli (any Liza Minnelli is too much Liza Minnelli). Oh, and I could have lived without the karaoke scene. Other than that? Escapism at its best.

After the movie, we repaired to Silver’s at the Wharf in Noyo Harbor. Megan and I figured we hadn’t been there since Mom was alive (then remarked on how our parents’ existence or otherwise is now such a milestone in our lives). Lu, who is also an EMT, said the last time she was there was responding to a call for a patron with a heart attack. She said that the rest of the diners watched like it was a floor show as the EMTs worked on him. I wondered aloud what the correct etiquette is in such a situation. Ignore it? Watch and eat? Just watch, but don’t eat? Where’s Miss Manners when we need her?

The sun was slipping into the Pacific as I sipped my mojito and nibbled my award-winning crab cakes. I also kicked myself under the table for not bringing my camera so you could see it, too. We ate and laughed and talked until we were the last table standing – well, sitting. We all agreed that we must do this again, and soon. There’s nothing like spending time with the girls.

Birthday pie

Because, really, who doesn’t like pie better than cake?

I have to admit that I kind of threw together Megan’s birthday dinner. I couldn’t think of anything, but then I remembered that she likes a recipe I haven’t made for a while, and I had everything to make it except the chicken broth. So I ventured to the local store in the pouring rain, surprising a flock of ducks (and myself) on the road along the way. The ducks are new residents, and much more welcome than the pig part buffet (now vanished), though slightly more hazardous. Despite the rain, the bull in the field across from the store was in his usual spot, which is always reassuring.

While in the store, I noticed cherry pie filling and decided to make a pie, too. After all, when all you have to do is pour the filling in, it’s pretty easy. So my shopping consisted entirely of cans, which I guess is a step above shopping that consists entirely of sugar (PopTarts and SweeTarts). Sometimes I wonder what the staff at the store thinks of the shoppers. They must know everyone’s vices, since they’re the only store. There’s the guy who always gets beer and potato chips, there’s the cigarettes and cat food guy…

Back home, I put on the oven and put on Janis Joplin to keep me company as I cooked.

Pre-dumpling stew

Chicken Stew with Cornmeal Dumplings

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into pieces
4 cups chicken broth
1 bay leaf
2 celery ribs, diced
3 carrots, sliced
3 potatoes, diced
1 onion, diced
1 teaspoon dried thyme, or a couple of sprigs of fresh
Flour and water for cold flour paste (see directions)

For the dumplings:

1 cup flour
1/2 cup cornmeal
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter
2/3 cup milk

Slice and dice the chicken and veggies.

Heat large pot over medium heat (my Dad always said, “Hot pan, cold oil,” so that’s the way I do it). When warm, add enough neutral oil and a piece of butter (a mixture of oil and butter browns best, I think) to just cover the bottom of the pan. Add chicken, celery, and onions and sauté.

When veggies are softened and chicken nicely browned, add chicken broth. Make sure to scrape up all the brown bits. I use mostly Swanson’s low-sodium broth and then cancel it out with a can of Campbell’s, which has the best flavor, but most of your daily requirement of salt, too. Bring to a boil.

Make a cold flour paste. I learned this from my grandmother, and I don’t know the exact measurements, but put about 3 tablespoons in a teacup and add cold water from the tap, mixing all the time until you have a thin paste. Add to broth and mix in. If it doesn’t thicken to your desired consistency, repeat.

When broth is thick enough, add carrots and potatoes (I had some frozen peas on hand, so I threw those in, too) and simmer until tender, about half an hour.

To make the dumplings, combine flour, cornmeal, salt, and baking powder. Work in butter – I use a fork, and then my fingers – until crumbly. Stir in milk.

Drop tablespoons of dumpling batter on top of stew. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer until dumplings are cooked through, about 15 minutes. Serve immediately.

Note: if you have leftovers, remove the dumplings before refrigerating. Seriously! If you don’t, the dumplings will soak up all the broth overnight and then you’ll have to go to the store again.

Megan gets a kiss from Shiloh, Monica’s foster puppy

It’s Megan’s birthday today. For the first time we can remember, her traditional birthday BBQ has been rained out. When we were giving Schatzi her walkette yesterday, Megan mentioned that Hooterville’s longest and most beloved resident had recently told her that one year long ago the rain had lasted until the Fourth of July. Let’s not try and break that record, ‘k?

Megan worked last night, but took the rest of the week off in honor of her birthday. She did this several months ago (both of us having a long-standing belief that working on your birthday is just wrong), before we had any idea that it could possibly still be raining. It’s supposed to stop raining on Friday, but even if it doesn’t, we will still have fun, because Monica, Lu, Megan and I have a date to see “Sex & the City 2” that night.

We’re hoping to have a combined birthday BBQ on the weekend. And at some point, we have to have a Juneapalooza, because Erica, Lu, Monica and I all have June birthdays.

Megan was supposed to be born on my birthday, but Mom’s obstetrician had a feeling something was wrong and took her out early (my brother was a Caesarean, and in those days, that meant that the next baby was one, too). Good thing, because the cord was wrapped around her neck, so she might not have made it.

Instead of being born on my birthday, she came home from the hospital on my birthday, and I couldn’t wait to peek in the bundle of blankets to see her. She was the best birthday present I ever had.

Star meets squirrel

Well, today’s a bit of a set-back. Raining outside, heater on inside…sound familiar?

Maybe I should move to Hawaii. Or Bora Bora.

Yesterday, Star met a puddle while walking on the family property. You can tell that she was kept in most of the time in her former life, since puddles and other everyday things are clearly new to her. She thought the puddle splashes were attacking her, so she kept trying to catch them, chasing herself around and around in the water. It was hilarious. Eventually she settled down to drink some of the water, which is when she noticed that breathing while having her nose in water wasn’t a great idea.

Star is starting a new class today with a behaviorist, who will temperament test her and get her used to walking around in Mendocino, where there are cars, people, and other dogs for Star to meet. She will keep going to her class on Wednesdays, too, and we’re hoping that she’ll be ready for adoption in early June.

People keep asking if my sister will want to keep Star, and I keep telling them no. The point is to foster as many dogs as possible and find them good homes. She can only foster one at a time in her teeny, 400 square foot house, so If she keeps Star, she can’t foster another dog, and that means a dog who might have been saved won’t be. This is her mission in life.

I think the same qualities that made her a great EMT for nearly a decade are the same ones that make her a great foster parent. She has compassion for the patient/dog, but not enough to upset her when the job is done. She does her best for them, and then lets them get on with their lives with no regrets. We’ll be sorry to see Star go, but we’ll also be happy that she is a happy dog moving into a loving home. And we’ll welcome the next foster dog with open arms.

Hey! For the first time this YEAR, I don’t have the heat on. OK, I am wearing a sweater, but still. I consider this a personal triumph. Bonus points since the door was slightly ajar this morning and no untoward visitors such as raccoons, skunks, or mountain lions seem to have taken advantage of that fact.

As far as I know, anyway.

I left the door slightly open, even though it’s a foggy fifty degrees outside, so I can drink coffee and blog in peace. Sometimes a girl just needs a vacation from being a cat doorman, even if it’s a drafty one.

Last night, as you can see above, Audrey settled in on top of my father’s books. Maybe she’s absorbing knowledge just from sitting there. In the picture, you can see one of the two antique spoon molds I bought in Paris about a zillion years ago (the other is supporting my collection of cookbooks on the shelf above). The photo is of my Dad (on the right) and his friend Brian when they were kids, playing with guns they found in a downed German plane near their houses during WWII. They were friends from the time they were babies, when their mothers met, and stayed friends all their lives. Brian was the best man at my parents’ wedding.

I wish we’d found this photo when Dad was still alive, because we could have teased him mercilessly. He was so against guns in the home that he wouldn’t let us have water pistols. I guess living through a huge war when you’re a kid will do that to you. But it would have been fun to tease him about the picture.

You can also see my one and only Barbie, a cedar candle which I’ve been meaning to use while meditating, but have actually only used in power outages, and two of the three little hand-painted metal cups Hoho brought back from France after his service in WWI.

Behind the candle is an ashtray from the Sands Hotel in Vegas, which my friend Paul gave me a few years ago. Just think: Sinatra could have used that ashtray! It gives my hippie hovel a touch of class.

My grandfather (left) and a pal go for a spin

Washing the dishes this morning made me think of my grandfather. Maybe it’s because today is his birthday.

He suffered from arthritis in his hands, and found washing the dishes soothed the pain. He used to sit on one of the red leather topped stools, which usually stood ready at the breakfast bar, and sing as he worked. I loved to dry the dishes and listen to his stories. He had a million of them. In my mind’s eye, I can still see him under the warm kitchen light, our reflections mirrored in the dark glass of the windows over the sink.

Although my grandmother was the gardener in the family, tending to the flower beds (the flowers I always associate with her are lilacs – my own favorite – lilies of the valley, pansies, and forget-me-nots) and fruit trees, my grandfather, who we called Hoho because of his huge, wonderful laugh, had his vegetable garden.

This garden was beside the creek which separated my grandparents’ property from the high school, where Hoho was principal for many years until he finally retired, far too late to do my mother any good. Can you imagine your Dad being your high school principal? Especially the kind of Dad who pulled practical jokes on you when you were home late from dates, like hanging cold, wet spaghetti from the doorframe, so you’d scream and wake him up. Then he’d know exactly how late you were.

Of all the things Hoho grew in his garden patch, his favorite was early spring onions. As soon as they were ready, he’d pull them up and bring them home, eating some on the way, as sunny, careless, and happy as if he were a young boy again, back on his father’s farm.

Spring green

As faithful readers know, Thursday is my night to make dinner. I like to try new things that day, even though, when you think about it, making something unfamiliar for a tired and hungry audience may not be the best possible idea. Yet I seem to forget this from week to week.

I’ve been thinking that I’ll post the recipes for my more successful Thursday dinners, so here’s the first one.

I got the recipe from the San Francisco Chronicle. There was a lovely story about having this soup in Paris which overcame my doubts about combining Mexican ingredients (chorizo and pinto beans) with Thai ingredients (lemongrass, coconut milk), so I gave it a try. Of course, I assigned myself this soup after a day of running errands in town, and regretted it when dinnertime came, since it seemed like a lot of hassle. Also, this was my first experience with preparing lemongrass, and I wish I’d taken off one more layer before mincing it up.

Other than that, though, it was a party in your mouth. I got the chorizo made on the premises at Harvest that very day, and it was great. Even Rob, who likes food on the less-fancy side (unfortunately for him), loved it and had seconds. He later observed that he would have had thirds if there had been any.

Notes: I was running out of red curry paste, so used about half of what’s called for in the recipe. I also failed to swirl it into the soup right before serving, but the balance of flavors was excellent. I will probably use more next time. I also just put the beans into the soup along with the coconut milk, instead of putting them into individual bowls and ladling the broth over. It worked just fine, as does regular basil instead of Thai basil.

The recipe (and story) are here. Enjoy!

The wind was howling yesterday as I drove into town for some errands. I felt as if it were trying to blow me off the road, and I wasn’t surprised to hear on the radio that there was a wind advisory in effect. With a haul of library books, groceries, and a tank full of gas for today’s dog rescue adventure, I headed home.

As I turned onto the Ridge, I thought “I bet I’ll get home and find the power’s out.”

This is one case where I wish I hadn’t been right. I unloaded the groceries in the cold, sunny house and plugged in the emergency phone. My brother called to say that the outage was caused by a downed line on the Ridge. This was good news, because a) it wasn’t a whole pole which would have to be replaced; and 2) it was local, so we wouldn’t have to wait for the higher-ranking towns and villages to be restored before ours. Our turn is always last.

Meg, Rob, and Schatzi came over to sit by the heater and eat frozen pizza with me until the power came back on. I was very thankful for Rob and his generator-generating abilities, and for Jonathan, keeping me posted in his official capacity as fireman and unofficial capacity as brother.

Today dawned sunny and only slightly breezy. I know, because I was there to see it. I woke up before the alarm went off, and lay there considering whether to try and get back to sleep for half an hour, or just deal with it and get up like a grown-up. You will be pleased to hear that I chose the latter, so maybe I’m actually maturing. Just really, really slowly.

Meg should be here any minute. We’re taking my car, since it has about half the mileage that hers does, and it doesn’t make a slightly alarming metallic whine, either. We’re meeting Star at 11:00 or so at the Twisted River Cafe in Colusa. Stay tuned for details!