Suzy Says

One day last week, I picked Rob up from Lu and Rik’s house on my way home from work. Lu and Rik just got engaged after 17 years together, and the wedding is planned for July 2, so there was a lot to talk about before Rob and I loaded ourselves and the dogs into the car.

I waste no opportunity to be chauffeured, so Rob took the wheel. Megan said later how gangsta my black car with its deeply tinted windows looked with Stella the pitbull stereotype in it. The fact that Rob and I are about the whitest people on the planet undoubtedly spoiled the effect.

As we drove along listening to the late, great David Bowie and chatting about this and that (I will never cease to be entertained by the way Rob thinks), Stella slowly but surely oozed her 65 pound self onto my lap. She did this by first peeking her giant head between the seats as if she was just admiring the view* through the windshield, then putting one paw on my leg, then another paw. To be fair, her back legs remained on the back seat with Star, who was curled up neatly, so she wasn’t totally in the front seat.

I had such a great time with Rob and the dogs that I wish I could do this more often. It was the high point of the week.

Later in the week, I picked up Michael, the older gentleman who I am happy to chauffeur whenever I see him and he needs a ride. He usually rides his bike, but he had made a trek to the Big Town that day, which meant walking three miles to the Gro to get the one bus that goes there each day and then getting home from the Gro when the bus dropped him off.

I couldn’t find a place to stop and pick him up when I first saw him, so I drove until I could turn around and go back to where he was. Maneuvering Wednesday’s short turn radius meant that I took up most of both lanes of the Ridge, inconveniencing some neighbors so I could help another. They all took it well, though.

Michael is adjusting to his new-ish place. As he observed, everything has its positives and negatives and it’s more positive not to focus on the negative. I set him down at his little cottage and we parted with a hug and a smile.

When I got home, I found Rob hard at work in the vintage trailer where Rose used to store her pottery equipment. I store non-pottery related things and stuff in there that are damp resistant, and Rob uses it as a workshop from time to time, like he did when working on the bathroom door.

This time, he is working on a beautiful shelving unit to house some still boxed up books in the studio:

Being Rob, there is a cornice on top, the edges of the shelves are beveled, and there are little feet, so it’s more like furniture than just a bookshelf. He even cut out little wood circles to fill in the screw holes so they wouldn’t show. It’s going to look great.

*To be fair, Stella does like to admire the view. She often sits and watches the ocean or observes birds for a long time. I have never known another dog to do this.

A YEAR AGO: Farewell to my friends at the jobette. ~Sob~

I met Megan and Rob after work one evening. They were accompanied by the ever-adorable Star and Stella. In fact, Stella was walking Megan as I came out of the door. Stella was quite interested in going in and seeing what my workplace was all about, but we eventually persuaded her that nothing fun ever happens there.

We stopped at the library for the near-weekly book exchange, and I noticed that it was not pitch dark at 5:30 pm anymore. 5:30 am could learn a lot from 5:30 pm.

In keeping with her former taxi and current parking locating abilities, Megan found a spot just a few steps from Town Hall, where this year’s crop of students were showing their mid-year designs at the Fine Woodworking Show.

We met up with Dave and Jennifer and a maddening crowd. I had never seen the show so crowded. Part of the problem was that it was the opening night reception, and the tables of food were set right inside the doors, creating a traffic flow problem worthy of LA at rush hour.

It was worth fighting through the throngs to see the wonderful art within and talk to the artists. This chair was not only gorgeous, but comfortable:

The artist said that anyone who sits in it, whatever their height and size, says that it’s comfortable. The color of the upholstery was inspired by the sails of the ship which carried her grandfather from China to California many years ago.

This piece looked like a plain box, until it opened to reveal the asymmetric wonder within:

I really enjoyed being with Rob, who knows so much about woodworking and who notices things that no one else does.

We all went out dinner after the show, with the rain sluicing down the windows like a waterfall as we enjoyed our burritos and shouted over the loud music. The food and the company were great, though.

When I got home, I stayed up late reading and was rewarded by a storm-induced power outage. The next morning, I had my phone in my hand to call PG&E for an update on the outage when the power came back on. I rushed around washing dishes and doing laundry while the power shone and the frogs cheerily sang about the rain.

A YEAR AGO: A trip down Memory Lane. One of my favorite places.

I couldn’t wait for Megan to open her Christmas stocking. I was sure I had included the perfect present*: a gift certificate for getting her hair highlighted with the ever-wonderful Angelika. Her reaction, however, was not what I expected: she burst into peals of helpless laughter.

Me: ???

Megan: (Gasping) Open your stocking.

Inside my stocking was…a gift certificate for highlights with Angelika! With the added bonus of being drawn by Jessica.

We were both laughing. I love it that Angelika kept the secret and that we both gave each other what we really wanted.

I left work early one Friday to cash in my present – getting highlights takes about three hours – and as Angelika was washing the color off my hair, I heard a familiar voice.

Me: Richard? Is that you?

Him: Susan? Is that you?

We were both laughing. We had been on our date at the bar just the night before! Richard was getting his hair cut before his business trip and admired my shiny new highlights. Giggling, yet glamorous, I made my way through the rain to Monica’s new store. We were having fun chatting and I was trying to persuade myself that I did not need that fabulous orange handbag when Angelika came through the door! It was her first visit to Monica’s new shop, and she just loved the playful, yet peaceful atmosphere and the word of cuteness.

I had enjoyed my little staycation last month so much that I indulged in a rerun, staying at the little inn on the estuary, where I lounged in the bathtub watching the birds and feeling beautiful. It was the perfect end to a glamorous day.

A YEAR AGO: I got the hell job. Without even suspecting its hellishness. I would soon learn…

*Technically, we just give each other stockings, but there are occasional exceptions made.

I just wouldn’t be Me if there wasn’t something wrong with my car.

I was driving to work one morning, listening to Bobbie Gentry* and being blinded by oncoming traffic as usual when I noticed the bright orange engine light blink to life on the console. This did not console me. I still think that they should be little dollar signs instead of engines, maybe Michelin style with $ indicating a routine repair and $$$$ indicating one you have to mortgage your house for, or possibly your soul, assuming you have one.

I texted my brother Jonathan and asked him if I could stop by his place on my way home from work to avail myself of his unpaid mechanic services, and he said yes. He recently put up the car port that used to house my beautiful old Mustang Josephine:

and when he did, he poured a concrete foundation which included a mechanic’s pit so he can work on the family cars in relative comfort. He used to lie in a ditch to do this, so it’s a big step up. The car port also houses a solar powered washer and dryer along with a body-sized freezer. Just in case.

Jonathan read the code and then looked it up while I petted his mini cat Scout. She is about 2/3 the size of a regulation cat, but her purr is twice as loud as most cats’ and her fur is twice as soft.

The code means that the engine is not getting hot enough. Apparently this is not as bad as having your engine do the opposite, but it will have to be addressed. Jonathan checked the coolant level and the hoses and it seems they are not the cause of the excess coolness. I was once again chastised for not keeping a better eye on the gauges “They aren’t there just to be pretty, Suz”) and got into further trouble when it was revealed that I had failed to procure a Chilton repair manual.

In my defense, I thought I had, but when I went to look for it, it turned out that what I thought was the manual for the current car was the one for its predecessor** and of no use at all. I ordered a new one, which should be here soon, and the considered opinion of my unpaid mechanic is that all it will probably cost to make the engine light go out (for now, anyway – I’m sure it will rear its ugly head agin sometime in the future) is a $30 thermostat for the car and a batch of my world-famous cheese biscuits for the mechanic.

*She was gorgeous and the poignant song I was listening to, “Ode to Billie Joe”, knocked the Beatles out of first place on the charts in 1967. You know your life isn’t going well when you’re listening to a lot of country music. Some of my favorite lines recently are: “Tearstains on my pillow/bottles in the trash/I’m a little bit long on sorrow and a little bit short on cash.”

A YEAR AGO: Visiting the ever-fabulous Erica and Jessica.

Good morning! It’s a rainy one, and I’m trying to ignore the wind chimes. Yellow Dog just walked by, on his endless quest for his old friend and playmate, Schatzi. I know how he feels. Part of me is still convinced I might, just might, find my Roscoe waiting for me when I get home from work, even though most of me knows it will never happen. My heart is slow in catching up with my head.

I arrived at work on Monday to find that an admirer had left me a beautiful orchid (“to celebrate your beautiful heart and spirit”) and that Monica had left me a beautiful Christmas present, which was revealed to be two exquisite wine glasses with a peacock feather pattern and a handmade rosemary scented soap:

I was delighted and told her that she made my day. Monica replied that each day has a “perfect moment” and we should share them with each other, so we have been doing that ever since. Here are a couple of mine from this week:

My perfect moment today was an iridescent, emerald green hummingbird resting in a stray ray of golden afternoon sunshine. Just for a moment.

Crossing the Hooterville Bridge, the last wooden bridge left on historic Highway One, with an empty road ahead of me ending in a glimpe of pink sunset peeking between the clouds, with a skein of black birds wheeling overhead.

As I drove down the muddy driveway, I noticed the thinnest crescent of moon glowing in the sky with Venus glittering nearby. The sky was the unearthly enameled blue of Italian Renaissance paintings.

Yesterday it was the incredible Technicolor sky as I arrived at work:

On my way home from work on Friday, I stopped in to say hello to my brother, in keeping with my New Year’s resolution. He was making soup and his mini cat Scout was curled up napping, though she deigned to be petted. She’s about 2/3 of regulation cat size and is super soft.

It was nice to catch up with Jonathan. He is plotting to get the grandfather clock at my house running again this year, and I’m hoping we will have dinner together soon. As I drove home, I thought how lucky I am to have such wonderful, inspiring people in my life.

A YEAR AGO: The madness of Covered California. You can’t make this up.

Look Out!

I woke up this morning to the wind chimes singing a warning, that cheery harbinger of uncheery power outages to come. I put on the heat while I could and went back to bed, watching the wind toss the trees and rain around through the skylight and waiting for the inevitable.

Although the sole source of heat in the house burns propane, it needs electricity to make it blow the feeble breaths of warmth that reach about a two foot radius from the heater, completely ignoring most of the house, especially the bathroom. A power outage renders the heater a giant, useless plastic box. It’s beyond me why James installed that rather than a wood stove or fireplace when power outages happen every winter, sometimes for days at a time, in a place where the temperatures can (and do) dip below freezing overnight.

Of course, he’s the same guy who built a house without closets or insulation, where the light switches say NO when you turn them on, and devoted a whopping three feet to counter space in the kitchen, so I shouldn’t be surprised. You do a lot of drugs, Miller? Back in the hippie days?

The power went out as expected at about 10:30 in the morning, ruining my last day of freedom before the soul crushing five days a week grind starts up again tomorrow. It seems to be a universal truth that the more time you have off, the harder it is to go back to work, and this Monday will be Mondayer than usual after a long weekend and with the start of the new boss’ reign. I have never switched bosses while having the same job before. New year, new boss!

The new year, however, has the same old bad habit of power outages. The cold and silence are punctuated by the howling wind, tinkling chimes, and my landlord’s cacophonous generator, which usually starts up about .00010 seconds after the power goes out. People say the shortest measurable time is that between the light turning green and someone honking, but I beg to differ. I’m not sure if the generator racket is more nerve-wracking than the total lack of heat and light, or vice versa.

We are slated to have rain and storms all week, so I’d better get used to those wind chimes.

Goodbye, 2015

The last day of the old year and the first day of the new one both dawned bright and beautiful. I ended the year on an industrious note. First I applied expensive toxins to my remaining cats, earning the patented Glare of Death from Audrey and making Clyde cringe under the stairs, which made me cringe, both because I knew he was upset and because it reminded me of his lost brother Roscoe, who always slunk in and out of the room under the stairs.

I find it mystifying that the cats have fleas in the depths of winter, when you’d think the cold and rain would have eliminated them, but Audrey is scabby and crabby, so there are at least one or two, either in residence or in passing, since in keeping with her general intolerance of everything, she is spectacularly intolerant of fleas.

De-fleaing (or hoping to de-flea) the cats led to washing all the bedding (four fun-filled loads) and vacuuming, and while I was at it, I cleaned up my desk:

so the house ended the year clean and shiny, ready for the shiny new year.

I headed to the Gro for a couple of items so I could make faux pho for dinner, stopping by my brother’s place on the way for the last hug of the year. The Ridge was white with frost, and the sun burning it off made a thin mist in the air, like smoke against the blue sky. Down at the store, I picked up a couple of late breaking Christmas cards and ran into our friend who made the epic family garden possible as well as the necessary groceries.

Last night, on the last night of the old year, Clyde cuddled next to me and the Evil Genius purred on my lap. All was forgiven. As I sipped local sparkling wine by the sparkling Christmas tree and indulged in the final season of “Downton Abbey”, I felt a spark of hope for the new year. May it be kinder and gentler than its predecessor.

Happy new year to all of you from all of us!

A YEAR AGO: A frosty new year.

It was a year of change for me. Maybe too much in too short a time. I lost my job at the end of 2014 and jumped into the hell job in February, jumping ship for a less hellish job in March, and interviewing for a job I was lucky not to get in late summer. I have interviewed more over the past year than in the previous 20 years. I still kept up with the jobette, though, working Saturdays over the summer. Working six days a week was an interesting experience, and taught me a lot about time management.

The year ended on a tragic note, with the staggering loss of my beloved Roscoe. I can’t believe I will never see him again, hear his mournful meow, pet his rough, yet soft fur or his rakish torn ear. His loss leaves a hole in my heart and home which will never be filled.

Trips to San Francisco: 0! For the first time since moving to Hooterville, not one single trip to civilization. That’s what happens when you lose the job that paid for the trips.

Season rainfall (late 2014 through May 2015): 40.43 inches. Better than 2014’s 32.75 inches, but not enough to make a dent in the drought. Let’s hope the El Niño forecast for the 2015-16 winter is accurate, though not too floody.

Power Outages: Three, but they were epic, each time.

All that working made the merest dent in my reading, though, coming in at a count of 93 versus 2014’s 100. Favorite books read this year were all true stories. What Stands in a Storm was both inspiring and harrowing. It follows the lives of several Alabamans during a “superstorm” in 2011. I was so caught up in the lives and experiences of those who survived and those who didn’t that I was reading it with tears pouring down my face and my hands shaking. The Residence tells the fascinating story of the White House servants from the Kennedys to the Obamas. Many of the staff continue to serve the First Families well into their 70s and 80s, and become almost part of the family. Life After Murder follows the lives of men who were paroled after serving long prison sentences, the joys and challenges of adapting to life outside prison walls after decades inside. I learned a lot about California’s alarmingly arbitrary parole system, as well as human nature.

As for my little corner of the world:

January: My New Year’s clean up unearthed some treasures. A great celebration of Jarrett’s birthday. The Covered California madness continues. The many joys of Erica and Jessica. And visiting the dynamic duo in their Batcave/Palace.

February: A dream sparks a childhood memory. It’s nice to meander down memory lane sometimes. Stormageddon blasts into town, taking the power with it. And the weather just keeps getting scarier. I say farewell to my dear co-workers at the jobette. ~Sob~ The beginning of my new job. I love my handyman and my pen pal.

March: It’s Erin to the rescue when a propane leak stops me from getting home after a long day at work. I have such great friends! Why go jump in a lake when you can jump in an icy cold river? For charity? My brother is always my hero. And I have the best ex-husband ever. I also have a new job. Again. Remembering my father and best friend on his birthday. He was the best Dad ever. And speaking of family: it’s always fun to meet more! A trip to the South Coast to revel in a theater production all the way from London. And some spring cleaning at home.

April: A peek at the past, starring Me. In which my veins are found wanting. An evening at the theater. Learning about Hooterville’s past. My blog’s 14th birthday, and a very memorable 12th birthday for a very memorable girl. Saying goodbye
to Lu’s dog Marco, a gentle giant and a gentleman. Sleep well, sweet boy.

May: The Derby and a new ‘do – what’s not to love? It’s official! Stella joins the family. Trying to adjust to my new lot in life. More successfully on some days than others. A lovely evening at the theater. Megan’s wonderful birthday barbecue.

June: The extremeness of Audrey knows no bounds. She really is the Audreyest Audrey ever, from stripy head to expensive toe. A less than stellar birthday for our heroine this year. This was entirely made up for by the utter awesomeness of Junapalooza. Midnight adventures. Remembering a long ago Paris vacation. Megan and I take a day off together.

July: The midnight intruder left quite an impression. A wonderful time at the circus. Erica’s cleverness and creativity know no bounds. The unexpected leads to some unexpected road incidents. Dinner and a movie. The wonderful Kalli’s wonderful annual birthday party. Working six days a week presents some challenges. The retro balcony garden.

August: Fierce wildfires burn in neighboring Lake County, which was brutally hit again a month later by the even worse Valley Fire, whose burn scars could be seen from space. The fourteenth anniversary of Dad’s death. I will never stop missing and loving him. As time passes, I find I think more about how lucky I was to have him than how sad I am at losing him, though the sorrow is always there in my heart and my blood, like the bassline to a song. Of dentists, dogs, and James Dean. An an encounter with a deer. I hope I never have a close(r) encounter, though part of me fears that hitting a deer is pretty much inevitable.

September: Started the month out right with dinner and a play. Musings on cars. My younger, I mean, older brother is now 50! He is one of the most amazing people I know, and one of the best things in my life. Health insurance of any kind is just plain ridiculous, at least in this country. The pleasures of the County Fair. And the displeasure of the time change (even though it hasn’t happened yet. I’m pre-complaining here. It’s all about time management!).

October: Just another Manic Monday. A wonderful visit with a wonderful friend. And my friends can pretty much get me through anything. Taking a little break from it all. Vertigo suddenly rears its ugly head in my pretty one, and refuses to leave. Getting up close and personal with my old friend the moon.

November: Roscoe the hunter (and cuddler). A Jessica-free, but not fun-free Halloween. Our good friend Paul stops by while on a cross-country road trip with his 90 year father. A magical trip to the South Coast (is there any other kind?) to see Benedict Cumberbatch in “Hamlet”. And pick up some Thai food, of course. In which our heroine attempts to become less of a dizzy blonde. Thanksgiving preparations do not go as planned. But a good time was had by all.

December: The joy of the Festival of Lights at the Botanical Gardens. And the agony of losing my beloved cat Roscoe. Oh, Roscoe…

Let there be lights in the darkness. And a soul-soothing mini break, right here in town. And the beauty of the Bolshoi Ballet. A slightly neurotic and busy Christmas Eve, followed by a wonderful Christmas.

I did an OK-ish job of keeping my new year’s resolution to spend more time with friends and family. There’s room for improvement, though in my defense, I do work between 50 and 60 hours a week, which severely cuts into fun time. I would still like to spend more time hanging out with my brother when it’s not related to my car.

As for you, Dear Reader: I wish you health and happiness in this coming new year, and always. Thank you for always being there for me and sharing your wit and wisdom.

A YEAR AGO: A look back at 2014.

Christmas Day dawned both beautiful and cold:

which felt quite seasonal and festive but also meant that it was too cold to sit outside, even with the outdoor fireplace and a stack of wood chopped by my brother and kept dry on the porch. Somehow, we all packed into my little hippie hovel. Here’s Clayton, squeezed by the door to the studio with a glass of red wine to keep him company and keep him warm:

The table was set with all the heirlooms: my English grandmother’s ivory-handled silver and Wedgwood biscuit barrel (with my world-famous cheese biscuits) and salad dish with matching servers, dating from about 1830, and my American grandmother’s wineglasses and glass “Remembrance” platter:

Erica brought not one, but two Bûches de Noël, one a sinful chocolate and the other an Antoinette, based on the Tarte Antoinette (quince membrillo with vanilla chiffon) which was such a huge hit at Thanksgiving:

Jessica brought a Christmas drawing for each of us:

I love mine. And I love that kidlet. She and Jonathan did a spectacular job as always at the traditional reading of “Red Ranger Came Calling” after dinner, alternating pages and outdoing each other with showmanship:

You will notice that this is the first year she is too big to sit on Jonathan’s lap. Also that she is wearing fuzzy skeleton PJs.

It was great to share all our holiday traditions with old friends and new, and my house was overflowing with love and joy that night. It may have been cold outside, but it sure was warm and wonderful inside.

A YEAR AGO: A merry Christmas.

Here in Hooterville, it dawned bright and sunny, and you know what that means: it’s cold! Clyde and I are sitting by the heater and watching the Queen’s Speech together. I always find it inspiring, but this year I was particularly touched by her saying, “Christmas is a good time to be thankful for for all that brings light to our lives.”

Last night’s festivities were delightful. I can’t tell you how it gladdened my heart to see our old friend Clayton coming through my door with his beautiful smile and his friend John in tow. John also lives in San Francisco, but he hails from Birmingham, and he is a total hoot. It was nice to have an English voice at our celebrations again after all these years.

Clyde took one look at the visitors and fled, like Roscoe used to do, and hid in the studio until the evening was over, also like Roscoe. He used to be the life of the party, strolling among the guests for pets and admiration. Audrey joined him there and they both only emerged when the coast was finally clear. Maybe my cats are no longer party animals.

Everyone else was, though, and more wine was drunk and food was eaten than I expected, and a good time was had by all.

As for today, I will make cheese biscuits and get the garlic mashed potatoes ready to go. The salad and dressing are ready, and Jonathan is in charge of the ham. Megan is going to take Clayton and John for a walk with the dogs somewhere scenic, and Erica is going to take them mushroom hunting in the early afternoon. One of the many prizes she won at the County Fair this year was for wool dyed with mushrooms she foraged on the family property.

And that means…I will have an afternoon with Jessica! When she returned from her most recent visit with her deadbeat dad, she told Erica, “Thank you for saving me from the gaping maw of normalcy.” Is it any wonder she is my favorite kid on the planet?

Merry Christmas to all of you from all of us!

The glorious Bolshoi Ballet

Megan and I braved the stormy, twisty roads to head to the South Coast last weekend. Rain and wind lashed Wednesday, and even the fearless former ambulance driver had to concentrate on the road instead of the spectacular ocean and scenery. I was glad I wasn’t driving.

Our first stop was Anchor Bay Thai Kitchen, of course, where we loaded up on enough delicacies for both dinner that night and Megan’s long work week ahead, and then headed back to Point Arena. The Arena Theater was showing a recording of the Bolshoi Ballet performing The Nutcracker.

I showed Megan the bliss of the balcony, and she agreed that it was definitely the place to be. On the screen, there were images of the breathtaking Bolshoi Theater, built when this country was just getting started. I still remember the beauty of the buildings I saw when I went to Russia just after glasnost, especially the Catherine Palace and the Hermitage.

Megan studied ballet for many years when she was young, before her knee defects (an unfortunate family trait which skipped me but also plagues our brother) sidelined her. As we took our seats, she reminded me how I never missed her recitals and how much it meant to her. It meant a lot to me, too. And all these years later, it was an extra pleasure to watch what are probably the world’s elite ballet dancers with someone who was trained in that difficult, yet glorious art.

The Nutcracker/Prince was played by the very handsome Denis Rodkin, who had an incredible combination of power and grace. He was the best dancer, but the Mouse King, going into battle armed with nothing but a fantastic fashion sense, stole my heart with his purple, ermine-trimmed cape and huge gold star on his chest. The snowflake dance, set in a magical forest with a glittering white tree (much more elegant than the one in my living room), was our favorite part, though we also loved the Arabic dance.

All in all, it was a delightful experience, a wonderful combination of memories old and new. I love it that we have access to some of the world’s greatest artists here in our little corner of the world.

I took a break from my Roscoe-less house and spent a night in the Big Town.

First, I left work early (!) and went to meet Angelika at a lovely, hidden away salon (hidden away in the Big Town rather than the Big Woods). She works there one day a week now, so it will be easier for me to pop in and get beautified now that I work in the Big Town so much.

Angelika greeted me with a warm hug as always. She has such a joyful yet restful presence, the perfect thing at any time but especially for a girl who is fighting the tide of sadness at the holidays. She cut about three inches off my hair and, as always, made it look better than I ever thought possible, while simultaneously lifting my spirits and making me feel hopeful again.

After my glamification, I did a little shopping in the heart of downtown and picked up dinner from the ever-crowded and ever-delicious Piaci’s Pizza, and then headed to the hotel.

From my days at the jobette, I still have many friends in the lodging industry, so I was able to get a lovely room at an equally lovely price. The room looked over a creek and estuary, where ducks met and played in the sunset water:

Looking to the right, there was a peek of ocean past the trestle bridge and historic Highway One. I watched the streetlights and house lights wink on as the pink sunset light faded into darkness.

I took a glass of wine and repaired to the enormous soaking tub with bath salts and bath gel thoughtfully provided:

As I floated in the embrace of the warm water, I felt myself relaxing. I tried to look my Roscoe feelings right in the face, acknowledge them, and let them go, at least for now. I decided: he had an ideal cat life, he was never sick a day in his life, was always loved. I was lucky to have had him at all. And we all know it’s never long enough.

I had dinner while enjoying a “Gilmore Girls” marathon on the thoughtfully provided DVD player, and slept a dreamless sleep. In the morning, I had coffee on the balcony overlooking the estuary, enjoying the view and the playing birds. I went out for breakfast, ran a couple of errands, stopped at the post office to find a boxful of Christmas cards (many of them glittery, which I love) and came home to find Audrey and Clyde waiting for me.

It was a nice little break.

Jessica and I watched “Trains, Planes and Automobiles” together on Thanksgiving, the appropriate day to introduce her to this holiday classic*. During the scene where Steve Martin is desperately trying to get a cab in rush hour New York, Jessica turned to me and asked, “Is it true that Megan can always get a cab?” I told her that the legend was true, and she was suitably impressed. Now that we live in a taxi-free zone, this talent has evolved into CHP ESP and the ability to find parking spots just about anywhere (some more successful than others, however).

Megan’s amazing parking locating ability found us a place right outside the front door at the Botanical Gardens. It seemed too good to be true: was it a loading zone? A handicapped spot? But no, the only caveat was “Compact”, and her little red car fit right in between the lines. And we were early enough to avoid the lines: when we left, the line was snaking through the parking lot, where no spaces were to be found, even by Megan. I imagine the one we vacated was taken in about a millisecond.

The Botanical Gardens are always a magical place. They consist of almost 50 acres and flowerbeds that reach all the way to the sea. Something is always blooming, year-round. They are home to so many species of birds that the local Audubon Society holds weekly bird watching sessions there (one of which I enjoyed very much back in the good old jobette days). On winter evenings, they are transformed into a winter wonderland, with lights sparkling in the trees and flowerbeds, and surprises like giraffes looming out of the cypresses:

reminding me of Jagger and Buster at the B. Bryan Preserve and the wonderful visit there for Jessica’s last birthday.

Jellyfish floated in the chilly air:

and, appropriately enough for this maritime area, a ship sailed through rough seas (don’t miss the whale’s tail):

There was a fire pit where you could toast yourself and some marshmallows before heading out to see the rest of the lights and sights. Leaving the busy parking lot and weaving our way through the would-be spectators, it soon became apparent that we had left the lights behind in the gardens, because there were none in the car. No headlights, that is.

Fortunately for us, the high beams worked, even though the regular beams didn’t. Needless to say this, like everything else car, was a total mystery to me, but at least we could get home. We did feel like complete jerks on the way home, though, since we were unable to dim the high beams, which was highly disapproved of by those who flashed theirs at us. But there was no choice – there were no streetlights and no ambient light on the 20 miles of dark, winding country roads between the Big Town and Hooterville. Luckily Rob was able to fix the lights before Megan started her four night shifts of the week. We passed each other in the driveway on Monday evening, me on my way home and Megan on her way to work, both of us with our headlights glowing in the darkness.

*I was shocked, shocked, as Louis Renault would say, to learn that Jessica is unfamiliar with the oeuvre of the late, great John Hughes. I can’t wait to watch “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” and “Pretty in Pink” with her. We need to schedule a sleepover.

It was 44 festive degrees in my house this morning. The boys and I huddled by the heater while the intrepid Audrey went out to explore in the chilly sunshine. I hear that it’s colder here lately than in parts of Alaska, which just seems wrong. Hooterville: putting the “North” in “Northern California”!

With the big chill, we went through most of the wood that my brother brought over for the outdoor fireplace. I had thoughtfully equipped the outdoor living room with throw blankets, but they remained unused (though commented upon), unlike the pillows, candles and an ashtray or two.

Erica and Jessica arrived first, replete with boxes of delicacies: wild mushroom tartlet appetizers; caramelized Brussels sprouts; a truffle-rich pie made from a squash grown on our family property, and Tarte Antoinette, made with a layer of home grown quince transformed into membrillo and then layered with vanilla chiffon. Even by Erica’s extremely high standards, it may have been the most delicious thing she has ever made:

Jessica was sporting the world’s most fabulous (and possibly Suzy-est) hat and fingerless gloves ever:

Needless to say, the ensemble, like Jessica herself, is an Erica original. Jessica returned the string of jade beads she had borrowed from the jewelry library last year, selecting a new item for this year. I noticed that all the items she has borrowed so far were given to me by my father.

Lichen still hasn’t realized that Thanksgiving (which is two days after his own birthday) isn’t a gift-giving occasion, so he brought a golden gift bag with artisan root beer for Jessica (“I’m obsessed with root beer!” she exclaimed happily). The root beer had a string of garnets fastened around its neck just for added Lichen-ness.

Jarrett and Kalli arrived with Kalli’s (very little) sister, who is five, and their dog, Archimedes, who was the World’s Cutest Puppy just three years ago, when he posed adorably on my couch. The cats did not find Archi adorable at all. Roscoe vanished for the remainder of the evening, while Clyde and Audrey repaired to the relative safety of the sleeping loft, where they could keep an eye on the intruder. The stairs did not, however, stop the kindergartener, who quickly and accurately assessed the situation: “That stripy cat is mean! But the black one is nice.”

Although she also opined that the dressing I made with the torturous chestnuts and Café Beaujolais Austrian sunflower seed bread “tasted like Subway”, dinner was great. In addition to Subway stuffing and Erica’s caramelized Brussels sprouts, there were mashed potatoes, carrots roasted with cumin and turmeric, fresh-pressed cider from the family orchard, freshly picked huckleberry tarts made by my brother, and cranberry bourbon relish. Jonathan sliced up the turkey after making a wonderful gravy:

We used every single piece of my grandmother’s ivory handled silver and every single plate in the house. Once again, some how, some way, I pulled off dinner for 15 people in my tiny house, and everyone, from the kindergartener to Me (why am I always the oldest?) had a great time. It fills my heart with joy to have my house overflowing with family and friends.

After the guests left, Megan and I put on some music and sat by the dying fire with that bottle of Cointreau, talking about the evening and the Thanksgivings past as the moon shone down on us and the stars sparkled. Life is good.

A YEAR AGO: Post Thanksgiving post.

So…yeah. T Day Eve did not go exactly as planned.

I was delusional enough to think that I could get to work early and leave around noon. It soon became apparent that this would not happen, and I was madly typing up hand-written penciled pages at 3:00 PM. As I did so, a tumbleweed or two drifted past my office, since most of the staff had the sense to take the day off.

As I handed my boss the last page, I asked her when it was due. She blithely replied “A month ago,” begging the question of why we absolutely had to get it done the late afternoon before Thanksgiving, when the person we were sending it to was almost certainly not at work. She then added brightly, “At least you’re leaving early!”

On the drive home, I mentally revised the list of things I could now achieve with the limited time I had left. I applied lights to the tree in the outdoor living room to make it more festive, and then turned my attention to the chestnuts. I soon discovered that keeping them in the pantry was unwise, since more than half a dozen of them were moldy. I cut Xs on the remaining ones so deeply that I practically cut them in half (though it did make it easier to peel them when the time came). I put them in to roast, made an adult beverage, and started on the cranberries.

To make the cranberries, you mince up shallots and zest an orange, then put them in a saucepan with an entire cup of Jack Daniel’s in it, then heat it until it gets syrupy. I was moving the saucepan around on the gas burner when somehow the contents caught on fire and I flambéed it a little. I blew it out, hoping it wasn’t the wrong thing to do, but I am pleased to report that both cranberries and Self are fine.

That was all I could do that evening, so this morning I woke up and roasted carrots, made a delightful spice butter to accompany them, and made two pans of stuffing before stuffing the turkey in the oven. I had a text from a friend telling me that he’s bringing a friend who is, not to put too fine a point on it, a convicted felon. Why not? Bring me your ex boyfriends, your kindergartners, your ex cons. I feel like the Statue of Liberty over here. At least the outdoor living room is ready:

And things are under control inside:

I put my grandmother’s ivory-handled silver in her Wedgwood biscuit jar (circa 1820). The salad dish will hold the roasted carrots and the Majolica jug will have gravy in it. I hope I have enough glasses and plates! Time will tell.

As for me, my hair is curled and I’m wearing lots of diamonds. If not now, when? My mother used to say if your diamonds never see the light of day, they might as well have stayed in the ground. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. And I’m thankful for everything from the turkey in the oven to my sleeping sister who saved a life last night to grumpy Audrey to all of you. Thank you for sharing my adventures. I am thankful for all of you.

A YEAR AGO: You will never guess!

Once again, Thanksgiving seemed to sneak up on me, even though I knew it was coming. I found myself lying awake at night “fretting” about it, as my ex used to say*. I later realized that this was partly due to having to plan and execute parties and huge catered meetings at work this month and next, in addition to having the family gathering at my house, and partly due to the fact that for the last several years, when I hostessed with the leastest, I wasn’t working in the Big Town for 5 or 6 days and/or 50 hours a week. So making Thanksgiving is more challenging than usual this time.

As usual, I’m not sure how many people will show up or where I will put them, but somehow we always figure that out. I have commissioned Rob to repo chairs from the family property, where they migrate during the summer party season, and bring them to my house for the winter season. He is also in charge of finding wood to put in the outdoor fireplace for the smoking/outdoor partiers. Despite the drought, I am hoping it doesn’t rain until after Thanksgiving. I need all the seating I can get.

Megan ordered the organic turkey from the Gro, excavated the roasting pan (which was our mother’s, and like everything Mom, it is the Cadillac of roasting pans) and lent me one of her big glass baking dishes for what my Southern friends call dressing. I have apparently learned nothing from previous years, because I assigned myself chestnuts to roast and peel for said dressing, although I know perfectly well that the torture the process inflicts is totally against the Geneva Conventions. As usual, the lure of deliciousness temporarily overcame my inherent laziness.

I also tried to fit in shopping here and there. I stopped in at Safeway before work one morning, and bought a six pack of wine, a bottle of Cointreau (for Megan and me after the guests leave), and cookies for 45 people for a work meeting. Yes, it was 7 am and I was buying nothing but booze and sugar. Of course, the clerk was the best friend of the person who does payroll at work, and ahead of me in line was the head of our IT department, buying virtuous yogurt and a banana. I can explain…

Megan and I met Erica in the beautiful Valley and handed over a Hubbard squash from the garden for her to Erica-ize into a pie (Jonathan is making a pie from apples grown on the property). I’m hoping she and Jessica can come early to hang out with me before everyone else gets there.

As for me, I’m hoping/planning/dreaming of getting out of work early on Wednesday to superficially clean the house (only things that show!), make my famous cranberry-bourbon relish (how surprised are you that I still have Jack Daniel’s left over from last year?) and roast those damn chestnuts with a minimum of swearing. Stay tuned…

*Him: Are you lying there fretting about something?

Me (Reluctantly): Yeeess…

Him (Reasonably): Well, what can you do about it now?

Me (Sadly): Nothing…

Him (Patiently): Then go to sleep.

He would go to sleep and I’d lie there, fretting.

I made a solo excursion to the magical South Coast. Megan was teaching a CPR class, so it was just Wednesday and me driving through the spectacular scenery. The ocean was at its most beautiful, since it was a clear day with a storm coming, which always makes the surf more active and showy:

Pink pampas grass flaunted their plumes by the side of the road, where a flock of wild turkeys meandered and gossiped. A skein of black birds pierced the cloudless sky, unreeling, then flying into a circle, then flying away, all in formation. Dark, wind-tossed cypress trees guarded the neighboring Catholic and Druid cemeteries with their witchy equanimity, and cows and sheep wandered in their meadows as I drove by.

My first stop was the Thai food restaurant, where I was the first customer of the day, ordering fresh spring rolls, Massaman curry, and velvet-fried triple orange chicken with a side order of cucumber salad to go. Dinner’s ready! I stowed it all in the cooler in Wednesday’s trunk and headed back to Point Arena to see Benedict Cumberbatch’s “Hamlet”, streamed live from the National Theater in London.

My original plan was to stop in at Franny’s for a delightful confection and possibly some cute things for Christmas stockings, but when I saw the line at the Art Deco theater across the street, I revised my plan. I had never seen such a line or had to park so far away. For the first time since I left San Francisco, I had to curb my wheels (“Up, up and away” was how I remembered it for my driving test – if you’re parked uphill, point your wheels away from the curb).

As usual in any line, from airports to movies, it took the people in front of me ages to complete their transactions (Why? Why?) and seconds for me. The main seating area looked pretty full, so I ventured upstairs, where I found a seat in the front row of the balcony, which is now my favorite place to sit since tall people can’t block the excellent view. It ended up being standing room only, with people perched on folding chairs as well.

Cumberbatch was a wonderfully pale and intense Hamlet, athletic, funny, charming, tragic, compelling with his beautiful face and expressive hands:

The production looked to be set between the wars in an English country house, though they of course referred to Denmark and Elsinore. Horatio had clearly visible neck and arm tattoos, though the play within a play was in Elizabethan costume. I had forgotten how many common expressions are from that play, such as “primrose path” and “the lady doth protest too much”, and I was surprised by how many of the speeches I knew by heart, since Dad used to recite Shakespeare while cooking. I wish he could have been there.

When I left the theater, it was sort of a shock to return to the bright sunlight and the little city of Point Arena, since I was so deeply engrossed in the play. As I drove homeward in the fading golden and pink light of late afternoon, I thought of all the plays Dad and I had seen together in London and how lucky I am that I can still see London plays here in our little corner of the world.

A YEAR AGO: An unproductive visit to San Francisco. I think it’s the last time I was there. It’s been too long!

Downtown

The friend theme continued into Friday, when I stopped by the jobette to say hello to my former co-workers and enjoy some art and conversation. On the first Friday of each month, the shops and art galleries in the Big Town stay open late, serving wine and nibbles. It sounds kind of silly, saying this about a town of 5,000 people, but it was nice to be out on the busy sidewalks with all the lights on. It felt happy and vital and a nice change from my dark, quiet rural life.

The jobette features a local artist each month, and he or she is on hand to talk about their creative process and answer questions. The woman who finds all these talented people and schedules them to appear was there. She and I pass each other notes via library books, since our hold requests are usually next to each other on the shelf. She started doing this after I left the jobette, and we have kept up the tradition. It was nice to see her in real life instead of in paper form.

Just down the street from the jobette is Monica’s new store, which features beautiful things for the home as well as area rugs. She has an amazing gift for creating a warm, welcoming space, and the store is lovely:

It was also crowded with well wishers and shoppers, and I have to admit that I bought a little something for Megan’s stocking. Christmas is coming!

A YEAR AGO: In limbo.

I’m happy to report that it’s raining as I write. It was coming down hard enough last night on the roof/walls to wake me up, confused for a few seconds by what that sound was. I will have to put out the rain gauge and put away the outside furniture (except for Thanksgiving and Christmas).

On the other hand, I can hear the dripping of the annual kitchen leak, and there’s a new one in the laundry room, which is at least conveniently routed to the floor drain.

Surprisingly, the cats are out playing in the wetness. Maybe they missed it too.

This has been a pretty friendly week around Hooterville. Our good friend Paul returned, with his father Mike in tow. Through my former jobette connections, I got them a nice room at a hotel overlooking an estuary, and met them there before setting off to Hooterville.

It was Mike’s first visit, and he was amazed by how beautiful it is here. He had a guided tour of the family property, including the epic garden/party palace and everyone except Megan, who was working her fourth 12 hour night shift of the week at the ER, convened at my house for dinner.

Paul decided to keep it simpler than usual this time, so it was salad and pasta with sauce from the garden, and Jonathan brought apple crisp made from the family orchard’s trees.

Paul and his Dad swapped war stories over dinner. Mike was in the Army in London in WWII, and was in a pub on Baker Street wearing his new, tailored uniform (and, knowing Mike, picking up girls) when a buzz bomb hit. Mike woke up in rubble, covered in cement, still holding his beer. All he could think of was that his brand-new uniform was ruined*. Paul flew helicopters in Vietnam, and on his second day there, went to get a couple of cold beers when snipers started shooting at him. He slid down the sandy sides of a nearby gulf, landing at the bottom with both beers intact, as is the family style.

They are now headed back to Florida, and I miss them already.

*This reminded me of when my father’s mother finally got a voucher for fresh eggs after years of rationing during WWII. She took her two children with her to get them, and on the way home with the precious cargo, they were bombed. As they hid, my grandmother, with her arms around her children, prayed for the safety of her eggs. You will be pleased to hear that all the eggs survived.

A YEAR AGO: A little post-Halloween horror, brought to me by Clyde.

Hedgeskull

On Halloween, I donned the kitty ears Erica gave me last year (they are quite becoming), and Megan draped her light up skull necklace around her neck, and we headed to the Village on a foggy Halloween afternoon.

Our first stop, as it often is, was the bookstore, where the Great Catsby was ensconced on a windowseat getting some beauty sleep. The public’s adoration can be exhausting, and I took his tail twitching, even in his sleep, to mean that he was not in the market for more pets and fussing, so I left him to his cat nap. We had fun perusing the shelves and admiring the trick or treaters, especially the little kids dressed as fuzzy turtles and ladybugs. I noticed that devil costumes were popular this year, both among the grown-ups and the kids.

Jessica partied with her entourage instead of her auntourage this year, but Erica sent me a snap of her dressed as Draco Malfoy’s dead sister:

My guess was the wraith of Yves Saint Laurent. Doesn’t she look so YSL?

After the bookstore, we made our way over to the street party, where the local circus troupe was putting on a performance of aerial silks. As the fog intensified, we watched the amazing athleticism and beauty of the performers:

I was equally impressed by their strength, daring, and how it’s like ballet up in the air.

It was pretty much fogging by the time we headed back to Megan’s little house in the big woods. That’s when you can’t tell if it’s very heavy fog or very light rain, but you’re soaking wet. Fortunately, Megan had the foresight to make ribollita soup beforehand, so we enjoyed a hot bowl of home-made soup (made with some veggies from the epic family garden) along with an episode or two of “Orange Is the New Black”. Because orange and black are Halloween colors. And there may have been candy for dessert.

A YEAR AGO: A busy post-time change day.