Suzy Says

A Rare Show of Togetherness

The cats seem as happy in their new home as the Staff is. They staked out their territory early. Audrey is Queen of the Couch, rarely, if ever, venturing upstairs, which is Boys Town. While she lounges on the couch, the boys lounge (and generally cuddle) on the bed. Much like human boys, they are happy with an unmade bed, but their Staff prefers the bed to be made and things to be tidy.

I placed two food dishes and a water dish in the spacious bathroom, along with the litterbox, which I cleverly concealed in the shelving unit there. I was surprised one day to note that both Dodge and Clyde were in the box at the same time, which seemed a little excessive in the way of togetherness.

Audrey’s dish and water are downstairs in her kingdom. It was soon brought to my attention that she did not care to go upstairs to use the facilities, so she now has her own inside the downstairs closet. I don’t love leaving the closet door ajar at all times, but it beats the alternative. Like I always say, compromise means nobody’s happy, though in this case, I’m pretty sure Audrey is.

The front door of the house is mostly glass, as is the sliding door in the kitchen and the door to the back porch, so I expected the cats to use those to look outside. Unfortunately for me, they prefer to sit in the windows, most of which have blinds which they walk through and disarrange. Fortunately, all of the windows also have screens.

However…I did not admit to the actual cat population when interviewing for the house. I only told my landlord about Audrey, who I expected to be the most visible and who might go outside eventually. Even to the owner of three cats, three cats sounds perilously close to crazy cat lady territory, and I didn’t want to jeopardize getting the house by admitting to it. So now I’m worried that she will notice them sitting in the windows and I’m not sure how to respond to that if it happens. I realize I should have told the truth in the first place and I brought it all on myself, but still.

The situation is further complicated by the fact that the landlord’s cat has been stopping by to visit (and, on occasion, leaving dead birds on the front porch). She is a beautiful cat, slim and white, with grey patches and extra toes, making her slim legs look even thinner with the big, bunchy paws.

She is friendly and likes to be petted. However, Clyde and Audrey do not appreciate her visits. They both hiss and growl at her. I am always a bit shocked when Clyde does it, since he is usually such a cuddlebug. Dodge is completely uninterested in the visitor. Maybe he developed this laissez faire attitude while living on the mean streets of Fort Bragg during his formative years.

Maybe I’m worrying about nothing, though worrying is what I do. I’m (in)famous for it. Even seven year olds can tell!

A YEAR AGO: Some minor mysteries on the Ridge.

FIVE YEARS AGO: An eventful memorial service.

TEN YEARS AGO: Those naughty kitties!

My birthday dawned bright and beautiful, shining with hope that I would get the best birthday present of all: internet in my house!

Getting internet when you live in what my late, lamented stepmother used to call “the back of beyond” in her rich, plummy voice with an accent like the Queen’s, is not a simple thing. You don’t just call the internet company and get it switched on. Here’s what you do (or at least what I did):

1. Make appointment for internet guy to come out and see if there is a good tree to house the receptor.
2. Get stood up by guy after waiting for two hours.
3. Make another date and hope he shows up.
4. Guy shows up on second try. I am favorably impressed by this, and he is favorably impressed by the size and quality of the redwoods surrounding my new house.
5. Call a couple of tree climbers. Find one who is available on the same day as the internet guy, which happens to be my birthday. Fortunately I had already taken that day and the following day off from work.

My new landlord Danielle was also interested in getting the internet service, which is far superior to and less expensive than the satellite service she was currently suffering. Satellite internet in my experience is both expensive and crappy. What’s not to hate?

When the guys arrived, she pretty much took over. It’s her place and I could see she was used to running the show. The guys chose a tree and the climber went up to place the internet receptor. I later asked him how high he had to go and he said 120 feet, observing that that after 50 feet you’re going to die if you fall anyway so it doesn’t really matter how high you go after that.

The internet guy got Danielle hooked up first and then me. So I was back in touch with the outside world in time for dinner, which was bruschetta, salad, and penne alla vodka from Luna, along with some pink champagne in a pretty glass. It was a great birthday.

A YEAR AGO: A sad and tragic birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Another birthday tinged with the shadow of loss. I just realized I will never see Yellow Dog again now that I moved. I will miss his sweet, old face. I still think he misses Schatzi. We all do.

TEN YEARS AGO: A pretty good birthday average.

It was a wildlife extravaganza on the Ridge on Friday morning. Bunnies, quail, deer – you name it! Fortunately, both they and Wednesday remained unscathed. I can’t say the same for a sizable mountain lion who I came across unexpectedly last week on my way to work one morning.

I had just crossed the sweep of the Big River bridge, enjoying as always the beauty of the river meeting the sea, and was surprised to see a mountain lion sitting by the side of the highway. Across the road were two men on phones, standing by a truck and somehow looking vaguely official. They waved me onwards, and I later learned that the lion had been hit by a car, which explains why he was just sitting there. I wonder what the officials in charge of such things do with wounded mountain lions.

Of course, seeing it made me think of my beloved Roscoe. I have always thought that it was a mountain lion that killed him. Illogically, it makes me sad that I will be leaving him behind when I move, even though I don’t know where his bones are. But being rational has never been one of my few talents.

The wildlife at home definitely know that something is up, as their house fills with boxes and various things are hauled away. It is total chaos, and you know how I love that. I realized today that when things stop being a mess at my current house, they will start being a mess at the new one. I can conservatively expect another month or two of chaos.

Clyde in particular is perturbed by the change in routine. He is underfoot even more than usual, as he tries to stay close to me at all times. He has started sleeping on my head again, like he did when he was a kitten. He also looks beseechingly into my face, looking for answers. And he has been very hungry. Do cats eat emotionally?

Little Dodge, whose birthday was yesterday – I gave him my much-loved American grandfather’s birthday, May 11 – is enjoying the mess very much, thank you. For Dodge, it’s a great opportunity to play with paper, jump into boxes, and explore shelves and corners revealed by things being moved. Having said that, Dodge has started sleeping on my pillow at night, like my wonderful old cat Buddy used to do, so maybe he needs some comforting too.

Audrey has taken to sitting on the very top shelf in the studio. I have put a folded up blanket there for her, and she loves it. It’s the perfect place to sit and despise everyone and all the manual labor going on. Her food and water are on the shelf below, so she can avoid the boys. She appears to be completely unmoved by the whole thing. To be fair, she has moved a couple of times in her life, so she is a veteran at this.

I am hoping to give the new landlord a check on Monday and get an official move date. Stay tuned!

A YEAR AGO: A little garden-inspired road trip.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The beginning of the great bathroom remodel adventure.

TEN YEARS AGO: Ah, the annual optical adjustment from hockey to baseball.

It’s not exactly official! I’m moving!

I have been looking for a new place since last August. There’s not a lot of houses for rent around here, and my specifications (not in town, no visible neighbors, preferably Hooterville, not in the fog) winnowed the short supply down even further. I found the new house on the local message boards. The rent is about the same as my current house, but the house is newer and nicer. It also has character and architectural details, being a working water tower:

and having beams made of old growth redwood:

There is a kitchen with more than three feet of counter space:

And a spacious bathroom with an actual bathtub! Lush, here I come!

The bedroom is lovely and has – get ready, folks – a closet! No more storing my clothes under the bed!

It is located on a different ridge in Hooterville, also about five miles inland. The landlord has owned the property for about 30 years. She and her son also live on the property, but I can’t see their houses from my new house. She built my new house herself, even milling the wood herself. She owns a business in the Village and works 6 days a week, so it’s been challenging to catch up with her and figure out the formalities, like getting something signed (if there is something to sign), giving her a check, and figuring out when I can move in.

It was hard to tell Mark I am leaving after ten years, but it hasn’t been the same since he left and there has also been too much weirdness. It will be the first time a member of my family hasn’t lived on the property in 25 years! We have had a lot of joyful times here, and I love my quirky old house. But it’s time for a new chapter.

A YEAR AGO: Let tourist season begin! Again!

FIVE YEARS AGO: The horror of Covered California. Just thinking about how expensive and crappy it was still makes my blood boil.

TEN YEARS AGO: the many joys of old movies.

It looks like the rain is over for the season, and that’s good, because I am over it! We got close to 50 inches outside, and quite a few inches inside, due to the ever-increasing number of leaks in my aging hippie hovel. But the rhododendrons are in bloom and I have switched to my spring/summer perfume from my fall/winter one, so spring is here!

On a beautiful but windy spring day, Megan, Lu and I piled into Wednesday to go to the South Coast. It was Lu’s first time driving my car, so she had to get used to the eternal engine light and the gangsta dark tinting which renders the rearview mirror pointless. But she’s used to driving an ambulance on the South Coast roads, so it was no problem for her. It’s always nice to know you have EMS with you.

Not driving gave me a chance to appreciate the deep turquoise ocean with its white crested waves and the occasional passing whale. Trees were hazed with new leaves, that poignant color they only have this time of year, the rolling hills were still green from all the rain, vibrant with drifts of white, yellow, and purple wildflowers, starred with flaming orange California poppies. This has been a banner year for wildflowers across California.

Arriving in Point Arena, we stopped at Franny’s, as you do if it is a day they are open:

I invested my hard-earned allowance in a lemon champagne cupcake filled with lemon curd and topped with blueberry icing and candied lemon slices; a cinnamon twist; and a sea salt caramel pecan brownie:

We continued south to the Point Arena Lighthouse:

Where we could barely get out of the car with the wind blowing so hard against the car door and whipping up the waves:

It’s no wonder we didn’t spot the lighthouse cat:

Cats have too much sense to be out in the freezing cold wind, unlike silly humans. We later learned that the wind was gusting up to 40 miles an hour and the lighthouse had to be closed so that unwary visitors would not be blown from the balcony.

The lighthouse does tours every full moon. One of these days we have to go and check it out.

On this occasion, we were there to see Katy Tahja talk about female lighthouse keepers:

Katy’s ancestors were early settlers in this area, and she has written several fascinating books about local history, on which she is an authority. She is also delightful and charming and kept the audience rapt for over an hour. We gathered in the signal room, beside the beautiful Fresnel lens:

She regaled us with funny, tragic, and astonishing tales of the 142 women who kept the lights across America, starting during the Revolutionary War. Three generations of women were lighthouse keepers in the country’s first cast iron lighthouse, in Mississippi. Another’s fog horn broke during the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire, and she struck the bell by hand for more than 20 hours. Her mother was a former socialite who became a lighthouse keeper near Monterey at the age of 50, bringing her French poodles, antiques, and art with her.

While male lighthouse keepers had a uniform, female keepers did not, and improvised their own. In addition to their lighthouse duties, these women gave birth, raised and sometimes educated their children, as well as growing and preparing food. Many women kept these jobs for decades. When one female keeper retired after half a century of service, it took three men to replace her.

After this inspiring talk, we headed to Anchor Bay Thai, where we had a wonderful dinner and of course got take out as well. It’s a tradition! All in all, it was a wonderful and memorable day.

A YEAR AGO: Bookstore, cats, cocktails: what else does a girl need?

FIVE YEARS AGO: A wonderful visit to the de Young Museum in San Francisco.

TEN YEARS AGO: Thinking of moving. I’m glad I eventually did.

My absentee landlord appeared as suddenly as he left, and with the same amount of notice. One day he appeared at the “front” door, which is actually at the side of the house. I couldn’t open it, though. That was one of the things I had emailed him about a few months ago, along with the alarming increase in the puddle population (in the foyer, above the refrigerator, the windowsill where Dodge sits) and some recently discovered termite damage.

I went out through the bathroom door so we could chat. It appeared that the main purpose of his visit was to shepherd the bank appraiser around the property. He is trying to get a loan using the property as collateral. Supposedly he will use the loan to fix things like my increasingly leaky roof and the driveway, which is now about 85% potholes and a joy to drive, even at 2 miles an hour, but I have my doubts about this and whether he will be able to repay the loan in a timely manner.

I kept these thoughts to myself, along with the fear that Mark’s overextending himself financially might lead to my living in a tent on the family estate. He claimed that the assessor was supposed to show up at 11 am on Saturday, but it was more like 12:30 before he appeared. He was somewhat surprised by having to come in through the door that leads from the bathroom to the back porch. Doesn’t everyone have an outside door in their bathroom?

He was an unprepossessing individual, to say the least. It was hard to imagine that he had ever seen the inside of a bank, let alone work for one. Let’s just say that I would not have picked him up if he were hitchhiking. It was quite unpleasant to have him looking around my house, and it gave me a creepy feeling as he measured things and poked around. I was reminded of having the appraiser at my now million dollar apartment in San Francisco making me feel like the place was a total dump.

Dodge disagreed with me, performing his patented jump while rubbing against the guy’s grubby jeans. Dodge is lucky he didn’t get a bath afterwards. The appraiser opined that Siamese cats were crazy, which did not improve my opinion of him, though Dodge’s opinion remained unchanged.

Eventually, the guy left, taking his creepiness with him. Now it’s a waiting game to see if Mark gets the loan and whether he can pay it back if he does.

A YEAR AGO: An exhibit of cookbooks, and some tales from the past.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A late season power outage for me and an unpleasant trip to the dentist for poor Rob. Is there any other kind?

TEN YEARS AGO: Jessica’s sixth birthday. Those among you who are not math challenged will realize this means she is now 16. SIXTEEN!

I found myself at an unexpected funeral one sunny day. One of my fellow library Board members died suddenly just a few days earlier, and I received an email one afternoon asking that I attend her service the following day. I later learned that she was Jewish and that they do not believe in embalming, so funerals happen a little more quickly than I am used to.

Fortunately, my boss let me take time off, though wrapping up details at work made me late for the service. That, and the fact that I thought it was at the cemetery overlooking the ocean when it was actually the one in town. Its entrance is not well marked or marked at all, as far as I could tell. When I arrived, I could see things were already in process. I parked Wednesday under a tall tree and made my way toward the group as quickly as I could.

The rabbi was speaking about Jennifer, and it was funny and delightful. I think she would have approved. Others spoke, and there were tears and laughter both. I couldn’t understand the Hebrew prayers, but they sounded beautiful and I could feel the centuries-old tradition as I did at that long-ago bar mitzvah. A lone raven wheeled slowly overhead, the sun glistening on his dark feathers as he surfed the air currents. I felt the sun warming my back and smelled freshly cut grass as I tried not to stare at the simple, pale wooden box poised over the grave.

I don’t think I have been to an actual burial since my grandparents’, 42 years ago. It was a little shocking. The rabbi said that it is considered a final gift to the deceased if you help to fill in his or her grave, since they cannot cover themselves. So I got in line with the other mourners and when the time came, I took the shovel and as gently as possible put the dirt in her grave, where it made that terrible, hollow sound as it hit the coffin. That’s a sound you never forget. Some people used their hands instead of the shovel, perhaps feeling a little closer or more personal that way.

At the end, the rabbi asked us to stand in two lines along the path leading to the grave, and as the family passed by, they clasped our hands and we each said, “May you be comforted.” It was really beautiful. I was glad I could be there.

A YEAR AGO: Silly Suzy! Could it be spring fever? Or only having two brain cells?

FIVE YEARS AGO: The naughtiness of Clyde. I am pleased to say that he seems to have reformed.

Megan and I took advantage of a break in the weather for a trip to the Village. Our first stop was to see if our favorite wood-fired, brick oven pizzas were available in the winter. The scent greeting us as we made our way there suggested that they were:

They are indeed open year-round, which was good to know. The garden was still beautiful, even in the depths of winter, as was the pizza:

With dinner squared away before noon, we headed for the Kelley House to see a special exhibit on vintage fashion. Did you know that wedding gowns were not always white? This one dates from 1860s:

We were entranced by the beautiful gowns on display:

Here are some details:

There’s even an M for Megan:

It’s hard to imagine my tomboy sister in one of these getups, but you’d have to be a pretty tough women to survive living here in the Victorian era. Don’t forget there was no Golden Gate Bridge or paved roads, so to get here from San Francisco involved taking a ferry across the Bay and then stagecoach or carriage. Or you could do the whole thing by water and have to take a Victorian style zipline to the rocky Mendocino shore:

In fact, Megan noticed that there was a framed, matted version of a similar photo for sale for a mere $40. She was unable to resist, and I think it was a very good purchase. You can still see the remains of the zipline on the headlands to this day.

Children wore exquisite little gowns as well:

I think this elegant black velvet cocktail dress from the 1940s could be worn now:

Some fashion is timeless. Fortunately, corsets and crinoline are not!

We were fascinated by a film in which a modern-day girl got dressed in 1860s and 1880s style, all by herself. To be fair, she already had foundation garments on, but it still didn’t take as long as we thought it would, even with buttoning boots and petticoats and lacing her own corset. She even showed us how a lady relieved herself in the days when skirts and undergarments weighed several pounds. The secret is the open pantaloons and facing the wall, the opposite of the way modern women do. The Victorian way allowed bustles and crinolines to billow out of the way of the business at hand.

It was fun to take a look at the past, but I’m glad that I live in the present!

A YEAR AGO: It was still winter-y, but the ballet was fabulous.

FIVE YEARS AGO: This and that, things and stuff.

TEN YEARS AGO: From being robbed at the DMV to seeing priceless jewels. Just another day in Oaktown.

It was dark and stormy last week. We got about 10 inches of rain in a week, 6 of it over the course of two or three days. I later learned that this unenjoyable weather is called an “atmospheric river”. I think this is the California version of the polar vortex that afflicts the east coast in the winter. Also that the Groundhog had no idea what he was talking about.

The ocean was brown from the churned up rivers emptying into it, the road to Civilization was under 14 feet of water, and there was widespread flooding in the inland parts of the county. Even the schools were closed. It seemed like a good time to spend the night in town and check out an inn that recently opened overlooking the harbor.

I was disheartened to receive an LED lantern upon check in, since this meant that they either had no generator or only had one to power their office, as I experienced a few years ago when I stayed in town on a stormy night, only to be kept awake by a generator blasting all night that did not do anything for me. I could have had that experience at home for free, since it was back in the days when Mark was still here and started up his generator the second the power went out, possibly before calling PG&E to notify them of the outage.

Even though it was raining sideways, I dared to hope that the power wouldn’t go out. The room was quite lovely:

overlooking the busy harbor, where I could watch the boats go in and out and hear the characteristic sounds of sea lions and fog horns, which always remind me of San Francisco.

There was a sitting area overlooking the little balcony and harbor, complete with a gas fireplace:

And a giant tub with the same view:

It was thoughtfully provided with a hand shower, the thickest towels I have ever seen, and a comfortable, warm robe with a towel lining.

The inn has a restaurant on site, and I thought it would be a good idea to have dinner there and just walk back to my room. It turned out that this was not the best idea I ever had, and not (just) because I walked there and back in the driving rain and was soaked (though that didn’t help, either).

The restaurant is very pretty, and I later learned that a friend of mine had collaborated with the architect to create the restaurant and bar area. My table overlooked the river, and I could see there was outside seating for when the atmospheric river wasn’t soaking everything in sight. It would be a nice view.

Despite the fact that there were maybe four other people in the restaurant, it took 20 minutes before the pretty hostess took pity on me and asked if I’d like to order a drink. I ordered some wine, which arrived quickly, and then I waited some more. Finally the server arrived and asked if I was ready to order. I asked her what the specials were, which may be a first in restaurant history. I placed the order and had yet another long wait.

When it eventually arrived, the sole Meunière looked very nice:

But there was no sign of the crab it allegedly contained, not to mention the Meyer lemon reduction. It was bland, disappointing, and very expensive. A friend later pointed out that hotel food is often this way, and I will keep that in mind going forward.

On the (literally) brighter side, the power stayed on, and I was able to enjoy some wine by the fire, watching the harbor lights and listening to music. In the morning, I headed to the ever-awesome Eggheads for eggs Benedict, starring the world’s best Champagne Hollandaise sauce. Since it was a winter Wednesday, there was no line and a booth was available. The server was just a delight, and though much younger than the server at the hotel restaurant, she could have taught her a thing or two about good service. And the food was as wonderful as always. On the whole, it was a nice break.

A YEAR AGO: A look at Rob’s amazing artwork.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Angelika worked her magic. I am due to see her this coming weekend, too!

The lights stayed on the rest of the week, the sun is out, and the event hell is behind me for another few months*, so things are brighter, both literally and figuratively.

Megan and I headed to the South Coast for another of our cultural outings. The first stop, as it often is, was Anchor Bay Thai, where we are now so well-known that the lovely young server puts takeout menus on the bar for us on sight, and writes our names on the bills before we give her our credit cards. We were unable to resist the special fresh spring rolls of the day, made with coconut shrimp and fresh pineapple. So good!

We arrived at the theater in Point Arena in time to get balcony seats and enjoy the wonders of “La Sylphide”. It is one of the oldest ballets still being performed, and according to Katerina, the one that introduced dancing en pointe and started the celebrity of ballerinas, way back in 1836.

I am surprised it’s not better known today. It is beautiful to watch, with a wonderful, romantic story and a tragic ending. It is set in Scotland, where James (played by Semyon Chudin, who so memorably played the Mouse King a few years ago) naps by the fire in his mansion. He is awakened by a kiss from a sylph, who enchants him by fluttering and seeming to float as she dances around the room. As James reaches for her, she flies up the chimney and vanishes.

Unfortunately for James, it is not only his wedding day, but his groomsmen think he’s crazy when he describes his close encounter with this fantastic being. Eventually, James pursues the sylph into the enchanted forest where she and her sister sylphs dance an exquisite dance. He manages to capture the sylph and kiss her passionately, but this causes her wings to fall off and the beautiful creature dies in his arms.

I think it’s one of my favorites of all the ballets we have seen over the past few years. I’m looking forward to the next one, “La Bayadère”, in March.

*Though the actual event is next January, tickets go on sale and the madness starts in October. So the break from the horror is nowhere near as long as this girl would like.

A YEAR AGO: We were at the ballet then, too.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Hanging out with Megan’s dog Stella.

TEN YEARS AGO: Fighting the ghosts of the past and the tears of the present.

Here it comes!

I am glad to say that the power came back on Friday night, after three powerless days. It was nice to have light, not see my breath in the living room, and be able to flush the toilet. I was planning to go home and watch an old movie with a couple of adult beverages to celebrate the long-awaited return of civilization to my humble abode, but I ended up going to bed after one drink and not even messaging a distant friend as I had intended. Have I lost the will to drink?

I’m sorry to report that the power went out yet again on Saturday night, plunging me once more into darkness and despair. I called my friends at PG&E to report it and was saddened to hear that their recording still related to the outage which ended on Saturday. So I couldn’t report the new one. I hung up, hoping that one of my neighbors would eventually be able to report it. It appeared that someone did, since it came back on about six hours later.

For some reason, I have been finding all these outages hard to take. Maybe my nerves are overtaxed with the horror of the annual fundraiser. I am in the throes of it right now, along with my regularly scheduled job and all the irregularities that go along with that. I keep telling myself, it’s all over on Saturday and I can make it if I take it day by day.

We are back to sunny days and I hope the power outage chances are minimal, at least for now.

Update: Well, that didn’t last long. Power out AGAIN Monday morning at 8 am. Third one in a week. On a sunny, clear, windless day.

Another Update: Power is back on. We’ll see how long it lasts this time. Is it really even worth setting all the clocks?

When I was a kid, my Dad used to jokingly say, “When things were bad, they told me, ‘Cheer up! Things could get worse!’ So I cheered up, and sure enough, things got worse!” Well, I never did cheer up from the effects of 2017, but 2018 was even worse. I really can’t see it end soon enough.

Besides the horrors nationally and globally, Erica’s mother died suddenly and horribly just days before the equally sudden and unexpected death of the best man at my long-ago wedding. The effects of these losses continue to echo, most notably with Erica and Jessica fleeing not just the county, but the country. There was no Junapalooza this year and there never may be again without the assistance and inimitable presence of my near birthday twin and aesthetic soulmate.

Megan and Rob moved away, too, leaving me the last one standing at the property our brother first moved to 25 years ago. They lived in that little house for 20 years – the only house they ever lived in, in fact. Before that, they lived on a boat at Pier 39, and before that, Megan lived in an apartment with me. Mom spent the last few years of her life in that house, and Dad visited us there, including the Thanksgiving when he had a stroke on the driveway. And don’t forget my Christmas concussion in Megan’s living room! There are a lot of memories in that tiny place. Megan and Rob live just down the road now, but I miss having them here. Another ending.

Add in some expensive and agonizing dental hell and seemingly endless problems and drama on the property where I live, and you have the kind of year where a girl who loves Christmas doesn’t have any decorations up and in fact ignored the whole thing. I didn’t send any cards out this year, so if you didn’t get one from me, it’s not you, it’s me.

It’s probably not surprising in this underperforming year that I read only 102 books versus last year’s 114, and we have only received a paltry 10 inches of rain so far this season.

On the bright side (though not as far as Audrey is concerned), I adopted a little Siamese cat named Dodge, and he’s still alive so far, defying the odds.

Here’s to a less crappy New Year. I don’t think I can take it if I’m back here a year from now, telling you how 2018 looks like the good times.

January: I still had the plague from the old year. Not a good way to start the new one. When is a potato bucket not a potato bucket? When it’s a cat latrine, of course. Watching the surfers and ballerinas in Point Arena. The beauty of the lunar eclipse – and a perfect cocktail or two.

February: Both the weather and the mail were delightfully surprising. It was the Mondayest of Mondays and the smallest of small town days. I note that Wednesday’s engine light is still on, a full year later. A power outage at work, but not at home. Thankfully.

March: Rob’s amazing ceramic art. The most unpleasant time change of the year, and a delightful visit to Angelika’s little salon in the big woods. The beginning of the dreaded mattress saga. Not one of my finer decision-making moments. Celebrating Dad’s birthday. Stormy weather and the continuing mattress saga. Mark repaired some problems at my house. I note that he mentioned then that he was planning to move, and he eventually did.

April: Spring arrived, along with more silliness on my part than usual. Spring fever? A huge storm dumped a bunch of rain on us. Amazingly, the power stayed on. The horror of the mattress saga finally ended. Enjoying some local history and scandal. My blog turned 17 and Jessica turned 15.

May: Considering joining the library Board. A delightful dinner, a creepy play, and the debut of Lu and Rik’s first grandchild. A road trip to Willits to buy plants for the garden, and Star’s 10 birthday! Two sudden and unspeakably tragic deaths in one week.

June: A memorial service right before Erica’s and my birthdays inspired us to skip the celebrations. There was no Junapalooza either. I had taken time off for my birthday and was rewarded by getting the flu again less than six months after having it. The welcome discovery of wood-fired pizza in the Village. Despite everything, I’m grateful for the love and support around me.

July: My DNA test results. The beauty of the annual quilt show. A delightful outing to Point Arena, replete with delicacies from Franny’s and a play streamed from London. Both my back and my heart ached with the news of my former mother-in-law’s death. Rest in peace, dear Marj. The breathtaking Flynn Creek Circus and the terrifying wildfires.

August: Megan and Rob get ready to move from their home of 20 years onto the family estate. Giving away the things that wouldn’t fit in their new place. The seventeenth anniversary of Dad’s untimely and unnecessary death. I will never stop loving or missing him. The arrival of little Dodge, the beautiful little Siamese cat.

September: Megan and Rob were all moved in to their new place, and Dodge was finding his place in his new family. The beginning of Dental Hell, leading to my first (and hopefully last) root canal. The delights of the Fair.

October: The case of the disappearing landlord. Catching you up on some details. A trip to the hospital for my string of pearls. The last sleepover with Jessica. A lovely lunch and an enchanting garden.

November: The annual cider pressing. Swamped in smoke from distant, late season wildfires. In November! More updates about various things around the Manor. Hint: Not many of them are good. Remembering my grandfathers on the 100th anniversary of Armistice Day. Sometimes I feel like John and I are the only people in California who wear poppies for Remembrance Day.

December: A memorable version of King Lear with the amazing Sir Ian McKellen. The great escape. The always delightful festival of lights. A lovely evening, including a live (and lively) 1940s style radio play. The Christmas that wasn’t.

A YEAR AGO: Looking back at another bad year.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Lots of trips to San Francisco, a shiny new divorce, a new car, and the arrival of Stella, among other good things.

TEN YEARS AGO: Adjusting to life in Oaktown.

Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny after a night of heavy rain. It may have been the loudest and heaviest rain I remember hearing here. It was a little scary, and I’m pretty sure even Rudolph couldn’t have made it through that storm. I also acquired a new leak, in the foyer, which I discovered by stepping into the icy puddle in my habitually bare feet. Because when it’s sunny or starry in the winter, it’s cold, since the insulating layer of clouds are gone.

I could see my breath in the house, and the cats approved my decision to put the heater on, Dodge sitting on top of it and Clyde right in front of it, Audrey remaining in her mystery spot™. She has been scarce these days, either nowhere to be seen or scowling from her throne.

It was a hot water only shower on Christmas Day, and even then the water was perched perilously on the edge of acceptability. But at least there was water. Ever since my brother took over managing the well, we have not run out of water. A girl could get used to this.

I had meant to watch “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and the Grinch, but when it came down to it, I didn’t want to. I also didn’t do my annual reading of “The Box of Delights”, watch NORAD’s Santa Tracker or the Queen’s Speech, or any other Christmas traditions. It was too depressing, especially since I had to work the next day, and who can truly enjoy the day before work? Especially in your chilly and resolutely undecorated house all by yourself.

Maybe next year will be different.

A YEAR AGO: Little did I know this would be our last Christmas together.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A sunny and delightful Christmas. With Gucci shoes, yet.

TEN YEARS AGO: Christmas at Megan’s old house. Those were the days.

Even though I’m skipping Christmas this year, I was still delighted to learn that the local theater was putting on a holiday show.

Megan and I decided to have a pre-theater dinner at Luna Trattoria since we enjoyed our last dinner there so much. This time was just as delicious. I couldn’t resist having the penne alla vodka again, and Megan had fettucine with grilled prawns. They make their own pasta and it’s perfection.

After dinner, we made our way to the theater. We were somewhat disappointed to learn that there was not a special, festive drink for the holiday show. Visions of something pepperminty or maybe pomegranate or cranberry based, garnished with holly or something, had been dancing in my head. I tried to keep my dismay to myself, and settled for a drink from a previous production.

Even more disappointing than the lack of theme drink was having seats in the next to last row instead of the first row. When I saw the notice of the play on Facebook, I tried to buy tickets online, only to get an error message. I called the box office the next day, only to discover that it was mostly sold out and we’d have to settle for suboptimal seats.

Despite these minor inconveniences, the play itself was delightful. It was a 1940s radio play version of “Miracle on 34th Street”, complete with retro microphones and a guy on stage doing sound effects. There were ads and jingles for Lux soap, the sponsor of the show, and memorably, the Andrews Sisters, played by three charmers from the local high school. They effortlessly and adorably sang this very complex tune, as well as their hit Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy, and were poised and charming when interviewed on the radio. It was a wonderful evening.

A YEAR AGO: Did you know Peter Pan was a horror movie? Well, it is. Or at least this particular production was. It has entered family parlance as something really bad happening now being called “getting Peter Panned”.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A very enjoyable day at work. I miss the golden years of the jobette.

TEN YEARS AGO: A good mail day.

Just because you’re a pre-conversion Grinch who doesn’t have a single decoration up at your house or even one Christmas card in the outbound mail doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the magic of the Festival of Lights.

Despite the fact that we are skipping Christmas this year, Megan and I were looking forward to the Festival of Lights at the Botanical Gardens. Even though we arrived on the early side, the regular parking lot was already full and we had to settle for the overflow parking lot next door. Fortunately for us, the overflow lot was close to the entrance for those of us with prepaid tickets, so it all worked out well.

Once inside, we were delighted by a dragon, flamingoes, and other exotic creatures:

Somehow, the windswept cypress trees reminded me of the giraffes’ native Africa:

The jellyfish seem to float in the air:

I loved the dramatic lighting on the succulent garden:

The erupting volcano was complete with smoke:

The sailing ship was complete with whale tail:

It was a magical, glittering evening.

A YEAR AGO: Surviving the office Christmas party.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A surprise birthday for Jarrett.

TEN YEARS AGO: A Christmas memory.

The Fugitive

Little Dodge managed to sneak out of the house when the help wasn’t looking. The help was horrified to discover this in the early morning darkness. Clyde was also visibly dismayed, going from door to window to door and peering outside anxiously. I wouldn’t be the worrier I am if I didn’t think, “Clyde can’t go through this again”, fearing that Dodge, after a mere four months in my incompetent hands, had vanished into the woods like the incomparable Roscoe and the gorgeous June. Cats have about the same survival rate in my house as Victorian infants.

Audrey, of course, was smirking from her throne, clearly thinking, “Thought he’d never leave!”

I went out into the darkness and called Dodge, shaking treats and trying to convince him to come home. He had never been outside since I brought him home, and when he was outside before, it was on city streets, which have different dangers than the woods, so this just ratcheted up the worry.

Eventually, I heard his characteristic meow and caught a glimpse of his distinctive fur in the beam of the flashlight. But he vanished under the stairs. Attempts to get Dodge to emerge from his hiding place were severely hampered by the appearance of Mark’s herd of dogs, who were overly interested and trying to be helpful. I shooed them away, but Dodge stayed hidden.

I later learned that cats often do this: continue to hide even though they can hear their owners’ voices and the gladsome sound of treats. Apparently, some kind of survival mode kicks in and they just stay as still as possible until they think the danger has passed. Also they generally stay in the immediate radius of their house, unless scared away by a dog or car or something like that.

All these things were true, since Dodge remained hidden under the house for most of the day. I began to worry about his being out there in the dark yet again as the day went by. Eventually, the little rascal emerged from his hiding place long enough for me to scoop him up and bring him triumphantly into the house.

Clyde wasted no time in carefully examining and sniffing his wayward companion, finally giving him a welcome home bath while Audrey glowered. Curses! Foiled again!

Dodge busied himself with treats and food, and then curled up on the couch with Clyde as if nothing had ever happened.

A YEAR AGO: The delights of candlelight shopping.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Seasonal chill.

TEN YEARS AGO: It was hailing like crazy. And Henry and I were getting closer.

This is my first post for December! That’s pretty bad, even by my low standards. You can probably guess that this means things have not been going well in Suzy World, and you would be correct. I won’t bore you with the dreary details*, but suffice it to say that things are crazy at work and at home and it has (temporarily, I hope) sucked the frivolity out of our heroine.

I took a break from the madness to head to the south coast with my sister during a break in the rain. So far, this year’s rain has been a Lebowski level slacker, with barely 6 inches to date and only about 4 months to get more. Despite the lack of rain, the road to civilization was closed. This was because the sandbar at the mouth of the river had failed to breach, making the river overrun its banks. Fortunately for us, we were taking that left at Albuquerque the bridge to the south coast.

Our first stop was Franny’s Cup & Saucer, where we provisioned ourselves with delicacies, some for lunch and some for later. Among these were a fruit slipper, puff pastry wrapped around lemon custard with apple and berries, and a lemon-blackberry cupcake with a jaunty toasted meringue cap. Picking up dinner at Anchor Bay Thai Kitchen concluded our extreme takeout efforts.

Replete with deliciousness, we arrived at the Art Deco theater in Point Arena, where “King Lear” was being streamed from London with Ian McKellen in the title role. He is clearly a big draw, much like Benedict Cumberbatch was a few years ago. This wasn’t standing room only, but it was pretty full, and we were saddened to discover that the balcony was occupied and we had to sit in the main part of the theater. Don’t they know who we are?

This minor annoyance soon vanished as the play began and we were swept into the drama. Sir Ian may be nearly 80, but he gave a powerhouse performance. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, whether he was being the imperious ruler or the grief-stricken father or a man who might be suffering from dementia or madness. He made you feel his vulnerability and see why his loyal friends remained loyal to him. It was a performance we won’t soon forget.

A YEAR AGO: I see my mental state left something to be desired then, too.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Frozen pipes and Christmas trees. ‘Twas the season! Still ’tis, but I’m ignoring it.

TEN YEARS AGO: The peacocks on the Christmas tree looked pretty as long as they lasted. Which wasn’t long.

*If you’re really curious, as I tend to be, email me at sjpeakallATgmail.com and I’ll share the unenjoyable facts of my life with you.

It was nice having four days off in a row. On one of them, I slept until 10:30 am. I can’t remember the last time I did that. I also went to bed at 8:30 pm that same day and slept through to 6:30 am the following day. Life has been exhausting lately.

Megan and I packed a lot of fun into one of the days off, though. We started off at the crafts fair at the Arts Center in the Village. We arrived at the last hour of the last day, and it was refreshingly uncrowded. We were greeted by some outsize, outside tomatoes:

and a charming little mosaic frog:

I bought a charming little bird to keep my father the ornithologist company:

and Megan and I both bought hairpins embellished with antique buttons. I put mine on immediately.

Our next stop was Luna Trattoria, where we found a quiet table in the gracious surroundings and were looked after wonderfully. Fresh bread arrived with olive oil in a moon decanter and balsamic vinegar in a star decanter:

Our wine arrived with a standing ice bucket, replete with a napkin for catching drips. Not that we had to pour any wine – the owner and the server saw to such mundane details. We started our lovely dinner with a perfect bruschetta:

It had just enough garlic, and the basil and tomatoes were fresh and flavorful. I followed this up with penne alla vodka with pancetta:

It, too, was just perfect, a great balance of flavors.

We enjoyed a leisurely dinner while catching up with each other’s lives. Our schedules are so far off now that we don’t see each other as much as you’d think, especially since we no longer live on the same property.

After dinner, we headed to the theater and its welcoming little bar:

The bartender creates a special drink for every play, and was kind enough to make Megan the drink from the last play, which featured Crème Yvette (a new ingredient to us) and blue Curaçao. I had this play’s drink, called Heaven Fruit cocktail. It is composed of gin, pomegranate juice, ginger beer, and lime. They were both delicious.

The play was three one act plays by Thornton Wilder, perhaps best-known for “Our Town”, though I also admire his screenplay for one of my favorite Hitchcock movies, “Shadow of a Doubt” (filmed in nearby Santa Rosa). If you know “Our Town” – and most former high school students do – you may not be surprised to hear that all three had a recurring motif of mortality. They were clever and we enjoyed the performance. It was another great evening for the sisters!

A YEAR AGO: I was feeling a LOT more festive.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Celebrating Thanksgiving.

TEN YEARS AGO: Enough with the Thanksgiving already!

Rain finally made its welcome appearance. When I drove to work the day before Thanksgiving, the Ridge was littered with red needles glowing against the mirror black road in the light of the high beams. I was glad I had replaced my wiper blades.

The office had a ghost town quality that day. I got some filing done, though not all of it. And even though I was not hosting Thanksgiving for once, I left work a little early anyway.

It was still raining as I made my way to Rio’s house on Thanksgiving evening, literally going over the (Albion) river and through the woods to Rio’s house (and she is, in fact, a grandmother). According to the local message boards, we have received about 2.5 inches over the past three days. That’s something to be thankful for, as is finding two errors on the same page in a recent issue of “The New Yorker”. My petty little heart rejoiced.

Arriving at Rio’s house, I met her son, his wife, and their son. Rio has picked up our reproductive slack by having four children and three grandchildren. Erica and Jessica arrived shortly after I did, with tales of packing and moving misdaventures. I think I would have given up on the whole thing, but they are made of stronger stuff, and as of tomorrow, they will be on their way to their new home. I am having a hard time coming to terms with this. My heart is an even slower learner than my head.

Dinner was well in hand: organic turkey, gravy, potatoes, carrots, and delicata squash from the garden. Dessert was wild huckleberry tarts and pie from our own apples. Needles to say, it was all accompanied by the cider we just pressed a few days ago. It’s satisfying to have a mostly home-grown Thanksgiving.

I am pleased to say that I did not burst into tears when saying goodbye to Erica and Jessica. I did hug them a little longer than usual, though, and I already miss them.

A YEAR AGO: Getting ready for Thanksgiving.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Some little treats to brighten up the day.

TEN YEARS AGO: My beautiful girls. I will never stop missing the incredible June.

It’s not looking good. And this is November!

A long string of sunny days came to a crashing halt yesterday with a sudden and terrifying pall of smoke from the fire in the Sierra foothills, 200 miles away. The sky darkened and looked bruised, the sun a frightening, livid orange:

We are so used to clean air and the wind from the ocean that it was especially shocking. My eyes are running and you can taste the air. The smoke is still with us, and there is no sign of rain in the forecast:

It’s late in the season for fires and for there to be no rain. Other than the surprise shower in September, there has not been a drop. This is also frightening. I really do not know how the climate change disbelievers can look at all the evidence in the environment and not think it’s real or that we have a real problem.

There are continuing issues with the well on the property where I live. There was no water yesterday, and I am hoping that there will be when I get home. Just in case, I got several more bottles of water on my way to work today. I should anyway, to be prepared for the winter power outages – assuming we ever get rain, let alone storms.

I was glad that I kept a couple of buckets of water on hand because of the ongoing issues with the well, so I could at least wash my face (in icy water) and flush the toilet, though the sink is full of dishes, which offends my tidy soul.

The guy who moved into Megan and Rob’s house is going to try and fix the well today, so maybe there will be water when I get home.

Update: There wasn’t.

More Updates: Water back on for now, though I don’t know how long it will be. It sounds like the root cause of the issue is going to require expert intervention. Stay tuned…