Suzy Says

Inland snow

The record-breaking cold snap is finally beginning to lose its grip, though it’s still a lot colder than it should be. It’s beginning to feel like the White Witch is running things around here – always freezing, no rain. At least it’s stayed above freezing the past couple of nights and the pipes have stayed unfrozen, which is the way I like them.

Yesterday I took a walk around the garden and I must say it was dispiriting. Anything that wasn’t zapped by the extended deep freeze had been eaten by Mark’s rabbit. I’m finding it a lot less cute right about now. At least the indoor paper whites are beginning to bloom.

As for the Christmas tree, every morning I collect the ornaments from the floor and put them back on again. Maybe the woodland theme was an especially bad idea. Today I found all of the acorns on the floor, and most of the snowflakes had fallen, not as pretty a sight as the picture above, taken in the county seat last Friday.

It seems that I forget every year about the cats’ propensity for playing with ornaments and attempting to take down the tree until it’s too late. Then it’s a six week battle until I put the tree and ornaments back in the box, swearing never to do this again. And just plain swearing.

So the pipes are frozen. Again.

They were also frozen yesterday morning, despite the fact that I left the tap running in the bathroom both nights, not an easy thing for a Californian to do after so little rain for so long. Not that it helped, though. So I apparently wasted water for nothing.

Even the emergency buckets of ice outside are frozen over so hard that I need an implement to break the ice. No conversational gambit was equal to the task.

Good thing I filled the kettle for coffee and took a shower last night, just in case.

The cold does make it feel seasonal, though, and I believe there was snow inland when we got that half inch of rain the other day. Might as well put up the Christmas decorations, And after all, it was the first Saturday in December, which we all know is the correct day for putting them up (not before Thanksgiving, whatever the stores would have you believe).

This year, my theme for the white, vintage Christmas tree from long ago Gimbels:

was artificial woodland. I love having a fake tree in a house surrounded by real trees, and I decorated it with faux nests with robin’s eggs:

And little acorns on ribbons.

These are made from real acorn caps and felted white wool. Finished it off with clear snowflakes and of course white twinkle lights.

I wrapped lights around the banister:

And the glass roof of the back porch:

In case you’re wondering why I took the pictures in the daytime, it’s because my camera steadfastly refuses to focus when it thinks it’s too dark, which is almost always in the winter. And it looks (and feels) like it’s going to be a long one.

Wow, I really have a lot of catching up to do! Today I’m getting ready for a quick and business-like trip to San Francisco, and I haven’t even told you about Thanksgiving yet.

In keeping with the the theme, I was clearly having too much fun at Thanksgiving to take pictures. I took pictures of the outdoor living room after I set it up for guests:

And the table indoors, with my American grandmother’s wineglasses (still unscathed!) and my English grandmother’s ivory-handled silver and Wedgwood:

But that was it. I didn’t even take a picture of Jessica!

It was a lovely, sunny day, as you can see in the outdoor picture, though it did get chilly once darkness fell. My brother brought over a load of firewood so people could (and did) sit outside. My little house was overflowing with friends, family, food, and good cheer.

The turkey, if I do say so myself, came out perfect, despite the challenges of my odd little oven. I simply did it Nana style (she of the wineglasses): rubbed with butter, dusted with sage, salt and pepper. I really think a free range, organic bird makes all the difference. With it, we had the stuffing Jonathan made, along with his excellent gravy and mashed Yukon Gold potatoes and my famous cranberry-bourbon relish. We also had a salad of bitter greens with roasted pears and fresh pomegranate, with a honey-shallot dressing.

Erica brought rolls made with delicata squash from the family garden. To go with them, she made a beurre composé with clementine zest, paprika, and Strega liqueur which was out of this world. She also brought Brussels sprouts made in a magical Erica way which vanished almost immediately, and THREE pies. Two were made of a special squash with home-made sea salted caramel (Erica is, after all, the girl who makes her own chocolate nib spiked marshmallows and graham crackers from scratch before making s’mores), and one was an apple pie for Jonathan, who famously dislikes pumpkin pie.

However, the squash pies won him over with their truffley goodness (or is it evilness?) and the apple pie was almost as unscathed as the wineglasses when the party was over.

We talked to our good friend Paul, who wasn’t able to be here and will also not make it for Christmas, though he is planning to visit in January. It looks like a quiet Christmas this year, since Jarrett has to work and I think Lichen said he was going to visit his birth family in SoCal this year. Lichen turned up for Thanksgiving bearing gifts: a sprig of blue hydrangea he had dried himself for Jessica (which just happened to match her Erica Original dress); shower gels for Megan and me; and the bottle of Strega for Erica, which was immediately put to good use in the beurre composé merveilleux. Only Lichen would bring gifts on a non gift holiday only days after his own birthday.

He was joined in his usual eating spot on the stairs by Audrey, who loves Lichen. She slunk around and allowed other people to admire her before hanging out with her buddy. Clyde was his charming party self, working the room for pets. I thought Roscoe was outside, but after everyone left, he appeared from upstairs, where he was likely hiding under the bed until the coast was clear.

It was an amazing Thanksgiving and I am incredibly grateful for my family, my friends, and my life in our little corner of the world.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I always say that organization is the key to surviving the holidays, but delegating helps, too.

As I type, Jonathan is making the stuffing, meaning that I get out of peeling chestnuts, which has now been officially decreed to be in violation of the Geneva convention. I did buy all the stuff for the stuffing, and chop up the bread ahead of time so it would be appropriately stalenized, and then dropped it all off at his place yesterday, so it’s not like I was no help.

Erica has made pies, rolls, and some kind of magic Brussels sprout thing. Megan called me from her fourth 12 hour night shift in a row last night to see if there was anything else we needed, though she had to run due to one patient needing to be restrained (if you ever need a hand restraining a crazy person, she’s your girl) and another having a heart attack. She valiantly bought the things for salad on her way home this morning and dropped them off at my place.

I peeled pears for the salad and prepped them while watching the 85th annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I was delighted by the Hello Kitty and Snoopy balloons as well as the always fabulous Rockettes. Not for the first time, I wondered if I’m the only one who would rather have it be mostly balloons and floats rather than insipid musical production numbers. I feel the same way about the Oscars: I wish it was mostly gowns and then the big awards and that’s it. I realize this is an unpopular view, however.

While peeling and thinking great thoughts like this, I noticed a huge white and brown bunny loping slowly by. I think it’s one of Mark’s pet rabbits. Fortunately, the kitties seemed more weirded out by the rabbit than anything, since I would hate to have to explain to my long-suffering landlord that my pets had exterminated his pet on a national holiday.

The Thanksgiving Bunny

I de-cobwebbed the house as best I could and set up the outdoor seating area. I just have to vacuum and the house will be about as good as it gets. Jonathan will be bringing over the stuffing pretty soon and I’ll get the big turkey in my tiny oven. I’m looking forward to a happy evening with my loved ones. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!

Oh, it’s been quite the morning so far.

The little heater I use in my uninsulated and otherwise unheated bathroom crapped out on me before my shower – hello, 50 degrees! – which was not quite warm enough despite only using hot water. On emerging from the warmish shower, I reached, glassesless, for the pink towel turban I use for my hair, discovering that a spider was in residence.

Now, I’ve pretty much learned to peacefully co-exist with my arachnid roommates, but this was unexpected and somewhat horrifying as the spider skittered down my face.

Imagine how the spider felt.

I got into the 1986 Honda that I’ve been driving during Miss Scarlett’s hospital stay. It’s creaky and rattles and sounds a lot like the Waltons’ old truck that was always breaking down. I can barely hear the rattles and creaks over the sonic boom of the engine, however. There’s a hole in the exhaust pipe or similar, so it sounds like a plane taking off even when you’re only going 20. It also doesn’t have any kind of power assist for steering or brakes, with the result that I am now driving like the old lady I am, or, dare I say it, a tourist.

Good thing, too, since as I came around a curve on the ridge on my way to the jobette this morning, there was a dog dancing happily in the middle of the road. I slammed on the unassisted brakes while the dog bounced around happily. He reminded me of the good old days when Schatzi used to prance around in front of my car on the driveway, necessitating getting out of the car and making sure she was safe before heading on my way. I’d do anything to have to check on her safety now. I sure miss that girl.

I stopped off at the mechanic’s on my way to work and they were still working on estimates, but the numbers under discussion were alarming. We’ll see what happens. I may be the only girl in America who is less stressed by Thanksgiving than the rest of my life. I wish I was running up a tab at a bar instead of at the mechanic’s.

So I gave myself a little treat this morning.

Most days, I get up in the cold and dark, and you know how I love that. Today, it was still dark-ish, and the house was 46 degrees F (7C). I let the demanding Miss Audrey out, put on the outside lights, and then put on the heat and headed back upstairs to bed.

I snuggled down with Roscoe and went back to sleep. When I woke up, the sun was shining and the house was warm. I put on my sparkly new slippers with the warm, fuzzy insides and went to make coffee. Audrey came back inside and the boys went out…for about five minutes. Roscoe went back to bed and Clyde basked in front of the heater while Audrey had breakfast and I read Postsecret, my Sunday ritual.

I also gave myself a treat on Friday. Megan and I met Lu and her daughter Allie in town. We admired the Christmas trees at North Star Nursery (they always make it so hard to wait until after Thanksgiving to put up my tree) and bought some bulbs for indoor winter color. I know this sounds ridiculous to those of you with real winter, but I really miss color in the garden during the winter. I got some paper whites:

And an amaryllis bulb. I’ve never grown indoor plants before, so we’ll see how it goes. The paper whites are in the basket with river pebbles. Below it is a picture of my father at about the age of 9 (in 1940) with his friend (and later best man) Brian, with guns they found in a downed German plane. Below that is a card sent to my mother to congratulate her on her engagement to Dad in the late 1950s. It’s like a wonderfully sparkly valentine:

We ran a few errands and are pretty much ready for Thanksgiving later this week. Even buying groceries is fun with Megan and Star. We wrapped up the day with Gilmore Girls and Skinny Girl (“girling it up”, as Lu calls it) to keep my mind off my car problems. No matter what happens, we have each other and I have a lot to be thankful for on Thanksgiving and every day.

This morning, I dropped Miss Scarlett off to get two new tires put on, just in time for the rain that’s supposed to arrive tonight. Tires have a short life expectancy around here – they’re basically all members of the 27 Club. Maybe not even that old. If they last two years on the rocky, rough, rutted country roads, you’re doing well. Which is why I always feel like I’m buying tires. Because I am…

After leaving the car in the capable hands of the tire technicians, I walked to the jobette. It was nice to walk in the cool morning air, but a couple of blocks down the street, I was honked at. It turned out to be my friend Liz from the pool. She said they were all worried about me – I haven’t made it to the pool in the past couple of months due to my crazy work schedule(s) – and missed me. I explained some of what had happened and she was really sweet. I have promised myself to go tomorrow.

As I walked down the street, I felt so lucky to live in this odd little corner of the world, where people actually care about you, and to have somehow landed here, surrounded by friends and family. On Friday, we had a late season BBQ at my brother’s place with our friends Rik and Lu (and their dog Harlow, who is Star’s BFF), Lichen, and my siblings’ land partners, Dave and Jennifer, who were so kind and helpful during the Great Schatzi Search this summer. They are buying the property along with my siblings, and one of these days they will have a house on their half of the 68 acres, so they will be neighbors as well as friends.

The sun was setting and the moon was rising when I arrived:

My brother was manning the grill and everyone else was gathered around the fire pit*:

Lu and Rik went on a medical mission to Honduras earlier this year, where they helped villagers who hadn’t had any medical help in months or even years, and they are going back in February. They specified that they wanted to be posted to same village so they can check in on the same folks they met last year and see how they’re doing. I’m so proud of them for caring and making a difference, not just here but abroad as well.

After dinner we sat by the fire feeling as relaxed as Harlow looks here:

It was a good evening with good friends.

*Which used to be a well ring.

The evil elf

It was a happy Halloween this year. You may remember that last year it was raining and Erica tried everything to bribe Jessica to stay home. In case you were wondering, this is not a winning strategy. I don’t think there’s a kid alive who can resist the candy’n’costume combo.

This year, it was clear and beautiful:

I did not need the warm scarf I wore or the winter jacket, which I ended up taking off and lugging around. Where’s a lady’s maid when you need her? Oh, that’s right – they’re all at Downton Abbey.

We met up with Erica and Jessica in the Village, where Erica handed over Jessica’s overnight bag, somewhat surprising (though delighting) us. Erica was off to compete in a contest with her incredible handmade costume in a neighboring county and would be staying overnight there. Her parting words of wisdom were that Jessica should start trick or treating right away, while the candy donors were still fresh. So we did:

Once again, I was amused by the “Open up, police!” quality of Jessica’s knock. One guy said, “You have a heavy knock!” and she said “Thank you!” She thanked everyone and wished them all a happy Halloween without any prompting from her auntourage, which made us proud(er).

Many of the houses in the Village were creatively decorated, especially one with dry ice floating out in the evening air and a ghost that moved around:

I loved the skeleton dragon perched on the roof of this house:

Megan and I agreed that if we lived in the Village, we’d decorate our houses like crazy and have fun with it.

On our way back to the car, we stopped off to admire the amazing fire dancers and then picked up some things for dinner. We visited Dr. Karen’s haunted house on the way out, and Jessica added to her giant haul of candy. Back at Megan’s house, we had dinner and watched a movie while Jessica sorted throug her bag of treats. It was a happy Halloween.

The handsome and agile Roscoe

One of the many great things about being in LA was the ability to sleep in until the sun was up – and it was always sunny. Back here in Hooterville (and probably in LA), it is the unlovely time of the year where 6 am looks just about the same as 12 am.

I hate getting up in the darkness as much as I like sleeping in it, and the worst part is having to keep the kitties in until that slacker Sol gets his butt up and going. I know the time changes this weekend, but will that make it better or worse? I can never remember and the mere thought of it is too mathy for my two brain cells, much like splitting a restaurant check. Whatever way it is, I will be discombobulated – more than usual, anyway – by the overnight flight to Atlanta.

I think this is how we humans cope, by forgetting how cold and dark the winter is and how hot and sunny the summer is and the fact that we all have an expiration date. Every year I seem to be surprised by how “early” it gets cold and dark.

This week, it has been cold enough for me to put the heat on when I get up, and it serves as something of a pacifier for the cats as they bask in front of it and stop asking to go out. Even Audrey is not immune to its charms, though it palls on her faster than it does the boys and I cave in to her insistent insistence. That’s Audrey. Yesterday I happened to catch her rearing up on her back legs and chasing poor Luna away. It was like a real life cartoon as the 75 pound dog fled in horror from the tiny, stripy cat.

Even Audrey has been sleeping with me at night, though at the foot of the bed. The mysterious Mr. Roscoe loses his usual aloofness and cuddles right up to me all night. Sometimes he doesn’t bother to get up if it’s too cold for his taste. Surprisingly, Clyde, the mama’s boy, has been sleeping on the couch, though he does climb up on me for cuddles while I drink my coffee.

The boys seem to have been going through a rowdy phase. You may be able to see that Roscoe is missing some fur above his eye, and also sports a slightly torn ear on the same side. This morning, I noticed a chunk of fur missing on the back of Clyde’s neck. I guess boys will be boys!

On Saturday, I made a special appearance at the jobette. The guy who has taken over Saturdays from me was at a jobette-related event in the City. I made good use of my time by selling a piece of art for $150*. I seem to be good at selling expensive artwork on Saturdays (this summer, I sold a $500 painting from the window before I even had a chance to take my coat off).

While I was selling art and telling people where Glass Beach is, Megan was walking the beautiful and shiny Miss Star by Big River, one of our favorite places. It’s one of Star’s favorite places, too. She started squeaking with excitement when Megan put on her signal to turn off on the road to the beach.

They walked for five miles, and Star was “100% good”, not responding to barking dogs or passing bikes or horses. Megan texted me pictures during the walk, so I felt like I was there with them.

“I thought I would bring the walk to you.”

“Just had some water. I love it here!”

“Maybe I’ll find a four leaf clover! I feel pretty lucky already, though.”

“Where did the ocean go? It was there this morning.”

It really brightened my day, and Megan’s too. She needed it after a particularly tragic week at work in the ER. That night, I came by for dinner and of course, some Star petting. It’s great to see how happy and trusting she is now. It’s funny how love will do that.

*It was a beautiful hand made skirt which looked like delicate, multi-colored feathers. The guy who bought it was from New York and thought it was incredibly reasonable. He bought it for his sister Megan, who was baby sitting his dog while he was here on vacation at a friend’s house in Hooterville.

I gave myself about the same amount of time to drive to LAX, return the rental car, take the shuttle to the airport and go through the dehumanizing process that is required of those who have the temerity to fly as I did to drive all the way to Santa Rosa from Hooterville.

I also avoided the freeways en route to LAX, a wise choice since every time I passed one, it looked like a parking lot as far as the eye could see. Arriving at the rental car place, I unloaded the car and waited for a minion to make sure I hadn’t wrecked it. Fortunately, the wait was much shorter than the wait to pick up the car. Then it was on the shuttle, to be next to last decanted.

By the time I had undressed and dressed and gotten to the gate, there was about 20 minutes to wait. I had given myself three hours, and if there had been a delay at the car rental place or Security, even that might not have been enough time.

Fortunately, all the hassle was on the LA end. At the Santa Rosa airport, there is one luggage belt, about 10 feet long, and it only took a few minutes for my luggage to appear. Then it was a short walk to reclaim Miss Scarlett and be on our way.

Needless to say, the traffic seemed like a total breeze. Driving through the Valley, it was wonderful to breathe clean air and admire the rolling hills ablaze with yellow, red and orange vines, our version of fall colors.

I got home in time to see Megan before she headed off to work. She told me that the kitties had taken their birds to her house, and also hung out on her car while I was away. They certainly missed me – the next day, they hardly played outside, despite the sunny weather, and they have slept with me every night since I got back. I feel kind of guilty about the upcoming Atlanta trip.

Sunset over the Pacific

You may not have visited our little corner of the world, but you’ve probably seen it.

The Village was the setting for the long-running series “Murder She Wrote” (fun fact: Jessica Fletcher’s house in the TV show is now a B&B), even though it was supposedly set in Maine, on the other side of the country. Our rocky, wild coast often stands in for New England in the magical world of movies and television. Most of our early settlers back in the 1850s were from the east coast, and built houses that would look right at home in a New England village.

“Same Time Next Year”, a movie starring Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn as lovers who meet up once a year for many years, was filmed at a lovely resort just south of the Village. This property was closed for five years, but never lost its cult following. People always called to ask when it would re-open and to say how much they loved and missed it.

A couple of weeks ago, their prayers were answered and the hotel opened their doors once again after a lengthy repair and renovation process. I was invited to the opening celebration (though I missed the complimentary overnight stay the rest of my jobette co-workers enjoyed while I was spaing it up in Reno).

I followed the slow line of cars down the precipitous driveway. When I checked in with one of the uniformed attendants, he stopped me when I started to spell my last name and asked me if I was Jonathan’s sister. He was a fellow firefighter, and it was another wonderful small town moment. I parked the car and made my way up to the main building.

Outside the building, there were waiters circulating with trays of nibbles and wine. Inside, there was a table entirely devoted to a mountain of bite-sized desserts, another with cheese, crackers and accoutrements, and an open bar (two of the most beautiful words in the English language, besides “room service” and “taxi”). The views were breathtaking:

I met quite a few people I knew, as well as co-workers, and everyone was delighted to see this landmark welcoming guests again. Dr. Karen was there, and I thanked her for her very kind gesture. She brought flowers and a card to Megan at work one night. Dr. Karen was very saddened by Schatzi’s loss, and once again said what a remarkable animals she was. Karen reassured me that when dogs take their own path like Schatzi did, that it is peaceful. They know what they’re doing.

I took a moment to look out over the endless sea and think about those I have loved and lost, and to be grateful that they were part of my life, I was part of theirs, and that they live on in my heart.

Postcard Day

Megan and I were invited to a wine tasting at a friend’s house in the Village on Saturday night.

We thought it would be fun to stay overnight in the Village instead of trekking back home in the dark after the party, so we decided to stay at a hotel. There was a fire blazing on the lobby hearth despite the 80 degree day and a very slow desk clerk, so Megan went outside to avoid wilting. Finally checked in, I received an actual brass key and a map to help us find the room.

Needless to say, I still managed to have trouble finding not only the room, but my sister. The room was set in a separate building in the hotel’s gardens. It was very Victorian looking and smelling, with a fireplace and brass beds. We dropped off our things, discovered the wifi didn’t work (what else is new?), opened a few windows, and headed out to get some dinner.

The pub, where we usually go on the rare occasions when we go out to dinner, was packed to the gills, so we tried the café down the street. We were eventually seated at an outdoor table, but after twenty minutes, we had still not seen a server. Maybe waitresses are mythical creatures, like unicorns. We left, and they may not have noticed yet. Third time was the charm, as we found a little place where we got sandwiches before heading to the party.

Everyone from the jobette was the party, and also Dr. Sue, who it was nice to see in a non-professional capacity. I realized how much I have become a part of this little community in the four short years I have lived here. We tasted wine from Bordeaux, Napa, and Sonoma. True to form, I liked the Sonoma the best and so did Megan. I wonder if Dad would have preferred the French wine. I’m sure he would have enjoyed the party.

We headed back to the hotel, jumped into our PJs and opened a bottle of non-fancy local wine and watched a little HGTV. I have to admit that I love those shows where people are looking for a house and freak out over things like no granite counter tops or walk in closets. They wouldn’t last a day in my hippie hovel, with no closets and a three foot wide counter, made of (gasp!) painted wood. This gives me a delightful feeling of superiority, an unusual experience for me.

In the morning, Megan bravely ventured out to get coffee. She was gone so long that I began to worry a little, though what could happen in the Village on a sunny Sunday morning? It turned out that she was talking to a couple of homeless dog owners about how to get their pets spayed for free and how important it was. We “euthanize” a dog every fifteen seconds in this country. If people only spayed and neutered, there would be no more homeless pets. Imagine a world where dogs are rare and there is a waiting list to adopt! Kudos to my friend and fellow blogger Mike, whose family adopted a homeless dog from Greece, where the economic crisis has caused a dramatic increase in shelter animals.

We checked out of the hotel on the second try (the first time, there was a sign saying “Back Soon”), and wandered around the Village. As you can see, it was a picture postcard card day. There was no sign of fog, and it was warm even first thing in the morning. It was fun to play tourist in our own town before heading home to get ready for the work week. I always have fun with my sister.

Halloween San Francisco Style

I’m back home with the kitties and it’s a beautiful day. It’s warm enough to have the fans on – summer’s last hurrah. I can tell the cats missed me. They came in on their own yesterday evening and took turns sitting on my lap. As I write, they are all nearby.

Yesterday, I packed up the car, had breakfast at Polker’s, and checked out of my home away from home. I headed to Victor’s to pick up the traditional pizza, and discovered that I didn’t have my debit/credit card.

Uh oh.

I retraced my steps to Polker’s, and as I walked through the door, the waitress came up with my card. “I know why you’re here!” she said cheerfully.

I was much more cheerful as I went to Trader Joe, got gas for the car, and headed toward the iconic Bridge in the brilliant sunshine. Even though I really just worked on this brief trip, it was a good one. I listened to the baseball playoffs on my iPhone until cell service gave out, picked up some fresh cider at Gowan’s, and arrived home to be greeted by Clyde.

While I was enjoying my extreme takeout pizza, there was a knock at the door. It was Mark’s wife with a bag full of kale grown by a friend of hers. Welcome home!

My week got off to a great start with my car not starting in the Safeway parking lot on a rainy Monday morning. I stopped off to pick up a few things on my way to the jobette, got in the car, turned the key, and heard a very discouraging noise.

Figuring that it was likely a user issue, I tried again a couple of more times with no result. Unsurprising, but not the results I was pointlessly hoping for.

I called Fernando, the mechanic who fixes Miss Scarlett when ministrations are needed which are beyond my brother’s many capabilities. He said he’d come by and see if he could start the car. Ironically, the Rolling Stones’ “Start Me Up” was the last song on the radio when I turned the car off.

Fernando was unable to resurrect the car, but offered to drive me to the jobette and then call the tow truck for me. I handed over the keys to my car and got in his. As we hit the highway, we saw the tow truck. Fernando chased it down the road, honking and waving. The truck pulled over and agreed to pick up my car.

I realized how lucky I was that this happened in The Big Town instead of in San Francisco, where I am going tomorrow. I would have no idea what to do there, and it would probably cost a lot more to get the car up and running again.

It turned out to be the starter. It was the original, almost 20 year old starter, and the new one is warrantied for the life of the car. It was nearly $500 to fix it ($300 of it being the part and a further $70 for the tow, which the insurance company will reimburse), but I’m glad that my car keys aren’t just a collection of pretty, shiny objects today.

Wish me luck heading to the city tomorrow!

After our safari adventure, we spent a little time looking around Point Arena, which, with a population of less than 500 people, is one of California’s smallest cities, if not the smallest city.

Here’s a look at the main street:

On the right, you can see the Arena Theater, one of the few remaining independent theaters in the county – and the state. It dates from 1929 and in addition to showing movies, also shows opera and theater performances from around the world.

Across the street from the movie theater is Franny’s Cup & Saucer, home all things delicious and the home of all things cute. The pre-safari mocha Megan got there (cinnamon scented!) was so good that she got another one afterwards. It gave us time to look around and pick up a few early Christmas stocking stuffers. Who doesn’t need a bendy drinking straw that looks like a giant multi-colored worm? Or a matchbook full of sharp pencils? Or a sparkly skull ring? I have to admit that it might be hard to part with the ring, even for Jessica.

It’s a tiny space, but chock full of delicacies and delights, all made on the premises. You have to see the pastries and chocolates to believe them.

Right down the road is the Druids Hall and Seniors’ Center:

Can’t have one without the other! An even more unlikely combination is the druid cemetery being right next to the Catholic cemetery, just up the road. Near both final resting places is a hill top bar that’s only open when the owner feels like it. He lights the beacon when he’s ready to receive guests.

We stopped for lunch at a little Thai restaurant. You know that Thai is one of my favorites, and this may be my favorite Thai food ever. The restaurant is small and cute, and we had the nicest waiter I have ever met. He took us through the menu telling us what he liked best and why, as well as what sells most. He was spectacularly patient with our indecision, request for separate checks, and requests for separate take out orders to take with us.

The food was completely amazing – incredibly fresh and nuanced. When we paid, we asked the waiter to tell the chef how great everything was. He was delighted and said that the chef is his girlfriend – and that they are co-owners! So the nicest waiter in the world was also the owner. That was a new experience. We’ll definitely be back. It can’t be soon enough.

I am always amazed by how many wonderful places and things there are in our County. A beach made of glass. Another that looks like bowling balls. Lighthouses. The City of 10,000 Buddhas, a working monastery which is open to the public (and has peacocks wandering around its gardens). And the B Bryan Preserve, which is dedicated to preserving and breeding endangered African hooved animals.

Megan and I made our way to the beautiful south coast, which you may remember I really enjoyed visiting earlier this year. We soon found ourselves at the Preserve, and met Frank, one of the owners, in the lovely barn:

Here Frank gave us an overview of what they do and why they do it. The animals they are trying to save have been hunted to near extinction in their native Africa, and Frank and his wife are working hard to breed and preserve these rare creatures.

We hopped in Frank’s truck and were off to meet them. Here’s Bonnie, the shy Mountain Zebra, peeking around the corner of the barn:

There are now only three types of zebra left in the world: the common, the mountain, and Grevy’s. Grevys are notable for what Frank describes as their “teddy bear ears”. As you can see, they are more graceful and less stocky than the common zebra:

That’s 7 month old Lester in front, staying close to his mama. Zebra develop the black color of their stripes as they mature.

Up next were the antelope. These are Roan Antelope, considered the most beautiful antelope in the world. There is a five year waiting list to get one of these! The alpha male and female of the herd are the largest and darkest due to their hormones. Mabel, the alpha female, had recently given birth to a new baby (left):

Apparently the baby already thinks she’s special since her mother is the queen of the herd, and she just butts in for food among all the adults. All the other babies, whether they were zebra or antelope, held back until the adults had started to eat. And the babies stayed close to their mothers.

Across from the antelope are the Kudu, called the “Gray Ghost of Africa”. You can see they blend into their surroundings. Frank has tried to replicate their native habitat:

Last but tallest, we visited the Rothschild giraffes. I can’t tell you what it’s like to have these enormously tall creatures swoop their long necks down to look you in the eye:

Incredibly, these boys are not finished growing. They are expected to grow another five feet!

Megan held up an acacia branch, which was soon devoured by Jagger (right) and Sonny:

They have long, black tongues that curl around the leaves, then they snap the leaves off, leaving the branch behind. We also fed them carrots. It’s amazing to look them in their huge eyes and have them kiss you as they eat the carrots. It was the experience of a lifetime!

Apple Jack Welcomes You!

The County Fair is definitely one of the highlights of the year for me. Megan and I headed out of the coastal fog and into the warm sun of the valley. We parked in Megan’s secret spot and headed for the gates, where we were met by Apple Jack and had our hands stamped with an apple (what else?).

First stop as always was to enter the quilt drawing (which we never win) and for Megan to pick up her annual t-shirt from the Yorkville Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Terrorist Society. There really is a Yorkville (population 70) LSC, and they work to support their volunteer fire department. Gotta support your local volunteer firefighters!

We had planned to meet Erica and Jessica, but they had an unexpected and lengthy trip to the county seat to see the doctor (they are both fine) and were too tired to traipse around the Fair after their adventures. In their absence, we checked out Erica’s many entries in the wool barn.

I imagine Erica’s fellow contestants bemoan her return from Portland, since Megan and I lost track of the ribbons and awards. Best in show, best in division, first prize – they were showered on her work. Sometimes all three at once, as you see here on an exquisite, gossamer shawl:

I believe she spun all the wool herself as well as designing and knitting or crocheting the pieces. I really think the only the thing Erica can’t make really is a piano*.

After enjoying Erica’s triumph(s), we went to admire the quilts:

After that, we tasted some apples and Megan got some advice from an expert about the orchard on the property. Of course, we also had to check out the enormous pumpkins. This year’s biggest was 606 pounds! How does a pumpkin get that big?

Our last stop was the floriculture building. This was my favorite exhibit:

There’s something magical about it, don’t you think?

As we left the Fair, the lights were beginning to come on and the crowds to thicken. I really think Friday late afternoon is the perfect time to go to the Fair.

The sun was setting over the hills, such a breathtaking sight that Megan pulled over so I could take a picture:

As you can see, we were heading home into the fog:

It had been a wonderful day.

*When Jessica was small, she visited a friend whose parents had a piano. She was very taken with it, and on getting home, asked Erica if she could make her one. She was astonished when Erica said she couldn’t. It was the first time in Jessica’s life that her mother actually couldn’t make something.

You guys know that I’m not too crazy about driving, right? My chief objections are that it’s both too fast and slow, while being simultaneously boring and terrifying. My siblings’ years of EMS experience have taught me that the faster you drive, the worse the outcome if you crash, but of course you want to get where you’re going – and get out of the car! – as quickly as possible. So it’s too fast if something bad happens, and too slow because it takes forever to get anywhere. There you have the boring/terrifying dilemma.

I do realize that a girl with this kind of automotive attitude should not have moved to a place where a car is an evil necessity, or a necessary evil. And public transit is not an option. It’s more than five miles to the store, where the bus leaves once a day and takes more than an hour to get to the Big Town, and one bus coming home. I don’t think even the most pioneer-spirited among you would want to trudge 11 miles a day, especially with groceries in hand on the trip home, and even more so in the pouring winter rains.

Having said that, it is a nice, though long, drive to the jobette, beside the mighty Pacific – I still love the part where I come out of the trees on the Ridge and get my first sight of it, spread below me in all its glory – through trees, past little villages and meadows. The worst part is being behind people going under the speed limit who refuse to, or don’t know enough, to pull over. I have suggested that we include this vital information in the visitor guide, but it doesn’t seem likely.

The other day, I was on my way to work when I was faced with a long line of traffic on the road by the store and post office (and the happy cows in their giant field). I waited a long time before finally turning onto the highway. There I was confronted with the unlovely sight of a line of cars recently released from the stop light governing the work on the next bridge south, waiting at the Hooterville bridge light, governing its epic repair/restoration project.

Normally, I’m all for the Hooterville bridge project. It’s the only remaining wooden bridge on the entire long length of beautiful Highway 1 and deserves to be preserved. But this was a perfect traffic storm, and I was on my way to work. There was no cell service to text or email my boss from the gridlock, so I just had to hope for the best.

When the light finally turned green, we started slowly on our way. I was probably the 20th car in line, many of which sported the dreaded out of state plates, so I knew I was doomed. Indeed, we proceeded at a pace so glacial that I have literally driven in funeral processions that were faster.

When we finally got to the Village, where there are two welcome lanes – your one and only opportunity to get past the snails who have been stymying you for the past several miles – everyone kept up their glacial pace of 30 in a 55 zone. I soon discovered that midway in the cortege was a CHP car, so we all made our sadly majestic way to the Big Town.

I was only a few minutes late after all.

I was perched on the couch (my usual, non-ergonomic workplace) working on a project* when there was a hello at the door.

This time of year is when we get our summer weather – less fog, more sun – and all the doors were open, so knocking wasn’t necessary. Even if the doors had been closed, they are all glass, so visitors can (and do) look (and walk) right in. The fact that this one didn’t meant that it wasn’t someone I knew.

It turned out to be a county sheriff, delivering yet another copy of the subpoena in person. I tried not to think about the fact that I was still in my pink flowered PJs and bare feet as we talked on the porch. He filled out a form and gave me yet another copy of the subpoena. I pointed out that I had received one by mail and sent back the required form, signed. This time I didn’t have to sign anything, so I asked why he had to do this in person. He said that everyone asks that, but he had no answer.

Seems like a giant waste of time and money to me, but what do I know? I’m still hoping that the whole thing will be settled before the court date later on this month, even though I should know better. The thought of being a witness yet again fills me with horror, though of a different kind than last year’s ordeal. It was daunting being questioned by the US Attorney’s office, but I never had to see him again (so far), and I will have to see the people I am testifying against, since we all live in a very small town.

Trying not to think about it, I set off for the post office, restoring my mental health by petting the postmistress’ adorable dog Ginger and getting glossy magazines in my mailbox. In the store, I ran into Lichen, and caught up with him. The clerk asked after Megan, wondering how she was doing in her grief. As I drove home, I thought of how lucky I am to live in a little community that really cares about each other. The up side more than makes up for the down side.

Most of the time.

*A friend is developing a smartphone app where you can search for an unfamiliar food term when at a restaurant. I’m writing up the definitions and he’s doing the coding. Each according to his abilities…