Suzy Says

Procession for a Fallen Hero

When the alarm flashed in the 5:30 darkness this morning, I was already awake, listening to the rain and petting Roscoe one last time before getting up. As I made my way downstairs, I thought of the many other people in our County who joined me in the pre-dawn darkness, preparing to say farewell to Sheriff’s Deputy Ricky Del Fiorentino, who was killed in the line of duty last week.

Thanks to the ridiculous time change, I needed my trusty little flashlight to find my way to the car in the pouring rain, and it was dark nearly all the way to the jobette. I left early to avoid the closure of Highway One for the Deputy’s funeral procession. The highway is closed from 8 am to 10 am, when the memorial service will start. The Governor is attending the service, and Megan told me that his security staff was in the ER last night, asking how to reach them in case of an emergency with the Governor and what would happen. As this was happening, Megan was helping the family of a 100 year old patient with a brain hemorrhage say goodbye.

Just another night in the ER.

Megan did take time out to attend the candlelight vigil at the police station last night. She met our friends Rik and Lu there, who also knew and loved the Deputy, and Megan said it was beautiful. Hundreds of people were there:

She said she was hugged by many officers and thanked for coming. I hope it was somewhat healing for her, since I know how heart-broken she is by this terrible, senseless loss.

As I write, the service is about to start. Law enforcement and fire officials are in attendance from all over California and Oregon, including my valiant brother. I hope you will join me in taking a moment to think of Ricky Del Fiorentino, his 26 years of dedication as a law enforcement officer, and his short 48 years of life in this world, which he left a better place than he found it.

Thanks to Lu for the photo of the procession and to the Santa Rosa Press Democrat for the photo of the candlelight vigil.

Most of the time, I feel like I live in a west coast version of Stars Hollow. Not so old and historic, and without snow, but replete with quirky characters and a strong community. None of my many doors have locks, and I leave them open when I go to work so the kitties can go in and out in the absence of their doorman.

Last week, our little corner of the world was shocked and saddened by the tragic and violent death of a beloved Sheriff’s Deputy, Ricky Del Fiorentino. The Deputy was the victim of a heavily armed lunatic from Oregon who was on a crime spree, including car theft, kidnaping and arson, originating in his home state and ending here. The killer murdered the Deputy in his car – apparently, he was still seated and both the front and back windshields were shattered from gunfire, and the vehicle was described as “riddled with bullets.”

The murderer was killed by law enforcement, but not until he had taken the life of a man who was universally beloved in our community. The Deputy was known equally for his smile, his good judgment, his dedication, and his courage. My sister, who knew him well and is heart-broken at his loss, said he had often “saved her butt” when she worked on the ambulance and that it was always a relief to see him on scene, no matter how terrible the situation was. He was the exact same age as our brother and left behind a wife and five children (Megan was present at the youngest one’s birth) and a shocked and saddened community. Even Governor Brown released a statement about Ricky’s death and ordered flags to be flown at half staff.

Tomorrow there will be a candlelight vigil at the courthouse in the Big Town, and on Wednesday, there will be a memorial service with a procession starting at the county seat 60 miles away and ending in the Big Town at an auditorium large enough to hold the many mourners. I hope the ceremonies help the healing process, but we are all still reeling from this terrible and senseless loss and the shock that it happened here.

Peach Blossoms

We recently had an unseasonable BBQ at the family property with my sibs’ land partners, Dave and Jennifer.

The property is huge, and my sibs couldn’t afford to buy it all on their own, and neither could Dave and Jennifer, so they joined forces and bought it together. How’s that for cooperation?

Big Bird* would be proud.

The market crash in 2008 derailed their plans to build, but it looks like they will break ground this spring! They are working with an architect to draw up plans, but most of the work will be done by Dave, his brothers, and my brothers. We are all pretty excited about this.

Dave and Jennifer came for a weekend, bringing two of their horses all the way from distant Grass Valley, which I think I passed on the epic trip to Reno last year. It must be a long and slow drive on these curvy roads with thousands of pounds of horses.

The orchard is beginning to bloom, as you see above, and garlic is merrily sprouting through the hay. Our friend with the heavy machinery who made this entire garden possible came by and dug two 20 foot long trenches to plant raspberries in, and my brother and brother-in-law are busy digging another well:

Never a dull moment over at the property.

We gathered around the fire on the evening of the BBQ, and when dinner was ready, we gathered around the Waltons-sized picnic table my brother built last year. At some point, someone (I think it was Dave) asked, “Where do you think we’ll be 20 years from now?” and I said, “Right here!”

I hope I’m right.

*Who represents the average six year old, or my mental age.

Always where he shouldn’t be

Megan and I were planning to have a girl night, starring the delightful Call the Midwife and some cocktails, but plans went somewhat awry…

The Gro has a little deli with delicious things, and Megan had heard they had grilled chicken marinated in tequila and lime. Our work-saving thought was to add some hand-made (not by us) tortillas, salsa and black beans and call it dinner. On arriving at the Gro, I ran into Mark, who had in his truck a replacement for the sliding glass door at my house which has refused to slide for about a month. He headed to my house to install it (fortunately before dark), and I headed to the deli, where I discovered that all the chicken had been sold.

Hmm. There were no obvious substitutes, and I already had all the other stuff in my basket. I set it down and tried to call my sister’s cell from the pay phone (there is no cell or texting service in beautiful downtown Hooterville). No answer. I later learned that this was because she was helping the boys in their well digging endeavor, which tends to be both loud and dirty, so she didn’t hear my SOS.

One of the deli employees helpfully found some pre-made chipotle and lime sauce, so I decided to just buy everything I had and thaw some chicken in the microwave when I got home.

When I got home, I put the bowl for the chicken on the counter and once again tried to reach my sister. I went outside to increase the chances that I’d get cell reception* and as I listened to the fruitless ring, I heard a smash from inside.

Ckyde scampered out as I scampered in, and I was sorry to see the broken clear glass Corningware casserole broken in a zillion pieces on the floor. It had been my parents’ and I remember it from my increasingly long-ago youth. I was really sad to sweep it up and put it in a paper bag. I know we shouldn’t be too attached to things, but we don’t have much left from our parents, and I used it often.

Clyde’s hobbies include jumping up on the counter and even the bookshelves beside the (now) sliding glass doors, as you see above, where he doubles as a statuette. Sometimes he shows off his athletic prowess by slinking across the curtain rod above the doors:

It’s hard to believe that this spectacularly naughty kitty is the same innocent one who I found sleeping cutely behind my bed along with Audrey earlier in the day:

I imagine it’s pretty warm back there with the corrugated plastic stuff. As I write, he is in cute mode again, which is probably how he gets away with stuff like this.

In the end, I got the chicken thawed and made dinner for my tired and filthy sister, who went straight to the shower without passing Go or collecting $200, which she probably should have for her day’s work. The insta sauce was pretty good and we all enjoyed a nice evening together.

*My siblings’ cell phones are long distance, even though we have the same area code. Go figure. So I use my cell to call them since it’s free. On the other hand, the iffy cell reception can make things frustrating. I had a work call drop out three times that day for example. No wonder I have been spared the iPhone addiction everyone predicted when I finally got one.

A beautiful day to jump in with both feet!

I don’t know what you do on a windy Saturday in February, but if you’re my brother Jonathan, you jump into a frigid river as it meets the equally frosty Pacific. Not just for the hell of it, though that would not be surprising (he is, after all, a guy who thoroughly enjoys a cliff rescue and winter camping in the snowy Sierras), but to benefit Special Olympics.

In addition to running into burning buildings and fighting 60 foot high wildfire blazes for no money, Jonathan also works with developmentally challenged adults, so the cause is near and dear to his heart. A couple of his clients were on his team, including Frank, who has helped out at the jobette from time to time, and who now works at a local garden center. He’s also a really good artist. Here’s a card he gave me with his drawing of an owl:

I love owls. And Frank.

The sign welcomed us, flapping in the breeze:

My brother ordered costumes for this year’s Plunge, but they didn’t arrive in time, so they will wear them next year. The outfit of choice seemed to be overalls:

That’s Frank on the far left and my brother in the middle. When I posted this on Facebook, one of my brother’s friends commented, “Is that a redneck Speedo?” 🙂

Just minutes later, they ran into the freezing cold river. My brother actually dunked his head under a couple of times, and he was all smiles when he came out:

I bet his official sweatshirt felt really good:

I’m glad I was there to cheer them on and donate to such a worthy cause. I am so proud of my brother and his team!

Little salon in the big woods

It was high time to get my hair cut and re-blonded. I made my way to Angelika’s little salon in the big woods.

You can tell you’re approaching her driveway because of the always-decorated trees. Even the gate is welcoming and tinselly:

You can feel yourself relax when you get there. I love the little sign on her salon:

“Once upon a time is now, as is happily ever after”
When you go inside, it’s warm and cozy and scented with lavender. It’s a pretty space to get more pretty in:

Angelika is meticulous about highlights not being stripy (stripes look good on Audrey, but not on her staff). She said that when Lichen does her highlights, she’s always asking him to make the sections thinner. She actually uses a paintbrush on mine, and wraps it in some kind of special paper to process. I’ve had foil before, but never paper. Even Lichen had to learn how to use it.

While the three shades of blonde were blonding me, Angelika and I caught up. She said that it was a funny coincidence that I’d called her for an appointment, since she was going to call me and I beat her to it. She was heading to Germany for her parents’ 50th wedding anniversary and her 30th high school reunion (as I write, she is there) and wanted to check in with me to see if I needed anything since she’d be gone for a month. So it was meant to be!

I realize that I only know three people whose parents are a) still alive* and 2) still married. Angelika’s parents still live in the house she grew up in, and of all her classmates, she is the only one who doesn’t live in Germany. I don’t think Europeans have the same culture about moving that we do in North America.

With my hair and spirits refreshed, I made my way home in the winter sunset.

*My boss/partner lost his father at the age of 91 on Sunday. His father’s final words to him were “You’re a fine man.”

It’s raining, it’s pouring

Woke up about 3:00 am to the oppressive and depressing silence of a power outage – other than the howling of the wind and pounding of the rain. I miss the comforting hum, light, and warmth of civilization pretty much immediately. Fortunately, there is a little emergency light beside the sliding glass doors in the kitchen, giving a beam of hope in the darkness of the night, so I was able to make my way downstairs to my cell phone* (I generally leave it plugged in when I’m at home, since the lack of cell service makes it keep looking for a signal, which in turn runs down the battery).

I called the familiar PG&E Outage Line – one of the most important of my contacts – and heard the even more depressing news that I was the first to report the outage. As I write, it’s about 7:15 am, and the house is still discouragingly dark. Fortunately, I was able to boil water on the gas stove and make coffee with the pre-ground coffee I bring on trips to the city (the coffee grinder being out of commission) and make coffee in my trusty French press, which doesn’t care about the power or the lack of it.

Welcome to the first power outage of the season and the year!

Update, 10:00 am: Power (obviously) back on. Immediately washed dishes, filled Brita pitcher and kettle and other water-related activities. Fingers crossed it stays on. Thousands are without power in the Bay Area.

*After more than a year, the iPhone has failed to ruin my life or obsess me, as some people warned. Maybe this is due to the aforementioned lack of service in the county.** I recently updated the IOS and wish I hadn’t, since I dislike the Disneyfied cartoon look of the icons and the apparent impossibility of dismissing incoming calls, which is essential when you have two jobs. At least I can run the Secret app.

**The major complaint of tourists, followed by the curviness of the roads and the insane price of gas in the Village – about twice what it costs in the Big Town, ten minutes away.

Open At Last!

In addition to our evening out, Megan and I took the time to go and visit Erica and Jessica. Being the country mice that we are, we also decided to enjoy the sights of the other towns along the way, stopping at the farm stand for fresh walnuts and looking around the shops. It was a beautiful day and the town was full of tourists, now immediately recognizable to me (unlike when I was one). The area has been getting some good press lately, so that and the lovely weather were probably why it was so busy.

We passed the museum on our way, and were astonished to see that it was open. In all the years I have visited here, and the few I have lived here, it has never, ever been open. So we had to stop in and look around. We were warmly welcomed:

The main building, whose bell tower I cut off in the first picture*, was the schoolhouse, and still has some of the small, old fashioned desks with inkwells. There is an exhibit of artifacts from the Pomo tribe, and a map showing that they used to live in this entire county, before the fort was built and the natives displaced with almost no sign of their lost, ancient civilization. The baskets and arrowheads that had survived were beautiful, though, and I’m glad that they have been preserved.

Megan and I didn’t realize that the museum also had a couple of buildings behind the former schoolhouse, one housing ancient farm equipment like this:

It was made at 427 Market Street in San Francisco, which looks like this now:

I’m pretty sure it looked very different then.

The last building housed artifacts from the original country store, saddles and cider presses and antique clothes, including an actual leopardskin coat. There was a picture of the coat’s owner, a beloved local lady, and her husband on their wedding day in the 1920s as well as a picture of them on their 50th wedding anniversary, wearing the very same wedding clothes. So sweet!

We would have liked to have spent more time, but we were late for our date with Erica and Jessica. Erica had made incredible Indian food** for a late lunch, and while she put on the finishing touches, Jessica and I sat at the table in the kitchen, which had placemats showing different areas of the world. I had Asia, and Jessica had Africa. She suggested that we play a game where we quizzed each other on the country capitals on each other’s placemats. When you got one wrong, it was the other person’s turn to ask.

Me: So…it’s like, “Work, work, work…feel stupid?”

Jessica (shaking her head): You think really differently than we do.

You would, too, if you were as bad at guessing/knowing African capitals as I am. I think I only got Cairo. Jessica, on the other hand, even knew what the capitals of the endless -Stans were.

In addition to making her aged Auntie look bad, Jessica is writing a play in which twins find out that one sister is Death and the other is Life. It’s pretty good so far. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that she’s only 10, though she is beginning to look as if she is closer to womanhood than girlhood as her 11th birthday fast approaches in April.

It was a great visit and I promise myself to see them again before Jessica is 11. Can she do it? Easier than learning African capitals. Right?

*I lent my brother my camera to document the new well he’s digging at the family property. I’m getting better at using my iPhone for pictures…except for this one!

**When I told a friend about the amazing Indian food, she asked me, “Was it dot or feather?” Lunch was dot and the museum was feather. 🙂

Megan finally took some much-needed time off. It seems that her staycations are never free of dog drama, but this one was much better than the last one, even though it did involve the Star Incident. Are dogs just naturally more dramatic than cats?

We took advantage of the unaccustomed time off to spend some quality girl time together. I shared my addiction to gel manicures* with her a long time ago, but our schedules rarely allow us to get our nails done at the same time, so it was really fun to go to the salon together. With our nails all shiny and sparkly, we went to the library to pick up this week’s batch of books, and then repaired to the local pizza parlor for a pre-movie dinner.

We sat at a cozy booth and shared a mini pizza, which was three slices each and made deliciously to order. After dinner, we made our way to the movie theater to see Dallas Buyers Club. Starring Matthew McConaughey, going back to his Texan roots, and Jared Leto, it tells the true story of a Dallas man who is blindsided by an AIDS diagnosis in 1985. McConaughey’s performance is powerful and riveting, driving the whole movie. You can’t take your eyes off him, except when he’s sharing the screen with his co-star. Jared Leto is heartbreakingly radiant in his vulnerability and beauty as a transgendered woman who partners with McConaughey in helping other AIDS patients in those dark days. These two deserve their Oscar nods, and if you haven’t seen the movie, you really should.

As we drove home – In the dark! On a school night**! – I thought of how lucky I am to have a sister who is also my best friend. Both the good things and the bad things are better with her there.

*It’s gel nail polish that goes on your real nails (not to be confused with scary, fake, toxic ones) and miraculously lasts three weeks or even longer, even when doing dishes or gardening. It’s like magic!

**I managed to get up after six hours of sleep and go to the pool for 7:30 the next morning, too. Can’t let a little thing like work get in the way of fun!

We did get a little more rain – a peek at the rain gauge shows about an inch, and a peek at the weekly paper shows about 13 inches for the season, which is half of what we had at the same time last year. The so called heavy rain predicted for yesterday never did come true.

I woke up to a chilly house this morning, which I knew meant it would be clear today, with the duvet of clouds removed, and so it is. The frogs are singing joyfully in their appreciation of the rain, which I love to hear.

I swept up a passel of feathers which had mysteriously appeared under the stairs, though there was no sign of their (former?) owner. How did that happen? When I went out to toss the feathers into the woods, I noticed that there are some signs of hope in the garden, despite the destruction of the frost and the drought.

The honeysuckle by the kitchen door is beginning to sprout little green leaves, sparkling with rain:

I cut back the Red Dragon plant outside the “front” door only to discover new leaves growing deep inside:

I cleared away the fallen pine needles, pine cones, and other debris to encourage the little leaves. The state of my usually cheerful geraniums was particularly depressing – black, rotted leaves and spongy stems – but apparently if the roots are healthy, they will come back in the spring. I hope so.

On my way back into the house, I noticed that the camellia bush is budding and should be flowering soon:

Here’s hoping for more rain, and more flowers!

It’s raining petals

We got about six inches of rain since I last checked in with you. It was wonderful to hear the rain pattering against the roof/walls in my little house. You could practically hear the garden saying “Aaahhh….”, even though it still looks pretty terrible*. The power even stayed on!

The kitties were less delighted than I was, coming home soaked to the skin with their fur all spiky, except, of course, for Audrey, who has the ability to come in out of the pouring rain with magically dry fur. Roscoe got bored with the rain and napped, whereas Clyde perched on the porch and watched the weather for a while before giving up and joining his brother in a rainy day snooze.

The dogs hated the rain even more than the cats. And Stella finds the rain even more objectionable than Star does, which I didn’t think was possible. Megan literally had to drag them outside. As far as they were concerned, the call of nature could stay on hold or go straight to voicemail. I still remember how Schatzi actually pretended to pee once when I was taking care of her one stormy winter night in San Francisco so that she could go back inside.

Unlike the cats, the dogs were bored out of their minds, while refusing to go outside and play. Megan took advantage of breaks in the downpour to take them out, but another storm is slated to move in tonight or tomorrow and last for a few days. I don’t think Star and Stella will greet the next downpour with the same enthusiasm as their Staff.

*Basically whatever the bitter cold snap didn’t ruin, the drought did. When the County is asking everyone to cut back on water usage by 20%, you can’t really justify watering your garden, no matter how sad it looks. I was planning to do more in the garden this year, but it looks like that will have to be on hold unless the weather changes dramatically.

Daffodils in the Village

Being a dog aunt is pretty good. Much like being a human aunt, it’s all of the fun but none of the responsibility. Well, hardly any.

Today, for example, I picked up Stella and her many accessories (cozy bed; chew toys; kong stuffed with peanut butter and goodies; etc.) and took her to day camp near the Village. She was welcomed by a really nice guy who she took to at once. Stella is a big old flirt and loves male attention and flattery. As Wednesday and I drove off into the morning sunshine, her newest admirer was taking Stella for a walk. She was completely unconcerned by my departure, though I imagine she will be excited to see me this afternoon. Dogs’ total joy at seeing you even when they’ve seen you five minutes before must be one of the main reasons for having one. A daily ego boost! What’s not to love?

I will pick her up after work, take her for a walk in vain hopes of tiring her out (I wish I had half of her boundless energy) and then bring her home. Megan, Rob and Star are in San Francisco today for Rob’s neurosurgery consultation. It looks like there may be more surgery lurking on the horizon for my valiant brother in law.

In preparation for her stay at camp, we stopped in at Dr. Karen’s office last week to get proof of vaccinations. As Megan walked into the office, leaving Stella in the car, Stella took the opportunity to practice The Sad Eyes:

The Sad Eyes vanished as soon as Megan reappeared. After the vet’s, we took Stella for a walk on the headlands, where she was mesmerized by a hawk, wheeling low over the fields, and the timeless ocean waves. I have never seen a dog enjoy watching the ocean so much before.

Since we are all girls, we took the opportunity of window shopping in the Village:

It turns out that Stella is a well-known and well-loved visitor to the shops, including a jewelry shop and the book shop, where the staff greeted her by name and gave her a cookie or two. Stella basked in the attention and helped Megan to choose a book:

Sorry for the sun glare in the photo. I’m using my iPhone for pictures these days since I lent my camera to my brother to document his progress in digging a new well. I think I’m getting a little better at using it.

We had a good time shopping. I always have fun with my sister. And the dogs are just icing on the cake. I’m already looking forward to seeing Stella tonight.

I had a flashback to the months-long Hooterville bridge repair while driving home from the jobette one day this week. Traffic ground to a halt just before the steep curve leading to the resort which reopened with considerable fanfare last fall. This is one of my favorite parts of the drive, going around the intense curve with the sunlight filtering through the tall eucalyptus trees.

The halt stretched on, and I turned off the car. The car stereo doesn’t turn off when you turn the car off, so I opened and closed the door to make it turn off. The manual is on a DVD and needless to say, I haven’t bothered to drag my MacBook out to the car and figure out how to set the clock (if there is one) and/or turn it off by hand. It starts up again when I start up the car. Yes, Wednesday is too fancy for me.

We finally got going again after 20 minutes. The poor guy in front of me actually turned into the resort! He could have walked there and back ten times in the length of time we were stuck there. I’m still not sure what CalTrans was doing, but it looked like they were lopping off some eucalyptus branches.

The next day, I left work early to head to Elk, where I was commissioned to pick up something left behind in a hotel room by a New York Times writer, who was here for the Crab festival. We were finally getting some rain (we ended up with almost 3/4 inch in the rain gauge, though we are back to sunshine today), so I drove extra carefully. The ocean was so beautiful in its shades of pale aqua and stormy grey, with frenzied white waves. Sometimes it’s really hard not to look at the ocean while you’re driving around here.

I arrived at the inn. A sign on the door said that the innkeeper was either assisting a guest or had stepped away. Hmmm. The thought of standing out in the deserted parking lot in the rain wasn’t exactly appealing. I decided to head to Anchor Bay to get some Thai food dinner and then try again on my way back.

In my usual fashion, I had forgotten/underestimated how far it was. I kept thinking it was right around every curve for miles. Finally, it was, and after I ordered, I texted my boss to let her know of the hotel problem (cell and internet service being unavailable on the south coast). She texted back to check the back door of the inn. As I left the restaurant, I noticed a sign saying that they’d be closed from February 10 to March 18, so it’s just as well I made my way there after all.

Back at the hotel, I went around the back, accompanied by an Audrey looking cat, who in an Audrey like fashion started scratching at one of the two doors. I knocked at it and eventually a ponytailed guy in a Grateful Dead shirt appeared. The cat scampered in and I explained my mission. He brought me over to the neigboring restaurant, which was as closed as it had been earier that day. Then we went to the house next to it. He knocked to no avail and then rang the buzzer. Someone answered, but with the tinnynesss of the intercom and the whizzing by of logging trucks on the rainy highway, it sounded to me like the Charlie Brown grown ups.

Mr. Dead understood, though, since he headed back to the restaurant and knocked on a back door, unearthing another guy who went and got the writer’s bag. Whew.

I was really glad to finally see Hooterville. Later I added it up and estimated that I drove more than 150 miles that day. How’s that for extreme take-out?

Stella enjoys the view

My valiant sister picked up an unwelcome hitchhiker on her last night shift in the ER: the Bug From Hell. The same one that rendered me snotty and sweaty and generally miserable for nearly two weeks. Being considerably smarter than her aged sibling, however, she got a prescription for Tamiflu called in to the pharmacy and also armed herself with zinc and other flu fighting equipment.

I learned all this between my many fourth quarter calls, and fortunately had a couple of hours at my disposal to go and pick up the pills and almost more importantly, walk Stella. As Megan observed, no matter how sick you are, you don’t get a day off from dog walking.

I loaded Stella into Megan’s car (I am trying to preserve Wednesday’s fancy leather interior as long as I can) and set off for the Village. As usual, it was a beautiful day with no sweater or jacket required. I am beginning to wonder if we are ever going to get some rain.

I soon learned that driving with Stella is, uh, challenging. At any moment, she may decide to lick you, and she loves to lean against you. She is a pretty strong dog and it made it hard to navigate the curves. As I drove across the long arc of the Big River bridge, the car suddenly slowed dramatically and started making disturbing noises. It turned out that Stella had shifted the car into neutral, unbeknownst to me and to the annoyance of the motorists behind me. So I was more prepared when it happened as we drove down Main Street and able to fix it faster.

We walked along the headlands, where Stella wanted to meet every single dog and person we passed – as I mentioned before, there are no strangers in Stella World, just friends she hasn’t met yet. She made a slightly embarrassing scene in front of a group of little old Asian ladies, who were visibly horrified despite my best efforts. Stella was tangled up in the leash – she has an epic ability to get tangled up in the leash – and was also enjoying her favorite hobby, chewing the leash, at the same time.

Stella is a rather chatty dog, so she was making alarming noises while attempting to eat Megan’s lovely leather leash. It was pretty hard to get it out of her mouth and then untangle her as the little old ladies scurried away in horror, no doubt to report on the girl eating pit bull they had seen in the middle of this lovely landscape.

They probably wouldn’t have recognized Stella a few minutes later, when she sat peacefully watching the ocean. She really loves watching the waves. It was high tide, and the sea spray flew up high enough to wet us both on the headlands. We both enjoyed the seascape for a while before heading to the pharmacy and picking up juice and other Bug defying supplies.

When we were about a quarter mile from home, she curled up on the passenger seat like a dream dog.

*Imagine the Brando voice.

Care to join us?

While people back East are getting covered in snow and dreading the return of the Polar Vortex’s evil twin (and if I wish I’d never heard of it, I can just imagine how they feel), we are having clear, starry nights flooded with moonshine, the temperature about one or two Celsius degrees, and days that get close to the 20 degree mark on the C scale. At some point in the morning, I open the doors, letting in fresh air and temporarily freeing me from being the cat doorman. They don’t make me wear a uniform, but they don’t tip, either. Maybe it’s the lack of pockets in their fur coats.

January these days is a lot more like Junuary, so in celebration, I cleared my schedule and headed to Big River with Megan and Stella on Friday. As you can see, it was a beautiful day:

We didn’t even need jackets or sweaters! Bare arms in January still seems very strange to me. Stella was wearing her bright orange “Adopt Me” vest, along with a big smile:

The gate leading to the road beside the river was open for the first time I can remember. Usually, we have to take a little dirt path, scented with wild fennel, beside the big metal gate. The gate was open because the Parks workers were repairing the road. One of the Parks guys was there to warn us about the giant trucks. Stella jumped on him for joy and kissed him. There are no strangers as far as Stella is concerned – just friends she hasn’t met yet. Unlike most girls, she enjoyed every drop of attention she got from the construction workers. And she got a lot.

She was completely unperturbed by the huge, loud trucks and people whizzing past on their bikes, and her only complaint about other dogs was not being allowed to play with all of them. Stella is taking the Canine Good Citizenship Class which Star passed a couple of years ago, so Megan is working hard on training Stella for her new home. Apparently Stella’s former guardians neglected to teach her minor things like coming when called, not to eat food from tables, and not to chew things like iPod connector cables and seat belts in the car. Or Schatzi’s old dish. No one can use that mangled piece of plastic now, at least not as a dish.

Other than some leafless trees, you would never know it was winter. The grass is still “golden” and the streams are low. I know pampas grass is a pest, but it was so pretty in the sunlight:

And the Village, where both residents and businesses alike are beginning to have water delivered, looked like a postcard:

In the evening, we sat by the fire at Megan’s house and had mojitos while watching “Legally Blonde” (I’m sorry, I love that movie) and listening to the dogs snoring happily.

It was a great day. So much more fun than work!

Who, Me?

The other day, I was driving home from the jobette, thinking great thoughts, as I tend to do in the shower and in the car. Or what passes for great thoughts when you only have two brain cells, both underachievers, and the inside of your mind looks like Miss Havisham’s attic. Or this lady’s place.

One thing about keeping track of the magic moments in my life last year is that it really taught me to appreciate the little things, like the sun setting in my rear view mirror (not that I can see it, with Wednesday’s dramatic after-market tan. So non Goth. It’s gotta go) and the golden afternoon light on the long and winding road that leads (eventually) to my door. On this particular evening, I was thinking about how Gene Clark of the Byrds, who lived right here in Hooterville on the same road as Lichen, drove this very road, and how if he could see it today, it would look exactly the same as he remembered it. The Little River Inn, where both Gene and I have enjoyed the view and the bar, is the same, too. It’s kind of cool to think that we have this in common. And that things change slowly in this neck of the woods.

I also remembered the long days Megan and I spent looking for our beloved Schatzi last summer on this road, and how she is probably resting somewhere we drive past every day, peacefully and I am pretty sure undisturbed. It took a long time before I stopped looking for her as I drove down the Ridge, and it took Megan even longer. Guess The Schatz out stubborned us all one last time.

I was thinking about the Saturday afternoon I was driving home from the jobette and came across Megan’s car parked by Lichen’s road. I pulled over and saw Megan, desperately seeking Schatzi. She and our friends Dave and Jennifer had spent the day combing the area. As I was thinking about this, I came around the same corner and…saw my sister’s car parked in the very same place.

I had a horrifying feeling of déjà vu and also “Little did Suzy realize she had entered…the Twilight Zone*”. I pulled over and once again saw my sister heading toward me. Once again, she was dogless. In this case, Stella the foster dog had wandered off the family property, where the boys were supposed to be baby sitting her. Megan was in her work scrubs and clearly just out of the shower, and didn’t have much time before she was due at the ER for her twelve hour night shift.

The boys were looking near the property, and Megan commissioned me to head back down to the store, which is the Hooterville equivalent of alerting the media, while she looked and called. At least this time we were looking for a dog who could hear, though one who is a little unclear on the concept of coming when called.

Wednesday and I had gone a mile or two when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I hit the microphone button on the car console, but the call dropped – cell service, or the lack of it, is one of the major tourist complaints – so I pulled into the fire station. I saw the call was from Megan, so I headed back, thinking that I could go to the store later if she wasn’t calling me with good news.

She was. While calling for Stella, the grandson of the guy who owns the store came out and asked if she was looking for a dog. It turned out that Stella had sneaked away from her babysitters and found a house with other dogs, where she spent the next hour or so happily playing with her new friends, trying to get in the house, and trying to get a snack.

Megan bundled her into the car, took her home, and then went to work, undoubtedly wishing she could have a drink instead. I’m glad that all’s well that ended well.

*Fun fact: Rod Serling and I were both born in Syracuse, New York.

Clyde helps me to unpack

I’m back in Hooterville. I came home on New Year’s Eve, and for the first time I can remember in my many years of driving across the Golden Gate Bridge, traffic was completely backed up on the northbound (leaving San Francisco) side. Later, I saw three CHP cars, but no accident or stopped car or other reason for the slowness.

As I edged past the now empty toll booths, I thought about the time I didn’t have the two dollars for the toll, and had to pull into the office’s parking lot in my Mustang convertible and write a check. Good thing I had my checkbook with me – I never carry it now. And I remembered when there were actual people in the booths collecting our tolls (now $6), and the time I was totally delighted by the woman blasting music in her booth, dancing and singing along.

Once over the Bridge, traffic speeded up and Wednesday and I had no more delays. I stopped in Philo and picked up fresh crab – it’s Dungeness crab season – bread, and salad for dinner. The sun was just dipping into the Pacific as I reached Hooterville. I think I passed Megan on the Ridge, on her way to the drunk tank and maggot emporium that is the ER on New Year’s Eve.

I unpacked the car, though not the suitcase, and settled down with champagne and crab to watch “Downton Abbey” and say farewell to the old year. The new year began with coffee and the Winter Classic, which I love. It’s so fun to see hockey played outside, and the goalies even wore pads that looked like the old school ones (undoubtedly they were grateful that the similarity stopped there, since they used to be made out of leather, soaked up all the water from the ice, and were unspeakably heavy). Also it’s much easier to enjoy the romance of the falling snow from the comfort of your sunny California living room, rather than being one of the 105,000 fans in the single digit cold (not including wind chill) or one of the players on the often shoveled ice.

Still, it was a wonderful event and I am pleased to report that the Toronto Maple Leafs won over the Detroit Red Wings in a shoot out, giving them two much needed points. A good way to start the year.

I’m ending the year the same way I started it – in my beloved San Francisco. This was a banner year for trips to the City: 9, an all-time high since moving to Hooterville four years ago. There was a lot more travel this year, some less fun (Atlanta) than others (LA).

This was a year full of endings and beginnings. I finally got divorced after almost a decade of being separated. While it was good to get the formalities out of the way after a long separation, it was still sad to put “The End” on our story. I am grateful that John and I are still friends and have many happy memories of our many years together. I did not manage to stay out of court, though on an unrelated matter. Summertime subpoenas have to stop! New year’s resolution: a subpoena- and court-free year.

The loss of our beloved Schatzi cast a shadow over the latter part of the year, a loss that resonates through every day, though I am thankful she was in our lives as long as she was. She was an unforgettable gift.

A new dog found her way into our lives (temporarily) at the Christmas season, when we were least looking for one, in the form of Stella the foster dog. There is no better way to honor our Schatzi than by rescuing another dog.

I said goodbye to my battered old car Miss Scarlett and said hello to a newer, fancier one, which took some getting used to.

I started my moments. This was inspired by a friend who writes down something funny or beautiful or delightful that happens to her each day on a slip of paper and then puts it in a jar. At the end of the year she reads all the slips of paper and remembers all the great things that happened.

This was fun to do for a year and a good exercise in much needed-discipline. It really made me appreciate the small moments every day: cuddling with the cats; the sun setting over the Pacific; a spider web jeweled with dew.

Favorite books of the year: Ann Leary’s The Good House, a great portrait of small town life; and the utterly poetic Ordinary Grace. I also read two outstanding books about Detroit, a place near and dear to my heart – Detroit: An American Autopsy and Detroit City Is the Place to Be. The charasmatic Charlie LeDuff, the author of “Autopsy”, also showed the equally charasmatic Anthony Bourdain around Detroit on an episode of “Parts Unknown”, which is well worth watching.

I only read 83 books this year, a significant drop from last year’s 103, a continuing decline which I attribute to the more work, less fun aspect of the new (though not improved) economy.

Rainfall for the season: 5.14 inches. Last year at this time: 24.20. The drought is getting alarming. January and February of 2013 were the driest in recorded history in California. People in the Village are having water delivered!

No power outages so far this season. None! There were 6 at this time last year.

Here’s what happened to our heroine this year:

January:

Started the year off right by heading to San Francisco. Got a new look for my old car and a new iPhone (which has yet to ruin and/or take over my life, possibly due to the lack of cell service here). Wednesday was also Weirdsday. However, Friday was Funday. Yet another trip to San Francisco, this time for (mostly) professional reasons. Royal Treasures of the Louvre at the Legion of Honor. An epic day to get my photo taken for my work website. Spoiler alert: I hated the finished product, although my hair looked awesome.

February:

The cats react to a visiting chicken. An update on Archi, The World’s Cutest Puppy. Beautiful woodworking. Scout’s vet adventure. My intrepid brother takes a Polar Plunge.

March:

Schatzi gets a check-up. Little did we know it would be her last one and that we only had five months left with our beloved girl. Divorce and taxes. Why not? Dad’s birthday. First day of spring. Working on the endless divorce paperwork. A lovely trip to the South Coast.

April:

A late season storm. Haiku. Jessica turns ten! In San Francisco. Breakfast at Swan Oyster Depot. There isn’t a better start to the day. My welcome home included a screen door on the sleeping loft balcony, which has made life about 1,000% better. Thank you, Rob! Jessica’s birthday BBQ. More divorce paperwork, with moral support from my sister. An evening at the theatah.

My blog also turned twelve on April 20, though I failed to note the fact. Sorry, little blog!

May:

Amazing woodworking show. A walk with Star and drinks with Monica in Little River. Birth of an orchard. An early birthday celebration for Megan. A delightful dinner with delightful friends. The end (almost) of the decayed old hot tub. Needless to say, the motor is still there. Megan’s actual birthday, complete with a hand-made picnic table and a daring cliff rescue, both courtesy of our intrepid brother.

June:

Birthday baseball in beautiful San Francisco. Impressionists on the Water at the Legion of Honor. Back home for my birthday BBQ. Monica’s birthday party.

July:

A cavalcade of health problems: Megan’s flu; Jessica’s broken leg; Clyde’s mystery illness. Everyone on the mend. Thinking about summers past. The truth about Schatzi. Wedding plans and peaches.

August:

A lovely stroll with Star and my sister. A frantic Friday. Clyde meets the mysterious Slobber Monster. Megan takes care of the patient. The devastating loss of our much loved Schatzi. A day at the beach with Star. The twelfth anniversary of our adored father’s sudden death. I will never stop missing him until I catch up with him. How to make a really expensive peach pie. A beautiful, joyous wedding. A surprise in the mail – and at the door.

September:

Celebrating our incredible brother’s birthday. A long drive to Reno. Enjoying the spa. Back home in the fresh air! Megan’s last gift to her beloved girl. The County fair. The wonder of a south coast safari. A look around a delightfully eccentric local town.

October:

Last minute car repair before heading to San Francisco. My divorce becomes final as I drive across the Golden Gate Bridge. A soirée in the Village. Audrey does not enjoy her visit to the vet. A local landmark reopens. An epic journey to Los Angeles. The delights of Santa Monica. The glamor of Hollywood. A fascinating tour of downtown LA. A virtual walk with Megan and Star at Big River.

November:

A happy Halloween. A quick trip to Atlanta. The delights of Hockney and Bulgari at the De Young – not to mention the view from the top. A late season barbecue with family and friends. The beginning of the end of Miss Scarlett. Thanksgiving preparations.

December:

Thanksgiving recap. A conference starring my boss. So proud! A long and busy day. The end of the road for Miss Scarlett. ~sob~ Of frozen pipes and Christmas trees. Puppies! And meeting Stella. A surprise dinner and a play for our nephew, Jarrett. A brand new (well, to me) car! Working hard – or hardly working? A merry Christmas.

Thanks for coming along with me on another year of adventures, great and small. I wish you all a joyful and healthy new year!

Sunny Christmas Morning

Our Christmas Day (aka Boxing Day or St. Stephen’s Day, neither of which exist here in the US of A) dawned sunny and beautiful, as you can see above. As the day progressed, it warmed up enough to have the doors open while I cleaned the house and got everything ready for the feast:

You can see my world famous cheese biscuits in the Wedgwood biscuit barrel, salad in the matching bowl, as well as the family silver and wine glasses. My brother smoked the ham over wood Lichen trimmed from the apple, peach and cherry trees on the family property, glazing it with honey from our bees (who sadly perished in the extreme cold snap earlier this month), bourbon, shallots, and other secret ingredients. He also made a lemon tart to go with the mincemeat tarts.

Erica and Jessica appeared in the afternoon bearing a beribboned sprig of mistletoe, Jessica festively dressed in velvet and sporting Gucci loafers:

Here’s a close up of her amazing shoes, which she found at a thrift store for $5:

As she said, “What are the chances of finding Gucci shoes in a thrift store? In my size?” I would have been as thrilled as she was. I almost was, to tell you the truth.

Jessica also came up with the perfect name for the new car: Wednesday, as in Addams. Dark, gothic, and a little dangerous. I’m pretty sure Wednesday would embrace the tinting, though.

Dinner was magically delicious, and after dinner, we opened our stockings. If I do say so myself, I think everyone was really pleased with them this year, from the chocolate ammo in reusable ammo boxes for the boys to the fantastic Sephora skincare set for Megan to the sparkly skull ring and Shakespearean insult gum for Erica.

We pulled the Christmas crackers, put on our hats, groaned at the jokes, and then had the traditional story reading of the magical Red Ranger Came Calling. If you’re not familiar with this delightful tale, you owe it to yourself to pick up a copy and correct this shocking oversight. Jessica started off the reading:

Later, she and Jonathan took turns:

I honestly don’t know who did a better job. It was a wonderful moment, and it’s nice to know that Dad’s legacy of reading aloud lives on.

Needless to say, I woke up to a huge mess this morning. But as a wise man once said, “One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.”

Some days the jobette hardly seems like work at all. Take last Tuesday, for example. I got up when it was light outside, had coffee, and made my way to the South Coast in the fancy new car.

The new car (as yet unnamed – any suggestions?) has a 30 day warranty, and I think between the long drive home from Modesto and the steep, curvy drive to the South Coast, I have a pretty good idea of how the car is going to perform. My brother says that problems should appear within the first 30 days. So far, so good.

The trip to the lovely south coast was to distribute materials for an upcoming festival to all the businesses which are participating, as well as the visitors’ center. It was a beautiful day, warm enough to have the car windows open. The ocean was feeling pretty that day:

and I saw a pod of migrating orcas chasing dolphins when I stopped at the Point Arena lighthouse. It is 115 feet tall and doesn’t quite fit into my camera’s lens:

The lighthouse is situated on the westernmost part of the Lower 48. Next stop Hawaii!

The Point Arena pier is a favorite location of surfers, who say it has some of the best waves in northern California. It is also beloved of fishermen, with some of the deepest waters in the County and a sheltered cove location:

I had clam chowder for lunch overlooking the pier:

It was warm enough to sit on the deck and watch the waves.

On my way home, I picked up dinner at the delightful Thai restaurant where Megan and I had lunch after our amazing South Coast safari this fall.

The next morning, I met my jobette co-workers at the Botanical Gardens to watch birds with a guide. Apparently birding is very good here, even in the winter, and these birding tours are available twice a week, year-round.

Embarrassingly, I am not good at identifying birds other than the obvious. My father kept a list of birds he had seen from the age of five, and every week, he’d send a list of the birds he had seen in the garden to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds*. Lest you think him more of a crackpot than he really was, the RSPB depends on these amateur reports as well as the annual bird count to keep track of what species are doing well on the sceptered isle and which aren’t.

I caught a hummingbird at rest:

I don’t think I’ve ever seen one just sitting on a branch before. We sighted an egret, and several robins, which are a cheery harbinger of winter here (along with the happy peeping of frogs, which we haven’t heard due to the lack of rain), as well as a flicker and a sort of warbler (or possibly wren) which had a yellow part under its tail, which the guide called “butter butt”. Sadly I was unable to see the bird or its butt. Sorry, Dad.

Wednesday was as foggy as Tuesday was sunny, which lent the garden a dreamlike look:

Despite the lack of rain, this brook babbled happily through the garden:

This gate looks like something Rob would make:

After our birding expedition, we went back to work and had pizza, salad and wine for lunch. It’s a hard job, but someone’s got to do it!

*After he died, we found his partially completed list for that week on his desk with his reading glasses resting atop it, as if their owner might walk back into the room at any moment. We mailed it in for him.