Suzy Says

Last night was definitely a three cat night. Or at least this morning was. I woke up to below-freezing temperatures and a discouraging forecast of 38 degrees for the daytime high.

Roscoe was lying on my legs, Audrey next to them and Clyde was on the pillow. As soon as I sat up, though, they ran eagerly downstairs, so perhaps they were just keeping tabs on the food dispenser instead of staying warm or keeping me company.

The living room is cluttered with plants which do not enjoy sub-freezing temperatures (the budding orchids; the aloe vera clipping Lu gave me; the fuchsia) and the cats find them a lot more entertaining inside than outside, where they totally ignored them. The aloe vera was uprooted this morning and one of its branches broken off. I wonder how people handle it when their cats are inside all the time and don’t have the opportunity to use up their naughtiness outside.

Yesterday, it rained steadily all day, so none of the cats wanted to spend much time outside. But they were bored inside, so got up to all kinds of antics. I tried to catch a shot of Roscoe playing in the alcove above the counter where the microwave lives, but this was the best I could do:

No-one looks good in a mug shot.

The storm seems to have blown out of here for now, leaving ragged clouds in a windswept blue sky and an inch and a half of rain in the rain gauge.

It rained so much and so steadily yesterday that the kitties had little to no interest in going outside. They did venture out a couple of times, returning soaking wet with their fur all spiky. Audrey however seems to have perfected the art of being outside in the rain without getting very wet. I doubt if she’ll share her secret with the hellions, though.

The boys found novel ways of entertaining themselves on a rainy day. Clyde climbed up onto the top shelf in the living room, shoving aside the antique stereopticon and the silver (which I see needs polishing) and started clawing at the curtains:

After I removed him, Roscoe picked up the baton in the relay race of naughtiness and kicked it up a notch. He climbed onto the shelf above the couch and into the painting. Yes, into. He is small enough to crouch on the frame from the back. For a heart-stopping moment, I could see the shape of his body against the canvas. I could just picture his little paw smashing through it.

I have to admit I screamed, which had no effect on the little miscreant, and was finally able to retrieve him with no harm done to picture or kitten, though my heart was racing.

Later, when I saw one of them perched on top of the case with the grandfather clock in it, about seven feet off the floor, it didn’t faze me in the slightest.

Spot the kitty, Thursday edition

It’s been a wild weather trip this week, my friends. Yesterday featured rain, wind, hail, sunshine, and thunder. It actually snowed on the higher elevations. My neighbor Jim was driving back to Hooterville from a shopping expedition to Santa Rosa when it started to snow. He took the opportunity to pull over, set up his camera on the dashboard, and take this movie of snow on highway 128 yesterday afternoon.

Oddly, on the way home last night I was thinking of how I’d like to do the same thing so you could enjoy my commute with me, beside the ocean, through the redwoods and quaint villages. Great minds think alike!

Snow seems to be on everyone’s minds lately here in Northern California, probably because it’s such a rarity. This morning, the San Francisco Chronicle ran an article with some truly delightful photos of snow in the city from the past century.

As for me, I’m still in my pajamas in the late morning gloom, glad I don’t have to drive to town in the pouring rain. It will be nice to curl up with the kitties and read with the rain pattering against the roof/walls.

Volunteer daffodil in my garden

I did move the orchids and tulips before I went to work yesterday morning. I pulled on my cute rain boots, a hat Lu made me (for some reason, it’s the hat I usually wear when it rains), and my coat over my kitty PJs and ventured out into the rainy darkness to move the plants. Mission accomplished!

After that, I worked on Job 1 for a while before heading out to Job 2, making sure the kitties were all safe inside on a blustery day.

By working on Job 1 last night and earlier this morning, I have met the deadline early, and all I have to is finish up Job 2 for the week (i.e., today and tomorrow).

I’d feel like Super Girl if I hadn’t left my umbrella at the office yesterday. It’s still rainy, windy, and deleterious to hair and make-up.

Yesterday, a famous canine joined our weekly staff meeting. You have to love a job where dogs sit up at the table during meetings. And a county which has an official dog ambassador.

Later, I called to confirm a meeting and was told that the person I wanted to talk to couldn’t come to the phone because she was tying balloons to the mailbox.

On my way home, I saw a Fed Ex truck pull into a completely deserted beach parking lot. This particular beach is almost never deserted, being a favorite of divers, kayakers, and abalone hunters, so it was particularly noticeable. I couldn’t help but wonder if some seals had ordered more kelp than they could handle, or one of the returning migratory whales a case of champagne, perhaps.

Sunday afternoon spider

The halcyon days of sunny days and starry nights are over. I think it’s been three weeks since it rained, and I believe we have another foot of rain due to us. After all, it is winter.

The rain woke me up this morning, clattering on the roof. I have been up before the alarm clock every day I’ve been working, and the only day I had off was Tuesday. I spent the sunny weekend working on my regular job, and now it’s time to start the other one. This week, it’s Monday-Wednesday, so that will get it out of the way, as it were. The only problem is that I have two projects from my regular job which are due on Wednesday. Can she do it?

Before I head to the shower for the lengthy grooming routine, I should probably venture into the rainy darkness to retrieve the orchids and tulips so they don’t get flooded by the rain’s generosity. It’s not an appealing prospect, though, especially since I just did my nails last night (Color: the appropriate Naked Ambition). Is anyone enthusiastic on Mondays?

Ready!

You will (not) be amazed to learn that the phone phixers phailed to call me, or show up. At about 6:30, I called their repair number to ask for an update, and was on hold through the entire length of “Sick, Sad World” (also known as the news). After about 45 minutes, I hung up in frustration. Cell phones do not slam down in anger as satisfyingly as the heavy old fashioned dial phones of my youth.

AT&T called a couple of days ago to say that they had “remotely” checked the phone and it was fine. I told them it wasn’t, and spent some valuable time confirming the appointment with them. Possibly I should ask Santa to put a lump of coal in their stockings when he water skis out of here, along with a clear definition of “customer service”.

I think the decision has been made for me – by them! – and they are getting the axe ASAP. Spotty and sometimes non-existent cell phone service is looking pretty good to me right about now.

It’s a gloomy Christmas Eve here in Hooterville, and the trees are tossing their heads in a way that always makes me think “power outage”. It’s usually the wind toppling trees into power lines that causes it. We’re slated to get rain for the rest of the year, to add to our already impressive total of 24.71 inches for the season.

I really shouldn’t complain compared to muddy and floody SoCal, who bore the brunt of the last storm, and where Paul is spending Christmas with his only child, her husband, and their two children. Yay for grandchildren on Christmas Day! They live in beautiful Pasadena, and Paul described his drive down there as “hellish”, and he is not a man given to overstatement about anything. He might come back up here for a short visit before he returns to the sunny shores of Florida. I apologized for the bad weather while he was here, and he said, “I’m here for the company, not the weather.”

The dizziness has, sadly, not abated. It has made cooking a little unnerving. Kneeling to light the oven, and cocking my head to see where I was applying the match, made me frighteningly dizzy, as did reaching down a box of chicken broth from a high shelf. So looking up too far or leaning down too far are as bad as turning on my side in bed. Got it. Maybe I should try applying a couple of Christmas cocktails and see if they cancel it out.

Yesterday, Meg told me that Lu had this for about a month. It was a virus, so there was nothing to do but wait it out. Even if I wanted to spend $75 and half a day going to the clinic, they would probably just take my money and say the same thing. So I’ll wait it out, and be careful in the meantime. I’ve managed to be pretty much Calamity Suzy-free this year. I have an image to protect, as well as Self.

Other than that, I really don’t have much holiday stress. The presents are wrapped, as you see above. The tree is from Mexico and has a candle inside. It’s the best I can do this year. Megan and I will put the stockings together today and hope for the kitten best. I’ll tidy up the house a little this afternoon or tomorrow morning. We’ll have dinner around 6:30 or 7:00 on Christmas Day*, and since my brother is dealing with the ham, all I’ll have to do is make mashes potatoes, steam green beans, and make my famous cheese biscuits. Erica is bringing a Yule Log she made for dessert, so the most exhausting thing I’ll have to do as hostess is open wine and decant my grandmother’s ivory-handled silverware from its velvet-lined chest.

I think I can handle it.

*I have never understood people who have Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner at some ungodly hour in the afternoon.

For once, the lack of posting lately wasn’t because of SuzySloth™, but because I was truly powerless to write (or at least post).

On Sunday, the power was out nearly all day. It was also out yesterday, and when it came back on, I hurried to get the laundry and dishes done and take a shower while I could. I guess if the power was out for a longer time period, I’d end up boiling water from the buckets on the back porch on my gas stove and doing these chores Little House on the Prairie style (like many books, much more fun to read about than experience in real life. The Long Winter springs to mind).

When the power is out here, there’s an eerie silence. I know I should be enjoying the sound of the rain and wind, Nature’s symphony, and all that crap, but to quote Katharine Hepburn in “The African Queen”, “Nature, Mr. Alnutt, is what we are put in this world to rise above.” Notice that even cave men had caves to avoid living outside, and that progressive generations have gotten as far away from Ma Nature and her evil sense of humor as possible. So when the power goes out, all I want is a return of heat and light and civilization, the sooner the better.

Sunday was a weird day anyway, because I woke up with an attack of vertigo. Clyde was smothering me as usual, and in pushing him off my face, I turned my head quickly. The room spun around me as if I’d spent the night drinking with Keith Richards in Tijuana instead of having the usual assortment of bad dreams and nightmares which make me question my sanity once I wake up.

I sat up carefully, and waited for the room to stop dancing around. It did, and I carefully made my way downstairs. I felt too weird to drink coffee, so that may well have contributed to the lightheadedness for the rest of the day. I spent most of the day in bed with three sweaters on, flipping through the latest Vogue and Pamflet and reading Ann Beattie’s New Yorker Stories while wishing the power would come back on and trying not to get too creeped out by the silence and darkness.

Eventually, it turned out that the dizziness only appears when I am lying down and turn over, or put my head down too much, as when wrapping my head in a towel after a shower. Megan thinks it may well be the head congestion caused by my ever-present allergies making my inner ear wonky, so I’ve been taking non drowsy Sudafed for the past couple of days and hoping for the best.

A winter scene: fallen leaves, sprouting mushrooms beside my house

Mushrooms are as much a sign of winter around here as the advent of robins. Most of them are not as scenic as this one, which is rumored to be poisonous or possibly merely hallucinogenic. I left it alone after I took its picture. We’re slated to get five inches of rain this weekend, so the stage is set for winter, even though it technically isn’t here yet.

We may get rain from today through Christmas. Does Santa have a jet ski? Or at least a pair of really cute rain shoes?

But you don’t need Santa Claus when you have Santa Paul. I think I speak for many girls when I say I’d much prefer a white-haired, blue-eyed gent sweeping into my kitchen and making me a fabulous dinner than some degenerate old housebreaker leaving me tatty gifts and expecting me to make him cookies.

Since Paul lived here before me, he knew that he was up against in my kitchenette: three feet of counter space, a petite ovenette with one shelf, and no dishwasher. Still, he was able to produce the following:

1. He boned a turkey breast, glazed it with maple syrup, Dijon mustard, and crushed black peppercorms, and roasted it on a bed of celery, onions, carrots, and fresh tarragon. The “bed” was later strained and the pan juices used to make gravy.
2. Oven-roasted potatoes, parsnips, and sweet potatoes.
3. Zucchini fritters, as requested by Megan. Secret ingredient: matzo meal!
4. Green beans.
5. Pear and apple galette, served with fresh blueberries.

Santa Paul also has a well-trained elf who made sure I didn’t end up with a sink full of dishes.

It was the best Thursday night dinner ever!

You know your life is thrilling when you’re excited about getting a new garden hose. And a rain gauge.

The old hose was suffering from leakage, including the rotted out area where it connected to the faucet. Using the hose was much like revisiting the garden sprinkler of my youth, but it was much less delightful when fully clothed and with temperatures hovering around the freezing mark (you will find this is true of many things).

Buying a new hose was on my To Do list for a while, so it was especially satisfying to finally get one.

I unscrewed the old one and dragged it to the pile of things and stuff which Mark keeps promising to haul to the dump for me. It was surprisingly heavy. Also, I hope we really do get the things and stuff hauled to the dump before Paul gets here. Everyone likes to act as if they live much more elegantly than they really do when they have company.

I attached the new one and turned on the faucet. Alas, it still squirted me. Hmmm. I took it off and put it on again (the hose equivalent of rebooting your computer) and tried to tighten it again, but the results were still much wetter than I wanted. Rob has one more thing on his endless To Do list. Little does he know!

More successful was the rain gauge. I wanted to get one so I could complain accurately about all the rain we get. For once, it turns out that I am not wrong. Hooterville got fully six inches more rain than the big town with the Safeway in the same time period.

As you can see, the rain gauge only goes up to five inches, so it will give me the opportunity to practice my rusty math. I installed the rain gauge on the balcony, making sure that there were no trees nearby to block precipitation. The other night, we got about .75 inches. According to last week’s paper, Hooterville had received 17.3 inches for the season to date, so that brings me up to 18.05 if my math is correct.

Given that it’s supposed to rain for the rest of the week, I should get lots of practice in basic math skills. And I won’t need the hose.

The soup turned out okay, not great. I added bamboo shoots and water chestnuts. In retrospect, I should have chopped up the bamboo shoots for easier eating, and added snow peas for some green. Glass noodles would have been a good addition, too.

If I make it again, I’ll mince up the garlic and ginger, or use some of that lemongrass paste you can get in a tube. It was annoying to dig it out while eating. I’d also add more chili paste, or possibly red curry paste. Though we added more lime juice when it was in the bowls, it kind of needed something, we’re not sure what. Oh, well – it was good to try something new.

Thai Chicken Soup

1 can (14 oz) coconut milk
1 can (14 oz) chicken broth
6 quarter-sized slices of fresh ginger
1 stalk lemongrass, cut in 1 inch pieces
1 pound boneless, skinless breast, cut into 1 inch chunks
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon Thai chili paste
1/4 cup each fresh basil and cilantro, julienned

In medium saucepan, combine coconut milk, broth, ginger, and lemongrass, and bring to a boil. Add chicken, lime juice, fish sauce, sugar, and chili paste. Reduce heat and simmer until chicken is firm and opaque, about 10 minutes. Serve garnished with basil and cilantro.

After I made the soup, I decided to go for a walk beside the ocean. The coast here is rough and rocky:

so more often than not you’re likely to be walking along those dangerous cliffs than on a sandy beach. These particular cliffs are not far from the Hooterville post office.

It was a clear, sunny day, though the temperature was only about 45 degrees (up from the morning’s 27). Here it seems that in the winter, clear = cold and rainy/cloudy = warmer. I guess the clouds act as insulation. But on Thursday, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky:

Well, maybe one.

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!

Saturday morning hail

Ah, twenty-nine degrees. Bilingually unpleasant, both in Fahrenheit and Celsius. It happens to be the F version here in Hooterville this morning. We knew there was a freeze warning through tomorrow, so I brought in the orchid, fuchsia, geraniums, and marigolds, which were still valiantly blooming.

I also left the heater on at 52 degrees when I went to bed last night – about the temperature it usually is in the house in the morning if I leave the heater off, which I usually do. I heard it come on four times during in the night, meaning it was warming up the house to 52. And that’s just the times I heard.

Roscoe stayed Henry-style in the cozy bed by the heater all night, while Clyde (now being held in my left arm) slept on my pillow and Audrey slept beside me. As an aside, I think Clyde likes her and really wants to be her friend. He’s getting closer. Here they are a couple of days ago:

I’m up so early because I let Audrey out and didn’t want to leave her out there in the freezing cold for hours while I slept and didn’t hear her asking to come in. As I write, the frosty, almost-full moon is shining through the skylight, and I have a blanket around me. And she’s still playing around out there, so I may have once more been The Worrier.

It’s been a wintry kind of week. On Saturday, we had first hail of the season, and of the kittens’ lives. They were fascinated by the sight and sound of the hail, which was accompanied by thunder. I couldn’t see any lightning, but my sister, working an extra twelve hour shift, called me from work to ask me to check on Schatzi (Star was with Rob), and she said they had lightning in town.

I ran over there with a nearly-pointless umbrella, wearing my waterproof sneakers, and Schatzi was asleep, one of the benefits of losing one’s hearing, or nearly so. She was still happy to see me, though, so I petted her for while until she went back to sleep and I slid back home.

Clyde in a box! Shipping not included.

You’d think this seemingly endless parade of cold, rainy days would inspire me to clean up the house, but you’d be wrong. I’m much more inspired to clean on sunny days, when I can have the doors open to dry things off and cheer me up. Whereas gloomy weather plunges me into ennui and lassitude. If I didn’t have so much work to do, I’d spend the whole day lying around awash in regret and gloom, impatiently waiting for cocktail time.

As it is, I have work to do which may spill over into the weekend, and I really should tidy up the house, because Miss Jessica is arriving for a sleepover tomorrow. Then I get to go trick-or-treating with her on Sunday. I figure a girl who mentally decorated my balcony will probably notice if the house is untidy, though she will probably be too polite to say so.

On the bright side of the gloom, all this rain means that I don’t have to water the plants with my leaking hose. I think I’m going to have to invest in a new hose this spring, and they are surprisingly expensive, like tires, and almost as fun. I hate spending money on non-frivolous items.

And in other good news, the Giants have won the first two games of the World Series and are now only two away from the big prize. They didn’t get rained out last night, and the game was incredibly entertaining, with the Giants scoring an astonishing seven runs in the eighth inning. The kittens and I could hardly believe our eyes. The Giants won 9-0, and are on their way to Texas for tomorrow night’s game. Stay tuned!

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?

Sun after rain

Well, we got five inches of rain in 24 hours, according to a neighbor’s rain gauge. So it wasn’t just my whiny Self – there was a lot of rain. We’re supposed to get more on Thursday, but I’m going to pull a Scarlett O’Hara here and think about it tomorrow.

Today it’s bright and sunny and the trees are sparkling, but it’s still cold, in the low 40s. Waking up to the sun after a good night’s sleep made a difference to my outlook. As I made coffee, I reflected that I really shouldn’t complain about the lousy day I had yesterday compared to my sister, who worked five 12 hour shifts last week (Monday through Thursday, then Sunday), and is now facing her usual Monday through Wednesday. I can’t imagine how tired she must be.

The uninspiring view from my porch

It’s not even 9:00, and I’ve already had a lousy day.

Audrey woke me up around 5:30, growling at the kittens and bashing at the balcony door. I reached for my glasses on the bedside table, but couldn’t feel them anywhere. I turned on the light and “looked” as best as a girl can who is practically legally blind can do in the early morning darkness.

No go.

I felt around in my slippers before putting them on and feeling my way down the stairs, clutching the banister. I thought this had Calamity Suzy written all over it, but I made it safely to the bathroom, where I located my second pair of glasses. Thanks, Dad, for training me to put things away in the same place!

I let Audrey out into the howling storm, amazed that she actually preferred being out in the cold, rain, and wind than staying inside the (relatively) cozy house.

With visions of power outages dancing in my head, I grabbed a few buckets to fill with water, getting immediately soaked in the process. Someone had unplugged the hose, so water spewed out of the side of the house instead of the end of the hose. I squelched into the bathroom from the back deck door, and realized that the shower would never fill one of the buckets. I grabbed a pitcher and started filling it in the sink, emptying it into the buckets while the kittens got in the way and got wet.

After that, I decided to do the dishes, and discovered that the flash heater was out. No hot water for dishes or a shower. Rob should be coming by any time to work on the heater, so hopefully I can prevail upon him to help me.

I heard dripping. The tap wasn’t dripping. It was the roof, right in front of the couch. I got a pot and put it under the drip. I felt a drip on my head. Another drip, another pot. Then I noticed a huge wet spot right next to the TV. Yay!

I was running out of pots and patience. I called Mark, but got no answer and left a message. I can’t imagine where they could be at 8:30 on a Sunday morning. Kids and old people (as I learned in Florida) never sleep in.

While making the bed, the kittens clawed me so hard that I got blood on the sheets.

Add in a severe attack of the Evil Allergies, with sneezing, nose blowing, and itchy eyes and nose, plus the fact that Audrey hasn’t come home yet, and you have the perfect recipe for a rotten day.

[Later] She finally showed up, refused to eat, and bit me.

A simple solution

Yikes. Audrey woke me up around 6:00 this morning, making a really scary howling noise (not to be mistaken for her “get lost, boys” growl, which I am hearing right now as I type this). I came downstairs and found her in front of the sliding glass doors in the living room, her fur and tail all puffed out.

I turned on the outside light, but couldn’t see anything out there, so I went out to see for myself. I expected at least a raccoon, but nothing. In the back of my mind, I hoped it would be June Bug and Audrey was trying to alert me to her return in a cinematic fashion, but once again, real life turned out to be disappointingly unlike the movies.

The boys were concerned (or curious), and kept approaching her, despite the constant rebuffs. Audrey was determined to go out, and I was determined to keep her in, even though her fur had deflated by this time.

I know it’s slightly irrational, and mountain lions and other predators don’t punch their time cards and clock out at 6:30, but I have to wait until it’s fairly light outside before I allow Audrey out.

Imagine how much fun it’s going to be keeping three of them in the house all night.

It’s already bad enough keeping the boys in during the day. About two days after their adoption and baptisms, the weather abruptly changed from silvery and cool to sunny and hot. Most people have been referring to this summer as “the summer that never was”, whereas to me it’s been close to an ideal summer, not least because it has kept the wildfires down and my brother out of danger.

One of the many eccentricities of James’s eccentric architectural style is the almost complete lack of windows that actually open. In my house, the only one that opens is in the shower, where, you know, you don’t really need it, especially in winter. The windows in Megan’s house and Jonathan’s former abode don’t open at all. To get any ventilation in our houses, we have to leave the doors open, which is not conducive to keeping cats in. So while I have six doors in the house, I couldn’t open them. Water, water everywhere, but nary a drop to drink!

Needless to say, it was Rob to the rescue.

He came over bearing a wooden baby gate, which he placed in the balcony door, facing west. A couple of minutes later, he appeared at the sliding glass doors of the living room (facing east), and put a metal grid in it (see above). The metal grid used to be outside the pantry door, to scrape boots on in the winter, but it makes a great screen. He then got a ladder and turned the switch on the ceiling fan so it supposedly cools the air*. He found the baby gate at the dump, so everything was free! Also, I hadn’t said a word to him about it, but I guess it all comes of his knowing me for most of his life.

*I can’t tell the difference, but I also couldn’t tell that it drew the warm air up in the winter, so maybe it’s Me. Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling, as my grandmother used to say.

Seems like everyone in California is complaining about the weather, except Me. The media should really be alerted to that important factoid, since it’s practically unheard-of, no matter what the season. While everyone else bewails the fog, I just smile and think how glad I am that I’m not sweltering back east. I enjoy being lightly chilled, like a fine Chablis, almost as much as, well, a fine Chablis.

Having said that, though, summer is the time to go on vacation, or, in my case, daydream about going on vacation. Surprisingly, when I made up a list of places I’d like to go, many were right here in the Golden State. These are all places I’ve never been.

Bodie: The best-preserved ghost town in the state, and possibly the country, Bodie is also subject to extreme temperatures, with winter lows dipping to 0°F, with winds up 100 mph, and summer temperatures in the 90s. I read an article about the town’s lone ranger/caretaker, and it has to be one of the loneliest jobs around.

Burlesque Hall of Fame: I’ve always been fascinated by the golden era of burlesque. Famed dancer Jennie Lee established the Burlesque Hall of Fame in the Mojave Desert to showcase her collection of burlesque memorabilia and costumes. After her death, the equally famed Dixie Evans took over, and the museum is now being moved to Las Vegas. The annual Miss Exotic World Pageant is held every year on or near my birthday – what a gift that would be!

Chandelier Drive-Through Tree is less than an hour’s drive from town. When you get there, you can, as the name suggests, drive through a giant sequoia. Because Nature is much better seen from inside. I could probably combine this with a trip to the Lost Coast (see below).

Hearst Castle: Shockingly, I have never visited one of the Suzy-est places in the state, though Megan has. Even she was impressed.

Hotel del Coronado: Where “Some Like It Hot” was filmed, this Victorian confection has been restored to its Marilyn-era glory. Not to mention being conveniently close to Catalina Island, where you can take a glass-bottom boat* to admire reefs, shipwrecks, and sea life. Catalina is also home to plants and animals found nowhere else on Earth. Bonus Marilyn connection: she and her first husband, Jim Dougherty, once lived on the island.

The Lost Coast: I really have no excuse not to do this one, since it starts about an hour’s drive north of town. This is an exceptionally unspoiled and scenic part of the state, and the only part of it not served by a state highway. We could just hook up a little red teardrop trailer and take off!

Palm Springs: Of course, the best way to tour the fabulous mid-century architecture of Palm Springs would be renting Frank Sinatra’s old pad, at a mere $2,600 a night. You can also tour Elvis and Priscilla’s wildly futuristic honeymoon house.

Santa Cruz Mystery Spot: Supposedly a place where the laws of physics and gravity don’t apply (what girl doesn’t love that?), compasses and GPS devices don’t work there, and no animals, even birds, live within the Mystery Spot. I love it that there are still places, things, and phenomena that can’t be explained away by science. Even if they can, it’s still fun to see a ball roll up hill.

Winchester Mystery House: Home of the famous gunsmiths, the last Winchester owner was Sarah, who was convinced that if she never stopped building onto her house, she wouldn’t die. Her bid for immortality failed, but her architectural legacy lives on in San Jose, where her 160 room mansion boasts stairs to nowhere and doors and windows that open onto blank walls.

Places I’d like to re-visit include Bodega Bay, where we used to spend Christmases with Dad (and I think a movie was filmed there once); Monterey Bay and its incredible aquarium; LA, which I’m supposed to despise but don’t; and Lake Tahoe. Megan and I have a fantasy about spending Christmas there with the snow. Isn’t it amazing that you can drive a few hours and be where the snow is, but not have to live with it all winter?

I always say California has everything: the ocean, lakes, rivers, mountains, deserts, ancient forests, snow, sunshine, you name it. And that’s not even including the man-made wonders. Why don’t you come up sometime, and see me?

*Parts of the Doris Day movie of the same name were filmed there. I happen to love Doris Day movies, especially “Pillow Talk” and “That Touch of Mink”.

A foggy morning at Woodhaven

It’s been foggy the past two days. I’m using it as an excuse not to do the laundry. “Hey, I’d love to, but it’s too damp for the clothes to dry outside.” Sure, I could use the slightly scary propane-driven dryer, but I’m too cheap. I mean, green.

It’s about 50 degrees* here at 6:30 am. I know, because I went outside and looked**. In addition to no food delivery or taxis, there are no reliable websites for weather forecasts here. They always say it’s 66 or 58 when the thermometer clearly reads 85 or 72, and I love it when the websites say “partly cloudy” when it’s pouring with rain. There are no local TV weather forecasts, just Bay Area ones, which are almost as irrelevant as Amarillo or Honolulu ones. Also the TV weather maps stop at Santa Rosa, with a blank beyond, which has the odd effect of making me feel like I don’t exist.

Part of this is undoubtedly the wonder of microclimates. On Monday, it was bright and sunny at my house, a perfect Suzy seventy with a light breeze. Meg and I went to the store that day, and the fog started about three miles from our house. The store was totally socked in and you kind of needed a sweater. In the store parking lot, I was entertained by a mother admonishing her kid to lock the car doors.

We figured the fog would wend its way to our houses by late afternoon, and so it did. It’s kindly dampened down the puff dust on the driveway, as well as giving me an excuse to bail on chores. I actually bought some paint for the outside wall where the flash heater resides. I’m going to paint it brown to more or less match the brown paint on the front of the house. Coincidentally, the shade is “Woodhaven” – the very same name on the San Francisco street sign long ago fastened to the front of the house by its builder (see photo above).

I think it’s hilarious that my hippie hovel has a name, usually the prerogative of mansions, or houses with some degree of grandeur. Though having said that, maybe it runs in the family to have a humble abode with a label, especially one with “wood” in the name.

My father’s parents lived in a semi-detached pebble dash house in Surrey. It was a nice house, but not a grand one by any means. Two up, two down, plus a kitchen (down) and bath (up), and the boxroom where my father slept.

They called their house “Linwood”, but the only person who used that name besides them was my father’s godmother, the flamboyant Aunt Mary. I met her once, and she was a swirl of furs, perfume, and a mane of white hair. She had absolutely no use for women, and failed to notice that my mother and I existed. Within seconds she had my brother on her lap, Dad in attendance, and every other guy in the tearoom fetching her things and lighting her cigarette, in its long holder. She was that kind of girl.

One year when Dad was little, she thought it would be funny to play a prank on his devoted parents. She sent an anonymous Valentine to my grandfather, hoping to stir things up. But alas, she addressed it to “Linwood”, so they immediately knew who had sent it.

*I bet that sounds pretty good to those of you on the East Coast, where it was 80 degrees after midnight.

**I’m still trying to find a place to put it where it doesn’t get any direct sun during the non-foggy and non-rainy days. Not a bad problem to have.

Rain on the honeysuckle

As you can see, I gave myself a new look for my birthday!

According to my birth certificate, I was born at 10:38 am, which I think is a very civilized hour. So many babies insist on interrupting their mother’s beauty sleep to be born in the middle of the night. Or worse yet, at cocktail hour. So inconsiderate!

Since I was born in New York State, that means I’m turning a year older right about now….

And what an uninspiring day it is. Dark, rainy, depressing. I don’t think it has rained on my birthday since I moved to California all those years ago. The weather seems to have forgotten that it is supposed to get sunny in April and stay that way until November. They say old habits are hard to break, but it seems to have no trouble whatsoever positively shattering them.

It’s not looking good for fun on my birthday. The weather precludes any expotitions anywhere; the dogs won’t want to put as much as a paw outside; the birthday BBQ is cancelled; and I will have to make my own birthday dinner, since Megan is laid up for the duration.

I spent my birthday eve watching a couple of pre-Code movies about wicked women and drinking Cosmoplitans. Not only did they each have my favorite credit, “Gowns By”, they also lasted just over an hour each, which is perfect for me. Keep it zippy, is what I say.

First up was “Midnight Mary”, starring Loretta Young as the unlucky title character whose story is told in flashbacks as she is on trial for murder. Starting out with a poverty-stricken childhood leading to a mistaken conviction for shoplifting and an inadvertent turn as lookout for a couple of gangsters, Mary is rescued from a life of crime and debauchery by a wealthy playboy (former Barbara Payton plaything Franchot Tone), but her past catches up with her…

Filmed in 1933, the movie includes a scene of Mary losing her virginity in the back of car; whispering promises of sexual favors to come into her lover’s ear (while he licks her fingers); a baby born cheerfully out of wedlock to no-one’s chagrin; and women being slapped around by their lovers.

Next up was “Three on a Match”, with Joan Blondell being her wise-cracking self, Bette Davis in frightening platinum blonde hair, and Ann Dvorak as the girl who has everything. To lose. The three girls go to public school together, where Blondell’s character is a wayward hoyden, Dvorak’s a spoiled princess, and Davis hard-working and ambitious.

The girls grow up and run into each other by accident, sharing the title match and laughing about the superstition. Blondell is a stage star, Davis a stenographer, and Dvorak is married to a wealthy lawyer and has a young son, but is discontented with her life. She decides to take the boy and go for a refreshing trip to Europe with her adoring husband’s reluctant approval, but on the boat meets a handsome gambler and runs away with him, taking the boy with her.

Her sexy out of wedlock idyll soon degenerates into filthy rooms scattered with empty bottles and cigarette butts, as she lies on the unmade bed in a stupor, ignoring her hungry child. The gambler owes money to gangsters (one of whom is no less than Mr. Humphrey Bogart, in his earliest tough guy role), they are both addicted to cocaine, and the boy is dirty and neglected. The gangsters discuss killing the child in front of his drug-addled mother, who makes a spectacular sacrifice to save him.

All this and more in just over an hour. Look for Jack Webb’s (“Dragnet”) earliest film appearance as a boy in the schoolyard at the beginning of the film.