Suzy Says

Bright and beautiful

Jarrett’s birthday is located a couple of weeks before Christmas, inevitably leading to the dreaded combo gift suffered by so many December babies. Not everyone is clever enough to have their birthday and Christmas evenly spaced six months apart, like I did. But his desk looked like this when he arrived at work on his birthday:

It’s nice to be loved by your office family.

Jarrett’s birthday was also celebrated by the Festival of Lights at the Botanical Gardens in the Big Town, so he and the wonderful Kalli came by to check it out.

We were greeted by someone handing out miniature candy canes, and plunged into a magical world of glittering sea monsters, shooting stars, peacocks, and flying sea urchins. A volcano spewed lava and smoke:

while a ship sailed rough seas in a nod to our maritime history and the whale watching season:

We came across a fire pit, where we were equipped with long bamboo poles and a marshmallow to toast:

Outside the fire pit area, mysterious globes glowed in the bushes:

There’s something magical about lights sparkling in the wintry darkness when the days are so short. It gives me hope and reminds me of the Christmas lights I loved as a child and still do. Especially when I’m with people I love.

Audrey was not my favorite cat the morning after Christmas, when she mercilessly woke me up at 5:45 am by pounding on the sliding glass doors. They don’t fit very well, so they create quite a racket when played by Audrey, especially with the added bonus of screeching claws on glass. You’d think I’d be used to being bossed around by a very small and very determined cat, but you’d be wrong.

It was 32 (0C) degrees outside and 44 (6C) inside as I grumpily made coffee. Hello, winter!

Despite the Audrometer going off too early and too insistently, it was a great Christmas. It dawned bright and beautiful after the power outage storms of Christmas Eve, and for the first time in years, we could celebrate it on Christmas Day itself.

After the cheese biscuits were made, the pears for salad roasted, the salad dressing whisked together and the table set:

I settled down to watch the Queen’s message and read the last chapter of “The Box of Delights” by the tree, where the stockings were, if not hung, at least placed with care:

Surprisingly, especially since two of the stockings have feathers on them, the cats have more or less left the tree alone. Roscoe tried to climb it and removed about 6 ornaments when I first put it up, but other than that, they have pretty much ignored it.

Erica and Jessica arrived bearing the Bûche de Noël of bliss:

It was made of a sort of flourless sponge cake using almond meal, brushed with tangerine syrup, filled with a mocha ganache, covered with chocolate buttercream, and adorned with meringue mushrooms dusted with cocoa. I was charmed to note that the mushrooms had dark “gills”, just like real ones. Erica is a genius.

Jessica was swathed in a plush Totoro onesie, as soft inside as it was outside:

We watched “A Charlie Brown Christmas” together, and she remarked on the “blatant Christianity” in the show, though she considered Snoopy “hilarious”. I find it interesting that she considers Christianity to be the same as Greek, Roman, or ancient Egyptian mythology.

Jonathan arrived with the ham he smoked all day over apple wood, glazed with Jack Daniel’s, honey from our bees, onion marmalade from our onions, cardamom, and other secret spices:

It was as delicious as it looked.

After dinner, Jessica and Jonathan took turns at the annual reading of Red Ranger Came Calling to an appreciative audience:

I filmed Jessica reading, but the limitations of WordPress don’t allow me to post it (at 38 seconds, it’s twice as big as allowable). You’ll have to take my word for it that Jessica’s performance had real showmanship this year, and she gave Jonathan a run for his money. I love it that Dad’s tradition of reading out loud to us lives on.

A YEAR AGO: A merry Christmas, even though it was a day late.

It’s a wild and stormy Christmas Eve. Reports are that the power is out at home, and a call to my friends at the PG&E Outage Line gave me the sad information that it may be “extended” due to many outages. So far this seems to be worse than the storm that wasn’t, though it’s supposed to pass through quickly. Maybe it was speeding.

Fortunately, my oven is gas, and my brother is smoking the ham over the BBQ all day tomorrow, so we can still have Christmas dinner. On my way to the jobette yesterday, I stopped at the grocery store in the Village and bought two pieces of Gruyere. Nothing more, nothing less. The clerk looked at me quizzically and asked “Having a craving?” I explained that I needed it for cheese biscuits and that there was no substitute, and there isn’t.

Last night, I put all the Christmas stockings together, an undertaking that required a glass or two of wine, a realization I came to after completing the first one. Stockings always have a quarter and a tangerine in the toe and a candy cane at the top, and contain a couple of little gifts – like the guitar pick made from a quarter and a gift card for the coffee shop in the Village for Rob* – and this year I had the bright idea of wrapping these, which made the process longer. The rest is candy and silly things like cap guns. We exchange Christmas stockings instead of gifts, and I love that tradition.

Tomorrow, even if the power is out, I will roast the pears for the salad and make the dressing for the salad, and make my world famous cheese biscuits. At some point before noon, I will bring the ham, a bottle of cider and one of Jack Daniel’s to my brother’s place, where he will make his fabulous glaze for the ham and smoke it all day over apple wood.

Erica and Jessica were planning to come over early in the day to watch Christmas movies and the Rockettes, but it may be board games and sparkling conversation instead. Stay tuned!

Update: Power is back on, the sun is shining, and all systems are go! Merry Christmas to all of you!

*I have no concerns about him reading this, since he has never had an email address or belonged to Facebook or done anything on line other than look for tools.

A YEAR AGO: Working hard? Or hardly working?

It turns out that Lichen’s new house not only looks like a wine cask, it is – or at least it was – a wine cask. A plaque on the wall says “Storage tank no. 82, capacity 26,424”:

As you would expect, it is a deep wine color on the inside. The former cask now houses Lichen’s living room and a sleeping loft accessed by a spiral staircase. I didn’t take any interior pictures, since he had just moved in and there were boxes everywhere, but here’s the exterior:

The rectangular part on the left houses the bathroom and hallway to the wine cask, as well as where the kitchen will be. Yes, there is no kitchen, though Lichen is designing an Ikea kitchen which his landlord will then pay for and have installed. How’s that for a division of labor? For now, he has a refrigerator and a propane burner on the back deck, where it took forever to boil a kettle to make tea for Erica, Jessica, Megan and me:

As you can see, there is no roof over the deck, which is inconvenient, especially in the rainiest December in ten years. Despite this fact, Lichen wants to refinish the kitchen floor and beams before having the kitchen installed. The women were universally appalled by the idea of continuing to use the rainy propane burner and wash dishes in the bathroom sink for the duration, which Lichen found a totally reasonable proposition. As Erica observed, there’s the parting of the ways between estrogen and testosterone.

We took a little tour of the outside of the house, where there is a lovely view of the ocean:

There used to be access to a private beach, but over the years, the path has become overgrown and the suspension bridge leading to it has decayed in an alarming fashion. Erica opined that it could be fixed, and we jokingly tried to convince Jessica to explore it, but like me, she was uninterested in risking life and limb. Even if the bridge was repaired, the Calamity Suzy potential was too high for me.

I poked around in the woods, finding a purple mushroom – it really was that color – which wouldn’t look out of place in “Alice in Wonderland”:

and a mystery stone beside a tree:

Across the road from Lichen’s house is a steep hill, dotted with cows:

One drawback to the new locality is that the house is right on legendary Highway One, so traffic and its sounds are a problem. Lichen’s beautiful black cat is now an indoor cat, and they both are occasionally awakened by thunderous logging trucks and the squealing tires of unwary drivers who underestimate the curves. It makes me realize (and appreciate) how quiet my place, Megan and Rob’s, and Erica’s are.

Jessica and I caught up while everyone else worked on kitchen designs. She was wearing a vintage 1970s dress which a friend brought from London:

I was slightly alarmed to discover that we now wear the same shoe size (!), and our hands are the same size, though Jessica’s fingers are much more willowy. We have started following each other on Pinterest, so we had a great time talking about the various gowns and shoes we had pinned. Jessica remarked that she was more into circlets than tiaras these days, since they are more practical. I told Erica that it was really nice of her to have my daughter for me. 🙂

It was so fun to see Lichen’s new setting and spend some time together. I think my new year’s resolution is to spend more time with my friends.

A YEAR AGO: Meeting Wednesday.

So yesterday was Interview Day.

The cats woke me up earlier than I would have liked, especially since I needed all the beauty sleep I could get, but I somehow still ended up rushing to get out the door on time. It was gloomy but not (yet) raining, and I was amazed by how deep and rushy the river was. A finger of fog lay dramatically over the dark woods as I turned onto the twisty, mountainous road to the county seat. How anyone ever thought of building a road there is beyond me, though it’s been in use at least since the 1890s, when it was the location of a stagecoach robbery.

I had no trouble finding the county offices, and I was early, which I figured was better than late. I didn’t have long to wait before being ushered into a room where a panel of three people were seated.

This threw me for a loop, I can tell you. I was expecting to interview one on one with the woman who had set it up and sent me the paperwork. We had a nice chat on the phone, and I felt pretty confident about meeting with her. My confidence vanished as quickly as my horror grew.

They told me that they asked everyone the same standardized questions and that we had half an hour for the interview. They took turns asking me questions like “What is your definition of professionalism?” Though they at least avoided asking me where I saw myself in five years, or what my strengths and weaknesses were, they led with the dreaded “Tell me about yourself” and ended with “Tell us anything else you think we should know about you”, which stymied me completely. I could not come up with a damn thing, my brainlet being completely occupied with competing thoughts of “Well, you just blew it” and “Haven’t you read my resume and all the forms I filled out?”

I was able to engage them with my own questions, however, which led to an animated discussion as well as compliments on my choice of questions. To wrap it up, they explained that the process would take another four to six weeks, as they checked references and filled out paperwork, etc. I thanked them, wished them happy holidays, and made my way back to Wednesday, where I tried to gather what little remained of my wits before heading home. En route, I discovered that Libby’s is closed for a month, so there went that plan of getting delicious take out for dinner.

Arriving home, I emailed my friend and co-worker Erin, who was my jobette reference, to ask her if we could meet up today. She responded that her schedule was crazy with her kid out of school, so could we chat on the phone? I said yes, and when she called, I explained that I had applied for this county job and she might be hearing from them in the next four to six weeks. They had already called her. We both started laughing because it was so ridiculous. I apologized for blindsiding her – I know how much I enjoyed being blindsided earlier that day – and she said no problem. She knows that my paychecks end in February, I don’t qualify for unemployment, and that the jobette can’t pay me enough to support my fabulous lifestyle. I know she just wants what’s best for me, but I still feel bad about it.

I’m guessing that if they called my references the minute I left their office, I didn’t do as badly as I thought. We’ll see what happens…

A YEAR AGO: Jarrett’s birthday surprise.

Looks like we have weathered the storm! Power stayed on at my house – undoubtedly because Mark lent me his generator before taking his family to Mexico for a month – no trees crushed anything or anyone and nothing leaked. Apparently the rest of the country is mocking us for freaking out about the storm, since they have real weather. Sometimes I think the best thing about winter is watching it on TV from California, so maybe we deserve the teasing. Much was made about our rushing to make sure our various electronic devices were charged (true in my case) and debating over what to call the storm (less so). Rainpocalypse? Stormageddon? Hellastorm?

Tweets included:

“Is that the sound of a light sprinkle or is it just the east coast laughing at us?”

“Portland is laughing at you.”

“#BayAreaStorm warning: you may see small droplets of water falling from the sky. They are dangerous. Do NOT approach.”

You can see more here.

Meanwhile, back in Hooterville, it was a wild and windy night. I was awake during the worst of it, from 2 to 5 am (the worst part of any night, really), listening to the torrential rain and howling winds. I kept expecting the power to go out, but it didn’t, even as lightning flashed across the skylight. Clyde was sleeping happily against my legs, Audrey on my bedside table (her latest and most inconvenient spot yet, tending to scatter library books and alarm clock with abandon), and Roscoe was curled against me, trying to keep me calm. Storms make me nervous.

In the morning, the rain gauge was filled to capacity, which is 5 inches, so there may have been even more rain than that. The purple honeysuckle on the side of the house had blown over as usual, but nothing else in the garden seemed to be damaged.

The river flooded and closed the highway to the city, as you can see in the picture above. Even after the waters had receded, it remained closed as crews removed river slime and downed trees. There were a few mud or rock slides and power did go out in some places in the area, but on the whole, it wasn’t as bad as predicted, and I’m fine with that.

A YEAR AGO: ‘Tis the season.

Gloomy morning to you! It’s the calm before the storm.

The weather seers are calling for the worst storm in a decade, with high winds and torrential amounts of rain (6 to 8 inches in a 24 hour period). It even has its own hashtag on Facebook. The National Weather Service is predicting that the highway will flood this afternoon and cause the powers that be to close it. Speaking of power, we may not have any a few hours from now, which is why I have the Christmas tree on and sparkling while I can:

Also it’s cheery in the gloom.

I wasn’t intending to put the tree up this year. It’s 65 years old or more (time to retire?), very sheddy, and a little on the Charlie Brown side, as you can see. I was going to get some branches of greenery, put the ornaments on them, and put it on the table, but I realized that table space is at a premium, and I need somewhere to put the stockings.

So I hauled the tree down from the storage loft and put it up, then wound lights along the banister:

I went with non twinkling white lights this year, and I really like the look and the glow. The colored lights went out on the balcony:

Christmas lights look better with a palm tree:

And finally, the wreath that matches the tree went on the door:

So the house is as ready for the holidays and the storm as I can get.

When I was driving to and from the jobette yesterday, it was hard not to be both mesmerized and terrified by the ocean, which was spectacular with crashing waves and high surf, but that terrible beauty usually heralds a storm and a half. Stay tuned!

A YEAR AGO: It was a lot colder, with frozen pipes and water buckets.

Of the many delights of finally getting some real rain (not having to water the garden; not feeling guilty about either watering or not watering the garden; frogs singing; making a dent in the drought), driving and walking dogs are not among them.

As you all know, I’m not one of Nature’s drivers, even in the best of circumstances, and I think we can all agree that pouring rain on rough and curvy roads are not the best of circumstances. Visibility was poor enough and the rain was pouring enough the other day that my back was aching from tension by the time I got home from the jobette. On the bright side, though: no power outages yet.

At Megan’s house, the dogs were bored out of their minds, while yet not wanting to go outside into the suboptimal weather. Megan had to drag them outside for necessary business, and they tried to get back inside as soon as possible. Once inside, they immediately expressed their boredom by sighing, getting in the way as much as caninely possible, and generally making a nuisance of themselves until Megan gave them bones to chew, which is the dog equivalent of sitting your kid in front of the TV.

We took advantage of a break between storms to get the dogs out of the house and hopefully get some of the naughtiness out of the dogs. We headed for the Headlands, overlooked by the village:

Ravens wheeled lazily over the ocean:

I love to watch them waft lightly in the air currents, like they’re surfing on the air.

Stella watched them with me. One of the surprising things about Stella, who does everything 150%, 150% of the time, is that she likes to watch birds, butterflies, and the ocean:

We enjoyed watching the waves together, and I enjoyed watching Stella gaze at the scenery with her golden eyes. We caught up with Megan and Star, and watched a little girl fly a kite with her father before heading back to the car.

At Megan’s house, we attacked the carcass of Turkzilla together, removing the remaining meat and breaking it up to make broth. While the broth was brothing, we made a turkey pot pie, Megan making the roux and sauce while I cut things it up. It was nice to be cooking together in her little kitchen with the fire roaring, the rain falling outside, and the dogs napping on the couch. It was a great day, full of simple pleasures.

A YEAR AGO:

A long day heading home from San Francisco.

Weather’s coming

On my way to the jobette yesterday morning, I passed Michael on the Ridge. Michael is the older gentleman who used to live on the same property as Lichen until the place was sold and everyone was kicked out summarily. Michael is a Hooterville institution, riding his bike or hitch-hiking everywhere, and was a big help to us in the Schatzi search last year, since he could cover a lot of ground while not being in a car. Today, he was walking Groward on the other side of the road, which was the way I was driving, so I turned around and asked him if he needed a ride. He said no, he was almost home, since he had found a new place. He thanked me for turning around and waved at me and blew a kiss as I headed off again. I’m so glad that he and Lichen have both found good places to live.

While at the jobette, I got a call from the County asking me to come in for an interview on December 17. They suggested 8:30 am, but remembering that epic early morning drive with Megan, I asked for something later, and we settled on 11:15 am. Things definitely move slowly here in fairyland. I applied for this potential job more than two months ago, and they’re holding interviews a week before Christmas. I hope it’s not pouring that day, the way it is today. Though thankful for rain, I will never enjoy driving in a downpour.

On my way home, I was driving down the straightaway leading to Van Damme State Beach*, just as a young deer thought it was the perfect time to stroll nervously across the highway. I slowed down and watched the deer’s progress. Mindful of the “never just one” rule, I waited, and sure enough, the deer’s friend decided to join her on the other side of the road. Like her friend, she was both skittish and not in a hurry, qualities that may not help them in later life. It gave me time to admire my favorite view on the coast, though, and the deer were unharmed, so everyone was happy.

You never know what you’ll find or who you’ll meet around here!

*I love it that there are state beaches. And national seashores.

A YEAR AGO:

Suzylocks and the Three Cars.

It was an unpleasant trip home, at least the highway portion, which was in heavy rain. Visibility was so poor that there were no farewell views of Alcatraz or the dreaming spires of San Francisco, the Bridge and the Bay being swathed in rain clouds and mist.

On the highway, the backwash of passing cars was pretty challenging. I was glad to exit onto the curvaceous two lane blacktop that leads to Hooterville. This time of year, the vineyards flame with yellow, red, and orange foliage, and in the Valley, even some of the trees’ leaves change colors, because the rule in California is the hotter it is in the summer, the colder it is in the winter.

It was nearly dark when I got home, to be greeted with enthusiasm by Luna and Lupe, who is quickly growing up. However, they declined to help me unload the groceries from Trader Joe, the pizza from Victor’s, or the box from Bev Mo from the car. I have noticed that pets are not very helpful in that regard.

I found a welcome inch of rain in the rain gauge and welcoming kitties in the house. The rain had aided Megan’s cat herding endeavors while I was gone, and I am pleased to report that there were no late night fiestas or all nighters in my absence. The bump on Roscoe’s head still looks a little ooky, though, as if the scab had come off, and the fur hasn’t begun to grow back, at least not noticeably. I probably don’t have to worry about him not looking his best for our Thanksgiving guests, since he tends to hide in horror until they vacate the premises.

It seems like I had hardly gotten back from the city when I realized that Thanksgiving was looming, and I hadn’t done a thing about it. It’s too late to order a turkey, but Megan thinks we can get one at the Gro. Erica volunteered to make the cranberries as well as pies and rolls this year, so that leaves me with just turkey, salad, and mashed potatoes – I’m trying a new recipe this year, now that Jessica likes onions.

I’ll be at the jobette all that week, so I’m hoping I can find time to clean up and do the rest of the shopping. Thanksgiving sneaked up on me this year. Despite everything, I still have a lot to be thankful for, and I am.

A YEAR AGO:
The beginning of the end for Miss Scarlett. ~sob~

Sunset at Wild Fish

While waiting for my life to get off the back burner and on to the front one, I went to meet some friends for dinner.

We decided to meet on the early side, and as I drove oceanwards on the Ridge, the sun was beginning to set in a spectacular way. Pink and golden clouds billowed through the darkening blue sky, and the ocean was a steely lavender. A single fishing boat was making its way to the harbor in the Big Town, shining in the last rays of the sun.

The contented cows in the field across from the post office glowed in the fading daylight, and pale pink roses tumbled down a rustic wooden fence. After a short but curvaceous drive, I passed the peaceful old seaside cemetery and arrived at the restaurant, seconds after my friends, who were just getting out of their truck.

Though I have driven past the restaurant many times, and worked with the owners in my jobette capacity, I had never eaten there before. The restaurant is very small, but beautifully decorated. There are windows on two sides to take advantage of the stunning ocean view, and seating for about twenty people. The room glowed with candlelight.

We shared a bottle of local wine as we perused the menu. It was hard to decide what to have, since everything looked so good. We shared a mixed seafood platter, which included fresh oysters with champagne mignonette, roasted mussels and clams with rose harissa, and smoked sablefish, along with Fuji apple and artfully shaved black radish. It was delicious! I decided on bouillabaisse, which arrived garnished with a perfect rouille and two enormous prawns. My friends know the chef, who came out of the kitchen to check in with us.

We had a wonderful evening, enjoying the food and each other’s company as well as the view. When we left, there were people waiting for tables at 8:00 on a Sunday night – surely a sign of an improved economy. My friends picked up the tab, to my surprise and delight. We hugged goodbye in the parking lot and went our separate ways into the sunny night, glowing with good food and friendship.

A YEAR AGO:

The Kitty Report.

Looking for Me?

You know, there’s been a lot more bird droppings on Wednesday than usual lately. I seem to have been taking birds away from the cats almost every day now, which makes me wonder (and shudder) at what must be happening when I’m not there to interfere. I rescued a robin from Roscoe’s clutches yesterday, glad to see it fly away unscathed, though noting that the presence of robins means that winter is here. Robins bopping around and frogs singing – along with chainsaws dealing with trees knocked over in storms – are winter’s soundtrack in Hooterville.

Maybe Hitch was right and our avian friends are trying to get some revenge.

Speaking of horror, Clyde put me through hell last night.

Clyde is the first one to come in at night, anticipating the reward of treats, so I was surprised when he didn’t respond to my call. Usually, he comes scampering out of the woods, bright eyed and happy, but last night, nothing. It was about 5:00 PM, so darkness, the eternal enemy, was hovering. Roscoe was sitting calmly on the stairs, and Audrey was taking a completely unconcerned bath in the garden, but no sign of Clyde.

As the then-seven year old Jessica observed, I am a worrier, and it didn’t take long for me to push the panic button. I texted Megan, even though there was really nothing she could do about it, and while I was out calling Clyde, flashlight in hand, I forced Rob to hug me, even though he was exhausted and sweaty from working at the property all day. They both assured me that all would be well, but did I heed their well-meant advice? No. I went ahead and worried, while calling Clyde all over the place.

I went back inside, reflecting on the pointlessness of calling cats, while yet not stopping calling them. I couldn’t focus on anything or settle down. I kept looking at the sliding glass doors where Clyde wasn’t and wondering where he was. I had seen him at 4:30 and started looking for him at 5:00. It was still basically daylight then, and also Mark was chainsawing and doing other things with loud equipment all day, which would keep the monsters at bay, so Clyde should be OK. Right? But the Slobber Monster grabbed him in broad daylight…if cowards die a thousand times before their actual deaths, so do worriers.

Eventually, he appeared, as if by magic, and my heart leaped at the sight of Clyde’s little white bow tie looming out of the darkness. He was undoubtedly mystified by my sweeping him into my arms and kissing him while crying. “What the hell?” he was clearly thinking. “Where are the treats, crazy lady?” His fur smelled of wet wood and smoke, so my theory is that he was stalking a mouse in the woodpile created by Mark’s chainsawing. You know how cats can sit for hours at a place where they think there’s a mouse, and nothing will dissuade them, even panicky girls calling their names in the darkness.

I am sorry to say that it was all of 6:30 PM at that point. Time to pour a glass of wine, heat up some of the soup I made in the earlier, pre-panicked portions of the day, text my sister to call off the APB, and watch an episode of Ray Donovan.

Clyde curled up next to me as if nothing had happened and promptly went to sleep.

What’s not to love about falling behind (other than, you know, the hassle of setting all the clocks – surely Staff should do that? Oh, wait – I am the Staff)? Though supposedly falling behind, you are in fact ahead of the game. You get to sleep an extra hour, and it’s actually daylight when you get up, even at the new 6:30 am. Waiting until around 7:30 to let the boys out was getting pretty old, and I don’t know who hated it more, them or Me.

It was cold enough on Time Change Sunday to put the heat on when I got up, being an overly brisk 50F (10C) in the house that morning. The kitties basked happily while I drank coffee out of a different mug than usual:

and read Postsecret, as usual.

When I was finally caffeinated, I made a pile of apples from the family property into applesauce. I have never done that before, but it was surprisingly easy, other than peeling and coring about 20 apples. However, I did end up with a huge vat of applesauce*. I made two cups of it into applesauce cake, and I’m planning to freeze some and bring some to the jobette for lunch. That seems to be the down side of the giant family garden: having to deal with all the produce it produces. Megan has canned 18 quarts of tomato sauce, and is probably going to make more, along with pesto and apple butter.

It also seemed like a good opportunity to prep for winter a bit. I brought in most of the outdoor furniture and all the cushions, and filled up some buckets of water for the inevitable power outages to come. I need to buy drinking water as well.

While cutting back the hostas, I noticed that both orchids have flower spikes, so I can look forward to the blooms in a couple of months. I’ll have to remember to bring them and the geraniums in if we get another cold snap this winter.

Applesauce always reminds me of that Brady Bunch episode.

A YEAR AGO:

I was in Atlanta.

Showered with Confetti and Love

The Giants celebrated their epic World Series win with a parade down Market Street – San Francisco’s Main Street – to City Hall, where Marilyn Monroe married native son and baseball legend Joe DiMaggio 60 years ago. They were showered with showers, but also a hail of confetti and love. No stranger to triumphal processions through the City streets after two earlier World Series wins, manager Bruce Bochy said that he had never heard anything like the thunderous applause and screams that met the returning heroes, especially Madison Bumgarner, who was deafened with howls of “MVP” everywhere he went, perched on the back of a flatbed truck:

An observer described the pandemonium as “something between pagan idolatry and Beatlemania”.

I hope we get to do it all over again next year.

Meanwhile, back in Hoooterville, I woke up to a welcome inch and a half of rain in the gauge and a slightly less welcome forecast of heavy rain accessorized with possible thunderstorms and hail – definitely not ideal trick or treating weather. However, the forecasters were wrong, as so often happens, and there was really no need for me to haul along my winter coat and two umbrellas as well as wearing my rain boots.

This year, instead of going the Village as usual, we met Erica and Jessica at Jessica’s friend’s house. It was more of an estate to my mind than a house, since it included sweeping vineyards and several outbuildings. There was a cauldron of tea and a buffet of Halloween food:

Here’s a close-up:

Both Erica and Jessica had made their own costumes, though Erica did add the zipper to Jessica’s dress. They were Undead Alice in Wonderland and the Red Queen:

Here’s a close-up of Jessica’s apron. It’s hard to tell from the picture, but she embroidered “We’re all mad here” and made the teeth all texture-y:

Erica made her entire costume other than the boots, including the horns, yarn wig, corset, velvet cape, etc. You can see these girls share genes and attitude!

Erica also brought kitty ears for me to wear:

We had the following text exchange:

Erica: Cat ears are black with pink inside and some sparkle. 🙂

Me: How Suzy is that?!

Erica: That’s what Jessica said!

Me: Sparkly minds think alike.

A YEAR AGO:

Happy Halloween!

You already knew that Megan is the best sister in the world, right? Just for extra proof, as if any were needed, she got up at 5:00 am after working four 12 hour night shifts to drive her pathetic older sister to the county seat in the stormy Saturday darkness. When I was about 14 and she was 5, Megan told me, “I’ll catch up with you one day. You’ll see!” She should have said, “I’ll pass you and leave you in the dust*.”

In my defense, I have never driven the switchbacked mountain road that leads there, and starting in the storm-tossed darkness did not seem like the best idea. I hate driving at night, whereas Megan is so used to it after so many years of night shifts and night time ambulance driving that she navigated through it all with one hand on the wheel. I think she likes Wednesday, leather seats and all.

The Ridge and the road to the city were littered with tree branches and pine needles (follow the red needle road!), which Megan said were more slippery and dangerous than they looked, having been called to many pine needle induced accident scenes over the years. Despite driving carefully through the redwoods and up and down and around and about the crazy road to the county seat (on our way back, we passed a couple of guys who had pulled over to throw up together**), we made good time.

Despite living here for five years now, I honestly don’t think I’ve been to the county seat since being helicoptered there with Dad when he had his stroke fourteen years ago. I tend to go to Santa Rosa for things that cannot be found on the coast.

Megan dropped me off at the test center, where I was joined by about ten other testees. The person giving the test said that 21 people had registered for it, but that half showing up was about par for the course. She added that this was also the case for interviews, which I found surprising.

We all took our places in a conference room and dutifully filled in the little multiple choice bubbles with the Number Two pencils we had been instructed to bring with us. There were 100 questions. I was pretty confident about the spelling, grammar, and punctuation, but less so about the word problems. At least there wasn’t any math. X-Y = Zzzzz for me.

I finished the test first, and we are supposed to get our results in 10 business days.

Megan and I attempted to shop, but the selection was lacking, so we headed back to the coast, stopping for a belated breakfast at the Boonville General Store. It felt much later than 11:30, but that’s what happens when you get up long before the sun. I had hoped to buy dinner for Megan and Rob at Libby’s, but they were closed, despite the sign saying they were open. We weren’t the only ones to be disappointed – several other cars stopped, tried the doors, and left. We’re planning to meet up with Erica and Jessica for Halloween on Friday, so maybe we can stop in then.

*Somehow, the baby of the family has become its matriarch, and never got any of the traditional “baby” slack from the rest of the family. Go figure.

**I felt really sorry for them. There was a looong way to go before they’d hit any straight roads. Kind of like being seasick in the middle of the ocean.

A YEAR AGO:

Virtual Walk.

Five years ago today, I moved into my little hippie hovel in Hooterville. My house used to be James’ (who built it) and Rose’s, and it seems only appropriate that I moved into the house on Rose’s birthday. As Mark said, she is everywhere here.

On Sunday, Rose’s daughter Citlali, who is a member of the same fire department my brother belongs to, invited me to stop by the firehouse for some tacos. This is a fundraising effort held once a month or so, and takes place at the old firehouse beside the Gro:

Inside, the firefighters had set up a couple of tables with slow-cooked pork, corn and flour tortillas, a sort of coleslaw with jicama and corn, salsa verde, limes, chopped cilantro, rice, black beans…it was a feast! For $7, you got a plate with two tacos, rice, beans, and salad with all the accompaniments you could wish for:

All served by your friendly local volunteer firefighters. You know, the people who run into burning buildings and rescue people from crashed cars for no pay. That’s Citlali on the far right. She looks so much like her mother, Rose:

The firehouse was bustling with people, some eating their tacos on the spot and others, like me, taking theirs to go (dinner’s ready!). I stopped in at the Gro to pick up a couple of things, and was amused by this sign on the bulletin board outside:

I especially liked the “Any luck yet?” written on the top.

A YEAR AGO:

Magical History Tour of downtown LA.

Seasonal decorations at Luna Trattoria

How better to take a girl’s mind off pending unemployment than dinner and a movie with two of her favorite girls?

As Megan and I set off for the Big Town, the rain that had been promised all day finally materialized, bucketing merrily down as Megan navigated the twisty roads. The bucketing didn’t last long, though, and there was a mere tenth of an inch in the rain gauge this morning. Come on, rain! You can do better than that!

We met our dear friend Lu at Luna Trattoria, a new restaurant which has been getting a lot of buzz. All of my co-workers at the jobette just love it. It’s a pretty, friendly place, owned by a family from the Emilia- Romagna region of northern Italy. As the menu notes, it’s authentic Italian food, not Italian American food.

Megan had feather-light gnocchi with gorgonzola sauce, Lu had pasta with Sangiovese sauce, and I had spaghetti carbonara, which reminded Megan and me both of our father and our friend Davide, who worked with Dad at the University of Siena. We visited Davide at his home in Milan as well as his very, uh, rural* country home in the Italian Lake district (home of George Clooney). Davide taught Dad to make this dish, which uses pancetta, white wine, eggs, etc. to create a delicious dish. They used to say they’d open a restaurant together one day, Il Due Davidi (The Two Davids). I wish they had and I wish they were still here, drinking wine, cooking, and laughing together.

After dinner, we headed to the movie theater to see “Gone Girl”, which you may remember was one of my favorite books a couple of years ago. I found myself sitting right next to my co-worker and his date. After the movie, I asked him what he thought of it and he opined that perhaps it had not been the best choice for a date movie. On the way out of the theater, we ran into our beloved former swimming teacher Sallie, who was as wonderful and glowing as ever. Gotta love a small town! And a fun evening with the girls.

A YEAR AGO:

LA at last!

*And I do mean rural. Dirt floors and no hot running water.

Elk Cove Sunset

Just because you’ve lost one job doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep doing the one you still have (at least for now). So Megan and I headed down to the beautiful south coast to distribute jobette related materials.

It was a beautiful day, hot by our standards, with not a cloud or a wisp of Karl in sight. September and October are often the warmest and least foggy months in our part of California, and it was probably around 80 degrees, even at the coast, where it’s usually in the 60s, even in the summer.

Since it was late in the day, Franny’s was our first stop (with ten minutes to spare before they closed). Megan got a spicy Mexican mocha for herself and a bag of gummy body parts for Jessica’s Christmas stocking. What says “Christmas” more than squishy, edible people pieces? Here’s look at Franny’s less alarming delicacies:

We stopped in at the feed store across the street on non jobette business: a) to get cat food for Megan’s kitties; and 2) to ask the store owner if we could post a Stella flyer in the window. The owner took one look at Stella’s smiling face and said that she has a good friend whose beloved dog passed away last year and was thinking of getting another one. This person has had nothing but pit bulls her whole life, so she is very knowledgeable about the breed.

Megan sent the store owner some photos and video of Stella and has since made contact with the potential adopter. They will meet in person soon, and if all goes well, Stella will have a new home with 45 fenced acres and another dog to play with, which should be perfect for her. Stay tuned!

Of course, we also had to stop off at Anchor Bay for fabulous Thai food. Amusingly, although we ordered separately and I knew ahead of time what I was getting and Megan didn’t, we ended up getting the same thing (orange chicken; Panang curry; cucumber salad). Great minds think alike. It was really fun to have Megan there with me, and she was a lot of help wrestling boxes and brochures.

As we came around a steep curve, we suddenly came across a cow standing right by the road. I don’t know who was more surprised. The cow seemed to be making up its mind about something, and Megan floored it as much as you can when driving a corkscrew downhill. As she drove, she explained that cows can ram your car repeatedly, and cause quite a lot of damage which is not covered by insurance. I’m still learning the finer points of living in the country, it seems.

The cow didn’t follow us, and it reminded me that this was the second time Megan’s quick thinking had saved us on the south coast. Last time, she pulled the car out of the way of a maniac who had crossed over into our lane in order to pass someone. While coming over a hill with no idea we were there. Fortunately, Megan has quick reflexes and calmness in a crisis, unlike her sister, and pulled over to safety where we both caught our breaths for while, glad we still had them.

You’d think we saw each other all the time, living about 100 yards apart, but we don’t, so we have to make time when we can, even when it’s work related. It was hard to feel like it was work to drive beside the ocean and through the redwoods together, though. I’m lucky that my sister also happens to be my best friend.

A YEAR AGO:

Wine Whine

My hard-working sis is working an extra shift this week, and I stopped by to say hello and goodbye this morning. Attire: kitty pajamas, sweater, and sandals (like Peppermint Patty, I wear them even in winter). I was surprised that the car was full of dogs and she was ready to go. It turns out that she had come over to my house yesterday morning, only to find that I was already gone to the jobette (I left early to buy groceries, gas, cat food, and go to the library).

She was planning to drop the dogs off at our friend Lu’s house, where they can play with their friend Harlow and run around the big, fenced yard while Megan is at work. At least we had a couple of minutes to catch up with each other’s news (Megan’s cat Ramona is experiencing age-related health issues; I had my hair cut) and promise each other we’d try to spend some time together on Friday. For girls who live about 100 yards away from each other, we don’t see each other very often. Still, it’s good to know she’s there.

The wonderful Angelika cut my hair on Friday. It was high time, since the last time she cut it was in March! On my way there, I came across a flock of little boys riding their bikes down the Ridge, each with a fishing pole tied to the handlebars. They rode into the parking lot at the firehouse to let me pass, waving and smiling. It was kind of an Andy Griffith moment. Nice to know that kids still want to go fishing with their friends on a fine, late summer day.

At Angelika’s little salon in the big woods, the garden was looking lovely:

As was I after my haircut. Angelika is from Germany, where they apparently take hair styling very seriously. She studied for four years, as if it were college, apprenticing after two years. She has never said so, but I think she’s appalled that in the US, it’s about nine months of training instead. All I can say is, even after six months, my hair still had its shape, even when I didn’t blow dry it.

She and her boyfriend have been converting their garage to an artist’s studio, installing windows that she traded haircuts for. Her boyfriend traded cutting down trees for lumber, which somehow seems appropriate. I love how this kind of thing is still possible around here. A visitor told me this week that we live in a sort of fairyland up here, and sometimes, it seems like we do.

It’s not all fairies, though. Some of it is bugs.

Like the cricket who found its way onto my stove, leaping away in horror when I turned the burner on, then retreating to a safe distance to watch the proceedings with interest, occasionally waving his antennae in approval.

Or the termites wafting gently through the autumn sunlight. I didn’t even know they flew until I moved to Hooterville. They eventually lose their wings, which lodge nicely in the cobwebs the less Martha Stewart among us have in our houses, and retire to eat someone’s house, possibly mine, though I have not caught them yet.

On the other hand, Erica’s insect encounter was less benign:

“My washing machine just broke because a banana slug got electrocuted on a circuit board.

Now I’m looking for new fuses to solder in, after cleaning out slug bits and carbon, because soldering that thing in is going to be cheaper than the $450-600 to have a repairman replace the board.”

The hazards of living in the country. Or fairyland. You decide.

We ended up getting 3/4 inch of rain! My lazy side (is there any other?) was happy not to have to water the garden, though the rain did seem to revitalize the mosquitoes. Every silver lining has its cloud?

Wednesday required a follow up visit to the car spa in Santa Rosa. Apparently whatever they did last time needed a minor-ish adjustment, and since it was part of the warranty repair, all it cost was about five hours’ driving and a tank of gas. I can’t tell you how nice it is to be able to take the key out of the ignition on the first try, and to have the dashboard warning light- and beep-free. I’m hoping that this has finally solved all of Wednesday’s woes and that the car curse is broken.

A girl can dream.

The other day, I stopped on the Ridge on my way home and gave a lift to Michael. He is an older gentleman who can often be seen riding his bike around Hooterville. When Schatzi was missing, he was very helpful in searching for her, especially since he was not in a car but able to cover a good distance. As you know, we never did find our beloved girl, but it was comforting how our little community rallied around and did its best to help.

On this evening, he was on foot. I stopped and asked him if he would like a ride – he often says no when he is on his bike, but I keep asking anyway – and he was very happy to hop in. I asked where his bike was, and he said that he had hitchhiked to the Big Town that day and was on his way back.

I asked him where he lived, fairly confident that it wouldn’t be as far down the Ridge as I am, and it turned out that he lives on the same road as Lichen. Not just the same road, but on the same property! Not only that, but someone had just bought the property, which had been for sale for years, and he and Lichen have six weeks to find somewhere else.

As I was digesting this shocking news, Rob passed us and I waved and smiled. Michael said, “That’s Robert.” I said yes, he is married to my sister. Michael was surprised and pleased with this information, and spent a few minutes telling me that Rob is a good man, very smart and very funny. It was nice to hear that someone appreciates Rob as much as his family does.

I offered to drive Michael all the way home but he preferred to walk down his road. He said that he lives in a ten foot by ten foot cabin and wasn’t ready to be inside just yet. I told him I’d keep an eye open for a new place for him and went on my way.

I expect that whoever bought that property will tear down the little houses and build something new, and I don’t like the thought of people who would kick tenants out of their homes with inadequate time to find shelter moving into our little community. One of the nice things about living somewhere so isolated is that it tends not to attract people like this. I hope it’s not a harbinger of change. And it’s hard not to worry about it happening to me some day.

Yesterday, my little abode seemed more like Grand Central than a little hippie hovel deep in the woods.

Mark came by to borrow season two of “Dexter” – he and Citlali are both completely hooked on it, and while he was there, checked out the cupboard in the pantry/laundry room that came off about a year and a half ago and which he has been promising to fix since he got home from New Jersey last year. He thought he might have the right hinges somewhere, and went off to look.

He came back with them and they didn’t fit, so he made a note to look the next time he’s in town.

I started dinner – chili cashew chicken stir fry – and Rob knocked on the door. He was looking for Parmesan since the Gro was closed, and fortunately, I still had a piece left over from the pasta with pesto, chicken and artichokes which I had for dinner the night before.

I gave it to him along with a belated birthday hug – Rob turned 50 on Thursday and I hadn’t seen him to give him a birthday hug and kiss. We really need to get it together with our celebratory BBQs this year – I still haven’t had mine, nor has Jonathan. And note to Self: let Jonathan know that he has been promoted to my big brother. He and Megan are the only ones still hanging onto their 40s.

I had just sat down to dinner and “Murder In the First”, a very enjoyable policier set in San Francisco and actually filmed there, when Citlali came by to borrow some conditioner for her beautiful girls’ beautiful long hair. I gave her the rest of the bottle, knowing all too well what it’s like to try and detangle long hair without conditioner.

I love how we can all help each other out. We’re all in this together!

Update: Megan tells me that Lichen knows the guy who bought the property. Apparently the new owner’s vision is to make the little houses an “artists’ colony”, and since the new owner knows Lichen, has enlisted his services to find a contractor to renovate the houses. Lichen can stay in his house and be an on site caretaker, though everyone else has to move. They have sixty days to find new places, which is better than six weeks.