America’s Next Top Model

The week may have started out on a sour note, but it ended on a sweet one.

Megan’s birthday is next Saturday, but we celebrated her birthday yesterday. Our friends Rik and Lu, who are both EMS workers, are so busy that it’s hard to find a day when they are both available, especially once summer starts and they start being the medics on hand at festivals and events all over Northern California. They also spent a month in Honduras this spring, helping out as volunteers at clinics in remote areas.

Since they were available on Friday, Friday it was. Monica and her husband Joe (he’s in the background of the picture of Jessica) came, as well as Erica, Jessica, Lichen and Phoebe, and we all had a wonderful time.

Lu and Rik had raised a couple of pigs which were slaughtered a few weeks ago, so they brought ribs and pork burgers. I usually don’t eat pigs due to humane reasons and environmental ones – and living half a block from an overly active abbatoir for a few years, especially in the summer, didn’t help matters – but I found myself unable to resist. Everything smelled and looked delicious, and I knew they had been raised kindly and without pesticides and antibiotics, so I indulged. I don’t know what Rik spiced the burgers with, but they were the best burgers I have ever had.

Besides the porkapalooza, we had barbecued shrimp for which I made charmoula sauce, and Megan made grill bread. Lu brought her famous salad of quinoa, spinach, red onions, almonds, mint, cilantro and lemon dressing, and Monica brought a lovely caprese salad with heirloom tomatoes and fresh basil and mozzarella.

You’d think that would be enough, but Jonathan* made a pie from the strawberries he picked from the garden that very day:

Erica brought graham crackers which she made from scratch that day – only Erica would actually make graham crackers – and marshmallows, which she made with chocolate nibs embedded inside them. Again, only Erica. We toasted the marshmallows over the fire and spread them on the graham crackers for instant s’mores.

We sat around the fire laughing and talking as the dogs romped around the garden and the sun set behind the trees. It couldn’t have been a more perfect evening.

*He was wearing a t-shirt that read “You can’t trust atoms. They make up everything”.

Well, yesterday wasn’t Friday the 13th, but it was Monday the 13th. And we all know Mondays are worse than Fridays!

Things were crazy at the jobette. We sent out ballots for Board nominations last week, and this week people started calling to complain about not getting theirs, or not getting enough, or something. Anything. In all cases, they were wrong and we were right, but this is not much consolation after being called “incompetent” and other lovely adjectives. I mean, I am, just not in this particular case.

A woman also called to complain about a fortune teller in the Village. She and her husband were visiting for his 70th birthday and decided to stop in and see a psychic. According to this visitor, the seer was “verbally abusive” and told them they should get divorced immediately. The visitor said that she and her husband have been married for 44 years and took exception to this suggestion. “I mean, I didn’t expect her to sugar coat it, but this was insulting!” I ended up giving her the contact information for the county entity which issues business licenses (do psychics have licenses?) and the Better Business Bureau. I wasn’t clairvoyant (or competent) enough to think of anything else.

A guy drifted in saying that he had been released from the jail in the county seat that day and hitchhiked here. He was looking for a private investigator and a lawyer to help him with the restraining order which had been issued against him. I suggested that he check with the police station and the court clerk, conveniently located in the same building. He said that he had to check in with the police anyway, so I guess that worked out. I am a little uncomfortable with my growing familiarity with restraining orders and other depressing legal proceedings. My neighbor is in the midst of dealing with such problems, and we as a family are trying to help her to the best of our ability, but there’s no doubt that it’s upsetting. I definitely think ignorance really is bliss.

I had a few work-related errands to do on the way home, and when I finally got there, the Leafs were ahead of the Boston Bruins by 4 goals to 1 in Game 7 of the first round of the playoffs. The Leafs haven’t won Lord Stanley’s coveted Cup since 1967, thus achieving the longest drought by any championship team in the NHL while simultaneously being the most valuable, earning more than $1 billion last year. They haven’t even made the playoffs in 8 years, so the fact that they were still in there fighting and had actually forced a game 7 against the Cup winners of 2010 was huge and inspiring. By the time I had taken off my make-up, gotten changed, fed the kitties, started dinner, and, more importantly, poured myself an adult beverage, Boston tied the game in the last 90 seconds of the third period. Boston went on to win in heart-breaking overtime, and I’m still stunned.

The imperfect end to an imperfect day.

You’d think that last year’s garden building extravaganza would have tuckered my siblings out, and that all they’d want to do this year is hang out in the palatial 6,400 square foot garden with an adult beverage or two. Instead, they decided to build an orchard next to the garden.

You remember the drill, right? Your machinery-wielding friend comes and digs up the unyielding soil:

Then you remove all the root balls by hand and import truckloads of real dirt and dig holes for the new trees:

I “helped” by digging the last two holes. One was way too deep and other wasn’t wide enough.

Megan and Rob moved two of their apple trees over to the new orchard. Here you see the boys working on the problem of getting the trees from the truck into their new homes:

And here’s one of the trees after replanting. You can see that it’s covered in a lichen called “Old Man’s Beard”, a relative of the famous Spanish Moss one sees on trees in the South. This particular lichen is extremely sensitive to air pollution, so you can see that the air in Hooterville is pretty clean:

After that, it was time to spread hay all over and seed it with vetch to keep the dirt from blowing away in the dry summer months:

They also installed a drip system, since hand watering 19 trees is too onerous a task, even for them.

Yes, 19 trees, including various apples, Asian pears, regular pears, cherries, plums, and peaches. The trees started flowering in February, to the delight of the bees on the property:

It’s been deer- and rabbit-fenced, but it will have to be electrified at some point to discourage marauding bears from raiding the fruit.

Whenever I hear Bruce Springsteen sing “Working on a Dream”, I think of my hard-working siblings and the dream they are making into reality.

Evening at the historic Little River Inn

I’ve been so busy with one thing and another that I totally forgot my own blog’s 12th birthday on April 20. Not to mention Star’s 5th birthday on Cinco de Mayo (5/5). Happy belated birthday to both of us!

On Friday, Monica texted me to suggest that Megan and I meet her for a drink that evening at Little River Inn. I checked with Megan and she was free, so we went to town and ran some errands and then headed to Little River.

Miss Star had come along for the ride, so we took her for a walk in the cemetery before we met Monica. We waved at our brother, who passed us as we were getting Star out of the car. I think it’s a very pretty place:

It’s not very big, but it’s peaceful and dotted with very old stones. You can walk all the way to the ocean if you know where to go. On this occasion, we just wandered around closer to the road since we didn’t have a lot of time before meeting Monica.

This stone commemorates someone with the remarkable name Dreeme Life Ball:

He or she died in 1917, so it’s not (as you might think) a hippie name. The stone bears the lovely inscription “To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” Tied for coolest name in the graveyard is Haskett Severance. I like the wheat sheaf:

Sadly, this lovely rose-carved stone commemorates Haskett’s only daughter, Mary Ella, who was only 16:

At the bottom of her stone, it touchingly reads “Though lost to sight, to memory dear.”

The Bretts, whose tomb is quite magnificent, lost all five of their children in the 1800s:

It must have been pretty hard up here in pioneer days. Sometimes I think about how it must have been for families back then. It’s still a relatively isolated area.

It was time to meet Monica, so we loaded Star back in the car and headed to the historic Inn. We perched at the bar and ordered drinks: a mojito for Megan and a Margarita for me. Monica soon joined us, and it was great to catch up on each other’s news and spend some time together.

As we headed home in the fading evening sun, I thought about how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place, and to have such good friends- one of which is my sister,

True, we don’t have the bone-crushing humidity they have back East, and unlike that side of the country, it actually cools down at night to about 45 or 50 degrees. This should be good for sleeping, but when you live in a house shaped like an upside down rowboat, the heat congregates up in the pointy part, which is where I (try) to sleep. It throws a pretty smokin’ party up there and tends to multiply. You know how some parties can be.

Though thankful for the screen door Rob installed (and not a moment too soon) and having a fan up there, it’s been pretty hard to sleep for the past three nights. I’ve gone through a three pound bag of ice in as many days.

It’s nearly impossible to get an accurate weather forecast, partly because of the many microclimates and partly because we live in such an obscure corner of the world, but it appears that the heat is going to be moving on tomorrow, though it may just be more wishful thinking on my part.

On Thursday, Megan, Rob and I sweated our way to the Big Town for the open house at the fine woodworking school. You may recall how impressed I was by the show in February, and I was excited about sharing it with them.

We were warmly greeted by the students, and Rob, a former carpenter and wood worker himself, had some good conversations. I was pleased to meet the creator of my favorite piece from the earlier show, the delightfully named Sarah Marriage, and tell her how much I love her roll top desk:

I was completely enchanted by these lamps:

They would look perfect on my curved walls, don’t you think?

I was charmed by this curvaceous chair:

This spectacular table was made of madrone, a local wood, and jarrah, a member of the eucalyptus family, which was new to me:

The cutting board on the table has a note explaining that it was made of “wood found in the firebox”. Nice use of scraps:

Behind the school were the mock ups, or drafts, of the beautiful finished work. It was fun to see them:

We also admired the view:

There’s a stream and in the distance you can almost see the trestle the historic Skunk Train passes over. It’s a beautiful setting for a building full of beautiful things.

Megan and Rob enjoyed the show as much as I did, and we had a lot to talk about as we headed to the local brewery’s Tap Room & Grill for dinner. We discovered that the menu had changed quite a bit, but I enjoyed my Carolina BBQ and Rob his fish and chips. Megan was a little less enthused with her pizza, but we had a good time together and enjoyed the cool of the restaurant and the iced tea.

After dinner, we got some handmade local ice cream. Of course, we didn’t forget Miss Star, who enjoyed her little scoop of vanilla hugely:

After that, we headed home in the setting sun, replete with a good dinner and a happy evening together.

Shadows

It was hot’n'heinous yesterday and slated to be the same today. This is an unusual (I hope) phenomenon here on the Coast.

It was 85 degrees when I got home around 6:00 last night, just in time to witness the Leafs lose their first playoff game in 8 years in a spectacular fashion. Good thing I stopped at the store for a bag of ice (and Otter Pops) on my way home, so I could put ice in my drink. It melted almost as quickly as I did.

I was very thankful for the screen door Rob installed for me. It still needs a doorknob and a real fastener, but I got a hook and eye and screwed them in. So far it’s keeping the door closed at night. I may be jinxing myself here, but the cats have pretty much ignored it so far, which I find sort of astonishing. I had expected Audrey to be crawling up it and clawing at it immediately. Last night she slept on top of the armoire, which is door (and breeze) adjacent, the clever girl.

It had been a fun day at the jobette. I chatted with a woman who had been a real, live Pan Am stewardess! I told her how much I loved the wonderful, glamorous, far too short-lived show, and she said that the reality was actually much more glamorous. How awesome is that? She said they stayed in the best hotels and had the best of everything, even though they weren’t paid that much.

The political intrigue and drama on the show was accurate, too. She was boarding a flight in Teheran (the friend who got her started as a stewardess was the personal flight attendant for the Shah) when the guy behind the desk took her passport and told her she couldn’t leave the country. She noticed that a Swissair flight was boarding, so she went to their desk and explained the situation. The Swissair guy told her to get on the flight to Geneva and he would get her passport to her. She did so, and just before the door closed, a hand appeared with her passport, which was given to the head flight attendant.

Talking to people and learning their stories is probably my favorite part of the jobette. And I continue to be amazed by how many exceptional people are attracted to this little corner of the world.

Megan and I went to the Village to look for books for Jessica’s birthday, which, as every right-thinking person knows, is every April 15. Originally we were looking for books on Hindu mythology, but we struck out on that, so we headed across the street to Out of This World, which is. It didn’t take us long to snap up a make your own bath bomb kit, a book on science experiments, and, what every ten year old girl needs, a do it yourself lemon clock (lemon not included).

After that, it was time to take Star for a stroll and admire the ocean, which was feeling pretty that day:

Star gets perturbed when I wander off and take pictures. She stops and looks for me, clearly thinking, “The pack should stay together at all times!” Once I rejoin the pack, she trots along happily, tail wagging and ears perked up. Star gets extra credit for totally ignoring the (many) barking dogs in cars. I finally understand why Megan trained her dogs to never, ever bark in the car. If only more dog owners did the same thing!

We met Rob for dinner at Frankie’s, where we sat outside with an ever-alert Star at our feet. And she was right – of course she got some dinner, too!

In the background, you can see the famous statue of Time and the Maiden on top of the bank:

It was made in 1866 of a single truck of redwood and is one of the most famous and best-loved landmarks in the Village.

After dinner, we made our way to the theater, which was festively lit up for the occasion:

The play was called Boy Gets Girl, written by Rebecca Gilman in 2000, but set in New York in the 1990s. It’s a dark tale of a successful young journalist who is set up on a blind date with a man who seems to be innocuous at first, but soon becomes obsessive and terrifying.

Here’s the set when we first came in – it serves as the bar where the couple first meets, the journalist’s office, and her apartment:

During the play, the journalist has to interview an aged filmmaker who specialized in B movies featuring voluptuous women and who continues to be, as the journalist puts it, “a breast buff”. The posters for his movies are pretty funny:

I was delighted to see one of the actors from Farragut North, which I saw last fall at the same theater. And one of the actors was the guy who owns the wine shop on Main Street. We all had a great time, and I think we’ll do it agin. Soon, I hope!

It kicked off with a series of conference calls at 7 am which ran until 1:00 pm. When they ended, I headed to the Big Town to meet with the Family Law Facilitator again. She is in the Big Town one day a month; otherwise, she’s at the county seat, which is about a 4 hour round trip drive. And she won’t be in the Big Town next month, since it’s Memorial Day, so it was now or the end of June.

Fortunately, my valiant sister took me to the courthouse, along with a dopy Star. Star’s day was almost as enjoyable as mine, starting with an early appointment with Dr. Karen. Star needed some shots and tests and other unpleasant things. Star’s murky past makes these things more stressful for her than the average dog, so Dr. Karen prescribed dog valium to help make the ordeal more bearable.

It helped, but Star still stayed on Megan’s lap as much as she could (all 54 pounds of her), shivering with terror as the kind vet staff took care of her. So she was glad to crash on the duvet in the back seat of Megan’s car as we went to the courthouse.

Much like Star (though not actually sitting on my sister’s lap), having my sister with me made a big difference. It was good to have her there while Deborah explained the paperwork to me. It turns out that what the clerk told me last month is inaccurate. I still have a package of paperwork to send to John for him to sign and have notarized and send back to me. When I get it, I have to sign and get my signature notarized, and then send it to Deborah, who will file it with the court.

Deborah has filed the paperwork we have so far with the court, and apparently everything flows from the day that John signed the first thing she “served’ him with, which was April 1. According to Deborah, I can get married again on October 2. When she told me that, I instinctively cried out “No!” without even thinking about it, to her amusement and Megan’s. It’s beyond me why people who get divorced ever get married again.

I still don’t really understand how it all works, but Deborah assures me that it’s proceeding well and that we can handle the rest of it by mail. Megan and Rob are going to the county seat one of these days to see Rob’s eye doctor, so if I do need to see Deborah in person I can ride there with them.

On the way home, I said to Megan that although this is a remote area, it certainly attracts amazing people, like Dr. Karen and Deborah, who used to be a public defender in LA. I don’t know that I could find people like this in a big city, and I feel lucky to have them in my life. And as always, I’m thankful for my sister, who makes the bad times better and the good times great.

It had been a while since I’d been over there, and things are rocking and rolling in the garden:

Those are onions and garlic in the foreground, with a new frame for peas and beans on the right – my sibs were discontented with the frames last year – and behind them, you can see the party palace, with the fire ring and grills. If you look really carefully in the background on the left, you’ll see the vats of compost tea, used to fertilize this produce extravaganza along with the adjacent orchard. I owe you a post on the orchard and garden developments so far this year.

It was a beautiful afternoon, but windy, as spring days often are here. Jonathan and Jessica used the golf cart to transport wood for the fire. it’s always good to have a real fireman show you how to make a fire:

Jessica practiced carefully. She’s a quick learner:

Megan had marinated a pork shoulder in lime juice and spices, and set it to cook slowly on the grill for several hours. It was removed to the oven to make room for Jonathan to grill onions and peppers. These were peeled and sliced and served up with the pork, black beans, and shredded cheese on tortillas for a delicious dinner. Lichen joined us and we had a great time.

When the grown-up talk got too boring for Jessica, she read (“Really, Memmin, have you ever known me to be without a book?”):

Her current read is called Graceling and it looks pretty interesting. According to school tests, Jessica is reading at a college level. Not bad for someone who just turned ten.

When we interrupted the reading, or tried to, Jessica said “Four more pages!”, usually without looking up. Erica explained that when she was a child, she asked her mother for something while her mother was reading, and her mother said, “Four more pages,” meaning that she would attend to Erica’s needs when she had finished her book. Eventually “Four more pages” got to mean, “Leave me alone, I’m reading,” regardless of the number of pages actually left, which is how the third generation of that family’s reading ladies uses it.

We were able to pull Jessica away from her book long enough to open her presents and have some cake. Megan bought the cake at a bakery, and it was chocolate with raspberry filling and buttercream frosting, with roses and “Happy Birthday Jessica” on it. Megan had even found candles whose flames burned the same color as the candles.

As for the presents, Megan gave Jessica a lemon clock kit (with lemon); a make it yourself bath bomb kit; and a book on totally irresponsible science experiments, along with a big box of Whoppers, Jessica’s favorite candy. I gave Jessica a pair of real, though tiny pearl stud earrings set in 14 karat gold. Jessica loved the book of experiments (and the Whoppers), and I think she would have been totally happy with just those. She is the least materialistic kid I have ever met.

Erica has done an amazing job over the past decade. I can’t wait to see what the next decade brings!

Megan’s way of welcoming me home

As you can see, Megan replenished the laundry supplies while I was gone. Megan’s little house has wiring even more eccentric than mine, and considerably weaker. She can’t run a washer or dryer, so she uses mine. She usually keeps the laundry room supplied, but due to one thing and other, we were running low and I made a note on the whiteboard shopping list before I left for the city.

I thought it was so sweet to find that little note! She also opened up the house for me, so it wouldn’t be hot when I got home in the late afternoon.

While Megan was shopping, Rob had not been idle, installing a screen door on the balcony. Here you see it looking from the inside out to the balcony:

You can see that some of the roses are still a little remedial. I treated them before I left, and Megan also squirted them with compost tea from the property to work on the black spot and powder mold that is plaguing them. Hopefully they will improve along with the weather.

Here’s looking from the balcony into the sleeping loft:

We still need to get a doorknob and some way of keeping the door closed, but it came with the metal reinforcements at the bottom, and I’m hoping that it will be kitty proof. One of the challenges of living in a house shaped like an overturned rowboat is that heat tends to rise and stay in the sleeping loft. It gets pretty warm up there if it’s anything over 65 degrees outside, so it would be great if I can keep the door open at night during the warmer months.

Rob and I bought the door a couple of weeks ago. The door, like many (most?) of the doors in the houses James designed and built, is an odd size, but it turns out that there is a guy in Hooterville itself who sells doors and windows of all shapes and sizes. So Rob and I hopped in the truck and went to his little establishment in the woods. This door actually fit with a couple of minor adjustments by my fearless brother-in-law, and it was nice to shop local.

When I was getting ready to leave* for Jessica’s birthday BBQ on Friday, my neighbor Aaron stopped by to tell me that Mark had asked him to get rid of the disused hot tub in my backyard. Yay! He and his puppy Lola took a look at it, and he thinks he can remove it in the next few days. I am hideously excited. Stay tuned…

*I had a bottle of wine in each hand, which I was loading into the car. Slightly embarrassing. The car was also full of all the folding chairs I could find, following Megan’s text asking me “Do you have any chaos we can stuff in the car to take with us?” Good old autocorrect.

The kitties came running out to see me. Even Audrey the Grumposuarus wanted to be petted, and later crashed out on the top of the armoire as if relieved to no longer be in charge. I cuddled the boys – Audrey does not tolerate the indignity of such things – and they purred happily before running off to chase butterflies and climb around on the roof.

Boys will be boys.

I managed all of my ambitious itinerary except the museum. Yes, it’s lame to miss out on seeing a Vermeer, but Vermeer never imagined Bay Area rush hour traffic, so I chose getting out of town before the madness descended over immersing myself in art and beauty. Does this mean I’m finally a grown-up?

I waited in line at Swan Oyster Depot as per usual. It’s always worth it. I pulled up one of the few stools and ordered a half cracked crab (there must be some joke in there about how I’m half cracked and/or crabby, but I’m too tired to think of one) with sourdough bread. The bread is from Boudin’s (pronounced BO-deenz), but they bake it extra-long for Swan’s and the crust is dark and magnificent.

I love the ballet behind the counter. All of the servers are family, and it shows. Here you can see them in action:

The gentleman in the foreground is explaining the various types of oysters. All the food there is sparkling fresh. The crab was heavenly. They even gave me a finger bowl afterwards, perhaps an unexpected refinement in a place with shared bowls of oyster crackers and lemon wedges.

When you’re done, you tell one of the brothers what you had, and depending on which one it is – not necessarily the one who served you – he either adds it up in his head or on a napkin, and then rings it up. You have to bring cash. It’s old school there.

After getting gas and picking up pizza and doughnuts, I went to Trader Joe at Hyde and California. It was delightful. Huge and uncrowded and like night and day compared to the madness of the Santa Rosa branch. Who would have thought? The clerk told me that they had been open for about four months, and I said it was a big improvement. She laughed and said. “Everyone says that!”

I made my way across the iconic Golden Gate Bridge, feeling a pang as always at leaving the place I lived in and love(d) for so long. Mount Tam loomed over the freeway as Marin county gave way to the rolling farmland of Sonoma county, and Sonoma to Mendocino. The happiness I feel when I cross the county line isn’t exactly the same as I used to feel when my plane swept over San Francisco preparing to land, but it’s good in a different way. And it’s good to be home.

It was interesting and I learned a lot (though some of it was a little depressing as far as a world economic view), but I’m ready to go home to the kitties and not have to wear uncomfortable dress up clothes for a while.

I meandered back to the motel through my old neighborhood. I had the foresight to bring sneakers to change into (and wear socks today), so I could wander in comfort. The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun was sunny enough that I really did not need the conference-mandated jacket. Despite this, I felt all sunny and careless, as Christopher Robin would say, and “just as if twice nineteen didn’t matter a bit, as it didn’t on such a happy afternoon.”

I popped in at the cheap and cheerful nail salon, where I caught up on gossip magazines and had my nails painted a sparkly gold while watching the world pass by. People watching is a lot more interesting in San Francisco than it is in Hooterville and environs.

My glittery nails and I explored some new shops and some old favorites. I picked up a couple of totally unnecessary, yet utterly delightful things, and noticed what had changed and what was the same. There is a new apartment building going up a block from my first* San Francisco apartment. The new apartments are about 750 square feet and will rent for something between $3,000 and $3,800 a month. I tried (and failed) not to think about how the mortgage (including taxes) on our condo was $1,400 a month for 1,500 square feet. Selling that place is a big regret.

Anyway…it’s good to see some new construction and positive signs of growth. Maybe the doom and gloom forecasts at the conference will be proved delightfully wrong.

Tomorrow’s somewhat ambitious program:

• Breakfast at Swan Oyster Depot (assuming manageable line)
• Pick up pizzas from Victor’s
• Pick up doughnuts from Bob’s
• Check out the Trader Joe at California and Hyde
• Go to the De Young Museum to see Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring and other treasures
• Drive home
• Pet kitties

At least I will have Friday off to unpack and get ready for Jessica’s birthday BBQ. Stay tuned!

*It was built in the 1890s and survived the Great Quake of 1906 (and the 1989 one as well). It had hardwood floors, a formal dining room with built-in china cabinets, and a wood-burning fireplace, as well as the worst landlord ever. It was $800 a month and I considered this insanely expensive at the time.

I woke up before the alarm at 5:45 am and made some bad in room coffee, then repaired back to bed to read my fan mail and gradually come to terms with the horrors of waking up.

Eventually, I got in the shower, armed with Lush soap (Carmen Miranda) and fancy shampoo (Frederik Fekkai). I enjoyed having to actually add cold water because the hot water was hot. Not to mention no bugs or drafty window in the shower.

I enjoyed having lots of towels and a warm bathroom, applying makeup with abandon, until it was time to blow dry my hair. The dryer didn’t work, and it was applied to the wall, so I couldn’t try it in another outlet (my appliance version of restarting the computer). I shoved my feet into my heels and clopped over to the office to ask for a new hairdryer.

Alas, they didn’t have one, so I had to go to the conference and meetings with wet hair, which dried in the cab. Sort of. I had to put my faith in Angelika’s haircut and hope for the best.

On the bright side, I discovered that what used to be Cala Foods, where I used to buy my groceries when I lived here, is now a Trader Joe! So I can stop in there after getting pizzas for Megan and me from Victor’s instead of having to stop in Santa Rosa on the way home. Score!

At the Four Seasons, I enjoyed the attentions of the doorman and the view as always:

The conference was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, and I had to perch on a chair near the back without benefit of a table, which made it challenging to take notes. Not for the first time, I couldn’t help noticing that it was a very predominantly older white male audience. Finance seems to be an old boys’ network, at least in this town.

I had a couple of meetings after the conference, and as I sashayed down Market Street (San Francisco’s Main Street), I realized that I had forgotten to put on socks, since my feet began to blister. After the meetings, I limped to the St. Francis Hotel and was kindly handed into a welcome taxi by their doorman. Did I ever mention how much I love doormen and taxis?

Back at the modest motel, I kicked off the shoes from hell and tried to order Chinese food on line, which failed. I ended up calling them – old school, I know – and making a drink while watching the Giants game. Megan texted me that the kitties are in and fed, and tomorrow is another day.

It was a lovely drive to the Land of Civilization this morning. The ocean was a deep blue, frosted by white caps, giving way to the ancient redwoods, followed by the rolling hills and vineyards of the Valley. The trees were a haze of translucent green leaves, and the grape vines were unfolding their leaves hopefully in the spring sunshine.

Filming of Need for Speed has concluded, so there were no traffic delays. I dropped off welcome gifts for Aaron Paul and his co-star at their hotel at the beginning of the filming, but I didn’t get to meet them or even see them, which seems kind of unfair since I was the only person at the jobette who knew who they were. Even Megan and Rob never got into Breaking Bad, so I was alone in my star-struckness.

Before leaving for the City, I enrolled in Fast Trak, which automatically deducts from your credit card the $6* toll for the privilege of entering San Francisco. Apparently human beings have been declared obsolete by the Bridge, except for the tireless painters. It was odd to drive through the toll plaza without stopping.

Now I’m at the modest motel in my not so modest former ‘hood, listening to the Leafs game and waiting for my Thai food to be delivered. Tomorrow I’ll get up bright and early – well, early, anyway – and head downtown to the Four Seasons for the annual conference.

*I remember being incensed when it went up to $3. Once I didn’t have the cash when returning to the City from visiting my sibs. I had to pull over and go into the office by the Bridge to write them a check.

It’s a plant called Lithadora, which sounds like a Harry Potter character, and this type is named White Star. I think it will look nice with the heather* and alyssum in the areas by the shed (see the fourth and fifth pictures). The alyssum is beginning to revive after the winter.

We were greeted enthusiastically by the owner’s beautiful dogs, Rio (left) and Rusty:

Part of the enthusiasm stems from the fact that Megan almost always gives them treats. Rusty in particular kept sniffing the pocket where the treats usually are, ever hopeful. Unfortunately, this time, she didn’t have any. The boys settled for pets and ushered us around.

Megan bought some praying mantises, still in their cocoons, which will act as pest control in the family garden and orchard. Apparently there are 100-200 mantises in each cocoon. She already has ladybugs hard at work over there.

We packed up the car with our purchases, petted the dogs goodbye (one last sniff from Rusty), and headed home. As we approached Little River, Megan suggested that we stop in at the historic Inn and have a drink, which we did.

We perched on bar stools in the Whale Watch Bar. As its name suggests, it has a stunning view of the ocean, even on a cloudy day like this one:

and you can actually see whales passing by during their annual migrations.

This is the first picture I have ever taken with my iPhone! And of course Megan had to show me how to do it and then how to post it to Facebook, since she had her iPhone for ages before I got mine.

I had a Melon Ball and Megan had a Cosmo, and we shared a plate of award-winning crab cakes before heading home.

It was a nice end to a busy day.

*I was amused to note when I bought these plants that their proper name is Erica. Amused because of the twins on Degrassi (Junior) High who were named Erica and Heather. Years later, I finally get the joke. I’m quick like that.

On Friday, I did an extra shift at the jobette to finish up a project. I finished about half an hour later than I expected, crushing my grandiose dreams of stopping at the nursery for more ground cover. I had an appointment with the wonderful Angelika that afternoon to get my highlights refreshed, so I called her to tell her I was running late and got there as soon as I could.

I love Angelika’s little salon in the woods. Everything smelled like lavender and all the rush went out of me as she “painted” my hair two different colors (she literally painted some of it with a brush) and put it in paper to process. She deep conditioned it when it was done, and even waxed my eyebrows. We chatted and caught up on each other’s lives, and before I knew it, it was almost 5:30!

The next morning, Rob called me around 8:30 to ask me if I was ready to go to our 10:00 swim class. Since I was still in my PJs, the answer was “no”. His plan, unbeknownst to me, was to go to the Gro for smokes, then the grocery store in the Village for a travel mug, his having disappreared, and then the coffee shop for coffee to put in the mug. I threw some clothes on, petted the kitties, and raced out the door.

We accomplished all the java-related chores before hitting the pool (on time) for the last lesson of the series. They start again in two weeks. Then Rob dropped me off at the jobette.

Megan met me there a couple of hours before we closed, and she did a great job of helping me when there were several visitors at once. In fact, our Chairman and his wife were completely charmed by her before they knew she was my sister. And speaking of charming: a visitor from San Francisco gave me the ring off her finger!

I admired it in passing while answering her question, and she gave it to me to try it on. Then she wouldn’t take it back*. It’s from SF MOMA and I am wearing it right now, the sun slanting through the colorful stripes:

It looks great with my sparkly gel manicure.

The benevolent visitor also wrote a Haiku in celebration of First Friday. Every month, we have a different theme, and this month it was Haiku. Our County seat, Ukiah, is Haiku spelled backwards, so they have a festival every year. We joined in with ikebana, an ikebana demonstration, and do it yourself Haiku.

The arrangements were beautiful.

This one reads:

This one says:

Parducci winery poured that night, and this arrangement cleverly incorporated their wine bottles:

This one was still in our conference room when I took the picture. I love the vase:

Having Megan there made it so much more fun, too.

*Megan told me later that she almost told her that she liked the bracelet she was wearing – leather with mother of pearl buttons – but was afraid the generous visitor would give that away, too!

I woke up around midnight when the power went out. Even though it’s always quiet here, I guess the sudden total silence instead of the humming of the refrigerator and other accoutrements of civilization is noticeable, even in sleep.

I could hear the wind howling – later, I learned that it was gusting up to 45 mph, and in San Francisco, they closed the Great Highway since the winds were so high – and the much-needed rain coming down. The rain seemed much louder without the ambient house humming.

I lay there and thought about how I had just emptied out the emergency pails of water – if you don’t do this early enough in the spring time, they become breeding grounds for undesirables, like mosquitoes – and the fact that I could not grind beans for coffee in the morning. There was no leftover coffee to reheat, either. Between dark thoughts like this, the storm, the kitties’ extra naughtiness, checking the PG&E outage phone number for updates, and watching the hours dwindle on my glowing alarm clock, I didn’t get much sleep.

The power eventually came back on, though, so I was able to make coffee before rushing off to the pool for aquafit. I had to get out of the car and drag a branch out of the muddy driveway, and the road to the Big Town was littered with lesser branches and pine needles. The air smelled like Christmas from the fallen needles and battered pine trees, and the sky was clear blue as if nothing had ever happened.

Maybe it was all a dream.

I drove homeward through the same striking scenery, really pleased that I had taken the time to explore a different part of the County. I stopped in the town of Elk (population 200 or so, and originally named Greenwood, after the founders of the town, whose father was one of the rescuers of the ill-fated Donner Party) and bought a newspaper in the little local store:

The one person serving was busy with other customers, so I left the money on the wooden counter and told him as I was leavng. He saluted and thanked me while making a sandwich.

I took the paper with me to Queenie’s Roadhouse:

It had been years since I had been there. It used to be that they were open irregularly, so it was wise to call first and make sure they were open before making the drive. Now they are open from 8:30 to 3:00 every day but Tuesday and Wednesday.

It’s still wise to bring the paper with you. There is no cell service or wifi there, and since every order is made from scratch with organic and/or local ingredients, it’s not fast food. It gives you time to enjoy the lovely view:

I had an omelette with fresh broccoli, balsamic onions, chicken apple sausage, and sharp white Cheddar, accompanied by house potatoes, fluffy rye toast, and two home-made jams (apricot and raspberry).

Replete, I set off for home, noting that it took a mere 20 minutes to get to Hooterville. I will be back soon!

After work on Saturday, Miss Scarlett and I drove the serpentine road to the south coast. The scenery was breathtaking and I wished more than once that I didn’t have to keep my eyes on the hilly, curvy road. The ocean crashed against the rocky cliffs, and a migrating whale flipped a tail at me in greeting as I drove past. Fields were dotted with placid cows and swept with bright wildflowers. California poppies and wild mustard blazed in the green grass by the side of the road, and the trees, bent and twisted by decades of ocean winds, were positively Seussian.

I checked in at a little inn by the ocean and then made the short drive to the lovely Arts Center:

arriving just as the sun was setting. The room was set up like a nightclub, with little tables dressed in candles and black tablecloths. Red lanterns hung from the high ceilings, and the place was packed.

Soon, the show began, with Les Filles Rouges singing and dancing and making the audience laugh with delight. Unfortunately, photography was strictly forbidden, but you can get a little taste of the artistes’ playfully sassy style in this video (and see them both in the shop where Megan and I finally learned the truth about bra sizes, and sashaying down the street where the jobette is).

True to the famously eccentric nature of the County, the Filles were not your everyday ecdysiasts. Some were far thinner than most dancers, and some much curvier. One had blue hair, another was dramatically tattooed, and one was quite pregnant. She stole the show dancing to “Like a Virgin”, ending up with red, sequined, heart-shaped, tasseled pasties on her belly button as well as the usual places, which brought down the house.

It was a lot of fun and I don’t know who had a better time, the girls or the audience.

After the show, I made my way back to the inn, where I had a glass of wine by the fire and later fell asleep to the sound of the waves crashing and the frogs joyously greeting the gentle spring rain.

I kept setting the metal detector off, but they must have deemed me non-threatening, since they let me in so I could get in line.

There were two women ahead of me in line. One of them was trying to get a restraining order, and the other one was trying to get a restraining order against her overturned. She apparently failed, since she raged away from the clerk’s window, spitting “I don’t think yelling and screaming constitutes a threat!”

Clearly.

When it was my turn, I handed the understandably embittered clerk my paperwork. While I did have two copies, I had left one (my copy) at home, and brought the original and John’s copy with me. Unfortunately, I needed the clerk to stamp and approve all three copies. It makes sense when you think about it, but as you know, logic and thinking about it are not my strong suit, just one of the reasons that made me end up in this situation.

I went back to the jobette, where E said, “That was fast!” I explained what had happened, and she told me to just make another copy and go back. I felt weird about using the office copier for my personal business, but she said that I needed to get it over with, so I did.

Back to the courthouse, where – stop me if you’ve heard this one before – the woman in front of me was, yes, getting a restraining order. Between the restraining orders and the people waiting outside the probation office, I began to have serious concerns about the entire “jury of your peers” concept*.

Finally, it was my turn, and this time the clerk was able to stamp and file my paperwork. Thirty days after John is served with the paperwork, I will go back to the clerk and request a summary judgment. I will give the clerk stamped, self-addressed envelopes so the court can mail the final decrees to John and me six months after that date.

She also gave me a summons to appear on August 16 – what is it with me and summons to appear in August? – but explained that it’s only in case I don’t file for the summary judgment. The court wants to make sure that the case is concluded one way or the other, and this is their way of making sure that the case isn’t just out there unresolved forever, like my nine year (unofficial) separation.

I then went to the post office and sent John’s paperwork to Deborah. By the time I got back to the jobette, it was long past the half hour allowed for lunch, which is why I’m lucky that my coworkers are so awesome.

While it’s good to get this dealt with, it’s still sad, and I can’t help feeling that Dad would be disappointed in me. When he died, I was still married, living in a beautiful apartment which we owned (and which sold last year for half a million dollars more than we paid for it – we should never have sold it) in the best neighborhood in the most beautiful city in the world, and had a good job which made good money. Now I’m living in a weird hippie house, barely scraping by, and struggling to pay my freakin’ divorce fees (it’s only fair to note that we split the costs 50/50), and don’t own anything other than a 16 year old car. Not exactly an improvement.

I told my boss/partner about this – he knew Dad well – and he said that Dad would be proud that we built our business together and we still have it, even though times have been hard. He said, “You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still out there swinging.”

Maybe that’s all any of us can do.

*I told Megan about this, and she said, “The ER and the ambulance did that for me a long time ago.”